HEOLOGICAL SEMINARY Princeton, N. J. Book ^:MV\ 111 ’ j 1 y Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2018 with funding from Princeton Theological Seminary Library https://archive.org/details/contemplationson02halL0 THE CHRISTIAN’S FAMILY LIBRARY. No. 1. HALL’S CONTEMPLATIONS. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. SECOND. m , I i ^,!/, ji :i' A <' r I ■. ,•» .r t r; * :; 'I*; rf'/ T’’ I -■ U^f / f ^ r - . r im v» . Y IE AW iU. i •■« 1JP A'4 ■ ^ .1 ^ - •4 f^i • ■ uvrr vii . - , • , i{ ‘ ,j A, ji . •-.■ ■- sr H f .a/iO-JMS; V •, ■ • -f Jf * * ■' ‘ T ^ V / . • ' ’ /' t fO i s » , 'jif- -. -.'KY'-r . • .* • -V Vlf .- 1 > K ’- l 4 it. CONTEMPLATIONS ON THE HISTORICAL PASSAGES OF THE OLD AND NEW TESTAMENTS. BY THE y RIGHT REV. JOSEPH HALL, D. D. SUCCESSIVELY BISHOP OF EXETER AND NORWICH. WITH AN ESSAY ON HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS, BY THE REV. RALPH WARDLAW, D. D. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II. GLASGOW: BLACKIE, FULLARTON, & CO.; A. FULLARTON & CO. EDINBURGH; W. CURRY, JuN.& Co. DUBLIN; AND SIMPKIN & MARSHALL, LONDON. M.DCCC.XXXI. GLASGOW: nUTCHISO^V AN'D BROOKMAN, PRINTKRS, VIIJ^AFIELD CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. BOOK XIX. Page Contemplation I. Ahab and Benhadad.1 II. Ahab and Naboth. 6 III. Ahab and Micaiah, or the Death of Ahab.12 IV. Ahaziah sick, and Elijah revenged. 17 V. The Rapture of Elijah.22 VI. Elisha healing the Waters—Cursing the Children—relieving the Kings. 2S VII. Elisha with the Shunamite .34 VIII. Elisha with Naaman. 41 IX. Elisha raising the Iron, blinding the Assyrians .... 48 X- The Famine of Samaria relieved. 53 BOOK XX. Contemplation I. The Shunamite suing to Jehoram—Elisha conferring with Hazeal . 58 II. Jehu with Jehoram and Jezebel.63 III. Jehu killing the Sons of Ahab, and the priests of Baal . 70 IV. Athaliah and Joash.75 V. Joash with Elisha dying.81 VI. Uzziah leprous.85 VII. Ahaz with his new altar.89 VIII. The utter destruction of the kingdom of Israel .... 91 IX. Hezekiah and Sennacherib .94 X. Hezekiah sick, recovered, visited.100 XI. Manasseh.106 XII. Josiah’s Reformation .112 XIII Josiahs death, with the desolation of the Temple and Jeru¬ salem .117 BOOK XXI. Contemplation I. Zerubbabel and Ezra.121 II. Nehemiah building the walls of Jerusalem.131 IlL Nehemiah redressing the extortion of the Jews .... 136 IV. A hasuerus feasting ;—Vashti cast off;—Easter chosen . 142 V. Haman disrespected by Mordecai,—Mordecai’s Message to Esther.147 VI CONTENTS. Pafrc VI. Esther suing to Ahasuerus.156 VIL Mordecai honoured by Hainan.158 VIII. Haman hanged, Mordecai advanced.163 FROM THE NEW TESTAMENT. BOOK I. Contemplation I. The Angel and Zachary .169 II. The Annunciation of Christ.174 III. The Birth of Christ.178 IV. The Sages and the Star .182 V. The Purification.186 VI. Herod and the Infants.190 BOOKII. Contemplation I. Christ among the Doctors . .192 II. Christ’s Baptism . . .194 III. Christ Tempted.202 IV. Simon Called.219 V. The Marriage in Cana .215 VI. The good Centurion .219 BOOK HI. Contemplation I. The Widow’s Son raised.224 II. The Ruler’s Son cured .226 HI. The Dumb Devil ejected . . .229 IV. Matthew Called .235 V. Christ among the Gergesenes, or Legion and the Gadarene herd.239 BOOK IV. (Contemplation I. The faithful Canaanite.252 II. The Deaf and Dumb Man cured .259 III. Zaccheus. 263 IV. John Baptist beheaded.274 V. The five Loaves and two Fishes.284 VI. The Walk upon the Waters.292 VH. The bloody Issue healed.301 \^III. Jairus and his Daughter .308 IX. The Motion of the two fiery Disciples repelled . . . .311 X. The ten Lepers.315 XI. The Pool of Bethesda ..322 XII. The Transfiguration of Christ.329 XIH. The same.3-35 XIV. The same ..313 XV. The Woman taken in Adultery.346 XVI. The thankful Penitent ...3.52 XVH. Martha and Mary.361 X VIII. The Beggar that was born Blind cured.365 XIX. The stubborn Devil ejected.371 XX. The Widow’s Mites.375 XXI. The Ambition of the two Sons of Zebedee.377 XXII. The Tribute-money paid.382 XXIII. Lazarus Dead . 384 XXIV. Lazarus Raised.390 XXV. Christ’s Procession to the Temple.399 CONTENTS. VII XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. XXX. XXXI. XXXII. XXXIII. XXXIV. The Fig-tree cursed. Christ betrayed. The Agony . Peter and Malchus, or Christ apprehended Christ before Caiaphas. Christ before Pilate . The Crucifixion. The Resurrection. The Ascension . I’age , 401 407 412 415 419 422 429 440 454 , t •it jOi.. r* rt ^y>*. ‘ : > f\ . * • v, • fX .- ' •!’■ .' ., .1 'MfV .vu ^ a ,1'. ..;•• • Vau7/x > •.• . _ .m.r.V- rM o;a 1 //./- - * -p; ; ; . . . . r . notv- rl .fix/./. a I v.V k- I <•* ‘ .M ;. r<«- A •'Wr (- ^ . *r%. 's;- T. iV*'' , f ill • ' .'r-r • ,»* .V.‘l >*; ; /V- '!■: ; '.K r-.-^ « rs' • i- tfir, •7^ / .*«* '< . U. .' .. L:.-.. < fcnLf^V^i' ■ *'!'l''‘ ^ ’ i M» A i .42 f ■4 .•, / ‘^r v;;> A*. 'V*A;^,- '..•U 4Mi^i '« •r • X • */ - 4^v to • /t ♦-',». • . ^4- *. .• ’ > ». /- ' r ■h CONTEMPLATIONS. ^ • ''tEII^CETOIT BOOK xm.tHSOLGGXC^X^ 5^ vxYy '7/’*PCX * -‘.-'A I X i . .-Si < ■* CONTEMPLATION I.—AHAB AND BENftf«il4Vv , w * » There is nothing more dangerous for any state, than to call in fo¬ reign powers, for the suppressing of a home-bred enemy; the remedy hath often, in this case, proved worse than the disease. Asa, king of Judah, implores the aid of Benhadad the Syrian against Baatha, king of Israel. That stranger hath good colom’ to set his foot in some outskirt towns of Israel; and now these serve him but for the handsel of more. Such sweetness doth that Edomite find in the soil of Israel, that his am¬ bition Avill not take up with less than all; he, that entered as a friend, will proceed as a conqueror; and now aims at no less than Samaria it¬ self, the heart, the head of the ten tribes. There was no cause to hope for better success of so perfidious a league with an infidel: who can look for other than war, when he sees Ahab and Jezebel in the throne, Israel in the groves and temples of Baalim ? The ambition of Benhadad was not so much guilty of this war, as the idolatry of that wicked nation. How can they expect peace from earth, Avho do wilfully fight against heaven ? Rather will the God of hosts arm the brute, the senseless creatm’es, against Israel, than he wiU sulFer their defiance unrevenged. Ahab and Benhadad are Avell matched, an idolatrous Israelite Avith a paganish Idumean ; Avell may God plague each with other, who means vengeance to them both. Ahab finds himself hard pressed Avith the siege, and therefore is glad to enter into treaties of peace. Benhadad knoAA^s his own strength, and offers insolent conditions. “ Thy silver and thy gold is mine, thy AAUves also and thy children, even the goodliest are mine.” It is a fearful thing to be in the mercy of an enemy ; in case of hostility, might will carve for itself. Ahab noAv, after the division of Judah, Avas but half a king. Benhadad had tAVO-and-thirty kings to attend him : AA'hat equality Avas in this opposition ? Wisely doth Ahab, therefore, as a reed in a tempest, stoop to this violent charge of so potent an enemy. “ ]My lord, O king, according to thy saying, I am thine, and all that I have.” It is not for the overpoAvered to capitulate. Weakness may not argue, but yield. Tyranny is but draAvn on by submission; and Avliere it finds fear and dejection, insulteth. Benhadad, not content AA'ith tlie sovereignty of Ahab’s goods, calls for the possession: Ahab had offered the dominion, Avith i-eservation of his subordinate interest; he Avill be a ti’ibutary, so he may be an OAvner. Benhadad imperiously, besides tlie II A 2 AHAB AND BENHADAD. [|B00Iv XIX. command, calls for the property, and suffers not the king of Israel to enjoy those things at all, which he woidd enjoy, but under the favour of that predominancy. Overstrained subjection turns desperate. If con¬ ditions be imposed worse than death, there needs no long disputation of the remedy. The elders of Israel, whose share was proportional in this danger, hearten Ahab to a denial; which yet comes out so fearfully, as that it appears rather extorted by the peremptory indignation of the people, than proceeding out of any generosity of his spirit; neither doth he say, I will not, but, I may not. The proud Syrian, who woidd have taken it in foul scorn to be denied, though he had sent for all the heads of Israel, snuffs up the wind like the wild ass in the wildei’ness, and brags, and threats, and swears ; “ The gods do so to me, and more also, if the dust of Samaria shall^ suffice for handfuls for all the people that follow me.” Not the men, not the goods only, of Samaria, shall he carried away captive, but the very earth whereon it stands ; and this, with how much ease ! No soldier shall need to be charged with more than an handful, to make a valley where the mother-city of Israel once stood. O vain boaster 1 in whom I know not whether pride or folly be more em¬ inent. Victory is to be achieved, not to be sworn; future events are no matter of an oath; thy gods, if they had been, might have been called as witnesses of thy intentions, not of that success whereof thouwouldst he the author without them. Thy gods can do nothing to thee, nothing for thee, nothing for themselves ! All thine Aramites shall not carry away one corn of sand out of Israel, except it be upon the soles of their feet, in their* shameful flight: it is well if they can carry back those skins that they brought thither. “ Let not him that girdeth on his harness, boast himself as he that putteth it off.” There is no cause to fear that man that trusts in himself. Man may cast the dice of war, but the dis¬ position of them is of the Lord. Ahab was lew d, but Benhadad was insolent: if therefore Ahab should be scourged with the rod of Benhadad’s fear, Benhadad shall be smitten with the sword of Ahab’s revenge. Of all tilings, God will not endm*e a presumptuous and self-confident vaunter ; after Elijah’s flight and com¬ plaint, yet a prophet is addressed to Aliab, “ Thus saith the Lord, hast thou seen all this great multitude ? behold Iwill deliver it into thine hand this day, and thou shalt know that I am the Lord.” Who can wonder enough at this unweariable mercy of God ? After the fire and rain fetch¬ ed miraculously from heaven, Ahab had promised much, performed no¬ thing ; yet again will God bless and solicit him w'ith victory: one of those prophets, whom he persecuted to death, shall comfort his dejection with the news of his deliverance and triumph. Had this great work been wrought without premonition, either chance, or Baal, or the gol¬ den calves, had carried away the thanks. Beforehand therefore shall Ahab know both the author and the means of his victory ; God for the author ; the two hundred and thirty-two young men of the princes for the means: what are these for the van-guard, and seven thousand Isra¬ elites for the main battle, against the troops of three and thirty kings, and as many centuries of Syrians as Israel had single soldiers ? An eipality of number had taken away the wonder of the event; but now CONT. I.] AHAB AND BENHADAD. 3 tlie God of hosts will be confessed in this issue, not the valour of men. How indifferent is it with thee, O Lord, to save hy many or by few, to destroy many or few I A world is no more to thee than a man: how easy is it for thee to enable us to be more than conquerors over prin¬ cipalities and powers ; to subdue spiritual wickedness to flesh and blood I Through thee we can do great things; yea, we can do all things tlu-ough thee that strengthenest us. Let us not want faith; we are sure there can be no want in thy power or mercy. There was nothing in Benhadad’s pavilions but drink, and surfeit, and jollity, as if wine should make way for blood. Security is the certain usher of destruction. We never have so much cause to fear, as when we fear nothing. This handful of Israel dares look out, upon the pro¬ phet’s assurance, to the vast host of Benhadad. It is enough for that proud Pagan to sit still and command amongst Iris cups. To defile their fingers with the blood of so few, seemed no mastery; that act would be inglorious on the part of the victors ; more easily might they bring in three heads of dead enemies, than one alive. Imperiously enough, therefore, doth this boaster, out of his chair of state and ease, com¬ mand, “ Whether they be come out for peace, take them alive ; or whe¬ ther they be come out for war, take them alivethere needs no more, but, “ take them this field is won with a word. O the vain and igno¬ rant presumptions of wretched men, that will be reckoning without, agaiust their Maker I Every Israelite kills his man; the Syrians fly, and cannot run away from death : Benhadad and his kings are more beholden to their horses than to their gods, or themselves, for life and safety, else they had been either taken or slain by those whom they commanded to be taken. How easy is it for him that made the heart, to fill it with terror and consternation, even where no fear is 1 Those Avhom God hath destined to slaughter, he will smite ; neither needs he any other enemy or exe¬ cutioner, than what he finds in their own bosom : we are not the mas¬ ters of om' OAvn courage or fears ; both are put into us by that overriding power that created us. Stay now, O stay, thou great king of Syria, and take with thee those forgotten handfuls of the dust of Israel; thy gods will do so to thee, and more also, if thy followers return without their vowed burden. Learn now of the despised king of Israel, from henceforth, not to sound the triumph before the battle, not to boast thy¬ self in the girding on of thine harness as in the putting off’. I hear not of either the public thanksgiving or amendment of Ahab. Neither danger nor victory can change him from himself. Benhadad and he, though enemies, agree in unrepentance ; the one is no more mov¬ ed with mercy, than the other with judgment: neither is God any change¬ ling in his proceedings towards both ; his judgment shall still follow the Syrian, his mercy Israel; mercy both in forewarning and re-delivering Ahab ; judgment in overthrowing Benhadad. The prophet of God comes again, and both foretels the intended re-encounter of the Syrian, and advises the care and preparation of Israel: Go, strengthen thyself, and mark, and see what thou dost; for at the return of the year, the king of Syria v/ill come up against thee.” God purposeth the deliverance of 4 AHAB AND BENHADAD. Qdook XIX. Israel, yet may not they neglect their fortifications : the merciful inten¬ tions of God towards them may not make them careless ; the industry and courage of the Israelites fiill within the decree of their victory. Se¬ curity is the bane of good success. It is no contemning of a foiled enemy; the shame of a former disgrace and miscarriage whets his valour, and sharpens it to revenge. No power is so dreadful as that which is recollected from an overthrow. The hostility against the Israel of God may sleep, hut will hardly die. If the Aramites sit still, it is but till they be fully ready for an assault; time will show that their cessation was only for their advantage. Neither is it otherwise with our spiritual adversaries; sometime their onsets are intermitted ; they tempt not always, they always hate us: their foi’bearance is not out of favour, but attendance of opportunity. Hajipy are we, if, out of a suspicion of their silence, we can as busily prepare for their resistance, as they do for our impugnation. As it is a shame to be beaten, so yet the shame is less by how much the victor is greater ; to mitigate the grief and indignation of Benhadad’s foil, his parasites ascribe it to gods, not to men; a human power could no more have vanquished him, than a divine power could by him be re¬ sisted : “ their gods are gods of the hdls.” Ignorant Syrians, that name gods and confine them, varying their deities according to situations: they saw that Samaria, whence they were repelled, stood upon the hill of She- mer; they saw the temple of Jerusalem stood upon mount Sion; they knew it usual with the Israelites to sacrifice in their high places, and perhaps they had heard of Elijah’s altar upon mount Carmel, and now they sottishly measiue the efFects of the power by the place of the wor¬ ship, as if he, that was omnipotent on the hill, was impotent in the val¬ ley. What doltish conceits doth blind paganism frame to itself of a god¬ head ! as they have many gods, so finite ; every region, every hill, every dale, every stream, hath their several gods, and each so knows his own bomids, that he dares not ofier to encroach upon the other; or, if he do, buys it with loss. Who would think that so gross blockishness should find har¬ bour in a reasonable soul! A man doth not alter with his station ; he that wrestled strongly upon the hill, loseth not his force in the plain; all places find him alike active, alike valorous ; yet these barbarous Aram¬ ites shame not to imagine that of God, which they would blush to affirm of their own champions. Superstition infatuates the heart out of mea¬ sure ; neither is there any fancy so absurd or monstrous, which credul¬ ous infidelity is not ready to entertain with applause. In how high scorn doth God take it, to be thus basely undervalued by rude heathens I This very misopinion concerning the God of Israel shall cost the Syrians a shameful and perfect destruction; they may call a council of war, and lay their heads together, and change their kings into captains, and the hills into valleys, but they shall find more graves in the plains than in the mountains. This very misprision of God shall make Ahab, though he were more lewd, victorious; an hundred thousand Syrians shall fall in one day by those few hands of Israel: and a dead wall in Aph- ek, to whose shelter they fled, shall revenge God upon the rest that remain¬ ed. The stones in the wall shall rather tiu-n executioners, than a blasphe¬ mous Aramite shall escape unrevenged ! So much doth the jealous God CONT. 1.] AHAB AND BENHADAD. 5 hate to be robbed of his glory, even by ignorant pagans, whose tongues might seem no slander. That proud head of Benhadad, that spoke such big words of the dust of Israel, and swore by his gods, that he would kill and conquer, is now glad to hide itself in a blind hole of Aphek ; and now, instead of questioning the power of the God of Israel, is glad to hear the mercy of the kings of Israel ; “ Behold now, we have heard that the kings of the house of Israel are merciful kings ; let us, I pray thee, put sackcloth on om’ loins, and ropes on our heads, and go out to the king of Israel, peradventm’e he will save thy life.” There can be.rio more powerful attractive of humble submission, than the intimation and conceit of mercy; we do at once fear and hate tlje inexorable. This is it, O Lord, that allures us to thy throne of grace, the knowledge of the grace of that throne: with thee is mercy and plenteous redemption : thine hand is open before our mouths, before our hearts. If we did not see thee smile upon suitors, we durst not press to thy footstool. Behold now, we know that the king of heaven, the God of Israel, is a merciful God; let us put sackcloth upon our loins, and strew ashes upon our heads, and go meet the Lord God of Israel, that he may save our souls. How well doth this habit become insolent and blasphemous Benhadad and his followers, a rope and sackcloth I a rope for a crown, sackcloth for a robe I Neither is there less change in the tongue, “ Thy servant Benhadad saith, I pray thee let me live even now the king of Israel said to Benhadad, “ My lord, O king, I am thine ; tell my lord the king, all that thou didst send for to thy servant, I will do now Ben¬ hadad sends to the king of Isx'ael, “ Thy servant Benhadad saith, I pray thee, let me live.” He that v/as erewhile a lord and king, is now a ser¬ vant ; and he that was a servant to the king of Syria, is now his lord : he that woxdd blow away all Israel in dust, is now glad to beg for his own life at the door of a despised enemy. No courage is so haughty, which the God of hosts cannot easily bring ixnder; what are men or de¬ vils in those Almighty hands ! The greater the dejection was, the stronger was the xnotive of com¬ miseration ; that halter pleaded for life, and that plea, but for a life, stirred the bowels for favour. How readily did Ahab see, in Benhadad’s sudden misery, the image of the instability of all human things, and re¬ lents at the view of so deep and passionate a subxnission ! Had not Benhadad said, •'* Thy servant,” Ahab had never said, “ My brother seldom ever was thex-e loss in humility. How much less can we fear disparagement in the annihilating of oux-selves befox*e that infinite Majes¬ ty 1 The drowning man snatches at every twig; it is no marvel if the messengers of Benhadad catch hastily at that last of gx’ace, and hold it fast, “ Thy brother Benhadad.” Favoux-s are wont to draw on each other; kindnesses breed on themselves; neither need we any other pex’- suasions to beneficence, than from our own acts. Ahab calls for the king of Syria, sets him in his own chax’iot, treats with him of an easy yet firm league, gives him both his life and his kingdom. Neither is the crown of Syi’ia sooner lost than recovex-ed ; only he, that caixie a fx'ee prince, retux-ns tributary; only his tx’ain is clipped too short for his wings ; a hundred and tw^enty-seven thousand Syrians ax-e abated of his guai’d homew'ard. Blasphemy hath escaped too w ell. Ahab hath G AHAB AND NABOTH. [^BOOK XIX. at once peace with Benhadad, war with God; God proclaims it by his herald, one of the sons of the prophets; not yet in his own form, but disguised, both in fashion and complaint: it was a strange suit of a pro¬ phet, “ Smite me, I pray thee many a prophet was smitten and would not, never any but this wished to be smitten. The rest of his fellows were glad to say, “ Save me this only says, “ Smite me.” His ho¬ nest neighbour, out of love and reverence, forbears to strike : there are too many, thinks he, that smite the prophets, though I refrain; what wrong hast thou done, that I should repay with blows ? Hadst thou sued for a favour, I could not have denied thee: now thou suest for thine hurt, the denial is a favour. Thus he thought, but charity cannot excuse disobedience. Had the man of God called for blows upon his own head, the refusal had been just and thankworthy ; but now that he says, “ In the word of the Lord, smite me,” this kindness is deadly: “ Because thou hast not obeyed the voice of the Lord, behold, as soon as thou art departed from me, a lion shall slay thee.” It is not for us to examine the charges of the Almighty ; be they never so harsh or im¬ probable, if they be once known for his, there is no way but obedience or death. Not to smite a prophet, when God commands, is no less sin than to smite a prophet when God forbids. It is the divine precept or prohibition that either makes or aggravates an evil: and if the Israelite be thus revenged that smote not a prophet, what shall become of Ahab that smote not Benhadad ! Every man is not thus indulgent; an easy request will gain blows to a prophet from the next hand, yea, and a wound in smiting. I know not whether it were an harder task for the prophet to require a wound, than for a well-meaning Israelite to give it; both must be done: the prophet hath what he would, what he must will, a sight of his own blood ; and now disguised herewith, and with ashes up¬ on his face, he waylays the king of Israel, and sadly complains of him¬ self in a real parable, for dismissing a Syrian prisoner delivered to his hands, upon no less charge than his life, and soon receives sentence of death from his own mouth ; well was that wound bestowed that struck Ahab’s soul through the flesh of the prophet: the disguise is removed, the king sees not a soldier but a seer; and now finds that he hath un¬ awares passed sentence upon himself. There needs no other doom than from the lips of the offender: “ Thus saith the Lord, Because thou hast let go out of thy hand a man whom I appointed to utter destruction, therefore thy life shall go for his life, and thy people for his people.” Had not Ahab known the will of God concerning Benhadad, that had been mercy to an enemy, which was now cruelty to himself, to Israel. His ears had heard of the blasphemies of that wicked tongue. His eyes had seen God go before him, in the example of that revenge. No prince can strike so deep into his state, as in not striking : in private favour there may be public unmercifulness. CONTEMPLATION II.—AHAB AND NABOTH. Naboth had a fair vineyard ; it had been better for him to have bad none ; his vineyard yielded him the bitter grapes of death. Many a CONT. II.] AHAI3 AND NABOTH. 7 one hath been sold to death by his lands and goods ; wealth hath been a snare, as to the soul, so to the life: why do we call those goods, which are many times the bane of the owner ? Naboth’s vineyard lay near to the court of Jezebel; it had been better for him it had been planted in the wilderness. Doubtless this vicinity made it more commodious to the possessor, but more envious and unsafe. It was now the perpetual object of an evil eye, and stirred those desires which could neither be well denied, nor satisfied : eminency is still joined with peril, obscurity with peace. There can be no worse annoyance to an inheritance, than the greatness of an evil neighbourhood. Naboth’s vines stood too near the smoke of Jezebel’s chimneys, too much within the prospect of Ahab’s window. Now, lately, had the king of Israel been twice victorious over the Syrians ; no sooner is he returned home, than he is overcome with evil desires ; the foil he gave was not worse than that he took. There is more true glory in the conquest of our lusts, than in all bloody tro¬ phies. In vain shall Ahab boast of subduing a foreign enemy, while he is subdued by a domestic enemy within his own breast; opportunity and convenience is guilty of many a theft. Had not this ground lain so fair, Ahab had not been tempted; his eye lets in this evil guest into the soul, which now dares come forth at the mouth: “ Give me thy vineyard, that I may have it for a garden of herbs, because it is near to my house, and I will give thee a better vineyard for it; or, if it seem good to thee, I will give thee the worth of it in money.” Yet had Ahab so much civility and justice, that he would not wring Naboth’s patrimony out of his hands by force, but requires it upon a fair composition, wheth¬ er of price, or of exchange. His government was vicious, not tyranni¬ cal : propriety of goods was inviolably maintained by him : no less was Naboth allowed to claim a right in his vineyard, than Ahab in his pa¬ lace. This we owe to lawful sovereignty to call ought our own; and well worthy is this privilege to be repaid with all humble and loyal re¬ spects. The motion of Ahab, had it been to any other than an Israelite, had been as just, equal, reasonable, as the repulse had been rude, chur¬ lish, inhumane. It is fit that princes should receive due satisfaction in the just demands, not only of their necessities, but convenience and pleasure; well may they challenge this retribution to the benefit of our common peace and protection. If there be any sweetness in our vineyards, any strength in our fields, we may thank their sceptres ; justly may they expect from us the commodity, the delight of their ha¬ bitation ; and if we gladly yield not to their full elbow-room, both of their site and provision, we can be no other than ungrateful. Yet dares not Naboth give any other answer to so plausible a motion, than, “ The Lord forbid it me, that I should give thee the inheritance of my fathers.” The honest Israelite saw violence in this ingenuity : there are no stronger commands than the requests of the great. It is well that Ahab will not wrest away this patrimony, it is not well that he desired it; the land was not so much stood upon as the law. One earth might be as good as another, and money equivalent to either; the Lord had forbidden to alien their inheritance. Naboth doth not fear loss, but sin ; what Na¬ both might not lawfully do, Ahab might not lawfully require : it pleased God to be very punctual and cautelous, both in the distinction and pre- 8 AHAB AND NABOTH. [book XIX. servation of the entireness of these Jewish inheritances. Nothing but extreme necessity might warrant a sale of land, and that but for a time; if not sooner, yet, at the jubilee, it must revert to the first owner. It Avas not without a comfortable signification, that whosoever had once his part in the land of promise, could never lose it. Certainly Ahab could not but know this divine restriction, yet doubts not to say, “ Give me thy vineyard.” The unconscionable will know no other law, but their profit, their pleasure. A lawless greatness hates all limitations, and abides not to hear men should need any other wari’ant but will. Naboth dares not be thus tractable. How gladly would he be quit of his inheritance, if God would acquit him from the sin I not out of wilfulness, but obedience, doth this faithful Israelite hold off from this demand of his sovereign, not daring to please an earthly king, with of¬ fending the heavenly. When princes command lawful things, God com¬ mands by them ; when unlawful, they command against God: passive obedience we must give, active we may not; we follow them as subor¬ dinate, not as opposite to the Highest. Who cannot but see and pity the straits of honest Naboth ? Ahab re¬ quires what God forbids; he must fall out either with his God or his king. Conscience carries him against policy, and he resolved not to sin, that he might be gracious : for a world he may not give his vineyard. Those who are themselves godless, think the holy care of others but idly scrupulous. The king of Israel could not choose but see, that only God’s prohibition lay in the way of his designs, not the stomach of a froward subject ; yet he goes away into his house heavy and displeased, and casts himself down upon his bed, turns away his face, and refuses his meat; he hath taken a surfeit of Naboth’s grapes, which mars his appetite, and threats his life. How ill can great hearts endure to be crossed, though upon the most reasonable and just grounds. Ahab’s place called him to the guardianship of God’s law; and now his heart is ready to bi-eak, that this parcel of that law may not be broken. No marvel if he made not dainty to transgress a local statute of God, who did so shamefully violate the eternal law of both tables. I know not whether the spleen or the gall of Ahab be more affected ; whether more of anger or grief, I cannot say ; but sick he is, and keeps his bed, and baulks his meat, as if lie should die of no other death, than the salads that he would have had. O the impotent passion, and insatiable desires of covetousness ! Ahab is lord and king of all the territories of Israel. Naboth is the owner of one poor vineyard ; Ahab cannot enjoy Israel, if Naboth enjoy his vineyard. Besides Samaria, Ahab was the great lord paramount of Damascus and all Syria, the victor of him that was attended with two and thirty kings. Naboth Avas a plain toAvnsman of Jezreel, the good husband of a little vineyard. Whether is the weal¬ thier? I do not hear Naboth Avish for any thing of Ahab’s; I hear Ahab Avishing, not Avithout indignation of a repulse, for somewhat from Nabotli. Riches and poverty is no more in the heart than in the hand; he is Avealthy that is contented : he is poor that Avanteth more. O rich Naboth, that carest not for all the large possessions of Ahab, so thou mayest be the lord of thine own vineyard ! O miserable Ahab, that carest not for tliii:e OAvn possessions, Avhile thou mayest not be the lord of Naboth’s vineyard ! CONT. 11.3 AHAB AND NABOTH. 9 He that caused the disease sends him a physician. Satan knew of old how to make use of such helpers. Jezebel comes to Allah’s bedside, and casts cold water in his face, and puts into him spirits of her own extracting; “ Dost thou now govern the kingdom of Israel ? Arise, eat bread, and let thine heart be merry, I will give thee the vineyard of Naboth.” Ahab wanted neither wit nor wickedness ; yet is he in both a very novice to this Sidonian dame. There needs no other devil than Jezebel, wliether to project evil, or to work it. She chides the pusil¬ lanimity of her dejected husband, and persuades him his rule cannot be free, unless it be licentious ; that there should be no bounds for sove¬ reignty, but will. Already hath she contrived to have by fraud and force, wliat was denied to entreaty. Nothing needs but the name, but the seal, of Ahab ; let her alone Avith the rest. How present are the Avits of the Aveaker sex for the devising of wickedness ! she frames a letter in Ahab’s name to the senators of Jezreel, wherein she requires them to proclaim a fast, to suborn two false Avitnesses against Naboth, to charge him Avith blasphemy against God and the king, to stone him to death; a ready payment for a rich vineyard. Whose indignation riseth not, to hear Jezebel name a fast! The great contemners of the most important laws of God, yet can be content to make use of some divine, both statutes and customs, for their own advantage. She kneAV the Israelites had so much remainder of grace, as to hold blasphemy Avorthy of death : she knew their manner was to expiate those ciying sins Avith public Ivumilia- tion ; she knew that tAVO witnesses at least must cast the offender; all these she urges to her own purpose. There is no mischief so devilish, as that Avhich is cloaked Avith piety. Simulation of holiness doubleth a villany. This murder had not been half so foul, if it had not been thus mask¬ ed Avith a religious observation. Besides devotion, what a fair pretence of legality is here ! blasphemy against God and his anointed may not pass unrevenged. The offender is convented before the sad and severe bench of magistracy ; the justice of Israel allows not to condemn an absent, an unheard, malefactor. Witnesses come forth and agree in the intentation of the crime ; the judges rend their garments, and strike their breasts as grieved, not more for the sin than the punishment: their very coun¬ tenance must say, Naboth should not die if his offence did not force our justice; and now he is no good subject, no true Israelite, that hath not a stone for Naboth. Jezebel knew Avell to whom she wrote. Had not those letters fallen upon the times of a Avoeful degeneration of Israel, they had received no less strong denials from the elders, than Ahab had from Naboth. “God forbid, that the senate of Jezreel should forge a perjury, belie truth, condemn innocency, brook corruption.” Command just things, we are ready to die in the zeal of our obedience, aa'c dare not imbrue our hands in the blood of an innocent. But she knew Avhom she had engaged, whom she had marred, by making conscious. It were strange if they, AAdio can countenance evil Avith greatness, should Avant factors for the unjustest designs. Miserable is that people whose rulers, instead of punishing, plot and encourage Avickedness ; when a distillation of evil falls from the head, upon the lungs of any state, there must needs folloAV a deadly consumption. II. B 10 AHAB AND NABOTH. [book XIX. Yet perhaps there wanted not some colom* of pretence for this pro¬ ceeding’ ; they could not but hear, that some words had passed betwixt the king and Naboth: haply it was suggested, that Naboth had secretly overlashed into saucy and contemptuous terms to his sovereign, such as neither might be well borne, nor yet, by reason of their privacy, legally convinced. The bench of Jezreel should but supply a form to the just matter and desert of condemnation ; what was it for them to give their hand to this obscm’e midwifery of justice ? it is enough that their king is an accuser and witness of that wrong which only their sentence can formally revenge. All this cannot wash their hands from the guilt of blood ; if justice be blind, in respect of partiality, she may not be blind in respect of the grounds of execution. Had Naboth been a blasphemer, or a traitor, yet these men were no better than miu-derers. What dif¬ ference is there betwixt the stroke of magistracy, and of man-slaughter, but due conviction? Wickedness never spake out of a throne, and complained of the defect of instruments. Naboth was, it seems, strictly conscionable, his fellowcitizens loose and lawless ; they are glad to have gotten such an opportunity of des¬ patch. No clause of Ahab’s letter is not observed : a fast is warned, the city is assembled, Naboth is convented, accused, confronted, sentenced, stoned. His vineyard is escheated to the crown ; Ahab takes speedy and quiet possession. How still doth God sit in heaven, and look upon the complots of treachery and villanies, as if they did not concern him I The success so answers their desires, as if both heaven and earth were their friends. It is the plague, which seems the felicity of sinners, to speed w^ell in their lewd enterprises ; reckoning is brought in the midst of the meal, the end pays for all. While Ahab is rejoicing in his new garden-plot, and promising himself contentment in this commodious enlargement, in comes Elijah, sent from God, with an errand of vengeance. Methinks I see how the king’s countenance changed, with what aghast eyes and pale cheeks he looked upon that unwelcome pi’ophet. Little pleasure took he in his prospect while it was clogged with such aguest; yet his tongue begins first, “ Hast thou found me, O mine enemy ?” Great is the power of consci¬ ence. Upon the last meeting, for ought we know, Ahab and Elijah parted friends. The prophet had lackeyed his coach, and took a peace¬ able leave at this town’s end; now Ahab’s heart told him (neither need¬ ed any other messenger) that God and his prophet were fallen out with him : his continuing idolatry, now seconded with blood, bids him look for nothing but frowns from heaven. A guilty heart can never be at peace. Had not Ahab known how ill he had deserved of God, he had never saluted his prophet by the name of an enemy ; he had never been troub¬ led to be found by Elijah, if his own breast had not found him out for an enemy to God. Much good may thy vineyard do thee, O thou king of Israel; many fair flowers, and savoury herbs, may thy new garden yield thee ; please thyself with thy Jezebel, in the triumph over the carcass of a scrupulous subject; let me rather die with Naboth, than rejoice with thee : his turn is over, thine is to come. The stones that overwdielmed innocent Naboth, were nothing to those that smite thee : “ Hast thou killed, and also taken possession ? Thus saith the Lord, In the place where dogs licked the blood of Naboth, shall dogs lick thy blood, even CONT. 11.3 AHAB AND NABOTH. 11 thine." What meanest thou, O Elijah to charge, this mm’der upon Ahab ? he kept his chamber, Jezebel wrote, the elders condemned, the people stoned; yet thou sayest, “Hast thou killed?" Well did Ahab know, that Jezebel could not give this vineyard with dry hands; yet Avas he content to wink at what she would do : he but sits still while Jezebel works, only his signet is suffered to Avalk for the sealing of this unknown pm’chase. Those that are trusted with authority, may offend no less iu connivancy or neglect, than others in act, in participation ; not only command, consent, countenance, but very permission feoffs pub¬ lic persons in those sins which they might and will not prevent. God loves to punish by retaliation; Naboth and Ahab shall both bleed ; Na¬ both by the stones of the Jezreelites, Ahab by the shafts of the Aramites; the dogs shall taste of the blood of both. What Ahab hath done in cruelty, he shall suffer in justice; the case and the end make the differ¬ ence happy on Naboth’s side, on Ahab’s woeful; Naboth bleeds as a martyr, Ahab as a murderer. Whatever is Ahab’s condition, Naboth changes a vineyard on earth, for a kingdom in heaven. Never any wick- ked man gained by the persecution of an innocent; never any innocent man was a loser by suffering from the wicked. Neither Avas this judgment personal but liereditary; “ I will take away thy posterity, and Avill make thine house like the house of Jero¬ boam." Him that dieth of Ahab in the city, “ the dogs shall eat;’’ and him that dieth in the field, “ shall the foAvls of the air eat.” Ahab shall not need to take thought for the traducing of this ill-gotten inheritance; God hath taken order for his heirs Avhom his sin hath made no less the heii’s of his cm’se, than of his body. Their father’s cruelty to Naboth, hath made them, together Avith their mother Jezebel, dog’s meat. The revenge of God doth at last make amends for the delay. Whether noAV is Naboth’s vineyard paid for? The man that had sold himself to work wickedness, yet rues the bar¬ gain. I do not hear Ahab, as bad as he Avas, revile or threaten the pro¬ phet, but he rends his clothes, and wears and lies in sackcloth, and fasts, and walks softly. WJio that had seen Ahab would not have deemed him a true penitent ? AU this was the vizard of sorroAV, not the face; or if the face, not the heart; or if the sorrow of the heart, yet not the repentance; a sorrow for the judgment, not a repentance for the sin. The very devils howl to be tormented. Grief is not ever a sign of grace. Ahab rends his clothes, he did not rend his heart; he puts on sackcloth, not ammendment; he lies in sackcloth, but he lies in his idolatry ; he Avalks softly, he AA^alks not sincerely. Worldly sorroAv causeth death ; happy is that grief for which the soul is the holier. Yet what is this I see? tliis very shadow of penitence carries away mercy. It is no small mercy to defer an evil; even Ahab’s humiliation shall prorogue the judgment; such as the penitence was, such shall be the reAvard ; a temporary reward of a temporary penitence. As Ahab might be thus sorrowful, and never the better; so he may be thus fa- vom’ed, and never the happier. O God, hoAV graciously art thou ready to reward a sound and holy repentance, Avho art thus indulgent to a carnal and servile dejection. 12 AHAB AND MICAIAH. [book XIX. CONTE.\U’LATION III.—AHAB AND MICAIAH- OR, THE DEATH OF AHAB- Wiio would have looked to have heard any more of the wars of the Syrians with Israel, after so great a slaughter, after so firm a league; a league not of peace only, but of brotherhood ; the halters, the sackcloth of Benhadad’s followers were worn out, as of use, so of memory, and now they are changed for iron and steel. It is but three years that this peace lasts ; and now that war begins which shall make an end of Ahab. d'he king of Israel rues his unjust mercy ; according to the word of the prophet, that gift of a life was but an exchange ; because Ahab gave Benhadad his life, Benhadad shall take Ahab’s ; he must forfeit in him¬ self what he hath given to another. There can be no better fruit of too much kindness to infidels. It was one article of the league betwixt Ahab and his brother Benhadad, that their shovdd be a speedy restitu¬ tion of all the Israelitish cities ; the rest are yielded, only Ramoth-Gilead is held back, unthanlifully, injuriously. He that begged but his life, re¬ ceives his kingdom, and now rests not content Avith his own bounds. Justly doth Ahab challenge his own, justly doth he move a war to re¬ cover his own from a perfidious tributary : the lawfidness of actions may not be judged by the events, but by the grounds. The wise and holy Arbiter of the world knows why, many times, the better cause hath the worst success. Many a just business is crossed, for a punishment to the agent. Yet Israel and Judah were now pierced in friendship. Jehoshaphat, the good king of Judah, had made affinity with Ahab, the idolatrous king of Israel; and besides a personal visitation, joins his forces with his new kinsman, against an old confederate. Judah had called in Syria against Israel; and now Israel calls in Judah against Syria: thus rather should it be; it is fit that the more pure chiu-ch should join with the more corrupt, against a common paganish enemy. Jehoshaphat hath matched with Ahab ; not with a divorce of his devotion. He will fight, not without God; “ Inquu-e, I pray thee, at the word of the Lord to-day.” Had he done thus sooner, I fear, Atha- liah had never called him father : this motion was news in Israel. It was wont to be said. Inquire of Baal. The good king of Judah will bring religion into fashion in the court of Israel. Ahab had inquired of his counsellor ; what needed he be so devout, as to inquire of his prophets ? Only Jehoshaphat’s presence made him thus godly. It is an happy thing to converse with the virtuous; their counsel and example cannot but leave some tincture behind them of a good profession, if not of piety. Those that are tridy religious dare not but take God Avith them in all their affairs ; Avith him they can be as valiant, as timorous Avithout him. Ahab had clergy enough, such as it Avas; four hundred propliets of the groves Avere reserved from appearing to Elijah’s cliallenge : these are now consulted by Ahab ; they live to betray the life of him who saved theirs. These care not so much to inquire about what God Avoidd say, as what Ahab would have them say ; tliey saAV Avhich vv'ay the king’s heart Avas bent, that way they bent their tongues ; “ Go up, for the Lord CONT. III.3 AHAB AND MICAIAH. 13 shall deliver it into the hands of the king,” False prophets care only to please; a plausible falsehood passes with them above a harsh truth. Had they seen Aliah fearful, they had said, “ Peace, peace now they see him resolute. War and victory. It is a feai-fid presage of ruin, when the prophets conspire in assentation. Their number consent; confidence hath easily won credit with Ahab; we do all Avillingly believe what we Avish. Jehoshaphat is not so soon sa¬ tisfied ; these prophets were, it is like, obtruded to him (a stranger) for the true prophets of the true God. The judicious king sees cause to sus¬ pect them, and now, perceiving at Avhat altars they served, hates to rest in their testimony; “ Is there not here a prophet of the Lord besides, that we might inquire of him ?” One single prophet, speaking from the oracles of God, is more worth than four hundred Baalites: truth may not ever be measul’ed by the poll. It is not number, but Aveight, that must carry it in a council of prophets. A solid verity in one mouth is worthy to preponderate light falsehood in a thousand. Even king Ahab, as bad as he was, kept tale of his prophets, and coidd give account of one that Avas missing;—“ There is yet one man, Micaiah, the son of Imlah, by whom they may inquire of the Lord; but I hate him, for he doth not prophesy good concerning me, but evil.” It is very probable, that Micaiah was that disguised prophet, Avho brought to Ahab the fearful message of displeasime and death, for dismissing Benhadad, for Avhich he was ever since fast in prison, deep in disgrace. O corrupt heart of self-condemned Ahab ! If Alicaiah spake true to thee, hoAV was it evil? If others said false, Iioav Avas it good ? And if Micaiah spake from the Lord, why dost thou hate him ? This hath Avont to be the ancient lot of truth, censure and hatred; censure of the message, hatred of the bearer. To carnal ears the message is evil, if unpleasing ; and, if plausible, good ; if it be SAveet, it cannot be poison ; if bitter, it cannot be wholesome. The distemper of the receiver is guilty of this misconceit: in itself every truth as it is good, so amiable ; every falsehood, loathsome, as evil. A sick palate cries out of the taste of those liquors Avhich are well alloAved of the healthful. It is a sign of a good state of the soul, when every ver¬ dure can I’eceive his proper judgment. Wise and good Jehoshaphat dissuades Ahab from so hard an opinion, and sees cause so much more to urge the considtation of Micaiah, by Iioav much he finds him more unpleasing. The king of Israel, to satisfy the importunity of so great and dear an ally, sends an officer for Micaiah; he knew well, belike, where to find him; Avithin those four walls, AA'here un¬ just cruelty had disposed of that innocent seer ; out of the obscurity of the prison, is the poor prophet fetched in the light of so glorious a confes¬ sion of tAvo kings, Avho thought this convocation of pi'ophets not unAvorthy of their greatest representation of state and majesty: there he finds Zede- kiah, the leader of that false crew, not speaking only, but acting his pre¬ diction. Signs were no less used by the prophets than Avords; this arch flatterer hath made him horns of iron; the horn is forcible, the iron irre¬ sistible ; by an irresistible force shall Ahab push the Syrians, as if there were more certainty in this man’s hands, than in his tongue. If this son of Chenaanali had not bad a forehead of brass for impudency, and a heart of lead for flexibleness to humours and times, he had never devis- 14 . ARAB AND MICAIAII. [book XIX. ed these horns of iron Avherewith his king was gored unto blood. How¬ ever it is enough for him that he is believed, that he is seconded. All this great inquest of these pro^ohets gave up their verdict to this fore¬ man ; not one of four hundred dissented. Unanimity of opinion in tlxe greatest ecclesiastical assemblies, is not ever an argument of truth; there may be as common, and as firm agreement in error. The messenger that came from Micaiah, like a carnal friend, sets him in a way of favour; tells him what the rest had said, how they pleased; how unsafe it would be for him to vary, how beneficial to assent. Those that adore eartldy greatness think every man should doat upon their idols, and hold no terms too high for their ambitious purchases. Faith¬ ful Micaiah scorns the motion; he knows the price of the word, and contemns it; “ As the Lord liveth, what the Lord saith unto me, that will I speak.” Neither fears, nor favours, can tempt the holily resolute; they can trample upon dangers or honom’s with a careless foot; and, whether they be smiled or frowned on by the great, dare not either al¬ ter or conceal their errand. The question is moved to Micaiah : he at first yields, then he contradicts; yields in words, contradicts in pronunciation; the syllables are for them, the sound against them : ironies deny strongest in affirming. And now, being pressed home, he tells them, that God had showed him those sheep of Israel should, ere long, by this means, want their shepherd. The very resemblance, to a good prince, had been effective : the sheep is a helpless creature, not able either to guard or guide itself; all the safety, all the direction of it, is fi-om the keeper, without whom every cur chases and worries it, every track seduceth it; such shall Israel soon be, if Ahab be ruled by his prophets. The king of Israel doth not believe, but quarrel; not at himself, who had deserved evil, but at the prophet, who foresignified it; and is more careful that the king of Judah shoidd mark how true he had foretold concerning the prophet, than how the prophet had foretold concerning him. Bold Micaiah, as no whit discouraged with the unjust checks of great¬ ness, doubles his prediction, and, by a second vision, particidarizeth the means of this dangerous error. While the two kings sat majestically on their thrones, he tells them of a more glorious throne than theirs, whereon he saw the King of gods sitting ; while they were compassed with some hundreds of prophets, and thousands of subjects and soldiers, he tells them of all the host of heaven, attending that other throne ; while they were deliberating of a war, he tells them of a God of heaven justly de¬ creeing the judgment of a deadly deception to Ahab. The decree of the Highest is not more plainly revealed, than expressed parabolically. The wise and holy God is represented, after the manner of men consult¬ ing of that ruin which he intended to the wicked king of Israel. That uncreated, and infinite Wisdom needs not the advice of any finite and created powers to direct him, needs not the assent nor aid of any spii’it for his execution, much less of an evil one ; yet, here an evil spirit is brought in, by way of vision mixt with parable, proffering the service of his lie, accepted, employed, successful. These figures are not void of truth: the action and event is reduced to a decree ; the decree is sha¬ dowed out by the resemblance of human proceedings. All evil motions CONT. III.] AHAB AND MICAIAH. 15 and counsels, are originally from that maligant spirit; that evil spirit could have no power over men, but by the permission, by the decree of the Almighty. That Almighty, as he is no author of sin, so he ordains all evil to good: it is good that is just; it is just that one sin should be punished by another: Satan is herein no other than the executioner of that God, who is as far from infusing evil, as from not revenging it. Now Ahab sees the ground of that applauded consent of his rabble of prophets ; one evil spirit hath no less deceived them, than they their master: he is one, therefore he agrees Muth himself; he is evil, there¬ fore both he and they agree in deceit. O ! the noble and undaunted spirit of Micaiah ; neither the thrones of the kings, nor the number of the prophets could abate one word of his true, though displeasing message : the king of Israel shall lieai-, that he is misled by liars, they by a devil. Surely, Jehoshaphat cannot but wonder at so unequal a contention, to .see one silly prophet affronting four hundred; with whom, lest confidence should carry it, behold Zede- kiah, more bold, more zealous: if Micaiah have given him, with his fel¬ lows, the lie, he gives Micaiah the fist. Before these two great guar¬ dians of peace and justice, swaggering Zedekiah smites Micaiah on the face ; and with the blow expostulates; “ Which way went the Spirit of the Lord, from me, to speak unto thee ?” For a prophet to smite a prophet, in the face of two kings, Avas intolerably insolent; the act was much unbeseeming the person, more the presence; prophets may re¬ prove, they may not strike. It was enough for Ahab to punish with the hand ; no weapon was for Zedekiah, but his tongue ; neither could this rude presumption have been Avell taken, if malice had not made magis¬ tracy insensible of this usurpation. Ahab was well content to see that hated mouth beaten by any hand. It is no new condition of God’s faith¬ ful messengers to smart for saying truth. Falsehood doth not more be¬ wray itself in any thing than in blows; truth suffers, while error perse¬ cutes. None are more ready to boast of the Spirit of God, than those that have the least; as in vessels, the full are silent. Innocent Micaiah neither defends nor complains : it would have AA'ell beseemed the religious king of Judah to have spoken in the cause of the dumb, to have checked insolent Zedekiah. He is content to give way to this tide of peremptory and general opposition : the helpless prophet stands alone, yet lays about him with his tongue ; “ Behold, thou shalt see, in that day Avhen thou shalt go into an inner chamber to hide thy¬ self.” Now the proud Baalite showed himself too much, ere long he shall be glad to lurk unseen ; his horns of iron cannot bear off his dan¬ ger. The son of Ahab cannot choose, but, in the zeal of revenging his father’s deadly seducement, call for that false head of Zedekiah; in vain shall that impostor seek to hide himself from justice ; but, in the mean • while, he goes away with honour, Micaiah with censure : “ Take Micaiah, and carry him back to Ammon, the governor of the city, and to Joash the king’s son : and say. Thus saith the king, put this fellow in prison, and feed him Avith bread of affliction, and Avith water of aflliction, until I come in peace.” An hard doom of truth: the jail for his lodging, coarse bread and Avater for his food, shall but reserve Micaiah for a further revenge: the 16 AHAB AND MICAIAH. [book XIX. return ot Aliab shall be the bane of the prophet. Was not this he that advised Benhadad not to boast in the putting on his armour, as in the ungirding it; and doth he now promise himself peace and victory, be¬ fore he buckle it on ? No warning will dissuade the wilful; so assured doth Ahab make himself of success, that he threatens ere he go, what he will do when he returns in peace. How justly doth God deride the raisreckonings of proud and foolish men ! if Ahab had no other sins, his very confidence shall defeat him, yet the prophet cannot be overcome in his resolution ; he knows his grounds cannot deceive him, and dares therefore cast the credit of his function upon this issue: “ If thou re¬ turn at all in peace, the Lord hath not spoken by meand he said, “ Hearken, O people, every one of you.” Let him never be called a prophet that dare not trust his God. This was no adventure therefore of reputation or life ; since he knew whom he believed, the event was no less sure than if it had been past. He is no god that is not constant to himself: hath he spoken, and shall he not perform ? what hold have we for our souls, but his eternal word ? The being of God is not more sure than his promises, than his sentences of judgment. Well may we appeal to the testimony of the world in both : if there be not plagues for the wicked, if there be not rewards for the righteous, God hath not spoken by us. Not Ahab only, but good Jehoshaphat, is carried with the multitude; their forces are joined against Ramoth. The king of Israel doth not so trust his prophets, that he dares trust himself in his own clothes ; thus shall he elude Micaiah’s threat; I wish the judgment of God, the Syrian shafts, cannot find him out in this unsuspected disguise. How fondly do vain men imagine to shift off the just revenges of the Almighty I The king of Syria gives charge to his captains to fight against none but the king of Israel. Thus doth the unthankful infidel repay the mercy of his late victor ; ill was the snake saved, that requites the favour of his life with a sting: thus still the greatest are the fairest mark to envious eyes. By how much more eminent any man is in the Israel of God, so many more and more dangerous enemies must he expect; both earth and hell conspire in their opposition to the worthiest. Those, who are advanced above others, have so much more need of the guard both of their own vigilancy, and other’s prayers. Jehoshaphat had like to have paid dear for his love : he is pursued for him, in whose amity he offended; his cries deliver him, his cries, not to his pursuers, but to his God ; whose mercy takes not advantage of our infirmity, but rescues us from those evils which we wilfully provoke. It is Ahab, against whom, not the Syrians only, but God himself, intends this quarrel: the enemy is taken off from Jehoshaphat. O the just and mighty hand of that divine Providence, which directeth all our actions to his own ends, udiich takes order where every shaft shall light, and guides the arrow of the strong archer into the joints of Ahab’s harness I it was shot at a venture, falls by a destiny; and there falls, where it may carry death to a hidden debtor. In all actions, both voluntary and casual, thy will, O God, shall be done by us, with whatever intentions. Little did the Syrian know whom he had stricken, no more than the arrow wherewith he struck : an invisible hand disposeth of both, to the punishment of Ahab to the vindication of Micaiah. How worthily, O God, art thou CONT. IV.] AHAZIAH SICK. 17 to be adored in tby justice and wisdom, to be feared in tby judgments ! Too late doth Abab now think of the fair warnings of Micaiah, which he unwisely contemned ; of the painful flatteries of Zedekiah, which he stubbornly believed ; that guilty blood of his runs down, out of his wound, into the midst of his chariot, and pays Naboth his arrearages. O Ahab, what art thou the better for thine ivory house, while thou hast a black soul I what comfort hast thou now in those flattering prophets, which tickled thine ears, and secured thee of victories I what joy is it to thee now, that thou wast great ! Who had not I’ather be a Micaiah in the jail, than Ahab in the chariot ? Wicked men have the advantage of the way, godly men of the end. The chariot is washed in the pool of Samaria, the dogs come to claim their due; they lick up the blood of the great king of Israel. The tongues of those brute creatures shall make good the tongue of God’s prophet: Micaiah is justified, Naboth is revenged, the Baalites confounded, Ahab judged. “ Righteous art thou, O God, in all thy ways, and holy in all thy works ! CONTEMPLATION IV.—AHAZIAH SICK, AND ELIJAH REVENGED. Ahaziah succeeded his father Ahab, both in his throne and in his sin. Who could look for better issue of those loins, of those examples ? God follows him with a double judgment, of the revolt of Moab, and of his own sickness. All the reign of Ahab, had Moab been a quiet tributary, and furnished Israel with rich flocks and fleeces ; now their subjection dies with that warlike king, and will not be inherited. This rebellion took advantage, as from the weaker spirits, so from the sickly body of Ahaziah, whose disease w^as not natural, but casual: walking in his palace of Samaria, some grate in the floor of his chamber breaks under him, and gives way to that fall, whereby he is bruised, and lan- guisheth. The same hand that guided Ahab’s shaft, cracks Ahaziah’s lattice. How infinite variety of plagues hath the just God for obstinate sinners ! whether in the field or in the chamber, he knows to find them out. How fearlessly did Ahaz*iah walk on his wonted pavement! The Lord hath laid a trap for him, whereinto, while he thinks least, he falls irrecoverably. No place is safe for the man that is at variance with God. The body of Ahaziah was not more sick, than his soul was graceless : none but chance was his enemy, none but the god of Ekron must be his friend. He looks not up to the omnipotent hand of Divine Justice for the disease, or of mercy for the remedy ; an idol is his refuge, whether for cure or intelligence. We hear not till now of Baal-zebub : this new god of flies is, perhaps, of his making, who now is a suiter to his own erection. All these heathen deities were but a devil, with change of appellations ; the influence of that evil spii-it deluded those miserable clients; else, there was no fly so impotent as that outside of the god of Ekron. Who would think that any Israelite could so far doat upon a stock or a fiend ? Time gathered much credit to this idol: insomuch as the Jews afterwards styled Beel-zebub the prince of all the regions of darkness. Ahaziah is the first that brings his oracle in request, and IT. c 18 ELIJAH REVENGED. [r.ooK XI.V. pays liim the tribute of his devotion : lie sends messengers, and says, “Go, inquire of Baal-zebub, tlie god of Ekron, whether 1 shall recover of this disease.” The message was either idle or wicked ; idle, if he sent it to a stock ; if to a devil, both idle and wicked. What can the most intelligent spirits know of future things, but what they see either in their causes, or in the light of participation? What a madness was it in Ahaziah to seek to the postern, while the fore gate stood open ! Could those evil spirits truly foretell events no way pre-existent, yet they might not without sin, he consulted; the evil of their nature de¬ bars all the benefits of their information: if not as intelligencers, much less may they be sought to as gods. Who cannot blush to hear and see that even the very evangelical Israel should yield pilgrims to the shrines of darkness ! How many, after this clear light of the gospel, in their losses, in their sicknesses, send to these infernal oracles, and damn themselves wilfully in a vain curiosity I The message of the jealous God intercepts them with a just disdain, as here by Elijah; “ Is it not because there is not a God in Israel, that ye go to inquire of fiaal-ze- bub, the god of Ekron.” What can be a greater disparagement to the true God than to be neglected, than to stand aside, and see us make love to a hellish rival! were there no God in Israel, in heaven, what could we do other, wdiat worse ! This affront, of wdiatever kind, Aha¬ ziah cannot escape without a revenge : “ Therefore, thus saith the Loi'd, thou shalt not come down from that bed on wdiich then are gone up, but shalt surely die.” It is a high indignity to the true God, not to be sought to in our necessities ; but so to be cashiered from our devotions, as to have a false god thrust In his room, is such a scorn, as it is well if it can escape with one death; let now the famous god of Ekron take off that brand of feared mortality which the living God hath set upon Aha¬ ziah ; let Baal-zebub make good some better new’S to his distressed sup¬ plicant : rather the king of Israel is himself, without his repentance, liasting to Beel-zebub. This errand is soon done : the messengers are returned ere they go. Not a little were they amazed to hear their se¬ cret message from another’s mouth ; neither could choose but think, he that can tell what Ahaziah said, what he thought, can foretell how he shall speed. We have met with a greater God than we went to seek ; wdiat need we inquire for another answer? With this conceit, with this report, they return to their sick lord, and astonish him with so short, so sad a relation. No marvel, if the king inquired curiously of the habit and fashion of the man that could know this, that durst say this. They describe him a man whether of a hairy skin, or of rough, coarse, care¬ less attire; thus drest, thus girded. Ahaziah readily apprehends it to be Elijah, the old friend of his father Ahab, of his mother Jezebel : more than once had he seen him, an unwelcome guest, in the court of Israel. The times had been such, that the prophet could not at once speak true, and please: nothing but reproofs and menaces sounded from the mouth of Elijah: Micaiah and he were still as welcome to the eyes of that guilty prince, as the Syrian arrow was into his flesh. Too well therefore had Ahaziah noted that querulous seer, and now is not a little troubled to see himself in succession, haunted with that bold and ill- boding spirit. COST. IV.] ELIJAH REVENGED. 19 Heliold the true son of Jezebel; the anguish of his disease, tlie expec¬ tation of death, cannot take off his persecution of Elijah : it is against his will that his death-bed is not bloody. Had Ahaziah meant any other than a cruel violence to Elijah, he had sent a peaceable messenger to call him to the court; he had not sent a captain, with a band of soldiers, to fetch him ; the instruments which he useth carry revenge in their face ; if he had not thought Elijah more than a man, what needed a band of fifty men to apprehend one ? and if he did think him such, why would he send to apprehend him by fifty ? Surely Ahaziah knew of old, how miracidous a prophet Elijah was ; what power that man had over all their base deities, Avhat command of the elements, of the heavens ; and yet he sends to attack him. It is a strange thing to see how wilfully godless men strive against the stream of their own hearts, hating that which they know good, fighting against that which they know divine. What a gross disagreement is in the message of this Israelitish captain ! “ Thou man of God, the king hath said, come downif he were a man of God, how hath he offended ? and if he hath justly offended the anoint¬ ed of God, how is he a man of God ? and if he be a man of God, and have not offended, why should he come down to punishment ? Here is a kind confession, with a false heart, with bloody hands: the world is full of these windy courtesies, real cruelties. Deadly malice lurks under fair compliments, and, while it flatters, killeth. The prophet hides not himself from the pursuit of Ahaziah : rather he sits where he may be most conspicuous, on the top of a hill: this band knows well where to find him, and climbs up, in the sight of Elijah, for his arrest. The steep¬ ness of the ascent, when they drew near to the highest reach, yielded a convenience both of respiration and parley : thence doth the captain im¬ periously call down the prophet. Who would not tremble at the dreadful answer of Elijah ? “ If I be a man of God, then let fire come down from heaven, and consume thee and thy fifty.” What shall we say ? that a prophet is revengefid; that soldiers suffer while a prophet strikes ; that a prince’s command is answered with imprecation ; words with fire; that an unarmed seer should kill, and fifty at a blow ? There are feAv tracks of Elijah that are ordinary, and fit lor common feet: his actions are more for wonder than for precedent ; not in his OAvn defence would the prophet have been the death of so many, if God had not, by a peculiar instinct, made him an instrument of this just vengeance. The divine justice finds it meet to do this for the terror of Israel, that he might teach them Avhat it was to contemn, to persecute a prophet, that they might learn to fear him whom they had forsaken, and confess that heaven was sensible of their insolencies and impieties. If not as visibly, yet as cer¬ tainly, doth God punish the violations of his ordinances ; the affronts offered to his messengei-s, still and ever; not ever Avith the same speed, sometimes the punishment overtakes the act, sometimes dogs it afar off’, and seizeth upon the offender, when his crime is forgotten. Here, no sooner is the Avord out of Elijah’s mouth, than the fire is out of heaven. O the Avonderful poAver of a prophet! There sits Elijah in his coai-se mantle, on the toj) of the hill, and commands the heavens, and they obey him ; “ Let fire fall doAAUi from heaven.” He needs no more but say what he Avould have done: the fire falls down, as before, upon the sacri- 20 ELIJAH REVENGED. [^300K XTX. fice in Carmel, so now upon the soldiers of Ahaziali. What is man in the hands of his Maker ! One flash of lightning hath consumed these one and fifty : and if all the hosts of Israel, yea of the world had been in their rooms, there had needed no other force. What madness is it for him whose breath is in his nostrils to contend with the Almighty I The time was, when two zealous disciples would fain have imitated this fiery revenge of Elijah, and were repelled with a check ; the very place puts them in mind of the judgment: not far from Sa^ maria was this done by Elijah, and wished to be done by the disciples. So churlish a rejection of a Saviour seemed no less heinous, than the endeavour of apprehending a prophet: “ Lord, wilt thou that we com¬ mand fire to come down from heaven, and consume them, as Elias did ?” The world yielded but one Elias: that, which was zeal in him, might be fury in another ; the least variation of circumstance may make an example dangerous; presently therefore do they hear, “Ye know not of what spirit ye are.” It is the calling that varies the spirit; Elijah was God’s minister for the execution of so severe a judgment; they were but the servants of their own impotent anger; there was fire in their breasts which God never kindled. Far was it from the Saviour of men to second their earthly fire with this heavenly. He came indeed to send fire upon earth, but to warm, not to burn ; and if to burn, not the persons of men, but their corruptions. How much more safe is it for us to follow the meek prophet of the New Testament, than that fervent prophet of the Old ! Let the matter of our prayers be the sweet dews of mercy, not the fires of vengeance. Would not any man have thought Ahaziah sufiiciently warned by so terrible a judgment? Could he choose but say. It is no meddling with a man that can speak lightning and death? What he hath said concerning me is too well approved, by what he hath done to my mes¬ sengers ; God’s hand is with him, mine shall not be against him. Yet now, behold, the rage of Ahaziah is so much the more kindled by this fire from heaven ; and a more resolute captain, with a second hand, is sent to fetch Elijah to death. This man is in haste, and commands not only his descent, but his speed ; “ Come down quickly.” The charge implies a threat; Elijah must lookfor force, if he yield not. There needs no other weapon for defence, for offence, than the same tongue, the same breath. God hath fire enough for all the troops of Ahaziah. Imme¬ diately doth a sudden flame break out of heaven, and consume this for¬ ward leader, and his bold followers. It is a just presage and desert of ruin, not to be warned. Worthily are they made examples, that will not take them. What marble or flint is harder than a wicked heart? As if Ahaziah would despitefully spit in the face of Heaven, and wrestle a fall with tlie Almighty, he will needs yet again set a third captain upon so desperate an employment! How hot a service must this commander needs think him¬ self put upon ! who can but pity his straits ? there is death before him, death behind him : if he go not, the king’s wrath is the messenger of death; if he go, the prophet’s tongue is the executioner of death. Many a hard task will follow the service of a prince wedded to his passion, divorced from God. Unwillingly, doubtless, and fearfully doth this captain climb CONT. V.] ELIJAH REVENGED, 2 J up the hill to scale that impregnable fort; but now, when he comes near to tlie assault, the battery that he lays to it is his prayers ; his surest fight is upon his knees. “ He went up and came, and fell upon his knees before Elijah, and besought him, and said unto him, O man of God, I pray thee, let my life, and the life of these fifty thy servants, be precious in thy sight.” He confesses the judgment that befell his prede¬ cessors ; the monuments of their destruction were in his eye, and the ter¬ ror of it in his heart ; of an enemy therefore he is become a supplicant, and sues not so much for the prophet’s yieldance, as for his own life. This was the way to olfer violence to the prophet of God, to the God of that prophet, even humble supplications; we must deprecate that evil, which we would avoid: if we would force blessings, we must entreat them. There is nothing to be gotten from God by strong hand, any thing by suit. The life of the captain is preserved: Elijah is by the an¬ gel commanded to go down with him speedily, fearlessly. The prophet casts not with himself. What safety can there be in this journey ? I shall put myself into the hands of rude soldiers, and, by them, into the hands of an enraged king ; if he did not eagerly thirst after my blood, he had never sought it with so much loss. But, so soon as he had a charge from the angel, he walks down resolutely, and, as it were, dares the dangers of so great a hostility. He knew that the same God, who had fought for him upon the hill, would not leave him in the valley; he knew the angel, which bade him go, was guard enough against a world of enemies. Faith knows not how to fear, and can as easily contemn the suggestion of perils, as infidelity can raise them. The prophet looks boldly upon the court, which doubtless was not a little disaffected to him, and comes confidently into the hed-chamber of Ahaziah, and sticks not to speak over the same words to his head, Avhich he had sent him, not long since, by his first messengers. Not one sylla¬ ble will the prophet abate of his errand. It is not for a herald of heaven to be out of countenance, or to mince ought of the most killing messages of his God. Whether the unexpected confidence, both of the man and of the speech, amazed the sick king of Israel; or whether the fear of some pre¬ sent judgment (wherewith he might suspect Elijah to come armed, upon any act of violence that should be offered) overawed him ; or whether now, at last, upon the sight and hearing of this man of God, the king’s heai’t began to relent, and check itself for that sin, for which he was justly reproved, I know not; but sm’e I am, the prophet goes away un¬ touched; neither the fm’ious purposes of Ahaziah, nor the exasperations of a Jezebel, can hurt that prophet, whom God hath intended to a fiery chariot. The hearts of kings are not their own; subjects are not so much in their hands, as they are in their Maker’s. How easily can God tame the fierceness of any creature, and, in the midst of their most heady career, stop them on the sudden, and fetch them upon the knees of their humble submission ! It is good trusting God with the events of his own commands, who can, at pleasure, either avert evils, or improve them to good. According to the word of the prophet, Ahaziah dies: not two whole years doth he sit in the throne of Israel, which he now must yield, in 22 THE RAPTURE OF ELIJAH. [r.ooK XIX. lha wasit of cliildreu, to liis brother. Wiekedaess shortens his reign ; he had too much of Ahab and Jezebel, to expect the blessing, either of length or prosperity of government. As always in the other, so ofttiines in this world, doth God testify his anger to wicked men. Some live long, that they may aggravate their judgment; others die soon, that they may hasten it. CONTEMPLATION V.—THE RAPTURE OF ELIJAH. Long and happily hath Elijah fought the wars of his God ; and nov.', after his noble and glorious victories, God will send him a chariot of tri¬ umph ; not suddenly Avould God snatch away his prophet without warn¬ ing, without expectation; but acquaints him, beforehand, with the de¬ termination of his glory. How fidl of heavenly joy was the soul of Eli¬ jah, while he foreknew, and looked for this instant happiness ! with what contempt did he cast his eyes upon that earth, which he was now presently to leave ! with what ravishment of an inward pleasure did he look upon that heaven which he was to enjoy! For a meet farewell to the earth, Elijah will go visit the schools of the prophets, before his de¬ parture : these were in his way ; of any part of the eaitli they were nearest unto heaven. In a holy progress, therefore, he walks his last round, from Gilgal, near Jordan, to Bethel, from Bethel to Jericho, from Jericho to Jordan again. 'In all these sacred colleges of divines, he meant to leave the legacy of his love, counsel, confirmation, blessing. How happy a thing it is, while we are upon earth, to improve our time and gifts to the best behoof of God’s church; and, after the assurance of our own blessedness, to help others to the same heaven! But, O God, who can but wonder at the course of thy wise and powerful ad¬ ministrations I Even in the midst of the degeneration and idolatries of Israel, hast thou reserved to thyself whole societies of holy prophets ; and, out of those sinful and revolted tribes, hast raised the two great miracles of prophets, Elijah and Elisha, in an immediate succes¬ sion. Judah itself, under a religious Jehoshaphat, yielded not so emi.. nent and clearly illuminated spirits. The mercy of our provident God Avill neither be confined nor excluded ; neither confined to the places of public profession, nor excluded from the depraved congregations of his own people: where he hath loved, he cannot easily be estranged : ra¬ ther, where sin abounds, his grace aboundeth much more, and raiseth so much stronger helps as he sees the dangers greater. Happy Avas Elisha in the attendance of so gracious a master, and the more happy that ho knoAvs it. Fain would Elijah shake him off at Gil¬ gal ; if not there, at Bethel; if not yet there, at Jericho. A private message, on which Elijah must go alone, is pretended from the Lord. AYhether shall Ave say the prophet did this for the trial of the constant affection of his careful and diligent seiwant; or, that it A\'as con¬ cealed from Elijah, that his departure was revealed to Elisha ? Perhaps he, that kneAv of his oavu reception into heaven, did not knoAv Avhat Avit- nesses Avould be alloAved to that miraculous act; and noAv his humble modesty affected a silent and unnoted passage; even Elisha knew some- CON'T. V.] THE RAPTURE OF ELIJAH. 23 thing that was hid from his master, ncAv upon the thresliokl of hea¬ ven. No mere creatiire was ever made of the whole counsel of the Highest: some things have been disclosed to habes and novices, that have been closed up to the most wise and judicious. In natiwal specu¬ lations, the greater wit and deeper judgment still carries it; but, in the revelations of God, the favour of his choice sways all, not the power of our apprehension. The master may both command and entreat his ser¬ vant’s stay in vain. Elisha must be pardoned this holy and zealous dis¬ obedience, “ As the Lord liveth, and as thy soul livetb, I will not leave thee.” His master may be withdrawn from him, he will not be with¬ drawn from his master. He knew that the blessing was at the parting; and if he had diligently attended all his life, and now slacked in the last act, he had lost the reward of his service. The evening praises the day, and the chief grace of the theatre is in the last scene. “ Be faithful to the death, and I will give thee a croAvn of life.” That Elijah should be translated, and what day he should be translat¬ ed, God would have no secret: the sons of the prophets at Bethel, at .Jericho, both know it, and ask Elisha if he knew it not: “ Knowest thou that the Lord will take away thy master from thy head this day ?” and he answered, “ Yea, I know it, hold ye your peace.” How familiarly do these prophets interknow one another ! how kindly do they commu¬ nicate their visions ! Seldom ever was any knowledge given to keep, but to impart: the grace of this rich jewel is lost in concealment. The re¬ moval of an Elijah is so important a business, that it is not fit to be done without noise : many shall have their share in his loss; he must be miss¬ ed on the sudden: it was meet, therefore, that the world should know his rapture should be divine and glorious. I do not find, where the day of any natural death is notified to so many ; by hoAV much more wonder there Avas in this assumption, by so much more shall it be fore-revealed. It is enough for ordinary occurrents to be known by their event : super- natiual things have need of premonition, that men’s hearts may both be prepared for their receipt, and confirmed in their certainty. Thrice was Elisha entreated, thrice hath he denied to stay behind his noAv departed master; on whom both his eyes and his thoughts are so fixed, that he cannot give allowance so much as to the interpellation of a question of his fellow prophets: together therefore are this Avonderful pair come to the last stage of their separation, the banks of Jordan. Those, that Avere not admitted to be attendants of the journey, yet will not be debarred from being spectators of so mai’vellous an issue. Fifty men of the sons of the prophets went and stood to view afar off; I marvel there were no more ;— how could any son of the prophets stay AA'ithin the college walls that day, when he knew what was meant to Elijah ? perhaps, though they knew that to be the prophet’s last day, yet they might think his disparition should be sudden and insensible ; besides, they found how much he affected se¬ crecy in this intended departure : yet the fifty prophets of Jericho will make proof of their eyes, and with much intention essay who shall have the last sight of Elijah. Miracles are not purposed to sUence and obscu¬ rity : God Avill not work AAmnders without Avitnesses, since be doth them on purpose to Avin glory to his name; his end were frustrate without their notice. Even so, O Saviour, Avhen thou hadst raised thyself from 24 THE RAPTURE OF ELIJAH. [^BOOK XIX. the dead, thou wouldst be seen of more tlian five hundred brethren at once; and when thou wouldst raise up thy glorified body from earth in¬ to heaven, thou, didst not ascend from some close valley, but from the mount of Olives; not in the night, not alone, but in the clear day, in the view of many eyes which were so fixed upon that point of thine heaven, that they could scarce be removed by the check of angels. Jordan must be crossed by Elijah in his way to heaven : there must be a meet parallel betwixt the two great prophets, that shall meet Christ upon Tabor, Moses and Elias ; both received visions on Horeb, to both God appeared there in fire, and other forms of terror ; both were sent to kings, one to Pharaoh, the other to Ahab; both prepared miraculous tables ; the one of quails and manna in the desert, the other of meal and oil in Sarepta ; both opened heaven, the one for that nourishing dew, the other for those refreshing showers ; both revenged idolatries with the sword, the one upon the worshippers of the golden calf, the other upon the four hundred Baalites ; both quenched the drought of Israel, tlie one out of the rock, the other out of the cloud: both di¬ vided the waters, the one of the Red sea, the other of Jordan ; both of them are forewarned of their departure ; both must be fetched away be¬ yond Jordan ; the body of Elijah is translated, the body of Moses is hid ; what Moses doth by his rod, Elijah doth by his mantle; with that he smites the waters, and they, as fearing the Divine Power which wrought with the prophets, run away from him, and stand on heaps, leaving their dry channel for the passage of those awful feet; it is not long since he mulcted them with a general exsiccation ; now he only bids them stand aside, and give way to his last walk, that he might with dry feet mount up into the celestial chariot. The waters do not now first obey him ; they know that mantle of old, which hath oft given laws to their falling, rising, standing ; they are past over, and, now, when Elijah finds himself treading on his last earth, he proffers a munificent boon to his faithful servant, “ Ask what I shall do for thee, before I am taken from thee.” I do not hear him say. Ask of me when I am gone ; in my glorified condition, I shall be more able to bestead thee ; but, Ask before I go. We have a commu¬ nion with the saints departed, not a commerce: when they are enabled to do more for us, they are less apt to be solicited by us : it is safe su¬ ing where we are sure to be heard. Had not Elijah received a peculiar instinct for this proffer, he had not been thus liberal: it were presump¬ tion to be bountiful on another’s cost, without leave of the owner. The mercy of our good God allows his favourites not only to receive, but to give ; not only to receive for themselves, but to convey blessings to others: what can that man want that is befriended of the faithful. Elisha needs not go far to seek for a suit, it was in his heart, his mouth. “ Let a double portion of thy spirit be upon me.” Every pro¬ phet must be a son to Elijah ; but Elisha would be his heir, and craves the happy right of his primogeniture, the double share to his brethren. It was not wealth, nor safety, nor ease, nor honour that Elisha cares for ; the world lies open before him, he may take his choice, the rest he contemneth, nothing will serve him but a large measure of bis mas¬ ter’s spirit: no carnal thought was guilty of this sacred ambition. Af- CONT- V.] THE RAPTURE OF ELIJAH. 25 fectation of eminence was too base a conceit to fall into that man of God. He saw that the times needed strong convictions, he saw that he could not otherwise wield the succession to such a master, therefore he sues for a double portion of spirit; the spirit of prophecy to foreknow, the spirit of power to work. We cannot be too covetous, too ambitious of spiritual gifts, such especially as may enable us to win most advan¬ tage to God in our vocations. Our wishes are the true touchstone of our estate ; such as we wish to be, we are. Worldly hearts aiFect earthly things : spiritual, divine. We cannot better know what we are indeed, than by what we would be. Elijah acknowledges the difficulty, and promises the grant of so great a request, suspended yet upon the condition of Elisha’s eye-sight. “ If thou see me when I am taken from thee, it shall be so unto thee ; but if not, it shall not be.” What are the eyes to the furniture of the soul ? what power is there in those visive beams to draw down a double por¬ tion of Elijah’s spirit ? God doth not always look at efficacy and merit in the conditions of our actions, but as the freedom of his own appointments. Tiie eye was only to be employed as the servant of the heart, that the desires might be so much more intended with the sight. Vehemence is the way to speed, both in earth and in heaven. If but the eye-lids of Elisha fall, if his thoughts slacken, his hopes are dashed. There must be fixedness and vigilance in those that desire double graces. Elijah was going on and talking, when the chariot of heaven came to fetch him : surely, had not that conference been needful and divine, it had given way to meditation, and Elijah had been taken up rather from his knees, than from his feet. There can be no better posture or state, for the messenger of our dissolution to find us in, than in a dili¬ gent prosecution of our calling. The busy attendance of our holy voca¬ tion is no less pleasing to God, than an immediate devotion. Happy is the servant whom the master, when he comes, shall find so doing. O the singular glory of Elijah ! What mortal creature ever had this honour to be visibly fetched by the angels of God to his heaven ? Ev¬ ery soul of the elect is attended and carried to blessedness by those invisi¬ ble messengers ; but what flesh and blood was ever graced with such a convoy ? There are three bodily inhabitants of heaven, Enoch, Elijah, our Saviour Christ; the first before the law, the second under the law, the third under the gospel, all three in a several form of translation. Our blessed Saviour raised himself to and above the heavens, by his own immediate power: he ascended as the Son, they as servants: he as God, they as creatures. Elijah ascended by the visible ministry of angels; Enoch insensibly. Wlierefore, O God, hast thou done this, but to give us a taste of what shall be ! to let us see that heaven was never shut to the faithful; to give us assurance of tlie future glorification of this mortal and corruptible part! Even thus, O Saviour, when thou shalt descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of an archangel, and with the trumpet of God, we that are alive and remain shall be caught up, together with the raised bodies of thy saints, into the clouds, to meet thee in the air, to dwell with thee in glory. II. D 26 THE RAPTURE OF ELIJAH. [book XIV. Many forms have those celestial spirits taken to themselves, in their apparitions to men : but, of all other, most often hath the Almighty made his messengers “ a flame of fire never more properly than here. How had the Spirit of God kindled the hot fires of zeal in the breast of Elijah ! How had this prophet thrice commanded fire from heaven to earth I How fitly now at last do these seraphical fires carry him from earth to heaven ! What do we see in this rapture of Elijah, but violence and terror, whirlwind and fire ? two of those fearful representations which the pro¬ phet had in the rock of Horeb. Never any man entered into glory with ease; even the most favourable change hath some equivalency to a natural dissolution. Although, doubtless, to Elijah this fire had a light¬ someness and resplendence, not terror; this whirlwind had speed not violence. Thus hast thou, O Saviour, bidden us, when the elements shall be dissolved, and the heavens shall be flaming about our ears, to lift up our heads with joy, because our redemption draweth nigh. Come death, come fire, come whirlwind, they are worthy to be welcome, that shall carry us to immortality ! This arreption was sudden, yet Elisha sees both the chariot, and the horses, and the ascent; and cries to his now changed master, between heaven and earth, “ My father, my father, the chariot of Israel, and the horsemen thereof.” Shaphat of Abel-meholah hath yielded this title to Elijah, the natural father of Elisha, to the spiritual: neither of them may be neglected; but, after the yoke of oxen killed at the farewell, we hear no more greetings, no more bewailings of his bodily parent; and now, that Elijah is taken from him, he cries out like a distressed orphan, “ My father, my father and, when he hath lost the sight of him, he rends his clothes in pieces, according to the fashion of the most passionate mourners: that Elisha sees his master half way in heaven, cannot take away the sorrow of his loss. The departure of a faithful prophet of God is worthy of our lamentation: neither is it pri¬ vate affection that must sway our grief, but respects to the public. Elisha says not only, “ My father,” but, “ the chariot and horsemen of Israel.” That we have foregone a father, should not so much trouble us, as that Israel hath lost his guard. Certainly the view of this heavenly chariot and horses, that came for Elijah, puts Elisha in mind of that chariot and horsemen which Elijah was to Israel. These were God’s chariots, Elijah was theirs: God’s chariot and theirs are, upon the same wheels, mounted into heaven. No forces are so strong as the spiritual; the prayers of an Elijah are more powerful than all the armies of flesh. The first thing that this seer discerns, after the separation of his master, is the nakedness of Israel in his loss. If we muster soldiers, and lose zealous prophets, it is but a woeful exchange. Elijah’s mantle falls from him in the rising ; there was no use of that, whither he was going; there was, whence he was taken. Elisha justly takes up this dear monument of his glorified master : a good supply for his rent garments. This was it which, in presage of his future right, Elijah invested him withal upon the first sight, when he was ploughing with the twelve yoke of oxen ; now it falls from heaven to his posses¬ sion. I do not see him adore so precious a relic. I see him take it CONT. V.] THE RAPTURE OF ELIJAH. 27 up, and cast it about him. Pensive and masterless doth he now come back to the banks of Jordan, whose stream he must pass in his return to the schools of the prophets. Erewhile he saw wdiat way that river gave to the mantle of Elijah, he knew that power was not in the cloth, but in the spirit of him that wore it. To try therefore whether he w'ere no less the heir of that spirit, than of that garment, he took the mantle of Elijah, and smote the waters, and said, “ Where is the Lord God of Elijah ?” Jjlisha doth not expostulate and challenge, but pray ; as if he had said. Lord God, it was thy promise to me by my departed master, that if I should see him in his last passage, a double portion of his spirit should be upon me : I followed him with my eyes in that fire and whirl¬ wind : now therefore, O God, make good thy gracious word to thy ser¬ vant ; show some token unto me for good ; make this the first proof of the miraculous power wherewith thou shalt endue me: let Jordan give the same way to me that it gave to my master. Immediately the stream, as acknowledging the same mantle, though in another hand, divides itself, and yields passage to the successor of Elijah. The fifty sons of the prophets, having been afar-off witnesses of these admirable events, do well see that Elijah, though translated in body, hath yet left his spirit behind him: they meet Elisha, and bow themselves to the ground before him. It was not the outside of Elijah which they had wont to stoop unto with so much veneration, it was his spirit, which, since they now find in another subject, they entertain with equal rever¬ ence : no envy, no emulation raiseth up their stomachs against Elijah’s servant, but, w'here they see eminent graces they are willingly prostrate. Those that are truly gracious, do no less rejoice in the riches of other’s gifts, than humbly undervalue their own. These men were trained up in the schools of the prophets, Elisha at the plough and cart; yet, now they stand not upon terms of their worth, and his meanness, but meek¬ ly fall down before him whom God had honoured : it is not to be re¬ garded who the man is, but whom God would make him. The more unlikely the means are, the more is the glory of the workman ; it is the praise of a holy ingenuity to magnify the graces of God wherever it finds them. These young prophets are no less full of zeal than reverence ; zeal to Elijah, reverence to Elisha. They see Elijah carried up in the air; they knew this was not the first time of his supernatural removal: ima¬ gining it therefore possible, that the Spirit of God had cast him upon some remote mountain, or valley, they proffer the labour of their ser¬ vants to seek him. In some things, even professed seers are blind: could they think God would send such a chariot, and horses for a less voyage than heaven ? Elisha, knowing his master beyond all the sphere of mortality, forbids them; good-will makes them unmannerly, their importunity urges him till he is ashamed; not his appi'obation, but their vehemence carries at last a condescent, else he might, perhaps have seemed enviously unwilling to fetch back so admired a master, and loath to forego that mantle. Some things may be yielded for the redeeming of our own vexation, and avoid¬ ance of others’ misconstruction, which, out of true judgment, we see no cause to affect. 28 ELISHA HEALING THE WATERS. [^BOOK XIX. The messengers, tired with three days’ search, turn back as wise as they went. Some men are best satisfied when they have wearied them ¬ selves in their own ways : nothing will teach them wit but disappoint¬ ments. Their painful error leads them to a right conceit of Elijah s happier transportation. Those that would find Elijah let them aspire to the heavenly paradise ; let them follow the high steps of his sincere faithfulness, strong patience, undaunted courage, fervent zeal; shortly let them walk in the ways of his holy and constant obedience ; at last, God shall send the fiery chariot of death to fetch them up to that heav¬ en of heavens, where they shall triumph in everlasting joys. CONTEMPLATION VI.—ELISHA HEALING THE WATERS,—CURSING THE CHILDREN,—RELIEVING THE KINGS. It is good making use of a prophet while w'e have him. Elisha staid somewhile at Jericho, the citizens resort to him with a common suit: their structure was not more pleasant than their waters unwholesome, and their soil by those corrupt waters : they sue to Elisha for the remedy. Why had they not all this while made their moan to Elijah. Was it that they were more awed with his greater austerity ? or was it, that they met not with so fit an opportunity of his commoration amongst them ? It was told them what power Elisha had exercised upon the waters of Jordan, and now they ply him for theirs. Examples of beneficence easily move us to a request and expectation of favours. What ailed the watei’s of Jericho? surely, originally they were not ill affected: no men could be so foolish as to build a city where neither earth nor water were useful: mere prospect could not carry men to the neglect of health and profit. Hie! the Bethelite would never have re-edifi¬ ed it with the danger of a ciu’se, so lately as in the days of Ahab, if it had been of old notorious for so fold an annoyance : not therefore the ancient malediction of .Joshua, not the neighbourhood of that noi¬ some lake Sodom, was guilty of this disease of the soil and waters, but the late sins of the inhabitants. “ He turneth the rivers into a wilder¬ ness, and water-springs into a dry ground ; a fruitful land into barrenness, for the wickedness of them that dwell therein.” How oft have we seen the same field both full and famishing ! How oft the same ivaters both safe, and, by some eruption, or new tinctiu’e, hurtful! Howsoever na¬ tural causes may concur, heaven and earth, and air and waters, follow the temper of our souls, of our lives, and are therefore indisposed because we are so. Jericho began now to make itself capable of a better state, since it was now become a receptacle of prophets : Elisha is willing to gratify his hosts ; it is reason that any place should fare the better for the presence of divines. The medicine is more strange than the disease : “ Bring me a new cruise, aud put salt therein.” Why a cruise ? why new ? why salt in that new cruise ? How should salt make water pot¬ able ? or, if there were any such virtue in it, what could a cruiseful do to a whole current ? or, if that measure were sufficient, what was the age of the cruise to the force of the salt. Yet Elisha calls for salt in a new cruise. God, who wrought this by his prophet, is a free agent; as he COXT. VI .3 ELISHA HEALING THE WATERS. 29 will not bind bis power to means, so will be, by his power, bind unlikely means to perform bis will. Natural proprieties have no place in miraculous works : no less easy is it for God to work by contrary, than subordinate powers. The prophet doth not cast the salt into the channel, but into the spring of the waters. If the fountain be redressed, the stream cannot be faulty; as, contrarily, the pmuty and soundness of the streams avails nothing to the redress of the fountain. Reformation must begin at the well-head of the abuse. The order of being is a good guide to the me¬ thod of amending. Virtue doth not run backward. Had Elisha cast the salt into the brooks and ditches, the I’emedy must have striven against the stream to reach up to the spring; now it is but one labour to cure the fountain. Our heart is a well of bitter and venomous water, our ac¬ tions are the streams : in vain shall we cleanse our hands, while our hearts are evil. The cruise and the salt must be their own; the act must be his, the power God’s. “ He cast the salt into the spring,” and said, “ Thus saith the Lord, I have healed these waters ; there shall not be from thence any more death or barrenness.” Far was it from Elisha to chal¬ lenge ought to himself. Before, when he should divide the waters of Jordan he did not say. Where is the power of Elisha, but. Where is the Lord God of Elijah ? and now when he should cure the waters of Jericho, he says not. Thus saith Elisha, but. Thus saith the Lord, “ I have healed these waters.” How careful is the man of God that no part of God’s glory should stick to his own fingers ! Jericho shall know to whom they owe the blessing, that they may duly return the thanks. Elisha professes he can do no more of himself than that salt, than that cruise : only God shall work by him, by it; and whatever that Almighty hand undertakes, cannot fail, yea, is already done ; neither doth he say, I -will heal, but, “ I have healed.” Even so, O God, if thou cast into the fountain of our hearts but one cruisefiJ of the salt of thy Spirit, we are whole, no thought can pass betAveen the receipt and the remedy. As the general visitor of the schools of the prophets, Elisha passeth from Jericho to that other college at Bethel. Bethel was a place of strange composition ; there was at once the golden calf of Jeroboam, and the school of God; true religion and idolatry found a free harbour within those walls. I do not marvel that God’s prophets would plant there; there was the most need of their presence, where they found the spring¬ head of corruption : physicians are of most use where diseases do abound. “ As he was going up by the way, there came forth little children out of the city, and mocked him, and said to him. Go up, thou bald-head ; Go up, thou bald-head.” Even the very boys of Bethel have learned to scotf at a prophet; the spite of their idolatrous parents is easily propa¬ gated : children are such as their institution; infancy is led altogether by imitation, it hath neither Avords nor actions, but infused by others ; if it have good or ill language, it is but borroAved, and the shame or thank is due to those that lent it them. What was it that these ill-taught children upbraided to the prophet, but a slight nautral defect, not Avorthy the name of a blemish, the want of a 30 ELISHA CURSING THE CHILDREN. [[book XIX. little hair; at the best a comely exci’ement, no pai’t of the body. Had tliere been deformity in that smoothness of the head, which some great wits have honoured with praises, a faultless and remediless eye-sore had been no fit matter for a taunt. How small occasions will be taken to dis¬ grace a prophet! If they could have said ought worse, Elisha had not lieard of this ; God had crowned that head with honour, which the Be- thelitish children loaded with scorn. Who would have thought the rude terms of waggish boys worthy of any thing but neglect 1 Elisha looks at them with severe brows, and, like the heir of him that called down fire upon the two captains and their fifties, curses them in the name of the Lord; two she-bears out of the wood, hasten to be his executioners, and tear two-and-forty of them in pieces. O fearful example of Divine justice ! This was not the revenge of an angry prophet, it was the punishment of a righteous judge. God and his seer looked through these children at the parents, at all Israel; he would punish the parents’ mis- nurturing their children, to the contemptuous usage of a prophet, with the death of those children which they had mistaught. He would teach Israel what it was to misuse a prophet; and, if he would not endure these contumelies unrevenged in the mouths of childi’en, what vengeance was enough for aged persecutors ? Doubtless some of the children escaped to tell the news of their fel¬ lows : what lamentation do we think there was in the streets of Bethel! how did the distressed mothers wring their hands for this woeful orbation! And now, when they came forth to fetch the remnants of their own flesh, what a sad spectacle it was to find the fields strewed with those mangled carcases ! It is an unprofitable sorrow that follows a judgment. Had these parents been as careful to train up their children in good discipline, and to correct their disorders, as they are now passionate in bemoaning their loss, this slaughter had never been. In vain do we look for good of those children, whose education w'e have neglected. In vain do we grieve for those miscarriages which our care might have prevented. Elisha knew the success, yet doth he not balk the city of Bethel. Do we not wonder that the furious impatience of those parents, whom the curse of Elisha robbed of their children, did not break forth to some ma¬ licious practice against the prophet? Would we not think the prophet might misdoubt some hard measm-e from those exasperated citizens ? There lay his way ; he follows God without fear of men, as well know¬ ing that either they durst not, or they coidd not act violence. They knew there were bears in the wood, and fires in heaven, and, if their malice would have ventured above their courage, they could have no more power over Elisha in the streets, than those hungry beasts had in the way. Whither dare not a prophet go when God calls him. Hav¬ ing visited the schools of the prophets, Elisha retires to Mount Carmel, and, after some holy solitariness, returns to the city of Samaria. He can never be a profitable seer, that is either always or never alone. Car¬ mel shall fit him for Samaria, contemplation for action : that mother city of Israel must needs afford him most work ; yet is the throne of Ahaziah succeeded by a brother less ill than himself, than the parents of both. Ahab’s impiety hath not a perfect heir of Jehoram : that son of his hates his Baal, though he keeps his calves. Even into the most CONT. VI.] ELISHA RELIEVING THE KINGS. Rl wickad families it pleaseth God to cast his powerful restraints, that all are not equally vicious. It is no news to see lewd men make scruple of some sins ; the world were not to live in, if all sins were affected by all: it is no thank to Ahab and Jezebel that their son is no Baalite. As no good is traduced from parents, so not all evil: there is an Almighty hand that stops the foul cm-rent of nature, at his pleasure ; no idolater can say that his child shall not be a convert. The affinity betwixt the houses of Israel and Judah, holds good in succession; Jehoram inherits the friendship, the aid of Jehoshaphat: whose counsel, as is most likely, had cured him of that Baalism. It was a good war whereto he solicits the good king of Judah. The king of Moab who had been an ancient tributary from the days of David, falls now from his homage, and refuses to pay his hundred thousand lambs, and hundred thousand rams with fleeces, to the king of Israel; the backs of Israel can ill miss the wool of Moab, they will put on ii'on to recover their cloth. Jehoshaphat had been once well chid, well frighted, for joining with Ahab against Aram; yet, doth he not stick now again to come into the field with Jehoram, against Moab : the cause is more fa¬ vourable, less dangerous. Baal is cast down ; the images of the false gods are gone, though the false images of the true God stand still; besides, this rebellious Moab had joined with the Syrians formerly against Judah, so as Jehoshaphat is interested in the revenge. After resolution of the end, wisely do these kings deliberate of the way. It is agreed to pass through Edom; that kingdom was annexed to the crown of Judah ; weU might Jehoshaphat make bold with his own. It was, it seems, a march far about in the measure of the way, but nearest to their purpose ; the assault would be more easy, if the pas¬ sage were more tedious. The three kings of Israel, Judah, Edom, to¬ gether with their armies, are upon foot; they are no sooner come into the parching wilds of Edom, than they are ready to die for thirst. If the channels were far olF, yet the waters were farther: the scorching beams of the sun have dried them up, and have left those rivers more fit for walk than entertainment. What are the greatest monarchs of the world, if they want but water to their mouths ? What can their crowns, and plumes, and rich arms avail them, when they are abridged but of that which is the drink of beasts ? With dry tongues and lips, do they now confer of their common misery. Jehoram deplores the calamity in¬ to which they were fallen, but Jehoshaphat asks for a pi-ophet; every man can bewail a misery, every man cannot find the way out of it: still yet I hear good Jehoshaphat speak too late; he should have inquired for a prophet ere he had gone forth : so had he avoided these straits. Not to consult at all with God is Jehoram’s sin, to consult late is Jehoshaphat’s ; the former is atheous carelessness, the latter forgetful oversight. The best man may slacken good duties, the worst contemns them. Not without some specialty from God, doth Elisha follow the camp ; else, that had been no element for a prophet: little did the good king of Judah think that God was so near him; purposely was this holy seer sent for the succour of Jehoshaphat and his faithful followers, when they were so far from dreaming of their delivery, that they knew not of a danger. It would be wide with the best men, if the eye of Divine 32 ELISHA RELIEVING THE KINGS. [book xix. Providence were not open upon them, when the eye of their care is shut towards it. How well did Elisha in the wars ! the strongest squadron of Israel was within that breast: all their armour of proof had not so much safety and protection, as his mantle. Though the king of Israel would take no notice of the prophet, yet one of his courtiers did; “ Here is Elisha, the son of Shaphat, which poured water on the hands of Elijah this follower of Jehoram knows Elisha by his own name, by his father’s, by his master’s. The court of Israel was profane and idolatrous enough ; yet, even there God’s prophet had both knowledge and honour ; his very service to Elijah was enough to win him reverence. It is better to be an attendant of some man, than be attended by many ; that he had pour¬ ed water on Elijah’s hands was insinuation enough, that he could pour out water for those three kings. The three kings walked down by the motion of Jehoshaphat, to the man of God: it Avas news to see three kings going down to the servant of him who ran before the chariot of Allah. Religion and necessity have both of them much power of hu¬ miliation, I know not whether more; either zeal, or need, wiU make a prophet honoured. How sharply dares the man of God to chide his sovereign, the king of Israel! The liberty of the prophets was no less singular than their calling ; he that would borrow their tongue, must show their commission. As God reproved kings for their sakes, so did not they stick to reprove kings for his sake. Thus much freedom they must leave to their suc¬ cessors, that we might not spare the vices of them, whose persons wo must spare. Justly is Jehoram turned off to the prophets of his father, and the prophets of his mother. It is but right and equal, that those, which we have made the comfort and stay of our peace, should be the refuge of our extremity. If our prosperity have made the world our God, how worthily shall our death-bed be choked with this exprobation ! Neither would the case bear an apology, nor the time an expostulation ; Jeho¬ ram cannot excuse, he can complain; he finds that now three kings, three kingdoms are at the mercy of one prophet; it was time for him to speak fair; nothing sounds from him but lamentations and entreaties ; “ Nay, for the Lord hath called these three kings together to deliver them into the hand of Moab.” .Jeboram hath so much grace as to confess the im- potency of those he had trusted, and the power of that God whom he had neglected; every sinner cannot see and acknowledge the hand of God in his sufferings. Already hath the distressed prince gained some¬ thing by his misery : none complain so much as he, none feel so much as he; all the rest suffer for him, and therefore he suffers in them all. The man of God, who well sees the insufficiency of Jehoram’s humi¬ liation, lays on yet more load ; “ As the Lord liveth before whom I stand, surely, were it not that I regard the presence of Jehoshaphat the king of Judah, I would not look tOAvard thee, nor see thee.” Behold the double spirit of Elijah ! the master Avas not more bold Avith the father, than the servant was with the son. Elisha AA'as a subject and a prophet; he must say that as a prophet, which he might not as a subject; as a prophet he would not have looked at him, whom as a subject he would have boAved to. It is one thing when God speaks by him, another when CONT. VI.^ ELISHA RELIEVING THE KINGS. 3.3 Le speaks of himself ; that it might well appear his dislike of sin stood with his honour of sovereignty, Jehoshaphat goes away with that re¬ spect which Jehoram missed ; no less doth God and his prophet regard religious sincerity, than they abhor idolatry and profaneness. What shall not be done for a Jehoshaphat ? for his sake shall those two other princes, and their vast armies, live and prevail. Edom and Israel, whether single or conjoined, had perished by the drought of the desert, by the sword of Moab ; one Jehoshaphat gives them both life and vic¬ tory. It is in the power of one good man to oblige a world ; we re¬ ceive true, though insensible favours, from the presence of the righteous. Next to being good, it is happy to converse with them that are so ; if we be not bettered by their example, we are blest by their protection. Who wonders not to hear a prophet call for a minstrel in the midst of that mournful distress of Israel and Judah ! who would not have ex¬ pected his charge of tears and prayers, rather than of music ! how un¬ reasonable are songs to a heavy heart I It was not for their ears, it was for his own bosom, that Elisha called for music; that his spirits, af¬ ter their zealous agitation, might be sweetly composed, and put into a meet temper for receiving the calm visions of God. Perhaps it was some holy Levite that followed the camp of Jehoshaphat, whose min¬ strelsy was required for so sacred a purpose. None but a quiet breast is capable of Divine revelations; nothing is more powerful to settle a troubled heart than a melodious harmony ; the spirit of prophecy was not more invited, the prophet’s spirit was the better disposed, by pleas¬ ing sounds. The same God, that will reveal his will to the prophet, suggests this demand, “ Bring me a minstrel.” How many say thus, when they would put God from them I Profane mirth, wanton music, debauches the soul, and makes no less room for the unclean spirit, than spiritual melody doth for the divine. No prophet had ever the spirit at command. The hand of the min¬ strel can do nothing without the hand of the Lord: while the music sounds in the ear, God speaks to the heart of Elisha ; “ Thus saith the Lord, Make this valley full of ditches ; ye shall not see wund, neither shall ye see rain, yet that valley shall be full of water, &c. To see wind and rain, in the height of that drought, would have seemed as wonder¬ ful as pleasing; but to see abundance of water, without wind or rain, was yet more miraculous. I know not how the sight of the means abates our admiration of the effect; where no causes can be found out, we are forced to confess omnipotency. Elijah relieved Israel with water, but it was out of the clouds, and those clouds rose from the sea ; but whence Elisha shall fetch it, is not more marvellous than secret. All that evening, all that night, must the faith of Israel and Judah be exercised with expectation. At the hour of the morning sacrifice, no sooner did the blood of that oblation gush forth, than the streams of water gushed forth into their new channels, and filled the country with a refreshing moisture : Elijah fetched down his fire at the hour of the even¬ ing sacrifice; Elisha fetched up his water at the hour of the morning sacrifice. God gives respect to his own hours, for the encouragement of our observation : if his wisdom hath set us any peculiar times, we cannot keep them without a blessing: the devotions of all true Jew's, II. E 34 ELISHA WITH THE SHUNAMITE. [book xix- all the world over, were in that hour combined. How seasonably doth the wisdom of God pick out that instant, wherein he might at once an¬ swer both Elisha’s prophecy, and his people’s prayers. The prophet hath assured the kings, not of water only, but of victory. Moab hears of enemies, and is addressed to war ; their own error shall cut their throats; they rise soon enough to beguile themselves; the beams of the rising sun, glistering upon those vaporous and unexpected waters, carried, in the eyes of some Moabites, a semblance of blood ; a few eyes were enough to fill all ears with a false noise; the deceived sense miscarries the imagination. “ This is blood ; the kings are surely slain, and they have smitten one another; now therefore, Moab, to the spoil. Civil broils give just advantage to a common enemy ; therefore must the camps be spoiled, because the kings have smitten each other. Those that shall be deceived are given over to credulity; the Moabites do not examine either the conceit or the report, but fly in confusedly upon tbe camp of Israel, whom they find, too late, to have no enemies but them¬ selves ; as if death would not have hastened enough to them, they come to fetch it, they come to challenge it; it seizeth upon them unavoidably ; they are smitten, their cities razed, their lands marred, their wells stop¬ ped, their trees felled, as if God meant to waste them but once. No onsets are so furious as the last assaults of the desperate. The king of Moab, now hopeless of recovery, would be glad to shut up with a pleasing revenge ; with seven hundred resolute followers, he rushes into the battle towards the king of Edom, as if he would bid death wel¬ come, might he but carry wdth him that despited neighbour; and now, mad with repulse, he returns ; and, whether as angry with his destiny, or as barbarously affecting to win his cruel gods with so dear a sacrifice, he offers them, with his own hands, the blood of his eldest son in the sight of Israel, and sends him up in the smoke to those hellish deities. O prodigious act, whether of rage or of devotion ! What a hand hath Satan over his miserable vassals I What marvel is it to see men sacri¬ fice their souls in an unfelt oblation, to these plausible tempers, when their own flesh and blood hath not been spared ! There is no tyrant to the prince of darkness. CONTEMPLATION VII.—ELISHA WITH THE SHUNAMITE. The holy prophets under the Old Testament did not abhor the mar¬ riage-bed ; they did not think themselves too pure for an institution of their Maker. The distressed widow of one of the sons of the prophets comes to Elisha to bemoan her condition ; her husband is dead, and dead in debt; death hath no sooner seized on him, than her two sons, the re¬ maining comfort of her life, are to be seized on, by his creditors, for bondmen. How thick did the miseries of this poor afflicted woman light upon her! Her husband is lost, her estate clogged with debts, her children ready to be taken for slaves. Her husband was a religious and worthy man ; he paid his debts to nature, he could not to his creditors ; they are cruel, and rake in the scarce closed wound of her sorrow, pas- CONT. VII.] ELISHA WITH THE SHUNAMITE. 35 sing an arrest worse than death upon her sons : widowhood, poverty, servitude, have conspired to make her perfectly miserable. Virtue and goodness can pay no debts. The holiest man may he deep in arrearages, and break the bank ; not through lavishness, and riot of expense (reli¬ gion teaches us to moderate our hands, to spend within the proportion of our estate), but through either iniquity of times, or evil casualties. Ahab and Jezebel were lately in the throne, who can marvel that a pro¬ phet was in debt ? It was well that any good man might have his breath free, though his estate were not: wilfully to overlash our ability, cannot stand with wisdom and good government; but no providence can guard us from crosses. Holiness is no more defence against debt, than against death. Grace can keep us from unthriftiness, not from want. Whither doth the prophet’s widow come to bewail her case but to Elisha ? Every one would not be sensible of her affliction, or if they would pity, yet could not relieve her ; Elisha could do both ; into his ear doth she uidoad her griefs. It is no small point of wisdom to know whei-e to plant our lamentation ; otherwise, instead of comfort, we may meet with scorn and insultation. None can so feelingly compassionate the hard terms of a prophet as an Elisha : he finds that she is not querulously impatient, expressing her sorrow without murmuring and discontentment, making a loving and honourable mention of that husband who had left her distressed; readily thei’efore doth he incline to her succour. “ What shall I do for thee? Tell me what hast thou in thine house ?” Elisha, when he hears of her debts, asks of her substance. Had her house been furnished with any valuable commodity, the prophet implies the necessity of sell¬ ing it for satisfaction: our own abundance can ill stand with our en¬ gagement to others. It is great injustice for us to be full of others' purses : it is not our own which we owe to another ; what is it other than a plausible stealth to feed our riot with the want of the owner ? He that could multiply our substance could know it: God and his pro¬ phet love to hear our necessities out of our own mouths. “ Thine hand¬ maid hath not any thing in the house save a pot of oil.” It is neither news nor shame for a prophet to be poor ; grief and want perhaps has¬ tened his end ; both of them are left for the dowry of his careful widow. She had not complained, if there had been any possibility of remedy at home ; bashfulness had stopt her mouth thus long, and should have done yet longer, if the exigence of her children’s servitude had not opened it. No want is so worthy of relief, as that which is loathest to come forth. “ Then he said. Go borrow thee vessels abroad of all thy neighbours, even empty vessels, borrow not a few ; and when thou art come in, thou shalt shut the door upon thee, and upon thy sons, and shalt pour out into all those vessels, and thou shalt set aside that whicli is full.” She that owed much, and had nothing, yet must borrow more, that she may pay all. Poverty had not so discredited her with her neigh¬ bours, that they should doubt to lend her those vessels empty, which they had grudged full. Her want was too well known ; it could not but seem strange to the neighbours, to see this poor widow so busily pestering her house with empty tubs, which they knew she had nothing to fill ; they knew well enough, she had neither field, nor vineyard, nor 36 ELISHA WITH THE SHUNAMITE. LBOOK XIX. orchard, and therefore must needs marvel at such unprofitable diligence. If their curiosity would be inquiring after her intentions, she is com¬ manded secrecy. The doors must be shut upon herself, and her sons, while the oil is increasing. No eye shall see the miracle in working, enough shall see it, once wrought. This act was no less a proof of her faith, than an improvement of her estate; it was an exercise of her de¬ votion, as well as of her diligence ; it was fit her doors should be shut, while her heart and lips were opened in an holy invocation. Out of one small jar was poured out so much oil, as by a miraculous multiplica¬ tion filled all these empty casks. Scarce had that pot any bottom, at least the bottom that it had was to be measured by the brims of all those vessels ; this was so deep, as they were high ; could they have held more, this pot had not been empty. Even so the bounty of our God gives grace and glory, according to the capacity of the receiver ; when he ceaseth to infuse, it is for want of room in the heart that takes it in ; could we hold more, O God, thou wouldst give more : if there he any defect, it is in our vessels, not in thy beneficence. How did the heart of this poor widow run over, as with wonder, so with joy and thankfulness, to see such a river of oil rise out of so small a spring, to see all her vessels swimming full with so beneficial a liquor ! Justly is she affected with this sight, she is not transported from her duty. I do not see her run forth into the street, and proclaim her store, nor calling in her neighbours, whether to admire or bargain ; I see her running to the prophet’s door, and gratefully acknowledging the favour, and hum¬ bly depending on his directions, as not daring to dispose of that which was so wonderfully given her, without the advice of him, by whose power¬ ful means she had received it; her own reason might have sufficiently suggested what to do ; she dares not trust it, but consults with the oracle of God. If we would walk surely, we must do nothing without a word ; every action, every motion must have a warrant: we can no more err with this guide, than not err without him. The prophet sets her in a right way ; “ Go sell the oil, and pay thy debt, and live, thou, and thy children, on the rest.” The first care is of her debts, the next of her maintenance. It should be gross injustice to raise means for herself, and her charge, ere she have discharged the ar¬ rearages of her husband. None of the oil was hers, till her creditors were satisfied ; all was hers that remained. It is but stealth to enjoy a borrowed substance : while she had nothing, it was no sin to owe ; but, when once her vessels were full, she could not have been guiltless, if she had not paid, before she stored. God and his prophets were bountiful ; after the debt’s paid, they provide not only against the thraldom of her charge, but against the want. It is the just care of a religious heart to defend the widow and children of a prophet from distress and penury. Behold the true servant, and successor of Elijah : what he did to the Sareptan widow, this did to the widow of a prophet. That increase of oil was by degrees, this at once; both equally miraculous; this so much more cliaritable, as it less concerned himself. He that gives kindnesses, doth by turns receive them. Elisha hath relieved a poor woman, is relieved by a rich. The Shunamite, a religi¬ ous and wealthy matron, invites him to her house; and now, after tlie CONT. VII.] ELISHA WITH THE SHUNAMITE. 37 first entertainment, finding his occasions to call him to a frequent pass¬ age that way, moves her husband to fit up, and furnish a lodging for the man of God: it was his holiness that made her desirous of such a guest; well might she hope that such an inmate would pay a blessing for his house-rent. O happy Shunamite, that might make herself the hostess of Elisha ! As no less dutiful than godly, she imparts her desire to her husband, whom her suit hath drawn into a partnership in this holy hos¬ pitality : blessed of God is that man, whose bed yields him an help to heaven. The good Shunamite desires not to harbour Elisha in one of her wonted lodgings; she solicits her husband to build him a chamber on the wall apai’t; she knew the tumult of a large family unlit for the quiet meditations of a prophet. Retiredness is most meet for the thoughts of a seer : neither would she bring the prophet to bare walls, but sets ready for him a bed, a table, a stool, and a candlestick, and what¬ ever necessary utensils for his entertainment. The prophet doth not affect delicacy ; she takes care to provide for his convenience. Those that are truly pious and devout, think their houses and their hands cannot be too open to the messengers of God, and are most glad to ex¬ change their earthly commodities for the other’s spiritual. Superfluity should not fall within the care of a prophet, necessity must: he, that coidd provide oil for the widow, could have provided all needfid helps for himself. What room had there been for the charity and beneficence of others, if the prophet should have always maintained himself out of power? The holy man is so far sociable, as not to neglect the friendly offer of so kind a benefactor; gladly does he take up his new lodging, and, as well pleased with so quiet a repose, and careful attendance, he sends his servant Gehazi with the message of his thanks, with a treaty of retribu¬ tion; “ Behold, thou hast been careful for us, with all this care; what is to be done for thee ? wouldst thou be spoken for to the king, or to the captain of the host ?” An ingenuous disposition cannot receive favours without thoughts of return. A wise debtor is desirous to retribute in such kind, as may be most acceptable to his obligers. Without this dis¬ cretion, we may offer such requitals as may seem goodly to us, to our friends, worthless: every one can choose best for himself, Elisha there¬ fore, who had never been wanting in spiritual duties to so hospitable a friend, gives the Shunamite the election of her suit, for temporal recom¬ pense also : no man can be a loser by his favour to a prophet. It is good hearing that an Elisha is in such grace at the court; that he can promise himself access to the king in a friend’s suit: it was not ever thus : the time was, when his master heard, “ Hast thou found me, O mine enemy !” Now the late miracle which Elisha wrought, in gratifying the three kings with water and victory, hath endeared him to the king of Israel: and now, who but Elisha ? Even that rough mantle finds respect amongst those silks and tissues. As bad as Jehoram was, yet he ho¬ noured the man of God. He that could not prevail with an idolatrous king, in a spiritual reformation, yet can carry a civil suit. Neither doth the prophet, in a sullen discontentment, fly off from the court, because he found his labours unprofitable, but still holds good terms with that prince, Avhom he cannot reclaim, and will make use, notwithstanding, of 38 ELISHA WITH THE SHUNAMITE. [book xix. his countenance, in matters whether of courtesy or justice. We may not cast off our due respects even to faulty authority, but must still submit and persist, where we are repelled. Not to his own advancement doth Elisha desire to improve the king’s favour, but to the behoof, to the re¬ lief of others. If the Shunamite have business at the court, she need no other solicitor. There cannot be a better office, nor more beseeming a prophet, than to speak in the cause of the dumb; to befriend the op¬ pressed, to win greatness unto the protection of innocence. The good matron needs no shelter of the great: “ I dwell among mine own people as if she said. The courtesy is not small in itself, hut not useful to me: I live here quietly, in a contented obscurity, out of the reach either of the glories or cares of a court; free from wrongs, free from envies. Not so high as to provoke an evil eye, not so low as to be trodden on: I have neither fear nor ambitions, my neighbours are my friends, my friends are my protectors, and, if I should be so unhappy as to be the subject of main injuries, would not stick to be mine advo¬ cates : this favour is for those that either affect greatness, or groan un¬ der oppression; I do neither, for “ I live among my own people.” O Shunamite, thou shalt not escape envy I who can hear of thine happy condition, and not say, why am I not thus ? If the world afford any perfect contentment, it is in a middle estate, equally distant from penury, from excess : it is in a calm freedom, a secure tranquillity, a sweet frui¬ tion of ourselves, of ours. But what hold is there of these eai'thly things ? how long is the Shunamite thus blessed with peace ? Stay but a while, you shall see her come on her knees to the king of Israel, piti- fidly complaining that she was stripped of house and land ; and now Gehazi is fain to do that good office for her, which was not accepted from his master. Those, that stand fastest upon earth, have hut slip¬ pery footing; no man can say that he shall not need friends. Modesty sealed up the lips of the good Shunamite, she was ashamed to confess her longing: Gehazi easily guessed that her barrenness could not but be her affliction : she was childless, her husband old; Elisha gratifies her with the news of a son : “ About this season, accoixling to the time of life, thou shalt embrace a son.” How liberal is God, by his prophet, in giving beyond her requests; not seldom doth his bounty over-reach our thoughts, and meet us with those benefits which we thought too good for us to ask. Greatness and inexpectation makes the blessing seem incredible ; “ Nay, my lord, thou man of God, do not lie to thine handmaid.” We are never sure enough of what we desii-e ; we are not more hard to believe, than loath to distrust beneficial events: she well knew the prophet’s holiness could not stand with wilful false¬ hood ; perhaps she might think it spoken by way of trial, not of serious affirmation : as unwilling therefore that it should not be, and willing to hear that pleasing word seconded, she says, “ Do not lie to thine hand¬ maid.” Promises are made good, not by iteration, but by the effect; the Shunamite conceives, and bears a son at the set season : how' glad a mother she w’as, those know best that have mourned under the discom¬ fort of a sad sterility. The child grows up, and is now able to find out his father in the field, amongst his reapers: his father now grew young again with the pleasure of this sight, and more joyed in this spring of his hopes, CONT. VII.3 ELISHA WITH THE SHUNAMITE. 39 than in all the crops of his harvest; hut what stability is there in these earthly delights ? The hot beams of the sun beat upon that head which too much care had made tender and delicate; the child complains to his father of his pain; O that grace could teach us, what nature teaches in¬ fants, in all our troubles to bemoan ourselves to our heavenly Father ! He sends him to his mother; upon her lap, about noon, the child dies, as if he would return his soul into that bosom from which it was derived to him. The good Shunamite hath lost her son, her faith she had not lost; passion hath not robbed her of her wisdom : as not distracted wdth an accident so sudden, so sorrowful, she lays the dead child upon the prophet’s bed, she locks the door, she hides her grief, lest that conster¬ nation might hinder her design ; she hastens to her husband, and, as not daring to be other than officious in so distressful an occasion, acquaints him with her journey, though not with the cause, requires of him both attendance and conveyance; she posts to Mount Carmel; she cannot so soon find out the man of God as he hath found her; he sees her afar off, and, like a faithful guest, sends his servant hastily to meet her, to inquire of the health of herself, her husband, her child : her errand was not to Gehazi, it was to Elisha; no messenger shall interrupt her, no ear shall receive her complaint but the prophet’s ; down she falls pas¬ sionately at his feet, and, forgetting the fashion of her bashful strange¬ ness, lays hold of them, whether in an humble veneration of his person, or in a fervent desire of satisfaction. Gehazi, who well knew how un¬ couth, how unfit this gesture of salutation was for his master, offers to remove her, and admonisheth her of her distance; the merciful prophet easily apprehends that no ordinary occasion could so transport a grave and well-governed matron ; as therefore pitying her unknown passion, he bids “ Let her alone, for her soul is vexed within her, and the Lord hath hid it from me, and hath not told me.” If extremity of grief have made her unmannerly, wise and holy Elisha knows how to pardon it; he dares not add sori’ow to the afflicted ; he can better bear an unseemli¬ ness in her greetings than cruelty in her molestation. Great was the familiarity that the prophet had with his God ; and as friends are wont mutually to impart their counsels to each other, so had the Lord done to him; Elisha was not idle on mount Carmel; what was it that he saw not from thence ? not heaven only, hut the world was before him. Yet the Shunamite’s loss is concealed from him, neither doth he shame to confess it: ofttimes those that know greater matters may yet be igno¬ rant of the less. It is no disparagement to any finite creature not to know something. By her mouth will God tell the prophet, what by vision he had not; “Then she said, Did I desire a son of my lord? did I not say, do not deceive me ?” Deep sorrow is sparing of words: the expostulation could not be more short, more quick, more pithy; had I begged a son, perhaps my importunity might have been yielded to in anger ; too much desire is justly punished with loss. It is no mar¬ vel if what we wring from God prosper not: this favour to me was of thine own motion ; thy suit, O Elisha, made me a mother; couldst thou intend to torment me with a blessing ? How much more easy had the want of a son been than the miscarriage! barrenness than abortion 1 Was there no other end of my having a son, than that I might lose him ? 40 ELISHA WITH THE SHUNAMITE. [^BOOK XIX. O man of God, let me not complain of a cruel kindness ; thy prayers gave me a son, let thy prayers restore him ; let not my dutiful respects to thee be repaid with an aggravation of misery : give not thine hand¬ maid cause to wish that I were but so unhappy as thou foundest me : O woeful fruitfulness, if I must now say that I had a son ! I know not whether the mother or the prophet were more afflicted, the prophet for the mother’s sake, or the mother for her own. Not a word of reply do we hear from the mouth of Elisha, his breath is only spent in the remedy ; he sends his servant with all speed to lay his staff upon the face of the child, charging him to avoid all the delays of the way. Had not the prophet supposed that staff of his able to beat away death, why did he send it ? and if upon that supposition he send it, how was it that it failed of effect? was this act done out of human conceit, not out of instinct from God, or did the want of the mother’s faith hin¬ der the success of that cure ? she, not regarding the staff, or the man, holds fast to Elisha; no hopes of his message can loose her fingers: “ As the Lord liveth, and as thy soul liveth, I will not leave thee.” She imagined that the servant, the staff, might be severed from Elisha ; she knew that wherever the prophet was, there was power: it is good relying upon those helps that cannot fail us. Merit and importunity have drawn Elisha from Carmel to Shunem; he finds his lodging taken up by that pale carcass, he shuts his door and falls to his prayers ; this staff of his, whatever became of the other, was long enough, he knew, to reach up to heaven, to knock at those gates, yea, to wrench them open : he applies his body to those cold and senseless limbs ; by the fervour of his soul, he reduces that soul; by the heat of his body, he educeth warmth out of that corpse : the child sneez- eth seven times, and, as if his spirit had been but hid for the time, not departed, it falls to work afresh; the eyes look up, the lips and hands move. The mother is called in to receive a new life in her twice-given son ; she comes in, full of joy, full of wonder, and bows herself to the ground, and falls down before those feet which she had so boldly laid hold of in Carmel. O strong faith of the Shunamite, that could not be discouraged with the seizure and continuance of death ; raising up her heart still to an expectation of that life, which to the eyes of nature had been impossible, irrevocable 1 O infinite goodnes of the Almighty, that would not suffer such faith to be frustrated, that would rather reverse the laws of nature, inreturning a guest from heaven, and raising a corpse from death, than the confidence of a believing heart should be disappointed. How true an heir is Elisha of his master, not in his graces only, but in his actions I Both of them divided the waters of Jordan, the one as his last act, the other as his first: Elijah’s curse was the death of the captains and their troops; Elisha’s curse was the death of the children : Elijah rebuked Ahab to his face ; Elisha, Jehoram : Elijah supplied the drought of Israel, by rain from heaven ; Elisha supplied the drought of the three kings, by waters gushing out of the earth ; Elijah increased the oil of the Sareptan, Elisha increased the oil of the prophet's widow: Elijah raised from death the Sareptan’s son ; Elisha, the Shunamite’s : both of them had one mantle, one spirit; both of them climbed up one Carmel, one heaven. COXT. V 111.3 ELISHA WITH NAAMAN. 41 CONTEMPLATION VIII.—ELISHA WITH NAAMAN. Of the full showers of grace which fell upon Israel and Judah, yet some drops did light upon their neighhom*s. If Israel he the worse for her nearness to Syria, Syria is better for the vicinity of Israel. Amongst the worst of God’s enemies, some are singled out for mercy. Naaman was a great warrior, an honoiu-able courtier, yet a leper; no disease in¬ cident to the body is so nasty, so loathsome as leprosy. Greatness can secure no man from the most odious and wearisome condition. How little pleasure did this Syrian peer take to he stooped to by others, while he hated to see himself! Even those that honoured him avoided him, neither was he other than abhorred of those that flattered him; yea, his hand could not move to his mouth, without his own detestation ; the basest slave of Syria would not change skins with him, if he might have his honour to boot : thus hath the wise God thought meet to sauce the valom’, dignity, renown, victories of the famous general of the Syrians. Seldom ever was any man served with siiiiple favours; these composi¬ tions make both our crosses tolerable, and our blessings wholesome. The body of Naaman was not more tainted with his leprosy, than his soul was tainted with Rimmon; and besides his idolatry, he was a pro¬ fessed enemy to Israel, and successful in his enmity. How far doth God fetch about his purposes ! The leprosy, the hostility of Naaman, shall be the occasions of his salvation; that leprosy shall make his soul sound, that hostility shall adopt him a son of God : in some prosperous inroads that the Syrians, under Naaman’s conduct, have made into the land of Israel, a little maid is taken captive, she shall attend on Naaman’s wife, and shall suggest to her mistress the miraculous cures of Elisha. A small chink may serve to let in much light; her report finds credit in the court, and begets both a letter from the king and a jouimey of his peer. While the Syrians thought of nothing but their booty, they bring hap¬ piness to the house of Naaman : the captivity of a poor Hebrew girl is a means to make the greatest lord of Syria a subject to God; it is good to acquaint om’ children with the works of God, with the praises of his prophets. Little do we know how' they may improve this knowdedge, and whither they may carry it: perhaps the remotest nations may liglit their candle at their coal; even the weakest intimations may not be neglected; a child, a servant, a stranger may say that which we may bless God to have heard. How well did it become the mouth of an Israelite to extol a prophet, to wish the cure of her master, though an Aramite, to advise that journey unto the man of God, by whom both body and soul might be cured I True religion teacheth us pious and charitable respects to our governors, though aliens from the common- w^ealth of God. No man that I hear blames the credulity of Naaman ; upon no other ground doth the king of Syria send his chief peer, with his letters to the king of Israel, from his hands requiring the cure: the Syrian sup¬ posed, that wdratever a subject could do, a sovereign might command ; that such a prophet could neither be out of the knowledge, nor out of the obedience to his prince ; never did he dream of any exemption, hut II. r 42 ELISHA WITH NAAMAN. [book XIX. imagining .lelioram to be no less a king of prophets than of people, and Elisha no less a subject than a seer, he Avrites ; “ Now when this letter is come to thee, behold, I have herewith sent Naaman my servant to thee, that thou mayest recover him of his leprosy.” Great is the power of princes ; every man’s hand is theirs, whether for skill, or for strength ; besides the eminency of their own gifts, all the subordinate excellen¬ cies of their subjects are no less at their service, than if they were inherent in their persons. Great men are wanting to their own per¬ fections, if they do not both know and exercise the graces of their inferiors. The king of Israel cannot read the letter without amazement of heart, without rending of garments, and says, “ Am I God, to kill and to make alive, that this man sends to me, to recover a man of his leprosy ? wherefoi’e consider, and see, I pray you, how he seeketh a quarrel against me !” If God have vouchsafed to call kings gods, it well becomes kings to call themselves men, and to confess the distance wherein they stand to their Maker. Man may kill, man cannot kill and make alive; yea, of himself, he can do neither; with God, a Avorm, or a fly, may kill a man ; Avithout God no potentate can do it; much less can any ci’eated poAver both lull and revive ; since to restore life is more than to bereave it, more than to continue it, more than to give it; and if leprosy be a death, what human power can either inflict or cure it ? It is a trouble to a well alFected heart to receive impossible commands ; to require that of an inferior Avhich is proper to the Highest, is a derogation from that supreme poAver Avhose property it is. Had Jehoram been truly religious, the injury done to his Maker, in this motion, as he took it, had more afflicted him, than the danger of his own quarrel. Belike, Elisha was not in the thoughts of the king of Israel; he might have heard that this prophet had made alive one whom he killed not. Himself, Avith the tAvo other kings, had been eye witnesses of Avhat Elisha could do; yet now the calves of Dan and Bethel have so often taken up his heart, that there is no room for the memory of Elisha; whom he used to in his extremity, now his prosperity hath forgotten. Carnal hearts, when need drives them, can think of God and his prophet; Avhen their turn is served, can as utterly neglect them, as if they Avere not. Yet cannot good Misha repay neglect and forgetfulness. He listens what is done to the court, finding the distress of his sovereign, proffers that service, which shoxdd have been required ; “ Wherefore hast thou rent thy clothes ! Let him come now to me, and he shall knoAv that there is a prophet in Israel.” It Avas no small fright from which Elisha delivers his king. Jehoram was in aAve of the Syrians, ever since their last auc- tory, AAdiereiu his father Ahab Avas slain, Israel and Judah discomfited: nothing was more dreadful to him than the froAvns of these Aramites. The quarrel, AAdiich he suspected to be hatched by them, is cleared by Elisha; their leper shall be healed; both they and Israel shall kiioAV, they have neglected a God, Avhose prophet can do wonders. Many eyes, doubtless, are fastened upon the issue of this message. But what state is this that Elisha takes upon him ? he doth not say, “ I will come to himbut, “ Let him come noAv to me.” The three kings came doAvn once to his tent; it is no marvel, if he prevent not the journey of a roNT. vni.]] ELISHA WITH N A AM AN. 43 Syrian courtier. It well beseems him that will be a suitor for favour, to be obsequious : we may not stand upon terms of our labour or dig¬ nity, where we expect a benefit. Naaman comes richly attended with his troops of servants and horses, and waits in his chariot at the door of a prophet. I do not hear Elisha call him in ; for though he were great, yet he was leprous ; neither do I see Elisha come forth to him, and receive him with such outward courtesies, as might be fit for an honourable stranger: for in those rich clothes the prophet saw an Ara- mite, and, perhaps, some tincture of the late-shed blood of Israel. Rather, that he might make a perfect trial of the humility of that man, whom he means to gratify and honour, after some short attendance at his door, he sends his servant with a message to that peer, who could not but think the meanest of his retinue a better man than Gehazi’s master. What could the prophet have done other to the lacquey of Naaman’s man ? He, that would be a meet subject of mercy, must be thorough¬ ly abased in his own conceit, and must be willingly pliable to all the conditions of his humiliation. Yet, had the message carried in it either respect to the person, or probability of effect, it could not have been unwelcome : but now it sounded of nothing but sullenness and unlike¬ lihood ; “ Go and wash in Jordan seven times, and thy flesh shall come again to thee, and thou shalt be clean.” What wise man could take this for any other than a mere scorn, and mockery ? “ Go, wash.” Alas I Avhat can water do ? it can cleanse from filthiness, not from leprosy: and why in Jordan? what differs that from other streams? and why just seven times ? what virtue is either in that channel, or in that num¬ ber ? Naaman can no more put oft’ nature than leprosy. In what a chafe did he fling away from the prophet’s door, and says. Am I come thus far to fetch a flout from an Israelite ? Is this the issue both of my journey, and the letters of my king ? could this prophet find no man to play upon but Naaman ? had he meant seriously, why did he think him¬ self too good to come forth unto me ? why did he not touch me with his hand, and bless with his prayers, and cure me with his blessing ? Is my misery fit for his derision ? If water could do it, what needed I to come so far for this remedy ? have I not oft done thus in vain ? have we not better streams at home, than any Israel can afford ? “ Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel ?” Folly and pride strive for place in a natural heart, and it is hard to say whether is more predominant: folly in measuring the power of God’s ordinances by the rule of human discourse and ordinary event ; pride, in a scornful valuation of the institutions of God, in comparison of our own devices. Abana and Pharpar, two for one; rivers, not Ava- ters, of Damascus, a stately city, and incomparable ; are they not ? who dares deny it? better, not as good, than the waters, not the rivers, all the waters, Jordan, and all the rest of Israel, a beggarly region to Da¬ mascus. No where shall we find a truer pattern of the disposition of nature : how she is altogether led by sense and reason, how she fondly judges of all objects by the appearance, how she acquaints herself only with the common road of God’s proceedings, hoAv she sticks to her own principles, how she misconstrues the intentions of God, how she over¬ conceits her own, how she disdains the mean conditions of others, how 44 * ELISHA WITH NAAMAN. [book xix- she upbraids her opposites with the proud comparison of her own privi¬ leges. Nature is never but like herself. No marvel, if carnal minds despise the foolishness of preaching, the simplicity of sacraments, the homeliness of ceremonies, the seeming inefficacy of censures. These men look up¬ on Jordan with Syrian eyes, one drop of whose water, set apart by di¬ vine ordination, hath more virtue than all the streams of Abana and Phar- par. It is a good matter for a man to be attended with wise and faithful followers. Many a one hath had better counsel from his heels, than from his elbows. Naaman’s servants were his best friends, they came to him, and spake to him, and said, “ My father, if the prophet had bid thee do some great thing, wouldst thou not have done it ? how much rather then, when he saith to thee. Wash, and be clean.” These men were servants, not of the humour, but of the profit of their master. Some servile spirits would have cared only to soothe up, not to benefit their governor, and would have encouraged his rage by their own ; Sir, will you take this at the hand of a base fellow ? was ever man thus flouted ? will you let him carry it away thus ? is any harmless anger sufficient revenge for such an insolence ? Give us leave at least to pull him out by the ears, and force him to do that by violence, which he would not do out of good manners: let our fingers teach this saucy pro¬ phet, what it is to oft’er an affront to a prince of Syria. But these men loved more their master’s health than his passion; and had rather there¬ fore to advise, than flatter; to draw him to good, than follow him to evil; since it w'as a prophet from whom he received this prescription, they persuade him not to despise it; intimating, thei’e could be no fault in the slightness of the receipt, so long as there was no defect of power in the commander : that the virtue of the cure should be in his obedience, not in the nature of the remedy. They persuade and prevail. Next to the prophet, Naaman may thank his servants, that he is not a leper. He goes down, upon their entreaty, and dips seven times in .Jordan, his flesh riseth, his leprosy vanisheth. Not the unjust fury and techiness of the patient shall ci’oss the cure ; lest, while God is severe, the prophet should be discredited. Long enough might Naaman have washed there in vain, if Elisha had not sent him. Many a leper hath bathed in that stream, and hath come forth no less impure. It is the word, the ordi¬ nance of the Almighty which puts efficacy into those means, which of themselves are both impotent and improbable. What can our font do to the washing away of sin ? If God’s institution shall put virtue into our Jordan, it shall scour off the spiritual leprosies of our hearts, and shall more cure the soul than cleanse the face. How joyful is Naaman to see this change of his skin, this renovation of his flesh, of his life ! never did his heart find such warmth of inward gladness, as in this stream. Upon the sight of his recovery, he doth not post home to the com-t, or to his family, to call for witnesses, for partners of his joy, but thankfully returns to the prophet, by whose means he received this mercy : he comes back with more contentment, than he departed with rage. Now- will the man of God be seen of that recovered Syrian, whom he w'ould rONT. VIII.] ELISHA WITH NAAMAN. 45 not see leprous: his presence shall be yielded to the gratulation, whicii was not yielded to the suit. Piu-posely did Elisha forbear before, that he might share no part of the praise of this work with his Maker. That God might be so much more magnified, as the means were more weak and despicable. The miracle hath its due woi’k. First, doth Naaman acknowledge the God that wrought it, then the prophet by Avhom he wrought it. “ Behold, now I know there is no God in all the earth, but in Israel.” O happy Syrian, that was at once cui'ed of his leprosy, and his misprision of God ! Naaman was too wise to think that either the water had cured him, or the man! he saw a Divine power working- in both, such as he vainly sought from his heathen deities ; with the heart therefoi-e he believes, with the mouth he confesses. While he is thus thankful to the Author of his cure, he is not unmind¬ ful of the instrument. “ Now therefore I pray thee, take a blessing of thy servant.” Naaman came richly furnished with ten talents of silver, six thousand pieces of gold, ten changes of raiment: all these, and many more, would the Syrian peer have gladly given to be delivered from so noisome a disease: no marvel if he importunately oflFer some part of them to the prophet, now that he is delivered ; some testimony of thank¬ fulness did well, where all earthly recompense was too short The hands of this man were no less full of thanks than his mouth. Dry and barren professions of our obligations, where is power to requite, are un¬ fit for noble and ingenuous spirits. Naaman is not more frank in offering his gratuity, than Elisha vehe¬ ment in refusing it: “ As the Lord liveth, before whom I stand, I will receive none.” Not that he thought the Syrian gold impure ; not that he thought it unlawful to take up a gift, whex-e he hath laid down a benefit: but the prophet will i-emit of Naaman’s purse, that he may win ot his soul. The man of God would have his new convert see cause to be more enamoured of true piety, which teacheth her clients to contemn those worldly i-iches and glories which base worldliness adox’e; and would have him think, that these miraculous powers are so far trans¬ cending the valuation of all earthly pelf, that those glittering treasures are worthy of nothing but contempt, in respect thereof. Hence it is, that he, who refused not the Shunamite’s table, and stool, and candle¬ stick, will not take Naaman’s pi-esent. There is much use of godly dis¬ cretion in directing us when to open, when to shut our hands. He, that will not be allowed to give, desires yet to take. “ Shall there not, I pray thee, be given to thy servant two mules’ load of earth ? for thy servant will henceforth offer neither burnt-offering nor saci’ifice to other gods, but unto the Lord.” Isi-aelitish mould lay open to his carriage, Avithout leave of Elisha; but Naaman i-egards not to take it, unless it may be given him, and given him by the prophet’s hand. —Well did this Syrian find that the man of God had given a superna- tui’al virtue to the water of Israel; and therefore supposed he might give the like to his earth ; neither would any earth serve him but Elisha’s, else the mould of Israel had been more pi’operly craved of the king, than the prophet of Israel. Doubtless it was devotion that moved this suit. The Syrian saw God had a propriety in Israel, and imagines that he will be best pleased 40 ELISHA WITH NAAMAN. [[book XIX. with his own. On the sudden was Naaman lialf a proselyte ; still here was a weak knowledge with strong intentions : he will sacrifice to the Lord, but where ? in Syria, not in Jerusalem : not the mould, but the altar is what God respects, which he hath allowed no where but in his chosen Sion. This honest Syrian will be removing God home to his country ; he should have resolved to remove his home to God: and though he vows to offer no sacrifice to any other god, yet he craves leave to offer an outward courtesy to Rimmon, though not for the idol’s sake, yet for his master’s. “ In this thing the Lord pardon thy servant, that when my master goeth into the house of Rimmon to worship there, and he leaneth on my hand, and I bow myself in the house of Rimmon, the Lord pardon thy servant in this thing.” Naaman goes away reso¬ lute to profess himself an Israelite for religion; all the Syrian court shall know that he sacrifices upon Israelitish earth to the God of Israel : they shall hear him protest to have neither heart nor knee for Rimmon. If he must go into the house of that idol, it shall be as a servant, not as a supplicant; his duty to his master shall carry him, not his devotion to his master’s god ; if his master go to worship there, not he ; neither doth he say, “ When I bow myself to the image of Rimmon,” but, “ in the house he shall bow to be leaned upon, not to adore : yet had not Naaman thought this a fault, he had not craved a pardon ; his heart told him, that a perfect convert should not have abided the roof, the sight, the air of Rimmon ; that his observance of an earthly master should not draw him to the semblance of an act of outward observance to the rival of his Master in heaven, that a sincere detestation of idolatry could not stand with so unseasonable a courtesy. Far therefore is Naaman from being a pattern, save of weakness ; since he is yet more than half a Syrian ; since he willingly accuses him¬ self, and, instead of defending, deprecates his offence. As nature, so grace rises, by many degrees to perfection. It is not for us to expect a full stature in the cradle of conversion. Leprosy was in Naaman cured at once, not corruption. The prophet, as glad to see him but thus forward, dismisses him with a civil valediction. Had an Israelite made this suit, he had been an¬ swered with a check. Thus much from a Syrian was worthy of a kind farewell; they are parted. Gehazi cannot thus take his leave ; his heart is mauled up in the rich chests of Naaman, and now he goes to fetch it. The prophet and his man had not looked with the same eyes upon the Syrian treasure ; the one with the eye of contempt, the other with the eye of admiration and covetous desire. The disposition of the master may not be measured by the mind, by the act of his servant. Holy Elisha may be attended by a false Gehazi; no examples, no counsels, will prevail with some hearts. Who would not have thought, that the follower of Elisha could be no other than a saint ? yet, after the view of all those miracles, this man is a mirror of worldliness. He thinks his master either too simple, or too kind, to refuse so just a present from a Syrian ; himself wdll be more wise, more frugal. Desire hastens his pace, he doth not go, but run after liis booty; Naaman sees him, and, as true nobleness is ever courteous, alights from his chariot to meet him. The great lord CONT. Vlll.] ELISHA WITH NAAMAN. 47 of Syria comes forth of his coach to salute a prophet’s servant: not fearing that he can humble himself overmuch to one of Elisha’s family. He greets Gehazi with the same word wherewith he was lately demitted by his master: “ Is it peace ?” So sudden a messenger might seem to argue some change. He soon receives from the breathless bearer, news of his master’s health and request. “ All is well ; my master hath sent me, saying, Behold, even now there be come to me, from mount Eph¬ raim, two young men of the sons of the prophets: give me, I pray thee, a talent of silver, and two changes of garments.” Had Gehazi craved a reward in his own name, calling for the fee of the prophet’s servant, as the gain, so the offence had been the less; now, reaching at a greater sum, he belies his master, robs Naaman, burdens his own soul. What a round tale hath the craft of Gehazi devised, of the number, the place, the quality, the age of his master’s guests, that he might set a fair colour upon that pretended request, so proportioning the value of his demand, as might both enrich himself, and yet well stand Avith the moderation of his master I Love of money can never keep good quarter with honesty, with innocence. Covetousness never lodged in tbe heart alone; if it find not, it will breed wickedness. What a mint of fraud there is in aworldly breast! how readily can it coin subtile falsehood for an advantage. How thankfully liberal was this noble Syrian ! Gehazi could not be more eager in taking, than ho was in giving; as glad of so happy an oc¬ casion of leaving any piece of his treasure behind him, he forces tAvo ta¬ lents upon the servant of Elisha, and binds them in two bags, and lays them upon two of his own servants ; his own train shall yield porters to Gehazi. Cheerfulness is the just praise of our beneficence. Bountiful minds are as zealous in over-paying good tiwns, as the niggardly are in scanting retributions. What projects do we think Gehazi had all the way ? how did he please himself with the waking dreams of purchases, of traffic, of jollity I and now, when they are come to the tower, he gladly disburdens and dismisses his two Syrian attendants, and hides their load, and wipes his mouth, and stands boldly before that master whom he had so foully abused. O Gehazi, where didst thou think God AA^as this Avhile ? Couldst thou thus long pour Avater upon the hands of Elisha, and be either ignorant or re¬ gardless of that undeceivable eye of Providence, Avhich Avas ever fixed up¬ on thy hands, thy tongue, thy heart ? couldst thou thus hope to blind the eyes of a seer ? Hear then thy indictment, thy sentence, from him whom thou thoughtst to have mocked with thy concealment; “ Wlience comest thou, Gehazi? Thy servant went no whither.” He, that had begun a lie to Naaman, ends it to his master: whoso lets his tongue once loose to a wilful untruth, soon grows impudent in multiplying falsehoods. Of Avhat metal is the forehead of that man, that dares lie to a prophet ? what is this but to outface the senses? “ Went not my heart with thee, when the man turned again from his chariot to meet thee ?” Didst thou not, tUl now, know, O Gehazi, that prophets have spiritual eyes, which are not confined to bodily prospects ? didst thou not knoAv, that their hearts were often where they were not ? didst thou not know that thy secretest AA^ays were overlooked by invisible witnesses ? Hear then, and be convinced : hither thou wentst, thus thou saidst, thus thou didst, thus thou spedst. 48 ELISHA RAISING THE IRON. [^nooK XIX, AVliat answer was iioav here hut confusion ? Miserable Gehazi, how didst tliou stand pale and trembling before the dreadfid tribunal of thy severe master, looking for the woeful sentence of some grievous judg¬ ment for so heinous an offence I “ Is this a time to receive money, and to receive garments, and (which thou hadst already purchased in thy con¬ ceit) oliveyards, and vineyards, and sheep, and oxen, and men-servants, and maid-servants ?” Did my mouth refuse, that thy hands might take? Was I so careful to win honour to my God, and credit to my profes¬ sion, by denying these Syrian presents, that thou mightest dash both in receiving them ? was there no way to enrich thyself, but by belying thy master, by disparaging this holy function in the eyes of a new convert ? Since thou wouldst needs therefore take part of Naaman’s treasure, take part wdth him in his leprosy; “ The leprosy of Naaman shall cleave un¬ to thee, and unto thy seed for ever.” 0 heavy talents of Gehazi ! O the horror of this one unchangeable suit, which shall never be but loath¬ somely white, noisomely unclean! How much better had been a light purse and a homely coat, with a sound body, a clear soul ! Too late doth that wretched man now find, that he hath loaded himself with a curse, that he hath clad himself with shame : his sin shall be read ever in his face, in his seed : all passengers, all posterities shall now say. Be¬ hold the characters of Gehazi’s covetousness, fraud, sacrilege I The act overtakes the word: “ He went out of his presence a leper as wdiite as snow.” It is a woeful exchange that Gehazi hath made with Naaman ; Naaman came a leper : returned a disciple ; Gehazi came a disciple, re¬ turned a leper: Naaman left behind both his disease and his money ; Gehazi takes up both his money and his disease. Now shall Gehazi never look upon himself, but he shall think of Naaman, wdiose skin is transferred upon him with those talents, and shall wear out the rest of his days in shame, in pain, and sorrow. His tears may w'ash off the guilt of his sin, but shall not, like another Jordan, wash off his leprosy, that shall ever i-emain as a hereditary monument of divine severity. This son of the prophet shall more loudly and lively preach the justice of God by his face, than others by their tongue. Happy w^as it for him, if, while his skin was snow'-white with leprosy, his humbled soul was washed white as ■snow with the water of true repentance. CONTEMPLATION IX.—ELISHA RAISING THE IRON; BLINDING THE ASSYRIANS. There was no loss of Gehazi, when he w'as gone, the prophets increas¬ ed : an ill man in the church is but like some shrubby tree in a garden, whose shade keeps better plants from grow ing : a blank doth better in a room than an ill filling. The view of God’s just judgments doth rather draw clients unto him, than alienate them. The kings of Israel had succeeded in idolatry and hate of sincere religion, yet the prophets multiply: persecution enlargeth the bounds of the church. These very tempestuous showers bring up flowers and herbs in abundance. There would have been neither so many, nor so zealous prophets in the Itvnguishment of peace. Besides, what marvel is it, if the CONT. IX.] ELISHA RAISING THE IRON. 49 immediate succession of two such noble leaders, as Elijah and Eli¬ sha, established and augmented religion, and bred multitudes of prophets? rather who can marvel, upon the knowledge of all their miracles, that all Israel did not prophesy ? It is a good hearing that the prophets want elbow-room out of their store, not out of the envy of neighbours, or incompetency of provision: where vision fails, the people perish; they are blessed where it abounds. When they found themselves straitened, they did not presume to carve for themselves, but they craved the leave, the counsel of Elisha; “ Let us go, we pray thee, unto Jordan, and take thence every man a beam, and let us make us a place where we may dwell: and he said. Go ye.” It well becomes the sons of the prophets to enterprise no¬ thing without the allowance of their superiors. Here was a building towards none of the curiousest; I do not see them making means for the procurement of some cunning ai’tificers, nor for the conquisition of some costly marbles and cedars, but every man shall hew, and square, and frame his own beam. No nice terms were stood upon by these sons of the prophets ; their thoughts were fixed upon the perfection of a spirit¬ ual building : as a homely roof may serve them, so their own hands shall raise it. The fingers of these contemplative men did not scorn the axe, and mallet, and chisel: it was better being there than in Oba- diah’s cave ; and they that dwell now contentedly under rude sticks, wifi, not refuse the squared stones and polished contignations of better times. They shall be ill teachers of others, that have not learnt both to want and to abound. The master of this sacred society, Elisha, is not stately, nor austere ; he gives not only passage to this motion of his collegiates, but assistance. It was fit the sons of the prophets should have convenience of dwelling, though not pomp, not costliness. They fall to their work, no man goes slackly about the building of his own house. One of them, more re¬ garding the tree than the tool, lets fall the head of the axe into the river ; poor men are sensible of small losses; he makes his moan to Elisha, “ Alas, master, for it was borrowed.” Had the axe been his own, the trouble had been the less to forego it: therefore doth the miscarriage afflict him, because it was of a borrowed axe. Honest minds are more careful of what they have by loan than by propriety. In lending there is a trust, which a good heart cannot disappoint without vexation. Alas ! poor novices of the prophet, they would be building, and were not worth their axes; if they would give their labour, they must borrow their instruments. Their wealth was spiritual ; outward poverty may well stand with inward riches: he is rich, not that hath the world, but tliat can contemn it. Elisha loves and cherishes this just simplicity ; rather will he work a miracle, than a borrowed axe shall not be restored. It might easily be imagined, he that could raise up the iron out of the bottom of the water, could tell wdiere it fell in : yet even that powerful hand calls for direc¬ tion. In this one point the son of the prophet knows more than Elisha. The notice of particularities is neither fit for a creature, nor communica¬ ble : a mean man may best know his own case : this novice better knows II. G 50 ELISHA RAISING THE IRON. [[book XIX. where his axe fell, than his master: his master knows better how to get it out than he. There is no reason to be given of supernatural actions : the prophet borrows an axe to cut a helve for the lost axe, why did he not make use of that handle which had cast the head ? Did he hold it unworthy of respect, for that it had abandoned the metal wherewith it was trusted ? or did he make choice of a new stick, that the miracle might be the more clear and unquestionable ? Divine power goes a contrary way to art: we first woidd have procured the head of the axe, and then would have fitted it with an helve : Elisha fits the head to the helve, and causeth the wood, which was light, and knew not how to sink, to fetch up the iron, which was heavy, and naturally incapable of super¬ natation. Wliether the metal were stripped of the natural weight, by the same power which gave it being, or whether retaining the wonted poise, it was raised by some spiritual operation, I inquire not; only, I see it swim like cork upon the stream of Jordan, and move towards the hand that lost it. What creature is not willing to put off the properties of nature, at the command of the God of nature I O God, how easy is it for thee, when this hard and heavy heart of mine is sunk down into the mud of the world, to fetch it up again by thy mighty word, and cause it to float upon the streams of life, and to see the face of heaven again ! Yet still do the sides of Israel complain of the thorns of Aram : the children of Ahab rue their father’s unjust mercy. From an enemy, it is no making question whether of strength or wile. The king of Syria consults with his servants, where to encamp for his greatest advantage; their opinion is not more required than their secresy. Elisha is a thousand scouts ; he sends word to the king of Israel of the projects, of the removes of his enemy; more than once had Jehoram saved both his life, and his host, by these close admoni¬ tions : it is well, that in something yet a prophet may be obeyed. What strange state-service was this which Elisha did, besides the spiritual! The king, the people of Israel, owe themselves and theii* safety, to a despised prophet. The man of God knew, and felt them idola¬ ters ; yet how careful and vigilant is he for their rescue I If they were bad, yet they were his own: if they were bad, yet not all; God had his number amongst their worst; if they were bad, yet the Syrians were worse. The Israelites mis-worshipped the true God, the Syrians worshipped a false ; that, if it were possible, he might w'in them, he will preserve them ; and, if they will needs be wanting to God, yet Elisha will not be wanting to them. Their impiety shall not make him undutiful. There cannot be a juster cause of displeasure, than the disclosing of those secret counsels which are laid up in our eai’, in our breast. The king of Syria, not without reason, stomachs this supposed treachery. AYhat prince can bear that an adverse power should have a party, a pensionary in his own court ? How famous was Elisha, even in foreign regions ! Besides Naaman, others of the Syrian nobility take notice of the miraculous faculties of this prophet of Israel. He is accused for this secret intelligence. No words can escape him, though spoken in the bed-chamber. O Syrian ! whosoever thou wert, thou saidst not enough : CONT. IX .3 ELISHA RAISING THE IRON. 51 if thy master do but whisper in thine ear, if he smother his words within his own lips, if he do but speak within his own bosom, Elisha knows it from an infallible information. What counsel is it, O God, that can be hid from thee ! what counsel is it that thou wilt hide from thy seer I Even this very word, that accused the prophet, is known to the accused. He hears this tale while it is in telling; he hears the plot for his apprehension. How ill do the projects of wicked men hang together ! They that confess Elisha knows their seci’etest words, do yet confer to take him. There are spies upon him, whose espials have moved their anger and admiration. He is described to be in Dothan, a small town of Manasseh’s. A whole army is sent hither to surprise him : the opportunity of the night is chosen for the exploit. There shall be no want either in the number, or valour, or secresy of these couspired troops: and now when tliey have fully girt in the village with a strong and exquisite siege, they make themselves sure of Elisha, and please themselves to think how they have incaged the miserable prophet; how they should take him at unawares in his bed, in the midst of a secure dream; how they should carry him fettered to their king; what thanks they should have for so welcome a prisoner. The successor of Gehazi riseth early in the morning, and seeth all the city encompassed with a fearful host of foot, horse, chariots; his eyes could meet with nothing but woods of pikes, and walls of harness, and lustre of metals; and now he runs in affrighted to his master, “ Alas, my master, what shall we do ?” He had day enough to see they were ene¬ mies that environed them, to see himself helpless and desperate ; and hath only so much life left in him, as to lament himself to the partner of his misery. He cannot flee from his new master, if he would ; he I’uns to him with a woeful clamour, “ Alas, my master, what shall we do ?” O the undaunted courage of faith ! Elisha sees all this, and sits in his chamber so secure, as if these had only been the guard of Israel, for his safe protection. It is a hard precept that he gives his servant, “ Fear not." As well might he have bid him not to see when he saw, as not to fear when he saw so dreadful a spectacle. The operations of the senses are no less certain than those of the affections, where tlie objects are no less proper. But the task is easy, if the next word may find belief, “For there are more with us than with them.” Multitude, and other outward probabilities, do both lead the confidence of natural hearts, and fix it. It is for none but a David to say, “ I will not be afraid of ten thousands of people, that have set themselves against me round about." Flesh and blood riseth and falleth, according to the proportion of the strength or weakness of apparent means. Elisha’s man looked about liirn; yet his master prays, “ Lord, open his eyes, that he may see.” Naturally we see not while we do see; every thing is so seen as it is : bodily eyes discern bodily objects, only spiritual can see the things of God: some men want both eyes and light. Elisha’s servant had eyes, wanted illumination : no sooner were his eyes open, than he saw the mountain full of horses and chariots of fire round about Elisha. They were there before ; neither doth Elisha pray that those troops may be gathered, but that they may be seen : not till now were they descried. Invisible armies guard the servants of God, 52 ELISHA RAISING THE IRON. [book XIX. v/hile they seem most forsaken of earthly aid, most exposed to certain dan¬ gers. If the eyes of our faith be as open as those of our sense, to see angels as well as Syrians, we cannot be appalled with the most unequal terms of hostility. Those blessed spirits are ready either to rescue our bodies, or to carry up our souls to blessedness: whichsoever shall be enjoined by their Maker, there is just comfort in both, in either. Both these chariots that came to fetch Elijah, and those that came to defend Elisha, were fiery. God is not less lovely to his own in the midst of his judgments, than he is terrible to his enemies in the demon¬ stration of his mercies. Thus guarded, it is no marvel, if Elisha dare walk forth into the midst of the Syrians. Not one of those heavenly presidiaries struck a stroke for the prophet, neither doth he require their blows ; only he turns his prayer to his God, and says, “ Smite this people, I pray thee, with blindnessWith no other than deadly intentions did those Aramites come down to Elisha, yet doth he not say, smite them with the sword, but, “ Smite them with blindness.” All the evil he wish- eth to them is their repentance: there was no way to see their error, but by blindness. He that prayed for the opening of lus servant’s eyes, to see his safeguard, prays for the blinding of his enemies, that they might not see to do hurt. As the eyes of Elisha’s servant were so shut, that they saw not the angels, when they saw the Syrians; so the eyes of the Syrians shall be likewise shut, that, when they see the man, they shall not see the pro¬ phet. To all other objects their eyes are clear, only to Elisha they shall be blind ; blind not through darkness, but through misknowledge : they shall see and mistake both the person and place. He tkat made the senses, can either hold or delude them at pleasure : how easily can he offer to the sight other representations, than those which arise from the visible matter, and make the heart to believe them ! Justly now might Elisha say, “ This is not the way, neither is this the city,” wherein Elisha shall be descried. He was in Dothan, but not as Elisha; he shall not be found but in Samaria, neither can they have any guide to him but himself. No sooner are they come into the streets of Samaria, than their eyes have leave to know both the place and the pro¬ phet. The first sight they have of themselves is in the trap of Israel, in the jaws of death. Those stately palaces, which they now wonder at un¬ willingly, carry no resemblance to them but of their graves. Every Is¬ raelite seems an executioner, every house a jail, every beam a gibbet: and now they look upon Elisha, transformed from their guide to their common murderer, with horror and paleness. It is most just with God to entangle the plotters of wickedness in their own snare. How glad is a mortal enemy to snatch at all advantages of revenge I Never did the king of Israel see a more pleasing sight, than so many Syrian throats at his mercy ; and, as loath to lose so fail’ a day, as if his fingers itched to be dipt in blood, he says, “ My father, shall I smite them, shall I smite them ?” The repetition argued desire, the compellation re¬ verence. Not without allowance of a prophet, would the king of Israel lay his hand iq>on an enemy, so mii-aculously trained home. His heait was still foul with idolatry, yet would he not taint his hand with for¬ bidden blood. Hypocrisy will be still scrupulous in something ; and in some awful restraints, is a perfect counterfeit of conscience. CONT. X.] THE FAMINE OF SAMARIA. 53 The charitable prophet soon gives an angry prohibition of slaughter; “ Thou shalt not smite them: wouldst thon smite those whom thou hast taken captive with thy sword and with thy bow ?” as if he had said, These are God’s captives, not thine ; and if they were thine OAvn, their blood could not be sbed without cruelty : though in the hot chases of war, executions may be justifiable ; yet in the coolness of deliberation, it can be no other than inhuman, to take those lives which have been yielded to mercy. But here, thy bow and thy sword are guiltless of the suc¬ cess ; only a strange providence of the Almighty hath cast them into thine hands, whom neither thy force nor thy fraud could have compassed. If it be victory thou aimest at, overcome them with kindness ; “ Set bread and water before them, that they may eat and drink.” O noble re¬ venge of Elisha, to feast his persecutors ! to provide a table for those, who had provided a grave for him I These Syrians came to Dothan full of bloody pm-poses to Elisha; he sends them from Samaria full of good cheer and jollity. Thus, thus should a prophet punish his pursuez’s. No vengeance but this is heroical, and fit for Chi’istian imitation. “ If thine enemy hunger, give him bread to eat; if he thii'st, give him water to drink ; for thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head ; and the Lord shall re- wai’d thee. Be not overcome with evil, but overcome evil with good.” The king of Israel hath done that by his feast, which he could not have done by his sword. The bands of Syria will no moi-e come by way of ambush or incursion into the bounds of Israel. Never did a charitable act go away without the retribution of a blessing. In doing some good to our enemies, we do most good to om'selves. God cannot but love in us this imitation of his mercy, who bids Kis sun shine, and his rain fall, where he is most provoked; and that love is never fruitless. CONTEMPI-ATION X.—THE FAMINE OF SAMARIA RELIEVED. Not many good turns are wi-itten in marble. Soon have these Sy¬ rians forgotten the merciful beneficence of Israel. After the foi’bearance of some hostile inroad, all the forces of Syria are mustered against Jehoram. That very Samaria, which had i-elieved the distressed Aramites, is by tbe Ai’amites besieged, and is famished by those whom it had fed. The famine within the walls was more terrible than the sword without. Their woi’st enemy was shut within, and could not be dislodged of their own bowels. Whither hath the idolatry of Israel brought them ! Befoi’e they had been scourged with war, with drought, with dearth, as with a single cord, they remain incorrigible, and now God twists two of these bloody lasbes together, and galls them even to death: thei’e needs no other executioners than their own maws. Those things which in their nature were not edible, at least to an Israe¬ lite, were now both dear and dainty. The ass was, besides the untooth- someness, an impure creature. That which the law of ceremonies had made unclean, the law of necessity had made delicate and precious. The bones of so carrion a head could not be picked for less than four hundred pieces of silver. Neither was this scarcity of victuals only. THE FAMINE OF SAMARIA. 54 [[book xrx. but of all other necessaries for human use ; that the belly might not complain alone, the whole man was equally pinched. The king of Israel is neither exempted from the judgment, nor yet yields under it. He walks upon the walls of his Samaria, to oversee the watches set, the engines ready, the guards changed, together with the posture of the enemy, when a woman cries to him out of the city, “ Help, my lord, O king.” Next to God, what refuge have we in all our necessities, but his anointed ? Earthly sovereignty can aid us in the case of the injustice of men, but what can it do against the judgments of God ? “ If the Lord do not help thee, whence shall I help thee, out of the barn floor, or out of the wine press ?” Even the great¬ est powers must stoop to afflictions in themselves; how should they be able to prevent them in others ? To sue for aid, where is an utter impotence of redress, is but to upbraid the weakness, and ag¬ gravate the misery, of those whom we implore. Jehoram mistakes the suit; the supplicant calls to him for a woeful piece of justice: two mothers have agreed to eat their sons ; the one hath yielded hers to be boiled and eaten : the other, after she hath taken her part of so prodi¬ gious a banquet, withdraws her child, and hides him from the knife. Hunger and envy make the plaintiff importunate ; and now she craves the benefit of royal justice. She that made the first motion, withholds her part of the bargain, and flies from that promise, whose trust had made this mother childless. O the direful effects of famine I that turns off all respects of nature, and gives no place to horror, causing the tender mother to lay her hands, yea her teeth, upon the fruit of her own body, and to receive that into her stomach, which she hath brought forth of her womb. What should Jehoram do ? the match was monstrous, the challenge was just, yet unnatural. This complainant had purchased one half of the living cliild, by the one half of hers dead. The mother of the surviving infant is pressed by covenant, by hunger; restrained by nature. To force a mother to deliver up her child to voluntary slaugh¬ ter, had been cruel; to force a debitor to pay a confessed arrearage, seemed but equal. If the remaining child be not dressed for food, this mother of the devoured child is both robbed and famished: if he be, innocent blood is shed by authority. It is no marvel, if the question astonished the judge: not so much for the dififlcidty of the demand, as the horror of the occasion. To what lamentable distress did Jehoram find his people driven ! not without cause did the king of Israel rend his garments, and show his sackcloth; well might he see his people branded with that ancient curse, which God had denounced against the rebellious : “ The Lord shall bring a nation against thee of a fierce countenance, which shall not regard the person of the old, nor show favour to the young ; and he shall besiege thee in all thy gates ; and thou shalt eat the fruit of thine own body, the flesh of thy sons, and of thy daughters. The tender and delicate woman, her eyes shall be evil towards her young one that cometh out between her feet, and toward the children which she shall bear, for she shall eat them for want of all things, secretly in the siege of straitness.” He mourns for the plague, he mourns not for the cause of this plague, his sin, and theirs ; I find his sorrow, I find not his repentance. The worst man may grieve for his CONT. X.] THE FAMINE OF SAMARIA. 