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The Good News of God

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SERMON XXXI
THE PENITENT THIEF

Luke xxiii. 42, 43

And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.  And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, To-day shalt thou be with me in paradise.

The story of the penitent thief is a most beautiful and affecting one.  Christians’ hearts, in all times, have clung to it for comfort, not only for themselves, but for those whom they loved.  Indeed, some people think that we are likely to be too fond of the story.  They have been afraid lest people should build too much on it; lest they should fancy that it gives them licence to sin, and lead bad lives, all their days, provided only they repent at last; lest it should countenance too much what is called a death-bed repentance.

Now, God forbid that I should try to narrow Christ’s Gospel.  Who am I, to settle who shall be saved, and who shall not?  When the disciples asked the Lord Jesus, ‘Are there few that be saved?’ he would not tell them.  And what Christ did not choose to tell, I am not likely to know.

But I must say openly, that I cannot see what the story of the penitent thief has to do with a death-bed repentance; and for this plain reason, that the penitent thief did not die in his bed.

On the contrary, he received the due reward of his deeds.  He was crucified; publicly executed, by the most shameful, painful, and lingering torture; and confessed that it was no more than he deserved.

Therefore, if any man say to himself—and I am afraid that some do say to themselves—‘I know I am leading a bad life; and I have no mind to mend it yet; the penitent thief repented at the last, and was forgiven; so I dare say that I shall be;’ one has a right to answer him—‘Very well; but you must first put yourself in the penitent thief’s place.  Are you willing to be hanged, or worse than hanged, as a punishment for your sins in this world?  For, till then, the penitent thief would certainly not be on the same footing as you.’

If a man says to himself, I will go on sinning now, on the chance of repenting at last, and ‘making my peace with God,’ he is not like the penitent thief, he is much more like a famous Emperor of Rome, who, though a Christian in name, put off his baptism till his death-bed, fancying that by it his sins would be washed away, once and for all, and made use of the meantime in murdering his eldest son and his nephew, and committing a thousand follies and cruelties.  Whether his death-bed repentance, purposely put off in order to give him time to sin, was of any use to him, let your own consciences judge.

Has, then, this story of the penitent thief no comfort for us?  God forbid!  Why else was it put into Christ’s Gospel of good news?  Surely, there is comfort in it.

Only let us take the story honestly, and word for word as it stands.  So we may hope to be taught by it what it was meant to teach us.

He was a robber.  The word means, not a petty thief, but a robber; and his being put to such a terrible death shows the same thing.  Most probably he had belonged to one of the bands of robbers which haunted the mountains of Judea in those days, as they used in old times to haunt the forests in England, and as they do now in Italy and Spain, and other waste and wild countries.  Some of these robbers would, of course, be shameless and hardened ruffians; as that robber seems to have been who insulted our Lord upon the very cross.  Others among them would not be lost to all sense of good.  Young men who got into trouble ran away from home, and joined these robber-bands, and found pleasure in the wild and dangerous life.

There is a beautiful story told of such a young robber in the life of the blessed Apostle St. John.  A young man at Ephesus who had become a Christian, and of whom St. John was very fond, got into trouble while St. John was away, and had to flee for his life into the mountains.  There he joined a band of robbers, and was so daring and desperate that they soon chose him as their captain.  St. John came back, and found the poor lad gone.  St. John had stood at the foot of the cross years before, and heard his Lord pardon the penitent thief; and he knew how to deal with such wild souls.  And what did he do?  Give him up for lost?  No!  He set off, old as he was, by himself, straight for the mountains, in spite of the warnings of his friends that he would be murdered, and that this young man was the most desperate and bloodthirsty of all the robbers.  At last he found the young robber.  And what did the robber do?  As soon as he saw St. John coming—before St. John could speak a word to him, he turned, and ran away for shame; and old St. John followed him, never saying a harsh word to him, but only crying after him, ‘My son, my son, come back to your father!’ and at last he found him, where he was hidden, and held him by his clothes, and embraced him, and pleaded with him so, that the poor fellow burst into tears, and let St. John lead him away; and so that blessed St. John went down again to Ephesus in joy and triumph, bringing his lost lamb with him.

