BY THE LATE REV. L. M’PHERSON, ONTARIO, CANADA.
WE are told the occasion of this parable. It was spoken “unto certain which trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and despised others.” These are the two principal elements in a self-righteous spirit—pride and uncharitableness. They invariably go together, and they prove the person in whom they predominate to be far from righteousness, and an utter stranger to himself and to God. This is very different, however, from the opinion which the self-righteous person forms of himself. He imagines that God thinks as highly of him as he does himself. He never suspects that anything is wrong with him, nor does he ever inquire, but takes all for granted, until, either in judgment or in mercy, he is awakened from his dream, and made to see things as they truly are. The object of this parable is to correct this dangerous error with which so many are infected. It shows that it is not the person who commendeth himself that is approved, but he whom the Lord commendeth (2 Cor. x. 18), and that every one that exalteth himself shall be abased, and that he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.
At the tenth verse we read of two men who went up to the Temple to pray—the one a Pharisee, the other a publican. They are both here introduced as worshippers, but in several respects as worshippers of very different characters. As regards public opinion, no two classes could be more directly opposite than the Pharisees and publicans—the former being regarded as the best among the good, and the latter as the worst among the bad. They were opposite besides, in the present case, as regards the view which each took of himself, and opposite also as regards the view which God took of them. The Pharisee viewed himself as an innocent, holy, and righteous person, possessed of the very highest attainments—a particular favourite with God, and meriting the highest praise and preferment. The publican, on the other hand, viewed himself as a sinful, guilty, condemned, and lost man—one in whom there was no redeeming quality whatever, and one for whom there was no hope, unless God should take pity upon him and out of pure mercy pardon him. In the former, God beheld a self-sufficient, self-righteous, uncharitable, and censorious sinner, swollen with pride and self-conceit, and utterly forgetful of that humility and reverence which became him as a creature in the presence of his Maker. In the latter, He saw a humbled, broken-hearted, and penitent sinner, crying out from the depths of his sin and misery for mercy to save him.
These two characters may be regarded as a faithful representation of the two classes which comprise the whole body of professors in every age and place, viz., such as are building on the sandy foundation of their own righteousness, and such as either have already fled, or are now fleeing, to Christ as the only refuge from the wrath to come. And in laying before you what observations I have to make on the passage, I shall take up these characters in the order in which they are here presented.
I. The Pharisee.
“The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself.” He had, no doubt, chosen as conspicuous a place as possible, where he could be seen to the best advantage and admired. To one who was so full of his own praise it could not fail to be gratifying to see all in the Temple take the most respectful notice of him. The Pharisees were, in general, particularly fond of popularity, and much of what they did in the way of religious performances was done in the most public places, expressly for the purpose of being seen and admired of men. In this, however, we must not regard them as singular. Many, like them, have no higher object than to obtain a name and be well spoken of by others; and if their fellow-creatures happen to err in estimating too highly of them, and bestow more praise than is due, they are not particularly anxious to rectify the mistake. It is a sure sign of a self-righteous spirit if a person feels as if he had lost his pains when his good deeds are not known and duly acknowledged by others. “The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself: God, I thank thee that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this publican. I fast twice in the week; I give tithes of all that I possess.”
1. The first thing which claims our attention here is the object he had in view in going up unto the Temple.
It is but reasonable to expect that every one who goes to the house of God should have some object or other in view, and this object must always indicate the state of the heart, for it must necessarily be in keeping with the character of the man. It must be either right or wrong, pure or corrupt, just as he is renewed or unrenewed.
The Pharisee’s ostensible object was to worship, or to pray, as we are here informed, but his real object was to justify himself. He came not to apply for help as a sinner, but rather to show that he needed none. What he intended in going up to the Temple was merely to prove that he was everything that a righteous man could desire to be; for in all that he uttered there is not the slightest indication of a sense of need; not one word of prayer, properly speaking, from beginning to end; no humble acknowledgments for mercies received, for all he possessed was self-acquired; no confession of transgressions and shortcomings, and no earnest supplication for mercy to pardon, nor for grace to help him in his time of need. It was upon no such errand he came, but merely to justify himself. Here then, so far, we have a true likeness of the heart of every unhumbled and self-righteous sinner. It is invariably the case with such, that they are more intent upon making it appear that they are righteous than on becoming so; and hence the unceasing effort to conceal by all possible means their sins and defects both from God and from men, and as much as possible from themselves too. To have their moral deformity and worthlessness exposed to view would be altogether intolerable. The cure would be a thousand times worse than the disease itself. No sinner while in a state of nature likes to see himself humbled, but, on the contrary, would like to be something great, and not only would like to be great, but actually believes he is so. The Pharisee certainly believed that he was all that he represented himself to be, and the reason why he asked nothing was because he felt no need, and the whole tendency of his harangue was to show that he had none. He needed not mercy, for he was not a sinner like other men; neither did he need grace, for he had a sufficiency already, and was, besides, able to keep what he had without being assisted. And what is the tendency of the imaginations of the heart of a self-righteous person, as well as of all his outward religion, but to show that he needs nothing? If not this, what then means his eagerness to appear righteous by displaying his imagined excellencies, and studiously concealing his deformities? Is it not plainly to do away with the impression that he is a sinner, for none but sinners need mercy?