55 smart, only the good heart grieves for liis offence. Instead of being penitent, .Jehoram is furious, and turns his rage from liis sins, against the prophet: “ God do so to me, and more also, if the head of Elisha, the son of Shaphat, shall stand on him this day.” Alas ! what hath the righteous done ? Perhaps Elisha, that we may imagine some colours of this displeasure, forethreatened this judgment, but they deserved it; per¬ haps he might have averted it by his prayers, their unrepentance disabled him ; perhaps he persuaded Jehoram to hold out the siege, though through much hardness he foresaw the deliverance. In all this, how. hath Elisha forfeited his head ? All Israel did not afford a head so guiltless, as this that was destined to slaughter. This is the fashion of the world : the lewd blame the innocent, and will revenge their own sins upon others uprightness. In the midst of all this sad estate of Samaria, and those storms of Jehoram, the prophet sits quietly in his own house, amongst his holy consorts, bewailing, no doubt, both the sins and misery of their people, and prophetically conferring of the issue ; when suddenly God reveals to him the bloody intent and message of Jehoram, and he at once reveals it to his fellows: “ See ye how this son of a murderer hath sent to take away mine head?” O the inimitable liberty of a prophet! The same God, that showed him his danger, suggested his words ; he may be bold, where we must be awful. Still is Naboth’s blood laid in Jehoram’s dish; the foul act of Ahab blemisheth his posterity ; and now when the son threats violence to the innocent, murder is objected to him as here¬ ditary. He, that foresaw his own peril, provides for his safety ; “ Shut the door, and hold him fast at the door.” No man is bound to tender his throat to an unjust stroke; this bloody commission was prevented by a prophetical foresight. The same eye that saw the executioner coming to smite him, saw also the king hastening after him to stay the blow; the prophet had been no other than guilty of his own blood, if he had not reserved himself awhile, for the rescue of authority. O the incon¬ stancy of carnal hearts ! It was not long since Jehoram could say to Elisha, “ My father, shall I smite them now he is ready to smite him as an enemy, whom he honoured as a father ; yet again his lips had no sooner given sentence of death against the prophet, than his feet stir to recall it. It should seem that Elisha, upon the challenges and expostulations of Jehoram’s messenger, had sent a persuasive message to the king of Is¬ rael, yet a while to wait patiently upon God for his deliverance ; the discontented prince flies off in an impotent anger, “ Behold, this evil is of the Lord, what should I wait for the Lord any longer ?” O the desperate resolutions of impatient minds ! They have stinted God both for his time and his measure; if he exceed either, they either turn their backs upon him, or fly in his face. The position was true, the in¬ ference deadly. All that evil was of the Lord ; they deserved it, he sent it. What then ? It should have been therefore argued. He, that sent it, can remove it I I will wait upon his mercy, under whose justice I suffer. Impatience and distrust shall but aggravate my judgment: “ It is the Lord, let him do what he will.” But now to despair because THE FAMINE OF SAMARIA, 56 [book XIX. God is just, to defy mercy because it Ungers, to reject God for correc¬ tion, it is a presumptuous madness, an impious pettishness. Yet, in spite of all these provocations, both of king and people, Elisha hath good news for Jehoram: “ Tlius saith the Lord, To-morrow, about this time, shall a measure of fine flour be sold for a shekel, and two measures of barley for a shekel, in the gate of Samaria.” Misera¬ ble Israel now sees an end of this hard trial; one day’s patience shall free them both of the siege and famine. God’s deliverances may over¬ stay our expectation, not the due period of his own counsels. O in¬ finite mercy ! when man says, No longer, God says, “ To-morrow as if he would condescend where he might judge, and would please them who deserve nothing but punishment. The word seemed not more comfort¬ able than incredible : “ A lord, on whose hand the king leaned, answered the man of God, and said. Behold, if the Lord would make windows in heaven might this thing be ?” Prophecies, before they be fulfilled, are riddles ; no spirit can aread them, but that by which they are delivered. It is a foolish and injurious infidelity, to question a possibility, where we know the message is God’s : how easy is it for that Omnipotent hand to effect those things, which surpasses all the reach of human conceit! Had God intended a miraculous multiplication, was it not as easy for him to increase the corn or meal of Samaria, as the widow’s oil ? was it not as easy for him to give plenty of victuals, without opening the win¬ dows of heaven, as to give plenty of water, without wind or rain ? The Almighty hates to be distrusted. This peer of Israel shall rue his un¬ belief; “ Behold, thou shalt see it with thine eyes, but shalt not eat thereofThe sight shall be yielded for conviction, the fruition shall be denied for punishment. Well is that man worthy to want the benefit which he would not believe : who can pity to see infidelity excluded from the blessings of earth, from the glory of heaven ? How strange a choice doth God make of the intelligencers of so hap¬ py a change! Four lepers sit at the entering of the gate ; they see nothing but death before them, famine within the walls, the enemy with¬ out. The election is woeful ; at last they resolve upon the lesser evil; famine is worse than the Syrian : in the famine there is certainty of perishing, amongst the Syrians hazard; perhaps the enemy may have some pity, hunger hath none; and, were the death equally certain, it were more easy to die by the sword, than by famine. Upon this deli¬ beration they come down into the Syrian camp, to find either speed of mercy or despatch. Their hunger would not give them respite till mor¬ ning ; by twilight are they fallen upon the uttermost tents ; “ Behold, there was no man they marvel at the silence and solitude, they look and listen, the noise of their own feet affrighted them ; their guilty hearts supplied the Syrians, and expected, fearfully, those which were as fear¬ fully fled. How easily can the Almighty confound the power of the strong, the policy of the wise! God puts a panic terror into the hearts of the proud Syrians; he makes them hear a noise of chariots, and a noise of horses, even the noise of a great host; they say one to another, “ Lo, the king of Israel hath hired against us the kings of the Hittites, and the kings of the Egyptians to come upon us !” They rise therefore in a confused rout, and leaving all their substance behind them, flee lor CONT. X.]] THE P’AMINE OF SAMARIA. 57 their lives. Not long before, Elisha’s servant saw chariots and horses, but heard none : now, these Syrians hear chariots and horses, but see none : that sigiit comforted his heart, this sound dismayed theirs. The Israelites heard no noise within the walls ; the lepers heard no noise without the gates ; only the Syrians heard this noise in their camp. What a scorn doth God put upon these presumptuous Aramites ! he will not vouchsafe to use any substantial stratagem against them; nothing but an empty sound shall scatter them, and send them home empty of substance, laden with shame, half dead with fear; the very horses, that might have hastened their flight, are left tied in their tents ; their very garments are a burden; all is left behind, save their bodies, and those breathless for speed. Doubtless these Syrians knew well, to what miserable exigents the inclosed Israelites were brought, by their siege ; and now made full ac¬ count to sack and ransack their Samaria; already had they divided, and swallowed the prey; when suddenly God puts them into a ridiculous confusion, and sends them to seek safety in their heels : no booty is now in price with them, but their life, and happy is he that can run fastest. Thus the Almighty laughs at the designs of insolent men, and shuts up their counsels in shame. The fear of the four lepers began now to give way to security ; they fill their bellies, and hide their treasures, and pass from one tent to another, in a fastidious choice of the best commodities: they, who ere- while would have held it happiness enough to have been blessed with a trust, now wantonly rove for dainties, and from necessity leap into excess. Plow far self-love carries us in all our actions, even to the neglect of the public! Not till their own bellies, and hands, and eyes Avere filled, did these lepers think of imparting this news to Israel. At last, when themselves are glutted, they begin to remember the hunger of their brethren, and now they find room for remorse ; “ We do not well ; this day is a day of good tidings, and we hold our peace.” Nature teaches us, that it is an injury to engross blessings, and so to mind the private, as if we had no relation to a community. We are worthy to be shut out of the city gates for lepers, if the respects to the public good do not oversway with us in all our desires, in all our demeanour ; and well may we, with these covetous lepers, fear a mischief upon ourselves, if we shall wilfully conceal blessings from others. The conscience of this wrong and danger sends back the lepers into the city; they call to the porters, and soon transmit the news to the king’s household. The king of Israel complains not to have his sleep broken with such intelligence ; he ariseth in the night, and not con¬ temning good news, though brought by lepers, consults with his ser¬ vants of the business. We cannot be too jealous of the intentions of an enemy. Jehoram Avisely suspects this flight of the Syrians to be but simulatory and poli¬ tic, only to draw Israel out of their city for the spoil of both. There may be more peril in the back of an enemy than in his face : the crud¬ est slaughters have been in retiring. Easily therefore is the king per¬ suaded to adventure some feAv forlorn scouts for further assurance. The word of Elisha is out of his head, out of his heart, else there had been no II. H THE SHUNAMITE AND JEHORAM. 68 [book XX. place for this doubt. Timorous hearts never think themselves sure ; those, that have no faith, had need of much sense. Those few horses that remain are sent forth for discovery ; they find nothing but monuments of frightfulness, pledges of security. Now Is¬ rael dares issue forth to the prey; there, as if the Syrians had come thither to enrich them, they find granaries, wardrobes, treasures, and whatever may serve either for use or ostentation. Every Israelite goes away filled, laden, wearied with the wealthy spoil. As scarcity breeds dearth, so plenty cheapness. To-day a measure of fine flour is lower rated, than yesterday of dung. The distrustful peer of Israel sees this abundance, according to the word of the prophet, but enjoys it not. He sees this plenty can come in at the gate, though the windows of heaven be not open. The gate is his charge; the famished Israelites press in upon him, and bear him down in the throng. Extreme hunger hath no respect to great¬ ness. Not their rudeness, but his own unbelief hath trampled him under feet. He that abased the power of God by his distrust, is abased wor¬ thily to the heels of the multitude. Faith exalts a man above his own sphere ; infidelity depresses him into the dust, into hell. “ He that be¬ lieves not is condemned already.” BOOK XX. CONTEMPLATION I.—THE SHUNAMITE SUING TO JEHORAM; ELISHA CONFERRING WITH HAZAEL. How royally hath Elisha paid the Shunamite for his lodging! to him already she owes the life of her son, both given and restored; and now again, after so many years, as might well have worn out the memory of so small a courtesy, herself, her son, her family, owe their lives to so thankful a guest. That table and bed, and stool and candlestick, was well bestowed. That candlestick repaid her the light of her future life and condition, that table the means of maintenance, that stool a seat of safe abode, that bed a quiet rest from the common calamities of her na¬ tion. He is a niggard to himself that scants his beneficence to a prophet, whose very cold water shall not go unrewarded. Elijah preserved the Sareptan from famine, Elisha the Shunamite; he, by provision of oil and meal; this, by premonition : “ Arise, and go, thou and thine house¬ hold, and sojourn wheresoever thou canst sojourn.” The Sareptan was poor, and driven to extremes, therefore the prophet provides for her from hand to mouth.—The Shunamite was wealthy, and therefore the prophet sends her to provide for herself. The same goodness, that re¬ lieves our necessity, leaves our competency to the hand of our own counsel; in the one he will make use of his own power, in the other of our providence. The very prophet advises this holy client to leave the bounds of the church, and to seek life, where she should not find religion. Extremity is for the time a just dispensation, with some common rules of our out¬ ward demeanour and motions, even from better to worse. All Israel CONT. 1.3 THE SHUNAMITE AND JEHORAM. 59 and Judah shall be famished: the body can be preserved no where, but where the soul shall want. Sometimes the conveniences of the soul must yield to bodily necessities. Wantonness and curiosity can find no advantage from that which is done out of the power of need. It is a long famine that shall afflict Israel. He, upon whom the spirit of Elijah was doubled, doubled the judgment inflicted by his master. Three years and a half did Israel gasp under the drought of Elijah; seven years’ dearth shall it suffer under Elisha. The trials of God are many times not more grievous for their sharpness, than for their con¬ tinuance. This scarcity shall not come alone : God shall call for it: whatever be the second cause, he is the first. The executioners of the Almighty, such are his judgments, stand ready waiting upon his just throne; and do no sooner receive the watch-word, than they fly upon the world, and plague it for sin. Only the cry of our sins moves God to call for ven¬ geance ; and, if God once call, it must come. How oft, how earnestly are we called to repentance, and stir not. The messengers of God’s wrath fly forth at the least beck, and fulfil the will of his re¬ venge upon those, whose obedience would not fulfil the will of his command. After so many proofs of fidelity, the Shunamite cannot distrust the prophet; not staying therefore to be convicted by the event, she re¬ moves her family into the land of the Philistines. No nation w’as more opposite to Israel, none more worthily odious; yet there doth the Shunamite seek and find shelter: even the shade of those trees that are unwholesome may keep us from a storm. Every where will God find room for his own. The fields of Philistines flourish, while the soil of Israel yields nothing but weeds and barrenness. Not that Israel was more sinful, but that the sin of Israel was more intolerable. The offers of grace are so many aggravations of wickedness. In equal offences, those do justly smart more, w'ho are more obliged. No pestilence, is so contagious, as that which hath taken the purest air. These Philistine neighbours \vould never have endured themselves to be pestered with foreigners, especially Israelites, wdiom they hated, besides religion, for their usurpation : neither were they, in all likelihood, pressed with multitude. The rest of Israel w^ere led on with hopes, presuming upon the amends of the next harvest, till their want grew desperate and irremediable ; only the forewarned Shunamite prevents the mischief; now she finds what it is to have a prophet her friend. Happy are those souls, that upon all occasions consult Avith God’s seers ! they shall be freed from the plagues wherein the secure blindness of others is heedlessly overtaken. Seven years had this Shunamite sojoiumed in Palestine, now she re¬ turns to her own, and is excluded. She, that found hai'bour among Philistines, finds oppression and violence among Israelites ; those of her kindred, taking advantage of her absence, had shared her possessions. How oft doth it fall ont, that the worst enemies of a man are those of his own house! All Avent by contraries Avith this Shunamite ; in the fa¬ mine she had enough, in the common plenty she Avas scanted ; Philistines were kind unto her, Israelites cruel. Both our fears and our hopes do 60 THE SHUNAMITE AND JEHORAM. [book XX. not seldom disappoint ns. It is safe trusting to that stay which can never fail us, who can easily provide us both of friendship in Palestine, and of justice in Israel. We may not judge of the religion by jiarticu- lar actions: a very Philistine may be merciful, when an Israelite is un¬ just. The person may be faulty, when the profession is holy. It was not long since the prophet made that friendly offer to the Shu- namite, out of the desire of a thankful requital :—“ What is to be done for thee ? woiddst thou be spoken for to the king, or to the captain of the host ?” and she answered, “ I dwell among my brethren.” Little did she then think of this injurious measure; else she might have said, I dwell among my enemies, I dwell among robbers. It is like they Avere then friendly, who were now cruel and oppressive: there is no trust to be reposed in flesh and blood. How shoidd their favours be constant, who are, in their nature and disposition, variable ? It is the surest way to rely on Him who is ever like himself, the measure of Avhose love is eternity. Whither should the Shunamite go to complain of her wrong, but to the court? there is no other refuge of the oppressed, but public autho¬ rity. All justice is derived from sovereignty; kings are not called gods for nothing ; they do both sentence and execute for the Almighty. Doubtless now the poor Shunamite thought of the courteous proffer of Elisha, and, missing a friend at the court, is glad to be the presenter of her own petition. How happily doth God contrive all events for the good of his ! This supplicant shall fall upon that instant for her suit, Avhen the king shall be talking Avith Gehazi, Avhen Gehazi shall be talking of her to the king ; the Avords of Gehazi, the thoughts of the king, the desires of the Shu¬ namite, shall be all drawn together, by the Avise providence of God, into the centre of one moment, that his oppressed servant might receive a speedy justice. O the infinite wisdom, power, mercy of our God, that insensibly orders all our ways, as to his own holy purposes, so to our best advantage I What doth Jehoram the king talking Avith Gehazi the leper ? that very presence AA'as an eyesore. But if the cohabitation Avith the infectious Avere forbidden, yet not the conference ; certainly I begin to think of some goodness in both these. Had there not been some goodness in .Jehoram, he had not taken pleas¬ ure to hear, even from a leprous mouth, the miraculous acts and praises of God’s prophet. Had there not been some goodness in Gehazi he had not, after so fearful an infliction of judgment, thus ingenuously recounted the praises of his severe master. He, that told that dear-bought lie to the prophet, tells noAV all truths of the prophet to the king. Perhaps his leprosy had made him clean ; if so, happy Avas it for him, that his forehead Avas white with the disease, if his soul became hereupon Avhite with repentance : but Ave may well knoAV that the desire, or report of historical truths, doth not alAA'ays argue grace. Still Jehoram, after the inquiry of the prophet’s miracles, continues in idolatry. He, that was curious to hearken after the AV'onders of Elisha, is not careful to fol- loAv his doctrine : therefore are Gehazi and the Shunamite met before him, that he may be convicted, Avho Avill not be I’eformed. Why was it CONT. I.] THE SHUNAMITE AND JEHORAM, 61 else, that the presence of the persons should thus unexpectedly make good the relation, if God had not meant the inexcusableness of Jehoram, while he must needs say within himself. Thus potent is the prophet of that God whom I obey not. Were not Elisha’s the time God, how could he work such wonders ? and, if he be the true God, why is he not mine ? But what—shall I change Ahab’s God for Jehoshaphat’s ? No, I cannot deny the miracles, I will not admit of the author: let Elisha be powerful, I will be constant. O wretched Jehoram, how much better had it been for thee never to have seen the face of Gehazi, and the son of the Shunamite, than to go away unmoved with the vengeance of leprosy in the one, with the merciful resuscitation of the other ! There¬ fore is thy judgment fearfully aggravated, because thou wouldst not yield to what thou couldst not oppose. Had not Ahab’s obdu¬ rateness been propagated to his son, so powerful demonstrations of divine power could not have been uneffectual. Wicked hearts are so much worse, by how much God is better: this anvil is the harder by being continually beaten upon, whether with judgments or mercy. Yet this good use will God have made of this report, and this presence, that the poor Shunamite shall have justice. That son, whose life was restored, shall have his inheritance revived: his estate shall fare the better for Elisha’s miracles. How much more will our merciful God second his own blessings, when the favours of unjust men are there¬ fore drawn to us, because we have been the subject of divine bene¬ ficence ! It was a large and full award, that this occurrence drew from the king ; “ Restore all that was hers, and all the fruits of the field, since the day that she left the land, even until now.” Not the present pos¬ session only is given her, but the arrearages. Nothing hinders, but that outward justice may stand with gross idolatry. The widow may thank Elisha for this : his miracle wrought still, and puts this new life in her dead estate; his absence did that for the preservation of life, which his presence did for the restoring it from death. She that Avas so ready to expostulate with the man of God, upon the loss of her son, might, perhaps, have been as ready to impute the loss of her estate to his advice. Now, that for his sake she is enriched with her own, how doth she bless God for so happy a guest ? When we have forgotten our own good turns, God remembers and crowns them. Let us do good to all while we have time, but especially to tbe household of faith. Could Israel have been sensible of their own condition, it was no small unhappiness to lose the presence of Elisha. Whether for the idolatries, or for the famine of Israel, the prophet is gone into Syria, no doubt Naaman welcomed him thither, and now would force upon him thanks for his cure, which the man of God would not receive at home. Hoav famous is he now grown that was taken from the team I His name is not confined to his own nation : foreign countries take notice of it, and kings are glad to listen after him, and woo him Avith presents. Benhadad, the king of Syria, whose counsels he had detected, rejoiceth to hear of his presence ; and noAV, as having forgotten that he had sent 62 THE SHUiVAMITE AND JEHORAM. [book xx. a whole host to besiege the prophet ivi Dothan, sends an honourable messenger to him, laden with the burden of forty camels, to consult with this oracle concerning his sickness and recovery. This Syrian, belike, in his distress, dares not trust to his own gods; but, having had good proof of the power of the God of Israel, both in Naaman’s cure, and in the miraculous defeats of his greatest forces, is glad to send to that servant of God whom he had persecuted. Wicked men are not the same in health, and in sickness ; their affliction is worthy of the thanks, if they be well-minded, not themselves. Doubtless the ei*rand of Benhadad was not only to inquire of the issue of his disease, but to require the prayers of the prophet for a good issue. Even the worst man doth so love himself, that he can be content to make a beneficial use of those instruments whose good¬ ness he hateth. Hazael, the chief peer of Syria, is designed to this message: the wealth of his present strives with the humility of his carriage and speech : “ Thy son, Benhadad, king of Syria, hath sent me to thee, say¬ ing, shall I recover of this disease ?” Not long since, Jehoram, king of Israel, had said to Elisha, “ My father, shall I smite them ?” and now Benhadad, king of Syria, says, “ My father, shall I recover?” Lo, how this poor Meholathite hath kings to his sons I How great is the honour of God’s prophets with pagans, with princes I Who can be but confounded to see evangelical prophets despised by the meanest Christians ? It is more than a single answer that the prophet returns to this message ; one answer he gives to Benhadad that sent it, another he gives to Hazael that brings it: that to Benhadad is, “ Thou mayest surely recover that to Hazael, “ The Lord hath showed me that he shall surely die.” What shall we say then ? Is there a lie, or an equivocation in the holy mouth of the prophet ? God foi’bid. It is one thing, what shall be the nature and issue of the disease; another thing, what may outwardly befall the person of Benhadad : the question is moved of the former, whereto the answer is direct. The disease is not mortal; but, withal, an intimation is given to the bearer of an event beyond the reach of his demand, which he may know, but neither needs not, or may not return : “ The Lord hath showed me that he shall sure¬ ly die,” by another means, though not by the disease. The seer of God descries more in Hazael, than he could see in him¬ self ; he fixes his eyes therefore stedfastly in the Syrian’s face, as one that in those lines read the bloody story of his life. Hazael blushes, Elisha weeps : the intention of those eyes did not so much amaze Hazael, as the tears; as yet he was not guilty to himself of any wrong that might sti’ain out this juice of sorrow: “ Why weepeth my lord ?” The prophet fears not to foretell Hazael all the villanies which he shoidd once do to Israel ; how he should fire their forts, and kill their young men, and rip the mothers, and dash their children. I marvel not now at the tears of those eyes, which foresaw this miserable vastation of the inhei-itance of God ; the very mention whereof is abhorred of the future author ; “ Wliat, is thy servant a dog, that I should do this CONT. II.] JEHU AND JEHORAM. G3 great thing ?” they are savage cruelties whereof thou speakest; it were more fit for me to weep, that thou shouldst repute me so brutish : I should no less condemn myself for a beast, if I could suspect ray own degeneration so far. Wicked men are carried into those heights of im¬ piety, which they could not, in their good mood, have possibly believed; nature is subject to favourable opinions of herself, and will rather mis¬ trust a prophet of God tlian her own good disposition. How many, from honest beginnings, have risen to incredible licentiousness ; whose lives are now such, that it were as hard for a man to believe tliey had ever been good, as to have persuaded them once, they should prove so des¬ perately ill I To give some overture unto Hazael of the opportunity of this ensu¬ ing mischief, the prophet foretells him, from God, that he shall be the king of Syria. He that shows the event, doth not appoint the means. Far was it from the spirit of God’s prophet to set or encourage a treason : while he said therefore, “ Thou shalt be king of Syria,” he said not. Go home, and kill thy master. The wicked ambition of Hazael draws this damna¬ ble conclusion out of holy premises ; and now, having fed the hopes of his sovereign with the expectation of recovery, the next day he smothers his master. The impotent desire of rule brooks no delay. Had not Hazael been gracelessly cruel, after he had received this prediction of the seer, he should have patiently waited for the crown of Syria, till lawful means had set it upon his head ; now he will, by a close execu¬ tion, make way to the throne: a wet cloth hath stopt the mouth of his sick sovereign, no noise is heard, the carcase is fair ; who can complain of any thing but the disease ? O Hazael, thou shalt not thus easily stop the mouth of thine own conscience; that shall call thee traitor, even in thy chair of state, and shall check all thy royal triumphs with, “ Thou hast founded thy throne in blood !” I am deceived if this wet cloth shall not wipe thy lips in thy jolliest feasts, and make thy best morsels unsavoury. Sovereignty is painful upon the fairest terms ; but, upon treachery and murder, tor¬ menting. Woeful is the case of that man, whose public cares are ag¬ gravated with private guiltiness ; and happy is he that can enjoy a little with the peace of an honest heart. CONTEMPLATION II.—JEHU WITH JEHORAM AND JEZEBEL. Yet Hazael began his cruelty with loss. Ramoth-Gilead is won from him; Jehoram the son hath recovered that, which Ahab his father attempted in vain. That city was dear bought of Israel, it cost the life of Ahab, the blood of Jehoram; those wounds were healed with vic¬ tory : the king tends his health at Jezreel, while the captains were en¬ joying and seconding their success at Ramoth. Old Elisha hath neither cottage nor foot of land, yet, sitting in an obscure corner, he gives order for kingdoms ; not by way of authority, (this usurpation had been no less proud than unjust,) but by way of mes- 64 JEHU AND JEHOKAM. ^BOOK XX. sage from the God of kings; even a mean herald may go on a great er¬ rand. The prophets of the gospel have nothing to do but witli spiritual kingdoms ; to beat down the kingdoms of sin and Satan, to translate souls to the kingdom of heaven. He, that renewed the life of the Shunamite’s son, must stoop to age ; that block lies in his way to Jehu; the aged prophet employs a speedier messenger, who must also gird up his loins for haste. No common pace will serve us, when we go on God’s message; the very loss of minutes i*ay be unrecoverable. This great seer of God well saw a present con¬ currence of all opportunities. The captains of the host were then rea¬ dily combined for this exploit; the army was on foot, Jehoram absent: a small delay might have troubled the work: the dispersion of the cap¬ tains and host, or the presence of the king, might either have defeated or slacked the dispatch. He is prodigal of his success, that is slow in his execution. The directions of Elisha to the young prophet are full and punctual, whither to go, what to carry, what to do, where to do it, what to say, what speed to make, in his act, in his return. In the businesses of God, it matters not how little is left to our discretion ; there is no im¬ portant business of the Almighty, wherein his precepts are not strict and express; look how much more speciality there is in the charge of God, so much more danger is in the violation. The young prophet is curiously obedient, in his haste, in his observa¬ tion and carriage ; and finding Jehu, according to Elisha’s prediction, set amongst the captains of the host, he singles him forth by a reverent compellation, “ I have an errand to thee, O captain.” Might not the prophet have stayed till the table had risen, and then have followed Jehu to his lodging ? Surely the wisdom of God hath purposely pitch¬ ed upon this season, that the public view of a sacred messenger, and the hasty evocation of so noted a person to such a secrecy, might prepare the hearts of those commanders of Israel to the expectation of some great design. The inmost room is but close enough for this act; ere many hours, all Israel shall know that, wdiich yet may not be trusted with one eye; the goodness of God makes wise provision for the safety of his messen¬ gers, and, while he employs their service, prevents their dangers. But how is it that, of all the kings of the ten tribes, none was ever anointed but Jehu ? Is it for that the God, who would not countenance the erection of that usurped throne, would countenance the altei-ation ? or is it, that by this visible testimony of divine ordination, the courage of the Israelitish captains might be raised up to second the high and bold attempt of him whom they saw destined from heaven to rule ? Together with the oil of this unction, here was a charge of revenge ; a revenge of the blood of the prophets upon Jezebel, of wickedness and idolatry upon Ahab : neither was the extirpation of this lewd family fore-prophesied only to Jehu, but enjoined. Elijah foretold, and the world expected, some fearful account of the abominable cruelty and impiety of that accursed house ; now it is called for, when it seemed forgotten. Ahab shall have no posterity, Jezebel shall have no tomb but the dogs. This woeful doom is committed to Jehu’s execution. ('0^'T. I! “] JEHU AND JEHORAM. G5 O the sure, though patient justice of the Almighty ! Not only Ahab and Jezebel had been bloody and idolatrous, but Israel was drawn into the partnership of their crimes : all these shall share in the judgment. Elijah’s complaint in the cave now receives this late answer; Hazael shall plague Israel, Jehu shall plague the house of Ahab and Jezebel: Elisha’s servant thus seconds Elisha’s master. When wnckedness is ripe in the field, God will not let it shed to grow again, but cuts it up, by a just and seasonable vengeance. Ahab’s drooping under the threat, hath put off the judgment from his own days; now it comes, and sweeps away his wife, his issue, and falls heavy upon his subjects. Please your¬ selves, O ye vain sinners, in the slow pace of vengeance ; it will be nei¬ ther less certain, nor more easy, for the delay ; rather it were to pay for that leisure in the extremity. The prophet hath done his errand, and is gone. Jehu returns to his fellows, with his head not more wet with oil, than busied with thoughts : no doubt, his face bewrayed some inward tumults and distractions of imagination, neither seemed he to return the same he went out. They ask therefore, “ Is all well ? Wherefore came this mad fellow to thee ?” The prophets of God were to these idolatrous Israelites like comets, who were never seen without the portendment of a mischief. When the priests of their Baal were quietly sacrificing, all was well; but now, when a prophet of God comes in sight, their guiltiness asks, “ Is all well ?” All would be well but for their sins ; they fear not these, they fear the reprover. Israel was come to a good pass, when the prophets of God went with them for madmen. O ye Baalitish ruffians, whither hath your impiety and profaneness carried you, that ye should thus blaspheme the servants of the living God ? Ye, that run on maddening after vain idols, tax the sober guides of true worship for madness. Thus it becomes the godless enemies of truth, the heralds of our patience, to miscall our innocence, to revile our most holy profession. What wonder is it that God’s mes¬ sengers are madmen unto those to whom the wisdom of God is foolish¬ ness ? The message was not delivered to Jehu for a concealment, but for publication. Silence could not effect the word that was told him, com¬ mon notice must. “ Ye know the man, and his communication.” The habit shows you the man, the calling shows you his en-and. Even pro¬ phets were distinguished by their clothes ; their mantle was not the common wear: why should not this sacred vocation be known by a peculiar attire ? These captains had not called him a madman, if they had not known him a prophet: by the man therefore they might guess at his message. Prophets do not use to appear, but upon serious er¬ rands, whether of reproof, or of prediction. Nice civilities or denials were not then known to the world: they said, “ It is false tell us now.” Amongst these captains, no combat, no unkindness follows upon a word so rudely familiar. Jehu needs not tell them that the man was a prophet; he tells them the prophecy of the man, what he had said, what he had done. Their eyes had no sooner seen the oil, their ears had no sooner heard. Thus saith the Lord, I have anointed thee king over Israel,” than ii. I 41 66 JEHU AND JEHORAM. [book XX. they rise from their seats, as rapt with a tempest, and are hurled into arms : so do tiiey haste to pi-oclaim Jehu, that they scarce stay to snatch up their garments, which they had perhaps left behind them for speed, had tliey not meant, with these rich abulziements, to garnish a state for their new sovereign, to whom, having now erected an exteraporal throne, they do, by the sound of trumpets, give the style of royalty, “ Jehu is king. ’ So much credit hath that mad fellow with these gallants of Israel, that upon his word they will presently adventure their lives, and change the crown. God gives a secret authority to his despised ser¬ vants, so as they which hate their person, yet reverence their truth: even very scorners cannot but believe them. If, when the prophets of the gospel tell us of a spiritual kingdom, they be distrusted of those which profess to observe them, how shameful is the disproportion ! how just shall their judgment be I Yet I cannot say, whether mere obedience to the prophet, or per¬ sonal dislikes of Jehoram, or partial respects to Jehu, drew the captains of Israel. The will of God may be done thanklessly, when fulfilling the substance, we fail of the intention, and err in circumstance. Only Ramoth is conscious of this sudden inauguration: this new princedom yet reaches no further than the sound of the trumpet. Jehu is no less subtile than valiant ; he knew, that the notice of this unex¬ pected change might work a busy and dangerous resistance ; he there¬ fore gives order, that no messenger of the news may prevent his person¬ al execution, that so he might surprise Jehoram in his palace of Jezreel, whether tending his late wounds, or securely feasting his friends, and dreaming of nothing less than danger; and might be seen and felt at once. Secrecy is the safest guard of any design ; disclosed projects are either frustrated, or made needlessly difficult. Neither is Jehu more close than swift; that very trumpet, with the same wind, sounds his march; from the top of the stairs, he steps down into his chariot. That man means to speed, who can be at once reserved in his owm counsels, and resolute and quick in his perfor¬ mances. Who could but pity tbe unhappy and unseasonable visitation of the grandchild of Jehoshaphat, were it not that he was degenerate into the family of Ahab ? Ahaziah king of Judah is come to visit Jehoram king of Israel ; the knowledge of his late received wounds nath drawm thither this kind ill-matched ally. He, who was partner of the w’ar, cannot but be a visiter of the wounds. The two kings are in the height of their compliment and entertain¬ ments, wdien the watchman of the tower of Jezreel espies a troop afar off. For ought was known, there was nothing but peace in all the land of Israel ; and Judah was now so combined w'ith it, that both their kings w'ere feasting under one roof; yet, in the midst of their supposed safe¬ ty, the watch-tower is not unfurnished with heedy eyes. No security of peace can free wise governors from a careful suspicion of what may come, and a providence against the worst. Even while we know of no enemies, the watch-tower of due intelligence may not be empty. In vain are dangers foreseen, if they be not premonished ; it is all one CONT. II.] JEHU AND JEMORAM. 67 to have a blind and a mute watchman ; this speaks what he sees, “ 1 see a cornjiany.” Doubtless Jehoram’s head was now full of thoughts, neither knew he what construction to put upon this approaching troop. Perhaps the Syrians, he thinks, may have recovered Ramoth, and chased the gai-ri- son of Israel; neither can he imagine whether these should be hostile victoi’s, or vanquished subjects, or conspiring rebels. Every way this rout was dreadful. O Jehoram, thou beginnest thy fears too late ! hadst thou been afraid to provoke the God of Israel, thine innocency had yielded no room to these terrors. A horseman is despatched to discover the meaning of this descried concourse. He meets them, and inquires of peace; but receives a short answei*, “ What hast thou to do with peace ? turn thee behind me.” A second is addressed with the same success. Both attend the train of Jehu, instead of returning. Indeed, it is not for private persons to hope to rectify the public affairs, when they are grown to a height of disorder, and from thence to a ripeness of miscarriage. Sooner may a well-meaning man hurt himself, than redress the common danger. These messengers were now within the mercy of a multitude ; had they but endeavoured to retire, they had perished as wilfully as vainly. Whosoever will be striving against the torrent of a just judgment, must needs be carried down in the stream. Sometimes there is as much wis¬ dom in yielding, as courage in resistance. Had this troop been far off, the watchmen could not have descried the arrival of the messengers, their turning behind, the manner of the inarch. Jehu was a noted captain, his carriage and motion was observ¬ ed more full of fire than his fellows : “ The driving is like Jehu’s, for he driveth furiously.” God makes choice of fit instruments, as of mercy so of revenge. These spirits were needful for so tragical a scene as was now preparing in Israel. Jehoram and Ahaziah, as nettled with this forced patience of expectation, can no longer keep their seats, but will needs hasten their chariots, and fetch that costly satisfaction which would not be sent, but given. They are infatuated which shall perish, otherwise Jehoram had been warned enough, by the forcible retention of his messengers, to expect none but an enemy. A friend or a subject could not have been unwill¬ ing to be known, to be looked foi’. Now, forgetting bis wounds, he will go to fetch death. Yet when he sees Jehu, whom he left a subject, hope strives with his doubts, “ Is it peace, Jehu ?” What may be the reason of this sudden journey ? is the army foiled by the Syrians ! is Ramoth recovered ? or hath the flight of the enemy left thee no fm*ther work? or is some other ill news guilty of thy haste ? what means this unwished presence, and return ? There needs no stay for an answer; the very face of .Jehu, and those sparkling eyes of his, speak fiu*y and death to Jehoram, which yet his tongue angerly seconds : “ What peace, so long as the whoredoms of thy mother .Jezebel, and her witchcrafts are so many ?” Wicked tyrant, what speakest thou of peace with men, when thou 68 JEHU AND JEZEBEL. [book XX. hast thus long waged war with the Almighty? that cursed mother of thine hath nursed thee with blood, and trained thee up in abominable idolatries. Thou art not more hers, than her sin is thine; thou art polluted with her spiritual whoredoms, and enchanted with her hellish witchcrafts: now that just God, whom thou and thy parents have so heinously des¬ pised, sends thee by me this last message of his vengeance: which, while he spake, his hand is drawing up that deadly arrow, which shall cure the former wounds with a worse. Too late now doth wretched Jehoram turn his chariot and flee, and cry, Ti •eason, O Ahaziah ! There was treason before, O Jehoram! thy treason against the majesty of God is now revenged by the treason of Jehu against thee. That fatal shaft, notwithstanding the swift pace of both the chariots, is directed to the heart of Jehoram; there is no erring of those feathers which are guided by the hand of destiny. How just are the judgments of God! it was in the field of Naboth, wherein Jehoram met with Jehu; that very ground called to him for blood. And now this new avenger remembers that prophecy which he heard out of the mouth of Elijah, in that very place, following the heels of Ahab, and is careful to perform it. Little did Jehu think, when he heard that message of Elijah, that his hands should act it. Now, as zealous of accomplishing the word of a prophet, he gives charge to Bidkar his captain, that the bleeding carcass of Jehoram should be cast upon that very plat of Naboth. O Naboth’s blood w'ell paid for I Ahab’s blood is licked by dogs in the very place where those dogs licked Naboth’s ; Jehoram’s blood sliall manure that ground, which was wrung from Naboth, and Jezebel shall add to this compost. O garden of herbs dearly bought, royally dunged ! What a resemblance there is betwixt the death of the father and the son, Ahab and Jehoram ! Both are slain in their chariot, both with an arrow, both repay their blood to Naboth; and how perfect is this reta¬ liation I Not only Naboth miscarried in that cruel injustice, but his sons also ; else the inheritance of the vineyard had descended to his heirs, notwithstanding his pretended offence. And now, not only Ahab for¬ feits his blood to this field, but his son Jehoram also. Face doth not more answer to face, than punishment to sin. It was time for Aliaziah king of Judah to flee. Nay, it had been time long before to have fled from the sins, yea, from the house of Ahab. That brand is fearful which God sets upon him: “ He did evil in the sight of the Lord, as did the house of Ahabfor he was the son- in-law of the house of Ahab. Affinity is too often guilty of corruption , the son of good Jehoshaphat is lost in Ahab’s daughter. Now he pays for his kind alliance, accompanying the son of Ahab in his death, whom he consorted with in his idolatry. Young Ahaziah was scarce warm in his thi-one, when the mismatched blood of Athaliah is required from him. Nothing is more dangerous, than to be imped in a wicked family; this relation too often di-aws in a share both of sin and punishment. Who would not have looked that Jezebel, hearing of this bloody end CONT. II.] JEHU AND JEZEBEL. 69 of her son, and piu*suit of her ally, and the fearful proceedings of this prosperous conspiracy, should have put herself into sackcloth and ashes ; and now, finding no means either of defence or escape, should have cast herself into such a posture of humiliation, as might have moved the compassion of Jehu? Her proud heart could not suddenly learn to stoop ; rather she recollects her high spirits, and, instead of humbling her soul by repentance, and addressing herself for an imminent death, she pranks up her old carcass, and paints her wrinkled face, and, as one that vainly hopes to daunt the courage of an usurper, by the sudden beams of majesty, she looks out, and thinks to fright him with the challenge of a traitor, whose either mercy or justice could not be avoid¬ ed. Extremity finds us such as our peace leaves us. Oui’last thoughts are spent upon that w'e most care for. Those, that have regarded their face more than their soul, in their latter end are more taken up with desire of seeming fair, than being happy. It is no marvel, if a heart, obdured with the custom of sin, shut up gracelessly. Counterfeit beauty cigrees well with inward uncleanness. Jehu’s resolution was too strongly settled, to be removed with a painted face, or an opprobrious tongue. He looks up to the window and says, “ Who is on my side, who ?” There want not those every where, which will be ready to observe prevailing greatness. Two or thi*ee eunuchs look out; he bids them “ throw her downThey instantly lay hold on their lately adored mistress, and, notwithstanding all her shrieks and prayers, cast her down headlong into the street. What heed is to be taken of the deep professed services of hollow- hearted followers ? All this while they have humbly, with smiles and officious devotions, fawned upon their great queen; now, upon the call of a prosperous enemy, they forget their respects, her royalty, and cast her down, as willing executioners, into the jaws of a fearful death. It is hard for greatness to know them whom it may trust: perhaps the fairest semblance is from the falsest heart. It was a just plague of God upon wicked Jezebel, that she was inwardly hated of her own. He, whose servants she persecuted, raised up enemies to her from her own elbow. Thus must pride fall; insolent, idolatrous, cruel Jezebel besprinkles the walls and pavement with her blood ; and now those brains, that devised mischief against the servants of God, are strewed upon the stones: and she, that insulted upon the prophets, is trampled upon by the horses’ heels: “ The wicked is kept for the day of destruction, and shall be brought forth to the day of wrath.” Death puts an end commonly to the highest displeasure. He, that was severe in the execution of the living, is merciful in the sepulture of the dead ; “ Go, see now this cursed woman, and bury her, for she is a king’s daughter.” She, that upbraided Jehu with the name of Zimri, shall be interred by Jehu as Omri’s daughter-in-law, as a Sidonian princess; somewhat inust be yielded to humanity, somewhat to state. The dogs have prevented Jehu in this purpose, and have given her a living tomb, more ignoble than the worst of the earth ; only the scull, hands and feet of that vanished carcass yet remain; the scull which was the roof of all her wicked devices, the hands and feet which were tho 70 JEHU AND THE SONS OF AHAB. [book XX. executioners, these shall remain as the monuments of those shameful exe¬ quies ; that future times, seeing these fragments of a body, might say. The dogs were worthy of the rest; thus Jezebel is turned to dung and dog’s meat; Elijah is verified, Naboth is revenged, Jezreel is purged, Jehu is zealous, and, in all, God is just. CONTEMPLATION III.—JEHU KILLING THE SONS OF AHAB, AND THE PRIESTS OF BAAL. There were two prime cities of the ten tribes, which were the set courts of the kingdom of Israel, Samaria and Jezreel; the chief palace of the kingdom was Jezreel, the mother city of the kingdom was Sa¬ maria ; Jehu is possessed of the one, without any sword drawn against him: Jezreel willingly changes the master, yielding itself to the victor of two kings, to the avenger of Jezebel; the next care is Samaria; either policy or force shall fetch in that head of the tribes. The plentiful issue of princes is no small assurance to the people; Ahab had sons enough to furnish the thrones of all the neighbour na¬ tions, to maintain the hopes of succession to all times. How secure did he think the perpetuation of his posterity, when he saw seventy sons from his own loins I Neither was this royal issue trusted either to weak walls or to one roof; but to the strong bulwarks of Samaria, and there¬ in to the several guards of the chief peers : it was the wise care of their parents not to have them obnoxious to the danger of a common miscar¬ riage, or of those emulations which wait upon the cloyedness of an un¬ divided conversation, but to order their separation so as one may rescue other from the peril of assault, as one may respect other out of a fami¬ liar strangeness. Had Ahab and Jezebel been as wise for their souls, as they were for their seed, both had prospered. Jehu is yet but in his first act; if all the sons of Ahab bleed not, the prophecy is unanswered; there shall be no need of his sword, his pen shall work all this slaughter. He writes a challenge to Samaria, and therein to the guardians of the sons of Abab, daring them, out of the confidence in their defenced city, in their chariots and horses, in their associates and arms, to set np the best of their master’s sons on his fa¬ ther’s throne, and to fight for his succession. All the governors of Ahab’s children conspire in one common fear ; no doubt there wanted not in that numerous brood of kings, some great spirits, that, if at least they attained to the notice of this design, longed for a revenge, and suggested counsels of resolution to their cowardly guardians. Shall an audacious usurper run thus away with the crown of Israel ? Shall the blood of Jezebel be thus traitorously spilt, thus will¬ fully forgotten ? O Israelites, can you be so base, as to be ruled by my father’s servant ? Where are the merits of Ahab and Jehoram? What is become of the loyal courage of Israel ? Doubtless ye shall not want able seconds to yoiu’ valour ; do ye think the royal and potent al¬ liances of our mother Jezebel, and the remaining heirs of Judah, can draw back their hands from your aid ? will they endure to swallow so cruel an indignity? Stir up your astonished fortitude, O ye nobles of Israel! CONT> 111.] JEHU AND THE SONS OF AHAB. 71 redeem your bleeding honour, revenge this treacherous conspirator, and establish the right of the undoubted heirs of your sovereign. But as warm clothes to a dead man, so are the motions of valour to a fearful heart. “ Behold, two kings stood not before him, how then shall M'e stand ?” Fear affrights itself rather than it will want bugs of terror. It is true, two kings fell before Jehu, but two kings unarmed, unguarded. Had not the siu-prisal of Jehu taken advantage of the unsuspicious nakedness of these two princes, his victory had not been thus successful, thus easy. One of those two kings, upon advertisement and preparation, had aba¬ ted the fury of that hot leader. It is the fashion of fear to represent un¬ to us always the worst, in every event, not looking at the inequality of the advantages, but the misery of the success: as, contrarily, it is the guise of faith and valour, by the good issue of one enterprise, to raise up the heart to an expectation and assurance of more. These men’s hearts are dead with their king’s, neither dare entertain the hope of a safe and prosperous resistance, but basely return, “We are thy servants, and will do all that thou shalt bid us; we will not make any king; do thou that which is good in thine eyes.” Well may Jehu think. These men, which are thus disloyal to their charge, cannot be faithful to me ; it is their fear that draws them to this observation: were they not cowards they would not be traitors to their princes, subjects to me: I may use their hands, but I will not trust them. It is a thankless obedience that is grounded upon fear ; there can be no true fidelity without love and reverence. Neither is other betwixt God and us ; if out of a dread of hell we be officious, who shall thank us for these respects to ourselves ? As one that had tasted already the sweetness of a resolute expedition, Jehu writes back instantly, “ If ye be mine, and if ye will hearken un¬ to my voice, take ye the heads of the men your master’s sons, and come to me to Jezreel to-morrow this time.” Valiant Jehu was so well acquaint¬ ed with the nature of fear, that he well knew this passion, once grown desperate, would be ready to swallow all conditions; so far therefore doth his wisdom improve it, as to make these peers his executioners, who presently, upon the receipt of his charge, turn cruel, and by a joint consent fetch off the seventy heads of those princes, whom they under¬ took to guard, whom they had flattered with the hopes of greater ho¬ nour. No doubt, but amongst so many sons of Ahab, some had so demean¬ ed themselves, that they had w'on zealous professions of love from their guai’dians. Except, perhaps, death stole upon them in sleep, what tears, what entreaties, what conjurations must here needs have been ! What have we done, O ye peers of Israel, that might deserve this bloody measure ? we are the sons of Ahab, therefore have ye hitherto professed to observe us : what change is this ? why should that which hath hitherto kept you loyal, now make you cruel ? is this the reward of the long peaceable government of our father ? are these the trophies of Ahab’s victories against Benhadad, Jehoram’s against Hazael ? If we may not reign, yet at least let us live: or, if we must die, why will your hands be imbrued in that blood which ye had wont to term royal and JEHU AND THE SONS OF AHAB. [book xx- 72 sacred ? why will ye of tutors turn murderers ? All pleas are in vain to them that are deafened with their own fears. Perhaps these expostula¬ tions might have fetched some dews of pity from the eyes, and kisses from the lips of these unfaithful tutors, but cannot prevent the stroke of death. These crocodiles weep upon those whom they must kill; and if their own sons had been in the place of Ahab’s, doubtless they had been sacrificed to the will of an usurper, to the parent’s safety. It is ill rely¬ ing upon timorous natures ; upon every occasion, those crazy reeds will break and run into our hands. How worthy were Ahah and Jezebel of such friends 1 They had been even false to God, how should men be true to them ? They had sold themselves to work wickedness, and now they are requited with a mercenary fidelity : for a few lines have these men sold all the heads of Ahab’s posterity. Could ever the policy of Jeze¬ bel have reached so far, as to suspect the possibility of the extirpation of so ample an issue, in one night, by the hands of her trustiest subjects ? Now she, that by her letters sent to the elders of Jezreel, shed the blood of Naboth and his sons, hath the blood of all her sons shed, by a letter sent from .Jezreel to the elders of Samaria. At last, God will be sure to come out of the debt of wicked sinners, and will pay them with that coin, which is both most proper, and least looked for. Early in the morning, in that gate of Jezreel where Ahab had passed many an unjust sentence, is presented unto Jehu the fearful pledge of his sovereignty, seventy ghastly heads of the sons of Ahab. Some carnal eye, that had seen so many young and smooth faces be¬ smeared with blood, woidd have melted into compassion, bemoaning their harmless age, their untimely end. It is not for the justice of God to stand at the bar of our corrupted judgment. Except we include some grandchildren of Ahab within this number, none of these died before they were seasoned with horrible idolatry; or, if they had, they were in the loins of Ahab, when he sold himself to work wickedness; and now it is just with God to punish Ahab’s wickedness in this fruit of his loins. The holy severity of God, in the revenge of sin, sometimes goes so far, that our ignorance is ready to mistake it for cruelty. The wonder and horror of those two heaps hath easily dra^vn toge¬ ther the people of Jezreel. Jehu meets them in that seat of public judg¬ ment ; and, finding much amazedness and passionate confusion in their faces, he clears them, and sends them to the true original of these sud¬ den and astonishing massacres. However his own conspiracy, and the cowardly treachery of the prin¬ ces of Israel had been, not without their heinous sin, the visible means of this judgment, yet he directs their eyes to a higher authority, the just decree of the Almighty, manifested by his servant Elijah, who, even by the willing sins of men, can most wisely, most hostilely fetch about his most righteous and blessed purposes. If the peers of Samaria out of a base fear, if Jehu out of an ambition of reigning, shed the foul blood of Ahab’s posterity, the sin is their own ; but, in the meantime, the act is no other than what the infinite justice of God would justly work by their misintentions. Let these Israelites but look up from earth to heaven, these tragical changes cannot trouble them ; thither Jehu sends them, wiping off the envy of all this blood. CONT. III.] JEHU AND THE SONS OF AHAB. 73 by the warrant of the divine pre-ordination. In obedience whereunto, he sends after these heirs of Ahab all his kinsfolks, favourites, priests, that remained in Jezreel; and now, having cleared these coasts, he has¬ tens to Samaria : whom should he meet with in the way, but the bre¬ thren of Ahaziah king of Judah, they are going to visit their cousins the sons of Ahab. This young troop was thinking of nothing but jollity and courtly entertainment, M^hen they meet with death. So suddenly, so secretly had Jehu despatched these bold executions, that these princes could imagine no cause of suspicion. How could they think it might be dangerous to be known for the brethren of Ahaziah, or friends to the brethren of Jehoram ? The just providence of the Almighty hath brought all this covey under one net. Jehu thinks it not safe to let go so many avengers of Ahaziah’s blood, so many corrivals of his sove¬ reignty. The unhappy affinity of Jehoshaphat with Ahab is no less guilty of this slaughter than Jehu’s ambition : this match, by the inoculation of one bud, hath tainted all the sap of the house of Judah. The two and forty brethren of Ahaziah are therefore sent after the seventy sons of Ahab, that they may overtake them in death, whom they came to visit: God will much less brook idolatry from the loins of a Jehoshaphat. Our entireness with wicked men feoffs us both in their sins and judgments. Doubtless, many Israelites, that were devoted to the family and allies of Ahab, looked (what they durst) awry at this common effusion of royal blood ; yet, in the worst of the depravedness of Israel, there were some which both drooped under the deplored idolatry of the times, and congratulated to Jehu this severe vindication of God’s inheritance: amongst the rest, Jonadab the son of Rechab was most eminent. That man was by descent derived from Jethro, a Midianite by nation, but incorporated into Israel; a man whose piety and strict conversation did both teach and shame those twelve tribes to which he was joined. He was the author of an austere rule of civility to his posterity, to whom he debarred the use of wines, cities, possessions. This old and rough friend of Jehu, out of his moving habitations, meets him, and applauds his success. He that allowed not wine to his seed, allows the blood of Ahab’s seed poured out by the hand of Jehu : he, that shunned the city, is carried in Jehu’s chariot to the palace of Samaria. How easily might Jehu have been deceived I Many a one professes uprightness, who yet is all guile. Jonadab’s carriage hath been such, that his word merits trust. It is a blessing upon the plain-hearted, that they can be believed. Honest Jonadab is admitted to the honour of Jehu’s seat, and called, instead of many, to witness the zeal of the new anointed king of Israel. While Jehu had to do with kings, his cunning and his courage held equal pace together; but now, that he is to deal with idolatrous priests, his wile goes alone, and prevails ; he calls the people together, and, dis¬ sembling his intentions, says, “ Ahab served Baal a little, but Jehu shall serve him much; now therefore call unto me all the propliets of Baal, all his servants, and all his priests, let none be wanting; for I have a great sacrifice to do to Baal; whosoever shall be wanting, he shall not live.” What a dead paleness was there now in the faces of those few true- 74 JEHU AND THE PRIESTS OF BAAL. LBOOK XJC. hearted Israelites, that looked for a happy restoration of the relip^ion of God I How could they choose but think, Alas! how are we fallen from our hopes 1 is this the change we looked for ? was it only ambi¬ tion that hath set this edge upon the sword of Jehu ? It was not the person of Ahab that we dislike, but the sins ; if those must still succeed, what have we gained ? Woe be to us, if only the author of our misery be changed, not the condition, not the cause of our misery. On the other side, what insultations and triumphs sounded every where of the joyful Baalites ! what glorying of the truth of their pro¬ fession, because of their success I what scorns of their dejected opposites ! what exprobations of the disappointed hopes and predictions of their ad¬ verse prophets I what promises of themselves of a perpetuity of Baalism ! —How did the dispersed priests of Baal now flock together, and ap¬ plaud each other’s happiness, and magnify the devotions of their new sovereign ! Never had that idol so glorious a day as this for the pomp of his service; before, he was adored singly in corners, now solemn sa¬ crifices shall be offered to him by all his clients, in the great temple of the mother city of Israel. I can commend the zeal of Jehu, I cannot commend the fraud of Jehu. We may come to our end, even by crooked ways. He that bade him to smite for him, did not bid him to lie for him. Falsehood, though it be but tentative, is neither needed nor ap¬ proved by the God of truth. If policy have allowed officious untruths, religion never. By this device the house of Baal is well furnished, well filled ; not one of his Chemarim either might or would be absent: not one of those which were present might be unrobed. False gods have ever affected to imitate the true : even Baal hath temples, altars, priests, vestments : all religions have allotted peculiar habits to their highest devotions. These vestments, which they miscalled sacred, are brought forth and put on, for the glory of this service. Jehu and Jonadab are first careful that this separation be exact: they search and see that no servant of the Lord be crept into that throng. What should a religious Israelite do in the temple of Baal ? were any such there, he had deserved their smart, who would partake with their worship ; but if curiosity should have drawn any thither, the mercy of Jehu seeks his rescue. How much more favourable is the God of mer¬ cies, in not taking advantage of our infirmities 1 Well might this search have bred suspicion, were it not, that in all those idolatrous sacrifices, the first care was to avoid the profane : even Baal would admit no mixture, how should the true God abide it ? Nothing wanted now, but the sacrifice. No doubt whole herds and flocks were ready for a pretence of some royal hecatombs, whereof some had now already smoked on their altars. O Jehu, what means this di¬ lation ? If thou abhorrest Baal, why didst thou give way to this last sacrifice ? why didst not thou cut off these idolaters, before this upshot of their wickedness ? was it, that thou mightest be sure of their guilti¬ ness ? was it, that their number, together with their sin, might be com¬ plete ? What acclamations were here to Baal I what joy in the free¬ dom of their revived worship! when all on the sudden, those that had sacrificed, are sacrificed.—The soldiers of Jehu, by his appointment, CONT. IV.] ATHALIAH AND JOASH. 75 rush in with their swords drawn, and turn the temple into a slaughter¬ house. How is the tune now changed I what shrieking was here I what out-cries ! what running from one sword to the edge of another! what scrambling up the walls and pillars 1 what climbing into the windows ! what vain endeavours to escape that death which would not be shunned! whether running, or kneeling, or prostrate, they must die. The first part of the sacrifice was Baal’s, the latter is God’s. The blood of beasts was offered in the one, of men in the otlier: the shed¬ ding of this was so much the more acceptable to God, by how much these men were more beasts than those they sacrificed. O happy obedience ! God was pleased with a sacrifice from the house of Baal: the idolaters are slain, the idols burnt, the house of Baal turned to a draught, though even thus less unclean, less noisome, than in the former perfumes ; and, in one word, Baal is destroyed out of Israel. Who, that had seen all this zeal for God, would not have said, Jehu is a true Israelite ? Yet he, that rooted out Ahab, would not be rid of Jeroboam: he, that destroyed Baal, maintained the two calves of Dan and Bethel. That idolatry was of a lower rank, as being a mis-worship of the true God : whereas, the other was a worship of the false. Even the easier of both is heinous, and shall rob Jehu of the praise of his up¬ rightness. A false heart may laudably quit itself of some one gross sin, and in the meantime hug some lesser evil that may condemn it; as a man re¬ covered of a fever may die of a jaundice, or a dropsy : we lose the thank of all, if we wilfully fail in one. It is an entii’e goodness that God cares for : perhaps such is the boun¬ ty of our God, a partial obedience may be rewarded with a temporal blessing (as Jehu’s severity to Ahab shall carry the crown to his seed for four generations) ; but we can never have any comfortable assurance of an eternal retribution, if our hearts and ways be not perfect with God. Woe be to us, O God, if we be not all thine ! we cannot but everlastingly depart from thee, if we depart not from every sin. Thou hast purged oiw hearts from the Baal of our gross idolatries; O clear us from the golden calves of our petty corruptions also, that thou mayest take plea- sui'e in our uprightness, and we may reap the sweet comforts of tliy glo¬ rious remuneration! CONTEMPLATION IV.—ATHALIAH AND JOASH. Oh the woeful ruins of the house of good Jehoshaphat I—Jehu hath slain two and forty of his issue ; Athaliah hopes to root out the rest. This daughter of Ahab was not like to be other tlian fatal to that holy line ; one drop of that wicked blood was enough, both to impure and spill all the rest, which affinity had mixed with it. It is not unlike, that Ahaziah, betaking himself to the society of .Je- horam’s wars, committed the sway of his sceptre to his mother Atha¬ liah. The daughter of Jezebel cannot but be plotting; when she hears of the death of Ahaziah and his brethren, inflicted by the heavy hand of 76 ATHALIAH AND JOASH. [^BOOK XX. Jelni, she straight casts for the kingdom of Judah. The true heirs are infants : their minority gives her both colour of rule, and opportunity of an easy extirpation. Perhaps her ambition M^as not more guilty, than her zeal of Baalism : she saw Jehu, out of a detestation of idolatry, tramp¬ ling on the blood of Jehoram, Jezebel, Ahaziah, the sons of Ahab, the brethren of Ahaziah, the priests and prophets of Baal, and, in one word, triumphing in the destruction both of Ahab and his gods out of Israel; and now she thinks, Why should not I destroy Jehoshaphat and his God out of Judah ? Whoever saw au idolater that was not cruel ? Athaliah must needs let out some of her own blood out of the throat of Ahaziah’s sons ; yet she spares not to shed it out of a thirst of sovereignty. O God, how worthy of wonder are thy just and merciful dispensations ! in that thou sufferest the seed of good Jehoshaphat to be destroyed by her hand, in whose affinity he offended, and yet savest one branch of this stock of .Jehoshaphat, for the sake of so faithful a progenitor. Wicked Athaliah, couldst thou think God would so far forget his ser¬ vant David, though no other of those loins had seconded his virtues, as to suffer all his seed to be rooted out of the earth ? This vengeance was for thy father Ahab. The man, according to God’s own heart, shall have a lineal heir to succeed in his throne, when thou and thy father’s house shall have vanished into forgetfulness. For this purpose hath the wise providence of God ordained a Jeho- sheba, and matched her in the priestly tribe. Such reverence did Je¬ horam king of Judah, though degenerated into the idolatry of his father- in-law Ahab, bear to this sacred function, that he marries his daughter to Jehoiada the priest. Even princesses did not then scorn the bed of those that served at God’s altar. Wliy should the gospel pour contempt upon that which the law honoured ? The good lady had too much of Jehoshaphat in her, to suffer the ut¬ ter extirpation of that royal seed; she could not, doubtless, without the extreme danger of her own life, save the life of her nephew Joash : with what a loving boldness doth she adventure to steal him from amongst those bleeding carcasses in the chamber of death ! Her match gave her opportunity to effect that, which both nature and religion moved her to attempt: neither know I, whether more to wonder at the cunning of the device, or the courage of the enterprise ; or the secrecy of the con¬ cealment, or the happiness of the success. Certainly Atlialiah was too cruelly careful to forget this so late born son of Ahaziah ; of all the rest, his age would not suffer him to be out of her eye. In all likelihood therefore she must needs have missed so noted a corpse, had there not been a sub¬ stitution of some other dead child in his room : in that age, the favour is not so distinguishable, especially of a dead face. Without some pious deceit, this work could never have been effected ; else had the child been secretly subdued, and missed by his bloody grandmother : her perpe¬ tual jealousy had both expected a surviving heir, and continued a curious and unavoidable search; both which were now shunned at once, Avhilst Athaliah reckons him for dead, whom Jehosheba hath preserved. Mis¬ chief sometimes fails of those appointments, wherein it thinks to have made the surest work ; God laughs in heaven at the plots of tyrants, and CONT. IV.] ATHALIAH AND JOASH. 77 befools them in their deepest projects. He had said to David, “ Of the fruit of thy body will I set upon thy seatin vain shall earth and hell conspire to frustrate it. Six years hath Joash and his nurse been hid in a close cell of the temple': those rooms were destined only to the holy tribe ; yet now re¬ joice to harbour such a guest; the rigour of the ordinary law must yield to cases of so important necessity. All this could not possibly be done, and continued, without the pri¬ vity of many faithful priests and Levites, who were as careful to keep this counsel, as hopeful of the issue of it. It is not hard for many honest hearts to agree in a religious secrecy; needs must those lips be shut, which God hath sealed up. Judah hath not been used to such a yoke ; long had it groaned under the tyranny, not of a woman only, but of an idolatrous Sidonian : if any of that sex might have claimed that sceptre, none had so much right to it as Jehosheba herself. But good Jehoiada the priest, who had rather to be a loyal guardian to the king, than a husband to a queen, now finds time to set on foot the just title of Joash, and to put him into the misusurped tlirone of his father Ahaziah. In the seventh year, therefore, he sends for the captains, and the g^iard ; and, having sworn them to secrecy, by undoubted witnesses, makes faith unto them of the truth of their native prince, thus happily rescued from the bloody knife of his merciless grandmother, marshals the great business of his inauguration, gives every one his charge, sets every one his station, and so disposes of his holy forces, as was most needful for the safety of the king, the revenge of the usurper, the prevention of tumults, the establishment of the crown upon the owner’s head in peace and joy. There was none of all these agents, who did not hold the business to be his own; every true subject of Judah was feelingly interested in this service ; neither was there any of them, who was not secretly heart- burned, all this while, with the hateful govei'iiment of this idolatrous tyranness : and now this inwai'd fire is glad to find a vent: how gladly do they address themselves to this welcome employment I The greatest part of this sacred band were Levites, who might therefore both meet together with least suspicion, and be more securely trusted by Jehoiada, under whom they served. Even that holy priest of God, instead of teaching the law, sets the guard, orders the captains, ranges the troops of Judah; and, instead of a censer, brings forth the spears and shields of David ; the temple is for the present a field, or an artillery-yard ; and the ephods ai-e turned into harness. That house, in the rearing whereof not the noise of a hammer might be heard, now admits of the clashing of armour, and the secret mm’murs of some military achievement. No circumstances, either of place or calling, are so punctual, as that public necessity may not dispense with their alteration. All things are now ready for this solemnity: each man rejoices to fix upon his own footing, and longs to see the face of their long-concealed sovereign, and vows his blood to the vindication of the common liberty, to the punishment of a cruel intruder. Now .Jehoiada brings forth unto them the king’s son, and presents him to the peers and people ; hardly 78 ATHALIAH AND JOASH. [^BOOK XX. can the multitude contain itself from shouting out too soon; one sees in his countenance the features of his father Ahaziah, another of his grand¬ father Jehoram, a third professes to discern in him some lines and fashion of his great grandfather Jehoshaphat; all find in his face the natural impressions of majesty, and read in it the hopes, yea, the pro¬ phecies, of their future happiness. Not with more joy than speed doth Jehoiada accomplish all the rites of the coronation. Before that young king could know what was done to him, he is anointed, crowned, pre¬ sented with the book of the law. Those ceremonies w'ere instructive, and no doubt Jehoiada failed not to comment upon them in due time to that royal pupil. The oil wherewith he was anointed, signified his designation to that high service ; and those endowments from heaven, that might enable him to so great a function. The crown, wherewith he was adorned, signified that glory and ma¬ jesty which should both encourage and attend his princely cares. The book of the testimony signified the divine rules and directions, whereto he must frame his heart and actions, in the wielding of that crown, in the improvement of that oil. These three, the oil, the crown, the testimony, that is, inward powers, outward magnificence, true piety and justice, make up a perfect prince : none of these may be wanting: if there be not a due calling of God, and abilities meet for that greatness, the oil faileth ; if there be not a majes¬ tic grace and royalty that may command reverence, the crown is missing; if there be not a careful respect to the law of God, as the absolute guide of all counsels and determinations, the testimony is neglect¬ ed ; all of them concurring, make both king and people happy. Now it is time for the people to clap their hands, and by their loud acclamations to witness their joy, which must needs break forth Avith so much more force, by how much it was longer, upon fears and policy, suppressed. J'he court and temple were near together; however it was with Athaliah, and the late revolted princes of Judah, according to the common word, the nearer to the church, the farther from God: their religious predecessors held it the greatest commodity of their house, that it neighboured upon the house of God. From her palace might Athaliah easily hear the joyfid shouts of the multitude, the loud noise of the trumpets, and, as astonished with this new tumult of public gratula- tions, she comes miming into the temple. Never had her foot trod upon that holy pavement till now, that she came to fetch a just revenge from that God whose worship she had contemned. It fell out well, that her sudden amazedness called her forth, without the attendance of any strong guard, wdiose side-taking might have made that quarrel mutually bloody. She soon hears and sees what she likes not; her ear meets with, God save the king; her eye meets with the unlooked-for heir of the kingdom, sitting on his throne, crowned and robed in the royal fashion, guarded with the captains and soldiers, proclaimed by the trumpeters, acclaimed and applauded by the people. Who can say, whether this sight drove her more near to frenzy or death ? how could it be otherwise, when those great spirits of hers, that CONT IV.] ATHALIAH AND JOASH. 79 had been so long used to an uncontrolled sovereignty, find themselves so unexpectedly suppressed ? She now rends her clothes, and cries. Treason, treason 1 as if that voice of hers could stiU command all hearts, all hands ; as if one breath of hers were powerfid enough to blow away all these new designs. O Athaliah! to whom dost thou complain thyself? they are thy just exe¬ cutioners wherewith thou art encompassed: if it be treason to set up the true heir of Ahaziah, thou appealest to thy traitors : the treason was thine, theirs is justice. The time is now come of thy reckonings for all the royal blood of Judah, which thine ambition shed; wonder^ rather at the patience of this long forbearance, than the rigour of this execution. There needs no formal seat of justice in so apparent offence. Je- hoiada passes the sentence of death upon her; “ Have her forth of the ranges, let her not be slain in the house of the Lord ; and him that fol- loweth her, kill with the sword.” Had not this usurpation been palpable, Jehoiada would not have pre¬ sumed to intermeddle. Now, being both the priest of God, and uncle and protector to the lawful king, he doth that out of the necessity of the state, which his infant sovereign, if he could have been capable of those thoughts, would have desired. Violent hands are laid upon Athaliah, whom, no doubt, a proud and furious disdain of so quick a charge, and of so rough a usage, made miserably impatient. Now she frowns and calls, and shrieks and com¬ mands, and threatens and reviles, and entreats in vain, and dies with as much ill-will from herself, as she lived with the ill-will of her repining subjects. I see not any one man, of all her late flatterers, that follow her, either for pity or rescue. Every man willingly gives her up to justice; not one sword is drawn in her defence, not one eye laments her. Such is the issue of a tyrannical misgovernment; that which is obeyed not with¬ out secret hate, is lost not without public joy. How like is Athaliah to her mother Jezebel! as in conditions and car¬ riage, so even in death; both killed violently, both killed under their own walls, both slain with treason in their mouths, both slain in the en¬ trance of a changed government; one trod on by the horses, the other slain in the horse-gate ; both paid their own blood for the innocent blood of others. How suddenly, how easily is Judah restored to itself, after so long, and so fearful, a depravation! The people scarce believe their oum eyes, for the wonder of this happy change : neither know I, whether they be more joyed in the sight of their new king thus strangely pre¬ served, or in the sight of Jehoiada that had preserved him. No man can envy the protection of the young king unto him, by whose means he lives and reigns. That holy man cares only to improve his authority to the common good : “ He makes a covenant between the Lord, and the king, and the people and, after so long and danger¬ ous a disjunction, re-unites them to each other. Their revived zeal be¬ stirs itself, and breaks down the temples, and altars, and images of Baal, and sacrifices his idolatrous priests. Shortly both Ahab and Baal are destroyed out of Judah. 80 ATHALIAH AND JOASH. []book XX. The sceptre of Judah is changed from a woman to a child ; but a child trained up and tutored by Jehoiada. This minority, so guided, was not inferior to the mature age of many predecessors. Happy is that land, the nonage of whose princes falls into holy and just hands ; yet, even these holy and just hands came short of what they might have done. The high places remained still; those altars were erected to the true God, but in a wrong place. It is marvel, if there be not some blemishes found in the best government: I doubt Jehoiada shall once buy it dear, that he did not his utmost. But for the main, all was well with Judah, in all the days of Jehoiada, even after that Joash was grown past his pupilage. He that was the tutor to his infancy, was the counsellor of his ripe age, and was equally happy in both. How pleasing was it to that good high priest, to be commanded by that charge of his in the business of God! The young king gives order to the priests, for the collection of large sums, to the repairing of the breaches of God’s house. It becomes him well to take care of that which was the nursery of his infancy: and now, after three and twenty years, he expostulates with his late guardian, Jehoiada, and the rest of his coat, “ Why repair ye not the breaches ?” O gracious and happy vicissitude : Jehoiada the priest had ruled the infancy of king Joash in matters of state, and now Joash the king com¬ mands aged Jehoiada the priest in matter of devotion. In the affairs of God, the action is the priest’s, the oversight and coaction is the prince’s: by the careful endeavour of both, God’s house is repaired, his service flourisheth. But alas I that it may too well appear, that the ground of this devo¬ tion was not altogether inward, no sooner doth the life of Jehoiada cease, than the devotion of Joash begins to languish; and, after some languor, dies. The benefit of a truly religious prelate, or statesman, is not known till his loss. Now, some idolatrous peers of Judah have soon miscarried the king, from the house of the Lord God of their fathers, to serve groves, and idols. Yea, whither go we wretched men, if we be left by our Maker? King Joash is turned, not idolater only, but persecutor ; yea, which is yet more horrible to consider, persecutor of the son of that .lehoiada to whom he owes his own life. Zechariah, his cousin-german, his foster- brother, the holy issue of those parents by whom Joash lives and reigns, for the conscionable rebuke of the idolatry of prince and people, is un¬ justly and cruelly murdered by that unthankful hand. How possible is it for fair and saint-like beginnings to shut up in monstrous impieties ! Let him that thinks he stands, take heed lest he fall. When did God ever put up so foul ingratitude to himself, to his servants ? O Joash! what eyes can pity the fearful destruction of thee and thy Judah ? If ye have forgotten the kindness of Jehoiada, your unkindness to Jehoiada shall not be forgotten. “ A small army of Syrians come up against .Judah and Jerusalem, and destroyed all the princes of the peo¬ ple, and sent all the spoil of them to Damascus.” Now Hazael revenges this quarrel of God, and his anointed, and plagues that people which made themselves unworthy to be the Lord’s inheritance. CONT. V.] JOASH WITH ELISHA DYING. 81 And what becomes of Joash ? he is left in great diseases, when his own servants conspired against him “ for the blood of the sons of Jehoiada, and slew him on his bed, and he died ; and they buried him not in the se¬ pulchre of the kings.” Dying Zechariah had said, in the bitterness of his departing soul, “ The Lord look upon it, and require it.” I confess, I had rather to have heard him say, “ The Lord pass it over, and remit it;” so said Stephen. Such difference there is between a martyr of the law and of the gospel; although I will hope the zeal of justice, not the uncharitable heat of revenge, drew forth this word, God hears it, and now gives an account of his notice. Thus doth the Lord require the blood of Jehoiada’s son, even by the like unthankful hand of the obliged servants of Joash. He that was guilty of abominable idolatry, yet, as if God meant to waive that challenge, is called to reckoning for his cruel un- thankfuliiess to Jehoiada: this crime shall make him odious alive, and shall abandon him dead from the sepulchre of his fathers ; as if this last royalty were too good for him, who had forgotten the law of humanity. Some vices are such, as natui’e smiles upon, though frowned at by divine justice. Others are such, as even nature itself abhors ; such is this of in¬ gratitude, which therefore carries so much more detestation from God, as it is more odious even to them that have blotted out the image of God. CONTEMPLATION V.—JOASH WITH ELISHA DYING. The two kingdoms of Judah and Israel, however divided both in government and affection, yet loved to interchange the names of their kings : even Israel also had their Joash, no better than that of Judah ; he was not more the father of the latter Jeroboam, than, in respect of misworship, he was the son of the first Jeroboam, who made Israel to sin. Those calves of Dan and Bethel, out of a polite misdevotion, be¬ sotted all the succession of the ten usurped tribes. Yet even this idola¬ trous king of Israel comes dovni to visit the sick bed of Elisha, and weeps upon his face. That holy prophet was never any flatterer of princes, neither spared he invectives against their most plausible sins : yet king Joash, that was beaten by his reproofs, washes that face with the tears of love and sor¬ row, which had often frowned upon his wickedness. How much difference there was betwixt the Joash of Israel, and the Joash of Judah ! that of Judah, having been preserved and nurtured by Jehoiada the priest, after all professions of dearness, shuts up in the un¬ kind murder of his son, and that merely for the just reproof of his own idolatry ; this of Israel, having been estranged from the prophet Elisha, and sharply rebuked for the like offence, makes love to his dying reprov¬ er, and bedews his pale face with his tears. Both were bad enough; but this of Israel was, however vicious, yet good-natm-ed: that of Judah added to his wickedness an ill disposition, a dogged humour. There are varieties even of evil men; some are worse at the root, others at the branch : some more civilly harmless, others fouller in morality. According to the exercise of the restraining grace, natural men do either rise or fall in their ill. 11 . L 82 JOASH WITH ELISHA DYING. [book XX. The longest day must have his evening. Good Elisha, that had lived some ninety years, a wonder of prophets, and had outworn many succes¬ sions in the tlu’ones of Israel and Judah, is now cast upon the bed of his sickness, yea, of his death. That very age might seem a disease, which yet is seconded with a languishing distemper. It is not in the power of any holiness to privilege us from infirmity of body, from final dissolution. He that stretched himself upon his bed, over the dead car¬ cass of the Shunamite’s son, and I’evived it, must now stretch out his own limbs upon his sick bed, and die. He saw his master Elijah rapt up sud¬ denly from the earth, and fetched by a fiery chariot from this vale of mortality; himself must leisurely wait for his last pangs, in a lingering passage to the same glory. There is not one way appointed to us, by the divine Providence, unto one common blessedness: one hath more pain, another hath more speed : violence snatcheth away one ; another, by an insensible pace, draws every day nearer to his term: the wisdom and goodness of God magnifies itself in both. Happy is he, that, after due preparation, is passed through the gates of death, ere he be aware. Happy is he, that, by the holy use of long sickness, is taught to see the gates of death afar off, and addressed for a resolute passage; the one dies like Elijah, the other like Elisha, both blessedly. The time was, when a great king sent to Elisha, to know if he should recover: now the king of Israel, as knowing that Elisha shall not recover, so had his consumption spent him, comes to visit the dying prophet; and, when his tears woidd give him leave, breaks forth into a passionate ex¬ clamation ; “ O my father, my father, the chariots of Israel, and the horsemen thereof!” Yet the calves of Dan and Bethel have left some goodness in Joash: as the best man hath something in him worthy of re¬ proof, so the faultiest hath something commendable. Had not the Spirit of Grod himself told us, that .Joash did that which was evil in the sight of the Lord, we had admired this piety, this reverend respect to the pro¬ phet. The holiest man could not have said more. It is possible for the clients of a false worship to honour, out of another regard, the professors of truth. From the hand of Elisha had Jehu, the grandfather of Joash, received his unction to the kingdom ; this favour might not be forgotten. Visitation of the sick is a duty required both by the law of humanity, and of religion. Bodily infirmity is sad and comfortless ; and therefore needs the presence and counsel of friends to relieve it: although, when we draw the curtains of those that are eminently gracious, we do rather fetch, wdth Joash, than bifing a blessing. How sensible shoidd we be of the loss of holy men, when a Joash spends his tears upon Elisha I If we be more affected with the foregoing of a natui-al friend, or kinsman, than of a noted and useful prophet, it ar¬ gues more love to oiurselves, than to the church of God, than to God himself. What use there was of chariots and horsemen in those wars of the ancients, all histories can tell us; all the strength of the battle stood in these ; there could be neither defence nor offence but by them; such was Elisha unto Israel. The greatest safeguard to any nation is the sanctity and faithfulness of their prophets, without which the church and state lie open to utter desolation. CONT. V.] JOASH WITH ELISHA DYING. 83 The same words that Elisha said of his master Elijah when he saw him taken up from the earth, doth Joash now speak of Elisha, near his dissolution ; “ O my father, my father, the chariots of Israel, and the horsemen thereof 1” The words were good, the tears were pious, but where are the actions ? O Joash I if the prophet were thy father, where was thy filial obedience? he cried down thy calves, thou upheldst them ; he counselled thee to good, thou didst evil in the sight of the Lord. If the prophet was the chariot and horsemen of Israel, why didst thou fight against his holy doctrine ? if thou weepedst for his loss, why didst thou not weep for those sins of thine that procured it ? Had thine hand answered thy tongue, Israel had been happy in Elisha, Elisha had been happy in Israel and thee. Words are no good trial of profession : the worst men may speak well. Actions have only the power to descry hypocrites. Yet even a Joash, thus complying, shall not go away unblessed. This outward kindness shall receive an outward retribution. These few drops of warm water, shed upon the face of a prophet, shall not lose their reward. The spirit of prophecy forsakes not the death-bed of Elisha; he calls for bow and arrows, and puts them into the hand of Joash, and, putting his hands upon the king’s hand, he bids to shoot eastward, and while the shaft flies, and lights, he says, “ The arrow of the Lord’s deliverance from Syria ; for thou shalt smite the Syrians in Aphek, till thou have consumed them.” If the weak and withered hand of the prophet had not been upon the youthful and vigorous hand of the king, tliis bow had been drawn in vain : the strength was from the hand of the king, the blessing from the hand of the prophet. He, w'hose real parable hath made the earth to be Syria, the arrow revenge, the archer Joash, hath obtained for his last boon from God to Israel, that this ar¬ cher shall shoot this arrow of revenge into the heart of Syria, and wound it to death. When then the hand of the king, and of the prophet, draw together, there cannot choose but success must follow. How readily doth Elisha now make good the words of Joash I how truly is he the chariots and horsemen of Israel! Israel had not fought without him, much less had been victorious ; if theirs he the endeavour, the success is his. Even the dying prophet puts life and speed into the forces of Israel; and, while he is digging his own grave, is raising tro¬ phies to God’s people. He had received kindness from the Syrians; amongst them was he harboured in the dearth, and from some of their nobles was presented with rich gifts; but their enmity to Israel drowns all his private re¬ spects ; he cannot but profess hostility to the public enemies of the church, neither can he content himself with a single prediction of their ruin. He bids Joash to take the arrows, and smite upon the ground ; he sets no number of those strokes, as supposing the frequence of those blows, which Joash might well, upon this former parabolical act, understand to be significant. The slack hand of the king smites but thrice. So apt we are to be wanting to ourselves ; so coldly do we execute the commands of God. The sick prophet is not more grieved than angry at this dull negligence. Doubtless, God had revealed to him, for his 84 JOASH WITH ELISHA DYING. [book XX. last gratification, that, upon his fervent prayers, so often as Joash should voluntarily, after his general charge, smite the earth, so oft should Is¬ rael smite Syria. Elisha’s zeal doth not languish with his body; with a fatherly authority he chides him who had styled him father, not fearing to spend some of his last wind in a mild reproof; “ Thou shouldst have smitten five or six times, then thou hadst smitten Syria till thou hadst consumed it; whereas now thou shalt smite Syria but thrice.” Not that the unchangeable decree of the Almighty meant to suspend itself upon the uncertain issue of Joash’s will; but he, that puts this word in¬ to the mouth of his prophet, puts this motion into the hand of the king, which did not more willingly stay, than necessarily obey the providence whereby it was stirred. Even while we have the freest choice, we fall upon those actions and circumstances, whereby the just and holy will of our God is brought about. Our very neglects, our ignorances, shall ful¬ fil his eternal counsels. Elisha dies and is buried ; his miracles do not cease with his life. Who can marvel, that his living prayers raised the son of the Shuna- mite, when his dead bones raise the carcass that touched them I God will be free in his works; he that must die himself, yet shall revive another; the same power might have continued life to him, that gave it by his bones. Israel shall well see that he lives, by whose virtue Elisha was both in life and death miraculous. While the prophet was alive, the impetration might seem to be his, though the power were God’s. Now, that he is dead, the bones can challenge nothing, but send the wandering Israelite to that Almighty agent, to whom it is all one to work by the quick or dead. Were not the men of Israel more dead than the carcass thus buried, how could they choose but see, in this ruined corpse, an emblem of their own condition ? how could they choose but think. If we adhere to the God of Elisha, be shall raise our decayed estates, and restore our nation to the former glory ? The Sadducees had as yet no being in Israel. With what face could that heresy ever after look into the woi’ld, when before the birth of it, it Avas so palpably convinced, with an example of the resurrection ? Intermission of time, and degrees of corruption, add nothing to the im¬ possibility of our rising. The body that is once cold in death, hath no more aptitude to a re-animation, than that which is mouldered into dust; only the divine power of the Maker must restore either, can restore both. When we are dead, and buried in the grave of our sin, it is only the touch of God’s prophets, applying unto us the death and resurrec¬ tion of the Son of God, that can put new life into us. No less true, though spiritual, is the miracle of our rising up from an estate of inward corruption, to a life of grace. Yet all this prevails not with Israel. No bones of Elisha could raise them from their wicked idolatry ; and, notwithstanding their gross sins, Joash their king prospers. Whether it were for the sake of Jehu, whose grandchild he was, or for the sake of Elisha, whose face he wept upon, his hand is notably successful, not only against the son of Hazael king of Syi’ia, whom he beats out of the cities of Israel, but against Ama- ziah king of Judah, whom he took pidsoner, beating down the very walls of Jerusalem, and returning laden with the sacred and rich spoil, both of the temule and court, to his Samaria. COXT. VI.J UZZIAH LEPROUS. 85 O the depth of Divine justice and wisdom in these outward administra¬ tions ! The best cause, the best man, doth not ever fare best. Ama- ziah did that which was right in the sight of the Lord, Joash evil; Amaziah follows David, though not with equal paces; Joash follows Jeroboam ; yet is Amaziah shamefully foiled by Joash. Whether God yet meant to visit, upon this king of Judah, the still odious unthankful¬ ness of his father Jehoiada, or to plague Judah for their share in the blood of Zechariah, and their late revolt to idolatry; or, whether Amaziah’s too much confidence in his own strength, which moved his hold challenge to Joash, were thought fit to be thus taken down; or whatever other secret gi-ound of God’s judgment there might be, it is not for our presumption to inquire. Whoso by the event shall judge of love or hatred, shall be sure to run upon that woe, which belongs to them that call good evil, and evil good. Wliat a savage piece of justice it is, to put the right, whether of in¬ heritance or honour, to the decision of the sword, when it is no news for the better to miscarry by the hand of the worse ! The race is not to the swift, the battle is not to the strong, no, not to the good. Perhaps God will correct his own by a foil; perhaps he will plague his enemy by a victory. They are only oxir spiritual com¬ bats wherein our faithful courage is sure of a crown. CONTEMPLATION VI.—UZZIAH LEPROUS. Even the throne of David passed many changes of good and evil. Good Jehoshaphat was followed with three successions of wicked princes, and those three were again succeeded with three others godly and virtuous. Amaziah for a long time shone fair, but at the last, shut up in a cloud : the gods of the Edomites marred him. His rebellion against God stirred up his people’s rebellion against him. The same hands that slew him, crowned his son Uzziah ; so as the young king might imagine, it was not their spite that drew violence upon his father, but his own wickedness. Both early did this prince reign and late : he began at sixteen, and sat fifty-two years in the throne of Judah. They, that mutinied in the declining age of Amaziah the father, are obsequious to the childhood of the son, as if they professed to adore sovereignty, while they hated lewdness. The unchanged government of good princes is the happiness no less of the subjects, than of themselves. The hand knows best to guide those reins to which it hath been inured; and even mean hackneys go on cheerfully in their wonted road. Custom, as it makes evils more supportable, so, where it meets with constant minds, makes good things the more pleasing and beneficial. The wise and holy Zechariah was a happy tutor to the minority of king Uzziah. That vessel can hardly miscarry, where a skilful steers¬ man sits at the helm. The first praise of a good prince is to be judi¬ cious and just, and pious in himself: the next is, to give ear and way to them that are such. While Zechariah hath the visions of God, and Uzziah takes the counsels of Zechariah, it is hard to say, whether the prophet, or the king, or the state be happier. 86 UZZIAH LEPROUS. Qbook XX. God will be iu no man’s debt. So long as Uzziah sought the Lord, “ God made him to prosper.” Even what we do out of duty, cannot want a reward. Godliness never disappointed any man’s hopes, oft hath exceeded them. If Uzziah fight against the Philistines, if against the Arabians, and Mehunims (according to his names), the strength, the help of the Almighty is with him. The Ammonites come in with pre¬ sents, and all the neighbour nations ring of the greatness, of the happi¬ ness of Uzziah : his bounty and care make .lerusalem both strong and proud of her new towers; yea, the very desert must taste of his munificence. The outward munificence of princes cannot stand firm, unless it be built upon the foundations of providence and frugality. Uzziah had not been so great a king, if he had not been so great a husband; he had his flocks in the deserts, and his herds in the plains ; his ploughs in the fields, his vine-dressers upon the mountains, and in Carmel; neither was this more out of profit than delight, for he loved husbandry. Who can contemn those callings for meanness, which have been the pleasures of princes ? Hence was Uzziah so potent at home, so dreadful to his neighbours. His wars had better sinew than theirs. Which of his predecessors was able to maintain so settled an army, of more than three hundred and ten thousand trained soldiers, well furnished, well fitted for the sudden- est occasions ? Thrift is the strongest prop of power. The greatness of Uzziah, and the rare devices of his artificial engines for war, have not more raised his fame than his heart; so is he swollen up with the admiration of his own strength and glory, that he breaks again. How easy it is for the best man to doat upon himself, and to be lifted up so high, as to lose the sight both of the ground whence he rises, and of the hand that advanced him I How hard it is for him that hath invented strange engines for the battering his enemies, to find out any means to beat down his own proud thoughts! Wise Solomon knew what he did, when he prayed to be delivered from too much: “Lest,” said he, “ I be full, and deny thee, and say. Who is the Lord ?” Upon this rock did the son of Solomon run, and split himself. His full sails of prosperity carried him into presumption and ruin. What may he not do, what he may not be ? Because he found his power otherwise un¬ limited, overruling in the court, the cities, the fields, the deserts, the armies and magazines, therefore he thinks he may do so in the temple too. As things royal, civil, husbandry, military, passed his hands : so why should not, thinks he, sacred also ? It is a dangerous indiscretion for a man not to know the bounds of his own calling. What confusion doth not follow upon this breaking of the ranks ! Upon a solemn day, king Uzziah clothes himself in pontifical robes, and, in the view of that populous assembly, walks up in state into the temple of God, and boldly approaching to the altar of incense, offers to burn sweet odours upon it to the God of heaven. Azariah the priest is sensible of so perilous an encroachment; he therefore, attended with fourscore valiant assistants of that holy tribe, hastens after the king, and finding him with the censer in his hand, ready addressed to that sinful devotion, stays him with a free and grave expostulation. There is no CONT. VI.] UZZIAH LEPROUS. 87 place wherein I could be sorry to see thee, O king, but this where thou art; neither is there any act that we should grudge thee so much, as this which is the most sacred. Is it possible that so great an oversight should fall into such wisdom ? can a religious prince, trained up under a holy Zechariah, after so many years’ zealous profession of piety, be either ignorant or regardless of those limits, which God hath set to his own services ? O what means this uncouth attempt! Consider, O dear sovei'eign, for God's sake, for thy soul’s sake, consider where thou art, what thou dost: it is God’s house wherein thou standest, not thine own. Look about thee, and see, whether these vails, these tables, these pillars, these walls, these pavements, have any resemblance of earth. There is no place in all the world, whence thy God bath excluded thee, but only this ; this he hath reserved for his own use; and canst thou think much to allow one room as proper to him, who hath not grudged all the rest to thee ? But if it be thy zeal of a personal service to God, that hath carried thee thither, alas ! how canst thou hope to please the Almighty with a forbidden sacrifice ? which of thine holy progenitors ever dared to tread where thy foot now standeth ? which of them ever put forth their hand to touch this sacred altar ? Thou knowest that God hath set apart, and sanctified his own attendants. Wherefore serves the priesthood, if this be the right of kings ? Were it not for the strict prohibition of our God, it could seem no other than an honour to our profession, that a king should think to dignify himself by our employ¬ ment. But now, knowing the severe charge of the great King of hea¬ ven, we cannot but tremble to see that censer in thine hand; whoever, out of the holy tribe, hath wielded it unrevenged ? this affront is not to us, it is to the God whom we serve. In awe of that terrible Majesty, as thou wouldst avoid some exemplary judgment, O king, withdraw thyself, not without humble deprecations, from this presence, and lay down that interdicted handful, with fear and trembling. Be thou ever a king, let us be priests; the sceptre is thine, let censers be ours. What religious heart could do other, than relent at so faithful and just an admonition ? but how hard is it for great persons to yield they have oflFended ! Uzziah must not be faulty ; what is done rashly, shall be borne out with power; he was wroth, and thus expresseth it. What means this saucy expostulation, O ye sons of Levi ? how dare ye thus malapertly control the well-meant actions of your sovereign ? if ye be priests, remember that ye are subjects ; or if ye will needs forget it, how easy is it for this hand to awake your memory. What such offence can it be for me to come into that house, and to touch that altar, which my royal progenitors have made, beautified, consecrated ? is the God of this place only yours ? Why do ye thus ambitiously engross religion ? if princes have not intermeddled with these holy affairs, it was because they would not, not because they might not. When those laws were made for the sanctuary, there were no kings to grace these divine cere¬ monies ; yet even then, Moses was privileged. The persons of princes, if ye know not, are no less sacred than your own. It is your presump¬ tion to account the Lord’s anointed profane. Contest with those, whose dry and unhallowed heads are subject to your power; for me, I will not 88 UZZIAH LEPROUS. [book XX. ask your leave to be devout. Look ye to your own censers, presume not to meddle with mine : in the meantime, can ye think this insolence of yours shall escape unrevenged ? Can it stand with the honour of my sovereig’nty, to be thus proudly checked by subjects ? “ God do so to me, and more also, if”—While Uzziah yet speaks, God strikes: ere the words of fury can come forth of his mouth, the leprosy appears in his forehead. Leprosy was a most loathsome disease : the forehead is the most conspicuous part. Had this shameful scurf broken forth upon his hand, or foot, or breast, it might have been hid from the eyes of men; now the forehead is smitten with this judgment, that God may proclaim to all beholders. Thus shall it be done to the man, whose arrogance hath thrust him upon a sacred charge. Public offences must have open shame. It is a dangerous thing to put ourselves into the affairs, into the presence of God, unwarranted. There cannot be a more foolish mis¬ prision, than, because we are great on earth, to think we may be bold with Heaven. When God’s messengers cannot prevail by counsels, en¬ treaties, threats, it is time for God to show his immediate judgments. Wilful offenders can expect nothing but a fearful revenge. Now begins Uzziah to be confounded in himself; and shame strives with leprosy, for a place in his forehead: the hand of God hath done that in an instant, which all the tongues of men had attempted in vain. There needs no further solicitor of his egress ; the sense of his plague sends him forth alone. And now he thinks, Wretched man that I am, how have I angered God, and undone myself! I would needs come in like a priest, and now go forth a leper; the pride of my heart made me think myself worthy the presence of a God ; God’s just displeasure hath now made me unworthy of the presence of men; while I affected the altar, I have lost my throne ; while I scornfully rejected the advice and censures of God’s ministers, I am now become a spectacle of horror and deformity to my own servants ; I, that would be sending up perfumes to heaven, have made my nastiness hateful to my own senses. What do I under this sacred roof? neither is God’s house now for me, nor mine own : what cell, what dungeon is close enough for me, wherein to wear out the residue of mine unhappy and uncomfortable days ? O God, thou art just, and I am miserable ! Thus, with a dejected countenance, and sad heart, doth Uzziah has¬ ten to retire himself; and wishes that he could be no less hid from him¬ self, than from others. How easy is it for the God of heaven to bring down the highest pitch of earthly greatness, and to humble the stub- bornest pride ! Upon the leisure of second thoughts, Uzziah cannot but acknowledge much favour in this correction, and confess to have escaped well; others he knew had been struck dead, or swallowed up quick, for so presump¬ tuous an intrusion. It is happy for him, if his forehead may excuse his soul. Uzziah ceased not to be a king, when he began to be a leper; the disease of his forehead did not remove his crown : his son Jotham reign¬ ed for him, under him ; and wdiile he was not seen, yet he was obeyed. Tlie character of sovereignty is indelible, whether by bodily infirmity, or CONT. VII.^ AHAZ WITH HIS NEW ALTAR. 89 by spiritual censure. Neither is it otherwise, O God, betwixt thee and us ; if we be once a royal generation unto thee, our leprosies may deform us, they shall not dethrone us ; still shall we have the right, still the possession of that glorious kingdom, wherein we are invested from eteniity. CONTEMPLATION VII.—AHAZ WITH HIS NEW ALTAR. After many unhappy changes of the two thrones, Ahaz succeeds Jotham in the kingdom of Judah, an ill son of a good father; not more the heir of David’s seat, than of Jeroboam’s sin. Though Israel play the harlot, yet who can abide that Judah should sin ? It is hard not to be infected with a contagious neighbomdiood: whoever read, that the kingdom of Israel was seasoned with the vicinity of the true religion of Judah ? Goodness, such our nature is, is not so apt to spread. A tainted air doth more easily affect a sound body, than a wholesome air can clear the sick. Superstition hath ever been more successful than truth ; the young years of Ahaz are soon misled to a plausible misdevotion. A man that is once fallen from truth, knows where he shall stay. From the calves of Jeroboam is Ahaz drawn to the gods of the heathen; yea, now bulls and goats are too little for those new deities ; his own flesh and blood is but dear enough ; “ He made his son to pass through their fire.” Where do we find any religious Israelite thus zealous for God ! Neither doth the holiness and mercy of our God require so cruel a sacrifice: neither is our duU and niggardly hand ready to gratify him with more easy obediences. O God, how gladly should we offer unto thee our souls and bodies, which we may enjoy so much the more, when they are thine ; since zealous pagans stick not to lose their omi flesh and blood in an idol’s fire I He, that hath thus shamefidly cast off the God of his fathers, cannot be long without a fearfid revenge. The king of Israel galls him on the one side, the king of Syria on the other. To avoid the shock of both, Ahaz doth not betake himself to the God whom he had offended, who was able to make his enemies at peace with him, but to Tiglath-pileser king of Ashur ; him doth he woo with suits, with gifts, and robs God of those presents, which may endear so strong a helper. He that thought not his son too dear for an idol, thinks not God’s silver and gold too dear for an idolatrous abettor. O the infinite patience of the Almighty ! God gives success awhile to so offensive a rivality. This Assyrian king prevails against the king of Syria, kills him, and takes his chief city Damascus. The quarrel of the king of Judah hath enlarged the territories of his assistant beyond hope ; and now, while this Assyrian victor is enjoying the possession of his new-won Damascus, Ahaz goes up thither to meet him, to congratu¬ late the victory, to add unto those triumphs, which were drawn on by his solicitation. There he sees a new-fashioned altar, that pleases his eye; that old form of Solomon’s, which was made by the pattern showed II. M 90 AHAZ WITH HIS NEW ALTAR. [book xx. to Moses in the mount, is now grown stale and despicable; a model of this more exquisite frame is sent to Urijah the priest, and must be sampled in Jerusalem. It is a dangerous pi’esumption to make innovations, if but in the circumstance of God’s worship. Those human additions, which would seem to grace the institution of God, deprave it; that infinite Wisdom knows best what will please itself, and prescribes accordingly. The foolishness of God is wiser than the wisdom of men. Idolatry and falsehood are commonly more gaudy and plausible than truth. That heart which can, for the outward homeliness, despise the ordinances of God, is already alienated from true religion, and lies open to the grossest superstition. Never any prince was so foully idolatrous, as that he wanted a priest to second him. An Urijah is fit to humour an Ahaz. Gi’eatness could never command any thing, which some servile wits were not ready both to applaud and justify. Ere the king can be returned from Damascus, the altar is finished. It were happy, if true godliness could be so forward in the prosecutions of good. Neither is this strange pile I’eared only, but thrust up betwixt God’s altar and the temple, in an apparent precedency, as if he had said. Let the God of Judah come behind the deities of Syria. And now, to make up the full measure of his impiety, this idolatrous king will himself be sacrificing upon his new altar, to his new gods, the gods of Damascus. An usurped priesthood well becomes a false deity : “ Because, saith he, the gods of the kings of Syria help them, therefore will I sacrifice to them, that they may help me.” O blind superstition! How did the gods of Syria help their kings, when both those kings and their gods were vanquished and taken by the king of Assyria? Even this Damascus and this altar were the spoil of a foreign enemy; how then did the gods of Syria help their kings, any other than to their ruin ? What dotage is this to make choice of a foiled protection ? But had the Syrians prospered, must their gods have the thanks ? Are there no authors of good but blocks or devils ? or is an outward prosperity the only argnment of truth, the only motive of devotion ? O foolish Ahaz ! it is the God thou hast forsaken that plagues thee, under whose only arm thou mightst have prevailed. His power beats those pagan stocks one against another, so as, one while, one seems victorious, another vanquished ; and at last he confounds both to¬ gether with their proudest clients. Thyself shall be the best instance. Of all the kings of Judah hitherto, there is none so dreadfid an ex¬ ample, either of sin or judgment, as this son of good Jotham. I abhor to think, that such a monster should descend from the loins of David ; where should be the period of this wickedness ? He began with the high places, thence he descends to the calves of Dan and Bethel; from thence he falls to a Syrian altar, to the Syrian god ; then, from a part¬ nership, he falls to an utter exclusion of the true God, and blocking up his temple : and then to the sacrifice of his own son ; and at last, as if hell were broken loose upon God’s inheritance, every several city, every high place of Judah hath a new god. No marvel, if he be branded by the Spirit of God, with, “ This is that king Ahaz.” CONT. VIII.] DESTRUCTION OF ISRAEL. 91 What a fearful plague did this noisome deluge of sin leave behind it in the land of Judah ! Who can express the horror of God’s revenge upon a people that shoidd have been his ? Pekah the king of Israel slew a hundred and twenty thousand of them in one day, amongst whom was Maseiah the son of Ahaz. O just judgment of the Almighty 1 AJiaz sheds the blood of one son to an idol: the true God sheds the blood of another of his sons in revenge. Yet the hand of the Lord is stretched out still. Two hundred thousand of them were carried away, by the Israelites, captive to Samaria. The Edomites came, and carried away another part of them for bond slaves to their country. The Philistines came up and shared the cities of the south of Judah, and the villages thereof: shortly, what other is miserable Judah, than the prey and spoil of all the neighbouring nations ! “ For the Lord brought Judah low because of Israel; for he made Judah naked, and transgressed sore against the Lord.” As for the great king of Ashur, whom Ahaz purchased with the sacrilegious pillage of the house of God, instead of an aid, he proves a bm*den: however he sped in his first onsets, now “ he distressed Judah, but strengthened it not.” The charge was as great as the benefit small; sooner shall he eat them out, than rescue them. No arm of flesh can shelter Ahaz from a ven¬ geance. “ Be wise, O ye kings ; be instructed, O ye judges of the earth : serve the Lord with fear, and rejoice with trembling. Kiss the son, lest he be angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little.” His subjects complain, that he died so late; and, as repenting that he ever was, denying him a room in the sepulchres of kings ; as if they had said, the common earth of Jerusalem is too good for him that degeue- rated from his progenitors, spoiled his kingdom, deprived his people, for¬ sook God. CONTEMPLATION VIII.—THE UTTER DESTRUCTION OF THE KINGDOM OF ISRAEL. Judah was at a sore heave; yet Israel shall miscarry before it; such are the sins of both, that they strive Avhether shall fall first; but this lot must light upon the ten tribes. Though the late king of Judah were personally worse than the most of Jeroboam’s successors, yet the people were generally less evil, upon whom the encroachments of idolatry were more by obtrusion, than by consent: besides that the thrones of Judah had some interchanges of good princes, Israel none at all. The same justice therefore that made Israel a scourge to Judah, made Assyria a scorpion to Israel. It was the quarrel of Judah, that first engaged the king of Ashm- in this war against Israel: now he is not so easily fetched off. So Ave have seen some eager mastiff, that hath been set on by the least clap of the hand, but could not be loosened by the force of staves. 92 DESTRUCTION OF ISRAEL. [book XX. Salmaneser king of Assyria comes up against Hosliea king of Israel and subdues him, and puts him to his tribute. This yoke was uncouth and unpleasing: the vanquished prince was neither able to resist, nor willing to yield: secretly therefore he treats with the king of Egypt for assistance, as desiring rather to hazard his liberty by the hand of an equal, than to enjoy a quiet subjection under the hand of an overruling power. We cannot blame princes to be jealous of their sovereignties : the detaining of his yearly tribute, and the w'hisperings with new con¬ federates, have drawn up the king of Ashur to perfect his own victories. He returns therefore with a strong power, and, after three years’ siege, takes Samaria, imprisons Hoshea, and, in the exchange of a woeful cap¬ tivity, he peoples Israel with Assyrians, and Assyria with Israelites. Now that abused soil hath, upon a surfeit of wickedness, cast out her perfidious owners, and will try how it can fare with heathenish stran¬ gers. Now, the Assyrian gallants triumph in the palaces of Samaria and Jezreel, while the peers and captains of Israel are driven manacled through the Assyrian streets, and billeted to the several places of their perpetual servitude. Shortly now the flourishing kingdom of the ten tribes is come to a final and shameful end, and so vanished in this last dissipation, that, since that day, no man could ever say, this was Israel. O tei’rible example of vengeance, upon that peculiar people, whom God hath chosen for himself ont of all the world ! All the world were witnesses of the favours of their miraculous deliverances and protec¬ tions ; all the world shall be witnesses of their just confusion. It is not in the power of slight errors to set olF that infinite mercy. What Avas it, O God, what was it that caused thee to cast oIF thine own inheritance ? what but the same that made thee to cast the angels out of heaven, even their rebellious sins. Those sins dared to emxdate the greatness of thy mercies, no less than they forced the severity of thy judgments ; “ They left all the commandments of the Lord their God ; and made them molten images, even two calves ; and made a grove, and woi’shipped all the host of heaven, and served Baal, and caused their sons and daughters to pass through the fire, and used divination and enchantments, and sold themselves to do evil in the sight of the Lord, to provoke him to anger.” Neither were these slips of frailty, or ignorant mistakings, but wil¬ ful crimes, obstinate impieties, in spite of the doctrines, reproofs, mena¬ ces, miraculous convictions of the holy prophets, which God sent amongst them. Thy destruction is of thyself, O Israel ! What could the just hand of the Almighty do less than consume a nation so incor¬ rigibly flagitious ? a nation so unthankful for mercies, so impatient of remedies, so incapable of repentance ; so obliged, so warned, so shame¬ lessly, so lawlessly wicked ? What nation luider heaven can now challenge an indefeasible interest in God, when Israel itself is cast olF? what church in the Avorld can show such dear love-tokens from the Almighty, as this now abhorred and adulterous spouse ? He, that spared not the natxiral olive, shall he spare the Avild ? It is not for us sinners of the Gentiles to be high- minded, but aAvful. The Israelites are carried captive into Assyria. These goodly cities CONT. VIII.] DESTRUCTION OF ISRAEL, 93 of the ten tribes may not lie waste and unpeopled; the wisdom of the victor finds it fit to transplant his own colonies thither, that so he may raise profit thence, with security. From Babylon therefore, and Cuthah, and Ava, and Hamath, and Sepharvaim, doth he send of his own subjects, to possess and inhabit the cities of Samaria. The land doth not brook her new tenants: “ they feared not the Lordhow should they ? they knew him not. “ Therefore the Lord sent lions amongst them, which slew some of them.” Not the veriest pagan can be excused for his ignorance of God : even the depravedst nature might teach us to tremble at a Deity. It is just with the Almighty not to put up with neglect, where he hath bestowed reason. The brute creatures are sent to revenge the quarrel of their Maker, upon worse beasts than themselves. Still hath God left himself champions in Israel: lions tear the Assyrians in pieces, and put them in mind, that, had it not been for wickedness, that land needed not to have changed masters. The great Lord of the world cannot want means to plague oft'enders : if the men be gone, yet the beasts are there; and if the beasts had been gone, yet, so long as there were stones in the walls, in the quarries, God would be sure of avengers. There is no security but in being at peace with God. The king of Assyria is sued to for remedy. Even these pagans have learned to know that these lions were sent from a God ; that this pun¬ ishment is for sin : “ They know not the manner of the God of the land, therefore he hath sent lions among them.” These blind heathens, that think every land hath a several god, yet hold that god worthy of his own worship; yet hold, that worship must be grounded upon know¬ ledge, the want of that knowledge punishable, the punishment of that want just and divine. How much worse than Assyrians are they that are ready to ascribe all calamities to nature, to chance! that, acknow¬ ledging but one God of all the world, are yet careless to know him, to serve him! One of the priests of Israel is appointed to be carried back to Sa¬ maria, to teach the Assyrian colony the fashions of the god of the land ; not for devotion, but for impunity. Vain politicians think to satisfy God by patching up religions : any forms are good enough for an un¬ known deity. The Assyrian priests teach and practise the wmrship of their own gods. The Israelitish priest prescribes the worship of the true God. The people will follow both; the one out of liking, the other out of fear. What a prodigious mixture was here of religions ! true with false, Jewish with Paganish, divine with devilish ; every di¬ vision of these transplanted Assyrians had their several deities, high places, sacrifices; this high priest of Israel intercommunes with every one of them : so that now these fathers of Samaritanism are in at all; “ They fear the Lord, and serve their idols.” No beggar’s cloak is more pieced than the religion of these new inhabitants of Israel. I know not how their bodies sped for the lions ; I am sure their souls fared the worse for this medley. Above all things, God hates a mon¬ grel devotion ; if we be not all Israel, it were better to be all Ashur: it cannot so much displease God to be unknown or neglected, as to be consorted with idols. 94 HEZEKIAH AND SENNACHERIB. [book XX. CONTEMPLATION IX.—HEZEKIAH AND SENNACHERIB. Israel is gone, Judah is left standing ; or rather some few sprigs of those two tribes : so we have seen, in the shredding of some large timber- tree, one or two boughs left at the top to hold up the sap. Who can but lament the poor remainders of that languishing kingdom of David ! Take out of the two tribes of Judah and Benjamin one hundred and twenty thousand, whom Pekah the king of Israel slew in one day; take out two hundred thousand that were carried away captive to Samaria; take out those that were transported into the bondage of the Edomites, and those that were subdued in the south parts by the Philistines : alas I what a handful was left to the king of Judah; scarce worth the name of a dominion! yet, even now, out of the gleeds of Judah, doth God raise up a glorious light to his forlorn chui’ch ; yea, from the wretched loins of Ahaz, doth God fetch a holy Hezekiah. It had been hard to conceive the state of Judah worse than it was ; neither was it more mi¬ serable than sinful, and, in regard of both, desperate ; when beyond hope, God revives this dying stock of David, and, out of very ruins, builds up his own house. Ahaz was not more the ill son of a good father, than he was the ill father of a good son. He was the ill son of good Jotham, the ill father of good Hezekiah ; good Hezekiah makes amends for his father’s impiety, and puts a new life into the heartless remnant of God’s people. The wisdom of oui* good God knows when his aid will be most season¬ able, most welcome, which he then loves to give, when he finds us left of our hopes. That merciful hand is reserved for a dead lift; then he fails us not. Now, ye might have seen this pious prince busily bestirring himself, in so late and needful a reformation, removing the high places, batter¬ ing and biu’ning the idols, demolishing their temples, cutting down their groves, opening the temple, purging the altars and vessels, sanctifying the priests, rekindling the lamps, renewing the incense, re-instituting the sa¬ crifices, establishing the order of God’s service, appointing the courses, settling the maintenance of the ministers, publishing the decrees of the long-neglected passover, celebrating it and the other feasts with due solemnity, encouraging the people, contributing bountifidly to the offer¬ ings ; and, in one word, so ordering all the affairs as if he had been sent down from heaven to restore religion, as if David himself had been alive again in this blessed heir, not so much of his crown, as of his piety. O Judah I happy in thy Hezekiah ; O Hezekiah ! happy in the gracious restoration of thy Judah. Ahaz shall have no thanks for such a son: the God, that is able of the very stones to raise children to Abraham, raises a true seed of David, out of the corrupt loins of £»n idolater. That infinite mercy is not tied to the terms of an immediate propagation: for the space of three hundi’ed years, the man after God’s own heart had no perfect heir till now. Till now did the high places stand : the devotions of the best princes of Judah were blemished with some weak omissions. Now, the zeal of good Hezekiah clears all those defects, and works an entire change. CONT. IX.] HEZEKIAH AND SENNACHERID. 95 How seasonably liatli the providence of God kept the best man for tlie worst times ! When God hath a great woi’k to do, he knows to lit him¬ self with instruments. No marvel, if the paganish idols go to wreck, when even the brazen serpent, that Moses had made by God’s own appointment, is broken in pieces. The Israelites were stung with fiery serpents; this brazen ser¬ pent healed them, which they did no sooner see than they recovered. But now, such was the venom of the Israelitish idolatry, that this ser¬ pent of brass stung worse than the fiery ; that which first cured by the eye, now by the eye poisoned the soul; that which was at first the type of a Saviour, is now the deadly engine of the enemy : while it helped, it stood ; it stood while it hurt not: but when once wicked abuse had turned it in to an idol, what was it but Nehushtan ? The holiness of the first institution, cannot privilege ought from the danger of a futm’e profanation ; nor, as the case may stand, from an utter abolition. What antiquity, what authority, what primary service might this serpent have pleaded ? all that cannot keep it out of the dust. Tliose things which are necessary in their being, beneficial in their con¬ tinuance, may still remain when their abuse is purged: but those things whose use is but temporary, and whose duration is needless and unpro¬ fitable, may cease with the occasion, and much more perish with an in¬ separable abuse. Hezekiah willingly forgets who made the serpent, when he sees the Israelites make it an idol. It is no less intolerable for God to have a rival of his own making. Since Hezekiah was thus above all his ancestors, upright with the Lord, it is no marvel, if the Lord were with him, if he prospered wdiither- soever he went; the same God, that would have his justice magnifi¬ ed in the confusion of the wicked princes of Israel and Judah, would have his mercy no less acknowledged in the blessings of faithfid Heze¬ kiah. The great king of Assyria had, in a sort, swallowed up both the king¬ doms of Judah and Israel, yet not with an equal cruelty: he made Is¬ rael captive ; Judah, upon a willing composition, tributary. Israel is vanished in a transportation; Judah continues under the homage wherein Ahaz left it. Hezekiah had reigned but six years, when he saw his neighbours of Israel packing into a miserable captivity, and the proud Assyrians lording in their cities ; yet, even then, when he stood alone, in a corner of Judah, durst Hezekiah draw his neck out of the yoke of the great and victorious monarch of Assyria; and, as if one enemy had not been enough, at the same time he falls upon the encroach¬ ing Philistines, and prevails. It is not to be asked wdiat powders a man can make, but in what terms he stands with heaven. The unworthy father of Hezekiah had clogged Judah with this servile fealty to the As¬ syrian ; what the conditions of that subjection were, it is too late, and needless for us to inquire. If this payment were limited to a period of time, the expiration acquitted him ; if, upon covenants of aid, the cessa¬ tion therefore acquitted him ; if the reforming of religion, and banish¬ ment of idolatry, ran under the censure of rebelli(»n, the quarrel on Heze- kiah’s part was holy, on Sennacherib’s unjust: but if the re-stipulation were absolute, and the withdrawing of this homage upon none but civil 96 IlEZEKIAH AND SENNACHEllIii. [[book XX. grounds, I cannot excuse the good king from a just oftence. It was a human frailty in an obliged prince, by force, to effect a free and indepen¬ dent sovereignty. What! do we mince that fact, which holy Hezekiah himself censures? I have offended, return from me ; what thou puttest on me will I bear.” The comfort of liberty may not be had with an unwarranted violence. Holiness cannot free us from infirmity. It was a weakness to do that act, which must be soon undone Avith much repentance, and more loss ; this revolt shall cost Hezekiah, besides much humiliation, three hundi’ed yearly talents of silver, thirty talents of gold. How much better had it been for the cities of Judah to have purchased their peace with an easy tribute, than war with intolerable taxation. Foiu’teen years had good Hezekiah fed upon a sweet peace, sauced only with a set pension; now he must prepare his palate for the bitter morsels of war. The king of Assyria is come up against all the defenced cities of Judah, and hath taken them. Hezekiah is fain to buy him out Avith too many talents ; the poor kingdom of Judah is exhausted with so deep a payment, insomuch that the king is forced to borroAv of God himself, for “ Hezekiah gave him all the silver that was found in the house of the Lord; yea, at that time did Hezekiah cut off the gold from the doors of the temple of the Lord, and from the pillars Avhich he had overlaid, and gave it to the king of Assyria." How hard Avas good Hezekiah driven, ere he AAmuld be thus bold Avith his God! Surely if the mines or coffers of Judah could have yielded any supply, this shift had been hateful; to fetch back for an enemy that Avhich he had given to his Maker. Only necessity excuses that from sacrilege in the son, Avhich Avill make sacrilege in the father: that Avhich is once devoted to a sacred use, may not be called back to a profane. But he, Avhose the earth is, and tlie fulness of it, is not so taken with om* metals, that he should more regard our gold than our Avelfare : his goodness cannot grudge any outward thing for the price of our peace. To rob God, out of covetousness, or wantonness, or neglect, is justly damnable ; we cannot rob him out of our need; for then he gives us all we take, and bids us ransom our lives, our liberties : the treasures of God’s house Avere precious, for his sake, to whom they Avere consecrated ; but more precious in the sight of the Lord was the life of any one of his saints. Every true Israelite Avas the spiritual house of God; why should not the door of the material temple be Avillingly stripped, to save the whole frame of the spiritual temple ? Take therefore, O Hezekiah, Aidiat thou hast given; no gold is too holy to redeem thy vexation. It matters not so much how bare the doors of the temple be, in a case of necessity, as hoAV Avell the insides be fiu’nished with sincere devotion. O the cruel hard-heartedness of those men, wdiich will rather suffer the living temples of God to be ruined, than they wiU ransom their lives with farthings. It could not be, but that the store of needy Judah must soon be drawn dry Avith so deep an exaction; that sum cannot be sent, because it can¬ not be raised. The cruel tyrant calls for his bricks, Avhile he allows no straw: his anger is kindled, because Hezekiah’s coffers have a bottom ; Avith a mighty host doth he come up against Jerusalem, therefore shall CONT. IX.] HEZEKIAH AND SENNACHERIB. 97 that city be destroyed by him, because by him it bath been impoverished : the inhabitants must be slaves, because they are beggars. O lamentable, and, in sight, desperate condition, of distressed Jerusa¬ lem ! wealth it had none; strength it had but a little ; all the counti-y round about was subdued to the Assyrian ; that proud victor hath begirt the walls of it with an innumerable army, scorning that such a shovel¬ ful of earth should stand out but one day. Poor Jerusalem stands alone, blocked up with a world of enemies, helpless, friendless, comfort¬ less, looking for the worst of a hostile fury, when Tartan, and Rabsaris, and Rabshakeh, the great captains of the Assyrians, call to a parley ; Hezekiah sends to them tlmee of his prime officers, his steward, his se¬ cretary, his recorder. Lord, what insolent blasphemies doth that foul mouth of Rabshakeh belch out against the living God, against his anoint¬ ed servant! How plausibly doth he discourage the subjects of Hezekiah! how proudly doth he insult upon their impotency ! how doth he brave them with base offers of advantage ; and, lastly, how cunningly doth he fore- lay their confidence, which was only left them, in the Almighty, pro¬ testing not to be come up thither without the Lord ! “ The Lord said to me. Go up to this land and destroy it.” How fearful a word was this ! the rest were but vain cracks; this was a thunderbolt to strike dead the heart of Hezekiah : if Rabshakeh could have been believed, Jerusalem could not but have flown open ; how could it think to stand out no less against God than men ? Even thus doth the great enemy of mankind ; if he can dishearten the soul from a dependence upon the God of mercies, the day is his. Lewd miscreants care not how they belie God, for their own purposes. Eliakim, the steward of Hezekiah, well knew how much the people must needs be affected with this pernicious suggestion ; and fain would, therefore, if not stop that wicked mouth, yet divert these blasphemies into a foreign expression. I wonder that any wise man should look for favour from an enemy: “ Speak, I pray thee, to thy servants in the Sy¬ rian language.” What was this, but to teach an adversary how to do mischief? Wherefore came Rabshakeh thither, but to gall Hezekiah, to withdraw his subjects ? That tongue is properest for him which may hm-t most. Deprecations of evil to a malicious man, are no better than advices. An unknown idiom is fit to keep counsel; they are familiar words that must convey ought to the understanding. Lewd men are the worse for admonitions. Rabshakeh had not so strained his throat, to corrupt the citizens of Jerusalem, had it not been for the humble obtestation of Eliakim. Now he rears up his voice, and holds his sides, and roars out his double blas¬ phemies ; one while affrighting the people with the great power of the mighty king of Assyria; another while debasing the contemptible force of Hezekiah; now smoothly alluring them with the assurances of a safe and successful yieldance, then discouraging them with the impossibility of their deliverance ; laying before them the fearful examples of greater nations vanquished by that sword, which was now shaken over them, triumphing in the impotency and miscarriage of their gods. “ Who are they, among all the gods of the countries, that have delivered their II. N 98 HEZEKIAH AND SENNACHERIB. [book XX. country out of mine hand, that the Lord should deliver Jerusalem out of mine hand? where are the gods of Arpad and of Hamath ?” Where, hut in that hellish darkness, that is ordained both for them and for thee, barbarous Assyrian, that darest thus open thy mouth against thy Maker: and can those atheous eyes of thine see no difference of gods ? Is there no distance betwixt a stock, or stone, and that infinite Deity that made heaven and earth ? It is enough that thou now feelest it; thy tor¬ ments have taught thee too late, that thou alFrontest a living God. How did the fingers and tongues of those Jewish peers and people itch to be at Rabshakeh, in a revengeful answer to those impieties: all is hushed, not a word sounds from those walls. I do not more wonder at Hezekiah’s wisdom, in commanding silence, than at the subjects’ obedience in keeping it. This railer could not be more spited, than with no answer; and if he might be exasperated, he could not be re¬ formed ; besides, the rebounding of those multiplied blasphemies might leave some ill impressions in the multitude; this sidphurous flash, therefore, dies in its own smoke, only leaving a hateful stench behind it. Good Hezekiah cannot easily pass over this devilish oratory; no sooner doth he hear of it, than he rends his clothes, and covers himself with sackcloth, and betakes himself to the house of the Lord, and sends his officers, and the gravest of the priests, clad in sackcloth, to Isaiah, the prophet of God, with a doleful and querulous message. O the noble piety of Hezekiah I Notwithstanding all the straits of the siege, and the danger of so powerful an enemy, I find not the gar¬ ments of this good king, any otherwise than whole, and unchanged; but now, so soon as ever a blasphemy is uttered against the majesty of his God, though by a pagan dog, his clothes are torn, and turned into sackcloth. There can be no better argument of an upright heart, than to be more sensible of the indignities offered to God, than of our own dangers. Even these desperate reproaches send Hezekiah to the tem¬ ple. The more we see God’s name profaned, the more shall we, if we be truly religious, love and honom- it. Whither should Hezekiah run, but to the temple, to the prophet ? there, there is the refuge of all faithful ones, where they may speak with God, where they may he spoken to from God, and fetch comfort from both. It is not possible, that a believing heart should be disappointed. Isaiah sends that message to the good king, that may dry up his tears, and cheer his countenance, and change his suit: “ Thus saith the Lord, Be not afraid of the words which thou hast heard, with which the ser¬ vants of the king of Assyria have blasphemed me : Behold, I wiU send a blast upon him, and he shall hear a rumour, and shall return to his own land; and I will cause him to fall by the sword, in his own land.” Lo, even while Sennacherib was in the height of his jollity and as¬ surance, God’s prophet foresees his ruin, and gives him for dead, while that tyrant thought of nothing but life and victory. Proud and secure worldlings little dream of the near approach of their judgments: while they are plotting their deepest designs, the overruling justice of the Al¬ mighty hath contrived their sudden confusion, and sees and sets them their day. Rabshakeh returns, and, finding the king of Assyria warring against CONT. IX.j HEZEKIAH AND SENNACHERIB. 99 Libnah, reports to him the silent, and therein contemptuous, answer, and firm resolutions of Hezekiah : in the meantime God pulls Senna¬ cherib by the ear, ivith the news of the approaching arm of Tirhakah, king of Ethiopia, which was coming up to raise the siege, and to succour his confederates. That dreadful power will not allow the Assyrian king, in pei’son, to lead his other forces up against Jerusalem, nor to continue his former leaguer long before those walls. But now he Avrites big words to Hezekiah, and thinks, with his thundering mena¬ ces, to beat open the gates, and level the bulwarks of Jerusalem. Like the true master of Rabshakeh, he reviles the God of heaven, and basely parallels him with the dunghill deities of the heathen. Good Hezekiah gets him into his sanctuary, there he spreads the let¬ ter before the Lord ; and calls to the God that dwells between the cherubims, to revenge the blasphemies of Sennacherib, to protect and rescue himself and his people. Every one of those Avords pierced hea¬ ven, which was no less open to mercy unto Hezekiah, than vengeance to Sennacherib. Now is Isaiah addressed with a second message of comfort to him, Avho doubtless distrusted not the first: only the reitera¬ tion of that fiu’ious blasphemy made him take faster hold, by his faith¬ ful devotion. Noav, the jealous God, in a disdain of so blasphemous a contestation, rises up in a style of majesty, and gloriously tramples upon this saucy insolency : “ Because thy rage against me, and thy tumult, is come up into mine ears, therefore I will put my hook into thy nose, and my bridle into thy lips, and Avill turn thee back by the Avay thou earnest.” Lo, Sennacherib, the God of heaven makes a beast of thee, who hast so brutishly spurned at his name. If thou be a ravenous bear, he hath a hook for thy nostrils : if thou be a resty horse, he hath a bridle for thy mouth ; in spite of thee, thou shalt follow his hook, or his bridle, and shalt be led to thy just shame by either. It is not for us to be the lords of our own actions : “ Thus saith the Lord concerning the king of Assyria, he shall not come into this city, nor shoot an arrow there, nor come before it with shield, nor cast a bank against it; by the way that he came, shall he return,” &c. Im¬ potent men, what are we in the hands of the Almighty! we purpose, he overrules; we talk of great matters, and think to do wonders ; he bloAvs upon our projects, and they vanish with ourselves. He that hath set bounds to the sea, hath appointed limits to the rage of the proudest enemies; yea, even the devils themselves are confined. Why boast ye yourselves, O ye tyrants, that ye can do mischief! ye are stinted, and even within those lists is confusion. O the trophies of Divine justice ! ‘‘ That very night the angel of the Lord went out, and smote in the camp of the Assyrians, an hundred fourscore and five thousand, and when they rose early in the morning, behold they were all dead corpses.” Hoav speedy an execution was this I how miraculous I no human arm shall have the glory of this victory I It was God that was defied by that presumptuous Assyrian ; it is God that shall right his OAvn AAU’ongs. Had the Egyptian or Ethiopian forces been come up, though the same God had done this work by them, yet some praise of this slaughter had, perhaps, cleaved to their fingers : now an invisible hand §heds all this 100 HEZEKIAH SICK. fBOOK XX. blood, that his very enemies may clear him from all partnership of re¬ venge. Go now, wicked Sennacherib, and tell of the gods of Hamath, and Arpad, and Sepharvaim, and Hena, and Ivah, which thou hast de¬ stroyed, and say, that Hezekiah’s God is but as one of these. Go, and add this deity to the number of thy conquests; now, say that Hezekiah’s God in whom he trusted, hath deceived him, and graced thy triumphs. With shame and grief enough, is that sheeped tyrant returned to his Nineveh, having left behind him all the pride and strength of Assyria, for compost to Jewish fields. Well were it for thee, O Sennacherib, if thou couldst escape thus ; vengeance waits for thee at home, and wel¬ comes thee into thy place ; while thou art worshipping in the house of Nisroch thy god, two of thine own sons shall be thine executioners. See now if that false deity of thine can preserve thee from that stroke, which the true God sends thee by the hand of thine own flesh. He, that slew thine host by his angels, slays thee by thy sons: the same an¬ gel, that killed all those thousands, could as easily have smitten thee; hut he rather reserves thee for the further torment of an unnatural stroke, that thou mayest see, too late, how easy it is for him, in spite of thy god, to arm thine own loins against thee. Thou art avenged, O God, thou art avenged plentifully of thine ene¬ mies. Whosoever strives with thee, is sure to gain nothing but loss, but shame, but death, hut hell. The Assyrians are slain, Sennacherib is re¬ warded for his blasphemy; Jerusalem is rescued, Hezekiah rejoices ; the nations wonder and tremble. “ O love the Lord, all ye saints ; for the Lord preserveth the faithful, and plenteously rewardetli the proud doer.” CONTEMPLATION X.—HEZEKIAH SICK, RECOVERED, VISITED. Hezekiah was freed from the siege of the Assyrians, but he is sur¬ prised with a disease. He, that delivered him from the hand of his ene¬ mies, smites him with sickness. God doth not let us loose from all af¬ flictions, when he redeems us from one. To think that Hezekiah was either not thankful enough for his de¬ liverance, or too much lifted up with glory of so miraculous a favoiu-, were an injurious misconstruction of the hand of God, and an unchari¬ table censure of a holy prince : for, though no flesh and blood can avoid the just desert of bodily punishment, yet God doth not always strike with an intuition of sin: sometimes he regards the benefit of our trial, some¬ times the glory of his mercy in our cure. It was no slight distemper that seized upon Hezekiah, but a disease both painful and fierce, and in nature deadly. O God, how thou lashest even those whom thou lovest! Hadst thou ever any such darling in the throne of Judah, as Hezekiah ? yet he no sooner breatheth from a mi¬ serable siege, than he panteth under a mortal sickness, when as yet he had not so much as the comfort of a child to succeed him. Thy prophet is sent to him with a heavy message of his death ; “ Set thine house in order, for thou shalt die and not live.” It is no small mercy of God that ho gives us warning of our end ; we shall make an ill use of so gracious CONT. X.] HEZEKIAH SICK. 101 a premonition, if we make not a meet preparation for our passage. Even those that have not a house, yet have a soul. No soul can want im¬ portant affairs to be ordered for a finai dissolution ; the neglect of this best thrift is desperate. Set thy soul in order, O man, for thou shalt die and not live. If God had given Hezekiah a son, nature had bequeathed his estate : now, he must study to find heirs. Even these outward things, though in themselves worthless, require our careful disposition to those we leave behind us ; and, if we have delayed these thoughts till then, our sick beds may not complain of their importunity. We cannot leave to our families a better legacy than peace. Never was the prophet Isaiah unwelcome to this good king, until now. Even sad tidings must be carried by those messengers which would be faithful: neither may we regard so much how they wiU be taken, as by whom they are sent. It was a bold and harsh word, to say to a king, “ Thou shalt die and not live.” I do not hear Hezekiah rage, and fret at the message, or threaten the bearer ; but he meekly turns his face to the wall, and weeps, and prays. Why to the wall ? was it for the greater secrecy of his de ¬ votion ? was it for the more freedom from distraction ? was it that all the passion, which accompanied his prayer, might have no witnesses ? or, was it for that this wall looked towards the temple, which his heart and eyes still moved unto, though his feet could not ? Howsoever, the patient soul of good Hezekiah turns itself to that holy God, from whom he smarts and bleeds, and pours out itself into a fervent deprecation ; “ I beseech thee, O Lord, remember now how I have walk¬ ed before thee in truth, and with a perfect heart; and have done that which is good in thy sight.” Couldst thou fear, O Hezekiah, that God had forgotten thine integri¬ ty ? the grace that was in thee was his own work ; could he in thee neglect himself? or dost thou therefore doubt of his remembrance of thy faithfiU- ness, because he summons thee to receive the crown of thy faithfulness, glory and immortality ? wherein canst thou be remembered, if this be to forget thee ? What challenge is this ? is God a debitor to thy perfection ? Hath thine holy carriage merited any thing from that infinite justice ? Far, far were these presumptuous conceits from that humble and mortified soul. Thou hadst hated thine own breast, if it covdd once have harboured so proud a thought. This perfection of thine was no other, than an ho¬ nest fondness of heart and life, which thou knowest God had promised to I’eward. It was the mercy of the covenant that thou pleadest, not the merit of thine obedience. Every one of these words was steeped in tears : but what meant these words, these tears ? I hear not of any suit moved by Hezekiah, only he wishes to be remembered, in that which could never be forgotten, though he should have entreated for an oblivion. Speak out, Hezekiah : what is it that thy tears crave, while thy lips express not ? “ O let me live, and I shall praise thee, O God.” In a natui'al man, none could wonder at this passionate request; who can but wonder at it in a saint, whose happiness doth but then begin when his life ceaseth; whose misery doth but then end when his death 102 HEZEKIAH SICK. [book XX. enters ? The word of faith is, “ O let me die, that I may enjoy thee.” How then doth the good king cry at the news of that death, which some resolute pagans have entertained with smiles ? Certainly the best man cannot strip himself of some flesh; and, while nature hath an undeniable share in him, he cannot but retain some smatch of the sweetness of life, of the horror of dissolution: both these were in Hezekiah, neither of them could transport him into this passion: they were higher respects that swayed with so holy a prince ; a tender care of the glory of God, a careful pity of the church of God. His veiy tears said, O God, thou knowest that the eyes of the world are bent upon me, as one that hath abandoned their idolatry, and restored thy sincere worship ; I stand alone in the midst of a wicked and idolatrous generation, that looks through all my actions, all my events; if now they shall see me, snatch¬ ed away in the midst of my days, what will these heathens say ; how can thy great name but suffer in this mine untimely extinction ? Be¬ sides, what will become of thy poor church, which I shall leave feebly religious, and as yet scarce warm, in the course of a pious reformation ? how soon shall it be miserably over-grown with superstition and hea¬ thenism ? how soon shall the wild boar of Assyria root up this little vineyard of thine ! What need 1 beseech thee, O Lord, to regard thy name, to regard thine inheritance ? What one tear of Hezekiah can run waste ? what can that good king pray for, unheard, unanswered ? Sennacherib came, in a proud con¬ fidence, to swallow up his city and people : prayers and tears send him away confounded—Death comes to swallow up his person, and that not without authority : prayers and tears send him away disappointed. Be¬ fore Isaiah was gone out into the middle court, the word of the Lord came to him, saying, “ Turn again, and tell Hezekiah the captain of my people. Thus saith the Lord, the God of David thy father, I have heard thy prayer, I have seen thy tears ; behold, I will heal tliee : on the third day thou shalt go up to the house of the Lord, and I will add to thy days fifteen years.” What shall we say then, O God ! hast thou thus soon changed thy piu’pose? Was it not thy true message which thy prophet, even now, delivered to Hezekiah ? Is somewhat fallen out that thou foresawest not ? or dost thou now decree somewhat thou meantest not ? The very thought of any of these were no better than blasphemous in .piety. Cer¬ tainly, Hezekiah could not live one day longer than was eternally decreed : the decree of God’s eternal counsel had from everlasting determined him fifteen years yet longer. Why then doth God say, by his prophet, “ Thou shalt die, and not live ?” He is not as man that he should re¬ pent ; the message is changed, the will is not changed ; yea, rather the message is explicated, not changed : for the signified will of God, though it sound absolutely, yet must be understood with condition; that tells Hezekiah what he must expect from the nature of his disease, what woxdd befall him without his deprecations. There was nothing but death in the second causes, whatever secret purpose there was in the first; and that purpose shall lie hid for a time, under a reserved condi¬ tion. The same decree that says, Nineveh shall be destroyed, means. If Nineveh repent, it shall not be destroyed. He, that finds good reason to say Hezekiah shall die, yet still means. If the quickened devotion CONT. X.3 HEZEKIAH RECOVERED. 103 of Hezekiali shall importune me for life, it shall be protracted. And the same God, that hath decreed this addition of fifteen years, had decreed to stir up the spirit of Hezekiah to that vehement and weeping impor¬ tunity which should obtain it. O God, thou workest thy good pleasure in us, and with us ; and, by thy revealed will, movest us in those ways, whereby thou eifectest thy secret will. How wonderful is this mercy I Hezekiah’s tears are not diy upon his cheeks, yea, his breath is not passed his lips, when God sends him a comfortable answer. How careful is the God of compassions, that his holy servant should not languish one hour, in the expectation of his denounced death I What speed was here, as in the errand, so in the act of recovery I Within three days shall Hezekiah be upon his feet; yea, his feet shall stand in the courts of God’s house ; he that now in his bed sighs and groans, and weeps out a petition, shall then sing out a thanksgiving in the temple. “ O thou that hearest prayer! unto thee shall all flesh come.” With what cheerful assurance should we approach to the throne of that grace, which never failed any suppliant. Neither was this grant more speedy than bountiful. We are wont to reckon seven years for the life of a man; and now, behold, more than two lives hath God added to the age of Hezekiah. How unexampled a favour is this ! who ever but Hezekiah knew his period so long before ? the fixedness of his term is no less merciful, than the protraction : we must be content to live or die at uncertainties. We are not worthy to calculate the date of our times. “ Teach us, O Lord, so to number our days, that we may apply our hearts to wisdom.” There is little joy in many days, if they be evil. Hezekiah shall not be blessed only with life, but with peace. The proud Assyrian threat¬ ens an invasion ; his late foil still sticks in his stomach, and stirs him to a revenge : the hook is in his nostrils, he cannot move whether he list. The God of heaven will maintain his own quarrel : “ I Avill defend this city for mine own sake, and for my servant David’s sake.” Lo, for his life, Hezekiah is beholden, next under the infinite goodness of God, to his prayers, for his protection, to the dear memory of his father David. Surely, for ought we find, Hezekiah was no less upright, and less offeusive than David; yet both Hezekiah and Jerusalem shall fare the better for David’s sake, above three hundred years after. To that man after his own heart, had God engaged himself, by his gracious promise, to preserve his throne, his seed. God loves to remem¬ ber his ancient mercies. How happy a thing is it to be faithful with God! This is the way to oblige those which are yet unborn ; and to entail blessings upon the successions of future generations. It seems it was some pestilent ulcer that thus endangered the life of Hezekiah. Isaiah is not a prophet only, but a physician. “ And Isaiah said. Take a lump of figs.” He that gave an assurance of recovery, gives a receipt for the recovery. The decree of God includes the means ; neither can the medicine work without a word; neither will the word work without the medicine ; both of them must meet in the cure. If we so trust the promise, that we neglect the prescript, we presume to no pur¬ pose. Happy is that soul, that so regards the promise of God’s prophets, as that withal he receives their counsels. 104 HEZEKIAH RECOVERED. [book XX. Nothing- could be more proper for the ripening of hard and purulent tumours, than dry figs. Herein Isaiah’s direction was according to nature; wherefore should we baulk the ordinary road, where it is both fair and near. The sudden contradiction of the message causes a just difficulty in the assent. Hezekiah therefore craves a sign; not for that he distrust¬ ed, but that he might trust the more ; we can never take too fast hold of those promises of God, which have not more comfort in the applica¬ tion, than natural impossibility in the performance. “ We believe. Lord ! help our unbelief.” The sick king hath his option ; his father was offered a sign, and re¬ fused it; he sues for one, and obtains it: “ Shall the shadow go for¬ ward ten degrees, or back ten degrees ?”—As if heaven itself lay open to his choice, and were ready either to mend his pace, or retire for his confirmation. What creature is not cheerfully forward to obey the faith of God’s servants ? Hezekiah fastens rather upon that sign which is more hard, more dis¬ agreeing from the course of nature ; not without good reason; every proof must be clearer than the thing to be proved, neither may there want a meet proportion betwixt both: now, the going forward of the shadow was a motion, no other than natural, the recovery of that pes¬ tilent disease was against the stream of nature ; the more difficult sign therefoi-e, the surer evidence. Whether shall we more wonder at the measure of the love of God to Hezekiah, or at the power of Isaiah’s faith in God ? Out of both, either the sun goes back in heaven, that his shadow may go back on earth, or the shadow no less miraculously goes back on earth, while the sun goes forward in heaven. It is true that the prophet speaks of the shadow, not of the sun ; except perhaps because the motion of the sun is best discerned by the shadow, and the motion of the shadow is led by the course of the sun ; besides that the demonstration of this miracle is reported to be local in the dial of Ahaz, not universal, in the sensible length of the day ; withal, the retreat of the sun had made a public and noted change in the frame of nature ; this particular alteration of the shadow, in places limited, might satisfy no less without a confusive mu¬ tation in the face of the world. Whethersoever, to draw the sun back together with the shadow, or to di-aw the shadow back without the sun, was the proof of a divine omnipotence, able therefore to draw back the life of Hezekiah fifteen degrees from the night of death, towards which it was hastening. O God, thou wilt rather alter the course of heaven and earth, than the faith of thy children shall sink for want of supportation. It should seem, the Babylonians, finding the Assyrian power abated by the revengeful hand of God’s angel, and their own discord, took this advantage of a revolt; and now, to strengthen their part, fall in with Hezekiah king of Judah, whom they found the old enemy to the Assyrians, and the great favourite of heaven : him they woo with gifts, him they congratulate with embassages. The fame of Hezekiah’s sick¬ ness, recovery, form, and assm-ance of cure, have drawn thither messen¬ gers and pi-esents from Berodach-baladan, king of Babylon. CONT. X.] HEZEKIAH VISITED 105 The Chaldees were curious searchers into the secrets of nature, es¬ pecially into the motions of the celestial bodies ; though there had been no politic relations, this very astronomical miracle had been enough to letch them to Jerusalem, that they might see the man, for whose sake the sun forsook his place, or the shadow forsook the sun. How easily have we seen those holy men miscarried by prosperity, against whom no miseries could prevail! He that stood out stoutly against all the Assyrian onsets, clinging the faster to his God, by how much he was harder assaulted by Sennacherib, melted now with these Babylonian favours, and runs abroad into offensive weaknesses. The Babylonian ambassadors are too welcome to Hezekiah : as a man transported with the honour of their respective and costly visita¬ tions, he forgets his tears, and his turning to the wall; he forgets their incompatible idolatry, so hugging them in his bosom, as if there had been no cause of strangeness, all his doors fly open to them; and, in a vain-glorious ostentation, all his new'-gathered treasures, all his strong armories entertain their eyes; nothing in his house, nothing in his do¬ minion is hid from them. O Hezekiah, what means this impotent ambition ? it is not long since thou tearedst off the very plates of the temple-doors, to give unto Sennacherib ; and can thy treasures be suddenly so multiplied, that they can be so worthy to astonish foreign beholders ? or, if thy store¬ house were as rich as the earth, can thy heart be so vain as to be lifted up with these heavy metals ? Didst thou not see, that heaven itself w'as at thy beck, whilst thou wert humbled ? and shall a little earthly dross have power over thy soul ? Can the flattering applause of stran¬ gers let thee loose into a proud joy, whom the late message of God’s prophet resolved into tears ? O God, if thou do not keep us, as well in our sunshine as in om’ storm, we are sure to perish: as in all time of our tribulation, so in all time of our wealth, good Lord, deliver us. Alas ! how slight doth this weakness seem in our eyes, to rejoice in the abundance of God’s blessings, to call in foreign friends to be wit¬ nesses of our plenty ; to raise our conceits some little, upon the acclama¬ tions of others, upon the value of our own abilities I Lay thy hand upon thy mouth, O foolish flesh and blood, when thou seest the censure of thy Maker. Isaiah the prophet is sent speedily to Hezekiah, with a sharp and heart-breaking message : “ Behold, the days come that all that is in thine house, and that which thy fathers have laid up in store unto this day, shall be carried into Babylon ; nothing shall be left, saith the Lord ; and of thy sons, that shall issue from thee, which thou shalt beget, shall they take away, and they shall be eunuchs in the palace of the king of Babylon.” No sin can be light in Hezekiah: the holiness of the person adds to the unholiness of the act; eminency of profession doubles both the of¬ fence and the judgment. This glory shall end in an ignominious loss. The great and holy God will not digest pride in any, much less in his own. That which was the subject of Hezekiah’s sin, shall be the matter of his punishment; those with whom he sinned, shall be his avengers; it was his treasure and munition, wherein he prides himself to these men of Babylon. The men of Babylon shall carry away his II. o 106 MANASSEH. [^TIOOK XX. treasure and munition. What now doth Hezekiali but teini)t them with a glorious booty, as some fond traveller that would show his gold to a thief? These worldly things are fui’thest off from the heart; perhaps Heze- kiah might not be much troubled with their loss. Lo ! God comes closer to him yet. As yet was Hezekiali childless; how much better had it been to con¬ tinue so still, than to be plagued in his issue ! He shall now beget chil¬ dren to servitude, his loins shall yield pages to the court of Babylon : while he sees them born princes, he shall foresee them made eunuchs in a foreign palace. What comfort can he take in the wishes and hopes of sons, when, ere they be born, he heai's them destined to captivity and bondage! This rod was smart, yet good Hezekiali kisses it: his heart struck him no less, than the mouth of the prophet; meekly therefore doth he yield to this divine correction: “ Good is the word of the Lord which thou hast spoken.” Thou hast spoken this word, but from the Lord ; it is not thine, but his, and, being his, it must needs be, like himself, good ; good, because it is just, for I have deserved more, and worse; good, be¬ cause merciful, for I suffer not according to my deserts. “ Is it not good, if there be peace and truth in my days ?” I have deserved a present pay¬ ment ; O God, thou deferrest it: I have deserved it in person, thou re- servest it for those whom I cannot yet so feel, because they are not. 1 have deserved war and tumult, thou favoui-est me with peace; 1 have deserved to be overrun with superstition and idolatry, thou blessest me with truth: shouldst thou continue truth unto me, though upon the most unquiet terms, the blessing were too good for me ; but now thou hast pro¬ mised, and will not reverse it, that both truth and peace shall be in my days. Lord, I adore thy justice, I bless thy mercy. God’s children are neither waspish nor sullen, when they are chid or beaten, but patiently hold their backs to the stripes of a displeased mer¬ cy ; knowing how much more God is to be magnified, for what he might have done, than repined at for what he hath done ; resigning themselves over into the hand of that gracious justice, which, in their smart, seeks their reformation and glory. CONTEMPLATION XI.—MANASSEH. At last, some three years after his recoveiy, Hezekiali hath a son : but such a one as, if he could have foreseen, orbity had been a blessing. Still in the throne of Judah there is a succession, and interchange of good and evil. Good Jotham is succeeded by wicked Ahaz ; wicked Ahaz is succeeded by good Hezekiali; good Hezekiah is succeeded by wicked Manasseh. Evil princes succeed to good, for the exercise of the church ; and good succeed to evil, for the comfort of the church. The young years of Manasseh gave advantage to his miscarriage ; even Avhile he might have been under the ferule, he swayed the sceptre. Whither may not a child be drawn, especially to a gairish and puppet- CONT. XI.3 MANASSEH. 107 like superstition ? As infancy is capable of all impressions, so most of the worst. Neither did Manasseh begin more early than he held out long; he reigned more years than his good father lived, notwithstanding the mi¬ raculous addition to his age, more than ever any king of Judah besides could reach. Length of days is no true rule of God’s favour: as plants last longer than sensitive creatm*es, and hrute creatures outlive the reason¬ able; so amongst the reasonable, it is no news for the wickedly great to inherit these earthly glories, longer than the best. There wants not apparent reason for this difference. Good princes are fetched away to a better crown : they cannot be losers, that exchange a weak and fading honour for a perfection and eternity of blessedness. Wicked men live long to their own disadvantage ; they do but carry so many more brands to their hell. If therefore there be a just man that perisheth in his righteousness, and there be a wicked man that pro¬ longs his life in his wickedness, far be it from us, either to pity the removal of the just, or to envy the continuance of the wicked. This continues to his loss, that departs to a happy advancement. It is very like that Hezekiah marrying so late, in the vigour both of his age and holiness, made a careful choice of a wife suitable to his own piety: neither had his delight been so much in her, according to her name, if her delight had not been, as his, in God : their issue swerves from both, so fully inheriting the vices of his grandfather Ahaz, as if there had been no intervention of a Hezekiah : so we have seen the kernel of a well- fruited plant degenerate into that crab, or willow, which gave the original to his stock : yet can I not say, that Hezekiah was as free from traducing evil to his son Manasseh, as Ahaz was free from tra¬ ducing good to his son Hezekiah, Evil is incorporated in the best na¬ ture, whereas even the least good descends from above. We may not measure grace by means. Was it possible that Ma¬ nasseh, having been trained up in the religious court of his father Heze¬ kiah, under the eye of so holy prophets and priests, under the shadow of the temple of God, after a childhood seasoned with so gracious pre¬ cepts, with so frequent exercise of devotion, should run thus wild into all heathenish abominations, as if there had been nothing but idolatry in the seed of his conception, in the milk of his nourishment, in the rules of his institution, in the practice of his examples ? How vain are all outward helps without the influence of God’s Spirit, and that spirit that breathes where he listeth ! Good education raiseth great hopes ; but tbe proof of them is in the divine benediction. I fear to look at the outrages of this wicked son of Hezekiah : what havoc doth he make in the church of God I as if he had been born to ruin religion ; as if his only felicity had been to untwist, or tear, in one day, that holy web which his father had been weaving, nine and twenty years : and contrarily, in one hour, to set up that offensive pile which had been above three hundred years in pulling down : so long had the high places stood. The zeal of Hezekiah in demolishing them, honour¬ ed him above all his predecessors; and now the first act of this green head was their re-edif'ying. That mischief may be done in a day, which many ages cannot redress. 108 MANASSEH. [[book XX. Fearful were the presages of these bold beginnings. From the mis- building of these chapels of the hills to the true God, Manasseh pro¬ ceeds to erecting of altars to a false, even to Baal, the god of Ahab, the stale idol of the heathen: yet further, not content with so few deities, he worships all the host of heaven, and, that he might despite God yet more, he sets up altars to these abused rivals of their Maker, in the very house of the Lord; that holy place doth he not fear to defile with the graven image of the grove that he had made. Never Amorite did so wickedly as Manasseh ; and, which was yet worse, it sufficed not to be thus wicked himself, but he seduced God’s people to these abo¬ minations : and, that his example might move the more, he spares not his own son from the fire of the idol-sacrifice. Neither were his witch¬ eries less enormous than his idolatry ; he observed times, he used en¬ chantments, he dealt with familiar spirits, and with wizards: neither were either of these worse than his cruelty. He shed innocent blood, till he had filled Jerusalem from one end to another. O Manasseh, how no less cruel wert thou to thine own soul, than to thy Jndah ! What a hideous lift of monstrous impieties is here ; any one of which were enough to draw judgment upon a world; but what hell is sufficient for all together I What brows ai'e not now lifted up to an attentive expectation of some present and fearful vengeance from God, upon such flagitious wickedness ! “ Therefore, thus saith the Lord, Behold, I am bringing such evil upon Jerusalem and Judah, that whosoever heareth of it, both his ears shall tingle. The person of Manasseh is not capable of revenge enough; as his sin dilated itself by an infectious diffusion to his people, so shall the punishment. We are sensible of the least touch of our own miseries; how rarely are we affected with other men’s calamities ! Yet this evil shall be such, as that the rumour of it shall beat no ear, that shall not glow with an astonishing commiseration. What then, O God, what shall that plague be, which thou threatenest with so much preface of horror? “I will stretch over Jerusalem the line of Samaria, and the plummet of the house of Ahab ; and I will wipe Jerusalem as a man wipetli a dish, wiping it, and turning it upside down : and I will for¬ sake the remnant of mine inheritance ; and I will deliver them into the hand of their enemies, and they shall become a prey and a spoil unto all their enemies.” It is enough, O God, it is enough. What ear can but tingle ! what eye can but weep ! what hair can but start up! what heart can be but confounded at the mention of so dreadful a revenge ? Can there be a worse judgment than desolation, captivity, desertion, spoil, and torture of prevailing enemies ? But however other cities and nations have un¬ dergone these disasters, without wonder, that all this should befall to thy Jerusalem, the place which thou hast chosen to thyself, out of the whole earth, the lot of thine inheritance, the seat of thine abode, where¬ of thou hast said, “ Here shall be my rest for ever,” it is able to amaze all eyes, all ears. No city could fare worse than Samaria, whose inhabitants, after a woeful siege, were driven, like cattle, into a wretched servitude: Jeru¬ salem shall fare no better from Nebuchadnezzar the king of Babylon. CONT. XI.3 MANASSEH. 109 Jerusalem, the glory of the earth, the darling of heaven. See, O ye vain men, that boast of the privileges of chairs and churches, see and tremble. There is no place under heaven, to which the presence of God is so wedded, as that the sins thereof shall not procure a disdainful and final divorce : the height of former favours shall be but an aggrava¬ tion of vengeance. This total vastation of Jerusalem shall take time. Onwards, God begins with the person of wicked Manasseh, against whom he stirs up the captains of the host of the late friend, and old enemy of Judah. Those thorns, amongst which he had shrouded his guilty head, cannot shelter him from their violence ; they take him and bind him wth fet¬ ters of iron, and carry him to Babylon ; there he lies, loaded with chains, in an uncomfortable dungeon, exercised with variety of tortures, fed with such coarse pittances of bread, and sips of water, as might main¬ tain an unwilling life to the punishment of the owner. What eye can now pity the deepest miseries of Manasseh ? what but bondage can be¬ fit him, that hath so lawlessly abused his libei’ty ? what but an utter abdication can befit him that hath cast oflF his God, and doted upon devils ? what but a dying life, and a tormenting death, can be fit for a man of blood ? Who now would not have given this man for lost, and have looked when hell should claim her own ? But, O the height, O the depth, of Divine mercy ! After all these prodigies of sin, Manasseh is a convert; “ When he was in affliction, he besought the Lord his God ; and hum¬ bled himself greatly before the God of his fathers.” How true is that word of the prophet, “ Vexation gives understanding.” The viper, when he is lashed, casts up his poison. The traitor, when he is racked, tells that truth which he had else never uttered. If the cross bear us not to heaven, nothing can. What use were there of the grain, but for the edge of the sickle wherewith it is cut down, the stroke of the flail wherewith it is beaten, the weight and attrition of the mill wherewith it is crushed, the fire of the oven wherewith it is baken ? Say now, Manasseh, with that grandfather of thine, who was, till now, too good for thee, “ It was good for me that I was afflicted.” Even thine iron was more precious to thee than thy gold; thy gaol was a more happy lodging to thee than thy palace ; Babylon was a better school to thee than Jerusalem. What fools are we, to frown upon our afflictions 1 These, how crabbed soever, are otir best friends. They are not indeed for our pleasure, they are for our profit: their issue makes them worthy of a welcome. What do we care how bitter that portion be, which brings health? How far a man may go, and yet turn! Could there be fouler sins than these ? Lo I here was idolatry in the height, violation of God’s house, sorceries of all kinds, bloody cruelty to his own flesh, to the saints of God, and all these against the stream of a religious institution, of the zealous counsels of God’s prophets, of the checks of his own heart. Who can complain, that the way of heaven is blocked up against him, when he sees such a sinner enter ? Say the worst against thyself, O thou clamorous soul I here is one that murdered men, defied God, wor- 110 MANASSEH. |_BOOK XX. shipped devils, and yet finds the way to repentance; if thou be worse than he, deny, if thou canst, that to thyself, which God hath not denied to thee, capacity of grace; in the meantime know, that it is not thy sin, but thine impenitence, that bars heaven against thee. Presume not yet, O man, whosoever thou art, of the liberty of thy conversion, as if thou couldst run on lawlessly in a course of sinning, till thou come to the brim of bell, and then couldst suddenly stop, and return at leism-e. The mercy of God never set period to a wilful sin¬ ner ; neither yet did his own corrupt desires, so as, when he is gone the furthest, he could yet stay himself from another step. No man that truly repents is refused; but many a one sins so long, that he cannot repent; his custom of wickedness hath obdured his heart, and made it flint to aU good impressions. There were Jeroboams, and Abijams, and Ahabs, and Joashes, and Ahazes, in these sacred thrones ; there was but one Manasseh. God hath not left in any man’s hand the reins of his own heart, to pace, and turn, and stop as he lists : this privilege is re¬ served to him that made it. “ It is not of him that wills, nor of him that runs, but of God that shows mercy and that mercy neglected, justly binds over to judgment. I wonder not at Manasseh, either sinning or repenting ; I wonder at thy goodness, O Lord, who, after thy just permission of his sin, callest him thus graciously to repent, and so receivest him repenting : so as Manasseh was not a more loathsome and monstrous spectacle of wickedness, than he is now a pleasing and useful pattern of conversion: who can now de¬ spair of thy mercy, O God, that sees the tears of a Manasseh accepted ? When we have debauched our worst, our evil cannot match with thy goodness ; rather it is the praise of thy infinite store, that where sin abounds, grace abounds much more. O keep us from a presumption of gi’ace, that we may repent; and raise us from a distrust of grace, when we have repented. No sooner is Manasseh penitent, than he is free ; his prayers have at once loosed him from his sins and from his chains, and of a captive have made him a king ; and, from the dungeon of Babylon, have restored him to the palace of Jerusalem. How easy is it for the same hand that wounds to cure I Wliat cannot fervent prayers do, either for our rescuing from evil, or for our investing with good I “ Then Manasseh knew that the Lord he was Godthen and not be¬ fore. Coidd his younger years escape the knowledge of God’s miracu¬ lous deliverance of Jerusalem from the Assyrians ? coidd he but know the slaughter that God’s angel made in one night, of a hundred fourscore and five thousand ? could he but have heard the just revenge upon Sennacherib ? could he be ignorant of his father’s supernatural re¬ covery ? could he but see that everlasting monument of the noted degrees in the dial of Ahaz ? could he avoid the sense of those fifteen years which were superadded to his father’s age ? what one of these proofs doth not evince a Deity ? yet, till his own smart and cure, Manasseh knew not that the Lord was God. Foolish sinners pay dear for their knowledge; neither will endme to be taught good cheap; so we have seen resty horses, that will not move, till they bleed with the spur; so we have seen dull and CONT. XI.] MANASSEH. Ill careless children, that will learn nothing but what is put into them with the rod. The Almighty will be sure to be known for what he is, if not by fair means, yet by foul. If our prosperity and peace, and sweet experience of his mercy, can win us to acknowledge him, it is more for om* ease; but, if we will needs be taught by stripes, it is no less for his glory. Manasseh now returns another man to Jerusalem. With what indig¬ nation doth he look upon his old follies! and now, all the amends he can make is to undo what he did, to do that which he undid: “ He took away the strange gods, and the idol out of the house of the Lord, and all the altars that he had built in the mount of the house of the Lord, and in Jerusalem, and cast them out of the city.” True repentance begins to decline at the ablative, destroying those monuments of shame which former error had reared. The thorns must first be stubbed up ere the ground can be capable of seed. The true method of grace is, first, “ Cease to do evil,” then “ learn to do good.” In vain had Manasseh professed a repentance, if the strange gods had stiU held possession of Jerusalem, if the idol had still harboured in God’s temple, if foreign altars had still smoked upon the holy mountain. Away w'ith all this trash, when once Manasseh comes to a true sense of piety ! There is nothing but hypocrisy in that penitent, wdio, after all vows, and tears, retains his old abominations. It is that poor piece of satis¬ faction wdiich we can give to the Divine justice, in a hearty indignation to fling down that cup of wickedness wherewith we have been bewitched, and to trample upon the sherds; without which, confession is but wind, and the drops of contrition, water. The living God loves to dwell clean; he w ill not come under the roof of idols, nor admit idols to come under his. First, therefore, Ma¬ nasseh casts out the strange gods, and idols, and altars, and then “ he repairs the altars of the Lord, and sacrifices thereon peace-offerings and tlianksgivings;” not till he had pulled down, might he build; and when he had pulled dowm, he must build. True repentance is no less active of good. What is it the better, if, when the idolatrous altars are defaced, the true God hath not an altar erected to his name ? in many altars was superstition, in no altars atheism. Neither doth penitent Manasseh build God a new altar, but he repairs the old, which by long disuse, lay waste, and was mossy and mouldered with age and neglect. God loves well his own institutions ; neither can he abide innovations, so much as in the outsides of his service. It is a happy work to vindi¬ cate any ordinance of God from the injuries of times, and to restore it to the original glory. What have our pious governors done other in religion ? had we gone about to lay a new foundation, the work had been accursed; now we have only scraped ofiF some superfluous moss, that was grown upon these holy stones ; we have cemented some broken pieces, we have pointed some crazy corners with wLolesome mortar, instead of base clay where¬ with it was disgracefully patched up. The altar is old ; it is God’s altar ; JOSIAH’S REFORMATION. 112 [book XX. it is not new, not ours : if we have laid one new stone in this sacred building-, let it fly in our faces, and beat out our eyes. On tliis repaired altar, doth Manasseh send up the sacrifices of his peace, of his thankfulness ; and doubtless the God of heaven smells a sweet savour of rest. No perfume is so pleasing- to God, as that which is cast in by a penitent hand. It had not served the turn that Manasseh had approached alone to this renewed altar : as his lewd example had drawn the people from their God, so now “ he commands Judah to serve the Lord God of Is¬ rael had he been silent, he could not have been unfollowed. Every act of greatness is preceptive; but now, that religion is made law, what Israelite will not be devout ? The true God hath now no competitor in Judah ; all the idols are pull¬ ed down, the high places will not be pulled down ; an ill guise is easily taken up, it is not so easily left. After a common depravation of reli¬ gion, it is hard to return unto the first purity ; as when a garment is deeply soiled, it cannot, without many lavers, recover the former cleanness. CONTEMPLATION XII.