Now, such a man one can well believe this penitent thief to have been.  A man who, however bad he had been, had never lost the feeling that he was meant for better things; whose conscience had never died out in him.  He may have been such a man.  He must have been such a man.  For such faith as he showed on the cross does not grow up in an hour or a day.  I do not mean the feeling that he deserved his punishment (that might come to a man very suddenly) but the feeling that Christ was the Lord, and the King of the Jews.  He must have bought that by terrible struggles of mind, by bitter shame and self-reproach.  He had heard, I suppose, of Christ’s miracles and mercy, of his teaching, of his being the friend of publicans and sinners, had admired the Lord Jesus, and thought him excellent and noble.  But he could not have done that without the Holy Spirit of God.  It was the Holy Spirit striving with his sinful heart, which convinced him of Christ’s righteousness.  But the Holy Spirit would have convinced him, too, of his own sin.  The more he admired our Lord, the more he must have despised himself for being unlike our Lord; and, doubt it not, he had passed many bitter hours, perhaps bitter years, seeing what was right, and yet doing what was wrong from bad habits or bad company, before he came to his end upon the gallows-tree.  And there while he hung in torture on the cross, the whole truth came to him at last.  God’s Spirit shone truly on him at last, and divided the light from the darkness in his poor wretched heart.  All the good which had been in him came out once and for all.  Christ’s light had been shining in the darkness of his heart, and the darkness had been trying to take it in, and close over it, but it could not; and now the light had conquered the darkness, and all was clear to him at last.  He never despised himself so much, he never admired Christ so much, as when they hung side by side in the same condemnation.  Side by side they hung, scorned alike, crucified alike, seemingly come alike to open shame and ruin.  And yet he could see that though he deserved all his misery, that the man who hung by him not only did not deserve it, but was his Lord, the Lord, the King of the Jews, and that—of course he knew not how—the cross would not destroy him; that he would come in his kingdom.  How he found out that, no man can tell; the Spirit of God taught him, the Spirit of God alone, to see in that crucified man the Lord of glory, and to cast himself humbly before his love and power, in hope that there might be mercy even for him—‘Lord, remember me when thou comest to thy kingdom.’  There was faith indeed, and humility indeed; royal faith and royal humility coming out in that dying robber.  And so, if you ask—How was that robber justified by his works?  How could his going into Paradise be the receiving of the due reward of the deeds done in his body whether they be good or evil.  I say he was justified by his works.  He did receive the due reward of his deeds.  One great and noble deed, even that saying of his in his dying agony,—that showed that whatever his heart had been, it was now right with God.  He could not only confess God’s justice against sin in his own punishment, but he could see God’s beauty, God’s glory, yea, God himself in that man who hung by him, helpless like himself, scourged like himself, crucified like himself, like himself a scorn to men.  He could know that Christ was Christ, even on the cross, and know that Christ would conquer yet, and come to his kingdom.  That was indeed a faith in the merits of Christ enough to justify him or any man alive.

Now what has all this to do with you or me living an easy, comfortable life in sin here, and hoping to die an easy, comfortable death after all, and get to heaven by having in a clergyman to read and pray a little with us; and saying a few words of formal repentance, when perhaps our body and our mind are so worn out and dulled by illness that we hardly know what we say?  No, my friends, if our hearts be right, we shall not think of the penitent thief to give us comfort about our own souls; but we shall think of it and love it, to give us comfort about the souls of many a man or woman for whom we care.

How many men there are who are going wrong, very wrong; and yet whom we cannot help liking, even loving!  In the midst of all their sins, there is something in them which will not let us give them up.  Perhaps, kind-heartedness.  Perhaps, an honest respect for good men, and for good and right conduct; loving the better, while they choose the worse.  Perhaps, a real shame and sorrow when they have broken out and done wrong; and even though we know that they will go and do wrong again, we cannot help liking them, cannot give them up.  Then let us believe that God will not give them up, any more than he gave up the penitent thief.  If there be something in them that we love, let us believe that God loves it also; and what is more, that God put it into them, as he did into the penitent thief; and let us hope (we cannot of course be certain, but we may hope) that God will take care of it, and make it conquer, as he did in the penitent thief.  Let us hope that God’s light will conquer their darkness; God’s strength conquer their weakness; God’s peace, their violence; God’s heavenly grace their earthly passions.  Let us hope for them, I say.