Here, then, the blindness and folly of the self-righteous person appears. He is blind to his true condition before God; he knows not himself, and he is blind to his own interest, for he loses his object by taking the wrong way to obtain it. He begins at the wrong end of his work, and puts himself out of the way of obtaining anything. “God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace to the humble.” It is true, indeed, that self-righteous persons often make great professions of sinfulness, of wants, of contrition, and humility. Their prayers are not like the prayer of the Pharisee—destitute of even the form of a prayer. In theirs may be found all the parts of which a prayer should consist, and these well jointed and well expressed. Were we to judge of these persons by their prayers, it would seem as if they were overwhelmed with a sense of guilt, and deeply humbled on account of their vileness and unworthiness. But the truth is, they confess a great deal more than they believe themselves to be guilty of, and would be extremely unwilling that either God or men should take them at their word. The only difference between them and the Pharisee is that they are the more dexterous hypocrites. He spoke out in plain terms the true sentiments of his heart. He made no secret of his good opinion of himself, but openly declared it. They, on the other hand, conceal theirs under the mask of humility. Whatever differences outward circumstances may make in the manners of men, the principles of the heart are in all the same; and until a change is produced by divine grace, they remain, like the Pharisee, proud and self-sufficient. They feel not their need of a Saviour, but aim at justifying and exalting themselves.
2. Having thus far considered the object of the Pharisee, which was to show that he was a righteous man and needed nothing, let us now proceed to examine the evidence he brings to prove his point.
(1) He gives an account of his religion, which consists, as here set down, of negative and positive.
“God, I thank thee that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers.” This is what may be termed the negative part, and from the specimen here given we may form our opinion of the standard by which he estimated sin. It is the standard which all self-righteous persons use; and it shows how ignorant he was of the law of God—the true standard—which takes cognizance of the state and operation of the heart as well as of the outward actions. He notices a few gross and scandalous sins, from which he boasts of being free, but takes no notice of others quite as dangerous to the soul and as hateful in the sight of God as those he mentioned. Like others, he regarded merely the letter of the law. There were heart sins of which he took no notice, such as pride, covetousness, uncharitableness, malice, and such like. He had not the slightest idea of the depravity of his nature—that the fountain of all sin was within him, and that it continually sent forth its streams of pollution, by which he was defiled. Ere he could be a righteous man, he must be pure in heart as well as pure in life. But of his heart and the law of God both, he was totally ignorant, and this was the reason why he set so high a value on his own imagined goodness. The same thing is true of every unregenerate sinner.
It is a common thing to hear men compliment themselves with being free from gross and scandalous sins. They look upon themselves as entitled to the highest commendation on this account, and often speak with much apparent detestation of the crimes of others evidently from no better motive than to draw special attention to their own good character. The standard which such persons use is not the law of God; with that standard they are, properly speaking, utterly unacquainted. Theirs is one of their own making, and made too to suit their own dimensions. With this standard the sinner can measure himself to the best advantage, for it can be made to rise or fall just as circumstances may require, and hence it was that Paul, while an unconverted man, found it an easy matter to come up to the demands of the law, for he was then, as he himself expresses it, “without the law.” The law in its spirituality and breadth was unknown to him, and being thus altogether in the dark, and his mind filled with false views of the character of God, of his own true character, and of the real nature of sin, he could easily have imagined that he was “alive.” But when the commandment came sin revived and Paul died. When the Spirit of the Lord revealed to him the law which had been hitherto hid from his view, and he was made to see his own true self in its light, all his good thoughts of himself, and all his fair hopes vanished together, and he became a dead man. Thus, it is the low thoughts that men have of the law of God that is the cause of their having such high thoughts of themselves. They can live as long as they are “without the law,” but when once the law comes and manifests to the poor deceived sinner his true state, he will have nothing more to do with his false standard, and will henceforward find but little cause to boast of the wretched measure with which he could once feel very well satisfied. He will no longer regard sin as something without, or beyond him, which by its entering in the shape of gross or scandalous sins might defile him, but rather as having its seat or fountain in the heart, and consequently he is not occasionally or accidentally but continually defiled, and his cry will be “Enter not into judgment with thy servant; for in thy sight shall no man living be justified.” (Psalm cxliii. 2.) But we must proceed to consider the other part of the Pharisee’s religion—his positive righteousness.