—JOSIAH’S REFORMATION. Yet, if we must alter from om’selves, it is better to be a Manasseh than a Joash: Joash began well, and ended ill; Manasseh began ill, and ended well. His age varied from his youth, no less than one man’s con¬ dition can vary from another’s ; his posterity succeeded in both. Ammon his son succeeded in the sins of Manasseh’s youth; Josiah his grandchild succeeded in the virtues of his age ; what a vast difference doth grace make in the same age ! Manasseh began his reign at twelve years, Jo¬ siah at eight; Manasseh was religiously bred under Hezekiah, Josiah was misnurtured under Ammon; and yet Manasseh runs into absurd idolatries, Josiah is holy and devout. The Spirit of God breathes freely, not confining itself to times or means. No rides can bind the hands of the Almighty. It is an ordinary proof, too true a word, that was said of old, “ VToe be to thee, O land, whose king is a child.” The goodness of God makes his own exceptions : Ju¬ dah never fared better, than in the green years of a Josiah ; if we may not rather measure youth and age by government and disposition, than by years, surely thus Josiah was older with smooth cheeks, than Ma¬ nasseh with grey hairs. Happy is the infancy of princes, when it falls into the hands of counsellors. A good pattern is no small help for young beginners. Josiah sets his father David before him, not Ammon, not Manasseh. Examples are the best rules for the unexperienced; where their choice is good, the direc¬ tions are easiest. The laws of God are the ways of David : those laws were the rule, those ways were the practice. Good Josiah walks in all the ways of his father David. Even the minority of Josiah was not idle ; we cannot be good too early. At eight years it was enough to have his ear open to hear good counsel, to have his eyes and heart open to seek after God; at twelve, CONT. XII.] JOSIAH’S REFORMATION. 113 he begins to act, and shows well that he hath found the God he sought. Then he addresses himself to purge Judah and Jerusalem, from the high places, groves, images, altars, wherewith it was defiled; burning the bones of the idolatrous priests upon their altars ; strewing the ashes of the idols upon the graves of them that had sacrificed to them ; striving, by those fires and mattocks, to testify his zealous detestation of all idolatry. The house must be first cleansed, ere it can be garnished ; no man will cast away his coast upon unclean heaps. So soon as the temple was pm-g- ed, Josiah bends his thoughts upon the repairing and beautifying of this house of the Lord. What stir was there in Judah, wherein God’s temple suffered not ? Six several times was it pillaged, whether out of force, or will. First, Joash king of Judah is fain, by the spoil of it, to stop the mouth of Ha- zael; than Joash king of Israel fills his own hands Avith that sacred spoil, in the days of Amaziah ; after this, Ahaz rifles it for Tiglath-pileser king of Assyria; then Hezekiah is forced to ransack the treasures of it for Sennacherib ; yet, after, the sacrilege of Manasseh makes that booty of it, which his latter times endeavour to restore ; and now, lastly, Am¬ mon his son neglects the frame, embezzles the furniture of this holy place : the very pile began to complain of age and unrespect. Now comes good Josiah, and in his eighteenth year (when other young gallants would have thought of nothing but pleasure and jollity), takes up the latest care of his father David, and gives order for the repairing of the temple. The keepers of the door have received the contribution of all faithful Jews, for this pious use. The king sends Shaphan the scribe to Hilkiah the priest, to sum it up, and to deliver it unto carpenters and masons, for so holy a work. How well doth it beseem the care of a religious prince, to set the priests and scribes in hand with re-edifying the temple ! The command is the king’s, the charge is the high priest’s, the execution is the work¬ men’s. When the labourers are faithful in doing the work, and the high- priest in the directing it, and the king in enjoining it, God’s house cannot fail of a happy perfection; but when any of these slacken, the business must needs languish. How God blesses the devout endeavours of his servants ! While Hil¬ kiah was diligently surveying the breaches, and reparation of the temple, he lights upon the book of the law. The authentic and original book of God’s law, was, by a special charge, appointed to be carefully kept with¬ in a safe shrine in the sanctuary. In the depraved times of idolatry, some faithful priest, to make sm-e work, had locked it fast up, in some corner of the temple, from the reach of all hands, of all eyes, as know¬ ing how impossible it was, that divine monument could otherwise escape the fury of profane guiltiness. Some few transcripts there were, doubt¬ less, parcels of this sacred book in other hands : neither doubt I, but, as Hilkiah had been formerly well acquainted with this holy volume, now of a long time hid, so the ears of good Josiah had been inured to some passages thereof; but the whole body of these awful records, since tlie late night of idolatrous confusion and persecution, saw no light till now H. p 114 JOSIAH’S REFORMATION. [book .XX. This precious treasure doth Hilkiah find, while he digs for the temple. Never man laboured to the reparation of God’s church, but he met with a blessing more than he looked for. Hilkiah the priest, and Shaphan the scribe, do not ingross this in¬ valuable wealth into their own hands, nor suppress these more than sacred rolls, for their own advantage, but transmit them first to the ears of the king, then by him to the people. It is not the praise of a good scribe to lay up, but to bring forth, both old and new. And if the priest’s lips shall keep knowledge, they keep it to impart, not to smo¬ ther : “ The people shall seek the law at his mouth ; for he is the mes¬ senger of the Lord of hosts.” So soon as the good king hears the words of the book of the law, and, in special, those dreadful threats of judgment denounced against the idolatries of his Judah, he rends his clothes, to show his heart rent with sorrow and fearful expectation of those plagues, and washes his bosom with tears. O gracious tenderness of Josiah ! he doth but once hear the law read, and is thus humbled; humbled for his father’s sins, for the sins of his people. How many of us, after a thousand hammer¬ ings of the menaces of God’s law upon our guilty souls, continue yet insensible of our danger I The very reading of this law doth thus af¬ fect him, the preaching of it stirs not us: the sins of others struck thus deep with him, our own are slighted by us. A soft heart is the best tempered for God. So physicians are wont to like those bodies best, which are easiest to work upon. O God, make our clay wax, and our wax pliable to thine hand, so shall we be sure to be free either from sin, or from the hurt of sin. It is no holy sorrow that sends us not to God. Josiah is not moped with a distractive grief, or an astonishing fear, but in the height of his passion, sends five choice messengers to Htddah the prophetess, to in¬ quire of the Lord, for himself, for Judali. It is a happy trouble that drives us to this refuge. I do not hear any of these courtiers reply to this godly motion of their young king. Alas, sir, what means this deep perplexity ? what needs all this busy inquisition ? if your father were idolatrous, what is that to you who have abandoned his sins ? if your people were once idolatrous, what is that to you, yea, to them, who have expiated these crimes by their repentance ? have you not carefully re¬ formed all those abuses ? hath not your happy reformation made an abundant amends for those wrongs ? spare your tears, and save the la¬ bour of your messengers ; all is well, all shall be well; these judgments are for the obstinate ; had we been still guilty, these fears had been just: were we still in danger, what had we gained by our conversion ? Rather as glad to second the religious cares of their young king, they feed his holy anxieties with a just aggravation of peril; and, by their good counsel, whet these his zealous desires of a speedy resolution. That state cannot but be happy, whose priests and peers are ready, as to suggest, so to cherish and execute the devout projects of their sovereigns. The grave priest, the learned scribe, the honourable courtiers do not disdain to knock at the door of a prophetess : neither doth any of them say, it were hard if we should not have as much acquaintance with God, as a woman: but, in an humble ackujwledgment of her graces, COXT. XI 1.1 JOSIAH’S REFORMATION. 115 they come to learn the will of God from her mouth. True piety is modest, and stands not upon terms of reputation, in the businesses of God, but wdlingly honours his gifts in any subject, least of all in itself. The sex is not more noted in Huldah, than the condition. As she was a woman, so a wife, the wife of Shallum. Holy matrimony was no hinderance to her divine revelations ; she was at once a prophetess in her college, a housewife in her family. It was never the practice of God to confine his graces to virginity. At this very time, the famous prophet Jeremiah flourished ; some years had he already spent in this public service ; why was not he rather consulted by Josiah ? It is not unlike, that some prophetical employments called him away at this time from Jerusalem : his presence could not have been baulked. Pur¬ posely, doubtless, doth God cast his message upon the point of that ab¬ sence, that he might honour the weaker vessel with his divine oracle, and exercise the humility of so great clients. In the answers of God it is not to be regarded who speaks, but from whom. The injury re¬ dounds to God, if the weaknesses of the person cause us to undervalue the authority of the function. As Josiah and his messengers do not despise Huldah because she was a woman, so Huldah doth not flatter Josiah, because a king: “ Go, tell the man that sent you, thus saith the Lord, Behold, I will bring evil upon this place." Lo, he that was as God to his subjects, is but as man to the prophetess : neither is the message ever the sweeter, be¬ cause it is requii’ed by a prince. No circumstance may vary the form of divine truth. Evil must befall Jerusalem and Judah, yea, all the words of that book must alight upon the inhabitants of both. In how bad a case we may be, and yet think ourselves not safe only, but happy! These Jews had forgotten their old revolts ; and now, having framed themselves to holy courses, promised themselves nothing but peace, when the prophetess foresees and foretells their approaching ruin. Even their old score must be paid, after the opinion of a clear agreement. In vain shall we hope to quit our arrearages by prorogation. This prophetess had im¬ mediate visions from God, yet she must speak out of the book. There was never any revelation from the Lord that crossed his writings: his hand and his tongue agree eternally. If that book have cursed Judah, she may not absolve it. Yet, what a gracious mixture was here of mercy with severity; severity to Judah, mercy to Josiah : Judah shall be plagued, and shall become a desolation, and a curse. Josiah shall be quietly housed in his grave, before this storm fall upon Judah: his eye shall not see what his people shall feel. It is enough that the expectation of these evils af¬ flicts him, the sense shall not. Whence is this indulgence ? “ Because thine heart was tender, and thou hast humbled thyself before the Lord.” How happy a thing it is to be a reed unto God’s judgments, rather than an oak I the meek and gentle reed stoops, and therefore stands ; the oak stands stiffly out against the strongest gust, and therefore is turned up by the roots. At least, let us lament those sins we have have not avoided ; and mourn for the sins of others, while we hate our own. ]16 JOSIAH’S IlEP^ORMATION. [book XX. He that found himself exempted from this vengeance, by his repen¬ tance and deep humiliation, woidd fain find the same way for the de¬ liverance of his people. The same words of the law, therefore, that had wrought upon his heart, are by him caused to be publicly read in the ears of Judah and Jerusalem. The assembly is universal, of priests, prophets, people both small and gi-eat; because the sin was such, the danger was such: that no man may complain to want information, the law of God sounds in every ear. If our ears be shut to the law, the sin is ours: but, if the law be shut to our ears, the sin is of our gover¬ nors. Woe be to them that hide God’s book from the people, as they would do ratsbane from the eyes of children. Ignorant souls cannot perish without their murder. There is no fear of knowing too much, there is too much fear of practising too little. Now, if the people do not imitate their king in relenting, they are not worthy to partake with him in his impunity. Howsoever, they shall not want a great example, as of sorrow, so of amendment. Good Josiah stands by the pillar, and solemidy i-enews Ids covenant with his God ; the people cannot for shame refuse to second him : even they that looked for a destruction, yet do not withdraw their obedience.—God’s children may not be sullen under his corrections, but, whether they expect or feel smart, are no other than dutiful to his awful hand. As a man, that finds he hath done something that might endanger the forfeit of his favour, puts him¬ self into some deserving action, whereby he may hope to re-endear him¬ self, so doth Josiah here. No endeavour is enough to testify his zeal to that name of God which was so profaned by his people’s idolatry; whatever monuments were yet remaining of wicked paganism, he de¬ faces with indignation : he burns the vessels of Baal, and puts down his Chemarim, destroys the houses of the Sodomites, strews the powder of their idols in the brook Kidron, defiles Tophet, takes away the horses of the sun, burns the chariots of the sun with fire, and omits nothing that might reconcile God, clear Judah, perfect a reformation. Neither is this care confined to Jerusalem, and the neighbom-ing towns, but stretches itself to the utmost coasts of Josiah’s kingdom; Bethel was the infamous seat of the pollution of Israel: it seems the heirs of Jeroboam, who set up his golden calf there, enjoyed it not long ; the kings of Judah recovered it to their crown, but it had not yet re¬ covered itself from that ancient infection. Thither doth good Josiah send the unhallowed ashes of Baal’s relics, to stain that altar first, which he will soon after deface. The time was, and it w'as no less than three hundred and fifty years since, that the man of God, out of Judah, cried against Jeroboam’s altar: “ O altar, altar 1 thus saith the Lord; Behold, a child shall be born unto the house of David, Josiah by name, and upon thee shall he offer the priests of the high places, that burnt incense upon thee, and men’s bones shall be burnt upon thee.” And now is the hour come, wherein every of those words shall be accomplished. It could not but he a great confirmation to Josiah, to see, that God so long ago foremarked him for his own, and forenamed him to so zealous a service. CONT. XIII.J JOSIAH’S DEATH. 117 All our names are equally foreknown of th'at divine Providence, though not forespoken; neither can any act pass from us, which was not predetermined in that eternal counsel of the Almighty: neither can any act, that is predetermined, be unfulfilled upon earth. Intervention of time breaks no square in the divine degree: our purblind eyes see nothing, but that which toucheth their lids ; the quicksight of God’s pre¬ science sees that, as present, which is a world off.—According to the prediction, the stench of dead men’s bones is a fit perfume to send up from this altar to heaven, whose best sacrifices savom’ed worse in the nostrils of God: and the blood of the idolatrous sacrifices was a meet oblation to that God, who had been dishonoured by their bm-nt-oflFerings to his base coiTivals. Even that prophet, who foretold this, had his tomb in Bethel, and that tomb had his inscription; his weakness might not rob him of the honour of his sepulchre. How palpably do these Israelites condemn themselves, while they reserve so famous a monument of their own conviction ! It was no prejudice to this holy prophet, that his bones lay amongst the sepulchi’es of idolaters. His epitaph preserved those bones from burning upon that altar, which he had accursed : as the lion might not tear his carcass when he died, so now the fury of the multitude may not violate the very bones in his grave. I do not see Josiah save them for relics; I hear him command they shall rest in peace. It is fit the dead bodies of God’s saints should be as free from contempt, as from superstition. After the removal of these rites of false worship, it is time to bring in the true. Now a solemn passover shall be kept unto the Lord, by the charge of Josiah; that book of the law sets him the time, place, cir¬ cumstances, of this sacrament; his zeal so carefully follows it, that since the days of Samuel, this feast was never so gloriously, so punctually celebrated. Jerusalem is the place, the fourteenth day of the first month is the time, the Levites are the actors, a yearly and spotless lamb is the provision ; no bone of it is broken, the blood is sprinkled upon the door¬ posts, it is roasted whole, eaten with sour herbs, with bread unleavened; the remainder is consumed by fire. The law, the sacrifices, had been in vain, if the passover had been neglected. No time Israelite might want, whether this monument of their deliverance past, or this type of the Messiah to come. Rather than fail, Josiah’s bounty shall supply to Judah lambs for their pasclial devotion. No alms is so acceptable, as that whereby the soul is fmthered. CONTEMPLATION Xlll.—JOSIAH’S DEATH, WITH THE DESOLATION OF THE TEMPLE AND JERUSALEM. Josiah hath now happily settled the affairs, both of God, and the state ; and now hath sweet leisure to enjoy himself and his people: his conscience doth not more cheer him at home, than his subjects abroad : never king reigned with more officious jiiety to God, with more love and applause of men. But what stability is there in these earthly things ? how seldom is excellency in any kind long-lived I In the very strength 118 DESOLATION OF JERUSALEM. [book XX, of his age, in the height of his strength, is Josiah withdrawn from the earth; as not without a merciful intention of his glory on God’s behalf, so not without some weakness on his own. Pharaoh Necho, king of Egypt, comes up to fight against the king of Assyria. What is that to Josiah ? Perhaps the Egyptians attempted to pass through the land of Judah towards Carchemish, the seat of his war; but as a neighbour, not as an enemy: Josiah resists him, as neither holding it safe to admit a foreign power into the bosom of his country, nor daring to give so fair an occasion of provoking the Assyrian hostility against him. The king of Egypt mildly deprecates this enmity ; he sends ambassa¬ dors to Josiab, saying, “ What have I to do with thee, thou king of Judah ? I come not against thee this day, but against the house wherewith I have war; for God commanded me to make haste : for¬ bear thee from meddling with God, who is with me, that he destroy thee not.” What friend could have said more ? what prophet could have advised more holily ? why doth not good Josiah say with himself, There may be tnith in this suggestion ; God may have sent this man to be a scourge of mine old enemy, of Ashur ? If the hand of the Almighty be in this design, why do I oppose it ? the quarrel is not mine, why do I thrust my finger into this flame unbidden ? wherefore should I hazard the effusion of blood upon a harmless passage ? can I hear him plead a command from God, and not inquire into it ^ how easy is it for me to know the certainty of this pretended commission ! have not I the priests and prophets of God about me ? let me first go and consult his oracle ; if God have sent him, and forbidden me, why should my courage carry me against my piety? It is strange, that the good heart of Josiah could escape these thoughts, these resolutions : yet he that, upon the general threats of God’s law against Judah, sends messengers to inquire of a prophetess, now, upon these particular threats of danger to himself, speaks not, stirs not. The famous prophet Jeremiah was then living, and Zephaniah, besides a wdiole college of seers : Josiah doth not so much as send out of doors to ask, ‘‘ Shall I go up against the king of Egypt ?” Sometimes both grace and wit are asleep in the holiest and wariest breast: the best of all God’s saints may be sometimes miscarried by their passions to their cost. The wise providence of God hath mercifully determined to leave Josiah to his own counsels, that, by the weakness of his servant, he might take occasion to perfect his glory. Even that, wherein Josiah was wanting unto God, shall concur to the making up of God's promise to Josiah : when we are the most blindfolded, we run on the ways of God’s hidden decrees; and whatever our intents be, cannot, if we would, go out of that unknown path. Needs will Josiah put himself into arms against an unwilling enemy ; and, to be less noted, disguises himself. The fatal arrow of an Egyp¬ tian archer finds him out in the throng, and gives him his death’s w ound ; now too late he calls to a retreat; his changed chariot is turned to a bier to carry bis bleeding corpse to his grave in Jerusalem. What eye doth not now pity and lament the untimely end of a Josiah ? CONT. XIII.] DESOLATION OF JERUSALEM. 119 whom can it choose but affect, to see a religious, just, virtuous prince, snatched away in the vigour of his age ? After all our foolish moan, the Providence, that directed that shaft to his lighting place, intends that wound for a stroke of mercy. The God whom Josiah serves looks through his death at his glory: and, hy this sudden violence, will deliver him from the view and participation of the miseries of Judah, which had been many deaths, and fetches him to the participation of that happiness, which could countervail more deaths than could be incident to a Josiah. O the wonderful goodness of the Almighty, whose very judgments are merciful I O the safe condition of God’s children, whom very pain easeth, whom death revives, whom dissolution unites, whom lastly, their very sin and temptation glorifies ! How happily hath Josiah gained by this change! instead of afroward people, he now is sorted with saints and angels : instead of a fading and corruptible crown, he now enjoys an eternal. The orphan subjects are ready to weep out their eyes for sorrow; their loss cannot be so great as his gain : he is glorious, they, as their sins had deserved, miserable. If the separated soul could be capable of passion, coidd Josiah have seen, after his departure, the calamities of his sons, of his people; it could not but have laid siege to his peace. The sad subjects proclaim his son Jehoahaz king instead of so lament¬ ed a father; he both doth ill, and fares ill. By the time he hath sat but thiee months on the throne. Pharaoh Necho, king of Egypt, seconds the father’s death with the son’s captivity. This enemy puts down the wicked son of Josiah, and lades him with chains at Riblath, in the land at Hamath; and lades his people with a tribute of a hundred talents of silver, and a talent of gold : yet, as if he that was unwilling to fight with Josiah, were no less unwilling to root out his posterity, this Egyptian sets Eliakim, the second son of Josiah, upon the seat of his father ; and, that he might be all his, changes his name to Jehoiakim. O the woeful and unworthy succession of Josiah I one son is a prisoner, the other is a tributary, both are wicked. After that Jehoiakim hath been some years Pharaoh’s bailiff, to gather and rack the dear rents of Judah, Nebuchad¬ nezzar, the great king of Babylon, comes up, and sweeps away both the lord and his feodary. Pharaoh and Jehoiakim. So far was the ambitious Egyptian from maintaining his encroachment upon the tei’ritories of Judah, that he could not now hold his own. From Nilus to Euphrates all is lost: so subject are the lesser powers still to be swallowed up of the greater : so just it is with God, that they which will be affecting undue enlargement of their estates, should fall short of what they had. .Jehoiakim is carried in fetters to Babylon ; and now, in that dungeon of his captivity, hath more leisui’e than grace, to bethink himself of all his abominations ; and, while he inherits the sad lodging of his great¬ grandfather Manasseh, inherits not his success. While he is rotting in this gaol, his young son .Jehoiakim starts up in his throne, like to a mushroom that rises up in a night, and withers in a day. Within three months and ten days is that young prince, the meet son of such a father, fetched up in irons to his father’s prison : neither shall he go alone (his attendance shall add to his misery); his mother. 120 DESOLATION OF JERUSALEM. [book xx. his wives, his officers, his peers, his craftsmen, his warriors accompany him, manacled and chained, to their perpetual bondage. Now, according to Isaiah’s word, it would have been great prefer¬ ment for the fruit of Hezekiah’s loins to be pages in the court of Baby¬ lon. One only branch yet remains of the unhappy stock of holy Josiah : Mattaniah, the brother of .Jehoiakim, whom Nebuchadnezzar, changing his name to Zedekiah, sets up in that forlorn and tributary throne; there might he have lived, though an underling, yet peaceable. This man, to make up the measure of God’s judgments, as he was ever a rebel to God, so proves rebellious to his sovereign master the king of Babylon. The prophet Jeremiah hath forewarned him in vain ; nothing could teach this man but smart. Who can look for other than fury from Nebuchadnezzar against Je¬ rusalem, which now had affronted him with three several successions cf revolts and conspiracies against his government; and thrice abused his bounty and indulgence ? Avith a mighty army doth he therefore come up against his seditious deputy, and besieges Jerusalem, and blocks it up with forts round aboiit. After two years’ siege, the Chaldees without, and the famine within, have prevailed; king Zedekiah and his soldiers are fled away by night, as thinking themselves happy, if they might abandon their walls, and save their lives. The Chaldees, as caring more for the birds than for the nest, pursue them, and overtake Zedekiah, forsaken of all his forces, in the plain of Jericho, and bring him to Nebuchadnezzar a king of Babylon. What can so unthankful and perfidious a vassal expect, but the Avorst of re¬ venge ? The sentence is fearful: first, the sons of Zedekiah are slain before his eyes ; then those eyes of his, as if they had seen enough, when they had seen him childless, are put out. His eyes are only lent him so long, as to torment him with the sight of his own utmost discomfort; had his sons but over-lided his eyes, the grief had been so much the less, as the apprehension of it had been less lively and piercing; now this woeful object shall shut up his sight, that even AAffien his bodily eyes are gone, yet the eyes of his mind might ever see Avhat he last saw ; that thus his sons might be ever dying before him, and himself in their death ever miserable. Who doth not now AAUsh that the blood of Hezekiah and Josiah could have been severed from these impure dregs of their lewd issue ? no man could pity the offenders, were it not for the mixture of the interest of so holy progenitors. No more sorroAV can come in at the AvindoAVS of Zedekiah, more shall come in at his doors ; his ears shall receive what more to rue for, his Jerusalem. Nebuzaradan, the great marshal of the king of Babylon, comes up against that deplored city, and breaks down the walls of it round about, and burns the temple of the Lord, and the king’s house, and every fair palace of Jerusalem, with fire; drives away the remain¬ der of her inhabitants into captivity, carries aAvay the last spoils of the glorious temple. O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the wonder of all times, the paragon of nations, the glory of the earth, the favourite of lieaA^en, boAv art thou now become heaps of ashes, bills of rubbish, a spectacle of de- CONT. 1.3 ZERUBBABEL AND EZRA. 121 solation, a monument of ruin ! If later, yet no less deep hast thou now pledged that bitter cup of God’s vengeance, to thy sister Samaria; how careful had thy God forewarned thee. Though Israel play the harlot, yet let not Judah sin ; lo now, as thine iniquities, so thy judgments have overtaken her. Both lie together in the dust. Loth are made a curse to all posterities. O God, what place shall thy justice spare, if Je¬ rusalem have perished ? if that delight of thine w'ere cut off for her wick¬ edness, “ Let us not be high-minded, but fear.” What pity it was to see those goodly cedars of the temple flaming up higher than they stood in Lebanon ! to see those curious marbles, which never felt the dint of the pick-axe or hammer, in the laying, wounded with mattocks, and wounding the earth in their fall! to see the holy of holies, whereinto none might enter but the high priest once a-year, thronged with pagans; the vails rent, the sacred ark of God violated and defaced, the tables overturned, the altars broken down, the pillars demolished, the pavements digged up, yea, the very ground, where that fa¬ mous pile stood, deformed. O God, thou wouldst rather have no visible house upon earth, than endure it defiled wdth idolatries. Four hundred thirty and six years had that temple stood, and beauti¬ fied the earth, and honoiu-ed heaven; now it is turned into rude heaps. There is no prescription to be pleaded for the favour of the Almighty : only that temple, not made with hands, is eternal in the heavens. Thi¬ ther he graciously brings us, that hath ordained us thither, for the sake of that glorious High priest, that hath once for all entei'ed into that holy of holies.—Amen. BOOK XXL CONTEMPLATION I.— ZERUBBABEL AND EZRA. The first transportation into Babylon, under Jehoiakim, wherein Daniel, Ezekiel, and many others of the best note, were driven into captivity, was, some eleven years after, followed with a second, under Zedekiah, wherein the remnant of the now' ruined Jerusalem and Judah were swept away. Seventy years was the period of their longest servi¬ tude : while Babylon was a queen, Judah w'as her vassal. When that proud tyranness fell, God’s people began to rise again. The Babylonian monarchy was no sooner swallowed up of the Persian, than the Jews felt the comfort of libei’ty. For Cyrus conquering Babylon, and finding the Jews groaning under that captivity, straight releases them, and sends them, under the conduct of their captain Zerubbabel, back to their almost forgotten country. The world stands upon vicissitudes : every nation hath her turn, and must make up her measure. Threescore and ten years ago, it was the curse of Judah, the iniquity of that rebellious people was full. Some hundred and thirty years before that, was the turn of Samaria, and her Israelites : now the staff is come to the doors of Babylon, even that wherewith Judah was beaten ; and those Persians, which are now vic- Q 122 ZERUI3BABEL AND EZRA. [book xxr. torious, must have their term also. It is in vain for any earthly state to promise to itself an immutable condition. At last, the rod that scourged God’s children is cast into the fire. “ Thou hast remembered, O Lord, the children of Edom, in the day of Jerusalem, how they said, Down with it, down with it, even to the ground. O daughter of Baby¬ lon, wasted with misery, how happy is he that I’ewardeth thee as thou hast served them.” It is Cyrus that hath wrought this revenge, this rescue. Doubtless, it did not a little move Cyrus to this favour, that he found himself honourably forenamed in these Jewish prophecies, and fore- appointed to this glorious service, no less than a hundi’ed and seventy yeai’s before he was. Who would not be glad to make good so noble and happy a destiny ? O God, if we hear that thou hast ordained us to life, how gladly, how carefully should we work out our salvation! if to good works, how shoidd we abound ! In the first year of his monarchy, doth Cyrus both make proclama¬ tions, and publish them in writing, thi’ongh all his kingdom, whex-ein he both professeth his zealous resolutions, and desires to build up God’s house in Jerusalem, and enjoins and encourages all the Jews, through his dominions, to address themselves to that sacred work ; and incites all his subjects to aid them with silver, and gold, and goods, and beasts. How gracious was the command of that, whereof the very allowance was a favour! Was it Cyrus that did this? was it not thou, O God, in whose hands are the hearts (*f kings, that stirredst up the spirit of that Persian, as if he had been more than a son of thy church, a father ? How easy is it for thee to make very Pagans protectors to thy church ; enemies bene¬ factors ? Not with an empty grace doth this great king dismiss the Jews, but with a royal bounty; “ He brings forth the vessels of the house of the Lord, which Nebuchadnezzar had brought forth out of Jerusalem, and had put them in the house of his gods, and causes them to be numbered by his treasurer to the hands of Sheshbazzar, the prince of Judah, for the use of the temple; fewer than five thousand and four hundred ves¬ sels of gold and silver.” Certainly, this great monarch wanted not wit to think. It is a rich booty that I find in the temples of Babylon ; by the law of conquest it is mine ; having vanquished their gods, I may well challenge their spoil : how seasonably doth it now fall into my hands, upon this victory, to reward my soldiers, to settle my new empire I What if this treasure came from Jerusalem ? the propriety is now altered, the very place, according to the conceit of the Jews, hath profaned it. The true God, I have heard, is curious, neither wiU abide those vessels, which have been polluted with idolatrous uses: it shall be enough, if I loose the bonds of this miserable people : if I give liberty, let the next give wealth. They will think themselves happy in bai'e walls, in their na¬ tive earth. To what purpose should I pamper their penury with a sud¬ den store ?—But tlip princely heart of Cyrus would admit of no such base sacrilegious thoughts. Those vessels that he finds stamped with God’s mark, he will return to their owner; neither his own occasions. CONT. I.] ZERUBBABEL AND EZRA. 123 nor their abuse, shall be any colour of their detention. O Cyrus, how many close-handed, gripple-minded Christians shall once be choked in judgment with the example of thy just munificence! Thou restoredst that which we purloin. Woe be to those houses that are stored with the spoils of God’s temple ; woe be to those fingers that are tainted with holy treasures. Kings can hardly do good alone ; their laws are not more followed, than their examples. No sooner do the chief of the fathers of Judah and Benjamin, and the priests and Levites, set their faces towards Jerusalem for the building of the temple, than the liberal hands of their Pagan neighbours furnish them with gold and silver, and precious things. Every Persian is glad to be at the charge of laying a stone in God’s house. The same God, that had given them these metals out of his coffers of the earth, gives it out of their coffers to his temple. He that took away by the Chaldees, gives by the Persians. Where the Almighty intends a work, there cannot be any want of means. Thus heartened, thus laded, do the joyful families of Judah return to their old home. How many thousands of them were worn out, and lost in that seventy years’ servitude I how few of them yet survived, that could know the place of their birth and habitation, or say. Here stood the temple, here the palace I Amongst those forty and two thousand three hundred and threescore .Tews that returned in this first expedi¬ tion, there were whom the confusion of their long captivity had robbed of their pedigree: they knew themselves Jews, but could not derive their line; these were yet admitted without difficulty ; but those of the priestly tribe, which could not deduce their genealogy from the register, are cashiered as unclean : then, God would be served in blood ; now, in a due succession. If we could not fetch the line of oun pedigree from Christ and his apostles, we were not fit for the evangelical altars. Their calling was by nature, ours by grace : the grace of inward abili¬ ties, of outward ordination ; if we cannot approve both these, we are justly abandoned. Now had the children of Israel taken down their harps from the willows which grew by the waters of Babylon, and could, unbidden, sing the true songs of their recovered Sion : they are newly settled in their old mansions, when, upon the first public feast, in the autumn immediately following their return, they flock up to Jerusalem : their first care is their public sacrifice ; that school of their captivity, wherein they have been long trained, hath taught them to be¬ gin with God. A forced discontinuance makes devotion more savoury, more sweet to religious hearts ; whereas, in an open freedom, piety doth too often languish. Joshua the priest, and Zerubbabel the prince, are fitly joined in the building of the altar : neither of their hands may be out of that sacred work. No sooner is that set upon the basis, than it is employed to the daily burnt-offerings : the altar may not stay the leisure of the temple ; God’s church may not want her oblations. He can be none of the sons of Israel, that doth not every day renew his acknowdedgments of God. How feelingly do these Jews keep their feast of tabernacles, while their sojourning in Babylon was still in their thoughts, while as yet their tents must supply their ruined houses! The first motions of zeal ZERUBBABEL AND EZRA. [book XXI. m are commonly strong and fervent: how carefully do these governors and priests make preparation for God’s temple ! carpenters and masons are hired; Tyrian workmen are again called for, and Lebanon is now anew solicited for cedar trees. The materials are ready ; every Israelite with such courage addresses himself to this service, as if his life lay in those stones : and now, while the foundation of the temple was laying, the priests stand in their habits, with trumpets, the Levites with cymbals, interchanging their holy music, and melodiously singing praises to the God of Israel, who had turned their captivity as the streams in the south, and honoured their eyes and their hands with the first stones of his house. The people second their songs with shouts ; the earth sounds, and heaven rings with the joyful acclamations of the midtitude. It is no small comfort, in a good action, to have begun well. The entrance of any holy enterprise is commonly encountered with many discouragements, which, if we have once overcome, the pas¬ sage is smooth. How would these men have shouted at the laying on of the last stone of the battlements, who are thus joyed with laying the first stones of the foundation! The end of any thing is better than the beginning; that hath certainty, this danger; this labour, that rest: little did these men think, that, for all this, few of them should live to see the roof. What different affections shall we see produced in men by the same occasion! the younger Jews shouted at this sight, the elder wept: the younger shouted to see a new foundation, the elder wept to remember the old : they who had seen no better thought this goodly: they who had seen the former thought this mean and homely ; more sorrowing for what they lost, than rejoicing in so unequal a reparation. As it may fall out, it is some piece of misery to have been happier; every abatement of the degrees of our former height lays siege to our thankfulness for lesser mercies. Sometimes it proves an advantage to have known no better ; he shall more comfortably enjoy present benefits, who takes them as they are, without any other comparisons, than of the weakness of his own deservings. It is nothing to me what myself or others have been, so I be now well. Neither is it otherwise in particu¬ lar churches; if one be more gloriously built than another, yet if the foundation be rightly laid in both, one may not insult, the other may not repine ; each must congratiUate the truth to other, each must thank¬ fully enjoy itself. The noise was not more loud, than confused ; here was a discordant mixture of lamentation and shouting ; it was hard to say whether drown¬ ed the other. This assembly of Jews was a true image of God’s church on earth ; one sings, another cries; never doth it all either laugh or mourn at once. It shall be in our triumph, that all tears shall be wiped from our eyes; till then, our passions must be mixed, according to the occasions. The Jews are busy at work, not more full of joy than hopes ; and now that the walls begin to overlook the earth, their thoughts seem to over¬ look the walls. But what great enterprise was ever set on foot for God, which found not some crosses ? CONT. I.] ZERUBBABEL AND EZRA. 125 There was a mongrel brood of Samaria-Assyrians, which ever since the days of Sennacherib, dwelt in the land of Israel, whose religion was a patched coat of several shreds : some little part Jewish, the rest Pagan, not without much variety of idolatry. These hollow neighbours proffer their assistance to the children of the captivity; “ Let us build with you, for we seek yom- God, as ye do, and do sacrifice to him.” Might men be their own judges, there would be no heresy in the world, no mis-worship. It is true, these men did sacrifice to the true God; the lions taught them to seek, and the Israelitisli priests taught them to find, the fashions of the God of the land. Some of these Jews knew their devotion of old ; they served Israel’s God, but with their own; as good no God as too many. In a just indignation, therefore, do these Jewish governors repel the partnership of such helpers ; “ You have nothing to do with us, to build an house to our God; but we ourselves together win build Tinto the Lord God of Israel.” The hand of an idolater is contagious ; yet had it been to the building of some fortress, or com¬ mon hall, perhaps their aid had not been i-efused ; but, when the walls of God’s house are to be raised, this society had been piacular. Those, that may not be allowed to help the work, will ask no leave to hinder it; their malicious suggestions weaken the hands of the peo¬ ple of Judah, and stir up authority to suppress them. Cyrus was afar off, neither lived he long after that gracious commis¬ sion, and, besides, was so taken up the while with his wars, that he could not have leisure to sift those querulous accusations. Now, there¬ fore, during the last years of Cyrus, and the reign of his son Cambyses, and the long government of Darius Hystaspides, and of his son Xerxes, or Ahasuerus, and lastly, of his son Artaxerxes, until the days of Da¬ rius Nothus (which was no less than five successions of kings besides Cyrus), do the walls of the temple stand still, yea, lie waste, subject to the wrongs of time and weather, the fit matter of sorrow to the Jews, insultation to the enemies, derision to passengers. What a wide gap of time was here, betwixt the foundation of God’s house and the battlements ! how large a trial doth God now secondly take of the faith, of the patience of his people ! how large a proof doth he give of his own long-suffei'ing ! O God, when thou hadst but one house upon earth, thou wert content to put up delays, yea, affronts, in the building of it: now thou hast many, it is no marvel if thy longani¬ mity and justice abide some of them to lie desolate ! They are not stones, or metals, or men, that can make thee more glorious: thou best knowest when to serve thyself of all these, when to honour these with thy service. A small matter hinders the worthiest action ; as a little fish, they say, stays the greatest ship. Before the Jews were discouraged with words, but now they are stopped with commands. These envious Samaritans have corrupted the governors which the Persian kings set over those parts, and from their hands have obtained letters of deep calumniation, to Ahasuerus the king, and after him to his son Artaxerxes, wherein Jerusalem is charged with old rebellion to kings, and for proof, appellation is made to the records ; from which evidence is spitefully inferred, that if these walls be once built, the king ZERUBBAEEL AND EZRA. 126 I^BOOK XXJ^. shall receive no tribute on this side the river. Never was God’s church but subject to reproaches. Princes have reason to be jealous of their rights. The records are searched ; it soon appears, that, within one century of years, .Jerusalem had rebelled against Nebuchadnezzar, and held out two years’ siege of that great Babylonian. The scandal of disloyalty is perpetual: although indeed they lield him I’ather a prevailing enemy, than a lauTul sovereign ; one act disparages either place or person, to all posterities. Therefore shall the walls of Jerusalem lie waste, because it had once been treach¬ erous ; after a hundred years doth that city rue one perfidious act of Zedekiah. Fidelity to our governors is ever both safe and honourable. Command is now sent out from Artaxerxes, even the son of queen Esther, to restrain the work. All respects must cease with carnal minds, when their honours and profits are in question. Rehum the chancellor, and Shimshai the scribe, come now armed with authority : the sword hath easily prevailed against the trowel. Still do the Jews find themselves, as it were, captives at home ; and in silence, and sorrow, cease from their labours, until the days of the next successor, Dai’ius Nothus. As those that had learned to sow after a bad crop ; these Jews, upon the change of the prince, by the encouragement of the prophets of God, Haggai and Zechai’iah, take new heart to build again. If others’ power hinder us in the work of God, our will may not be guilty. Their new governors come, as before, to expostulate : “ Who hath commanded you to build this house, and to make up this wall ? and what are your names ?” They wisely and modestly plead the service of the God of heaven, the decree of Cyrus ; still persisting to build, as if the prohibition of Artaxerxes had died with the author. The impar¬ tial governors do neither claw nor exasperate, but, relating the humble and just answer of the Jews, move the king, that search may be made in the rolls of Babylon, whether such an edict were made by Cyrus, and require his royal pleasure, concerning the validity of such a pretended decree. Darius searches, finds, ratifies, enlargeth it, not only charging his officers not to hinder the work, but commanding to levy sums of his own tribute, beyond the river, for the expenses of the building, for the furnishing of sacrifices, threatening utter ruin to the house of that man, and death to his person, who should offer to impeach this bounty : and shutting up with a zealous imprecation,—“ The God of heaven, that hath caused his name to dwell there, destroy all kings and people that shall put to their hand to alter and to destroy this house of God which is at Jerusalem : I Darius have made a decree, let it be done with speed.” Who could have looked for such an edict from a Persian ? No Solo¬ mon, no David could have said more. The ruler of all hearts makes choice of his own instniments, and, vv’hen he pleaseth, can glorify himself by those means which are least expected. That sacred work, which the husband and son of an Esther crossed, shall be happily accomplished by a Darius. In the sixth year of his reign is the temple of God fully finished ; and noAV the dedication of it is celebrated by a joyful feast: an hundred bullocks, two hundred CONT, 1 .] ZERUBBABEL AND EZRA. 127 r mis, four hundred lambs, in a meet proportion, smoke upon their altars. And now the cliildren of the captivity think this day a sufficient pay¬ ment for all their sorrows: we have reason to think it the fairest day that ever shone forth to us, wherein the spiritual building of God’s house is raised up in our souls. How should we shout at the laying of this foundation, and feast at the laying on of the roof I What other, what better sacrifice can we offer up to God in the sense of our joy, than ourselves ? Let our hearts be at once the temple, the altar, the sacri¬ fice. O God, be thou glorified in all these, who hast graciously honour¬ ed all these with thyself. Every holy feast is now duly kept, the priests know their divisions, the Levites their courses, and the whole service of God is put into a settled order; but, as there can be no new beginnings without imperfection, nor long continuance without corruption, reformation is no less necessary than good institutions. Artaxerxes Mnemon had learned of his father Darius to befriend God’s people, and strives to inherit his beneficence: under his government is Ezra the priest and learned scribe, sent with a large commission from Babylon to Jerusalem, to inquire into the wants, and redress the disorders of the Jews, with full power, not only to carry with him all the voluntaries of his nation, and the treasures contributed in all the province of Babylon, but to raise such sums out of the king’s revenues, as should be found requisite ; and, withal, to ordain magistrates and judges, and to crown the laws with due execution, whether to death or banishment, or to confiscation ; and, lastly, with a large exemption of the priests and Levites, and all the inferior officers of the temple, from all tolls, tributes, customs. Nothing wanted here, whether for direction or encouragement. It is a sign of God’s great favour to any nation, when the hearts of sovereign governors are raised up, both to choice of worthy agents, and to the commanding of pious and restorative ac¬ tions. Holy and careful Ezra gathers a new colony of Jews, takes view of them at the river of Ahava; and finding a miss of the sons of Levi, (without whom no company, no plantation can be complete) sends for their supply, and, now fully furnished, he proclaims a fast in the way. I do not hear him say. The jovu’ney is long and dangerous ; the people have need of all their strength. I could well wish us all afflicted with a religious fast, were it not that the abatement of the courage, and vigour of the multitude, may endanger our success ; but, without all these car¬ nal consultations, he begins with this solemn act of humiliation. It is better to have God strong in our weakness, than to have flesh and blood strong in his neglect. Artaxerxes was a patron of the Jews, yet a pagan by profession ; wise Ezra was afraid of quenching those sparks of piety, which he de- sci’ied in his semi-proselyte. Rather therefore than he will seem to im¬ ply a distrust in the providence of that God, in whose service he went, by seeking a convoy of soldiers from the king, Ezra chooses to put him¬ self upon the hazard of the way, and the immediate protection of the Almighty. Any death were better than to hear Artaxerxes say. Is this the man that so confidently told me, “ The hand of our God is upon all them for good that seek him; but his power and his wrath is 128 ZERUBBABEL AND EZRA. [book XXI. against all them that forsake him ?” Doth he believe himself, that he thus doubts ere he begin ? Dare he not trust his God with his own businesses ? The resolutions of faithful hearts are heroical. No heathen man shall stumble at Ezra’s fear ; he can find no more assurance in his fast, than in a Persian band ; with a courageous reliance upon the hand of his God, he puts himself into the journey, and finds nothing but safety and success. The fidelity of the Almighty never disappointed the confidence of his servants. All the army of Artaxei’xes coidd not have been so strong a guard to the Jews, as their invisible protection. In the space of four months is Ezra and his company happily arrived at Jerusalem, where he joys to see the new temple, and his old col¬ leagues : and now, having delivered up the charge of his treasure, by weight, in the chambers of the house of the Lord, he applies himself to his work, and delivers the king’s commissions to the lieutenants and gov'er- nors, for their utmost assistance. The princes of Judah do not, for ought I hear, repine at the large patent granted to this priest, nor say. What doth a man of this robe meddle with placing, or displacing magistrates, with executions of judgments to death, bonds, banishments ? but rather, as congratulat¬ ing this power to sacred hands, gladly present unto him all their grie¬ vances. Truly i-eligious hearts cannot grudge any honour to their spiri¬ tual guides. This holy commissioner is soon welcomed with a sad bill of complaint, from some good peers of Israel; wherein they charge divers of the priests, Levites, people, not to have separated themselves from the idola¬ trous inhabitants of the lands, nor therefore from their abominations, even from Canaanites, Hittites, Perizzites, and the rest of those brand¬ ed nations ; that they have taken of their daughters for themselves, and for their sons, so that the holy seed have mingled themselves, with those forbidden people ; and, which made the matter so much more heinous, less remediable, that the “ hand of the princes and riders hath been chief in this trespass.” O hypocritical Jews ! did ye refuse to suffer your Samaritan neigh¬ bours to join with you in building a lifeless house unto God, and do ye now join affinity with a more accursed generation for the building of living houses unto posterity, for the pulling down of the lively house of God? How could Ezra hear this with his clothes, his hair, his beard untom ? What grief, what astonishment must this news needs bring to a zealous heart! And were it not that the conscience of his sincere respect of God’s glory relieved him, how could Ezra choose but repent him of his journey, and say. Am I come from Babylon to find Paganism in Judah ? did I leave Persians to meet with Canaanites? what do I hear, if Jerusalem be removed ? how much better were a clear captivity, than an idolatrous freedom ? Woe is me, that, having left many Jew¬ ish hearts in Babylon, I now am forced to find heathen blood in Je¬ rusalem ! As a man distracted with sorrow, Ezra sits down upon the earth with his garments rent, with the hair of his head and beard plucked off, wringing CONT. I.] ZERUBBABEL AND EZRA. 129 his hands, knocking his breast, not moving from his place until the evening sacrifice. It is hard to be too much afiFected with the public sins of God’s people. Those who find themselves in the ship of God’s church, cannot but be much troubled with every dangerous leak that it takes. Common cases are not more neglected by the careless, than taken to heart by the wise and godly. There, and thus, Ezra sits astonished until the evening sacrifice: others resorted to him the while, even all that trembled at tbe words of the God of Israel; but to help on his son-ow, not to relieve ; neither doth any man wish a mitigation of his own or others’ grief. At last he rises up from his heaviness, and casts himself upon his knees, and spreads out his hands unto the Lord his God. Wherefore was all that pensive ¬ ness, fasting, silence, tearing of hair and clothes, but to serve as a meet preface to his prayers ? wherein he so freely poiu’s out his heart, as if it had been all dissolved into devotion; professing his shame to lift up his face towards the throne of God; confessing the iniquities of his people, which were increased over their heads, and grown up unto heaven; fetching their trespass far, and charging them deep ; feelingly acknow¬ ledging the just hand that had followed them in all their judgments, and the just confusion wherein they now stand before the face of their God. Tears, and sighs, and grovellings, accompanied his prayers ; the exam¬ ple and noise whereof drew Israel into a participation of this public mourning; “ for the people wept very sore.” How can they choose but think. If he thus lament for us, how should we grieve for om*- selves! All .ludah went away merrily with their sin, till this check of Ezra; now they are afflicted. Had not the hands of the peers been in this trespass, the people had not been guilty; had not the cheeks of Ezra been first drenched with tears, the people had not been penitent. It cannot be spoken what power there is in a great example, whether to evil or good. Prayers and tears are nothing without endeavours. Shecaniah, the son of Jehiel, puts the first life into this business. Having seconded the complaint of Ezra, he now adds, “ Yet there is hope in Israel con¬ cerning this thing ; now therefore let us make a covenant with our God to put away all the wives, and such as are born of them : arise, for this matter belongeth to thee, we also will be with thee ; be of good courage, and do it.” r When mischief is once done, the chief care is, how to redress it. The best way of redress is the deliberate undoing of that which we have rashly committed. The surest obligation to the undoing of an evil act, is an oath or covenant made with God, for the performance. There is no man so wise, but he may make use of good counsel; there is no man so forward, but he may abide incitation. It is no small encouragement, to see a hearty assistance in an envious and difficult service. “ Then ai’ose Ezra, and made the chief priests, the Levites, and all Israel, to swear that they should do according to this word.” It is half done that is thus assured. There was need of a strong power to dissolve a matrimonial, though inordinate love. Doubtless these 11. i{ 130 ZERUBBABEL AND EZRA. [book XXI. men had married out of affection; their hearts were no less set upon these wives, though heathenish, than if they had been of their own tribes; neither were their children, thus begotten, less dear unto them, than if they had lain in Jewish wombs. Nothing less than an oath of God therefore could quiet these passions ; that is both required and taken. Now begins Ezra to conceive some hope of present redress ; tlie comfort whereof yet cannot turn off his sorrow for the offence passed. He neither eats bi’ead nor drinks water, willingly punishing himself, be¬ cause Israel had sinned. Now shall liis countrymen easily read in his face their own penance, and just humiliation, and say. This man takes no joy in our sufferings; he would not smart thus for us, if he did not descry more danger towards us than we can apprehend. Proclamation is made through Judah and Jerusalem, under pain of forfeiture of substance, and excommunication from God’s people, that all the children of the captivity shoidd gather themselves together unto Jerusalem. They are met accordingly ; the courts of God’s house are thronged with penitents ; and now, as if the heavens would teach them what to do, the clouds rain down abundance of tears. What with those sad showers, what with their inward remorse, the people sit trembling in the open com'ts, and humbly wait for the reproof, for the sentence of Ezra. He rises up, and, with a severe countenance, lays before them their sin, their amends; the sin of their strange wives, the amends of their confession, of their separation ; not spai’ing to search their wound, nor neglecting the meet plaster for their cure. The people, as willing to be healed, yield themselves patiently to that rough hand, not shrinking at the pain, nor favouring the sore ; “ As thou hast said, so must we doonly craving a fit proportion of time, and a due assistance for the despatch of so long and important a work. Ezra gladly hearkens to this, not so much request, as counsel of Israel. The charge is divided to men and days ; for two months’ space the commis¬ sioners sit close, and within that compass finish this business, not more thankless than necessary. Doubtless much variety of passion met with them in this busy service. Here you should have seen an affectionate husband bitterly weeping at the dismission of a loving wife, and drown¬ ing his last farewell in sobs. There you might have seen a passionate wife hanging upon the arms of her beloved husband ; and on her knees conjuring him by his former vows, and the dear pledges of their loves, and proffering, with many tears, to redeem the loss of her husband with the change of her religion. Here you might have seen the kindred and parents of the dismissed, shutting up their denied suits with rage and threats; there the abandoned children kneeling to their seeming cruel father, beseeching him not to cast off the fruit of his own loins, and expostulating what they have offended in being his. The resolved Israelites must be deaf or blind to these moving objects, and so far for¬ get nature, as to put off part of themselves. Personal inconveniences have reason to yield to public mischiefs : long entertainment makes that sin hard to be ejected, whose first motions might have been repelled with ease. Had not the prohibition of these marriages been express, and their danger and mischief palpable, the care of their separation had not bred CONT. II.] NEHEMIAII. 131 so much tumult iu Israel. He, that ordained matrimony, had upon fearful curses forbidden an unequal yoke with infidels. Besides the marring of the church hy the mixture of an unholy seed, religion suf¬ fered for the present, and all good hearts with it. Many tears, many sacrifices, need to expiate so foul an offence, and to set Israel straight again. All this while even these mis-line Jews were yet forward to build the temple. The worst sinners may yield an outward conformity to actions of piety. Ezra hath done more service in pulling down, than the Jews in building ; without this act, the temple might have stood, religion must needs have fallen: Babel had been translated to Jerusa¬ lem, Jews had turned Gentiles. O happy endeavours of devout and holy Ezra, that hath at once restored .Judah to God and to itself. COXiEMPLATION II.—NEHEMIAH BUILDING THE WALLS OF JERUSALEM. Thirteen years were now passed since Ezra’s going up to Jerusa¬ lem, when Nehemiah, the religious courtier of Artaxerxes, inquires of the estate of his country, and brethren of Judea : he might well find that holy scribe had not been idle. The commission of Artaxerxes had been improved by him to the utmost. Disorders were reformed, but the walls lay waste: the temple was built, but the city was ruinous; and if some streets were repaired, yet they stood unguarded, open to the mercy of an enemy, to the infestation of ill neighbourhood. Great bodies must have slow motions: as Jerusalem, so the church of God, whose type it was, must be finished by leisure. Nehemiah sat w'arm in the court at Shushan, favoured by the great king Artaxerxes ; nothing could be wanting to him, whether for plea¬ sure or state: what needed he to trouble his head with thoughts for .Jerusalem ? what if those remote walls lay on heaps, while himself dwelt fair ? what if his far distant countrymen be despised, while him¬ self is honoured by the great monarch of the world ? It is not so easy for gracions dispositions to turn olf the public cala¬ mities of God’s church : neither can they do other than lose their private felicities, in the common distresses of the universal body. “ If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning: if I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth.” Many Jews went up from Babylon and Shushan to Jerusalem; few ever returned voluntarily from their native home to the region of their captivity. Some occasion drew Hanani, with certain others of Judah, to this voyage. Of them doth Nehemiah carefully inquire the present condition of Jerusalem. It was no news that the people were afflicted and reproached, the walls broken down, the gates burnt with fire. Ever since the furious vastation of Nebuzai-adan, that city knew not better terms. Seldom doth the spiritual Jerusalem fare otherwise, in respect of outward estate. External glory and magnificence is an unsure note of the church. Well had Nehemiah hoped, that the gracious edict and beneficence of Darius, and the successive patronage of his lord Artaxerxes, had, by 132 NEHEMIAH. [^nooK XXI* the continuance of twenty years’ favour, advanced the strength and glory of Jerusalem ; but now, finding the holy city to lie still in the dust of her confusion, neglected of God, despised of men, he sits down and weeps, and mourns, and fasts, and prays to the God of heaven. How many saw those ruins, and were little affected ! he hears of them afar off, and is thus passionate. How many were, upon this sight, affected with a fruitless sorrow ! his moiu-ning is joined with the endeavours of redress. In vain is that gi’ief, which hath no other end than itself. Nehemiah is resolved to kneel to the king bis master, for the repair of his Jerusalem : he dares not attempt the suit till he have begun with God. This good courtier knew well, that the hearts of these earthly kings are in the overruling hand of the King of heaven, to incline whither he pleaseth. Our prayers are the only true means to make way for om- success. If in all our occasions we do not begin with the first mover, the course is preposterous, and commonly speeds ac¬ cordingly. Who dares censure the piety of courtiers, when he finds Nehemiah standing before Artaxerxes ? Even the Persian palace is not incapable of a saint. No man that waits on the altar at Jerusalem, can compare for zeal with him, that waits on the cup of a pagan monarch. The mercies of God are unlimited to places, to callings. Thus armed with devotions, doth Nehemiah put himself into the presence of his master Artaxerxes. His face was overclouded with a deep sadness, neither was he willing to clear it. The king easily notes the disparity of the countenance of the bearer, and the wine that he bears; and, in a gracious familiarity, asks the reason of such unwonted change. How well it becomes the great to stoop unto a courteous affability, and to exchange wmrds of respect, even with their humble vassals ! Nehemiah had not been so long in the court, but he knew that princes like no other than cheerful attendants ; neither was he wont to bring any other face into that presence, than smooth and smiling. Greatness uses to be full of suspicion, and, where it sees a dejection and sourness of the brows, is ready to apprehend some sullen thoughts of discontentment, or, at the least, construes it for a disrespect to that sovereignty, whose beams should be of power to disperse all our inward mists. Even good manners forbid a man to press into the presence of a prince, except he can either lay by these unpleasirig passions, or hide them: so had Nehemiah hitherto done. Now, he purposely suffers his sorrow to look through his eyes, that it may work both inquiry and compassion from his master; neither doth he fail of his hopes in either : “ Why is thy countenance sad, seeing thou art not sick ?” How sensi¬ ble do we think the Father of mercies is of all our pensive thoughts, when a heathen master is so tender of a servant’s grief I How ready should our tongues be to lay open our cares to the God of all comfort, when we see Nehemiah so quick in the expressions of his sorrow to an uncertain ear ! “ Let the king live for ever: why should not my coun¬ tenance be sad, when the city, the place of my father’s sepulchres, lieth waste, and the gates thereof burnt with fire ?” Not without an humble preface doth Nehemiah lay forth his grievance : complaints have ever CONT. II.] NEHEMIAH. 133 an unpleasing harshness in them, which must be taken olF by some discreet insinuation : although it could not but sound well in the gene¬ rous ear of Artaxerxes, that his servant was so careful for the honour of his country. As nature hath made us all members of a community, and hath given us common interests, so it is most pleasing to us, to see these public cares divide us from our own. The king easily descries a secret supplication wrapped up in this moanful answer, which the modest suitor was afraid to disclose; and therefore he helps that bashful motion into the light: “For what dost thou make request ?” It is the praise of bounty to di’aw on the just petitions of fearful supplicants. Nehemiah dares not open his mouth to the king, till his heart hath opened itself by a sudden ejaculation to his God: no business can be so hasty, but om* prayer may prevent it; the wings whereof are so nimble, that it can fly up to heaven, and solicit God, and bring down an answer, before ever our words need to come forth of our lips. In vain shall we hope that any design of om's can prosper, if we have not first sent this messenger on our errand. After this silent and insensible preparation, Nehemiah moves his suit to the king, not yet at once, but by meet degrees ; first he craves leave for his journey, and for building, then he craves aid for both ; both are granted. Nehemiah departs furnished with letters to the governors for a convoy, with letters to the keeper of the king’s forest with timber, not more full of desire than hope. Who ever put his hand to any great work for the behoof of God’s church, without opposition ? As the walls of the temple found busy enemies, so shall the walls of the city : and these so much more, as they promise more security and strength to .Jerusalem. Sanballat, the de¬ puty-lieutenant of the Moabites, and Tobiah, the like officer to the Amorites, and Geshem to the Arabians, are galled with envy at the arrival of a man authorized to seek the welfare of the children of Israel. There cannot be a greater vexation to wicked hearts, than to see the spiritual Jerusalem in any likelihood of prosperity. Evil spirits and men need no other torment than their own despite. This wise courtier hath learned, that secrecy is the surest way of any important despatch. His errand coidd not but be known to the gover¬ nors ; their furtherance was enjoined for the provision of materials, else the walls of Jerusalem had overlooked the first notice of their heathen neighbours. Without any noise doth Nehemiah arise in the dead of night, and taking some few into his company, none into his council, he secretly rounds the decayed walls of Jerusalem, and views the breaches, and observes the gates, and returns home in silence, joying in himself to foresee those preparations, which none of the inhabitants did once dream of. At last, when he had fully digested this great work in his own breast, he calls the rulers and citizens together; and having con¬ doled with them the common distress and reproach, he tells them of the hand of his God, which was good upon him ; he shows them the gracious commission of the king, his master, for that good work. They answer him with a zealous encouragement of each other, “ Let us rise up and build.” Such a hearty invitation, countenanced by authority, hath 134 NEHEMIAII. [book ;cxi. easily strengthened the hand of the multitude; with what observance and dearness do they now look upon their unexpected patron ! how d(» they honour him as a man sent from heaven, for the welfare of Jerusa¬ lem ! Every man flies to his hod and trowel, and rejoices to second so noble a leader, in laying a stone in that wall of their common defence. Those emulous neighbours of theirs, Sanballat, Tobiah, Gesliem, the chief commanders of Moab, Ammon, Arabia, have soon espied the first mortar that is laid upon that old foundation. Envy is usually more quick-sighted than love: and now they scornfully apply themselves to these despised Jews, and think to scoff them out of their work. The fa- vourablest persecution of any good cause is the lash of lewd tongues, whe¬ ther by bitter taunts or by scurrilous invectives ; which it is as impossible to avoid, as necessary to contemn. The barking of these dogs doth not hinder Nehemiah from walking on his w'ay, professing his confidence in the God of heaven, whose work that was ; he shakes off their impotent malice, and goes on cheerfully to build: every Israelite knows his sta¬ tion. Eliashib the high priest, and the rest of that sacred tribe, put the first hand to this w'ork ; they build the sheep-gate, and sanctify it, and in it all the rest. As the first fruits of the field, so the first stones of the wall are hallowed to God, by the consecration of those devout agents. That business is like to prosper which begins with God. No man was idle, no part was intennitted : all Jerusalem was at once encompassed with busy labourers. It cannot be, but the joint endea¬ vours of faithful hearts must raise the walls of the church. Now Sanballat, and his brethren, find some matter to spend their scoffs upon ; “ What do these feeble Jews ! will they fortify themselves ? will they sacrifice ? will they make an end in a day ? will they revive the stones out of the heaps of rubbish which are burnt ?” How basely do carnal minds think of the projects and actions of God’s children ! therefore vilifying them because they measure them by no other line than outward probability. O foolish Moabites I this w'ork is God’s, and therefore, in despite of all your tongues and hands, it shall prosper. He hears you whom ye have blasphemed, and shall turn your repz’oach upon your owm heads. And thou, proud Ammonite, that couldst say, “ If a fox go upon their stone-wall, he shall break it down,” shalt well find, that all the wolvish troops of yom- confederates shall not be able to remove one stone of this sure fortification ; while Moah and Ammon repine and bluster in vain, this wall shall rise ; and when Moab and Ammon shall lie in the dust, this wall shall stand. The mortar that hath been tempered with so many prayers, cannot but outlast all the flints and marbles of human confi¬ dence. Now the growth of this wall hath turned the mirth of the adversaries into rage: these Moabites, Ammonites, Arabians, Ashdodites, conspire all together to fight against Jerusalem, and, while the mortar is yet green, to demolish those envied heaps. What hath this city offended, in desiring to be defenced ? what wrong could it be to wish a freedom from wrongs ? were this people so mighty, that there could be danger in overpowering their neighbours, or in re¬ sisting a common sovereign, there might have appeared some colour for CONT. 11.3 NEHEMIAH. 135 this hostile opposition: but alas ! what could a despised handful do to the prejudice of either ? It is quarrel enough to Jerusalem, that it would not be miserable. Neither is it otherwise with the head of these hellish complices ; there needs no other cause of his utmost fury, than to see a poor soul strug¬ gling to get out of the reach of his tyranny. So do savage beasts bristle up themselves, and make the most fierce assaults, when they are in danger of losing the prey, which they had once seized on. In the meanwhile, what doth Nehemiah with his Jews for their com¬ mon safety ? They pray and watch; they pray unto God, they watch against the enemy. Thus, thus shall we happily prevail against those spiritual wickednesses which war against our souls. No evil can surprise us, if we watch ; no evil can hurt us, if we pray. “ This is the victory that overcomes the world, even our faith.” There was need of a continued vigilancy; the enemy was not more malicious, than subtile, and had said, “ They shall not know, neither see, till we come in the midst amongst them, and slay them.” Open force is not so dangerous as close dissimulation; they meant to seem .lews, while they were Moabites and Ammonites, and in the clothes of brethren purposed to hide murderers. Never is Satan so prevalent as when he comes transformed into an angel of light. It was a merciful providence of God, that made these men’s tongues the blabs of their own counsel. Many a fearful design had prospered, if wickedness could have been silent. Warning is a lawful guard to a wise adversary : now doth Nehemiah arm his people, and, for the time, changes their trowels into swords, and spears, and bows, raising up their courage with a vehement exhortation, to remember the Lord, which is “ great and terrible, and to fight for their brethren, their sons, their daughters, their wives, and their houses.” Nothing can so hearten us to the encountering of an evil, as the remembrance of that infinite Power and Wisdom, which can either avert, or mitigate, or sanctify it. We could not faint, if we did not forget God. Necessity urges a man to fight for himself; love enables his hand to fight for those which challenge a part in him. Where love meets with necessity, there can want no endeavour of victory. Necessity can make even cowards valiant; love makes the valiant unresistible. Nehemiah doth not therefore persuade these Jews to fight for themselves, but for theirs. The judgment of the interest, and danger, cannot but quicken the dullest spirits. Discovered counsels are already prevented. These serpents die by being first seen ; “ When the enemies heard that it was known unto us,” they let fall their plot. Could we descry the enterprises of Satan, that tempter would return ashamed. It is a safe point of wisdom to carry a jealous eye over those whom we have once found hollow, and hostile. From that time forth Nehe¬ miah divided the task betwixt the trowel and the sword, so disposing of every Israelite, that while one hand was a mason, the other was a soldier ; one is for work, the other for defence. O lively image of the church militant I wherein every one labours weaponed ; wherein there 136 EXTORTION OF THE JEWS. [[book XXI. is neither an idle soldier, nor a secure workman : every one so builds, as that he is ready to ward temptations ; every one so wields the sword of the spirit for defence, that withal he builds up himself in his most holy faith : here is neither a fruitless valour, nor an unsafe diligence. But, what can our weapons avail us, if there be not means to warn us of an enemy ? without a trumpet, we are armed in vain. “ The work is great and large, and we are separated upon the wall, one far from an¬ other.” Yea, so far as the utmost bounds of the earth, are we separat¬ ed one from another, upon the walls of the spiritual Jerusalem ; only the sacred trumpets of God call us, who are distant in place, to a com¬ bination in profession; and who are those trumpets but the public mes¬ sengers of God, of whom God hath said; “ If the watchman see the sword come, and blow not the trumpet, and the people be not warned; if the sword come, and take any person from among them, he is taken away in his iniquity, but his blood will I require at the watchman’s hand.” Woe be to us, if we sound not, if the sound we give be uncer¬ tain ; woe be to our people, if, when we premonish them of enemies, of judgments, they sit still unmoved, not buckling themselves to a resistance, to a prevention. It is a mutual aid, to which these trumpets invite us; we might fight apart, without the signals of war; “ In what place ye hear the sound of the trumpet, resort ye thither unto us.” There can be no safety to the church, but where every man thinks his life and welfare consists in his fellows. Conjoined forces may prosper; single oppositions are des¬ perate. All hearts and hands must meet in the common quarrel. CONTEMPLATION III.—NEHEMIAH REDRESSING THE EXTORTION OF THE JEWS. With what difficulty do these miserable Jews settle in their Jerusa¬ lem I the fear of foreign enemies doth not more afflict them than the ex¬ tortion of their own ; dearth is added unto war. Miseries do not stay for a mannerly succession to each othei’, but, in a inde importunity, throng in at once. Babel may be built with ease ; but whosoever goes about to raise the walls of God’s city, shall have his hands full. The incursion of public enemies may be prevented with vigilancy and power ; but there is no defence against the secret gripes of oppression. There is no remedy; the Jews are so taken up with their trowel and sword for the time, that they cannot attend their trades ; so as, while the wall did rise, their estates must needs impair. Even in the cheap¬ est season they must needs be poor, that earned nothing but the public safety ; how much more in common scarcity ? Their houses, lands, vine¬ yards, are therefore mortgaged, yea, their very skins are sold, for corn to their brethren ; necessity forces them to sell that, which it was cruelty to buy. What will we not, what must we not, part with for life ? The covetous rulers did not consider the occasions of this want, but the ad¬ vantage. Sometimes a bargain may be as unmerciful as a robbery. Chari¬ ty must be the rule of all contracts, the violation whereof, whether in the matter or the price, cannot but be sinful. CONT. Ill.j EXTORTION OF THE JEWS. 137 There could not be a juster ground of expostulation, than this of the oppressed Jews ; “ Our flesh is as the flesh of our brethren, our chil¬ dren as their children ; and lo, we bring into bondage our sous and our daughters.” While there is no difference in nature, why should there be such an injurious disproportion in condition ? even the same flesh may bear a just inequality; some may be riders, while others are subjects ; some wealthy, others poor: but, why those wealthy rulers should tyrau nize over those poor inferiors, and turn brotherhood into bondage, no reason can be given, but lawless ambition. If there were one flesh of peers, another of peasants, there should be some colour for the proud impositions of the great, as, because the flesh of beasts is in a lower rank than ours, we kill, we devour it at pleasure; but now, since the large body of mankind consists of the same flesh, why should the hand strike the foot; and if one flesh may challenge meet respects from us, how much more one spirit ? The spirit is more noble, than the flesh is base ; the flesli is dead, without the spirit; the spirit without the flesh, active and immortal. Our soul, though shapeless and immaterial, is more apparent¬ ly one than the flesh; and if the unity of our human spirit calls us to a mutual care and tenderness, in our carriage each to other, how much more of the divine ? by that we are men, by this we are Christians. As the soul animates us to a natural life, so doth God’s spirit animate the sold to a heavenly, which is so one, that it cannot be divided. How should that one spirit cause us so far to forget all natural and civil dif- fei’ences, as not to contemn, not to oppress any whom it informeth ? they are not Christians, not men, that can enjoy the miseries of their brethren, whether in the flesh or spirit. Good Nehemiah cannot choose but be much moved at the barbai’ous extortion of the people; and now, like an impartial governor, he re¬ bukes the rulers and nobles, whose hand was thus bloody with oppres¬ sion. As of fishes, so of men, the lesser are a prey to the great. It is an ill use made of power, when the weight of it only serves to crush the weak. There were no living amongst men, had not God or¬ dained higher than the highest; and yet higher than they. Eminency of jjlace cannot be better improved, than by taking down mighty of¬ fenders. If nobility do embase itself to any foul sin, it is so much more worthy of coercion, by how much more the person is of greater mark. The justice of this reproof could not but shame impudence itself: “ We, after our ability, have redeemed our brethren the Jews which were sold to the heathen ; and will you sell your brethren, or shall they be sold to us ?” Shall they find at home that yoke of bondage which they had put olF abroad? while they are still Jews, shall we turn Assyri¬ ans ? if they must be slaves, why not rather to enemies than to brethren ? how much more tolerable were a foreign servitude, than a domes¬ tical. Be ashamed, O ye nobles of Israel, to renew Babylon in Jeru¬ salem. I marvel not, if the olFenders be stricken dumb with so un- swerable an expostulation. Guiltiness and confusion have stopped their mouths. Many of those who have not had grace enough to refrain sin, yet are not so utterly void of grace as to maintain sin. Our after-wits ai’e able II. s 13B EXTORTION OF THE JEWS. [book XXI. to di^icern a kind of unreasonableness in those wicked actions, winch the first appearance represents unto us as plausible. Gain leads in sin, but shame follows it out. There are those that are hold and witty to bear oat commodious or pleasant evils ; neither could these Jewish enormi¬ ties have wanted some colonrs of defence: their stock was their own, which might have been otherwise improved to no less profit. The otter, the suit of these bargains, was from the sellers: these escheats fell into their hands nnsouglit; neither did their contract cause the need of their brethren, but relieve it: but their conscience will not bear this plea. I know not whether the maintenance of the least evil be not worse than the commission of the greatest; this may be of frailty, that argues ohstinancy. There is hope of that man that can blush and he silent. After the conviction of the fact, it is seasonable for Nehemiah to per¬ suade reformation. No oratory is so powerful, as that of mildness ; especially when we have to do with those, who, eitlier through stomach, or greatness, may not endure a rough reproof. The drops that fall easily upon the corn, ripen and fill the ear ; but the stormy showers, that fall with violence, beat down the stalks flat to the earth, and lay whole fields, without hope of recovery. Who can resist this sweet and sovereign reprehension ; “ Ought ye not to walk in the fear of our God, because of the reproach of the heathen, our enemies ?” Did we dwell alone in the midst of the earth, yet the fear of our God shoidd overaAve our Avays ; but now, that Ave dAvell in the midst of onr enemies, AAdiose eyes are bent upon all our actions, Avhose tongues are as ready to blas¬ pheme God, as Ave to ottend him, hoAv carefully shmdd Ave avoid those sins, which may draAv shame upon onr profession! Noav the scandal is Avorse than the fact; thus shall religion suffer more from the Heathen, than our brethren do from us. If justice, if charity cannot SAvay AA'ith us, yet let the sconiful insultations of the pro¬ fane Gentiles fright us from these pressures. No ingenuous disposition can he so tender of his OAvn disgrace, as the true Israelite is of the reproach of his God : what is it that he Avill not rather refrain, do, suffer, than that glorious name shall hazard a blemish ? They cannot Avant* outward retentives from sin, that lir^e either among fiiends or enemies ; if friends, they may not be grieved ; if enemies they may not he provoked. Those that Avould live Avell, must stand in awe of all eyes ; even those that are without the church, yet may not he Avithont regard. No person can be so contemptible, as that his censure should he contemned. In dissuading from sin, reason itself cannot prevail more than example. “ I likeAvise, and my brethren, and my servants, might exact of them money and corn ; hut from the time that I Avas appointed to the charge of Judah, I and my brethren liaA'e not eaten the bread of the governor.” He shall never rule Avell, that doth all that he may : it is not safe for either part, that a prince should live at the height of his poAver; and if the greatest abate of their right, is it for inferiors to extort ? Had Nehemiah aimed at his own greatness, no man could have had fairer pretences for his gain. “ The former goA ernors, that were before him, Avere chargeable unto CONT. Ill.] EXTORTION OF THE JEWS, 139 the people, and had taken of them bread and wine, besides forty shekels of silver.” His foot had not first trod in this cominodions path; it was beaten by the steps of his predecessors; neither did any of them walk besides it. However it might be envious to raise new taxations, yet to continue those he found unrepined at, had been out of the reach of ex¬ ception. A good governor looks not so much what hath been done, as what should be: precedents are not the rule whereby he rules, but justice, but piety. “ So did not I, because of the fear of the Lord.” Laws are not a straiter curb to subjects, than conscience is to good princes. They dare not do what they cannot do charitably. What advantage can they think it, to be from under the controlnient of men, Avhen the God of heaven notes, and punishes their olfences ? Whoso walketh by this rule, can neither err nor miscarry. It is no trusting to the external remedies of sin; either they are not always present, or if present, not powerful enough : but if the fear of God have once taken up the heart, it goes ever with us, and is strong enough to overmaster the forciblest temptation. Therefore must these Jews follow this example of Nehemiah, because he followed not the example of his predecessors ; because he left their evil, they must imitate his good. In vain shall rulers advise against their own practice ; when they lead the way, they may Avell challenge to he followed. Seldom hath it been ever seen, that great persons have not been seconded in evil: why should not their power serve to make partners of their virtues. Thus well did it speed with Nehemiah : his merciful carriage, and zealous suit, have drawn the rulers to a promise of restitution ; “ We will restore them, and will require nothing of them, so will we do as thou sayest.” It is no small advantage that these nobles must forego in their re¬ leases : there cannot be a better sign of a sound amendment, than that we can be content to be losers by our repentance. Many formal peni¬ tents have yielded to part with so much of their sin as may abate nothing of their profit: as if these rulers should have been willing to restore the persons, but withal should have stood stiffly to require their sums ; this whining and partial satisfaction had been thankless. True remorse enlargeth the heart, and openeth the hand, to a bountiful redemp¬ tion of our errors. Good purposes do too often cool in time, and vanish into a careless forgetfulness : Nehemiah feared this issue of these holy I’esolutions ; and therefore he prosecutes them in their first heat, not leaving these pro¬ mises, till he had secured them Avith an oath ; the priests are called for, that in their mouths the adjuration may he more solemn and sacred. It is the best point of wisdom, to take the first opportunity of fixing good motions, wdiich otherwise are of themselves light and flighty. To make all yet more sure, their oaths are cross-barred with his execration : ; “ Also I shook my lap, and said. So God shake ont every man from his house, and from his labour, that perfoi’meth not this promise, even thus he he shaken out, and emptied; and all the congregation said. Amen.” A promise, an oath, a curse, are passed upon this act now, no 140 EXTORTION OF THE JEWS. [book XXI. Israelite dares falter in the execution. When we have a sin in chase, it is good to follow it home, not slackening our pursuit, till we have ful¬ ly prevailed ; and when it is once fallen under our hands, we cannot kill it too much. Now, Nehemiah having thus happily delivered his people from a do¬ mestical captivity, commends his service to the gracious remuneration of the Almighty ; “ Think upon me, my God, for good, according to all that I have done for this peopletherefore doth he refuse the bread of the governor, that he may receive the reward of the Governor of heaven. Had he taken a temporary recompense, both he and it had been forgot¬ ten ; now he hath made a happy change for eternity. Not that he pleads his merit, hut sues for mercy ; neither doth he pray to be remem¬ bered for his work, but according to his work. Our good deeds, as they are well accepted of God, so they shall not go unrewarded ; and what God will give, why may not we crave ? Doubtless, as we may offer up our honest obedience unto God, so we may expect and beg his promised retributions; not out of a proud con¬ ceit of the worth of our earnings, wliich, at the best, are no other than un¬ profitable servants, but out of a faithful dependence upon his pact of bounty, who cannot be less than his word. O God, if we do ought that is good, it is thine act, and not ours ; crown thine own work in us, and take thou the glory of thine own mercies. While Nehemiah is busy in reforming abuses at home, the enemy is plotting against him abroad ; Sanballat, and Tobiah, and Geshem the Arabian, conspire against his life, and, in him, against the peace of Jeru¬ salem. What open hostility could not do, they hope to effect by pre¬ tence of treaties : four several messages call Nehemiah to a friendly meet¬ ing. Distrust is a sure guard. The wise governor hath learned to sus¬ pect the hollow favours of an enemy, and to return them Avith safe and just excuses : “ I cannot come doAvn ; why should the work cease, Avhile 1 leave it, and come down to you?” I do not hear him say, You in¬ tend mischief to me, I Avill not come forth to you, though this AA’ere the proper cause of his forbearance; but he turns them off with an ansAver, that had as much truth as reservedness. Fraud is the fitliest answered wdth subtilty. Even innocency is allowed a lawfful craft; that man is in ill case, that conceals no truth from an adversary. What entreaties cannot do, shall be attemped by threats ; Sanballat’s servant comes now the fifth time with an open letter, importing danger¬ ous intimations, Avherein it is written, “ It is rejjorted among the hea¬ then, and Gashmu saith it, that the Jews think to rebel; for which cause thou buildest the AAall, that thou mayest be their king.” “ It is report¬ ed ;” and what falsehood may not plead this Avarrant ? Avhat can be more lying than report? “Among the heathen;” and aa'Iio is moi’e ethnic than Sanballat? AAdiat Pagan can be AA'orse than a mongrel idola¬ ter ? “ And Gashmu saith it,” ask my felloAV else : this Arabian Avas one of those three heads of all the hostile combination, against Jerusa¬ lem, against Nehemiah. It Avould be Avide Avith innocence, if ene¬ mies might be alloAved to accuse. “ That the Jews think to rebel;” a stale suggestion, bnt once poAverful ; malice hath learned to mis- cal all actions; AAdiere the hands cannot be taxed^ the very thoughts are CONT. 111.3 EXTORTION OF THE JEWS. 141 prejudged; “ For which cause thou buildest the wall, that thou mayest be their king.” He was never a time Israelite, that hath not passed spiteful slanders and misconstructions. Artaxerxes knew his servant too well, to believe any rumour that should have been so shameless. The ambition of Nehemiah was well known to reach only to the cup, not to the sceptre of his sovereign; and yet, to make up a sound tale, “ Prophets are suborned to preach. There is a king in Judahas if that loyal governor had corrupted the pulpits also, and had taught them the language of treason. But Avhat of all this ? what if some false tongue have whispered such idle tales ? it is not safe for thee, O Nehemiah, to contemn report: per¬ haps this news shall fly to the court, and work thee a deadly displeasure, ere thou canst know thyself traduced; come, therefore, and let us take counsel together. Surely that man cannot be sparing of any thing, that is prodigal of bis reputation. If ought under heaven can fetch Nehe¬ miah out of his hold, it is the care of his fame. But that wary governor sees a net spread near unto this stall, and thei'efore keeps aloof, not without contempt of those sly devices ; “ There are no such things done as thou sayest, but thou feignest them out of thine own heart.” Some imputations are best answered with a neglective denial. It falls out often, that plain dealing puts craft out of countenance. Since neither foi’ce nor fraud can kill Nehemiah, they will now try to draw him into a sin, and thereby into a reproach : O God, that any pro¬ phet’s tongue should be mercenary ! Shemaiah the seer is hired by To¬ biah and Sanballat, to affright the governor with the noise of his intended murder, and to advise him, for shelter, to fly to the forbidden refuge of the temple. The colour was fair. Violence is meant to thy person ; no place but one can promise thee safety ; the city hath as yet no gates ; come, therefore, and shut thyself up in the temple, there only shalt thou be free from all assaults. And what if Nehemiah had hearkened to this counsel ? sin and shame had followed : that holy place was for none but persons sacred, such as were privileged by blood and function; others should presume and offend in entering : and now what would the people say ? What shall become of us, w hile our governor hides his head for fear ? where shall w e find a temple to secm-e us ? what do w'e depending upon a cow¬ ardly leader ? Well did Nehemiah forecast these circumstances, both of act and event; and therefore, resolving to distrust a prophet that persuaded him to the violation of a law, he rejects the motion w ith scorn ; “ Should such a man as I fly ? should I go into the temple to save my life ? I will not go.” It is fit for great persons to stand upon the honour of their places ; their very stations should put those spirits into them, that should make them hate to stoop unto base conditions Had God sent this message, w’e know he hath power to dispense with his own laws ; but well might the contradiction of a law argue the message not sent of God : God, as he is one, so doth he perfectly agree with himself. If any private spirit cross a written word, let him be accursed. AHASUERUS FEASTING. [book XXI. U2 CONTEMPLATION IV.—AHASUERUS FEASTING—VASHTI CAST OFF—ESTHER CHOSEN. What bounds can be set to human ambition ? Abasnerus, that is, Xerxes, the son of Darius, is already the king- of a hundred and seven and twenty provinces, and now is ready to figlit for more. He hath newly subdued Egypt, and is now addressing himself for the conquest of Greece. He cannot hojie ever to see all the land that he possesseth, and yet he cannot be quiet while he hears of more. Less than two ells of earth shall ere long serve him, whom, for the time, a whole Avorld shall scarce satisfy : in vain shall a man strive to have that which he cannot enjoy, and to enjoy ought by mere relation : it is a windy happiness that is sought in the exaggeration of these titles which are taken upon others’ credit, without the sense of the owner. Nothing can fill the heart of man, but he that made it. This great monarch, partly in triumph of the great victories that he had lately won in Egypt, and partly for the animation of his princes and soldiers to his future exploits, makes a feast, like himself, royal and magnificent. What is greatness if it be not showed ? and wherein can greatness be better shown than in the achievements of war, and the entertainments of peace ? All other feasts were but hunger to this of Ahasuerus, Avhether Ave re- gard the number of guests, or the largeness of preparation, or continu¬ ance of time. During the space of a Avhole half year, all the tables Avere sumptuously furnished for all comers, from India to Ethiopia; a Avorld of meat; every meal Av^as so set on, as if it should have been the last: yet all this long feast hath an end, and all this glory is shut up in forget¬ fulness. What is Ahasuerus the better, that his peers then said, he Avas incomparably great ? Avhat are his peers the better, that they Avere feast¬ ed ? Happy is he that eats bread, and drinks neAv Avine, in the kingdom of God ; this banquet is for eternity, without intermission, without satiety! What variety of habits, of languages, of manners, met at the boards of Ahasuerus ? vidiat confluence of strange guests was then! now to Shu- shan ? And, lest the glory of this great king might seem, like some coai’se picture, only fair afar olF, after the princes and nobles of the re¬ mote provinces, all the people of Shushan are entertained for seven days, with equal pomp and state. The spacious coiu-t of the palace is turned into a royal hall, the Avails are of rich hangings, the pillars of marble, the beds of silver and gold, the pavement of porphyry, curiously checkered ; the Avine and the vessels strove Avhether should be the richer, no men drunk in Avorse than gold ; and Avbile the metal AA'as the same, the form of each cup Avas diverse. The attendance Avas answerable to the cheer, and the freedom matched both : here was no compulsion, either to the measure or quality of the draught ; every man’s rule Avas his OAvn choice. Who can but blush to see forced healths in Christian banquets, when the civility of very pagans commands liberty. I cannot but envy the modesty of heathen dames ; Vashti the queen, and her ladies, Avith all the several ranks of that sex, feast apart, enter- laiuing each other Avith a bashfni courtesy Avithout Avantonness, Avithout CONT. II.3 VASHTI CAST OFF. 143 that wild scurrility which useth to haunt promiscuous meetings. O shameful unchastity of those loose Christians, who must feed their lust wliile they fill their bellies, and think the feast imperfect, where they may not satiate their eye no less than palate I The last day of this pompous feast is noAv come; king Ahasuerns is so much more cheerful, by how much his guests are nearer to their dismission. Every one is wont to close up his courtesy with so much more passion, as the last acts use to make the deeper impression. And now, that he might at once amaze and endear the beholders, Vashti the cpieen, in all her royalty, is called for: lier sight shall shut up the feast, that the princes and people may say. How happy is king Ahasuerus, not so much in this greatness, as in that beauty I Seven officers of the chamber are sent to carry the message, to attend her entrance, and are returned with a denial: perhaps Vashti thought. What means this uncouth motion ? More than six months hath this feast continued; and, all this while, Ave have enjoy^ed the wonted liberty of our sex. Were the king still himself, this command coidd not be fsent; it is the Avine, and not he, that is guilty of this errand : is it for me to humour him in so A'ain a desire ? Avill it agree Avith our modest reserved¬ ness, to offer ourselves to be gazed at by millions of eyes ? avIio knoAvs Avhat Avanton attempts may follow upon this ungoverned excess ? This very message argues, that wit and reason liaA^e yielded their places to that besotting licpior. Nothing but absence can secure ns from some unbeseeming proffer; neither doubt I, hut the king, Avhen he returns to himself, Avill give me thanks for so Avise a forbearance. Thus, upon the conceit, as is likely, that her presence Avould be either needless or unsafe, Vashti refuseth to come ; although, perhaps, her great spirit thought much to receive a command from the hand of officers. The blood, that is once inflamed Avith Avine, is apt to boil Avith rage; Ahasuerus is very Avroth Avith this indign repulse. It AA^as the ostenta¬ tion of his glory and might that he affected before these jirinces, peers, people; and noAV that seems eclipsed, in the shutting up of all his mag¬ nificence, AAdth the disgraceful affront of a Avoman. It vexes him to think that those nobles, whom he meant to send aAvay astonished Avith the admiration of his poAver and majesty, should noAV say, What boots it, Ahasuerus, to rule afar off, Avhen he cannot command at home ? in vain doth he boast to govern kings, Avhile he is checked by a Avoman. Whatever Avere the intentions of Vashti, surely her disobedience AA'as inexcusable. It is not for a good Avife to judge of her husband’s will, but to execute it; neither Avit nor stomach may caiTy her into a curious in¬ quisition into the reasons of an enjoined charge, much less to a resist¬ ance ; but in a hood-Avinked simplicity, she must folloAV, whither she is led, as one that holds her chief praise to consist in subjection. Wliere should the perfection of Avisdom dwell, if not in the courts of great princes ? or what can the treasures of monarchs purchase more invaluably precious, than learned and judicious attendance ? or who can be so fit for honour as the Avdsest ? I doubt how Ahasuerus could have been so great, if his throne had not been still compassed Avith them that knew the times, and understood the law and judgment. These Avere his oracles in all his doubts, these 144 VASHTI CAST OFF. fBOOK XXI. are now consulted in this difficulty ; neither must their advice be secretly whispered in the king’s ear, but publicly delivered in the audience of all the princes. It is a perilous way that these sages are called to go, betwixt a husband and wife, especially of such power and eminency: yet Memucan fears not to pass a heavy sentence against queen Vashti; “ Vashti the queen hath not done wrong to the king only, but also to all the princes, and all the people, that are in all the provinces of the king Ahasuerus.” A deep and sore crimination ; injuries are so much more intolerable, as they are dilated unto more: those offences, which are of narrow extent, may receive an easy satisfaction; the amends are not possible, where the wrong is universal: “ For this deed of the queen shall come abroad to all women, so that they shall despise their hus¬ bands in their eyes.” Indeed so public a fact must needs fly; that concourse gave fit opportunity to diffuse it all the world over. The examples of the great are easily drawn into rules. Bad lessons are apt to be taken out; as honour, so contempt, falls down from the head to the skirts, never ascends from the skirts to the head. These wise men are so much the more sensible of this danger, as they saw it more likely the case might prove their own. “ Likewise shall the ladies of Persia and Media say this day unto all the kings and princes.” The first precedents of evil must be carefully avoided. If we care to keep a constant order in good, prudence cannot better bestir itself than in keeping mischief from home. The foundation of this doom of Memucan is not laid so deep for nothing. “ If it please the king, let there go a royal commandment from him, and let it be written among the laws of the Persians and Medians, that it be not altered, that Vashti come no more before Ahasuerus ; and let the king give her I'oyal estate to another that is better than she.” How bold a word was this, and how hazardous I Had Ahasuerus more loved the beauty of Vashti than his honom’, Memucan had spoken against his own life. Howsoever, a queen of so great a spirit could not want strength of favoiu’ and faction in the Persian court, which could not but take fire at so desperate a motion. Faithful statesmen, overlooking private re¬ spects, must bend their eyes upon public dangers, labouring to prevent a common mischief, though with the adventure of their o^vn. Nature had taught these pagans the necessity of a female subjection, and the hate and scorn of a proud disobedience. They have unlearned the very dictates of nature, that can abide the head to be set below the rib. I cannot say but Vashti was worthy of a sharp censure ; I cannot say she was worthy a repudiation. This plaster drew too hard : it was but heathen justice to punish the wife’s disobedience, in one indifferent act, with a divorce. Nothing but the violation of the marriage-bed can either break or untie the knot of marriage. Had she not been a queen, had not that contemptuous act been public, the sentence had not been so hard ; now the punishment must be exemplary, lest the sin should be so. Many a one had smarted less, if their persons, if their place had been meaner. The king, the princes approve this heavy judgment of Memucan; it is not in the power of the fair face of Vashti to warrant her stomach. No doubt, many messages passed ere the rigour of this execution. OONT. IV.] ESTHER CHOSEN. 145 That great heart knows not to relent, but will rather break, than yield to an humble deprecation. When the stone and the steel meet, fire is stricken; it is a soft answer that appeaseth wrath. Vashti is cast olF. Letters are sent from the king, into all his provinces, to command that every man should iule at home: the court affords them an awful pattern of authority. Had not Ahasuerus doted much upon Vashti’s beauty, he had not called her forth at the feast to be wondered at by his peers and people ; yet now he so feels the wound of his reputation, that he forgets he ever felt any wound of his affection. Even the greatest love may be overstrained: it is not safe presuming upon the deepest assmanccs of dearness. There is no heart that may not be estranged. It is not pos¬ sible that great princes should want soothing up in all their inclinations, in all their actions. While Ahasuerus is following the chase of his am¬ bition in the wars of Greece, his followers are providing for his lust at home. Nothing could sound more pleasing to a carnal eai*, than that all the fair young virgins, throughout all his dominions, should be gathered into his palace at Shushan, for his assay and choice. The decree is soon published: the charge is committed to Hege, the king’s chamberlain, both of their purification and ornaments. What strife, what emidation was now amongst all the Persian damsels, that either were, or thought themselves fair ! Every one hopes to be a queen, and sees no reason why any other should be thought more excel¬ lent. How happy were we, if we could be so ambitious of our espousals to the King of heaven ! Amongst all this throng of virgins, God hath provided a wife for Ahasuerus, having determined his choice, Avhere most advantage shall rise to his forlorn people. The Jews were miserably scattered over the world, in that woeful deportation under Jeconiah; scarce a handful of them returned to Jerusalem, the rest remain still dispersed, where they may but have leave to live. There ai-e many thousands of them turned over, with the Babylonian monarchy, to the Persian : amongst the rest W'as Mordecai the son of Jair, of the tribe of Benjamin, a man of no mean note or ability, who living in Shushan, had brought up Hadassah, or Esther, his uncle’s daughter, in a liberal fashion : it w'as happy for this orphan, that, in a region of captivity, she light into such good hands. Her wise kinsman finds it fit, that her breeding and habit should be Persian- like : in outward and civil forms, there was no need to vary from the heathen; her religion must be her own; the rest was so altogether theirs, that her very nation was not discerned. The same God, that had given incomparable beauty to this Jew'ess, gave her also favour in the eyes of Hege, the keeper of the women : she is not only taken into the Persian coui’t, as one of the selected virgins, but observed with more than ordinary respect; all necessaries for her speedy purification are brought to her ; seven maids are allowed for her attendance, and the best and most honourable place in that seraglio is allotted to her: as if this great officer had designed her for a queen, be¬ fore the choice of his master. What strange preparation w'as here for the impure bed of a heathen ! every virgin must be six months pmified with the oil of myrrh, and six n. T 14G ESTHER CHOSEN. [[book XXI. other months perfumed with sweet odours, liesides those special receipts that were allowed to each upon their own election. O God, what care, what cost is requisite to that soul which should be addressed a fit bride for thine own holy and glorious Majesty I Wlien we liave scoured ourselves with the most cleansing oil of our I'epentance, and have perfumed ourselves with thy best graces, and our perfectest obedience, it is the only praise of thy mercy that we may be accepted. The other virgins passed their probation unregarded. When Esther’s turn came, though she required nothing, but took what was given her; though she affected nothing, but brought that face, that demeanour which nature had cast upon her, no eye sees her without admiration : the king takes such pleasure in her beauty, that, contemning all the other vulgar forms, his choice is fully fixed upon her. All things must pros¬ per, where God hath intended the success. The most wise providence of the Almighty fetches his projects from far : the preservation and ad¬ vantage of his own people is in hand ; for the contriving of this, Vashti shall be abandoned, the virgins shall be chosen ; Esther only shall please Ahasuerus, Mordecai shall displease Haman ; Haman’s ruin shall raise Mordecai. The purposes of God cannot be judged by his remote actions; only the accomplishment shows his designs ; in the meantime, itpleaseth him to look another way than he moves, and to work his own ends by arbitrary and unlikely accidents. None but Esther shall succeed Vashti, she only carries the heart of Ahasuerus from all her sex; the royal crown is set upon her head; and as Vashti was cast off at a feast, so with a solemn feast shall Esther be espoused : here wanted no triumph to express the joy of this great bride¬ groom, and, that the world might witness he could be no less loving than severe, all his provinces shall feel the pleasure of this happy match, in their immunities, in their rich gifts. AVith what envious eyes do we think Vashti looked iqion her glorious lival! how does she now, though too late, secretly chide her peevish will, tliat had thus stript her of her royal crown, and made way for a more happy successor 1 Little did she think her refusal could have had so heinous a construction ; little did she fear, that one word; perhaps not ill-meant, should liave forfeited her husband, her crown, and all that she was. AVhoso is not wise enough to forecast the danger of an offence, or indiscretion, may have leisure enough of an unseasonable repentance. That mind is truly great and noble that is not changed with the highest prosperity ; queen Esther cannot forget her cousin Mordecai; no pomp can make her slight the charge of so dear a kinsman ; in all her royalty she casts her eye upon him amongst the throng of beholders, but she must not know him ; her obedience keeps her in awe, and will not suffer her to draw him up with her, to the participation of her honour: it troubles her not a little to forbear this duty, but she must; it is enough for her that hlordecai hath commanded her not to be knoAvn, who, or whose she was. Perhaps the wise Jew feared, that, while her honour was yet green and unsettled, the notice of her nation, and the name of a despised cap. tive, might be some blemish to her in that proud court, when as after. CONT. V.] HAMAN AND MORDECAI. 147 wards, upon the merit of her carriage, and the full possession of all hearts, her name might dignify her nation, and countermand all re¬ proaches. Mordecai was an officer in the court of Ahasuerus, liis service called him daily to attend in the king’s gate ; much better might he, being a Jew, serve a pagan master, tlian his foster-daughter might ascend to a pagan’s bed. If the necessity or convenience of his occasions called him to serve, his piety and religion called him to faitlifulness in his service : two of the king’s chamberlains, Bigthana and Teresh, conspire against the life of their sovereign. No greatness can secure from treachery or violence : he that ruled over millions of men, through a hundred and seven and twenty provinces, cannot assure himself from the hand of a villain ; he that had the power of other men’s lives, is in danger of his own. Hap¬ py is that man that is once possessed of a crown incorruptible, unfadable, reserved for him in heaven : no foi’ce, no treason can reach thither ; there can be no peril of either violence, or forfeiture there. The likeliest defence of the person of any prince, is the fidelity of his attendants : Mordecai overhears the whispering of these wicked conspira¬ tors, and reveals it to Esther ; she (as glad of such an opportunity to commend unto Ahasuerus the loyalty of him whom she dm'st but secret¬ ly honour,) reveals it to the king ; the circumstances are examined, the plot is discovered, the traitors executed, the service recorded in the Per¬ sian annals. A good foundation is thus laid for Mordecai’s advancement, which yet is not over hastened on either part: worthy dispositions la¬ bour only to deserve well, leaving the care of their remuneration to them whom it concerns ; it is fit that God’s leisure should be attended in all his designments. The hour is set, when Mordecai shall be raised ; if in the meantime there be an intervention, not only of neglect, but of fears and dangers, all these shall make his honours so much more sweet, more precious. CONTEMPLATION V,—HAMAN DISRESPECTED BY MORDECAI MORDECAI’S MESSAGE TO ESTHER. Besides the charge of his office, the care of Esther’s prosperity calls Mordecai to the king’s gate, and fixes him there: with what inward con¬ tentment did he think of his so royal pupil! Here I sit among my fel¬ lows ; little doth the world think that mine adopted child sits in the throne of Persia, that the great empress of the world owes herself to me: I might have more honour, I could not have so much secret com¬ fort, if all Shushan knew what interest I have in queen Esther. While his heart is taken up with these thoughts, who should come ruffling by him, but the new-raised favourite of king Ahasuerus, Hainan the son of Hammedatha the Agagite ; him hath the great king unex¬ pectedly advanced, and set his seat above all the princes that were with him. The gracious respects of princes are not always led by merit, but by their own will, which is ever afl'ected to be so much the freer as them¬ selves would be held more great. When the sun shines upon the dial, every jiassenger will be looking 148 HAMAN AND MORDECAI. [book XXI. at it: there needed no command of reverence, where Ahasuerus was pleased to countenance ; all knees will bow alone, even to fordidden idols of honour, how much more where royal authority enjoins obeisance ! All the servants, all the subjects of king Ahasuerus, are willingly prostrate before this great minion of their sovereign; only Mordecai stands stiff, as if he saw nothing more than a man in that proud Agagite. They are not observed that do as the most, but if any one man shall vary from the midtitude, all eyes are turned upon him : Mordecai’s fellow- officers note this palpable irreverence, and expostulate it; “ Why trans- gressest thou the king’s commandments ?” Considerest thou not how far this affront reacheth ? it is not the person of Haman whom thou re- fusest to adore, but the king in him : neither do we regard so much the man, as the command; let him be never so vile wdiom the king bids to be honoured, with what safety can a subject examine the charge, or re¬ sist it ? his unworthiness cannot dispense with our loyalty. What a dangerous wilfulness should it be to incur the forfeiture of thy place, of thy life, for a courtesy ? If thou wilt not bow with others, expect to suffer alone ; perhaps they thought this omission was unheedy, in a case of ignorance or incogitancy; it was a friendly office to admo¬ nish ; the sight of the error had been the remedy. IMordecai hears their challenge, their advice, and thinks good to an¬ swer both with silence, as willing they should imagine his inflexibleness proceeded from a resolution, and that resolution upon some secret grounds, which he needed not impart; at last, yet he imparts thus much. Let it suffice that I am a JeAV, and Haman an Amalekite. After a private expostulation, the continuance of that open neglect is construed for a sullen obstinacy ; and now the monitors themselves grow sensible of the contempt: men are commonly impatient to lose the thank of their endeavours, and are prone to hate whom they cannot reform. Partly therefore to pick a thank, and partly to revenge this contumacy, these officers tmai informers against Mordecai, neither meant to make the matter fairer than it was ; they tell Haman, how proud and stubborn a Jew sat amongst them; how ill they could brook so saucy an af¬ front to be offered to his greatness ; how seriously they had expostu¬ lated, how stomachfully the offender persisted, and beseech him that he would be pleased, in his next passage, to cast some glances that way, and but observe the fashion of that intolerable insolency. The proud Agagite cannot long endure the very expectation of such an indignity: on purpose doth he stalk thither, wdth higher than his ordinary steps, snuffing up the air as he goes, and would see the man that durst deny reverence to the greatest prince of Persia. iMordecai holds his old posture, only he is so much more careless, as he sees Hainan more disdainful and imperious; neither of them goes about to hide his passion ; one looked, as if he had said, I hate the pride of Haman ; the other looked, as if he had said, I will plague the con¬ tempt of Mordecai. How did the eyes of Haman sparkle with fury, and, as it were, dart out deadly beams in the face of that despitefid Jew ! how did he swell with indignation, and then again wax pale with anger ! siiortly, his very brow and his motion made Mordecai look for the ut¬ most of revenge. * CONT. V.] HAMAN AND MORDECAI. 149 JMordecai foresees his danger, and contemns it; no frowns, no threats, can supple those joints : he may break, he will not boAV. What shall we say then to this obfirmed resolution of Mordecai ? what is it, Avhat can it be, that so stiffens the knees of Mordecai, that death is more easy to him than their incurvation ? Certainly, if mere civility were in question, this wilful irreverence to so great a peer could not pass without the just censure of a rude perverseness. It is religion that forbids this obeisance, and tells him, that such courtesy could not be free from sin; Avhether it were, that more than human honour was required to this new erected image of the great king, as the Persians were ever Avont to be noted for too much lavishness in these courtly devotions, or Avhether it Avere, that the ancient curse AvhereAvith God had branded the blood and stock of Haman, made it unlaAvfid for an Israelite to give him any observance: for the Amalekites, of Avhose royal line Haman was descended, Avere the nation, with Avhich God had SAVoni perpetual hostility, and Avhose memory he had straitly charged his people to root out from under heaven ; how may I, thinks he, adore Avhere God commands me to detest ? how may I profess respect, Avhere God professeth enmity ? Iioav may I contribute to the establishment of that seed upon earth, which God hath charged to be pulled up from under heaven? Outward actions of indifferency, Avhen once they are felt to trench upon the conscience, lay deep obligations upon the soul, even while they are most slighted by careless hearts. In Avhat a flame of AA-rath doth Haman live this AA’hile! AvhereAvith he could not but have consumed his own heart, had he not given vent to that rage in his assured purposes of revenge. Great men’s anger is like to themselves, strong, fierce, ambitious, of an excessive satisfaction. Haman scorns to take up Avith the blood of Mordecai, this AA^ere but a vulgar amends ; poor men can kill Avhere they hate ; and expiate their own Avrong with the life of a single enemy. Haman’s fury shall fly a higher pitch, millions of throats are feAV enough to bleed for this offence : it is a JeAv that hath despited him ; the whole nation of the Jews shall perish for the stomach of this one. The monarchy of the Avorld Avas noAv in the hand of the Persian; as Judea Avas Avithin this compass, so there Avas scarce a JeAV upon earth without the verge of the Persian do¬ minions : the generation, the name shall now die at once ; neither shall there be any memory of them but this. There Avas a people, which hav¬ ing been famous through the world for three thousand four hundred and fourscore years, Avere, in a moment, extinct by the poAver of Haman, for defaidt of a courtesy. Perhaps that hereditary grudge and old antipathy, that Avas betwixt Israel and Amalek, stuck still in the heart of this Agagite ; he might knoAv that God had commanded Israel to root out Amalek from under heaven ; and now therefore an Amalekite shall be ready to take this advantage against Israel. It is extreme injustice to dilate the punish¬ ment beyond the offence, and to eiiAvrap thousands of innocents Avithin the trespass of one. Hoav many that were yet unborn, when Haman was unsaluted, must rue the fact they lived not to knoAV ! Hoav many millions of JeAvs Avere then living, that kneAV not there Avas a Mordecai! all of them are fetched into one condition, and must suffer, ere they can 130 IIAMAN AND MORDECAI. [^nooK XXI. know tlieir offence. O the infinite distance betwixt the unjust cruelty of men, and the just mercies of the Almighty ! Even Caiaphas himself could say, “ It is better that one man die, than that all the people should perish and here Haman can say, “ It is better that all the people should perish, than that one man should die.” Thy mercy, O God, by the willing death of one that had not sinned, hath defrayed tlie just death of a world of sinners: while the injurious rigour of a man, for tlie supposed fault of one, would destroy a whole nation that had not offended. It is true, that, by the sin of one, death reigned over all; but it was, because all sinned in that one ; had not all men been in Adam, all had not fallen in him, all had not died in him ; it was not the man, but mankind that fell into sin, and by sin into death. No man can complain of punishment, while no man can exempt himself from the transgression. Unmerciful Haman would have imbrued his hands in that blood, which he could not but confess innocent. It is a rare thing, if the height of favour cause not presumption; such is Hainan’s greatness, that he takes his design for granted, ere it can receive a motion: the fittest days for this great massacre are deter¬ mined by the lots of their common divination; according whereunto, Haman chooseth the hour of this bloody suit; and now, waited on by opportunity, he addresseth himself to king Ahasuerus: “ There is a certain people scattered abroad, and dispersed among the people, in all the provinces of the kingdom, and their laws are diverse from all people; neither keep they the king’s laws, therefore it is not for the king’s profit to suffer them; if it please the king, let it be written that they may be destroyed, and I will pay ten thousand talents of silver into the hands of the officers.” With what cunning hath this man couched his malice ! lie doth not say. There is a Jew that hath affronted me, let me be avenged of his nation; this rancour was too monstrous to be confessed; perhaps this suggestion might have bred in the mind of Ahasuerus a conceit of Hainan’s ill nature, and intolerable immanity : but his pre¬ tences are plausible, and such as drive at no other than the public good: every word hath its insinuation, “ It is a scattered people were the nation entire, their maintenance could not but stand with the king’s honour; but now, since they are but stragglers, as their loss would be insensible, so their continuance and mixture cannot but be pre¬ judicial : it was not the fault, it was the misery of these poor Jews that they were dispersed, and now their dispersion is made an argument of their extirpation ; therefore must they be destroyed from the earth, because they were scattered over the earth. As good, so evils draw on each other; that which should plead for pity in the well-affected is a motive to cruelty in savage minds. Seldom ever hath extremity of mischief seized, where easier afflictions have not been billeted before. All faithful .Tews had wont to say unto God, “ Have mercy upon us, O God, and save us, for our soul is full of contempt, and we are scatter¬ ed amongst the heathen;” and here this enemy can say of them to Ahasuerus, “ Destroy them, for they are scattered ;” root them out, for they are contemned. How much better is it to fall into the hands of God, than of men, since that which whets the sword of men, works commiseration in the Almighty ! besides the dissipation of the persons, CONT. V.] HAM AN AND MORDECAI. 151 “ Their laws are diverse from all people.” All other people live hy thy laws, they only hy their own : and liow can this singularity of their fashions but breed disorder and inconvenience ? Did they live in some corner of the earth apart, the dilference in religion and government could not import much ; now, that they are dispersed amongst all thy subjects, what do these uncouth forms of theirs but teach all the world to be irregular ? why should they live under thy protection, that will not be governed by thy laws ? Wicked Haman I what were the laws of Israel, but the laws of God? if this be a quarrel, what shall the death of the Jews be other than martyrdom ? The div'ersity of judgment and pi-actice from the rest of the world, hath been an old and envious imputation cast upon God’s church. What if we be singled from others, while we walk with God ? In matters lawful, arbitrary, indifferent, wisdom teacheth us to conform ourselves to all others ; but where God hath laid a special imposition iipon us, we must either vary or sin. The greatest glory of Israel was their laws, wherein they as for exceeded all other nations, as heaven is above earth; yet here their laws are quarreled, and are made the inducements of their destruction. It is not possible that the church of God should escape Y)ersecution, Avhile that which it hath good is maligned, while that offends which makes it happy. Yet that they have laws of their own were not so unsufferable, if withal they did observe thine, O king; but these Jews, as they are unconformable, so they are seditious; “ They keep not the king’s laws.” Thou slanderest, Haman ; they cmdd not keep their own laws, if they kept not the king’s; for their laws call them to obedience unto their sovereigns, and adjudge hell to the rebellious. In all those hundred and seven and twenty provinces, king Ahasuerus hath no subjects but them; they obey out of conscience, others out of fear: why are they charged with that, which they do most abhor? what can be the ground of this crimination ? Ahasuerus commanded all knees to bow to Haman ; a Jew only refuses. Malicious Haman ! he that refused to bow unto thee, had sufficiently approved his loyalty to Ahasuerus ; Ahasuerus had not been, if Mordecai had not been a good subject.- Hath the king no laws, but what concei-n thine adoration ? Set aside religion ('wherein the Jew is ready to present, if not active, yet passive obedience) and name that Persian law which a Jew dares break. As I never yet read or heard of a conscionable Israelite, that hath not passed under this calumniation, so I cannot yield him a true Israelite that deserves it. In vain doth he profess to acknowledge a God in heaven, that denies homage to his deputy on earth. “ It is not for the king’s profit to suffer them.” Worldly hearts are not led by good or evil, but by profit or loss; neither have they grace to know, that nothing is profitable bnt what is honest, nothing so despe¬ rately incommodious as wickedness ; they must needs offend by rule, that measure all things by profit, and measure profit by their imagination. How easy is it to suggest strange untruths, when there is no body to give an answer I False Haman, how is it not for the king’s profit to 152 HAMAN AND MORDECAI. [[book XXI. sitfiFer the Jews ? if thou construe this profit for honour, the king’s ho¬ nour is in the multitude of subjects; and what people more numerous than they ? if for gain, the king’s profit is in the largeness of his tributes; and what people are more deep in their payments? if for service, what people are more officious ? How can it stand with the king’s profit to bereave himself of subjects, his subjects of their lives, his exchequer of their tri¬ butes, his state of their defence ? He is a weak politician that knows not to gild over the worst project, with a pretence of public utility. No name under heaven hath made so many fools, so many villains, as this of profit. ^ Lastly, as Ahasuerus reaps nothing but disprofit by the lives of the Jews, so he shall reap no small profit by their deaths : “ I will pay ten thousand talents of silver to the king’s treasury for this execution.” If revenge were not very sweet to the malicious man, he could not be con¬ tent to purchase it at so high a rate. How do we see daily, that the thirst hereof carries men to a riotous prodigality of estate, body, soul ! Cruel Haman ! if thou couldst have swimmed in a whole sea of Jewish blood, if thou couldst have raised mountains of their carcasses, if thou couldst have made all Persia thy shambles, who woidd have given thee one farthing for all those piles of flesh, for all those streams of blood ? yea, who would not rather have been at charge for the avoiding of the annoyances of those slaughtered bodies, which thou olferest to buy at ten thousand talents ? It were a happy thing, if charity could enlarge it¬ self but so much as malice; if the preservation of mankind could be so much beholden to our bounty, as the destruction. Now when all these are laid together, the baseness and dispersedness of the people, the diversity of the laws, the irregularity of their govern¬ ment, the rebellion of their practice, the inconvenience of their tole¬ ration, the gain of their extirpation; what coidd the wit or art of man de¬ vise more insinuative, more likely to persuade ? How could it be, but Ahasuei’us must needs think, (since he could not suspect the ground of this suit,) What a zealous patriot have I raised, that can be content to buy oflp the incommodity of the state at his own charge! how worthy is he rather of the aid both of my power and pm’se! why should I be fee’d to ease my kingdoms of rebels ? “ The silver is given to thee, the people also, to do with them as seemeth good to thee.” Without all delay, the secretaries are called to write the warrants, the king’s ring is given to seal them, the posts are sent out to carry them into all the provin¬ ces. The day is set wherein all Jews of all ages, of both sexes, through the hundred and seven and twenty provinces of the king, shall be sacrificed to the wrath of Haman. In all the carriage of Ahasuerus, Avho sees not too much headiness of passion ? Vashti is cast off fora trifle, the Jews are given to the slaughter for nothing; his rage in the one, his favovu’ in the other, is too impotent. He is not a worse husband than a king : the bare word of Haman is enough to kill so many subjects. No disposition can be more dangerous in great persons, than violence of affection mixed with credulity. O the seeming inequality of human conditions ! “ The king and Haman sat down to drink, but the city of Shushan was perplexed.” It is a woeful thing to see great ones quaff the tears of the oppressed, and to hear them make music of shrieks. CONT. V.] MORDECAI’S MESSAGE. 153 With what lamentation do we think all the synagogues of Jews, through the world, received this fatal message of their proclaimed de- struction! how do they bemoan themselves each to other ! how do their conjoined cries fill heaven and earth ! But above all, what sackcloth and ashes could suffice woeful Mordecai, that found in himself the occasion of all this slaughter! what sold could be capable of more bitterness than he felt! While he could not but think, Wretched man that I am I it is I that have brought all this calamity upon my nation ; it is I that have been the ruin of my people I woe is me that I ever put myself into the court, into the service of a Pagan I how unhappy was 1 to cast myself into these straits, that I must either honour an Agagite, or draw vengeance upon Israel I yet, how could I imagine, that the flame of Haman’s rage would have broken out so far? might that revenge have determined in my blood, how happy should I have been ! now, I have brought death upon many thousands of innocents, that cannot know wherefore they die. Why did I not hide myself rather from the place of that proud Amalekite ? why did I stand out in contestation with so over-powerful an enemy ? Alas I no man of Israel shall so much as live to curse me, oidy mine enemies shall record my name with ignominy, and say, Mordecai was the bane of his nation ! O that my zeal should have reserved me for so heavy a seridce I Where now are those vain ambitions, wherewith I pleased myself in this great match of Esther ? how fondly did I hope, by this undue means, to raise myself and my people ! yea, is not this carnal presumption the quarrel that God had against me ? do I not therefore smart from these Pagans, for that I se¬ cretly alfected this uncircumcised alliance? Howsoever it be, yet, O God, what have thy people done? O let it be thy just mercy, that I may perish alone! In these sad thoughts did Mordecai spend his heart, while he walked mournfully in sackcloth before that gate wherein he was wont to sit: now his habit bars his approach, no sackcloth might come within the court. Lo, that which is welcomest in the court of heaven, is here ex- eluded from the presence of this earthly royalty : “ A broken and a con¬ trite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.” Neither did it a little add to the sorrow of Mordecai, to hear the bitter insultations of his former monitors : “ Did we not advise thee better ? did we not fore-admonish thee of thy danger? see now the issue of thine obstinacy now see, what it is for thine earthen pitcher to knock with brass. Now, where is the man that would needs contest with Haman ? hast thou not now brought thy matters to a fair pass ? thy stomach had long owed thee a spite, and now it hath paid thee ; who can pity thy wil¬ fulness ? since thou wouldst needs deride our counsel, we will take leave to laugh at thy sackcloth. Nothing but scorns, and griefs, and terrors, present themselves to miserable Mordecai. All the external bullets of adversities were slight, to the wounds that he hath made, and felt in his own heart. The perpetual intelligences that were closely held betwixt Esther and Mordecai, could not suffer his public sorrow to be long concealed from her. The news of his sackcloth afflicts her, ere she can suspect the cause; her crown doth but clog her head, while she hears of liis aslies. True friendship transforms us into the condition of those we love ; and, if it n. u 154 MORDECAI’S MESSAGE. [book XXI. cannot raise them to our cheerfulness, draws us down to their dejection. Fain would she uncase her foster-father of these mournful weeds, and change his sackcloth for tissue ; that yet, at least, his clothes might not hinder his access to her presence, for the free opening of his griefs. It is hut a slight sorrow that abides to take in outward comforts : Mor- decai refuses that kind offer, and would have Esther see that his affliction was such, as that he might well resolve to put off his sackcloth and his skin at once; that he must mourn to death, rather than see her face to live. The good queen is astonished with this constant humiliation of so dear a friend ; and now she sends Hatach, a trusty, though a pagan attendant, to inquire into the occasion of this so irremediable heaviness. It should seem Esther inquired not greatly into matters of state ; that, which per¬ plexed all Shushan, was not yet known to her ; her followers, not knowing her to be a Jewess, conceived not how the news might conceni her, and therefore had forborne the relation. IMordecai first informs her, by her messengei’, of the decree that was gone out against all her nation, of the day wherein they must all prepare to bleed, of the sum which Hainan had proffered for their heads, and delivers the copy of that bloody edict, charging her now, if ever, to bestir herself, and to improve all her love, all her power, with king Ahasuerus, in a speedy and humble supplication for the saving of the life, not of himself, so much as of her people. It was tidings able to confound a weak heart; and hers so much the more, as she could apprehend nothing but impossibility of redress. She needs but to put Mordecai in mind of that which all the king’s servants and subjects knew well enough, that the Persian law made it no less than death, for whomsoever, man or woman, that should press into the inner court of the king, uncalled. Nothing but the royal sceptre extend¬ ed, could keep that presumptuous offender from the grave. For her, thirty days were now passed, since she was called in to the king ; an intermission, that might be justly suspicious, whether the heat of his first affection were thus soon of itself allayed towards her ; or whether some suggestions of a secret enemy, perhaps his Agagite, might have set him off; or whether some more pleasing object may have laid hold on his eyes ; whatever it might be, this absence could not but argue some strangeness, and this strangeness must needs imply a danger in her bold intrusion. She could bewail, therefore, she coidd not hope to remedy this dismal day of her people. This answer in the ears of Mordecai sounded ti'uth, but weakness ; neither can he take up with so feeble a return : these occasions require other spirits, other resolutions, which must be quickened by a more stirring reply; “Think not with thyself, that thou shalt escape in the king’s house, more than all the Jews ; for, if thou altogether boldest thy peace at this time, then shall there enlarge¬ ment and deliverance arise to the Jews from another place, hut thou and thy father’s house shall he destroyed; and who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this ?” The expectation of death had not quelled the strong heart of faithful Mordecai ; even, while he mourns, his zeal droops not; there could have been no life in that breast, which this message could not have roused. What then ? is it death that thou fearest in this attempt of thy CONT. V.^ MORDECAI’S MESSAGE. 155 supplication ? what other than death awaits thee in the neglect of it ? there is but this difference, sue, and thou mayest die; sue not, and thou ^ must die ; what blood hast thou but Jewish ? and if these unalterable edicts exempt no living soul, what shall become of thine ? and canst thou be so vainly timorous, as to die for fear of death ? to prefer cer¬ tainty of danger before a possibility of hope ? Away with this weak cowardice, unworthy of an Israelite, unworthy of a queen. But if faint ¬ heartedness or private respects, shall seal up thy lips, or withhold thine hand from the aid of thy people : if thou canst so far neglect God’s church, know thou that God will not neglect it: it shall not he in the power of tyrants to root out his chosen seed; that Holy One of Israel shall rather work miracles from heaven, than his inheritance shall per¬ ish upon earth; and how just shall it then be for that jealous God, to take vengeance upon thee, and thy father’s house, for this cold unhelp- fiJness to his distressed church ? Suffer me therefore to adjure thee, by all that tenderness of love, wherewith I have trained up thine orphan infancy, by all those dear and thankful respects which thou hast vowed to me again, by the name of the God of Israel whom we serve, that thou awaken and stir up thine holy courage, and dare to adventure thy life, for the saving of many : it hath pleased the Almighty to raise thee up to that height of honour, which our progenitors could little expect; why shouldst thou he wanting to him, that hath been so bountiful to thee ? yea, why should I not think, that God hath put this very act into the intendment of thine exaltation ? having on purpose thus seasonably hoised thee up to the throne, that thou mayest rescue his poor church from an utter ruin. O the admirable faith of Mordecai, that shines through all these clouds, and, in the thickest of these fogs, descries a cheerful glimpse of deliver¬ ance I He saw the day of their common destruction enacted, he knew the Persian decrees to be unalterable, but, withal, he knew there was a Messias to come ; he was so well acquainted with God’s covenanted as¬ surances to his church, that he can, through the midst of those bloody resolutions, foresee indemnity to Israel, rather trusting the promises of God, than the threats of men. This is the victory that overcomes all the fears and fury of the world, even our faith. It is quarrel enough against any person, or community, not to have been aidful to the distresses of God’s people. Not to ward the blow, if we may, is construed for little better than striking. Till we have tried our utmost, we know not whether we have done what we came for. Mordecai hath said enough : these words have so put a new life into Es¬ ther, that she is resolute to hazard the old ; “ Go, gather together all the Je ws that are present in Shushan, and fast ye for me, and neither eat nor drink three days, night or day ; I also and my maidens will fast likewise, and so will I go in unto the king, which is not accordhrg to the law ; and if I perish I perish.” Heroical thoughts do well hefit great actions. Life can never be better adventured, than where it shall be gain to lose it. There can be no law against the humble deprecation of evils ; where the necessity of God’s church calls to us, no danger should withhold us from all honest means of relief. Deep humiliations must make way for the success of great enterprises; we are most capable of mercy, when we 156 ESTHER SUING TO AHASUERUS. Qbook XX. are thoroughly empty. A short hunger cloth hut whet the appetite; but so long an abstinence meets death half-way, to prevent it. Well may they enjoin sharp penances unto others, who practise it upon themselves. It was the face of Esther that must hope to win Ahasuerus, yet that shall be macerated with fasting, that she may prevail. A carnal heart would have pampered the flesh, that it might allure those wanton eyes: she pines it, that she may please. God, and not she, must work the heart of the king. Faith teaches her rather to trust her devotions, than her beauty. CONTEMPLATION VI.—ESTHER SUING TO AHASUERUS. The .Tews are easily entreated to fast, who had received in themselves the sentence of death; what pleasure can they take in meat, that knew what day they must eat their last ? The three days of abstinence are expired : now Esther changes her spirits, no less than her clothes : who, that sees that face, and that habit, can say she had mourned, she had fasted? never did her royal apparel become her so well. That God, before whom she had humbled herself, made her so much more beautiful, as she had been more dejected; and now', with a winning confidence, she w'alks into the inner court of the king, and puts herself into that forbidden presence ; as if she said. Here I am, wfith my life in my hand ; if it please the king to take it, it is ready for him. Vashti my predecessor, forfeited her place for not coming when she w as called ; Esther shall now hazard the forfeiture of her life, for coming when she is not called. It is necessity, not disobedience, that hath put me upon this bold approach ; according to thy construction, O king, I do either live or die, either shall be w'elcome. The expectedness of pleasing objects makes them many times the more acceptable : the beautiful countenance, the graceful demeanour, and goodly presence of Esther, have no sooner taken the eyes, than they have ravished the heart of king Ahasuerus : love hath soon banished all dreadfulness ; “ And the king held out to Esther the golden sceptre that was in his hand.” Moderate intermission is so far from cooling the affection, that it inflames it. Had Esther been seen every day, perhaps that satiety had abated of the height of her welcome ; now, three and thirty days’ retiredness hath endeared her more to the surfeited eyes of Ahasuerus. Had not the golden sceptre been held out, where had queen Esther been ? the Persian kings affected a stern awfulness to their subjects ; it w'as death to solicit them uncalled. How safe, how easy, how happy a thing it is to have to do Avith the King of heaven, who is so pleased W'ith our access, that he solicits suitors ; wdio as he is uinveariable with our requests, so is infinite in his beneficences ! How gladly doth Esther touch the top of that sceptre by which she holds her life ! and now', Avhile she thinks it Avell that she may live, she receives, besides pardon, favour. “ What wilt thou, queen Esther, and what is thy request ? it shall be given thee, even to the half of the king- CONT. VI.2 ESTHER SUING TO AHASUERUS. 157 dom.” Commonly, when we fear most, we speed best; God then most of all mag-iiifies his bounty to us, when we have most afflicted oimselves. Over-confident expectations are seldom but disappointed, while humble suspicions go laughing away. It was the benefit and safety of but one piece of the kingdom, that Esther comes to sue for; and, behold, Aha- suerus offers her the free power of the half: he, that gave Hainan, at the first word, the lives of all his Jewish subjects, is ready to give Esther half his kingdom, ere she ask. Now she is no less amazed at the loving munificence of Ahasuerus, than she was before afraid of his aus¬ terity : “ The king’s heart is in the hand of the Lord; as the rivers of water, he turneth it whithersoever he will.” It is not good to swallow favours too greedily, lest they either choke us in the passage, or prove hard of digestion. The wise queen, however she might seem to have a fair opportunity offered to her suit, finds it not good to apprehend it too suddenly, as desiring, by this small dilation, to prepare the ear and heart of the king for so important a request. Now, all her petition ends in a banquet: “ If it seem good unto the king, let the king and Haman come this day unto the banquet that I have prepared for him.” It is an easy favour to receive a small cour¬ tesy, where we offer to give great. Haman is called, the king comes to Esther’s table; and now, highly pleased with his entertainment, he himself solicits her to propound that suit, for which her modesty would, but durst not solicit him. Bashfulness shall lose nothing at the hand of ^ well-governed greatness. Yet still Esther’s suit sticks in her teeth, and dares not come forth without a further preface of time and expectation ; another banquet must pass, ere this reckoning can be given in. Other suitors wait long for the delivery of their petition, longer for the receipt of their answer. Here the king is fain to wait for his suit: whether Esther’s heart would not yet serve her to contest with so strong an ad¬ versary as Haman, without fuller recollection ; or whether she desired to get better hold of the king, by endearing him with so pleasing enter¬ tainments ; or whether she would thus ripen her hopes, by working in the mind of king Ahasuerus a foreconceit of the greatness and difficulty of that suit, which was so loath to come forth; or whether she meant thus to give scope to the pride and malice of Haman, for his more cer¬ tain ruin ; howsoever it were, to-morrow is a new day set for Esther’s second banquet, and third petition. The king is not invited without Haman ; favours are sometimes done to men with a piu'pose of displeasui’e: doubtless Haman tasteth of the same cares with his master; neither coxdd he, in the forehead of Esther, read any other chai-acters, than of respect and kind applause, yet had she then in her hopes designed him to a just revenge. Little do we know, by outward carriages, in what terms we stand with either God or man. Every little wind raiseth up a bubble. How is Haman now exalted in himself with the singular graces of queen Esther ; and begins to va¬ lue himself, so much more, as he sees himself higher in the rate of others’ opinion ! Only surly and sullen Mordecai is an alloy to his happiness; no edict of death can bow the knees of that stout Jew; yea, the notice of that 158 MORDECAI HONOURED. [[book XXI. bloody cruelty of this Agagite hath stiffened them so much the more. Before, he looked at Haman as an Amalekite, now as a persecutor. Disdain and anger look out at those eyes, and bid that proud enemy do his worst. No doubt Mordecai had been listening after the speed of queen Esther ; how she came in to the king, how she was welcomed with the golden sceptre, and with the more precious words of Ahasue- rus ; how she had entertained the king, how she pleased ; the news had made him quit his sackloth, and raised his courage to a more scornful ne¬ glect of his professed adversary. Haman comes home, I know not whether more full of pride or of rage ; calls an inward counsel of his choice friends, together with his wife ; makes a glorious report of all his wealth, magnificence, height of favour, both with the king and queen ; and, at last, after all his sun-shine, sets in this cloudy epilogue, “ Yet all this availeth me nothing, so long as I see Mordecai the Jew sitting at the king’s gate.” It is seldom seen, that God allows, even to the greatest darlings of the world, a perfect con¬ tentment ; something they must have to complain of, that shall give an unsavoury verdure to their sweetest morsels, and make their very felicity miserable. The wit of women hath wont to be noted for more sudden, and more sharp. Zeresh, the wife of Haman, sets on foot that motion of speedy revenge, which is applauded by the rest: “ Let a gallows be made of fifty cubits high, and to-morrow speak thou to the king, that Mordecai may be hanged thereon ; then go thou in merrily with the king unto the banquet.” I do not hear them say. Be patient a while, thou hast ah’eady set Mordecai his last day, the month Adar will not be long in coming, the determination of his death hath made him desperate, let him in the meantime eat his own heart in envy at thy greatness; but they rather advise of a quick despatch. Malice is a thing full of impatience, and hates delay of execution, next unto mercy. While any grudge lies at the heart, it cannot be freely cheerful, forced smiles are but the hypocrisy of mirth. How happy were it for us, if we could be so zealously careful to hinderances of om- true spiritual joy, those stubboi’n corruptions remove that will stoop to the power of grace I CONTEMPLATION VII.—MORDECAI HONOURED BY HAMAN. The wit of Zeresh had like to have gone beyond the wit of Esther, had not the working Providence of the Almighty contrived these events beyond all hopes, all conceits, Mordecai had been despatched ere Esther’s second banquet. To-morrow was the day pitched for both their designs ; had not the stream been unexpectedly turned, in vain had the queen blamed her delays, Mordecai’s breakfast had prevented Esther’s dinner; for certaintly he that had given to Haman so many thousand lives, would never have made dainty upon the same suit, to anticipate one of those whom he had condemned to the slaughter. But God meant better things to his church, and fetches about all his holy purposes, after a wonderful fashion, in the very instant of opportunity. “ He that keepeth Israel, and neither slumbereth nor sleepeth, causeth sleep that night to CONT. VII.] MORDECAI HONOURED. 159 depart from him that had decreed to root out Israal. Great Ahasuerus, that commanded a hundred and seven and twenty provinces, cannot command an hour s sleep. Poverty is rather blessed with the freedom of rest, tlian wealth and power. Cares and surfeit withhold that from the great, which presseth upon the spare diet and labour of the meanest. Nothing is more tedious than an eager pursuit of denied sleep, which, like to a shadow, flies away so much faster as it is more followed. Ex¬ perience tells us, that this benefit is best solicited by neglect, and soon¬ est found, Avhen we have forgotten to seek it. Whether to deceive the time, or to bestow it well, Ahasuerus shall spend his restless hours in the chronicles of his time. Nothing is more requisite for princes, than to look back upon their own actions and events, and those of their predecessors ; the examination of fore-past actions makes them wise, of events, thankfid and cautelous. Amongst those voluminous registers of acts and monuments, which so many scores of provinces must needs yield, the book shall open upon Mordecai’s discovery of the late treason of the two eunuchs: the reader is turned thither, by an insensible sway of Providence. Our most ar¬ bitrary or casual actions are overruled by a hand in heaven. The king now feels afresh the danger of that conspiracy ; and as great spirits abide not to smother or bury good offices, inquires into the re¬ compense of so royal a service : “ What honour and dignity hath been done to Mordecai for this ?” Surely Mordecai did but his duty ; he had heinously sinned, if he had not revealed this wicked treachery ; yet Aha¬ suerus takes thought for this remuneration. How much more careful art thou, O God of all mercies, to reward the weak obedience of thine (at the best) unprofitable servants I That which was intended to procure rest, sets it off: king Ahasuerus is unquiet in himself, to think that so great a merit should lie but so long neglected; neither can he find any peace in himself, till he have given order for a speedy retribution : hearing therefore by his servants, that Haman was below in the com*t, he sends for him up to consult with him, “ What should be done to the man whom the king delighteth to hon¬ our ?” O marvellous concurrence of circumstances, drawn together by the infinite wisdom and power of the Almighty ! Who but Haman should be the man ? and when should Haman be called to advise of Mordecai’s honour, but in the very instant when he came to sue for Mordecai’s hanging ? Had Ahasuerus but slept that night, Mordecai had been that morning advanced fifty cubits higher than the earth, ere the king could have remembered to whom he was beholden. What shall we say then to reconcile these cross-passions in Ahasue¬ rus ? Before he signed that decree of killing all the Jews, he could not but know that a Jew had saved his life ; and now, after that he had en¬ acted the slaughter of all Jews as rebels, he is giving order to honour a Jew as his preserver. It were strange, if great persons, in the multitude of their distractions, should not let fall some incongruities. Yet, who can but think that king Ahasuerus meant, upon some second thoughts, to make amends to Mordecai ? neither can he choose but put these two together; the Jews are appointed to death at the suit of Ha¬ inan ; this Mordecai is a Jew : how then can I do more grace to him MORDECAI HONOURED. 160 [book XXI. tliat hath saved my life, than to command him to be honoured by that man wlio would spill his? When Hainan heard himself called up to the bed-chamber of his mas¬ ter, he thinks himself too happy, in so early an opportunity of present¬ ing his suit; but yet more in the pleasing question of Ahasuerus, Avhere- in he could not but imagine, that favour forced itself upon him with strange importunity : for how could he conceive that any intention of more than ordinary honour could fall besides himself? Self-love, like to a good stomach, draws to itself what nourishment it likes, and casts off that which offends it. Haman will be sure to be no niggard in advising those ceremonies of honour, which he thinks meant to his own person. Could he have once dreamed, that this grace had been purposed to any under heaven, besides himself, he had not been so lavish in counselling so pom¬ pous a show of excessive magnificence. Now the king’s own royal ap¬ parel, and his own steed is not sufficient, except the royal crown also make up the glory of him who shall thus triumph in the king’s favour; yet all this Avere nothing in base hands. The actor shall be the best part of this great pageant. “ Let this apparel, and this horse, be delivered to one of the king’s most noble princes, that they may array the man Avithal Avhom the king delighteth to honour, and bring him on horseback through the streets of the city, and proclaim before him. Thus shall it be done to the man Avhom the king delighteth to honour.” Honour is more in him that gives, than in him that receives it. To be honoured by the unworthy is little better than disgrace : no meaner person will serve to attend this Agagite, in his supposed greatness, than one of the noblest princes. The ambition is too high-flown, that seeks glory in the servility of equals. The place adds much to the act; there is small heart in a concealed honour : it is nothing, unless the streets of the city of Shushan be Avit- nesses of this pomp, and ring Avith that gracious acclamation. The vain hearts of proud men can easily devise those means Avherehy they may best set out themselves. O that Ave Avould equally affect the means of true and immortal glory! The heart of man is never so cold Avithin him, as Avhen, from the height of expectation of good, it falls in¬ to a sudden sense of evih; so did this Agagite. “ Then the king said to Haman, make haste, and take the apparel, and the horse, as thou hast said, and do even so to Mordecai the JeAv, thatsitteth at the king’s gate ; let nothing fail of all thou hast said.” Hoav Avas Haman thunderstricken with this killing Avord ! “ Do thou so to Mordecai.” I dare say, all the honours that Ahasuerus had heaped upon Haman cannot countervail this one vexation. Doubtless, at first, he distrusts his ear, and then muses whether the king be in earnest; at last, Avhen he hears the charge so seriously doubled, and finds himself forced to believe it, he begins to think. What means this unconceivable alteration ? Is there no man in all the court of Persia, to be picked out for extraordinary honour, but Mordecai ? is there no man to be picked out, for the perfoi-mance of this honour to him, but Haman ? have I but one proud enemy in all the world, and am I singled out to grace him ? did it gall me to the heart, and make all my happiness tedious to me, to see that this Jew Avould not boAv to me, and must I noAV boAV to him ? That Avhich he Avould CONT. A ll.] M(3HDECAI HONOURED. IGl rather die, and forfeit the life of all his nation, than do to me, notAAnth- standing the king’s command, shall I be forced, by the king's command, to do unto him ? Yea, did he refuse to give but a cap and a knee to my greatness ; and must 1 lackey so base a felloAv through the streets ? must I be his herald, to proclaim his honour through aU Shushan ? Why do I not let the king knoAV the insolent affronts that he hath offer¬ ed me ? AA’liy do I not signify to my sovereign, that my errand noAV was for another kind of advancement to Mordecai ? If I obtain not my de¬ sired revenge, yet, at least, I shall prevail so far, as to exempt myself fi’om this officious attendance upon so unequal an enemy. And yet that motion cannot be noAV safe ; I see the king’s heart is, upon Avhat ground soever, bent upon this action ; should I fly off never so little, after my Avord so directly passed, perhaps my coldness or opposition might be construed as some Avayward contestation Avith my master ; especially since the service that Mordecai hath done to the king is of a higher na¬ ture, than the despite which he hath done to me. I Avill, I must give Avay for the time ; mine humble yieldance, when all the carriage of this business shall be understood, shall, I doubt not, make way for mine intend¬ ed revenge. Mordecai, I will honour thee now, that by these steps I may ere long raise thee many cubits higher. I Avill obey the command of my sovereign in observing thee, that he may reward the merit of my loyalty in thine execution. Thus resolved, Haman goes forth Avith a face and heart fidl of distrac¬ tion, full of confusion ; and addresses himself to the attiring, to the attend¬ ing of his old adversary, and neAV master, Mordecai. What looks, do AA^e now think, were cast upon each other at their first greeting ? their eyes had not forgotten their old language: certainly Avhen Mordecai saw Ha¬ man come into the room Avhere he was, he coidd not but think, this man hath long thirsted for my blood, and noAv he comes to fetch it; I shall not live to see the success of Esthei', or the fatal day of my nation. It was known that morning in the court, what a lofty gibbet Haman had provided for Mordecai; and why might it not have come to Mordecai’s ear ? Avhat could he therefore now imagine other, than that he AA^as call¬ ed out to that execution ? But, when he saw the royal robe that Ha¬ man brought to him, he thinks, it is not enough for this man to kill me, but he must mock me too ; AAdiat an addition is this to the former cruelty, thus to insult, and play upon my last distress : But, Avdien he yet saAv the royal crown ready to be set on his head, and the king’s OAvn horse richly furnished at his gate, and found himself raised by princely hands into that royal seat, he thinks. What may all this mean ? is it the purpose of mine adversary, that I shall die in state ? would he have hanged me in triumph ? At last, Avhen he sees such a train of Persian peers at¬ tending him, Avith a grave reverence, and hears Haman proclaim before him, “ Thus shall it be done to the man whom the king delighteth to honour:” finding this pomp to be serious and well meant, he imagines, in all likelihood, that this unexpected change proceeds from the suit of his Esther ; now he begins to lift up his head, and to hope Avell of him¬ self, and his people, and could not but say Avithin himself, that he had not fasted for nothing. O the Avondrous alteration that one morning hath made in the court of Persia ! He that AA'as yesternight despised by II. X 162 MORDECAI HONOURED. [book xxr. Hiiman’s footmen, is now waited on by Haman, and all his fellow princes: lie, that yesternight had the homage of all knees but one, and was ready to burst for the lack of that, now doth obeisance to that one by whom he was wilfully neglected; it was not Ahasuerus that wrought this strange mutation, it was the overruling power of the Almighty, whose immediate hand would thus prevent Esther’s suit, that he might chal¬ lenge all the thank to himself; while princes have their own wills, they must do his; and shall either exalt or depress according to divine appointment. I sliould commend Haman’s obedience, in his humble condescent to so unpleasing and harsh a command of his master, were it not, that either he durst do no other, or that he thus stooped for an advantage. It is a thankless respect that is either forced, or for ends. True subjection is free and absolute, out of the conscience of duty, not out of fears or hopes. All Shushan is in amaze at this sudden glory of Mordecai, and studies how to reconcile this day with the thirteenth of Adar. Mordecai had reason to hope well; it could not stand with the honour of the king, to kill him whom he saw cause to advance ; neither could this be any other, than the beginning of a durable promotion : otherwise what recompense had an hour’s riding been to so great a service ? On the other side, Haman droops, and hath changed passions with Mordecai: neither was that Jew ever more deeply afflicted with the decree of his owm death, than this Agagite was with that Jew’s honour. How heavy doth it lie at Haman’s heart, that no tongue, but his, might serve to proclaim Mordecai happy I Even the greatest minions of the world must have their turns of sorrows. With a covered head, and a dejected countenance, doth he hasten home, and longs to impart his grief, where he had received his advice. It was but cold comfort that he finds from his wife Zeresh, and his friends: “ If Mordecai be of the seed of the Jews, before whom thou hast begun to fall, thou shalt not prevail against him, but shalt surely fall before him.” Out of the mouth of pagans, O God, thou hast or¬ dained strength, that thou mayest still the enemy and avenger. What credit hath thy great name won with these barbarous nations, that they can out of all experience, make maxims of thine undoubted protection of thy people, and the certain ruin of thine adversaries ? Men find no diffei’ence in themselves ; the face of a Jew looks so like other men’s, that Esther and Mordecai were not, of long, taken for what they were; lie, that made them, makes the distinction betwixt them : so as a Jew may fall before a Persian, and get up and prevail; but if a Persian, or whosoever of the Gentiles, begin to fall before a Jew, he can neither stay nor rise. There is an invisible hand of omnipotency that strikes in for his own and confounds their opposites. O God, neither is thine hand shortened, nor thy bowels straitened in thee : thou art still and ever thyself. If we be thy true spiritual Israel, neither earth nor hell shad prevail against us; we shall either stand sure, or surely rise, while ^ our enemies shall lick the dust. CONT. VIII .3 HAMAN HANGED. 163 CONTEMPLATION VIII.—HAMAN HANGED, MORDECAI ADVANCED. Haman’s day is now come ; that vengeance which hath hitherto slept is now awake, and rousethiip itself to a just execution ; that heavy mourning was but the preface to his last sorrow, and the sad presage of friends is verified in the speaking; while the word, was in their mouths, the messengers were at the door to fetch Haman to his funei-al banquet. How little do we know what is towards us I As the fishes that are taken in an evil net, and as the birds that are caught in the snare, so are the sons of men snared in evil time, when it falleth suddenly upon them. It was, as Haman conceived, the only privilege of his dearness, and the comfort of his present heaviness, that he only was called with the king to Esther’s banquet, when this was only meant for his bane. The face of this invitation was fair, and promiseth much ; and now the inge¬ nious man begins to set good constructions upon all events. Surely, thinks he, the king was tied in his honour to give some public gratifica¬ tion to IMordecai; so good an office coidd deserve no less than an hour’s glory : but little doth my master know what terms there are betwixt me and Mordecai; had he fully understood the insolencies of this Jew, and should, notwithstanding, have enjoined me to honour him, I might have had just cause to complain of disgrace and disparagement; but now, since all this business hath been carried in ignorance and casualty, why do I wrong myself in being too much afiFected with that which was not ill meant ? had either the king or the queen abated ought of their favour to me, I might have dined at home ; now this renewed invitation argues me to stand right in the grace of both ; and Avhy may not I hope this day to meet with a good occasion of my desired revenge ? how just will it seem to the king, that the same man whom he hath publicly rewarded for his loyalty, should now be publicly punished for his dis¬ obedience. With such like thoughts Haman cheers up himself, and addresselh himself to the royal banquet, with a countenance that would fain seem to forget his morning’s task: Esther works her face to an unwilling smile upon that hateful guest; and the king, as not unguilty of any dignity that he hath put upon his favourite, frames himself to as much cheerful¬ ness as his want of rest would permit. The table is royally furnished with all delicate confections, with all pleasing liquors. King Ahasuerus so eats, as one that both knew who he was, and meant to make himself welcome: Haman so pours in, as one that meant to drown his cares: and now, in this fulness of cheer, the king hungers for that long-delayed suit of queen Esther ; thrice hath he graciously called for it, and, as a man constant to his own favours, thrice hath he, in the same words, vowed the performance of it, though to the half of his kingdom. It falls out oftentimes, that, when large promises fall suddenly from great persons, they abate by leism-e, and shrink upon cold thoughts ; here Ahasuerus is not more liberal in his offer tlian firm in his resolutions, as if his first word had been, like his law, unalterable. I am ashamed to 164 HAMAN HANGED. I^BOOK XXI. miss that steadiness in Christians which I find in a pagan. It was a great word that he had said, yet he eats it not, as over lavishly spoken, but doubles and triples it with hearty assurances of a real prosecution ; while those tongues, which profess the true God, say and unsay at pleasure, recanting their good purposes, contradicting their own just en¬ gagements, upon no cause but their own changeableness. It is not for. queen Esther to drive off any longer; the same wisdom that taught her to defer her suit, now teaches her to propound it: a well chosen season is the greatest advantage of any action, which, as it is seldom found in haste, so is too often lost in delay. Now, therefore, Avith an humble and graceful obeisance, and Avith a countenance full of modest fear and sad gravity, she so delivers her petition, that the king might see it Avas necessity that both forced it upon her, and vA'rung it from her. “ If I have found favoiu’ in thy sight, O king, and if it please the king, let my life be given me at my petition, and my people at my request.” Expectation is either a friend or an enemy, according- to the occasion : Ahasuerus looked for some high and difficult boon ; now that he hears his queen beg for her life, it could not be but that the surplusage of his love to her must be turned into fury against her adver¬ sary ; and his zeal must be so much more to her, as her suit Avas more meek and humble. “ For Ave are sold, I and my people, to be destroyed, to be slain, and to perish ; but if Ave had been sold for bondmen, and bondwomen, I had held my tongue, although the enemy could not coun¬ tervail the king’s damage.” Ci-afty men are sometimes choked Avith their own plots. It was the proffrer of ten thousand talents AAdiereAvith Haman hoped both to purchase his intended revenge, and the reputation of a worthy patriot ; that sum is noAV laid in his dish, for a just argument of malicious corruption : for well might Esther plead. If Ave JeAvs de¬ served death, Avhat needed our slaughter to be bought out ? and if aa o deserved it not, what horrible cruelty Avas it to set a price upon innocent blood? it is not any oflfence of ours, it is only the despite of an enemy that hath wrought our destruction. Besides, noAV it appears the king was abused by misinformation: the adversary suggested, that the life of the Jews could not stand Avith the king’s profit; Avhereas their very bondage should be more damage to the state, than all Haman’s Avorth could countervail. Ti’uth may be smother¬ ed, but it cannot die; it may be disguised, but it AAnU be knoAvn ; it may be siippressed, but it Avill triumph. But what shall AA'e say to so harsh an aggravation ? Could Esther have been silent in a case of decreed bondage, who is noAV so vehement in a case of death ? Certainly, to a generous nature, death is far more easy than bondage; why Avould she have endm-ed the greater, and yet so abhors the less ? Avas it for that the .leAVS Avere already too well inur¬ ed to captivity, and those evils are more tolerable whereAvith Ave are ac¬ quainted? or, Avas it for that there may be hopes in bondage, none in death ? snrely either of them Avere lamentable, and such as might deseiwe her humblest deprecation. The queen Avas going on to have said. But, alas ! nothing will satisfy onr bloody enemy, save the utter extirpation of me and my nation ; Avhen the impatient rage of the king interrupts her sentence in the CONT. VIII.] HAMAN HANGED. 165 midst, and, as if he had heard too much already, and could easily supply the residue of her complaint, snatches the word out of her mouth with a furious demand; “ Who is he, and where is he, that durst presume in his heart to do so ?” It was the interest of queen Esther’s person that raised this storm in Ahasuerus ; set that aside, how quietly, how merrily was the determined massacre of the Jews formerly digested ! Actions have not the same face, when we look upon them with contrary affec¬ tions. Now queen Esther musters up her inward forces, and, with an un¬ daunted courage, fixing her angry eyes upon that hated Agagite, she says, “ The adversary and enemy is this wicked Hainan.” The word was loath to come forth, but it strikes home at the last. Never till now did Haman hear his true title ; before, some had styled him noble, others great, some magnificent, and some, perhaps, virtuous ; only Esther gave him his own, “ Wicked Haman.” Ill-deserving greatness doth in vain promise to itself a perpetuity of applause. If our ways be foul, the time shall come, when after all vain fiattery, after all our momentary glory, our sins shall be ript up, and our iniquities laid before us, to our utter confusion. With what consternation did Haman now stand I how do we think he looked to hear himself thus enstiled, thus accused, yea thus condemned ! certainly, death was in his face, and horror in every of his joints ; no sense, no limb knows his office : fain would he speak, but his tongue falters, and his lips tremble; fain would he make apologies upon his knees, but his heart fails him, and tells him the evidence is too great, and the offence above all pardon : only guiltiness and fear look through his eyes upon the enraged countenance of his master, which now bodes nothing to him but revenge and death. In Avhat a passionate distemper doth this banquet shut up ! King Ahasuerus flies from the table, as if he had been hurried away Avith a tempest. His Avrath is too great to come forth at his mouth ; only his eyes tell Haman that he hates to see him, and vows to see his despatch. For solitariness, and not for pleasure, doth he noAV Avalk into his garden, and thinks Avith himself. What a monster have I favoured ? is it pos¬ sible that so much cruelty and jiresumption shoidd harbour in a breast that I thought ingenuous ? could I be so boAvitched, as to pass so bloody a decree ? is my credulity thus abused by the treacherous subtUty of a miscreant whom I trusted ? I confess it Avas my weak rashness to yield unto so prodigious a motion, but it Avas the villany of this Agagite to circumvent me by false suggestions: he shall pay for my error : the world shall see, that as I exceeded in grace, so I will not come short in justice. Haraau, thy guilty blood shall expiate that innocent blood, which thy malice might have shed. In the meantime, Haman, so soon as ever he could recover the qualm of his astonishment, finding himself left alone with queen Esther, loseth no time, spareth no breath to mitigate her anger, which had made way to his destruction. Doubtless, with many voavs and tears, and solemn oaths, he labours to clear his intentions to her person, bcAvailing his dan¬ ger, imploring her mercy, confessing the unjust extent of his malice, proffering endeavours of satisfaction. Wretched man that I am ! I am condemned before I speak, and when I have spoken I am condemned. 136 HAMAN HANGED. [book XXI. Upon thy sentence, O queen, I see death waits for me : in vain shall I seek to avoid it: it is thy will that I should perish ; but let that little breath I have left, acquit me so far with thee, as to call heaven and earth to record, that in regard of thee, I die innocent. It is true, that mine impetuous malice miscarried me against the nation of the Jews, for the sake of one stubborn offender; but did I know there was the least drop of Israelitish blood in thy sacred person ? could I suspect that Mordecai, or that people, did ought concern thee ? Let not one death be enough for me. If I would ever have entertained any thought of evil against nation or man, that should have cost but a frown from thee. All the court of Persia can sufficiently witness, how I have magnified and adored thee, ever since the royal crown was set on thy head ; nei¬ ther did I ever fail to do thee all good offices unto that my sovereign master, whom thou hast now mortally incensed against me. O queen, no hand can save my life, but thine, that hath as good as bereaved it; show mercy to him, that never meant but loyalty to thee. As ever thou wouldst oblige an humble and faithful vassal to thee, as ever thou Avouldst honour thy name and sex, with the praise of tender compassion, take pity upon me, and spare that life which shall be vowed to thy ser¬ vice ; and whereas thy displeasure may justly allege against me that rancorous plot for the extirpation of that people, whom I, too late, know to be thine, let it suffice that I hate, I curse mine own cruelty, and only upon that condition shall beg the revival of my life, that I shall work and procure, by thy gracious aid, a full defeasance of that unjust execu¬ tion. O let fall upon thy despairing servant one word of favour to my displeased master, that T may yet live. While he was speaking to this purpose, having prostrate himself, for the more humility, before the queen, and spread his arms in a vehement imploration up to her bed, the king comes in, and, as not unwilling to misconstrue the posture of him whom he now hated, says, “ What, will he force the queen also before me in the house ?” That which Hainan meant as an humble supplicant, is interpreted as from a presumptuous offender: how oft might he have done so, and more, while he was in favour, uncensured ! Actions are not the same when the man alters. As charity makes a good sense of doubtful occurrents, so prejudice and displeasure take all things, though well meant, at the Avorst. It is an easy thing to pick a quarrel, where we intend a mischief. The wrath of the king is as a messenger of death. While these Avords were yet in the mouth of Ahasuei’us, Haman, in turning his head tOAvards the king, is suddenly muffled for his execution : he shall no more see either face or sun; he shall be seen no more but as a spectacle of shame and horror : and now he thinks. Woe is me, Avhose eyes seiwei me only to foresee the approach of a dishonourable and painful death ! What am I the better to have been great ? O that I had never been, O that I could not be 1 Hoav too truly have Zei’esh, and my friends, foretold me of this heavy destiny ! Noav am I ready to feel, w hat it is that I meant to thousands of innocents ; I shall die Avith pain and ignominy. O that the conscience of mine intended murder could die Avith me. It is no marvel if wicked men find nothing but titter discomforts in their end: rather than fail, their former happiness shall join Avith their imminent CONT. vni.] HAMAN HANGED. 167 miseries, to torment them. It is the just judgment of God, that presump¬ tuous sinners should be swallowed up of those evils, which they would not fear. Happy is that man who hath grace to foresee and avoid those Avays which will lead him to a perfect confusion. Happy is he that hath so lived, that he can either welcome death as a friend, or defy it as an enemy. \V iio was ever the better for favoiirs past? Those, that had before kissed the feet and smiled in the face of Haman, are now as ready to cover his head, and help him to the gallows. Harbonah, one of the chambei-lains, seasonably tells the king, how stately a gibbet Haman had newly set up for well-deserving Mordecai within his own palace. I hear not one man open his mouth to intercede for the offender, to pacify the king, to excuse or lessen the fact: every one is ready to pull him down that is falling, to trample on him that is down : yet, no doubt, there w’ere some of these courtiers whom Haman had obliged: had the cause been better, thus it Avould have been. Every cur is ready to fall upon the dog that he sees wmrried ; but here, it w'as the just hand of God to set off all hearts from a man that had been so unreasonably merciless, and to raise up enemies, even among friends, to him that had professed enmity to God’s chui’ch : so let thine enemies perish, O Lord, unsuc¬ coured, unpitied. “ Then the king said. Hang him thereon.” There can be no truer justice than in retaliation : who can complain of his own measure ? “ Behold, the Avicked travelleth with inicpiity, and hath con¬ ceived mischief, and brought forth falsehood. He made a pit and digged it, and is fallen into the ditch that he made ; his mischief shall return upon liis OAA'n head, and his violent dealing shall come doAvn upon his owm pate.” There hangs Haman, in more reproach, than ever he stood in honour; and Mordecai, aaLo is now first known for Avhat he Avas, succeeds his fa- Amur and changes inheritances AAUth his enemy : for Avhile Haman inherits the gibbet of Mordecai, Mordecai inherits the house and honour of Ha¬ man. O Lord, let the malice of the Avicked come to an end, but estab¬ lish thou the just.” One hour hath changed the face of the Persian court; what stability is there in earthly greatness ? He, Avho in the morning all knees boAv- ed unto, as more than a man, now hangs up like a despised vermin, for a prey to the ravens ; he, Avdio this morning Avas destined to the gallows, now rules over princes ; neither wms it for nothing, that he this day rode in triumph. The king’s ring that was taken from Haman, is noAv given to IVIordecai as the pledge of his authority ; and he, that even noAV sat in the gate, is called up next to the tlu-one. ^Vickedness and honest innocence have noAV paid their debts to both their clients. Little joy Avould it yet have been to Esther, that her enemy was dead, her kinsman advanced, if still her people must for all this expect their fatal day ; her next suit therefore is for the safety of her nation, in the countermand of that bloody decree Avhich Haman had obtained against them: that Avhich Avas surreptitiously gotten, and rashly given, is so much more gladly reversed, by how much mercy is more pleasing to a good nature than a cruel injustice. Mordecai hath poAver to indite, seal, send out letters of favourto the Jews, which w'ere causelessly sentenced to the 168 HAMAN HANGED. [book XXI. slaughter. If a Persian law might not he reversed, yet it might be coun- terchanged. Mordecai may not write, “ Let no .Jew be slain he may write, “ Let the Jews meet, and stand for their lives against those that would slay them.” This command flies after the former so fast, as if it would overtake that which it cannot recall. The Jews are revived with these happy tidings, that they may have protection as well as en¬ mity, that authority will not be their executioner, that their oa\t) hands are allowed to be their avengers. Who would imagine, that after public notice of this alteration at the court, wdien the world coidd not choose but know the malicious ground of that wrongful edict, the shameful death of the procurer, the power of the party opposite, any one should be found, throughout all the provinces, that would once lift up his liand against a Jew, that, with his own dan¬ ger, would endeavour to execute a controlled degree ? The church of God should cease to be itself, if it wanted malicious persecution: there needs no other quarrel than the name, the religion of Israel. Notwithstanding the known favour of the king, and the patronage of Mordecai, the thirteenth of Adar is meant to be a bloody clay : Hainan hath too many abettors in the Persian dominions ; these join together to perform that sentence, whereof the author repented. The Jews take heart to defend themselves, to kill their murderers. All the provinces are turned into a field of civil war, wherein innocence vancpiisheth malice. The Jews are victors, and not only are alive, but are feared; the most resist them not, many assist them, and some become theirs. The coun¬ tenance of the great leads the world at pleasure ; fear of authority sways thousands that are not guilty of a conscience. Yea, besides the liberty of defence, the Jews are now made their own justices : that there may be none left from the loins of that accursed Agagite, who would have left none of the Jewish seed, they slay the ten sons of Haman, and obtain new days of further executions : neither can death satisfy their revenge ; those ten sons of Haman shall, in their very carcasses, bear the reproach of their father, and hang aloft upon his gallows. Finally, no man doth, no man dares frown upon a Jew ; they are now become lords in the midst of their captivity : no marvel if they ordain and celebrate their joyful Purim, for a perpetual memory, to all posteri¬ ties, of their happy deliverance. It were pity that the church of God should not have sunshines as well as storms, and shovdd not meet with interchanges of joy in their warfare, before they enter npon the unchange ¬ able joy of their endless triumph. CONTEMPLATIONS. BOOK I. CONTEMPLATION I.