 

When we hear, as we often hear, people say, ‘What a noble-hearted man that is after all, and yet he is going to the devil!’ let us remember the penitent thief and have hope.  Who would have seemed to have gone to the devil more hopelessly than that poor thief when he hung upon the cross?  And yet the devil did not have him.  There was in him a seed of good, and of eternal life, which the devil had not trampled out; and that seed flowered and bore fruit upon the very cross in noble thoughts and words and deeds.  Why may it not be so with others?  True, they may receive the due reward of their deeds.  They may end in shame and misery, like the penitent thief.  Perhaps it may be good for them to do so.  If a man will sow the wind, it may be good for him to reap the whirlwind, and so find out that sowing the wind will not prosper.  The penitent thief did so.  As the proverb is, he sowed the gallows-acorn, poor wretch, and he reaped the gallows-tree; but that gallows-tree taught him to confess God’s justice, and his own sin, and so it may teach others.

Yes, let us hope; and when we see some one whom we love, and cannot help loving, bringing misery on himself by his own folly, let us hope and pray that the day may come to him when, in the midst of his misery, all that better nature in him shall come out once and for all, and he shall cry out of the deep to Christ, ‘I only receive the due reward of my deeds; I have earned my shame; I have earned my sorrow.  Lord, I have deserved it all.  I look back on wasted time and wasted powers.  I look round on ruined health, ruined fortune, ruined hopes, and confess that I deserve it all.  But thou hast endured more than this for me, though thou hast deserved nothing, and hast done nothing amiss.  Thou hast done nothing amiss by me.  Thou hast been fair to me, and given me a fair chance; and more than that, thou hast endured all for me.  For me thou didst suffer; for me thou hast been crucified; and me thou hast been trying to seek and to save all through the years of my vanity.  Perhaps I have not wearied out thy love; perhaps I have not conquered thy patience.  I will take the blessed chance.  I will still cast myself upon thy love.  Lord, I have deserved all my misery; yet, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.

Oh, my friends, let us hope that that prayer will go up, even out of the wildest heart, in God’s good time; and that it will not go up in vain.

SERMON XXXII
THE TEMPER OF CHRIST

Philippians ii. 4

Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus.

What mind?  What sort of mind and temper ought to be in us?  St. Paul tells us in this chapter, very plainly and at length, what sort of temper he means; and how it showed itself in Christ; and how it ought to show itself in us.

‘All of you,’ he tells us, ‘be like-minded, having the same love; being of one accord, of one mind.  Let nothing be done through strife or vain-glory: but in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better than himself.  Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.’

First, be like-minded, having the same love.  Men cannot all be of exactly the same opinion on every point, simply because their characters are different; and the old proverb, ‘Many men, many minds,’ will stand true in one sense to the end of the world.  But in another sense it need not.  People may differ in little matters of opinion, without hating and despising, and speaking ill of each other on these points; they may agree to differ, and yet keep the same love toward God and toward each other; they may keep up a kindly feeling toward each other; and they will do so, if they have in their hearts the same love of God.  If we really love God, and long to do good, and to work for God; if we really love our neighbours, and wish to help them, then we shall have no heart to quarrel—indeed, we shall have no time to quarrel—about how the good is to be done, provided it is done; and we shall remember our Lord’s own words to St. John, when St. John said, ‘Master, we saw one casting out devils in thy name, and he followeth not us: wilt thou therefore that we forbid him?’

And Jesus said, ‘Forbid him not.’

‘Forbid him not,’ said Jesus himself.  He that hath ears to hear his Saviour’s words, let him hear.

‘Therefore,’ St. Paul says, ‘let nothing be done through strife or vain-glory.’  It is a very sad thing to think that the human heart is so corrupt, that we should be tempted to do good, and to show our piety, through strife or vain-glory.  But so it is.  Party spirit, pride, the wish to show the world how pious we are, the wish to make ourselves out better and more reverent than our neighbours, too often creep into our prayers and our worship, and turn our feasts of charity into feasts of uncharitableness, vanity, ambition.

So it was in St. Paul’s time.  Some, he says, preached Christ out of contention, hoping to add affliction to his bonds.  Not that he hated them for it, or tried to stop them.  Any way, he said, Christ was preached, whether out of party-spirit against him, or out of love to Christ; any way Christ was preached: and he would and did rejoice in that thought.  Again I say, ‘He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.’