“I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all I possess.”
It is not unfrequently the case that those who think the most of themselves have, after all, the least occasion to boast. From one who gave himself out to be so much better than other men, we might expect, when he came to recount his own good works, to hear something more than ordinary, and not the miserable specimen here given. As it was his object, however, to display his goodness to the best advantage, we may believe that what is here presented was the best he had to show, or, at all events, that on which he himself set the highest value. It is characteristic of self-righteous persons that they set a high value on trifles and points of minor importance, while they neglect the weightier matters of the law. A little goes a great length with them, and less will satisfy them than would satisfy a believer who works not as a servant for a reward, but from love. The specimen which the Pharisee here gives of his positive religion is extremely meagre. It consists merely of two duties, or rather one duty, and it by no means of the highest order, the other being, as he performed it, but a work of supererogation.
“I fast twice in the week.”
Fasting, when performed in a right spirit and on proper occasions, was a duty, but as the Pharisee performed it, it was merely a self-imposed duty—a work of supererogation for which he merited no praise. This is not, however, what he thought himself. Together with what more of its kind he might have possessed, it constituted the one-half of his stock, and that too, the half to which he gave the precedence. His fasting so often seemed to indicate his great humility and mortification of the flesh, and gave him an air of extraordinary sanctity and heavenly-mindedness. Hypocrites are particularly fond of being famed for such things as these, although in reality none possess less of them than they.
“I give tithes of all I possess.”
To pay tithes was a commanded duty, and so far he did what was right in supporting the cause of God. And in this he might put multitudes of professing Christians in our day to shame, who possess much of the bounties of Providence, but who make no due acknowledgment of the favours thus bestowed, by contributing according to their ability towards the support and further extension of the cause of Christ. The duty, however, would have been better performed had he not told that he had done it, and better performed still had he not thought that in doing it he made God his debtor. He had forgotten that in paying his tithes he gave nothing away that was properly his own, for all he possessed was the gift of Providence. No praise was, therefore, due to him for merely returning what was not his own; and if he were of a right spirit, he would rather feel grateful that God would even condescend to command him to perform any duty, and especially that He would accept of such imperfect services as those necessarily must be which are performed by fallen and erring creatures, and would rather be ashamed for how little he did, and regret that he could do no more. But after all, the duty here mentioned was not of the highest order—it was but a very common duty, and one which would by no means go far to prove him to be a righteous man. Many of far humbler pretensions could say as much for themselves in this respect as he could. There were many exercises of a far higher order of which he takes no notice. As in the former case, he was ignorant of heart sins, so is he also ignorant and destitute of heart religion. Indeed, these two always go together, and are never wanting in the hearts of self-righteous persons.
But are there none among us who resemble the Pharisee in this respect? How many there are who go the round of outward duties, and yet know nothing of true religion! They attend on the ministrations of the word and ordinances, are honest in their worldly transactions, give of their substance towards the support of the cause, and are free from scandalous sins, and having these to recommend them, they doubt not but all is right. Like the Pharisee, their standard of sin and religion is infinitely short of the true one; but like him they are nevertheless pleased with themselves, and vainly imagine that God is pleased with them likewise, and, with the young man in the gospel, triumphantly ask, What lack we yet? To such, however, it must be said, the weightiest of all things are yet lacking. They need to be convinced that all is wrong with them; they need to be convinced that they are “wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked.” They need to know God as He is manifested in Christ: at present they know Him not. Their God is one of their own making, and altogether such a one as themselves. They need the new heart, and they need the righteousness of Christ to be substituted in the place of their own.
(2) The second way in which the Pharisee attempts to prove that he is a righteous man is by comparison.