—THE ANGEL AND ZACHARY. When things are at the worst, then God begins a change : the state of the Jewish church was extremely corrupted immediately before the news of the gospel: yet, as bad as it was, not only the priesthood, but the courses of attendance, continued even from David’s time, till Christ’s. It is a desperately depraved condition of a church, where no good or¬ ders are left. Judea passed many troubles, many alterations, yet this orderly combination endured about eleven hundred years. A settled good will not easily be defeated, but, in the change of persons, will re¬ main unchanged, and, if it be forced to give way, leaves memorable foot¬ steps behind it. If David foresaw the perpetuation of this holy ordinance, how much did he rejoice in the knowledge of it! Who would not be glad to do good, on condition that it may so long outlive him I The successive turns of the legal ministration held on in a line never interrupted : even in a forlorn and miserable church, there may be a per¬ sonal succession. How little were the Jews better for tliis, when they had lost the Urim and Thummim, sincerity of doctrine and man¬ ners ? This staid with them, even while they and their sons crucified Christ. What is more ordinary, than wicked sons of holy parents ? It is the succession of truth and holiness that makes or institutes a church, whatever become of the persons. Never times were so barren, as not to yield some good. The greatest dearth affords some few good ears to the gleaners. Christ would not have come into the world, but he would have some faithful to entertain him. He, that had the disposing of all times and men, woidd cast some holy ones into his own times. There had been no equality, that all should either overrun or follow him, and none attend him. Zachary and Elizabeth are just, both of Aaron’s blood, and John Baptist of theirs : whence should a holy seed spring, if not of the loins of Levi ? It is not in the power of pai’ents to traduce holi¬ ness to their children ; it is the blessing of God that feoffees them in their sins. There is no certainty, but there is likelihood of a holy generation, when the parents are such. Elizabeth was just, as well as Zachary, that the forerunner of a Saviour might be holy on both sides. If the stock and the graff be not both good, there is much danger of the fruit. It is a happy match, when the husband and the wife are one, not only in IT. y 170 THE ANGEL AND ZACHARY. [book I. themselves but in God; not more in flesh, than in the Spirit. Grace makes no dift’erence of sexes ; rather the weaker carries away the more honour, hesause it hath had less helps. It is easy to observe, that the New Testament alfordeth more store of good women than the Old : Elizabeth led the ring of this mercy, whose barrenness ended in a mira¬ culous fruit, both of her body, and of her time. This religious pair made no less progress in virtue than in age, and yet their virtue could not make their best age fruitful: “ Elizabeth was barren.” A just soul, and a barren womb, may well agree together. Among the Jews, barrenness was not a defect only, but a reproach : yet, while this good woman w'as fruitful of holy obedience, she was barren of children : as John, which w^as miraculously conceived by man, Avas a fit forerunner of him that w'as conceived by the Holy Ghost, so a barren matron was meet to make W'ay for a virgin. None, but a son of Aaron, might otfer incense to God in the temple ; and not every son of Aaron, and not any one at all seasons. God is a God of order, and hates confusion no less than irreligion. Albeit he hath not so straitened himself under the gospel, as to tie his service to persons or places ; yet his choice is now no less curious, because it is more large : he allows none but the authorized, he authorizeth none but the wmrthy. The incense doth ever smell of the hand that offers it; I doubt not but that perfume was sweeter, which ascended up from the hand of a just Zachary. “ The sacrifice of the wicked is abomination to God.” There were courses of ministration in the legal services, God never purposed to burden any of his creatures with devotion. How A^ain is the ambition of any sold, that AAmuld load itself with the univer¬ sal charge of all men ! Hoav thankless is their labour, that do Avilfully overspend themselves in their ordinary avocations I As Zachary had a course in God’s house, so he carefully observed it: the favour of these respites doubled his diligence. The more high and sacred our calling is, the more dangerous is neglect. It is our honoiu*, that we may be alloAved to wait ujion the God of heaven in these immediate services. Woe be to us, if w^e slacken those duties, wherein God honours us more than we can honour him ! Many sons of Aaron, yea of the same family, served at once in the temple, according to the variety of employments. To avoid all differ¬ ence, they agreed by lot to assign themselves to the several offices of each day. The lot of this day called Zachary to offer incense in the outer temple. I do not find any prescription they had from God of this particular manner of designment. Matters of good order, in holy affairs, may be ruled by the Avise institution of men according to reason and expediency. It fell out Avell, that Zachary was chosen by lot to this ministration, that God’s immediate hand might be seen in all the passages that con¬ cerned his great prophet; that as the person, so the occasion might be of God’s own choosing. In lots, and their seeming casual disposition, God can give a reason, though we can give none. Morning and even¬ ing, tAvice a-day, their law called them to offer incense to God, that both parts of the day might be consecrate to the Maker of time. The outer temple was the figure of the whole church upon earth, like as the holy CONT. I.] THE ANGEL AND ZACHARY. 171 of holies represented heaven. Nothing can better resemble our faith¬ ful prayers than sweet perfume ; these God looks that we should (all his church over) send up unto him morning and evening. The elevations of our hearts should be perpetual; but if, twice in the day, we do not present God with our solemn invocations, w^e make the gospel less offi¬ cious than the law. That the resemblance of prayei’S and incense might be apparent, while the priest sends up his incense within the temple, the people must send up their prayers wdthout: their breath and that incense, though remote in the first rising, met ere they went up to heaven. The people might no more go into the holy place to offer up the incense of prayers unto God, than Zachary might go into the holy of holies. While the parti- tion-w^all stood betwixt Jews and Gentiles, there were also partitions betwdxt the Jews and themselves. Now' every man is a priest unto God ; every man, since the veil was rent, prays within the temple. What are w'e the better for our greater freedom of access to God, under the gospel, if w'e do not make use of our privilege ? While they were praying to God, he sees an angel of God ; as Gid¬ eon’s angel w'ent up in the smoke of the sacrifice, so did Zachary’s angel, as it were, come down in the fragrant smoke of his incense. It was ev'er great news to see an angel of God, but now more, because God had long withdraw n from them all the means of his supernatural revelations. As this w'icked people were strangers to their God in their conversation, so was God grow'n a stranger to them in his apparitions ; yet now, that the season of the gospel approached, he visited them with his angels, before he visited them by his Son. He sends his angel to men in the form of man, before he sends his Son to take human foi’m. The presence of angels is no novelty, but their apparition; they are alw'ays wdth us, but rarely seen, that we may awfully respect their messages wdien they are seen ; in the meantime our faith may see them, though our senses do not ; their assumed shapes do not make them more present, but visible. There is an order in that heavenly hierarchy, though w'e know it not This angel, that appeaz-ed to Zachai-y, was not with him in the ordinary course of his attendances, but was purposely sent from God with this message. Why was an angel sent ? and why this angel ? It had been easy for him to have raised up the prophetical spirit of some Simeon to this pi-ediction ; the same Holy Ghost, which revealed to that just man, that he should not see death ei’e he had seen the Messias, might have as easily revealed unto him the birth of the forerunner of Christ, and by him to Zachary: but God would have this voice, which should go before his Son, come with a noise ; he would have it appear to the world, that the liarbinger of the Messiah should be conceived by the maiwellous power of that God whose coming he pi-oclaimed. It was fit the first herald of the gospel begin in w'onder. The same angel, that came to the bles¬ sed virgin with the news of Christ’s conception, came to Zachary with the news of John’s, for the honour of him that w'as the greatest of them which w'ei’e born of w'omen, and for his better resemblance to him which w'as the seed of the woman : both had the gospel for their eri-and, one as the messenger of it, the other as the author; both are foretold by the same mouth. 172 THE ANGEL AND ZACHARY. l^BOOK I. When could it be more fit for the angel to appear unto Zachary, than when prayers and incense were offered by him ? where could he more fitly appear than in the temple ? In what part of the temple more fitly than at the altar of incense ? and whereabouts rather than on the right- side of the altar ? Those glorious spirits, as they are always with us, so most in our devotions ; and as in all places, so most of all in God s house ; they rejoice to be Avith us, while Ave are Avith God ; as, conti’arily, they turn their faces from us Avhen Ave go about our sins. He, that had Avont to live and serve in the presence of the master, AA^as noAv astonished at the presence of the servant; so much difference there is betAvixt our faith and our senses, that the apprehension of the presence of the God of spirits by faith goes down sweetly Avith us, Avhereas the sensible apprehension of an angel dismays us : holy Zachary, that had Avont to live by faith, thought he should die, Avhen his sense began to be set on Avork ; it AA'as the Aveakness of him that served at the altar Avithout horror, to be daunted Avith the face of his felloAv-servant. In vain do aa^o look for such ministers of God as are Avithout infirmities, AA^hen just Zachary Avas troubled in his devotions Avith that AvhereAvith he should have beenicomforted: it Avas partly the suddenness, and partly the glory of the apparition that affrighted him. The good angel Avas both apprehen¬ sive and compassionate of Zachary’s weakness, and presently encourages him Avith a cheerful excitation, “ Fear not, Zacharias.” The blessed spirits, though they do not vocally express it, do pity our human frailties, and secretly suggest comfort unto us, Avhen Ave perceive it not: good and evil angels, as they are contrary in estate, so also in disposition; the good desire to take aAvay fear, the evil to bring it. It is a fiaiit of that deadly enmity Avhich is betAvixt Satan and us, that he aa^ouW, if he might, kill us Avith terror ; AAdiereas the good spirits, affecting our relief and happiness, take no more pleasure in terrifying us, but labour alto¬ gether for our tranquillity and cheerfulness. There AV'as not more fear in the face, than comfort in the speech; “ Thy prayer is heard.” No angel could have told him better neAA^s; our desires are uttered in our pi’ayers. What can Ave Avish, but to have Avhat Ave Avould ? Many good suits had Zachary made, and, amongst the rest, for a son. Doubtless it AA^as noAV some space of years since he made that request: for iie AA^as noAV stricken in age and had ceased to hope ; yet had God laid it up all the Avhile, and, while he thinks not of it, brings it forth to effect: thus doth the mercy of our God deal Avith his patient and faithful suppliants. In the fervour of their expectation he many times holds them off, and Avhen they least think of it, and have forgotten their OAvn suits, he graciously condescends. Delay of effect may not discourage our faith; it may be God hath long granted, ere Ave shall knoAv of his grant. Many a father repents him of his fruitfulness, and hath such sons as he Avishes unborn : but to have so gracious and happy a son, as the angel foretold, could not be less comfort than honour to the age of Zachary. The proof of children makes them either the bless¬ ings or crosses of their parents : to hear Avhat his son should be before he Avas, to hear that he should have such a son, a son AAdiose birth should concern the joy of many, a son that shoxdd be great in tlie sight of the Lord, a son that should be sacred to God, filled Avith God, beneficial to COKT. 1.3 THE ANGEL AND ZACHARY. 173 man, a harbinger to him that was God and man, was news enough to prevent the angel, and to take away that tongue with amazement, which was after lost with incredulity I The speech was so good, that it found not a sudden belief. This good news surprised Zachary : if the intelligence had taken leisure, that his thoughts might have had time to debate the matter, he had easily ap¬ prehended the infinite power of him that had promised, the pattern of Abraham and Sarah, and would soon have concluded the appearance of the angel more miraculous than his prediction : whereas now, like a man masked with the strangeness of that he saw and heard, he misdoubts the message, and asks, “ How shall I know ?” Nature was on his side, and alleged the impossibility of the event, both from age and barrenness. Supernatural tidings, at the first hearing, astonish the heart, and are entertained with doubts by those, which upon further acquaintance, give them best welcome. The weak apprehensions of our imperfect faith are not so much to be censured, as pitied. It is a sure way for the Jieart, to be prevented with the assurance of the omnipotent power of God, to whom nothing is impossible ; so shall tbe hardest points of faith go down easily with us: if the eye of our mind look upward, it shall meet Avitli nothing to avert or interrupt it; but if right forward, or downward, or round about, every thing is a block in our way. There is a difference betwixt desire of assurance and unbelief, we cannot be too careful to raise up to ourselves arguments to settle our faith ; although it should be no faith, if it had no feet to stand upon but discursive. In matters of faith, if reasons may be brought for the con¬ viction of gainsayers, it is well; if they be helps, they cannot be grounds of our belief. In the most faithful heart there are some sparks of infi¬ delity ; so to believe, that we should have no doubt at all, is scarce incident unto flesh and blood : it is a great perfection, if we have attain¬ ed to overcome our doubts. What did mislead Zachary, but that which uses to guide others, reason ? “ I am old, and my wife is of great age:” as if years and dry loins could be any let to him, which is able, of very stones, to raise up children unto Abraham. Faith and reason have their limits; where reason ends, faith begins; and if reason will be encroach¬ ing upon the bounds of faith, she is strait taken captive by infidelity. We are not fit to follow Christ, if we have not denied ourselves ; and the chief piece of ourselves is our reason : we must yield God able to do that, which we cannot comprehend : and we must comprehend that by our faith, which is disclaimed by reason: Hagar must be driven out of dooi’S that Sarah may rule alone. The authority of the reporter makes way for belief, in things which are otherwise hard to pass ; although, in the matters of God, we should not so much care who speaks, as what is spoken, and from whom. The angel tells his name, place, office, unasked, that Zachary might not think any news impossible, that was brought him by a heavenly messenger. Even where there is no use of language, the spirits are distinguished by names, and each knows his own appellation, and others. He that gave leave unto man, liis image, to give names to all his visible and inferior crea¬ tures, did himself put names unto the spiritual; and as their name is, so 174 ANNUNCIATION OF CHRIST. Qbook I. are they mighty and glorious. But lest Zachary should no less doubt of the stile of the messenger, than of the errand itself, he is at once both confirmed and punished with dumbness. That tongue, which moved the doubt, must be tied up. He shall ask no more questions for forty weeks, because he asked this one distrustfully. Neither did Zachary lose his tongue for the time, but his ears also; he was not only mute, but deaf: for otherwise, when they came to ask his allowance for the name of his son, they needed not to have demand¬ ed it by signs, but by words. God will not pass over slight offences, and those which may plead the most colourable pretences, in his best childi-en, without a sensible clieck. It is not our holy entireness with God, that can bear us out in the least sin; yea rather, the more acquain¬ tance we have with his Majesty, the more sure we are of correction when we offend. This may procure us more favour in our well doing, not less justice in evil. Zachary staid, and the people waited; whether some longer discourse betwixt the angel and him, than needed to be recorded, or whether as¬ tonishment at the apparition and news, withheld him, I inquire not. The multitude thought him long; yet, they could but see afar off, they would not depart till he returned to bless them. Their patient attend¬ ance without, shames us, that are hardly persuaded to attend within, while both our senses are employed in our divine services, and we are admitted to be co-agents with our ministers. At last Zachary comes out speechless, and more amazes them with his presence than with his delay. Tlie eyes of the multitude, that were not woi’thy to see his vision, yet see the signs of his vision, that the world may be put into the expectation of some extraordinary sequel. God makes way for his voice by silence : his speech could not have said so much as his dumbness. Zachary would fain have spoken, and coidd not: with us too many are dumb, and need not. Negligence, fear, partiality, stop the mouths of many, which shall once say. Woe to me, because I held my peace. His hand speaks that which he cannot with his tongue, and he makes them by signs to understand that which they might read in his face. Those powers we have we must use. But though he has ceased to speak, yet he ceased not to minister: he takes not this dumbness for a dismission, but stays out the eight days of his course, as one that knew the eyes, and hands, and heart, would be accepted of that God which had bereaved him of his tongue. We may not straight take occasion of withdrawing ourselves from the public services of our God, much less under the gos¬ pel. The law which stood much upon bodily perfection, dispensed with age for attendance. The gospel, which is all for the soul, regards those inward powers, which, while they are vigorous, exclude all excuses of our ministration. CONTEMPLATION II.—THE ANNUNCIATION OF CHRIST. The Spirit of God was never so accurate in any description, as that which concerns the incarnation of God. It was fit no circumstance should be omitted in that story, whereon the faith and salvation of all CONT. II.] ANNUNCIATION OF CHRIST. 175 the world dependetli. We cannot so much as doubt of this truth, and be saved ; no, not the number of the month, not the name of the angel is concealed. Every particle imports not more certainty than excellen¬ cy. The time is the sixth month after John’s conception, the prime of the spring. Christ was conceived in the spring, born in the solstice. He, in whom the world received a new life, receives life in the same season Avherein the world received his first life from him ; and he, which stretches out the days of his church, and lengthens them to eternity, appears after all the short and dim light of the law, and enlight¬ ens the world with his glory. The messenger is an angel. A man was too mean to carry the news of the conception of God. Never any business was conceived in heaven, that did so much concern the earth, as the conception of the God of heaven in the womb of the earth. No less than an archangel was worthy to bear these tidings, and never any angel received a greater honour than of this embassage. It was fit our repai’ation should answer our fall; an evil angel was the first motioner of the one to Eve a virgin, then espoused to Adam in the garden of Eden. A good angel is the first reporter of the other to Mary a virgin espoused to .Joseph, in that place, which (as the garden of Ga¬ lilee) had a name from flourishing. No good angel could be the author of our restauration, as that evil angel was of our ruin ; but that which those glorious spirits could not do themselves, they are glad to report as done by the God of spirits. Good neAvs rejoice the bearer. With Avhat joy did this holy angel bring the news of that Saviour, in whom we are redeemed to life, himself established in life and glory ! The first preacher of the gospel was an angel: that office must needs be glorious, that derives itself from such a predecessor. God appointed his angel to be the first preacher, and hath since called his preachers angels. The message is Avell suited; an angel comes to a virgin, Gabriel to Mary : he that was by signification the strength of God, to her that was by sig¬ nification exalted by God, to the conceiving of him that was the God of strength. To a maid, hut espoused ; a maid, for the honour of virgini¬ ty ; espoused, for the honour of marriage. The marriage was in a sort made, not consummate, through the instinct of him that meant to make her not an example, but a miracle of Avomen. In this AA'hole work, God Avould have nothing ordinary : it was fit that she should be a married Aurgin, Avhich should be a virgin mother. He that meant to take man’s nature, without man’s corruption, would be the son of man without man’s seed, Avould be the seed of the woman without man ; and amongst all Avomen, of a pure Virgin; but, amongst virgins, of one espoused, that there might be at once a witness and a guardian of her fruitful virginity. If the same God had not been the author of virginity and marriage, he had iieA^er countenanced virginity by max'riage. Whither doth this glorious angel come to find the mother of him that was God, but to obscui’e Galilee ? A part, which even the JeAVS them¬ selves despised, as forsaken of their privileges : “ Out of Galilee ariseth no prophet.” Behold an angel comes to that Galilee out of which no prophet comes, and the God of prophets and angels descends to be con¬ ceived in that Galilee out of which no prophet ariseth ! He, that filleth all places, makes no difference of places ; it is the person Avhich gives 176 ANNUNCIATION OF CHRIST. [^BOOK I. honour and privileges to the place, not the place to the person ; as the presence of God makes the heaven, the heaven doth not make the hon¬ our glorious. No blind corner of Nazareth can hide the blessed Virgin from the angel. The favours of God will find out his children, where¬ soever they are withdrawn. It is the fashion of God to seek out the most despised, on whom to bestow his honours : we cannot run away as from the judgments, so not from the mercies of our God. The cottages of Galilee are prefei’red by God to the famous places of Jerusalem; he cai’es not how homely he converses with his own. Why should we be transported with the out¬ ward glory of palaces, while our God regards it not ? We are not of the angels’ diet, if we had not rather be with the blessed Virgin at Naz¬ areth, than with the proud dames in the court of Jerusalem. It is a great vanity to respect any thing above goodness, and to disesteem good¬ ness for any want. The angel salutes the Virgin, he prays not to her: he salutes her as a saint, he prays not to her as a goddess. For us to salute her, as he did, were gross presumption: for neither are wo as he was, neither is she as she was. If he that was a spirit, saluted her that was flesh and blood here on earth, it is not for us, that are flesh and blood, to salute her who is a glorious spirit in heaven. For us to pray to her, in the angel’s salutation, were to abuse the Virgin, the angel, the salutation. But how gladly do we second the angel, in the praise of her, which was more ours than his I How justly do we bless her, whom the angel pronounced blessed! How worthy is she honoured of men, whom the angel proclaimeth beloved of God I O blessed Mary, he cannot bless thee, he cannot honour thee too much, that deifies thee not! That wdiich the angel said of thee, thou hast prophesied of thyself; w^e be¬ lieve the angel and thee. All generations shall call thee blessed, by the fruit of w hose w'omb all generations are blessed. If Zachary w'as amaz¬ ed wdth the sight of this angel, much more the Virgin. That very sex hath more disadvantage of fear : if it had been but a man that had come to her in that secrecy and suddenness, she could not but have been troubled; how much more, when the shining glory of the person doubled the astonishment! The troubles of holy minds end ever in comfort. Joy was the errand of the angel, and not terror. Fear, as all passions, disquiets the heart, and makes it, for the time, unfit to receive the messages of God. Soon hath the angel cleared these troublesome mists of passions, and sent out the beams of heavenly consolation in the remotest corner of her soul, by the glad news of her Saviour. How can joy but enter into her heart, out of Avhose womb shall come salvation ! What room can fear find in that breast, that is assured of favour? “ Fear not, Mary, for thou hast found favour with God.” Let those fear, Avho know they are in displea¬ sure, or know not they are gracious. Thine happy estate calls for con¬ fidence, and that confidence for joy. What should, what can they fear, w ho are favoured of Him, at w hom the devils tremble ? Not the pre¬ sence of the good angels, but the temptations of the evil, strike many terrors into our w’eakness ; we could not be dismayed w ith them, if we did not forget our condition. “We have not received the spirit of bon- CONT. 11.]] ANNUNCIATION OF CHRIST. 177 dag-e to fear again, but the spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father.” If that spirit, O God, witness with our spirits, that we are thine, how can we fear any of those spiritual wickednesses ! Give us assurance of thy favour, and let the powers of hell do their worst. It was no ordinary favour that the virgin found in heaven : no mortal creature was ever thus graced, that he should take part of her nature, that was the God of Nature; that he, which made all things, should make his human body of hers ; that her womb should yield that flesh which was personally united to the Godhead; that she should bear him that upholds the world. “ Lo, thou shalt conceive and bear a son, and shalt call his name Jesus.” It is a question, whether there be more wonder in the conception, or iii the fruit; the conception of the virgin, or Jesus conceived. Both are marvellous ; but the former doth not more exceed all other wonders, than the latter exceedeth it. For the child of a virgin is the reimprovement of that power which created the world: but that God should be incarnate of a virgin was an abasement of his JMajesty, and an exaltation of the creature beyond all example. Well was that child worthy to make the mother blessed. Here was a double conception; one in the womb of her body, the other of the soul; if that were more miraculous, this was more beneficial; that was her privilege, this was her happiness ; if that were singular to her, this is common to all his chosen. There is no renewed heart, wherein thou, O Saviour, art not formed again. Blessed be thou, that hast herein made us blessed. For what womb can conceive thee, and not partake of thee ? Who can partake of thee, and not be happy ? Doubtless, the Virgin understood the angel, as he meant, of a present conception, which made her so much more inquisitive into the manner and means of this event: “ How shall this be, since I know not a man ?” That she should conceive a son by the knowledge of man, after marriage consummate, could have been no wonder; but how then should that son of hers be the son of God? This demand was higher ; how her present virginity should be instantly fruitful, might be well worthy of admira¬ tion, of inquiry. Here was desire of information, not doubts of infideli¬ ty ; yea, rather, this question argues faith ; it takes for granted that which an unbelieving heart would have stuck at. She says not. Who and whence art thou ? what kingdom is this ? where and when shall it be erected? But smoothly, supposing all those strange things would be done, she insists only on that which did necessarily require a further intimation, and doth not distrust, but demand. Neither doth she say. This cannot be, nor. How can this be ? but. How shall this be ? So doth the angel answer, as one that knew he needed not to satisfy curiosity, but to inform judgment and uphold faith. He doth not there¬ fore tell her of the manner, but of the author of this act. “ The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Most High shall over¬ shadow thee.” It is enough to know who is the undertaker, and what he will do. O God, what do we seek a clear light, where thou wilt have a shadow ? No mother knows the manner of her natm’al conception ; what presumption shall it be, for flesh and blood, to search how the Son of God took flesh and blood of his creature I It is for none, but the Almighty, to know those works which he doth immediately concerning himself; those that concern us, he hath revealed: “ Secrets to God, tlujigs revealed to us.” II. z 178 ANNUNCIATION OF CHRIST. [book n Tlie answer was not so full, but that a thousand difficulties might arise out of the particnlars of so strange a message ; yet, after the angel’s so¬ lution, we hear of no more objections, no more interrogations. The faith¬ ful heart, when it once understands the good pleasure of God, argues no more, but sweetly rests itself in a quiet expectation : “ Behold the ser¬ vant of the Lord, be it to me according to thy word.” There is not a more noble proof of onr faith, than to captivate all the powers of our un¬ derstanding and will to our Creator, and without all sciscitation to go blindfold whither be will lead us. All disputations with God, after his will known, arise from infidelity. “ Great is the mystery of godliness and if we will give nature leave to cavil, we cannot be Christians. O God, thou art faithful, thou art powerful: it is enough that thou hast said it: in the humility of our obedience, we resign ourselves over to thee. “ Behold the servants of the Lord, be it unto us according to thy word.” How fit was her womb to conceive the flesh of the Son of God, by the power of the Spirit of God, whose breast had so soon, by the power of the same Sj)irit, conceived an assent to the will of God ! and now, of a handmaid of God, she is advanced to the mother of God. No sooner hath she said, “ Be it done,” than it is done; the Holy Ghost over¬ shadows her, and forms her Saviour in her own body. This very angel, that talks with the blessed Virgin, could scarce have been able to express the joy of her heai’t in the sense of this divine burden. Never any mortal creature had so much cause of exultation. How could she, that was full of God, be other than full of joy in that God ? Grief grow's greater by concealing; joy, by expression. The holy Virgin had understood by the an¬ gel, how her cousin Elizabeth was no less of kin to her in condition ; the fruitfulness of whose age did somewhat suit the fruitfulness of her virginity. Happiness communicated, doubles itself. Here is no straining of cour¬ tesy. The blessed maid, whom vigour of age had more fitted for the way, hastens her journey into the hill country to visit that gracious ma¬ tron whom God had made a sign of her miraculous conception. Only the meeting of saints in heaven can parallel the meeting of these two cousins : the two wonders of the world are met under one roof, and congratulate their mutual happiness. When we have Christ spiritually conceived in us, we cannot be quiet till we have imparted our joy. Elizabeth, that holy matron, did no sooner welcome her blessed cousin, than her babe welcomes his Saviour. Both, in the retired closets of their mother’s womb, are sensible of each other’s presence ; the one by his omniscience, the other by instinct. He did not more forerun Christ than overrun nature. How should our hearts leap within us, when the Son of God vouchsafes to come into the secret of oiu’ souls, not to visit us, but to dwell with us, to dwell in us ! CONTEMPLATION III.—THE BIRTH OF CHRIST. As all the actions of men, so especially the public actions of public men, are ordered by God to other ends than their own. This edict CONT. 111.] THE BIRTH OF CHRIST. 179 went not so much out fi;oin Augustus, as from the court of heaven. What, did Ciesar know Joseph and Mary? His charge was universal to a world of subjects through all the Roman empire. God intended this cension only for the blessed Virgin and her Son, that Christ might be horn where he shoidd. Ctesai' meant to fill his coffers ; God meant to fulfil his prophecies; and so to fulfil them, that those whom it con¬ cerned might not feel the accomplishment. If God had directly com¬ manded the Virgin to go up to Retldehem, she had seen the intention, and expected the issue : but that wise Moderator of all things, tliat works his will in us, loves so to do it, as may be least with our foresight and acquaintance, and would have us fall under his decrees unawares, that we may so much the more adore the depths of his providence. Every creature walks blindfold, only he that dwells in light sees whi¬ ther they go. Doubtless, blessed Mary meant to have been delivered of her divine burden at home, and little thought of changixig the place of conception for another of her birth. That house was honoured by the angel, yea, by the overshadowing of the Holy Ghost; none could equally satisfy her hopes or desires ; it was fit that he, which made choice of the womb wherein his Son should he conceived, should jiiake choice of the place where his Son should be horn. As the work is all his, so will he alone contrive all the circumstances to his own ends. O the infinite wisdom of God in casting all his designs ! There needs no other proof of Christ than Ciesar and Bethlehem ; and of Caesar’s than Augustus. His govern¬ ment, his edict pleads the truth of the Messias. His government: now was the deep peace of all the world, under that quiet sceptre which made way for him who was the Prince of Peace. If wars be a sign of the time of his second coming, peace was a sign of his first. His edict: now was the sceptre departed from Judah. It was the time for Shiloh to come. No power was left in the Jews, but to obey. Augustus is the emperor of the world; under him Herod is the king of Judea, Cyreni - us is president of Syria ; Jewry hath nothing of her own. For Herod, if he were a king, yet he was no Jew ; and if he had been a Jew ; yet he was no otherways a king, than tributary and titular. The edict came out from Augustus, was executed by Cyrenius ; Herod is no actor in this service. Gain and glory are the ends of this taxation : each man professed himself a subject, and paid for the privilege of his servitude. Now their very heads were not their own, but must be paid for to the head of a foreign state. They, which before stood upon the terms of their immunity, stoop at the last. The proud suggestions of Judas the Gali¬ lean might shed their blood and swell their stomachs, but could not ease their yoke : neither was it the meaning of God, that holiness (if they had been as they pretended) shoidd shelter them from subjection. A tribute is imposed upon God’s free people. This act of bondage brings them liberty. Now, when they seem most neglected of God, they are blessed with a Redeemer; w hen they are most pressed with foreign sovei-eignty, God sends them a king of their own, to whom Csesar him¬ self must be a subject. The goodness of our God picks out the most needful times of our relief and comfort: our extremities give him the most glory. Whither must Joseph and Mary come to be taxed, but 180 THE BIRTH OF CHRIST. [cook I. unto Bethlehem, David’s city ? The very place proves tlieir descent: he, that succeeded David in his throne, must succeed him in the place of his birth. So clearly was Bethlehem designed to this honour by the prophets, that even the priests and the scribes could point Herod unto it, and assured him the King of the Jews could be no where else born. Bethlehem, justly. The house of bread ; the bread that came down from heaven is there given to the world: whence should we have the bread of life, but from the house of bread ? O holy David, was this the well of Bethlehem, whereof thou didst so thirst to drink of old, when thou saidst, “ O that one woidd give me drink of the water of the well of Bethlehem ?” Surely that other water, when it was brought thee by thy worthies, thou pouredst it on the ground, and wouldst not drink of it. This was that living water for which thy soul longed, whereof thou saidst elsewhere, “ As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so long- eth mv soul after thee, O God : my soul thirsteth for God, for the liv¬ ing God.” It was no less than four days’ journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem : how just an excuse might the blessed Virgin have pleaded for her absence ! What woman did ever undertake such a journey, so near her delivery? And, doubtless, Joseph, which was now taught of God to love and honour her, was loath to draw forth a dear wife, in so unwieldy a case, into so manifest hazard. But the charge was peremptory, the obedience exem¬ plary. The desire of an inoffensive observance even of heathenish au¬ thority, digests all difficulties. We may not take easy occasions to with¬ draw our obedience to supreme commands. Yea, how didst thou, O Saviour, by whom Augustus reigned, in the womb of thy mother yield this homage to A ugustus ! The first lesson that ever thy example taught us was obedience. After many steps, are Joseph and Mary come to Bethlehem. The plight wherein she was, would not allow any speed, and the forced lei¬ sure of the journey causeth disappointment: the end was worse than the way; there was no rest in the way, there was no room in the inn. It could not be, but that there were many of the kindred of Joseph and Mary at that time in Bethlehem ; for both there were their ancestors born, if not themselves, and thither came up all the cousins of their blood; yet there and then doth the holy Virgin want room to lay either her head or her burden ! If the house of David had not lost all mercy and good nature, a daughter of David could not, so near the time of her travail, have been destitute of lodging in the city of David. Little did the Bethlehemites think what a guest they refused, else they would glad¬ ly have opened their doors to him, which was able to open the gates of heaven to them. Now her hospitality is punishment enough to itself: they have lost the honour and happiness of being host to their God. Even still, O blessed Saviour I thou standest at our doors and knockest; every motion of thy good Spirit tells us thou art there ; now thou comest in thine own name, and there thou standest, while thy head is full of dew, and thy locks wet with the drops of the night. If we suffer carnal desires and world¬ ly thoughts to take up the lodging of our heart, and revel within us, while thou waitest upon our admission, surely our judgment shall be so much the greater, by how much better we know whom we have excluded. What, do CONT. ni.] THE BIRTH OF CHRIST. 181 we cry shame on the Bethleheniites, whilst we are wilfully more churlish, more unthankful ? There is no room in my heart for the wonder at this humility. He, for whom heaven is too strait, whom the heaven of heavens cannot contain, lies in the strait cabin of the womb ; and when he would enlarge himself for the world, is not allowed the room of an inn. The many mansions of heaven were at his disposing; the earth was his, and the fulness of it; yet he suffers himself to be refused of a base cottage, and complaineth not. What measure should discontent us wretched men, when thou, O God, barest thus from thy creatures ? How should we learn both to want and abound, from thee, which, abounding with the glory and riches of heaven, wouldst want a lodging in thy first welcome to the earth! “ Thou earnest to thine own, and thine own received thee not.” How can it trouble us to be rejected of the world, which is not oims ? What wonder is it if thy servants wandered abroad in sheep’s skins and goats’ skins, destitute and afflicted, when their Lord is denied hai’bour ? How should all the world blush at this indignity of Bethle¬ hem ! He that came to save men, is sent, for his first lodging, to the beasts: the stable is become his inn, the crib his bed. O strange cradle of that great King, which heaven itself may envy I O Saviour, thou that wert both the Maker and Owner of heaven, of earth, couldst have made thee a palace without hands, couldst have commanded thee an empty room in those houses which thy creatures had made. When thou didst but bid the angels avoid their first place, they fell down from heaven like lightning; and when, in thy humbled estate, thou didst but say, “ I am he,” who was able to stand before thee ! How easy had it been for thee to have made place for thyself in the throngs of the stateliest courts I Why wouldst thou be thus homely, but that, by contemning worldly glories, thou mightst teach us to contemn them, that thou mightst sancti¬ fy poverty to them whom thou calledst unto want I that since thou, which hadst the choice of all eai’thly conditions, wouldst be born poor and despised, those which must want out of necessity might not think their poverty grievous I Here was neither friend to entertain, nor ser¬ vant to attend, nor place wherein to be attended, only the poor beasts gave way to the God of all the world. It is the great mystery of god¬ liness, that God was manifested in the flesh, and seen of angels ; but here, which was the top of all wonders, the very beasts might see their Maker. For those spirits to see God in the flesh, it was not so strange, as for the brute creatures to see him which was the God of spirits. He that would be led into the wilderness amongst wild beasts to be tempt¬ ed, would come into the house of beasts to be born, that from the height of his divine glory his humiliation might be the greater. How can we be abased low enough for thee, O Saviour, that hast thus neglected thy¬ self for us ! That the visitation might be answerable to the homeliness of the place, attendants, provision, who shall come to congratulate his birth but poor shephei'ds ? The kings of the earth rest at home, and have no summons to attend him by whom they reign. “ God hath cho¬ sen the weak things of the world to confound the mighty.” In an ob¬ scure time, the night, unto obscure men, shepherds, doth God manifest the light of his Son, by glorious angels. It is not our meanness, O God, that can exclude us from the best of thy mercies; yea, thus far dost 182 THE SAGES AND THE STAR. [book I. thou respect persons, that thou hast put down the mighty, and exalted them of low degree. If these shepherds had been snoring in their beds, they had no more seen angels, nor heard the news of their Saviour, than their neighbours; their vigilancy is honoured with this heavenly vision. Those who are industrious in any calling, are capable of further bless ¬ ings ; whereas the idle are fit for nothing but temptation. No less than a whole choir of angels are woi’thy to sing the hymn of “ Glory to God,’ for the incai-nation of his Son I What joy is enough for us, whose na¬ ture he took, and whom he came to restore by his incarnation ! If we had the tongues of angels, we could not raise this note high enough to the praise of our glorious Redeemer. No sooner do the shepherds hear the news of a Saviour, than they run to Bethlehem to seek him. Those that left their beds to tend their flocks, leave their flocks to inquire after their Saviour. No earthly thing is too dear to be forsaken for Christ. If we suffer any worldly occasion to stay us from Bethlehem, we care more for our sheep than our souls. It is not possible, that a faithful heart shoidd hear where Christ is, and not labour to the sight, to the fruition of him. Where art thou, O Saviour, but at home in thine own house, in the assembly of thy saints ? Where art thou to be found, but in thy word and sacraments? Yea, there thou seekest for us: if there we haste not to seek for thee, we are worthy to want thee, worthy that our want of thee here should make us want the presence of thy face for ever. CONTEMPLATION IV.—THE SAGES AND THE STAR. The shepherds and the crib accorded well; yet even they saw nothing Avhich they might not contemn : neither was there any of those shepherds that seemed not more like a king, than that king Avhom they came to see. But, O the divine majesty that shined in this baseness I There lies the Babe in the stable, crying in the manger, Avhom the ano-els come down from heaven to proclaim, whom the sages come from the east to adore, whom a heavenly star notifies to the world ; that now men might see, that heaven and earth serves him, that neglected himself. Those lights that hang low are not far seen, but those which are hi«rh- placed are equally seen in the remotest distances. Thy light, O Savimir was no less than heavenly. The east saw that wliich Bethlehem might have seen : ofttimes those which are nearest in place are farthest off in affection. Large objects, when they are too close to the eye, do so overfill the sense, that they are not discerned. What a shame is this to Bethlehem ! The sages came out of the east to Avorship him Avhora the village refused. The Bethlehemites were Jews; the wise men Gentiles. This first entertainment of Christ Av^as a presage of the sequel : the Gentiles shall come from far to adore Christ, while the Jews reject him. Those easterlings were great searchers of the depths of nature, professed philosophers; them hath God singled out to the honour of the manifestation of Christ. Human learning Avell improved makes us capable of divine. There is no knowledge whereof God is CONT. IV .3 THE SAGES AND THE STAR. 183 not the author : he would never have bestowed any gift, that should lead us away from himself. It is an ignorant conceit, that inquiry into nature should make men atheistical. No man is so apt to see the star of Christ, as a diligent disciple of philosophy. Doubtless this light was visible unto more ; only they followed it, who knew it had more than natiu-e. He is tndy wise that is w^ise for his own soid. If these wise men had been acquainted with all the other stars of heaven, and had not seen the star of Christ, they had but light enough to lead them into utter darkness. Philosophy, without this star, is but the wisp of error. These sages were in a mean between the angels and the shepherds. God would, in all the ranks uf intelligent creatures, have some to be witnesses of his Son. The angels direct the shepherds; the star guides the sages. The duller capacity hath the more clear and powerful helps. The wisdom of our God proportions the means unto the disposition of the persons. Their astronomy had taught them this star was not or¬ dinary, whether in sight, or in brightness, or in motion. The eyes of nature might well see that some strange news was portended to the world by it: but that this star designed the birth of the Messias, there needed yet another light. If the star had not besides had the commen¬ tary of a revelation from God, it coxild have led the wise men only into a fruitless wonder. Grant them to be the offspring of Balaam, yet the true prediction of that false prophet was not warrant enough. If he told them the Messias should arise as a star out of Jacob, he did not tell them that a star should arise from the posterity of Jacob, at the birth of the Messias. He, that did put that prophecy into the mouth of Balaam, did also put this illumination into the heart of the sages. The Spirit of God is free to breathe where he listeth. “ Many shall come from the east and the west to seek Christ, when the children of the kingdom shall be shut out.” Even then God did not so confine his election to the pale of the church, as that he did not sometimes look out for special instruments of his glory. Whither do these sages come, but to Jerusalem ? Where should they hope to hear of the new king, but in the mother city of the kingdom ? The conduct of the star was first only general to Judea; the rest is for a time left to inquiiy. They were not brought thither for their own sakes, but for Jewry’s, for the world’s; that they might help to make the Jews inexcusable, and the world faithful. That their tongues therefore might blazon the birth of Christ, they are brought to the head city of Judea, to report and inquire. Their wisdom could not teach them to imagine, that a king could be born to Judea, of that note and magnificence, that a star from heaven should publish him to the earth, and that his subjects should not know it: and therefore, as presupposing a common notice, they say, “ Where is he that is born king of the Jews?” There is much deceit in probabilities, especially when we meddle with spiritual matters : for God uses still to go a way by himself. If we judge according to reason and appearance, who is so likely to understand heavenly truths as the profound doctors of the world ? These God passes over, and reveals his will to babes. Had these sages met with the shepherds of the villages near Bethlehem, they had I’eceived that intelligence of Chi*ist, which they did vainly seek from the learned 184 THE SAGES AND THE STAR. Pbook 1. scribes of Jerusalem. The greatest clerks are not always the wisest in the aftairs of God ; these things go not by discourse, but by revelation. No sooner hath the star brought them within the noise of Jerusalem, than it is vanished out of sight. God would have their eyes lead them so far, as till their tongues might be set on work, to win the vocal at¬ testation of the chief priests and scribes, to the fore-appointed place of our Saviour’s nativity. If the star had carried them directly to Bethle¬ hem, the learned Jews had never searched the truth of those prophecies, wherewith they are since justly convinced. God never withdraws our helps, but for a further advantage. However our hopes seem crossed, where his name may gain, we cannot complain of loss. Little did the sages think this question would have troubled Herod. They had, I fear, concealed their message, if they had suspected this event. Sure they thought it might be some son or grandchild of him which then held the throne, so as this might win favour from Herod, rather than an unwelcome fear of rivalty. Doubtless, they went first to the court: where else should they ask for a king ? The more pleas¬ ing this news had been, if it had fallen upon Herod’s own loins, the more grievous it was, to light upon a stranger. If Herod had not over¬ much affected greatness, he had not, upon those indirect terms, aspired to the crown of Jewry : so much the more therefore did it trouble him to hear the rumour of a successor, and that not of his own. Settled greatness cannot abide either change or partnership. If any of his subjects had moved this question, I fear his head had answered it. It is well that the name of foreigners could excuse these sages. Herod could not be brought up among the Jews, and not have heard many and confident reports of a Messias that should ere long arise out of Israel; and now, when he hears the fame of a king born, whom a star from heaven signifies and attends, he is nettled with the news. Every thing affrights the guilty. Usurpation is full of jealousies and fears, no less full of projects and imaginations ; it makes us think every bush a man, and every man a thief. Why art thou troubled, O Herod ? A King is born ; but such a King as whose sceptre may ever concur with lawful sovereignty ; yea, such a King, as by whom kings do hold their sceptres, not to lose them. If the wise men tell thee of a King, the star tells thee he is heavenly. Here is good cause of security, none of fear. The most general enmities, and oppositions to good, arise from mistakings. If men could but know how much safety and sweetness there is in all divine truth, it could re¬ ceive nothing from them but welcomes and gratidations. hfisconceits have been still guilty of all wrongs and persecutions. But if Herod were troubled, as tyranny is still suspicious, why was all Jerusalem troubled with him ? Jerusalem, Avhich now might hope for a I’elaxation of her bonds, for a recovery of her liberty and I’ight! Jerusalem, which noAv only had cause to lift up her drooping head, in the joy and happi¬ ness of a Redeemer I Yet not Herod’s court, but even Jerusalem was troubled. So had this miserable city been over-toiled with change, that now they were settled ’in a condition quietly evil, they are troubled with the news of better. They had now got a habit of servility, and now they are so acquainted with the yoke, that the very noise of li- CONT. IV.] THE SAGES AND THE STAIl. 185 berty, which they supposed would not come with ease, beg,in to be un¬ welcome. To turn the causes of joy into sorrow argues extreme dejectedness, and a distemper of judgment no less than desperate. Fear puts on a vizard of devotion. Herod calls his learned council, and, as not doubting whe¬ ther the Messiah should be born, he asks where he shall be born. In the disparition of that other light, there is a perpetually fixed star, shining in the writings of the prophets, that guides the chief priests and scribes directly unto Bethlehem. As yet envy and prejudice had not blinded the eyes, and perverted the hearts of the Jewish teachers, so as now they clearly justify Christ whom they afterwards condemned. And by thus justifying him, condemn themselves in rejecting him. The water that is untroubled yields the visage perfectly. If God had no more witness but from his enemies, we have ground enough of our faith. Herod feared, but dissembled his fear, as thinking it a shame that strangers should see there could any powder arise, under him, worthy of his respect or awe. Out of an unwillingness therefore to discover the impotency of his passion, he makes little ado of the matter, but only, after a privy inquisition into the time, employs the informers in the search of the person ; “ Go and search diligently for the Babe,” &c. It was no great journey from Jerusalem to Bethlehem : how easily might Herod’s cruelty have secretly suborned some of his bloody courtiers to this in¬ quiry and execution ! If God had not meant to mock him, before he found himself mocked of the wise men, he had rather sent before their journey than after their disappointment. But that God, in whose hands all hearts are, did pm-posely besot him, that he might not find the way to so horrible a mischief. There is no villany so great, but it will mask itself under a show of piety. Herod will also worship the Babe. The courtesy of a false ty¬ rant is death. A crafty hypocrite never means so ill, as when he sjieak- eth fairest. The wise men are upon their way fidl of expectation, full of desire : I see no man neither of the city or court to ac¬ company them. Whether distrust or fear hindered them, I inquire not : but, of so many thousand Jews, no one stirs his foot to see that King of theirs, which sti’angers came so far to visit. Yet were not these reso¬ lute sages discouraged Avith this solitariness and small respect, nor drawn to repent of their journey, as thinking. What, do we come so far to honour a King whom no man will acknowledge ? what mean we to travel so many hundred miles to see that Avhich the inhabitants will not look out to behold? but cheerfully renew their journey to that place which the ancient light of prophecy had designed. And now, behold, God encourages their holy forwardness from heaven, by sending them their first guide; as if he had said. What need ye care for the neglect of men, Avhen ye see heaven honours the King whom ye seek ? What joy these sages conceived, when their eyes first beheld the re-appearance of that happy star, they only can tell, that, after a long and sad night of temptation^ have seen the loving countenance of God shining forth upon their souls. If Avith obedience and courage Ave can follow the calling of God, in difficult enterprises, AA^e shall not Avant supplies of comfort. Let not us be wanting to God, Ave sliall be sure lie cannot be AA^anting to us. II. 2 a 186 THE PURIFICATION. [book I. He, tliat led Israel by a pillar of fire into the land of promise, leads the wise men by a star to the promised seed. All his directions partake of that light which is in him ; for God is light. This star moves both slowly and low^, as might be fittest for the pace, for the purpose of these pilgrims. It is the goodness of God, that, in those means wdieiein we cannot reach him, he descends unto ns. Sm*ely w'hen the wise men saw the star stand still, they looked about to see what palace there might be near unto that station, fit for the birth of a king; neither could they think that sorry shed was it which the star meant to point out; but find¬ ing their guide settled over that base roof, they go in to see wdiat guest it held. They enter, and, O God, what a king do they find ! how poor I how contemptible ! wrapt in clouts, laid in straw, cradled in the manger, attended with beasts! What a sight was this, after all the glorious pro¬ mises of that star, after the predictions of prophets, after the magnificence of expectations ! All their way afforded nothing so despicable as that Babe whom they came to worship. But as those which could not have been wise men, unless they had known that the greatest glories have arisen from mean beginnings, they fall down and worship that hidden Majesty. This baseness hath bred wonder in them, not contempt: they well knew the star could not lie. They, which saw his star afar off in the east, when he lay swaddled in Bethlehem, do also see his royalty further off, in the despised state of his infancy; a royalty more than human. They well knew, that stars did not use to attend earthly kings ; and if their aim had not been higher, what was a Jewish king to Persian stran¬ gers ? Answerable therefore hereunto was their adoration. Neither did they lift up empty hands to him whom they worshipped, but presented him with the most precious commodities of their country, gold, incense, myi-rh ; not as thinking to enrich him with these, but, by way of hom¬ age, acknowledging him the Lord of these. If these sages had been kings, and had offered a princely weight of gold, the blessed virgin had not needed, in her purification, to have offered two young pigeons, as the sign of her penury. As God loves not empty hands, so he measures fidness by the affection. Let it be gold, or incense, or myrrh, that we offer him, it cannot but please him, who doth not use to ask how much, but how good. CONTEMPLATION V.—THE PURIFICATION. There could be no impurity in the Son of God ; and if the best sub¬ stance of a pure virgin carried in it any taint of Adam, that was scoured away by sanctification in the womb ; and yet the Son would be circum¬ cised, and the mother purified. He, that came to be sin for us, would, in our persons, be legally unclean, that, by satisfying the law, he might take away our uncleanness. Though he were exempted from the common condition of our birth, yet he would not deliver himself from those or¬ dinary rites that implied the weakness and blemishes of humanity. He woidd fidfil one law to abrogate it, another to satisfy it. He, that was above the law, would come under the law to free us from the law. Not CONT. V.] THE PURIFICATION. 187 a day would be changed, either in the circumcision of Christ, or the purification of Mary. Here was neither convenience of place, nor of necessaries, for so painful a work, in the stable of Bethlehem ; yet, he that made and gave the law, will rather keep it with difficulty, than trans¬ gress it with ease. Why wouldst thou, O blessed Saviour, suffer that sacred foreskin to be cut off, but that, by the power of thy circumcision, the same might be done to our souls that was done to thy body ? We cannot be there¬ fore thine, if our hearts be uncircumcised. Do thou that in us, which was done to thee for us; cut off the superfluity of our maliciousness, that we may be holy in and by thee, which for us were content to be legally impure. There was shame in thy birth, there was pain in thy circumcision. After a contemptible welcome into the world, that a sharp razor shoxdd pass through thy skin for our sakes, which can hardly endure to bleed for our own, it was the praise of thy wonderful mercy in so early hu¬ miliation. What pain or contempt should we refuse for thee, that hast no spare of thyself for us ! Now is Bethlehem left with too much honour ; there is Christ born, adored, circumcised. No sooner is the blessed vir¬ gin either able or allowed to walk, than she travels to .Jerusalem, to perform her holy rites for herself, for her son ; to purify herself, to pre¬ sent her son. She goes not to her own house at Nazareth, she goes to God’s house at Jenisalem. If purifying were a shadow, yet thanksgiv¬ ing is substance. Those whom God hath blessed with fruit of body and safety of deliverance, if they make not their first journey to the temple of God, they partake more of the unthankfulness of Eve, than Mary’s devotion. Her forty days therefore were no sooner out than Mary comes up to the holy city. The rumour of a new king, born at Bethlehem, was yet fresh at Jerusalem, since the report of the wise men: and what good news had this been for any pickthank to carry to the court ? Here is the Babe whom the star signified, whom the sages inquired for, whom the angels proclaimed, whom the shepherds talked of, whom the scribes and high-priests notified, whom Herod seeks after. Yet, unto that Jerusa¬ lem, which was troubled at the report of his birth, is Christ come; and all tongues are so locked up, that he, which sent from Jerusalem to Bethlehem to seek him, finds him not, who, as to countermine Herod, is come from Bethlehem to Jerusalem. Dangers that are aloof off, and but possible, may not hinder us from the duty of our devotion. God saw it not yet time to let loose the fury of his adversaries, whom he holds up like some eager mastiffs, and then only lets go, when they shall most shame themselves, and glorify him. Well might the blessed virgin have wrangled with the law and chal¬ lenged an immunity from all ceremonies of purification. What, should I need purging, which did not conceive in sin ? This is for those mothers whose births are unclean ; mine is from God, which is purity itself. The law of Moses reaches only to those women which have con¬ ceived seed ; I conceived not this seed, but the Holy Ghost in me. The law extends to the mothers of those sons which are under the law ; mine is above it. But as one that cared more for her peace than her 188 THE PURIFICATION. [book I. t privilege, and more desired to be free from offence than from labour and charge, she dutifidly fulfils the law of that God whom she carried in her womb, and in her arms like the mother of him, Avho, though he knew the children of the kingdom free, yet would pay tribute unto Caesar; like the mother of him, whom it behoved to fulfil all righteous¬ ness. And if she were so officious in ceremonies, as not to admit of any excuse in the very circumstance of her obedience, how much more strict was she in the main duties of morality I That soul is fit for the spiritual conception of Christ, that is conscionably scrupulous in observ¬ ing all God’s commandments ; whereas he hates all alliance to a negligent or froward heart. The law of purification proclaims our uncleanness. The mother is not allowed after her child-birth, to come unto the sanctuary, or to touch any hallowed thing, till her set time be expired. What are we whose very birth infects the mother that bears us ! At last she comes to the temple : but with sacrifices, either a lamb and a pigeon, or turtle, or (in the meaner estate) two turtle-doves, or young pigeons, whereof one is for a burnt-offering, the other for a sin-offering : the one for thaidcsgiving, the other for expiation : for expiation of a double sin, of the mother that conceived, of the child that was conceived. We are all born sinners, and it is a just question, whether we do more infect the world, or the world us. They are gross flatterers of nature that tell her she is clean. If our lives had no sin, we bring enough with us : the very infant that lives not to sin as Adam, yet he sinned in Adam, and is sinful in himself. But, O the unspeakable mercy of our God! we provide the sin, he pro¬ vides the remedy. Behold an expiation well-near as early as our sin; the blood of a young lamb, or dove, yea, rather the blood of him whose Innocence was represented by both, cleanseth us presently from our filthiness. First went circumcision, then came the sacrifice; that, by two holy acts, that which was naturally unholy might be hallowed unto God. Under the gospel oiu* baptism hath the force of both : it does away our corruption by the water of the Spirit; it applies to us the sacrifice of Christ’s blood, whereby we are cleansed. O that we could magnify this goodness of our God, which hath not left our very infancy without redress, but hath provided helps, whei’eby we may be delivered from the danger of our hereditary evils. Such is the favourable respect of our wise God, that he would not have us undo ourselves with devotion: the service he requires of us is ruled by our abilities. Every poor mother was not able to bring a lamb for her offering: there was none so poor, but might pi'ocure a pair of turtles or pigeons. These doth God both prescribe and accept from poorer hands, no less than the beasts of a thousand moimtains. He looks for somewhat of every one, not of every one alike. Since it is he that makes differences of abilities, (to whom it was as easy to make all rich,) his mercy will make no difference in the acceptation. The truth and heartiness of obedience is that which he will crown in his meanest servants. A mite, from the poor widow, is more worth to him than the talents of the wealthy. After all the presents of those eastern woi’shippei’s, who intended rather homage than dilation, the blessed virgin comes, in the form of CONT. V.] THE PURIFICATION. 189 poverty, with her two doves unto God: she could not without some charge lie all this while at Bethlehem, she could not without charge travel from Bethlehem to Jerusalem. Her offering confesseth her penury. The best are not ever the wealtliiest. Who can despise any one for want, when the mother of Christ Avas not rich enough to bring a lamb for her purification ? We may be as happy in russet as in tissue. While the blessed virgin brought her son into the temple with that pair of doves, here were more doves than a pair. They, for whose sake that offering was brought, were more doves than the doves that were brought for that offering. Her son, for whom she brought that doA^e to be sacrificed, was that sacrifice Avhich the dove represented. There was nothing in him but perfection of innocence: and the oblation of him is that Avhereby all mothers and sons are fully purified. Since in ourselves we cannot be innocent, happy ai-e Ave, if Ave can have the spotless dove sacrificed for us, to make us innocent in him ! The blessed virgin had more business in the temple than her own ; she came, as to purify herself, so to present her son. EA'ery male that first opened the Avomb Avas holy unto the Lord. He, that was the Sou of God, by eternal generation before time, and by miraculous conception in time, Avas also, by common course of nature, consecrate unto God. It is fit the holy mother should present God with his OAvn. Her first-born Avas the first-born of aU creatures. It was he whose temple it was that he was presented in, to Avhom all the first-born of all creatures were consecrat¬ ed, by AA’liom they were accepted ; and now is he brought in his mother’s arms to his own house, and, as man, is presented to himself as God. If Moses had never AVi’itten law of God’s special propriety in the first-born, this Sou of God’s essence and lo\"e had taken possession of the temple : his right had been a perfect laAv to himself. Now his obedience to that law, AA'hich himself had given, doth no less call him thither, than the chal¬ lenge of his peculiar interest. He, that Avas the Lord of all creatures, ever since he struck the first¬ born of the Egyptians, requires the first male of all creatures, both man and beast, to be dedicated to him, wherein God caused a miraculous event to second nature, which seems to challenge the first and best for the Maker. By this rule God should have had his service done only by the heirs of Israel. But since God, for the honour and remuneration of Levi, had chosen out that tribe to minister unto him, noAV the first-born of all Israel must be presented to God as his due, but by allowance redeemed to their parents. As for beasts, the first male of the clean beasts must be sacrificed, of unclean, exchanged for a price. So much morality is there in this constitution of God, that the best of all kinds is fit to be consecrated to the Lord of all. Every thing Ave have is too good for us, if we think any thing we have too good for him. How glorious did the temple now seem, that the Owner was within the walls of it! Now was the hour and guest come, in regard Avhereof the second temple should surpass the first. This Avas his house, built for him, dedicated to him : there had he dwelt long in his spiritual pre¬ sence, in his typical. There Avas nothing either placed, or done Avithin those walls, whereby he was not resembled : and noAv the body of those shadows is come, and presents himself Avhere he had been ever repre- 190 HEROD AND THE INFANTS. [book I. sented. Jerusalem is now every where. There is no church, no Christian heart, which is not a temple of the living God: there is no temple of God wlierein Christ is not presented to his Father. Look upon him, O God, in whom thou art well pleased, and in him and for him be well pleased with us. Under the gospel we are all first-born, all heirs; every soul is to he holy unto the Lord ; we are a royal generation, a holy priesthood. Our baptism, as it is our circumcision, and our saci'ifice of purification, so it is also our presentation unto God. Nothing can become us but holiness. O God, to whom we are devoted, serve thyself of us, glorify thyself by us, till we shall by thee be glorified with thee. CONTEMPLATION VI.-HEROD AND THE INFANTS. Well might these wise men have suspected Herod’s secrecy. If he had meant well, what needed that whispering ? That which they pub¬ lished in the streets, he asks in his pi’ivy chamber : yet they, not mis¬ doubting his intention, purpose to fulfil his charge. It could not, in their apprehension, but be much honour to them to make their success known, that now both king and people might see it was not fancy that led them, but an assured revelation. That God, which brought them thither, diverted them, and caused their eyes shut to guide them the best way home. These sages made a happy voyage : for now they grew into further acquaintance with God. They are honoured with a second messenger from heaven. They saw the star in the way, the angel in their bed. The star guided their journey unto Christ, the angel directed their re¬ turn. They saw the star by day, a vision by night. God spake to their eyes by the star, he speaks to their heart by a dream. No doubt they had left much noise of Christ behind them. They, that did so publish his birth at Jerusalem, could not be silent when they found him at Beth¬ lehem. If they had returned by Herod, I fear they had come short home. He, that meant death to the babe for the name of a king, could mean no other to those that honoured and proclaimed a new king, and erected a throne besides his. They had done what they came for : and now that God, whose business they came about, takes order at once for his Son’s safety and for theirs. God, who is perfection itself, never be¬ gins any business but he makes an end, and ends happily. When our ways are his, there is no danger of miscarriage. Well did these wise men know the difference, as of stars, so of dreams : they had learned to distinguish between the natural and divine ; and once apprehending God in their sleep, they follow him waking, and re¬ turn another way. They were no subjects to Herod ; his command pi'essed them so much the less : or, if the being within his dominions had been no less bond, than native subjection, yet, where God did counter¬ mand Herod, there could be no question whom to obey. They say not. We are in a strange country, Herod may meet with us, it can be no less than death to mock him in his own territories ; but cheerfully put them- CONT. VI.] HEROD AND THE INFANTS. 191 selves upon the way, and trust God with the success. Where men command with God we must obey men for God, and God in men ; when against him, the best obedience is to deny obedience, and to turn our backs upon Herod. The wise men are safely arrived in the east, and fill the world full of expectation, as themselves are full of wonder. Joseph and Mary are returned with the babe to that Jerusalem, where the wise men had in¬ quired for his birth. The city was doubtless full of that rumour, and little thinks that he whom they talk of was so near them. From thence, they are, at least, in their way to Nazareth, where they purpose their abode. God prevents them by his angel, and sends them for safety into Egypt. Joseph was not wont to be so full of visions. It was not long since the angel appeared unto him, to justify the innocency of the mother, and the deity of the son : now he appears for the preservation of both, and a preservation by flight. Could Joseph now choose but think. Is this the king that must save Israel, that needs to be saved by me ? If he be the Son of God, how is he subject to the violence of men ? How is he Almighty, that must save himself by flight ? or how must he fly, to save himself, out of that land which he comes to save ? But faithful Joseph, having been once tutored by the angel, and having heard what the wise men said of the star, what Simeon and Anna said in the temple, labours not so much to reconcile his thoughts as to subject them ; and, as one that knew it safer to suppress doubts than to confute them, can believe what he understands not, and can wonder where he cannot comprehend. O strange condition of the king of all the world! He could not be born in a baser estate; yet even this he cannot enjoy with safety. There was no room for him in Bethlehem ; there will be no room for him in Judea. He is no sooner come to his own, than he must fly from them; that he may save them, he must avoid them. Had it not been easy for thee, O Saviour, to have acquitted thyself from Herod a thousand ways I What could an arm of flesh have done against the God of spirits ! What had it been for thee to have sent Herod five years sooner unto his place! what to have commanded fire from heaven on those that should have come to apprehend thee I or to have bidden the earth to receive them alive, whom she meant to swallow dead I We suffer misery, because we must; thou, because thou wouldst. The same will that brought thee from heaven unto earth, sends thee from Jewry into Egypt. As thou wouldst be born mean and miserable, so thou wouldst live subject to human vexations; that thou, who hast taught us how good it is to bear the yoke even in our youth, might sanc¬ tify to us early afflictions. Or whether, O Father, since it was the pim- pose of thy wisdom to manifest thy Son by degrees unto the world, was it thy will thus to hide him for a time under our infirmity ! And what other is our condition? We are no sooner born thine, than we are per¬ secuted. If the church travail, and bring forth a male, she is in danger of the dragon’s streams. What, do the members complain of the same measure which was offered to the Head? Both our births are accompa¬ nied with tears. Even of those whose mature age is full of trouble, yet the infancy is commonly quiet: but here life and toil began together. O blessed Vir- HEROD AND THE INFANTS. [book I. 19i> gin I even already did the sword begin to pierce thy soul. Thou, who wert forced to bear tliy Son in thy womb from Nazareth to Bethlehem, must now bear him in thy arms from Jewry into Egypt: yet couldst thou not complain of the way, whilst thy Saviour was with thee. His presence alone was able to make the stable a temple, Egypt a paradise, the way more pleasing than rest. But whither, then, oh I whither dost tliou carry that blessed burthen, by which thyself and the world are up- holden ? To Egypt, the slaughter-house of God’s people, the furnace of Israel’s ancient affliction, the sink of the world. “ Out of Egypt have I called my Son,” saith the Lord. That thou callest thy Son out of Egypt, O God, is no marvel. It is a marvel that thou calledst him into Egypt, but that we know all earths are thine, and all places and men are, like figures upon a table, such as thy disposition makes them. What a change is here ! Israel, the first born of God, flies out of Egypt into the pro¬ mised land of Judea; Christ, the first born of all creatures, flies from Judea into Egypt. Egypt is become the sanctuary, Judea the inquisition- house of the Son of God. He, that is every Avhere the same, makes all places alike to his : he makes the fiery furnace a gallery of pleasure, the lion’s den a house of defence, the whale’s belly a lodging chamber. Egypt a harbour. He flies, that was able to preserve himself from danger; to teach us how lawfully we may fly from those dangers we cannot avoid otherwise. It is a thankless fortitude to offer our throat unto the knife. He that came to die for us, fled for his own preservation, and hath bid us fol¬ low him: “ When they persecute you in one city, fly into another.” We have but the use of our lives, and we are bound to husband them to the best advantage of God and his church. God hath made us, not as butts, to be perpetually shot at, but, as the mai-ks of rovers, moveable, the wind and the sun may best serve. It was warrant enough for Joseph and Mary, that God commands them to flee : yet so familiar is God grown with his approved servants, that he gives them the reason of his commanded flight; “ For Herod will seek the young child, to destroy him.” What wicked men will do, what they would do, is known unto God beforehand. He, that is so in¬ finitely wise to know the designs of his enemies before they are, could as easily prevent them, that they might not be : but he lets them run on in their own courses, that he may fetch glory to himself out of their wickedness. Good Joseph, having this charge in the night, stays not till the morn¬ ing. No sooner had God said. Arise, than he starts up and sets forward. It was not diffidence, but obedience, that did so hasten his departure. The chai-ge was direct, the business important. He dares not linger for the light, but bi’eaks his rest for the journey, and, taking advantage of the dark, departs toward Egypt. How knew he this occasion would abide any delay ? We cannot be too speedy in the execution of God’s commands ; we may be too late. Here was no treasure to hide, no hangings to take down, no lands to secure : the poor carpenter needs do no more but lock the doors, and away. He goes lightly that wants a load. If there be more pleasure in abundance, there is more security in a mean estate. The bustard, or the ostrich, when he is pursued, can CONT. VI.] HEROD AND THE INP'ANTS. 193 hardly get upon Ills wings; whereas the lark mounts with ease. The rich hath not so much advantage of the poor in enjoying, as tlie poor hath of the ricli in leaving. Now is Joseph come down into Egypt. Egypt was beholden to the name, as that whereto it did owe no less than their universal preserva¬ tion. Well might it repay this act of hospitality to that name and blood. The going down into Egypt had not so much difficulty, as the staying there ; their absence from their country was little better than a banishment. But what was this other, than to serve an apprenticeship in the house of bondage ? To be any where, save at home, was irksome; but to be in Egypt so many years, amongst idolatrous pagans, must needs be painful to religious hearts. The command of their God, and the presence of Christ, makes amends for all. How long should they have thought it to see the temple of God, if they had not had the God of the temple with them ! how long to present their sacrifices at the altar of God, if they had not had him with them which made all sacrifices ac¬ cepted, and which did accept the sacrifice of their hearts I Herod was subtile in mocking the wise men, while he promised to worship him whom he meant to kill: now God makes the wise men to mock him, in disappointing his expectation. It is just with God to pun¬ ish those which would beguile others with illusion. Gi’eat spirits are so much more impatient for disgrace. How did Herod now rage and fret, and vainly wish to have met with those false spies, and tells with what torments he would revenge their treachery, and curses himself for trusting strangers in so important a business 1 The tyrant’s suspicion would not let him rest-long. Ere many days he sends to inquire of them whom he sent to inquire of Christ. The notice of their sacred departure increaseth his jealousy ; and now his anger runs mad, and his fear proves desperate. All the infants of Beth¬ lehem shall bleed for this one ; and, that he may make sure work, he cuts out to himself large measures both of time and place. It was but very lately that the star appeared, that the wise men reappeared not. They asked for him that was born, they did not name when he was born. Herod, for more security, over-reaches their time, and fetches into the slaughter all the children of two years of age. The priests and scribes had told him, the town of Bethlehem must be the place of the Messiah’s nativity. He fetches in all the children of the coasts adjoining ; yea, his own shall for the time be a Bethleliemite. A tyrannous guiltiness never thinks itself safe, but ever seeks to assure itself in the excess of cruelty. Doubtless, he, which so privily inquired for Christ, did as secretly brew this massacre. The mothers were set Avith their children on their laps, feeding them with the breast, or talking to them in the familiar language of their love; when suddenly the executioner rushes in, and snatches them from their arms, and, at once pulling forth his commission and his knife, Avithout regard to shrieks or tears, murders the innocent babe, and leaves the passionate mother in a mean be¬ tween madness and death. What cursing of Herod! what Avringing of bauds! Avhat condoling ! Avhat exclaiming Avas noAV in the streets of Bethlehem! O bloody Herod, that could sacrifice so many harmless lives to thine II. 2 B 194 CHRIS-T AMONG THE DOCTORS. [book ir. ambition ! What could those infants have done ? If it were thy person whereof thou wert afraid, what likelihood was it thou couldst live till those sucklings might endanger thee ? This news might affect thy suc¬ cessors ; it could not concern thee, if the heat of an impotent and furi¬ ous envy had not made thee thirsty of blood. It is not long that thou shalt enjoy this cruelty: after a few hateful years, thy soul shall feel the weight of so many innocents, of so many just curses. He, for whose sake thou killedst so many, shall strike thee with death ; and then what wouldst thou have given to have been as one of those in¬ fants whom thou murderedst ? In the meantime, when thine execution¬ ers returned and told thee of their impartial despatch, thou smiledst to think how thou hadst defeated thy rival, and beguiled the star, and de¬ luded the prophecies; while God in heaven, and his Son on earth, laugh thee to scorn, and make thy rage an occasion of further glory to him wliom thou ineanedst to suppress. He, that could take away the lives of others, cannot protract his own. Herod is now sent home. The coast is clear for the return of that holy family; now God calls them from their exile. Christ and his mother had not staid so long out of the confines of the reputed visible church, but to teach us continuance under the cross. Sometimes God sees it good for us not to sip of the cup of affliction, but to make a diet-drink of it, for constant and common use. If he allow us no other liquor for many years, we must take it off cheerfully, and know that it is but the measure of our betters. Joseph and Mary stir not without a command : their departure, stay, removal, is ordered by the voice of God. If Egypt had been more tedi¬ ous unto them, they durst not move their foot till they were hidden. It is good, in our own business, to follow reason or custom ; but in God’s business, if we have any other guide but himself, we presume, and can¬ not expect a blessing. O the wonderful dispensation of God, in concealing of himself from men I Christ was now some five years old ; he bears himself as an infant, and, knowing all things, neither takes nor gives notice of ought concern¬ ing his removal and disposing, hut appoints that to be done by his angel, which the angel could not have done hut by him. Since he would take our nature, he would be a perfect child, suppressing the manifestation and exercise of that Godhead whereto that infant nature was conjoined. Even so, O Saviour, the humility of thine infancy was answerable to that of thy birth. The more thou hidest and abasest thyself for us, the more should we magnify thee, the more should we deject oui’selves for thee. Unto thee, with the Father, and the Holy Ghost, be all honour and glory now and for ever. Amen. BOOK II. CONTEMPLATION I._CHRIST AMONG THE DOCTORS. Even the spring shows us what we may hope for of the tree in sum¬ mer. lu his nonage therefore would our Saviour give us a taste of his CONT. 1.] CHRIST AMONG THE DOCTORS. 195 future proof; lest, if his perfection should have showed itself without warning to the world, it should have been entertained with more won¬ der than belief. Now this act of his childhood shall prepare the faith of men by fore-expectation. NoDvithstanding all this early demonstra¬ tion of his divine graces, the incredulous Jews could afterwards say, “ Whence hath this man his wisdom and great works ?” What would they have said, if he had suddenly leapt forth into the clear light of the world ! The snn would dazzle all eyes, if he should break forth at his first rising into his full strength : now he hath both the day-star to go before bim, and to bid men look for that glorious body, and the lively colours of the day to publish his approach ; the eye is comforted, not hurt by his appearance. The parents of Christ went up yearly to Jerusalem, at the feast of the passover: the law was only for the males. I do not find the blessed Virgin bound to his voyage ; the weaker sex received indulgence from God. Yet she, knowing the spiritual profit of that journey, takes pains voluntarily to measure that long way every year. Piety regards not any distinction of sexes or degrees, neither yet doth God’s acceptation; rather doth it please the mercy of the Highest, more to reward that ser¬ vice which though he like in all, yet out of favour he will not impose upon all. It could not be, but that she, whom the Holy Ghost over¬ shadowed, should be zealous of God’s service. Those that will go no farther than they are dragged in their religious exercises, are no whit of kin to her whom all generations shall call blessed. The child Jesus, in the minority of his age, went up with his parents to the holy solemnity, not this year only, but, in all likelihood, others also : he, in the power of whose Godhead, and by the motion of whose Spirit, all others ascended thither, would not himself stay at home. In all his examples he meant our instruction. This pious act of his nonage intended to lead our first years into timely devotion. The first liquor seasons the vessel for a long time after. It is every way good for a man to bear God’s yoke, even from his infancy ; it is the policy of the devil to discourage early holiness. He, that goes out betimes in the morning, is more like to despatch his journey, than he that lingers till the day be spent. This blessed family came not to look at the feast, and be gone; but they duly staid out the appointed days of unleavened bread. They, and the rest of Israel, could not want household business at home : those secu ¬ lar affairs could not either keep them from repairing to .Jerusalem, or send them away immaturely. Worldly cares must give place to the sa¬ cred. Except we will depart unblessed, we must attend God’s services till we may receive his dismission. It was the fashion of those times and places, that they went up, and so returned by troops, to those set meetings of their holy festivals. The whole parish of Nazareth went and came together. Good fellowship doth no n ay so well as in the passage to heaven : much comfort is added by society to that journey which is of itself pleasant. It is a happy word, “ Come, let us go up to the house of the Lord.” Mutual encouragement is none of the least benefits of our holy assemblies. Many sticks laid together make a good fire, which, if they lie single, lose both their light and heat. 19G CHRIST AMONG THE DOCTORS. [book ir. Tlie feast ended, what should they do but return to Nazareth ? God's services may not be so attended, as that we should neglect our parti¬ cular callings. Himself calls us from his own house to ours, and takes pleasure to see a painful client. They are foully mistaken, that think God cares for no other trade but devotion; piety and diligence must keep meet changes with each other. Neither doth God less accept of our return to Nazareth, than our going up to Jerusalem. I cannot think that the blessed Virgin, or good Joseph, could be so negligent of their divine charge, as not to call the child Jesus to their setting forth from Jerusalem. But their back was no sooner turned up¬ on the temple, than his face was towards it. He had business in that place when theirs was ended : there he was both worshipped and repre¬ sented. He, in whom the Godhead dwelt bodily, could do nothing with¬ out God: his true Father led him away from his supposed. Sometimes the affairs of our ordinary vocation may not grudge to yield unto spirit¬ ual occasions. The parents of Christ knew him well to be of a disposi¬ tion not strange, nor sullen and stoical, but sweet and sociable ; and therefore they supposed he had spent the time and the way in com¬ pany of their friends and neighbours. They do not suspect him wan¬ dered into the solitary fields, but, when evening came, they go to seek him among their kinsfolk and acquaintance. If he had not wonted to converse formerly with them, he had not now been sought amongst them. Neither as God nor man doth he take pleasure in a stern fro ward austeri¬ ty, and wild retiredness; but in a mild affableness, and amiable con¬ versation. But, O blessed Virgin, who can express the sorrows of thy perplexed soul, when all that evening search coidd afford thee no news of thy Son Jesus ? Was not this one of those swords of Simeon, Avhich should pierce through thy tender breast ? How didst thou chide thy credulous neglect, in not observing so precious a charge, and blame thine eyes for once looking beside this object of thy love ! How didst thou, with thy careful husband, spend that restless night in mutual expostulations and bemoanings of your loss ! How many suspicious imaginations did that while rack thy grieved spirit ! Perhaps thou mightest doubt, lest they which laid wait for him, by Herod’s command, at his birth, had norv, by the secret instigation of Archelaus, surprised him iu his childhood : or, it may be, thou thoughtst thy divine Son had now withdrawn himself from the earth, and returned to his heavenly glory, without warning: or, peradventure, thou studiest with thyself, whether any carelessness on thy behalf, had not given occasion to this absence. O dear Saviour, who can miss, and not mourn for thee ? never any soul conceived thee by faith, that was less affiicted with the sense of thy desertion, than comforted with the joy of thy presence. Just is that soi" row, and those tears seasonable, that are bestowed upon thy loss. What comfort are we capable of, while we want thee ? What relish is there in these earthly delights without thee ? What is there to mitigate our passionate discomforts, if not from thee ? Let thyself loose, O my soul, to the fulness of sorrow, when thou findest thyself bereaved of him, in whose presence is fulness of joy; and deny to receive comfort from any thing, save from his return. CONT. 1.3 CHRIST AMONG THE DOCTORS. 197 In vain is Christ sought among his kindred according to the flesh : so far are they still from giving us their aid to find the true Messias, that they lead us from him. Back again, therefore, are Joseph and Mary gone to seek him at Jerusalem. She goes about in the city, by the streets, and by the open places, and seeks him Avhom her soul loveth : s4ie sought him for the time, aud found him not. Do we tliink she spared her search ? The evening of her return she hastes to the inn where she had left him, where, missing him, she inquires of every one she met, “ Have you not seen him whom my soul loveth ?” At last, the third day, she finds him in the temple. One day was spent in the journey towards Galilee, another in the retiuni to Jerusalem ; the third day recovers him. He, who would rise again the third day, and be found amongst the living, now also would the third day be found of his parents, after the sorrow of his absence. But where wert thou, O blessed Jesus, for the space of these three days ? where didst thou bestow thyself, or who attended thee, while thou wert thus alone at Jerusalesn ? I know, if Jerusalem should have been as unkind to thee as Bethlehem, thou couldst have com¬ manded the heavens to harbour thee; and if men did not minister to thee, thou couldst have commanded the service of angels. But since the form of a servant called thee to a voluntary homeliness, whether it pleas¬ ed thee to exercise thyself thus early with the difficulties of a stranger, or to provide miraculously for thyself, I inquire not, since thou reveal- edstnot: only this I know, that hereby thou iutendedst to teach thy parents, that thou couldst live without them, and that not of any indi¬ gency, but out of a gracious dispensation, thou wouldst ordinarily depend upon their care. In the meantime thy divine wisdom could not but foreknow all these corroding thoughts, wherewith the heart of thy dear mother must needs bleed, through his sudden dereliction ; yet wouldst thou leave her for the time to her sorrow. Even so, O Saviour I thou thoughst fit to visit her that bore thee with this early affliction. Never any loved thee, whom thou dost not sometimes exercise with the grief of missing thee ; that both we may be more careful to hold thee, and more joyful in recovering thee. Thou hast said, and canst not lie, “ I am with you to the end of the world but even while thou art really present, thou thinkest good to be absent unto our apprehensions. Yet, if thou leave us, thou wilt not forsake us; if thou leave us for our humiliation, tlioii wilt not for¬ sake us to our final discomfort. Thou mayest for three days hide thy¬ self, but then we shall find thee in the temple. None ever sought tliee with a sincere desire, of whom thou wert not found. Thou wilt not be eitlier so little absent as not to whet our appetites, nor so long as to faint- en the heart. After three days we shall find thee : and where should we rather hope to find thee than in the temple? There is the habita¬ tion for the God of Israel, there is thy resting place for ever. O all ye that are grieved with the want of your Saviour, see where you must seek him I In vain shall ye hope to find him in the streets, in the taverns, in the theatres: seek him in his holy temple, seek him with piety, seek him with faith; there shall ye meet him, there shall ye recover- him. Wlrile children of that age were playing in the streets, Christ was found sitting in the temple; not to gaze on the outward glory of that liouse. 198 CHRIST AMONG THE DOCTORS. [|book II. or on the golden candlesticks or tables, but to bear and oppose the doc¬ tors. He who, as God, gave them all the wisdom they bad, as the Son of man, heai’kens to the wisdom he had given them. He, who sat in their heai’ts, as the Author of all learning and knowledge, sits in the midst of their school, as an humble disciple: that by learning of them, he might teach all the younger sort humility, and due attendance upon their instructors. He could, at the first, have taught the great Rabbins of Israel the deep mysteries of God: but because he was not yet called by his Father to the public function of a teacher, he contents himself to hear with diligence, and to ask with modesty, and to teach only by insin¬ uation. Let those consider this, which will needs run ns soon as they can go; and, when they find ability, think they need not stay for a fur¬ ther vocation of God or men. Open your eyes, ye rather ripe inva¬ ders of God’s chair, and see yoiu’ Saviour, in his younger years, not sit¬ ting in the eminent pulpits of the doctors, but in the lowly floors of the auditors. See him, that cmdd have taught the augels, listening in his minority to the voice of men. Who can think much to learn of the an¬ cients, when he looks upon the Son of God sitting at the feet of the doctors of Israel? First he hears, then he asks. How much more doth it concern us to be hearers, ere we offer to be teachers of others ! He gathers that hears ; he spends that teacheth : if we spend before we ga¬ ther, we shall soon prove bankrupts. When he hath heard, he asks, and after that he answers : doubtless, tliose very questions were instructions, and meant to teach, more than to learn : never had these great Rabbins heard the voice of such a Tu¬ tor : in whom they might see the wisdom of God so concealing itself, that yet it would be known to be there : no marvel then, if they all wondered at his understanding and answers. Their eyes saw nothing but human weakness, their ears heai’d divine sublimity of matter ; be¬ twixt what they saw, and what they heard, they could not but be dis¬ tracted with a doubting admiration. And why did ye not, O ye Jew¬ ish teachers, remember, “ That to us a child is born, and unto us a son is given, and the government is upon his shoulders ; and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace ?” Why did ye not now bethink yourselves, what the star, the sages, the angels, the shepherds, Zachary, Simeon, Anna, had premonished you ? Fruitless is the wonder that endeth not in faith ; no light is sufficient where the eyes are held through unbelief or prejudice. The doctors were not more amazed to hear so profound a childhood, than the parents of Christ were to see him among the doctors ; the joy of finding him did strive with the astonishment of finding him thus : and now, not Joseph, (he knew how little right he had to that divine Son) but Mary breaks forth into a loving expostidation, “ Son, why hast thou dealt so with us ?” That she might not seem to take upon her as an imperious mother, it is like she reserved this question till she had him alone: wherein she meant rather to express grief, than to chide: only herein the blessed Virgin offended, that her consideration did not suppose, as it was, that some higher respects, than could be due to flesh and blood, called away the Son of God from her that Avas the daughter of man. She, that was but the mother of CONT 11.] CHRIST’S BAPTISM. 199 humanity, should not have thought tliat the business of God must, for her sake, be neglected. We are all partial to ourselves naturally, and prone to the regard of our own rights. Questionless, this gracious saint would not, for all the world, have willingly preferred her own attendance to that of her God : through heedlessness she does so. Her Son and Saviour is her monitor, out of his divine love reforming her natural; “ How is it that ye sought me ? Know ye not that I must go about my Father’s business ?” Immediately before, the blessed Virgin bad said, “ Thy father and I sought thee with heavy hearts.” Wherein, both according to the supposition of the world, she calls Joseph the fa¬ ther of Christ, and, according to the fashion of a dutiful wife, she names her Joseph before herself. She well knew that Joseph had nothing but a name in this business; she knew how God had dignified her be¬ yond him ; yet she says, “ Thy father and I sought thee.” The Son of God stands not upon contradiction to his mother, but leading her thoughts from his supposed father to his true, from earth to heaven, he answers, “ Know ye not that I must go about my Father’s busi¬ ness ?” It was honour enough to her, that he had vouchsafed to take flesh of her: it was Ins eternal honour that he was God of God, the everlasting Son of the heavenly Father. Good reason therefore was it, that the respects to flesh should give place to the God of spirits. How well contented was holy Mary with so just an answer I How doth she now again, in her heart, renew her answer to the ange], “ Behold the servant of the Lord ; be it according to thy word 1” We are all the sons of God in another kind. Nature and the world thinks we should attend them. We are not worthy to say, we have a Father in heaven, if we cannot steal away from these earthly distractions, and employ ourselves in the services of our God. CONTEMPLATION 11.—CHRIST’S BAPTISM. John did every way forerun Christ, not so much in the time of his birth, as in his office. Neither was there more unlikeliness in their dis¬ position and carriage, than similitude in their function. Both did preach and baptize : only John baptized by himself, our Saviour by his disciples; our Saviour wrought miracles by himself, by his disciples : John wrought none by either. Wherein Christ meant to show himself a Lord, and John a servant: and John meant to approve himself a true servant to him whose harbinger he was. He that leapt in the womb of his mother, when his Saviour (then newly conceived) came in presence, bestirred himself when he was brought forth into the light of the church : to the honour and service of his Saviour: he did the same before Christ, which Christ charged his disciples to do after him, “ Preach and baptize.” The gos¬ pel ran always in one tenor, and was never but like itself. So it became the Word of him, in whom there is no shadow of turning, and whose word it is, “ I am Jehovah, I change not.” It was fit tliat he which had the prophets, the star, the angel to fore¬ tell his coming into the world, should have his usher to go before liim. 200 CHRIST’S BAPTISM. [|book ii. when he would notify himself to the world. John was the voice of a crier; Christ was the Word of his Father; it was fit this voice should make a noise to the world, ere the Word of the Father should speak to it. John’s note was still repentance, The axe to the root, the fan to the floor, the chaff to the fire. As his raiment was rough, so was his tongue ; and if his food were wild honey, his speech was stinging locusts. Thus must the way be made for Christ in every heart. Plausibility is no fit px-eface to regeneration. If the heart of man had continued upright, God might have been entertained without contradiction ; but now violence must be offered to our corruption, ere we can have room for grace. If the great way-maker do not cast down hills, and raise up valleys in the bosoms of men, there is no passage for Christ. Never did Christ come into that soul, where the herald of repentance hath not been be¬ fore him. That Saviour of oiu’s, who from eternity lay hid in the counsel of God, who in the fulness of time so came, that he lay hid in the womb of his mother for the space of forty weeks, after he was come, thought fit to lie hid in Nazax’eth for the space of thirty years, now at last begins to show himself to the world, and comes from Galilee to Jordan. He that was God always, and might have been perfect man in an instant, would by degrees rise to the perfection both of his manhood, and execution of his Mediatorship, to teach us the necessity of leisime in spiritual proceed¬ ings : that many suns and successions of seasons and means must be staid for, ere we can attain our maturity: and that, when we are ripe for the employments of God, we should no less willingly leave our ob¬ scurity, than we took the benefit of it for our preparation. He, that was formerly circumcised, would now be baptized. What is baptism but an evangelical circumcision ? what was circumcision but a legal baptism ? One both supplied and succeeded the other ; yet the author of both will undergo both. He would be circumcised, to sanctify his church that was ; and baptized, to sanctify his church that should be ; that so, in both testaments, he might open away into heaven. There was in him neither filthiness, nor foreskin of corruption, that should need either knife or water. He came not to be a Saviour for himself, but for us. We are all uncleanness and uncircumcision; he would therefore have that done to his most pure body, which shoidd be of force to clear our impure souls : thus making himself sin for us, that we might be made the right¬ eousness of God in him. His baptism gives virtue to ours. His last action, or rather passion, was his baptizing with blood : his first was his baptizatipn with w'ater : both of them wash the world from their sins. Yea, this latter did not only Avash the soids of men, but washeth that very water by Avhich Ave are washed : from hence is that made both clean and holy, and can both cleanse and halloAv us. And if the very handkerchief, Avhich touched his apostles, had power of cure hoAv much more that Avater, Avhich the saci’ed body of Christ touched ! Christ comes far to seek his baptism, to teach us, for whose sake he AA^as baptized, to Avait upon the ordinances of God, and to sue for the favour of spiritual blessings. They are Avorthless commodities that are not Avorth seeking for. It is rarely, seen, that God is found of any man unsought for. That desire, AAdiich only makes us capable of good things, cannot stand Avith neglect. CONT. II .3 CHRIST’S BAPTISM. 201 John durst not baptize unbidden : his Master sent him to this service; and, behold, the Master comes to his servant, to call for the participation of that privilege, which he himself had instituted and enjoined. How willingly should we come to our spiritual superiors, for our part in those mysteries which God hath left in their keeping ! Yea, how gladly shoidd we come to that Christ who gives us these blessings, who is given to us in them ! This seemed too great an honour for the modesty of John to receive. If his mother could say, when her blessed cousin, the virgin Mary, came to visit her, “ Whence is this to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me ?” how much more might he say so, vidien the divine Son of that mother came to call for a favour from him I “ I have need to be baptized of thee, and comest thou to me ?” O holy Baptist! if there were not a greater born of woman than thou, yet thou couldst not be born of a woman, and not need to be baptized of thy Saviour. He baptized with fire, thou with water. Little Avould thy water have availed thee, without his fire. If he had not baptized thee, how wert thou sanctified from thy womb ? There can be no flesh without filthiness : neither thy superna¬ tural conception nor thy austere life, could exempt thee from the need of baptism. Even those that have not lived to sin after the similitude of Adam, yet are they so tainted with Adam, that, unless the second Adam cleanse them by his baptism, they are hopeless. There is no less use of baptism unto all, than there is certainty of the need of baptism. John baptized without, Christ within. The more holy a man is, the more sensible he is of his unholiness, No carnal man could have said, “ I have need to be baptized of thee neither can he find what he is the better for a little font-water. The sense of our wretchedness, and the valuation of our spiritual helps, is the best trial of oim regeneration. Our Saviour doth not deny, that either John hath need to be baptized of him, or that it is strange that he should come to be baptized of John ; but he will need thus far both honour John, and disparage himself, to be baptized of his messenger. He, that would take flesh of the virgin, education from his parents, sustenance from his creatures, will take bap¬ tism from John. It is the praise of his mercy, that he wiU stoop so low as to be beholden to his creatures, which from him receive their being, and power both to take and give. Yet not so much respect to John, as obedience to his Father, drew him to this point of humiliation : “ Thus it behoves us to fulfil all righ¬ teousness.” The counsels and appointments of God are righteousness itself. There needs no other motive, either to the servant or the Son, than the knowledge of those righteous purposes. This was enough to lead a faithful man through all difficulties and inconveniences ; neither will it admit of any reply, or any demur. John yieldeth to this honour which his Saviour puts upon him, in giving baptism to the author of it. He baptized others to the remission of their sins : now he baptizes him, by whom they are remitted, both to the baptizer and to others. No sooner is Christ baptized, than he comes forth of the water. The element is of force but during the use: it turns common when that is past: neither is the water sooner poured on his head, than the heavens II. 2 c 202 CHKIST TEMPTED. [book li. are opened, and the Holy Ghost descended upon that head which was baptized. The heavens are never shut while either of the sacraments is duly administered and received : neither do the heavens ever thus open without the descent of the Holy Ghost. But now that the God of heaven is baptized they open unto him, which are opened to all the faithful by him : and that Holy Ghost which proceeded from him, together with the Father, joins with the Father in a sensible testimony of him; that now the world might see what interest he had in the heavens, in the Father, in the Holy Spirit, and might expect nothing but divine from the entrance of such a Mediator. CONTEMPLATION III.—CHRIST TEMPTED. No sooner is Christ come out of the water of baptism, than he enters into the fire of temptation. No sooner is the Holy Spirit descended up¬ on his head in the form of a dove, than he is led by the Spirit to be tempted. No sooner doth God say, “ This is my Son,” than Satan says, “ If thou be the Son of God.” It is not in the power either of the gift or seals of grace to deliver us from the assaults of Satan ; they may have the force to repel evil suggestions, they have none to prevent them: yea, the more we are engaged unto God by our public vows and his pledges of favour, so much more busy and violent is the rage of that evil one to encounter us. We are no sooner stept forth into the field of God, than he labours to wrest our weapons out of our hands, or to turn them against us. The voice from heaven acknowledged Christ to he the Son of God. This divine testimony did not allay the malice of Satan, but exasperate it: now that venomous serpent swells with inward poison, and hastes to assail him whom God hath honoured from heaven. O God, how should I look to escape the suggestions of that wicked one, when the Son of thy love cannot be free ; when even grace itself draws on enmity, that en¬ mity that spared not to strike at the Head, will he forbear the weakest and remotest limb ? Arm thou me therefore with an expectation of that evil I cannot avoid. Make thou me as strong as he is malicious. Say to my soul also, “ Thou art my son,” and let Satan do his worst. All the time of our Saviom-’s obscurity, I do not find him set upon : now, that he looks forth to the public execution of his divine office, Satan bends his forces against him. Our privacy, perhaps, may sit down in peace ; but never man did endeavour a common good without opposition. It is a sign that both the work is holy, and the agent faithful, when we meet with strong affronts. We have reason to be comforted with nothing so much as with resist¬ ance. If we were not in a way to do good, we should find no rubs: Satan hath no cause to molest his own, and that while they go about his own service. He desires nothing more, than to make us smooth paths to sin: but when we would turn our feet to holiness, he blocks up the way with temptations. CONT. ni.j CHRIST TEMPTED. 203 Who can wonder enough at the sauciness of that bold spirit, that dares to set upon the Son of the ever-living God ? Who can wonder enoughat thy meekness and patience, O Saviour, that wouldst be tempted He wanted not malice and presumption to assault thee ; thou wantedst not humility to endure those assaults. I should stand amazed at this voluntary dispensation of thine, but that I see the susception of our human nature lays thee open to this condition. It is necessarily incident to manhood to be liable to temptations. Thou wouldst not have put on flesh, if thou hadst meant utterly to put off this consequence of our infirmity. If the state of innocence could have been any defence against evil motions, tbe first Adam had not been tempted, much less the second. It is not the presenting of temptations that can hurt us, but their entertainment. Ill counsel is the fault of the giver, not of the refuser. We cannot forbid lewd eyes to look in at our windows, we may shut our doors against their entrance. It is no less our praise to have resisted, than Satan’s blame to suggest evil. Yea, O blessed Saviour, how glorious was it for thee, how happy for us, that thou wert tempted I Had not Satan tempt¬ ed thee, how shouldst thou have overcome ? Without blows, there can be no victory, no triumph; how had thy power been manifested, if no adversary had tried thee ? The first Adam was tempted and vanquish¬ ed : the second Adam, to repay and repair that foil, doth vanquish in being tempted. Now have we not a Saviour and High-priest that can¬ not be touched with the feeling of our infirmities, but such a one as was in all things tempted in like sort, yet without sin ? How boldly tberefore may we go unto the throne of grace, that we way receive mer¬ cy, and find grace to help in time of need I Yea, this duel was for us. Now we see, by this conflict of our Almighty Champion, what manner of adversary we have, how he fights, how he is resisted, how overcome. Now our very temptation affords us comfort, in that we see, the dearer we are unto God, the more obnoxious we are to this trial : neither can we be discouraged by the heinousness of those evils whereto we are moved, since Ave see the Son of God solicited to infidelity, covetousness, idolatry. How glorious therefore was it for thee, O Saviour, how hap¬ py for us, that thou wert tempted ! Where then wast thou tempted, O blessed Jesus ? or whither wentst thou to meet our great adversary ? I do not see thee led into the mar¬ ket-place, or any other part of the city, or thy homestead of Nazareth ; but into the vast wilderness, the habitation of beasts, a place that carri- eth in it both horror and opportunity ! Why w'ouldst thou thus retire thyself from men ? But as confident champions are wont to give advan¬ tage of ground or weapon to their antagonist, that the glory of their vic¬ tory may be the greater : so wouldst thou, O Saviour, in this conflict with our common enemy, yield him his own terms for circumstances, that thine honour and his foil may be the more. Solitariness is no small help to the speed of a temptation. “ Woe to him that is alone, for if he fall, there is not a second to lift him up.” Those that, out of an affectation of holiness, seek for solitude in rocks and caves of the deserts, do no other than run into the mouth of the danger of temptation, while they think to avoid it. It was enough for thee, to whose divine power the gates of hell were weakness, thus to challenge the prince of darkness. CHRIST TEMPTED. 204 Qbook II. Our care must be always to eschew all occasions of spiritual danger, and, what we may, to get us out of the reach of temptation. But, O the depth of the wisdom of God! How earnest thou, O Sa¬ viour, to be thus tempted ? That Spirit, whereby thou wast conceived as man, and which was one with thee and the Father as God, led thee into the wilderness, to be tempted of Satan. While thou taughtest us to pray to thy Father, “ Lead us not into temptation,” thou meanedst to instruct us, that if the same Spirit led us not into this perilous way, we go not into it. We have still the same conduct. Let the path be what it will, how can we miscai’ry in the hand of a Father? Now may we say to Satan, as thou didst unto Pilate, “ Thou couldst have no power over me, except it were given thee from above.” The Spirit led thee ; it did not drive thee: here was a sweet invitation, no corapidsion of violence. So absolutely conformable was thy will to thy Deity, as if both thy natures had but one volition. In this first draught of thy bitter po¬ tion, thy soul said, in a real subjection, “ Not my will but thy will be done.” We imitate thee, O Saviour, though we cannot reach thee. All thine are led by thy Spirit; O teach us to forget that we have wills of our own. The Spirit led thee ; thine invincible strength did not animate thee into this combat uncalled. What do we, weaklings, so far presume upon our abilities or success, as that we dare thrust oui’selves upon tempta¬ tions unbidden, unwarranted ? Who can pity the shipwreck of those mariners, which will needs put forth and hoist sails in a tempest ? Forty days did our Saviour spend in the wilderness, fasting, and solitary, all which time was worn out in temptation; however the last brunt, because it was most violent, is only expressed. Now could not the adversary complain of disadvantage, while he had the full scope both of time and place to do his worst. And why did it please thee, O Sa¬ viour, to fast forty days and forty nights, unless, as Moses fasted forty days at the delivery of the law, and Elias at the restitution of the law, so thou thoughtst fit, at the accomplishment of the law, and the promul¬ gation of the gospel, to fulfil the time of both these types of thine, wherein thou intendedst our wonder, not our imitation ; not our imitation of the time, though of the act. Here were no faulty desires of the flesh in thee to be tamed, no possibility of a freer and more easy assent of the soul to God that could be affected of thee, who was perfectly united unto God ; but as for us thou woiddst suffer death, so for us thou wouldst suffer hunger, that we might learn by fasting to prepare ourselves for temptations. In fasting so long, thou intendedst the manifestation of thy power; in fasting no longer, the truth of thy manhood. Moses and Elias through the miraculous sustentation of God, fasted so long, without any question made of the truth of their bodies ; so long, therefore, thou thoughtst good to fast, as by the reason of these precedents might be without prejudice of thine humanity ; which, if it should have pleased thee to support, as thou couldst, without means, thy very power might have opened the mouth of cavils against the verity of thy human nature. That thou mightst therefore well approve, that there was no difference betwixt thee and us but sin, thou that couldst haVe fixsted without hun¬ ger, and lived without meat, wouldst both feed, and fast, and hunger. Who can be discouraged with the scautness of friends or bodily pro- CONT. III.] CHRIST TEMPTED. 205 visions, when he sees his Saviour thus long destitute of all earthly com¬ forts, both of society and sustenance ? O the policy and malice of that old serpent! when he sees Christ bewray some infirmity of nature in being hungry, then he lays sorest at him by temptations. His eye was never off from our Saviour all the time of his sequestration ; and now, that he thinks he espies any one part to lie open, he drives at it with all his might. We have to do with an adversary no less vigilant than malicious, who will be sure to watch all opportunities of our mis¬ chief, and, where he sees any advantage of weakness, will not neglect it. How should we stand upon our guard for prevention, that both we may not give him occasions of our hm't, nor take hurt by those we have given I When our Saviour was hungry, Satan tempts him in matter of food, not then of wealth or glory. He well knows both wliat baits to fish withal, and when and how to lay them. How safe and happy shall we be, if we shall bend our greatest care, where we discern the most danger I In every temptation there is an appearance of good, whether of the body, of mind, or estate. The first is, tlie “ lust of the flesh,” in any carnal desire ; the second, the “ pride of heart and life the third, “ the lust of the eyes.” To all these the first Adam is tempted, and in all miscarried; the second Adam is tempted to them all, and overcometh. The first man was tempted to carnal appetite by the forbidden fruit; to pride, by the suggestion of being as God; to covetousness, in the am¬ bitious desire of knowing good and evil. Satan, having found all the motions so successful with the first Adam in his innocent estate, will now tread the same steps in his temptations of the second. The stones must be made bread: there is the motion to a carnal appetite. The guard and attendance of angels must be presumed on; there is a motion to pride. The kingdoms of the earth, and the glory of them, must be offered; there to covetousness and ambition. Satan could not but have heard God say, “ This is my well-beloved Son ;” he had heard the message and the carol of the angels; he saw the star and the journey, and offerings of the sages ; he could not but take notice of the gratulations of Zachary, Simeon, Anna; he well knew the pre¬ dictions of the prophets ; yet now that he saw Christ fainting with hunger, as not comprehending how infirmities could consist with a Godhead, lie can say, “ If thou be the son of God.” Had not Satan known that the Son of God was to come into the world, he had never said, “ If thou be the son of God.” His very supposition convinces him: the ground of his temptation answers itself. If therefore Christ seemed to be a mere man, because after forty days he was hungry, why was he not confessed more than a man, in that for forty days he hungered not ? The motive of the temptation is worse than the motion; “ If thou be the son of God.” Satan could not choose another suggestion of so great importance. All the work of our redemption, of our salvation, depends upon this one trutli, Christ is the son of God. How should he else have ransomed the world ? how should he have done, how should he have sulfered that which was satisfactory to his Father’s wrath ? how should his actions or passion have been valuable to the sins of all the world? What marvel is it, if we, that are the sons by adoption, be assaulted with the doubts 206 CHRIST TEMPTED. [book II. of our interest in God, when the natural Son, the Son of his essence is thus tempted ? Since all our comfort consists in this point, here must needs be laid the chief battery, and here must be placed our strongest defence. To turn stones into bread, had been no more faulty in itself than to turn water into wine: but to do this in a distrust of his Father’s provi¬ dence, to abuse his power and liberty in doing it, to work a miracle of Satan’s choice, had been disagreeable to the Son of God. There is no¬ thing more ordinary wdth onr spiritual enemy, than by occasion of want to move us to unwarrantable courses: thou art poor, steal; thou canst not rise by honest means, use indirect. How easy had it been for our Saviour to have confounded Satan by the power of his Godhead 1 but he rather chooses to vanquish him by the sword of the Spirit, that he might teach us how to resist and overcome the powers of darkness. If he had subdued Satan by the almighty power of the Deity, we might have had what to wonder at, not what to imitate : now he useth that weapon which may be familiar unto us, that he may teach our weakness how to be victorious. Nothing in heaven or earth can beat the forces of hell, but the word of God. How carefully should we furnish our¬ selves with this powerful munition ! how should our hearts and mouths be full of it! Teach me, O Lord, the w'ay of thy statutes : O take not from me the words of truth! let them be my songs in the house of my pilgrimage; so shall I make answer to my blasphemers.” What needed Christ to have answered Satan at all, if it had not been to teach us, that temptations must not have their way, but must be answered by resistance, and resisted by the word ? I do not hear our Saviour aver himself to be a God, against the blas¬ phemous insinuation of Satan ; neither do I see him w'orking this mira¬ culous conversion, to prove himself the Son of God : but most wisely he takes away the ground of the temptation. Satan had taken it for granted, that man cannot be sustained without bread; and therefore infers the neces¬ sity of making bread of stones. Our Saviour shows him, from an infal¬ lible word, that he had mislaid his suggestion ; that man lives not by usual food only, “ but by every word that proceeded from the mouth of God.” He can either sustain without bread, as he did Moses and Elias, or with a miracidous bread, as the Israelites with manna ; or send or¬ dinary means miraculously, as food to his prophet by the ravens ; or miraculously multiply ordinary means, as the meal and oil to the Sarep- tan widow. All things are sustained by his Almighty word. Indeed, we live by food, but not by any virtue tliat is without God ; without the concurrence of whose providence, bread would rather choke than nour¬ ish us. Let him withdraw his hand from his creatures, in their greatest abundance, we perish. Why do we therefore bend our eyes on tlie means, and not look up to the hand that gives the blessing ? What so necessary dependence hath the blessing upon the creature, if our prayers hold them not together ? As we may not neglect the means, so we may not neglect the procurement of a blessing upon the means, nor be unthankful to the hand that hath given the blessing. In the first assault, Satan moves Christ to doubt of his Father’s pro¬ vidence, and to use urdawful means to help liimself: in the next, he moves him to presume upon his Father’s protection, and the service of CONT. III.] CHRIST TEMPTED. 207 Ills blessed angels. He grounds the first upon a conceit of want, the next of abundance. If he be in extremes, it is all to one end, to mislead unto evil: if we cannot be driven down to despair, he labours to lift us up to presumption. It is not one foil that can put this bold spirit out of coun¬ tenance. Temptations, like waves, break one in the neck of another. While we are in this warfare, we must make account, that the repulse of one temptation doth but invite to another. That blessed Saviour of ours, that w’as content to be led from Jordan into the wilderness, for the advantage of the first temptation, yields to be led from the wilderness to Jerusalem, for the advantage of the second. The place doth not a little avail to the act. The wilderness was fit for a temptation arising from want, it w^as not fit for a temptation moving to vain-glory; the populous city was the fittest for such a motion. Jeru¬ salem w'as the glory of the world, the temple was the glory of Jerusalem, the pinnacles, the highest piece of the pinnacle, there is Christ content to be set for the opportunity of temptation. O Saviour of men, how can we wonder enough at this humility of thine, that thou wouldst so far abase thyself as to suffer thy pui-e and sacred body to be transported by the presumptuous and malicious hand of that unclean spirit I It was not his power, it was thy patience, that deserves our admiration. Nei¬ ther can this seem overstrange to us, when we consider, that if Satan be the head of wicked men, wicked men are the members of Satan. What was Pilate, or the Jews, that persecuted thine innocence, but limbs of this devil ? And why are we then amazed to see thee touched and locally transported by the head, when we see thee yielding thyself over to be crucified by the members ? If Satan did the worse and greater me¬ diately by their hands, no marvel if he do the less and easier immediately by his own; yet neither of them without thy voluntary dispensation. He could not have looked at thee without thee. And if the Son of God did thus suffer his own holy and precious body to be carried by Satan, what wonder is it, if that enemy have sometimes power given him over the sinful bodies of the adopted sons of God ? It is not the strength of faith that can secure us from the outward violences of that evil one. This difference I find betwixt his spiritual and bodily assaults : those are beaten back by the shield of faith, these admit not of such repulse. As the best man may be lame, blind, diseased, so, through the permis¬ sion of God, he may be bodily vexed by an old man-slayer. Grace was never given us for a target against external afflictions. Methinks I see Christ hoised upon the highest battlements of the tem¬ ple, whose very roof was an hundred and thirty cubits high, and Satan standing by him with this speech in his mouth; “ Well, then, since in the matter of nourishment thou wilt needs depend upon thy Father’s providence, that he can without means sustain thee, take now further trial of that Providence in thy miraculous preservation; cast thyself down from this height. Behold, thou art here in Jerusalem, the famous and holy city of the world : here thou art, on the top of the pinnacle of that temple which is dedicated to thy Father, and if thou be God, to thyself. The eyes of all men are now fixed upon thee : there cannot be devised a more ready way to spread thy glory, and to proclaim thy deity, than by casting thyself headlong to the earth. All the world will 208 CHRIST TEMPTED. I^BOOK 11. say there is more in thee than a man. And for danger, there can be none. What can hurt him that is the Son of God? and wherefore serves that glorious guard of angels which have, by divine commission, taken upon them the charge of thine humanity ? Since therefore in one act thou mayst be both safe and celebrated, trust thy Father, and those thy serviceable spirits, with thine assured preservation : Cast thyself down.” And why didst thou not, O thou malignant spirit, endeavour to cast down my Savioiu- by those presumptuous hands that brought him up, since the descent is more easy than the raising up ? was it for that it had it not been so great an advantage to thee, that he should fall by thy means as by his own ? Falling into sin was more than to fall from the pinnacle. Still thy care and suit is to make us authors to ourselves of evil: thou gainest nothing by our bodily hurt, if the soul be safe. Or was it rather for that thou couldst not! 1 doubt not but thy malice could as well have served to have offered this measure to thyself, as to his holy apostle soon after. But he that bounded thy powers, tethers thee shorter. Thou couldst not, thou canst not do what thou wouldst. He that would permit thee to carry him up, binds thy hands from casting him down. And woe were it for us, if thou wert not ever stinted. Why did Satan carry up Christ so high, but on purpose that his fall might be the more deadly ? So deals he still with us; he exalts us, that we may be dangerously abased; he puffs them up with swelling thoughts of their own worthiness, that they may be vile in the eyes of God, and fall into condemnation. It is the manner of God to cast down that he may raise, to abase that he may exalt. Contrarily, Satan raises up that he may throw down, and intends nothing but our dejection in our advancement. Height of place gives opportunity of temptation. Thus busy is that wicked one in Avorking against the members of Christ. If any of them be in eminence above others, those he labours most to ruinate. They had need to stand fast, that stand high. There is both more danger of their falling, and more hurt in their fall. He that had presumed thus far to tempt the Lord of life, would fain now dare him also to presume upon his deity : “ If thou be the Son of God, cast thyself down.” There is not a more tried shaft in all his quiver than this; a persuasion to men, to bear themselves too bold upon the favour of God. Thou art the elect and redeemed of God ; sin, be¬ cause grace hath abounded ; sin, that it may abound. Thou art safe enough, though thou offend ; be not too much an adversary to thine own liberty. False spirit I it is no liberty to sin, but servitude rather ; there is liberty but in the freedom from sin. Every one of us that hath the hope of sons, must “ purge himself, even as He is pure” that hath redeem¬ ed us. “We are bought with a price, therefore must we glorify God in our body and spiritsfor they are God’s. Our sonship teaches us awe and obedience: and therefore, because we are sons, we will not cast ourselves down into sin. How idly do Satan and wicked men measure God by the crooked line of their own misconceit! I wist Christ cannot be the Son of God, unless he cast himself down from the pinnacle, uidess he come down from the CONT. IIr.^ CHRIST TEMPTED. 209 cross. God is not merciful, unless he honour them in all their desires ; not just, unless he take speedy vengeance where they require it. But when they have spent their folly upon these vain imaginations, Christ is the Son of God, though he stay on the top of the temple ; God will be merciful, though we miscarry; and just, though sinners seem lawless ; neither will he be any other than he is, or measured by any rule but himself. But what is this I see ? Satan himself with a Bible under his arm, with a text in his mouth : “ It is written. He shall give his angels charge over thee !” How still in that wicked one doth subtilty strive with pre¬ sumption ! who could not but over-wonder at this, if he did not consider, that since the devil dared to touch the saci-ed body of Christ with his hand, he may well touch the scriptures of God with his tongue ? Let no man henceforth marvel to hear heretics or hypocrites quote scriptures, when Satan himself hath not spared to cite them. What are they worse for this, more than that holy body which is transported ? Some have been poisoned by their meats and drinks ; yet either these nourish us, or no¬ thing. It is not the letter of the scripture that can carry it, bnt the sense ; if we divide these two, we profane and abuse that word we allege. And wherefore doth this foul spirit urge a text, but for imitation, for prevention, and for success ? Christ had alleged a scripture unto him, he re-alleges scripture unto Christ; at least ways, he will counterfeit an imitation of the Son of God. Neither is it in this alone : what one act ever passed the hand of God, which Satan did not apishly attempt to second ? If we follow Christ in the outward action, with contrary in¬ tentions, we follow Satan in following Christ. Or, perhaps, Satan meant to make Christ hereby weary of this weapon, as we see fashions, when they are taken up of the unworthy, are cast off by the great. It was, doubtless, one cause why Christ afterward forbade the devil even to confess the truth, because his mouth was a slander. But chiefly doth he this, for a better colour of his temptation : he gilds over this false metal with scripture, that it may pass current. Even now is Satan transformed into an angel of light, and will seem godly for a mischief. If hypocrites make a fair show, to deceive with a glorious lustre of holiness, we see whence they borrowed it. How many thousand souls are betrayed by the abuse of that word, whose use is sovereign and sav¬ ing I No devil is so dangerous as the religious devil. If good meat turn to the nourishment, not of nature, but of the disease, we may not forbear to feed, but endeavour to purge the body of those evil humours which cause the stomach to work against itself. O God, thou that hast given us light, give us clear and sound eyes, that we may take comfort of that light thou liast given us. Thy word is holy, make our hearts so; and then shall they find that word not more true than cordial. Let not this divine table of thine be made a snare to oui* souls. What can be a better act than to speak scripture ? It were a wonder if Satan should do a good thing well. He cites scriptm*e then, but with mutilation and distortion; it comes not out of his mouth, but maimed aud perverted; one piece is left, all misapplied. Those that wrest or mangle scripture for their own turn, it is easy to see from what school they come. Let us take the word from the author, not from the usurper. II. 2d 210 CHRIST TEMPTED. LBOOK II. David would not doubt to eat that sheep which he pulled out of the mouth of the bear or lion. “ He shall give his angels charge over thee.” O comfortable assurance of our protection ! God’s children never go unattended. Like unto great pz-inces, we walk ever in the midst of our guard, though invisible, yet true, careful, powei-ful. What crea¬ tures are so glorious as the angels of heaven ? yet their Maker hath set them to serve us. Our adoption makes us at once gi’eat and safe. We may be contemptible and ignominious in the eyes of the world: but the angels of God observe us the while, and scoi*n not to wait upon us in our homeliest occasions. The sun or the light may we keep out of our houses, the air we cannot; much less these spirits that are moi’e simple and immaterial. No walls, no bolts can sever them from our sides ; they accompany us in dungeons, they go with us into our exile. How can we either fear danger, or complain of solitariness, while we have so inseparable, so glorious companions ? Is our Saviour distasted with scripture, because Satan mislays it in his dish ? doth he not leather snatch this sword out of that impure hand, and beat Satan with the weapon which he abuseth ? “ It is written. Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.” The scripture is one, as that God whose it is ; where it cai’ries an appearance of difficulty or inconvenience, it needs no light to clear it, but that which it hath in itself. All doubts that may arise from it are fully answei-ed by collation. It is true, that God hath taken this care, and given this chai’ge of his own ; he will have them kept, not in their sins ; they may ti’ust him, they may not tempt him ; he meant to encoui'age their faith, not their presumption. To cast ourselves upon any immediate Providence, when means fail not, is to disobey, instead of believing God. We may challenge God on his word, we may not strain him beyond it; we may make account of what he promised, we may not subject his promises to unjust examinations, and whei*e no need is, make ti'ial of his power, justice, mercy, by devices of our own. All the devils in hell could not elude the foi'ce of this divine answer: and now Satan sees how vainly he tempteth Christ to tempt God. Yet again, for all this, do I see him setting upon the Son of God. Sa¬ tan is not foiled when he is resisted. Neither diffidence nor presumption can fasten upon Christ; he shall be tried with honoui*. As some expert fencer that challenges at all weapons, so doth his gi*eat enemy. In vain shall we plead our skill in some, if we fail in any. It must be our wisdom to be prepared for all kinds of assaults : as those that hold towns and forts do not only defend themselves from incursions, but from the cannon and the pioneer. Still doth that subtile serpent tra¬ verse his ground for an advantage. The temple is not high enough for his next temptation; he therefore carries up Christ to the top of an exceeding high mountain. All enemies, in pitched fields, strive for the benefit of the hill or river, or wind or sun. That which his servant Balak did, by his instigation, himself doth now, immediately, change places, in hope of prevailing. If the obscure country will not move us, he tines us what the court can do: if not our home, the tavern ; if not the field, our closet. As no place is left free by his malice, so no place must be made prejudicial by our carelessness: and as we should always CONT. III.3 CHRIST TEMPTED. 211 watch over ourselves, so then most, when the opportunity carries cause of suspicion. Wherefore is Christ carried up so high, but for prospect ? If the kingdoms of the earth, and their glory, were only to be presented to his imagination, the valley would have served ; if to the outward sense, no hill could suffice. Circular bodies, though small, cannot be seen at once. This show was made to both; divers kingdoms lying round about Judea were represented to the eye, the glory of them to the ima¬ gination. Satan meant the eye could tempt the fancy, no less than the fancy could tempt the will. How many thousand souls have died of the wound of the eye I If we do not let in sin at the window of the eye, or the door of the ear, it cannot enter into our hearts. If there be any pomp, majesty, pleasure, bravery, in the world, where should it be but in the courts of princes, whom God hath made his im¬ ages, his deputies on earth ? there is soft raiment, sumptuous feasts, rich jewels, honourable attendance, glorious triumphs, royal state ; these Satan lays out for the fairest show. But, O the craft of that old ser¬ pent ! many a care attends greatness, no crown is without thorns, high seats are never but uneasy. All those infinite discontentments which are the shadow of earthly sovereignty, he hides out of the way ; nothing may be seen but what may both please and allure. Satan is still and ever like himself. If temptations might be but turned about, and shown on both sides, the kingdom of darkness would not be so populous. Now, whensoever the tempter sets upon any poor soul, all sting of conscience, wrath, judgment, torment is concealed, as if they were not: nothing may appear to the eye, but pleasure, profit, and a seeming happiness in the enjoying our desires. Those woful objects are reserved for the farewell of sin, that our misery may be seen and felt at once. When we are once sure Satan is a tyrant; till then he is a parasite. There can be no safety, if we do not view as well the back, as the face of temptations. But, O presumption and impudence, that hell itself may be ashamed of! the devil dare say to Christ, “ All these will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.” That beggarly spirit, that hath not an inch of earth, can offer the whole world to the Maker, to the Owner of it: the slave of God would be adored of his Creator. How can we hope tie should be sparing of false boasts, and of unreasonable promises nnto us, when he dares offer kingdoms to Him by whom kings reign ! Temptations on the right hand are most dangerous. How many, that have been hardened with fear, have melted with honour ! There is no doubt of that soul that will not bite at the golden hook. False liars, and vain-glorious boasters, see the top of their pedigree ; if I may not rather say, that Satan doth borrow the use of their tongues for a time: whereas, faithful is He that hath promised, who will also do it. Fidelity and truth are the issue of heaven. If idolatry were not a dear sin to Satan, he would not be so importu¬ nate to compass it. It is miserable to see how he draws the world in¬ sensibly into this sin, which they profess to detest. Those that would rather hazard the furnace, than worship gold in a statue, yet do adore it in the stamp, and find no fault with themselves. If our hearts be 212 SIMON CALLED. Qbook II. drawn to stoop unto an over high respect of any creature, we are idola¬ ters. O God, it is no marvel, if thy jealousy he kindled at the admission of any of thine own works, into a competition of honour with their Creator. Never did om- Saviour say, “ Avoid Satan,” till now. It is a just indignation that is conceived at the motion of a rivality with God. Nei¬ ther yet did Christ exercise his divine power in this command, but, by the necessary force of Scripture, drives away that impure tempter: “ It is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.” The rest of om* Saviour’s answers were more full and direct than that they could admit of a reply; but this was so flat and absolute, that it utterly daunted the courage of Satan, and put him to a shameful flight, and made him for the time weai*y of his trade. The way to be rid of the troublesome solicitations of that wicked one is continued resistance. He that forcibly drove the tempter from him¬ self, takes him off from us, and will not abide his assaults perpetually. It is oiu* exercise and ti’ial that he intends, not our confusion. CONTEMPLATION IV.—SIMON CALLED. As the sun, in his first rising, draw's all eyes to it, so did this Sun of righteousness, when he first shone forth into the world. His miraculous cures drew patients, his divine doctrine drew auditors, both together drew the admiring multitude by troops after him. And why do we not still follow thee, O Saviour, through deserts and mountains, over land and seas, that we may be both healed and taught ? It w*as thy word, that, when thou wert lift up, thou wouldst draw all men unto thee. Behold, thou art lift up long since, both to the tree of shame, and to the throne of heavenly glory ! “ Draw us, and we shall run after thee.” Thy word is still the same, though proclaimed by men ; thy virtue is still the same, though exercised upon the spirits of men. O give us to hun¬ ger after both, that by both our souls may be satisfied ! I see the people not only following Christ, but pressing upon him : even very unmannerliness finds here both to excuse and acceptation. Tliey did not keep their distances in an aw'e to the majesty of the Speaker, while they were ravished with the power of the speech ; yet did not our Saviour check their unreverend thronging, but rather en¬ courages their forwardness. We cannot offend thee, O God, with the importunity of our desires. It likes thee well, that the kingdom of heaven should suffer violence. Our slackness doth ever displease thee, never our vehemency. The throng of auditors forced Christ to leave the shore, and to make Peter’s ship his pulpit. Never were there such nets cast out of that fisher-boat before. While he was upon the land, he healed the sick bodies by his touch ; now, that he was upon the sea, he cured the sick souls by his doctrine ; and is purposely severed from the multitude, that he may unite them to him. He that made both sea and land, causeth both of them to conspire to the opportunities of doing good. CONT. IV.] SIMON CALLED. 213 Simon was busy washing his nets. Even those nets that caught no¬ thing must be washed, no less than if they had sped well. The night’s toil doth not excuse his day’s work. Little did Simon think of leaving those nets which he so carefully washed ; and now Christ interrupts him with the favour and blessing of his gracious presence. Labour in our calling, how homely soever, makes us capable of divine benediction. The honest fisherman, when he saw the people flock after Christ, and heard him speak with such power, coidd not but conceive a general and confused apprehension of some excellent worth in such a teacher, and therefore is glad to honour his ship with such a guest; and is first Christ’s host by sea, ere he is his disciple by land. An humble and serviceable entertainment of a prophet of God was a foundation of his futm'e honour. He, that would so easily lend Christ his hand and his ship, was likely, soon after, to bestow himself upon his Saviour. Simon hath no sooner done this service to Christ, than Christ is pre¬ paring for his reward: when the sermon is ended, the ship-room shall be paid for abundantly ; neither shall the host expect any other pay¬ master than himself. “ Launch forth into the deep, and let down your nets to make a draught.” That ship, which lent Christ an opportunity of catching men upon the shore, shall be requited with a plentiful draught of fish in the deep. It had been as easy for our Saviour to have brought the fish to Peter’s ship, close to the shore; yet as choosing rather to have the ship carried to the shoal of fish, he bids, “ Launch forth into the deep.” In his miracles he loves ever to meet natui’e in her bounds ; and, when she hath done her best, to supply the rest by his over-niling power. The same power, therefore, that could have caused the fishes to leap upon dry land, or to leave themselves forsaken of the waters upon the sands of the lake, will rather find them in a place natural to their abiding : “ Launch out into the deep.” Rather in a desire to gratify and obey his guest, than to pleasure him¬ self, will Simon bestow one cast of his net. Had Christ enjoined him a harder task, he had not refused ; yet not without an allegation of an unlikelihood of success; “ Master, we have toiled aU night, and caught nothing; yet at thy word I will let down the net.” The night was the fittest time for the hopes of their trade : not unjustly might Simon mis¬ doubt his speed by day, when he had worn out the night in unprofitable labour. Sometimes God crosseth the fairest of our expectations, and gives a blessing to those times and means whereof we despair. That pains cannot be cast away, which we resolve to lose for Christ. O God, how many do I see casting out their nets in the great lake of the M'orld, which in the whole night of their life have caught nothing ! “ They conceive mischief, and bring forth iniquity ; they hatch cockatrice’s eggs, and weave the spider’s web: he that eateth of their eggs dieth, and that which is trodden upon breaketh out into a serpent; their wehs shall be no garmen*^, neither shall they cover themselves with their labours.” “ O ye sons of men, how long will ye love vanity, and follow after lies?” Yet if we have thus vainly mispent the time of our darkness, let us, at the command of Christ, cast out our new-washen nets, our 214 SIMON CALLED. [book II. humble and penitent obedience shall come home laden with blessings. “ And when they had so done, they enclosed a great multitude of fishes, so that their net brake.” What a difference there is betwixt our own voluntary acts, and those that are done upon command; not more in the grounds of them, than in the issue ! those are ofttimes fruitless, these ever successful. Never man threw out his net at the word of his Sa¬ viour, and drew it back empty. Wlio woidd not obey thee, O Clirist, since thou dost so bountifully requite our weakest services ! It was not mere retribution that was intended in this event, but instruction also: this act was not without a mystery. He that should be made a fisher of men, shall, in this draught, foresee his success. “ The kingdom of heaven is like a draw-net cast into the sea, which, when it is full, men draw to land.” The very first draught that Peter made, after the compliment of his apostleship, inclosed no less than three thousand souls. O powerful gospel, that can fetch sinful men from out of the depths of natural corruption I O happy souls, that, from the blind and muddy cells of our wicked nature, are drawn forth to the glorious liberty of the sons of God! Simon’s net breaks with the store. Abundance is sometimes no less troublesome than want. The net should have held, if Christ had not meant to overcharge Simon, both with bless¬ ing and admiration. How happily is that net broken, whose rupture draws the fisher to Christ! though the net brake, yet the fish escaped not: he that brought them thither to be taken, held them there till they were taken. “ They beckoned to their partners in the other ship, that they should come and help them.” There are other ships in part¬ nership with Peter; he doth not fish all the lake alone. There cannot be a better improvement of society than to help us in gain, to relieve us in our profitable labours, to draw up the spiritual draught into the ves¬ sel of Chi'ist and his church. Wherefore hath God given us partners, but that we shoxdd beckon to them for their aid in our necessary occa¬ sions ! neither doth Simon slacken his hand, because he had assistants. What shall we say to those lazy fishers, who can set others to the drag, while themselves look on at ease, caring only to feed themselves with the fish, not willing to wet their hands with the net ? What shall we say to this excess of gain ? the nets break, the ships sink with their burden. O happy complaint of too large a capture ! O Saviour, if those apostolic vessels of the first rigging were thus overlaid, o’erfloat and totter with a ballasted lightness ; thou, who art no less present in these bottoms of ours, lade them with an equal fraught of converted souls, and let us praise thee for thus sinking 1 Simon was a skilful fisher, and knew well the depth of his trade; and now, perceiving more than art or nature in this draught, he falls down at the knees of Jesus, saying, “ Lord, go from me, for I am a sinful man.” Himself is caught in this net. He doth not greedily fall upon so unexpected and profitable a booty, but he turns his eyes from the draught to himself, from the act to the author, acknowledging vile¬ ness in the one, in the other majesty. “ Go from me. Lord, for I am a sinful man.” It had been pity the honest fisherman should have been taken at his word. O Simon, thy Saviour is come into thine own ship to call thee, CONT. V.] THE MARRIAGE IN CANA. 215 to call others by thee unto blessedness; and dost thou say, “ Lord, go from me ?” As if the patient should say to the physician, Depart from me, for I am sick. It was the voice of astonishment, not of dislike ; the voice of humility, not of discontentment; yea, because thou art a sinful man, therefore hath thy Saviour need to come to thee, to stay with thee ; and because thou art humble in the acknowledgment of thy sinfulness, therefore Christ delights to abide with thee, and will call thee to abide with him. No man ever fared the worse for abasing himself to his God. Christ hath left many a soul for froward and unkind usage ; never any for the disparagement of itself, and entreaties of humility. Simon could not devise how to hold Christ faster, than by thus suing to him to be gone, than by thus pleading his unworthiness. O my soul, be not weary of complaining of thine own wretchedness ; disgrace thyself to him that knows thy vileness ; be astonished at those mercies which have shamed thine ill-deservings. Thy Saviour hath no power to go away from a prostrate heart. He that resists the proud, heartens the lowly ; “ Fear not, for I will make thee henceforth a fisher of men.” Lo, this humility is rewarded with an apostleship. What had the earth ever more glorious than a legacy from heaven ? He that bade Christ go from him, shall have the honour to go first on this happy errand. This was a trade that Simon had no skill of: it could not be enough to him, that Chiist said, “ I will make thee the miracle show¬ ed him able to make good his word. He that hath power to command the fishes to be taken, can easily enable the hands to take them. What is this divine trade of ours, then, but a spiritual piscation ? The world is a sea ; souls, like fishes, swim at liberty in this deep ; the nets of wholesome doctrine draw up some to the shore of grace and glory. How much skill, and toil, and patience, is requisite in this art I “ Who is sufficient for these things ?” This sea, these nets, the fishers, the fish, the vessels, are all thine, O God; do what thou wilt in us and by us. Give us ability and grace to take ; give men will and grace to be taken, and take thou glory by that which thou hast given. CONTEMPLATION V.—THE MARRIAGE IN CANA. Was this then thy first miracle, O Saviour, that thou wroughtst in Cana of Galilee ? and could there be a greater miracle than this that, having been thirty years upon earth, thou didst no miracle till now ? that thy Divinity did hide itself thus long in flesh, that so long thou wouldst lie obscure in a corner of Galilee, unknown to that world thou earnest to redeem ; that so long thou wouldst strain the patient expectation of those, who ever since thy star, waited upon the revelation of a Messias ? We silly wretches, if we have but a dram of virtue, are ready to set it out to the best show: thou who “ receivedst not the Spirit by measme,” wouldst content thyself with a willing obscurity, and concealedst that power, that made the world, in the roof of a human breast, in a cottage of Nazareth ! O Saviour, none of thy miracles is more worthy of aston¬ ishment, than thy not doing of miracles ! What thou didst in private 216 THE MARRIAGE IN CANA. [|book II. thy wisdom thought fit for secrecy : but if thy blessed mother had not been acquainted with some domestical wonders, she had not now ex¬ pected a miracle abroad. The stars are not seen by day, the sun itself is not seen by night. As it is no small art to hide art, so it is no small glory to conceal glory. Thy first public miracle graceth a marriage. It is an ancient and laudable institution, that the rites of matrimony should not want a solemn celebration. When are feasts in season, if not at the recovery of our lost rib : if not at this main change of our estate, where¬ in the joy of obtaining, meets with the hope of fiu-ther comforts ? The Son of the Virgin, and the mother of that Son, are both at a wedding. It was in all likelihood some of their kindred, to whose nuptial-feast they were invited so far; yet was it more the honour of the act than of the person that Christ intended. He that made the first marriage in Para¬ dise, bestows his first miracle upon a Galilean marriage. He that was the author of matrimony, and sanctified it, doth, by his holy presence, honour the resemblance of his eternal union with his church. How bold¬ ly may we spit in the faces of all the impure adversaries of wedlock, when the Son of God pleases to honour it! The glorious Bridegroom of the church knew well how ready men would be to place shame, even in the most lawful conjunctions ; and therefore his first work shall be, to countenance his own ordinance. Happy is that w'edding where Christ is a guest! O Saviour, those that marry in thee, cannot marry without thee. There is no holy marriage whereat thou art not; however invisible, yet truly present by thy Spirit, by thy gracious benediction. Thou makest marriages in heaven, thou blessest them from heaven. O thou that hast betrothed us to thyself in truth and righteousness, do thou consummate that happy marriage of ours in the highest heavens ! It was no rich or sumptuous bridal to which Christ, with his mother and disciples, vouchsafed to come from the far¬ ther parts of Galilee. I find him not at the magnificent feasts or tri¬ umphs of the great. The proud pomp of the world did not agree with the state of a servant. This poor needy bridegroom wants drink for his guests. The blessed Virgin, though a stranger to the house, out of a charitable compassion, and a friendly desire to maintain the decency of an hospitable entertainment, inquires into the wants of her host, pities them, bemoans them, where there was power of redress. “ When the wine failed, the mother of Jesus said unto him, They have no wine.” How well doth it beseem the eyes of piety and Christian love, to look into the necessities of others ! She that conceived the God of mercies both in her heart and in her womb, doth not fix her eyes upon her own teacher, but searcheth into the penury of a poor Israelite, and feels those wants whereof he complains not. They are made for themselves, whose thoughts are only taken up with their own store or indigence. There was wine enough for a meal, though not for a feast; and if there were not wine enough, there was enough of water : yet the holy Virgin complains of the want of wine, and is troubled with the very lack of superfluity. The bounty of our God reaches not to our life only, but to our contentment: neither hath he thought good to allow us only the bread of sufficiency, but sometimes of pleasure. One while that is but necessai-y, which some other time were superfluous. It is a scni- pulous injustice to scant ourselves where God hath been liberal. CONT. V.^ THE MARRIAGE IN CANA. 217 To whom should we complain of any want, hut to the Maker and Giver of all things ? The blessed Virgin knew to whom she sued: she had good reason to know the Divine nature and power of her Son. Perhaps the bridegroom was not so needy, but, if not by his purse, yet by his cx’edit, he might have supplied that want; or it were hard, if some of the neighbour guests, had they been duly solicited, might not have furnished him with so much wine as might suffice for the last ser¬ vice of a dinner. But blessed Mary knew a nearer way: she did not think best to lade at the hallow channel, but runs rather to the well¬ head, where she may dip and fill the firkins at once with ease. It may < be, she saw that the train of Christ, which, unbidden, followed unto that feast, and unexpectedly added to the number of the guests, might help forward that defect, and therefore she justly solicits her Son Jesus for a supply. Whether we want bread, or water, or wine, necessaries or comforts, whither should we run, O Saviour, but to that infinite munifi¬ cence of thine, which neither denieth nor upbraideth any thing ? we can¬ not want, we cannot abound, but from thee. Give us what thou wilt, so thou give us contentment with what thou givest. But what is this I hear ? a sharp answer to the suit of a mother: “ O woman, what have I to do with thee ?” He whose sweet mildness and mercy never sent away any supplicant discontented, doth he only frown upon her that bare him? He that commands us to honour father and mother, doth he disdain her whose flesh he took ? God forbid: Love and duty doth not exempt parents from due admonition. She solicited Christ as a mother, he answers her as a woman. If she were the mother of his flesh, his deity was eternal. She might not so remember herself to be a mother, that she should forget she was a woman; nor so look upon him as a son, that she should not regard him as a God. He was so obe¬ dient to her as a mother, that withal she must obey him, as her God. That part wdiich he took from her shall observe her ; she must observe that nature which came from above, and made her both a woman and a mother. Matter of miracle concerned the Godhead only; supernatural things were above the sphere of fleshly relation. If now the blessed Vir¬ gin will be prescribing either time or form unto divine acts, “ O woman, what have I to do with thee? my hour is not come.” In all bodily actions his style was, “ O mother:” in spiritual and heavenly, “ O woman.” Neither is it for us, in the holy affairs of God, to know any faces ; yea, “ If we have known Christ heretofore according to the flesh, henceforth know we him so no more.” O blessed Virgin, if, in that heavenly glory wherein thou art, thou canst take notice of these earthly things, with what indignation dost thou look down upon the presumptuous superstition of vain men, whose suits make thee more than a solicitor of divine favours ! thy humanity is not lost in thy motherhood, nor in thy glory : the respects of nature reach not so high as heaven. It is far from thee to abide that honour which is stolen from thy Redeemer. There is a marriage whereto we are invited, yea, wherein we are already interested, not as the guests only, but as the bride, in wdiich there shall be no want of the wine of gladness. It is marvel, if in these earthly banquets there be not some lack. “ In thy presence, O 11. 2 E 218 THE MARRIAGE IN CANA. [book ir. Saviour, there is fulness of joy, and at thy right-hand are pleasures for evermore.” Blessed are they that are called to the marriage-supper of the Lamb. Even in that rough answer doth the blessed Virgin descry cause of hope. If his hour was not yet come it was therefore coming: when the expectation of the guests, and the necessity of the occasion, had made fit room for the miracle, it shall come forth and challenge their wonder. Faithfully, therefore, and observantly, doth she turn her speech from her son to the waiters; “ Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.” How well doth it beseem the mother of Christ to agree with his Father in heaven, whose voice from heaven said, “ 'This is my well-beloved Son, hear him !” She that said of herself, “ Be it unto me according to thy word,” says unto others, “ Whatsoever he saith to you, do it.” This is the way to have miracles wrought in us, obedience to his word. The power of Christ did not stand upon their officiousness : he could have wrought wonders in spite of them ; but their perverse refusal of his commands might have made them incapable of the favour of a miraculous action. He that can, when he will, convince the obstinate, will not grace the disobedient. He that could work without us, or against us, will not work for us, but by us. This very poor house was furnished with many and large vessels for outward purification ; as if sin had dwelt upon the skin, that superstitious people sought holiness in frequent washings. Even this rinsing fouled them with the uncleanness of a traditional muII- worship. It is the soul which needs scouring ; and nothing can wash that but the blood which they desperately wished upon themselves and their children, for guilt, not for expiation. “ Purge thou us, O Lord, with hyssop, and we shall be clean; wash us, and we shall be whiter than snow.” The waiters'could not but think strange of so unseasonable a com¬ mand, “ Fill the water-pots.” It is wine that we Avant, what do we go to fetch water ? doth this holy man mean thus to quench our feast, and cool our stomachs ? if there be no remedy, Ave could have sought this supply unbidden. Yet so far hath the charge of Christ’s mother prevailed, that, instead of carrying flagons of wine to the table, they go to fetch pailfuls of water from the cisterns. It is no pleading of unlikelihoods against the command of an Almighty power. He, that could have created Avine immediately in those vessels, will rather turn water into wine. In all the course of his miracles, I do ne¬ ver find him making ought of nothing ; all his great works are ground¬ ed upon former existences. He multiplied the bread, he changed the Avater, he restored the withered limbs, he raised the dead, and still Avrought upon that Avhich Avas, and did not make that which was not. What doth he in the ordinary Avay of nature, but turn the watery juice that arises up from the root into wine ? he will only do this now suddenly, and at once, which he doth usually by sensible degrees. It is ever duly ob¬ served by the Son of God, not to do more miracle than he needs. Hoav liberal are the provisions of Christ! if he had turned but one of these vessels, it had been a just proof of his power, and perhaps that quantity had served the present necessity: now he furnisheth them with so much Avine as would have seiwed a hundi'ed and fifty guests for an CONT. Vl.j THE GOOD CENTURION. 219 entire feast. Even the measure magnifies at once both hij power and mercy. The munificent hand of God regards not our need only, but our honest affluence. It is our sin and our shame, if we turn his favour into wantonness. There must be first a filling, ere there be a drawing out. Thus, in our vessels, the first care must be of our receipt; the next of our expense. God would have us cisterns, not channels. Our Saviour would not be his own taster, but he sends the first draught to the gover¬ nor of the feast. He knew his own power, they did not: neither wotdd he bear witness of himself, but fetch it out of others’ mouths. They that knew not the religion of that wine, yet praised the taste, “ Every man at the beginning doth set forth good wine, and when men have well drunk, then that which is worse: but thou liast kept the good wine until now.” The same bounty that expressed itself in the quantity of the wine, shows itself no less in the excellence. Nothing can fall from that divine hand not exquisite: that liberality hated to provide crab-wine for his guests. It was fit that the miraculous effects of Christ, which came from his immediate hand, should be more perfect than the natural. O blessed Saviour, how delicate is that new wine which we shall one day drink with thee in thy Father’s kingdom I Thou shalt turn this wa¬ ter of our earthly affliction into that wine of gladness, wherewitli our souls shall be satiated for ever. “ Make haste, O my beloved, and be thou like to a roe, or to a young hart upon the mountains of spices.” CONTEMPLATION VI.—THE GOOD CENTURION. Even the bloody trade of w^ar yielded worthy clients to Christ. This Roman captain had learned to believe in that Jesus whom many Jews despised. No nation, no trade can shut out a good heart from God. If he were a foreigner for birth, yet he was a domestic in heart. He could not change his blood, he could overrule his affections. He loved that nation which was chosen of God ; and if he were not of the synagogue, yet he built a synagogue; where he might not be a party, he would be a benefactor. Next to being good, is a favom’ing of goodness. We could not love religion, if we utterly want it. How many true Jews were not so zealous ! either will or ability lacked in them, whom duty more obliged. Good affections do many times more than supply nature. Neither doth God regard whence but w'hat we are. I do not see this centurion come to Christ, as the Israelitish captain came to Elias in Carmel, but with his cap in his hand, W'ith much suit, much submis¬ sion, by otheis, by himself: he sends first the elders of the Jews, wdiom he might hope that their nation and place might make gracious ; then lest the employment of others might argue neglect, he seconds them in person. Cold and fruitless are the motions of friends, where we do wil¬ fully shut up our own lips. Importunity cannot but speed well in both. Could we but speak for ourselves, as this captain did for his servant, what could we possibly want ? What marvel is it, if God be not forw ard to give, where w^e care not to ask, or ask as if we cared not to receive ? shall 220 THE GOOD CENTURION. [book II. we yet call this a suit, or a complaint ? I hear no one word of entreaty. The less is said, the more is concealed: it is enough to lay open his want. He knew well that he had to deal with so wise and merci¬ ful a physician, as that the opening of the malady was a craving of cure. If our spiritual miseries be but confessed, they cannot fail of redress. Great variety of suitors resorted to Christ; one comes to him for a son, another for a daughter, a third for himself; I see none come for his servant but this one centurion. Neither was he a better man than a mastei’. His servant is sick ; he doth not drive him out of doors, but lays him at home ; neither doth he stand gazing by his bed-side, but seeks forth : he seeks forth, not to witches or charmers, but to Christ: he seeks to Christ, not with a fashionable relation, but with a vehement aggravation of the disease. Had the master been sick, the faithfullest servant coidd have done no more. He is unworthy to be w'ell served, that will not sometimes wait upon his followers. Conceits of inferiority may not breed in us a neglect of charitable offices. So must w’e look down upon our servants here on earth, as that we must still look up to our Master which is in heaven. But why didst thou not, O centurion, rather bring thy serv'ant to Christ for cure, than sue for him absent ? there was a paralytic, whom faith and charity brought to our Saviour, and let down through the uncovered roof in his bed : why was not thine so carried, so presented ? was it out of the strength of thy faith, which assured thee thou needest not show thy servant to him that saw all things ? One and the same grace may yield contrary effects. They, because they believed, brought the patient to Christ ; thou broughtst not thine to him, because thou believedst: their act argues no less desire, than more confidence ; thy la¬ bour w’as less, because thy faith w'as more. O that 1 could come thus to my Saviour, and make such moan to him for myself. Lord, my soul is sick of unbelief, sick of self-love, sick of inordinate desires ; I should not need to say more. Thy mercy, O Saviour, would not then stay by for my suit, but would prevent me, as here, with a gracious engagement, “ I will come and heal thee.” I did not hear the centurion say either Come, or. Heal him : the one he meant, though he said not; the other he neither said nor meant. Christ over-gives both his words and inten¬ tions. It is the manner of that divine munificence, where he meets with a faithful suitor, to give more than is requested ; to give when he is not re¬ quested. The very insinuations of our necessities are no less violent than successful. We think the measure of human bounty runs over, when w^e obtain but what we ask with importunity : that infinite goodness keeps within bounds, when it overflows the desires of our hearts. As he said, so he did. The word of Christ either is his act, or con¬ curs with it. He did not stand still when he said, “ I wdll come,” but he went as he spake. When the ruler entreated him for his son, “ Come down ere he die,” our Saviour stirred not a foot: the centurion did but complain of the sickness of his servant, and Christ, unasked, says, “ I will come and heal him.” That he might be far from so much as seem¬ ing to honour wealth and despise meanness, he, that came in the shape of a servant, wmidd go dowui to the sick servant’s pallet, would not go CONT. VI.] THE GOOD CENTURION. 221 to the bed of tlie rich ruler’s son. It is the basest motive of respect, that ariseth merely from outward greatness. Either more grace or more need may justly challenge our favourable regards, no less than private obligations. Even so, O Saviour, that which thou offeredst to do for the centurion’s servant, hast thou done for us. We Avere sick unto death ; so far had the dead palsy of sin overtaken us, that there was no life of grace left in us : Avhen thou wert not content to sit still in heaven, and say, “ I will cure them ; ” but addest also, “ I will come and cure them.” Thyself came doAvn accordingly to this miserable world, and hast personally healed us ; so as now we shall not die, but live, and declare thy works, O Lord. And O that we could enough praise that love and mercy, which hath so graciously abased thee, and coidd be but so low dejected before thee, as thou hast stooped low unto us ! that we could be but as lowly subjects of thy goodness, as we are unworthy I O admirable return of humility ! Christ will go down to visit the sick servant. The master of that servant says, “ Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldst come under my roofthe Jewish elders that went before to mediate for him, could say. He is worthy that thou shouldst do this for him; but the centurion, when he comes to speak for himself, “ 1 am not worthy.” They said, he was worthy of Christ’s miracle ; he says, he is unworthy of Christ’s presence. Thei-e is great difference betwixt others’ valuations and our OAvn. Sometimes the world under-rates him that finds reason to set a high price upon himself. Sometimes again, it ovei-- values a man that knoAVS just cause of his OAvn humiliation. If others mistake us, this can be no AA'arrant of our error. We cannot be wise, unless we receiA^e the knoAvledge of ourselves by direct beams, not by reflection ; unless AA"e have learned to contemn unjust applauses, and, scorning the flattery of the Avorld, to frown upon our own vileness : “ Lord, I am not Avorthy.” Many a one, if he had been in the centurion’s coat, would have thought Avell of it; a captain, a man of good ability and command, a founder of a synagogue, a patrou of religion : yet he overlooks all these, and when he casts his eye upon the divine worth of Christ and his OAvn weakness, he says, “ I am not worthy.” Alas, Lord, I am a Gentile, an alien, a man of blood; thou art lioly, thou art omnipotent. True humility will teach us to find out the best of ahothei’, and the worst piece of ourselves : pride, contrarily, shows us nothing but matter of admiration in ourselves, in others of contempt. While he confest himself unAvorthy of any favour, he approved himself worthy of all. Had not Christ been before in his heart, he could not have thought himself unworthy to entertain that guest AA’ithin his house. Under the Ioav roof of an humble breast doth God ever delight to dAvell: the state of his palace may not be measured by the height, but by the depth. Brags and bold faces do ofttimes carry it away Avith men ; nothing prevails with God but our voluntary dejections. It is fit the foundations should be laid deep, Avhere the building is high. The centurion’s humility AA^as not more Ioav than his faith was lofty : that reaches up into heaven, and, in the face of human Aveakness, descries omnipotence : “ Only say the Avord, and my srevant shall be whole.” 222 THE GOOD CENTURION. [book II. Had the centurion’s roof been heaven itself, it could not have been worthy to be come under of Him whose word was almighty, and who was the Almighty Word of his Father. Such is Christ confessed by him that says, “ Only say the word.” None but a divine power is un¬ limited : neither hath faith any other bounds than God himself. There needs no footing to remove mountains or devils, but a word. Do but say the word, O Saviour, my sin shall be remitted, my soul shall be healed, my body shall be raised from dust, both soul and body shall be glorious. Whereupon then was the steady confidence of the good centurion ? he saw how powerful his own word was with those that were under his command, though himself were under the command of another, the force whereof extended even to absent performances; well, therefore, might he argue, that a free and unbounded power might give infallible commands, and that the most obstinate disease must therefore needs yield to the beck of the God of nature. Weakness may show us what is in strength ; by one drop of water we may see what is in the main ocean. I marvel not if the centurion were kind to his servants, for they were dutiful to him ; he can but say. Do this, and it is done ; these mutual respects draw on each other: cheerful and diligent service in the one, calls for a due and favourable care in the other : they that neglect to please, cannot com¬ plain to be neglected. O that I could be but such a servant to mine hea¬ venly Master! Alas, every of his commands says. Do this, and I do it not: every of his inhibitions says. Do it not, and I do it. He says, Go from the world, I run to it: he says. Come to me, I run from him. Woe is me I this is not service, but enmity. How can I look for favour, while I return rebellion ? It is a gracious Master whom we serve ; there can be no duty of oui's that he sees not, that he acknowledges not, that he crowns not. We could not but be happy, if we could be officious. What can be more marvellous than to see Christ marvel ? all marvelling supposes an ignorance going before, and a knowledge following some accident unexpected. Now, who wrought this faith in the centurion, but he that wondered at it ? He knew well what he wrought, because he wrought what he would ; yet he wondered at what he both wrought and knew, to teach us, much more to admire that which he at once knows and holds admirable. He wrought this faith as God, he wondered at it as man : God wrought, and man admired : he that was both, did both, to teach us where to be¬ stow our wonder. I never find Christ wondering at gold or silver, at the costly and curious works of human skill or industry: yea, when the disciples wondered at the magnificence of the temple, he rebuked them rather. I find him not wondering at the frame of heaven and earth, nor at the orderly disposition of all creatures and events ; the familiarity of these things intercepts the admiration. But, when he sees the grace or acts of faith, he so approves them, that he is ravished with wonder. He that rejoiced in the view of his creation, to see tliat of nothing he had made all things good, rejoices no less in the reformation of his creature, to see that he had made good of evil. “ Behold, thou art fair, my love, behold, thou art fair, and there is no spot in thee. My sister, my spouse, thou hast wounded my heart, thou hast wounded my heart with one of thine eyes.” CONT. VI.1 THE GOOD CENTURION. 223 Our wealth, beauty, wit, learning’, honour, may make us accepted of men, but it is our faith only that shall make God in love with us. And why are we of any other save God’s diet, to be more affected with the least measure of grace in any man, than with all the outward glories of the world ? There are great men whom we justly pity; we can ad¬ mire none but the gracious. Neither was that plant more worthy of wonder in itself, than that it grew in such a soil, with so little help of rain and sun. The weakness of means adds to the praise and acceptation of our proficiency. To do good upon a little is the commendation of thrift! it is small thank to be full handed in a large estate; as, contrarily, the strength of means doubles the revenge of our neglect. It is not more the shame of Is¬ rael, than the glory of the centurion, that our Saviour says, “ I have not found so great faith in Israel.” Had Israel yielded any equal faith, it could not have been unespied of these all-seeing eyes : yet were their helps so much greater than their faith w'as less; and God never gives more than he requires. \^niere we have laid our tillage, and compost, and seed, who would not look for a crop ? but if the uncultured fallow yield more, how unjustly is that unanswerable ground near to a curse ? Our Saviour did not mutter this censorious testimony to himself, not whisper it to his disciples; but he turned him about to the people, and spake it in their ears, that he might at once work their shame and emu¬ lation. In all other things except spiritual, our self-love makes us impa¬ tient of equals ; much less can we endure to be out-stripped by those who are our professed inferiors. It is well if any thing can kindle in us holy ambitions. Dull and base are the spirits of that man, that can abide to see another overtake him in the way, and out-run him to heaven. He that both wrought this faith, and w'ondered at it, doth now reward it; “ Go thy ways, and as thou hast believed, so be it unto thee.” Ne¬ ver was any faith unseen of Christ, never was any seen without allowance, never was any allow'ed without remuneration. The measure of our re¬ ceipts, in the matter of favour, is the proportion of our belief. The infinite mercy of God, which is ever like itself, follows but one rule in his gift to us, the faith that he gives us. Give us, O God, to believe, and be it to us as thou wilt, it shall be to us above that we will. The centurion sues for his servant, and Christ says, “ So be it unto thee.” The servant’s health is the benefit of the master, and the mas¬ ter’s faith is the health of the servant. And if the prayers of an earthly master prevailed so much with the Son of God for the recovery of a servant, how shall the intercession of the Son of God prevail with his Father in heaven, for us that are his impotent children and servants upon earth 1 What can we want, O Saviour, while thou suest for us ? He that hath given thee for us can deny thee nothing for us, can deny us nothing for thee. In thee we are lia{)py, and shall be glori¬ ous. To thee, O thou mighty Redeemer of Israel, wfith thine eternal Father, together with thy blessed Spirit, one God infinite and incompre¬ hensible, be given all praise, honour, and glory, for ever and ever. Amen. 224 THE WIDOW’S SON RAISED. [book III. BOOK III. CONTEMPLATION I.—THE WIDOW’S SON RAISED. The favours of our beneficent Saviour were at the least contiguous. No sooner hath he raised the centurion’s servant from his bed, than he raises the widow’s son from his bier. The fruitful clouds are not ordained to fall all in one field. Nain must partake of the bounty of Christ, as well as Cana or Capernaum. And if this sun were fixed in one orb, yet it dift’usetli heat and light to all the w’orld. It is not for any place to engross the messengers of the gospel, whose errand is universal. This immortal seed may not fall all in one furrow. The little city of Nain stood under the hill of Hermon, near unto Tabor ; but now it is watered with better dews from above, the doctrine and miracles of a Saviour. Not for state, but for the more evidence of the work, is our Saviour attended with a large train, so entering into the gate of that walled city, as if he meant to besiege their faith by his power, and to take it. His providence hath so contrived his journey, that he meets with the sad pomp of a funeral. A woeful wddow, attended with her weeping neigh¬ bours, is following her only son to the grave. There was nothing in this spectacle that did not command compassion. A young man, in the flower, in the strength of his age, swallowed up in death. Our decrepit age both expects death and solicits it; but vi¬ gorous youth looks strangely upon that grim serjeant of God. Those mellow apples that fall alone from the tree we gather up with content¬ ment ; we chide to have the unripe unseasonably beaten down with cudgels. But more, a young man, the only son, the only child of his mother. No condition can make it other than grievous, for a well-natured mother to part with her own bowels : yet surely store is some mitigation of loss. Amongst many children one may be more easily missed; for still we hope the surviving may supply the comforts of tlie dead : but when all our hopes and joys must live or die in one, the loss of that one admits of no consolation. When God would describe the most passionate expression of sorrow that can fall into the miserable, he can but say, “ O daughter of my peo¬ ple, gird thee with sackcloth, and wallow thyself in the ashes, make la¬ mentation and bitter mourning as for thine only son.” Such was the loss, such was the sorrow of this disconsolate mother ; neither words nor tears can suffice to discover it. Yet more, had she been aided by the counsel and supportation of a loving yoke-fellow, this burden might have seemed less intolerable. A good husband may make amends for the loss of a son ; had the root been left to her entire, she might better have spared the branch; now both are cut up ; all the stay of her life is gone, and she seems abandoned to a perfect misery. And now, when she gave up herself for a forlorn mour¬ ner, past all capacity of redress, the God of comfort meets her, pities her. CONT. I.] THE WIDOWS SON RAISED. 225 relieves her. Here was no solicitor but his own compassion. In other occasions he was sought and sued to. The centurion comes to him for a servant, the ruler for a son, .Jairus for a daughter, the neighbours for the pai-alytic ; here he seeks up the patient, and offers the cure uure- quested. While we have to do with the Father of mercies, our afflic¬ tions are the most powerfid suitors. No tears, no prayers can move him so much as his own commiseration. O God, none of our secret sorrows can be either hid from thine eyes or kept from thine heart; and when we are past all our hopes, all possibilities of help, then art thou nearest to us for deliverance. Here was a conspiration of all parts to mercy; the heart had compas¬ sion ; the mouth said, “ Weep notthe feet went to the bier, the hand touched the coffin, the power of the Deity raised the dead. What the heart felt was seci-et to itself; the tongue therefore expresses it in words of comfort, “ Weep not.’' Alas I what are words to so strong and just passions ? To bid her not to weep, that had lost her only son, was to persuade her to be miserable, and not feel it; to feel, and not regard it; to regard, and yet to smother it. Concealment doth not remedy, but ag¬ gravate sorrow. That, with the council of not weeping therefore, she might see cause of not weeping, his hand seconds his tongue. He arrests the coffin, and frees the prisoner ! “ Young man, I say unto thee, arise.” The Lord of life and death speaks with command. No finite power could have said so without presumption, or with success. That is the voice that shall one day call up our vanished bodies from those elements into which they are resolved, and raise them out of their dust. Neither sea, nor death, nor hell can offer to detain their dead, when he charges them to be delivered. Incredulous nature ! what, dost thou shrink at the possibility of a resurrection, when the God of nature undertakes it! It is no move hard for that Almighty word, which gave being unto all things, to say, “ Let them be repaired,” than, “ Let them be made.” I do not see our Saviour stretching himself upon the dead corpse, as Elias and Elisha upon the sons of the Shunamite and Sareptan, nor kneel¬ ing down and praying by the bier, as Peter did to Dorcas ; but I hear him so speaking to the dead as if he were alive, and so speaking to the dead, that by the word he makes him alive; “ I say unto thee, arise.” Death hath no power to bid that man lie still, whom the Son of God bids arise. Immediately he that was dead sat up ; so, at the sound of the last trumpet, by the power of the same voice, we shall arise out of the dust, and stand up glorious; “ Tliis mortal shall put on immortality, this corruptible incorruption.” This body shall not be buried but sown, and at our day shall therefore spring up with a plentiful increase of glory. How comfortless, how desperate should be our lying down, if it Avere not for this assurance of rising I And now, behold, lest our weak faith should stagger at the assent to so great a difficulty, he hath already, by what he hath done, given us tastes of what he Avill do. The Power that can raise one man, can raise a thousand, a million, a world: no power can raise one man but that Avhich is infinite, and that which is infinite admits of no limitation. Under the Old Testament God raised one by Elias, another by Elisha living, a third by Elisha dead : by the hand of the ^lediator of the New Testament, he raised here the son of the widow, II. 2 F 22G THE RULER’S SON CURED. [[book I!5. the daughter of Jaims, Lazarus ; and, in attendance of his own resurrec¬ tion, he made a gaol-delivery of holy prisoners at Jerusalem. He raises the daughter of Jairus from her bed, this widow’s son from his coffin, Lazarus from his grave, the dead saints of Jerusalem from their rotten¬ ness ; that it might appear no degree of death can hinder the efficacy of his overriding command. He that keeps the keys of death, can not only make way for himself through the common hall and outer-i’ooms, but through the inwardest and most reserved closets of darkness. Methinks I see this young man, who was thus miraculously awaked from his deadly sleep, wiping and rubbing those eyes that had been shut up in death, and descending from the bier, wrapping his winding-sheet about his loins, casting himself down in a passionate thankfulness at the feet of his Almighty Restorer, adoring that divine power wdiich had com¬ manded his soul back again to her forsaken lodging ! and though I hear not what he said, yet, I dare say, they were w’ordsof praise and wonder, which his soul first uttered. It was the mother whom our Saviour first pitied in this act, not the son, who now, forced from his quiet rest, must twice passthrough the gates of death. As for her sake therefore he was raised, so to her hands was he delivered, that she might acknowdedge that soul given toiler, not to the possessor. Who cannot feel the amazement and ecstasy of joy that was in this revived mother, when her son now salutesher from out of another world, and both receives and gives gratulations of his new life ! how suddenly w'ere all the tears of that mournful train dried up w ith a joyful astonishment ! how soon is that funeral banquet turned into a new birth-day feast ! wdiat striving was here to salute the late carcass of their returned neighbour I what aw'ful and admiring looks were cast upon that Lord of life, who, seeming homely, was approved omnipotent 1 how gladly did every tongue celebrate both the work and the Author ! “ A great prophet is raised up amongst us, and God hath visited his people.” A prophet was the highest name they could find for him, whom they saw like themselves in shape, above themselves in power. They were not yet acquainted with God manifested in the flesh. This miracle might well have assured them of more than a pro¬ phet ; but he, that raised the dead man from the bier, would not sudden¬ ly raise these dead hearts from the grave of infidelity. They shall see reason enough to know, that the Prophet who was raised up to them, was the God that now visited them, and at last should do as much for them, as he had done for the young man, raise them from death to life, from dust to glory. CONTEMPLATION II.