‘Esteem others better than ourselves?’  God forgive us! which of us does that?  Is not one’s first feeling not ‘Others are better than me,’ but ‘I am as good as my neighbour, and perhaps better too?’  People say it, and act up to it also, every day.  If we would but take St. Paul’s advice, and be humble; if we would take more for granted that our neighbours have common sense as well as we, experience as well as we, the wish to do right as well as we—and perhaps more than we have; and therefore listen humbly (that is St. Paul’s word, bitter though it may be to our carnal pride), listen humbly to every one who is in earnest, or speaks of what he knows and feels!  People are better than we fancy, and have more in them than we fancy; and if they do not show that they have, it is three times out of four our own fault.  Instead of esteeming them better than ourselves, and asking their advice, and calling out their experience, we are too in such a hurry to show them that we are better than they, and to thrust our advice upon them, that we give them no encouragement to speak, often no time to speak; and so they are silent and think the more, and remain shut up in themselves, and often pass for stupider people and worse people than they really are.  Because we will not begin by doing justice to our neighbours, we prevent them doing justice to themselves.

Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.  Ah, my friends, if we could but do that heartily and always, what a different world it would be, and what different people we should be!  If, instead of saying to ourselves, as one is so apt to do, ‘Will this suit my interest? will this help me?’ we would recollect to say too, ‘Will this suit my neighbours’ interest?  Will this harm my neighbours, though it may help me?  For if it hurts them, I will have nothing to do with it.’

If, again, instead of saying to ourselves, as we are too apt to do, ‘This is what I like, and done it shall be,’ we would generously and courteously think more of what other people like; what will please them, instruct them, comfort them, soften for them the cares of life, and lighten the burden of mortality—how much happier would not only they be, but we also!

For this, my friends, is the very likeness of Christ, who pleased not himself; the very likeness of Christ, who sacrificed himself.

And for this very reason St. Paul puts it the last of all his advices, because it is the greatest; the summing up of all; the fulfilment of the whole law, which says, ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself;’ and therefore after it he can give no more advice, for there is none better left to give: but he goes on at once to speak of Christ, who fulfilled that whole law of love, and more than fulfilled it; for instead of merely loving his neighbours as he loved himself (which is all God asks of us), Christ loved his enemies better than himself, and died for them.

So says St. Paul.—‘Look not every man on his own things, but on other people’s interest and comfort also.  Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus.’  What mind?  The mind which looks not merely on its own things, its own interest, its own reputation, its own opinions, likes, and dislikes, but on those of others, and has learnt to live and let live.

Yes, this, he says, is the mind of Christ.  And this mind, and spirit, and temper, he showed before all heaven and earth, when, though he was in the form of God, and therefore, (as some interpret the text) would have done no robbery, no injustice, by remaining for ever equal with God (that is, in the co-equal and co-eternal glory which he had with the Father), yet made himself of no reputation, and took on him the form of a slave, and was obedient to death, even the death of the cross.

My friends, I beseech you, young and old, rich and poor, remember the full meaning of these glorious words, and of those which follow them.

‘Wherefore God hath highly exalted him.’  Why?  What was it in Christ which was so precious, so glorious, in the eyes of the Almighty Father, that no reward seemed too great for him?  What but this very spirit of fellow-feeling and tenderness, charity, self-sacrifice—even the Holy Spirit of God himself, with which Christ was filled without measure?

Because Christ utterly and perfectly looked not on his own things, but on the things of others: because he was pity itself, patience itself, love itself, in the soul and body of a human being; therefore his Father declared of him, ‘This, this is my well-beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.’  Therefore it was that he highly exalted him; therefore it was that he proclaimed him to be worthy of all honour and worship, the most perfect, lovely, admirable, and adorable of all beings in heaven and earth; not merely because he showed himself to be light of light, or wisdom of wisdom, or power of power; but because he showed himself to be love of love, and therefore very God of very God begotten, whom men and angels could not reverence, admire, adore, imitate too much, but were to see in him the perfection of all beauty, all virtue, all greatness, the likeness of his Father’s glory, and the express image of his person.