His goodness would appear to better advantage when contrasted with the extreme badness of others. “I thank thee that I am not as other men are”—and then to be more particular, “nor even as this publican.” Mark here the self-complacency and unbounded conceit of this vaunting sinner. It is not sufficient that he should proclaim his righteousness and display his virtues in all their plenitude and beauty, but he calls particular attention to the important fact that such virtue was exceedingly rare—that it was a scarce article, so to speak, a consideration which in his opinion fairly entitles him to a much higher price than in ordinary circumstances the like virtues would bring. There were so many wicked men, and these so very wicked too; and there were so few, if indeed any, who had the least regard to virtue, that the wonder was how, in such circumstances, a good man could even exist, or preserve his integrity for a day, but more particularly that he could have attained to so high a measure of perfection. He met with very little that might be helpful to him, but on the other hand had many discouragements. There were many temptations; the very worst example was continually before him; but notwithstanding all these his virtue sustained no defeat.
Mark, in the second place, the contempt with which he regards his fellow-creatures. He looks down upon them with proud disdain. If he is in any sense superior to them, it never occurs to him that grace alone could have made him to differ, and that by nature both he and they are upon a level. Nothing of this kind ever entered into his mind. Grace is not an article of his creed; it is purely to himself he owes all his goodness. It is his own good heart and his own extraordinary exertions that he has to thank for it all. He imagines himself to be a particular favourite with God, and like Haman of old, is delighted with the idea that he himself is the only one whom the King delighteth to honour. However abominable such pride may appear, yet it is very common. The decent well-behaved hypocrite, would on no account be seen mingling with the common herd of sinners, upon whom he looks down with sovereign contempt. But the way to hell is broad—so broad indeed that the publicans and other abandoned sinners may walk abreast with the self-righteous hypocrite without the one disturbing the other.
Mark, in the third place, the uncharitableness here displayed by the Pharisee. At the very moment he is attempting to justify himself, he unconsciously proves himself to be a most unrighteous man, for by his uncharitableness towards the publican and others he violates the second precept of the law—”Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” Were he actuated by right principles, he would rather pity his sinful fellow-creature, and pray that God might have mercy on him and grant him repentance. If he possessed the true charity which thinketh no evil, he would prefer to hope the best, than go so far in judging as even appearances might seem to warrant. Besides, in the present case there were even some grounds afforded for the exercise of such a hope. It was by no means an unfavourable symptom to see the poor man come to the Temple on the same errand with himself. Besides, there was certainly something in the humility manifested by him in keeping at so respectful a distance—something like a felt sense of unworthiness. The Pharisee therefore ought to have rejoiced at these favourable symptoms, and rather have helped and encouraged him, both by his counsel and his prayers. But instead of this, he appears before God as his accuser, and, as if he feared He were too indulgent in suffering such a great sinner to live, he calls His attention to his case in particular, and reminds Him of what sort of a person he is.
There are none so ready to condemn others as those who are themselves still under condemnation. They have eyes that can see every person’s sins but their own. They censure and condemn without mercy. Whatever allowances they make for their own shortcomings, they make none for those of others. They would have all sinners to be dealt with as sinners but themselves. These are they who are spoken of in the introduction to the parable as persons who trust in themselves that they are righteous and despise others. It was to them that the parable was spoken, and the Pharisee whose character we have thus far considered is introduced merely as one of them, speaking the sentiments of all the rest. Let such remember the conclusion—that “he that exalteth himself shall be abased.” But we must hasten now to the second part of the parable.
II. The Publican.
“And the publican, standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me, a sinner” (verse 13).
We have here presented to us a sketch of the character of a true penitent who comes to God seeking mercy and finds it. And as the character is drawn by the Lord Jesus Christ Himself and approved by Him, we have good reason to believe that it is, in all respects, just what He would have it to be; and it is here contrasted with a very opposite character purposely to show us who are they that are approved of God and who are not. If appearances were to be regarded, the publican’s case was the most unpromising of the two. His character could bear no comparison with that of the Pharisee, who was, to all appearance outwardly, a moral man, against whom the world could bring no charge, and was probably regarded by others as well as by himself as a righteous and holy man. He could therefore enter boldly into the Temple, advance with firm tread (as near as possible) into the presence of God, stand up to pray, and with countenance erect, and unfaltering tongue, proclaim the innocence and holiness of his life, and, without the least fear of contradiction, appeal to his Maker, and in the hearing of all present, if he were not the very identical righteous man that he professed himself to be. But with the publican it was far otherwise. He was confessedly on all hands a bad man. His very occupation was sufficient to indicate what he was. In all likelihood his associates were the abandoned and profane, and his own practices like theirs. He had cast off the fear of God, had violated His law, and could not even pretend to outward decency itself. All knew that he was a sinner, and it were vain for him, even were he so disposed, to attempt to deny it. And still this man comes up to the Temple to pray!