—THE RULER’S SON CURED. The bounty of God so exceedetli man’s, that there is a contrariety in the exercise of it: we shut our hands, because we opened them. God therefore opens his, because he hath opened them. God’s mercies are as comfortable in their issue as in themselves. Seldom ever do blessings go alone : where our Saviour supplied the bridegroom’s wine, there ho heals the ruler’s soil He had not, in all these coasts of Galilee, done any miracle, but here. “ To him that hath shall be given.” CONT. II.] THE RULER’S SON CURED. 227 We do not find Christ oft attended with nobility, here he is. It was some great peer, or some noted courtier, that was now a suitor to liim for his dying son. Earthly greatness is no defence against afflictions. We men forbear the mighty; disease and death know no faces of lords or inonarchs: could these be bribed, they would be too rich. Why should we grudge not to be privileged, when we see there is no spare of the greatest! This noble ruler listens after Christ’s return into Galilee. The most eminent amongst men will be glad to hearken after Christ in their ne¬ cessity. Happy was it for him that his son was sick ; he had not else been acquainted with his Saviom-, his soul had continued sick of ignorance and unbelief. Why else doth our good God send us pain, losses, oppo¬ sition, but that he may be sought to ? Are we afflicted, whither should we go but to Cana to seek Christ? whither but to the Cana of heaven, where our water of sorrow is turned to the wine of gladness, to that omni¬ potent Physician who healeth all our infirmities, that we may once say, “ It is good for me that I was afflicted!” It was but a day’s journey from Capernaum to Cana ; thence hither did this courtier come for the cure of his son’s fever. What pains even the greatest can be content to take for bodily health I no way is long, no la¬ bour tedious to the desirous. Our souls are sick of a spiritual fever, la¬ bouring under the cold fit of infidelity, and the hot fit of self-love, and we sit still at home, and see them languish unto death. This ruler was neither faithless nor faithful: had he been quite faith¬ less, he had not taken such pains to come to Christ; had he been faith¬ ful, he had not made this suit to Christ when he was come ; “ Come down, and heal my son, ere he die. ” “ Come down,” as if Christ could not have cured him absent; ‘‘ ere he die,” as if that power conld not have raised him being dead. How much difference was here betwixt the centurion and the ruler ! That came for his servant, this for his son. This son was not more above the servant, than the faith which sued for the servant surpassed that which sued for the son. The one can say, “ Master, come not under my roof, for I am not worthy; only speak the word, and my servant shall he whole.” The other can say. Master, either come under my roof, or my son cannot be whole. “ Heal my son ” had been a good suit, for Christ is the only Physician for all diseases ; but, “ Come down, and heal him,” was to teach God how to work. It is good reason that he should challenge the right of prescribing to us, who are every way his own : it is presumption in us to stint him un¬ to our forms. An expert workman cannot abide to be taught by a no¬ vice ; how much less shall the all-wise God endure to be directed by his creature! This is more than if the patient should take upon him to give a recipe to the physician. That God would give us grace is a be¬ seeming suit; but to say. Give it me by prosperity, is a saucy motive. As there is faithfulness in desiring the end, so modesty and patience in referring the means to the author. In spiritual things God hath ac¬ quainted us with the means whereby he will work, even his own sacred ordinances : upon these, because they have his own promise, we may call absolutely for a blessing; in all others, there is no reason that beggars 228 THE RULER’S SON CURED. [book hi should be choosers. He who doth whatsoever he will, must do it how he will; it is for us to receive, not to appoint. He, who came to complain of his son’s sickness, hears of his own •, “ Except ye see signs and wonders, ye will not believe.” This nobleman was, as is like, of Capernaum: there had Christ often preached; there was one of his chief residences. Either this man had heard our Saviour oft, or might have done : yet because Christ’s miracles came to him only by hearsay, (for as yet we find none at all wrought where he preached most,) therefore the man believes not enough, but so speaks to Christ as to some ordinary physician, “ Come down, and heal.” It was the common disease of the Jews, incredulity, which no receipt could heal but wonders. “ A wicked and adulterous generation seeks signs.” Had they not been wilfully graceless, there was already proof enough of the Messias : the miraculous conception and life of the forerunner, Zechariah’s dumbness, the attestation of angels, the apparition of the star, the journey of the sages, the vision of the shepherds, the testimonies of Anna and Simeon, the prophecies fulfilled, the voice from heaven at his baptism, the divine words that he spake, and yet they must have all made up with miracles; which, though he be not unwilling to give at his owm times, yet he thinks much to be tied unto at theirs. Not to believe without signs, was a sign of stubborn hearts. It was a foul fault and a dangerous one, “Ye will not believe.” What is it that shall condemn the world but unbelief? what can condemn us without it ? No sin can condemn the repentant. Repentance is a fruit of faith : whei e true faith is, then, there can be no condemnation: as there can be nothing but condemnation without it. How much more foul in a noble Capernaite, that had heard the sermons of so divine a teacher ! The greater light we have, the more shame it is for us to stumble. O what shall become of us that reel and fall in the clearest sunshine that ever looked forth upon any church! Be merciful to our sins, O God, and say any thing of us, rather than, “ Ye will not believe.” Our Saviour tells him of his unbelief. He feels not himself sick of that disease : all his mind is on his dying son. As easily do we complain of bodily griefs, as we are hardly affected with spiritual. O the meekness and mercy of this Lamb of God ! When we would have looked that he should have punished this suitor for not believing, he condescends to him that he may believe: “ Go thy way, thy son liveth.” If we should measure our hopes by our own worthiness, there were no expectation of blessings : but if we shall measure them by his bounty and compassion, there can be no doubt of prevailing. As some tender mother, that gives the breast to her unquiet child instead of the rod, so deals he with oui’ perversenesses. How God differences men, according to no other conditions than of their faith! The centurion’s servant was sick, the ruler’s son. The cen¬ turion doth not sue unto Christ to come; only says, “ IMy servant is sick of a palsy Christ answ^ers him, “ I will come and heal him.” The ruler sues unto Christ, that he woidd come and heal his son : Christ will not go ; only says, “ Go thy way, thy son lives.” Outward things carry no respect with God. The image of that Divine Majesty shining inward¬ ly in the graces of the soul, is that which wins love from him in the CONT. III.] THE DUMB DEVIL EJECTED. 229 meanest estate. The centurion’s faith therefore could do no more than the ruler’s greatness ; and that fathful man’s servant hath more regard than this great man’s son. The ruler’s request was, “ Come and healChrist’s answer was, “ Go thy way, thy son lives.” Our merciful Saviour meets those in the end whom he crosses in the way. How sweetly doth he correct our prayers, and, while he doth not give us what we ask, gives us better than we asked. Justly doth he forbear to go down with this ruler, lest he should con¬ firm him in an opinion of measuring his power by conceits of locality and distance : but he doth that in absence, for which his presence was requir¬ ed with a repulse, “ Thy son livethgiving a greater demonstration of his omnipotency than was craved. How oft doth he not hear to our will, that he may hear us to our advantage ! The chosen vessel would be rid of temptations, he hears of a supply of grace ; the sick man asks release, receives patience ; life, and I’eceives glory. Let us ask what we think best; let him give what he knows best. With one word doth Christ heal two patients, the son and the father; the son’s fever, the father’s unbelief. That operative word of our Sa¬ viour was not without the intention of a trial. Had not the ruler gone home satisfied with that intimation of his son’s life and recovery, neither of them had been blessed with success. Now the news of performance meets him one half of the way: and he that believed somewhat ere he came, and more when he went, grew to more faith in the way; and, when he came home, enlarged his faith to aU the skirts of his family. A weak faith may be true, but a true faith is growing : he that boasts of a full stature in the first moment of his assent, may presume, but doth not believe. Great men cannot want clients ; their example sways some, their authority more : they cannot go to either of the other worlds alone. In vain do they pretend power over others, who labour not to draw their families unto God. CONTEMPLATION III.—THE DUMB DEVIL EJECTED. That the Prince of our Peace might approve his perfect victories, wheresoever he met with the prince of darkness he foiled him, he ejected him. He found him in heaven, thence did he throw him head¬ long, and verified his prophet, “ I have cast thee out of mine holy moun¬ tain.” And if the devils left their first habitation, it was because, being devils, they could not keep it. Their estate indeed they might have kept, and did not; their habitation they would have kept, and might not. “ How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer 1” He found him in the heart of man; for in that closet of God did the evil spirit, after his ex¬ ile from heaven, shroud himself: sin gave him possession, which he kept with a willing violence ; thence he casts him by his word and Spirit. He found him tyrannizing in the bodies of some possessed men, and, with power, commands the unclean spirits to depart. This act is for no hand but his. When a strong man keeps posses- 230 THE DUMB DEVIL EJECTED. [book 111. sion, none but a stronger can remove it. In voluntary things tlie strong¬ est may yield to the weakest, Samson to a Delilah ; but in violent, ever the mightiest carries it. A spiritual nature must needs be in rank above a bodily; neither can any power be above a spirit, but the God of spirits. No other ways is it in the mental possession ; wherever sin is, there Satan is: as, on the contrary, “ whosoever is born of God, the seed of God remains in him.” That evil one not only is, but rules in the sons of disobedience ; in vain shall we try to eject him, but by the divine power of the Redeemer. “ For this cause the Son of God was manifest¬ ed, that he might destroy the works of the devil.” Do we find our¬ selves haunted with the familiar devils of pride, self-love, sensual desires, unbelief? none but thou, O Son of the everliving God, can free our bosoms of these hellish guests. “ O cleanse thou me from my secret sins, and keep me, that presumptuous sins prevail not over me.” O Saviour, it is no paradox to say, that thou castest out more devils now, than thou didst while thou wert upon earth. It was thy word, “ When I am lifted up, I will draw all men unto me.” Satan weighs down at the feet; thou pullest at the head, yea, at the heart. In every conversion which thou workest, there is a dispossession. Convert me, O Lord, and I shall be converted. I know thy means are now no other than ordinary. If we expect to be dispossessed by miracle, it would be a miracle if ever we were dispossessed. O let thy gospel have the perfect work in me; so only shall 1 be delivered from the powers of darkness. Nothing can be said to the dumb, but what naturally speaks ; nothing can speak naturally, but what hath the instruments of speech; which, because spirits want, they can no otherways speak vocally, than as they take voices to themselves, in taking bodies. This devil was not there¬ fore dumb in his nature, but in his effect. The man was dumb by the operation of that devil which possessed him : and now the action is at¬ tributed to the spirit, which was subjectively in the man. “ It is not you that speak,” saith our Saviour, ‘‘ but the spirit of your Father that .speaketh in you.” As it is in bodily disease, that they do not infect us alike; some seize upon the humours, others upon the spirits ; some assault the brain, others the heart or lungs: so, in bodily and spiritual possessions, in some the evil spirits take away their senses, in some their limbs, in some their inward faculties ; like as, spiritually, they affect to move us unto several sins, one to lust, another to covetousness or amhition, another to cruelty ; and their names have distinguished them accoi’ding to these various effects. This was a dumb devil, which yet had possessed not the tongue oidy of this man, but his ear: not that only, but, as it seems, his eyes too. O subtile and tyrannous spirit, that obstructs all ways to the soul, that keeps out all means of grace, both from the door and windows of tlie heart; yea, that stops up all passages whether of ingress or egress ; of ingress at the eye or ear, of egress at the mouth, that there miglit be no capacity of redress! What holy use is there of our tongue, but to praise our Maker, to confess our sins, to inform our brethren ? How rife is this dumb devil every where, while he stops the mouths of Christians from these useful and necessary duties I CONT. III.]] THE DUMB DEVIL EJECTED. 231 For what end hath man those two privileges above his fellow-crea¬ tures, reason and speech, but, that as by the one he may conceive of the great works of his Maker, which the rest cannot, so by the other he may express what he conceives to the honour of the Creator, both of them and himself? And why are all other creatures said to praise God, and bidden to praise him, but because they do it by the apprehension, by the expression of man ? “ If the heavens declare the glory of God, ” how do they it, but to the eyes, and by the tongue of that man for whom they were made ? It is no small honour whereof the envious spirit shall rob his Maker, if he can close up the mouth of his only rational and vocal creature, and turn the best of his workmanship into a dumb idol, that hath a mouth and speaks not. “ Lord, open thou my lips, and my mouth shall sliow forth thy praise.” Praise is not more necessary than complaint; praise of God, than complaint of ourselves, whether to God or men. The only amends w^e can make to God, when we have not had the grace to avoid sin, is to confess the sin we have not avoided. This is the sponge that wipes out all the blots and blurs of our lives. “ If we confess our sins. He is faith¬ ful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unright¬ eousness.” That cunning manslayer knows there is no way to purge the sick soul but upward, by casting out the vicious humour wherewith it is clogged ; and therefore holds the lips close, that the heart may not disburden itself by so wholesome evacuation. “ When I kept silence, my bones con¬ sumed : for day and night thy hand, O Lord, was heavy upon me ; my moisture is turned into the drought of summer. O let me confess against myself my wickedness unto thee, that thou mayst forgive the punish¬ ment of my sin.” We have a tongue for God, when we praise him ; for ourselves, when we pray and confess ; for our brethren, when we speak the truth for their information, which, if we hold back in unrighteousness, we yield unto that dumb devil. MTere do we not see that accursed spirit ? he is on the bench, when the mute or partial judge speaks not for truth and innocence; he is in the pxdpit, when the prophets of God smother, or halve, or adulterate the message of their Master; he is at the bar, when irreligious jurors dare lend an oath to fear, to hope, to gain; he is in the market, when godless chapmen, for their penny, sell the truth and their soul; he is in the common conversation of men, when the tongue belies the heart, flatters the guilty, baulketh reproofs even in the foulest crimes. O Thou, who only art stronger than that strong one, cast him out of the hearts and mouths of men 1 “ It is time for thee. Lord, to work, for they have destroyed thy law.” That it might well appear this impediment was not natural, so soon as the man is freed from the spirit, his tongue is free to his speech. The effects of spirits, as they are wrought, so they cease at once. If the Son of God do but remove our spiritual possession, we shall presently break forth into the praise of God, into the confession of our vileness, into the profession of truth. But what strange variety do I see in the spectators of his mira¬ cle, some wondering, others censuring, a third sort tempting, a fourth 232 THE DUMB DEVIL EJECTED. [book III. applauding 1 There was never man or action but was subject to variety of constructions. Whatman could be so holy as he that was of God? v/bat act could be more worthy, than the dispossessing of an evil spirit ? Yet this man, this act passeth these differences of interpretation. What can we do, to undergo but one opinion ? If we give alms and fast, some will magnify our charity and devotion, others will tax our hypocrisy ; if we give not, some will condemn our hard-heartedness, others will allow our care of justice. If we preach plainly, to some it will savour of a care¬ less slumbering, others to a mortified sincerity ; elaborately, some will tax our affectation, others will applaud our diligence in dressing the delicate viands of God. What marvel is it if it be thus with our imperfection, when it fared not otherwise with him that was purity and rigliteousness itself ? The austere forerunner of Christ “ came neither eating nor drink¬ ing ; they say. He hath a devil. The Son of man came eating and drink¬ ing; they say. This man is a glutton, a friend of publicans and sinners and here one of his holy acts carries away at once wonder, censure, doubt, celebration. There is no way safe for a man, but to square his actions by the right rule of justice, of charity ; and then let the world have leave to spend their glosses at pleasure. It was a heroical resolution of the chosen vessel, “ I pass very little to be judged of you, or of man’s day.” I marvel not if the people marvelled; for here were four wonders in one ; the blind saw, the deaf heard, the dumb spake, the demoniac is delivered. Wonder was due to so rare and powerful a work, and, if not this, nothing. We can cast away admiration upon the poor devices or activities of men ; how much more upon the extraordinary works of omni¬ potency ! Whoso knows the frame of heaven and earth, shall not much be affected with the imperfect effects of frail humanity, but shall, with no less ravishment of soul, acknowdedge the miraculous works of the same Almighty hand. Neither is the spiritual ejection w'orthy of any meaner entertainment. Rarity and difficulty are wont to cause wonder. There are many things which have wonder in their worth, and lose it in their frequence ; there are some which have it in their strangeness, and lose it in their facility ; both meet in this. To see men haunted, yea, possessed with a dumb devil, is so frequent that it is a just wonder to find a man free ; but to find the dumb spirit cast out of a man, and to hear him praising God, confessing his sins, teaching others the sweet experiments of mercy, deserves just admiration. If the cynic sought in the market for a man amongst men, well may we seek amongst men fora convert. Neither is the difficulty less than the rareness : the strong man hath the possession, all passages are blocked up, all helps barren, by the treachery of our nature. If any soul be rescued from these spirit¬ ual wickednesses, it is the praise of Him that doth wonders alone. But whom do I see wondering ? The multitude. The unlearned be¬ holders follow that act Avith wonder, which the learned Scribes entertain with obloquy. God hath revealed those things to babes, Avhich he hath hid from the wise and prudent. Witli what scorn did those great rab¬ bins speak of these sons of the earth ! “ This people that knows not tbe law is acciu-sed.” Yet the mercy of God makes an advantage of their simplicity, in that they are therefore less subject to cavillation and in¬ credulity ; as contrarily, his justice causes the proud knoAadedge of others CONT. HI.]] THE DUMB DEVIL EJECTED. 233 to lie as a block in their way, to the ready assent under the divine power of the Messias. Let the pride of glorious adversaries disdain the poverty of the clients of the gospel: it shall not repent us to go to heaven with the vulgar, while their great ones go in state to perdition. The multitude wondered. Who censured but scribes, great doctors of the law, of the divinity of the Jews ? what Scribes, but those of Je- nisalem, the most eminent academy of Judea ? These were the men, who, out of their deep I’eputed judgment, cast these foul aspersions upon Christ. Great wits ofttimes mislead both the owners and followers. How many shall once wish they had been dullards, yea, idiots, when they shall find their wit to have barred them out of heaven ! “ Where is the Scribe ? where is the disputer of this world ?” Hath not God made the wisdom of the world foolishness ? Say the world what it will, a dram of holiness is worth a pound of wit. Let others censure with the Scribes ; let me wonder with the multitude. What could malice say worse ? “He casteth out devils through Beel¬ zebub the prince of devils.” The Jews well knew, that the gods of the heathen were no other than devils ; amongst whom, for that the Lord of flies, (so called, whether for the concourse of flies to the abun¬ dance of his sacrifices, or for his aid implored against the infestation of those swarms,) was held the chief, therefore tliey style him, “ The prince of devils.” There is a subordination of spirits, some higher in degree, some inferior to othei’S. Our Saviour himself tells us of the devil and his angels. Messengers are inferior to those that send them. The seven devils, that entered into the swept and garnished house, were worse than the former. Neither can principalities, and powers, and governors, and princes of the darkness of this world, design other than several ranks of evil angels. There can be no being without some kind of order ; there can be no order in parity. If we look up into heaven, there is the King of gods, the Lord of lords, higher than the highest. If to the earth, there are monarchs, kings, princes, peers, people, if we look down to hell, there is the prince of devils. They labour for confusion that call for parity. What should the church do with such a form, as is not exemplified in heaven, in earth, in hell ? One devil, according to their supposition, may be used to cast out an other. How far the command of one spirit over another may extend, it is a secret of infernal state, too deep for the inquiry of men. The thing itself is apparent, upon compact and precontracted composition, one gives way to other for the common advantage. As we see in the com¬ monwealth of cheaters and cut-purses, one doth the fact, another is fee’d to bring it out, and to procure restitution : both are of the trade, both con¬ spire to the fraud; the actor falls not Out with the revealer, but divides with him that cunning spoil. One malicious miscreant sets the devil on work to the inflicting of dis¬ ease or death ; another upon agreement, for a further spiritual gain, takes him oft’: there is a devil in both. And if there seem more bodily fa¬ vour, there is no less spiritual danger in the latter ; in the one Satan wins the agent, the suitor in the other. It will be no cause of discord in hell, that one devil gives ease to the body which another tormented, that both may triumph in the gain of a soul. O God, that any ci’eature, which It. 2 o 234 THE DUMB DEVIL EJECTED. I^BOOK IIJ. bears tliine image, should not abhor to be beliolden to the powers of hell for aid, for advice ! “ Is it not because there is not a God in Israel that men go to inquire of the God of Ekron ?” Can men be so sottish to thiidc, that the vowed enemy of their souls can olfer them a bait with¬ out a hook ? “ What evil is there in the city which the Lord hath not done?” what is there which he cannot as easily redress ? he wounds, lie heals again , and if he will not, “ It is the Lord, let him do what seems good in his eyes.” If he do not deliver us, he will crown our faithfulness in a patient perseverance. The wounds of God are better than the salves of Satan. Was it possible, that the wit of envy could devise so high a slander? Beelzebub was a god of the heathen, thei’efore herein they accuse him for an idolater ; Beelzebub was a devil to the Jews, therefore they accuse him for a conjurer. Beelzebub was the chief of devils, therefore they ac¬ cuse him for an arch-exorcist, for the worst kind of magician. Some pro¬ fessors of this black art, though their w’ork be devilish, yet they pretend to do it in the name of Jesus, and will presumptuously seem to do that hy command, wdiich is secretly transacted by agreement. The Scribes ac¬ cuse Christ of a direct compact with the devil, and suppose both a league and familiarity, wdiich, by the law of Moses, in the very hand of Saul, was no other than deadly. Yea, so deep doth this w'ound reach, that our Savi¬ our searching it to the bottom, finds no less in it than the sin against the Floly Ghost, inferring hereupon that dreadful sentence of the irremissible- ness of that sin unto death. And if this horrible crimination w'ere cast upon thee, O Saviour, in wdiom the prince of this w'orld found nothing, what w'onder is it, if we, thy sinful servants, be branded on all sides with evil tongues ? Yea, which is yet more, how plain is it, that these men forced their tongue to speak this slander against their own heart ! else this blas¬ phemy had been only against the Son of man, not against the Holy Ghost; but now that the searcher of hearts finds it to be no less than against the blessed Spirit of God, the spite must needs be obstinate, their malice doth wilfully cross their conscience. Envy never regards how true, but how mischievous : so it may gall or kill, it cares little wdiether with truth or falsehood. For us, “ blessed are w e wdien men revile us, and say all manner of evil of us, for the name of Christ fur them, “ what reward shall be given to thee, thou false tongue ? even sharp arrows wdth hot biuming coals,” yea, those very coals of hell from which thou wert unkindled. There w'as yet a third sort that went a mid-Avay betwdxt wonder and censure. These were not so malicious as to impute the miracle to a satanical operation ; they confess it good, but not enough, and therefore urge Christ to a furtlier proof: Though thou hast cast out this dumb devil, yet this is no sufficient argument of thy divine power. We have yet seen nothing from thee like those ancient miracles of the times of our forefathers. Joshua caused the sun to stand still; Elias brought fire dowTi from heav'en ; Samuel astonished the people with thunder and rain in the midst of harvest: if thou wouldst command our belief, do some¬ what like to these. The casting out of a devil show's thee to have some power over hell : show us now that thou hast no less power over heaven. CONT. IV.] MATTHEW CALLED. 235 There is a kind of unreasonableness of desire, and insatiableness of infideli¬ ty : it never knows when it hath evidence enough. This, which the .Jews overlooked, was a more irrefragable demonstration of divinity than tliat which they desired. A devil was more than a meteor, or a parcel of an element; to cast out a devil by command, more than to command fire from heaven. Infidelity ever loves to be her own carvex’. No son can be more like a father than these Jews to their pi’ogenitors in the desei’t: that thei-e might be no fear of degenei’ating into good, they also of old tempted God in the wilderness. First, they are weary of the Egyptian bondage, and are ready to fall out with God and Moses for their stay in those furnaces. By ten miraculoxis plagues they ai'e treed; and, going out of those confines, the Egyptians follow them, the sea is befoi*e them; now they are moi’e afflicted with their libei’ty than their servitude: the sea yields way, the Egyptians are drowned ; and now that they ai'e safe on the other shore, they tempt the Providence of God for water ; the rock yields it them ; then, no less for bread and meat. God sends them manna and quails; they cry out of the food of angels. Their present enemies in the way ai'e vanished; they whine at the men of measures in the heart of Canaan. Nothing from God but mercy, nothing from them but temptations. Their true brood, both in nature and in sin, had abundant proofs of the Messiah; if curing the blind, lame, diseased, deaf, dumb, ejecting devils, oven-uling the elements, I'aising the dead, could have been sufficient, yet still they must have a sign from heaven, and shut up in the style of the tempter, “ If thou be the Chi-ist.” The gracious heart is ci-edulous ; even where it sees not, it believes, and whei'e it sees but a little, it be¬ lieves a great deal. Neither d(*th it presume to pi'esci'ibe unto God, what and how he shall woi'k; but takes what it finds, and unmoveably I’ests in what it takes. Any mii'acle, no mii’acle serves enough for their assent, who have built their faith upon the gospel of the Loi’d Jesus. CONTEMPLATION IV.—MATTHEW CALLED. The number of the apostles was not yet full; one room is left void for a future occupant. Who can but expect, that it is reserved for some emi¬ nent person ? and, behold, Matthew the publican is the man. O the strange election of Christ! Those other disciples, whose calling is recoi'd- cd, were fiom the fisher-boat ; this fi'om the tolbooth : they wei'e unlet¬ tered, this infamous. The condition was not itself sinful: but, as the taxes which the Romans imposed on God’s free people were odious, so the collectors, the farmers of them, abominable. Besides, that it was hard to hold that seat without oppression, without exaction. One, that best knew it, bi'anded it with polling and sycophancy. And now behold a gripping publican called to the family, to the apostleship, to the seci’etary- ship of God. Who can despair in the conscience of his unworthiness, when he sees this pattern of the free bounty of him that calleth us ? Merits do not carry it in the gracious election of God, but his mei'e favour. There sat Matthew the publican, busy in his counting-house, 236 MATTHEW CALLED. [book III. reckoning up the sums of his rentals, taking up his arrearages, and wrangling for denied duties, and did so little think of a Saviour, that he did not so much as look at his passage; but “Jesus, as he passed by, saw a man sitting at the receipt of custom, named Matthew.” As if this prospect had been sudden and casual, Jesus saw him in passing by. O Saviour, before the world was, thou sawest that man sitting there, thou sawest thine own passage, thou sawest his call in thy passage ; and now thou goest purposely that way, that thou mightst see and call. Nothing can be hid from that piercing eye, one glance whereof hath discerned a disciple in the clothes of a publican. That habit, that shop of extortion cannot conceal from thee a vessel of election. In all forms thou know- est thine own; and, in thine own time, shall fetch them out of the disguises of their foul sins or unfit conditions. What sawest thou, O Saviour, in that publican, that might either allure thine eye, or not oflFend it ? what but a hateful trade, an evil eye, a gripple hand, bloody tables, heaps of spoil ? yet now thou saidst, “ Follow me.” Thou tliat saidst once to Jerusalem, “Thy birth and nativity is of the land of Canaan; thy father Avas an Amorite, thy mother an Hittite ; thy navel was not cut, neither wert thou washed in water to supple thee : thou wast not salted at all: Thou wast not swaddled at all: no eye pitied thee, but thou wast cast out in the open fields, to the loathing of thy person, in the day that thou wast born : and when I passed by thee, and saw thee polluted in thine own blood, I said unto thee. Live ; yea, I said unto thee, Avhen thou wast in thy blood. Live.” Now also, when thou passedst by, and sawest Matthew sitting at the receipt of custom, thou saidst to him, “ Follow me.” The life of this publican was so much worse than the birth of that forlorn Amorite, as Follow me was more than Live. What canst thou see in us, O God, but ugly deformities, horrible sins, despicable miseries ? yet doth it please thy mercy to say unto us both Live, and FoIIoav me ! The just man is the first accuser of himself: whom do we hear to bla¬ zon the shame of Matthew but his own mouth ? Matthew the Evange¬ list tells us of Matthew the publican: his fellows call him Levi, as will¬ ing to lay their finger upon the spot of his unpleasing profession; him¬ self will not smother nor blanch it a whit, but publishes it to all the Avorld, in a thankful recognition of the mercy that called him, as liking well that his baseness should serve for a fit foil to set off the glorious lustre of his grace by whom he was elected. What matters it how vile we are, O God, so thy glory may arise in our abasement ? That word was enough, “ Follow me spoken by the same tongue that said to the corpse at Nain, “ Young man, I say to thee, arise.” He that said at first, “ Let there be light,” says now, “ Follow me.” That power sweet¬ ly inclines which could forcibly command: the force is not moreunresistible than the inclination. When the sun shines upon the icicles, can they choose but melt and fall ? when it looks into a dungeon, can the place choose but to be enlightened ? Do we see the jet drawing up straws to it, the loadstone iron, and do we marvel if the omnipotent Saviour, by the influence of his grace, attract the heart of a publican ? “ He arose and followed him.” We are all naturally averse from thee, O God ; do thou but bid us follow thee, draw us by thy powerful word, and we shall run after thee. Alas, thou speakest and we sit still; Thou speakest by thine CONT. IV.] MATTHEW CALLED. 237 outward word to our ear, and we stir not. Speak thou by the secret and effectual word of thy Spii’it to our lieart, (the world cannot hold us do\vu, Satan cannot stop our way,) we shall arise and follow thee. It was not a more busy than gainful trade that Matthew abandoned, to follow Christ into poverty ; and now he cast away his counters, and struck his tallies, and crossed his books, and contemned his heap of cash, in comparison of that better treasure which he foresaw lie open in that happy attendance. If any commodity be valued of us too dear to be part¬ ed with for Christ, we are more fit to be publicans than disciples. Our Saviour invites Matthew to a discipleship, Matthew invites him to a feast ; the joy of his call makes him begin his abdication of the world in a banquet. Here was not a more cheerful thankfulness in the inviter, than a gra¬ cious humility in the guest: the new servant bids his Master, the pub¬ lican his Saviour, and is honoured with so blessed a presence. I do not find where Jesus was ever bidden to any table, and refused. If a Phari¬ see, if a publican invited him, he made not dainty to go. Not for tlie pleasure of the dishes ; what was that to him who began his work in a whole Lent of days ? but (as it was his meat and drink to do the will of his Father) for the benefit of so winning a conversation. If he sat witli sinners, he converted them ; if with converts, he confirmed and instructed them ; if with the poor, he fed them; if with the rich in substance, he made them richer in grace. At whose board did he ever sit, and left not his host a gainer ? The poor bridegroom entertains him, and hath his water-pots filled with wine. Simon the Pharisee entertains him, and ha th his table honoured with the public remission of a penitent sinner, with the heavenly doctrine of remission. Zaccheus entertains him, salvation came that day to his house with the author of it. That presence made the publican a son of Abraham. Matthew is recompensed for his feast with an apostleship. Martha and Mary entertain him, and, besides divine instruction, receive their brother from the dead. O Saviour, whether thou feast us or we feast thee, in both of them is blessedness ! Where a publican is the feast-master, it is no marvel if the guests be publicans and sinners. Whether they came alone out of the hope of that mercy which they saw their fellow had found, or whether Matthew invit¬ ed them to be partners of that plentiful grace whereof he had tasted, I inquire not. Publicans and sinners will flock together, the one hateful for their trade, the other for their vicious life. Common contempt hath wrought them to au unanimity, and sends them to seek mutual comfort in that society, which all others held loathsome and contagious. Mode¬ rate correction humbleth and shameth the oft'ender, whereas a cruel se¬ verity makes men desperate, and drives them to those courses whereby they are more dangerously infected. How many have gone into the prison faulty, and returned flagitious 1 If publicans were not sinners, they were no whit beholden to their neighbours. What a table-full was here ! The Son of God beset with publicans and sinners. O happy publicans and sinners, that had found out their Sa¬ viour ! O merciful Saviour, that disdained not publicans and sinners! What sinner can fear to kneel before thee, when he sees publicans and sinners sit with thee ? who can fear to be despised of thy meekness and mercy, which did not abhor to converse with the outcasts of men ? 938 MATTHEW CALLED. [book Ill. Thou didst not despise the tliief confessing upon the cross, nor the sinner weeping upon thy feet, nor the Canaanite crying to thee in the way, nor the blushing adulteress, nor the odious publican, nor the forswearing disciple, nor the persecutor of disciples, nor thine own executioners : how can we be unwelcome to thee, if we come with tears in our eyes, faith in our hearts, restitution in our hands ? O Saviour, our breasts are too oft shut upon thee, thy bosom is ever open to us. We are as great sinners as the consorts of these publicans, why should we despair of a room at thy table ? The squint-eyed Pharisees look aci’oss at all the actions of Christ; where they should have admired his mercy, they cavil at his holiness ; “ They said to his disciples, Why eateth your Master with publicans and sinners ?” They durst not say this to the Master, whose answer, they knew, would soon have convinced them : this wind, they hoped, might shake the weak faith of the disciples. They speak where they may be most likely to hurt. All the crew of satanical instruments have learned this craft of their old tutor in paradise. We cannot reverence that man whom Ave think unholy. Christ had lost the hearts of his followers, if they had entertained the least suspicion of his impurity, which the murmur of these envious Pharisees Avould fain insinuate ; he cannot be worthy to be followed that is unclean : he cannot but be unclean that eateth with publicans and sinners. Proud and foolish Pharisees ! ye fast while Christ eateth ; ye fast in your houses, while Christ eateth in other men’s ; ye fast with your own, while Christ feasts with sinners ; but if ye fast in pride, while Christ eats in humility; if ye fast at home for merit or popularity, while Christ feasts wdth sinners for compassion, for edification, for conversion, your fast is unclean, his feast is holy ; ye shall have your portion Avith hypocrites, Avhen those publicans and sinners shall be glorious. When these censurers thought the disciples had offended, they speak not to them, but to their iMaster; “ Why do thy disciples that which is not lawful ?” now when they thought Christ offended, they speak not to him, but to the disciples. Thus, like true makebates, they go about to make a breach in the family of Christ, by setting off the one from the other. The quick eye of our Saviour hath soon espied the pack of their fraud, and therefore, he takes the words out of the mouths of his disciples, into his own. They had spoke of Christ to the disciples, Christ answers for the disciples concerning himself, “ The Avhole need not the physician, but the sick.” According to the two qualities of pride, scorn, and overweening, these insolent Pharisees overrated their oAvn holiness, contemned the noted unholiness of others ; as if themselves were not tainted Avith secret sins, as if others coidd not be cleansed by repentance. The Searcher of hearts meets AAuth their arrogance, and finds those justiciaries sinful, those sinners just. The spiritual Physician finds the sickness of those sinners wholesome, the health of those Pha¬ risees desperate ; that Avholesome, because it calls for the help of the physician; this desperate, because it needs not. Every sold is sick; those most that feel it not; those that feel it complain ; those that com¬ plain, have cure; those that feel it not, shall find themselves dying ere tliey can Avish to recover. O blessed Physician, by Avhose stripes Ave CONT. V.] CHRIST AMONG THE GERGESENES. 289 are healed, by whose death we live ! Happy ai-e they that are under thy hands, sick, as of sin, so of sorrow for sin. It is as impossible they should die, as it is impossible for thee to want either skill, or power, or mercy. Sin hath made us sick unto death ; make thou us but as sick of our sins, we are as safe as thou art gracious. CONTEMPLATION V.—CHRIST AMONG THE GERGESENES; OR LEGION AND THE GADARENE HERD. I DO not any where find so furious a demoniac as amongst the Ger- gesenes : Satan is most tyrannous where he is obeyed most. Christ no sooner sailed over the lake, than he was met with two possessed Gada- renes: the extreme rage of the one hath drowned the mention of the other. Yet in the midst of all that cruelty of the evil spirit, there was some¬ times a remission, if not an intermission of vexation. If ofttimes Satan caught him, then sometimes in the same violence he caught him not. It was no thank to that malignant one, who, as he was indefatigable in his executions, so unmeasui'able in his malice ; but to the merciful over¬ ruling of God, who, in a gracious respect to the weakness of his poor creatures, limits the spiteful attempts of that immortal enemy, and takes off this mastiff, while we may take breath. He who in his justice gives way to some onsets of Satan, in his mercy restrains them; so re¬ garding our deservings, that withal he regards our strength. If way should be given to that malicious spirit, we could not subsist: no violent thing can endure ; and, if Satan might have his will, we should no mo¬ ment be free. He can be no more weary of doing evil to us, than God is of doing good. Are we therefore preserved from the malignity of these powers of darkness ? “ Blessed be our strong helper, that hath not given us over to be a prey unto their teeth:” or, if some scope have been given to that envious one to afflict us, it hath been with favourable limi¬ tations : it is thine only mercy, 0 God, that hath chained and muzzled up this band-dog, so as that he may scratch us with his paws, but cannot pierce us with his fangs. Far, far is this from our deserts, who had too well merited a just abdication from thy favour and protection, and an interminable seizure by Satan, both in soul and body. Neither do I here see more matter of thanks to our God, for our im¬ munity from the external injuries of Satan, than occasion of serious in¬ quiry into his power over us for the spiritual. I see some that think themselves safe from this ghostly tyranny, because they sometimes find themselves in good moods, free from the suggestions of gross sins, much more from the commission. Vain men, that feed themselves with so false and frivolous comforts! will they not see Satan, through the just permis¬ sion of God, the same to the soul in mental possessions, that he is to the body in corporal ? The worst demoniac hath his lightsome respites, not ever tortured, not ever furious; betwixt whiles he might look soberly, talk sensibly, move regularly. It is a woeful comfort, that we sin not always. There is no master so barbarous, as to require of his slave a perpetual unintermitted toil; yet, though he sometimes eat, sleep, rest, he is a vassal still. If that wicked one have drawn us to a customary perpetration 240 CHRIST AMOfsG THE GERGESEN'ES. []eook hi. of evil, and have wrought us to a fi'equent iteration of the same sin, this is gnage enough for our servitude, matter enough for his tyranny and insultation. He that wonld he our tormentor always, cares only to be sometimes our tempter. The possessed is bound, as with the invisible fetters of Satan, so with the material chains of the inhabitants. What can bodily force prevail against a spirit ? yet they endeavour this restraint of the man, whether out of charity or justice; charity, that he might not hurt himself; justice, that he might not hurt others. None do so much befriend the demoniac as those that bind him. Neither may the spiritually possessed be other¬ wise handled: for, though this act of the enemy be plausible, and to appeai'ance pleasant, yet there is more danger in this dear and smiling tyranny. Two sorts of chains are fit for outrageous sinners; good laws, impartial executions; that they may not hurt, that they may not be hurt to eternal death. These iron chains are no sooner fast than broken. There was more than a human power in this disruption. It is not hard to conceive the utmost of nature in this kind of actions. Samson doth not break the cords and ropes like a thread of toAv, but God by Samson. The man doth not break these chains, but the Spirit. How strong is the arm of these evil angels! how far transcending the ordinary course of natm’e I They are not called powers for nothing. What flesh and blood could but tremble at the palpable inequality of this match, if herein the merci¬ ful protection of our God did not the rather magnify itself, that so much strength, met with so much malice, hath not prevailed against us! In spite of both, we are in safe hands. He that so easily brake the iron fetters can never break the adamantine chain of our faith. In vain do the chatfing billow's of hell beat upon that Rock whereon w'e are built; and though these brittle chains of earthly metal be easily broken by him, yet the sure tempered chain of God’s eternal decree he can never break. That Almighty Arbiter of heaven, and earth, and hell, hath chained him up in the bottomless pit, and hath so restrained his malice, that, but for our good, w e cannot be tempted; w'e cannot be foiled, but for a glorious victory. Alas! it is no otherwise with the spiritually possessed. The chains of restraint are commonly broken by the fury of wickedness. What are the respects of civility, fear of God, fear of men, wholesome law's, care¬ ful executions, to the desperately licentious, but as cobwebs to a hornet ? Let these wild demoniacs know, that God hath provided chains for them that will hold, even “ everlasting chains of darkness.” These are such as must hold the devils themselves, their masters, unto the judgment of the great day ; how much more these impotent vassals ! O that men would siilfer themselves to be bound to their good behaviour, by the sw eet and easy recognizances of their duty to their God, and the care of their own souls, that so they might rather be bound up in the bundle oflife. It was not for rest, that these chains w'ere torn off, but for more mo¬ tion. This prisoner runs aw'ay from his friends, he cannot run away from his jailor. He is now carried into the wilderness, not by mere external force, but by internal impulsion ; carried by the same poAver that unbound him, for the opportunity of his tyranny, for the horror of the coNT. V.] CHRIST AMONG THE GERGESENES. 241 place, for the famishment of his body, for the avoidance of all means of resistance. Solitary deserts are the delights of Satan. It is an unwise zeal that moves us to do that to ourselves in an opinion of merit and holiness, which the devil wishes to do to us for a punishment, and con- veniency of temptation. The evil spirit is for solitariness ; God is for society : “ He dwells in the assembly of his saints, yea, there he hath a delight to dwell.” Why should not we account it our happiness, that we may have leave to dwell where the Author of all happiness loves to dwell? There cannot be any misery incident unto us, whereof our gracious Redeemer is not both conscious and sensible. Without any entreaty there¬ fore of the miserable demoniac, or suit of any friend, the God of spirits takes pity of his disti’ess ; and, from no motion but his own, commands the evil spirit to come out of the man. O admirable precedent of mercy I- preventing our requests, exceeding our thoughts, forcing favours upon our impotence, doing that for us which we should, and yet cannot desire ! If men, upon our instant solicitations, would give us their best aid, it were a just praise of their bounty ; but it well became thee, O God of mei’cy, to go without force, to give without suit: and do we think thy goodness is impaired by thy glory ? If thou wert thus commiserative upon earth, art thou less in heaven ? how dost thou now take notice of all our complaints, of all our infirmities ! how doth thine infinite pity take order to redress them ! what evil can befal us which thou knowest not, feelest not, relievest not ? how safe are we that have such a guardian, such a Mediator in heaven ! Not long before, had our Saviour commanded the winds and waters, and they could not but obey him. Now he speaks in the same language to the evil spirit: he entreats not, he persuades not, he commands. Command argues superiority. He only is infinitely stronger than the strong one in possession : else, where powers are matched, though with some inequality, they tug for the victory, and, without a resistance, yield nothing. There are no fewer sorts of dealing with Satan than wdth men. Some liave dealt with him by suit, as the old Satanian hereticks, and the present Indian savages, sacrificing to him that he hurt not: other’s by covenant, conditioning their service upon his assistance, as witches and magicians: others by insinuation of implicit compact, as charmers and figure-casters ; others by adjuration, as the sons of Sceva and mo¬ dern exorcists, unwarrantably charging him by a higher name than their own. None ever offered to deal with Satan by a direct and pi’imary command, but the God of spirits. The great Archangel, when the strife was about the body of Moses, commanded not, but imprecated rather; “The Lord rebuke thee, Satan.” It is only the God that made this spirit an angel of light, that can command him, now that he hath made himself the prince of darkness. If any created power dare to usurp a word of command, he laughs at their presumption, and knows them his vassals whom he dissembles to fear as his lords. It is thou only, O Saviour, at w’hose beck those stubborn principalities of hell yield and tremble. No wicked man can be so much a slave to Satau, as Satan is to thee. The in¬ terposition of thy grace may defeat that dominion of Satan: thy rule is abso¬ lute, and capable of no let. What need we to fear while w’e are under so omnipotent a commander! The waves of the deep rage horribly; II. 2 II 242 CHRIST AMONG THE GERGESENES. [book hi. yet the Lord is stronger than they. Let those principalities and powers do their worst: those mighty adversaries are under the command of him who loved us so well as to bleed for us. What can we now doubt of his power, or his will! how can we profess him a God and doubt of his power ! how can we profess him a Saviour and doubt of his will ! he both can and will command those infernal powers. We are no less safe than they are malicious. The devil saw Jesus by the eyes of the demoniac ; for the same saw that spake: biit it Avas the ill spirit that said, “ I beseech thee, torment me not.” It was sore against his will that he saivso dreadful an object. The overruling power of Christ dragged the foul spirit into his presence. Guiltiness would fain keep out of sight. The limbs of so Avoeful a head shall once call on the hills and rocks to hide them from the face of the Lamb : such lion-like terror is in that mild face, when it looks upon Avickedness. Neither sluill it be one day the least part of the torment of the damned, to see the most lovely spectacle that heaven can afford. He, from Avhom they fled in his offers of grace, shall be so much more terrible, as he AV'as, and is more gracious. I marvel not therefore that the devil, Avhen he saAV .Jesus, cried out; I could maiwel that he fell doAvn, that he AAmrshipped him. That Avhich the proud spirit would have had Christ to have done to him in his great duel, the same he uoav doth mito Christ, feai’fully, servilely, forcedly. Who shall henceforth brag of the external homage he performs to the Son of God, Avhen he sees Satan himself fall doAvn and Avorship ? Avhat comfort can there be in that Avhich is common to us Avith devils, who, as they believe and tremble, so they tremble and AVorship ? The outAA^ard boAving is the body of the action, the disposition of the soul is the soid of it; therein lies the difference from the counterfeit stoopings of wicked men and spirits. The religious heart “ serves the Lord in fear, and rejoices in him Avith trembling Avhatit doth is in way of service, in service to his Lord, Av hose sovereignty is his comfort and protection, in the fear of a son, not of a slaA^e ; in fear tempered Avith joy; in a joy, but allayed Avith trembling: Avhereas the pi’ostration of Avicked men and devils is only an act of form, or of force, as to their judge, as to their tormentoi*, not as to their Lord ; in mere servility, not in reverence; in an uncomfortable dulness, Avithout all delight; in a perfect horror, without capacity of joy : these Avorship Avithout thanks, because they fall down Avithout the true affections of Avorship. Whoso marvels to see the devil upon his knees, Avould much more marvel to hear Avhat came from his mouth, “ Jesus, the Son of the most high God ; ” a confession, which, if Ave should hear without the name of the author, Ave should ask from Avhat saint it came. Behold the same name given to Christ by the devil, Avhich AA^as formerly given liim by the angel, “ thou shalt call his name Jesus.” That aAA'ful name, Avhereat every knee shall bow, in heaven, in earth, and under the earth, is called upon by this prostrate devil; and lest that should not import enough, since others have been honoured by this name, in type, he adds for full distinction, “ The son of the most high God.” The good Syrophenician, and blind Bartimeus, could say, “ The Son of David.” It AA’as aa-cII to acknoAvledge the true descent of his pedigree according to the flesh: CONT. V.] CHRIST AMONG THE GERGESENES. 243 but this infernal spirit looks aloft, and fetcheth his line out of the highest heavens, “ The son of the most high God.” The famous confession of the prime apostle, which honoured him with a new name to immortality, was no other than, “ Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God and what other do I hear from the lips of a fiend ? None more divine words could fall from the highest saint. Nothing hinders but that the veriest miscreant on earth, yea, the foulest devil in liell, may speak holily. It is no passing of judgment upon loose sentences. So Peter should have been cast for a Satan, in denying, forswearing, cursing; and the devil should have been set up for a saint, in confessing, “ Jesus, the Son of the most high God.” Fond hypocrite, that pleasest thyself in talking well, hear this devil; and, when thou canst speak better than he, look to fare better: but in the meantime know, that a smooth tongue and a foul heart carry away double judgments. Let curious heads dispute whether the devil knew Christ to be God. In this I dare believe himself, though in nothing else, he knew what he believed ; what he believed, that he confessed, “ Jesus the Son of the most high God :” to the confusion of those semi-christians, that have either held doubtfully, or ignorantly misknown, or blasphemously denied what the very devils have professed. How little can a bare speculation avail us in these cases of divinity ! So far this devil hath attained to no ease, no comfort. Knowledge alone doth but puff up : it is our love that edifies. If there be not a sense of our sure interest in this Jesus, a power to apply his merits and obedience, we are no whit the safei', no whit the better ; only we are so much the wiser, to understand who shall condemn us. This piece of the clause was spoken like a saint, “ Jesus, the Son of the most high God!” the other piece like a devil, “ What have I to do with thee ?” If the disclamation were universal, the latter words would impugn the former : for, while he confesses Jesus to be the son of the most high God, he withal confesses his own inevitable subjection. Wherefore would he beseech, if he were not obnoxious ? He cannot, he dare not say. What hast thou to do with me ? but, “ What have I to do with thee ?” Others indeed I have vexed, thee I fear. In I’espect then of any violence, of any personal provocation, “ What have I to do with thee ?” And dost thou ask, O thou evil spirit, what hast thou to do with Christ, while thou vexest a servant of Christ ? Hast thou thy name from knowledge, and yet so mistakest him whom thou confessest, as if nothing could be done to him, but what immediately concerns his own person? Hear that great and just Judge sentencing upon his dreadful tribunal, “ Inasmuch as thou didst it unto one of these little ones, thou didst it unto me.” It is an idle misprision, to sever the sense of an injury, done to any of the members, from the head. He that had humility enough to kneel to the Son of God, hath bold¬ ness enough to expostulate, “ Art thou come to torment us before our time?” Whether it were, that Satan, who useth to enjoy the torment of sinners, whose music it is to hear our shrieks and gnashings, held it no small piece of his torment to be restrained in the exercise of his tv- ranny ; or whether the very presence of Christ were his wreck, (for the guilty spirit projecteth terrible things, and cannot behold the judge or 244 CHRIST AMONG THE GERGESENES. [book ill. the executioner without a renovation of horror ;) or whether that, as him¬ self professeth, he were now in a fearful expectation of being commanded down into the deep, for a further degree of actual torment, which he thus deprecates. There are tortures appointed to the very spiritual natures of evil angels. Men that are led by sense, have easily granted the body subject to torment, who yet have not so readily conceived this incident to a spirit¬ ual substance. The Holy Ghost hath not thought it fit to acquaint us with the particular manner of these invisible acts, rather willing that we should herein fear than inquire. But as all matters of faith, though they cannot be proved by i*eason, for that they are in a higher sphere, yet af¬ ford an answer able to stop the mouth of all reason that dares bark against them, since truth cannot be opposite to itself; so this of the sulFerings of spirits. There is therefore both an intentional torment incident to spirits, and a real: for, as in blessedness the good spirits find themselves joined unto the chief good, and hereupon feel a perfect love of God, and unspeak¬ able joy in him, and rest in themselves; so conti’arily, the evil spirits pei’- ceive themselves eternally excluded from the presence of God, and see themselves settled in a woeful darkness; and from the sense of this sepa¬ ration arises a horror not to be expressed, not to be conceived. How many men have we known to torment themselves with their own thoughts ! There needs no other gibbet than that which their troubled spirit hath erected in their own heart. And if some pains begin at the body, and from thence afflict the soul in a copartnership of grief; yet others arise immediately from the soul, and draw the body into a participation of misery. Why may we not therefore conceive mere and separate spirits capable of such an inward excruciation? Besides which, I hear the judge of men and angels say, “ Go, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels.” I hear the prophet say, “Tophet is prepared of old.” If with fear, and without curiosity, we may look upon those flames, why may we not attribute a spiritual nature to that more than natural fire? In the end of the world the elements shall be dissolved by fire; and if the pure quintessential matter of the sky, and the element of fire itself, shall be dissolved by fire, then that last fire shall be of another nature than that which it eonsum- eth. What hinders then, but that the omnipotent God hath from eternity created a fire of another nature, proportionable even to spiritual essences ? or why may we not distuinguish of fire, as it is itself a bodily creature, and it is an instrument of God’s justice, so working not by any material virtue or power of its own, but by a certain height of supernatural efficacy, to which it is exalted by the omnipotence of that supreme and righteous Judge? Or, lastly, why may we not conceive, that though spirits have nothing material in their nature, which that fire should work upon, vet by the judgment of the almighty Arbiter of the world, justly willing their torment, they may be made most sensible of pain, and by the obe- dible submission ot their created nature, wrought upon immediately by their appointed tortures; besides the very horror which ariseth from the place whereto they are everlastingly confined: for, if the incorporeal spirits of living men may be held in a loathed or painful bodv. and con¬ ceive sorrow to be so imprisoned, why may we not as easily yield, that CONT. V.J CHRIST AMONG THE GERGESENES. 245 the evil spirits of ang-els or men may be held in those direful flames, and much more abhor therein to continue for ever ? Tremble rather, O my soul, at the thought of this woeful condition of the evil angels, avIio, for one only act of apostasy from God, are thus perpetually tormented: whereas we sinful wretches multiply many and presumptuous offences against the Majesty of our God. And withal admire and magnify that infinite mercy to the miserable generation of man, which, after this holy severity of justice to the revolted angels, so graciously forbears our heinous iniquities, and both suffers us to be free for the time from these hellish torments, and gives us opportunity of a perfect freedom from them for ever. “ Praise the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me praise his holy name, who forgiveth all thy sins, and healeth all thine infirmities; who redeemeth thy life from destruction, and cx’owneth thee with mercy and compassions.” There is no time wherein the evil spirits are not tormented, there is a time wherein they expect to be tormented yet more : “ Art thou come to tormexit us before our time ?” They knew that the last assizes are the prefixed term of their full execution, which they also understood to be not yet come; for though they knew not when the day of judgment should be, a point concealed from the glorious angels of heaven, yet they knew when it should not be; and therefore they say, “ Before the time.” Even the very evil spirits confess, and fearfully attend a set day of uni¬ versal sessions. They believe less than devils, that either doubt of, or deny that day of final retribution. O the wonderful mercy of our God, that both to wicked men and spirits respites the utmost of their torment I He might, upon the first instant of the fall of angels, hav^e inflicted on them the highest extremity of his vengeance; he might, upon the first sins of our youth, yea of our nature, have swept us away, and given us our portion in that fiery lake. He stays a time for both: though with this difference of mercy to us men, that here not only is a delay, but may be an utter prevention of punishment, which to the evil spirits is altogether impossible. They do suffer, they must suffer; and though they have now deserved to suffer all they must, yet they must once suffer more than they do. Yet so doth this evil spirit expostulate, that he sues ; “ I beseech thee, torment me not.” The world is well changed since Satan’s first onset upon Christ. Then he could say, “ If thou be the Son of Godnow, “ Jesus, the Son of the most high God:” then, “All these will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me now, “ I beseech thee, tor¬ ment me not.” The same power, when he lifts, can change the note of the tempter to us. How happy are we that have such a Redeemer, as can command the devils to their chains! O consider this, ye lawless sin¬ ners, that have said, “ Let us break his bands, and cast his cords from us.” However the Almighty suffers you, for a judgment, to have free scope to evil, and he can now impotently resist the revealed will of your Creator; yet the time shall come, when ye shall see the very masters whom ye served, the powers of darkness, unable to avoid the revenges of God. How much less shall man strive with his Maker? man, whose breath is in his nostrils, whose house is clay, whose foundation is the dust. 246 CHRIST AMONG THE GERGESENES. [book hi. Nature teaches every creature to wish a freedom from pain. The foulest spirits cannot but love themselves, and this love must needs pro¬ duce a deprecation of evil: yet what a thing is this, to hear the devil at his prayers I “ I beseech thee torment me not.” Devotion is not guilty of this, but fear. There is no grace in the suit of devils, but nature ; no respect of glory to their Creator, but their own ease. They cannot pray against sin, but against torment for sin. What news is it now to hear the profanest mouth, in extremity, imploring the sacred name of God, wdien the devils do so ? The worst of all creatui’es hates punishment, and can say. Lead me not into pain : only the good heart can say, “ Lead me not into temptation.” If we can as heartily pray against sin, for the avoiding of displeasure, as against punishment when we have dis¬ pleased, there is true grace in the soul. Indeed, if we could fervently pray against sin, we should not need to pray against punishment, which is no other than the inseparable shadow of that body ; but if we have not laboured against our sins, in vain do we pray against punishment. God must be just; and “ the Avages of sin is death.” It pleased our holy Saviour, not only to let fall words of command upon this spirit, but to interchange some speeches with him. All Christ’s actions are not for example. It was the error of our grandmother to hold chat Avith Satan. That God, Avho knoAvs the craft of that old serpent, and our Aveak simplicity, hath charged us not to inquire of an evil spirit. Surely, if the disciples, returning to Jacob’s well, wmiidered to see Christ talk Avith a woman, Avell may aa'o wonder to see him talking with an un¬ clean spirit. Let it be no presumption, O Saviour, to ask upon what grounds thou didst this, wherein Ave may not folloAv thee. We knoAV that sin was excepted, in thy conformity of thyself to us ; we knoAv there Avas no guile found in thy mouth, no possibility of taint in thy nature, in thine ac¬ tions ; neither is it hard to conceive, how the same thing may be done by thee Avithout sin, Avhich we cannot but sin in doing. There is a vast differ¬ ence in the intention, in the agent: for, on the one side, thou didst not ask the name of the spirit, as one that kneAv not, and Avould learn by inquiring ; but that, by the confession of that mischief Avhich thou pleas- edst to suffer, the grace of the cure might be the more conspicuous, the more glorious: so on the other, God and man might do that safely, Avhich mere man cannot Avithout danger. Thou mightst touch the leprosy, and not be legally unclean, because thou touchedst it to heal it, didst not touch it Avith possibility of infection. So mightst thou (who, by reason of the perfection of thy divine nature. Avert incapable of any stain by the interlocution AAnth Satan) safely confer Avith him, whom corrupt man, predisposed to the danger of such a parley, may not meddle Avith, Avithout sin, because not Avithout peril. It is for none but God to hold discourse Avith Satan. Our surest Avay is to have as little to do Avith that evil one as Ave may ; and if he shall offer to maintain conference Avith us by his secret temptations, to turn onr speech unto our God Avith the archangel, “ The Lord rebuke thee, Satan.” It was the presupposition of him that kncAV it, that not only men but spirits liaA'e names. This then he asks, not out of an ignorance or curio¬ sity, (nothing could be hid from him, Avho calleth the stars and all the hosts of heaven by their names,) but out of a just respect to the glory of the CONT. V.] CHRIST AMONG THE GERGESENES. 247 miracle he was working, whereto the notice of the name would not a little avail. For if, without inquiry or confession, our Saviour had ejected this evil spirit, it had passed for the single dispossession of one only devil; whereas now it appears, there was a combination and hellish champerty in these powers of darkness, which were all forced to vail unto that Almighty command. Before, the devil had spoken singularly of himself, “ What have I to do with thee ?” and, “ I beseech thee torment me not.” Our Saviour, yet knowing that there was a multitude of devils lurking in that breast, M'ho dissembled their presence, wrests it out of the spirit by this interro¬ gation, “ What is thy name ?” Now can those wicked ones no longer hide themselves: he that asked the question forced the answer; “ My name is Legion.” The author of discord hath borrowed a name of war : from that military order of discipline, by which the .Jews ■were subdued, doth the devil fetch his denomination. They were many, yet they say. My name, not. Our name ; though many, they speak as one, they act as one in this possession. There is a marvellous accordance even betwixt evil spirits. That kingdom is not divided, for then it could not stand. I wonder not that wicked men do so conspire in evil, that there is such unanimity in the bi-oachers and abettors of errors, when I see those devils, which are many in substance, are one in name, action, habitation. Who can too much brag of unity, when it is incident unto wicked spirits ? all the praise of concord is in the subject: if that be holy, the consent is angel¬ ical ; if sinful, devilish. What a fearful advantage have our spiritual enemies against us ! If armed troops come against single stragglers, what hope is there of life, or victory ? how much doth it concern us to band our hearts together in a communion of saints ? our enemies come upon us like a torrent: O let us not run asunder like drops in the dust I All our united forces will be little enough to make head against this league of destruction. Legion imports order, number, conflict. Order, in that there is a dis¬ tinction of regiment, a subordination of officers. Though in hell there be confusion of faces, yet not confusion of degrees. Number ; those that have reckoned a legion, at the lowest, have counted it six thousand, others have more than doubled it. Though here it is not strict, but figurative, yet the letter of it implies multitude. How fearful is the consideration of the number of apostate angels : and if a legion can attend one man, how many must Ave needs think are they, who, all the world OA^er, are at hand to the punishment of the Avicked, the exercise of the good, the temp¬ tation of both ? it cannot he hoped, there can be any place or time Avherein Ave may be secure from the onsets of these enemies. Be sure, ye leAA'd men, ye shall Avant no futherance to evil, no torment for eAul. Be sure, ye godly, ye shall not Avant combatants to try your strength and skill. Awaken your courage to resist, and stir up your hearts, make sure the means of your safety. There are more with us than against us. The God of heaven is Avith us, if Ave be with him : and our angels be¬ hold the face of God. If every devil were a legion, we are safe. “ Though Ave walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we shall fear no evil.” Thou, O Lord, shalt sti'etch forth thine hand against the wrath of our enemies, and thy right hand shall save us. 248 CHRIST AMONG THE GERGESENES. [book III. Conflict; All this number is not for sight, for rest, but for motion, for action. Neither was there ever hour, since the first blow given to our first parents, wherein there was so much as a truce betwixt these adver¬ saries. As therefore strong frontier towns, when there is a peace con¬ cluded on both parts, break up their garrison, open their gates, neglect their bulwarks ; but when they hear of the enemy mustering his forces in great and unequal numbers, then they double their guard, keep cen- tinel, repair their sconces ; so must we, upon the certain knowledge of our numerous and deadly enemies in continual array against us, address ourselves always to a wary and strong resistance. I do not observe the most to think of this ghostly hostility. Either they do not find there are temptations, or those temptations hurtful; they see no worse than themselves ; and if they feel motions of evil arising in them, they impute it to fancy, or unreasonable appetite, to no power but nature’s ; and those motions they follow without sensible hurt, neither see they what harm it is to sin. Is it any marvel that carnal eyes cannot discern spiritual ob¬ jects ? that the world, who is the friend, the vassal of Satan, is in no war with him ? Elisha’s servant, when his eyes were opened, saw troops of spiritual soldiers which before he discerned not. If the eyes of our souls be once enlightened by supernatural knowledge and the clear beam of faith, we shall as plainly descry the invisible powers of wickedness, as now our bodily eyes see heaven and earth. They are, though we see them not; we cannot be safe from them, if we do not acknowledge, not oppose them. ' The devils are now become great suitors to Christ, that he would not command them into the deep, that he would permit their entrance into the swine. What is this deep but hell, both for the utter sepai-ation from the face of God, and for the impossibility of passage to the region of rest and glory ? The very evil spirits then fear and expect a further degree of torment; they know themselves reserved in those chains of darkness for the judgment of the great day. There is the same wages due to their sins and to ours ; neither are the wages paid till the work be done. They tempting men to sin, must needs sin grievously in tempting: as with us men, those that mislead into sin olfend more than the actors. Not till the upshot therefore of their wickedness, shall they receive the full mea¬ sure of their condemnation. This day, this deep, they tremble at; what shall I say of those men that fear it not ? It is hard for men to believe their own unbelief. If they were persuaded of this fiery dungeon, this bottomless deep, wherein every sin shall receive a horrible portion with the damned, durst they stretch forth their hands to Avickedness ? No man will put his hand into a fiery crucible to fetch gold thence, because he knows it will burn him. Did Ave as ti’uly believe the everlasting burn¬ ing of that infernal fire, we durst not offer to fetch pleasures or profits out of the midst of those flames. This degree of torment they grant in Christ’s poAA'er to command; they knew his powder irresistible : had he therefore but said. Back to hell Avhence ye came ! they could no more have staid upon earth, than they can now climb into heaven. O the Avonderful dispensation of the Al¬ mighty ! Avho, though he could command all the evil spirits doAvn to their dungeons in an instant, so as they should have no more opportunity of coNT. V.] CHRIST AMONG THE GERGESENES. 249 temptation, yet thinks fit to retain them upon earth ! It is not out of weakness or improvidence of that divine hand, that wicked spirits tyran¬ nize here upon earth ; but out of the most wise and most holy ordination of God, who knows how to turn evil into good, how to fetch good out of evil, and by the worst instruments to bring about his most just decrees. O that we could adore that awful and infinite Power, and cheerfully cast ourselves upon that Providence, which keeps the keys even of hell itself, and either lets out or returns the devils to their places ! Their other suit hath some marvel in moving it, more in the grant; “ That they might be sulfered to enter into the herd of swine.” It was their ambition of some mischief that brought forth this desire ; that since they might not vex the body of man, they might yet afflict men in their goods. The malice of these envious spirits reacheth from us to ours : it is sore against their wills, if we be not every way miserable. If the swine were legally unclean for the use of the table, yet they were naturally good. Had not Satan known them useful for man, he had never desired their ruin. But as fencers rvill seem to fetch a blow at the leg, when they in¬ tend it at the head ; so doth this devil, while he drives at the swine, he aims at the souls of these Gadarenes : by this means he hoped well, and his hope was not vain, to work in these Gergesenes a discontentment at Christ, an unwillingness to entertain him, a desire of his absence ; he meant to turn them into swine, by the loss of their swine. It was not the rafters or stones of the house of Job’s children that he bore the grudge to, but to the owners ; nor to the lives of the children, so much as to the sold of their father. There is no affliction wherein he doth not strike at the heart; which, while it holds free, all other damages are light: but “ a wounded spirit (whether with sin or sorrow) who can bear ?” What¬ ever becomes of goods or limbs, happy are we, if, like wise soldiers, we guard the vital parts. While the soul is kept sound from impatience, from distrust, our enemy may afflict us, he cannot hurt us. They sue for a sufferance, not daring other than to grant, that, with¬ out the permission of Christ, they could not hurt a very swine. If it be fearful to think how great things evil spirits can do with permission, it is comfortable to think how nothing they can do without permission. We know they want not malice to destroy the whole frame of God’s work, but of all, man ; of all men, Christians : but if without leave they cannot set upon a hog, what can they do to the living images of their Creator ? They cannot offer us so much as a suggestion, without the permission of our Saviour. And can he, that would give his own most precious blood for us, to save us from evil, wilfully give us over to evil ? It is no news that wicked spirits wish to do mischief; it is news that they are allowed to it. If the owner of all things should stand upon his absolute command, who can challenge him for what he thinks fit to do with his creatures ? The first foal of the ass is commanded under the law to have his neck broken. What is that to us? the creatures do that they were made for, if they may serve any way to the glory of their Maker. But seldom ever doth God leave his actions unfurnished with such reasons as our weakness may reach unto. There were sects amongst the Jews that denied spirits. They could not be more evidently, more powerfully convinced, than by this event. Now shall the Gadarenes see 250 CHRIST AMONG THE GERGESENES. [book III. from what a multitude of devils they were delivered ; and how easy it had been for the same power, to have allowed these spirits to seize upon their persons as well as their swine. Neither did God this without a just purpose of their castigation. His judgments are righteous, where they are most secret. Though we cannot accuse these inhabitants of ought, yet lie could, and thought good thus to mulct them. And if they had not wanted grace to acknowledge it, it was no small favour of God that he would punish them in their swine for that which he might have aven¬ ged upon their bodies and souls. Our goods are farthest off us : if but in these we smart, we must confess to find mercy. Sometimes it pleaseth God to grant the suits of wicked men and spirits, in no favour to suitors. He grants an ill suit, and withholds a good; he grants an ill suit in judgment, and holds back a good one in mercy. The Israelites ask meat, he gives quails to their mouths, and leanness to their souls. The chosen vessel wishes Satan taken off, and hears only, “ My grace is sufficient for thee.” We may not evermore measure favours by condescent. These devils doubtless receive more punishment for that harmful act wherein they are heard. If we ask what is either unfit to receive, or unlawful to beg, it is a great favour of our God to be denied. Those spirits, which would go into the swine by permission, go out of the man by command; they had staid long, and are ejected suddenly. The immediate works of God are perfect in an instant, and do not require the aid of time for their maturation. No sooner are they cast out of the man, than they are in the swine. They will lose no time, but pass without permission from one mischief to another. If they hold it a pain not to be doing evil, wdiy is it not our delight to be ever doing good ? The impetuousness was no less than the speed. “ The herd was carried with violence from a steep-dowm place into the lake, and was choked.” It is no small force that could do this: but if the swine had been so many mountains, these spirits, upon God’s permission, had thus transported them. How easily can they carry those souls, which are under their power, to destruction ? Unclean beasts, that wallow in the mire of sensuality, brutish drunkards, transforming themselves by excess, even they are the swine whom the Legion carries headlong to the pit of perdition. The wicked spirits have their wish, the swine are choked in the waves. What ease is this to thee, good God, that there should be any creature that seeks contentment in destroying, in tormenting the good creatures of his Maker! This is the diet of hell. Those fiends feed upon spite towards man, so much more as he doth moi*e resemble his Creator ; to¬ wards all other living substances, so much more as they may be more useful to man. The swine ran down violently ; wdiat marvel is it if their keepers fled? that miraculous work, wdiich should have drawm them to Christ, drives them from him. They run wdth the new's, the country comes in with the clamour : “ The whole multitude of the country about besought him to depart.” Tlie multitude is a beast of many heads; every head hath a several mouth, and every mouth a several tongue, and every tongue a several accent; every head hath a several brain, and every brain thoughts of their own ; so as it is hard to find a multitude €ONT. III.] CHRIST AMONG THE GERGESENES. 251 without some division; at least, seldom ever hath a good motion found a perfect accordance : it is not so infrequent for a multitude to conspire in evil. Generality of assent is no warrant for any act. Common error carries away many, who inquire not into the reason of ought, but the practice. The way to hell is a beaten road, through the many feet that tread it. When vice grows into fashion, singularity is a virtue. There was not a Gadarene found that either dehorted his fellows, or opposed the motion. It is a sign of people given up to judgment, when no man makes head against projects of evil. Alas ! what can one strong man do against a whole throng of Avickedness ? yet this good comes of an unprevailing resistance, that God forbears to plague, where he finds but a sprinkling of faith. Happy are they, who, like unto the celestial bodies, (which being carried about with the sway of the highest sphere, yet creep on their own ways,) keep on the courses of tlieir own holiness, against the swing of common corruptions; they shall both de¬ liver their own souls, and help to withhold judgment from others. The Gadarenes sue to Christ for his departure. It is too much fa¬ vour to attribute this to their modesty, as if they held themselves un¬ worthy of so divine a guest. Why then did they fall upon this suit in a time of their loss ? why did they not tax themselves, and intimate a secret desire of that which they durst not beg ? It is too much rigour to attribute it to the love of their hogs, and anger at their loss ; then they had not entreated, but expelled him. It was their fear that moved this rash suit; a servile fear of danger to their persons, to their goods ; lest he that could so absolutely command the devils, should have set these tormentors upon them ; lest their other demoniacs should be dis¬ possessed with like loss. I cannot blame these Gadarenes, that they feared ; this power Avas worthy of trembling at, their fear was unjust: they should have argued. This man hath poAver over men, beasts, devils, it is good having him to our friend; his presence is our safety and pro¬ tection. Now they contrarily misinfer. Thus poAverful is he, it is good he were further oIF. What miserable and pernicious misconstruc¬ tions do men make of God, of divine attributes and actions ! God is omni¬ potent, able to take infinite vengeance of sin ; O that he Avere not! he is pi'ovident, I may be careless ; he is merciful, I may sin ; he is holy, let him depart from me, for I am a sinful man. How witty sophisters are natural men, to deceive their OAvn souls, to rob themselves of a God ! O Saviour, hoAV worthy are they to Avant thee, that Avish to be rid of thee! Thou hast just cause to be Aveary of us, even while we sue to hold thee : but when once our wretched unthankfulness grovA's Aveary of thee, who can pity us to be punished with thy departure ? Avho can say it is other than righteous, that thou shouldest regest one day upon us, “ Depart from me, ye wicked.” 252 THE FAITHFUL CANAANITE. HooN'r. I. BOOK IV. CONTEMPLATION I.—THE FAITHFUL CANAANITE. It was oiir Saviour’s trade to do good; therefore he came down from heaven to earth, therefore he changed one station of earth for another. Nothing more commends goodness than generality of diffusion ; where¬ as, reservedness and close-handed restraint blemishes the glory of it. The sun stands not still in one point of heaven, but walks his daily round, that all the inferior world may share of his influences both in heat and light. Thy bounty, O Saviour, did not affect the praise of fixedness, but motion: one while I find thee at Jerusalem, then at Caper¬ naum, soon after in the utmost verge of Galilee; never but doing good. But as the sun, though he daily compass the world, yet never walks from under his line, never goes beyond the turning points of the longest and shortest day; so neither didst thou, O Saviour, pass the bounds of thine own peculiar people. Thou wouldest move, but not widely ; not out of thine own sphere, wherein thy glorified estate exceeds thine humbled, as far as heaven is above earth. Now thou art lift up, thou drawest all men unto thee: there are now no lists, no limits of thy gracious visitations ; but as the whole earth is equidistant from heaven, so all the motions of the world lie equally open to thy bounty. Neither yet didst thou want outward occasions of thy removal; per¬ haps the very importunity of the Scribes and Pharisees, in obtruding their traditions, drove tliee thence, perhaps their unjust offence at thy doctrine. There is no readier way to lose Christ, than to clog him with human ordinances, than to spurn at his heavenly instructions. He doth not always subduce his spirit with his visible presence ; but his very out- wai’d withdrawing is worthy of our sighs, worthy of our tears. Many a one may say, “ Lord, if thou hadst been hei'e, my soul had not died.” Thou art now with us, O Saviour, thou art with us in a free and plentiful fashion ; how long, thou knowest; we know our deservings, and fear. O teach us how happy we are in such a guest, and give us grace to keep thee. Hadst thou walked within the Phenician borders, we could have told how to have made glad constructions of thy mercy in turning to the Gentiles : thou, that couldst touch the lepers without uncleanness, couldst not be defiled wth aliens ; but we know the partition-wall was not yet broken down, and that thou who didst charge thy disciples not to walk into the way of the Gentiles, wouldst not transgress thine own rule. Once we are sure thou earnest to the utmost point of the bounds of Galilee; as not ever confined to the heart of Jewry, thou wouldst some¬ times bless the outer skirts with thy presence. No angle is too obscure for the gospel: “ The land of Zabulun, and the land of Naphthali, by the way of tlie sea beyond Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles, the people which sat in darkness saw great light.” The sun is not scornful, but looks with the same face upon every plot of earth; not only the stately palaces and pleasant gardens are visited by his beams, but mean cottages, but neglected bogs and moors. God’s word is, like himself, no accepter BOOK IV.] THE FAITHFUL CANAANITE. 253 of persons ; the wild Kern, the rude Scythian, the savage Indian, are alike to it. The mercy of God will be sure to find out those that belong to his election in the most secret corners of the world, like as his judg¬ ments will fetch his enemies from under the hills and rocks. The good Shepherd walks the wilderness to seek one sheep strayed from many. If there be but one Syrophenician soul to be gained to the church, Christ goes to the coasts of Tyre and Sidon to fetch her. Why are we weary to do good, when our Saviour underwent this perpetual toil in healing bodies and winning souls ? There is no life happy, but that which is spent in a continual dinidging for edification. It is long since Ave heard of the name or nation of Canaanites: all the country Av'as once so styled ; that people are now forgotten ; yet, because this Avoman AA^as of the blood of those Phenicians, Avhich were anciently ejected out of Canaan, that title is revived to her. God keeps account of pedigrees, after our oblivion, that he may magnify his mercies by con¬ tinuing them to thousands of the generations of the just, and by renewing favours upon the unjust. No nation carried such brands and scars of a curse, as Canaan. To the shame of those careless Jcavs, even a faithful Canaanite is a supplicant to Christ, Avhile they neglect so great salvatiom She doth not speak, but cry ; need and desire have raised her voice to an importunate clamour. The God of mercy is light of hearing, yet he loves a loud and A'ehement solicitation ; not to make himself inclinable to grant, but to make us capable to receive blessings. They are words and not prayers, Avhich fall from careless lips. If Ave felt our Avant, or Avant- ed not desire, Ave could speak to God in no tune but cries. If we Avould prevail Avith God, AA'e must Avrestle; and, if Ave Avould Avrestle happily with God, Ave must Avrestle first with our own dulness : nothing but cries can pierce heaven. Neither doth her vehemence so much argue her faith, as doth her compellation, “ O Lord, thou Son of David.” What prose¬ lyte, Avhat disciple could have said more ? O blessed Syrophenician, avIio taught thee this abstract of divinity ? What can Ave Clu’istians confess more than the deity and the humanity, 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, tAA'o are sing¬ led out by an eminence, David and Abraham, a king, patriarch ; and though the patriarch Avas first in time, yet the king is first in place ; not so much for the dignity of the person, as the excellence of the promise, which, as it was both later and fresher in memory, so more honourable. To Abraham Av^as promised multitude and blessing of seed, to David per¬ petuity of dominion. So as, Avhen God promiseth not to destroy his people, it is for Abraham’s sake; Avhen 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 Judah and Israel; there are many faith¬ ful, there is but one king ; so as in this title she doth proclaim him the perpetual kisg of his church, the rod or floAver Avhich should come from the root of Jesse, the true and only Saviour of the Avorld. Whoso would come unto Christ to purpose, must come in the right style; appre¬ hending a true God, a true man, a true God and man : any of these sev¬ ered from other, makes Christ an idol, and our prayers sin. Being thus 254 THE FAITHFUL CANAANITE. [book IV acknowledged, what suit is so fit for him as mercy ? “ Have mercy on me.” It was her daughter that w’as tormented, yet she says, “ Have mercy on me.” Perhaps her possessed child was senseless of her mis¬ ery ; tlie parent feels both her soitow and her own. As she w^as a good woman, so a good mother. Grace and good nature have taught her to appropriate the afflictions of this divided part of her own flesh. It is not in the power of another skin, to sever the interest of our own loins or womb. We find some fowls that burn themselves, w’hile they endeavour to blow out the fire from their young; and even serpents can receive their brood into their mouth, to shield them from danger. No creature is so unnatural, as the reasonable that hath put off affection. On me, therefore in mine; “ For my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil.” It w^as this that sent her to Christ; it was this that must incline Christ to her. I doubt wdiether she had inquired after Christ, if she had not been vexed wdth her daughter’s spirit. Our afflictions are as Benhadad’s best counsellors, that sent him with a cord about his neck to the merciful king of Israel. These are the files and whetstones that set an edge on our devotions, without which they grow dull and ineffec¬ tual ; neither are they stronger motives to our suit than to Christ’s mercy. We cannot have a better spokesman unto God than our own misery ; that alone sues, and pleads, and importunes for us. This which sets off men, w'hose compassion is finite, attracts God to us. Who can plead discouragements in his access to the throne of grace, when our Wyants are our forcible advocates ? all our worthiness is in a capable misery. All Israel could not example the faith of this Canaanite; yet she was thus tormented in her daughter. It is not the truth or strength of our faith that can secure us from the outward and bodily vexations of Satan, against the inward and spiritual, that can and will prevail: it is no more antidote against the other than against fevers and dropsies. How should it, when as it may fall out, that these sufferings may be profitable? and why should we expect that the love of our God shall yield to forelay any benefit to the soul ? He is an ill patient that cannot distinguish betwixt an affliction, and the evil of affliction. When the messenger of Satan buffets us, it is enough that God hath said, “ My grace is sufficient for thee.” Millions were in Tyre and Sidon whose persons, whose children were untouched with that tormenting hand; I hear none but this faithful woman say, “ My daughter is grievously vexed of the devil.” The w'orst of bodily afflictions are an insufficient proof of divine displeasure. She that hath most grace, complains of most discomfort. Who would now expect any other than a kind answer to so pious and faithfid a petition ? and, behold, he answered her not a word. O holy Sa¬ viour, we have oft found cause to wonder at thy words, never till now at thy silence. A miserable suppliant cries and sues, while the God of mercies is speechless. He, that comforts the afflicted, adds affliction to the comfortless by a willing disrespect. What shall we say then ? is the fountain of mercy dried up ? O Saviour, couldest thou but hear ! she did not murmur, not whisper, but cry out; couldest thou but pity, but regard her that was as good as she was miserable I If thy ears were CONT I.]] THE PMITHFUL CANAANITE. 255 open, could thy bowels be shut? Certainly it was thou that didst put it into the heart, into the mouth of this woman to ask, and to ask thus of thyself. She could never have said, “ O Lord, thou Son of David,” but from thee, but by thee. “ None calleth Jesus the Lord, but by the Holy Ghost.” Much more therefore didst thou hear the Avords of thine own making; and well wert thou pleased to hear what /thou thoughtst good to forbear to answer. It was thine own grace that sealed up thy lips. Whether for the trial of her patience and perseverance, for silence carried a semblance of neglect, and a willing neglect lays strong siege to the best fort of the soul; even calm tempers, when they have been stirred, have bewrayed impetuousness of passion. If there be any dregs in the bottom of the glass, when the water is shaken, they wall be soon seen. Or whether for the more sharpening of her desires, and raising of her zealous importunity. Our holy longings are increased with delays ; it whets our appetite to be held fasting. Or Avhether for the more sweet¬ ening of the blessing, by the difficulty or stay of obtaining : the benefit that comes with ease is easily contemned; long and eager pursuits en¬ dear any favour. Or whether for the engaging of his disciples in so charitable a suit. Or whether for the wise avoidance of exception from the captious Jews. Or, lastly, for the drawing on of an holy and imi- table pattern of faithful perseverance ; and to teach iis not to measui-e God’s hearing of our suit by his present answer, or his present answ'er by our owm sense. W bile our weakness expects thy words, thy w isdom resolves upon thy silence. Never wert thou better pleased to hear the acclamation of angels, than to hear this woman say, “ O Lord, thou son of David;” yet silence is thy ansAver. When Ave have made our prayers, it is a happy thing to hear the report of them back from heaven ; but if we always do not so, it is not for us to be dejected, and to accuse either our infidelity or thy neglect, since we find here a faithful suitor met with a gracious Saviour, and yet he answ'ered her not a Avord. If we be poor in spirit, God is rich in mercy; he cannot send us aAvay empty, yet he Avill not ahvays let us feel his condescent, crossing us in our will, that he may advance our benefit. It was no small fniit of Christ’s silence, that the disciples were here¬ upon moved to pray for her; not for a mere dismission, (it had been no favour to have required this, but a punishment; for if to be held in sus¬ pense be miserable, to be sent away with a repulse is more,) but for a merciful grant. They saAv much passion in the Avoman, much cause of passion : they saAv great discouragement on Christ’s part, great constancy on hers. Upon all these they feel her misery, and become suitors for her unrequested. It is our duty, in case of necessity, to intercede for each other ; and by how much more familiar w e are wdth Christ, so much more to improve our entireness for the relief of the distressed. We are bidden to say. Our Father, not mine; yea, being members of one body, we pray for ourselves in others. If the foot be pricked, the back bends, the head bows down, the eyes look, the hands stir, the tongue calls for aid ; the whole man is in pain, and labours for redress. He cannot pray or be heard for himself, that is no man’s friend but his own. No prayer Avith- out faith, no faith without charity, no charity w ithout mutual intercession. 256 THE faithful CANAANITE. [book IV. That which urged them to speak for her, is urged to Christ by them for her obtaining; “ She cries after us.” Prayer is as an arrow ; if it be drawn up but a little, it goes not far; but if it be pulled up to the head, flies strongly, and pierces deep : if it be but dribbled forth of care¬ less lips, it falls down at our foot; the strength of our ejaculation sends it up into heaven, and fetches down a blessing. The child hath escaped many a stripe by his loud crying; and the very unjust judge cannot en¬ dure the widow’s clamour. Heartless motions do but teach us to deny : fervent suits oft’er violence, both to earth and heaven. Christ would not answer the woman, but doth answer the disciples. Those that have a familiarity with God shall receive answers, when stran¬ gers shall stand out. Yea, even of domestics some are more entire. He that lay in Jesus’s bosom could receive that intelligence which was concealed from the rest. But who can tell whether that silence or answer be more grievous ? “I am not sent but to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” What is this answer, but a defence of that silence and seeming neglect ? While he said nothing, his forbearance might have been sup¬ posed to proceed from the necessity of some greater thoughts ; but now liis answer professeth that silence to have proceeded from a willing reso¬ lution not to answer : and therefore he does not vouchsafe so much as to give to her the answer, but to her solicitors, that they might return his denial from him to her, who had undertaken to derive her suit to him ; “ I am not sent but to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” Like a faithful ambassador, Christ hath an eye to his commission. That may not be violated, though to an apparent advantage : Avhither he is not sent, he may not go. As he, so all his, have their fixed marks set; at these they aim, and think it not safe to shoot at rovers. In matter of morality, it is not for us to stand only upon inhibitions, avoiding what is forbidden, but upon commands, endeavouring only what is enjoined. W'e need no other rule of our life than the intention of our several stations : and if he that Avas God, would take no further scope to himself than ihe limits of his commission, how much doth it concern us frail meu to keep Avithin compass ? or Avhat shall become of our laAAdessness, that live in a direct contrariety to the Avill of him that sent us ? Israel Avas Jacob’s name, from him deriA'ed to his posterity : till the division of the tribes under Jeroboam, all that nation Avas Israel; then the father’s name went to the most, Avhich AA'ere ten tribes ; the name of the son, Judah, to the best, AAdiich Avere tAvo. Christ takes no notice of this unhappy division ; he remembers the ancient name which he gave to that faithful wrestler. It Avas this Christ Avith Avhom Jacob strove ; it was he that wrenched his hip, and changed his name, and dismissed him with a blessing: and noAv he cannot forget his old mercy to the house of Israel, to that only doth he profess himself sent. Their first brood wei'e shepherds, now they are sheep, and those not guarded, not impastured, but strayed and lost. O Saviour, Ave see thy charge, the house of Israel, not of Esau ; sheep, not goats, not Avolves ; lost sheep, not securely impaled in the confidence of their safe condition. Woe Avere to us if thou Avert not sent to us. He is not a JeAv Avhich is one Avithout. Every Israelite is not a true one. We are not of thy fold, if Ave be not sheep ; thou wilt not reduce us to thy fold, if we be not lost in our own apprehensions CONT. I.] THE FAITHFUL CANAANITE. 257 O Lord, thou hast put a fleece upon our backs, we have lost ourselves enough; make us so sensible of our own wanderings, that we may find thee sent unto us, and may be happily found of thee. Hath not this poor woman yet done ? can neither the silence of Christ, nor his denial silence her? is it possible she sliould have any glimpse of hope after so resolute repulses? Yet still, as if she saw no argument of discom-agement, comes and worships, and cries, “ Lord, help me. ” She which could not in the house get a word of Christ, she that saw her solici¬ tors, though Christ’s own disciples, repelled, yet she comes. Before she fol¬ lowed, now she overtakes him; before she sued aloof, noAV slie comes close to him : no contempt can cast her olf. Faith is undaunted grace, it hath a strong heart, and a bold forehead : even very denials cannot dis¬ may it, much less delays. She came not to face, not to expostulate, but to prostrate herself at his feet: her tongue worshipped him before, now her knee. The eye of her faith saw that divinity in Christ which bowed her to his earth. There cannot be a fitter gesture of man to God than adoration. Her first suit was for mercy, now for help. There is no use of mercy but in helpfulness. To be pitied without aid, is but an addition to misery. Who can blame us, if we care not for an unprofitable compassion ? The very suit was gracious. She saith not, “ Lord, if thou canst, help me,” as the father of the lunatic; but professes the power, while she begs the act, and gives glory where she would have relief. 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 good to take the children’s bread, and to cast it to dogs.” First, his silence implied a contempt, then his answer defend¬ ed 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 whipt out for a dog by thee, who Avert all goodness and mercy ! How dilferent are thy ways from ours 1 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. The time was when the Jews were children, and the Gentiles dogs, now the case is happily altered. The Jews are the dogs, (so their dear and divine countryman calls the concision,) Ave Gentiles are the children. What certainty is there in an external profession, that gives us only to I. 2 k 258 THE FAITHFUL CANAANITE. [book IV. seem, not to be ; at least, the being that it gives is doubtful and temporary We may be children to-day, and dogs to-morrow. The true assurance of our condition is in the decree and covenant of God on his part; in our faith and obedience on ours. How they of children became dogs, it is not hard to say; their presumption, theii* unbelief transformed them; and, to perfect their brutishness, they set their fangs upon the Lord of life. How we of dogs become children, I know no reason. But, “ O the depth !” That which at the first singled them out from the nations of the world, hath at last singled us out from the world and them. “ It is not iu him that willeth, nor in him that runneth, but in God that hath mercy.” Lord, how shoidd we bless thy goodness, that we of dogs are children I how should we fear thy justice, since they of children are dogs ! O let us not be high-minded, but tremble. If they were cut off who crucified thee in thine humbled state, what may we expect who crucify thee daily iu thy glory ? Now, what ordinary patience would not have been overstrained with so contemptuous a repulse ? how few but would have fallen into intem¬ perate passions, into passionate expostulations ? Art thou the prophet of God, that so disdainfully entertainest poor suppliants ? is this the comfort that thou dealest to the distressed ? is this the fruit of my humble ado¬ ration, of my faithful profession ? Did I snarl or bark at thee, when I called thee the “ Son of David ?” did I fly upon thee otherwise than with my prayers and tears? and if this terms were fit for my vileness, yet doth it become thy lips ? Is it not sorrow enough to me, that I am afflicted with my daughter’s misery, but that thou, of whom I hoped for relief, must add to mine affliction in an unkind reproach ? But here is none of all this. Contrarily, her humility grants all, her patience over¬ comes all, and she meekly answers, “ Truth, Lord, yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their master’s table.” The reply is not more witty than faithful. O Lord, thou art truth itself; thy words can be no other than truth: thou hast called me a dog, and a dog I am: give me therefore the favour and privilege of a dog, that I may gather up some crumbs of mercy from under that table whereat thy children sit. This blessing, though great to me, yet to the infiniteness of thy power and mercy is but as a crumb to a feast. I presume not to press to the board, but to creep under it. Deny me not those small offals, which else would be swept away in the dust. After this stripe, give me but a crumb, and I shall favAm upon thee, and depai’t satisfied. O woman, say I, great is thine humility, great is thy patience : but, “ O woman,” saith my Saviour, “ great is thy faith.” He seeth the root, we the stock. Nothing but faith could thus temper the heart, thus strengthen the soul, thus charm the tongue. O precious faith ! O acceptable perse¬ verance I It is no marvel if that chiding end in favour; “ Be it to thee even as thou wilt.” Never did such grace go away uncrowned. The beneficence had been strait, if thou hadst not carried away more than thou suedst for. Lo, thou that earnest a dog, goest away a child ! thou that woiddst but creep under the children’s feet, are set at their elbow ! thou, that wouldst have taken up Avith a crumb, art feasted with full dishes I The way to speed well at God’s hand, is to be humbled in his eyes and in our own. It is quite otherwise with God, and Avith men. CONT. II.] THE DEAF AND DUMB MAN CURED. 259 With men we are so accounted of, as we account of ourselves. He shall be sure to be vile in the sight of others,which is vile in his own. With God nothing is got by vain ostentation, nothing is lost by abasement. O God, when we look down to our owti weakness, and cast up our eyes to thy infiniteness, thine omnipotence, what poor things we are ! but when we look down upon our sins and wickedness, how shall we express our shame! None of all thy creatures, except devils, are capable of so foul a quality. As we have thus made ourselves worse than beasts, so let us, in a sincere humbleness of mind, acknowledge it to thee, who canst pity, forgive, and redress it ; so setting ourselves down at the lower end of the table of thy creatures, thou the great Master of the feast mayst be pleased to advance us to the height of glory. CONTEMPLATION II.—THE DEAF AND DUMB MAN CURED. Our Saviour’s entrance into the coasts of Tyre and Sidon was not without a miracle, neither was his egress; as the sun neither rises nor sets without light. In his entrance he delivers the daughter of the faith¬ ful Syrophenician, in his egress he cures the deaf and dumb. He can no more want work, than that work can want success. Whether the patient were naturally deaf and perfectly dumb, or imperfectly dumb, and acci¬ dently deaf, I labour not: sure I am, that he was so deaf that he could not hear of Christ; so dumb that he could not speak for himself. Good neighbours supply his ears, his tongue ; they bring him to Christ. Be¬ hold a miracle led in by charity, acted by power, led out by modesty ! It was a true office of love to speak thus in the cause of the dumb, to lend senses to him that wanted. Poor man ! he had nothing to entreat for him but his impotence ; here was neither ear to inform, nor tongue to crave. His friends are sensible of his infirmity, and, unasked, bring’ him to cure ; this spiritual service we owe to each other. It is true, we should be quick of hearing of the things of God and to our peace, quick of tongue to call for our helps ; but, alas I we are naturally deaf and dumb to good. We have ear and tongue enough for the world ; if that do but whisper, we hear it ; if that do but draw back, we cry after it ; we have neither for God : ever since our ear was lent to the serpent in Paradise, it hath been spiritually deaf; ever since we set our tooth in the forbidden fruit, our tongue hath been speechless to God; and that which was faulty in the root, is worse in the branches. Every soul is more deafened and bedumbed by increasing corruptions, by actual sins. Some ears the infinite mercy of God hath bored, some tongues he hath untied, by the power of regeneration : these are wanting to their holy faculties, if they do not improve themselves in bringing the deaf and dumb unto Christ. There are some deaf and dumb upon necessity, some others upon af¬ fectation ; those, such as live either out of the pale of the church, or under a spiritual tyranny within the church; we have no help for them but our prayers ; om’ pity can reach further than our aid ; these, such as may hear of a Christ and sue to him, but will not; a condition so much more fearful, as it is more voluntary. This kind is full of woeful variety ; 260 THE DEAF AMD DUMB MAN CURED. [book iv. while some are deaf by an outward obturation, whether by the prejudice of the teacher, or by secular occasions and distractions; others by the inwardly aposthuming tumours of pride, by the ill vapours of carnal affections, of froward resolutions. All of them, like the deaf adder, have their ears shut to the divine Charmer. O miserable condition of foolish men, so peevishly averse from their own salvation, so much more worthy of our commiseration, as it is more incapable of their own! These are the men whose cure we must labour, whom we must bring to Christ by admonitions, by threats, by authority, and, if need be, by wholesome compulsions. They do not only lend their hand to the deaf and dumb, but their tongue also; they say for him that which he could not wish to say for himself. Doubtless they had made signs to him of what they intended, and, finding him forward in his desires, now they speak to Christ for him. Every man lightly hath a tongue to speak for himself; happy is he that keeps a tongue for other men. We are charged not with sup¬ plications only, but with intercessions : herein is both the largest im¬ provement of our love, and most effectual. No distance can hinder this fruit of our devotion. Thus we may oblige those that we shall never see, those that can never thank us. This beneficence cannot impoverish us ; the more we give, we have still the more. It is a safe and happy store, that cannot be impaired by our bounty. What was their suit, but that Christ would put his hand upon the patient ? not that they would prescribe the means, or imply a necessity of his touch; but for that they saw this was the ordinary course both of Christ and his disciples, by touching to heal. Our prayers must be directed to the usual proceed¬ ings of God. His actions must be the rule of our prayers ; our prayers may not prescribe his actions. That gracious Saviour, who is wont to exceed our desires, does more than they sue for: not only doth he touch the party, but takes him by the hand, and leads him from the multitude. He that would be healed of his spiritual infirmities, must be seques¬ tered from the throng of the world. There is a good use, in due times, of solitariness; that soul can never enjoy God, that is not sometimes re¬ tired. The modest Bridegroom of the church will not impart himself to his spouse before company. Or perhaps this secession was for onr ex¬ ample, of a willing and careful avoidance of vain glory in our actions. Whence also it is, that our Saviour gives an aftercharge of secrecy. He that could say, “ He that doeth evil hateth the light,” escheweth the light even in good. To seek our own glory, is not glory. Although, besides this bashful desire of obscurity, here is a meet regard of oppor¬ tunity in the carriage of our actions. The envy of the Scribes and Phari¬ sees might trouble the passage of his divine ministry ; their exasperation is wisely declined by tbis retiring. He in whose hands time is, knows how to make his best choice of seasons ! neither was it our Saviour’s meaning to have miracle buried, but hid. Wisdom hath no better im¬ provement than in distinguishing times, and discreetly marshalling the circumstances of our actions ; which, whosoever neglects, shall be sure to shame his work, and mar his hopes. Is there a spiritual patient to be cured ? aside with him : to under lake him before the face of the multitude, is to wound, not to heal him. CONT. II.] DEAF AND DUMB MAN CURED. 261 Reproof and good counsel must be like our alms, in secret; so as, if possible, one ear or liand might not be conscious to other: as, in some cases, confession, so our reprehension must be auricular. The discreet chirurgeon that would cure a modest patient, whose secret complaint bath in it more shame than pain, shuts out all eyes save his own. It is enough for the God of justice to say, “ Thou didst it secretly, but I will do it before all Israel, and before this sun.” Our limited and imperfect wisdom must teach us to apply private redresses to private maladies : it is the best remedy that is least seen, and most felt. What means this variety of ceremony ? O Saviour, how many parts of thee are here active ? thy finger is put into the ear, thy spittle touch- eth the tongue, thine eyes look up, thy lungs sigh, thy lips move to an Ephphatha: thy word alone, thy beck alone, thy wish alone, yea, the least act of velleity from thee, might have wrought this cure. Why wouldst thou employ so much of thyself in this work ? was it to show thy liberty, in not always equally exercising the power of thy deity ? in that one while thine only command shall raise the dead, and eject devils ; another while thou wouldst accommodate thyself to the mean and homely fashions of natural agents, and, condescending to our senses and customs, take those ways which may carry some more near respect to the cure intended ? or was it to teach us how well thou likest that there should be a ceremonious carriage of thy solemn actions, which thou pleasest to produce clothed with such circumstantial forms? It did not content thee to put one finger into one eai*, but into either ear wouldst thou put a finger : both ears equally needed cure, thou wouldst apply the means of cure to both. The Spirit of God is the finger of God: then dost thou, O Saviour, put thy finger into our ear, when thy Spirit enables us to hear eftectually. If we thrust our own fingers into our ears, using such human persuasions to ourselves as arise from worldly grounds, we labour in vain : yea, these stopples must needs hinder our hearing the voice of God. Hence the great philosophers of the ancient world, the leaimed Rabbins of the synagogue, the great doctors of a false faith, are deaf to spiritual things. It is only that finger of thy Spirit, O blessed Jesus, that can open onr ears, and make passage tlirough our ears into our hearts. Let that finger of thine be put into onr ears, so shall our deafness be removed, and we shall hear, not the loud thunders of the law, but the gentle whisperings of thy gracious motions to our souls. We hear for ourselves, but we speak for others. Our Saviour was not content to open the ears only, but to untie the tongue. With the ear we hear, with the mouth we confess : the same hand is applied to the tongue, not with a dry touch, but with spittle : in allusion, doubtless, to the removal of the natural impediment of speech. Moisture, we know, glibs the tongue, and makes it apt to motion ; how much more from that sacred mouth! There are those whose ears are open, but their mouths are still shut to God ; they understand, but do not utter the wonderfid things of God. There is but half a cure wrought upon these men ; their ear is but open to hear their own judgment, except their mouth be open to confess their Maker and Redeemer. O God, do thou so moisten my tongue with tliy 262 DEAF AND DUMB MAN CURED. [book IV. graces, that it may run smootlily, ‘‘ as the pen of a ready writer,” to the praise of thy name. While the finger of our Saviour was on the tongue, in the ear of the patient, his eye was in heaven. Never man had so much cause to look up to heaven as he: there was his home, there was his throne, He only was “from heaven, heavenly.” Each of us hath a good mind homeward, though we meet with better sights abroad: 4iow much more when our home is so glorious, above the region of our peregrina¬ tion ? but thou, O Saviour, hadst not only thy dwelling there, but thy seat of majesty ; there the greatest angels adore thee ; it is a wonder that thine eye could be ever any where but there. What doth thine eye in this, hut teach ours where to be fixed ? Every good gift, and every per¬ fect gift, coming down from above, how can we look off from that place whence we receive all good ? Thou didst not teach us to say, O infi¬ nite God, which art everywhere; but, “ O our Father, which art in hea¬ ven :” there let us look up to thee. O let not our eyes, our hearts, grovel upon this earth, but let us fasten them “ above the hills, whence cometh our salvation thence let us acknowledge all the good we receive, thence let us expect all the good we want. Why our Saviour looked up to heaven, though he had heaven in him¬ self, we can see reason enough. But why did he sigh ? surely not for need : the least motion of a thought was in him impetratory : how could he choose but be heard by his Father, who was one with the Father ? not for any fear of distrust, but partly for compassion, partly for exam¬ ple, for compassion of those manifold infirmities into which sin had plunged mankind, a pitiful instance whereof was hei-e presented unto him: for example, to fetch sighs from us for the miseries of others, sighs of sorrow for them, sighs of desire for their redress. This is not the first time that our Saviour spent sighs, yea tears, upon human distresses. We ai’e not bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh, if we so feel not the smart of our brethren, that the fire of our passion break forth into the smoke of sighs. “ Who is weak, and I am not weak ? who is offended, and I burn not ?” Christ was not silent while he cured the dumb ; his Ephphatha gave life to all his other actions. His sighing, his spitting, his looking up to heaven, were the acts of a man ; but his command of the ear and mouth to open, was the act of God. He could not command that which he made not; his word is imperative, ours supplicatory. He doth what he will with us ; we do by him what he thinks good to impai’t. In this mouth the word cannot be severed from the success. Our Saviour’s lips are no sooner opened in his Ephphatha, than the mouth of the dumb, and the ears of the deaf are opened. At once behold here celerity and perfection. Natural agents work by leisure, by degrees ; nothing is done in an instant; by many steps is every thing carried from the entrance to the consummation. Omnipotence knows no rules. No imperfect work can proceed from a cause absolutely perfect. The man hears now more lightly than if he had never been deaf; and speaks more plainly, than if he had never been tongue-tied : and can we blame him, if he bestowed the handsel of his speech upon the Power that res¬ tored it; if the first improvement of his tongue were the praise of the Giver, of the Maker of it ? or can we expect other than that our Saviour should say. Thy tongue is free, use it to the praise of Him that made it roNT. nr.] ZACCHEUS. 263 so; thy ears are open, hear him that bids thee proclaim thy cure upon the house-top ? But now, behold, contrarily, he that opens this man’s mouth by his powerful word, by the same word shuts it again, charging silence by the same breath wherewith he gave speech : “ Tell no man.” Those tongues, which interceded for his cure, are charmed for the concealment of it. O Saviour, thou knowest the grounds of thine own commands; it is not for us to enquire, but to obey; we may not honour thee with a forbidden celebration. Good meanings have ofttimes proved injurious : those men, whose charity employed their tongues to speak for the dumb man, do now employ the same tongues to speak of his cure, when they should have been dumb. This charge, they imagine, proceeds from an humble modesty in Christ, which the respect to his honour bids them violate. I know not how we itch after those forbidden acts, which, if left to our liberty, we willingly neglect. This prohibition increasetli the rumour; every tongue is busied about this one: what can we make of this, but a well-meant disobedience ? O God, I should more gladly publish thy name at thy command. I know thou canst not bid me to dishonour thee ; there is danger of such an injunction : but if thou shouldst bid me to hide the profession of thy name and wondrous works, I should fulfil thy words, and not examine thine intentions. Thou know¬ est how to win more honour by our silence, than by our promulgation. A forbidden good differs little from evil. What makes our actions to be sin, but thy prohibitions ? our judgment avails nothing. If thou for¬ bid us that which we think good, it becomes as faulty to theeward, as that which is originally evil. Take thou charge of thy glory; give me grace to take charge of thy precepts. CONTEMPLATION III.—ZACCHEUS. Now was our Saviour walking towards his passion ; his last journey had most w’onders. Jericho was in his way from Galilee to Jerusalem : he baulks it not, though it were outwardly cursed ; but, as tlie first Joshua saved a Rahab there, so there the second saves a Zaccheus ; that an har¬ lot, this a publican. The traveller was wounded as he was going from Jerusalem to Jericho ; this man was taken from his Jericho to the true Jerusalem, and was healed. Not as a passenger did Christ walk this way, but as a visitor; not to punish, but to heal. With us, the sick man is glad to send far for the physician ; here the physician comes to seek patients, and calls at our door for work. Had not this good shepherd left the ninety-nine, and searched the desert, the lost sheep had never recovered the fold; had not his gracious frugality sought the lost goat, it had been swept up with the rushes, and thrown out in the dust. Still, O Saviour, dost thou walk through our Jericho : what wmidd become of us, if thou shouldst stay till we seek thee alone ? Even when thou hast found us, how hardly do we follow thee ? the work must be all thine: we shall not seek thee, if thou find us not; we shall not follow thee, if thou draw us not. Never didst thou, O Saviour, set one step in vain : wheresoever thou 264 ZACCHEUS. [book IV. art walking, there is some Zacclieus to be won. As in a drought, when we see some weighty cloud hovering over us, Ave say there is rain for some grounds, wheresoever it falls: the ordinances of God bode good to some souls, and happy are they on whom it lights. How justly is Zaccheus brought in with a note of wonder I it is both great and good neAvs to hear of a convert. To see men perverted from God to the world, from truth to heresy, from piety to profaneness, is as common as lamentable ; every night such stars fall: but to see a sinner come home to God, is both happy and Avondrous to men and angels. I cannot blame that philosopher, Avho undertaking to Avrite of the hidden miracles of nature, spends most of his discourse upon the generation and formation of man : surely we are “ fearfully and wonderfully made !” But how much greater is the miracle of our spiritual regeneration, that a son of AATath, a child of Satan, should be transformed into the son and heir of the ever-living God ! O God, thou workest both ; but in the one our spirit animates us, in the other thine oAvn. Yet some things, which have Avonder in them for their Avorth, lose it for their frequence ; this hath no less rarity in it than excellence. How many painful Peters have complained to fish all night, and catcli nothing? Many professors, and few converts, hath been ever the lot of the gospel. God’s house, as the streets of Jericho, may be thronged, and yet but one Zaccheus. As therefore in tlie lottery, when the great prize comes, the trumpet sounds before it; so the news of a convert is proclaimed Avith “ Behold Zaccheus!” Any penitent had been Avorthy of a shout; but this man, by an eminence, a publican, a chief of the publicans, rich. No name under heaven was so odious as this of a publican ; especially to this nation, that stood so high upon their freedom, that every impeach¬ ment of it seemed no less than damnable; insomuch as they ask not. Is it fit, or needful, but, “ Is it lawful to pay tribute unto Csesar ?” Any office of exaction must needs be heinous to a people so impatient of the yoke : and yet not so much the trade, as the extortion, drew hatred upon this profession ; out of both they are deeply infamous. One Avdiile they are matched Avith heathens, another Avhile Avith harlots, always Avith sin¬ ners ; “ And behold Zaccheus, a publican.” \Ye are all naturally stran¬ gers from God; the best is indisposed to grace : yet some there are, Avhose very calling gives them better advantages. But this catch-pole- ship of Zaccheus carried extortion in the face, and, in a sort, bade defi¬ ance to his conversion ; yet, behold, from this tolbooth is called both Zac¬ cheus to be a disciple, and Matthew to be an apostle. We are in the hand of a cunning workman, that, of the knottiest and crookedest timber, can make rafts and ceiling for his OAvn house : that can square the mar¬ ble or flint, as well as the freest stone. Who can noAv plead the disad¬ vantage of his place, when he sees a publican come to Christ? No call¬ ing can prejudice God’s gracious election. To excel in evil must needs be AA'orse. If to be a publican be ill, surely to be an arch-publican is more. What talk we of the chief of publicans, Avhen he that professed himself the chief of sinners, is noAV among the chief of saints ? avIio can despair of mercy, Avhen he sees one Jericho send both an harlot and a publican to heaven ? The trade of Zaccheus Avas not a greater rub in his way, than his CONT. III.] ZACCHEUS. 265 wealth. He that sent word to John for great news, that “ The poor receive the gospel,” said also, “ How hard is it for a rich man to enter into heaven !” This bunch of the camel keeps him from passing the needle’s eye ; although not by any malignity that is in the creature itself, (riches are the gift of God,) but by reason of these three pernicious hang- byes, c{ires, pleasures, pride, which too commonly attend upon wealth : separate these, riches are a blessing. If we can so possess them, that they possess not us, there can be no danger, much benefit in abundance : all the good or ill of wealth or poverty, is in the mind, in the use. He that hath a free and lowly heart in riches is poor; he that hath a proud heart under rags, is rich. If the rich man do good and distribute, and the poor man steal, the rich hath put off his woe to the poor. Zaccheus had never been so famous a convert, if he had been poor; nor so liberal a convert, if he had not been rich. If more difficulty, yet more glory, was in the conversion of rich Zaccheus. It is well that rich Zaccheus was desirous to see Christ. Little do too many rich men care to see that sight; the face of Caesar on their coin is more pleasing. This man leaves his bags, to bless his eyes with this prospect; yet can I not praise him for this too much: it was not, I fear, out of faith, but curiosity : he that had heard great fame of the man, of his miracles, woidd gladly see his face ; even a Herod longed for this, and was never the better. Only this I find, that this curiosity of the eye, through the mercy of God, gave occasion to the belief of the heart. He that desires to see Jesus, is in the way to enjoy him ; there is not so much as a remote possibility in the man that cares not to be¬ hold him. The eye were ill bestowed, if it were only to betray our souls ; there are no less beneficial glances of it. We are not worthy of this useful casement of the heart, if we do not thence send forth beams of holy desires, and thereby re-convey profitable and saving objects. I cannot marvel if Zaccheus were desirous to see Jesus; all the world was not worth this sight. Old Simeon thought it best to have his eyes closed up with this spectacle, as if he held it pity and disparagement to see ought after it. The father of the faithful rejoiced to see him, though at nineteen hundred years’ distance ; and the great doctor of the Gentiles stands upon this as his highest stair: “ Have I not seen the Lord Jesus ?” and yet, O Saviour, many a one saw thee here, that shall never see thy face above; yea, that shall call to the hills to hide them from thy sight : and, “ If we had once known thee according to the flesh, henceforth know we thee so no more.” What a happiness shall it be, so to see thee glorious, that in seeing thee we shall partake of thy glory ! O blessed vision, to which all others are but penal and despicable ! Let me go into the mint-house, and see heaps of gold, I am never the richer; let me go to the pictures, and see goodly faces, I am never the fairer ; let me go to the court, I see state and magnificence, and am never the greater : but, O Saviour, I cannot see thee, and not be blessed. I can see thee here, though in a glass ; if the eye of my faith be dim, yet it is sure. O let me be unquiet, till I do now see thee through the veil of heaven, ere I shall see thee as I am seen I Fain would Zaccheus see .Jesus, but he could not: it were strange, if a man should not find some let in good desires ; somewhat will be still n. 2 L 266 ZAC CHE US. [book IV. in the Avay betwixt us and Christ. Here are two hinderances met, tlie one internal, the other external; the stature of the man, the press of the mvdtitude ; the greatness of the press, the smallness of the stature. There was great thronging in the streets of Jericho to see .Jesus ; the doors, the windows, the bulks Avere all full. Here are many beholders, few disciples. If gazing, if profession, AA^ere godliness, Christ Avould not Avant clients ; noAV, amongst all these AA'onderers, there is but one Zac- cheus. In vain should aa'o boast of our forAA^ardness to see and hear Christ in our streets, if Ave receive him not into our hearts. This croAvd hides Christ from Zaccheus. Alas ! Iioaa’ common a thing it is, by the interposition of the throng of the Avorld, to be kept from the sight of our Jesus ! Here a carnal fashionist says. Away Avith this aus¬ tere scrupulousness ; let me do as the most. The throng keeps this man from Christ: there a superstitious misbelieA'er says, What tell ye me of an handful of reformed ? the Avhole Avorld is ours ; this man is kept from Christ by the throng. The coA^etous mammonist says, Let them that have leisure, be devout; my employments are many, my affairs great. This man cannot see Christ for the throng: there is no perfect view of Christ but in a holy secession. The spouse found not her beloved, till she Avas passed the company ; then she found him whom her soul loved. Whoso never seeks Christ but in the croAvd, shall never find comfort in finding him ; the benefit of our public vieAv must be enjoyed in retired - ness. If in a press Ave see a man’s face, that is all; Avhen Ave have him alone, every limb may be vieAved. O Saviour, I Avould be loath not to see thee in thine assemblies; but I Avould be more loath not to see thee in my closet. Yet, had Zaccheus been but of the common pitch, he might perhaps have seen Christ’s face over his felloAv’s shoulders ; uoav his stature adds to the disadvantage, his body did not answer to his mind ; his desires AA'ere high, Avhile his body Avas Ioav. The best is, lioAA^eA^er smallness of stature AA^as disadvantageous in a level, yet it is not so at a height. A little man, if his eye be clear, may look as high, though not as far, as the tallest: the least pigmy may, from the lowest valley, see the sun or stars as fully as a giant upon the highest mountain. O Sa¬ viour, thou art now in lieaA^en ; the smallness of our person, or of our condition, cannot let us from beholding thee. The soul hath no stature, neither is heaven to be had Avith reaching: only clear thou the eyes of my faith, and I am high enough. I regard not the body ; the sold is the man. It is to small purpose, that the body is a giant, if the soul be a divarf. We have to do Avith a God that measures us by our desires, not by our statures. All the streets of Jericho, however he seemed to the eye, had not so tall a man as Zaccheus. The Avitty publican easily finds both his hinderances and the ways of their redress. His remedy for the press is to run befoi’e the multitude; his remedy for his stature is to climb up into the sycamore: he employs his feet in the one, his hands and feet in the other. In vain shall he hope to see Christ, that doth not outgo the common throng of the Avorld. The multitude is clustered together, and moves too close to move fast: Ave must be nimbler than they, if ever Ave desire or expect to see Christ. It is the charge of God, “ Thou shalt not follow a multitude to do evil;” CONT. Ill-] ZACCHEUS. 267 we do evil, if we lag in good. It is held commonly both wit and state for a man to keep his pace ; and that man escapes not censure, who would be forwarder than his fellows. Indeed, for a man to run alone in ways of indifferency, or to set a hypocritical face in outrunning all others in a zealous profession, when the heart lingers behind, both these are justly hateful: but in a holy emulation, to sti-ive truly and really to outstrip others in degrees of grace, and a conscionable care of obedi¬ ence, this is truly Christian, and worthy of him that would hope to be blessed wdth the sight of a Saviour. Tell me, ye fashionable Christians, that stand upon terms of equality, and will not go a foot before your neighbours in holy zeal and aidful charity, in conscionable sincerity ; tell me, wdio hath made other men’s progress a measure of yours ? Which of you says, I will be no richer, no greater, no fairer, no w'iser, no happier than my fellows ? why should you then say, I will be no holier ? Our life is but a race, every good end that a man proposes to himself is a several goal : did ever any man that ran for a prize say, I wdll keep up with the rest, doth he not know that if he be not foremost, he loseth ? We had as good to have sat still, as not “ so to run that w'e may obtain.” We obtain not, if Ave outrun not the multitude. So far did Zaccheus overrun the stream of the people, that he might have space to climb the sycamore ere Jesus could pass by. I examine not the kind, the nature, the quality of this plant; what tree soever it had been, Zaccheus would have tried to scale it, for the advantage of this prospect; he hath found out this help for his stature, and takes pains to use it. It is the best improvement of our Avit, to seek out the aptest furtherances for our souls. Do you see a Aveak and studious Chris¬ tian, that being unable to inform himself in the matters of God, goes to the cabinet of heaven, “ the priest’s lips, Avhich shall preserA^e know¬ ledge there is Zaccheus in the sycamore : it is the truest Avisdom that helps foi’AA'ard our salvation. Hoav witty we are to supply all the de¬ ficiencies of nature ! if Ave be Ioav, Ave can add cubits to our stature ; if ill coloured, we can borroAv complexion ; if hairless, perukes ; if dim- sighted, glasses ; if lame, crutches : and shall w^e be conscious of our spiritual AA'ants, and be Avilfully regardless of the remedy ? Surely, had Zaccheus stood still on the ground, he had never seen Christ; had he not climbed the sycamore, he had never climbed into heaven. O Sa¬ viour, I have not height enough of my OAvn to see thee ; give me AAdiat sycamore thou AA'ilt, give me grace to use it, give me a happy use of that grace. The more I look at the mercy of Christ, the more cause I see of as¬ tonishment. Zaccheus climbs up into the sycamore to see Jesus; Jesus first sees him, preventing his eyes Avith a former view. Little did Zac¬ cheus look that Jesus Avould haA^e cast up his eyes to him. Well might he think, the boys in the street Avould spy him out, and shout at his sta¬ ture, trade, ambition ; but that Jesus should throAV up his eyes into the sycamore, and take notice of that small despised morsel of flesh, ere Zaccheus could find space to distinguish his face from the rest, w'as utter¬ ly beyond his thought or expectation ; all his hope is to see, and noAv he is seen: to be seen and acknowledged, is much more than to see. 268 ZACCHEUS. [book IV. Upon any solemn occasion, many thousands see the prince, whom he sees not; and, if he please to single out any one, whether by his eye or by his tongue, amongst the press, it passes for a high favour. Zaccheus would have thought it too much boldness to have asked what was given him. As .Jonathan did to David, so doth God to us, he shoots beyond us : did he not prevent us with mercy, we might climb into the sycamore in vain. If he give grace to him that doth his best, it is the praise of the giver, not the earning of the i-eceiver : how can we do or will without liim ? if he sees us first, we live ; and if we desire to see him, we shall be seen of him. Who ever took pains to climb the sycamore, and came down disappointed ? O Lord, what was there in Zaccheus, that thou shouldst look up at him? a publican, a sinnei’, an arch extortioner; a dwarf in stature, but a giant in oppression ; a little man, but a great sycophant; if rich in coin, more rich in sins and treasures of wrath : yet it is enough that he desires to see thee ; all these disadvantages cannot hide him from thee. Be we never so sinful, if our desires towards thee be hearty and fervent, all the broad leaves of the sycamore cannot keep off thine eye from us. If we look at thee with the eye of faith, thou wilt look at us with the eye of mercy ; “ Tire eye of the Lord is upon the just,” and he is just that would be so ; if not in himself, yet in thee. O Saviour, when Zaccheus was above, and thou wert below, thou didst look up at him ; now thou art above and we below, thou lookest down upon us, thy mercy turns thine eyes every way towards our necessities. Look down upon us that are not worthy to look up unto thee, and find us out, that we may seek thee. It was much to note Zaccheus, it was more to name him. INIethinks I see how Zaccheus startled at this, to hear the sound of his own name from the mouth of Christ; neither can he but think, Doth Jesus know me ? is it his voice, or some others in the throng ? lo, this is the first sight that ever I had of him. I have heard the fame of his wonderful works, and held it happiness enough in me to have seen his face ; and doth he take notice of my person, of my name ? Surely, the more that Zaccheus knew himself, the more doth he wonder that Christ should know him. It was slander enough for a man to be a friend to a publican ; yet Christ gives this friendly compellation to the chief of publicans, and honours him with this argument of a sudden entireness. The favour is great, but not singular ; every elect of God is thus graced: the Father knows the child’s name; as he calls the stars of heaven by their names, so doth he his saints, the stars on earth ; and it is his own rule to his Israel, “ I have called thee by thy name, thou art mine.” As God’s children do not content themselves with a confused knowledge of him, but aspire to a particular apprehension and sensible application, so doth God again to them: it is not enough that he knows them, as in the crowd (wherein we see many persons, none distinctly,) but he takes single and sevei’al knowledge of their qualities, conditions, motions, events. What care we that our names are obscure or contemned amongst men, while they are regai’ded by God; that they are raked up in the dust of earth, while they are recorded in heaven. Had our Saviour said no more but, Zaccheus, ‘‘ come down,” the poor man would have thought himself taxed for his boldness and curiosity : It CONT. III.3 ZACCHEUS. 2G9 were better to be unknown, than noted for miscarriage. But now tJie next woi'ds comfort him ; “ For I must tliis day abide at thine house.” What a sweet familiarity was here; as if Christ had been many years acquainted witli Zacchens, whom lie now first saw ! Besides our use, the host is invited by the guest, and called to an unexpected entertain¬ ment. Well did our Saviour hear Zacchens’ heart inviting him, though his mouth did not: desires are the language of the soul, those are heard by Him that is the God of spirits. We dare not do thus to each other, save where we have eaten much salt; we scarce go where we are invited : though the face be friendly, and the entertainment great, yet the heart may be hollow. But here. He, that saw the heart, and foreknew his welcome, can boldly say, “ I must this day abide at thine house.” What a pleasant kind of entire familiarity there is betwixt Christ and a good heart! “ If any man open, I will come in and sup with him.” It is much for the King of Glory to come into a cottage, and sup there ; yet thus he may do and take some state upon him in sitting alone. No, “ 1 will so sup with him, that he shall sup with me.” Earthly state consists in strangeness, and affects a stern kind of majesty aloof. Betwixt God and us, though there be infiuite more distance, yet there is a gracious affability, and a familiar entireness of conversation. O Saviour, what dost thou else every day, but invite thyself to us iu thy word, in thy sacrament ! who are we that we should entertain thee, or thou us ! dwarfs in grace, great iu nothing but unworthiness ! Thy pi’aise is worthy to be so much the more, as our worth is less. Thou that biddest thyself to us, bid be fit to receive thee, and, in receiving thee, happy. How graciously doth Jesus still prevent the publican, as in his sight, notice, compellation, so in his invitation too ! That other publican, Levi, bade Christ to his house, but it was after Christ had bidden him to his discipleship. Christ had never been called to his feast, if Levi had not been called into his family. He loved us first, he must first call us ; for he calls us out of love. As in the general calling of Christianity, if he did not say, “ Seek ye my face,” we could never say, “ Thy face. Lord, will I seekso, in the specialities of our main benefits or employments, Christ must begin to us. If we invite ourselves to him, before he invite himself to us, the undertaking is presumptuous, the success unhappy. If Nathanael, when Christ named him, and gave him the memorial- token of his being under the fig-tree, could say, “ Thou art the Son of God ;” how could Zacchens do less in hearing himself upon this wild fig- tree named by tbe same lips ? How must he needs think, if he knew not all things, he could not know me; and if he knew not the hearts of men, he could not have known my secret desires to entertain him ? He is a God that knows me, and a merciful God that invites himself to me: no marvel therefore, if, upon this thought, Zaccheus came down in haste. Our Saviour said not. Take thy leisure, Zaccheus, but, “ I will abide at thine own house to-day.” Neither did Zaccheus, upon this intimation, sit still and say. When the press is over, when I have done some errands of my office ; but he hastes down to receive Jesus. The notice of such a guest would have quickened his speed without a command : God loves not 270 ZACCHEUS. [book. IV. slack and lazy executions. The angels of God are described with wings, and we pray to do his will with their forwardness: yea, even to Judas, Christ saith, “ What thou dost, do quickly.” O Saviour, there is no day wherein thou dost not call us by the voice of thy gospel ! What do we still lingering in the sycamore ? How unkindly must thou needs take the delays of our conversion ? Certainly, had Zaccheus staid still in the tree, thou hadst baulked his house as unworthy of thee. What construction canst thou make of our wilful dilations, but as a stubborn contempt ? how canst thou but come to us in vengeance, if we come not down to entertain thee in a thankful obedience ? Yet do I not hear thee say, Zaccheus, cast thyself down for haste (this was the counsel of the tempter to thee) but, “ Come down in haste, ” and he did accordingly. There must be no more haste than good speed in our performances : Ave may offend as well in our heady acceleration, as in our delay. Moses ran so fast dorvn the hill, that he stumbled spiritu¬ ally, and brake the tables of God : we may so fast follow after justice, that we outrun charity. It is an unsafe obedience that is not discreetly and leisurely speedful. The speed of his descent was not more than the alacrity of his enter¬ tainment : “ He made haste, and came down, and received him joyfully.” The life of hospitality is cheerfulness: let our cheer be never so great, if we do not read our welcome in our friend’s face, as well as in his dishes, we take no pleasure in it. Can we marvel, that Zaccheus received Christ joyfully ? Who would not have been glad to have his house, yea, himself, made happy with such a guest? Had we been in the stead of this publican, how would our hearts have leaped within us for joy of such a presence ? How many thousand miles are measured by some devout Christians, only to see the place where his feet stood ? how much happier must he needs think him¬ self, that owns the roof that receives him? But, O the incomparable hap¬ piness, then, of that man Avhose heart receives him, not for a day, not for years of days, not for millions of years, but for eternity ! This may be our condition, if we be not straitened in our OAvn bowels. O Saviour, do thou welcome thyself to these houses of clay, that we may receive a joyful welcome to thee in those everlasting habitations. Zaccheus Avas not more glad of Christ, than the Jews were discontent¬ ed. Four vices met here at once ; envy, scrupulousness, ignorance, pride : their eye was evil because Christ’s was good. I do not hear any of them invite Christ to his home, yet they snarl at the honour of this uuAvorthy host; they thought it too much happiness for a sinner, Avhich themselves Avillingly neglected to sue for. Wretched men I they cannot see the mercy of Christ, for being bleared Avith the happiness of Zaccheus ; yea, that very mercy Avhich they see torments them. If that viper be the deadliest Avhich feeds the SAV'eetest, how poisonous must this disposition needs be, that feeds upon grace I What a contrariety there is betAvixt good angels and evil men ! the angels rejoice at that whereat men pout and stomach; men are ready to cry and bui’st for anger, at that vvdiich makes music in heaven. O Avicked and foolish elder brother, that feeds on hunger and his oavii lieai’t Avith- out doors, because his younger brother is feasting on the fat calf Avithiii I CONT. III.] ZACCHEUS. 271 Besides envy, they stand scrupulously upon the terras of traditions. These sons of the earth might not be conversed with, their threshold was unclean! “ Touch me not, for I am holier than thou.” That he, there¬ fore, who went for a prophet, should go to the house of a publican and sinner, must needs be a great eyesore. They that might not go in to a sinner, cared not what sins entered into themselves ; the true cousins of those hypocrites, who held it a pollution to go into the judgment hall, no pollution to murder the Lord of life. There cannot be a greater argu¬ ment of a false heart, than to stumble at these straws, and to leap over the blocks of gross impiety. Well did our Saviour know how heinously offensive it would be to turn in to this publican ; he knows, and regards it not: a soul is to be won, what cares he for idle misconstruction ? Mo¬ rally good actions must not be suspended upon danger of causeless scan¬ dal In things indifferent and arbitrary, it is fit to be overruled by fear of offence ; but if men will stumble in the plain ground of good, let them fall without our regard, not Avithout their own peril. I know not if it Avere not David’s Aveakness to “abstain from good words Avhile the wicked Avere in place.” Let justice be done in spite of the Avorld, and, in spite of hell, mercy. Ignorance was in part guilty of these scruples; they thought Christ either too holy to go to a sinner, or in going made unholy. Foolish men ! to Avhom came he ? to you righteous ? let him speak : “ I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” Whither should the physician go but to the sick ; “ the Avhole need him not. ” Love is the best attractive of us; and “ he to Avhom much is forgiven loves much. ” O Saviour, the glittering palaces of proud justiciaries are not for thee; thou lovest the lowly and ragged cottage of a contrite heart. Neither could here be any danger of thy pollution: thy sun could cast his beams upon the impurest dunghill, and not be tainted. It Avas free and safe for the leper and bloody-fluxed to touch thee; thou couldst heal them, they could not infect thee. Neither is it otherwise in this moral con¬ tagion. We Avho are obnoxious to evil, may be insensibly defiled: thy purity AA'as enough to remedy that Avhich might mar a Avorld ; thou canst help us, we cannot hurt thee. O let thy presence ever bless us, and let us eA^er bless thee for thy presence. Pride was an attendant of this ignorance : so did they note Zaccheus for a sinner, as if themselves had been none ; his sins were Avritten in his forehead, theirs in their breast: the presumption of their secrecy makes them insult upon his notoriousness. The smoke of pride still flies upAA'ard, and, in the mounting, vanisheth: contrition beats it down, and fetcheth tears from the tender eyes. There are stage sins, and there are closet sins ; these may not upbraid the other : they may he more heinous, though less manifest. It is a dangerous vanity to look oiitwai d at other men’s sins with scorn, when Ave have more need to cast our eyes inward to see our OAvn Avith humiliation. Thus they stumbled, and fell; but Zaccheus stood : all their malicious murmur could not dishearten his piety and joy in the entertaining of Christ. Before, Zaccheus lay doAvn as a sinner, noAv he stands up as a convert: sinning is falling, continuance in sin is lying down, repentance is rising and standing up: yet perhaps this standing Avas not so much the 272 ZACCHEUS, [book IV. sight of his constancy or of his conversion, as of his reverence. Christ’s affability hath not made him unmannerly; Zaccheus stood: and what if the desire of more audibleness raised him to his feet ? in that smallness of stature it was not fit he should lose ought of his height; it was meet so noble a proclamation should want no advantage of hearing: never was our Saviour better welcomed. The penitent publican makes his will, and makes Christ his supervisor: his will consists of legacies given, of debts paid, gifts to the poor, payments to the injured. There is lib¬ erality in the former, in the latter justice ; in both, the proportions are large : “ Half to the poor, fourfold to the wronged.” This hand sowed not sparingly ; here must needs be much of his own that was well gotten, whether left by patrimony, or saved by parsimony, or gained by honest improvement; for when he had restored fourfold to every one whom he had oppressed, yet there remained a whole half for pious uses ; and this he so distributes, that every word commends his bounty, “ I giveand what is more free than gift ? In alms we may neither sell, nor return, nor cast away. We sell, if we part with them for importunity, for vain glory, for retribution ; we return them, if we give with respect to former offices ; this is to pay, not to bestow : we cast away, if in our beneficence we neither regard order nor discre¬ tion. Zaccheus did neither cast away, nor return, nor sell, but give ; “ I do give not I will. The prorogation of good makes it thankless; the alms that smells of the hand loses the praise ; it is twice given that is given quickly. Those that defer their gifts till their death-bed, do as good as say. Lord, I will give thee something, when I can keep it no longer. Happy is the man that is his own executor: “ I give my goods,” not another’s. It is a thankless vanity to be liberal of another man’s purse: whoso gives of that which he hath taken away from the owner, doth more wrong in giving than in stealing: God expects our gifts, not our spoils. I fear there is too many a school and hospital, every stone whereof may be challenged. Had Zaccheus meant to give of his extor ¬ tions, he had not been so careful of his restitution : now he restores to others, that he may give of his own: “I give half my goods.” The publican’s heart was as large as his estate; he was not more rich in goods than in bounty. Were this example binding, who should be rich to give ? Avho should be poor to receive ? In the strait beginnings of the church, those beneficences were requisite, which afterwards, in the larger elbow-room thereof, would have caused much confusion. If the first Christians laid down all at the apostles’ feet, yet ere long it was enough for the believing Corinthians, every first day of the w^eek, to lay aside some pittance for charitable purposes. We are no disciples, if we do not imitate Zaccheus so far as to give liberally, according to the pro¬ portion of our estate. Giving is sowing; the larger seeding, the greater crop ; giving to the jjoor is feneration to God : the greater bank, the more interest. Who can fear to be too wealthy ? Time was when men faulted in excess. Proclamations were fain to restrain the Jews, statutes were fain to re¬ strain our ancestors ; now' there needs none of this, men know how to shut their hands alone: charity is in more danger of freezing than of burning. How happy w'ere it for the church, if men were only close- CONT. III.] ZACCHEUS. 273 handed to hold, and not lime-fingered to take. ‘‘ To the poor,” not to rich heirs : God gives to him that hath, we to him that wants. Some want because they would, whether out of prodigality or idleness ; some Avant because they must; these are the fit subjects of our beneficence, not those other. A poverty of our own making deserves no pity: he that sustains the lewd, feeds not his belly, but his vice. So then this living legacy of Zaccheus is free, “ I give present, “ I do give just, “my goods large, “ half my goods fit, “ to the poor.” Neither is he more bountiful in his gift, than just in his restitution ; “ If I have taken ousrht from any man by false accusation, I restore it fourfold.” It Avas proper for a publican to pill and poll the subject, by devising complaints, and raising causeless vexations, that his mouth might be stopt Avith fees, either for silence or composition. This had Zaccheus often done : neither is this []if ] a note of doubt, but of assertion. He is sure of the fact, he is not sure of the persons ; their challenge must help to further his justice. The true penitence of this holy convert ex¬ presses itself in confession, in satisfaction : his confession is free, full, open. What cares he to shame himself, that he may give glory to God ? woe be to that bashfulness that ends in confusion of face. O God, let me blush before men, rather than be confounded before thee, thy saints and angels I His satisfaction is no less liberal than his gift. Had not Zaccheus been careful to pay the debts of his fraud, all had gone to the poor: he Avould have done that voluntarily, Avhich the young man in the gospel AA^as hidden to do, and refusing went away sorrowful. Now he knew that his misgotten gain Avas not for God’s Corban ; therefore he spares half, not to keep, but to restoi-e ; this Avas the best dish in Zaccheus’s good cheer. In vain had he feasted Christ, given to the poor, confessed his extortions, if he had not made restitution. Woe is me for the pau¬ city of true converts : there is much stolen goods, little brought home. Men’s hands are like the fisher’s fleAV, yea, like hell itself, Avhich admits of no return. O God, Ave can never satisfy thee ! our score is too great, our abilities too little; but if AA^e make not even Avith men, in vain shall AA^e look for mercy from thee. To each his OAvn had been w'ell ; but four for one was munificent. In our transactions of commerce Ave do Avell to bear the bargain to the loAvest; but in cases of moral or spirit¬ ual payments to God or men now, there must be a measure pressed, shaken, running over. In good offices and due retributions, we may not be pinching and niggardly. It argues an earthly and ignoble mind, where Ave have apparently AA'ronged, to higgle and dodge in the amends. O mercy and justice Avell repaid ! “ This day is salvation come to thine house.” Lo, Zaccheus, that Avhich thou givest to the poor is no¬ thing to that which thy Saviour gives to thee. If thou restorest fom’ for one, here is more than thousands of millions for nothing; Avere every of thy pence a AA'orld, they could hold no comparison Avith this bounty. It is but dross that thou giA'est, it is salvation that thou receivest. Thou gavest in present, thou dost not I’eceive in hope ; but, “ This day is sal¬ vation come to thine house.” Thine ill-gotten metals were a strong bar to bolt heaven gates against thee ; now that they are dissolved by a season- 2 AT II. 274 JOHN B7\PTIST beheaded. [book IV. able beneficence and restitution, those gates of glory fly open to thy soul. Where is that man that can challenge God to be in his debt ? who can ever say, Lord, this favour I did to the least of thine unrequited ? Thrice happy publican, that hast climbed from thy sycamore to heaven; and by a few worthless bags of unrighteous mammon, hast purchased to thyself a kingdom incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away ! CONTEMPLATION IV.—JOHN BAPTIST BEHEADED. Three of the evangelists have (with one pen) recorded the death of the great harbinger of Christ as most remarkable and useful. He was the forerunner of Christ, as into the world, so out of it; yea, he that made way for Christ into the Avorld, made way for the name of Christ into the court of Herod. This Herod Antipas was son to that Herod who was, and is, ever infamous for the massacre at Bethlehem. Cruelty runs in a blood. The murderer of John, the forerunner of Christ, is well descended of him who would have murdered Christ, and, for his sake, murdered the infants. It was late ere this Herod heard the fame of Jesus, not till he had taken olf the head of John Baptist. The father of this Herod inquired for Christ too soon, this too late. Great men should have the best intelligence. If they improve it to all other uses of either frivolous or civil affairs, with neglect of spiritual, their judgment shall be so much more, as their helps and means were greater. Whe¬ ther this Herod was taken up with his Arabian wars against Arethas his father-in-law ; or whether he was employed in his journey to Rome, I inquire not: but if he Avas at home, I must wonder hoAV he could be so long without the noise of Christ. Certainly, it was a sign he had a very irreligious court, that none of his folloAvers did so much as report to him the miracles of our Saviour; Avho doubtless told him many a A'ain tale the while. One tells him of his brother Philip’s discontentment; another relates the neAv^s of the Roman court; another the angry threats of Are¬ thas ; another flatters him Avith the admiration of his new mistress, and disparagement of the old : no man so much as says. Sir, there is a pro¬ phet in your kingdom that doth Avonders. There Avas not a man in his country that had not been astonished Avith the fame of Jesus ; yea, all Syria, and the adjoining regions, rung of it; only Herod’s court hears nothing. IVIiserable is that greatness Avliich keeps men from the notice of Christ. How plain is it from hence, that our Saviour kept aloof from the court. The austere and eremitical harbinger of Chi’ist, it seems, preached there oft, and Avas heard gladly, though at last, to his cost; while our Saviour, avIio Avas more sociable, came not there. He sent a message to..that fox, whose den he would not approach. Whether it Avere that he purposely forbore, lest he should give that tyrant occasion to revive and pursue his father’s suspicion ; or Avhether for that he would not so much honour a place so infamously graceless and disordered ; or whether, by his example, to teach us the avoidance of outward pomp and glory ; surely Herod saw him not till his death, heard not of him till the death of John Baptist. And iioav his unintelligence was not more CONT. IV.] JOHN BAPTIST BEHEADED. 275 strange than his misconstruction ; ‘‘ This is John Baptist, whom I be¬ headed.” First he doubted, then he resolved ; he doubted upon other suggestions, upon his own apprehensions he resolved thus. And though he thought good to set a face on it to strangers, unto whom it was not safe to bewray his fear, yet to his domestics he freely discovered his thoughts : “ This is John Baptist.” The troubled conscience will many a time open that to familiars, which it hides from the eyes of others. Shame and fear meet together in guiltiness. How could he imagine this to be John ? that common conceit of transanimation could have no place here ; there could be no transmigration of souls into a grown and well-statured body. That received fancy of the Jews held only in the case of conception and birth, not of full age. What need we scan this point, when Herod himself professes, “ He is risen from the dead ?” He that was a Jew by profession, and knew the story of Elisha’s bones, of the Sareptan’s and Shunamite’s son, and, in all likelihood, had now heard of our Saviour’s miraculous resuscitation of others, might think this power reflected upon himself. Even Herod, as bad as he was, believed a resurrection. Lewdness of life and practice may stand with orthodoxy in some main points of religion. Who can doubt of this when “ the devils believe and tremble?” Where shall those men appear, whose faces are Christian, but their hearts Sadducees ? O the terrors and tortures of a guilty heart! Herod’s conscience told him he had olfered an unjust and cruel violence to an innocent; and now he thinks that John’s ghost haunts him. Had it not been for this guilt of his bosom, why might he not as well have thought that the same God, whose hand is not shortened, had conferred this power of miracles upon some other ? now it Could be nobody but John that doth these wonders. And how can it be, thinks he, but that this revived prophet, who doth these strange things, will be revenged on me for his head ? he, that could give himself life, can more easily take mine ; how can I escape the hands of a now immortal and impassable avenger ? A wicked man needs no other tormentor, especially for the sins of blood, than his own heart. Revel, O Herod, and feast, and frolic, and please thyself with dances, and triumphs, and pastimes: thy sin shall be as some fury that shall invisibly follow thee, and scourge thy guilty heart with secret lashes, and upon all occasions, shall begin thine hell within thee. He wanted not other sins, that yet cried, “ Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, O God.” What an honour was done to ,Iohn in this misprision ! while that man lived, the world was apt to think that John was the Christ: now, that John is dead, Herod thinks Christ to be John. God gives to his poor conscionable servants a kind of reverence and high respect, even from those men that malign them most; so as they cannot but venerate whom they hate. Contrarily, no wit or power can shield a lewd man from contempt. John did no miracle in his life, yet now Herod thinks he did miracles in his resurrection ; as supposing that a new supernatural life brought with it a supernatural power. Who c,an but wonder at the stupid par¬ tiality of Herod and these Jews ? they can imagine and yield John risen from the dead, that never did miracle, and rose not; whereas Christ, 276 JOHN BAPTIST BEHEADED. [book IV. who did infinite miracles, and rose from tlie dead, by Ids almighty power, is not yielded by them to have risen. Their over-bountiful miscon- ceit of the servant is not so injurious as their niggardly infidelity to the Master, Both of them shall convince and confound them before the face of God. But, O yet more blockish Herod ! thy conscience affrights thee with John’s resurrection, and flies in thy face for the cruel murder of so great a saint: yet where is thy repentance for so foul a fact ? who Avould not have expected that thou shonldst hereupon have humbled thyself for thy sin, and have laboured to make thy peace wdth God and him ? the greater the fame and power was of him whom thou suppos- edst recovered from thy slaughter, the more should have been thy peni¬ tence. Impiety is wont to besot men, and turn them senseless of their own safety and welfare. One would have thought, that our first grand- sire Adam, when he found his heart to strike him for his disobedience, should have run to meet God upon his knees, and sued for pardon of his offence : instead of that, he runs to hide his head among the bushes. The case is still ours; Ave inherit both his sin and his senselessness. Besides the infinite displeasure of God, wickedness makes the heart incapable of grace, and impregnable to the means of conversion. Even the very first act of Herod’s cruelty was heinous. He Avas foul enough with other sins; “ he added this above all, that he shut up John in prison.” The violence offered to God’s messengers is branded for notorious. The sanctity and austere carriage of the man, won him ho¬ nour justly from the multitude, and aggravated the sin : but whatever his person had been, his mission was sacred, “ He shall send his messenger the Avrong redounds to the God that sent him. It is the chai-ge of God, “ Touch not mine anointed, nor do my prophets any harm.” The pre¬ cept is perhaps one, for even prophets were anointed; but, at least, next to violation of majesty is the Avrong to a prophet. But AA'hat ? do I not hear the Evangelist say, that “ Herod heard John gladly ?” How is it then ? did John take the ear and heart of Herod, and doth Herod bind the hands and feet of John ? doth he wilfully imprison Avhom he gladly heard ? Hoav inconsistent is a carnal heart to good resolutions ! how little trust is to be given to the good motions of unregenerate persons ! We have known Avhen even mad dogs have faAvned upon their master, yet he hath been too wise to trust them but in chains. As a true friend loves always, so a gracious heart always affects good, neither can be altered Avith change of occurrences. But the carnal man, like a holloAv parasite or a faAvning spaniel, flatters only for his OAvn turn: if that be once either served or crossed, like a chm-lish cur, he is ready to snatch us by the fingers. Is there a worldly-minded man that lives in some known sin, yet makes much of the preacher, frequents the church, talks godly, looks demurely, carries fair ? Trust him not ; he Avdll prove, after his pious fits, like some resty horse, Avhich goes on some paces readily and eagerly, but anon either stands still, or falls to flinging and plunging, and never leaves till he hath cast his rider. What then might be the cause of John’s bonds, and Herod’s displea¬ sure ? “For Herodias’ sake, his brother Philip’s wife.” That woman was the subject of Herod’s lust, and exciter of his revenge. This light houscAvife ran away Avith her husband’s brother; and now doting upon CONT. IV.] JOHN BAPTIST BEHEADED. 277 her incestuous lover, and finding John to be a rub in the way of her licentious adultery, is impatient of his liberty, and will not rest till his restraint. Resolved sinners are mad upon their lewd courses, and run furiously upon their gainsayers. A bear robbed of her whelps is less impetuous. Indeed, those that have determined to love their sins more than their souls, whom can they care for ? Though Herod was wicked enough, yet, had it not been upon Herodias’ instigation, he had never imprisoned John. Importunity of lewd solicitors may be of dangerous con., quence, and many times draws greatness into those ways, which it either would not have thought of, or abhorred. In the removal of the wicked is the estab¬ lishment of the throne. Yet still is this dame called the wife of Philip. She had utterly left his bed, and was solemidy coupled to Herod; but all the ritual cere¬ monies of her new nuptials cannot make her other than Philip’s wife. It is a sure rule, that which is originally faulty can never be rectified. The ordination of marriage is one for one; “ they twain shall be one flesh.” There cannot be two heads to one body, nor two bodies to one head. Herod was her adulterer, he was not her husband: she was Herod’s harlot, Philip’s wife. Yet how doth Herod dote on her, that for her sake he loads John with irons ! Whither will not the fury of inordinate lust transport a man ? Certainly John was of late in Herod’s favour. That rough-hewn preacher was for a wilderness, not for a court: Herod’s invitation drew him thither ; his reverence and respects encouraged him there. Now the love of his lust carried him into a hate of God’s messenger. That man can have no hold of himself, or care of others, who hath given the reins to his unruly concupiscence. He that hath once fixed his heart upon the face of a harlot, and hath beslaved himself to a bewitching beauty, casts olf at once all fear of God, respect to laws, shame of the world, regard of his estate, care of wife, children, friends, reputation, patrimony, body, soul. So violent is this beastly passion where it takes; neither ever leaves, till it have hurried him into the chambers of death. Herodias herself had first plotted to kill the Baptist ; her murderers were suborned, her ambushes laid; the success failed, and now she works with Herod for his diu'ance. O marvellous hand of the Almighty! John was a mean man for estate, solitary, guardless, unarmed, impotent; Herodias a queen, so great, that she swayed Herod himself, and not more great than subtile, and not more great and subtile than malicious: yet Herodias laid to kill John, and could not. What an invisible and yet sure guard there is about the poor servants of God, that seem help¬ less and despicable in themselves I there is over them a hand of divine protection, which can be no more opposed than seen. Malice is not so strong in the hand as in the heart. The devil is stronger than a world of men, a legion of devils stronger than fewer spirits; yet a legion of devils cannot hux’t one swine without a permission. What can bands of enemies, or gates of hell, do against God’s secret ones ? “ It is better to trust in the Lord, than to trust in princes.” It is not more clear who was the author, than what was the motive of this imprisonment, the free reproof of Herod’s incest; “ It is not lawful,” 278 JOHN BAPTIST BEHEADED. [book IV. &c. Both the offenders were nettled at this bold reprehension. Herod knew the reputation that John carried, his conscience could not but suggest the foulness of his own fact; neither could he hut see how odious it would seem to persecute a prophet for so just a reproof. For the colour therefore of so tyrannical an act, he brands John with sedition : these presumptuous taxations are a disgrace and disparagement to autho¬ rity. It is no news with tyrants, to cloak their cruelty with pretences of justice. Never was it other than the lot of God’s faithful servants, to be loaded with unjust reproaches in the conscionable performance of their duties. They should speed too well in the opinion of men, if they might but appear in their time shape. The fact of Herod was horrible and prodigious, to rob his own brother of the partner of his bed, to tear away part of his flesh, yea, his body from his head : so as here was at once, in one act, adultery, incest, vio¬ lence. AdiUtery, that he took anothei*’s wife; incest, that he took his brother’s; violence, that he thus took her in spite of her husband. .Justly therefore might John say, “ It is not lawful for thee.” He baulked not one of Herod’s sins, but reproved him of all the evils that he had done; though more eminently of this, as that which more filled the eye of the world. It was not the crown or lawful sceptre of Herod that could daunt the homely but faithful messenger of God ; as one that came in the spirit of Elias, he fears no faces, spares no wickedness. There must meet in God’s ministers courage and impartiality ; impartiality, not to make difference of persons ; courage, not to make spare of the sins of the greatest. It is a hard condition that the necessity of our calling casts upon us, in some cases, to run upon the pikes of displeasure. Prophecies were no burdens, if they did not expose us to these dangers. We must connive at no evil: ev'ery sin unreproved becomes ours. Hatred is the daughter of truth. Hei'od is inwardly vexed with so peremptory a reprehension ; and now he seeks to kill the author. And why did he not ? “ He feared the people.” The time was, when he feared John no less than now he hates him: he once reverenced him as a just and holy man, whom now he heart-burns as an enemy: neither was it any counterfeit respect, sure the man was then in earnest. What shall we say then ? was it that his inconstant heart was now fetched off by Herodias, and wrought to a disaffection ? or was it with Herod, as with Solomon’s sluggard, that at once would and would not? His thoughts are distracted with a mixed voluntary contradiction of pur¬ poses : as a holy man, and honoured of the people, he would not kill John : he would kill him, as an enemy to his lust. The worst part prevaileth, appetite oversways reason and conscience; and now, were it not for fear of the people, John should be murdered. What a self-con¬ flicting and prodigious creature is a wicked man left over to his own thoughts ! while on the one side he is urged by his conscience, on the other by his lustful desires, and by the importunity of Satan. “ There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked and after all his inward broils, he falls upon the worst, so as his yieldance is worse than his fight. When God sees fit, Herod’s tyranny shall effect that which the wise providence of the Almighty hath decreed for his servant’s glory. In the meanwhile, rubs shall be cast in his way ; and this for one, “ He feared COXT. IV•] JOHN BAPTIST BEHEADED. 279 the people.” What an absurd and sottish thing is liypocrisy ! Herod fears the pectple, he fears not God. Tell me then, Herod, what could the people do at the wox-st ? perhaps mutiny against thee, raise arms and tumults, disturb the government, it may be shake it off. What could God do ? yea, what not ? stir up all his creatures to plague thee, and when he hath done, tumble thee down to hell, and there torment tliee everlastingly. O fond Herod, that fearest where no fear was, and fearest not where there is nothing but terror! How God fits lewd men with restraints ! If they be so godless as to regard his creature above himself, he hath external bugs to affright them withal: if bashful, he hath shame: if covetous, losses; if proud, disgrace : and by this means the most wise Providence keeps the world in order. We cannot better judge of our hearts, than by what we most fear. No man is so great as to be utterly exempted from fear. The Jews feared Herod, Herod feared the .Jews: the healthful fear sickness, the free servitude ; the people fear a tyrant’s oppression and cruelty ; the tyrant fears the people’s mutiny and insurrection. If tliere have been some so great as to be above the reach of the power and macluna- tions of inferiors, yet never any that have been free from their fears and suspicions. Happy is he that fears nothing but what he should— God. Why did Herod fear the people ? “ They held John for a prophet.” And this opinion was both common and constant : even the Scribes and Pharisees durst not say, his baptism was from men. It is the wisdom and goodness of God, ever to give his children favour somewhere. If .Jeze¬ bel hate Elias, Ahab shall for the time honour him; and if Herod liate the Baptist, and would kill him, yet the people reverence him. Herod’s malice would make him away, the people’s reputation keeps him alive. As wise princes have been content to maintain a faction in their court or state for their own purposes; so here did the God of heaven contrive and order differences of judgment and affection betwixt Herod and his subjects, for his own holy ends ; else certainly, if all wicked men sliould conspire in evil, there could be no being upon earth; as, contrarily, if evil spirits did not accord, hell could not stand. O the unjust and fond partiality of this people ! they all generally applaud John for a prophet, yet they receive not his message. Whose prophet was John, but of the H ighest ? what was his errand, but to be the way-maker unto Clirist ? what was he, but the voice of that eternal Word of his Father? what was the sound of that voice, but, “ Behold the Lamb of God : he that comes after me is greater than I, whose shoe-latchet I am not worthy to unloose ?” Yet they honour the servant, and reject the Master : they contemn that prince whose ambassador they reverence. How could they but argue, John is a prophet ? he speaks from God, his words must be true; he tells us, this is the Lamb of God, the Messias that sliould come to redeem the world ; this must needs be he, we will look for no other. Yet this perverse people receive John and reject Jesus. There is ever an absurdity in unbelief, while it separates those relations and respects which can never in nature be disjoined. Thus it readily appre¬ hends God as merciful in pardoning, not as just in punishing; Christ as a Saviour, not as a Judge. Thus we ordinarily, in a contrariety to these JOHN BAPTIST BEHEADED. [book IV. saso Jews, profess to receive the master, and contemn the servants, while he hath said, who will make it good, “He that despiseth you, despiseth me.’' That which Herod in policy durst not, in wine he dares do : and that which God had restrained till his own time, now in his own time he per¬ mits to be done. The day was, as one of the evangelists styles it, “ convenientif for the purpose of Herodias, I am sure for God’s, who, having determined to glorify himself by .John’s martyrdom, will cast it upon a time when it may he most notified, Herod’s birth-day. All the peers of the country, perhaps of the neighbour nations, are now assem¬ bled. Herodias could not have found out a time more fit to blazon her own shame and cruelty, than in such a confluence. The wise provi¬ dence of God many times pays us with our own choice ; so as when w'e think to have brought about our own ends to our best content, we bring about his purposes to our own confusion. Herod’s birth-day is kept, and so was Pharaoh’s, both of them with blood. These personal stains cannot make the practice unlawful. Where the man is good, the birth is memorable. What blessing have we, if life be none ? and if our life be a blessing, why should it not be celebrated ? Excess and disorder may blemish any solemnity, but that cleaves to the act, not to the institution. Herod’s birth-day was kept with a feast, and this feast was a supper. It was fit to be a night-work: this festivity was spent in works of dark¬ ness, not of the light; it was a child of darkness that was then born, not of the day. “ Those that are drunken, are drunk in the night.” There is a kind of shame in sin, even where it is committed with the stiffest resolution, at least there was wont to be ; if now sin be grown impudent, and jus¬ tice bashful, woe be to us ! That there might be perfect revels at Herod’s birth-day, besides the feast, there is music and dancing, and that by Salome the daughter of Herodias. A meet daughter for such a mother, bred according to the disposition of so immodest a parent. Dancing, in itself, as it is a set, regular, harmonious motion of the body, cannot be unlawful, more than walking or running; circumstances may make it sinful. The wan¬ ton gesticulations of a virgin, in a wild assembly of gallants warmed with wine, could be no other than riggish and unmaidenly. It is not so frequently seen, that the child follows the good qualities of the parent; it is seldom seen that it follows not the evil. Nature is the soil, good and ill qualities are the herbs and weeds ; the soil bears tbe weeds natu¬ rally, the herbs not Avithout culture. What Avith traduction, Avhat with education, it were strange if we should miss any of our parents’ misdis- positions. Herodias and Salome have what they desired. The dance pleased Herod Avell: those indecent motions that Avould have displeased any mo¬ dest eye, (though Avhat should a modest eye do at Herod’s feast ?) over¬ pleased Herod. Well did Herodias knoAv hoAV to fit the tooth of her para¬ mour, and had therefore purposely so composed the carriage and gesture of her daughter, as it might take best, althougli doubtless the same action could not have so pleased from another. Herod shav in Salome’s face CONT. IV.] JOHN BAPTIST BEHEADED. 