And therefore it is a very good and beautiful old custom to bow when the name of Jesus is mentioned; at least, when it is mentioned for the first time, or under any very solemn circumstances.  It helps to remind us that he is really our King and Lord.  It helps, too, to remind us that he is actually and really near us, standing by us, looking at us face to face, though we see him not; and I am willing to say for myself that whenever I recollect that he is looking at me (alas! that is not a hundredth part often enough), I cannot help bowing almost without any will of my own.  But, remember, there is no commandment for it.  It is just one of those things on which a Christian is free to do what he likes, and for which every Christian is forbidden to judge or blame another, according to St. Paul’s rule, He that observeth the day, to the Lord he observeth it; and he that observeth it not, to the Lord he observeth it not.  Who art thou that judgest another?  To his own master he standeth or falleth.  Yea, and he shall stand, for God is able to make him stand.  Beside, the text says, if we are to take it literally, as we always ought with Scripture, not that every head shall bow at the name of Jesus, but every knee.  And to kneel down every time we repeat that holy name would be impossible.  While, on the other hand, we do bow our knees, literally and in earnest, at the name of Jesus every time we kneel down in church, every time we kneel down to say our prayers.  And if any man is content with that, no one has the least right to blame him.

 

Besides, my friends, there is, I know too well, a great danger in making too much of these little outward ceremonies, especially with children and young people.  For the heart of man is just as fond as it ever was of idolatry, and superstition, and will-worship, and voluntary humility, and paying tithe of mint, anise, and cummin, while it neglects the weightier matters of the law, justice, mercy, and judgment: and, therefore, there is very great danger, if we make too much of these ceremonies, harmless and even good as many of them may be, of getting to rest in them, and thinking that God is pleased with them themselves.  Whereas, what God looks at is the heart, the spirit, the soul; and whether it is right or wrong, proud or humble, hard or loving: and if we think so much of the outward and visible form, that we forget the inward and spiritual grace, for which it ought to stand, then we lay a snare for our own souls to turn them away from the worship of the living God, and break the second commandment.  Much more, if we pride ourselves on being more reverent than our neighbours in these outward forms, and look down on, and grudge at, those who do not practise them; for then we turn our humility into pride, and our reverence to Christ into an insult to him; for the true way to honour Christ is to copy Christ.  No one really honours and admires Christ’s character who does not copy him; and to esteem ourselves better than others, to say in our hearts, ‘Stand by, for I am holier than thou,’ to offend and drive away Christ’s little ones, and wound the consciences of weak brethren by insisting on things against which they have a prejudice, is to run exactly counter to Christ and the mind of Christ, and to be more like the Pharisees than the Lord Jesus.  That is not surely esteeming others better than ourselves: that is not surely looking not merely on our own things, but also on the things of others; that is not fulfilling the law of love; that is not following St. Paul’s example, who gave up, he says, doing many things which he thought right, because they offended weaker spirits than his own.  ‘All things,’ he says, ‘are lawful to me, but all things are not expedient.’  ‘Ay,’ says he, ‘I would eat no meat while the world standeth, if it cause my brother to offend.’

No, my dear friends, let us rather, in this coming Passion week, take the lesson which the services of the Church give us in this Epistle.  Let us keep Passion week really and in spirit, by remembering that it means the week of suffering, in which Christ, instead of pleasing himself, conquered himself, and gave up himself, and let wicked men do with him whatsoever they would.  Let us honour the holy name of Jesus in spirit and in truth, and bend not merely our necks or our knees, when we hear his name, but bend those stiff necks of our souls, and those stubborn knees of our hearts; let us conquer our self-will, self-opinion, self-conceit, self-interest, and take his yoke upon us, for he is meek and lowly of heart.  This is the Passion week which he has chosen;—to distrust ourselves, and our own opinions, likings and fancies.  This is the repentance, and this is the humiliation which he has chosen;—to entreat him (now and at once, lest by pride we give place to the devil, and fall while we think we stand) to forgive us every hard, and proud, and conceited, and self-willed thought, and word, and deed, to which we have given way since we were born; to pray to him for really new hearts, really tender hearts, really humble hearts, really broken and contrite hearts; to look at his beautiful tenderness, patience, sympathy, understanding, generosity, self-sacrifice; and then to look at ourselves, and be shocked, and ashamed, and confounded, at the difference between ourselves and him; and so really to honour the name of Jesus, who humbled himself, even to the death upon the cross.

I am not judging you, my friends; I am judging myself lest God judge me; and telling you how to judge yourselves, lest God judge you.  Believe me, if you will but take his yoke on you, you will find it an easy yoke and a light burden; you will find yourselves happier, your duty simpler, your prospects clearer, your path through life smoother, your character higher and more amiable in the eyes of all, and you yourselves holy and fit to share on Easter day in the precious body and blood of him who gave himself up to death that he might draw all men to himself; and so draw them all to each other, as children of one common Father, and brothers of Jesus Christ your Lord.