281 and fashion, the image of her whom he doted on ; so did she look, so did she move ; besides that his lavish cups had predisposed him to wanton- ness, and now he cannot but like well that which so pleasingly suited his inordinate desire. All humours love to be fed, especially the vicious, so much more as they are more eager and stin-ing. There cannot be a better glass, wherein to discern the face of our hearts, than our pleasures; such as they are, such are we, Avhether vain or holy. What a strange transportation was this! “Whatsoever thou shalt ask half a kingdom for a dance I Herod, this pastime is over-paid for ; there is no proportion in this remuneration ; this is not bounty, it is pro- digence. Neither doth this pass under a bare promise only, but under an oath, and that solemn, and (as it might be in Avine) serious. How largely do sensual men both proffer and give for a little momentary and vain contentment ! Hoav many censure Herod’s gross impotence, and yet second it Avith a Avorse, giving aAvay their precious souls for a short pleasure of n I What is half a kingdom, yea, a Avliole Avorld, to a soul ? So much therefore is their madness greater, as their loss is more. So large a boon was Avorthy of a deliberation. Salome consults Avith her mother upon so ample and ratified a promise. Yet so much good nature and filial respect was in this Avanton damsel, that she Avould not carve herself of her option, but takes her mother with Iter. If Herodias Avere infamously leAvd, yet she Avas her parent, and must direct her choice. Children should have no Avill of their OAvn ; as their flesh is tlieir pa¬ rents’, so should their Avill be. They do justly unchild themselves, that in main elections dispose of themselves AAUthout the consent of those which gaA'^e them being. It is both unmannerly and unnatural in the child to run before, Avithout, against the Avill of the parent. O that Ave could be so officious to our good and heavenly Father, as she was to an earthly and wicked mother ; not to ask, not to undertake ought Avithout his alloAvance, Avithout his directions; that, Avhen the world sliall offer us Avhatsoever our heart desires, Ave could run to the oi’acles of God for our resolution, not daring to accejit Avhat he doth not both license and AA^arrant. O the Avonderful strength of malice ! Salome was offei’ed no less than half the kingdom of Herod, yet chooses to ask the head of a poor preacher. Nothing is so SAveet to a corrupt heart as reA^enge, especially Avhen it may bring with it a full scope to a dear sin. All Avorldlings are of this diet : they had rather sin freely for a while, and die than refrain and live happily eternally. What a suit Avas this ! “ Give me here in a charger the head of John Baptist.” It is not enough for her to say. Let .John’s head be cut off; but, “ Give me it in a charger.” What a service Avas here to be brought into a feast, especially to a Avoman I a dead man’s head SAvimming in blood. Hoaa' cruel is a Avicked heart, that can take pleasure in those things Avhich have most horror ! O the importunity of a galled conscience I Herodias could never think herself safe till John was dead ; she could never think him dead till his head Avere off; she could not think his head Avas off, till she had it brought her in a platter : a guilty heart never thinks it hath made sure II. 2 N 282 JOHN BAPTIST BEHEADED. [book IV. enough. Yea, even after the head was thus brought, they thought him alive again. Guiltiness and security could never lodge together in one bosom. Herod was sorry, and no doubt in earnest, in the midst of his cups and pleasance. I should rather think his jollity counterfeited than his grief. It is true, Herod was a fox, but that subtle beast dissembles not always ; when he runs away from the dogs, he means as he does : and if he were formerly willing to have killed Jolin, yet he was unwillingly willing; and so far as he was unwilling to kill him as a prophet, as a just man, so far was he sorry that he must be killed. Had Herod been wise, he had not been perplexed. Had he been so wise as to have en¬ gaged himself lawfully, and within due limits, he had not now been so entangled as to have needed sorrow. The folly of sinners is guilty of their pain, and draws upon them a late and unprofitable repentance. But here the act was not past, though the word were past. It was his misconceived entanglement that caused this sorrow ; which might have been remedied byflying oft’. A threefold cord tied him to the performance ; the conscience of his oath, the respect to his guests, a loath¬ ness to discontent Herodias and her daughter. Herod had so much religion as to make scruple of an oath, not so much as to make scruple of a murder. No man casts off all justice and piety at once, but, while he gives himself over to some sins, he sticks at others. It is no thank to lewd men, that they are not universally vicious. All God’s several laws cannot be violated at once : there are sins contrary to each other; there are sins disagreeing from the lewdest dispositions. There are op¬ pressors that hate drunkenness, there are unclean persons which abhor murder, there are drunkards which hate cruelty. One sin is enough to damn the soul, one leak to drown the vessel. But O fond Herod, what needed this unjust scrupulousness ? Well and safely might thou have shifted the bond of thine oath with a double evasion , one, that this generality of thy promise w'as only to be con¬ strued of lawful acts and motions; that only can we do, which we can justly do ; unlawfulness is in the nature of impossibility : the other that had this engagement been so meant, yet might it be as lawfully rescind¬ ed as it was unlawfully made. A sinful promise is ill made, worse per¬ formed. Thus thou mightst, thou shouldst have come off fair ; where now, holding thyself by an irreligious religion, tied to thy foolish and , wicked oath, thou ordy goest away with this mitigation, that thou art a scrupulous murderer. i In the meanwhile, if an Herod made such conscience in keeping an urdawful oath, how shall he, in the day of judgment, condemn those Christians which make no conscience of oaths lawful, just, necessary ? ■ Woe is me, one sells all oath for a bribe, another lends an oath for fa¬ vour, another casts it away for malice. I fear to think it maybe a ques¬ tion, whether there be more oaths broken, or kept. O God, I marvel not, if being implored as a witness, as an avenger of falsehood, thou hold him not guiltless that thus dares take thy name in vain. Next to his oath, is the respect to his honour. His guests heard his deep engagement, and now he cannot fall off with reputation. It would ar¬ gue levity and rashness to say and not to do; and what would the world CONT. IV.] JOHN BAPTIST BEHEADED. 283 say ? The misconceits of the points of honour have cost millions of souls. As many a one doth good only to be seen of men, so many a one doth evil only to satisfy the humour and opinion of others. It is a damnable plausibility so to regard the vain approbation or censure of the behold¬ ers, as in the meantime to neglect the allowance or judgment of God. But how ill guests were these! how well worthy of a Herod’s table ! Had they had but common civility, finding Herod perplexed, they had ac¬ quitted him by their dissuasions, and have disclaimed the expectation of so bloody a performance : but they rather, to gratify Herodias, make way for so slight and easy a condescent. Even godly princes have complain¬ ed of the iniquity of their heels : how much more must they needs be ill attended, that give encouragements and examples of lewdness I Neither was it the least motive, that he was loath to displease his mistress. The damsel had pleased him in her dance ; he would not dis¬ content her in breaking his word. He saw Herodias in Salome : the suit, he knew, was the mother’s, though in the daughter’s lips ; botli would be displeased in falling off, both would be gratified in yielding-. O vain and wicked Herod 1 he cares not to offend God, to offend his con¬ science ; he cares to offend a wanton mistress. This is one means to fill hell, loathness to displease. A good heart will rather fall out with all the world than with God, than with his conscience. The misgrounded sorrow of worldly hearts doth not withhold them from their intended sins. It is enough to vex, not enough to restrain them. Herod was sorry, but he sends the executioner for John’s head. One act hath made Herod a tyrant, and John a martyr. Herod a tyrant, in that, without all legal proceedings, without so much as false w'itness- es, he takes off the head of a man, of a prophet. It was lust that car¬ ried Herod into murder. The proceedings of sin are more hai-dly avoid¬ ed than the entrance. Whoso gives himself leave to be wicked, knows not where he shall stay. John a martyr, in dying for bearing witness to the truth ; truth in life, in judgment, in doctrine. It was the holy purpose of God. that he which had baptized w ith water, should now be baptized with blood. Never did God mean that his best children should dw-ell always upon earth : shoidd they stay here, wherefore hath he pro¬ vided glory above ? Now would God have John delivered from a dou¬ ble prison, of his owm, of Herod’s, and placed in the glorious liberty of his Son’s. His head shall be taken off, that it may be crowned with glory. “ Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.” O happy birth-day (not of Herod, but) of the Baptist! Now doth John enter into his joy ; and in this name is this day ever celebrated of the church. This blessed forerunner of Christ saith of himself, “ I must decrease.” He is decreased indeed, and now grown shorter by the head; but he is not so much decreased in stature, as increased in glory. For one minute’s pain, he is possessed of endless joy ; and as he came before his Saviour into the world, so is he gone befoi-e him into heaven. The head is brought in a charger. What a dish was here for a feast! How prodigiously insatiable is the cruelty of a wicked heart I O blessed service, fit for the table of heaven ! It is not for thee, O wicked Herod, nor for thee, malicious and wanton Herodias • it is a dish precious and '284 THE LOAVES AND FISHES. [[book IV. pleasing lo the God of heaven, to the blessed angels who looked upon that head with more delight, in his constant fidelity, than the beholders saw it with horror, and Herodias with contentment of revenge. It is brought to Salome, as the reward of her dance ; she presents it to her mother, as the dainty she had longed for. Methinks I see how that chaste and holy countenance was tossed by impure and filthy hands; that true and faithful tongue, those sacred lips, those pure eyes, those mortified cheeks, are now insultingly handled by an incestuous harlot, and made a scorn to the drunken eyes of Herod’s guests. O the wondrous judgments and incomprehensible dispositions of the holy, wise, Almighty God ! He that was sanctified in the womb, born and conceived with so much note and miracle, “ What manner of child shall this be ?” lived with so much reverence and observation, is now, at midnight, obscurely murdered in a close prison, and his head brought forth to the insultation and irrision of harlots and ruffians. O God, thou knowest what thou hast to do with thine own. Thus thou sufferest thine to be misused and slaughtered here below, that thou mayest crown them above. It should not be thus, if thou didst not mean, that their glory should be answerable to their depression. CONTEMPLATION V.—THE FIVE LOAVES AND TWO FISHES. What flocking there was after Christ, which way soever he went! how did the kingdom of heaven suffer a holy Auolence in these his follow¬ ers ! Their importunity drove him from tlie land to the sea. When he was upon the sea of Tiberias, they followed him with their eyes, and when they saw which way he bent, they followed him so fast on foot, that they prevented his landing. Whether it w'ere that our Saviour staid some while upon the water (as that wdiich yielded him more quietness and freedom of respiration,) or whether the foot passage, as it oft falls out, were the shorter cut, by reason of the compasses of the water, and the many elbows of the land, I inquire not; sure I am, the wind did not so swdftly driv^e on the ship, as desire and zeal drove on these eager clients. Well did Christ see them all the Avay, well did he know their steps, and guided them ; and now he purposely goes to meet them whom he seem¬ ed to fly. Nothing can please God more than oiu* importunity in seek¬ ing him : Avhen he AvithdraAvs himself, it is that he may be more ear¬ nestly inquired for. Now then he comes to find them whom he made show to decline : “ And seeing a great multitude, he passes from the ship to the shore.” That which brought him from heaven to earth, brought him also from the sea to land; his compassion on their souls, that he might teach them ; compassion on their bodies, that he might heal and feed them. Judea was not large, but populous: it could not be but there must be, amongst so many men, many diseased: it is no marvel if the report of so miraculous and universal sanations dreAv customers. They found three advantages of cure, above the power and performance of any earthly physician, certainty, bounty, ease; certainty, in that all com- CONT. V.] THE LOAVES AND FISHES. 285 ers were cured without fail; bounty, in that they were cured with¬ out charge ; ease, in that they were cured without pain. Far be it from us, O Saviour, to think that thy glory hath abated of thy mez'cy: still and ever thou art our assured, bountiful, and perfect Physician, who healest all our diseases, and takest away all our infirmities. O that we could have our faithful recourse to thee in all our spiritual maladies I it were as impossible we should want help, as that thou shouldest want power and mercy. That our Saviour might approve himself every way beneficent, he, that had filled the souls of his auditors w'ith spiritual repast, will now fill their bodies with temporal; and he, that had approved himself the universal Physician of his church, will now be knowm to be the great householder of the world, by whose liberal provision mankind is main¬ tained. He did not more miraculously heal, than he feeds miraculously. The disciples, having w'ell noted the diligent and importune attendance of the multitude, now towards evening come to their Master, in a care of their repast and discharge ; “ This is a desert place, and the time is now past; send the multitude away, that they may go into the villages and buy themselves victuals.” How well it becomes even spiritual guides to regard the bodily necessities of God’s people ! This is not directly in our charge, neither may we leave our sacred ministration to serve tables. But yet, as the bodily father must take care for the soul of his child, so must the spiritual have respect to the body. This is all that the world commonly looks after, measuring their pastors more by their dishes than by their doctrine or conversation, as if they had the charge of their bellies, not of their souls; if they have open cellars, it matters not whether their mouths be open. If they be sociable in their car. riage, favourable and indulgent to their recreations, full in their cheer, how easily doth the w'orld dispense with either their negligence or enor¬ mities ! as if the souls of these men lay in their w'easand, in their gut. But surely they have reason to expect from their teachers a due proportion of hospitality. An unmeet parsimony is here not more odious than sin¬ ful : and where ability w'ants, yet care may not be wanting. Those preachers, which are so intent upon their spiritual work, that in the mean¬ time they overstrain the weaknesses of their people, holding them in their devotions longer than human frailty will permit, forget not them¬ selves more than their pattern, and must be sent to school to these com¬ passionate disciples, who, when evening was come, sue to Christ for the people’s dismission. The place was desert, the time evening. Doubtless our Saviour made choice of both these, that there might be both more use and more note of his miracle. Had it been in the moiniing, their stomach had not been up, their feeding had been unnecessary. Had it been in the village, provision either might have been made, or at least would have seemed made by themselves. But now, that it was both desert and evening, there w^as good ground for the disciples to move, and for Christ to work their sustentation. Then only may we expect, and crave help from God, when we find our need. Superfluous aid can neither be heartily desired, nor earnestly looked for, nor thankfully received from the hands of mercy. “ Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee.” 286 THE LOAVES AND FISHES. QbOOK IV. If it be not a burden, it is no casting it upon God. Hence it is, that divine aid comes ever in the very upshot and exigence of our trials, when we have been exercised, and almost tired with long hopes, yea, with despairs of success; that it may be both more longed for ere it come, and, when it comes, more welcome I O the faith and zeal of these clients of Christ! they not only fol¬ low him from the city into the desert, from delicacy to want, from fre¬ quence to solitude, but forget their bodies in pursuit of the food of their souls. Nothing is more bard for a healthful man to forget than his belly : within few hours this will be sure to solicit him, and will take no denials. Yet such sweetness did these hearers find in the spiritual repast, that they thought not on the bodily: the disciples pitied them, they had no mercy on themselves. By how much more a man’s mind is taken up with heavenly things, so much less shall he care for earthly. What shall earth be to us, when w'e are all spirit ? and in the meantime according to the decrees of our intellectual elevations, shall be our neglect of bodily contentments. The disciples think they move well: “ Send them away, that they may buy victuals.” Here was a strong charity, but a weak faith ; a sti’ong charity, in that they would have the people relieved ; a weak faith, in that they supposed they could not otherwise be so well relieved. As a man who, when he sees many ways lie before him, takes that which he thinks both faii’est and nearest; so do they : this way of relief lay open- est to their view, and promised most. Well might they have thought, it is as easy for our Master to feed them, as to heal them ; there is an equal facility in all things to a supernatural power : yet they say, “ Send them away.” In all our projects and suits we are still ready to move for that which is most obvious, most likely, when sometimes that is less agreeable to the wdll of God. The All-wise and Almighty arbiter of all things hath a thousand se¬ cret means to honour himself, in his proceedings with us. It is not for us to carve boldly for ourselves ; but we must humbly depend on the dis¬ posal of his wdsdom and mercy. Our Saviour’s answer gives a strange check to their motion : “ They need not depart.” Not need ! They had no victuals ; they must have ; there was none to be had. What more need could be ? He knew the supply which he intended, though they knew it not. His command w'as therefore more strange than his assertion, “ Give ye them to eat.” Nothing gives what it hath not. Had they had victuals, they had not for a dismission ; and not having, how should they give ? It was thy wisdom, O Saviour, thus to prepare thy disciples for the intended mira¬ cle : thou wouldst not do it abruptly, without an intimation both of the purpose of it, and the necessity. And how modestly dost thou under¬ take it, w'ithout noise, without ostentation! I hear thee not say, I will give them to eat ; but, “ Give yeas if it should be their act, not thine. Thus sometimes it pleaseth thee to require of us what we are not able to peidbrin ; either that thou mayest show us wdiat we cannot do, and so humble us that thou mayest erect us to a dependence upon thee, w hich canst do it for us. As when the mother bids the infant come to her, which CONT. V.] THE LOAVES AND PTSHES. 287 hath not yet the steady use of his legs, it is that he may cling the faster to her hand or coat for supportation, Thou biddest us impotent wretches to keep thy royal law. Alas! what can we sinners do ? there is no one letter of those thy ten words that we are able to keep. This charge of thine intends to show ns not our strength, but our w'eakness. Thus thou wouldst turn our eyes both back to what we might have done, to what we could have done ; and upwards to thee in whom we have done it, in whom we can do it. He wrongs thy goodness and justice that misconstrues these thy commands, as if they were of the same nature with those of the Egyptian task-mas¬ ters, requiring the brick, and not giving the straw. But in bidding us do what we cannot, thou enablest us to do what thou biddest. Thy pre ¬ cepts, under the gospel, have not only an intimation of our duty, but an habilitation of thy power: as here, when thou badest the disciples to give to the multitude, thou meantest to supply unto them what thou commandest to give. Our Saviour hath what he could, an acknowledgment of their insuffi¬ ciency : “We have here but five loaves and two fishes.” A poor pro¬ vision for the family of the Lord of the whole earth. Five loaves, and those barley ; two fishes, and those little ones. We well know, O Saviour, that the beasts were thine on a thousand mountains, all the corn thine that covered the whole surface of the earth, all the fowls of the air thine ; it was thorr that providedst those drifts of quails that fell among the tents of thy rebellious Israelites, that rainedst down those showers of manna round about their camp : and dost thou take up, for thyself and thy house¬ hold, with “ five barley loaves, and two little fishes ?” Certainly this was thy will, not thy need, to teach us, that this body must he fed, not pampered. Our belly may not be onr master, much less our god ; or if it be, the next word is, “ whose glory is their shame, whose end dam¬ nation.” It is noted as the crime of the rich glutton, that “ he fared deli¬ ciously every day.” I never find that Christ entertained any guests hut twice, and that was oidy with loaves and fishes. I find him sometimes feasted by others more liberally. But his domestical fare, how simple, how homely is it ! The end of food is to sustain nature. Meat was or¬ dained for the belly, the belly for the body, the body for the soul, the soul for God: we must still look through the subordinate ends to the highest. To rest in the pleasure of the meat, is for tlutse creatures which have no souls. O the extreme delicacy of these times ! What conquisition is here of all sorts of curious dishes from the furthest seas and lands, to make up one hour’s meal! what broken cookery ! what devised mix¬ tures ! what nice sauces ! what feasting, not of the taste only, but of the scent I Are we the disciples of him that took up with the loaves and fishes, or the scholars of a Philoxenus, or an Apitius, or Vitellius, or those other monsters of the palate ? the true sons of those first parents that killed themselves with their teeth. Neither was the quality of these victuals more coai'se than the quantity small. They make a “ But ” of five loaves and two fishes ; and well might in respect of so many thousand mouths. A little food to a hungry stomach doth rather stir up appetite than satisfy it; as a little rain upon a droughty soil doth rather help to scorch than refresh it. When 288 THE LOAVES AND FISHES. [book IV. we look with the eye of sense or reason upon any object, we sliall see an impossibility of those effects which faith can easily apprehend, and divine power more easily produce. Carnal minds are ready to measure all our hopes by human possibilities, and, when they fail, to despair of success; where true faith measures them, by divine power, and therefore can never be disheartened. This grace is for things not seen, and whether beyond hope, or against it. The virtue is not in the means, but in the agent: “ Bring them hither to me.” How much more easy had it been for our Saviour to fetch the loaves to him, than to multiply them ! The hands of the disciples shall bring them, that they might more fully witness both the Author, and manner of the instant miracle. Had the loaves and fishes been multi¬ plied without this bringing, perhaps they might have seemed to have come by the secret provision of the guests ; now there can be no ques¬ tion either of the act, or of the agent. As God takes pleasure in doing wonders for men, so he loves to be acknowledged in the great works that he doth. He hath no reason to part with his own glory, that is too precious for him to lose, or for his creature to embezzle. And how just¬ ly didst thou, O Saviour, in this, mean to teach thy disciples, that it was thou only who feedest the world, and upon whom both themselves and all their fellow-creatures must depend for their nourishment and provision ; and that, if it came not through thy hands, it could not come to theirs ! There need no more words. I do not hear the disciples stand upon the terms of their own necessity : Alas, Sir, it is too little for ourselves, whence shall we then relieve our own hunger ? give leave to our charity to begin at home. But they willingly yield to the command of their Master, and put themselves upon his providence for the sequel. When we have a charge from God, it is not for us to stand upon self-respects ; in this case there is no such sure liberty, as in a self-contempt. O God, when thou callest to us for our five loaves, we must forget our own in¬ terest, otherwise, if Ave be more thrifty than obedient, our good turns evil; and much better had it been for us to have Avanted that which Ave Avithhold from the OAvner. He that is the Master of the feast marshals the guests ; “ He com¬ manded the multitude to sit doAvn on the grass.” They obey, and ex¬ pect. O marvellous faith! so many thousands sit down, and address themselves to a meal, Avhen they suav nothing but five poor barley loaves, and two small fishes. None of them say. Sit doAvn, to Avhat ? here are the mouths, but where is the meat ? Ave can soon be set, but Avhence shall we be served ? ere Ave draAV our knives, let us see our cheer. But they meekly and obediently dispose themselves to their places, and look up to Christ for a miraculous purveyance. It is for all, that Avonld be Clirist’s followers, to lead the life of faith; and, even Avhere means ap¬ pear not, to AA'ait upon that merciful hand. Nothing is more easy than to trust God when our barns and coffers are full; and to say, “ Give to us our daily bread,” when av'c have it in our cupboard. But Avhen aa'g have nothing, Avhen Ave knoAv not hoAV or Avhence to get any thing, then to depend upon an invisible bounty, this is a true and noble act of faitli. To cast aAvay our own, that Ave may immediately live upon divine Pro¬ vidence, I know no warrant. But Avhen the necessity is of God’s mak- CONT. V.] THE LOAVES AND FISHES. 289 ing, we see our refuge ; and happy are we, if our confidence can fly to it, and rest in it. Yea, fulness should be a curse, if it should debar us from this dependence : at our best, we must look up to this great House¬ holder of the world, and cannot but need his provision. If we have meat, perhaps not appetite; if appetite, it may be not digestion ; or, if that, not health and freedom from pain ; or, if that, perhaps from other occurrence, not life. The guests are set, full of expectation. He, that could have multi¬ plied the bread in absence, in silence takes it and blesses it: that he might at once show them the Author and the means of this increase. It is thy blessing, O God, that maketh rich. What a difference do we see in men’s estates I some languish under great means, and enjoy not either their substance or themselves; others are cheerful and happy in a little. Second causes may not be denied their work ; but the overruling power is above. The subordinateness of the creature doth not take away from the right, from the thank of the first mover. He could as well have multiplied the loaves whole; why would he rather do it in the breaking ? was it to teach us, that in the distribution of our goods we should expect his blessing, not in their entireness and reservation ? “ There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth,” saith Solo¬ mon : yea, there is no mair but increaseth by scattering. It is the grain thrown into the several furrows of the earth, which yields the rich in¬ terest unto the husbandman : that which is tied up in his sack, or heaped in his granary, decreaseth by keeping. “ He that soweth liberally shall reap liberally.” Away with our weak distrust. If wealth came by us, giving were the way to want: now that God gives to the giver, nothing can so sure enrich us as our beneficence. He multiplied the bread, not to keep, but to give ; “ He gave it to the disciples.” And why not rather by his own hand to the multitude, that so the miracle and thank might have been more immediate ? Wherefore was this, O Saviour, but that thou raightest win respect to thy disciples from the people ? as great princes, when they would ingratiate a favourite, pass no suits but through his hands. What an honour was this to thy servants, that as thou wei’t Mediator betwixt thy Father and man, so thou wouldst have them, in some beneficial occasion, mediate betwixt men and thee ! How fit a type is this of thy spiritual provision, that thou who couldst have fed the world by thine immediate word, wouldst, by the hands of thy mini¬ sters, divide the bread of life to all hearers ! like as it was with the law; well did the Israelites see and hear that thou couldst deliver that dread¬ ful message with thine own mouth, yet, in favour of their weakness, thou wouldst treat with them by a Moses. Use of means derogates nothing from the efficacy of the principal agent, yea, adds to it. It is a strange weakness of our spiritual eyes, if we can look but to the next hand. How absurd had these guests been, if they had termined the thanks in the servitors, and had said. We have it from you ; whence ye had it, is no part of our care : we owe this favour to you ; if you owe it to your master, acknowledge your obligations to him, as we do unto you. But since they Avell knew that the disciples might have handled this bread long enough ere any such effect could have followed, they easily II. 2 o 290 THE LOAVES AND FISHES. |_BOOK IV, find to whom they are beholden. Our Christian wisdom must teach us, whosoever be the means, to reserve our main thanks for the Author of our good. He gave the bread then to his disciples, not to eat, not to keep, but to distribute. It was not their particular benefit he regarded in this gift, but the good of many. In every feast, each servitor takes up his dish, not to carry it aside into a corner for his own priv^ate repast, but to set it before the guests, for the honour of his master : when they have done, his cheer begins. What shall we say to those injurious waiters, who fatten themselves with those concealed messes which are meant to others ? their table is made their snare, and these stolen morsels cannot but end in bitterness. Accordingly, the disciples set this fare before the guests. I do not see so much as Judas reserve a share to himself, whether out of hunger or distrust. Had not our Saviour commanded so free a distribution, their self-love would easily have taught them where to begin. Nature says. First thyself, then thy friends : either extremity or particular charge gives grace occasion to alter the case. Far be it from us to think we have any claim in that which the owner gives us merely to bestoAV. I knoAV not now whether more to Avonder at the mii’aculous eating, or the miraculous leaving. Here Avere a whole host of guests, five thousand men ; and, in all likelihood, no fewer Avomen and children. Perhaps some of these only looked on: nay, they did all eat. Perhaps every man a crumb, or a bit: nay, they did all eat to satiety ; “ All were satisfied.” So many must needs make clean Avork: of so little there could be left nothing. Yea, there were fragments remaining ; perhaps some crumbs or crusts, hardly to be discerned, much less gathered: nay, “Twelve baskets fullmore remained than Avas first set down. Had they eaten nothing, it was a just miracle that so much should be left; had nothing remained, it Avas no less miracle that so many had eaten, and so many satisfied ; but now that so many bellies and so many baskets were filled, the miracle Avas doubled. O Avork of a boundless Omnipotency ! Whether this Avere done by creation or by conversion, uses to be ques¬ tioned, but needs not: while Christ multiplies the bread, it is not for us to multiply his miracles. To make ought of nothing, is more than to add much unto something. It Avas therefore rather by turning of a former matter into these substances, than by making these substances of nothing. HoAvsoever, here is a marvellous provision made, a marvellous bounty of that provision, a no less marvellous extent of that bounty. Those that depend upon God, and busy themselves in his Avork, shall not want a due purveyance in the very desert. Our strait and confined beneficence reaches so far as to provide for our own : those of our domes¬ tics, which labour in our service, do but justly expect and challenge their diet; Avhereas, day-labourers are ofttimes at their oAAm finding. Hoav much more Avill that God, Avho is infinite in mercy and poAver, take order for the livelihood of those that attend him ! We see the birds of the air provided for by him ; how rarely have Ave found any of them dead of hunger; yet Avhat do they, but Avhat they are carried unto by natural in¬ stinct ? hoAV much more, Avhere, besides propriety, there is a rational and CONT. V.] THE LOAVES AND FISHES- 291 willing service. Shall the Israelites be fed with manna, Elijah by the ravens, the widow by her multiplied meal and oil, Christ’s clients in the wilderness with loaves and fishes ? O God, while thou dost thus pro¬ merit us by thy providence, let not us wrong thee by distrust. God’s undertakings cannot but be exquisite : those Avhom he profes¬ ses to feed must needs have enough. The measure of his bounty can¬ not but run over. Doth he take upon him to prepare a table for his Israel in the desert ? the bread shall be the food of angels, the flesh shall be the delicates of princes, manna and quails. Doth he take upon him to make wine for the marriage-feast of Cana ? there shall be both store and choice ; the vintage yields poor stuff to this. Will he feast his au¬ ditors in the wilderness ? if they have not dainties, they shall have plenty ; “ I'hey were all satisfied.” Neither, yet, O Saviour, is thy hand closed. What abundance of heavenly doctrine dost thou set before us I how are we feasted, yea, pampered with thy celestial delicacies ! not according to our meanness, but according to thy state are we fed. Thrifty and niggardly collations are not for princes. We are full of thy goodness ; O let our hearts run over with thanks I I do gladly wonder at this miracle of thine, O Saviour, yet so as that I forget not mine own condition. Whence is it that we have our con¬ tinual provision ? one and the same munificent hand doth all. If the Is¬ raelites were fed with manna in the desert, and with corn in Canaan, both were done by the same power and bounty. If the disciples were fed by the loaves multiplied, and we by the grain multiplied, both are the act of one Omnipotence. What is this but a perpetual miracle, O God, which thou workest for our preservation ? Without thee there is no more power in the grain to multiply than in the loaf: it is thou that “ givest it a body at thy pleasure, even to every seed his own bodyit is thou that “ givest fulness of bread and cleanness of teeth.” It is no reason thy goodness should be less magnified, because it is universal. One or two baskets could have held the five loaves and two fishes; not less than twelve can hold the remainders. The divine munificence provides not for our necessity only, but for our abundance, yea superflu¬ ity. Envy and ignorance, while they make God the author of enough, are ready to impute the surplusage to another cause; as we commonly say of Avine, that the liquor is God’s, the excess Satan’s. Thy table, O Saviom-, convinces them, which had more taken away than set on: thy blessing makes an estate not competent only, but rich. I hear of barns full of plenty, and presses bursting out with neAV wine, as the reAvards of those that honour thee with their substance. I hear of heads anointed with oil, and cups running over. O God, as thou hast a free hand to give, so let us have a free heart to return thee the praise of thy bounty. Those fragments were left behind. I do not see the people, when they had filled their bellies, cramming their pockets, or stuffing their wal¬ lets ; yet the place was desert, and some of them doubtless had far home. It becomes true disciples to be content with the present, not too soli¬ citous for the future. O Saviour, that didst not bid us beg bread for to¬ morrow, but for to-day : not that we should refuse thy bounty Avheu 292 THE WALK UPON THE WATERS. [book iv. thou pleasest to give, but that we should not distrust thy Providence for the need we may have. Even these fragments, though but of barley-loaves and fish-bones, may not be left in the desert, for the compost of that earth whereon they were increased ; but, by our Saviour’s holy and just command, are ga¬ thered up. The liberal housekeeper of the world will not allow the loss of his orts: the children’s bread may not be given to dogs ; and if the crumbs fall to their share, it is because their smallness admits not of a collection. If those, who out of obedience or due thrift have thought to gather up crumbs, have found them pearls, I wonder not; surely, both are alike the good creatures of the same Maker, and both of them may prove equally costly to us in their wilful mispense. But O, what shall we say, that not crusts and crumbs, not loaves and dishes, and cups, but whole patrimonies are idly lavished away, not merely lost; this were more easy, but ill spent in a Avicked riot, upon dice, drabs, drunkards. O the fearful account of these unthrifty bailiffs, which shall once be given in to our great Lord and Master, when he shall call us to a strict reckon¬ ing of all our talents ! He was condemned that increased not the sum concredited to him; Avhat shall become of him that lawlessly im¬ pairs it ? Who gathered up these fragments, but the twelve apostles, every one his basket full ? they were the servitors that set on this banquet, at the command of Christ, they waited on the tables, they took away. It was our Saviour’s just care that those offals should not perish ; but he Avell knew, that a greater loss depended upon those scraps, a loss of glory to the omnipotent Worker of that miracle. The feeding of the mul ¬ titude was but the one half of the work, the other half was in the remnant. Of all other it most concerns the successors of the apostles to take care, that the marvellous works of their God and Saviour may be improved to the best; they may not suffer a crust or crumb to be lost, that may yield any glory to that Almighty agent. Here was not any morsel or bone that was not worthy to be a relic, every the least parcel whereof was no other than miraculous. All the ancient monuments of God’s supernatural power and mercy Avere in the keeping of Aaron and his sons. There is no servant in the family but should be thriftily careful for his master’s profit; but most of all the steAv- ard, who is particularly charged Avith this oversight. Woe be to us, if Ave care only to gather up our own scraps, with neglect of the precious morsels of our Maker and Redeemer! CONTEMPLATION VI.—THE AVALK UPON THE WATERS. All elements are alike to their Maker. He that had Avell approved his power on the land, Avill noAv shoAv it in the air and the waters ; he that had preserved the multitude from the peril of hunger in the desert, will noAV preserve his disciples from the peril of the tempest in the sea. Where do we ever else find any compulsion offered by Christ to his disciples ? He was like the good centm’ion; he said to one, “ Go, and CONT. VI.] THE WALK UPON THE WATERS. 293 lie goeth.” When he did but call them from their nets, they came ; and when he sent them by pairs into tlie cities and country of Judea, to preach the gospel, they went. There was never errand whereon they went unwillingly; only now he constrained them to depart. We may easily conceive how loath they were to leave him, Avhether out of love or common civility. Peter’s tongue did but (when it was) speak the heart of the rest; “ Master, thou knowest that I love thee.” \\ ho could choose but be in love with such a Master ? and who can willingly part from what he loves ? But had the respects been only common and or¬ dinary, how unfit might it seem to leave a master, now towards night, in a wild place, amongst strangers, unprovided of the means of his pas¬ sage ! Where otherwise therefore he needed but to bid, now he con¬ strains : O Saviour, it was ever thy manner to call all men unto thee, “ Come to me, all that labour and are heavy laden.” When didst thou ever drive any one from thee ? Neither had it been so now, but to draw them closer unto thee, whom thou seemedst for the time to abdi¬ cate. In the meanwhile, I know not whether more to excuse their un¬ willingness, or to applaud their obedience. As it shall be fnlly above, so it was proportionably here below: “ In thy presence,” O Saviour, “ is the fulness of joy.” Once, when thou askedst tliese thy domestics, whether they also would depart, it w as answ'ered thee by one tongue for all; “ Master, Avhither should we go from thee ? thou hast the words of eternal life.” What a death was it then to them to be compelled to leave thee ! Sometimes it pleased the divine goodness to lay upon his servants such commands as savour of harshness and discomfort, wdiich yet, both in his intention and in the event, are no other than gracious and sovereign. The more difficulty was in the charge, the more praise was in the obedience. I do not hear them stand upon the terms of ca¬ pitulation w'ith their Master, nor pleading importunately for their stay, but instantly, upon the command, they yield and go. We are never perfect disciples till we can depart from our reason, from our will; yea, O Saviour, when thou biddest us, from thyself. Neither will the multitude be gone without a dismission. They had followed him wdiile they were hungry, they wall not leave him now they are fed. Fain would they put that honour upon him, which to avoid, he is fain to avoid them : gladly would they pay a kingdom to him, as their shot for their late banquet; he shuns botli it and them. O Saviour, when the hour of thy passion was now come, thou couldst offer thyself readily to thine apprelienders; and now', w'hen the glory of the world presses upon thee, thou ruunest aw'ay from a crown. Was it to teach us, that there is less danger in suffering than in outward prosperity ? What! do we doat upon that w'ordly honour which thou heldest wortliy of avoidance and contempt ? Besides this reservedness, it w'as devotion that dx'ew Jesus aside : he went alone up to the mountain to pray. Lo, thou, to wdiom the greatest throng W'as a solitude, in respect of the fruition of thy Father ; thou, W'ho w'ert incapable of distraction from him with w hom thou w ert one, wouldst yet so much act man, as to retire for the opportunity of prayer ; to teach us, w'ho are nothing but w'ild thoughts and giddy distractedness, to go aside when w'e would speak with God. How happy is it for us 294 THE WALK UPON THE WATERS. [book iv. that thou prayedst! O Saviour, thou prayedst for us, who have not grace enough to pray for ourselves, not worth enough to be accepted when we do pray. Thy prayers, which were most perfect and impera¬ tive, are they by which our weak and unworthy prayers receive both life and favour. ' And now, how assiduous should we be in our supplications, who are empty of grace, full of wants ; when thou who wert a God of all power, prayedst for tliat which thou couldst command I Therefore do we pray, because thou prayedst: therefore do we expect to be gra¬ ciously ansAvered in our prayers, because thou didst pray for us here on earth, and now intercedest for us in heaven. The evening was come : the disciples looked long for their Master, and loath they were to have stirred without him : but his command is more than the strongest wind to fill their sails ; and they are now gone. Their expectation made not the evening seem so long, as our Saviour’s devotion made it seem short to liim; he is on the mount, they on the sea ; yet while he was on the mount pi*aying, and lifting up his eyes to his Father, he fails not to cast them about upon his disciples tossed on the waves. Those all-seeing eyes admit of no limits : at once he sees the highest heavens, and the midst of the sea; the glory of his Father, and the misery of his disciples. Whatever prospects present themselves to his view, the distress of his followers is ever most noted. H ow much more dost thou now, O Saviour, from the height of thy glorious advancement, behold us, thy wretched servants, tossed on the unquiet sea of this world, and beaten Avith the troublesome and threat¬ ening billoAvs of affliction ! Thou foresawest their toil and danger ere thou dismissedst them, and purposely sendest them away that they might be tossed. Thou, that couldst prevent our sifflerings by thypoAver, Avilt permit them in thy wisdom, that thou mayest glorify thy mercy in our deliverance, and confirm our faith by the issue of our distresses. Hoav do all things now seem to conspire to the vexing of the poor disciples I the night was sullen and dark, their Master was absent, the sea Avas boisterous, the Avinds Avere high and contrary. Had their Mas¬ ter been Avith them, howsoever the elements had raged, they had been secure ; had their Master been away, yet if the sea had been quiet, or the winds fair, the passage might have been endured. Now both sea¬ son, and sea, and Avind, and their Master’s desertion, had agreed to ren¬ der them perfectly miserable. Sometimes the Providence of God hath thought good so to order it, that to his best servants there appeareth no glimpse of comfort, but so absolute vexation, as if heaven and earth had plotted their full affliction. Yea, O Saviour, Avhat a dead night, Avhat a fearful tempest, Avhat an astonishing dereliction Avas that, VAdierein thou thyself criedst out in the bitterness of thine anguished soul, “ My God, my God, Avhy hast thou forsaken me?” Yet, in all these extremities of misery, our gracious God intends nothing but his greater glory and ours ; the triumph of our faith, the croAvn of our victory. All that longsome and tempestuous night must the disciples AA^ear out in danger and horror, as given over to the winds and Avaves; but in the fourth Avatch of the night, when they Avere Avearied out Avith toils and fears, comes deliverance. At their entrance into the ship, at the rising of the tempest, at the CONT. VI.] THE WALK UPON THE WATERS. 295 shutting in of the evening, there was no news of Christ: but when they have been all the night long beaten, not so much with storms and waves, as with their own thoughts, now in the fourth watch, which was near to the morning, Jesus came unto them, and purposely not till then, that he might exercise their patience, that he might inure them to wait upon divine Providence in cases of extremity, that their devotions might be more whetted by delay, that they might give gladder welcome to their deliver¬ ance. O God, thus thou thinkest fit to do still. We are by turns in our sea; the winds bluster, the billows swell, the night and thy absence heighten our discomfort; thy time and ours is set: as yet it is but mid¬ night with us, can we hut hold out patiently till the fourth watch, thou wilt surely come and rescue us. O let us not faint under our sorrows, but wear out our three .watches of tribulation, with undaunted patience and holy resolution. O Saviour, our extremities are the seasons of thine aid. Thou earnest at last, but yet so as that there was more dread than joy in thy presence: thy coming was both miraculous and frightful. Thou, God of elements, passedst through the air, walkedst upon the waters. Whether thou meantest to terminate this miracle in thy body, or in the waves which thou troddest upon, whether so lightening the one, that it should make no impression in the liquid waters, or whether so consolidating the other, that the pavemented waves yielded a firm cause¬ way to thy sacred feet to walk on, I neither determine nor inquire ; thy silence ruleth mine : thy power was in either miraculous, neither know I in whether to adore it more. But withal, give me leave to wonder more at thy passage than at thy coming. Wherefore earnest thou but to com¬ fort them ? and wherefore then wouldst thou pass by them, as if thou hadst intended nothing but their dismay ? Thine absence could not be so grievous as thy preterition; that might seem justly occasioned, this could not but seem willingly neglective. Our last conflicts have wont ever to be the sorest; as when after some dropping rain it pours most vehemently, we think the weather is changing to serenity. O Saviour, we may not always measure thy meaning by thy sem¬ blance : sometimes what thou most intendest, thou showest least. In our afflictions thou turnest thy back upon us, and hidest thy face from us, when thou most mindest our distresses. So Jonathan shot the ar¬ rows beyond David, when he meant them to him. So Josepli calls for Benjamin into bonds, when his heart was bound to him in the strongest affection. So the tender mother makes as if she would give away her crying child, whom she hugs so much closer in her bosom. If thou pass by us while we are struggling with the tempest, we know it is not for want of mercy. Thou canst not neglect us : O let us not distrust thee ! What object should have been so pleasing to the eyes of the disciples as their Master, and so much the more as he showed his divine power in this miraculous walk ? but lo, contrarily, “ they are troubled not with his presence, but with this form of presence. The supernatural works of God, when we look upon them with our own eyes, are subject to a dangerous misprision. The very sunbeams, to whom we are beholden for our sight, if we eye them directly, blind us. 296 THE WALK UPON THE WATERS, [book IV. jMiserable men ! we are ready to suspect triitbs, to nin away from our safety, to be afraid of our comforts, to misknow our best friends. And why are they thus troubled ? “ They had thought they had seen a spirit.” That there have been such apparitions of spirits, both good and evil, hath ever been a truth undoubtedly received of Pagans, Jews, Christians; although in the blind times of superstition, there was much collusion mixed with some verities ; crafty men, and lying spirits, agreed to abuse the credulous world ; but even where thex'e was not truth, yet there was horror. The very good angels were not seen without much fear; their sight was construed to bode death, how much more the evil, which in their very nature are harmful and pernicious ! we see not a snake or a toad, without some recoiling of blood, and some sensible reluctation, although those creatures run away from us : how much more must our hairs stand upright, and our senses boil, at the sight of a spirit, whose both nature and Avill is contrary to ours, and professedly bent to our hurt I But say it had been what they mistook it for, a spirit, why should they fear ? Had they well considered, they had soon found, that evil sj)irits are nevertheless present when they are not seen, and nevertheless harmful or malicious when they are present unseen. Visibility adds nothing to their spite or mischief; and could their eyes have been open¬ ed, they had, with Elisha’s servant, seen “ more with tliem than against them a sure, though invisible guard of moi'e powerful spirits, and themselves under the protection of the God of spirits : so as they might have bidden a bold defiance to all the power of darkness. But, partly their faith was yet but in the bud, and partly the presentation of this dreadful object was sudden, and without the respite of a recollection, and settlement of their thoughts. O the weakness of our frail nature, who, in the want of faith, are af¬ frighted with the visible appearance of those adversaries whom we profess daily to resist and vanquish, and with whom we know the decree of God hath matched us in an everlasting conflict I Are not these they that eject devils by their command ? are not these of them that say, “ Mas¬ ter, the evil spirits ai’e subdued to us ?” Yet now, when they see but an imagined spirit, they fear. What power there is in the eye to betray the heart! While Goliah was mingled with the rest of the Philistine host, Israel camped boldly against them ; but when that giant stalks out single be¬ tween the two armies, and fills and amazes their eyes with his hideous sta¬ ture, now they run away for fear. Behold, we are committed with legions of evil spirits, and complain not: let but one of them give us some visible token of his presence, we shriek and tremble, and are not ourselves. Neither is our weakness more conspicuous than thy mercy, O God, in restraining these spiritual enemies from these dreadful and ghastly re¬ presentations of themselves to our eyes. Might those infernal spirits have liberty to appear, how and when, and to whom they would, certain¬ ly not many would be left in their wits, or in their lives. It is thy power and goodness to frail mankind, that they are kept in their chains, and reserved in the darkness of their own spiritual being, that we may both oppugn and subdue them unseen. <30NT. VI .3 THE WALK UPON THE WATERS- 297 But, O the deplorable condition of reprobate souls ! if but the ima¬ gined sight of one of these spirits of darkness can so daunt the heart of those whicli are free from their power, what a terror shall it be to live perpetually in the sight, yea, under the torture, of thousands, of legions, of millions of devils ! O the madness of wilful sinners, that will needs run themselves headily into so dreadful a damnation ! It was high time for our Saviour to speak: what with the tempest, what with the apparition, the disciples were almost lost with fear. How seasonable are his gracious addresses I till they were thus alfrighted he would not speak, when they were thus affrighted he would not hold his peace. If his presence were fearful, yet his word was comfortable ; “ Be of good cheer, it is Iyea, it is his word only which must make his pre¬ sence both known and comfortable. He was present before : they mis¬ took him and feai’ed : there needs no other erection of their drooping hearts, but “ It is I.” It is cordial enough to us, in the worst of our af¬ flictions, to be assured of Christ’s pi’esence with us. Say but, “ It is I,” O Saviour, and let devils do their worst; thou needst not say any more. Thy voice was evidence enough; so well were thy disciples acquainted with the tongue of thee their Master, that, “ It is I,” was as much as a hundred names. Thou art the good Shepherd ; we are not of thy flock, if we know thee not by thy voice from a thousand. Even this one is a great word, yea, an ample style, “ It is I.” The same tongue that said to Moses, “ I am hath sent thee,” saith now to the disciples, “ It is I I your Lord and Master, I the Commander of wind and waters, I the sovereign Lord of heaven and earth, I the God of spirits. Let heaven be but as one scroll, and let it be written all over with titles, they cannot express more than, “ It is 1.” O sweet and seasonable word of a gra¬ cious Saviour, able to calm all tempests, able to revive all hearts I Say but so to my soul, and in spite of hell, I am safe. No sooner hath Jesus said, I; than Peter answers. Master. He can in¬ stantly name him that did not name himself. Every little hint is enough to faith. The church sees her beloved as well through the lattice, as through the open window. Which of all the followers of Christ gave such pregnant testimonies, upon all occasions, of his faith, of his love to his Master, as Peter ? the rest were silent, while he both owned his Master, and craved access to him in that liquid way. Yet what a sensible mixture is here of faith and distrust! It is faith that said. Master; it was distrust, as some have construed it, said, “ If it be thou.” It was faith that said, “ Bid me come to thee (implying that his word could as well enable as command ;) it was faith that durst step down upon that watery pavement; it was distrust that, upon the sight of a mighty wind, feared ; it was faith, that he walked; it was distrust that he sunk ; it was faith that said, “ Lord, save me.” O the imperfect composition of the best saint upon earth, as far from pure faith, as from mere infidelity! If there be pure earth in the centre, all upward is mixed with the other elements : contrarily, pure grace is above in the glorified spirits ; all below is mixed with infirmity, with corruption. Our best is but as the air, which never was, never can be at once fully enlightened ; neither is there in the same region one constant state of light. It shall once be noon with us, when we shall have nothing but bright beams of glory: now it is but the dawning, II. 2 p 298 THE AVALK UPON TPIE WATERS. [^BOOK IV’. wherein it is hard to say whether there be more light than darkness. We are now fair as the moon, which hath some spots in her gi’eatest beauty; we shall be pure as the sun whose face is all bright and glori¬ ous. Ever since the time that Adam set his tooth in the apple, till our mouth be full of mould, it never was, it never can be other with us. Far be it from us to settle willingly upon the dregs of our infidelity ; far be it from us to be disheartened with the sense of our defects and imperfec¬ tions : “ We believe. Lord, help our unbelief.” While I find some disputing the lawfulness of Peter’s suit, others quarrelling his “If it be thou,” let me be taken up with wonder at the faith, the fervour, the heroical valour of this prime apostle, that durst say, “ Bid me come to thee upon the w’aters.” He might have suspec¬ ted, that the voice of his Master might have been as easily imitated by that imagined spirit as his person ; he might have feared the blustering tempest, the threatening billows, the yielding nature of that devouring element: but, as despising all these thoughts of misdoubt, such is his desire to be near his Master, that he says, “ Bid me come to thee upon the waters he says not. Come thou to rne ; this had been Christ’s act, and not his. Neither doth he say. Let me come to thee : this had been his act, and not Christ’s. Neither doth he say. Pray that I may come to thee, as if this act had been out of the power of either; but, “ Bid me come to thee.” I know thou canst command both the waves and me: me to be so light, that I shall not bruise the moist surface of the waves : the waves to be so solid, that they shall not yield to my weight. “ All things obey thee: Bid me come to thee upon the waters.” It was a bold spirit that could wish it, more bold that could act it. No sooner hath our Saviour said, “ Come,” than he sets his foot upon the unquiet sea, not fearing either the softness or the roughness of that uncouth passage. We are wont to wonder at the courage of that daring man who first committed himself to the sea in a frail bark, though he had the strength of an oaken plank to secure him ; how valiant must w’e needs grant him to be, that durst set his foot upon the bare sea, and shift his paces I Well did Peter know, that he who bade him, could uphold him ; and therefore he both sues to be bidden, and ventures to be upholden. True faith tasks itself with difficulties, neither can be dis¬ mayed with the conceits of ordinary impossibilities: it is not the scat¬ tering of straws, or casting of mole-hills, whereby the virtue of it is described, but removing of mountains : like some courageous leader, it desires the honour of a danger, and sues for the first onset: whereas, the worldly heart freezes in a lazy or cowardly fear, and only casts for safety and ease. Peter sues, Jesus bids. Rather will he work miracles, than disap¬ point the suit of a faithful man. How easily might our Saviour have turned over this strange request of his bold disciple, and have said. What my omnipotence can do is no rule for thy weakness ; it is no less than presumption in a mere man, to hope to imitate the miraculous works of God and man. Stay thou in the ship, and wonder, contenting thyself in this, that thou hast a Master to whom the land and water is alike. Yet I hear not a check, but a call, “ Come.” The suit of ambi¬ tion is suddenly quashed in the mother of the Zebedees. The suits of CONT. VI.l THE WALK UPON THE WATERS. 299 reveng'e prove no better in the mouth of the two fiery disciples. But a suit of faith, though high, avid seemingly unfit for us, he hath no power to deny. How much less, O Saviour, wilt thou stick at those things which lie in the very road of our Christianity ! Never man said, Bid me come to thee in the way of thy commandments, whom thou didst not both bid and enable to come. True faith rests not in great and good desires, but acts and executes accordingly. Peter doth not wish to go, and yet stand still ; but his foot aviswers liis tongue, and instantly chops down upon the waters. To sit still, and wish, is for sluggish and cowardly spirits. Formal volitions, yea, velleities of good, while we will not so much as step out of the ship of our nature to walk unto Christ, are but the faint motions of vain hypocrisy. It will be long enough ere the gale of good wishes cv^n carry us to heaven. “ Ease slayeth the foolish.” O Saviour, we have thy command to come to thee out of the ship of our natural corruption: let no sea affright us, let no tempest of temptation withhold us. No way can be but safe, when thou art the end. Lo, Peter is walking upon the waves ! Two hands uphold him, the hand of Christ’s power, the hand of his own faith ; neither of them would do it alone. The hand of Christ’s power laid hold on him, the hand of his failh laid hold on the power of Christ commanding. Had not Christ’s hand been powerful, that faith had been in vain : had not that faith of his strongly fixed upon Christ, that power had not been elfectual to his preservation. Whde we are here in the world we walk upon the waters ; still the same hands bear us up. If he let go his hold of us, we drown ; if we let go our hold of him, we sink and shriek as Peter did here, who, when he saw the wind boisterous, was afraid, and, “ beginning to sink, cried, saying. Lord, save me.” When he wished to be bidden to walk unto Christ, he thought of the waters ; “ Bid me come to thee on the waters he thought not on the winds which raged on those waters ; or if he thought of a stiff gale, yet that tempestuous and sudden gust was out of his account and expecta¬ tion. Those evils, that we are prepared for, have not such power over us as those that surprise us. A good waterman sees a dangerous billow coming towards him, and cuts it, and mounts over it with ease ; the un- heedy is overwhelmed. O Saviour, let my haste to thee be zealous, but not improvident; ere I set my foot out of the ship, let me foresee the tempest; when I have cast the worst, I cannot either miscarry or com¬ plain. So soon as he began to fear, he began to sink : while he believed, the sea was brass ; when once he began to distrust, those waves were water. He cannot sink, while he trusts the power of his Master ; he cannot but sink when he misdoubts it. Our faith gives us, as courage and boldness, so success too ; our infidelity lays us open to all dangers, to all mischiefs. It was Peter’s improvidence not to foresee it, it was his weakness to fear, it was the effect of his fear to sink; it was his faith that recollects itself, and breaks through his infidelity, and, in sinking, could say, “ Lord, save me.” His foot could not be so swift in .sinking, as his heart in imploring: he knew who could uphold him from sinking, and, being sunk, deliver him ; and therefore he says, “ Lord, save me. 300 THE WALK UPON THE WATERS. [book IV. It is both a notable sign and effect of true faith, in sudden extremities, to ejaculate holy desires, and, witli the wings of our first thoughts, to fly up instantly to the throne of grace for present succour. Upon deli¬ beration, it is possible for a man, that hath been careless and profane, by good means, to be drawn to holy dispositions : but on the sudden, a man will appear as he is; whatever is most rife in the heart, will come forth at the mouth. It is good to observe how our surprisals find us: the rest is but forced, this is natural. “ Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.” O Saviour, no evil can be swifter than my thought; my thought shall be upon thee ere 1 can be seized upon by the speediest mischief: at least, if I overrun not evils, I shall overtake them. It was Christ his Lord whom Peter had offended in distrusting; it is Christ his Lord to whom he sues for deliverance. His weakness doth not discourage him from his refuge. O God, when we have displeased thee, when we have sunk in thy displeasure, whither should we fly for aid, but to thee whom we have provoked ? against thee only is our sin, in thee only is our help. In vain shall all the powers of heaven and earth conspire to relieve us, if thou withhold from our succour. As we offend thy justice daily by our sins, so let us continually rely upon thy mercy by the strength of our faith ; “ Lord, save us.” The mercy of Christ is at once sought and found; “ Immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him.” He doth not say, hadst thou trusted me, I would have safely preserved thee, but, since thou will needs wrong my power and care with a cowardly diffidence, sink and drown : but rather, as pitying the infirmity of his fearful disciple, he puts out the hand for his relief. That hand hath been stretched forth for the aid of many a one that never asked it: never any asked it, to whose succour it hath not been stretched. V/ith what speed, with what con¬ fidence should we fly to that sovereign bounty, from which never any suitor was sent away empty ! .Jesus gave Peter his hand, but Avithal he gave him a check: “ O thou of little fliith, why doubtest thou ?” As Peter’s faith was not pure, but mixed with some distrust, so our Saviour’s help was not clear and abso¬ lute, but mixed with some reproof; a reproof, wherein there Avas both a censure and an expostulation ; a censure of his faith, an expostulation for his doubt; both of them sore and heavy. By hoAV much more excellent and useful a grace faith is, by so much more shameful is the defect of it; and by how much more reason here Avas of confidence, by so much more blameworthy Avas the doubt. Now Peter had a double reason of his confidence, the command of Christ, the power of Christ; the one in bidding him to come, the other in sustain¬ ing him while he came. To misdoubt him Avhose will he knew, whose poAver he felt, was Avell worth a reprehension. When I saw Peter stepping forth upon the Avaters, I could not but Avonder at his great faith ; yet behold, ere he can have measured many paces, the Judge of hearts taxes him for little faith. Our mountains are but motes to God. Would my heart have served me to dare the doing of this that Peter did ? durst I have set my foot where he did ? O Saviour, if thou foundest cause to censure the Aveakness and poverty of his faith, what mayest thou well say to mine ! They mistake that think CONT. VII.]] THE BLOODY ISSUE HEALED. 801 thou wilt take up with any thing". Thou lookest for firmitude and vigour in those graces, which thou wilt allow in thy best disciples, no less than truth. The first steps were confident, there was fear in the next. O the sudden alteration of our affections, of our dispositions ! one pace varies our spiritual condition. W^hat hold is there of so fickle creatures, if we be left never so little to ourselves ? As this lower world, wherein we are, is the region of mutability, so are we, the living pieces of it, sub¬ ject to a perpetual change. It is for the blessed saints and angels above to be fixed in good: while we are here, there can be no constancy ex¬ pected from us, but in variableness. As well as our Saviour loves Peter, yet he chides him. It is the fruit of his favour and mercy that we escape judgment, not that we escape re¬ proof. Had not Peter found grace with his Master, he had been suffer¬ ed to sink in silence ; now he is saved with a check. There may be more love in frowns than in smiles : “ Whom he loves he chastises.” What is chiding but a verbal castigation ? and what is chastisement but a real chiding ? “ Correct me, O Lord, yet in thy judgment, not in thy fury.” O let the righteous God smite me, when J offend, with his gra¬ cious reproofs ; these shall be a precious oil that shall not break my head.” CONTEMPLATION VII.—THE BLOODY ISSUE HEALED. The time was, O Saviour, when a worthy woman offered to touch thee, and was forbidden : now a meaner touches thee with approbation and encouragement. Yet as there was much difference in that body of thine which was the object of that touch, being now mortal and passible, then impassible and immortal, so there Avas in the agents : this a stranger, that a familiar ; this obscure, that famous. The same actions vary with time and other circumstances ; and ac¬ cordingly receive their dislike or allowance. Doubtless thou hadst herein no small respect to the faith of Jairus, unto Avhose house thou Avert going. That good man had but one only daughter, Avhich lay sick in the beginning of his suit, ere the end lay dead ; Avhile she lived, his hope lived ; her death disheartened it. It was a great Avork that thou meantest to do for him, it Avas a great word that thou saidst to him ; “ Fear not, believe, and she shall be made whole.” To make this good, by the touch of the verge of thy garment, thou revivedst one from the verge of death. How must Jairus needs now think. He who, by the virtue of his garment, can pull this woman out of the paAvs of death, which hath been twelve years dying, can as well, by the power of his word, pull my daughter, who hath been twelve years living, out of the jaws of death, Avhich hath newly seized on her. It was fit the good ruler should be raised up with this handsel of thy divine poAver, Avhom he came to solicit. That thou mightest lose no time, thou curedst in thy passage. The sun stands not still to give its influences, but dift’uses them in his ordin¬ ary motion. Hoav shall Ave imitate thee, if we suffer our hands to be Tllf: BLOODY ISSUE HEALED. 302 [[book IV. out of use with good ? Our life goes away with our time : we lose that which we improve not. The patient laboured of an issue of blood; a disease that had not more pain than shame, nor more natural infirmity than legal impurity. Time added to her grief; twelve long years had she languished under this woeful complaint. Besides the tediousness, diseases must needs get head by continuance, and so much more weaken nature, and strengthen themselves, by how much longer they afflict us. So it is in the soul, so in the state ; vices which are the sicknesses of both, when they grow in¬ veterate, have a strong plea for their abode and uncontrolableness. Yet more, to mend the matter, poverty, which is another disease, has superadded to her sickness ; “ she had spent all she had upon physicians.” While she had wherewdth to make much of herself, and to procure good tendance, choice diet, and all the succours of a distressing languishment, she could not but find some mitigation of her sorrow : but now want began to pinch her no less than her distemper, and helped to make her perfectly miserable. Yet could she have parted from her substance Avith ease, her complaint had been the less. Could the physicians have given her, if not health, yet relaxation and painlessness, her means had not been misbestowed : but now, “ she suflered many things from them many an unpleasing potion, many tormenting incisions and divulsions did she endure from their hands ; the remedy was ecpial in trouble to tlie disease. Yet, had the cost and pain been never so great, could she have there¬ by purchased health, the match had been happy ; all the world were no price for this commodity ; but alas, her estate was the worse, her body not the better : her money was wasted, not her disease. Art could give her neither cure nor hope. It were injurious to blame that noble science, for that it always speeds not. Notwithstanding all those sovereign re¬ medies, men must, in their times, sicken and die. Even the miraculous gifts of healing could not preserve the owners from disease and dissolu¬ tion. It were pity but that this woman should have been thus sick ; the nature, the durableness, cost, pain, incurableness of her disease, both sent her to seek Christ, and moved Christ to her cure. Our extremities drive us to our Saviour, his love draws him to be most present and help¬ ful to our extremities. When we are forsaken of all succours and hopes, we are fitest for his redress. Never are we nearer to help, than Avhen we despair of help. There is no fear, no danger, but in our own insen¬ sibleness. This woman was a stranger to Christ; it seems she had never seen him. The report of his miracles had lifted her up to such a confidence of his power and mercy, as that she said in herself, “ If I may but touch the hem of his garment, I shall be whole.” The shame of her disease stopt her mouth from any verbal suit. Had her infirmity been known, she had been shunned and abhorred, and disdainfully put back of all the beholders, as doubtless, where she was known, the law forced her to live apart. Now she conceals both her grief, and her desire, and her faith ; and only speaks where she may be bold, within herself, “ If I may but touch the hem of his garment, I shall be wdiole.” CONT, VI 1.3 THE BLOODY ISSUE HEALED. 303 I seek not mysteries in the virtue of the hem, rather than of the gar¬ ment. Indeed, it was God’s command to Israel, that they should be marked, not only in their skin, but in their clothes too : those fringes and ribands upon the borders of their garments were for holy memorials of their duty, and God’s law. But that hence she supposed to find more virtue and sanctity in the touch of the hem than of the coat, I neither dispute nor believe; it was the sight, not the signification that she inti¬ mated ; not as of the best part, but the utmost. In all likelihood, if there could have been virtue in the gannent, the nearer to the body the more. Hei-e was then the praise of this woman’s faith, that she promiseth herself cure from the touch of the utmost hem. Whosoever would look to receive any benefit from Christ, must come in faith ; it is that only rvhich makes us capable of any favour. Satan, the common ape of the Almighty, imitates him also in this point: all his charms and spells are ineft’ectual without the faith of the user, of the receiver. Yea, the endeavour and issue of all, both human and spiritual things, depends upon our faith. Who would commit a plant or seed to the earth, if he did not believe to have it nursed in that kindly bosom ? What mercliant would put himself upon the guard of an inch-board in a furious sea, if he did not trust to the faithful custody of that plank ? Who would trade, or travel, or war, or marry, if he did not therein sure¬ ly trust he should speed well ? What benefit can we look to carry from a divine exhortation, if we do not believe it will edify us ? from a sa¬ cramental banquet, the food of angels, if we do not believe it will nourish our souls ? from our best devotions, if we do not persuade ourselves they will fetch down blessings ? O our vain and heartless services ! if we do not say. May I drink but one drop of that heavenly nectar, may I taste but one crumb of that bread of life, may I hear but one word from the mouth of Christ, may I send up but one hearty sigh or ejacu¬ lation of a holy desire to my God, I shall be whole. According to her resolution is her practice. She tone , ed, but she came behind to touch; whether for humility, or her secrecy rather, as desii-ing to steal a em’e unseen, unnoted. She was a Jewess, and there¬ fore well knew that her touch was, in this case, no better than a pollu¬ tion, as hers, perhaps, but not of him. For, on the one side, necessity is under no positive law ; on the other, the Son of God was not capable of impurity. Those may be defiled with a touch, that cannot heal with a touch; he, that was above law, is not comprised in the law; be we never so unclean, he may heal us, we cannot infect him. O Saviour, my soul is sick and foul enough with the spiritual impurities of sin; let me, by the hand of faith, lay hold but upon the hem of thy garment (thy righteousness is thy garment), it shall be both clean and whole. Who would not think but a man might lade up a dish of water out of the sea unmissed ? Yet that water, though much, is finite ; those drops are within number : that art, which hath reckoned how many corns of sand would make up a world, could more easily compute how many drops of water would make up an ocean; whereas the mercies of God ai-e absolutely infinite, and beyond all possibility of proportion ; and yet this bashful soul cannot steal one drop of mercy from this endless, bound- 304 THE BLOODY ISSUE HEALED. [book. iv. less, bottomless sea of divine bounty, but it is felt and questioned ; “ And Jesns said, Who touched me ?” Who caix now say that he is a poor man that reckons his store, when that God, who is rich in mercy, doth so ? He knows all his own bless¬ ing’s, and keeps just tallies of our receipts; delivereth so much honour to this man, to that so much wealth; so much knowledge to one, to an¬ other so much strength. How carefully frugal should we be in the notice, account, usage of God’s several favours, since his bounty sets all his gifts upon the file ! Even the worst servant in the gospel confessed his ta¬ lents, though he employed them not. We are worse than the worst, if either we misknow, or dissemble, or forget them. Who now can forbear the disciple’s reply ? Who touched thee, O Lord ? the multitude. Dost thou ask of one, when thou art pressed by many ? In the midst of a throng, dost thou ask, Who touched me ?” Yea, but yet, “some one touched me:” all thronged me; but one touched me. How riddle-like soever it may seem to sound, they that thronged me touched me not; she only touched me that thronged me not, yea, that touched me not. Even so, O Saviour, others touched thy body with theirs, she touched thy hem with her hand, thy divine power with her soul. Those two parts whereof we consist, the bodily, the spiritual, do in a sort partake of each other. The soul is the man, and hath those parts, senses, actions, which are challenged as proper to the body. This spiri¬ tual part hath both a hand, and a touch ; it is by the hand of faith that the soul toucheth ; yea, this alone both is, and acts all the spiritual senses of that immaterial and divine part; this sees, hears, tastetli, toucheth God; and without this, the soul doth none of these. All the multitude then pressed Christ: he took not that for a touch, since faith was away; only she touched him that believed to receive virtue by his touch. Out¬ ward fashionableness comes into no account with God ; that is only done which the soul doth. It is no hoping that virtue should go forth from Christ to us, when no hearty desires go forth from us to him. He that is a spirit, looks to the deportment of that part which resembleth him¬ self : as, without it, the body is dead ; so, without the actions thereof, bodily devotions are but carcasses. What reason had our Saviour to challenge this touch ? “ Somebody touched me.” The multitude, in one extreme, denied any touch at all: Peter, in another extreme, affirmed an over-touching of the multitude. Betwixt both, he who felt it can say, “ Somebody touched me.” Not all, as Peter ; not none, as the multitude; but somebody. How then, O Saviour, how doth it appear that somebody touched thee ? “ For I perceive vii’tue is gone out from me.” The effect proves the act; vir¬ tue gone out evinces the touch. These two are in thee convertible ; virtue cannot go out of thee but by a touch, and no touch can be of thee, without virtue going out from thee. That which is a rule in nature, that every agent works by a contract, holds spiritually too: then dost thou, O God, work upon our souls, when thou touchest our hearts by the Spirit; then do we re-act upon thee, when we touch thee by the hand of onr faith and confidence in thee ; and, in both these, virtue goes out from thee to us ; yet goes not so out, as that there is less in thee. CONT. VII .3 THE BLOODY ISSUE HEALED. 305 In all bodily emanations, whose powers are but finite, it must needs fol¬ low, that the more is sent forth, the less is reserved : but as it is in the sun, which gives us light, yet loseth none ever the more, the luminosity of it being no whit impaired by that perpetual emission of lightsome beams, so much more is it in thee, the Father of lights. Virtue could not go out of thee without thy knowledge, without thy sending. Neither ■was it in a dislike, or in a grudging exprobration, that thou saidst, “ Vir¬ tue is gone out from me.” Nothing could please thee better, than to feel virtue fetched out from thee by the faith of the receiver. It is the nature and praise of good to be communicative: none of us would be other than liberal of our little, if we did not fear it would be lessened by imparting. Thou, that knowest thy store so infinite, that participation doth only glorify and not diminish it, canst not but be more willing to give, than we to receive. If we take but one drop of water from the sea, or one corn of sand from the shore, there is so much, though insensibly, less : but were we capable of worlds of virtue and benediction from that munificent hand, our enriching could no whit impoverish thee. Thou which were wont to hold it much “ better to give than to receive,” canst not but give gladly. Fear not, O my soul, to lade plentifully at this well, this ocean of mercy, which, the more thou takest, overflows the more. But why then, O Saviour, why didst thou thus inquire, thus expostu¬ late.^ was it for thy own sake, that the glory of the miracle might thus come to light, which otherwise had been smothered in silence ? was it for Jairus’ sake, that his depressed heart might be raised to a confidence in thee, whose mighty power he saw proved by this cure, whose omni¬ science he saw proved by the knowledge of the cure ? or, was it chiefly for the woman’s sake, for the praise of her faith, for the securing of her conscience ? It was within herself that she said, “ If I may but touch none could hear this voice of the heart, but he that made it. It was within herself that the cure was wrought; none of the beholders knew her complaint, much less her recovery ; none noted her touch, none knew the occasion of her touch. What a pattern of powerful faith had we lost, if our Saviour had not called this act to trial! as her modesty hid her disease, so it would have hid her virtue. Christ will not suffer this secrecy. O the marvellous but free dispensation of Christ! one while he enjoins a silence to his re-cured patients, and is troubled with their divulgation of his favour; another while, as here, he will not lose the honour of a se¬ cret mercy, but fetches it out by his inquisition, by bis profession ; “ who hath touched me ? for I perceive virtue is gone out from me.” As we see in the great work of his creation, he hath placed some stars in the midst of heaven, where they may be most conspicuous ; others he hatli set in the southern obscurity, obvious to but few eyes : in the earth he hath planted some flowers and trees in the famous gardens of the world ; others no less beautiful, in untracked woods or wild deserts, whei'e they are either not seen, or not regarded. O God, if thou hast intended to glorify thyself by thy graces in us, thou wilt find means to fetch them forth into the notice of the world ; otherwise our very privacy shall content us, and praise thee. II. 2 Q 306 THE BLOODF ISSUE HEALED. [^BOOK IV. Yet even this great faith wanted not some M'eakness. It was a poor conceit in this woman, that she thought she might receive so sovereign a remedy from Christ without his heed, without his knowledge. Now tliat she might see she had trusted to a power which was not more boun¬ tiful than sensible, and whose goodness did not exceed his apprehension, but one that knew what he parted with, and willingly parted with that which he knew beneficial to so faithful a receiver, he can say, “ Some¬ body hath touched me, for I perceive virtue is gone out from me.” As there was an error in her thought, so in our Saviour’s words there was a correction. His mercy will not let her run away with that secret of¬ fence. It is a great favour of God to take us in the manner, and to shame our closeness. We scour off the rust from a weapon that we esteem, and prune the vine we care for. O God, do thou ever find me out in my sin, and do not pass over my least infirmities without a feeling con¬ trol men t 1 Neither doubt I, but that herein, O Saviour, thou didst graciously forecast the securing of the conscience of this faithful, though overseen, patient, which might well have afterwards raised some just scruples, for the filching of a cure, for unthankfulness to the Author of her cure ; the continuance whereof she might have good reason to misdoubt, being suri'eptitiously gotten, ingratefully concealed. For prevention of all these dangers, and the full quieting of her troubled heart, how fitly, how mer¬ cifully didst thou bring forth this close business to the light, and clear it to the bottom ! It is thy great mercy to foresee our perils, and to remove them ere we can apprehend the fear of them : as some skilful physician, who, perceiving a fever or phrenzy coming, which the distempered pa¬ tient little misdoubts, by seasonable applications anticipates that grievous malady, so as the sick man knows his safety, ere he can suspect his danger. Well might the woman think. He who can thus cure, and thus know his cure, can as w^ell know my name, and descry my person and shame, and punish my ingratitude. With a pale face, therefore, and a trembling foot, she comes, and falls down before him, and humbly acknowledges what she had done, what she had obtained: “ But the woman finding she was not hid, &c.” Could she have perceived that she might have slily gone away with the cure, she had not confessed it: so had she made God a loser of glory, and herself an unthankful receiver of so great a benefit. Might we have our own wills, we should be injurious both to God and ourselves. Nature lays such plots as would be sure to befool us, and is witty in nothing but deceiving herself. The only way to bring us home, is to find we are found, and to be convinced of the discovery of all our evasions: as some unskilful thief, that finds the owner’s eye was upon him in his pilfering, lays down his stolen commodity with shame. Contrarily, when a man is possessed with a conceit of secrecy, and cleanly escapes, he is emboldened in his lewdness. The adulterer chooses the twilight, and says, “ No eye shall see me and joys in the sweetness of his stolen waters. O God, in the deepest darkness, in my most inward retiredness, when none sees me, when I see not myself, yet let me then see thine all-seeing eye upon me ; and if ever mine eyes shall be shut, or CONT VII.3 THE BLOODY ISSUE HEALED. 307 held with a prevailing temptation, check me with a speedy reprool', that, with this abashed patient, I may come in, and confess my error, and im¬ plore thy mercy. It is no unusual thing for kindness to look sternly for the time, that it may endear itself more when it lists to be discovered. With a severe countenance did our Saviour look about him, and ask, “ Who touched me ?” When the woman comes in trembling, and confessing both her act and success, he clears up his brows, and speaks comfortably to her; “ Daughter, be of good cheer, thy faith hath made thee whole ; go in peace.” O sweet and seasonable word, fit for those merciful and divine lips, able to secure any heart, to dispel any fears ! Still, O Saviour, thou dost thus to us : when we fall down before thee in an awful deject¬ edness, thou rearest us up with a cheei'ful and compassionate encourage¬ ment ; when thou findest us bold and presumptuous, thou lovest to take us down; when humbled, it is enough to have prostrated us. Like as that lion of Bethel worries the disobedient prophet, guards the poor ass that stood quaking before him ; or like some mighty wind that bears over a tall elm or cedar with the same breath that it raiseth a stooping reed ; or like some good physician, who, finding the body obstructed and surcharg¬ ed with ill humours, evacuates it, and when it is sufficiently pulled down, raises it up with sovereign coi-dials : and still do thou so to my soul. If at any time thou perceivest me stiff and rebellious, ready to face out my sin against thee, spare me not: let me smart till I relent. But a broken and contrite heart thou wilt not, O Lord ! O Lord, do not, reject! It is only thy word which gives what it requires, comfort and confi¬ dence. Had any other shaken her by the shoulder, and cheered her up against those oppressive passions, it had been but waste wind. No voice but his, who hath power to remit sin, can secure the heart from the con¬ science of sin, from the pangs of conscience. In the midst of the sorrows of my heart, thy comforts, O Lord, thy comforts only, have power to re¬ fresh my soul. Her cure was Christ’s act, yet he gives the praise of it to her; “ Thy faith hath made thee whole.” He had said before, “Vir¬ tue is gone out from me” now he acknowledges a virtue inherent in her. It was his virtue that cured her, yet he graciously casts this work upon her faith : not that her faith did it by way of merit, by way of efficiency, but by way of impetration. So much did our Saviour regard that faith which he had wrought in her, that he will honour it with the success of her cure. Such and the same is still the remedy of our spiritual diseases, our sins ; “ By faith we are justified, by faith we are saved.” Thou only, O Saviour, canst heal us ; thou wilt not heal us but by our faith ; not as it issues from us, but as it appropriates thee. The sickness is ours, the remedy is ours; the sickness is our own by nature, the remedy ours by thy grace, both working and accepting it. Our faith is no less from thee, than thy cure is from our faith. O happy dismission, “ Go in peace I” How unquiet had this poor soul formerly been ! she had no outward peace with her neighbours, they shunned and abhorred her presence in this condition, yea they must do so. She had no peace in body, that was pained and vexed witli so long and foul a disease; much less had she peace in her mind, which was grie¬ vously disquieted with sorrow for her sickness, with anger and discon- 308 JAIRUS AND HIS DAUGHTER. [book IV. tentment at her torturing physicians, with fear of the continuance of so bad a guest. Her soul, for the present, had no peace, from the sense of her guiltiness in the carriage of this business, from the conceived displea¬ sure of him to whom she came for comfort and redress. At once now doth our Saviour calm all these storms; and, in one Avord and act, re¬ stores her to her peace with her neighbours, peace in herself, peace in body, in mind, in soul. “ Go in peace.” Even so. Lord, it was for thee only, who art the Prince of Peace, to bestow thy peace where thou pleasest. Our body, mind, soul, estate is thine, whether to afflict or ease. It is a wonder, if all of us do not ail someAvhat. In vain shall we speak peace to ourselves, in vain shall the world speak peace to us, except thou say to us, as thou didst to this distressed soul, “ Go in peace.” CONTEMPLATION VIII.—JAIRUS AND HIS DAUGHTER. Hoav troublesome did the people’s importunity seem to Jairus ! that great man came to sue unto Jesus for his dying daughter, the throng of the multitude intercepted him. Every man is most sensible of his own necessity. It is no straining courtesy in the challenge of our interest in Christ; there is no unmannerliness in our strife for the greatest share in his presence and benediction. That only child of this ruler lay a-dying Avhen he came to solicit Christ’s aid, and was dead Avhile he solicited it. There was hope in her sickness; in her extremity there Avas fear ; her death despair, and im¬ possibility, as they thought, of help; “ Thy daughter is dead, trouble not the Master.” When we have to do Avith a mere finite power, this Avord Avere but just. He Avas a propliet no less than a king, that said, “ While tlie child Avas yet alive, I fasted and wept; for I said. Who can tell Avhether God Avill be gracious to me, that the child may live ? but noAv he is dead, Avherefore should I fast ? can I bring him back again ? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.” But since thou hast to do Avitli an omnipotent agent, know noAV, O thou faithless messenger, that death can be no bar to his poAA^er. How Avell Avould it have become thee to have said, “ Thy daughter is deadbut Avho can tell Avhether thy God and Saviour Avill not be gracious to thee, that the child may revive ? caunot he, in AA'hose hands are the issues of death, bring her back again ? Here AA^ere more manners than faith ; “ Trouble not the Master.’ Infidelity is all for ease, and thinks every good Avork tedious. That Avhich nature accounts troublesome, is pleasing and delightful to grace. Is it any pain for a hungry man to eat ? O Saviour, it AA^as thy “ meat and drink to do thy Father’s Avilland his will AA^as, that thou shouldst bear our griefs, and take aAvay our sorroAVS. It cannot be thy trouble which is our happiness, that we must still sue to thee. The messenger could not so AA’hisper his ill neAvs, but Jesus heard it. Jairus hears that he feared, and Avas noAv heartless AA'ith so sad tidings. He that resolved not to trouble the Master, meant to take so much more trouble to himself, and Avould noAv yield to a hopeless sorrow. He CONT. vm.J JAIRUS AND HIS DAUGHTER. 309 whose work it is to comfort the aiBicted, rouseth up the dejected heart of that pensive father : “ Fear not, believe only, and she shall be made whole.” The word was not more cheei’ful than difficult; “ Fear not.” Who can be insensible of so great an evil ? Where death hath once seized, who can but doubt he will keep his hold ? No less hard was it not to grieve for the loss of an only child, than not to fear the continu¬ ance of the cause of that grief. In a perfect faith there is no fear: by how much more we fear, by so much less we believe. Well are these two then coupled, “ Fear not, be¬ lieve only.” O Saviour, if thou didst not command us somewhat beyond nature it were no thank to us to obey thee. While the child Avas alive, to believe that it might recover, it was no hard task; but now that she was fully dead, to believe she should live again, was a Avork not easy for Jairus to apprehend, though easy for thee to effect; yet must that be be¬ lieved, else there is no capacity of so great a mercy. As love, so faith is stronger than death, making those bonds no other than, as Samson did his Avithes, like threads of toAv. Plow much natural impossibility is there in the return of these bodies from the dust of their earth, into Avhich, through many degrees of corruption, they are at the last mouldered ? Fear not, O my soul, believe only : it must, it shall be done. The sum of Jairus’s first suit Avas for the health, not for the resusci¬ tation of his daughter : now, that she Avas dead, he Avould, if he durst, have been glad to have asked her life. And now, behold, our Saviour bids him expect both her life and her health ; “ Thy daughter shall be made Avhole alive for her death, Avhole from her disease. Thou didst not, O Jairus, thou daredst not ask so much as thou re- ceivedst. Hoav glad Avouldst thou have been, since this last ncAvs, to have had thy daughter alive, though weak and sickly ! now thou shalt re¬ ceive her, not living only, but sound and vigorous. Thou dost not, O Saviour, measure thy gifts by our petitions, but by our Avants and thine own mercies. This work might have been as easily done by an absent command ; the poAver of Christ Avas there Avhile himself was away: but he Avill go personally to the place, that he might be confessed the author of so great a miracle. O Saviour, thou lovest to go to the house of mourning ; thy chief pleasure is the comfort of the afflicted. What a confusion there is in Avorldly sorroAV ! The mother shrieks, the servants cry out, the peo¬ ple make lamentation, the minstrels hoAvl and strike dolefully, so as the ear might question whether the ditty or the instrument Avere more heavy. If ever expressions of sorrow sound well, it is Avhen death leads the choir. Soon doth our Saviour charm this noise, and turns these unseasonable mourners, Avhether formal or serious, out of doors : not that he dislikes music, whether to condole or comfort ; but that he had life in his eye, and would have them knoAV, that he held these funeral ceremonies to be too early and long before their time. “ Give place, for the maid is not dead, but sleepeth.” Had she been dead, she had but slept; now she AA'as not dead, but asleep, because he meant this nap of death should be so short, and her awakening so speedy. Death and sleep are alike to him, who can cast whom he will into the sleep of death, and awake when and whom he pleaseth out of that deadly sleep. 310 JAIRUS AND HIS DAUGHTER. Quook IV. Before, the people and domestics of Jairus held Jesus for a prophet; now they took him for a dreamer, “ Not dead, but asleep !” They that came to mourn cannot now forbear to laugh. Have we piped at so many funerals, and seen and lamented so many corpses, and cannot we distin¬ guish betwixt sleep and death ? the eyes are set, the breath is gone, the limbs are stiff and cold. Who ever died, if she do but sleep ? How easily may our reason or sense befool us in divine matters ! Those that are competent judges, in natural things, are ready to laugh God to scorn when he speaks beyond their compass, and are by him justly laughed to scorn for their unbelief. Vain and faithless men ! as if that unlimited power of the Almighty could not make good his own word, and turn either sleep into death, or death into sleep, at pleasure. Ere many minutes, they shall be ashamed of their error and incredulity. There were witnesses enough of her death, there shall not be many of her restoring. Three choice disciples, and the two parents, are only ad¬ mitted to the view and testimony of this miraculous work. The eyes of those incredulous scoffers were not worthy of this honour. Our in¬ fidelity makes us incapable of the secret favours and the highest counsels of the Almighty. What did these scorners think and say, MOien they saw him putting the minstrels and people out of doors ? Doubtless the maid is but asleep, the man fears lest the noise shall awake her ; we must speak and tread softly, that we disquiet her not; what will he and his disciples do the while? is it not to be feared, they will startle her out of her rest ? Tiiose tliat are shut out from the participation of God’s counsels, think all his words and projects no better than foolishness. But art thou, O Saviour, ever the more discouraged by the derision and censure of these scornful unbelievers ? because fools jeer thee, dost thou forbear thy work ! Sure¬ ly I do not perceive that thou heedest them, save for contempt; or rar¬ est more for their words than their silence. It is enough that thine act shall soon honour thee, and convince them. “ He took her by the hand, and called, saying. Maid, arise ; and her spirit came again, and she arose straightway.” How could that touch, that call, be other than effectual ? He, who made that hand, touched it; and he, who shall once say, “ Arise, ye dead,” said now, “ Maid, arise.” Death cannot but obey him who is the Lord of life. The soul is ever equally in his hand who is the God of spirits; it cannot but go and come at his command. AVhen he says, “ Maid, arise,” the now dissolved spirit knows his office, his place, and instantly re-assumes that room which, by his appointment, it had left. O Saviour, if thou do but bid my soul to arise from the death of sin, i*t cannot lie still; if thou bid my body to arise from the grave, my soul cannot but glance down from her heaven, and animate it. In vain shall my sin, or my grave, offer to withhold me from thee. The maid revives ; not now to languish for a time upon her sick-bed, and by some faint degrees to gather an insensible svcength ; but at once she rises from her death, and from her couch ; at once she puts off’ her fever with her dissolution : she finds her life and her feet at once : at once she finds her feet and her stomach ; “ He commanded to give her meat.” Omnipotency doth not use to go the pace of nature. All God’s CONT. IX.] THE TWO DISCIPLES REBUKED- 311 immediate works are, like himself, perfect. He that raised her superna- turally, could have so fed her. It was never the purpose of his power, to put ordinary means out of office. CONTEMPLATION IX.—THE MOTION OF THE TWO FIERY DISCIPLES REPELLED. The time drew on wherein Jesus must be received up; he must take death in his way; Calvary is in his passage to mount Olivet: he must be lifted up to the cross, thence to climb into his heaven. Yet this comes not into mention, as if all the thought of death were swallowed up in this victory over death. Neither, O Saviour, is it otherwise with us, the weak members of thy mystical body : we must die, we shall be glorified. What if death stand before us I we look beyond him, at that transcendant glory. How should we be dismayed with that pain which is attended with a blessed immortality? The strongest receipt against death is the happy estate that follows it; next to that, is the fore-expectation of it, and resolution against it. “ He steadfastly set his face to go to JerusalemJerusalem, the nest of his enemies, the amphitheatre of his conflicts, the fatal place of his death. Well did he know the plots and ambushes that were there laid for him, and the bloody issue of those designs : yet he will go, and goes resolved for the worst. It is a sure and wise way to send our thoughts before us, to grapple with those evils which vve know must be encountered ; the enemy is half overcome that is well prepared for. The strongest mischief may be outfaced with a seasonable fore-resolution. There can be no greater disadvantage, than the suddenness of a surprisal. O God, what I have not the power to avoid, let me have the wisdom to expect. The way from Galilee to Judea lay through the region of Samaria, if not the city. Christ, now towards the end of his preaching, could not but be attended with a multitude of followers: it was necessary there should be purveyors and harbingers, to procure lodgings and provisions for so large a troop. Some of his own retinue are addressed to this ser¬ vice ; they seek not for palaces and delicates, but for house-room and victuals. It was he whose the earth was, and the fulness thereof; whose the heavens are, and the mansions therein ; yet he, who could have com¬ manded angels, sues to Samaritans; he, that filled and compi’ehended heaven, sends for shelter in a Samaritan cottage. It was thy choice, O Saviour, to take upon thee in the shape, not of a prince, but of a servant. How can we either neglect means, or despise homeliness, when thou, the God of all the world, wmuldst stoop to the suit of so poor a provision ? We know well on what terms the Samaritans stood with the Jews; so much more hostile, as they did more symbolize in matters of religion : no nations were mutually so hateful to each other. A Samaritan’s bread was no better than swine’s flesh: their very fire and water was not more grudged than infectious : the looking towai’ds Jerusalem was here cause enough of repulse. No enmity is so desperate as that which arises from matter of religion. Agreement in some points, wdien there are differ¬ ences in the main, doth but advance Imtred the more. 312 THE TWO DISCIPLES REBUKED. [[book IV. It Is not more strange to hear the Son of God sue for a lodging, than to hear him repelled. Upon so churlish a denial, the two angry disciples return to their Master on a fiery errand, “ Lord, wilt thou that we command fire to come down from heaven and consume them, as Elias did ?” The sons of thunder would be lightning strait; their zeal, whether as kinsmen or disciples, could not brook so harsh a refusal. As they were naturally more hot than their fellows, so now they thought their piety bade them be impatient. Yet they dare not hut begin with leave ; “Master, wilt thou ?’’ His will must lead theirs; their choler cannot drive their wills before his : all their motion is from him only. True disciples are like those artificial engines, which go no otherwise than they are set; or like little children, that speak nothing but what they are taught. O Saviour, if we have wills of our own, we are not thine : do thou set me as thou wouldst have me go ; do thou teach me what thou wouldst have me say or do. A mannerly preface leads in a faulty suit; “ Master, wilt thou that we command fire to come down from heaven, and consume them ?” faulty, both in presumption, and in desire of private revenge. I do not hear them say, Master, will it please thee, who art the sole Lord of the heavens and the elements, to command fire from heaven upon these men ? but, “ Wilt thou that we command ?” As if, because they had power given them over diseases and unclean spirits, therefore heaven and earth were in their managing. How easily might they be mistaken ! their large commission had the just limits. Subjects, that have munificent grants from their princes, can challenge nothing beyond the words of their patent. And if the fetching down fire from heaven were less than the dispossessing of devils, since the devil shall enable the beast to do this much, yet how possible is it to do the greater, and stick at the less, where both depend upon a delegated power ! The magicians of Egypt could bring forth frogs and blood; they could not bring lice. Ordinary corruption can do that which they could not. It is the fashion of our bold nature, upon an inch given to challenge an ell ; and where we find ourselves graced with some abilities, to flatter ourselves with the faculty of more. I grant, faith hath done as great things as ever presumption under¬ took ; but there is great dilference in the enterprises of both. The one hath a warrant, either by instinct or express command ; the other none at all. Indeed, had these two disciples either meant, or said. Master, if it be thy pleasure to command us to call down fire from heaven, we know thy word shall enable us to do what thou requirest; if the words be ours, the power shall be thine ; this had been but holy, modest, faithful; but if they supposed there needed nothing save a leave only, and that, might they be but let loose, they could go alone, they presumed, they offended. Yet had they thus overshot themselves in some pious and charitable motion, the fault had been the less. Now the act had in it both cruelty, and private revenge. Their zeal was not worthy of more praise, than their fury of censure. That fire should fall down from heaven upon men, is a fearful thing to think of, and that which hath not often done. It was done in the case of Sodom, when these five unclean cities burned CONT. IX .3 THE TWO DISCIPLES REBUKED. 313 with the unnatural fire of hellish lust: it was done two several times at the suit of Elijah ; it was done, in a height of trial, to that great pattern of patience. I find it no more, and tremble at these I find. But besides the dreadfulness of the judgment itself, who can but quake at the thought of the suddenness of this destruction, which sweeps away both body and soul, in a state of unpreparation, of unrepentance ; so as this fire should begin a worse, this heavenly flame should but kindle that of hell ? Thus unconceivably heavy was the revenge ; but what was the olFence ? We have learned not to think any indignity light, that is offered to the Son of God ; but we know these spiritual affronts are capable of degrees. Had these Samaritans reviled Christ and his train, had they violently assaulted him, had they followed him with stones in their hands, and blasphemies in their mouths, it had been a just provocation of so horrible a vengeance: now the wrong was only negative ; “ They received him notand that, not out of any particular quarrel or dislike of his person, but of his nation only; the men had been welcome, had not their coun¬ try distasted. All the charge that I hear our Saviour give to his dis¬ ciples, in case of their rejection, is, “ If they receive you not, shake off the dust of your feetyet this was amongst their own, and when they went on that sacred errand of publishing the gospel of peace. These were strangers from the commonwealth of Israel: this measure was not to preachers, but to travellers, only a mere inhospitality to raisliked guests ; yet no less revenge will serve them than fire from heaven. I dare say for you, ye holy sons of Zebedee, it was not your spleen, but your zeal, that was guilty of so bloody a suggestion. Your indig¬ nation could not but be stirred to see the great Prophet and Saviour of the world so unkindly repelled : yet all this will not excuse you from a rash cruelty, from an inordinate rage. Even the best heart may easily be miscarried with a well-meant zeal; no affection is either more necessary or better accepted. Love to any object cannot be severed from hatred of the contrary: whence it is, that all creatures, which liave the concupiscible part, have also tlie irascible adjoined unto it. Anger and displeasure is not so much an enemy, as a guardian and champion of love; whoever, therefore, is rightly affected to his Saviour, cannot but find much regret at his wrongs. O gracious and divine zeal, the kindly w'armth and vital temper of piety, whither hast thou withdrawn thyself from the cold hearts of men ? or is this ac¬ cording to the just constitution of the old and decrepit age of the world into which we are fallen ? How many are there that think there is no wis¬ dom but in a dull indifferency, and choose rather to freeze than burn ! How quick and apprehensive are men in cases of their own indignities ! how insensible of their Saviour’s ! I3ut there is nothing so ill as the corruption of the best. Rectified zeal is not more commendable and useful, than inordinate aud misguided is hateful and dangei'ous. Fire is a necessary and beneficial element, but if it be once misplaced, and have caught upon the beams of our houses, or stacks of our corn, nothing can be more direful. Thus sometimes zeal turns murder; “ They that kill you shall think they do God servicesometimes frenzy, sometimes rnde indiscretion. 814. THE TWO DISCIPLES REBUKED. [book IV. Wholesome and blessed is that zeal that is well grounded, and well go¬ verned ; grounded upon the word of truth, not upon unstable fancies ; govei-ned by wisdom and charity; wisdom to avoid rashness and excess; charity, to avoid just offence. No motion can want a pretence : Elias did so, why not we ? He was a holy prophet: the occasion, the place abludes not much : there wrong was offered to a servant, here to his Master : there to a man, here to a God and man. If Elias then did it, why not we ? There is no¬ thing more perilous than to draw all the actions of holy men into examples, for, as the best men have their weaknesses, so they are not privileged from letting fall unjustifiable actions. Besides that, they may have liad, perhaps, peculiar warrants signed from heaven, whether by instinct or special command, which we shall expect in vain. There must be much caution used in our imitation of the best patterns, whether in respect of persons or things, else we shall make ourselves apes, and our acts sinful absurdities. It is a rare thing for our Saviour to find fault with the errors of zeal, even where have appeared sensible weaknesses. If Moses in a sacred rage and indignation, broke the tables written with God’s own hand, I find him not checked. Here our meek Saviour turns back and frowns upon his furious suitors, and takes them up roundly ; Ye know not of what spirit ye are.” The faults of uncharitableuess cannot be swallowed up in zeal. If there were any colour to hide the blemishes of this mis- disposition, it should be this crimson dye. But he that needs not our lie, will let us know he needs not our injury, and hates to have a good cause supported by the violation of our cliarity. We have no reason to disclaim our passions ; even the Son of God chides sometimes, yea, where he loves. It offends not, that our affections are moved, but that they are inordinate. It was a sharp word, Ye know not of what spirit ye are another man would not perhaps have felt it, a disciple doth. Tender hearts are galled with that which the carnal mind slighteth. The spirit of Elias was that which they meant to assume and imitate ; they siiall now know their mark was mistaken. How would they have hated to think, that any other but God’s spirit had stirred them up to this passionate motion ! now they shall know it was wrought by that ill spirit whom they professed to hate. It is far from the good spirit of God to stir up any man to private revenge, or thirst of blood. Not an eagle, but a dove was the shape wherein he chose to appear. Neither wouldst thou, O God, be in the whirlwind, or in the fire, but in the soft voice. O Saviour, what do we seek for any precedent but thine, whose name we challenge ? Thou earnest to thine own, thine own received thee not. Didst thou call for fire from heaven upon them ? didst thou not rather send down water from thy compassionate eyes, and weep for them by whom thou must bleed ? Better had it been for us never to have had any spirit, than any but thine. We can be no other than wicked, if our mercies be cruelty. But is it the name of Elias, O ye ze.alots, which ye pretend for a co¬ lour of your impotent desire ? Ye do not consider the difference betwixt his spirit and yours. His was extraordinary and heroical, besides the CONT. X.] THE TEN LEPERS. 315 instinct or secret command of God for this act of his ; far otherwise is it Avith you, wlio, by a carnal distemper, are moved to this furious sug-ges- tion. Those that would imitate God’s saints in singular action.s, must see they go upon the same grounds. Without the same spirit, and the same warrant, it is either a mockery or a sin to make them our copies. Elias is no fit pattei-n for disciples, but their Master. “ The Son of man came not to destroy men’s lives, but to save them.” Then are our actions and intentions warrantable and praiseworthy, when they accord with his. O Saviour, when we look into those sacred acts and monuments of thine, we find many a life which thou preservedst from perishing, some that had perished by thee recalled; never any by thee destroyed; only one poor fig-tree, as the real emblem of thy sever¬ ity to the unfruitful, was blasted and withered by thy curse. But to man, however favourable and indulgent wert thou? So repelled as thou W'ert, so reviled, so persecuted, laid for, sold, betrayed, apprehended, arraigned, condemned, crucified, yet what one man didst thou strike dead for these heinous indignities ? Yea, when one of thine enemies lost but an ear in that ill quarrel, thou gavest that ear to him who came to take life from thee. I find some whom thou didst scourge and correct, as the sacrilegious money-changers ; none whom thou killedst. Not that thou either lovest not, or requirest not the duly severe execution of justice. Whose sword is it that princes bear but thine ? Offenders must smart and bleed. This is a just sequel, but not the intention of thy coming ; thy will, not thy drift. Good princes make wholesome laws for the well-ordering of their peo¬ ple : there is no authority without due coercion. The violation of these good laws is followed with de.ath, whose end was preservation, life, order ; and this not so much for revenge of an offence past, as for prevention of future mischief. How can we then enough love and praise thy mercy, O thou Preser¬ ver of men ! How should we imitate thy saving and beneficent disposi¬ tion towards mankind! as knowing, the more we can help to save, the nearer we come to thee that earnest to save all; and the more destructive we are, the more we resemble him who is Abaddon, a murderer from the beginning. CONTEMPLATION X.—THE TEN LEPERS. The Samaritans were tainted, not with schism, but heresy, yea, pa¬ ganism ; our Saviour yet baulks them not, but makes use of the way as it lies, and bestows upon them the courtesy of some miracles : some kind of commerce is lawful, even with those without; terms of entireness, and leagues of inward amity, are here unfit, unwarrantable, dangerous ; but civil respects, and wise uses of them for our convenience or necessity, need not, must not be forborne. Ten lepers are here met; those that are excluded from all other soci¬ ety, seek the company of each other ; fellowship is that we all naturally affect, though even in leprosy ; even lepers will flock to their fellows; 316 THE TEN LEPERS. [book IV* where shall we find one spiritual leper alone ? Drunkards, profane per¬ sons, heretics, will be sure to consort with their matches : why should not God’s saints delight in a holy communion ? why is it not our chief joy to assemble in good ? Jews and Samaritans could not abide one another, yet here in leprosy they accord; here was one Samaritan leper with the Jewish : community of passion hath made them friends, whom even religion disjoined : what virtue there is in misery, that can unite even the most estranged hearts ! I seek not mystery in the number ; these ten are met together, and all meet Christ, not casually, but upon due deliberation : they purposely waited for this opportunity; no marvel if they thought no attendance long, to be delivered from so loathsome and miserable a disease. Great Naaman could be glad to come from Syria to Judea, in hope of leaving that hateful guest behind him: Ave are all sensible enough of our bodily infirmities. O that w'e could be equally weary of the sicknesses and de¬ formities of our better part; surely, our spiritual maladies are no less than mortal, if they be not healed : neither can they heal alone; these men had died lepers, if they had not met with Christ. O Saviour, give us grace to seek thee, and patience to wait for thee, and then we know thou wilt find us, and we remedy. Where do these lepers attend for Christ but in a village ? and that not in the street of it; but in the entrance, in the passage to it; the cities, the towns were not for them. The law of God had shut them out from all frequence, from all conversation ; care of safety, and fear of infection, was motive enough to make their neighbours observant of this piece of the law. It is not the body only that is herein respected by the God of spirits ; those that are spiritually contagious must be still and ever avoided, they must be separated from us, we must be separated from them; they from us, by just censures, or, if that be neglected, we from them, by a voluntary declination of their familiar conversation. Besides the benefit of our safety, wickedness would soon be ashamed of itself, if it were not for the encouragement of companions. Solitariness is the fittest antidote for spiritual infection. It were happy for the wicked man, if he could be separated from himself. These lepers that came to seek Christ, yet finding him, they stand afar off, whether for reverence, or for security, God had enacted this distance. It was their charge, if they were occasioned to pass through the streets, to cry out, “ I am unclean.” It was no less than their duty to proclaim their own infectiousness : there was not danger only, but sin in their ap¬ proach. How happy were it, if in those wherein there is more peril, there were more remoteness, less silence: O God, we are all lepers to thee, over¬ spread with the loathsome scurf of our own corruptions: it becomes us Avell, in the conscience of our shame and vileness, to stand afar olF. We cannot be too awful of thee, too much ashamed of ourselves. Yet these men, though they be far ofi" in the distance of place, yet they are near in respect of the acceptance of their prayer. “ The Lord is near unto all that call upon him in truth.” O Saviour, Avhile we are far off from thee, thou art near unto us. Never dost thou come so close to us, as when in a holy bashfulness we stand farthest off. Justly dost CO NT. X.] THE TEN LEPERS. 317 thou expect we should be at once bold and bashful. How boldly should w'e come to the throne of grace, in respect of the grace of that throne I how fearfully, in respect of the awfulness of the majesty of that throne, and that unw’orthiness which we bring with us into that dreadful pre¬ sence ! He that stands near may whisper, but he that stands afar off must cry aloud ; so did these lepers : yet not so much distance as passion strained their throats. That which can give voice to the dumb, can much more give loudness to the vocal. All cried together ; these ten voices were united in one sound, that their conjoined forces might expugn that gracious ear. Had every man spoken singly for himself, this had made no noise, neither yet any show of a fervent importunity : now, as they were all affected with one com¬ mon disease, so they all set out their throats together, and (though Jevi s and Samaritans) agree in one joint supplication. Even where there are ten tongues, the wmrd is but one, that the condescent may be universal. When we would obtain common favours, we may not content ourselves with private and solitary devotions, but must join our spiritual forces to¬ gether, and set upon God by troops. Two are better than one ; because they have a good reward for their labour. No faithful prayer goes away unrecompensed: but, wdiere many good hearts meet, the retribution must needs be answerable to the number of the petitioners. O holy and happy violence that is thus offered to heaven ! how can we want blessings, when so many cords draw them down upon our heads ? It was not the sound, but the matter, that carried it with Christ: if the sound were shrill, the matter was faithful; “ Jesu, Master, have mercy upon us.” No word can better become the mouth of the miser¬ able. I see not where we can meet with fitter patterns. Surely they were not verier lepers than we r why do we not imitate them in their actions, who are too like them in our condition ? Whither should we seek but to our Jesus ? how should we stand aloof in regard of our own wretchedness! How should we lift up our voice in the fervour of our supplications! What should we rather sue for than mercy ? “ Jesu, Master, have mercy upon us.” O gracious prevention of mercy, both had and given ere it can be asked ! Jesus, wdien he saw them, said, “ Go, show yourselves to the priests.” Their disease is cured ere it can be complained of; their showing to the priest pre-supposes them whole, whole in his grant, though not in their own apprehension. That single leper that came to Christ before, (Matt. viii. Luke v.) w'as first cured in his own sense, and then was bid to go to the priest for approbation of the cure. It was not so with these, who are sent to the judges of leprosy, with an inten¬ tion they shall in the way find themselves healed. There was a different purpose in both these: in the one, that the perfection of the cure might be convinced, and seconded with a due sacrifice ; in the other, that the faith of the patients might be tried in the way; which, if it had not held as strong in the prosecution of their suit as in the beginning, had, I doubt, failed of the effect. How easily might these lepers think. Alas, to what purpose is this ! show ourselves to the priests ? what can their eyes do ? they can judge whether it be cured, which we see yet it is not, they can- 318 THE TEN LEPERS. [book IV not cure it. This is not now to do : we have been seen enough and loathed. What can their eyes see more than our own ? We had well hoped that Jesus would have vouchsafed to call us to him, and to lay his hands upon us, and to have healed us. These thoughts had kept them lepers still. Now shall their faith and obedience be proved by their submission both to this sudden command, and that divine ordination. That former leper was charged to show himself to the chief priest, these to the priests ; either would serve; the original command runs, either to Aaron or to one of his sons. But why to them ? leprosy was a bodily sickness; what is this to spiritual persons? wherefore serve physicians, if the priests must meddle with diseases ? We never shall find those sacred persons to pass their judgment upon fevers, dropsies, palsies, or any other bodily distemper : neither should they on this, were it not that this affection of the body is joined with a legal nncleanness: not as a sickness, but as an impurity must it come under their cognizance ; neither this, without a farther implication. Who but the successors of the legal priesthood are proper to judge of the uncleannesses of the soul ? whether an act be sinful, or in what degree it is such; what grounds are sufficient for the comfortable assurance of repentance, of forgiveness ; what courses are fittest to avoid the danger of relapses; who is so like to know, so meet to judge as our teachers? Would we, in these cases, consult oftener with our spiritual guides, and depend upon their faithful advices and well-grounded absolutions, it were safer, it were happier for us. O the dangerous extremity of our wisdom ! Our hoodwinked pro¬ genitors would have no eyes but in the heads of their ghostly fathers : we think ourselves so quick-sighted, that we pity the blindness of our able teachers ; none but ourselves are fit to judge of our own leprosy. Neither was it only the peculiar judgment of the priest that was here intended, but the thankfulness of the patient: that, by the sacrifice which he should bring with him, he might give God the glory of his sanation. O God, whomsoever thou curest of this spiritual leprosy, it is reason he should present thee Avith the true evangelical sacrifices, not of his praises only, but of himself, which are reasonable and li ving. We are still le¬ prous, if we do not first see ourselves foul, and then find ourselves thank¬ fully serviceable. The lepers did not, would not go of themselves, but are sent by Christ: “ Go, and show yourselves.” And why sent by him ? was it in obe¬ dience to the law ? Avas it out of respect to the priesthood ? Avas it for pre¬ vention of cavils ? was it for conviction of gainsayers ? or Avas it for confir¬ mation of the miracle? Christ, that Avas above the laAv, Avould not trans¬ gress it: he kneAV this Avas his charge by Moses. How justly might he have dispensed Avith his own ? but he will not: though the law doth not bind the Maker, he Avill voluntarily bind himself. He was within the ken of his consummatum est ; yet would not anticipate that approaching end, but holds the laAV on foot till his last pace. This Avas but a branch of the ceremonial; yet Avould he not slight it, but in his own person gives exam¬ ple of a studious observation. How carefully should we submit ourselves to the royal laAvs of our Cre¬ ator, to the wholesome laws of our superiors, VAdiile the Son of God AA'ould not but be so punctual in a ceremony I COMT. X.] THE TEN LEPERS. 319 While I look to the persons of those priests, I see nothing but corruo- tion, nothing but professed hostility to the true Messiah. All this can¬ not make thee, O Saviour, to remit any point of the observance due to their places. Their function was saci’ed, whatever their persons were : though they have not the grace to give thee thy due, thou wilt not fail to give them theirs. How justly dost thou expect all due regard to thine evangelical priesthood, who gavest so curious respect to the legal I It were shame the synagogue should be above the church ; or that priest¬ hood, which thou meantst speedily to abrogate, should have more honour than that which thou meantst to establish and perpetuate. Had this duty been neglected, what clamours had been raised by his emulous adversaries ? what scandals ? though the fault had been the patient’s, not the physician’s. But they that watched Christ so narrowly, and were apt to take so poor exceptions at his Sabbath cures, at the un- washen hands of his disciples, how much more would they have calumni¬ ated him, if by his neglect, the law of leprosy had been palpably trans¬ gressed ? Not only evil must be avoided, but offence ; and not on our parts, but on others. That offence is ours, which we might have re¬ medied. Ayiiat a noble and irrefragable testimony was this to the power, to the truth of the Messiah ! How can these Jews but either believe, or be made inexcusable in not believing ? When they shall see so many lepers come at once to the temple, all cured by a secret will, without word or touch, how can they choose but say. This work is supernatural; no limit¬ ed power could do this : How is he not God, if his power be infinite ? Their own eyes shall be witnesses and judges of their own conviction. The cure is done by Christ more exquisitely than by art or nature; yet it is not publicly assured and acknowledged, till, according to the Mosaical law, certain subsequent rites be performed. There is no admit¬ tance into the congregation, but by sprinkling of blood. O Saviour, we can never be ascertained of our cleansing from that spiritual leprosy wliere- with our souls are tainted, but by the sprinkling of thy most precious blood: wash us with that, and we shall be whiter than snow. This act of showing to the pi’iest, was not more required by the law, than prere¬ quired of these lepers by our Saviour, for the trial of their obedience. Had they now stood upon terms with Christ, (and said, We will first see, what cause there will be to show ourselves to the priests ; they need not see our leprosy, we shall be glad they should see our cure ; do thou work that which we shall show, and bid us show what thou hast wrought; till then excuse us: it is our grief and shame to be seen too much) they had been still lepers. It hath been ever God’s wont, by small precepts to prove men's dis¬ positions. Obedience is as well tried in a trifle as in the most important charge; yea, so much more, as the thing required is less: for ofttimes those, who would be careful in main affairs, think they may neglect the smallest. What command soever we receive from God, or our superiors, we must not scan the weight of the thing, but the authority of the com¬ mander. Either difficulty or slightness are vain pretences for disobedience. These lepers are wiser ; they obeyed, and went. What was the issue ? “ As they went, they were healed.” Lo, had they stood still, they had 320 THE TEN LEPERS [book IV, been lepers ; now they went, they are whole. What liaste the blessing makes to overtake their obedience ! This walk was required by the very law, if they should have found themselves healed : what was it to prevent the time a little, and to do that sooner upon hopes, which upon sense they must do after ? The horror of the disease adds to the grace of the cure ; and that is so much more gracious as the task is easier : it shall cost them but a walk. It is the bounty of that God whom we serve, to re¬ ward our worthless endeavours with infinite requitals. He would not have any proportion betwixt our acts and his remunerations. Yet, besides this recompense of obedience, O Saviour, thou wouldst herein have respect to thine own just glory. Had not these lepers been cured in the way, but in the end of their walk, upon their showing to the priests, would have challenged it to themselves, and have attributed it to their prayers : perhaps, the lepers might have thought it was thy purpose to honour the priests as the instruments of that marvellous cure. Now there can be no colour of any other’s participation, since the leprosy vanishes in the w'ay. As thy power, so thy praise admits of no partners. And now, methinks, I see what an amazed joy there was amongst these lepers, when they saw themselves thus suddenly cured : each tells other what a change he feels in himself; each comforts other with the assurance of his outward clearness ; each congratulates other’s happiness, and thinks, and says. How joyful this news will be to their friends and families. Their society now serves them well to applaud and heighten their new felicity. The miracle indifferently wrought upon all, is differently taken. All w-ent forward according to the appointment, towards the priests, all were obedient, only one was thankful: all were cured; all saw themselves cured ; their sense was alike, their hearts were not alike. What could make the difference but grace ? and who could make the difference of grace but he that gave it ? He that wrought the cure in all, wrought the grace not in all, but in one. The same act, the same motives, are not equally powerful to all; where the ox finds grass, the viper poison. We all pray, all hear ; one goes away better, another cavils. W’ill makes the difference ; but who makes the difference of wills, but he that made them ? He that creates the new heai-t, leaves a stone in one bosom, puts flesh into another. “ It is not in him that willeth, nor in him that run¬ neth, but in God that hath mercy.” O God, if we look not up to thee, we may come, and not be healed ; w e may be healed and not be thankful. This one man breaks away from his fellows to seek Christ. While he was a leper, he consorted with lepers ; now that he is healed, he wdll be free. He saith not, I came w ith these men, w ith them I w ill go ; if they Avill return, I will accompany them; if not, what should I go alone ? as I am not wiser than they, so I have no more reason to be more thankful. There are cases wherein singularity is not law'ful only, but laudable. “ Thou shalt not follow a multitude to do evil. I and my house wdll serve the Lord.” It is a base and unwmrthy thing for a man so to sub¬ ject himself to others’ examples, as not sometimes to resolve to be an example to others. When either evil is to be done, or good neglected, how much better is it to go the right way alone, than to err with com¬ pany I CONT. X.] THE TEN LEPERS. 321 O noble pattern of thankfulness 1 what speed of retribution is here ! no sooner doth he see his cure, than he hastes to acknowledge it ; the benefit shall not die, nor sleep in his hand. Late professions of our obli¬ gations savour of dulness and ingratitude. What a laborious and diligent officiousness is here ! he stands not still, but puts himself to the pains of a return. What a hearty recognition of a blessing ! his voice was not more loud in his suit than in his thanks. What an humble reverence of his benefactor ! he falls down at his feet; as acknowledging at once be¬ neficence and unworthiness. It were happy for all Israel, if they could but learn of this Samaritan. This man is sent with the rest to the priests. He well knew this duty a branch of the law of ceremonies, w'hich he meant not to neglect: but his heart told him there was a moral duty of professing thankfulness to his benefactor, which called for bis first attendance. First therefore he turns back, ere he wdl stir forward. Reason taught this Samaritan, and us in him, that ceremony must yield to substance, and that main points of obedience must take place of all ritual compliments. It is not for nothing that note is made of the country of this thankful leper; “ He was a Samaritanthe place is known and brandedwith the infamy of a paganish misreligion. Outward disadvantage of place of parentage cannot block up the way of God’s grace and free election ; as contrarily, the privileges of birth and nature avail us nothing in spiritual occasions. How sensible wert thou, O Saviour, of thine own beneficence ! “ Were there not ten cleansed ? but where are the nine ?” The trooping of these lepers together did not hinder thy reckoning. It is both justice and wisdom in thee to keep a strict account of thy favours. There is a whole¬ some and useful art of forgetfulness in us men, both of benefits done and of wrongs offered. It is not so wdth God: our injuries indeed he soon puts over, making it no small part of his style, that he “ forgives iniqui¬ ties but for his mercies, there is no reason he should forget them ; they are worthy of more than our memory. His favours are universal, over all his works; there is no creature that tastes not of his bounty ; his sun and rain are for others besides his friends, but none of his good turns escape either his knowdedge or record. Why should not we, O God, keep a book of our receipts from thee, which, agreeing with thine, may declare thee bounteous, and us thankful ? Our Saviour doth not ask this by way of doubt, but of exprobation : full well did he count the steps of those absent lepers ; he knew where they were, he upbraids their ingratitude, that they were not where they should have been. It was thy just quarrel, O Saviour, that while one Sa¬ maritan returned, nine Israelites wmre healed and returned not. Had they been all Samaritans, this had been faulty ; but now they were Israelites, their ingratitude was more foul than their leprosy. The more we are bound to God, the more shameful is our unthankfulness. Thei’e is scarce one in ten that is careful to give God his own ; this neglect is not more general than displeasing. Christ had never missed their presence, if their absence had not been hateful and injurious, n. 2 s 322 THE POOL OF BETHESDA. [[book IV CONTEMPLATION XI.—THE POOL OF BETHESDA. A SERMON PREACHED AT THE COURT BEFORE KING JAMES, Otherwhere ye may look long, and see no miracle ; hut here hehold two miracles in one view : the former of the angel curing diseases ; the latter, of the God of angels, Christ Jesus, preventing the angel in his cure. Even the first Christ wrought by the angel, the second immedi¬ ately by himself. The first is incomparable ; for, as Montanus truly ob¬ serves, there is no one miraculum perpetuum but this one, in tlie whole book of God. Be content to spend this hour with me in the porches of Bethesda, and consider with me the topography, the aitiology, the chro- nography of this miracle : these three limit our speech and your patient attention. Tlie chronography, which is first in place and time, offers us two heads: 1. A feast of the Jews; 2. Christ going up to the feast. Tlie Jews were full of holidays, both of God’s institution and the church’s. Of God’s, both weekly, monthly, annivei-sary. Weekly, that one of sev¬ en, which I would to God we had learned of them to keep better. In this regard it was, that Seneca said, the Jews did septimam cetatis partem perdere ; “ lose the seventh part of their life.” Monthly, the new moons. Numb, xviii. Anniversary, Easter, Pentecost, and the September feasts. The church’s, both the Purim by Mordocheus, and the Encenia by Judas Maccabeus, wbicli yet Christ honoured by his solemnization, John x. Surely God did this for the cheerfulness of his people in his service; hence the church hath laudably imitated this example. To have no feasts is sullen, to have too many is Paganish and superstitious. Neither would God have cast the Christian Easter upon the just time of the Jewish Pasch, and their Whitsuntide upon the Jewish Pentecost, if he would not have had these feasts continued. And why should the Christian church have less power than the Jewish synagogme? Here was not a mere fe- riation, but a feasting ; they must appear before God cum muneribus, “ with gifts.” The tenth part of their increase must be spent upon the three solemn feasts, besides their former tithes to Levi, Deut. xiv. 23. There was no holiday wherein they feasted above six hours ; and in some of them, tradition urged them to their quantities of drink; and David, when he would keep holiday to the ark, allows every Israelite a cake of bread, a piece of flesh, a bottle of wine ; not a dry dinner, prandium ca- ninum, not a mere drinking of wine without meat, but to make up a per¬ fect feast, bread, flesh, wine, 2 Sam. vi. The true purims of this island, are those two feasts of August and November. He is no true Israelite that keeps them not, as the days which the Lord hath made. When are joy and triumphs seasonable, if not at feasts ? but not excess. Pardon me, I know not how feasts are kept at the court, but, as Job, when he thought of the banquets of his sons, says, “ It may be they have sinned so let me speak at peradventures, if sensual immoderation should have set her foot into these Christian feasts, let me at least say with indulgent Eli, non eat bona fama Jilii, “ It is no good report, my sons.” Do ye think that St Paul’s rule, 7ion in commessatio7iibus et ebrietate, “ not in sur¬ feiting and drunkenness,” was for work-days only The Jews had a con- CONT. XI.3 THE POOL OF BETHESDA. 323 oeit, that on their sabbath and feast days, the devils fled from their cities, ad monies umhrosos, “ to the shady mountains.” Let it not be said, that on our Christian feasts they should e montihus aidam petere ; and that he seeks, and finds not, locaarida, but madida. God forbid that Christians should sacrifice to Bacchus, instead of the everliving God ; and that on the day when you should have been blown up by treacherous fire from eai'th to heaven, you should fetch down the fire of God’s anger from heaven upon you by swilling and surfeits ; God forbid : God’s service is unum neces- sarium, “ the one thing necessary,” saith Christ. Homo ehrius superflua creatura ; “ a drunken man is a superfluous creature,” saith Ambrose. How ill do those two agree together I This I have been bold to say out of caution, not of reproof. Thus much that there was a feast of the Jews. Now, what feast it was is questionable ; whether the Pasch, as Ireneus, and Beza with him, thinks, upon the warrant of John. iv. 35, where our Saviour had said, “ Yet four months, and then cometli the harvest or whether Pente¬ cost, which was fifty days from the shaking of the sheaf, that was Easter Sunday, as Cyril, Chrysostom, Theophylact, Euthymius, and some later ; or whether one of the September feasts, as some others. The excellency of the feast makes for Easter; the feast kxt' the number of inter¬ preters for Pentecost, the number of feasts for September. For as God delighted in the number of seven, the seventh day was holy, the seventh year, the seventh seven year ; so he showed it in the seventh month, which reserves his number still, September ; the first day whereof was the sabbath of trumpets, the tenth dies expiationum, and on the fifteenth began the feast of tabernacles for seven days. It is an idleness to seek that which we are never the better when we have found. What if Easter ? what if Tabernacles ? what if Pentecost ? what loss, what gain is this? Magna nos molestia Johannes liberasset si unum adjecisset verhiim, “ John had eased us of much trouble, if he had added but one word,” saith Maldonat. But for us, God give them sorrow that love it; this is one of St Paul’s “ vain disputations,” that he forbids his Timothy : yea, (which is the subject thereof) one of them which he calls kxI ci'^cit'^svTovs ^yiTTiang, “foolish anduidearned questions,” 2 Tim. ii. 23. quan¬ tum mali facit nimia subtilitas, “ how much mischief is done by too much subtility I” saith Seneca. These are some idle cloisterers that have nothing to do but to pick straws in divinity; like to Appian the grammarian, that with long discourse would pick out of Homer’s first verse of his Iliad, and the first word the number of the books of Iliad and Odyssey ; or like Didyraus that spent some of his four thousand books, about which was Homer’s country, who was Aeneas’s true mother, what the age of Hecuba, how long it was betwixt Homer and Orpheus; or those wise critics of whom Seneca speaks, that spent whole volumes whether Homer or Hesiod were the elder: Hon profuturam scientiam tradunt, “ they vent an unprofitable skill,” as he said. Let us be con¬ tent with the learned ignorance of what God hath concealed ; and know, that what he hath concealed will not avail us to know. Rather let us inquire why Christ would go up to the feast. I find two silken cords that drew him up thither : L His obedience. 2. His desire of manifesting his glory 324 THE POOL OF BETHESDA. [book IV, First, it was a general law, all males must appear thrice a-year before the Lord, Behold, he was the God whom they went up to worship at the feast, yet he goes up to worship. He began his life in obedience, when he came in his mother’s belly to Betblehem at the taxation of Au¬ gustus, and so he continues it. He knew his due. ‘‘ Of whom do the kings of the earth receive tribute ? of their own or of strangers ? then their sons are free.” Yet he that would pay tribute to Ceesar, Avill also pay this tribute of obedience to his Father. He that was above the law, yields to the law; Legi satisfacere voluit, etsi non sub lege, “ He would satisfy the law, though he were not under the law.” The Spirit of God says, “ He learned obedience in that he suffered.” Surely also he taught obedience in that he died. This was his sirrt to John Baptist, “ It becomes us to fulfil all righteousness.” He Avill not abate his Father one ceremony. It was dangerous to go up to that Jerusalem which he had left before for their malice ; yet now he will up again. His obedience drew him up to that bloody feast, wherein himself was sacrificed ; how much more now that he might sacrifice ? What can we plead to have learned of Christ, if not his first lesson, obedience ? The same procla¬ mation that Gideon made to Israel, he makes still to us. “ As ye see me do, so do ye whatsoever therefore God enjoins us, either immediately by himself, or mediately by his deputies, if we will bo Christians, we must so observe, as those that know themselves bound to tread in his steps, that said, “ In the volume of thy book it is written of me, I desired to do thy Avill, O God,” Psal. xl. 6. “ I will have obedience, (saith God,) and not sacrifice but where sacrifice is obedience, he will have obedience in sacrificing: therefore Christ went up to the feast. The second motive was the manifestation of his glory : if we be the light of the world, which are so much snuff, what is he that is the Father of lights ? It was not for him to be set under the bushel of Nazareth, but upon the table of Jerusalem: thither, and then was the confluence of all the tribes ; many a time had Christ passed by this man before, when the streets were empty (for there he lay many years) yet heals him not till now. He, that sometimes modestly steals a miracle with a vide ne cut dixeris, “ see thou tell no man,” that no man might know it, at other times does wonders upon the scaffold of the world, that no man might be ignorant, and bids proclaim it on the house-tops. It was fit the world should be thus publicly convinced, and either won by belief, or lost by inexcusableness. Good, the more common it is, the better: “ I will praise thee ” (saith David,) in ecclesia niagna, “ in the great congrega¬ tion glory is not got in corners ; no man, say the envious kinsmen of Christ, keeps close and would be famous ; no, nor that would have God celebrated. The best opportunities must be taken in glorifying him. He, that would be crucified at the feast, that his death and resurrection might be more famous, will, at the feast, do miracles, that his divine power might be approved openly. Christ is Jios carnpi, non horti, “the flower of the field, and not of the garden,” saith Bernard. God cannot abide to have his graces smothered in us. “ I have not hid thy righteousness within my heart,” saith the Psalmist. Absalom, when he would be insignitcr improbus, “ notoriously wicked,” does his villany publicly in the eyes of the sun, under no curtain but heaven. He that would do CONT. XI."! THE POOL OP^ BETHESDA. 325 notable service to God, must do it conspicuously. Nicodemus gained well by Christ, but Christ got nothing by him, so long as, like a night- bird, he never came to him but with owls and bats. Then he began to be a profitable disciple, when he durst oppose the Pharisees in their condemnation of Christ, though indefinitely : but most, when in the night of his death the light of his faith brought him openly to take down the sacred corpse befoi-e all the gazing multitude, and to embalm it. When we confess God’s name, with the Psalmist, before kings; w hen kings, defenders of the faith, profess their religion in public and everlasting monuments to all nations, to all times, this is glorious to God, and in God to them. It is no matter how close evils be, nor how public good is. This is enough for the chronography ; the topography follows. I will not here stand to show you the ignorance of the vulgar translation, in joining pruhat'tca and piscina together, against their own fair Vatican copy, with other ancient: nor spend time to discuss whether dyoQx or wt/A >7 be here understood for the substantive of ; it is most likely to be that sheep-gate spoken of in Ezra; nor to show how ill piscina in the Latin answers the Greek Ko7,vy,(i'/i6^cc; ours turn it a pool, better than any Latin word can express it: nor to show you, as I might, how many public pools were in Jerusalem : nor to discuss the use of this pool, whether it were for washing the beasts to be sacrificed, or to wash the entrails of the sacrifice, whence 1 remember Jerome fetches the virtue of the water, and in his time thought he discerned some redness, as if the blood spilt four hundred years before could still retain its first tincture in a liquid substance ; besides, that it w'ould be a strange swimming pool that were brewed with blood, and this was This conceit arises from the error of the construction, in mismatching with Neither will I argue w’hether it should be Bethsida, or Bethzida, or Bethsheda, or Bethesda. If either you or myself knew not how to be rid of time, we might easily wear out as many hours in this pool, as this poor impotent man did years. But it is edification that we affect, and not curiosity. This pool had five porches. Neither will I run here with St Austin into allegories, that this pool was the people of the Jews, aqncE mnltce, populus mnltus ; and these five porches, the Law in the five books of INIoses ; nor stand to confute Adri- comius, which, out of Josephus, would persuade us, that these five por¬ ches were built by Solomon, and that this Avas stagnnm Solomonis for the use of the temple. The following wmrds shew the use of the porches : for the receipt of “ impotent, sick, blind, halt, withered, that waited for the moving of the water.” It should seem it was walled about to keep it from cattle, and these five vaulted entrances were made by some bene¬ factors for the more convenience of attendance. Here was the mercy of God seconded by the charity of men : if God will give cure, they will give harbour. Surely it is a good matter to put our hands to God’s, and to further good works with conveniency of enjoying them. Jerusalem w’as grown a city of blood, to the persecution of the Prophets, to a wilful despite of what belonged to her peace, to a profanation of God’s temple, to a mere formality in God’s services ; and yet here were public works of charity in the midst of her sti’eets. We may not 326 THE POOL OF BETHESDA. I^COOK IV. always Judge of the truth of piety by charitable actions. Judas disbursed the money for Christ, there was no traitor but he. The poor traveller that was robbed and wounded betwixt Jerusalem and Jericho, was passed over, first by the Priest, then by the Levite, at last the Samaritan came and relieved him : his religion was naught, yet his act wsis good ; the Priest’s and Levite’s religion good, their uncharity ill. Novatus himself was a martyr, yet a schismatic. Faith is the soul, and good works are the breath, saith St James : but as you see in a pair of bellows, there is a forced breath without life, so in those that are puffed up with the wind of ostentation, there may be charitable w’orks without faith. The church of Rome, unto her four famous orders of Jacobins, Franciscans, Augus- tines, and Carmelites, hath added a fifth of Jesuits; and like another Jerusalem for those five leprous and lazarly orders, hath built five porches, that if the water of any state be stirred, they may put in for a share. H ow many cells and convents hath she raised for these miserable crip¬ ples ! and now'^ she thinks, though she exalt herself above all that is cal¬ led God, though she dispense with and against God, though she fall down before every block and wafer, though she kill kings, and equivocate with magistrates, she Is the only city of God. T)igna esf, nam struxit synagogam, “ She is w-orthy, for she hath built a synagogue.” Are w'e more orthodox, and shall not w'e be as charitable ? I am ashamed to think of rich noblemen and merchants, that die and give nothing to our five porches of Bethesda. What shall we say? have they made their mammon their God ? instead of making friends wdth their mammon to God ? Even when they die, will they not (like Ambrose’s good usurers) part with that which they cannot hold, that they may get that wdiich they cannot lose ? Can they begin their will. In Dei nomine. Amen, and give nothing to God ? Is he only a witness and not a legatee ? Can we bequeath our souls to Christ in heaven, and give nothing to his limbs on earth ? and if they wdll not give, yet will they not lend to God ? “ He that gives to the poor, fceneratur Deo, “ lends to God. Will they put out to any but God ? and then, when instead of giving security, he re¬ ceives with one hand, and pays with another, receives our bequest and gives us glory ! O damnable niggardness of vain men, that shames the gospel, and loses heaven ! Let me show you a Bethesda that wants porches. What truer house of effusion than the church of God, wdiich sheds forth waters of comfort, yea, of life ! Behold some of the porches of this Bethesda so far from building, that they are pidled dowm. It is a wonder if the demolished stones of God’s house have not built some of yours, and if some of you have not your rich suits guarded w ith souls. There were wont to be reckoned three wonders of England, ecclesia, foe- mina, lana, “ the churches, the women, the wool.” Fcemina may pass still, W'ho may justly challenge w^onder for their vanity, if not their per¬ son. As for lana, if it be wonderful alone, I am sure it is ill-joined with ecclesia, the church is fleeced, and hath nothing left but a bare pelt upon her back. And as for ecclesia, either men have said with the Babylo- nic(poQoi, “ they were amazedly affrighted.” Amazedness may abate an error of speech, it cannot take it away. Besides astonish¬ ment, here was a fervour of spirit, a love to Christ’s glory, and a delight in it; a fire, but misplaced in the top of the chimney, not on the hearth ; prcernatura devotio, as Ambrose speaks, “ a devotion, but rash and heedy.” And, if it had not been so, yet it is not in the power of a good intention to make a speech good. In this the matter failed; for what should such saints do in earthly tabernacles, in tabernacles of his making ? And if he could be content to live there without a tent (for he would have but three made), why did he not much more conceive so of those heavenly guests? And if he spoke this to retain them, how weak was it to think their absence would be for want of house-room ? or how could that at once be which Moses and Elias had told him, and that which he wished ? for, how should Christ both depart at Jerusalem, and stay in the mount? or if he would have their abode there, to avoid the sufferings at Jerusalem, how did he yet again sing over that song for which he had heard before, “ Come behind me; Satan ?” Or if it had been fit for Christ to have staid there, how weakly doth he, which Chrysostom observes, equalize the 340 TRANSFIGURATION OF CHRIST. [book IV. servant with the Master; the saints with God? In a word, the best and the worst that can be said here of Peter is, that which the Psalmist saith of Moses, effutiit labiis, “ he spake unadvisedly with his lips.” Psal. cvi. 33. Yet if any earthly place or condition might have given warrant to Pe¬ ter’s motion, this was it. Here Avas a hill, the emblem of heaven ; here were two saints, the epitome of heaven; here was Christ, the God of heaven: and if Peter might not say so of this, how shall we say of any other place, bonum est esse Me ? “ It is good to be here ?” Will ye say of the country, bonum est esse Me? there is melancholy, dulness, privacy, toil. Will ye say of the court, bonum est esse hie ? there dwells ambition, secret undermining, attendance, serving of humours and times. Will ye say of the city, bonum est esse Me ? there you find continual tumult, usury, cozenage in bargains, excess, and disorder. Get you to the wilderness, and say. It is good to be here; even there evils will find us out. In ne~ more Mib 'itat lupus, saith Bernard, “ in the wood dwells the Avolfwea¬ riness and sorrow dwell everywhere. The rich man wallows amongst his heaps, and when he is in his counting-house, beset with piles of bags, he can say, Bonum est esse hie: he worships these molten images ; his gold is his god, his heaven is his chest; not thinking of that which Tertullian notes, aurum ipstnn quibusdam gentibus ad vincula servire, “ that some countries make their very fetters of goldyea, so doth he, whilst he admires it, making himself the slave to his servant, damnatus ad metalla, as the old Roman punishment was. Coacla servitus jmscrabilior, affectata miserior, “ forced bondage is more worthy of pity, affected bondage is more miserable.” And if God’s hand touch him never so little, can his gold bribe a disease, can his bags keep his head from aching, or the gout from his joints ? or doth his loathing stomach make a difference betwixt an earthen and silver dish? O vain desires, and impotent contentments of men, who place happiness in that which doth not only not save them from evils, but help to make them miserable ! Behold, their wealth feeds them with famine, recreates them with toil, cheers them with cares, bles- seth them Avith torments, and yet they say, bonum est esse Me. Hoav are their sleeps broken Avith cares ! hoAV are their hearts broken Avith losses! Either riches have wings, Avhich, in the clipping or pulling, fly away, and take them to heaven ; or else their souls have Avings, stulte, hac nocte, “ thou fool, this night,” and fly from their riches to hell. Non doinmus, sed colonus, saith Seneca, “ not the lord, but the farmer so that here are both perishing riches and a perishing soul. Uncertainty of riches (as St Paul to his Timothy) and certainty of misery ; and yet these vain men say, bonum est esse Me. The man of honour, that I may use Bernard’s phrase, that hath Aha- suerus’ proclamation made before him, which knovvs he is not only tI; “ a certain great man,” as Simon affected, but o av~og, “ the man Avhich Demosthenes was proud of, that sees all heads bare, and all knees bent to him, that finds himself out of the reach of envy, on the pitch of admiration, says, bonum est esse Me.” Alas I hoAv little thinks he of that which that good man said to his Eugenius, Non est quod blandiatur celsi- tudo, ubi solicitudo major, “What care we for the fawning of that great¬ ness, which is attended Avith more care?” King Henry VH.’s emblem in all his buildings, in the windows, was still a croAvn in a bush of thorns : CONT. XIII.] TRANSFIGURATION OF CHRIST. 341 I know not with what historical allusion ; but sure, I think, to imply, that great places are not free from great cares. Saul knew what he did, when he hid himself among the stuff. No man knoweth the weight of a sceptre, but he that swayeth it. As for subordinate greatness, it hath so much less worth as it hath more dependence. How many sleepless nights, and restless days, and busy shifts, doth their ambition cost them that affect eminence ! Certainly, no men are so worthy of pity, as they whose height thinks all other worthy of contempt. High places are slippery ; and as it is easy to fall, so the ruin is deep, and the recovery difficult. Alliorem locum so7'titus es, nontuliorem, siiblimiorem, scd non securiorem, saith Ber¬ nard, “ Thou hast got an higher place, but not a safer; a loftier, but not more secure.” Auloe culmen lubricuin, “ The slippery ridge of the court,” was the old title of honour. David’s curse was. Fiat via eorum tenebre et lubricurn, “ Let their way be made dark and slippery.” What differ¬ ence is there betwixt his curse and the happiness of the ambitious, but this, that the way of the one is dark and slippery, the way of the other lightsome and slippery : that dark, that they may fall; this light, that they may see and be seen to fall ? Please yourselves then, ye great ones, and let others please you in the admiration of your height; but if your goodness do not answer your greatness, Sera querela est, quoniam elevans allisisti me, “ It is a late complaint. Thou hast lift me up to cast me down.” Your ambition hath but set you up a scaffold, that your misery might be more notorious. And yet these clients of honour say, Bonum est esse hie. The pampered glutton, when he seeth his table spread with full bowls, with costly dishes, and curious sauces, the dainties of all three elements, says, Bonum est esse hie. And yet eating hath a satiety, and satiety a weariness : his heart is never more empty of contentment, than when his stomach is fullest of delicates. When he is empty, he is not well till he be filled ; when he is full, he is not well till he have got a stomach: Et momentanea blandimenta gidce stercorisJine condemnat, saith Jerome ; “And condemns all the momentary pleasures of his maw to the dunghill.” And when he sits at his feasts of marrow and fat things, (as the prophet speaks,) his table, according to the Psalmist’s imprecation, is made his snare ; a true snare every way. His soul is caught in it with excess ; his estate with penury; his body with diseases. Neither doth he more plainly tear Ids meat in pieces with his teeth, than he doth himself: and yet this vain man says, Bonum est esse hie. The petulant wanton thinks it the only happiness, that he may have his full scope to filthy dalliance. Little would he so do, if he could see his strumpet as she is, her eyes the eyes of a cockatrice, her hairs snakes, her painted face the visor of a fury, her heart snares, her hands bands, and her end wormwood; consumption of the flesh, destruction of the soul, and the flames of lust ending in the flames of hell. Since thei’e- fore neither pleasures, nor honour, nor wealth, can yield any true con¬ tentment to their best favourites, let us not be so unwise as to speak of this vale of misery, as Peter did of the hill of Tabor, Bonum est esse hie. And if the best of earth cannot do it, why will ye seek it in the worst ? how dare any of you great ones to seek to purchase contentment with oppression, sacrilege, bribery, outfacing innocence and truth with power, damning your own souls for but the humouring of a few miserable days ? 342 TRANSFIGURATION OF CHRIST. [[book IV. Filli homimtm, vsquequo grnvi corde ? ad quid diligitis vauitalem, et qtice- rilis mcndaciuni ? “ O yo sons of men, how long, &c.” Bnt that which moved Peter’s desire (though witli imperfection) shows what will per¬ fect onr desire and felicity : for if a glimpse of this heavetdy glory did so ravish tliis worthy disciple, that lie thought it happiness enough to stand by and gaze upon it, how shall we be affected with the contempla¬ tion, yea fruition of the divine presence ! Here was but Tabor, there is heaven ; here were but two saints, there many millions of saints and an¬ gels ; here was Christ transfigured, there he sits at the right hand of Majesty ; here he was a representation, there a gift and possession of blessedness. O that we could now forget the world, and fixing our eyes upon this better Tabor, say, Bonum est esse Inc. Alas I this life of ours, if it were not short, yet it is miserable ; and if it were not miserable, yet it is short. Tell me, ye that have the greatest command on earth, whether this vile world hath ever afforded you any sincere contentation. The world is your servant: if it were your parasite, yet could it make you heartily merry? Ye delicatest courtiers, tell me if pleasure itself have not an unpleasant tediousness hanging upon it, and more sting than honey ? And whereas all happiness, even here below, is in the vision of God ; how is our spiritual eye hindered, as the body is from its object, by darkness, by false light, by aversion ! Darkness, he that doth sin is in darkness; false light, while we measure eternal things by temporary ; aversion, wdiile, as weak eyes hate the light, we turn our eyes from the true and immutable good, to the fickle and uncertain. VYe are not on the hill, but the valley, where we have tabernacles, not of our owm making, bnt of clay; and such as wherein w'e are witnesses of Christ, not trans* figured in glory, but blemished with dishonour, dishonoured with oaths and blasphemies, recrucified with our sins ; witnesses of God’s saints, not shining in Tabor, but mourning in darkness, and, instead of that heaven¬ ly brightness, clothed with sackcloth and ashes. Then and there we shall have “ tabernacles not made with hands, eternal in the heavens,” where we shall see how sweet the Lord is : w'e shall see the triumphs of Christ; we shall hear and sing the hallelujahs of saints. Quce nunc nos angil vesania vitiorum sitire absinthium, (^^c. saith that devout father. O how hath our corruption bewitched us, to thirst for this wormwood, to affect the shipwrecks of this world, to dote upon the misery of this fading life; and not rather to fly up to the felicity of saints, to the society of angels, to that blessed contemplation wherein we shall see God in him¬ self, God in us, ourselves in him ! There shall be no sorrow, no pain, no complaint, no fear, no death. There is no malice to rise against us, no misery to afllict us, no hunger, thirst, weariness, temptation to disquiet us. There, O there, one day is better than a thousand ! there is rest from our labours, peace from our enemies, freedom from our sins ! How many clouds of discontentment darken the sunshine of our joy, while we are here below ! Fee nobis qui vivimus plangere quce perlidimus, dolere quce seniirnus, timere quce expectamus ! Complaint of evils past, sense of present, fear of future, have shared our lives amongst them. Then shall W'e be semper Iceli, semper saliati, “ always joyful, always satisfied,” with the vision of that God, “ in whose presence there is fulness of joy, and at whose right hand are pleasures for evermore.” Shall w'e see that hea- CONT. XIV.] TRANSFIGURATION OF CHRIST. 843 then Cleoinbrotus abandoning his life, and casting himself down from the rock, upon an uncertain noise of immortality ; and shall not vve Christians abandon the wicked superfluities of life, tiie pleasures of sin, for that life which we know more certainly than this? What stick we at, my be¬ loved ? Is there a heaven, or is there none ? have we a Saviour there, or have we none? We know there is a heaven, as sure as that there is an earth below us; we know we have a Saviour there, as sure as there are men that we converse with upon earth ; we know there is happiness, as sure as we know there is misery and mutability upon earth. O our miserable sottishness and infidelity, if we do not condemn the best offers of the world, and lifting up our eyes and hearts to heaven, say, Bonum est esse hie. “ Even so. Lord Jesus, come quickly.” To him that hath purchased and prepared this glory for us, together with the Father and blessed Spirit, one incomprehensible God, be all praise for ever. Amen. CONTEMPLATION XIV.—THE PROSECUTION OF THE TRANSFIGURATION. Before, the disciples’ eyes were dazzled with glory; now the bright¬ ness of that glory is shaded with a cloud. Frail and feeble eyes of mor¬ tality cannot look upon a heavenly lustre. That cloud imports both majesty and obscuration. Majesty ; for it was the testimony of God’s presence of old: the cloud covered the mountain, the tabernacle the ora¬ cle. He that makes the clouds his chariot, was in a cloud carried np into heaven. Where have we mention of any divine representation, but a cloud is one part of it? what comes nearer to heaven, either in place or resemblance? Obscuration ; for as it showed there was a majesty, and that divine, so it showed them, that the view of that majesty was not for bodily eyes. Likeas, when some great prince walks under a canopy, that vail shows there is a great person under it, but withal restrains tlie eye from a free sight of his person : and if the cloud were clear, yet it shaded them. Why then was this cloud interposed betwixt that glorious vision and them, but for a check of their bold eyes ? Had they too long gazed upon this resplendent spectacle, as their eyes had been blinded, so their hearts had perhaps grown to an overbold fa¬ miliarity with that heavenly object; how seasonably doth the cloud in¬ tercept it! the wise God knows our need of these vicissitudes and allays. If we have a light, we must have a cloud ; if a light to cheer us, we must have a cloud to humble us. It was so in Sinai, it was so in Sion, it was so in Olivet; it shall never be but so. The natural day and night do not more duly interchange, than this light and cloud. Above we shall have the light without the cloud, a clear vision and fruition of God, with¬ out all dim and sad interpositions ; below we cannot be free from these mists and clouds of sorrow and misapprehension. But this was a bright cloud ; there is difference betwixt the cloud in Tabor, and that in Sinai: this was clear, that darksome ; there is dark¬ ness in the law, there is light in the grace of the gospel ; Moses was there spoken to in darkness, here he was spoken witli in light. In that 344 TRANSFIGURATION OF CHRIST. [book iv. dark cloud there was terror, in this there was comfort; though it were a cloud then, yet it was bright ; and though it were bright, yet it was a cloud: with much light there was some shade. God would not speak to them concerning Christ out of darkness ; neither yet would he manifest himself to them in an absolute brightness : all his appearances have this mixture. What need I other instance, than in these two saints ? Moses spake oft to God, mouth to mouth ; yet not so immediately, but that there was ever somewhat drawn, as a curtain, betwixt God and him; either fire in Horeb, or smoke in Sinai; so as his face is not more vailed from the people, than God’s from him. Elias shall be spoken to by God, but in the rock, and under a mantle. In vain shall we hope for any re¬ velation from God, but in a cloud. Worldly hearts are in utter darkness, they see not so much as the least glimpse of these divine beams, not a beam of that inaccessible light: the best of his saints see him here but in a cloud, or in a glass. Happy are we, if God has honoured us with these divine representations of himself; once, in his light, we shall see light. I can easily think with what amazedness these three disciples stood compassed in that bright cloud, expecting some mii’aculous event of so heavenly a vision, when suddenly they might hear a voice sounding out of that cloud, saying, “ This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased ; hear him.” They need not be told whose that voice was; the place, the matter evinced it; no angel in heaven could or durst have said so. How gladly doth Peter afterwards recount it! for he received from God the Father honour and glory, when there came such a voice to him from the excellent glory, “ This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased; hear him.” It was only the ear that was here taught, not the eye ; as of Horeb, so of Sinai, so of Tabor, might God say, ye saw no shape, nor image, in that day that the Lord spake unto yon. He that knows our proneness to idolatry, avoids those occasions which we might take to abuse our own fancies. Twice hath God spoken these words to his own Son from heaven ; once in his baptism, and now again in his transfiguration : here not with¬ out some oppositive comparison; not Moses, not Elias, but this. Moses and Elias were servants, this a Son : Moses and Elias were sons, but of grace and choice; this is that Son, the Son by nature. Other sons are beloved as of favour and free election; this is the Beloved, as in the unity of his essence. Others are so beloved, that he is pleased with them¬ selves ; this so beloved, that in and for him, he is pleased with mankind. As the relation betwixt the Father and the Son is infinite, so is the love : we measure the intention of love by the extension : the love that rests in the person affected alone, is but strait; true love descends (like Aaron’s ointment) from the head to the skirts, to children, friends, allies. O incomprehensible large love of God the Father to the Son, that, for his sake, he is pleased with the world ! O perfect and happy complacence I Out of Christ, there is nothing but enmity betwixt God and the soul; in him there can be nothing but peace : when the beams are met in one centre, they do not only heat, but burn. Our weak love is diffused to many; God hath some, the world more, and therein wives, children, friends; but this infinite love of God hath all the beams of it united in CONT. XIV.] TRANSFIGURATION OF CHRIST. 345 one only object, the Son of his love ; neither doth he love any thing, but in the participation of his love, in the derivation from it. O God, let me be found in Christ, and how canst thou but be pleased with me ? This one voice proclaims Christ at once the Son of God, the Recon¬ ciler of the world, the Doctor and Lawgiver of his Church : as the Son of God he is essentially interested in his love : as he is the Reconciler of the world in whom God is well pleased, he doth most justly challenge our love and adherence; as he is the Doctor and Lawgiver, he doth just¬ ly challenge our audience, our obedience. Even so, Lord, teach us to hear and obey thee as our Teacher; to love thee, and believe in thee as our Reconciler: and as the eternal Son of thy Father, to adore thee. The light caused wonder in the disciples, but the voice astonishment; they are all fallen dowm upon their faces. Who can blame a mortal man to be thus affected with the voice of his Maker ? yet this word was but plausible and hortatory. O God, how shall flesh and blood be other than swallowed up with the horror of thy dreadful sentence of death ? The lion shall roar, who shall not be afraid ! How shall those, that have slighted the sweet voice of thine invitations, call to the rocks to hide them from the terror of thy judgments ! The God of mercies pities our infirmities: I do not hear our Saviour say, Ye lay sleeping one wdiile upon the earth, now ye lie astonished ; ye could neither wake to see, nor stand to hear ; now lie still and tremble : but he graciously touches and comforts them, “ Arise, fear not.” That voice, which shall once raise them up out of the earth, might well raise them up from it; that hand, wdiich by the least touch, restored sight, limbs, life, might well restore the spirits of the dismayed. O Saviour, let that sovereign hand of thine touch us, when we lie in the trances of our griefs, in the bed of our securities, in the grave of our sins, and we shall arise. “ They looking up saw’ no man, save Jesus alone,” and that, doubtless, in his wonted form ; all was now gone, Moses, Elias, the cloud, the voice, the glory. Tabor itself cannot be long blessed with that divine light, and those shining guests ; heaven will not allow to earth any long conti¬ nuance of glory, only above is constant happiness to be looked for and en¬ joyed where we shall ever see our Saviour in his unchangeable bright¬ ness, where the light shall never be either clouded or varied. Moses and Elias are gone, only Christ is left; the glory of the law and the prophets was but temporary, yea, momentary, that only Christ may remain to us entire and conspicuous: they came but to give testi¬ mony to Christ; when that is done, they are vanished. Neither could these raised disciples find any miss of Moses and Elias, when they had Christ still with them. Had Jesus been gone, and left either Moses or Elias, or both, in them ount with his disciples, that pre¬ sence, though glorious, could not have comforted them; now that they are gone, and he is left, they cannot be capable of discomfort. O Saviour, it matters not who is away, while thou art with us: thou art God all- sufficient, wdiat can w’e want, when we want not thee ? Thy presence shall make Tabor itself a heaven ; yea, hell itself cannot make us miser¬ able with the fruition of thee. 2 X II. 346 THE WOMAN TAKEN IN ADULTERY. [coNT. xv, CONTEMPLATION XV.—THE WOMAN TAKEN IN ADULTERY. What a busy life was this of Christ’s ! he spent the night in the Mount of Olives, the day in the temple ; whereas the night is for a re¬ tired repose, the day for company : his retiredness was for prayer, his companableness was for preaching. All night he watches in the mount; all the morning he preaches in the temple. It was not for pleasure that he was here upon earth : his wdiole time was penal and toilsome : how do we resemble him, if his life were all pain and labour, ours all pastime ? He found no such fair success the day before : the multitude was di¬ vided in their opinion of him ; messengers were sent, and suborned to apprehend him, yet he returns to the temple. It is for the sluggard or the coward to plead a lion in the way ; upon the calling of God, we must overlook and contemn all the spite and opposition of men : even after an ill hai'vest we must sow, and after denials, we must woo for God. This Sun of Righteousness prevents that other, and shines early with wholesome doctrines upon the souls of his hearers ; the auditory is both thronged and attentive, yet not all with the same intentions. If tiie people came to learn, the Scribes and Pharisees came to cavil and carp at his teaching : with what a pretence of zeal and justice yet do they put themselves into Christ’s presence ! As lovers of chastity and sanctimony, and haters of uncleanness, they bring to him a woman taken in the fla- grance of lier adultery. And why the woman rather ? since the man’s offence was equal, if not more ; because he should have had more strength of resistance, more grace not to tempt. Was it out of necessity? perhaps the man, knowing his danger, made use of strength to shift away, and violently break from his apprehenders. Or was it out of cunning ? in that they hoped for more likely matter to accuse Christ, in the case of the woman than of the man ; for that they supposed his merciful disposition might more proba¬ bly incline to compassionate her weakness I’ather than the stronger vessel. Or was it rather out of partiality ? was it not then, as now, that the weakest soonest suffers, and impotency lays us open to the malice of an enemySmall flies hang in the webs, while wasps break through with¬ out control; the wand and the sheet are for poor offenders, the great either out-face or out-buy their shame : a beggarly drunkard is haled to the stocks, while the rich is chambered up to sleep out his surfeit. Out of these grounds is the woman bi’ought to Christ : not to the Mount of Olives, not to the way, not to his private lodging, but to the temple; and that not to some obscure angle, but into the face of the as¬ sembly. They pleaded for her death, the punishment which they would on¬ wards inflict, was her shame ; which must needs be so much more, as there were more eyes to be witnesses of her guiltiness. All the brood of sin affects darkness and secrecy, but this more properly; the twilight, the night is for the adulterei’. It cannot bo better fitted than to be dragged out into the light of the sun, and to be proclaimed with hootings and basins. O the impudence of those men who can make merry professions of their own beastliness, and boast of the shameful trophies of their lust! Slethinks 1 see this miserable adulteress, how she stands confounded CONT. XV.] THE WOMAN TAKEN IN ADULTERY. 347 amidst that gazing and disdainful multitude ; how she hides her head, how she wipes her blubbered face and weeping eyes. In the meantime it is no dumb-show that is here acted by these Scribes and Pharisees ; they step forth boldly to her accusation ; “ Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act.” How plausibly do they begin ! Had I stood by and heard them, siiould I not have said, ’»Yhat holy, lionest, conscionable men are these ! what devout clients of Christ I with what reverence they come to him! wdth wdiat zeal of justice I when he that made and ransacks their bosom tells me, “ All this is done but to tempt him.’' Even the falsest hearts will have the plausiblest mouths : like to Solomon’s courtezan, “ Their lips drop as an honeycomb, and their mouth is smoother than oil ; but their end is bitter as wormwood.” False and hollow Pharisees ! he is your Master whom ye serve, not he whom ye tempt: only in this shall he be approved your Master, that he shall pay your wages, and give you your portion with hypo¬ crites. The act of adultery was her crime : to be taken in the very act was no part of her sin, but the proof of her just conviction ; yet her deprehension is made an aggravation of her shame. Such is the corrupt judgment of the woi’ld ; to do ill, troubles not men, but to be taken in doing it; un¬ known filthiness passes away with ease : it is the notice that perplexes them, not the guilt. But, O foolish sinners, all your packing and se¬ crecy cannot so contrive it, but that ye shall be taken in the manner; your conscience takes you so, the God of heaven takes you so ; and ye shall once find, that your conscience is more than a thousand witnesses, and God more than a thousand consciences. They that complain of the act, urge the punishment: “ Now Moses in the law commanded us that such should be stoned.” Where did Moses bid so? surely the particularity of this execution was without the book ; tradition and custom enacted it, not the law. Indeed, Moses commanded death to both the offenders, not the manner of death to either. By analogy it holds thus : it is flatly commanded in the case of a damsel betrothed to a husband, and found not to be a virgin ; in the case of a damsel betrothed, who being defiled in the city, cried not: tradition and custom made up the rest ; obtaining out of this ground, that all adulterer’s should be executed by lapidation. The ancient- er punishment was burning; death always, though in divers forms. I shame to think, that Christians should slight that sin which both Jews and Pagans held ever deadly. What a miscitation is this ! “ Moses commanded : the law was God’s, not Moses’s. If Moses were employed to mediate betwixt God and Israel, the law is never the more his : lie was the hand of God to reach the law to Israel, the hand of Israel to take it from God. We do not name the water from the pipes, but from the spring. It is not for a true Israelite to rest in the second means, but to mount up to the supreme original of justice. How reverent soever an opinion was had of Moses, he cannot be thus named without a shameful undervaluing of the royal law of his Maker. There is no mortal man whose authority may not grow into contempt: that of the ever-living God cannot but be ever sacred and in¬ violable. It is now with the gospel, as it was then with the law: the word is no other than Christ’s, though delivered by our weakness ; who- 348 THE WOMAN TAKEN IN ADULTERY. [book iv. soever be the crier, the proclamation is the King’s of heaven. While it goes for ours, it is no marvel if it lie open to despite. How captious a word is this ! Moses said thus, “ what sayest thon ?” If they be not sure that Moses said so, why do they affirm it? and if they be sure, why do they question that which they know decided ? They would not have desired a better advantage, than a contradiction to that received lawgiver. It is their profession, “ We are IVIoses’ disci¬ ples,” and “ we know that God spake to Moses.” It had been quarrel enough to oppose so known a prophet. Still I find it the drift of the ene¬ mies of truth, to set Christ and Moses together by the ears, in the matter of the sabbath, of circumcision, of marriage and divorce ; of the use of the law, of justification by the law, of the sense and extent of the law, and where not ? but they shall never be able to effect it: they two are fast and indissoluble friends on both parts for ever ; each speaks for other, each establishes other ; they are subordinate, they cannot be op¬ posite ; Moses faithful as a servant, Christ as a Son. A faithful servant cannot but be officious to the Son. The true use we make of Moses is, to be our schoolmaster to teach us, to whip us unto Christ; the true use we make of Christ is, to supply Moses. “ By him all that believe ai’e jus¬ tified from all things, from which they could not be justified by the law of Moses.” Thus must we hold in with both, if we will have our part in either : so shall Moses bring us to Christ, and Christ to glory. Had these Pharisees out of simplicity, and desire of resolution in a case of doubt, moved this question to our Saviour, it had been no less commendable, than now it is blameworthy. O Saviour, whither should we have recourse but to thine oracle ? thou art the Word of the Father, the Doctor of the chui’ch ; while we hear from others, what say fathers ? what say councils ? let them hear from us, “ What sayest thou ?” But here it was far otherwise: they came not to learn, but to tempt, and to tempt that they might accuse like their father the devil, who solicits to sin, that he may plead against us for yieldance. Fain would these colleaguing adversaries draw Christ to contradict Moses, that they might take advantage of his contradiction. On the one side they saw his readiness to tax the false glosses which their presumptuous doctors had put upon the law, with an “ I say unto you on the other, they saw his inclination to mercy and commiseration in all his courses, so far as to neglect even some circumstances of the law, as to touch the leper, to heal on the Sabbath, to eat with known sinners, to dismiss an infamous but penitent offender, to select and countenance two noted publicans ; and hereupon they might perliaps think that his compassion might draw him to cross this Mosaical institution. What a crafty bait is here laid for our Saviour ! such as he cannot bite at, and not be taken. It seems to them impossible he should avoid a deep prejudice either to his justice or mercy. For thus they imagine, either Christ will second Moses in sentencing this Avoman to deatli, or else he will cross Moses in dismissing her unpunished. If he commands her to be stoned, he loses the honour of his clemency and mercy ; if he ap¬ points her dismission, he loses the honour of his justice. Indeed, strip him of either of these, and he can be no Saviour. O the cunning folly of vain men, that hope to beguile Wisdom itself! COXT. XV.] THE WOMAN TAKEN IN ADULTERY. 349 Silence and neglect shall first confound those men, whom after his answer will send away convicted. Instead of opening his mouth, our Saviour hows his body ; and instead of returning words from his lips, writes characters on the ground with his finger. O Saviour, I had rather silently Avonder at thy gesture, than inquire curiously into the words thou Avrotest, or the mysteries of thus Avriting; only herein I see thou meanest to show a disregard to these malicious and busy cavillers. Sometimes taciturnity and contempt are the best ansAvers. Thou that hast bidden us “ Be wise as serpents,” givest us this noble example of thy prudence. It was most safe that these tempters should be thus kept fasting wdth a silent disrespect, that their eagerness might justly draw upon them an ensuing shame. The more unAvillingness they saw in Christ to give his answer the more pressive and importunate they Avere to draw it from him. Noav, as foi’ced by their so zealous irritation, our Saviour rouseth up himself and gives it them home, Avith a reprehensory and stinging satisfaction ; “ He that is Avithout sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” As if his very action had said, I Avas loath to have shamed you, and there¬ fore could have been Avilling not to have heard your ill-meant motion ; but since you Avill needs have it, and by your A'ehemence force my jus¬ tice, I must tell you, there is not one of you but is as faulty as she Avhom you accuse; there is no difference, but that your sin is smothered in se¬ crecy, hers is brought forth into the light. Ye had more need to make your own peace by an humble repentance, than to urge severity against another. I deny not but Moses hath justly from God imposed the pen¬ alty of death upon such heinous offences, but Avhat then Avould become of you ? if death be her due, yet not by those your unclean hands ; your hearts knoAv you are not honest enough to accuse. Lo, not the bird, but the foAA'ler is taken. He says not. Let her he stoned; this had been against the course of his mercy: he says not. Let her not be stoned; this had been against the laAv of Moses. Noav he so answers, that both his justice and mercy are entire; she dismissed, they ashamed. It Avas the manner of the JeAA'S, in those heinous crimes that Avere punished with lapidation, that the AA'itnesses and accusers should be the first that should lay hands upon the guilty : Avell doth our Saviour there- fox’e choke these accusers Avith the conscience of their so foul incompe¬ tency. With Avhat face, with Avhat heart could they stone their OAvn sin in another person ? Honesty is too mean a terra. These Scribes and Pharisees Avere not¬ ed for extraordinary and admired holiness : the outside of their lives was not only inoffensive, but saint-like and exemplary. Yet that all- seeing eye of the Son of God, Avhich “ found folly in the angels,” hath much more found Avickedness in these glorious professors. It is not for nothing, that “ his eyes are like a flame of fire.” What secret is there which he searches not ? Retire yourselves, O ye foolish sinners, into your inmost closets, yea, (if you can,) into the centre of the earth, his eye folloAvs you, and observes all your carriages: no bolt, no bar, no darkness can keep him out. No thief Avas ever so impudent as to steal in the very face of the judge. O God, let me see myself seen by thee, and I shall not dare to offend. 350 THE WOMAN TAKEN IN ADULTERY. [book iv. Besides, notice, here is exprobration. These men’s sins, as they had been secret, so they were forgotten. It is long since they \rere done ; neither did they think to have heard any more news of them. And now', wdien time and security had quite w'orn them out of thought, he, that shall once be their Judge, calls them to a back-reckoning. One time or other shall that just God lay our sins in our dish, and make us possess the sins of our youth. “ These things thou didst, and I kept silence, and thou thoughtst that I w'as like unto thyself; but I w ill reprove thee, and set them in order before thee.” The penitent man’s sin lies before him for his humiliation ; the impenitent’s, for his shame and confusion. The act of sin is transient, not so the guilt; that will stick by us, and return upon us, either in the height of our security or the depth of our misery, wdien w'e shall be least able to bear it. How just may it be with God to take us at advantages, and then to lay his arrest upon us w hen we are laid up upon a former suit! It is but just there should be a requisition of innocence in them that prosecute the vices of others. The offender is worthy of stoning, but who shall cast them ? how ill would they become hands as guilty as her ow’n I what do they but smite themselves, w ho punish their own offences in other men ? Nothing is more unjust or absurd, than for the beam to censure the mote, the oven to upbraid the kiln. It is a false and vagrant zeal that begins not first at home. Well did our Saviour know how bitter and strong a pill he had given to these false justiciaries: and now he will take leisure to see how it wrought. While therefore he gives time to them to swallow it, and put it over, he returns to his old gesture of a seeming inadvertency. How sped the receipt i' I do not see any of them stand out with Christ, and plead his owm in- nocency ; and yet these men, wdiich is very remarkable, placed the ful¬ filling or violation of the law only in the outw'ard act. Their hearts mis¬ gave them, that if they should have stood out in contestation with Christ, he would have utterly shamed them, by displaying their old and secret sins ; and have so convinced them, by undeniable circumstances, that they should never have clawed off the reproach : and therefore, “ when they heard it, being convicted by their own conscience, they went out one by one, beginning at the eldest, even unto the last.” There might seem to be some kind of mannerly order in this guilty departure; not all at once, lest they should seem violently chased away by this charge of Christ; now their slinking aw'ay “ one by one,” may seem to carry a show of a deliberate and voluntary discession. The eldest first: the ancienter is fitter to give than take example ; and the younger could think it no shame to follow the steps of a grave foreman. O wonderful power of conscience ! man can no more stand out against it, than it can stand out against God. The Almighty, whose substitute is set in our bosom, sets it on vvoi-k to accuse. It is no denying, when that says we are guilty ; when that condemns us, in vain are we acquitted by the world. With what bravery did these hypocrites come to set upon Christ ! with what triumph did they insult upon that guilty soul ! now they are thunder-struck with their own conscience, and drop away con¬ founded ; and well is he that can run away farthest from his own shame. CONT. XV.] THE WOMAN TAKEN IN ADULTERY. 351 No wicked man needs to seek out of himself for a judge, accuser, witness, tormentor. No sooner do these hypocrites hear of their sins from the mouth of Christ, than they are gone. Had they been sincerely touched with a true remoi’se, they Avould have rather come to him upon their knees, and have said. Lord, we know and find that thou knowest our secret sins ; this ar¬ gues thy divine omniscience. Thou that art able to know our sins, art able to remit them. O pardon the iniquities of thy servants. Thou that accusest us, do thou also acquit us. But now, instead hereof, they turn their back upon their Saviour, and haste away. An impenitent man cares not how little he hath, either of the presence of God, or of the mention of his sins. O fools I if ye coidd run away from God, it were somewhat; but while ye move iu him, what do ye ? whither go ye ? ye may run from his mercy, ye cannot but run upon his judgment. Christ is left alone ; alone in respect of these conqjlainants, not alone in respect of the multitude : there yet stands the mournful adulteress. She miglit have gone forth with them, nobody constrained her stay ; but that which sent them away, staid her—conscience. She knew her guiltiness was publicly accused, and durst not be by herself denied : as one that was therefore fastened there by her own guilty heart, she stirs not till she may receive a dismission. Our Saviour was not so busy in writing, but that he read the while the guilt and absence of those accusers; he that knew what they had done, knew no less what they did, what they would do. Yet, as if the matter had been strange to him, “he lifts up himself, and says. Woman, where are thy accusers ?” How well was this sinner to be left there I could she be in a safer place than before the tribunal of a Saviour ? might she have chosen her refuge, whither should she rather have fled ? O happy we, if, when we are con¬ vinced in ourselves of our sins, we can set ourselves before that Judge who is our Surety, our Advocate, our Redeemer, our Ransom, our Peace. Doubtless, she stood doubtful betwixt hope and fear ; hope, in that she saw her accusers gone ; fear, in that she knew what she had deserv¬ ed : and now, while she trembles in expectation of a sentence, she hears, “ Woman, where are thy accusers?” Wherein our Saviour intends the satisfaction of all the hearers, of all the beholders, that they might apprehend the guiltiness, and therefore the unfitness of the accusers; and might well see there was no warran¬ table ground of his farther proceeding against her. Two things are necessary for the execution of a malefactor’—evidence, sentence ; the one from witnesses, the other from the judge. Our Saviour asks for both. The accusation and proof must draw on the sentence; the sentence must proceed upon the evidence of the proof; “ Where are thy accusers ? hath no man condemned thee ?” Had sentence passed legally upon the adulteress, doubtless our Saviour would not have acquit¬ ted her: for, as he would not intrude upon others’ offices, so he would not cross or violate the justice done by others. But now, finding the coast clear, he says, “ Neither do I condemn thee.” What, Lord ! dost thou then show favour to foul offenders ? art thou 352 THE THANKFUL PENITENT. [|B00K IV. rather pleased that gross sins should be blanched, and sent away with a gentle connivancy? Far, far be this from the perfection of thy justice. He that hence argues adulteries not punishable by death, let him argue the unlawfulness of dividing of inheritances ; because, in the case of the tvAm wrangling brethren, thou saidst, “ Who made me a divider of inheri¬ tances ?” thou declinest the office, thou didst not dislike the act, either of parting lands, or punishing offenders. Neither was here any ab¬ solution of the woman from a sentence of death, but a dismission of her from thy sentence, which thou knewest not proper for thee to pronounce. Herein hadst thou respect to thy calling, and to the main purpose of thy coming into the world, which was neither to be an arbiter of civil causes, nor a judge of criminal, but a Saviour of mankind : not to destroy the body, but to save the soul. Aud this was thy care in this miserable offender ; “ Go, and sin no more.” How much more doth it concern us to keep within the bounds of our vocation, and not to dare to trench upon the functions of others I How can we ever enough magnify thy mercy, who takest no pleasure in the death of a sinner! who earnest to save, that thou challengest us of unkindness for being miserable : “ Why will ye die, O house of Israel?” But, O Son of God, though thou wouldst not then be a judge, yet thou wilt once be: thon wouldst notin thy first coming judge the sins of men, thou wilt come to judge them in thy second. The time shall come, when upon that just and glorious tribunal thou shalt judge every man according to his works. That we may not one day hear thee say, “ Go, ye cursed,” let us now hear thee say, “ Go, sin no more.” CONTEMPLATION XVI.—THE THANKFUL PENITENT. One while I find Christ invited by a publican, now by a Pharisee. Wherever he went, he made better cheer than he found, in a happy ex¬ change of spiritual repast for bodily. Who knows not the Pharisees to have been the proud enemies to Christ; men over-conceited of themselves, contemptuous of others, severe in show, hypocrites in deed, strict sectaries, insolent justiciaries ; yet here one of them invites Christ, and that in good earnest. The man was not, like his fellows, captious, not ceremonious: had he been of their stamp, the omission of washing the feet had been mortal. No profession hath not yielded some good; Nicodemus and Gamaliel were of the same strain. Neither is it for nothing that the evangelist, having branded this sect for despising the counsel of God against themselves, presently subjoins this history of Simon the Pharisee, as an exempt man. O Saviour, thou canst find out good Pharisees, good publicans, yea, a good thief upon the cross; and that thou mayest find, thou canst make them so. At the best, yet he was a Pharisee, whose table thou here refusedst not. So didst thou, in wisdom and mercy, temper thyself, as to “ become all things to all men, that thou mightst Avin some.” Thy harbinger was rough, as in clothes, so in disposition, professedly harsh and austere: thyself wert mild and sociable: so it was fit for both. He Avas a CONT. XVI.] THE THANKFUL PENITENT. 353 preacher of penance, thou the author of comfort and salvation : he made way for grace, thou gavest it. Thou hast hidden us to follow thyself, not thy forerunner. That, then, which politics and time-servers do for earthly advantages, we will do for spiritual; frame ourselves to all com¬ panies, not in evil, but iu good, yea, in indiflerent things. What won¬ der is it, that thou, who earnest down from heaven to frame thyself to our nature, shouldst, while thou wert on earth, frame thyself to the several dispositions of men? Catch not at this, O ye licentious hypo¬ crites, men of all hours, that cau eat with gluttons, drink with drunkards, sing with ribalds, scoff with profane scorners, and yet talk holily with the religious, as if ye had hence any colour of your changeable confor¬ mity to all fashions. Our Saviour never sinned for any man’s sake, though for our sakes he was sociable, that he might keep us from sinning. Can ye so converse with lewd good-fellows, as that ye repress their sins, redress their exorbitances, win them to God ? now, ye walk in the steps of him that stuck not to sit down in the Pharisee’s house. There sat the Saviour, and, “ behold, a woman in the city that was a sinner.” I marvel not that she is led in with a note of wonder ; Avon- der, both on her part, and on Christ’s. That any sinner, that a sensual sinner, obdured in a notoi’ious trade of evil, should, voluntarily, out of a true remorse for her lewdness, seek to a Saviour, it is worthy of an ac¬ cent of admiration. The noise of the gospel is common ; but where is the power of it ? it hath store of hearers, but few converts. Yet, were there no wonder in her, if it were not Avith reference to the power and mercy of Christ; his poAA'er that thus drcAV the sinner, his mercy that received her. O Saviour, I Avonder at her, but I bless thee for her, hy Avhose only grace she was both moved and accepted. A sinner ! alas ! Avho was not ? who is not so ? not oidy “ in many things Ave sin all,” but in all things we all let fall many sins. Had there been a Avomau not a sinner, it had been beyond wonder. One man there Avas that was not a sinner; even he that AA^as more than a man, that God and man, avIio Avas the refuge of this sinner; but never Avoman that sin¬ ned not. Yet he said not, a Avoman that had sinned, but, “ that was a sinner.” An action doth not give denomination, but a trade. Even the Avise charity of Christians, much more the mercy of God, can distinguish betAveen sins of infirmity, and practice of sin, and esteem us not by a transient act, but by a permanent condition. The AAmman aa’us noted for a luxurious and incontinent life. What a deal of variety there is of sins I that Avhich faileth cannot be numbered. Every sin continued, deserves to brand the soul with this style. Here one is picked out from the rest : she is not noted for murder, for theft, for idolatry ; only her lust makes her “ a Avoman that was a sinner.” Other vices use not to give the OAvner this title, although they should be more heinous than it. Wantons may flatter themselves in the indifferency or slightness of this offence : their souls shall need no other conveyance to hell than this, Avhich cannot be so pleasing to nature, as it is hateful to God, who so speaks of it, as if there Avere no sins but it; ‘‘a Avoman that Avas a sin¬ ner.” She was a sinner, now she is not; her very presence argues her change. Had she been still in her old trade, she Avonld no more haA'e II. 2 V 354 THE THANKFUL PENITENT. Qbook IV. endured the sight of Christ, than that devil did which cried out, Art thou come to torment me ?” Her eyes had been lamps and fires of lust, not fountains of tears ; her hairs had been nets to catch foolish lovei’s, not a towel for her Saviour’s feet; yet still she carries the name of what she was ; a scar still remains after the wound healed. Simon will be ever the leper, and Matthew the publican. How carefully should we avoid those actions which may ever stain us I What a difference there is betwixt the carriage and proceedings of God and men I The mercy of God, as it “ calleth those things that are not, as if they were,” so it calleth those things that were, as if they were not; “ I will remember your iniquities no more as some skilful chi- rurgeon so sets the bone, or heals the sore, that it cannot be seen where the complaint was. Man’s word is, that which is done cannot be undone: but the omnipotent goodness of God doth, as it were, undo our once-committed sins: “ Take away my iniquity, and thou shalt find none.” What we were in ouz’selves, we are not to him, since he hath changed us from ourselves. O God, why should we be niggardly where thou art liberal ? why should we be reading those lines which thou hast not only crossed, but quite blotted, yea, wiped out ? It is a good word, “ she was a sinner.” To be wicked, is odious to God, angels, saints, men ; to have been so, is blessed and glorious. I rejoice to look back and see my Egyptians lying dead upon the shore, that I may praise the Author of my deliverance and victory. Else, it matters not what they were, what I was. O God, thou, whose title is, “ I am,” regardest the present. He befriends and honours us, that says, “ Such ye were, but ye are washed.” The place adds to the heinousness of the sin; “ in the city.” The more public the fact is, the greater is the scandal. Sin is sin, though in a desert: others’ eyes do not make the act more vile in itself, but the offence is multiplied by the number of beholders. I hear no name of either the city or the woman ; she was too well known in her time. How much better is it to be obscure than infamous I Herein, I doubt not, God meant to spare the reputation of a penitent convert. He who hates not the person, but the sin, cares only to men¬ tion the sin, not the person. It is justice to prosecute the vice, it is mercy to spare the offender. How injurious a presumption is it for any man to name her whom God would have concealed ; and to cast this aspersion on those whom God hath noted for holiness! The worst of this woman is past, “ She was a sinnerthe best is to come, “ She sought out Jesus where ? in the house of a Pharisee. It was the most inconvenient place in the world for a noted sinner to seek Christ in. No men stood so much upon the terms of their own righteousness, no men so scornfully disdained an infamous person. The touch of an or¬ dinary, though honest Jew, was their pollution ; how much more the presence of a strumpet ? What a sight was a known sinner to him, to whom his holiest neighbour was a sinner I How doth he, though a better Pharisee, look awry to see such a piece in his house, while he dares think, “ If this man were a prophet, he would surely know what manner of woman this is I” Neither could she fore-iinagiue less, when C05TT. XVI.] THE THANKFUL PENITENT. 3.55 she ventured to press over the threshold of a Pharisee. Yet not the known austerity of a man, and her miswelcome to the place, could affright her from seeking her Saviour even there. No disadvantage can defer the penitent soul from a speedy recourse to Christ. She says not. If Jesus were in the street, or in the field, or in the house of some humble publican, or anywhere save with a Pharisee, I would come to him; now, I will rather defer my access, than seek him where I shall find scorn and censure ; but, as not fearing the frowns of that overly host, she thrusts herself into Simon’s house to find Jesus. It is not for the distressed to be bashful; it is not for a believer to be timorous. O Saviour, if thy spouse miss thee, she will seek thee through the streets; the blows of the watch shall not daunt her. If thou be on the other side of the water, a Peter will leap into the sea and swim to thee; if on the other side of the fire, thy blessed martyrs will run through those flames to thee. We are not worthy of the comfort of thy presence, if, wheresoever we know thou art, whether in prison or in exile, or at the stake, we do not hasten thither to enjoy thee. The place was not more unfit than the time: a Pharisee’s house was not more improper for a sinner, than a feast was for humiliation. Tears at a banquet are as jigs at a funeral. There is a season for all things. Music had been more apt for a feast than mourning. The heart that hath once felt the sting of sin, and the sweetness of remission, hath no power to delay the expressions of what it feels, and cannot be confined to terms of circumstance. Whence then was this zeal of her access ? Doubtless she had heard from the mouth of Christ, in those heavenly sermons of his, many gracious invitations of all troubled and labouring souls; she had observed how he vouchsafed to come under the I'oofs of despised publicans, of professed enemies; she had noted all the passages of his power and mercy, and now deep remorse wrought upon her heart for her former viciousness. The pool of her conscience was troubled by the descending angel, and now she steps in for a cure. The arrow stuck fast in her soul, which she could not shake out; and now she comes to this sovereign dittany to expel it. Had not the Spirit of God wrought upon her ere she came, and wrought her to come, she had never either sought or found Christ. Now she comes in, and finds that Saviour whom she sought; she comes in, but not empty-handed; though debauched, she was a Jewess. She could not but have heard that she ought “ not to appear before the Lord empty.” What then brings she ? It was not possible she could bring to Christ a better present than her own penitent soul; yet, to testify that, she brings another, delicate both for the vessel and the contents, “a box of alabaster;” a solid, hard, pure, clear marble, fit for the receipt of so precious an ointment: the ointment pleasant and costly; a composition of many fragrant odours, not for medicine, but delight. The soul that is truly touched with the sense of its own sin, can think nothing too good, too dear for Christ. The remorsed sinner begins first with the tender of “ burnt-offerings, and calves of a year old thence he ascends to hecatombs, “thousands of rams;” and above that yet, to “ ten thousand rivers of oil;” and, yet higher, could be content to “give the first fruit of his body,” to expiate “the sin of his soul.” Any thing, 356 THE THANKFUL PENITENT. [book IV. every thing is too small a price for peace. O Saviour, since we have tasted how sweet thou art, lo, we bring thee the daintiest and costliest perfumes of our humble obediences; yea, if so much of our blood, as this woman brought ointment, may be useful or pleasing to thy name, we do most cheerfully consecrate it unto thee. If Ave would not have thee think heaven too good for us, Avhy should we stick at any earthly i-etribution to thee in lieu of thy great mercies ? Yet here I see more than the price. Tliis odoriferous perfume Avas that whereAvith she had Avont to make herself pleasing to her wanton lovers, and noAV she comes purposely to offer it up to her Saviour. As her love Avas turned another way, from sensual to divine, so shall her ointment also be altered in the use : that Avhich Avas abused to luxury, shall noAv be consecrated to devotion. There is no other effect in whatsoever true conversion ; “ As we have given our members servants to iniquity to commit iniquity, so shall Ave noAv give oiu’ members servants unto righteousness in holiness.” If the dames of Israel, that thought nothing more Avorth looking on than their OAvn faces, have spent too much time at their glasses, noAv they shall cast in those metals to make a laver, for the washing off their nncleannesses. If I have spent the prime of my strength, the strength of my wit upon myself and vanity, I have bestowed my alabaster-box amiss : O noAV teach me, my God and Saviour, to improve all my time, all my abilities, to thy glory. This is all the poor recompense can be made thee for those shameful dishonours thou hast received from me. The woman is come in, and noAV she doth not boldly face Christ, but, as uiiAvorthy of his presence, she stands behind. How could she, in that sight, Avash his feet Avith her tears ? Was it that our Saviour did not sit at the feast after our fashion, but according to the then Jewish and Roman fashion, lay on the one side? or was it that this phrase doth not so much import posture as presence ? Doubtless it was bashfulness and shame, arising from the conscience of her own former wickedness, that placed her thus. How Avell is the case altered ! she had AVont to look boldly in the face of her lovers, now she dares not behold the awful countenance of her Saviour. She had Avont to send her alluring beams forth into the eyes of her Avanton paramours ; noAv she casts her dejected eyes to the earth, and dares not so much as raise them up to see those eyes for which she desired commiseration. It was a true inference of the prophet, “ Thou hast a whore’s forehead, thou canst not blush there cannot be a greater sign of Avhorishness than impudence. This woman can noAV blush ; she hath put off' the harlot, and is turned true penitent. Bashfulness is both a sign and effect of grace. O God, could Ave but bethink how Avretched we are in nature, hoAv vile through our sins, how glorious, holy, and powerful a God thou art, before whom the brightest angels hide their faces, Ave could not come but Avith a trembling awfulness iiito thy presence ! Together with shame, here is sorrow : a sorroAv testified by tears, and tears in such abundance, that she washes the feet of our Saviour AA'ith those streams of penitence; “ She began to Avash bis feet Avith tears.” We hear when she began, Ave hear not wdien she ended. When the grapes are pressed, the juice runs forth; so, Avhen the mind is pressed, tears distil the true juice of penitence and sorroAv. These eyes were OONT. XVl.] THE THANKFUL PENITENT. 357 not used to sucli clouds, or to such showers : there was nothing in them formerly but sunshine of pleasure, beams of lust; now they are resolved into the drops of grief and contrition. When was this change, but from the secret working of God’s Spirit ? “ He caused his wind to blow, and the waters flowed ; he smote the rock, and the waters gushed out.” O God, smite thou this rocky heart of mine, and the waters of repentance shall burst forth in abundance. Never were thy feet, O Saviour, bedewed with more precious liquor than this of remorseful tears. These cannot be so spent, but that thou keepest them in thy bottle, yea thou returnest them back with interest of true comfort: “ They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. Blessed are they that mourn.” Lo, this wet seed-time shall be followed with a harvest of happiness and glory. That this service might be complete, as her eyes were the ewer, so her hair was the towel for the feet of Christ. Doubtless, at a feast, there was no Avant of the most curious linen for this purpose. All this was nothing to her : to approve her sincere humility, and heai’ty devo¬ tion to Christ, her hair shall be put to this glorious office. The hair is the chief ornament of Avomanhood ; the feet, as they are the lowest part of the body, so the meanest for account, and homeliest for employment ; and, low, this penitent bestOAvs the chief ornament of her head on the meanest office, to the feet of her Saviour. That hair, Avhich she Avas wont to spread as a net to catch her amorous companions, is honoured with the employment of Aviping the beautiful feet of him that brought the glad tidings of peace and salvation ; and might it have been any ser¬ vice to him to have licked the dust under those feet of his, how gladly would she have done it! Nothing can be mean that is done to the hon¬ our of a Saviour. Never Avas any hair so preferred as this. How I envy those locks that were graced Avith the touch of those sacred feet, but much more those lips that kiss them I Those lips that had been formerly inured to the Avanton touches of her lascivious lovers, now sanctify themselves with the testimony of her humble homages and dear respects to the Son of God. Thus her ointment, hands, eyes, hair, lips, are noAv consecrated to the service of Christ her Saviour, whom she had offended. If our satisfaction be not in some kind proportionable to our offence, Ave are no true penitents. All this Avhile, I hear not one word fall from the mouth of this Avoman. l\liat need her tongue speak, Avhen her eyes spake, her hands spake ? Her gesture, her countenance, her Avhole carriage w'as vocal. I like this silent speaking well, Avhen our actions talk, and our tongues hold their peace. The common practice is contrary ; men’s tongues are busy, but their hands are still. All their religion lies in their tongue ; their hands either do nothing, or ill, so as their profession is but wind, as their words. Wherefore are Avoids, but for expression of the mind ? if that could be knoAvn by the eye or by the hand, the language of both Avere alike. There are no words amongst spirits, yet they perfectly understand each other. “ The heavens declare the glory of God.” All tongues cannot speak so loud as they that have none. Give me the Christian that is seen and not heard. The noise that our tongue makes in a formality of profession, shall, in the silence of our hands, condemn us for hypocrites. The Pharisee saAV all this, but Avith an evil eye. Had he not had some 358 THE THANKFUL PENITENT [^BOOK IV. grace, he had never invited such a guest as Jesus; and if he had grace enough, he had never entertained such a thought as this of the guest he invited : “ If this man were a prophet, he would have known what manner of woman it is that toucheth him, for she is a sinner.” How many errors in one breath I Justly, O Simon, hath this one thought lost thee the thank of thy feast. Belike, at the highest, thou judgest thy guest but a prophet; and now thou doubtest whether he were so much. Besides this undervaluation, how unjust is the ground of this doubt I Every prophet knew not every thing ; yea, no prophet ever knew all things. Elisha knew the very secrets of the Assyrian privy-cliamber; yet he knew not the calamity of his worthy hostess. The finite knowledge of the ablest seer reaches but so far as it will please God to extend it. \yell might he therefore have been a prophet, and, in the knowledge of great matters, not have known this. Unto this, how weakly didst thou, because of Christ’s silent admission of the woman, suppose him ignorant of her quality! as if knowledge should be measured always by the noise of expression. Stay but awhile, and thou shalt find that he well knew both her life and thy heart. Be¬ sides, how injuriotisly dost thou take this woman for what she vA'as ? not conceiving, as well thou mightest, were not this woman a convert, she would never have offered herself into this presence. Her modesty and her tears bewray her change ; and if she be changed, why is she censured for what she is not ? Lastly., How strongly did it savour of the leaven of thy profession, that thou supposest, were she what sbe was, that it could not stand with the knowledge and holiness of a prophet to admit of her least touch, yea, of her presence ; whereas, on the one side, outward conversation in itself makes no man unclean or holy, but according to the disposition of the patient; on the other, such was the purity and perfection of this thy glorious guest, that it was not possibly infectible, nor any way obnoxious to the danger of others’ sin. He, that said once, “Who touched me ?” in regard of virtue issuing from him, never said, whom have I touched ? in regard of any contagion incident unto him. We sinful creatures, in whom the prince of this world finds too much, may easily be tainted with other men’s sins. He, who came to take away the sins of the world, was incapable of pollution by sin. Had the woman then been still a sinner, thy censure of Christ was proud and unjust. The Pharisee spake, but it was within himself; and now, behold, “ Jesus answering, said.” What we think, we speak to our hearts, and we speak to God; and he equally hears, as if it came out of our mouths. Thoughts are not free. Could men know and convince them, they would be no less liable to censure, than if they came forth clothed with words. God, who hears them, judges of them accordingly. So here, the heart of Simon speaks, “ Jesus answers.” Jesus answers him, but with a parable. He answers many a thought with judgment; the blasphemy of the heart, the murder of the heart, the adultery of the heart, are answered by him with a real vengeance. For Simon, our Saviour saw his error was either out of simple ignorance, or weak mistaking ; where he saw no malice, then it is enough to answer CONT. XVI.] THE THANKFUL PENITENT. 359 with a gentle conviction. The convictive answer of Christ is by Avay of parable. The wisdom of God knows how to circumvent us for our gain ; and can speak that pleasingly, by a prudent circundocution, which downright would not be digested. Had our Saviour said in plain terms, Simon, whether dost thou or this sinner love me more ? the Pharisee could not for shame but have stood upon his reputation, and, in a scorn of the comparison, have protested his exceeding respects to Christ. Now, ere he is aware, he is fetclied in to give sentence against himself, for her Avhom he condemned. O Saviour, thou hast made us fishers of men; how should we learn of thee so to bait our hooks, that they may be most likely to take! Thou, the great householder of thy church, hast provided victuals for thy family, thou hast appointed us to dress them : if we do not so cook them, as that they may fit the palates to which they are intended, we do both lose our labour and thy cost. The parable is of two debtors to one creditor; the one owed a lesser sum, the other a greater ; both are forgiven. It was not the purpose of him that propounded it, that we should stick in the bark: God is our creditor, our sins our debts; we are all debtors, but one more deep than another. No man can pay this debt alone, satisfaction is not possible ; only remission can dischai’ge us. God doth in mercy forgive as well the greatest as the least sins. Our love to God is proportionable to the sense of our remission. So then the Pharisee cannot choose but confess, that the more and greater the sin is, the greater mercy in the forgive¬ ness ; and the more mercy in the forgiver, the greater obligation and more love in the forgiven. Truth, from whose mouth soever it falls, is worth taking up : our Saviour praises the true judgment of a Pharisee. It is an injurious indiscretion in those who ai*e so prejudiced against the persons, that they reject the truth. He, that would not quench the smoking flax, encourages even the least good. As the careful chirurgeon strokes the arm ere he strikes the vein, so did Christ here; ere he convinces the Pharisee of his want of love, he graceth him with a fair approbation of his judgment. Yet the while turning both his face and his speech to the poor penitent, as one that cared more for a true humiliation for sin, than for a false pretence of respect and innocence. With what a dejected and abashed countenance, with what earth-fixed eyes, do we imagine the poor woman stood, when she saw her Saviour direct his face and words to her. She that durst but stand behind him, and steal the falling of some tears upon his feet, with what a blushing astonishment doth she behold his sidereal countenance cast upon her! While his eyes were turned towards this penitent, his speech was turned to the Pharisee concerning that penitent, by him mistaken : “ Seest thou this woman ?” He wdio before had said, ‘‘If this man were a prophet, he would have known what manner of woman this is,” now hears, “ Seest thou this woman ?” Simon saw but her outside ; Jesus lets him see that he saw her heart, and will thus convince the Pharisee that he is more than a prophet, who knew not her conversation only, but her soul. The Pharisee, that went all by appearance, shall by her deportment see the proof of her good disposition : it shall happily shame him, to hear the comparison of the wants of his own entertainments, with the abundance of hers. 360 THE THANKFUL PENITENT. [book IV. It is strange that any of this formal sect should be defective in their lotions. Simon had not given water to so great a guest; she washes his feet with her tears. By how much the water of the eye was more precious than the water of the earth, so much was the respect and courtesy of this penitent above the neglected office of the Pharisee. What use was there of a towel, where was no water ? she, that made a fountain of her eyes, made precious napery of her hair; that better flax shamed the linen in the Pharisee’s chest. A kiss of the cheek had wont to be pledge of the welcome of their guests : Simon neglects to make himself thus happy; she redoubles the kisses of her humble thankfulness upon the blessed feet of her Saviour. The Pharisee omits ordinary oil for the head, she supplies the most pre¬ cious and fragrant oil to his feet. Now the Pharisee reads his own taxations in her praise, and begins to envy where he had scorned. It is our fault, O Savioui-, if we mistake thee. We are ready to think, so thou have the substance of good usage, thou regardest not the compli¬ ments and ceremonies ; whereas now we see thee to have both meat and welcome in the Pharisee’s house, and yet hear thee glance at his neglect of washing, kissing, anointing. Doubtless omission of due cir¬ cumstances in thy entertainment may deserve to lose our thanks. Do we pray to thee ? do we hear thee preach to us ? now we make thee good cheer in our house : but if we perform not these things with the fit decency of our outward carriages, we give thee not thy water, thy kisses, thy oil. Even meet ritual observances are recpiisite for thy full welcome. Yet how little had these things been regarded, if they had not argued the woman’s thankful love to thee, and the ground of that love, sense of her remission, and the Pharisee’s default in both ! Love and action do necessarily evince each other. True love cannot lurk long unexpressed; it will be looking out at the eyes, creeping out of the mouth, breaking out at the fingers’ ends, in some actions of dear¬ ness, especially those wherein there is pain and difficulty to the agent, profit or pleasure to the alfected. O Lord, in vain shall we profess to love thee, if we do nothing for thee ! Since our goodness cannot reach up unto thee, who art our glorious head; O let us bestow upon thy feet, thy poor members here below, our tears, our hands, our ointment, and whatever of our gifts or endeavours may testify our thankfulness and love to thee in them. O happy word? “ Her sins, which are many, are forgiven her.” ]\Je- thinks I see how this poor penitent revived with this breath : how new life comes into her eyes, new blood into her cheeks, new spirits into her countenance, like unto our mother earth, when in that first con¬ fusion, “ God said. Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb that beareth seed, and the fruit-tree yielding fruitall runs out into flowers, and blossoms, and leaves, and fruit. Her former tears said, “ Who shall deliver me from this body of death?” now her cheerful smiles say, “ I thank God, through Jesus Christ my Lord.” Seldom ever do we meet with so perfect a penitent; seldom do we find so gracious a dismission. What can be wished of any mortal crea¬ ture but remission, safety, faith, peace? all these are here met, to make CONT. XVII.] MARTHA AND MARY. S(y] a contrite soul happy ; remission the g-round of her safety, faith the ground of her peace, safety and salvation the issue of her remission, peace the blessed fruit of her faith, O woman, the perfume that thou broughtst is poor and base, in com¬ parison of those sweet savours of rest and happiness that are returned to thee ! Well was that ointment bestowed, wherewith thy soul is sweetened to all eternity. CONTEMPLATION XVII.—MARTHA AND MARY. AYe may read long enough ere we find Christ in a house of his own. The foxes have holes, and the birds have nests he that had all, pos¬ sessed nothing. One wdxile I see him in a publican’s house, then in a Pharisee’s, now I find him at Martha’s. His last entertainment was wdth some neglect, this with too much solicitude. Our Saviour was now in his way ; the sun might as soon stand still as he. The more we move, the Ulcer we are to heaven, and to this God that made it. His progress was to Jerusalem, for some holy feast. He, whose devotion neglected not any of those sacred solemnities, w ill not neglect the due opportunities of his bodily refreshing: as not thinking it meet to travel and preach harbourless, he diverts (where he knew his welcome) to the village of Bethany. There dwelt the tw'o devout sis¬ ters, wdth their brother, his friend Lazarus ; their roof receives him. O happy house, into wdiich the Son of God vouchsafed to set his foot! O blessed woman, that had the grace to be the hostess to the God of heaven ! How should I envy your felicity herein, if I did not see the same favour, if I be not wanting to myself, lying open to me I I have twm ways to entertain my Saviour, in his members, and in himself. In his members, by charity and hospitableness: “ AYhat I do to one of these liis little ones, I do to him in himself by faith ; “ If any man open, he wall come in and sup with him.” O Savioui*, thou standest at the door of our hearts and knockest by the solicitations of thy messengers, by the sense of thy chastisements, by the motions of thy Spirit: if we open to thee by a willing admission and faithful welcome, thou wilt be sure to take up our souls with thy gracious presence, and not to sit with us for a momentary meal, but to dwell with us for ever. Lo, thou didst but call in at Bethany ; but here shall he thy rest for everlasting. Martha, it seems, as being the eldest sister, bore the name of the housekeeper : Mary was her assistant in the charge. A blessed pair ! sisters not more in nature than grace, in spirit no less than in flesh. How happy a thing is it when all the parties in a family are jointly agreed to entertain Christ! No sooner is Jesus entered into the house, than he falls to preaching; that no time may be lost, he stays not so much as till his meat be made ready, but, while his bodily repast was in hand, provides spiritual food for his hosts. It was his meat and drink to do the will of his Father : he fed more upon his own diet than he could possibly upon theirs ; his best cheer was, to see them spiritually fed. How should we whom he 362 MARTHA AND MARY. [book IV. hath called to this sacred function, “ be instant in season and out of season ?” We are, by his sacred ordination, the lights of the world. No sooner is the candle lighted than it gives that light which it hath, and never intermits till it be wasted to the snuff. Both the sisters, for a time, sat attentively listening to the words of Christ. Household occasions call Martha away ; Mary sits still at his feet and hears. Whether shall we more praise her humility or her docility ? I do not see her take a stool and sit by him, or a chair and sit above him ; but, as desiring to show her heart was as low as her knees, she sits at his feet. She was lowly set, richly warmed with those heavenly beams. The greater submission, the more grace. If there be one hollow in the valley lower than another, thither the waters gather. Martha’s house is become a divinity school: Jesus, as the doctor, sits in the chair ; Martha, Mary, and the rest, sit as disciples at his feet. Standing implies a readiness of motion, sitting, a settled composedness to this holy attendance. Had these two sisters provided our Saviour never such delicates, and waited on his trencher never so officiously, yet, had they not listened to his instruction, they had not bidden him welcome ; neither had he so well liked his entertainment. This was the way to feast him ; to feed their ears by his heavenly doctrine : his best cheer is our proficiency, our best cheer is his word. O Saviour, let my soul be thus feasted by thee, do thou thus feast thyself by feeding me ; this mutual diet shall be thy praise and my happiness. Though Martha was for the time an attentive hearer, yet now her care of Christ’s entertainment carries her into the kitchen ; Mary sits still. Neither was Mary more devout than hfartha busy : Martha cares to feast Jesus, Mary to be feasted of him. There was more solicitude in Mar¬ tha’s active part; more piety in Mary’s sedentary attendance : I know not in whether more zeal. Good Martha was desirous to express her joy and thankfulness for the presence of so blessed a guest, by the actions of her careful and plenteous entertainment. I know not how to censure the holy woman for her excess of care to welcome her Saviour. Sure she herself thought she did well: and, out of that confidence, fears not to complain to Christ of her sister. I do not see her come to her sister, and whisper in her ear the great need of her aid ; but she comes to Jesus, and in a kind of unkind ex¬ postulation of her neglect, makes her moan to him ; “Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone ?” Why did she not rather make her first address to her sister ? was it for that she knew Mary was so tied by the ears with those adamantine chains that came from the mouth of Christ, that, until his silence and dismission, she had no power to stir? or was it out of an honour and respect to Christ, that, in his presence, she would not presume to call off her sister without his leave ? Howsoever, I cannot excuse the holy woman from some weaknesses. It was a fault to measure her sister by berself, and, apprehending her own act to be good, to think her sister could not do well if she did not so too ; whereas goodness hath much latitude. Ill is opposed to good, not good to good. Neither in things lawful nor indifferent are others bound to our examples. Mary might hear, Martha might CO NT. XVII.] MARTHA AND MARY. 363 serve, and both do well. Mary did not censure Martha for her rising- from the feet of Christ to prepare his meal : neither should Martha have censured Mary for sitting at Christ’s feet to feed her soul. It was a fault, that she thought an excessive care of a liberal outward entertain¬ ment of Christ was to be preferred to a diligent attention to Christ’s spiritual entertainment of them. It was a fault, that she durst presume to question our Saviour of some kind of unrespect to her toil, “Lord, dost thou not care ?” What sayst thou, IMartha ? dost thou challenge the Lord of heaven and earth of incogitancy and neglect ? dost thou take upon thee to prescribe unto that infinite wisdom, instead of receiving directions from him ? it is well thou mettest with a Saviour, whose gra¬ cious mildness knows how to pardon and pity the errors of our zeal. Yet, I must needs say, here wanted not fair pretences for the ground of this thy expostulation. Thou, the elder sister, workest; Mary, the younger, sits still ; and what work was thine but the hospitable receipt of thy Saviour and his train ? Had it been for thine own paunch, or for some carnal friends, it had been less excusable ; now it was to Christ himself, to whom thou couldst never be too obsequious. I3ut all this cannot deliver thee from the just blame of this bold subin- cusation ; “ Lord, dost thou not care ?” How ready is our Aveakness, upon every slight discontentment, to quarrel with our best friend, yea, with our good God ; and the more we are put to it, to think ourselves the more neglected, to challenge God for our neglect ! Do we groan on the bed of our sickness, and, languishing in pain, complain of long hocrs and weary sides ? straight we think. Lord, dost thou not care that we suffer ? Doth God’s poor church go to wreck, while the ploughers, ploughing on her back, make long furrows ? “ Lord, dost thou not care ?” But know, O thou feeble and distrustful soul, the more thou dost, the more thou sufferest, the more thou art cared for : neither is God ever so tender over his church, as when it is most exercised. Every pang, and stitch, and gird is first felt of him that sends it. O God. thou knowest our works, and our labour, and our patience : we may be igno¬ rant and diffident, thou canst not but be gi-acious. It could not but trouble devout Mary to hear her sister’s impatient complaint; a complaint of herself to Christ, Avith such vehemence of pas¬ sion, as if there had been such strangeness betwixt the two sisters, that the one Avould do nothing for the other, Avithout an external compulsion from a superior. How can she choose but think. If I have offended, why Avas I not secretly taxed for it in a sisterly familiarity ? what if there had been some little omission ? must the AA’hole house ring of it before my Lord and all his disciples ? is this carriage beseeming a sis¬ ter ? is my devotion worthy of a quarrel ? Lord, dost thou not care that I am injuriously censured? Yet I hear not a word of reply from that modest mouth. O holy Mary, I admire thy patient silence: thy sister blames thee for thy piety ; the disciples afterAA ards blame thee for thy bounty and cost: not a AA ord falls from thee in a just vindication of thine honour and innocence, but, in an humble taciturnity, thou leavest thine ansAA'er to thy Saviour. Hoav should Ave learn of thee, when aa'O ai-e complained of for Avell- doing, to seal up our lips, and to expect our righting from above ! 364 MARTHA AND MARY. [book IV. And how sure, how ready art thou, O Saviour, to speak in i.ie cause of the dumb ! “ Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things, but one thing is needful, and Mary hath chosen the better part.” What needeth Mary to speak for herself, when she had such an Ad¬ vocate ? Doubtless, Martha was, as it were, divided from herself with the multiplicity of her careful thoughts: our Saviour therefore doubles her name in his compellation, that, in such distraction, he may both find and fix her heai't. The good woman made full account, that Christ would have sent away her sister with a check, and herself with thanks ; hut now her hopes fail her; and though she be not directly reproved, yet she hears her sister more approved than she : “ Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things.” Our Saviour received courtesy from her in her diligent and costly entertainment; yet he would not blanch her error, and smooth her up in her weak misprision. No obligations may so enthral us, as that our tongues should not be free to reprove faults where we find them. They are base and servile spirits that will have their tongue tied to their teeth. This glance towards a reproof implies an opposition of the condition of the two sisters : themselves were not more near in nature, than their present humour and estate diftered. One is opposed to many, necessary to superfluous, solicitude to quietness : “ Thou art careful and troubled about many things, one thing is necessary.” How far then may our care reach to these earthly things ? On the one side, O Saviour, thou hast charged us to “ take no thought what to eat, drink, put on ;” on the other, thy chosen vessel hath told us, that “he that provides not for his family hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel.” We may, we must care for many things ; so that our care be for good, and well; for good, both in kind and measure; well, so as our care be free from distraction, from distrust; from distraction, that it hinder us not from the necessary duties of our general calling ; from distrust, that we mis¬ doubt not God’s providence, while we employ our own. We cannot care for thee, unless we thus care for ourselves, for ours. Alas ! how much care do I see every where, but how few Marthas! Her care was for her Saviour’s entertainment, ours for ourselves. One finds perplexities in his estate, which he desires to extricate; another heats his brains for the raising of his house: one busies his thoughts about the doubtful condition, as he things, of the times, and casts in his anxious head the imaginary events of all thinks, opposing his hopes to his fears ; another studies how to avoid the cross blows of an adversary. “ Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things.” Foolish men I why do we set our hearts upon the rack, and need not? why will we endure to bend under that burden, which more able shoul¬ ders have offered to undertake for our ease ? Thou hast bidden us, O God, to cast our cares upon thee, with pro¬ mise to care for us. We do gladly unload ourselves upon thee : O let our care be to depend upon thee, as thine is to provide for us. Whether Martha be pitied or taxed for her sedulity, I am sure IVIary is praised for her devotion : “ One thing is necessary.” Not by way of negation, as if nothing were necessary but this : but by way of compari- CONT. XVIII.] THE BLIND BEGGAR CURED. 365 son, as that nothing is so necessary as this. Earthly occasions must vail to spiritual. Of those three main grounds of all our actions, necessity, convenience, pleasure, each transcends other : convenience carries it away from pleasure, necessity fi’om convenience, and one degree of necessity from another. The degrees are according to the conditions of the things necessary. The condition of these earthly necessaries is, that witliout them we cannot live temporally; the condition of the spiritual, that without them we cannot live eternally. So much difference then as there is betw'ixt temporary and eternal, so much there must needs be betwixt the necessity of these bodily actions and these spiritual: both are neces¬ sary in their kinds : neither must here be an opposition, but a subordina¬ tion, The body and soul must be friends, not rivals; we may not so ply the Christian, that we neglect the man. O the vanity of those men, who, neglecting that one thing necessary, affect many things superfluous ! Nothing is needless with worldly minds but this one, which is only necessary, the care of their souls. How justly do they lose that they cared not for, while they over-cai’e for that wdiich is neither worthy nor possible to be kept! Neither is Mary’s business more allow^ed than herself: “She hath chosen the good part.” It w'as not forced upon her, but taken up by her election. Martlia might have sat still as w'ell as she : she might have stirred about as well as Martha. Mary’s will made this choice, not w-ith- out the inclination of him who both gave this wall and commends it. That will was before renewed, no marvel if it choose the good ; though this w'ere not in a case of good and evil, but of good and better. We have still this holy freedom, through the in-operation of him that hath freed us. Happy are w'e, if w'e can improve this liberty to the best ad¬ vantage of our souls. The stability or perpetuity of good, adds much to the praise of it. Martha’s part was soon gone; the thank and use of a little outw'ard hos¬ pitality cannot long last: “ but Mary’s shall not be taken away from her.” The act of her hearing was transient, the fruit permanent; she now hears that w'hich shall stick by her for ever. What couldst thou hear, O holy Mary, from those sacred lips, which we hear not still ? that heavenly doctrine is never but the same, not more subject to change than the Author of it. It is not impossible that the exercise of the gospel should be taken from us ; but the benefit and vir¬ tue of it is as inseparable from our souls as their being. In the hardest times that shall stick closest to us, and till death, in death, after death, shall make us happy. CONTEMPLATION XVIII.—THE BEGGAR THAT WAS BORN BLIND, CURED. The man was born blind. This cure requires not art, but pov/er; a pow'er no less than infinite and divine. Nature presupposeth a matter, though formless ; art looks for matter formed to our hands ; God stands not upon either. Where there w^as not an eye to be healed, what could an oculist do? It is only a God that can create. Such are w'e, O God, to all 366 THE BLIND BEGGAR CURED. [book iv. spiritual things; we want not sight but eyes ; it must be thou only that canst make us capable of illumination. The blind man sat begging. Those that have eyes, and hands, and feet of their own, may be able to help themselves; those that want these helps must be beholden to the eyes, hands, feet of others. The impotent are cast upon our mercy; happy are we, if we can lend limbs and senses to the needy. Affected beggary is odious ; that which is of God’s mak¬ ing, justly challengeth relief. VVhere should this blind man sit begging, but near the temple ? At one gate sits a cripple, a blind man at another. Well might these mis¬ erable souls suppose that piety and charity dwelt close together ; the two tables were both of one quarry. Then are we best disposed to mercy towards our brethren, when we have either craved or acknowledged God’s mercy towards ourselves. If we go thither to beg of God, how can we deny mites, Avhen we hope for talents ? Never did .fesiis move one foot but to purpose. He passed by, but so as that his virtue stayed ; so did he pass by that his eye was fixed. The blind man could not see him, he sees the blind man. His goodness pre¬ vents us, and yields better supplies to our wants. He saw compassion¬ ately, not shutting his eyes, not turning them aside, but bending them upon that dark and disconsolate object. That which was said of the sun, is much more true of him that made it. “ Nothing is hid from his light but of all other things, miseries, especially of his own, are most inten- tively eyed of him. Could we be miserable unseen, we had reason to be heartless. O Saviour, why should we not imitate thee in this merciful improvement of our senses! Woe be to those eyes that care only to gaze upon their own beauty, bravery, wealth : not abiding to glance upon the sores of Lazarus, the sorrows of Joseph, the dungeon of Jeremy, the blind beggar at the gate of the temple. The disciples see the blind man too, but with different eyes : our Saviour for pity and cure, they for expostulation ; “ Master, wlio did sin, this man or his parents, that he is born blind ?” I like well that whatsoever doubt troubled them, they straight vent it into the ear of their Master. O Saviour, while thou art in heaven, thy school is upon earth. Wherefore serve thy “ priests’ lips ” but to “ preserve knowledge ?” What use is there of the tongue of the learned, but to speak a word in season ? Thou teachest us still, and still we doubt, and ask, and learn. In one short question I find two truths, and two falsehoods ; the truths implied, the falsehoods expressed. It is true, that commonly man’s suf¬ fering is for sin; that we may justly, and do, often suffer even for the sins of our parents ; it is false, that there is no other reason of our suf¬ fering hut sin, that a man could sin actually before he was, or was before his being, or coidd beforehand suffer for his after sins. In all likelihood, that absurd conceit of the transmigi-ation of souls possessed the very dis¬ ciples. How easily, and how far may the best be miscarried with a common error ! We are not thankful for our own illumination, if we do not look with charity and pity upon the gross mis-opinions of our brethren. Our Saviour sees, and y^et will wink at so foul a misprision of his dis¬ ciples. I hear neither chiding nor conviction. He that could have en¬ lightened their minds, as he did the world, at once, will do it by due CONT. xviri.] THE BLIND BEGGAR CURED. 367 leisure; and only contents himself here with a mild solution : ‘‘ Neither this man nor his parents.” We learn nothing of thee, O Saviour, if not meekness. What a sweet temper should be in our carriage towards the weaknesses of others’ judgment! how should we instruct them without hitterness, and, without violence of passion, expect the meet seasons of their better information ? The tender mother or nurse doth not rate her little one for that he goes not well, but gives him her hand that he may go better. It is the spirit of lenity that must restore and confirm the lapsed. The answer is direct and punctual; neither the sin of the man nor of his parents bereaved him of his eyes: there w'as a higher cause of this privation, the glory that God meant to wdn to himself by redressing it. The parents had sinned in themselves, the man had sinned in his first parents ; it is not the guilt of either that is guilty of this blindness. All God’s afflictive acts are not punishments : some are for the benefit of the creature, whether for probation, or prevention, or reformation : all are for the praise, whether of his divine power, or justice, or mercy. It was fit that so great a work should be ushered in with a preface. A sudden and abrupt appearance would not have beseemed so glorious a demonstration of omnipotence. The way is made; our Saviour ad¬ dresses himself to the miracle ; a miracle not more in the thing done, than in the form of doing it. The matter used was clay. Could there be a meaner ? could there be ought moi’e unfit ? O Saviour, how oft hadst thou cured blindnesses by thy word alone ! how oft by thy touch I how easily couldst thou have done so here I Was this to show thy liberty, or thy power? liberty, in that thou canst at pleasure use variety of means, not being tied to any; power, in that thou couldst make use of contraries. Hadst thou pulled out a box, and applied some medicinal ointment to the eyes, something had been ascribed to thy skill, more to the natural power of thy receipt ; now thou madest use of clay, which had been enough to stop up the eye of the seeing; the virtue must be all in thee, none in the means. The utter disproportion of this help to the cure, adds glory to the worker. How clearly didst thou hence evince to the world, that thou who of clay couldst made eyes, wert the same who of clay had made man ! Since there is no part of the body that hath so little analogy to clay as the eye ; this clearness is contrary to that darkness. Had not the Jews been more blind than the man whom thou curedst, and more hard and still than the clay which thou mollifiedst, they had, in this one work, both seen and acknowledged thy Deity What could the clay have done without thy tempering ? It was thy spittle that made the clay effectual; it was that sacred mouth of thine that made the spittle medicinal: the water of Siloam shall but wash off that clay which this inward moisture made powerful. Tlie clay, thus tempered, must be applied by the hand that made it, else it avails nothing. What must the blind man needs think, when he felt the cold clay upon the holes of his eyes? or, since he could not conceive what an eye was, what must the beholders needs think, to see that hollowness thus filled up ? Is this the way to give either eyes or sight ? why did not the 368 THE BLIND BEGGAR CURED. [book iv. earth see with this clay as well as the man? what is there to hinder the sight, if this make it. Yet with these contrarieties must faith be exercised, where God in¬ tends the blessing of a cure. It was never meant that this clay should dwell upon those pits of the eyes ; it is only put on to be washed off; and that not by every water; none shall do it but that Siloam, which signifies Sent; and if the man had not been sent to Siloam, he had been still blind. All things receive their virtue from divine institution. How else should a piece of wheaten bread nourish the soul ? how should spring-water wash off spiritual filthi¬ ness ? how should the foolishness of preaching save souls ? how should the absolution of God’s minister be more effectual than the breath of an ordinary Christian ? Thou, O God, hast set apart these ordinances, thy blessing is annexed to them; hence is the ground of all our use, and their efficacy. Hadst thou so instituted, Jordan would as well have healed blindness, and Siloam leprosy. That the man might be capable of such a miracle, his faith is set on work ; he must be led, with his eyes daubed up, to the pool of Siloam. He washes and sees. Lord, what did this man think when his eyes were now first given him ? what a new world did he find himself come into ? how did he wonder at heaven and earth, and the faces and shapes of all creatures, the goodly varieties of colours, the cheerfulness of the light, the lively beams of the sun, the vast expansion of the air, the pleasant transparence of the water; at the glorious piles of the temple and stately palaces of Jerusalem ? every thing did not more please than astonish him. Lo! thus shall we be affected, and more, wffien the scales of our mortality being done away, we shall see as we are seen ; when we shall behold the blessedness of that other world, the glory of the saints and angels, the infinite majesty of the Son of God, the incomprehensible brightness of the all-glorious Deity. O my soul, that thou couldst be taken up beforehand with the admiration of that which thou canst not as yet be capable of foreseeing. It could not be but that many eyes had been witnesses of this man’s M'ant of eyes. He sat begging at one of the temple gates ; not only all the city, but all the country must needs know him ; thrice a-year did they come up to Jerusalem; neither could they come to the temple and not see him : his very blindness made him noted. Deformities and infirmities of body do more easily both draw and fix the eye, than an ordinary sym¬ metry of parts. Besides his blindness, his trade made him remarkable ; the importunity of his begging drew the eyes of the passengers ; but, of all other, the place most notified him. Had he sat in some obscure village of .ludea, or in some blind lane of Jerusalem, perhaps he had not been heeded of many ; but now, that he took up his seat in the heart, in the head of the chief city, whither all resorted from all parts, what Jew can there be that knows not the blind beggar at the temple gate ? Purposely did our Saviour make choice of such a subject for his miracle ; a man so poor, so public ; the gloi’y of the work could not have reached so far, if it had been done to the wealthiest citizen of .lerusalem. Neither w'as it for nothing that the act and the man is doubted of, and inquired into by the be¬ holders ; “ Is not this he that sat begging ? some said. It is he; others CONT. XVIII.] THE BLIND BEGGAR CURED. 369 said. It is like him.” No truths have received so full proofs as those that have been questioned. The want, or the sudden presence of an eye, much more of both, must needs make a great change in the face ; those little balls of light, which no doubt were more clear than nature could have made them, could not but give a new life to the countenance. I marvel not if the neighbours, who had wont to see this dark visage led by a guide, and guided by a staff, seeing him now walking confidently alone out of his own inward light, and looking them cheerfully in the face, doubted whether this were he. The miraculous cures of God work a sensible alteration in men, not more in their own apprehension than in the judgment of others. Thus in the redress of the spiritual blindness, the whole habit of the man is changed. Where, before, his face looked dull and earthly, now there is a sprightly cheerfulness in it, through the com¬ fortable knowledge of God and heavenly things; whereas, before, his heart was set upon worldly things, now he uses them, but enjoys them not; and that use is because he must not, because he would : where, before, his fears and griefs were only for pains of body, or loss of estate or reputation, now they are only spent upon the displeasure of his God, and the peril of his soul. So as now the neighbours can say, “ Is this the man ?” others, “ It is like him. It is not he.” The late blind man hears, and now sees himself questioned, and soon re¬ solves the doubt, “ I am he.” He that now saw the light of the sun, would not hide the light of truth from others. It is an unthankful si¬ lence to smother the works of God in an affected secrecy. To make God a loser by his bounty to us, were a shameful injustice. We ourselves abide not those spunges that suck up good turns unknown. O God, we are not worthy of our spiritual eye-sight, if we do not publish thy mer¬ cies on the house-top, and pi’aise thee in the great congregation. Man is naturally inquisitive : we search studiously into the secret works of nature, we pry into the reasons of the witty inventions of art; but if there be any thing that transcends art and nature, the more high and abstruse it is, the more busy we are to seek into it. This thirst after hidden, yea, forbidden knowledge, did once cost us dear; but, where it is good, and lawful to know, inquiry is commendable ; as here in these Jews, “ How were thine eyes opened ?” The first impi-ovement of hu¬ man reason is inquisition, the next is information and resolution ; and if the meanest events pass us not without a question, how much less those that carry in them wonder and advantage. He that w^as so ready to profess himself the subject of the cure, is no niggard of proclaiming the Author of it; “A man that is called Jesus made clay, and anointed mine eyes, and sent me to Siloam to Avash, and noAv I see.” The blind man knew no more than he said, and he said what he apprehended : “ A man.” He heard .Jesus speak, he felt his hand ; as yet he could look no farther : upon his next meeting he saAV God in this man. In matter of knowledge we must be content to creep ere Ave can go. As that other recovered blind man saw first men Avalk like trees, after like men; so no marvel if this man saw first this God only as man, after this man as God also. Onwards he thinks him a AV'onderful man, a mighty prophet. In vain shall we either expect a sudden perfection in the undei’standing of divine matters, or censure those that AA’ant it. II. 3 A 370 THE BLIND BEGGAR CURED. [^BOOK IV. How did this man know what Jesus did? he was then stone-blind, what distinction coidd he yet make of persons, of actions ? True, but yet the blind man never wanted the assistance of others’ eyes ; their rela¬ tion hath assured him of the manner of his cure : besides the contribution of his other senses, his ear might perceive the spittle to fall, and hear the enjoined command ; his feeling perceived the cold and moist clay upon his lids ; all these conjoined, gave sufficient warrant thus to believe, thus to report. Our ear is our best guide to a full apprehension of the works of Christ, The works of God the Father, his creation and government, are best known by the eye : the works of God the Son, his redemption and mediation are best known by the ear. O Saviour I we cannot per¬ sonally see what thou hast done here. What are the monuments of thine apostles and evangelists, but the relations of the blind man’s guide, what and how thou hast wrought for us ? On these we strongly rely, these we do no less confidently believe, than if our very eyes had been witnesses of what thou didst and sufferedst upon earth. There wei’e no place for faith, if the ear were not worthy of as much credit as the eye. How could the neighbours do less than ask, where he was that had done so strange a cure ? I doubt yet with what mind, I fear not out of favour. Had they been but indifferent, they could not but have been full of silent wonder, and inclined to believe in so omnipotent an agent. Now, as prejudiced to Christ, and partial to the Pharisees, they bring the late blind man before those professed enemies unto Christ. It is the preposterous religion of the vulgar sort to claw and adore those which have tyrannically usurped upon their souls, though with ne¬ glect, yea, Avith contempt of God, in his word, in his works. Even unjust authority will never want soothing up in whatsoever courses, though Avith disgrace and opposition to the truth. Base minds, where they find possession, never look after right. Our Saviour had picked out the Sabbath for this cure. It is hard to find out any time wherein charity is unseasonable. As mercy is an ex¬ cellent grace, so the works of it are fittest for the best day. We are all born blind, the font is our Siloam : no day can come amiss, but yet God’s day is the properest for our Avashing and recovery. This alone is quai’rel enough to those scrupulous AATanglers, that an act of mercy was done on that day wherein their envy was but seasonable. I do not see the man beg any more when he once had his eyes; no burgher in Jerusalem was richer than he. I hear him stoutly defending that gracious Author of his cure against the cavils of the malicious Pha¬ risees : I see him, as a resolute confessor, suffering excommunication for the name of Christ, and maintaining the innocence and honour of so blessed a benefactor : I hear him read a divinity lecture to them that sat in Moses’ chair, and convincing them of blindness, Avho punished him for seeing. How cannot I but envy thee, O happy man, who, of a patient, provest an advocate for thy Saviour ; whose gain of bodily sight made way for thy spiritual eyes ; who hast lost a synagogue, and hast found heaven ; who, being .abandoned of sinners, art received of the Lord of glory. CONT. XIX.] THE STUBBORN DEVIL EJECTED. 371 CONTEMPLATION XIX,—THE STUBBORN DEVIL EJECTED. How different, how contrary are our conditions here upon earth ! while our Saviour is transfigured on the mount, his disciples are perplex¬ ed in the valley. Three of his choice followers were with him above, ravished with the miraculous proofs of his Godhead ; nine other were troubled with the business of a stubborn devil below. Much people met to attend Christ, and there they will stay till he come down from Tabor. Their zeal and devotion brought them thither, their patient perseverance held them there. We are not worthy the name of his clients, if we cannot painfully seek him, and submissively wait his leisure. He that was now awhile retii’ed into the mount to confer with his Father, and to receive the attendance of Moses and Elias, returns into the valley to the multitude. He was singled out a while for prayer and contemplation, now he was joined with the multitude for their miracu¬ lous cure and heavenly instruction. We that are his spiritual agents, must be either preparing in the mount, or exercising in the valley ; one while in the mount of meditation, in the valley of action : another, alone to study, in the assembly to preach; here is much variety, but all is work. Moses, when he came down from the hill, heard music in the valley; Christ, when he came down from the hill, heard discord. The scribes, it seems, were setting hard upon the disciples : they saw Christ absent, nine of his train left in the valley, those they fly upon. As the devil, so his imps watch close for all advantages. No subtile enemy but will be sure to attempt that part where is likelihood of least defence, most weakness. When the spouse misses him whom her soul loveth, every watchman hath a buffet for her. O Saviour, if thou be never so little stepped aside, we are sure to be assaulted with powerful temptations. They that durst say nothing to the Master, so soon as his back is turned, fall foul upon his weakest disciples. Even at the first hatching, the serpent was thus crafty to begin at the weaker vessel: experience and time hath not abated his wit. If he still work upon “ silly women laden with divers lusts,” upon rude and ungrounded ignorants, it is no other than his old wont. Our Saviour, upon the skirts of the hill, knew well what was done in the plain, and therefore hastes down to the rescue of his disciples. The clouds and vapours do not sooner scatter upon the sun’s breaking forth, than these cavils vanish at the presence of Christ; instead of opposition, they are straight upon their knees; here are now no quarrels, but hum¬ ble salutations, and if Christ’s question did not force theirs, the scribes had found no tongue. Doubtless, there were many eager patients in this throng; none made so much noise as the father of the demoniac. Belike upon this occasion it was that the scribes held contestation with the disciples. If they wrangled, he sues, and that from his knees. Whom will not need make both humble and eloquent ? The case was woeful and accordingly ex¬ pressed. A son is a dear name, but this was his only son. Were his grief ordinary, yet the sorrow were the less ; but he is a fearful spectacle of judgment, for he is lunatic. Were this lunacy yet merely from a 372 THE STUBBORN DEVIL EJECTED. [book. ir. natural distemper, it were more tolerable ; but this is aggravated by the possession of a cruel spirit, that handles him in a most grievous man¬ ner, Yet were he but in the rank of other demoniacs, the discomfort were more easy ; but lo, this spirit is worse than all other his fellows ; othei-s are usually dispossessed by the disciples, this is beyond their power. “ I besought thy disciples to cast him out, but they could not; therefore, Lord, have thou mercy on my son.” The despair of all other helps sends us importunately to the God of power. Here was his refuge ; the strong man had gotten possession, it was only the stronger than he that could eject him. O God, spiritual wickednesses have naturally seized upon our souls : all human helps are too weak ; only thy mercy shall improve thy power to our deliverance. What bowels could choose but yearn at the distress of this poor )mung man ? Phrensy had taken his brain ; that disease was but health, in comparison of the tyrannical possession of that evil spirit, wherewith it was seconded. Out of hell there could not be a greater misery : his senses are either bereft, or else left to torment him ; he is toim and racked so as he foams and gnashes, he pines and languishes, he is cast sometimes into the fire, sometimes into the water. How that malicious tyrant rejoices in the mischief done to the creature of God I Had earth had any thing more pernicious than fire and water, thither had he been thrown, though rather for torture than despatch. It was too much favour to die at once. O God, with how deadly enemies hast thou matched us I Abate thou their power, since their malice will not be abated. How many think of this case with pity and horror, and, in the mean¬ time, are insensible of their own fearfuller condition ! It is but oftentimes that the devil would cast this young man into a temporary fire : he would cast the sinner into an eternal fire, whose ever¬ lasting burnings have no intermissions. No fire comes amiss to him ; the fire of affliction, the fire of lust, the fire of hell. O God, make us apprehensive of the danger of our sin, and secure from the fearful issue of sin. All these very same effects follow his spiritual possession. How doth he tear and rack them whom he vexes and distracts with inordinate cares and sorrows! How do they foam and gnash whom he hath drawn to an impatient repining at God’s afflictive hand ! how do they pine away, who hourly decay and languish in grace! O the lamentable condition of sinful soids, so much more dangerous, by how much less felt I But all this while, what part hath the moon in this man’s misery ? How comes the name of that goodly planet in question ? Cei’tainly these diseases of the brain follow much the course of this queen of moisture. That power which she hath in humours is drawn to the advantage of the malicious spirit, her predominancy is abused to his despite. Whether it were for the better opportunity of his vexation, or whether for the draw¬ ing of envy and discredit upon so noble a creature, it is no news with that subtile enemy, to fasten his effects upon these secondary causes, which he usurps to his own purposes. Whatever be the means, he is the tormentor. IVIuch wisdom needs to distinguish betwixt tlie evil spirit abusing the good creature, and the good creature abused by the evil spirit. CONT. XIX.3 THE STUBBORN DEVIL EJECTED. 373 He that knew all things asks questions : “ How long hath he been so ?” not to inform himself, (that devil could have done nothing without the knowledge, without the leave of the God of spirits,) but that, by the confession of the parent, he might lay forth the woeful condition of the child, that the thank and glory of the cure might be so much greater, as the complaint was more grievous ; “ He answered, from a child.” O God, how I adore the depth of thy wise, and just, and powerful dispensation I Thou that couldst say, “ I have loved Jacob, and Esau have 1 hated, ere the children had done good or evil,” thoughtst also good, ere this child could be capable of good or evil, to yield him over to the power of that evil one. What need I ask for any other reason than that which is the rule of all justice—thy will? yet even these weak eyes can see the just grounds of thine actions. That child, though an Israelite, was conceived and born in that sin, which both could, and did give Satan an interest in him ; besides, the actual sins of the parents de¬ served this revenge upon that piece of themselves. Rather, O God, let me magnify this mercy, that we and ours escape this judgment, than question thy justice, that some escape not. How just might it have been with thee, that we, who have given way to Satan in our sins, should have way and scope given to Satan over us in our punishments ! it is thy praise, that any of us are free; it is no quarrel that some suffer. Do I wonder to see Satan’s bodily possession of this young man from a child, when I see his spiritual possession of every son of Adam from a longer date ; not from a child, but from the womb, yea, in it ? Why should not Satan possess his own? We are all by nature the sons of wrath. It is time for us to renounce him in baptism, whose we are till we be regenerate. He hath right to us in our first birth ; our new birth acquits us from him, and cuts off’ all his claim. How miserable are they that have nothing but nature ! better it had been to have been unborn, than not to be born again. And if this poor soul, from an infant, were thus miserably handled, having done none actual evil, how just cause have Ave to fear the like judgments, who, by many foul offences, have deserved to draw this exe¬ cutioner upon us ! O my soul, thou hast not room enough for thank¬ fulness to that good God, who hath not delivered thee up to that malig¬ nant spirit. The distressed father sits not still, neglects not means; “ I brought him to thy disciples.” Doubtless, the man came first to seek for Christ himself; finding him absent, he makes suit to the disciples. To whom should we have recourse, in all our spiritual complaints, but to the agents and messengers of God ? The noise of the like cures had surely brought this man, with much confidence, to crave their succour; and now, how cold was he at the heart, when he found that his hopes were frustrated! “ They could not cast him out.” No douht the disciples tried their best; they laid their wonted charge upon this dumb spirit, but all in A’^ain. They that could come with joy and triumph to their Master, and say, “ The devils are subject to us,” find now themselves matched with a stubborn and refractory spirit. Their Avay was hitherto smooth and fair ; they met with no rub till now: and now, surely, the father of the de¬ moniac was not more troubled at this event than themselves. How could they choose but fear, lest their Master had, with himself, Avith- 374 THE STUBBORN DEVIL EJECTED. [book iv. drawn that spiritual power which they had formerly exercised ? needs must their heart fail them with their success. The man complained not of their impotence ; it wei’e fondly injurious to accuse them for that which they could not do. Had the want been in their will, they had well deserved a querulous language; it was no fault to want power : only he complains of the stubbornness, and laments the invincibleness of that evil spirit. I should wrong you, O ye blessed followers of Christ, if I should say, that as Israel, when Moses was gone up into the mount, lost their belief with their guide, so that ye, missing your Master, who was now ascended up to his Tabor, were to seek for your faith. Rather the wisdom of God saw reason to check your over-assured forwardness, and both to pull down your hearts by a just humiliation, in the sense of your own weak¬ ness, and to raise up your hearts to new acts of dependence upon that sovereign power from which your limited virtue was derived. What was more familiar to the disciples than ejecting of devils ? in this only it is denied them. Our good God sometimes finds it requisite to hold us short in those abilities whereof we make least doubt, that we may feel whence we had them. God will be no less glorified in what we cannot do, than in what we can do. If his graces were always at our command, and ever alike, they would seem natural, and soon run into contempt: now, we are justly held in an awful dependence upon that gracious hand, which so gives as not to cloy us, and so denies as not to discourage us. Who could now but expect, that our Saviour should have pitied and bemoaned the condition of this sad father and miserable son, and have let fall some words of comfort upon them ? Instead whereof, I hear him chiding and complaining, “ O faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I be with you ? how long shall I suffer you ?” complain¬ ing, not of that woeful father and more woeful son : it was not his fashion to add affliction to the distressed, to break such bruised reeds ; but of those Scribes, who, upon the failing of the success of this suit, had insulted upon the disability of the followers of Christ, and depraved his power ; although, perhaps, this impatient father, seduced by their suggestion, might slip into some thoughts of distrust. There could not be a greater crimination than “ faithless and perverse faithless in not believing; perverse in being obstinately set in their un¬ belief. Doubtless, these men were not free from other notorious crimes ; all were drowned in their infidelity. Moral uncleannesses or violences may seem more heinous to men, none are so odious to God as these in¬ tellectual wickednesses. What a happy change is here in one breath of Christ I “ How long shall I suffer you ? bring him hither to me the one is a word of anger, the other of favour. His just indignation doth not exceed or impeach his goodness. What a sweet mixture there is in the perfect simplicity of the divine nature 1 “ In the midst of judgment he remembers mercy,” yea, he acts it: his sun shines in the midst of this storm. Whether he frown, or whether he smile, it is all to one purpose, that he may win the incredulous and disobedient. Whether should the rigour of all our cen¬ sures tend, but to edification, and not to destruction ? We are physi¬ cians, we are not executioners; we give purges to cure, and not poisons CONT. XX.3 THE WIDOW’S MITES. 373 to kill. It is for the just Judge to say one day to reprobate souls, “ Depart from me in the meantime, it is for us to invite that all are spi¬ ritually possessed to the participation of mercy, “ Bring him hither to me.” O Saviour, distance was no hinderance to thy work; why should the demoniac be brought to thee ? was it, that this deliverance might be the better evicted, and that the beholders might see it was not for nothing that the disciples were reposed with so refractory a spirit? or was it, that the scribes might be witnesses of that strong hostility that was betM'ixt thee and that foul spirit, and be ashamed of their blasphemous slander? or was it, that the father of the demoniac might be quickened in that faith, which now, through the suggestion of the scribes, began to droop ; when he should hear and see Christ so cheerfully to undertake and per¬ form that whereof they had bidden him despair? The possessed is brought, the devil is rebuked and ejected. That stiff spirit which stood out boldly against the commands of the disciples, can¬ not but stoop to the voice of the Master: that power which did at first cast him out of heaven, easily dispossesses him of a house of clay. “ The Lord rebuke thee, Satan,” and then thou canst not but flee. The disciples, who wei’e not used to these affronts, cannot but be troubled at their mis-success ; “ Master, why could not we cast him out ?” Had they been conscious of any defect in themselves, they had never asked the question ; little did they think to hear of their unbelief. Had they not had great faith, they could not have cast out any devils; had they not had some want of faith, they had cast out this. It is possible for us to be defective in some graces, and not to feel it. Although not so much their weakness is guilty of this unprevailing, as the strength of that evil spirit; ‘‘ This kind goes not out but by prayer and fasting.” Weaker spirits were wont to be ejected by a command ; this devil was more sturdy and boisterous. As there are degrees of statures in men, so there are degrees of strength and rebellion in spiritual wicked¬ nesses. Here, bidding will not serve ; they must pray, and praying will not serve without fasting. They must pray to God that they may pre¬ vail ; they must fast to make their prayer more fervent, more effectual; we cannot now command, we can fast and pray. How good is our God to us, that while he hath not thought fit to continue to us those means wliich are less powerful for the dispossessing of the powers of darkness, yet hath he given us the greater ! while we can fast and pray, God will com¬ mand for us, Satan cannot prevail against us. CONTEMPLATION XX.—THE WIDOW’S MITES. The sacred wealth of the temple was either in stuff or in coin ; for the one the Jews had a house, for the other, a chest. At the concourse of all the males to the temple thrice a-year, upon occasion of the solemn feasts, the oblations of both kinds were liberal. Our Saviour, as taking pleasure in the prospect, sets himself to view those offerings, whether for holy uses or charitable. Those things we delight in, we love to behold; the eye and the heart will go together. And can we think, O Saviour, that thy glory hath 376 THE WIDOW’S MITES. [^BOOK IV. 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 out¬ side 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 retri¬ butive. As to see there 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 quick-sighted 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, and vengeance for what we have defaulked. With thine eye of knowledge thou seest all we do ; but what we do well, thou seest with an eye of approbation. So didst thou now behold these pious and charitable oblations. How well wert thou pleased with this variety ! Thou sawest many rich men give much ; and one poor widow give more than they in lesser room. The Jews were now under the Roman pressure; they were all tributaries, yet many of them rich, and those rich men were liberal to the common chest. Hadst thou seen those many rich give little, we had heard of thy censure ; thou expectest a proportion betwixt the giver and the gift, betwixt the gift and the receipt; where that fails, the blame is just. That nation, though otherways faulty enough, was in this commendable. How bounteously open were their hands to the house of God! Time was when their liberality was fain to be restrained by proclamation ; and now it needed no incitement; the rich gave much, the poorest gave more. “ He saw a poor Avidow casting in two mites.” It was misery enough that she was a widow. The married woman is under the careful provision of a husband ; if she spend, he earns : in that estate four hands work for her ; in her widowhood but two. Poverty added to the sorrow of her widowhood. The loss of some husbands is supplied by a rich jointure ; it is some allay to the grief, that the hand is left full, though the bed be empty. This woman was not more desolate than needy ; yet this poor widow gives ; and what gives she ? an offer¬ ing like herself—“ two mites or, in our language, two half farthing- tokens. Alas! good woman, who was poorer than thyself? wherefore was that corban but for the relief of such as thou ? who should receive, if such give ? thy mites were something to thee, nothing to the treasury. H ow ill is that gift bestowed, which disfurnisheth thee, and adds no¬ thing to the common stock I some thrifty neighbour might, perhaps, have suggested this probable discouragement. Jesus publishes and applauds her bounty : “ He called his disciples, and said unto them, Verily, I say unto you, this woman hath cast in more than they all.” While the ricli put in their offerings, I see no disciples called ; it was enough that Christ noted their gifts alone : but when the widow comes with lier two mites, now the domestics of Christ are summoned to assemble, and taught to CONT. XXI.] THE SONS OF ZEBEDEE. J377 admire this munificence; a solemn preface makes way to her praise, and her mites are made more precious than the others’ talents : “ She gave more than they allmore, not only in respect of the mind of the giver, but of the proportion of the gift as liers. A mite to her was more than pounds to them : pounds were little to them, two mites were all to her; they gave out of their abundance, she out of her necessity. That which they gave, left the heap less, yet a heap still; she gives all at once, and leaves herself nothing. So as she gave not more than any, but “ more than they all.” God doth not so much regard what is taken out, as what is left: O Father of mercies I thou lookest at once into the bottom of her heart and the bottom of her purse, and esteemest her gift according to both. As thou seest not as man, so thou valuest not as man : man judg- eth by the worth of the gift, thou judgest by the mind of the giver, and the proportion of the remainder. It were wide with us, if thou shouldst go by quantities. Alas ! what have we but mites, and those of thine own lending ? It is the comfort of our meanness, that our affections are valued and not our presents : neither hast thou said, “ God loves a liberal giver, but a cheerful.” If I had more, O God, thou shouldst have it; had I less, thou wouldst not despise it, who “ acceptest the gift according to that a man hath, and not accoi’ding to that he hath not.” Yea, Lord, what have I but two mites, a soul and a body ? mere mites, yea, not so much to thine infiniteness. O that I could perfectly offer them up unto thee, according to thine own right in them, and not accord¬ ing to mine. How graciously wouldst thou be sure to accept them ! how happy shall I be in thine acceotation! CONTEMPLATION XXI.—THE AMBITION OF THE TWO SONS OF ZEBEDEE. He who has his own time and ours in his hand, foreknew and foretold the approach of his dissolution. When men are near their end, and ready to make their will, then is it seasonable to sue for legacies. Thus did the mother of the two Zebedees ; therein well approving both her wisdom and her faith ; wisdom in the fit choice of her opportu¬ nity ; faith, in taking such an opportunity. The suit is half obtained that is seasonably made. To have made this motion, at the entry into their attendance, had been absurd, and had justly seemed to challenge a denial. It was at the parting of the angel that Jacob would be blessed. The double spirit of Elijah is not sued for till his ascending. But O the admirable faith of this good woman 1 When she heard the discourse of Christ’s sufferings and death, she talks of his glory ; when she hears of his cross, she speaks of his crown. If she had seen Herod come and tender his sceptre unto Christ, or the elders of the Jews come upon their knees with a submissive proffer of their allegiance, she might have had some reason to entertain the thoughts of a kingdom : but now, while the sound of betraying, suffering, dying, was in her ear, to make account of, and sue for a room in his kingdom, it argues a belief able to triumph over all discouragements. It was nothing for the disciples, when they saw him after his conquest 11 3 b 378 THE SONS OF ZEBEDEE. [[book IV. of death, and rising from the grave, to ask him, “ Master, wilt thou now restore the kingdom unto Israel ?” but for a silly woman to look through his future death and passion, at his resurrection and glory, it is no less worthy of wonder than praise. To hear a man in his best health and vigour to talk of his confidence in God, and assurance of divine favour, cannot be much worth: but if iu extremities we can believe above hope, against hope, our faith is so much more noble as our difficulties are greater. Never sweeter perfume arose from any altar, than that which ascended from Job’s dunghill, “ 1 know that my Redeemer liveth.” What a strange style is this that is given to this woman ! It had been as easy to have said, the wife of Zebedee, or the sister of Mary or of Joseph, or, as her name was, plain Salome ; but now, by an unusual description, she is styled, “ The Mother of Zebedee’s children.” Zebedee was an obscure man ; she, as his wife, was no better; the greatest ho¬ nour she ever had or could have, was to have two such sons as James and John; these give a title to both their parents. Honour ascends as well as descends. Holy children dignify the loins and wombs from whence they proceed, no less than their parents traduce honour unto them. Sa¬ lome might be a good wife, a good housewife, a good woman, a good neighbour; all these cannot ennoble her so much as “ The Mother of Zebedee’s children.” What a world of pain, toil, care, cost, there is in the birth and educa¬ tion of children ! their good proof requites all with advantage. Next to happiness in ourselves, is to be happy iu a gracious issue. The suit was the sons, but by the mouth of their mother: it was their best policy to speak by her lips. Even these fishermen had already learned craftily to fish for promotion. Ambition was not so bold in them as to show her own face : the envy of the suit shall thus be avoided, which could not but follow upon their personal request. If it were granted, they had what they would ; if not, it was but the repulse of a woman’s motion, which must needs be so much more pardonable, because it was of a mother for her sons. It is not discommendable in parents to seek the preferment of their children. VVhy may not Abraham sue for an Ishraael ? so it be by law¬ ful means, in a modei’ate measure, in due order, this endeavour cannot be amiss. It is tlie neglect of circumstances that makes the desire sin¬ ful. O the madness of those parents that care not which way they raise a house ; that desire rather to leave their children great than good ; that are more ambitious to have their sons lords on earth, than kings in heaven ! Yet I commend thee, Salome, that thy first plot was to have thy sons disciples of Christ, then after to prefer them to the best places of that attendance. It is the true method of divine prudence, O God, first to make our children happy with the honour of thy service, and then to endeavour their meet advancement upon earth. The mother is put upon this suit by her sons ; their heart was in her lips. They were not so mortified by their continual conversation with Christ, hearing his heavenly doctrine, seeing his divine carriage, but that their minds were yet roving after temporal lionours ; pride is the inmost coat which we put off last, and which we put on first. Who can wonder to see some sparks of weak and worldly desires iu their holiest teachers. CONT. XIX.] THE SONS OF ZEBEDEE. 379 when the blessed apostles were not free from some ambitious thoughts, while they sat at the feet, yea, in the bosom of their Saviour ? The near kindred this woman could challenge of Christ, might seem to give her just colour of more familiarity ; yet now, that she comes upon a suit, she submits herself to the lowest gesture of suppliants. We need not be taught, that it is fit for petitioners to the great, to present their humble supplications upon their knees. O Saviour, if this woman, so nearly allied to thee according to the flesh, coming but upon a temporal occasion to thee, being as then compassed about with human infirmities, adored thee ere she durst sue to thee, what reverence is enough for us, that come to thee upon spiritual suits, sitting now in the height of heaven¬ ly glory and majesty ? Say then, tlmu wife of Zebedee, what is it that thou cravest of thine omnipotent kinsman ? “A certain thing.” Speak out, woman ; what is this certain thing that thou cravest ? How poor and weak is this supplicatory anticipation to Him that knew thy thoughts ere thou utteredst them, ere thou entertainedst them ! We are all in this tune : evei y one would have something, such perhaps as we are ashamed to utter. The proud man would have a certain thing—honour in the world; the covetous would have a certain thing too—wealth and abundance ; the malicious would have a certain thing—revenge on his enemies ; the epicure would have pleasure and long life ; the barren, children ; the wanton, beauty. Each one would be humoured in his own desire, though in variety, yea, contradiction to other; though in opposi¬ tion not more to God’s will than our own good. How this suit sticks in their teeth, and dare not freely come forth, because it is guilty of its own faultiness ! What a difFerence there is be¬ twixt the prayers of faith, and the motions of self-love and infidelity ! Those come forth with boldness, as knowing their own welcome, and being well assured both of their warrant and acceptation ; these stand blushing at the door, not daring to appear, like to some baffled suit, con¬ scious to its owui unworthiness and just repulse. Our inordinate desires are worthy of a check : when we know that our requests are holy, we cannot come with too much confidence to the throne of grace. He that knew all their thoughts afar off, yet, as if he had been a stranger to their purposes, asks, “ What wouldst thou ?” Our infirmi¬ ties do then best shame us, wheu they are fetched out of our own mouths ; like as our prayers also serve not to acquaint God with our wants, but to make us the more capable of his mercies. The suit is drawn from her, now she must speak : ‘‘ Grant that these my two sons may sit, one on thy right hand, the other on thy left, in thy kingdom. It is hard to say whether out of more pride or ignorance. It was as received as erroneous a conceit among the disciples of Christ, that he should raise up a temporal kingdom over the now tributary and enslaved people of Israel. The Romans were now their masters ; their fancy was, that their Messias should shake off this yoke, and reduce them to their former liberty. So grounded was this opinion, that the two dis¬ ciples, in their walk to Emmaus, could say, “ We trusted it had been he that should have delivered Israeland when, after his resurrection, he was walking up Mount Olivet towards heaven, his very apostles coidd ask him, if he would now restore that long-expected kingdom. How should w’e mitigate our censures of our Christian brethren, if either they 380 THE SONS OF ZEBEDEE. [[book IV. mistake, or know not some secondary truths of religion, when the do¬ mestic attendants of Christ, who heard him every day till the very point of his ascension, misapprehended the chief cause of his coming into the world, and the state of his kingdom ! If our charity may not bear with small faults, what do we under his name that connived at greater ? Truth is, as the sun, bright in itself, yet there are many close corners into which it never shined. O God, if thou open our hearts, we shall take in those beams : till thou do so, teach us to attend patiently for ourselves, charitably for others. These fishermen had so much courtship to know, that the right hand and the left of any prince were the chief places of honour. Our Saviour had said, that his twelve followers should sit upon twelve thrones, and judge the twelve tribes of Israel. This good M'oman would have her two sons next to his person, the prime peers of his kingdom. Every one is apt to wish the best to his own. Worldly honour is neither worth our suit, nor unworthy our acceptance. Yea, Salome, had thy mind been in heaven, hadst thou intended this desired pre-eminence of that celestial state of glory, yet I know not how to justify thine ambition. Wouldst thou have thy sons preferred to the “ father of the faithful,” to the bles¬ sed mother of thy Saviour ? that very wish were presumptuous. For me, O God, my ambition shall go so high as to be a saint in heaven, and to live as holily on earth as the best: but for precedency of heavenly honour, I do not, I dare not affect it. It is enough for me, if I may lift up my head amongst the heels of thy blessed ones. The mother asks, the sons have the answer. She was but their tongue, they shall be her ears. God ever imputes the acts to the first mover, rather than to the instrument. It was a sore check, “ Ye know not what ye ask.” In our ordinary communication, to speak idly is sin; but, in our suits to Christ, to be so inconsiderate as not to understand our own petitions, must needs be a foul offence. As faith is the ground of our pi-ayers, so knowledge is the ground of our faith. If we come with indigested requests, we profane that name we invoke. To convince their unfitness for glory, they are sent to their impotency in suffering; “ Are ye able to drink of the cup whereof I shall drink, and to be baptized with the baptism wherewith I am baptized ?” O Saviour, even thou, who wert one with thy Father, hadst a cup of thine own ; never potion was so bitter as that which was mixed for thee. Yea, even thy draught is stinted; it is not enough for thee to sip of this cup, thou must drink it up to the very dregs. When the vinegar and gall were tendered to thee by men, thou didst but kiss the cup : but when thy Father gave into thine hands a potion infinitely more distasteful, thou, for our health, didst drink deep of it, even to the bottom, and saidst, “ It is finished.” And can we repine at those unpleasing draughts of affliction that are tempei’ed for us sinful men, when we see thee, the Son of thy Father’s love, thus dieted ? We pledge thee, O blessed Saviour, we pledge thee, according to our weakness, who hast begun to us in thy powerful sufferings. Only do thou enable us, after some sour faces made in our reluctation, yet at last willingly to pledge thee in our constant sufferings for thee. As thou must he drenched within, so must thou be baptized without. CONT. JTXI.] THE SONS OF ZEBEDEE. 381 Thy baptism is not of water, but of blood ; both these came from thee in thy passion : we cannot be thine, if we partake not of both. If thou hast not grudged thy precious blood to us, well mayest thou challenge some worthless drops from us. When they talk of thy kingdom, thou speakest of thy bitter cup, of thy bloody baptism. Suffering is the way to reigning. “ Through many tribulations must we enter into the kingdom of heaven.” There was never wedge of gold that did not first pass the fire ; there was never pure grain that did not undergo the flail. In vain shall we dream of our im¬ mediate passage, from the pleasures and jollity of earth, to the glory of heaven. Let who will hope to walk upon roses and violets to the throne of heaven, O Saviour, let me trace thee by the track of thy blood, and by thy red steps follow thee to thine eternal rest and happiness. I know this is no easy task, else thou hadst never said, “ Are ye able ?” Who should be able, if not they that had been so long blessed with thy presence, informed by thy doctrine, and, as it were, beforehand possessed of their heaven in thee ? Thou hadst never made them judges of their power, if thou couldst not have convinced them of their weakness. Alas, how full of feebleness is our body, and our mind of impatience I If but a bee sting our flesh, it swells ; and if but a tooth ache, the head and heart complain. How small trifles make us weary of ourselves ! What can we do without thee ? without thee, what can we suffer ? If thou be not, O Lord, strong in weakness, I cannot be so much as weak, I cannot so much as be. O do thou prepare me for my day, and enable me to my trials : “ I can do all things through thee that strengthenest me.” The motion of the two disciples was not more full of infirmity than their answer, “ We are able out of an eager desire of the honour, they are apt to undertake the condition. The best men may be mistaken in their own powers. Alas, poor men ! when it came to the issue, they ran away, and, I know not whither, one without his coat. It is one thing to suffer in speculation, another in practice. There cannot be a worse sign, than for a man, in a carnal presumption, to vaunt of his own abilities. How justly doth God suffer that man to be foiled purposely, that he may be ashamed of his own self-confidence. O God, let me ever be humbly dejected in the sense of mine own insufficiency ; let me give all glory to thee, and take nothing to myself but my infirmities. O the wonderful mildness of the Son of God ! he doth not rate the two disciples, either for their ambition in suing, or presumption in under¬ taking : but, leaving the worst, he takes the best of their answer; and omitting their errors, encourages their good intentions—“ Ye shall drink indeed of my cup, and be baptized with my baptism ; but to sit on my right hand and my left, is not mine to give, but to them for whom it is prepared of my Father.” I know not whether there be more mercy in the concession, or satisfaction in the denial. Were it not a high honour to drink of thy cup, O Saviour, thou hadst not fore-promised it as a favour. I am deceived, if what thou grantest were much less than that which thou deniest. To pledge thee in thine own cup, is not much less dignity and familiarity than to sit by thee. “ If we suffer with thee, we shall also reign together with thee.” What greater promotion can flesh and blood be capable of, than a conformity to the Lord of glory ? Enable thou me to drink of thy cup, and then set me where thou w ilt. 382 THE TRIBUTE-MONEY PAID. [book IV. But, O Saviour, while thou dignifiest them in thy grant, dost thou disparage thyself in thy denial? “ Not mine to give?” whose is it, if not thine ? If it be thy Father’s, it is thine. Thou, who art truth, hath said, “ I and my Father are one.” Yea, because thou art one with the Father, it is not thine to give to any save those for whom it is prepared of the Father. The Father’s preparation was thine, his gift is thine : the decree of both is one. That eternal counsel is not alterable upon our vain desu-es. The Father gives these heavenly honours to none but by thee ; thou givest them to none but according to the decree of thy Father. Many degrees there are of celestial happiness. Those supernal mansions are not all of a height. That Providence which hath varied our sta¬ tions upon earth, hath pre-ordered our seats above. O God, admit me within the walls of thy new Jerusalem, and place me wheresoever thou pleasest. CONTEMPLATION XXII.—THE TRIBUTE-MONEY PAID. All these other histories report the power of Christ, this shows both his power and obedience; his power over the creature, his obedience to civil powers. Capernaum was one of his own cities, there he made his chief abode in Peter’s house : to that host of his, therefore, do the toll-gather¬ ers repair for the tribute. When that great disciple said, “ We have left all,” he did not say. We have abandoned all, or sold, or given away all; but we have left, in respect of managing, not of possession ; not in res¬ pect of right, but of use and present fruition ; so left, that, upon just oc¬ casion, we may resume; so left, that it is our due, though not our busi¬ ness. Doubtless, he was too wise to give away his own, that he might borrow of a stranger. His own roof gave him shelter for the time, and his Master with him. Of him, as the householder, is the tribute required ; and by and for him is it also paid. I inquire not either into the occasion, or the sum. What need we make this exaction sacrilegious ? as if that half-shekel, which was appointed by God to be paid by every Israelite to the use of the tabernacle and temple, were now diverted to tbe Roman exchequer. There was no necessity that the Roman lords should be tied to the Jewish reckonings; it was free for them to impose what payments they pleased upon a subdued people : when great Augustus commanded the world to be taxed, this rate was set. The mannerly collectors de¬ mand it first of him with whom they might be more bold : “ Doth not your Master pay tribute ?” All Capernaum knew Christ for a great Prophet; his doctrine had ravished them; his miracles had astonished them; yet when it comes to a money matter, his share is as deep as the rest. Questions of profit admit no difference. Still the sacred tribe challengeth reverence : who cares how little they receive, how much they pay ? yet no man knows with what mind this demand was made; whether in a churlish grudging at Christ’s immunity, or an awful compellation of the servant rather than the master. Peter had it ready what to answer. I hear him not require their stay till he should go in and know his Master’s resolution ; but, as one well acquainted with the mind and practice of his Maker, he answers. Yes. CONT. XXII.] THE TRIBUTE-MONEY PAID. 383 There was no truer paymaster of the king’s dues, than he that was King of kings. Well did Peter know that he did not only give, but preach tribute. When the Herodians laid twigs for him, as supposing that so great a Prophet would be all for the liberty and exemption of God’s chosen people, he choaks them with their own coin, and told them the stamp argued the right: “ Give unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s.” O Saviour, how can thy servants challenge that freedom which thyself had not ? Who, that pretends to be from thee, can claim homage from those to whom thou gavest it ? If thou, by whom kings reign, forbearest not to pay tribute to a heathen prince, what power under thee can deny it to those that rule for thee ? That demand was made without doors. No sooner is Peter come in, than he is prevented by his Master’s question, “ What thinkest thou, Simon? of whom do the kings of the earth receive ti’ibute? of their own children, or of strangers ?” This very interrogation was answer enough to that which Peter meant to move : he, that could thus know the heart, was not, in true light, liable to human exactions. But, O Saviour, may I presume to ask, what this is to thee ? Thou hast said, “ My kingdom is not of this v/orld ; how doth it concern thee what is done by the kings of the earth, or imposed upon the sons of earthly kings ? thou wouldst be the son of an humble virgin, and choosest not a royal state, but a servile. I dispute not thy natural right to the throne, by thy lineal descent from the loins of Judah and David : what should I plead that which thou wavest ? It is thy divine royalty and son- ship which thou here justly urgest; the argument is irrefragable and con- victive. If the kings of the earth do so privilege their children, that they are free from all tributes and impositions, how much more shall the King of heaven give this immunity to his only and natural Son ? so as in true reason, I might challenge an exemption for me and my train. Thou raightst, O Saviour, and no less, challenge a tribute of all the kings of the earth to thee, by whom all powers are ordained: reason cannot mutter against this claim ; the creature owes itself, and whatsoever it hath, to the Maker, he owes nothing to it. “ Then are the children free.” He that hath right to all, needs not pay anything, else there should be a sub¬ jection in sovereignty, and men should be debitors to themselves. But this right was thine own peculiar, and admits no partners; M’hy dost thou speak of children, as of more, and, extending this privilege to Peter, sayest, “ Lest we scandalize them ?” Was it for that thy disciples, being of thy robe, might justly seem interested in the liberties of their Master : surely no otherwise were they children, no otherwise free. Away with that fanatical conceit, which challenges an immunity from secular com¬ mands and taxes, to a spiritual and adoptive sonship : no earthly saint- ship can exempt us from tribute to whom tribute belongeth. There is a freedom, O Saviour, which our Christianity calls us to afl’ect; a freedom from the yoke of sin and Satan, from the servitude of our corrupt affec¬ tions : we cannot be sons, if we be not thus free. O free thou us, by thy free Spirit, from the miserable bondage of our nature, so shall the children be free. But as, from these secular duties, no man is less free than the children ; O Saviour, thou wert free, and wouldst not be so ; thou wert free by natural right, wouldst not be free by voluntary dispen¬ sation. “ Lest an offence might be taken.” Surely had there followed 384 LAZARUS DEAD. [[book IV. ail offence, it had been taken only, and not given. « Woe be to the man by whom the offence cometh !” it cometh by him that gives it, it cometh by him that takes it, when it is not given: no part of this blame could have cleaved unto thee either way. Yet such was thy goodness, that thou wouldst not suffer an ofPence unjustly taken, at that which thou mightst justly have denied. How jealous should we be even of others’ perils I how careful so to moderate our power in the use of law¬ ful things, that our charity may prevent others’ scandals ! to remit of our own right for another’s safety ! O the deplorable condition of those wil¬ ful men, who care not what blocks they lay in the way to heaven, not forbearing, by a known lewdness, to draw others into their own damna¬ tion ! To avoid the unjust offence, even of very Publicans, Jesus will work a miracle. Peter is sent to the sea, and that not with a net, but with a hook. The disciple was now in his own trade. He knew a net might inclose many fishes, a hook could take but one : with that hook must he go angle for the tribute-money. A fish shall bring him a stater in her mouth ; and that fish that bites first. What an unusual bearer is here ! what an unlikely element to yield a piece of ready coin! O that omnipotent power, which could command the fish to be both his treasurer to keep his silver, and his purveyor to bring it! Now whether, O Saviour, thou causedst this fish to take up that shekel out of the bottom of the sea, or whether by thine almighty word thou madest it in an instant in the mouth of that fish, it is neither possible to deter¬ mine, nor necessary to inquire ! I rather adore thine infinite knowledge and power, that couldst make use of unlikeliest means ; that couldst serve thyself of the very fishes of the sea, in a business of earthly and civil em¬ ployment. It was not out of need that thou didst this ; though I do not find that thou ever affectedst a full purse. What veins of gold, or mines of silver, did not lie open to thy command ? but out of a desire to teach Peter, that while he would be tributary to Cissar, the very fish of the sea was tributary to him. How should this encourage our dependence upon that omnipotent hand of thine, which hath heaven, earth, sea, at thy dis¬ posing ! Still thou art the same for thy members, which thou wert for thyself, the Head. Rather than offence shall be given to the world by a seeming neglect of thy dear children, thou wilt cause the very fowls of heaven to bring them meat, and the fish of the sea to bring them money. O let us look up ever to thee by the eye of our faith, and not be wanting in our dependence upon thee, who canst not be wanting in thy provi¬ dence over us. CONTEMPLATION XXIII.—LAZARUS DEAD. O THE wisdom of God in penning his own story ! The disciple whom Jesus loved comes after his fellow-evangelists, that he might glean up those rich ears of history which the rest had passed over: that eagle soars high, and towers up by degrees. It was much to turn water into wine ; but it was more to feed five thousand with five loaves. It was much to restore the ruler’s son ; it was more to cui’e him that had been CONT. xxni.] LAZARUS DEAD. 385 tliirty-eight years a cripple. It Avas much to cure him that was born blind ; it was more to raise up Lazarus that had been so long dead. As a stream runs still the stronger and Avilder, the nearer it comes to the ocean whence it AA-as derived ; so didst thou, O Saviour, work the more powerfully the nearer thou drewest to thy glory. This was, as one of thy last, so of thy greatest miracles: Avhen thou Avert ready to die thy¬ self, thou raisedst him to life Avho smelt strong of the grave. None of all the sacred histories is so full and punctual as this, in the report of all cir¬ cumstances. Other miracles do not more transcend nature, than this transcends other miracles. This alone was a sufficient eviction of thy Godhead, O blessed Saviour: none but an infinite poAA'er could so far go beyond nature, as to recall a man four days dead, from not a mere privation, but a settled corruption. Earth must needs be thine, from Avhich thou raisest his body ; heaven must needs be thine, from Avhence thou fetchest his spirit. None but he that created man, could thus make him new. Sickness is the common preface to death ; no mortal nature is exempt¬ ed from this complaint; even Lazarus, whom Jesus loA^ed, is sick. What can strength of grace or dearness of respect prevail against disease, against dissolution? It AA'as a stirring message that Mary sent to Jesus, “ He Avhom thoti lovest is sick as if she Avould imply, that his part Avas no less deep in Lazarus than hers. Neither doth she say. He that loves thee is sick ; but, “ He whom thou lovestnot pleading the merit of Lazarus’s affec¬ tion to Christ, but the mercy and favour of Christ to him. Even that other reflection of love had been no weak motive; for, O Lord, thou hast said, “ Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliv¬ er him.” Thy goodness Avill not be behind us for love, who professeth to love them that love thee. But yet the argument is more forcible from thy love to us, since thou hast just I’eason to respect every thing of thine OAvn, more than ought that can proceed from us. Even we Aveak men, what can Ave stick at Avhere Ave love ? Thou, O infinite God, art love itself. Whatever thou hast done for us is out of thy love ; the ground and motive of all thy mercies is Avithin thyself, not in us, and if there be ought in us AA'orthy of thy love, it is thine own, not ours; thou givest Avhat thou acceptest. Jesus well heard the first groan of his dear Lazarus ; every short breath he dreAv, every sigh that he gave, that Avas upon ac¬ count ; yet this Lord of life lets his Lazarus sicken, and languish, and die; not out of neglect or impotence, but out of power and resolution. “ This sickness is not to death.” He to whom the issues of death be¬ long, knows the way both into it and out of it. He meant that sickness should be to death, in respect of the present condition, not to death in respect of the event; to death, in the process of nature, not to death in the success of his divine powei’, “ that the Son of God might be glorified thereby.” O Saviour, tliy usual style is the Son of Man ; thou that Avouldst take up our infirmities, wert willing thus to hide thy Godhead under the coarse Aveeds of our humanity ; but here thou sayst, “ That the Son of God might be glorified.” Though thou Avoiddst hide thy divine glory, yet thou Avouldst not smother it. Sometimes thou wouldst have thy sun break forth in bright gleams, to show that it hath no less light even Avhile it seems kept in by thy clouds. Thou Avert now near II. 3 c 3rfG LAZARUS DEAD. Qbook IV. tliy passion ; it was most seasonable for thee at this time to set forth thy just title. Neither was this an act that thy humanity could challenge to itself, hut far transcending all finite powers. To die was an act of the Son of man, to raise from death was an act of the Son of God. Neither didst thou say merely that God, hut “ That the Son of God might he glorified.” God cannot be glorified, unless the Son he so. In very natural relations the wrong or disrespect offered to the child reflects upon the father; as, contrarily, the parents upon the child; how much more, where the love and respect is infinite; where the whole essence is communicated with the entireness of relation ? O God, in vain shall we tender our devotions to thee indefinitely, as to a glorious and incomprehensible Majesty, if we kiss not the Son, who hath most justly said, “ Ye believe in the Father, believe also in me.” What a happy family was this ! I find none upon earth so much ho¬ noured ; “ Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus.” It is no standing upon terms of precedency : the Spirit of God is not curious in marshalling of places. Time was when Mary was confessed to have chosen the better part; here Martha is named first, as most interested in Christ’s love ; for ought appears, all of them were equally dear. Christ Aad familiarly lodged under their roof. How fit was that to receive him, whose indwellers were hospitable, pious, unanimous! hospitable, in the glad entertainment of Jesus and his train ; pious, in their devotions; unani¬ mous, in their mutual concord. As, contrarily, he baulks and hates that house which is taken up with uncharitableness, j)rofaneness, contention. But, O Saviour, how doth this agree ? thou lovedst this family, yet, hearing of their distress, thou heldest off two days more from them. Canst thou love those thou regardest not; canst thou regard them from whom thou willingly absentest thyself in their necessity ? Behold, thy love, as it is above ours, so it is oft against ours. Even out of every affection art thou not seldom absent. None of thine but have sometimes cried, “ How long, Lord ?” What need we instance, when thine eternal Father did purposely estrange his face from thee, so as thou criedst out of forsaking ? Here thou wouldst knowingly delay, whether for the greatening of the miracle, or for the strengthening of thy disciples’ faith. Hadst thou gone sooner, and prevented the death, who had known, whether strength of nature, and not thy miraculous powder, had done it ? hadst thou overtaken his death by this quickening visitation, wdio had known, whether this had been only some qualm or ecstacy, and not a per¬ fect dissolution? Now this large gap of time makes thy work both cer¬ tain and glorious. And wdiat a clear proof was this beforehand to thy disciples, that thou w'ert able to accomplish thine own resurrection on the third day, who wert able to raise up Lazarus on the fourth. The more difficult the w ork should be, the more need it had of an omnipotent confirmation. He that was Lord of our times and his ow n, can now, when he found it seasonable, say, “ Let us go into Judea again.” Why left he it be¬ fore ? w as it not upon the heady violence of his enemies ? Lo, the stones of the Jews drove him thence ; the love of Lazarus and the care of his divine glory drew him back thithei*. We may, we must be wise as serpents for our own preservation ; we CONT. XXIII.] LAZARUS DEAD. 387 must be careless of danger, when God calls us to the hazard. It is far from God’s purpose to give us leave so far to respect ourselves, as tliat we should neglect him. Let Judea be all snares, all crosses, O Saviour, when thou callest us we must put our lives into our hands, and follow thee thither. This journey thou hast purposed and contrived, but what needest thou to acquaint thy disciples with thine intent ? Where didst thou ever, be¬ sides this, make them of counsel with thy voyages ? Neither didst thou say. How think you if I go ? but, “ Let us go.” Was it for that thou, who knewest thine own strength, knewest also their weakness ? Thou wert resolute, they were timorous; they were sensible enough of their late peril, and fearful of more ; there was need to forearm them with an expectation of the worst, and preparation for it. Surprisal with evils may endanger the best constancy. The heart is apt to fail, when it finds itself entrapped in a sudden mischief. The disciples were dearly aftected to Lazarus ; they had learned to love where their Master loved ; yet now, when our Saviour speaks of re¬ turning to that region of peril, they pull him by the sleeve, and put him in mind of the violence offered unto him; “ Master, the Jews of late sought to stone thee, and goest thou thither again ?” No less than thrice, in the foregoing chapter, did the Jews lift up their hands to murder him by a cruel lapidation. Whence was this rage and bloody attempt of theirs ? only for that he taught them the truth con¬ cerning his divine nature, and gave himself the just style of the Son of God. How subject carnal hearts are to be impatient of heavenly veri¬ ties ! Nothing can so much fret that malignant spirit which rules in those breasts, as that Christ should have his own. If we be persecuted for his truth, we do but suffer with him with whom we shall once reign. However, the disciples pleaded for their Master’s safety, yet they aimed at their own ; they well knew their danger was inwrapped in his. It is but a cleanly colour that they put upon their own fear. This is held but a weak and base passion ; each one would be glad to put off’ the opinion of it from himself, and to set the best face upon his own impotency. Thus, white-livered men, that shrink and shift from the cross, will not want fair pretences to evade it. One pleads the peril of many depen¬ dents, another the disfurnishing the church of succeeding abettors: each will have some plausible excuse for his sound skin. MJiat error did not our Saviour rectify in his followers ? even that fear, which they would have dissembled, is graciously dispelled by the just consideration of a sure and inevitable Providence. “ Are there not twelve hours in the day,” which are duly set, and proceed regularly for the direction of all the mo¬ tions and actions of men ? so in this course of mine, which I must run on earth, there is a set and determined time wherein I must work, and do my Father’s will. The sun, that guides these hours, is the determi¬ nate counsel of my Father, and his calling to the execution of my charge ; while I follow that, I cannot miscarry, no more than a man can miss his known way at high noon : this wdiile in vain are either your dissuasions or the attempts of enemies; they cannot hurt, ye cannot divert me. The journey then holds to Judea ; his attendants shall be made ac¬ quainted with the occasion. He that had formerly denied the deadli¬ ness of Lazarus’s sickness, would not suddenly confess his death, neither 388 LAZARUS DEAD. [book IV. yet would he altogether conceal it: so will he therefore confess it, as tliat he will shadow it out in a borrowed expi’ession ; “Lazarus our friend sleepeth.” What a sweet title is here both of death and of La¬ zarus ! death is a sleep, Lazarus is our friend. Lo, he says not my friend, but ours ; to draw them first into a gracious familiarity and communion of friendship with himself; for what doth this import, but, “ ye are my friends,” and Lazarus is both my friend and yours ? “ our friend.” O meek and merciful Saviour, that disdainest not to stoop so low, as that, while thou “ thoughtst it no robbery to be equal unto God,” thou thoughtst it no disparagement to match thyself with weak and wretched men 1 “ our friend Lazarus !” There is a kind of parity in friendship. There may be love where is the most inequality, but friendship supposes pairs : yet the Son of God says of the sons of men, “ Our friend Lazarus.” O what a high and happy condition is this for mortal men to aspire un¬ to, that the God of heaven should not be ashamed to own them for friends ! neither saith he now abruptly, Lazarus our friend is dead ; but, “ Lazarus our friend sleepeth.” O Saviour, none can know the estate of life or death so well as thou that art the Lord of both. It is enough that thou tellest us death is no other than sleep ; that which was wont to pass for the cousin of death, is now itself. All this Avhile we have mistaken the case of our dissolution ; we took it for an enemy, it proves a friend; there is pleasure in that wherein we supposed horror. Who is afraid, after the weary toils of the day, to take his rest by night ? or what is more refreshing to the spent ti'aveller than a sweet sleep ? It is our infidelity, our impi’eparation that makes death any other than advantage. Even so. Lord, when thou seest I have toiled enough, let me sleep in peace ; and when thou seest I have slept enough, awake me, as thou didst thy Lazarus: “ But I go to awake him.” Thou saidst not, Let us go to awake him : those whom thou wilt allow companions of thy way, thou wilt not allow partners of thy work ; they may be Avit- nesses, they cannot be actors. None can awake Lazarus out of this sleep, but he that made Lazarus. Every mouse or gnat can raise us up from that other sleep ; none but an omnipotent power from this. This sleep is not without a dissolution. Who can command the soul to come down and meet the body, or command the body to piece with itself, and rise up to the soul, but the God that created both ? It is our comfort and assurance, O Lord, against the terrors of death, and tenacity of the grave, that our resurrection depends upon none but thine omnipotence. Who can blame the disciples, if they are loath to return to Judea ? their last entertainment was such as might justly dishearten them. Were this as literally taken, all the reason of our Saviour’s purpose of so peril¬ ous a voyage, they argued not amiss, “ If he sleep, he shall do Avell.” Sleep in sickness is a good sign of recovery, for extremity of pain bars our rest: when nature, therefore, finds so much respiration, she justly hopes for better terms. Yet it doth not always follow, “ If he sleep, he shall do wellhow many have died of letbai’gies ! how many have lost, in sleep, what they would not have foregone waking I Adam slept and lost his rib ; Samson slept and lost his strength ; Saul slept and lost his weapon ; Ishbosheth and Holofernes slept, and lost their heads: in ordi¬ nary course it holds well, here they mistook and erred. The misconstrue- CONT. XXIII.3 LAZARUS DEAD. 389 tion of the words of Christ led them into an unseasonable and erroneous suggestion. Nothing can be more dangerous than to take the speeches of Christ according to the sound of the letter; one error will be sure to draw on more, and if the first be never so slight, the last may be impor¬ tant. ^Vlierefore are words but to express meanings ? why do we speak, but to be understood ? Since, then, our Saviour saw himself not rightly construed, he delivers himself plainly, “ Lazarus is dead.” Such is thy manner, O thou eternal Word of thy Father, in all thy sacred expres¬ sions. Thine own mouth is thy best commentary ; what thou hast more obscurely said in one passage, thou interpretest more clearly in another. Thou art the sun, which givest us that light whereby we see thyself. But how modestly dost thou discover thy deity to thy disciples ! not upon the first mention of Lazarus’s death, instantly professing thy power and will of his resuscitation ; but contenting thyself only to intimate thy omniscience, in that thou couldst, in that absence and distance, know and report his departure ; they shall gather the rest, and cannot choose but think, we serve a Master that knows all things; and he that knows all things, can do all things. The absence of our Saviour from the death-bed of Lazarus was not casual, but voluntary ; yea, he is not only willing with it, but glad of it: “ I am glad, for your sakes, that I was not there.” How contrary may the affections of Christ and ours be, and yet be both good. The two worthy sisters were much grieved at our Saviour’s absence, as doubting it might savour of some neglect: Christ was glad of it, for the advantage of his disciples’ faith. I cannot blame them, that they were thus sorry; I cannot but bless him, that he was thus glad. The gain of their faith, in so divine a miracle, was more than could be countervailed by their mo¬ mentary sorrow. God and we are not alike affected with the same events ; he laughs where we mourn ; he is angry where we are pleased. The difference of the affections arises from the difference of the objects, which Christ and they apprehend in the same occurrence. Why are the sisters sorrowful ? because, upon Christ’s absence, Lazarus died. Why was Jesus glad he was not there ? for the benefit which he saw would accrue to their faith. There is much variety of prospect in every act, according to the several intentions and issues thereof, yea, even in the very same eyes. The Father sees his Son combating in a duel for his country ; he sees blows and wounds on the one side, he sees renown and victory on the other; he grieves at the wounds, he rejoices in the honour. Thus doth God in all our afflictions; he sees our tears, and heai’s our groans, and pities us ; but withal, he looks upon our patience, our faith, our crown, and is glad that we are afflicted. O God, why should not we conform our diet unto thine ? When we lie in pain and extremity, we cannot but droop under it; but, do we find ourselves increased in true mortification, in patience, in hope, in a con¬ stant reliance on thy mercies ? why are we not more joyed in this, than dejected with the other, since the least grain of the increase of grace is more worth than can be equalled with whole pounds of bodily vexation ? O strange consequence ! “ Lazarus is deadnevertheless, “ let us go unto him.” Must they not needs think, what should we do with a dead man ? what should separate, if death cannot ? Even those, whom we 39.) LAZARUS RAISED. [book IV. loved dearliest, we avoid once dead; now we lay them aside under the board, and thence send them out of our houses to their grave. Neither hath death more horror in it than noisomeness; and if we could entreat our eyes to endure the horrid aspect of death, in the face we loved, yet can we persuade our scent to like that smell that arises up from their corruption ? “ O love stronger than death !” behold here, a friend whom the very grave cannot sever. Even those that write the longest and most passionate dates of their amity, subscribe but, “ Your friend till death and if the ordinary strain of human friendship will stretch yet a little further, it is but to the brim of the grave ; thither a friend may follow us, and see us bestowed in this house of our age, but there he leaves us to our worms and dust. But for thee, O Saviour, the grave-stone, the earth, the coffin, are no bounders of thy dear respects ; even after death, and burial, and corruption, thou art graciously affected to those thou lovest. Besides the soul, (whereof thou sayest not, let us go to it, but, let it come to us) there is still a gra¬ cious regard to that dust, which was, and shall be a part of an undoubted member of that mystical body whereof thou art the head. Heaven and earth yields no such friend but thyself. O make me ever ambitious of this love of thine, and ever unquiet, till I feel myself possessed of thee. In the mouth of a mere man this word had been incongruous, “ La¬ zarus is dead, yet let us go to him in thine, O Almighty Saviour, it was not more loving than seasonable ; since I may justly say of thee, thon hast more to do with the dead than with the living ; for both they are infinitely more, and have more inward communion with thee, and thou with them : death cannot hinder either our passage to thee, or thy return to us. I joy to think the time is coming, when thou shalt come to every of our graves, and call us up out of our dust, and we “ shall hear thy voice, and live.” CONTEMPLATION XXIV.—LAZARUS RAISED. Great was the opinion that these devout sisters had of the power of Christ, as if death durst not show his face to him ; they suppose his pre¬ sence had prevented their brother’s dissolution : and now the news of his approach begins to quicken some late hopes in them. Martha was ever the more active ; she, that was before so busily stirring in her house to entertain Jesus, was now as nimble to go forth of her house to meet him ; she, in whose face joy had wont to smile iqion so blessed a guest, now salutes him with the sighs, and tears, and blubbers, and wrings of a dis¬ consolate mourner. I know not whether the speeches of her greeting had in them more sorrow or religion. She had been well catechized, before, even she also had sat at Jesus’ feet; and can now give good ac¬ count of her faith, in the power and Godhead of Christ, in the certainty of a future resurrection. This conference hath yet taught her more, and raised her heart to an expectation of some wonderful effect. And now she stands not still, but hastes back into the village to her sister, carried thither by the two Mungs of her own hopes and her Saviour’s commands. The time was, when she would have called oft' her sister from the feet of CONT. XXIV.j LAZARUS RAISED. 391 that divine Master, to attend the household occasions ; now she runs to fetch her out of the house to the feet of Christ. Doubtless, Martha was much affected with the presence of Christ; and as she was overjoyed with it herself, so she knew how equally welcome it would be to her sister; yet she doth not ring it out aloud in the open hall, but secretly whispers these pleasing tidings in her sister’s ear: “ The Master is come, and calleth for thee.” Whether out of modesty or dis¬ cretion, it is not fit for a woman to be loud and clamorous : nothing be¬ seems that sex better than silence and bashfulness, as not to be too much seen, so not to be heard too far. Neither did modesty more charm her tongue than discretion, whether in respect to the guests, or to Christ him¬ self. Had those guests heard of Christ’s being there, they had, either out of fear or prejudice, withdrawn themselves from him ; neither durst they have been witnesses of that wonderful miracle, as being overawed with that Jewish edict which was out against him ; or perhaps they had withheld the sisters from going to him, against whom they knew how highly their governors were incensed. Neither was she ignorant of the danger of his own person, so lately before assaulted violently by his ene¬ mies at Jerusalem. She knew they were within the smoke of that bloody city, the nest of his enemies; she holds it not therefore fit to make open proclamation of Christ’s presence, but rounds her sister secretly in the ear. Christianity doth not bid us abate any thing of our waryness and honest policies; yea, it requires us to have no less of the serpent than of the dove. There is a time when we must preach Christ on the house-top : there is a time when we must speak him in the eai’, and, as it were, with our lips shut. Secrecy hath no less use than divulgation. She said enough, “ The Master is come, and calleth for thee.” What a happy word was this which was here spoken ! what a high favour is this that is done, that the Lord of life should personally come and call for Mary ! yet such as is not appropriated to her. Thou comest to us still, O Saviour, if not in thy bodily presence, yet in thy spiritual; thou callest us still, if not in thy personal voice, yet in thine ordinances. It is our fault, if we do not, as this good woman, arise quickly, and come to thee. Her friends were there about her, who came purposely to condole Avith her ; her heart was full of heaviness ; yet so soon as she hears mention of Christ, she forgets friends, brother, grief, cares, thoughts, and hastes to his presence. Still was Jesus standing in the place where Martha left him. Whe¬ ther it be noted to express Mary’s speed, or his own Avise and gracious resolutions, his presence in the village had perhaps invited danger, and set off the intended witnesses of the Avork; or it may be, to set forth his zealous desire to despatch the errand he came for; that as Abraham’s faithful servant would not receive any courtesy from the house of Bethuel, till he had done his master’s business concerning Rebecca; so thou, O Saviour, wouldst not so much as enter into the house of these two sisters in Bethany, till thou hadst effected this glorious Avork Avhich occasioned thee thither. It Avas thy “ meat and drink to do the will of thy Father thy best entertainment was Avithin thyself. Hoav do Ave follow thee, if we suffer either pleasures or profits to take the Avail of thy services ? So good women were well worthy of kind friends. No doubt Bethany, being two miles distant from Jerusalem, could not but be furnished Avith 392 LAZARUS RAISED. I^BOOK IV. good acquaintance from the city : these knowing the dearness, and hear¬ ing of the death of Lazarus, came over to comfort the sad sisters. Cha¬ rity, together with the common practice of that nation, calls them to this duty. All our distresses expect these good offices from those that love us; but of all others, death, as that which is the extremest of evils, and makes the most fearful havoc in families, cities, kingdoms, worlds. The complaint was grievous, “ I looked for some to comfort me, but there was none.” It is some kind of ease to sorrow to have partners ; as a bur¬ den is lightened by many shoulders; or as clouds scattered into many drops, easily vent their moistui’e into air. Yea, the very presence of friends abates grief. The peril that arises to the heart from passion is the fixedness of it, when, like a corrosive plaster, it eats in into the sore. Some kind of remedy it is, that it may breathe out in good society. These friendly neighbours, seeing Mary hasten forth, make haste to follow her. Martha went forth before ; I saw none go after her : Mary stirs ; they are at her heels. Was it for Martha, being the elder sister, and the housewife of the family, might stir about with less observation ? or was it that Mary was the more passionate, and needed the more heedy attend¬ ance ? however their care and intentiveness is truly commendable ; they came to comfort her, they do what they came for. It contents them not to sit still and chat within doors, but they wait on her at all turns. Per¬ turbations of mind are diseases : good keepers do not oidy tend the pa ¬ tient in bed, but when he sits up, when he tries to walk ; all his motions have their careful assistance. VYe are no true friends if our endeavours of the redress of distempers in them we love be not assiduous and un- wearyable. It was but a loving suspicion, “ She is gone to the grave to weep there.” They well knew how apt passionate minds are to take all occa¬ sions to renew their sorrow ; every object affects them. When she saw but the chamber of her dead brother, straight she thinks, there Lazarus was wont to lie, and then she wept afresh ; when the table, there La¬ zarus was wont to sit, and then new tears arise ; when the garden, there Lazarus had wont to walk, and now again she weeps. How much more do these friends suppose the passions would be stirred Avith the sight of the grave, when she must needs think. There is Lazarus ! O Saviour, if the place of the very dead corpse of our friend have power to draw our hearts thither, and to affect us more deeply, how should our hearts be drawn to and affected with heaven, where thou sittest at the right hand of thy Father? there, O thou, “which wert dead and art alive,” is thy body and thy soul present, and united to thy glorious Deity. Thither, O thither, let our access be ; not to mourn there, where is no place for sor¬ row, but to rejoice with joy unspeakable and glorious, and more and more to long for that thy beatifical presence. Their indulgent love mistook Mary’s errand ; their thoughts, how kind soever, were much too low : while they supposed she went to a dead brother, she went to a living Saviour. The world hath other conceits of the action and carriage of the regenerate than are truly intended, setting such constructions upon them as their own carnal reason suggests : they think them dyhig, when behold they live ; sorrowful, Avhen they are al- Avays rejoicing ; poor, Avhile they make many rich. How justly do we CONT. XXIV.2 LAZARUS RAISED. 393 appeal from them as incompetent judges, and pity those misinterpreta¬ tions which we cannot avoid I Both the sisters met Christ; not both in one posture; Mary is still noted, as for more passion, so for more devotion ; she that before sat at the fsst of Jesus, now falls at his feet. That presence had wont to be familiar to her, and not without some outward homeliness ; now it fetches her upon her knees in an awful veneration ; whether out of a reverent acknowledgment of the secret excellency and power of Christ, or out of a dumb intimation of that suit concerning her dead brother, which she was afraid to utter; the very gesture itself was supplicatory. What position of body can be so fit for us, when we make our address to our Saviour ? it is an irreligious unmannerliness for us to go less. Where the heart is affected with an awful acknowledgment of majesty, the body cannot but bow. Even before all her neighbours of Jerusalem doth Mary thus fall down at the feet of Jesus ; so many witnesses as she had, so many spies she had of that forbidden observance. It was no less than excommunication for any body to confess him: yet good Mary, not fearing the informations that might be given by those Jewish gossips, adores him ; and, in her si¬ lent gesture, says as much as her sister had spoken before: “ Thou art the Christ, the Son of God.” Those, that would give Christ his right, must not stand upon scrupulous fears. Are we naturally timorous ? why do we not fear the denial, the exclusion of the Almighty ? “ Without shall be the fearful.” Her humble prostration is seconded by a lamentable complaint: “ Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.” The sisters are both in one mind, both in one speech; and both of them, in one speech, be¬ wray both strength and infirmity: strength of faith, in ascribing so much power to Christ, that his presence could preserve from death ; infirmity, in supposing the necessity of a presence for this purpose. Why, Mary, could not thine omnipotent Saviour, as well in absence, have commanded Lazarus to live? Is his hand so short, that he can do nothing but by contraction ? If his power were finite, how could he have forbidden the seizure of death ? if infinite, how could it be limited to place, or hin¬ dered by distance ? It is a weakness of faith to measur e success by means, and means by presence, and to tie effects to botli, when we deal with an Almighty agent. Finite causes work within their own sphere ; all places are equally near, and all effects equally easy to the infinite. O Saviour, while thou now sittest gloriously in heaven, thou dost no less impart thy¬ self unto us, than if thou stoodst visibly by us, than if we stood locally by thee ! no place can make difference of thy virtue and aid. This was Mary’s moan ; no motion, no request sounded from her to her Saviour. Her silent suit is returned with a mute answer: no notice is taken of her error. O that marvellous mercy that connives at our faulty infirmities I All the reply that I hear of, is a compassionate groan with himself. O blessed Jesu, thou, that wert free from all sin, wouldst not be free even from strong affections. Wisdom and holiness should want much work, if even vehement passions might not be quitted from offence. Mary wept; her tears drew on tears from her friends; all their tears united, drew groans from thee. Even in thine heaven, thou dost no less pity our sorrows: thy glory is free from groans, but abounds II, 3 o 394 LAZARUS RAISED. [|book IV. with compassion and mercy : if we be not sparing of our tears, thou canst not be insensible of our sorrows. How shall we imitate thee, if, like our looking-glass, we do not answer tears, and weep on them that weep on us ? Lord, thou knewest (in absence) that Lazarus was dead, and dost thou not know where he was buried ? surely thou wert further off when thou sawest and reportedst his death, than thou wert from the grave thou in- quiredst of: thou, that knewest all things, yet askest what thou knowest, “ Where have ye laid him ?” not out of need, but out of will: that as in thy sorrow, so in thy question thou mightst depress thyself in the opinion of the beholders for the time, that the glory of thine instant miracle might be the greater, the less it was expected. It had been all one to thy om¬ nipotence to have made a new Lazarus out of nothing; or, in that re¬ moteness, to have commanded Lazarus, wheresoever he was, to come forth : but thou wert neither willing to work more miracle than was re¬ quisite, nor yet unwilling to fix the minds of the people upon the expec¬ tation of some marvellous thing that thou meantst to work ; and there¬ fore askest, “ Where have you laid him ?” They are not more glad of the question, than ready for the answer; “ Come and see.” It was the manner of the Jews, as likewise of those Egyptians among whom they had sojourned, to lay up the dead bodies of their friends with great respect; more cost was wont to be bestowed on some of their graves than on their houses ; as neither ashamed, then, nor unwilling to show the decency of their sepulture, they say, “ Come and see.” More was hoped for from Christ than a mere view ; they meant and expected, that his eye should draw him on to some further action. O Saviour, while we desire our spiritual resuscitation, how should we labour to bring thee to our grave! how should we lay open our deadness before thee, and bewray to thee our impotence and sense¬ lessness ! Come, Lord, and see what a miserable carcase I am ; and, by the power of thy mercy, raise me from the state of my corruption. Never was our Saviour more submissively dejected than now, imme¬ diately before he would approve and exalt the majesty of his Godhead. To his groans and inward grief he adds Iris tears. Anon they shall con¬ fess him a God ; these expressions of passions shall onwards evince him to be a man. The .Jews construe this well; “ See how he loved him.” Never did any thing but love fetch tears from Christ. But they do foully misconstrue Christ in the other ; “ Could not he, that opened the eyes of him that was born blind, have caused, that even this man should not have died ?” Yes, know ye, O vain and importune question- ists, that he could have done it with ease. To open the eyes of a man born blind, was more than to keep a sick man from dying ; this were but to uphold and maintain nature from decaying; that were to create a new sense, and to i-estore a deficiency in nature. To make an eye, was no whit less difficult than to make a man ; he that could do the greater might well have done the less. Ye shall soon see this was not for want of power. Had ye said. Why would he not ? why did he not ? the question had been fairer, and the answer no less easy—For his own grea¬ ter glory. Little do ye know the drift, whether of God’s acts or delays ; and ye know as much as you are worthy. Let it be sufficient for you to CONT. XXIV.] LAZARUS RAISED. 395 understand, that he, who can do all things, will do that which shall be most for his own honour. It is not improbable that Jesus, who before groaned in himself foi* compassion of their tears, now groaned for their incredulity. Nothing could so much afflict the Saviour of men as the sins of men. Could their external wrongs to his body have been separated from offence against his divine person, their scornful indignities had not so much affected him. No injury goes so deep as our spiritual provocations of our God. Wretched men ! why should we grieve the good Spirit of God in us ? why should we make him groan for us, that died to redeem us ? With these groans, O Saviour, thou earnest to the grave of Lazarus. The door of that house of death was strong and impenetrable: thy first word was, “ Take away the stone.” O weak beginning of a mighty mir¬ acle ! If thou meantst to raise the dead, how much more easy had it been for thee to remove the grave-stone ! One grain of faith in thy very disciples was enough to remove mountains, and dost thou say, “ Take away the stone ?” I doubt not, but there was a greater weight that lay upon the body of Lazarus than the stone of his tomb—the weight of death and corruption ; a thousand rocks and hiUs were not so heavy a load as this alone; why then didst thou stick at this shovel-full ? Yea, how easy had it been for thee to have brought up the body of Lazarus through the stonej by causing that marble to give way by a sudden rarefaction I But thou thoughtst best to make use of their hands rather, whether for their own more full conviction ; for had the stone been taken away by thy followers, and Lazarus thereupon walked forth, this might have appeared to thy ma¬ lignant enemies to have been a set match betwixt thee, the disciples, and Lazarus ; or whether for the exercise of our faith, that thou mightst teach us to trust thee under contrary appearances. Thy command to remove the stone seemed to argue an impotence ; straight that seeming weakness breaks forth into an act of omnipotent poAver. The homeliest shows of thine human infirmity are ever seconded with some mighty proofs of thy Godhead: and thy miracle is so much more Avondered at, by hoAV much it was less expected. It Avas ever thy just will that Ave should do what we may. To remove the stone, or to untie the napkin, Avas in their power, this they must do; to raise the dead was out of their power, this therefore thou wilt do alone. Our liands must do their utmost ere thou vAult put to thine. O Saviour, aa’o are all dead and buried in the graA'e of our sinful na¬ ture : the stone of obstination must be taken away from our hearts, ere we can hear thy reviving Amice. We can no more remove this stone, than dead Lararus could remove his ; AAe can add more weight to our graves. O let thy faithful agents, by the power of thy laAV, and the grace of thy gospel, take off the stone, that thy voice may enter into the grave of miserable corruption. Was it a modest kind of mannerliness in Martha, that she would not have Christ annoyed with the ill scent of that stale carcass ? or Avas it out of distrust of reparation, since her brother had passed all the degrees of corruption, that she says, “ Lord, by this time he stinketh, for he hath been dead four days?” He that understood hearts, found somewhat amiss in that intimation ; his ansAver had not endeavoured to rectify that which Avas utterly faultless. I fear, the good Avoman meant to object 39G LAZARUS RAISED. [book IV. this as a likely obstacle to any further purposes or proceedings of Christ. Weak faith is still apt to lay blocks of difficulties in the way of the great works of God. Four days were enough to make any corpse noisome. Death itself is not unsavoury : immediately upon dissolution the body retains the wont¬ ed sweetness : it is the continuance under death that is thus offensive. Neither is it otherwise in our spiritual condition : the longer we lie under our sin, the more rotten and corrupt we are. He who upon the fresh commission of his sin recovers himself by a speedy repentance, yields no ill scent to the nostrils of the Almighty. The candle that is presently blown in again offends not; it is the snuff, which continues choked with its own moisture, that sends up unwholesome and odious fumes. O Sa¬ viour, thou wouldst yield to death, thou wouldst not yield to corruption ; ere the fourth day thou wert risen again. I cannot but receive many deadly foils ; but O, do thou raise me up again, ere I shall pass the de¬ grees of rottenness in my sins and trespasses I They that laid their hands to the stone, doubtless held now still awhile, and looked one while on Christ, another while upon Martha, to hear what issue of resolution would follow upon so important an objection ; when they find a light touch of taxation to Martha, “ Said I not to thee, that if thou wouldst believe, thou shouldst see the glory of God ?” That holy woman had before professed her belief, as Christ had professed his great intentions ; both were now forgotten ; and now our Saviour is fain to revive both her memory and faith : “ Said I not to thee ?” The best of all saints are subject to fits of unbelief and oblivion, the only remedy whereof must be the inculcation of God’s merciful promises of their relief and supportation. O God, if thou hast said it, I dare believe ; I dare cast my soul upon the belief of every word of thine. “ Faithful art thou which hast promised, -who wilt also do it.” In spite of all the unjust discouragements of nature, we must obey Christ’s command. Whatever Martha suggests, they remove the stone, and may now see and smell him dead, whom they shall soon see revived. The scent of the corpse is not so unpleasing to them, as the perfume of their obedience is sweet to Christ. And now, when all impediments are removed, and all hearts ready for the work, our Saviour addresses to the miracle. His eyes begin ; they are lift up to heaven. It was the malicious mis- snggestion of his enemies, that he looked down to Beelzebub ; the be¬ holders shall now see whence he expects and derives his power, and shall by him learn whence to expect and hope for all success. The heart and the eye must go together: he that wordd have ought to do with God,, must be sequestered and lifted up from earth. His tongue seconds his eye : “ Father.” Nothing more stuck in the stomach of the Jews, than that Christ called himself the Son of God; this was imputed to him for a blasphemy, worthy of stones. How sea¬ sonably is this word spoken in the hearing of these Jews, in whose sight he will be presently approved so 1 How can ye now, O ye cavillers, except at that title which ye shall see irrefragably justified ? Well may he call God Father, that can raise the dead out of the grave. In vain shall ye snarl at the style, when ye are convinced of the effect. I bear of no prayer, but a thanks for hearing. While thou saidst no- COXT. XXIV .3 LAZARUS RAISED. 397 thing, O Saviour, how doth thy Father hear thee ? Was it not with thy Father and thee, as it was with thee and Moses ? Idiou saidst, “ Let me alone, Moses,” when he spake not. Thy will was thy prayer. Words express our hearts to men, thoughts to God. Well didst thou know, out of the self-sameness of thy will with thy Father’s, that if thou didst hut think in thine heart that Lazarus should rise, he was now raised. It was not for thee to pray vocally and audibly, lest those cap¬ tious hearers should say, thou didst all by entreaty, nothing by power. Thy thanks overtake thy desires ; ours require time and distance : our thanks arise from the echo of our prayers resounding from heaven to our hearts ; thou, because thou art at once in earth and heaven, and knowest the grant to be of equal paces with the request, most justly thankest in praying. Now ye cavilling Jews are thinking straight. Is there such distance betwixt the Father and the Son ? is it so rare a thing for the Son to be heard, that he pours out his thanks for it as a blessing unusual ? Do ye not now see that he who made your heart knows it, and anticipates your fond thoughts Avith the same breath? “I knew that thou hearest me always, but I said this for their sakes, that they might believe.” Merciful Saviour, howcariAve enough admire thy goodness, who makest our belief the scope and drift of thy doctrine and actions I Alas ! what wert thou the better, if they believed thee sent from God ? what wert thou the worse if they believed it not ? Thy perfection and glory stand not upon the slippery terms of our approbation or dislike ; but is real in thyself, and that infinite, without possibility of our increase or dimi¬ nution. We, we only are they that have either the gain or loss in thy receipt or rejection ; yet so dost thou affect our belief, as if it were more thine advantage than ours. O Saviour, while thou spakest to thy Fathei*, thou liftedst up thine eyes; now thou art to speak unto dead Lazarus, thou liftedst up thy voice, and criedst aloud, “ Lazarus, come forth.” Was it that the strength of the voice might answer to the strength of the affection ? since rve faintly require what we care not to obtain, and vehemently utter Avhat we earnestly desii'e : was it, that the greatness of the voice might answer to the greatness of the work ? was it, that the hearers might be witnesses of what words were used in so miraculous an act ? no magical incanta¬ tions, but authoritative and divine commands; was it to signify, that La¬ zarus’ soul was called from far ? the speech must be loud that shall be heard in another world: was it in relation to the estate of the body of Lazarus, whom thou hadst reported to sleep ? since those that are in a deep and dead sleep cannot be awaked without a loud call: or was it in a representation of that loud voice of the last trumpet, which shall sound into all graves, and raise all flesh from their dust ? Even so still. Lord, when thou wouhlst raise a soul from the death of sin, and grave of corruption, no easy voice will serve. Tby strongest commands, thy loudest denunciations of judgments, the shrillest and sweetest promulgations of thy mercies, are but enough. How familiar word is this, “ Lazarus, come forth I” no other than he was wont to use while they lived together. Neither doth he say, Lazarus, revive ; but, as if he supposed him already living, “ Lazarus, come forth to let them know, that those who are dead to us, are to and with him S98 LAZARUS RAISED. [book IV* alive; yea, in a more entire and feeling society, than while they carried their clay about them. Why do I fear that separation which shall more unite me to my Saviour ? Neither was the word more familiar than commanding: “ Lazarus, come forth.” Here is no suit to his Father, no adjuration to the deceased, but a flat and absolute injunction, “ Come forth. ” O Saviour, that is the voice that I shall once hear sounding into the bottom of my grave, and raising me up out of my dust; that is the voice that shall pierce the rocks and divide the mountains, and fetch up the dead out of the lowest depths^ Thy word made all, thy word shall repair all. Hence, all ye diffident fears ; He whom I trust is omnipotent. It was the Jewish fashion to enwrap the corpse in linen, to tie the hands and feet, and to cover the face of the dead. The fall of man, be¬ sides weakness, brought shame upon him. Ever since, even while he lives, the whole body is covered; but the face, because some sparks of that extinct majesty remain there, is wont to be left open. In death, all those poor remainders being gone, and leaving deformity and ghastliness in the room of them, the face is covered also. There lies Lazarus bound in double fetters: one almighty word hath loosed both, and now “ he that was bound came forth.” He whose power could not be hindered by the chains of death, cannot be hindered by linen bands ; he that gave life, gave motion, gave direction ; he that guided the soul of Lazarus into the body, guided the body of Lazarus without his eyes, moved the feet without the full liberty of his regular paces : no doubt, the same power slackened those swathing bands of death, that the feet might have some little scope to move, though not with that freedom that followed after. Thou didst not only, O Saviour, raise the body of Lazarus, but the faith of the beholders. They cannot deny him dead, whom they saw rising; they see the signs of death, with the proofs of life ; those very swathes convinced him to be the man that was raised. Thy less miracle confirms the greater ; both confirm the faith of the be¬ holders. O clear and irrefragable example of our resuscitation I Say now, ye shameless Sadducees, with what face can ye deny the resurrection of the body, when ye see Lazarus, after four days’ death, rising up out of his grave ? And if Lazarus did thus start up at the bleating of this Lamb of God, that was now every day preparing for the slaughter-house, how shall the dead be roused up out of their graves, by the roaring of that glorious and immortal Lion, whose voice shall shake the powers of heaven, and move the very foundations of the earth ! With what strange amazedness do we think that IVIartha and Mary, the Jews, and the disciples, looked to see Lazarus come forth in his wind¬ ing sheet, shackled with his linen fetters, and walk towards them ? doubtless fear and hoiTor strove in them, whether should be for the time more predominant. We love our friends dearly ; but to see them again after their known death, and that in the very robes of the grave, must needs set up the hair in a kind of uncouth rigour. And now, though it had been most easy for him, that brake the adamantine fetters of death, to have broke in pieces those linen ligaments wherewith his raised Lazarus was encumbered, yet he will not do it but by their hands. He that said, “Remove the stone,” said, “ Loose Lazarus.” He will not have us expect his immediate help, in that we can do for ourselves. It CONT. XXV.] PROCESSION TO THE TEMPLE, 399 is both a laziness, and a presumptuous tempting of God, to look' for an extraordinary and supernatural help from God, where he hath enabled us with common aid. What strange salutations do we think there were betwixt Lazarus and Christ that had raised him; betwixt Lazarus and his sistei’s, and neigh¬ bours, and friends! what amazed looks ! what unusual compliments ! for Lazarus was himself at once: here was no leisure of degrees to reduce him to his wonted perfection, neither did he stay to rub his eyes, and stretch his benumbed limbs, nor take time to put off that dead sleep wherewith he had been seized ; but instantly he is both alive, and fresh, and vigor¬ ous ; if they do but let him go, he walks so as if he had ailed nothing, and receives and gives mutual gratulations. I leave them entertaining each other with glad embraces, with discourses of reciprocal admiration, with praises and adorations of - that God and Saviour, that had fetched him into life. CONTEMPLATION XXV—CHRIST’S PROCESSION TO THE TEMPER Never did our Saviour take so much state upon him as now, that he was going towards his passion : other journeys he measured on foot, without noise or train ; this with a princely equipage and loud acclama¬ tion. Wherein yet, O Saviour, shall I more wonder at thy majesty, or thine humility ; that divine majesty which lay hid under so humble ap¬ pearance, or that sincere humility which veiled so great a glory ? Thou, O Lord, whose chariots are twenty thousand, even thousands of angels, wonldst make choice of the silliest of beasts to carry thee, in thy last and royal progress. How well is thy birth suited with thy triumph ! even tliat very ass whereon thou rodest was prophesied of; neither couldst thou have made up those vatical predictions, without this convey¬ ance. O glorious, and yet homely pomp I Thou wouldst not lose ought of thy right; thou, that wast a king, wouldst be proclaimed so: but that it might appear thy kingdom was not of this world, thou that couldst have commanded all worldly magnificence, thoughtst fit to abandon it. Instead of the kings of the earth, who, reigning by thee, might have been employed in thine attendance, the people are thine heralds; their homely garments are thy foot-cloth and carpets ; their green boughs the strewings of thy way ; those palms, which were wont to be borne in tbe hands of them that triumph, are strewed under the feet of thy beast. It was thy greatness and honour to contemn those glories which worldly hearts were wont to admire. .lustly did thy followers hold the best ornaments of the earth worthy of no better than thy treading upon ; neither could they ever account their garments so rich, as when they had been trampled upon by thy car¬ riage. How happily did they think their back disrobed for thy way! how gladly did they spend their breath in acclaiming thee I “ Hosanna to the Son of David ; blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord.” Where now are the great masters of the synagogue, that had enacted the ejection of whosoever should confess Jesus to be the Christ? Lo, here. 400 PROCESSION TO THE TEMPLE. I^BOOK IV. bold and undaunted clients of the Messiah, that dare proclaim him in the public road, in the open streets. In vain shall the impotent enemies of Christ hope to suppress his glory : as soon shall they with their hand hide the face of the sun from shining to the world, as withhold the beams of his divine truth from the eyes of men, by their envious opposition. In spite of all Jewish malignity, his kingdom is confessed, applauded, blessed. “ O thou fairer than the children of men, in thy majesty ride prosper¬ ously, because of truth, and meekness, and righteousness: and thy right hand shall teach thee terrible things.” In this princely, and yet poor and despicable pomp, doth our Saviour enter into the famous city of Jerusalem ; Jerusalem, noted of old for the seat of kings, priests, prophets : of kings, for there was the throne of David ; of priests, for there was the temple; of prophets, for there they delivered their errands, and left their blood. Neither know I whether it were more wonder for a prophet to perish out of Jerusalem, or to be safe thei*e. Thither would Jesus come as a king, as a priest, as a projihet: acclaimed as a King, teaching the people, and foretelling the woeful vastation of it as a prophet; and as a priest, taking possession of his temple, and vindicating it from the foul profanations of Jewish sacrilege. Oft before had he come to Jerusalem without any remarka¬ ble change, because without any semblance of state : now that he gives some little glimpse of his royalty, “ the -whole city was moved.” When the sages of the East brought the first news of the king of the •Jews, “ Herod was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him and now that the King of the Jews comes himself, though in so mean a port, there is a new commotion. The silence and obscurity of Christ never troubles the world; he may be an underling without any stir ; but if he do but put forth himself never so little, to bear the least sway amongst men, now their blood is up, the whole city is moved; neither is it otherwise in the private economy of the soul, O Saviour ; while thou dost, as it were, hide thyself, and lie still in the heart, and takest all terms content¬ edly from us, we entertain thee with no other than a friendly welcome; but when thou once beginnest to ruffle with our corruptions, and to exer¬ cise thy spiritual power, in the subjugation of our vile affections, now all is in a secret uproar, all the angles of the heart are moved. Although, doubtless, this commotion was not so much of tumult, as wonder. As when some uncouth sight presents itself in a populous street, men run, and gaze, and throng, and inquire ; the feet, the tongue, the eyes walk ; one spectator draws on another, one asks and presses an¬ other ; the noise increases with the concourse, each helps to stir up others’ expectation, such was this of Jerusalem. What means this strangeness ? was not .Jerusalem the spouse of Christ ? had he not chosen her out of all the earth ? had he not begotten many children of her, as the pledges of their love ? How justly mayest thou now, O Saviour, complain with that mirror of patience, “ My breath was grown strange to my own wife, though I entreated her for the children’s sake of my own body 1” Even of thee is that fidfilled, which thy chosen vessel said of thy ministers, thou art “made a gazing-stock to the world, to angels, and to men.” As all the world was bound to thee for thy incarnation and residence upon the face of the earth, so especially Judea, to whose limits thou con- COXT. XXV.] PROCESSION TO THE TEMPLE. 401 finedst thyself, and therein, above all the rest, three cities, Nazareth, Capernaum, Jerusalem, on whom thou bestowedst the most time and cost of preaching-, and miraculous works : yet in all three thou receivedst not strange entertainment only, but hostile. In Nazareth they would have cast thee down headlong from the mount; in Capernaum they would have bound thee ; in Jerusalem they crucified thee at last, and now are amazed at thy presence. Those places and persons that have the greatest helps and privileges atforded them, are not always the most answera¬ ble in the return of their thankfulness. Christ’s being amongst us, doth not make us happy, but his welcome. Every day may we hear him in our streets, and yet be as new to seek as these citizens of Jerusalem ; Who is this ?” Was it a question of applause, or of contempt, or of ignorance ? Ap¬ plause of his abettors, contempt of the Scribes and Pharisees, ignorance of the multitude. Surely his abettors had not been moved at this sight; the Scribes and Pharisees had rather envied than contemned ; the' multi¬ tude, doubtless, inquired seriously, out of a desire of information. Not that the citizens of Jerusalem knew not Christ, who was so ordinary a guest, so noted a prophet amongst them. Questionless, this question was asked of that part of the train which went before this triumph, while our Saviour was not yet in sight, which, ere long, his presence had resolved. It had been their duty to hav.e known, to have attended Christ, yea, to have published him to others : since this is not done, it is well yet that they spend their breath in an inquiry. No doubt there were many that would not so much as leave their shop-board, and step to their doors, or their windows, to say, “ Who is this ?” as not thinking it could concern them who passed by, while they might sit still. Those Greeks were in some way too good, that could say to Philip, “ We would see Jesus.” O Saviour, thou hast been so long amongst us, that it is our just shame if we know thee not. If w'e have been slack hitherto, let our zealous in¬ quiry make amends for our neglect. Let outwai-d pomp and wmrldly glory draw the hearts and tongues of carnal men after them ; O let it be my care and happiness, to ask after nothing but thee. The attending disciples could not be to seek for an answer; which of the prophets have not put it into their mouths, “ Who is this ?” Ask Moses, and he shall tell you, “ The seed of the woman that shall break the serpent’s head.” Ask our father .lacob, and he shall tell you, “ The Shiloh of the tribe of .ludah.” Ask David, and he shall tell you, “ The King of glory.” Ask Isaiah, he shall tell you, “ Immanuel, Wonderful, Counsellor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.” Ask Jeremiah, and he shall tell you, “ The Righteous Branch.” Ask Daniel, he shall tell you, “ The Messiah.” Ask John the Baptist, he shall tell you, “ The Lamb of God.” If ye ask the God of the pro¬ phets, he hath told you, “ This is my beloved Son, in whom I am Avell pleased.” Yea, if all these be too good for you to consult with, the de¬ vils themselves have been forced to say, “ I know wdio thou art, even that Holy One of God.” On no side hath Christ left himself without a testimony ; and accordingly the multitude here have their answer ready, “ This is Jesus, the prophet of Nazareth in Galilee.” Ye undervalue your Master, O ye w'ell-meaning followers of Christ: “ A prophet, yea, more than a prophet!’’ John Baptist was so, yet w'as ]r. 3 E 402 PROCESSION TO THE TEMPLE. I^BOOK IV. but the harbinger of this Messiah. This was that God by whom the pro¬ phets were both sent and inspired. “ Of Nazareth,” say you? ye mis¬ take him : Bethlehem was the place of his birth, the proof of his tribe, the evidence of his Messiahship. If Nazareth were honoured by his preaching, there was no reason he should be dishonoured by Nazareth. No doubt, he whom you confessed, pardoned the error of your confession. Ye spake but according to the common style. The two disciples in their walk to Emmaus, after the death and resurrection of Christ, gave him no other title. This belief passed current with the people, and thus high, even the vulgar thoughts could then rise : and, no doubt, even thus much was for that time very acceptable to the Father of mercies. If we make profession of the truth according to our knowledge, though there be much imperfection in our apprehension and delivery, the mercy of our good God takes it well; not judging us for what we have not, but accepting us in what we have. Shouldst thou, O God, stand strictly upon the punctual degrees of knowledge, how wide would it go with millions of souls ! for, besides much error in many, there is more ignorance. But herein do we justly magnify and adore thy goodness, that, where thou findest diligent endeavour of better information, matched with an honest simplicity of heart, thou passest by our unwilling defects, and crownest our well-meant confessions. But O the wonderful hand of God, in the carriage of this whole busi¬ ness ! The people proclaimed Christ first a king, and now they proclaim him a prophet. Why did not the Roman bands rnn into arras upon the one ? why did not the Scribes and Pharisees, and the envious priest¬ hood, mutiny upon the other ? They had made decrees against him, they had laid wait for him ; yet now he passes in state through their streets, acclaimed both a King and a Prophet, without their reluctation. What can we impute this unto, but to the powerful and overruling arm of his Godhead ? He that restrained the rage of Herod and his courtiers, upon the first news of a king born, now restrains all the opposite powers of Jerusalem, from lifting up a finger against this last and public avouch- rnent of the regal and prophetical office of Christ. When flesh and blood have done their worst, they can be but such as he will make them. If the legions of hell combine with the potentates of the earth, they cannot go be¬ yond the reach of their tether. Whether they rise or sit still, they shall, by an insensible ordination, perform that null of the Almighty which they least think of, and most oppose. With this humble pomp and just acclamation, O Saviour, dost thou pass through the streets of Jerusalem to the temple. Thy first walk w'as not to Herod’s palace, or to the market places or burses of that populous city, but to the temple; whether it were out of duty, or out of need : as a good son, when he comes from far, his first alighting is at his father’s house; neither would he think it other than preposterous to visit stran¬ gers before his friends, or friends before his Father. Besides that the temple had more use of thy presence; both there was the most disorder, and from thence, as from a corrupt spring, it issued forth into all the channels of Jerusalem. A wise physician inquires first into the state of the head, heart, liver, stomach, the vital and chief parts, ere he asks after the petty symptoms of the meaner and less-concerning members. Surely all good or evil begins at the temple. If God have there his own, if men CONT. XXV.] PROCESSION TO THE TEMPLE. 403 find there nothing but wholesome instruction, holy example, the com¬ monwealth cannot want some happy tincture of piety, devotion, sancti¬ mony ; as that fragrant perfume from Aaron’s head sweetens his utmost skirts ; contrarily, the distempers of the temple cannot but affect the secu¬ lar state. As, therefore, the good husbandman, when he sees the leaves grow yellow, and the branches unthriving, looks presently to the root; so didst thou, O holy Saviour, upon sight of the disorders spread over Je¬ rusalem and Judea, address thyself to the rectifying of the temple. No sooner is Christ alighted at the gate of the outer court of his Father’s house, than he falls to work ; reformation was his errand ; that he roundly attempts. That holy ground was profaned by sacrilegious barterings : within the third court of that sacred place was a public mart held ; here was a throng of buyers and sellers, though not of all commo¬ dities ; the Jews were not so irreligious, only of those things which were for the use of sacrifice. The Israelites came many of them from far ; it vvas no less from Dan to Beersheba than the space of a hundred and threescore miles ; neither could it be without much inconvenience for them to bring their bullocks, sheep, goats, lambs, meal, oil, and such other holy provision with them up to Jerusalem : oi-der was taken by the priests, that these might, for money, be had close by the altar, to the ease of the offerer, and for the benefit of the seller, and perhaps no disprofit to them¬ selves. The pretence was fair, the practice unsufferable. The great Owner of the temple comes to vindicate the reputation and rights of his own house ; and, in an indignation at that so foul abuse, lays fiercely about him, and, with his three-stinged scourge, whips out those sacrilegious chapmen, casts down their tables, throws away their baskets, scatters their heaps, and sends away their customers with smart and horror. With w'hat fear and astonishment did the repining offenders look upon so unexpected a justicer, while their conscience lashed them more than those cords, and the terror of that meek chastiser more affrighted them than his blows ! Is this that mild and gentle Saviour that came to take upon him our stripes, and to undergo the chastisements of our peace ? Is this that quiet Lamb, which before his shearers openeth not his mouth ? See now how his eyes sparkle with holy auger, and dart forth beams of indignation in the faces of these guilty Collybists : see how his hands deal strokes and ruin. Yea, thus, thus it became thee, O thou gracious Redeemer of men, to let the world see that thou hast not lost thy justice in thy mercy; that there is not more lenity in thy forbearances, than rigour in thy just severity; that thou canst thunder, as well as shine. This was not thy first act of this kind; at the entrance of thy public work thou begannest so, as thou now shuttest up, with purging thine house. Once before had these off enders been whipped out of that holy place, which now they dare again defile. Shame and smart is not enough to reclaim obdured offenders. Gainful sins are not easily checked, but less easily mastered. These bold flies, where they are beaten oft', will alight again : “ He that is filthy, will be filthy still.” Oft yet had our Saviour been, besides this, in the temple, and often had seen the same disorder ; he doth not think fit to be always whipping. It was enough thus twice to admonish and chastise them before their ruin. That God who hates sin always, will not chide always, and strikes more 404 THE FIG-TREE CURSED. [book IV, seldom ; but he would have those few strokes perpetual monitors ; and if those prevail not, he smites but once. It is his uniform course, first the whip, and, if that speed not, then the sword. There is a reverence due to God’s house for the Owner’s sake, for the service’s sake. Secular and profane actions are not for that sacred roof, much less uncivil and beastly. What but holiness can become that place which is the “ beauty of holiness ?” The fairest pretences cannot bear out a siu with God. Never could there be more plausible colours cast upon any act; the convenience, the necessity of provisions for the sacrifice : yet through all these do the fiery eyes of our Saviour see the foul covetousness of the priests, the fraud of the money-changers, the intolerable abuse of the temple. Common eyes may be cheated with easy pretexts; but he that looks through the heart at the face, justly answers our apologies with scourges. None but the hand of public authority must reform the abuses of the temple. If all be out of course there, no man is barred from sorrow; tlie grief may reach to all, the power of reformation only to those whom it concerneth. It was but a just question, though ill propounded, to Moses, “ Who made thee a judge or a ruler?” We must all imitate the zeal of our Saviour ; we may not imitate his correction. If we strike uncalled, we are justly stricken for our arrogation, for our presumption. A tumul¬ tuary remedy may prove a medicine worse than the disease. But what shall I say of so sharp and imperious an act from so meek an agent ? Why did not the priests and Levites, whose this gain partly was, abet these money-changers, and make head against Christ ? why did not those multitudes of men stand upon their defence, and wrest that whip out of the hand of a seemingly weak and unarmed prophet ? but in¬ stead thereof run away like sheep from before him, not daring to abide his presence, though his hand had been still ? Surely had these men been so many armies, yea, so many legions of devils, when God will as¬ tonish and chase them, they cannot have the power to stand and resist. How easy is it for him that made the heart, to put either terror or cour¬ age into it at pleasure ! O Saviour, it was none of thy least miracles, that thou didst thus drive out a world of able olfenders, in spite of their gain and stomachful resolutions ! their very profit had no power to stay them against thy frowns. “ Who hath resisted thy will ?” Men’s hearts are not their own: they are, they must be such as their Maker will have them. CONTEMPLATION XXVI.—THE FIG-TREE CURSEO. When in this state, our Saviour had rid through the streets of Jeru¬ salem, that evening he lodged not there. Whether he would not, that, after so public an acclamation of the people, he might avoid all suspicion of plots or popularity (even unjust jealousies must be shunned, neither is there less wisdom in the prevention, than in the remedy of evils,) or whether he could not, for want of an invitation ; hosanna was better cheap than an entertainment; and perhaps the envy of so stomached a reformation discouraged his hosts. However, he goes that evening sup- CONT. XXVI.] THE FIG-TREE CURSED. 405 perless out of Jerusalem. O unthankful citizens ! do ye thus part with your no less meek than glorious King ? His title was not more pro¬ claimed in your streets than your own ingratitude. If he hath purged the temple, yet your hearts are foul. There is no wonder in men’s un¬ worthiness ; there is more than wonder in thy mercy, O thou Saviour of men, that wouldst yet return thither where thou wert so palpably disre¬ garded. If they gave thee not thy suppei*, thou givest them their break¬ fast : if thou mayest not spend the night with them, thou wilt with them spend the day. O love to unthankful souls, not discourageable by the most hateful indignities, by the basest repulses ! What burden canst thou shrink under, who canst bear the weight of ingratitude ? Thou that givest food to all things living, art thyself hungry. Martha, Mary, and Lazarus kept not so poor a house, but that thou mightst have eaten something at Bethany. Whether thou hast outrun thine appetite, or whether on purpose thou foi-barest repast, to give opportunity to thine ensuing miracle, I neither ask nor resolve. This was not the first time that thou wast hungry. As thou wouldst be a man, so thou wouldst suffer those infirmities that belong to humanity. Thou earnest to be our high-priest; it was thy act and intention, not only to intercede for thy people, but to transfer unto thyself, as their sins, so their weaknesses and complaints. Thou knowest to pity what thou hast felt. Are we pinched with want ? we endure but what thou didst, we have reason to be patient; thou enduredst what we do, we have reason to be thankful. But what shall we say to this thine early hunger ? The morning, as it is privileged from excess, so from need; the stomach is not wont to rise with the body. Surely, as thine occasions wei-e, no season was exempted from thy want: thou hadst spent the day before in the holy la¬ bour of thy reformation ; after a supperless departure, thou spentest the night in prayer ; no meal refreshed thy toil. What! do we think much to forbear a morsel, or to break a sleep for thee, who didst thus neglect thyself for us ? As if meat were no part of thy care, as if any thing would serve to stop the mouth of hunger, thy breakfast is expected from the next tree. A fig-tree grew by the wayside, full grown, well spread, thick-leaved, and such as might promise enough to a remote eye: thither thou earnest to seek that which thou foundestnot: and, not finding what thou sought- est, as displeased with thy disappointment, cursedst that plant which de¬ luded thy hopes. Thy breath instantly blasted that deceitful tree ; it did (no otherways than the whole world must needs do) wither and die with thy curse. O Saviour, I had rather wonder at thine actions than discuss them. If I should say, that as a man, thou either knewest not, or consideredst not of this fruitlessness, it could no way prejudice thy divine omniscience ; this infirmity were no worse than thy weariness or hunger: it was no more disparagement to thee to grow in knowledge than in stature ; nei¬ ther was it any more disgrace to thy pei’fect humanity, that thou as man, knewest not all things at once, than that thou wert not in thy childhood at thy full growth. But herein I doubt not to say, it is more likely thoii earnest purposely to this tree, knowing the barrenness of it answerable to the season, and fore-resolving the event, that thou mightst hence ground the occasion of so instructive a miracle ; like as thou knewest 406 THE FIG-TREE CURSED. [book iv. Lazarus was dying, was dead, yet wouldst not seem to take notice of his dissolution, that thou mightst the more glorify thy power in his resusci¬ tation. It was thy willing and determined disappointment for a greater purpose. But why didst thou curse a poor tree for the want of that fruit which the season yielded not ? if it pleased thee to call for that which it could not give, the plant was innocent; and if innocent, why cursed ? O Sa¬ viour, it is fitter for us to adore than to examine. We may be saucy in inquiring after thee, and fond in answering for thee. If that, season were not for a ripe fruit, yet for some fruit it was. Who knows not the nature of the fig-tree to be always bearing ? That plant, if not altogether bai’ren, yields a continual succession of increase ; while one fig is ripe, another is green; the same bough can content both our taste and hope. This tree was defective in both, yielding nothing but an empty shade to the mis-hoping traveller. Besides that, I have learned that thou, O Saviour, wert wont not to speak only, but to work parables ; and what was this other than a real parable of thine ? all this while hadst thou been in the world ; thou hadst given many proofs of thy mercy (the earth was full of thy goodness,) none of thy judgments ; now, immediately before thy passion, thou thoughtst fit to give this double demonstration of thy just austerity. How else should the world have seen, thou canst be severe as well as meek and merciful ? and why mightst not thou, who madest all things, take liberty to destroy a plant for thine own glory ? wherefore serve thy best creatures, but for the praise of thy mercy and justice ? what great mat¬ ter was it, if thou, who once saidst, “ Let the earth bring forth the herb yielding seed, and the tree yielding the fruit of its own kind,” shouldst now say, “ Let this fruitless tree wither ?” All this yet was done in figure: in this act of thine I see both an emblem, and a prophecy. How didst thou herein mean to teach thy disciples how much thou hatest an unfruitful profession, and what judgments thou meantst to bring upon that barren generation ? Once before hadst thou compared the Jewish nation to a fig-tree in the midst of thy vineyard, which, after three years’ expectation aud culture, yielding no fruit, was by thee, the Owner, doomed to a speedy excision; now thou actest what thou then saidst. No tree abounds more with leaf and shade, no nation abounded more with ceremonial observations and semblances of piety. Outward profession, wdiere there is want of inward truth and real practice, doth but help to draw on and aggravate judgment. Had this fig-tree been utterly bare and leafless, it had perhaps escaped the curse. Hear this, ye vain hypocrites, that care only to show well; never caring for the sincere truth of a conscionable obedience: your fair outside shall be sure to help you to a curse. That which was the fault of this tree, is the punishment of it, fruit¬ lessness : “ Let no fruit grow on thee henceforward for ever.” Had the boughs been appointed to be torn down, and the body split in pieces, the doom had been more easy, and that juicy plant might yet have recovered, and have lived to recompense this deficiency; now it shall be w hat it was, fruitless. Woe be to that church or soul that is punished with her own sin. Outward plagues are but favour, in comparison of spiritual judgments. That curse might well have stood with a long continuance; the tree CO\T. XXVII.] CHRIST BETRAYED. 407 might have lived long, though fruitless: hut no sooner is the word passed, than the leaves flag and turn yellow, the branches wrinkle and shrink, the bark discolours, the root dries, the plant withers. O God, what creature is able to abide the blasting of the breath of thy displeasure ? even the most great and glorious angels of heaven could not stand one moment before thine anger, but perished under thy wrath everlastingly. How irresistible is thy power ! how dreadful are thy iudg- meiits ! Lord ! chastise my fruitlessness, but punish it not; at least, pun¬ ish it, but curse it not, lest I wither and be consumed. CONTEMPLATION XXVII.—CHRIST BETRAYED. Such an eye-sore was Christ that raised Lazarus, and Lazarus whom Christ raised, to the envious priests, scribes, elders of the Jews, that they consult to murder both : while either of them lives, neither can the glory of that miracle die, nor the shame of the oppugners. Those malicious heads are laid together in the parlour of Caiaphas. Happy had it been for them if they had spent but half those thoughts upon their own salvation, which they mis-employed upon the destruction of the innocent. At last this results, that force is not their w’ay; sub¬ tility and treachery must do that which should be vainly attempted by power. Who is so fit to wmrk this feat against Christ as one of his own ? There can be no treason, where is not some trust. Who so fit among the do¬ mestics as he that bare the bag, and over-loved that w^hich he bare ? That heart, which hath once enslaved itself to red and white earth, may be made any thing. Who can trust to the power of good means, when Ju¬ das, who heard Christ daily, whom others heard to preach Christ daily, wdio daily saw Christ’s miracles, and daily wrought miracles in Christ’s name, is, at his best, a thief, and ere long a traitor ? That crafty and malignant spirit, which presided in that bloody council, hath easily found out a fit instrument for this hellish plot. As God know's, so Satan guesses who are his, and will be sure to make use of his own. If Judas were Christ’s domestic, yet he was Mammon’s servant: he could not but hate that Master whom he formally professed to serve, while he really served that Master which Christ professed to hate. He is but in his trade, while he is bartering even for his Master; “ What will ye give me, and I will deliver him unto you ?” Saidst thou not well, O Saviour, “ I have cho¬ sen you twelve, and one of you is a devil ?” Thou, that knewest to dis¬ tinguish betwixt men and spirits, callest Judas by his right name. Lo, he is become a tempter to the worst of evils. Wretched Judas 1 whether shall 1 more abhor thy treachery, or won¬ der at thy folly ? What will they, what can they give thee valuable to that head which thou proft'erest to sale ? Were they able to pay, or thou capable to receive all those precious metals that are laid up in the secret cabins of the whole earth, how were this price equivalent to the worth of him that made them! Had they been able to fetch down those rich and glittering spangles of heaven, and to have put them into thy fist, what had this been to weigh with a God? How basely there 408 CHRIST BETRAYED. [book IV, fore dost thou speak of chaffering for him whose the world was ? “ What will ye give me?” Alas, what were they ? what had they, miserable men, to pay for such a purchase? The time was, when he that set thee on work, could say, “ All the kingdoms of the earth, and the glory of them are mine, and I give them to whom I please; all these will 1 give thee.” Had he now made that offer to thee in this woful bargain, it might have carried some colour of a temptation : and even thus it had been a match ill-made ; but for thee to tender a trade of so invaluable a commodity to these pelting petty chapmen, for thirty poor silverlings, it was no less base than wicked ! How unequal is this rate ! Thou that valuedst Mary’s ointment, which she bestowed upon the feet of Christ, at thi-ee hundred pieces of silver, sellest thy Master, on whom that precious odour was spent, at thirty. Worldly hearts are penny-wise, and pound-foolish : they know how to set high prices upon the worthless trash of this world; but for heavenly things, or the God that owns them, these they shamefully undervalue. “ And I will deliver him unto you.” False and presumptuous Judas I it was more than thou couldst do ; thy price was not more too low than thy undertaking was too high. Had all the powers of hell combined with thee, they could not have delivered thy Master into the hands of men. The act was none but his own; all that he did, all that he suf- fei’ed, was perfectly voluntary. Had he pleased to resist, how easily had he, with one breath, blown thee and thy accomplices down into their hell! It is no thank to thee that he would be delivered. O Saviour, all our safety, all our comfort, depends not so much upon thine act as upon thy will: in vain should we have hoped for the benefit of a forced redemp¬ tion. The bargain is driven, the price paid. Judas returns, and looks no less smoothly upon his Master and his fellows, than as if he had done no disservice. What cares he ? his heart tells him he is rich, though it tells him he is false. He was not now first a hypocrite. The passover is at hand; no man is so busy to prepare for it, or more devoutly forward to receive it, than Judas. O the sottishness and obdurateness of this son of pei'dition I How many proofs had he formerly of his Master’s omniscience ! There was no day wherein he saw not, that thoughts and things absent came familiar under his cognizance, yet this miscreant dares plot a secret villany against his person, and face it: if he cannot be honest, yet he will be close. That he may be notoriously impudent, he shall know he is descried : while he thinks fit to conceal his treachery, our Saviour thinks not fit to conceal the knowledge of that treacherous conspiracy; “Verily, I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me.” Who would not think but that discovered wickedness should be ashamed of itself? Did not Judas (think we) blush, and grow pale again, and cast down his guilty eyes, and turn away his troubled countenance at so galling an intimation ? Cus¬ tom of sin steels the brow, and makes it incapable of any relenting im¬ pressions. Could the other disciples have discerned any change in any one of their faces, they had not been so sorrowfully affected with the charge. Methinks I see how intentively they bent their eyes upon each other, as if they would have looked through^ those windows down into the bosom ; with what self-confidence, with what mutual jealousy t hey CONT. XXVII .3 CHRIST BETRAYED. 409 perused each other’s foreheads ; and now, as rather thinking fit to dis¬ trust their own innocence than their Master’s assertion, each trembles to say, “ Lord, is it I ?” It is possible, there may lurk secret wickedness in some blind corner of the heart, which we know not of: it is possible, that time and temptation, working upon our corruption, may at last draw us into some such sin as we could not fore-believe. Whither may we not fall, if we be left to our own strength ? It is both wise and holy to misdoubt the worst: “ Lord, is it I ?” In the meantime, how fair hath Judas, all this while, carried with his fellows! Had his former life bewrayed any falsehood or misdemeanor, they had soon found where to pitch their just suspicion : now Judas goes for so honest a man, that every disciple is rather ready to suspect him¬ self than him. It is true he was a thief; but who knows that besides his Maker ? The outsides of men are no less deceitful than their hearts. It is not more unsafe to judge by outward appearances, than it is un¬ charitable not to judge so. O the headstrong resolutions of wickedness, not to be checked by any opposition ! Who would not but have thought, if the notice of an in. tended evil could not have prevented it, yet that the threats of judgment should have affrighted the boldest offender ? Judas can sit by, and hear his Master say, “ Woe be to the man by whom the Son of Man is be¬ trayed ; it had been better for that man never to have been born,” and is no more blanked than very innocence ; but thinks, what care I ? I have the money; I shall escape the shame : the fact shall be close, the match gainful: it will be long ere I shall get so much by my service; if I fare well for the present, I shall shift well enough for the future. Thus secretly he claps up another bargain; he makes a covenant with death, and with hell an agreement. O Judas, didst thou ever hear ought but truth fall from the mouth of that thy divine Master ? canst thou distrust the certainty of that dreadful menace of vengeance ? how then durst thou persist in the purpose of so flagitious and damnable a villany ? Re¬ solved sinners run on desperately in their wicked courses, and have so bent their eyes upon the profit or pleasure of their mischievous projects, that they will not see hell lie open before them in the way. As if that shameless man meant to outbrave all accusations, and to outface his own heart, he dares ask it too, “ Master, is it I ?” No dis¬ ciple shall more zealously abominate that crime, than he that fosters it in his bosom. Whatever the Searcher of hearts knows, by him is locked up in his own breast; to be perfidious is nothing, so he may be secret: his Master knows him for a traitor, it is not long that he shall live to complain ; his fellows think him honest; all is well while he is well es¬ teemed. Reputation is the only care of false hearts, not truth of being, not conscience of merit; so they may seem fair to men, they care not how foul they are to God. Had our Saviour only had this knowledge at the second hand, this boldness had been enough to make him suspect the credit of the best in¬ telligence ; who could imagine that a guilty man dared thus browbeat a just accusation ? Now he, whose piercing and unfailing eyes see things as they are, not as they seem, can peremptorily convince the impudence of this hollow questionist, with a direct affirmation; “ Thou hast said.” Foolish traitor ! couldst thou think that those blear eyes of thine would endure the beams of the sun, or that counterfeit slip, the fire ? was it II. 3 F 410 CHRIST BETRAYED. [book IV. not sufficient for thee to be secretly vicious, but tbou must jiresurae to contest with an omniscient accuser i Hast thou yet enough ? thou sup- posedst thy crime unknown ; to men it was so; had thy Master been no more, it had been so to him ; now his knowledge argues him divine. How dost thou yet resolve to lift up thy hand against him, who knows thine offence, and can either prevent or revenge it ? As yet the charge was private, either not heard, or not observed by thy fellows: it shall be at first whispered to one, and at last known to all. Bashful and peni¬ tent sinners are fit to be concealed; shame is meet for those that have none. Curiosity of knowledge is an old disease of human nature: besides, Peter’s zeal would not let him dwell under the danger of so doubtful a crimination ; he cannot but sit on thorns, till he know the man. His signs ask what his voice dare not. What law requires all followers to be equally beloved ? why may not our favours be freely dispensed where we like best, without envy, without prejudice? None of Christ’s train could complain of neglect; John is highest in grace. Blood, aff’ection, zeal, diligence have endeared him above his fellows. He, that is dearest in respect, is next in place : in that form of side-sitting at the table, he leaned on the bosom of Jesus. Where is more love, there may be more boldness. This secrecy and entireness privileges John to ask that safely which Peter might not without much inconvenience and peril of a check. The beloved disciple well understands this silent language, and dares put Peter’s thought into words. Love shutteth out fear. O Saviour, the confidence of thy goodness emboldens us not to shrink at any suit. Thy love, shed abroad in our hearts, bids us ask that which in a stranger were no better than presumption. Once, when Peter asked thee a question concerning John, “ What shall this man do ?” he received a short answer, “ What is that to thee ?” now, when John asks thee a question, no less seemingly curious, at Peter’s instance, “ Who is it that betrays thee ?” however thou mightst have returned him the same an¬ swer, since neither of their persons was any more concerned, yet thou condescendest to a mild and full, though secret, satisfaction. There was not so much difference in the men, as in the matter of the demand. No occasion was given to Peter of moving that question concerning John ; the indefinite assertion of treason amongst the disciples, was a most just occasion of moving .John’s question for Peter and himself. That which therefore was timorously demanded, is answered graciously ; “ He it is to whom I shall give a sop, when I have dipped it: and he gave the sop to Judas.” How loath was our Saviour to name him whom he was not unwilling to design ! All is here expressed by dumb signs; the hand speaks what the tongue would not. In the same language whei'ein Pe¬ ter asked the question of John, doth our Saviour shape an answer to John : what a beck demanded, is answered by a sop. O Saviour, I do not hear thee say, look on whomsoever I frown, or to whomsoever I do a public affront, that is the man ; but “ to whomso¬ ever I shall give a sop.” Surely a by-stander would have thought this man deep in thy books, and would have construed this act as they did thy tears for Lazarus, “ See how he loves him.” To carve a man ont of thine own dish, what could it seem to argue but a singularity of respect? yet, lo, there is but one whom thou hatest, one only traitor at thy board; and thou givest him a sop. The outward gifts of God are not CONT. XXVII.] CHRIST BETRAYED. 411 always the proofs of his love; yea, sometimes are bestowed in pleasure. Had not he been a wise disciple that should have envied the great fa¬ vour done to Judas, and have stomached his own preterition ? So fool¬ ish are they, who, measuring God’s affection by temporal benefits, are ready to applaud prospering wickedness, and to grudge outward bless¬ ings to them which are incapable of any better. “ After the sop, Satan entered into .Judas.” Better had it been for that treacherous disciple to have wanted that morsel: not that there was any malignity in the bread, or that the sop had any power to convey Satan into the receiver, or that, by a necessary concomitance, that evil spirit was in or w'ith it. Favours ill used make the heart more capable of farther evil. That wicked spirit commonly takes occasion, by any of God’s gifts, to assault us the more eagerly. After our sacramental mor¬ sel, if we be not the better, we are sure the worse. I dare not say, yet I dare think, that Judas, comparing his Master’s words and .John’s whis¬ perings with the tender of this sop, and finding himself thus denoted, was now so much the more irritated to perform what he had Avickedly purposed. Thus Satan took advantage by the sop of a farther posses¬ sion. Twice before had that evil spirit made a palpable entry into that lewd heart. First, in liis covetousness and theft; those sinful habits could not be without that author of ill: then in his damnable resolution and plot of so heinous a conspiracy against Christ. Yet now, as if it AA’ere new to begin, “ After the sop Satan entered.” As in every gross sin which we entertain, we give harbour to that evil spirit; so, in every degree of growth in Avickedness, new hold is taken by him of the heart. No sooner is the foot over the threshold, than Ave enter into the house ; when we pass thence into the inner rooms, we make still but a perfect entrance. At first Satan entered to make the house of Judas’s heart his OAvn, now he enters into it as his own. The first purpose of sin opens the gates to Satan, consent admits him into the entry, full resolution of sin gives up the keys to his hands, and puts him into absolute posses¬ sion. What a plain dilference there is betAA'ixt the regenerate and evil heart ! Satan lays siege to the best by his temptations, and sometimes, upon battery and breach made, enters ; the other admits him by Avilling composition. When he is entered upon the regenerate, he is entertain¬ ed Avith perpetual skirmishes, and, by a holy violence, at last repulsed; in the other, he is plausibly received, and freely commandeth. O the admirable meekness of this Lamb of God I I see not a froAvn, I hear not a check, but, “ What thou dost, do quickly.” Why do AA^e startle at our petty Avrongs, and SAvell Avith anger, and break into furious revenges upon every occasion, Avhen the Pattern of our patience lets not fiill one harsh Avord upon so foul and bloody a traitor 1 Yea, so fairly is this carried, that the disciples as yet can apprehend no change; they inno¬ cently think of commodities to be bought, Avhen Christ speaks of their Master sold, and as one that longs to be out of pain, hastens the pace of his irreclaimable conspirator, “ What thou dost, do quickly.” It is one thing to say. Do Avhat thou intendest, and another to say. Do quickly what thou dost. There was villany in the deed; the speed had no sin, the time Avas harmless, while the man and the act was Avicked. O Ju¬ das, how happy had it been for thee, if thou hadst never done Avhat thoii perfidiously intendest; but since thou wilt needs do it, delay is but a torment. 412 THE AGONY. I^BOOK IV. That steelly heart yet relents not; the obfirmed traitor knows his way to the high priest’s hall, and to the garden : the watch-word is already given, “ Hail, Master, and a kiss.” Yet more hypocrisy I yet more pre¬ sumption upon so overstrained a lenity ! How knewest thou, O thou false traitor, whether that sacred cheek would suffer itself to he defiled with thine impure touch? Thou well foundest thy treachery was un¬ masked ; thine heart could not be so false to thee as not to tell thee how hateful thou wert. Go, kiss and adore those silverlings which thou art too sure of; the Master whom thou hast sold is not thine. But, O the impudence of a deplored sinner ! that tongue which hath agreed to sell his Master, dares say, Hail! and those lips, that have passed the compact of his death, dare offer to kiss him whom they had covenanted to kill. It was God’s charge of old, “ Kiss the Son, lest he be angry.” O Saviour, thou hadst reason to he angry with this kiss : the scourges, the thorns, the nails, the spear of thy murderers were not so painful, so piercing, as this touch of Judas ; all these were in this one alone. The stabs of an enemy cannot be so grievous as the skin-deep wounds of a disciple CONTEMPLATION XXVIIl.—THE AGONY. What a preface do I find to my Saviour’s passion I a hymn, and an agony ; a cheerful hymn, and an agony no less sorrowful. A hymn be¬ gins, both to raise and testify the courageous resolutions of his suffering; and agony follows, to show that he was truly sensible of those extremities wherewith he was resolved to grapple. All the disciples bore their part in that hymn; it was fit they should all see his comfortable and divine magnanimity wherewith he entered into those sad lists : only three of them shall be allowed to be the witnesses of his agony, only those three that had been the witnesses of his glorious transfiguration. That sight had well fore-armed and prepared them for this; how could they be dis¬ mayed to see his trouble, who there saw his majesty ? how could they be dismayed to see his body now sweat, which they had then seen to shine ? how could they be daunted to see him now accosted with Judas and his train, whom they then saw attended with Moses and Elias ? how could they be discouraged to hear the reproaches of base men, when they had heard the voice of God to him from that excellent glory ; “ This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased ?” Now, before these eyes this sun begins to be overcast with clouds: “ He began to be sorrowful, and very heavy.” Many sad thoughts for mankind had he secretly hatched, and yet smothered in his own breast; now his grief is too great to keep in ; “My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death.” O Saviour, what must thou needs feel, when thou saidst so ? Feeble minds are apt to bemoan themselves upon light occa¬ sions ; the grief must needs be violent, that causeth a strong heart to break forth into a passionate complaint. Woe is me, what a word is this for the Son of God ! Whei’e is that Comforter which thou promisedst to send to others ? where is that thy Father of all mercies, and God of all comfort, “ in whose presence is thefidness of joy, and at whose right hand there are pleasures for evermore ?” where are those constant and cheer- CONT. xxvni.l THE AGONY. 415 f'ul resolutions of a fearless walking through the valley of the shadow of death ? Alas I if that face were not hid from thee, whose essence could not be disunited, these pangs could not have been. The sun was with¬ drawn awhile, that there might be a cool, though not a dark night, as in the world, so in thy breast; withdrawn iii respect of sight, not of being. It was the hardest piece of thy sufferings, that thou must be disconsolate. But to whom dost thou make this moan, O thou Saviour of men ? Flard is that man driven that is fain to complain to his inferiors. Had Peter, or James, or John, thus bewailed himself to thee, there had been ease to their soul in venting itself; thou hadst been both apt to pity them, and able to relieve them : but now, in that thou lamentest thy case to them, alas I what issue couldst thou expect? they might be astonished with thy grief; but there is neither power in their hands to free thee from those sorrows, nor power in their compassion to mitigate them. Nay, in this condition, what could all the angels of heaven, as of them¬ selves, do to succour thee ? what strength could they have but from thee ; what creature can help when thou complainest ? It must be only the stronger that can aid the weak. Old and holy Simeon could fore-say to thy blessed mother, that “ A sword should pierce through her soul but, alas ! how many swords at once pierce thine! Every one of these words is both sharp and edged: “ My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death.” Wliat human soul is capable of the conceit of the least of those sorrows that oppressed thine ? It was not thy body that suffered now; the pain of body is but as the body of pain ; the anguish of the soul is as the soul of anguish. That, and in that thou sufferedst, where are they that dare so far dispar¬ age thy sorrow, as to say thy soul suffered only in sympathy with thy body ; not immediately, but by participation ? not in itself, but in its partner ? Thou best knewest what thou feltest, and thou, that feltest thine own pain, canst cry out of thy soul. Neither didst thou say. My soul is troubled ; so it often was, even to tears ; but, “ My soul is sorrov^ulas if it had been before assaulted, now possessed with grief. Nor yet this in any tolerable moderation, (changes of passion are incident to every human soul) but “ exceeding sorrowful.” Yet there are degrees in the very extremities of evils ; those, that are most vehement, may yet be cap¬ able of a remedy, at least a relaxation ; thine was past these hopes, “ ex¬ ceeding sorrowful unto death.” What was it, what could it be, O Saviour, that lay thus heavy upon thy divine soul; was it the fear of death ? was it the forefelt pain, shame, torment, of thine ensuing crucifixion ? O poor and base thoughts of the naiTow hearts of cowardly and impotent mortality I How many thou¬ sands of thy blessed martyrs have welcomed no less tortures with smiles and gratulations, and have made a sport of those exquisite cruelties which their very tyrants thought unsufferable ! whence had they strength but from thee ? if their weakness were thus undaunted and prevalent, what was thy power ? No, no : it was the sad weight of the sin of mankind ; it was the heavy burden of thy Father’s wrath for our sin, that thus pressed thy soul, and wrung from thee these bitter expressions. What can it avail thee, O Saviour, to tell thy grief to men ? who can ease thee, but He of whom thou saidst, “ My Father is greater than I ?” THE AGONY. 414 [^BOOK IV. Lo, to him thou turnest; O Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.” Was not this thy prayer, O dear Christ, which in the days of thy flesh, thou offeredest up with strong crying and tears, to him that was able to save thee from death ? surely this was it. Never was cry so strong; never was God thus solicited. How could heaven choose but shake at such a prayer from the power that made it; how can my heart but trem¬ ble to hear this suit from the Captain of our salvation ? O thou that saidst, “ I and my Father are one,” dost thou suffer ought from thy Father but what thou wouldst, what thou determinedst ? was this cup of thine either casual or forced ? wouldst thou wish for what thou knewest thou wouldst not have possible ? Far, far be these misraised thoughts of our ignorance and frailty. Thou earnest to suffer, and thou wouldst do what thou earnest for: yet since thou wouldst be a man, thou wouldst take all of man, save sin : it is but human, and not sinful to be loath to suffer what we may avoid. In this velleity of thine, thou wouldst show what that nature of ours, which thou hadst assumed, could incline to w'ish ; but, in thy resolution, thou wouldst show us what thy victorious thoughts, raised and assisted by thy divine power, had deter- minately pitched upon ; “ Nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.” As man, thou hadst a will of thine own : no human soul can be perfect without that main faculty. That will, which naturally could be content to incline towards an exemption from miseries, gladly veils to that divine will, wdiereby thou art designed to the chastisements of our peace. Those pains, which in themselves were grievous, thou embracest as decreed ; so as thy fear hath given place to thy love and obedience. How should we have known these evils so formidable, if thou hadst not, in half a thought inclined to deprecate them ? how could we have avoided so formidable and deadly evils, if thou hadst not wdllingly undergone them ? we ac- knowdedge thine holy fear, we adore thy divine fortitude. While thy mind was in this fearful agitation, it is no marvel if thy feet were not fixed. Thy place is more changed than thy thoughts : one wdiile thou walkest to thy drowsy attendants, and stirrest up their needful vigilancy ; then thou returnest to thy passionate devotions, thou fullest again upon thy face. If thy body be humbled down to the earth, thy soul is yet lower; thy prayers are so much more vehement as thy pangs are: “ And being in an agony, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was, as it were, great drops of blood falling down to the ground.” O my Saviour, what an agony am I in, while I think of thine ! What pain, w'hat fear, what strife, what horror w'as in thy sacred breast! how didst thou struggle under the w'eight of our sins, that thou thus sweatest, that thou thus bleedest! All was peace with thee ; thou wert one with thy co-eternal and co-essential Father ; all the angels worshipped thee ; all the powers of heaven and earth aAvfully acknowledged thine infinite¬ ness. It was our person that scoffed thee in this misery and torment; in that thou sustainedst thy Father’s wrath, and our curse. If eternal death be unsulFerable, if every sin deserve eternal death ; what, O ! what was it for thy soul, in this short time of thy bitter passion, to answer those millions of eternal deaths, which all the sins of all mankind had de¬ served from the just hand of thy Godhead. I marvel not, if thou bleedest a sweat, if thou sweatest blood: if the moisture of that sweat bo CONT. XXIX.] CHRIST APPREHENDED. 415 from the body, the tincture of it is from the soul. As there never was such another sweat, so neither can there be ever such a suffering. It is no wonder if the sweat were more than natural, when the sufferings were more than human. O Saviour, so willing was that precious blood of thine to be let forth for us, that it was ready to prevent thy persecutors; and issued forth in those pores, before thy wounds were opened by thy tormentors. O that my heart could bleed unto thee, with true inward compunction, for those sins of mine which are guilty of this thine agony, and have drawn blood of thee, both in the garden and on the cross. Woe is me, I had been in hell, if thou hadst not been in thine agony; I had scorched, if thou hadst not sweat. O let me abhor my own wickedness, and admire, and bless thy mercy. But, O ye blessed spirits, which came to comfort my conflicted Saviour, how did ye look upon this Son of God, when ye saw him labouring for life under these violent temptations! with what astonishment did ye be¬ hold him bleeding, whom ye adored ! In the wilderness, after his duel with Satan, ye came and ministered unto him ; and now in the garden, while he is in a harder combat, ye appear to strengthen him. O the wise and marvellous dispensation of the Almighty 1 Whom God will afflict an angel shall relieve ; the Son shall suffer, the servant shall com¬ fort him ; the God of angels droopeth, the angel of God strengthens him. Blessed Jesu, if as man, thou wouldest be “made a little lower than the angels how can it disparage thee to be attended and cheered up by an angel ? thine humiliation would not disdain comfort from meaner hands. Kow free was it for thy Father to convey seasonable consolations to thine humble soul, by whatsoever means ! Behold, though thy cup shall not pass, yet it shall be sweetened. What if thou see not, for the time, thy Father’s face ? yet thou shalt feel his hand. What could that spirit have done without the God of spirits ? O Father of mercies, thou mayest bring thine into agonies, but thou wilt never leave them there. “ In the midst of the sorrows of my heart, thy comforts shall refresh my soul.” Whatsoever be the means of my supportation, I know and adore the Author. CONTEMPLATION XXIX.—PETER AND MALCHUS: OR, CHRIST APPREHENDED. Wherefore, O Saviour, didst thou take those three choice disciples with thee from their fellows, but that thou expectedst some comfort from their presence ? A seasonable word may sometimes fall from the mean¬ est attendant; and the very society of those we trust, carries in it some kind of contentment. Alas, what broken reeds are men ! While thou art sweating in thine agony, they are snorting securely. Admonitions, threats, entreaties, cannot keep their eyes open. Thou tellest them of danger, they will needs dream of ease ; and though twice roused, as if they had purposed this neglect, they carelessly sleep out thy sorrow, and their own peril. What help hast thou of such followers ? In the mount of thy transfiguration they slept, and, besides, fell on their faces, Mdien they should behold thy glory, and were not themselves for fear. In the 416 CHRIST APPREHENDED. [book IV. garden of thine agony, they fell upon the ground for drowsiness, when they should compassionate thy sorrow, and lost themselves in a stupid sleepiness. Doubtless, even this disregard made thy prayers so much more fervent. The less comfort we find on earth, the more we seek above. Neither soughtest thou more than thou foundest: lo, thou wert heard in that which thou fearedst. An angel supplies men : that spirit was vigilant, while thy disciples were heavy; the exchange was happy. No sooner is this good angel vanished, than that domestic devil ap¬ pears : Judas comes up, and shows himself in the head of those miscreant troops. He, whose too much honour it had been to be a follower of so blessed a Master, affects now to be the leader of this wicked rabble. The sheep’s fleece is now cast off; the wolf appears in his own likeness. He that would be false to his Master, would be true to his chapmen : even evil spirits keep touch with themselves. The bold traitor dare yet still mix hypocrisy with villany; his very salutations and kisses murder. O Saviour, this is no news to thee. All those, who, under a show of god¬ liness, practise impiety, do still betray thee thus. Thou, who hadst said, “ One of you is a devil,” didst not now say, “ Avoid, Satan but, “ Friend, wherefore art thou come ?” As yet, Judas, it was not too late; had there been any the least spark of grace yet remaining in that perfidious bosom, this word had fetched thee upon thy knees. All this sunshine cannot thaw an obdurate heart. The sign is given, and Jesus is taken. Wretched traitor ! why wouldst thou for this purpose he thus attended ? and ye foolish priests and elders ! why sent you such a band, and so armed for this apprehension ? One messenger had been enough for a voluntary prisoner. Had my Saviour been unwilling to be taken, all your forces, with all the legions of hell to help them, had been too little; since he was willing to be attacked, two were too many. When he did but say, “ I am he,” that easy breath alone routed all your troops, and cast them to the earth, whom it might as easily have cast down into hell. What if he had said, I will not be taken ; where had ye been ? or what coidd your swords and staves have done against Omnipotence ? Those disciples, that failed of their vigilance, failed not of their courage : they had heard their Master speak of providing swords, and now they thought it was time to use them ; “ Shall we smite ?” They were will¬ ing to fight for him, with whom they were not careful to Avatch: but of all others, Peter was most forward; instead of opening his lips, he un¬ sheaths his sword ; and, instead of. Shall I, smites. He had noted Mal- chus, a busy servant of the high priest, too ready to second Judas, and to lay his rude hands upon the Lord of life : against this man his heart rises, and his hand is lift up. That ear, which had too officiously listen¬ ed to the unjust and cruel charge of his wicked master, is now severed from that worse head which it had rais-served. I love and honour thy zeal, O blessed disciple : thou couldst not brook wrong done to thy divine Master. Had thy life been dearer to thee than his safety, thou hadst not drawn thy sword upon a whole troop. It was in earnest that thou saidst, “ Though all men, yet not Iand, “ Though I should die with thee, yet I will not deny thee.” Lo, thou art ready to die upon him that should touch that sacred person; what would thy life now have been in comparison of renouncing him ? since thou wert so fervent, why didst thou not rather fall upon that treaclier OONT. XXVII.J CHRIST APPREHENDED. 417 that betrayed him, than that serjeant that arrested him ? surely the sin was so much greater as the plot of mischief is more than the execution; as a domestic is nearer than a stranger, as the treason of a friend is worse than the forced enmity of an hireling. Was it that the guilty wretch up¬ on the fact done, subduced himself, and shrouded his false head under the wings of darkness ? was it that thou couldst not so suddenly apprehend the odious depth of that villany, and instantly hate him that had been thy old companion ? was it tliat thy amazedness as yet conceived not the purposed issue of this seizure, and astonishedly M^aited for the success ? was it that though Judas was more faulty, yet Malchus was more imperi¬ ously cruel ? howsoever thy courage was awakened with thyself, and thy heart was no less sincere than tliine hand was rash. “ Put up again thy sword into his place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.” Good intentions are no warrant for our actions. O Saviour, thou canst at once accept of our meanings, and censure our deeds. Could there be an affection more worth encom-agement than the love to such a Master ;’ Could there be a more just cause, wherein to draw his sword, than in thy quarrel ? yet this love, this quarrel cannot shield Peter from thy check; thy meek tongue smites him gently, who had furiously smote thine enemy ; “ Put up thy sword.” It was Peter’s sword ; but to put up, not to use: tliere is a sword which Peter may use ; but it is of another metal. Our weapons are, as our warfare, spiritual : if he smite not with this, he incurs no less blame than for smiting with the other : as for this material sword, what should he do with it, that is not alloAved to strike ? When the Prince of Peace bade his followers sell their coat and buy a sword, he meant to insinuate the need of these arms, not their improvement, and to teach them the danger of the time, not the manner of the repulse of the danger. When they therefore said, “ Behold, here are two swordshe answered, “ It is enough.” He said not, “ Go, buy more more had not been enough, if a bodily defence had been intended: David’s tOAver had been too strait to yield sufficient furniture of this kind ; Avhen it comes to use, Peter’s one SAA'ord is too much: “ Put up thy SAVord.” Indeed there is a tem¬ poral sword ; and that sword must be drawn, else Avherefore is it ? but draAvn by him that bears it; and he bears it, that is ordained to be an avenger, “ to execute AATath upon him that doth evil; for he bears not the sword in vain.” If another man draAV it, it cuts his fingers, and draws so much blood of him that unAA’arrantably wields it, as that “ he Avho takes the sword shall perish Avith the SAVord.” Can I choose but AAmnder, how Peter could thus strike unwounded ? hoAV he, Avdiose first bloAv made the fray, could escape hewing in pieces from that band of j’uffians ? this could not have been, if thy power, O Saviour, had not restrained their rage ; if thy seasonable and sharp reproof had not prevented their revenge. !Noav', for ought I see, Peter smarts no less than Malchus: neither is Peter’s ear less smitten by the mild tongue of his Master, than Malchus’ ear by the hand of Peter. W'eak disciple ! thou hast zeal, “but not ac¬ cording to knoAvledge there is not more danger in this act of thine, than inconsideration and ignorance. “ The cup Avhich my Father hath given me, shall I not drink it?” Thou drawest thy sword to rescue me from suffering. Alas I if I suffer not, AAdiat AA Ould become of thee ? Avhat would become of mankind ? Avhere Avere that eternal and just decree of 11. 3 G 418 CHRIST APPREHENDED. [book IV. my Father, wherein I am a “ Lamb slain from the beginning of the world ?” Dost thou go about to hinder thine own and the whole world’s redemption? Did 1 not once before call thee Satan, for suggesting to me this immunity from my passion ? and dost thou now think to favour me with a real opposition to this great and necessary work ? Canst thou be so weak as to imagine, that this suffering of mine is not free and voluntary ? Canst thou be so injurious to me, as to think I yield, because I want aid to resist ? Have I not given to thee and to the world many undeniable proofs of my omnipotence ? Didst thou not see how easy it had been for me to have blown away these poor forces of my adversaries ? Dost thou not know, that, if I would require it, all the glorious troops of the angels of heaven (any one whereof is more than worlds of men) would presently show themselves ready to attend and rescue me ? Might this have stood with the justice of my decree, with the glory of my mercy, with the benefit of man’s redemption, it had been done ; my power should have triumphed over the impotent malice of my enemies : but now, since that eternal decree must be accomplished, my mercy must be approved, mankind must be ransomed ; and this cannot be done without my suffering. Thy well-meant valour is no better than a wrong to thyself, to the world, to Me, to my Father. O gracious Saviour, while thou thus smitest thy disciple, thou healest him whom thy disciple smote. Many greater miracles hadst thou done ; none that bewrayed more mercy and meekness than this last cure : of all other, this ear of Malchus hath the loudest tongue to blazon the praise of thy clemency and goodness to thy very enemies. Wherefore came that man, but in a hostile manner to attack thee ? Besides his own, what favour was he worthy of for his master’s sake ? and if he had not been more forward than his fellows, why had not his skin been as whole as theirs ? yet, even amidst the throng of thine apprehenders, in the heat of their violence, in the height of their malice, and thine own instant peril of death, thou healest that unnecessary ear which had been guilty of hearing blasphemies against thee, and receiving cruel and unjust charges concerning thee. O Malchus, could thy ear be whole, and not thy heart broken and contrite with remorse, for rising up against so merciful and so powerful a hand ? Could thou choose but say, O bles¬ sed Jesus, I see it was thy providence that preserved my head, when my ear was smitten ; it is thine almighty power that hath miraculously restored that ear of mine which 1 had justly forfeited : this head of mine shall never be guilty of plotting any further mischief against thee ; this ear shall never entertain any more reproaches of thy name ; this heart of mine shall ever acknowledge and magnify thy tender mercies, thy di¬ vine omnipotence ? Could thy fellows see such a demonstration of power and goodness with unrelenting hearts? Unthankful Malchus, and cruel soldiers I ye were worse wounded, and felt it not. God had struck your breasts with a fearful obduration, that ye still persist in your bloody enterprise. “ And they, that had laid hold on Jesus, led him away, &c.” CONT. XXX.] CHRIST BEFORE CAIAPHAS. il9 CONTEMPLATION XXX.—CHRIST BEFORE CAIAPHAS. That traitor, whom his own cord made soon after too fast, gave this charge concerning Jesus, “ Hold him fast.” Fear makes his guard cruel; they bind his hands, and think no twist can be strong enough for this Samson. Fond Jews and soldiers ! if his own will had not tied him fas¬ ter than your cords, though those manacles had been the stiffest cables or the strongest iron, they had been but threads of tow. What eyes can but run over to see those hands, that made heaven and earth, wrung together and bruised Avith those merciless cords ; to see him bound, who came to restore us to the liberty of the sons of God ; to see the Lord of life contemptuously dragged through the streets, first to the house of Annas, then from thence to the house of Caiaphas, from him to Pilate, from Pilate to Herod, from Herod back again to Pilate, from Pilate to his Calvary ; while, in the meantime, the base rabble and scum of the incensed multitude runs after him with shouts and scorns ! The act of death hath not in it so much misery and horror as the pomp of death. And what needed all this pageant of cruely ? wherefore was this state and lingering of an unjust execution ? was it for that their malice held a quick despatch, too much mercy ? was it for that, while they meant to be bloody, they would fain seem just ? A sudden violence had been pal¬ pably murderous; now the colour of a legal process gilds over all their deadly spite, and would seem to render them honest, and the accused guilty. This attachment, this convention of the innocent was a true night-work; a deed of so much darkness was not for the light. Old Annas, and that wicked bench of grey-headed scribes and elders, can be content to break their sleep to do mischief; envy and malice can make noon of midnight. It is resolved he shall die ; and now pretences must be sought that he may be clearly murdered. All evil begins at the sanctuary; the priests and scribes and elders are the first in this bloody scene ; they have paid for this head, and now long to see what they shall have for their thirty silverlings. The bench is set in the hall of Caiaphas ; false witnesses are sought for, and hired; they agree not, but shame their suborners. Woe is me I What safety can there be for innocence, when the evidence is wilfully corrupted ? What state was ever so pure, as not to yield some miscreants, that will either sell or lend an oath ? What a brand hath the wisdom of God set upon falsehood, even dissonance and distraction I whereas truth ever holds together, and jars not while it is itself. O Saviour, what a perfect innocence Avas in thy life, wliat an exact purity in thy doctrine, that malice itself cannot so much as devise Avhat to slan¬ der ! it Avere hard if hell should not find some factors upon earth. At last two witnessess are brought in, that have learned to agree with them¬ selves, Avhile they differ from truth ; they say the same, though false; “ This felloAV said, I am able to destroy the temple of God, and build it again in three days.” Perjured wretches! Avere these the terms that you heard from that sacred mouth ? said he formally thus as ye have deposed ? It is true, he spake of a temple, of destroying, and building, of three days : but did he speak of that temple, of bis own destroying. 420 CHRIST BEFORE CAIAPHAS. [book IV. of a material building in that space ? He said, Destroy ye : ye say, I am able to destroy. He said, This temple of his body; ye say, The temple of God. He said, I will make up this temple of my body in three days : ye say, I am able in three days to build this material temple of God. The words were his, the sentence yours: the words were true, the evidence false: so while you report the words, and misreport the sense, ye swear a true falsehood, and are truly forsworn. Where the resolutions are fixed, any colour will serve. Had those words been spoken, they contained no crime ; had he been such as they supposed him, a mere man, the speech had carried a semblance of ostentation, no semblance of blasphemy; yet how vehement is Caiaphas for any answer ; as if those words had already battered that sacred pile, or the protesta¬ tion of his ability had been the highest treason against the God of the temple. That infinite wisdom knew well how little satisfaction there could be in answers when the sentence was determined ; “Jesus held his peace.” Where the asker is unworthy, the question captious, words bootless, the best answer is silence. Erewhile his just and moderate speech to Annas was returned with a buffet on the cheek, now his silence is no less displeasing. Caiaphas was not more malicious than crafty ; what was in vain attempted by wit¬ nesses, shall be drawn out of Christ’s own mouth : what an accusation could not effect, an adjuration shall; “ I adjure you by the living God, that thou tell us, whether thou be the Christ, the Son of God.” Yea, this was the way to screw out a killing answer. Caiaphas, thy mouth was impure, but thy charge was dreadful. Now if Jesus hold his peace, he is cried down for a profane disregarder of that awful name; if he answer, he is insnared; an affirmation is death, a denial worse than death. No, Caiaphas, thou shalt well know, it was not fear that all this while stopped that gracious mouth : thou speakest to him that cannot fear those faces he hath made ; he that hath charged us to confess him, can¬ not but confess himself; “ Jesus saith unto him. Thou hast said.” “ There is a time to speak, and a time to keep silence.” He, that is the Wisdom of his Fathei-, hath here given us a pattern of both. We may so speak, as to give advantage to cavils : we may not be so silent as to betray the truth. Thou shalt have no more cause, proud and insulting Caiaphas, to complain of a speechless prisoner : now thou shalt hear more than thou demandest; “ Hereafter shall ye see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven.” There spake my Saviour ; “ the voice of God, and not of man.” Hear now, insolent high-priest, and be confounded. That Son of Man, whom thou seest, is the Son of God, whom thou canst not see: that Son of Man, that Son of God, that God and Man, whom thou now seest standing despica¬ bly before thy consistorial seat, in a base dejectedness, him shalt thou once, with horror and trembling, see majestically sitting on the throne of heaven, attended with thousand thousands of angels, and coming in the clouds to that dreadful judgment, wherein thyself, amongst other damned malefactors, shalt be presented before that glorious tribunal of his, and adjudged to thy just torments. Go now, wretched hypocrite, and rend thy garments ; while, in the meantime, thou art worthy to have thy soul rent from thy body, for thy spiteful blasphemy against the Son of God. Onwards thy pretence is CONF. XXX.] CHRIST BEFORE CAIAPHAS. 421 fair, and such as cannot but receive applause from thy compacted crew; “ What need have we of witnesses ? behold, now ye have heard his blasphemy. What think ye ? And they answered and said, He is guilty of death.” What heed is to be taken of men’s judgment ? so light are they npon the balance, that one dram of prejudice or forestalment turns the scales. Who were these but the grave benchers of Jerusalem, the synod of the choice Rabbies of Israel ? yet these pass sentence against the Lord of life ; sentence of that death of his, whereby, if ever, they shall be re¬ deemed from the murder of their sentence. O Saviour, this is not the last time wherein thou hast received cruel dooms from them that profess learning and holiness. What wonder is it if thy weak members suffer that which was endured by so perfect a head ? what care we to be judged by man’s day, when thou, who art the righ¬ teous Judge of the world, wert thus misjudged by men ? JNow is the fury of thy malignant enemies let loose upon thee : what measure can be too hard for him that is denounced worthy of death ? Now those foul mouths defile thy blessed face with their impure spittle, the venomous froth of their malice: now those cruel hands are lifted up to buffet thy sacred cheeks : now scorn and insultation triumph over thine humble patience, “ Prophesy unto us, thou Christ, who it is that smote thee.” O dear Jesu, w'hat a beginning is here of a passion! there thou standest bound, con¬ demned, spit upon, buffeted, derided by malicious sinners. That art bound, who earnest to loose the bands of death; thou art condemned, whose sentence must acquit the world ; thou art spit upon, thou art “fairer than the sons of men;” thou art buff’etted, “in whose mouth there was no guilethou art derided, “ who art clothed with glory and majesty.” In the meanwhile, how can I enough wonder at thy infinite mercy, who, in the midst of all these woful indignities, couldst find a time to cast thine eyes back upon thy frail and ungrateful disciple, and in whose gracious ear Peter’s cock sounded louder than all these reproaches ? O Saviour, thou, who, in thine apprehension, couldst forget all thy danger, to correct and heal his over-lashing, now in the heat of thy arraignment and condemnation, canst forget thy own misery, to reclaim his error: and, by that seasonable glance of thine eye, to strike his heart with a needful remorse. He that was lately so valiant to fight for thee, now, the next morning, is so cowardly as to deny thee ; he shrinks at the voice of a maid, who was not daunted with the sight of a band. O Peter, had thy slip been sudden, thy fall had been more easy; premoni¬ tion aggravates thy offence ; that stone was foreshowed thee whereat thou stumblest: neither did thy warning more add to thy guilt, than thine own fore-resolution. How didst thou vow, though thou shouldst die with thy Master, not to deny him ! Hadst thou said nothing, but answered with a trembling silence, thy shame had been the less. Good purposes, when they are not held, do so far turn enemies to the entertainer of them, as that they help to double both his sin and punishment. Yet a single denial had been but easy ; thine, I fear to speak it, was lined with swearing and execration. Whence then, O whence, was so vehement and peremptory disclamation of so gracious a Master ! What such danger had attended thy profession of his attendance ? 422 CHRIST BEFORE PILATE. ^BOOK ir. One of thy fellows was known to the high-priest for a follower of Jesus, yet he not only came himself into that open hall, in view of the bench, but treated with the maid that kept the door to let thee in also. She knew him for what hew^as ; and could therefore speak to thee, as brought in by his meditation, “ Art not thou also one of this man’s disciples ?” Thou also supposest the first acknowledged such; yet what crime, what danger was urged upon that noted disciple ? What could have been more to thee ? Was it that thy heart misgave thee thou mightst he call¬ ed to account for Malchus ? It was no thank to thee that that ear was healed ; neither did there want those that would think how near that ear was to the head. Doubtless, that busy fellow himself was not far ofiF, and his fellows and kinsmen Avould have been apt enough to follow thee, besides thy discipleship, upon a blood-shed, a riot, a rescue. Thy con¬ science hath made thee thus unduly timorous: and now, to be sure, to avoid the imputation of that affray, thou renouncest all knowledge of him in whose cause thou foughtest. Howsoever, the sin was heinous. I tremble at such a fall of so gi-eat an apostle. It was thou, O Peter, that buftedest thy Master more than those Jews ; it Avas to thee that he turn¬ ed the cheek from them, as to vieAv him by Avhom he most smarted : he felt thee afar off, and answered thee with a look : such a look as was able to kill and revive at once. Thou hast wounded me, mayst thou noAV say, O my Saviour, “ Thou hast wounded my heart with one of thine eyes that one eye of thy mercy hath wounded my heart Avith a deep remorse for my grievous sin, Avith an indignation at my unthankfulness ; that one glance of thine hath resolved me into the tears of sorrow and contrition, O that mine eyes Avere fountains, and my cheeks channels that shall never be dried I “ And Peter Av^ent out and wept bitteidy.” CONTEMPLATION XXXI.—CHRIST BEFORE PILATE. Well AA'orthy AA^ere these Joaa’s to be tributary; they had cast off the yoke of their God, and had justly earned this Roman servitude. Tiberius had befriended them too Avell with so favourable a governor as Pilate. Had they had the power of life and death in their hands, they had not been beholden to a Heathen for a legal murder. I know not Avhether they more repine at this slavery, or please themselves to think, hoAv cleanly they can shift off this blood into another’s hand. These great masters of Israel flock from their OAvn consistory to Pilate’s judg¬ ment-hall. The sentence had been theirs, the execution must be his ; and noAv they hope to bear down Jesus with the stream of that frequent confluence. But Avhat ails you, O 5 "e rulers of Israel, that ye stand thus thronging at the door ? why do ye not go in to that public room of judicature, to call for that justice ye came for ? was it for that ye Avould not defile yourselves with the contagion of a Heathen roof? Holy men I your consciences would not suffer you to yield to so impure an act; your Passover must be kept, your persons must be clean : Avhile ye expect justice from the man, ye abhor the pollution of the place. Woe to you priests, scribes, eldei's, hypocrites I can there be any roof so unclean as C ONI'. XXXI.] CHRIST BEFORE PILATE. 423 lhat of your own breasts ? not Pilate’s walls, but your hearts are impure; is murder your errand, and do ye stick at a local infection ? “ God shall smite you, ye whited walls.” Do ye long to be stained with blood, with the blood of God ? and do ye fear to be defiled with the touch of Pilate’s pavement ? doth so small a gnat stick in your throats, while ye swallow such a camel of flagitious wickedness ? Go out of yourselves, ye false dissemblers, if ye would not be unclean. Pilate, onwards, hath more cause to fear, lest his walls should be defiled with the presence of so prodigious monsters of impiety. That plausible governor condescends to humour their superstition ; they dare not come in to him, he yields to go forth to them. Even Pi¬ late begins justly, “ What accusation bring you against this man !” It is no judging of religion by the outward demeanor of the men ; there is more justice amongst the Romans than amongst the Jews. These mali¬ cious Rabbies thought it enough, that they had sentenced Jesus; no more was now expected but a speedy execution. “ If he were not a malefac¬ tor, we would not have delivered him up unto thee.” Civil justice must be tbeir hangman. It is enough conviction, that he is delivered up to the secular powers : themselves have judged, these other must kill. Pilate and Caiaphas have changed places ; this pagan speaks that law and jus¬ tice which that high-priest shoidd have done : and that high-priest speaks those murdering incongruities which would better have beseemed the mouth of a pagan. What needs any new trial? Dost thou know, Pilate, who we are ? Is this the honour that thou givest to our sacred priesthood? Is this thy valuation of our sanctity? Had the basest of the vulgar complained to thee, tliou couldst but have put them to a re¬ view. Our place and holiness looked not to be distrusted. If our scru¬ pulous consciences suspect thy very walls, thou mayest well think, there is a small reason to suspect our consciences. Upon a full hearing, ripe deliberation, and exquisitely judicial proceeding, w'e have sentenced this malefactor to death: there needs no more from thee but thy command of execution. O monsters, whether of malice or injustice ? Must he then be a malefactor whom ye will condemn ? is your bare word ground enough to shed blood ? whom did you ever kill but the righteous ? by whose hands perished the prophets ? The word was but mistaken ; ye should have said. If we had not been malefactors ; we had never deliver¬ ed up this innocent man unto thee. It must needs be notoriously unjust, which very nature hath taught Pagans to abhor. Pilate sees and hates this bloody suggestion and prac¬ tice. Do ye pretend holiness, and urge so injurious a violence? if he be such as ye accuse him, where is his conviction ? if he cannot be legally convicted, why should he die ? Do ye think I may take your complaint for a crime ? If I must judge for you, why have ye judged for your¬ selves ? Could ye suppose, that I would condemn any man unheard ? If your Jewish laws yield you this liberty, the Roman laws yield it not to me ; it is not for me to judge after your laws, but after our own. Your prejudgment may not sway me ; since ye have gone so far, be ye your own carvers of justice ; “ Take ye him and judge him according to your law.” O Pilate, how happy had it been for thee, if thou hadst held thee there ! thus thou hadst washed thy hands more clean than in all tby ba- 424 CHRIST BEFORE PILATE. [book IV. sons. Might law have been the rule of this judgment, and not malice, this blood had not been shed. How palpably doth their tongue bewray their heart I “ It is not lawful for us to put any man to death.” Pilate talks of judgment, they talk of death. This was their only aim ; law was but a colour, judgment was but a ceremony ; death was their drift, and without this nothing. Blood-thirsty priests and elders I it is well, that this power of yours is restrained: no innocence could have been safe, if your lawless will had no limits. It were pity this sword should be in any but just and sober hands. Your fury did not always consult with law : what law allowed your violence to Stephen, to Paul and Bar¬ nabas, and your deadly attempts against this blessed .Jesus, Avhom ye now persecute? Plow lawful was it for you to procure that death which ye could not afflict? It is all the care of hypocrites to seek umbrages and pretences for their hateful purposes, and to make no other use of laws, whether divine or human, but to serve turns. Where death is fore-resolved, there cannot want accusations. Malice is not so barren as not to yield crimes enough : “ And they began to accuse him, saying. We found this fellow perverting the nation, and for¬ bidding to give tribute unto Caesar, saying, that he himself is Christ and What accusations, saidst thou, O Pilate ? heinous and capital; thou mightst have believed our confident intimation ; but, since thou wilt needs urge us to particulars, know, that we come furnished with such an indictment as shall make thine ears glow to hear it. Besides that plasphemy whereof he hath been condemned by us, this man is a sedu¬ cer of the people, a raiser of sedition, an usurper of sovereignty. O im¬ pudent suggestion ? What marvel is it, O Saviour, if thine honest ser¬ vants be loaded with slanders, when thy most innocent person escaped not so shameful criminations ? Thou a perverter of the nation, who taughtst the way of God truly ? thou a forbidder of tribute, who paidst it, who prescribedst it, who provedst it to be Caesar’s due ? thou a chal¬ lenger of temporal sovereignty, Avho avoidedst it, who renouncedst it, professedst to come to serve ? O the forehead of malice ! Go, ye shame¬ less traducers, and swear that truth is guilty of all falsehood, justice of all wrong ; and that the sun is the only cause of darkness, fire of cold. Now Pilate startles at the charge. The name of tribute, the name of Caesar, is in mention; these potent spells can fetch him back to the com¬ mon hall, and call Jesus to the bar. There, O Saviour, standest thou meekly to be judged, Avho shalt once come to judge the quick and the dead: then shall he, before whom thou stoodst guiltless and dejected, stand before thy dreadful Majesty, guilty and trembling. The name of a king, of Caesar, is justly tender and awful ; the least whisper of a usurpation or disturbance is entertained with a jealous care. Pilate takes this intimation at the first bound; “ Art thou then the King of the Jews ?” He felt his own freehold now touched ; it was time for him to stir. Daniel’s weeks Avere now famously known to be near ex¬ piring. Many arrogant and busy spirits, as Judas of Galilee, Theudas, and that Egyptian seducer, taking that advantage, had raised several conspiracies, set up new titles to the crown, gathered forces to maintain their false claims. Perhaps, Pilate supposed some such business now on foot, and therefore asks so curiously, “ Art thou the King of the Jews ?” CiST. XXXI.] CHRIST BEFORE PILATE. 42.5 He, that was no less wisdom than truth, thought it not best either to affirm or deny at once. Sometimes it may be extremely prejudicial to speak all truths. To disclaim that title suddenly, which had been of old given him by the prophets, at his birth by the Eastern sages, and now lately at his procession by the acclaiming multitude, had been injurious to himself: to profess and challenge it absolutely, had been unsafe, and needlessly provoking. By wise and just degrees, therefore, doth he so far affirm this truth, that he both satisfies the inquirer, and takes off all peril and prejudice from his assertion. Pilate shall know him a King, but such a King, as no king needs to fear, as all kings ought to acknow¬ ledge and adore ; “ My kingdom is not of this world.” It is your mis¬ taking, O ye earthly potentates, that is guilty of your fears. Herod hears of a King born, and is troubled ; Pilate hears of a King' of the Jews, and is incensed. Were ye not ignorant, ye could not be jealous ; had he learned to distinguish of kingdoms, these suspicions would vanish. There are secular kingdoms, there are spiritual; neither of these trench¬ es upon other: your kingdom is secular, Christ’s is spiritual; both may, both must stand together. His laws are divine, yours civil: his reign is eternal, yours temporal: the glory of his rule is inward, and stands in the graces of sanctification, love, peace, righteousness, joy in the Holy Ghost; yours in outward pomp, riches, magnificence : his enemies are the devil, the world, and the flesh : yours are bodily usurpers, and exter¬ nal peace-breakers ; his sword is the power of the Word and Spirit, yours material; his rule is over the conscience, yours over bodies and lives ; he punishes with hell, ye with temporal death or torture. Yea, so far is he from opposing your government, that, “ by him ye kings reign your sceptres are his; but to maintain, not to wield, not to resist. O the unjust fears of vain men ! He takes not away your earthly kingdoms, who gives you heavenly ; he discrowns not the body, who crowns the soul; his intention is not to make you less great, but more happy. The charge is so fully answered, that Pilate acquits the prisoner. The Jewish masters stand still without; their very malice dares not venture their pollution in going in to prosecute their accusation. Pilate hath examined him within, and now comes forth to these eager complainants, with a cold answer to their over-hot expectation ; “ I find in him no fault at all.” O noble testimony of Christ’s innocence, from that mouth which afterwards doomed him to death ! What a difference there is betwixt a man as he is himself, and as he is the servant of others’ wills ! It is Pilate’s tongue that says, “ I find in him no fault at all.” It is the .Tews’ tongue in Pilate’s mouth, that says, “ Let him be crucified.” That cruel sentence cannot blot him, whom this attestation cleareth. Neither doth he say, I find him not guilty in that whereof he is accused; but gives a universal acquittance of the whole carriage of Christ —“ I find in him no fault at all.” In spite of malice, innocence shall find abet¬ tors. Rather than Christ shall want witnesses, the mouth of Pilate shall be opened to his justification. How did these Jewish blood-suckers stand thunder-stricken with so unexpected a word ! His absolution was their death, his acquittal their conviction. “No fault,” when we have found crimes ? “ no fault at all,” when we have condemned him for capital offences Y how palpably doth Pilate give us the lie: how shamefully doth he affront our authority, and disparage our justice ! So ii. 3 II 426 CHRIST BEFORE PILATE. [^BOOK IV. ingenuous a testimony, doubtless, exasperated the fury of these Jews: the fire of their indignation was sevenfold more intended with the sense of their repulse. I tremble to think how just Pilate as yet was, and how soon after de¬ praved, yea, how merciful together with that justice. How fain would he have freed Jesus, whom he found faultless ! Corrupt custom, in me¬ mory of their deliverance from Egyptian bondage, allowed to gratify the Jews with the free delivery of some one prisoner. Tradition would be encroaching : the Paschal lamb was monument enough of that happy res¬ cue ; men affect to have something of their own. Pilate was willing to take this advantage of dismissing Jesus. That he might be the more likely to prevail, he proposeth him with the choice and nomination of so notorious a malefactor as he might justly think incapable of all mercy ; Barabbas, a thief, a murderer, a seditionary, infamous for all, odious to all. Had he propounded some other innocent prisoner, he might have feared the election would be doubtful; he cannot misdoubt the competi¬ tion of so prodigious a malefactor. “ Then they all cried again, Not him, but Barabbas.” O malice, beyond all example, shameless and bloody ! Who can but blush to think, that a heathen should see Jews so impetuously unjust, so savagely cruel ? He knew there was no fault to be found in Jesus : he knew there was no crime that was not to be found in Barabbas ; yet he hears, and blushes to hear them say, “ Not him, but Barabbas.” Was not tbis, think we, out of similitude of condition ? Every thing affects the like to itself; every thing afiects the preservation of that it liketh. What wonder is it then, if ye Jews, who jirofess yourselves the murdei'- ers of that j list One, favour Barabbas? O Saviour, what a killing in¬ dignity was this for thee to hear from thine own nation ! Hast thou re¬ fused all glory, to put on shame and misery for their sakes ? hast thou disregarded thy blessed self, to save them ? and do they refuse thee for Barabbas ? Hast thou said, not heaven, but earth; not sovereignty, but service; not the Gentile, but the Jew? and do they say, “Not him, but Barabbas ?” Do ye thus requite the Lord, O ye foolish people and un¬ just? Thus were thine ears and thine eyes first crucified, and through them was thy soul wounded, even to death, before thy death, while thou sawest their rage and heardest their noise of “ Crucify, crucify.” Pilate would have chastised thee. Even that had been a cruel mercy from him ; for what evil hadst thou done ? But that cruelty had been true mercy to this of the Jews, whom no blood would satisfy but that of thy heart. He calls for thy fault, they call for thy punishment; as pro¬ claiming thy crucifixion is not intended to satisfy justice, but malice, “ They cried the more, Crucify him, crucify him.” As their clamour grew, so the president’s justice declined. Those graces that lie loose and ungrounded, are easily washed away with the first tide of popularity. Thrice had that man proclaimed the innocence of him whom he now inclines to condemn, “ willing to content the people.” O the foolish aims of ambition I Not God, not his conscience come into any regard, but the people. What a base idol doth the proud man adore ! even the vulgar, which a base man despisetb. What is their ap¬ plause but an idle wind ? what is their anger but a painted fire ? O Pilate, where now is thyself and thy people ? whereas a good conscience CONT xxxr.^ CHRIST BEFORE PILATE. 427 would have stuck by thee for ever, and have given thee boldness, before the face of that God which thou and thy peopltj shall never have ths happiness to behold. The Jews have played their first part; the Gentiles must now act theirs. Cruel Pilate, who knew Jesus was ‘‘ delivered for envy,” accused falsely, maliciously pursued, hath turned his proffered chastisement into scourging ; “ Then Pilate took Jesus and scourged him.” Woe is me, dear Saviour, I feel thy lashes, I shrink under thy painful whippings, thy nakedness covers me with shame and confusion. That tender and precious body of thine is galled and torn with cords. Thou, that didst of late water the garden of Gethsemane with the drops of thy bloody sweat, dost now bedew the pavement of Pilate’s hall with the showers of thy blood. How fully hast thou made good thy word, “ I gave my back to the smiters, and my cheeks to them that plucked off the hair; I hid not my face from shame and spitting I” How can I be enough sensible of my own stripes ? these blows are mine ; both my sins have given them, and they give remedies to my sins. ‘‘ He was wounded for onr transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities, the chastisement of our peace was upon him, and with his stripes are we healed.” O blessed Jesu, why should I think strange to be scourged with tongue or hand, when I see thee bleeding ? what lashes can I fear either from heaven or earth, since thy scourges have been borne for me, and have sanctified them to me ? Now, dear Jesu, what a world of insolent reproaches, indignities, tortures, art thou entering into I To an ingenuous and ten¬ der disposition, scorns are torment enough ; but here pain helps to per¬ fect thy misery, their despite. Who should be actors in this whole bloody execution but grim and barbarous soldiers, men inured to cruelty, in whose faces were written the characters of murder, whose very trade was killing, and whose looks were enough to prevent their hands ! These, for the greater terror of their concourse, are called together, and whether by the connivance or the command of their wicked governor, or by the instigation of the malicious Jews, conspire to anticipate his death with scorns, which they will after inflict with violence. O my blessed Saviour, was it not enough that thy sacred body was strip¬ ped of thy garments, and whaled with bloody stripes, but that thy person must be made the mocking-stock of thine insulting enemies, thy back dis¬ guised with purple robes, thy temples wounded with a thorny crown, thy face spit upon, thy cheeks buffetted, thy head smitten, thy hand sceptred with a reed, thyself derided with wry mouths, bended knees, scoffing accla¬ mations ! Insolent soldiers ! whence is all this jeering and sport but to flout majesty ! All these are the ornaments and ceremonies of a royal inau¬ guration, which now in scorn ye cast upon my despised Saviour. Go on, make yourselves merry with this jolly pastime. Alas ! long ago ye now feel whom ye scorned. Is he a king, think you, whom you thus played up¬ on ? Look upon him with gnashing and horror, whom ye looked at with mockage and insultation. Was not that head fit for your thorns, which ye now see crowned with glory and majesty ? was not that hand fit for a reed, whose iron sceptre crushes you to death ? was not that face fit to be spit upon, from the dreadful aspect whereof ye are ready to desire the mountains to cover you ? 428 CHRIST BEFORE PILATE. [book iv*. In the meantime, whither, O whither dost thou stoop, O thou co¬ eternal Son of thine eternal Father I whither dost thou abase thyself for me ! I have sinned, and thou art punished ; I have exalted myself, and thou art dejected ; I have clad myself with shame, and thou ax’t stripped ; I have made myself naked, and thou art clothed with robes of dishonour ; my head hath devised evil, and thine is pierced with thorns; I have smitten thee, and thou art smitten for me ; I have dishonoured thee, and thou, for my sake, art scorned ; thou art made the sport of men, for me that have deserved to be insulted on by devils. Thus disguised, thus bleeding, thus mangled, thus disformed, art thou brought forth, whether for conxpassion, or for a more universal derision to the furious multitude, with an Ecce homo, “ Behold the man.” Look upon him, O ye merciless Jews, see him in his shame, in his wounds and blood, and now see whether ye think him miserable enough. Ye see his fiice black and blue with buffetting, his eyes swoln, his cheeks beslavered with spittle, his skin torn with scourges, his whole body bathed in blood, and would ye yet have more ? “ Behold the man the man whom ye envied for his greatness, whom ye feared for his usurpation : doth he not look like a king ? is he not royally dressed ? see whether his magnifi¬ cence do not command reverence from you. Would ye wish a finer king ? are ye not afraid he will wrest the sceptre out of Cxesar’s hand ? “ Behold the man.” Yea, and behold him well, O thou proud Pilate ! O ye cruel soldiers, O ye insatiable Jews! Ye see him base whom ye shall see glorious; the time shall surely come wherein ye shall see him in another dress. He shall shine whom ye now see to bleed; his crown cannot be now so ignominious and painful, as it shall be once majestical and precious. Ye, who now bend your knees to him in scorn, shall see all knees, both in hea¬ ven and earth, and under the earth, to bow before him in an awful adora¬ tion ; ye, that now see him with contempt, shall behold him with horror. AYhat an inward war do I yet find in the breast of Pilate ! His con¬ science bids him spare, his popularity bids him kill. His wife, warned by a dream, warns him to have no hand in the blood of that just man ; the importunate multitude presses him for a sentence of death. All shifts have been tried to free the man whom he hath pronounced innocent. All violent motives are urged to condemn that man whom malice pretends guilty. In the height of this strife, when conscience and moral justice were ready to sway Pilate’s distracted heart to a just dismission, I hear the .Jews cry out, “ If thou let this man go thou art not Caesar’s friend.” There is the word that strikes it dead; it is now no time to demur any more. In vain shall we hope, that a carnal heart can prefer the care of his soul to the care of his safety and honour, God to Caesar. Now Jesus must die : Pilate hastes into the judgment-hall, the sentence sticks no longer in his teeth, “ Let him be crucified.” Yet how foul soever his soul shall be with this fact, his hands shall be ' clean; “ He took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person ; see ye to it.” Now all is safe: I doubt not but this is expiation enough ; water can wash off blood ; the hands can cleanse the heart: protest thou art inno¬ cent, and thou canst not be guilty. Vain hypocrite ! canst thou think CONT. XXXII.] THE CRUCIFIXION. 429 to escape so ? is murder of no deeper dye ? canst thou dream waking, thus to avoid the charge of thy wife’s dream ? is the guilt of the blood of the Son of God to be wiped off with such ease ? What poor shifts do foolish sinners make to beguile themselves ! any thing will serve to charm the conscience, when it lists to sleep. But, O Saviour, while Pilate thinks to wash off the guilt of thy blood with water, I know there is nothing that can wash off the guilt of this his sin but thy blood. O do thou wash my soul in that precious bath, and I shall be clean. O Pilate, if that very blood which thou sheddest do not wash oflF the guilt of thy bloodshed, thy water doth but more defile thy soul, and intend that fire wherewith thou burnest. Little did the desperate Jews know the weight of that blood, Avhich they were so forward to Avish upon themselves and their children. Had they deprecated their interest in that horrible murdei’, they could not so easily have avoided the vengeance ; but now, that they fetch it upon themselves by aAvilling execration, Avhat should 1 say, but that they long for a curse ? it is pity they should not be miserable. And have ye not felt, O nation worthy of plagues, have ye not now felt what blood it was Avhose guilt ye affected ? Sixteen hundred years are noAV passed since you Avished yourselves thus wretched : have ye not been ever since the hate and scorn of the Avorld ? did ye not live, many of you, to see your city buried in ashes, and droAvned in blood ? to see yourselves no nation ? was there ever people under heaven that Avas made so famous a spectacle of misery and desolation? have ye yet enough of that blood which ye called for upon yourselves and your children? Your former cruelties, uncleannesses, idolatries, cost you but some short captivities; God cannot but be just: this sin, under AA'hich ye now lie groaning and forlorn, must needs be so much greater than these, as your vastation is more ; and Avhat can that be other than the murder of the Lord of life ! Ye have Avhat ye wished, be miserable till ye be penitent. CONTEMPLATION XXXII.—THE CRUCIFIXION. The sentence of death is past, and now who can with dry eyes be¬ hold the sad pomp of my Saviour’s bloody execution ! All the streets are full of gazing spectators, waiting for this ruefid sight. At last, O Saviour, there thou comest out of Pilate’s gate, bearing that which shall soon bear thee. To expect thy cross was not torment enough; thou must carry it. All this Avhile thou shalt not only see, but feel thy death before it come, and must help to be an agent in thine own passion. It was not out of favour that those scornful robes being stripped off, thou art led to death in thine own clothes. So was thy face besmeared with blood, so SAVoln and discoloured with buffetings, that thou couldst not have been knoAvn but by thy wonted habit. Now thine insulting- enemies are so much more imperiously cruel, as they are more sure of their success. Their merciless tormentings have made them half dead already; yet now, as if they had done nothing, they begin afresh, and will force thy weakened and fainting nature to new tasks of pain. The transverse of thy cross, at least, is upon thy shoulder ; when thou canst 430 THE CRUCIFIXION. [book IV. scarce go, thou must carry. One kicks thee with his foot, another strikes thee with his staff, another drags thee hastily by thy cord, and more than one spui’ on thine unpitied weariness with angry commands of haste. O true form and state of a servant! All thy former actions, O Saviour, were, though painful, yet free; this, as it is in itself servile, so it is tyrannously enforced, enforced yet more upon thee, by thine own love to mankind, than by their power and despite. It was thy Father that “ laid upon thee the iniquity of us allit was thine own mercy that caused thee to bear our sins upon the cross, and to bear the cross with the curse annexed to it, for our sins. How much more voluntary must that needs be in thee, which thou requirest to be voluntaidly undertaken by us I It was thy charge, “ If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.” Thou didst not say. Let him bear his cross as forcibly imposed by another ; but, “ Let him take up his cross,” as his free burden ; free in respect of his heart, not in respect of his hand ; so free, that he shall willingly undergo it, when it is laid upon him, not so free as that he shall lay it upon himself unrequired. O Saviour, thou didst not snatch the cross out of the soldiers’ hands, and cast it upon thy shoulder, but when they laid it upon thy neck, thou underwentest it. The constraint was theirs, the wdll was thine. It was not so heavy to them, or to Simon, as it was to thee ; they felt nothing but the wood, thou feltestit clogged with the load of the sins of the whole world. No marvel if thou faintedst under that sad burden ; thou, that bearest up the whole earth by thy word, didst sweat, and pant, and groan under this unsupportable carriage^ O blessed Jesu, how could I be confounded in myself to see thee, after so much loss of blood and over-toiledness of pain, languishing under that fatal tree I and yet, why should it more trouble me to see thee sinking under thy cross now, than to see thee anon hanging upon thy cross? In both thou wouldst render thyself weak and miserable, that thou mightst so much the more glorify thy in¬ finite mercy in suffering. It is not out of any compassion of thy misery, or care of thine ease, that Simon of Gyrene is forced to be the porter of thy cross ; it was out of their own eagerness of thy despatch; thy feeble paces were too slow for their purpose ; their thirst after thy blood made them impatient of delay. If thou have wearily struggled with the burden of thy shame all along the streets of Jerusalem, when thou comest once past the gates, a helper shall he deputed to thee; the expedition of thy death was more sweet to them than the pain of a lingering passage. What thou saidst to Judas, they say to the executioner, “ What thou doest do quickly.” While thou yet livest they cannot be quiet, they cannot be safe : to has¬ ten thine end they lighten thy carriage. Hadst thou done this out of choice, which thou didst out of constraint, how I should have envied thee, O Simon of Gyrene, as too happy in the honour to be the first man that bore that cross of thy Saviour, wherein millions of blessed martyrs have, since that time, been ambitious to suc¬ ceed thee ? thus to bear thy cross for thee, O Saviour, was more than to bear a crown for thee. Gould I be worthy to be thus graced by thee, I should pity all other glories. While thou thus passest, O dear Jesu, the streets and ways resound not all with one note. If the malicious .Tews and cruel soldiers insulted COXT. XXXII.] THE CRUCIFIXION. 431 upon thee, and either haled or railed thee on with a bitter violence, thy faithful followers were no less loud in their moans and ejulations ; neither would they endure, that the noise of their cries and lamentations should be drowned with the clamour of those reproaches: but especially thy blessed mother, and those other zealous associates of her own sex, were most passionate in their wailings. And why should I think that all that devout multitude, which so lately cried Hosanna in the streets, did not also bear their part in these public condolings ? Though it had not con¬ cerned thyself, O Saviour, thine ears had been still more open to the voice of grief than of malice ; and so thy lips also are open to the one, shut to the other: “ Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children.” Who would not have thought, O Saviour, that thou shouldst have been Avholly taken up with thine own sorrows ? The expectation of so bitter a death had been enough to have overwhelmed any soul but thine: yet even now can thy gracious eye find time to look beyond thine own miseries, at theirs ; and to pity them, who, insensible of their own ensuing condition, mourned for thine now present. They see thine extremity, thou foreseest theirs : they pour out their sorrow upon thee, thou divertest it upon themselves. We, silly creatures, Avalk blindfolded in this vale of tears, and little know Avhat evil is towards us : only Avhat we feel we know: and while we feel nothing, can find leisure to bestow our commiseration on those who need it, perhaps, less than ourselves. Even now, O Saviour, when thou wert within the vieAV of thy Calvary, thou canst foresee and pity the vastation of thy Jerusalem, and givest a sad prophecy of the imminent destruction of that city which lately had cost thee tears, and now shall cost thee blood. It is not all the indign cruelty of men that can rob thee of thy mercy. Jerusalem could not want malefactors, though Barabbas was dismiss¬ ed. That all this execution might seem to be done out of the zeal of justice, two capital offenders, adjudged to their gibbet, shall accompany thee, O Saviour, both to thy death and in it. They are led manacled after thee, as less criminous: no stripes had disabled them from bearing their own crosses. Long ago was this unmeet society foretold by thine evangelical seer, “ He was taken from prison and from judgment; he was cut out of the land of the living; he made his grave with the wicked.” O blessed Jesu, it had been disparagement enough to thee to be sorted with the best of men, since there is much sin in the perfectest, and there could be no sin in thee ; but to be matched Avith the scum of mankind, Avhom vengeance AA'ould not let live, is such an indignity as confounds my thoughts. Surely there is no angel in heaven, but Avould have been proud to attend thee ; and what could the earth afford worthy of thy train ? yet malice hath suited thee Avith company next to hell, that their vicious¬ ness might reflect upon thee, and their sin might stain thine innocence. Ye are deceived, O ye fond Judges : this is the Avay to grace your dying malefactors ; this is not the AA'ay to disgrace him Aidiose guiltlessness and perfection triumphed over your injustice: his presence was able to make your thieves happy: their presence could no more blemish him than your own. Thus guarded, thus attended, thus accompanied art thou, blessed Jesu, led to that loathsome and infamous hill, Avhich now thy last blood shall make sacred; now thou settest thy foot upon that THE CRUCIFIXION. 432 [[book IV. rising ground which shall prevent thine Olivet, whence thy soul .shall first ascend into thy glory, There, Avhile thou art addressing thyself for thy last act, thou art pre¬ sented with that bitter and farewell-potion wherewith dying malefactors were wont to have their senses stupified, that they might not feel the torments of their execution. It was but the common mercy of men to alleviate the death of offenders : since the intent of their last doom is not so much pain as dissolution. That draught, O Saviour, was not more welcome to the guilty than hateful unto thee. In the vigour of all thine inward and outward senses, thou wouldst encounter the most violent assaults of death, and scornedst to abate the least touch of thy quickest apprehension. Thou well knewest that the work thou wentest about would require the use of all thy powers ; it w'as not thine ease that thou soughtst, but our redemption; neither meantst thou to yield to the last enemy, but to resist and to overcome him : which that thou mightst do the more gloriously, thou challengedst him to do his worst ; and, in the mean time, wouldst not disfurnish thy¬ self of any of thy powerful faculties. This greatest combat that ever was shall be fought on even hand ; neither wouldst thou steal that victory which now thou achievedst over death and hell. Thou didst but touch at this cup ; it is a far bitterer than this, that thou art now drinking iqj to the dregs. Thou refusedst that which was offered thee by men, but that which was mixed by thine eternal Father, though mere gall and wormwood, thou didst drink up to the last drop. And therein, O blessed Jesu, lies all our health and salvation. I know not, Avhether I do more suffer in thy pain, or joy in the issue of thy suffering. Now, even now, O Saviour, art thou entering into those dreadful lists, and now art thou gx-appling with thy last enemy; as if thou hadst not suffered till now, thy bloody passion begins : a cruel expoliation begins that violence. Again do these grim and merciless soldiers lay their rude hands upon thee, and strip thee naked ; again are those bleeding weals laid open to all eyes ; again must tby sacred body undergo the shame of an abhorred nakedness. Lo thou that clothest man with raiment, beasts with hides, fishes with scales and shells, earth with flou^ers, heaven with stars, art despoiled of clothes, and standest exposed to the scorn of all beholders. As the first Adam entered into his Paradise, so dost thou, the second Adam, into thine, naked ; and as the first Adam was clothed with innocence when he had no clothes, so wert thou (the second) too : and more than so; thy nakedness, O Saviour, clothes our souls, not with innocence only, but with beauty. Hadst not thou been naked, Ave had been clothed with confusion. O happy nakedness, udiereby we are covered from shame ! O happy shame, AAdiereby Ave are invested with glory ! All the beholders stand Avrapped Avith Avarm garments; thou art stripped to tread the AAune-press alone. How did thy blessed mother now Avish her veil upon thy shoulders! and that disciple, Avho lately ran from thee naked, Avished in vain that his loving pity might do that for chee, which fear forced him to do for himself. Shame is succeeded Avith pain. O the torment of the cross ! Methinks I see and feel, hoAV, having fastened the transverse to the body of that fatal tree, and laid it upon the ground, they racked and strained thy tender and sacred limbs, to fit the extent of their fore-appointed measure ; CONT. XXXIl.] THE CRUCIFIXION. 433 and having' tendered out thine arms beyond their natural reach, how they fastened them with coi'ds, till those strong iron nails, which were driven up to the head through the palms of thy blessed hands, had not more firmly than painfully fixed thee to the gibbet. The tree is raised up, and now, not without a vehement concussion, settled in the mortise. Woe is me, how are thy joints and sinews torn, and stretched till they crack again, by this torturing distention ! how doth thine own weight torment thee, while thy whole body rests upon this forced and dolorous hold, till thy nailed feet boar their part in a no less afflictive supportation ! How did the rough iron pierce thy soul, while passing through those tender and sensible parts, it carried thy flesh before it, and as it were ri- vetted it to that shameful tree ! There now, O dear Jesu, there thouhangest between heaven and earth, naked, bleeding, forlorn, despicable, the spectacle of miseries, the scorn of men. Be abased, O ye heavens and earth, and all ye creatures wrap up yourselves in horror and confusion, to see the shame and pain and curse of your most pure and omnipotent Creator. How could ye subsist, while he thus sulfers in Avhom ye are ? O Saviour, didst thou take flesh for our redemption, to be thus indignly used, thus mangled, thus tortur¬ ed ? Was this measure fit to be offered to that sacred body, that was conceived by the Holy Ghost, of the pure substance of an immaculate virgin ? Woe is me, that which was unspotted with sin is all blemish¬ ed with human cruelty, and so woefully disfigured, that the blessed mother that bore thee could not now have known thee ; so bloody were thy temples, so swoln and discoloured was thy face, so was the skin of thy whole body streaked with red and blue stripes, so did thy thorny dia¬ dem shade thine heavenly countenance, so did the streams of thy blood co¬ ver and deform all thy parts ! The eye of sense could not distinguish thee, O dear Saviour, in the nearest proximity to thy cross : the eye of faith sees thee in all this distance ; and by how much more ignominy, deform¬ ity, pain, it finds in thee, so much more it admires the glory of thy mer¬ cy. Alas ! is this the head that is decked by thine eternal Father Avith a crown of pure gold, of immortal and incomprehensible majesty, which is now bushed with thorns ? Is this the eye that saw the heavens open¬ ed, and the Holy Ghost descending upon that head, that saw such re¬ splendence of heavenly brightness on mount Tabor, which now begins to be over-clouded with death ? Are these the ears that heard the voice of thy Father owning thee out of heaven, which now tingle with buft’etings, and glow with reproaches, and bleed with thorns ? Are these the lips that “ spake as never man spake, full of grace and power,” that called out dead Lazarus, that ejected the stubbornest devils, that commanded the cure of all diseases, which now are swoln with blows, and discolour¬ ed with blueness and blood ? Is this the face that should be “ fairer than the sons of men,” which the angels of heaven so desired to see, and can never be satisfied with seeing, that is thus foul with the nasty mix¬ tures of sweat and blood, and spittings on ? Are these the hands that “ stretched out the heavens as a curtain,” that by their touch healed the lame, the deaf, the blind, Avhich are now bleeding Avith the nails ? Are these the feet which walked lately upon the liquid pavement of the sea, before Avhose footstool all the nations of the earth are bidden to Avorship, that are noAv so painfully fixed to tlie cross? O cruel and unthankful II. 3 I 434 THE CRUCIFIXION. [book IV. mankind, that offered such measure to the Lord of life ! O infinitely merciful Saviour, that wouldst suffer all this for unthankful mankind ! That fiends should do these things to guilty souls, it is (though terrible, yet) just; but that men should do thus to the blessed Son of God, it is beyond the capacity of our horror. Even the most hostile dispositions have been only content to kill ; death hath sated the most eager malice : thine enemies, O Saviour, held not themselves satisfied, unless they might enjoy thy torment. Two thieves are appointed to be thy companions in death ; thou art designed to the midst, as the chief malefactor : on whether hand soever thou look- est, thine eye meets with a hateful partner. But, O blessed Jesu, how shall I enough admire and celebrate tby infinite mercy, who madest so happy a use of this Jewish despite, as to improve it to the occasion of the salvation of one, and the comfort of millions ! Is not this, as the last, so the greatest speciality of thy wonderful compassion, to convert that dying thief? with those nailed hands to snatch a soul out of the mouth of hell ? Lord, how I bless thee for this work ! how do I stand amazed at this above all other the demonstrations of thy goodness and power ! The offender came to die; nothing was in his thoughts but his guilt and tor¬ ment; while he was yet in his blood, thou saidst, This soul shall live. Ere yet the intoxicating potion could have time to work upon his brain, thy Spirit infuses faith into his heart. He, that before had nothing in his eye but present death and torture, is now lifted up above his cross in a blessed ambition ; “ Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.” Is this the voice of a thief, or of a disciple ? Give me leave, O Saviour, to borrow thine own words ; “ Verily, I have not found so great faith, no not in all Israel.” He saw thee hanging miserably by him, and yet styles thee Lord ; he saw thee dying, yet talks of thy king¬ dom ; he felt himself dying, yet talks of a future remembrance. O faith stronger than death, that can look beyond the cross at a crown; beyond dissolution, at a rememberance of life and glory ! Which of thine eleven was heard to speak so gracious a word to thee in these thy last pangs? After thy resurrection, and knowledge of thine impassible condi¬ tion, it was not strange for them to talk of thy kingdom; but, in the midst of thy shameful death, for a dying malefactor to speak of thy reign¬ ing, and to implore thy remembrance of himself in thy kingdom, it is such an improvement of faith as ravisheth my soul with admiration. O blessed thief, that hast thus happily stolen heaven ! How worthy hath thy Saviour made thee to be a partner of his sulFerings, a pattern of un- dauntable belief, a spectacle of unspeakable mercy ! “ This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise.” Before I wondered at thy faith, now I envy at thy felicity. Thou cravedst a remembrance ; thy Saviour speaks of a present possession, “ This day :” thou suedst for remembrance, as a favour to the absent; thy Saviour speaks of thy presence with him; thou speakest of a kingdom, thy Saviour of Paradise. As no disciple could be more faithful, so no saint could be happier. O Saviour, what a precedent is this of thy free and powerful grace ! where thou wilt give, Avhat unworthiness can bar us from mercy ? when thou wilt give, what time can prejudice our vocation ? who can despair of thy goodness, when he, that in the morning was posting towards hell, is in the evening with thee in Paradise ? Lord, he could not have spoken this to thee, but by CONT. XXXII.] THE CRUCIFIXION. 4a5 thee, and from thee. What possibility was there for a thief to think of thy kingdom, without thy Spirit? that good Spirit of thine breathed upon this man, breathed not upon his fellow ; their trade was alike, their sin was alike, their state alike, their cross alike, only thy mercy makes them unlike: one is taken, the other is refused. Blessed be thy mercy in taking one: blessed be thy justice in leaving the other. Who can despair of that mercy ? who can but tremble at that justice ? Now, O ye cruel priests and elders of the Jews, ye have full leisure to feed your eyes with the sight ye so much longed for: there is the blood ye purchased, and is not your malice yet glutted ? is not all this enough, without your taunts, and scoffs, and sports, at so exquisite a misery ? The people, the passengers are taught to insult, where they should pity. Every man hath a scorn ready to cast at a dying innocent. A generous nature is more wounded with the tongue than with the hand. O Saviour, thine ear was more painfully pierced than thy brows, or hands, or feet. It could not but go deep into thy soul, to hear these bitter and girding reproaches from them thou earnest to save. But, alas ! what flea-bitings were these, in comparison of those inward torments which thy soul felt in the sense and apprehension of thy Father’s wrath, for the sins of the whole world, which now lay heavy upon thee for satisfaction ! This, O this was it that pressed thy soul, as it were, to the nethermost hell. While thine eternal Father looked lovingly up¬ on thee, what didst thou, what needst thou to care for the frowns of men or devils ? but when he once turned his face from thee, or bent his brows upon thee, this, this was worse than death. It is no marvel now, if dark¬ ness were upon the face of the whole earth, when thy Father’s face was eclipsed from thee by the interposition of our sins. How should there be light in the world without, when the God of the world, the Father of lights, complains of the want of light within ? That word of thine, O Saviour, was enough to fetch the sun down out of heaven, and to dissolve the whole frame of nature, when thou criedst, “ My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me ?” O what pangs were these, dear Jesu, that drew from thee this complaint! Thou well knew^est, nothing could be more cordial to thine enemies, than to hear this sad language from thee; they could see but the outside of thy sufferings ; never could they have conceived so deep an anguish of thy soul, if thy own lips had not ex¬ pressed it. Yet, as not regarding their triumph, thou thus poorest not thy sorrow; and, when so much is uttered, who can conceive what is felt ? How is it then with thee, O Saviour, that thou thus astonishest men and angels Avith so woeful a quiritation ? Had thy God left thee ? Thou not long since saidst, “ I and my Father are oneare ye noAv severed ? Let this thought be as far from my soul, as my soul from hell. No more can thy blessed Father be separated from thee, than from his own essence. His union with thee is eternal; his vision was inter¬ cepted ; he could not withdraw his presence, he would withdraAV the in¬ fluence of his comfort. Thou, the second Adam, stoodst for mankind upon this tree of the cross, as the first Adam stood and fell for mankind upon the tree of offence. Thou barest our sins ; thy Father saw us in thee, and would punish us- in thee, thee for us: how could he but with¬ hold comfort, Avhere he intended chastisement ? Herein therefore he 436 THE CRUCIFIXION. [[book IV. seems to forsake thee for the present, in that he would not deliver thee from that bitter passion which thou wouldst undergo for us. O Saviour, hadst thou not been thus forsaken, we bad perished; thy dereliction is our safety; and, however our narrow souls are not capable of the con¬ ceit of tby pain and horror, yet we know there can be no danger in the forsaking, while thou canst say, “ My God.” He is so thy God, as he cannot be ours ; all our right is by adoption, his by nature; thou art one with him in eternal essence, we come in by grace and merciful elec¬ tion ; yet, while thou shalt enable me to say, “ My God,” I shall hope never to sink under thy desertions. But, while I am transported with the sense of thy sufferings, O Savi¬ our, let me not forget to admire those sweet mercies of thine which thou pouredst out ujjon thy persecutors. They rejoice in thy death, and triumph in thy misery, and scoff at thee in both. Instead of calling down fire from heaven upon them, thou heapest coals of fire upon their heads ; “ Fathei’, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” They blas¬ pheme thee, thou prayest for them ; they scorn, thou pitiest; they sin against thee, thou prayest for their forgiveness ; they profess their ma¬ lice, thou pleadest their ignorance. O compassion without example, without measure, fit for the Son of God, the Saviour of men! wdcked and foolish Jews ! ye would be miserable, he will not let you; ye would fain pull upon yourselves the guilt of his blood, he deprecates it; ye kill, he sues for your remission and life. His tongue cries louder than his blood, “ Father, forgive them.” O Saviour, thou couldst not but be heard. Those, who out of ignorance and simplicity thus persecuted thee, find the happy issue of thine intercession. Now I see whence it was, that three thousand souls were converted soon after, at one sermon. It was not Peter’s speech, it was thy prayer, that was thus effectual. Now they have grace to know and confess wdience they have both forgiveness and salvation, and can recompense their blasphemies with thanksgiving. What sin is there. Lord, whereof I can despair of the remission ? or what offence can I be unwilling to remit, when thou prayest for the for¬ giveness of thy murderers and blasphemers ? There is no day so long but hath his evening. At last, O blessed Saviour, thou art drawing to an end of these painful sufferings ; when spent with toil and torment, thou criest out, “I thirst.” How’ shouldst thou do other, O dear Jesu, how shouldst thou do other than thirst ? The night thou hast spent in watching, in prayer, in agony, in thy conveyance from the garden to Jerusalem, from Annas to Caiaphas, from Caiaphas to Pilate: in thy restless answ’ers, in buffetings and stripes; the day in arraignments, in haling from place to place, in scourgings, in stripping, in robing, and disrobing, in bleeding, in tugging under tby cross, in w’oundings and distension, in pain and passion : no marvel if thou thirstedst. Although there was more in this drought than thy need ; it was no less requisite thou shouldst thirst, than that thou shouldst die; both w'ere upon the same predetermination, both upon the same prediction. How else should that word be verified, (Psal. xxii. 14, 15.) “ All my bones are out of joint, my heart is like Avax, it is melted in the midst of my bowels ; my strength is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws ; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death ?” Had it not been to make up that w’ord whereof one jot cannot CONT. XXXII.3 THE CRUCIFIXION. 437 pass, though thou hadst felt this thirst, yet thou hadst not bewrayed it. Alas ! what could it avail to bemoan thy wants to insulting enemies, whose sport was thy misery ? how should they pity thy thirst, that pitied not thy bloodshed ? It was not their favour that thou expectedst here¬ in, but their conviction. O Saviour, how can we, thy sinful servants, think much to be exercised with hunger and thirst, when we hear thee thus complain ? Thou that not long since proclaimedst in the temple, “ If any man thirst, let him come to me, and drink : He that believeth in me, out of bis belly shall flow rivers of living waters,” now thyself thirstest. Thou, in whom we believe, complainest to want some drops : thou hadst the command of all the waters, both above the firmament and below it, yet thou wouldst thirst. Even so. Lord, thou, that wouldst die for us, wouldst thirst for us. O give me to thirst after those waters which thou promisest, whatever become of those waters which thou wouldst want. The time was, when craving water of the Samaritan, thou givest better than that thou askedst. O give me to thirst after that more precious water: and so do thou give me of that water of life, that I may never thirst again. Blessed God, how marvellously dost thou contrive thine own affairs ! thine enemies, while they would despite thee, shall unwittingly justify thee, and convince themselves. As thou foresaidst, “ In thy thirst, they gave thee vinegar to drink.” Had they given thee wine, thou hadst not taken it; the night before thou hadst taken leave of that com¬ fortable liquor, resolving to drink no more of that sweet juice, till thou shouldst drink it new with them in thy Father’s kingdom. Had they given thee water, they had not fulfilled that prediction, whereby they were self-condemned. I know not now, O dear Jesu, whether this last draught of thine were more pleasing to thee, or more distasteful: dis¬ tasteful in itself, for what liquor could be equally harsh ; pleasing, in that it made up those sufferings thou wert to endure, and those prophe¬ cies thou wert to fulfil. Now there is no more to do ; thy full consummation of all predictions, of all types and ceremonies, of all sufferings, of all satisfactions, is hap¬ pily both effected and proclaimed : nothing now remains but a voluntary, sweet, and heavenly resignation of thy blessed soul into the hands of thine eternal Father, and a bowing of thine head for the change of a better crown, and a peaceable obdormition in thy bed of ease and honour, and an instant entrance into rest, triumph, glory. And now, O blessed Jesu, how easily have carnal eyes all this while mis¬ taken the passages and intentions of this thy last and most glorious work I Our weakness could hitherto see nothing here but pain and ignominy ; now my better enlightened eyes see, in this elevation of thine, both hon¬ our and happiness. Lo, thou that art the Mediator betwixt God and man, the Reconciler of heaven and earth, art lift up betwixt earth and heaven, that thou mightest accord both. Thou, that art the great Cap¬ tain of our salvation, the Conqueror of all the adverse powers of death and hell, art exalted upon this triumphal chariot of the cross, that thou mightest trample upon death, and drag all those infernal principalities manacled after thee. Those arms, which thine enemies meant violently to extend, are stretched forth for the embracing of all mankind that 438 THE CRUCIFIXION. [book IV shall come in, for the benefit of thine all-sufficient redemption. Even while thou sufferest, thou reignest. O the impotent madness of silly men! they think to disgrace thee with wry faces, with tongues put our, wdth bitter scoffs, with poor wretched indignities : when, in the mean¬ time, the heavens declare thy righteousness, O Lord, and the earth shows forth thy power. The sun pulls in his light, as not abiding to see the sufferings of his Creator; the earth trembles under the sense of the wrong done to her Maker; the rocks rend, the veil of the temple tears from the top to the bottom ; shortly all the frame of the world acknowledges the dominion of that Son of God, whom men des- piseth. Earth and hell have done their worst. O Saviour, thou art in thy Paradise, and triumphest over the malice of men and devils ; the remain¬ ders of thy sacred person are not yet free. The soldiers have parted thy garments, and cast lots upon thy seamless coat: those poor spoils cannot so much enrich them as glorify thee, whose scriptures are fulfilled by their barbarous sortitions. The Jews sue to have thy bones divided, but they sue in vain. No more could thy garments be whole than thy body could be broken. One inviolable deci-ee overrules both. Foolish executioners ! ye look up at that crucified body, as if it were altogether in your power and mercy ; nothing appears to you but impotence and death : little do ye know what an irresistible guard there is upon that sacred corpse, such as, if all the powers of darkness shall band against, they shall find themselves confounded. In spite of all the gates of hell, that word shall stand, “ Not a bone itself shall be broken.” Still the infallible decree of the Almighty leads you on to his own ends, through your own ways. Ye saw him already dead whom ye came to despatch ; those bones therefore shall be whole, which ye had no power to break. But yet, that no piece, either of your cruelty, or of divine prediction, may remain unsatisfied, he, whose bones may not be impaired, shall be wounded in his flesh ; he, whose ghost was yielded up, must yield his last blood ; “One of the soldiers with a spear pierced his side, and forthwith there came out blood and water.” Malice is wont to end with life, here it overlives it. Cruel man ! what means this so late wound ? what commission hadst thou for this bloody act ? Pilate had given leave to break the bones of the living, he gave no leave to gore the side of the dead ; what wicked supererogation is this! what a superfluity of maliciousness ! to what purpose did thy spear pierce so many hearts in that one ? why wouldst thou kill a dead man? Methinks the blessed Virgin, and those other passionate associates of hers, and the disciple whom Jesus loved, together with the other of his fellows; the friends and followers of Christ, and especially he that was so ready to draw his swoi’d upon the troop of his Master’s apprehenders, should have work enough to contain themselves within the bounds of patience, at so savage a stroke ; their sorrow could not choose but turn to indig¬ nation, and their hearts could not but rise, as even mine doth now, at so impertinent a villany. How easily could I rave at that rude hand! but, O God, when I look up to thee, and consider how thy holy and wise providence so overrules the most barbarous actions of men, that besides their will, they turn beneficial, I can at once hate them, and bless thee. This very wound hath a mouth to speak the Messiahship of my CONT. XXXI f.3 THE CRUCIFIXION. 439 Saviour, and the truth of thy Scripture, “ They shall look at him whom they have pierced.” Behold now the second Adam sleeping, and out of his side formed the mother of the living, the evangelical church. Behold the Rock which was smitten, and the waters of life gushed forth. Be¬ hold the Fountain that is set open to the house of David, for sin and for uncleanness ; a fountain not of water only, but of blood too. O Sa¬ viour, by thy water we are washed, by thy blood we are redeemed. Those two sacraments, which thou didst institute alive, flow also from thee dead, as the last memorials of thy love to thy church ; the water of baptism, which is the laver of regeneration ; “ The blood of the New Testament shed for remission of sins and these, together with the Spirit that gives life to them both, are the three witnesses on earth, whose at¬ testation cannot fail us. O precious and sovereign wound, by which our souls are healed 1 Into this cleft of the rock let my dove fly and enter, and there safely hide herself from the talons of all the birds of prey. It could not be but that the death of Christ, contrived and acted at Jerusalem in so solemn a festival, must needs draw a world of beholders: the Romans, the centurion and his band, were there as actors, as super¬ visors of the execution. Those strangers were no otherways engaged, than as they that would hold fair correspondence with the citizens where they were engarrisoned; their freedom from prejudice rendered them more capable of an ingenuous construction of all events. “ Now, when the centurion, and they that were Avith him that watched Jesus, saw the earthquake, and the things that were done, they feared greatly, and glori¬ fied God, and said. Truly this was the Son of God.” What a marvellous concurrence is here of strong irrefragable conviction I meekness in suftering, prayer for his murderers, a faithful resignation of his soul into the hands of his heavenly Father, the sun eclipsed, the heavens darkened, the earth trembling, the graves open, the rocks rent, the veil of the temple torn ; who could go less than this, “ Truly this was the Son of God ?” He suffers patiently ; this is through the power of grace : many good men have done so through his enabling. The frame of nature suffers with him; this is proper to the God of na¬ ture, the Son of God. I wonder not that these men confessed thus; I wonder that any spec¬ tator confessed it not: these proofs were enough to fetch all the world upon their knees, and to have made all mankind converts. But all hearts are not alike, no means can work upon the wilfully obdured. Even after this the soldier pierced that blessed side ; and while pagans relented, .Tews continued impenitent. Yet, even of that nation, those beholders, wljom envy and partiality had not interested in this slaughter, were stricken with just astonishment, and smote their breasts, and shook their heads, and, by passionate gesture, spake what their tongues durst not. How many must there needs be, in this universal concourse, ot them whom he had healed of diseases, or freed from devils, or miracu¬ lously fed, or some Avay obliged in their persons or friends! These, as they Avere deeply affected Avith the mortal indignities Avhich were offered to their acknowledged Messiah, so they could not but be ravished Avith wonder at those powerful demonstrations of the Deity of him in Avhom they believed, and strangely distracted in their thoughts, while they compared those sufferings with that Omnipotence. As yet their faith 440 THE RESURRECTION. [book IV- and knowledge was but in the bud, or in the blade. How could they choose but think, Were he not the Son of God, how could these things be ? And if he were the Son of God how could he die ? His resurrec¬ tion, his ascension, should soon after perfect their belief; but, in the meantime their hearts could not but be conflicted with thoughts hard to be reconciled. Howsoever, they glorify God, and stand amazed at the expectation of the issue. But, above all other, O thou blessed Virgin, the holy mother of our Lord, how many swords pierced thy soul, while, standing close by his cross, thou sawest thy dear son and Saviour thus indignly used, thus stripped, thus stretched, thus nailed, thus bleeding, thus dying, thus pierced ! how did thy troubled heart now recount what the angel Gabriel had reported to thee from God, in the message of thy blessed conception of that Son of God ! how didst thou think of tlie miraculous formation of that thy divine burden by the power of the Holy Ghost ? how didst thou recall those prophecies of Anna and Simeon concerning him, and all those supernatural works of his, the irrefragable proofs of his Godhead ! and, laying all these together, with tbe miserable infirmities of his pas¬ sion, how wert thou crucified with him ! The care that he took for thee in the extremity of his torments, could not clioose but melt tby heart into sorrow; but O, when in the height of his pain and misery, thou heardst him cry out, “ My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me ?” what a cold horror possessed thy soul ! I cannot now wonder at thy qualms and swoonings, I could rather wonder that thou survivedst so sad an hour. But when, recollecting thyself, thou sawest the heavens to bear a part with thee in thy mourning, and feltst the earth to tremble no less than thyself, and foundest that the dreadful concussion of the Avhole frame of nature proclaimed the Deity of him that would thus suf¬ fer and die, and rememberedst his frequent pi-edictions of drinking this bitter cup, and of being baptized thus in blood; thou begannest to take heart and to comfort thyself with the assured expectation of the glorious issue. More than once had he foretold thee this his victorious resurrec¬ tion. He, who had openly professed Jonas for his type, and had fore- promised in three days to raise up the ruined temple of his body, had doubtless given more full intimation unto thee, who hadst so great a share in that sacred body of his. “ The just shall live by faith.” Lo, that faith of thine in his ensuing resurrection, and in his triumph over death, gives thee life, and cheers up thy drooping soul, and bids it, in a holy confidence, to triumph over all thy fears and sorrows ; and him, whom thou seest dead and despised, represents unto thee living, immor¬ tal, glorious. CONTEMPLATION XXXIIL—THE RESURRECTION, Grace doth not ever make show where it is. There is much secret riches both in the earth and sea, which never eye saw. 1 never heard any news till now of Joseph of Arimathea; yet was he eminently both rich and wise, and good ; a worthy, though close disciple of our Saviour. True faith may be wisely reserved, but will not be cowardly. Now he puts CONT. XXXIII.] THE RESURRECTION. 441 forth himself, and dares beg the body of Jesus. Death is wont to end all quarrels. Pilate’s heart tells him he hath done too much already, in sentencing an innocent to death ; no doubt that centurion had related unto him the miraculous symptoms of that passion. He, that so unwil¬ lingly condemned innocence, could rather have wished that just man alive, than have denied him dead. The body is yielded, and taken down ; and now that which hung naked upon the cross is wrapped in fine linen ; that which was soiled with sweat and blood is curiously washed and em¬ balmed. Now even Nicodemus comes in for a good part, and fears not the envy of a good profession. Death hath let that man loose, whom the law formerly over-awed with restraint. He hates to be a night-bird any longer, but boldly flies forth, and looks upon the face of the sun, and will be now as liberal in his odours as he was before niggardly in his confession. O Saviour, the earth was thine, and the fulness of it: yet as thou hadst not a house of thine own while thou livedst, so thou hast not a grave when thou wert dead. Joseph, that rich counsellor, lent thee his ; lent it so, as it should never be restored; thou tookst it but for a while: but that little touch of that sacred corpse of thine made it too good for the owner. O happy Joseph, that hadst the honour to be landlord of the Lord of life! how well is thy house-room repaid with a mansion not made with hands, eternal in the heavens ! Thy garden and thy tomb were hard by Calvary, where thou couldst not fail of many monitions of thy frailty. How oft hadst thou seasoned that new tomb with sad and savoury medi¬ tations ; and hadst oft said within thyself. Here 1 shall once lie down to my last rest, and wait for my resurrection. Little didst thou then think to have been disappointed by so blessed a guest; or that thy grave should be again so soon empty, and in that emptiness uncapable of any mortal indweller. How gladly dost thou now resign thy grave to him in whom thou livest, and who liveth for ever, whose soul is in Paradise, whose Godhead is everywhere ? Hadst thou not been rich before, this gift had enriched thee alone, and more ennobled thee than all thine earthly honour. Now great princes envy thy bounty, and have thought them¬ selves happy to kiss the stones of that rock which thou thus hewedst, thus bestowedst. Thus purely wrapped, and sweetly embalmed, lies the precious body of our Saviour in Joseph’s new vault. Are ye now also at rest, O ye Jewish rulers ? is your malice dead and buried with him ? hath Pilate enough served your envy and revenge ? Surely it is but a common hos¬ tility that can die ; yours surviveth death, and puts you upon a further project. “ The chief priests and Pharisees came together unto Pilate, saying. Sir, we remember, that this deceiver said while he was yet alive. After three days I will rise again ; command, therefore, that the sepulchre be made sure till the third day, lest his disciples come by night, and steal him away, and say to the people, he is risen.” How full of terrors, and inevitable perplexities, is guiltiness! These men were not more troubled with envy at Christ alive, than now with fear of his resurrection. And what can now secure them ? Pilate had helped to kill him ; but who shall keep him from rising ? Wicked and foolish Jews ! how fain tvould ye fight against God, and your own hearts ! how gladly would ye deceive yourselves, in believing him to be a deceiver, u. 3 K 442 THE RESURRECTION. Qjbook IV. whom your consciences knew to be no less true than powerful! Lazarus was still in your eye : that man was no phantasm ; his death, his reviv¬ ing' was undeniable; the so fresh resuscitation of that dead body, after four days’ dissolution, was a manifest conviction of omnipotence. How do ye vainly wish, that he could deceive you in the fore-reporting of his own resurrection I Without a divine power, he could have raised neither Lazarus nor himself: with, and by it, he could as well raise himself as Lazarus. What need we other witnesses than your own mouths ? that which he would do, ye confess he foretold; that the truth of his word might answer the power of this deed, and both of them might argue him the God of truth and power, and yourselves enemies to both. And now Avhat must be done ? the sepulchre must be secured, and you with it: a huge stone, a strong guard must do the deed ; and that stone must be sealed, that guard of your own designing. Methinks I hear the soldiers and busy officers, when they were rolling that other weighty stone, for such we probably conceive, to the mouth of the vault, with much toil, and sweat, and breathlessness, how they bragged of the sureness of the place, and unremoveableness of that load: and when that so choice a watch was set, how they boasted of their valour and vigilance, and said, they would make him safe from either rising or stealing. O the madness of impotent men, that think, by either wile or force, to frustrate the will and designs of the Almighty 1 How justly doth that wise and powerful Arbiter of the world laugh them to scorn in heaven, and befool them in their own vain devices 1 O Saviour, how much evidence had thy resur¬ rection wanted, if these enemies had not been thus maliciously provident! how irrefragable is thy rising made, by these bootless endeavours of their prevention I All this while the devout Maries keep close, and silently spend their Sabbath in a mixture of grief and hope. How did they wear out those sad hours in bemoaning themselves each to other, in mutual relations of the patient sufferings, of the happy expiration of their Saviour, of the wouderful events, both in the heavens and earth, that accompanied his crucifixion, of his frequent and clear predictions of his resurrection ? and now they have gladly agreed, so soon as the time will give them leave, in the dawning of the Sunday morning, to visit that dear sepul¬ chre. Neither will they go empty handed ; she, that had bestowed that costly alabaster box of ointment upon their Saviour alive, hath prepared no less precious odours for him dead. Love is restless and fearless. In the dark of night, these good women go to buy their spices, and, ere the day break, are gone out of their houses, towards the tomb of Christ, to bestow them. This sex is com¬ monly fearful; it was much for them to walk alone in that unsafe season ; yet, as despising all fears and dangers, they thus spend the night after their Sabbath. Might they have been allowed to buy their perfumes on the Sabbath, or to have visited that holy tomb sooner, can we think they would have staid so long ? can we suppose they would have cared more for the Sabbath than for the “ Lord of the Sabbath, ” who now kept his Sabbath in the grave ? Sooner they might not come, later they would not, to present their last homage to their dead Saviour. Had these holy women known their Jesus to be alive, how had they hasted, who made such speed to do their last offices to his CONT. XXXIII.]] THE RESURRECTION. 443 sacred corpse ! for ns, we “ know that our Redeemer livetli,” we know where he is. O Saviour, how cold and heartless is our love to thee, if we do not haste to find thee in thy word and sacraments, if our souls do not fly up to thee, in all holy aft'ections, into thy heaven I Of all the women, Mary Magdalene is first named, and in some Evan¬ gelists alone; she is noted above her fellows. None of them were so much obliged, none so zealously thankful. Seven devils were cast out of her by the command of Christ. That heart which was freed from Satan, by that powerful dispossession, was now possessed with a free and gracious bounty to her deliverer. Twice, at the least, hath she pour¬ ed out her fragrant and costly odours upon him. Where there is a true sense of favour and beneficence, there cannot be but a fervent desire of retribution. O blessed Saviour, could we feel the danger of every sin, and the malignity of those spiritual possessions from which thou hast freed us, how should we pour out ourselves into thankfulness unto thee ! Every thing here had horror. The place both solitary and a sepul¬ chre ; nature abhors, as the visage, so the region of death and corruption. The time, night; only the moon gave them some faint glimmering, for this being tbe seventeenth day of her age, afforded some light to the latter part of the night. The business, the visitation of a dead corpse. Their zealous love hath easily overcome all these. They had followed him in his sufferings, when the disciples left him ; they attended him to his cross weeping ; they followed him to his grave, and saw how Joseph laid him ; even there they leave him not, but, ere it be day-light, return to pay him the last tribute of their duty. How much stronger is love than death I O blessed Jesu, why should not we imitate thy love to us ? Those, “ whom thou lovest, thou lovest to the end,” yea in it, yea after it: even when we are dead, not our souls only, but our very dust is dear¬ ly respected of thee. What condition of thine should remove our affec¬ tions from thy person in heaven, from thy limbs on earth ? Well did these worthy women know what Joseph of Arimathea, and Nicodemus had done to thee ; they saw how curiously they had wrapped thee, how preciously they had embalmed thee : yet as not thinking others’ beneficence could be any just excuse of theirs, they bring their own odours to thy sepulture, to be perfumed by the touch of thy sacred body. What thank is to us, that others are obsequious to thee, while we are slack and niggardly? We may rejoice in others’forwardness, but if we rest in it, how small joy shall it be to us to see them go to heaven with¬ out us ? When on the Friday evening they attended Joseph to the entombing of Jesus, they marked the place, they marked the passage, they marked that inner grave-stone, which the owner had fitted to the mouth of that tomb, which all their care is now to remove: “ Who shall roll away the stone ?” That other more weighty load wherewith the vault was barred, the seal, the guard set upon both, came not perhaps into their know¬ ledge ; this was the private plot of Pilate and the priests, beyond the reach of their thoughts I do not hear them say. How shall we recover the charges of our odours ? or how shall we avoid the envy and censure of our angry elders, for honouring him whom the governors of our nation have thought wor¬ thy of condemnation ? The only thought they now take is, “ Who shall 444 THE RESURRECTION. [|book IV* roll away the stone ?” Neither do they stay at home and move tliis doubt, but when they are well forward on their way, resolving to try the issue. Good hearts cannot be so solicitous for any thing under hea¬ ven, as for removing those impediments, which lie between them and their Saviour. O blessed Jesu, thou, who art clearly revealed in heaven, art yet still both hid and sealed up from too many here on earth ,• neither is it some thin veil that is spi’ead between thee and them, but a huge stone, even a true stone of offence lies rolled upon the mouth of their hearts. Yea, if a second weight were superadded to thy grave here, no less than three spiritual bars are interposed betwixt them and thee above ; idleness, ignorance, unbelief. Who shall roll away these stones, but the same power that removed thine ? O Lord, remove our ignor¬ ance, that we may know thee ; our idleness, that we may seek thee ; our unbelief, that we may find and enjoy thee. How well it succeeds when we go faithfully and conscionably about our work, and leave the issue to God ! Lo, now God hath removed tlie cares of these holy women, together with the grave-stone. To the wicked, that fails out which they feared ; to the godly, that which they wished and cared for, yea more. Holy cares ever prove w'ell; the worldly dry the bones, and disap¬ point the hopes. Could these good visitants have known of a greater stone sealed, of a strong watch set, their doubts had been doubled. Now God goes beyond their thoughts, and at once removes that which both they did, and might have feared. The stone is removed, the seal broken, the watch fied. What a scorn doth the Almighty God make of the impotent designs of men ! they thought, the stone shall make the grave sure, the seal shall make the stone sure, the guard shall make both sure ; now, when they think all safe, God sends an angel from heaven above, the earthquakes beneath, the stone rolls away, the soldiers stand like carcasses, and, when they have got heart enough to run away, think them¬ selves valiant I the tomb is opened, Christ is risen, they confounded. O the vain projects of silly men! as if, with one shovel-full of mire, they would dam up the sea; oi’, with a clout hanged forth, they would keep the sun from shining. O these spiders’ webs, or houses of cards, which fond children have, as they think, skilfully framed, which the least breath breaks and ruins ! Who are we, sorry worms, that we should look, iu any business, to prevail against our Creator ; what creature is so base, that he cannot arm against us to our confusion I The lice and frogs shall be too strong for Pharaoh, the w'orms for Herod. “ There is no wisdom nor counsel against the Lord.” O the marvellous pomp and magnificence of our Saviour’s resui’rec- tion! The earth quakes, the angel appears, that it may be plainly seen that this divine person, now rising, had the command both of earth and heaven. At the dissolution of thy human nature, O Saviour, was an earthquake ; at the re-uniting of it is an earthquake : to tell the world, that the God of nature then suffered, and had now conquered. While thou layest still in the earth, the earth was still; when thou earnest to fetch thine own. “ The earth trembled at the presence of the Lord, at the presence of the God of Jacob.” When thou, our true Samson, awakedst and foundst thyself tied with these Philistine cords, and CONT. XXXIII .3 THE RESURRECTION. 445 rousedst up, and breakedst those hard and strong twists with a sudden pow'er, no marvel if the room shook under thee. Good cause had the earth to quake, when the God that made it power¬ fully calls for his own flesh from the usurpation of her bowels ; good cause had she to open her graves, and yield up her dead, in attend¬ ance to the Lord of life, whom she had presumed to detain in that cell of her darkness. What a seeming impotence was here, that thou, who art the true Rock of thy church, shouldst lie obscurely shrouded in Joseph’s rock ! thou, that art the true corner-stone of thy church, shouldst be shut up with a double stone, the one of thy grave, the other of thy vault! thou, “by whom we were sealed to the day of our redemption,” should be sealed up in a blind cavern of earth. But now, what a de¬ monstration of power doth both the world and I see, in thy glorious re¬ surrection ! the rocks tear, the graves open, the stones roll away, the dead rise and appear, the soldiers flee and tremble, saints and angels at¬ tend thy rising. O Saviour, thou best down in weakness, thou risest in power and glory ; thou best down like a man, thou risest like a God. What a lively image hast thou herein given me of the dreadful ma¬ jesty of the general resurrection, and thy second appearance I Then not the earth only, but “ the powers of heaven shall be shaken not some few graves shall be open, and some saints appear, but all the bars of death shall be broken, and “ all that sleep in their graves shall awake, and stand up from the dead,” before thee. Not some one angel shall descend, but thou, “the great angel of the covenant,” attended with thousand thousands of those mighty spirits. And if these stout soldiers M^ere so filled with terror, at the feeling of an earthquake, and the sight of an angel, that they had scarce breath left in them, for the time, to witness them alive; where shall thine enemies appear, O Lord, in the day of thy terrible appearance, when the earth shall reel and vanish, and the elements shall be on a flame about their ears, and the heavens shall wrap up as a scroll ? O God, thou mightst have removed this stone by the force of thine earthquake, as well as rive other rocks ; yet thou wouldst rather use the ministry of an angel; or thou, that gavest thyself life, and gavest being both to the stone, and to the earth, couldst more easily have removed the stone, than moved the earth : but it was thy pleasure to make use of an angel’s hand. And now he, that would ask why thou wouldst do it rather by an angel than by thyself, may as well ask why thou didst not rather give thy law by thine own immediate hand, than by the ministra¬ tion of angels ; why by an angel thou struckst the Israelites with plagues, the Assyrians with the sword; why an angel appeared to comfort thee after thy temptation and agony, when thou w’ert able to comfort thy¬ self : why thou usest the influences of heaven to fruiten the earth ; why thou employest second causes in all events, when thou couldst do all things alone ? It is good reason thou shouldst serve thyself of thine own ; neither is there any ground to be requix'ed, whether of their mo¬ tion or rest, besides thy will. Thou didst raise thyself, the angels removed the stone. They that could have no hand in thy resurrection, yet shall have a hand in remov¬ ing outw'ard impediments; not because thou needst, but because thou wouldst: like as thou alone didst raise Lazarus, thou badest others let 446 THE RESURRECTION. QbOOK IV, him loose. Works of omnipotency thou reservedst to thine own imme¬ diate performance, ordinary actions thou dost by subordinate means. Although this act of the angels was not merely with respect to thee ; but partly to those devout women, to ease them of their care, to manifest unto them by resurrection. So officious are those glorious spirits, not only to thee their Maker, but even to the meanest of thy servants, espe¬ cially in the furtherance of all their spiritual designs. Let us bring our odours, they will be sure to roll away the stone. Why do not we imitate them in our forwardness to promote each other’s salvation ? we pray to do thy will here, as they do in heaven; if we do not act our wishes, we do but mock thee in our devotions. How glorious did this angel of thine appear I the terrified soldiers saw his face like lightning, both they and the women saw his garments shining bright and white as snow ; such a presence became his errand. It was fit, that as in thy passion the sun was darkened, and all creatures were clad with heaviness, so, in thy resurrection, the best of thy creatures should testify their joy and exultation in the brightness of their habit; that, as we on festival days put on our best clothes, so thine angels should celebrate this blessed festivity with a meet representation of glory. They could not but enjoy our joy, to see the work of man’s redemption thus fully finished ; and if there be “ mirth in heaven at the conversion of one sinner,” how much more when a world of sinners is perfectly ran¬ somed from death, and restored to salvation ? Certainly, if but one or two appeared, all rejoiced, all triumphed. Neither could they but be herein sensible of their own happy advantage, Avho by thy mediation are confirmed in their glorious estate ; since thou, by the blood of thy cross, and power of thy resurrection, hast “ reconciled things not in earth only, but in heaven.” But, above all other, the love of thee their God and Saviour, must needs heighten their joy, and make thy glory theirs. It is their perpetual work to praise thee; how much more nov/, when such an occasion was oflFered as never had been since the world began, never could be after! when thou the God of Spirits hadst vanquished all the spiritual powers of darkness ; when thou, the Lord of life, hadst conquered death for thee and all thine, so as they may now boldly insult over their last enemy, “ O death, where is thy sting ? O grave, where is thy victory ?” Certainly, if heaven can be capable of an increase of joy and felicity, never had those blessed spirits so great a cause of triumph and gratulation as in this day of thy glorious resurrection. How much more, O dear Jesu, should we men, whose flesh thou didst assume, unite, revive ; fur whose sake, and in whose stead, thou didst vouchsafe to suffer and die, whose arrearages thou paidst in death, and acquittedst in thy resurrec¬ tion, whose souls are discharged, whose bodies shall be raised by the power of thy rising ; how much more should we think we have cause to be overjoyed with the happy memory of this great work of thy divine power and inconceivable mercy ? Lo now, how weak soever I am in myself, yet, in the confidence of this victorious resurrection of my Saviour, I dare boldly challenge and defy you, O all ye adverse powers I Do the worst ye can to my soul; in despite of you it shall be safe. Is it sin that threatens me ? behold, this resurrection of my Redeemer CONT. XXXIII.] THE RESURRECTION. 447 publishes my discharge. INIy surety was arrested, and cast into the prison of his grave ; had not the utmost farthing of mine arrearages been paid, he could not have come forth ; he is come forth, the sum is fully satisfied. What danger can there be of a discharged debt ? Is it the wrath of God ? wherefore is that but for sin ? if my sin be defrayed, that quarrel is at an end: and if my Saviour suifered it for me, how can I fear to sufter it in myself? that infinite justice hates to be twice paid. He is risen, therefore he hath satisfied, “Who is he that condemneth ? it is Christ that died ; yea, rather that is risen.” Is it death itself? Lo, my Saviour, that overcame death by dying, hath triumphed over him in his resurrection. How can 1 now fear a conquered enemy ? what harm is there in the serpent, but for his sting ? “ The sting of death is sinthat is pulled out by my powerful Re¬ deemer, it cannot now hurt me; it may refresh me to carry this cool snake in my bosom. O then, my dear Saviour, I bless thee for thy death ; but I bless thee more for thy resurrection. That was a work of wonderful humility, of infinite mercy; this was a work of infinite power; in that was human weakness ; in this divine omnipotence : in that thou didst “ die for sins in this thou didst “rise again for our justification.” And now how am I conformable to thee, if, when thou art risen, I lie still in the grave of my corruptions? How am I a limb of thy body, if, while thou hast that perfect dominion over death, death hath dominion over me ; if, while thou art alive and glorious, I lie rotting in the dust of death ? I know the locomotive faculty is in the head: by the power of the resurrection of thee, our head, all we, thy members, cannot but be raised. As the earth cannot hold my body from thee, in the day of the second resuiTection, so cannot sin withhold my soul from thee in the first. How am I thine, if I be not risen ? and if I be risen with thee, why do I not seek the things above, where thou sittest at the right hand of God ? The vault or cave, which .Joseph had hewn out of the rock, was large, capable of no less than ten persons : upon the mouth of it, eastward, was that great stone rolled; within it, at the right hand, in the north part of the cave, was hewn out a receptacle for the body, three hand¬ fuls high from the pavement; and a stone was accordingly fitted for the cover of that grave. Into this cave the good women, finding the stone rolled away, de¬ scended to seek the body of Christ, and in it saw the angels. This was the goal to which Peter and John ran, finding the spoils of death, the grave clothes wrapped up, and the napkin that was about the head folded up together, and laid in a place by itself: and as they came in haste, so they returned with wonder. I marvel not at your speed, O ye blessed disciples, if, upon the report of the woman, ye ran, ye flew upon the wings of zeal, to see what was become of your Master. Ye had wont to walk familiarly together in the attendance of your Lord : now society is forgotten ; and, as for a wager, each tries the speed of his legs, and, with neglect of other, vies who shall be first at the tomb. Who would not but have tried masteries with you in this case, and liave made light touches of the earth to have held paces with you. Your desire was equal; but John is the younger, his limbs are more nimble. 448 THE RESURRECTION. [^BOOK IV. his breatli more free ; he first looks into the sepulchre, hut Peter goes down first. O happy competition, who shall he more zealous in the in¬ quiry after Christ I Ye saw enough to amaze you, not enough to settle your faith. How well might you have thought. Our Master is not suh- duced, hut risen. Had he been taken away by others’ hands, this fine linen had not been left behind: had he not himself risen from this bed of earth, he had not thus wrapped up his night-clothes, and had them sorted by themselves. What can we doubt, when he foretold us he would rise ? O blessed Jesu, how wilt thou pardon our errors ? how should we par¬ don and pity the errors of each other on lesser occasions, when as yet thy prime and dearest disciples, after so much divine instruction, “ knew not the Scriptures, that thou must rise again from the dead ?” They went away more astonished than confident; more full of wonder, as yet, than of belief. There is more strength of zeal, where it takes, in the weaker sex. Those holy women, as they came first, so they staid last: especially de¬ vout Mary Magdalene stands still at the mouth of the cave weeping. Well might those tears have been spared, if her knowledge had been answerable to her affection, her faith to her fervour. W’ithal as our eye will be where we love, she stoops, and looks down into that dear sepul¬ chre. Holy desires never but speed well. There she sees two glorious an¬ gels, the one sitting “ at the head, the other at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain.” Their shining brightness showed them to be no mor¬ tal creatures : besides, that Peter and John had but newly come out of the sepulchre, and both found and left it empty in her sight, which was now suddenly filled with those celestial guests. That white linen, where¬ with Joseph had shrouded the sacred body of Jesus, was now shamed with a brighter whiteness. Yet do I not find the good woman at all appalled with that inexpected glory. So was her heart taken up with the thought for her Saviour, that she seemed not sensible of whatsoever other objects. Those tears, which she did let drop into the sepulchre, send up back to her the voice of those angels, “ woman, why weepest thou ?” God and his angels take notice of every tear of our devotion. The sudden wonder hath not dried her eyes, nor charmed her tongue : she freely confesseth the cause of her grief to be the missing of her Saviour; “ They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him.” Alas, good Mary, how dost thou lose thy tears I of whom dost thou complain, but of thy best friend ? who hath removed thy Lord, but himself? who, but his own Deity, hath taken away that human body out of that region of death ? neither is he now laid any more ; he stands by thee, whose removal thou complainest of. Thus many a tender and humble soul afflicts itself with the want of that Saviour whom it hath, and feeleth not. Sense may be no judge of the bewailed absence of Christ. Do but turn back thine eye, O thou religious soul, “ and see Jesus standing by thee,” though “ thou knewest not that it was Jesus.” His habit was not his own. Sometimes it pleases our Saviour to appear unto his not like himself: his holy disguises are our trials. Sometimes he will seem a stranger, sometimes an enemy ; sometimes he offers himself to us in the shape of a poor man, sometimes of a distressed captive. Happy is he CONT. XXXIII.] THE RESURRECTION. 449 that can discern his Saviour in all forms. Mary took him for a gardener. Devout Magdalene, thou art not much mistaken. As it was the trade of the first Adam to dress the garden of Eden, so was it the trade of tlie second to tend the garden of his church. He digs up the soil by season¬ able afflictions, he sows in it the seeds of grace, he plants it with gracious motions, he waters it with his word, yea, with his own blood, he weeds it by wholesome censures. O blessed Saviour, what is it that thou neglectedst to do for this selected inclosure of thy chui-ch ? As in some respect thou art the true Vine, and thy Father the Husbandman ; so also in some other we are the vine, and thou art the Husbandman. O be thou such to me as thou appearedst unto Magdalene ; break up the fallow of my nature, implant me with grace, prune me with meet corrections, be¬ dew me with the former and latter rain; do what thou wilt to make me fruitful. Still the good woman weeps, and still complains, and passionately in¬ quires of thee, O Saviour, for thyself. How apt are we, if thou dost never so little vary from our apprehensions, to misknow thee, and to wrong ourselves by our misopinions I All this while hast thou concealed thyself from thine affectionate client; thou sawest her tears, and heardest her importunities and inquiries; at last (as it was with Joseph, that he could no longer contain himself from the notice of his brethren) thy com¬ passion causes thee to break forth into a clear expression of thyself, by expressing her name unto herself, “ Mary.” She was used, as to the name, so to the sound, to the accent. *Thou spakest to her before, but in the tone of a stranger; now of a friend, of a master. Like a good Shepherd, “ thou callest thy sheep by their name, and they know thy voice.” What was thy call of her, but a clear pattern of our vocation ? As her, so thou callest us ; first, familiarly, effectually. She could not begin with thee otherwise than in the compellation of a stranger; it Avas thy mercy to begin Avith her. That correction of thy Spirit is SAveet and useful, ‘‘ Now after ye have known God, or rather, are known of him.” We do know thee, O God, but our active knoAAdedge is after our passive ; first we are knoAvn of thee, then Ave know thee that knewst us. And as our knowledge, so is our calling, so is our election ; thou beginnest to us in all, and most justly sayest, “ You have not chosen me, but I have chosen you.” When thou Avouldst speak to this devout client as a stranger, thou .spakest aloof, “ Woman, whom seekest thou ?” now, Avhen thou Avouldst be known to her, thou callest her by her name, “ Mary.” General invitations and common mercies are for us as men; but, Avhere thou givest grace as to thine elect, thou comest close to the soul, and winnest us with dear and particular intimations. That very name did as much as say, Kuoav him of whom thou art known and beloved, and turns her about to thy view and acknoAvledg- ment. “ She turned herself, and saith unto him, Kabboni, which is to say. Master.” Before, her face was tOAvards the angels ; this word fetches her about, and turns her face to thee, from Avhom her misprision had averted it. We do not rightly apprehend thee, O Saviour, if any creature in heaven or earth can keep our eyes and our hearts from thee. The an¬ gels Avere bright and glorious; thy appearance was homely, thy habit mean : yet, AAdien she heard thy voice, she turns her back upon the angels and salutes thee with a Rabboni, and falls down before thee, in a desire II. 3 n THE RESURRECTION. 450 [book IV- of an humble amplexation of those sacred feet, which she now rejoices to see past the use of her odours. ' Where there was such familiarity in the mutual compellation, what means such strangeness in the charge, ‘‘ Touch me not, for I am not yet ascended to my Father ?” Thou wert not wont, O Saviour, to make so dainty of being touched : it is not long since these very same hands touched thee in thine anointing: the bloody-fluxed woman touched thee; the thankful penitent in Simon’s house touched thee. What speak I of these ? the multitude touched thee, the executioners touched thee; and, even after thy resurrection, thou didst not stick to say to thy disciples, “ Touch me, and see,” and to invite Thomas to put his fingers into thy side; neither is it long after this before thou sufferest the three Maries to touch and hold thy feet. How then sayest thou, “ Touch me not ?” Was it in a mild taxation of her mistaking ? as if thou hadst said. Thou knowest not that I have now an immortal body, but so demeanest thyself towards me, as if I were still in my wonted condition ; know now that the case is altered; howsoever indeed I have not yet ascended to my Father, yet this body of mine, which thou seest to be real and sensible, is now impassible, and cpialified with immortality; and therefore worthy of a more awful veneration than heretofore. Or was it a gentle reproof of her dwelling too long in this dear hold of thee, and fixing her thoughts upon thy bodily presence ; together with an implied direction of reserv- ing the height of her affection for thy perfect glorification in heaven ? Or, lastly, was it a light touch of her too much haste and eagerness in touching thee, as if she must use this speed in preventing thine ascension, or else to be endangered to be disappointed of her hopes ? as if thou hadst said, Be not so passionately forward and sudden in laying hold of me, as if I were instantly ascending ; but know, that I shall stay some time w'ith you upon earth, before my going up to my Father. O Sa¬ viour, even our well-meant zeal in seeking and enjoying thee may he faulty; if we seek thee where we should not, on earth ; how we should not, unwarrantably. There may be a kind of caniality in spiritual ac¬ tions. “ If we have heretofore known thee after the flesh, henceforth know we thee so no more.” That thou livest here in this shape, that col¬ our, this stature, that habit, I should be glad to know; nothing that concerns thee can be unuseful. Could I say, here thou satest, here thou layest, here and thus thou wert crucified, here buried, here settest thy last foot; I should with much contentment see and recount these memorials of thy presence : but if I shall so fasten my thoughts upon these, as not to look higher to the spiritual part of thine achievements, to the power and issue of thy resurrection, I am never the better. No sooner art thou idsen, than thou speakest of ascending; as thou didst lie down to rise, so didst thou rise to ascend; that is the consum¬ mation of thy glory, and ours in thee. Thou, that forbadest her touch, enjoinedst her errand, “ Go to my brethren, and say, I ascend unto my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.” The annunciation of thy resurrection and ascension is more than a private fruition; this is for the comfort of one, that for the benefit of many. To sit still and enjoy, is more sweet for the present; but to go and tell, is more gainful in the sequel. That great angel thought him¬ self, as he well might, highly honoured, in that he was appointed to COXT, XXXIII.]] THE RESURRECTION. 451 cany tlie happy news unto the blessed Virgin, thy holy mother, of her conception of thee her Saviour : how honourable must it needs be to Mary Magdalene, that she must be the messenger of thy second birth, thy resurrection, and instant ascension? How beautiful do the feet of those deserve to be, who bring the glad tidings of peace and salvation! What matter is it, O Lord, if men despise where thou wilt honour ? To whom then dost thou send her? “ Go tell my brethren.” Blessed .Tesu, who are these ? were they not thy followers ? yea, were they not tliy forsakers ? yet still thou stylest them thy brethren. O admirable humility I O infinite mercy ! How dost thou raise their titles Math thyself? at first they were thy servants, then disciples; a little before thy death, they were thy friends ; now, after thy resurrection, they M^ere thy brethren. Thou, that wert exalted infinitely higher from mortal to Immortal, descendest so much lower to call them bx’ethren, who were before friends, disciples, servants. What, do we stand upon the terms of our poor inequality, when the Son of God stoops so Iom' as to call us brethren ? But, O mercy without measure I why wilt thou, how canst thou, O Saviour, call them brethren, whom, in their last parting, thou foundest fugitives ? Did they not run from thee ? did not one of them rather leave his inmost coat behind him, than not be quit of thee ? did not another of them deny thee, yea, abjure thee ? and yet thou sayest “ Go, tell my brethren.” It is not in the power of the sins of our infii-- mity to unbrother us: when we look at the acts themselves, they are heinous ; when at the persons, they are so much more faulty as more obliged ; but when we look at the mercy of thee Mdio hast called us, noM% “ VVho shall separate us ?” Mdien we have sinned, thy dearness hath reason to aggravate our sorrows ; but when we have sorrowed, our faith hath no less reason to uphold us from despairing : even yet M'e are bre¬ thren ; brethren in thee, O Saviour, Mdio art ascending for us; in thee, who hast made thy Father ours, thy God our God. He is thy Father by eternal generation, our Father by his gracious adoption; thy God by unity of essence, our God by his grace and election. It is this propriety wherein our life and happiness consisteth ; they are weak comforts that can be raised from the apprehension of thy gene¬ ral mercies. What M'ere I the better, O Saviour, that God Mere thy Father, if he be not mine ? O do thou give me a particular sense of my interest in thee, and thy goodness to me ; bring thou thyself home to me, and let me find that I have a God and Saviour of my OMm. It is fit I should mark thy order; first, my Father, then yours. Even so. Lord, he is first thine, and, in thine only right ours. It is in thee that we are adopted, it is in thee that we are elected; witliout thee, God is not only a stranger, but an enemy to us. Thou only canst make ns free, thou only canst make us sons. Let me be found in thee, and I can¬ not fail of a Father in heaven. With what joy did Mary receive this errand I with m hat joy did the disciples welcome it from her ! Here was good news from a far country, even as far as the utmost regions of death. Those disciples, whose flight scattered them upon their Master’s appre¬ hension, are now, at night, like a dispersed covey met together by their mutual call: their assembly is secret; Mdien the light M'as shut in, Mdien the doors were shut up. Still were they fearful, still M ere the Jews 452 THE RESURRECTION. [book IV. malicious. The assured tidings of their Master’s resurrection and life hath filled their hearts with joy and wonder. While their thoughts and speech are taken up with so happy a subject, his miraculous and sudden presence bids their senses be witnesses of his reviving and their happi¬ ness. “ When the doors were shut, where the disciples were assembled, for fear of the Jews, came .Jesus, and stood in the midst, and said, Peace be unto you.” O Saviour, how thou earnest in thither, 1 wonder, I inquire not: I know not what a glorified body can do; 1 know there is nothing that thou canst not do. Had not thine entrance been record¬ ed for strange and supernatural, why was thy standing in the midst iwted before thy passage into the room ? why were the doors said to be shut while thou earnest in ? why were thy disciples amazed to see thee ere they heard thee ? Doubtless, they that once before took thee for a spirit, when thou didst walk upon the waters, could not but be astonish¬ ed to see thee, while the doors were barred, without any noise of thine entrance, to stand in the midst: well might they think, thou conldst not thus be there, if thou wert not the God of spirits. There might seem more scruple of thy reality than of thy power; and therefore, after thy wonted greeting, thou showest them thy hands and thy feet, stamped with the impressions of thy late sufferings. Thy respiration shall argue the truth of thy life. Thou breathest on them as a man, thou givest them thy Spirit as a God ; and as God and man thou sendest them on the great errand of thy gospel. All the mists of their doubts are now dispelled, the sun breaks out clear. “ They were glad when they had seen the Lord.” Had they known thee for no other than a mere man, this re-appearance could not but have affrighted them, since till now by thine almighty power this was never done, that the long-since dead rose out of their graves, and ap¬ peared unto many : but when they recounted the miraculous works that thou hadst done, and thought of Lazarus so lately raised, thine approved Deity gave them confidence, and thy presence joy. We cannot but be losers by our absence from holy assemblies. Where wert thou, O Thomas, when the rest of that sacred family were met together ? Had thy fear put thee to so long a flight, that as yet thou wert not returned to thy fellows? or didst thou suffer other occasions to detain thee from this happiness ? Now, for the time, thou missedst that divine breath which so comfortably inspired the rest; now thou art suf¬ fered to fall into that weak distrust which thy presence had prevented. They told thee, “We have seen the Lord was not this enough ? Avould no eyes serve thee but thine own ? were thy ears to no use for thy faith ? “ Except I see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into bis side, I will not be¬ lieve.” Suspicious man! who is the worse for that? whose is the loss if thou believe not? is there no certainty but in thine own senses ? why were not so many and so holy eyes and tongues as credible as thine own bands and eyes ? how little wert thou yet acquainted with the ways of faith ! “ Faith comes by hearing these are the tongues that must win the whole world to an assent, and dost thou the first man detrect to yield ? Why was that word so hard to pass ? Had not that thy divine Master foretold thee with the rest that he must be crucified, and the third day rise again ? is any thing related to be done, but that which CONT. XXXIII.] THE RESURRECTION. 4.13 was fore-promised ? any thing beyond the sphere of divine omnipotence ? Go then, and please thyself in thine over-wise incredulity, while thy fel¬ lows are happy in believing. It is a whole week that Thomas rests in this sullen unbelief; in all which time, doubtless, his ears were beaten with the many constant as¬ sertions of the holy women, the first witnesses of the resurrection, as also, of the two disciples walking to Emmaus, whose hearts, burniii'’- within them, had set their tongues on fire, in a zealous relation of those happy occurrences, with the assured reports of the rising and re-appear¬ ance of many saints, in attendance of the Lord and Giver of life ; yet still he struggles with his own distrust, and stiffly suspends his belief to that truth, whereof he cannot deny himself enough convinced. As all bodies are not equally apt to be wrought upon by the same medicine, so are not all souls by the same means of faith ; one is refractory, while others are pliable. O Saviour, how justly mightest thou have left this man to his own pertinacy! whom could he have thanked, if he had perished in his unbelief ? But, O thou good Shepherd of Israel, that couldst be content to leave the ninety and nine, to go fetch one stray in the wil¬ derness, how careful wert thou to reduce this straggler to his fellows ! Right so were thy disciples re-assembled, such was the season, the place the same, so were the doors shut up, when that unbelieving dis¬ ciple being now present with the rest, thou so earnest in, so stoodst in the midst, so showedst thy hands and feet, and singling out thy in¬ credulous client, invitest his eyes to see, and his fingers to handle thine hands, and his hand to be thrust into thy side, that he might not be faithless, but'faithful. Blessed ,Iesu, how thou pitiest the errors and infirmities of thy ser¬ vants ; even when we are froward in our inisconceits, and worthy of nothing but desertion, how thou followest us, and overtakest us with mercy; and, in thine abundant compassion, wilt reclaim and save us, when either we meant not, or would not ? By how much more un¬ worthy those eyes and hands were to see and touch that immortal and glorious body, by so much more wonderful was thy goodness, in condes¬ cending to satisfy that curious infidelity. Neither do I hear thee so much as to chide that weak obstinacy. It was not long since thou didst sharply take up the two disciples that walked to Emmaus ; “ O fools, and slow of heart, to believe all that the prophets have spoken !” but this was under the disguise of an unknown traveller upon the way, when they were alone : now thou speakest with thine own tongue, before all thy disciples; instead of rebuking, thou only exhortest; “ Be not faithless, but faithful.” Behold, thy mercy no less than thy power, hath melted the congealed heart of thy unbelieving follower; “ Then Thomas answered and said unto him. My Lord, and my God.” I do not hear, that when it came to the issue, Thomas employed his hands in this trial: his eyes were now sufficient assurance; the sense of his Mastei'’s omniscience, in this particular challenge of him, spared, perhaps, the labour of a further dis¬ quisition. And now how happily was that doubt bestowed, which brought forth so faithful a confession, “ My Lord, my God!” I hear not such a word from those that believed. It was well for us, it was well for thee, O Thomas, that thou distrustedst, else neither had 454 THE ASCENSION. Qbook IV. the world received so perfect an evidence of that resurrection whereon all our salvation dependeth, neither hadst thou yielded so pregnant and divine an astipulation to thy blessed Saviour. Now thou dost not only profess his resurrection, but his Godhead too, and thy happy interest in both. And now, if they be blessed that have not seen, and yet believ¬ ed ; blessed art thou also, that, having seen, hast thus believed: and blessed be thou, O God, who knowest how to make advantage of the infirmities of thy chosen, for the promoting of their salvation, the confir¬ mation of thy church, the glory of thine own name. Aimn. CONTEMPLATION XXXIV.—THE ASCENSION. It stood not with thy purpose, O Saviour, to ascend immediately from thy grave into heaven : thou meantst to take the earth in thy way, not for a sudden passage, but for a leisurely conversation. Upon thine Easter-day thou spakest of thine ascension; but thou wouldst have forty days inter¬ posed. Hadst thou merely respected thine own glory, thou hadst in¬ stantly changed thy grave for thy Paradise ; for so much the sooner hadst thou been possessed of thy Fathei-’s joy. We would not continue in a dungeon, when we might be in a palace : but thou, who for our sakes vouchsafedst to descend from heaven to earth, wouldst now, in the up¬ shot, have a gracious regard to us in thy return. Thy death had troubled the hearts of many disciples, who thought that condition too mean to be compatible with the glory of the Messiah: and thoughts of diffidence were apt to seize upon the holiest breasts. So long, theiefore, wouldst thou hold footing upon earth, till the world Avere fully convinced of the infallible evidences of thy resurrection ; of all which time thou only canst give an account. It was not for flesh and blood to trace the ways of immortality ; neither was our frail, corruptible, sinful nature, a meet companion for thy now glorified humanity : the glorious angels of heaven were now thy fittest attendants. But yet, how oft did it please thee graciously to impart thyself this while unto men; and not only to appear unto thy disciples, but to renew unto them the familiar forms of thy wonted conversation, in conferring, walking, eating with them! And now, when thou drewest near to thy last parting, thou who hadst many times showed thyself before to thy several disciples, thoughtest meet to assemble them all together, for an universal valedic¬ tion. Who can be too rigorous in censuring the ignorance of well-meaning Christians, when he sees the domestic followers of Christ, even after the resurrection, mistake the main end of his coming in the flesh ? “ Loi-d, wilt thou, at this time, restore again the kingdom to Israel ?” They saw their Master now out of the reach of all Jewish envy: they saw his power illimited and irresistible ; they saw him stay so long upon earth, that they might imagine he meant to fix his abode there ; and what should he do there but reign ? and wherefore should they be now as¬ sembled, but for the choice and distribution of offices, and for the order¬ ing of that alfair of the state which was not to be vindicated? O weak thoughts of well-instructed disciples ! What should a heavenly body CONT. XXXIV.3 THE ASCENSION. 4.5.''. do in an earthly throne ? How should a spiritual life be employed in secular care? How poor a business is the temporal kingdom of Israel for the King of heaven ? And even yet, O blessed Saviour, I do not hear thee sharply control this erroneous conceit of thy mistaken followers ; thy mild correction insists rather upon the time, than the misconceived substance of that restoration. It was thy gracious purpose, that thy Spirit should by degrees rectify their judgments, and illuminate them with thy divine truths ; in the mean time, it was suflBcient to raise up their hearts to an expectation of that Holy Ghost, which should shortly lead them into all needful and requisite verities. And now, with a gi’acious promise of that spirit of thine, with a careful charge renewed unto thy disciples for the promulgation of thy gospel, with a heavenly benediction of all thine acclaiming attendance, thou takest leave of earth ; “ When he had spoken these things, while they beheld, he was taken up, and a cloud received him out of their sight.” O happy parting, fit for the Saviour of mankind, answerable to that divine conversation, to that succeeding glory ! O blessed Jesu, let me so far imitate thee, as to depart hence with a blessing in my mouth; let my soul, when it is stepping over the threshold of heaven, leave behind it a legacy of peace and happiness. It was from the mount of Olives that thou tookst thy rise into heaven. Thou mightst have ascended from the valley ; all the globe of earth was alike to thee; hut since thou wert to mount upward, thou wouldst take so much advantage as that stair of ground would afford thee; thou wouldst not use the help of a miracle in that wherein nature offered her ordinary service. What difficulty had it been for thee to have stayed up from the very centre of earth ? But, since thou hadst made hills so much nearer unto heaven, thou wouldst not neglect the benefit of thy own creation. Where we have common helps, we may not depend upon supernatural provisions; we may not strain the divine Providence to the supply of our negligence, or the humouring of our presumption. Thou th.-it couldst always have walked on the sea, wouldst walk so but once, when thou wantedst shipping ; thou, to whom the highest mountains were but valleys, wouldst walk up to a hill, to ascend thence into heaven. O God, teach me to bless thee for means, when I have them, and to trust thee for means, when I have them not; yea, to trust to thee without means, when I have no hope of them. What hill was this thou chosest, but the mount of Olives ? thy pulpit, shall I call it, or thine oratory ? the place from whence thou hadst wont to shower down thine heavenly doctrine upon the hearers; the place whence thou hadst wont to send up thy prayers unto thy heavenly Fa¬ ther ; the jdace that shared with the temple for both : in the day-time thou wert pre^iing in the temple, in the night praying in the mount of Olives. On this very hill was the bloody sweat of thine agony ; now is it the mount of thy triumph. From this mount of Olives did flow that oil of gladness wherewith thy church is everlastingly refreshed. That God, that uses to punish us in the same kind wherein we have offended, retributes also to us in the same kind and circumstances wherein we have been afflicted. To us also, O Saviour, even to us thy unworthy members, dost thou seasonably vouchsafe to give a proportionable joy to THE ASCENSION. 45G [book IV. our heaviness, laughter to our mourning, glory to contempt and shame. Our agonies sliall be answei’ed with exaltation. Whither then, O blessed Jesu, whither didst thou ascend ? whither but home into thine heaven ? From the mountain wert thou taken up, and what but heaven is above the hills ? Lo, these are those mountains of spices which thy spouse the church long since desired thee to climb. Thou hast now climbed up that infinite steepness, and hast left all sub¬ limity below thee. Already hadst thou approved thyself the Lord and commander of earth, of sea, of hell. The earth confessed thee her Lord, when at thy voice she rendered thee thy Lazarus; when she shook at thy passion, and gave up her dead saints. The sea acknowledged thee, in that it became a pavement to thy feet, and at thy command, to the feet of thy disciple ; in that it became thy treasury for thy tribute money. Hell found and acknowledged thee, in that thou conqueredst all the powers of darkness ; even him that had the power of death, the devil. It now only remained, that as the Lord of the air, thou shouldst pass through all the regions of that yielding element; and as Lord of heaven, thou shouldst pass through all the glorious contignations thereof, that so “ every knee might bow to thee, both in heaven, and in earth, and under the earth.” Thou hadst an everlasting right to that heaven that should be ; an un¬ doubted possession of it ever since it was ; yea even while thou didst cry and sprawl in the manger, while thou didst hang upon the cross, while thou wert sealed up in thy grave; but thine human nature had not taken actual possession of it till now. Like as it was in thy true type, David, he had right to the kingdom of Israel immediately upon his anointing; but yet many a hard brunt did he pass ere he had the full possession of it, in his ascent to Hebron. I see now, O blessed .fesu, I see where thou art; even far above all heavens at the right hand of thy Father’s glory! This is the far country into which the nobleman went to receive for himself a kingdom; far olF to us, to thee near, yea intrinsical. O do thou raise up my heart thither to thee ; place thou my affections up¬ on thee above, and teach me therefore to love heaven because thou art there. How then, O blessed Saviour, how didst thou ascend? “While they beheld he was taken up, and a cloud received him out of their sight.” So wast thou taken up, as that the act was thine own, the power of the act none but thine. Thou that descendedst wast the same that ascend- edst; as in thy descent there was no use of any power or will but thine own, no more was there in thine ascent. Still and ever wert thou the master of thine own acts. Thou laidst down thy own life, no man took it from thee; thou raisedst up thyself from death, no hand did or could help thee ; thou carriedst up thine own glorified flesh, and placedst it in heaven. The angels did attend thee, they did not aid thee : Avhence had they their strength but from thee ? Elias ascended to heaven, but he was fetched up in a chariot of fire ; that it might appear hence, that man had need of other helps, who else could not of himself so much as lift up himself to the airy heaven, much less to the empyreal. But thou our Redeemer, needst no chariot, no carriage of angels : thou art the Author of life and motion ; they move in and from thee. As thou therefore didst move thyself upward, so, by the same divine power, thou wilt raise us CONT. XXXIV.] THE ASCENSION. 457 lip to the participation of thy glory. “ These vile bodies shall be made like to thy glorious body, according to the working whereby thou art able to subdue all things unto thyselk” Elias had but one witness of his rapture into heaven; St Paul had none, no not himself; for “ whether in the body, or out of the body,” he knew not. Thou, O blessed Jesu, wouldst neither have all eyes wit¬ nesses of thine ascension, nor yet too few. As, after thy resurrection, thou didst not set thyself upon the pinnacle of the temple, nor yet pub¬ licly show thyself within it, as making thy presence too cheap : but madest choice of those eyes whom thou wouldst bless with the sight of thee ; thou wei*t seen indeed of five hundred at once, but they were brethren: so in thine ascension, thou didst not carry all Jerusalem jiro- miscuously forth with thee, to see thy glorious departure, but only that selected company of thy disciples which had attended thee in thy life. Those who immediately upon thine ascension returned to Jerusalem, were a hundred and twenty persons: a competent number of witnesses, to verify that thy miraculous and triumphant passage into thy glory. Lo, those only were thought worthy to behold thy majestic ascent, which had been partners with thee in thy humiliation. Still thou wilt have it thus with us, O Savioui*, and we embrace the condition; if we will con¬ verse with thee in thy lowly estate here upon earth, wading with thee through contempt and manifold afflictions, we shall be made happy with the sight and communion of thy glory above. O my soul, be thou now, if ever, ravished with the contemplation of this comfortable and blessed farewell of thy Saviour. What a sight was this, how full of joyful assurance, of spiritual consolation ? Methinks, I see it still with their eyes, how thou my glorious Saviour, didst leisurely and insensibly rise up from thine Olivet, taking leave of thine acclaim¬ ing disciples now left below thee, with gracious eyes, with heavenly benedictions. Methinks I see how they followed thee with eager and longing eyes, with arms lifted up, as if they had wished them winged, to have soared up after thee. And if Elijah gave assurance to his ser¬ vant Elisha, that if he should behold him in that rapture, his Master’s spirit should be doubled upon bim; what an accession of the spirit of joy and confidence must needs be to thy happy disciples in seeing thee thus gradually rising up to thy heaven ! O how unwillingly did their intentive eyes let go so blessed an object! How unwelcome was that cloud that interposed itself betwixt thee and them, and, closing up itself, left only a glorious splendour behind it, as the bright track of thine as¬ cension ! Of old, here below, the glory of the Lord appeared in the cloud ; now afar off in the sky, the cloud intercepted this heavenly glory : if distance did not rather do it than that bright meteor. Their eyes at¬ tended thee on thy way so far as their beams would reaoli; when they could go no farther, the cloud received thee. Lo, yet even that very screen, whereby tbou wert taken oflF from all earthly view, was no other than glorious: how much rather do all the beholders fix their sight upon that cloud, than upon the best piece of the firmament ? Never was the sun itself gazed on with so much intention. With what long looks, with what astonished acclamations, did these transported beholders follow thee, their ascending Saviour! as if they would have looked through that cloud, and that heaven, that hid thee from them. II. 3 M 458 THE ASCENSION. I^BOOK IV. But, O what tongue of the highest archangel of heaven can express the welcome of thee, the King of glory, into these blessed regions of immortality ? Surely the empyreal heaven never resounded with so much joy ; God ascended with jubilation, and the Lord with the sound of the trumpet. It is not for us, weak and finite creatures, to wish to conceive those incomprehensible, spiritual, divine gratulations, that the glorious Trinity gave to the victorious and now glorified human nature. Certairdy, if, when he brought his only-begotten Son into the world, he said, ‘‘ Let all the angels worship him much more now that he “ as¬ cends on high, and hath led captivity captive, hath he given him a name above all names, that at the name of Jesus all knees should bow.” And if the holy angels did so carol at his birth, in the very entrance into that state of humiliation and infirmity, with Avhat triumph did they receive him, now returning from the perfect achievement of man’s redemption ? and if, w'hen his type had vancpiished Goliah, and carried the head into Jerusalem, the damsels came forth to meet him with dances and timbrels; how shall we think those angelical spirits triumphed, in meeting of the great Conqueror of hell and death ? How did they sing, “ Lift up your heads, ye gates; and be lifted up, ye everlasting doors, and the King of glory shall come in !” Surely, as he shall come, so he went; and “ Behold, he shall come with thousands of his holy ones ; thousand thousands ministered unto him, and ten thousand thousands stood before him from all whom, me- thinks I hear that blessed applause, “ Worthy is the Lamb that was killed to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and ho¬ nour, and glory, and praise : praise, and honour, and glory, and power, be to Him that sitteth upon the throne, and to the Lamb for evermore.” And why dost not thou, O my soul, help to bear thy part with that happy choir of heaven ? Why art not thou rapt out of my bosom, with an ecstasy of joy, to see this human nature of ours exalted above all the powers of heaven, adored of angels, archangels, cherubim, seraphim, and all those mighty and glorious spirits, and sitting there crowned with in¬ finite glory and majesty ? Although little would it avail thee, that our nature is thus honoured, if the benefit of this ascension did not reflect upon thee. How many are miserable enough in themselves, notwithstanding the glory of their hu¬ man nature in Christ ! None but those that are found in him, are the happier by him ; who bnt the members are the better for the glory of the head ? O Saviour, how should our weakness have ever hoped to climb into heaven, if thou hadst not gone before, and made way for us ? It is for us, that thou the forerunner art entered in. Now thy church hath her wish, “ Draw me, and I will run after thee.” Even so, O blessed Jesu, how ambitiously should we follow thee with the paces of love and faith, and aspire towards thy glory ! Thou, that art “ the way,” hast made the way to thyself and us : “ Thou didst humble thyself, and become obedient to the death, even the death of the cross : therefore hath God also highly exalted thee ;” and upon the same terms will not fail to advance us ; we see thy track before us, of humility and obe¬ dience. O teach me to follow thee in the roughest ways of obedience, in the bloody paths of death, that I may at last overtake thee in those high steps of immortality. CONT. XXXiV.j THE ASCENSION. 459 Amongst those millions of angels that attended this triumphant ascen- ^sion of thine, O Saviour, some are appointed to this lower station, to comfort thine astonished disciples, in the certain assurance of thy no less glorious return ; “ two men stood by them in white apparel.” They stood by them, they were not of them ; they seemed men, they were angels ; men for their familiarity ; two, for more certainty of testimony ; in white' for the joy of thine ascension. The angels formerly celebrated thy nativity with songs ; but we do not find they appeared then in white; thou wert then to undergo much sor¬ row', many conflicts; it was the vale of tears into which thou wert come dow'n. So soon as thou wert risen, the women saw an angel, in the form of a young man clothed in white; and now so soon as thou art as¬ cended, two men clothed in w'hite stand by thy disciples : thy task W'as now' done, thy victory achieved, and nothing remained but a crown, which was now set upon thy head. .Justly therefore were those blessed angels suited w'ith the robes of light and joy. And why should our gar¬ ments be of any other colour ? why should oil be wanting to our heads, when the eyes of our faith see thee thus ascended? It is for us, O Sa¬ viour, that thou art gone to prepare a place in those celestial mansions ; it is for us that thou sittest at the right hand of Majesty. It is a piece of thy divine prayer to thy Father, that “ those w'hom he hath given thee, may be with thee.” To every bleeding soid thou sayest still, as thou didst to Peter, “ whither I go thou canst not follow me now, but thou shalt follow me hereafter.” In assured hope of this glory, why do I not re¬ joice, and before-hand w alk in Avhite with thine angels, that at the last I may walk with thee in wdiite ? Little would the presence of these angels have availed, if they had not been heard as w'ell as seen. They stand not silent therefore, but directing their speech to the amazed beholders, say, “Ye men of Galilee, w'hy stand ye gazing into heaven?” What a question was this ! could any of those two hundred and forty eyes have power to turn themselves off to any other object than that cloud, and that point of heaven where they left their ascended Saviour ? Surely every one of them were so fixed, that had not the speech of these angels called them off, there they had set up their rest till the darkness of night had inter¬ posed. Pardon me, O ye blessed angels ; had I been there with them, I should also have been unw'illing to have had mine eyes pulled off from that dear prospect and diverted unto you. Never could they have gazed so happily as now. If but some great man be advanced to honour over our heads, how apt we arc to stand to gaze, and to eye him as some strange meteor; let the sun but shine a little upon these dials, how are they looked at by all passengers! yet, alas ! w'hat can earthly advance¬ ment make us other than Ave are, dust and ashes, which the higher it is blow'n the more it is scattered ! O how worthy is the king of glory to command our eyes, now' in the highest pitch of his heavenly exaltation ! Lord I can never look enough at the place Avhere thou art; but w'hat eye could be satisfied with seeing the way that thou wentst ? It was not the purpose of these angels to check the long looks of these faithful disciples after their ascended Master; it was only a change of eyes that they intended, of carnal for spiritual, of the eye of sense for the eye of faith. “ This same Jesus, Avhich is taken up from you into heaven. 460 THE ASCENSION. [book IV. shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven.” Look not after him, O ye weak disciples, as so departed that ye shal*!,!, see him no more ; if he be gone, yet he is not lost; those heavens that received him shall restore him ; neither can those blessed mansions de^ crease his glory. Ye have seen him ascend upon the chariot of a bright cloud; and, in the clouds of heaven, ye shall see him descend again to his last judgment. He is gone ; can it trouble you to know you have an Advocate in heaven ? Strive not now so much to exercise your bodily eyes in looking after him, as the eyes of your souls in looking for him. Ye cannot, O ye blessed spirits, wish other than well to mankind. How happy a diversion of eyes and thoughts is this that you advise ! If it be our sorrow to part with our Saviour, yet, to part with him into heaven, it is our comfort and felicity ; if his absence could be grievous, his return shall be happy and glorious. Even so. Lord Jesus, come quickly; in the meanwhile, it is not heaven that can keep thee from me: it is not earth that can keep me from thee : rise thou up my soul to a life of faith with thee; let me ever enjoy thy conversation, whilst I expect thy return. THE ENI). GLASGOW: HUTCHISON & BROOKMAN, IPIIINTERS, VILLAFIELD. .Vir ' ' ■ ;■/“* ♦»“ v-' '. 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