What, therefore, might have brought him there? Is he resolved with harlot face which refuses shame, to brave it out, and say something in his turn in his own justification? Nay, indeed, in his case it was impossible. Did he attempt it, there were witnesses on every side who knew him full well, and were prepared to give evidence against him. If he said it secretly, God and his own conscience were there staring him in the face, and at that very moment in particular charging home his crimes upon him; and if he said it openly, the Pharisee and others were there who would confront him with the lie. Alas! poor man! his very attitude and manner bespoke a felt sense of guilt and unworthiness, and plainly showed that for no such purpose he had come thither. He seemed rather like one whose sins had found him out; one whose soul was pressed with a load of guilt, which saddened his heart, shut his mouth, filled his countenance with shame and confusion, and made him fear to approach into the presence of God. And such indeed he was; for he was an awakened sinner, now brought to a right understanding of his true condition before God. He stood condemned at the bar of God, the bar of conscience, and the bar of public opinion. The terrors of the Lord had set themselves in array against him; the avenger of blood pressed on close behind; the sentence of condemnation recorded against him continually rung in his ears, and his conscience told him “Thou art the man.” It was thus that the publican stood convicted in his own conscience and before God, and it was in this state that he ventures to come into His presence without a single word which he can say for himself.
He makes no attempt to disprove the charges brought against him, nor even to lessen or extenuate the crime; nor does he find fault with the strictness of the law nor the severity of the sentence. No, he comes not to stand upon his own defence, but to give himself up as that transgressor against whom such and such charges had been brought and proved, and against whom such a sentence had been recorded. He confesses he is that transgressor and deserves to die. He acknowledges the truth of the charges and the equity of the verdict, and throws himself upon the mercy of his Judge, and thus puts it out of the power of all other means to save him.
It was here then that, most of all, the difference between the Pharisee and the publican lay. Outwardly, we have seen, there was a difference, but in the sight of God both were sinners under condemnation, and both equally needed mercy, and there was but one way in which either could obtain it. The publican chose this way—he came as a lost sinner, guilty and unworthy. He confessed his sinfulness and misery, justified God, and condemned himself, and threw himself upon His mercy. The Pharisee, on the other hand, thought that he was a righteous man that needed no repentance, and therefore would never think of having recourse to this last resort. Indeed, he knew nothing at all about it, nor could he ever find it out until he first found out that he was a sinner. He chose to come trusting to his own righteousness, thus virtually denying that he was a sinner, or that God had aught to charge him with. He went down therefore unto his house an unjustified sinner. What he did not need he would not ask, and what he did not ask he did not obtain. So he that exalted himself was abased, and he that humbled himself was exalted; thus far in general.
I shall now notice a few things in particular in the publican’s case, and then conclude.
(1) His conviction; (2) his confession; (3) his faith; (4) his success.
1. His conviction.
We are not here informed what the circumstances were which might have led to the publican’s conviction. The first view we get of him is as a convicted criminal standing before his Judge, and fully sensible of all the circumstances of his case. He is awakened from his security, and things of which he only heard before, but never believed, present themselves to his view in all their awfulness and certainty. His eyes are opened, and God, sin, and his own lost and ruined state by it are no longer matters of indifference or mere speculation, but of conviction. They are tremendous facts which he understands, believes, and with the awful importance of which he is deeply impressed.
(1) He is made to see and believe that there is a God, and this God he recognises in His true character.
But it might here be asked—Did he not know and believe this before, and do not all who are in any measure acquainted with the Scriptures believe and acknowledge this? I answer, No; for “the fool hath said in his heart there is no God” (Psalm xiv.), and such fools are all unconverted persons, for the Scripture saith again that “the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God; for they are foolishness unto him; neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned.” Natural men do, indeed, profess to believe in His existence and the representation given of His character in the Word, but their belief is merely a vague assent to a thing which is generally asserted, but which for all they know concerning it may or may not be true. The objects of their belief are too far off to possess any interest for them. They are in reality but phantoms of the imagination, with which they neither are nor can be impressed, and serve rather as toys, with which they amuse themselves. “Thou believest that there is one God; thou doest well: the devils also believe, and tremble” (James ii. 19). The devils tremble because the objects of their belief are realities, which deeply concern them. It is no phantom, no dream, nor mere shadow that makes them thus tremble, for with the true character of God they are well acquainted. That He is, and what He is, are to them well known; but with unawakened sinners it is otherwise, and hence it is that they do not likewise tremble. The publican, no doubt, before his conviction believed in his own way that there was a God who took cognisance of the actions of men, and would bring them into judgment; but with this belief he could feel as much at ease when he lived in open wickedness, as the Pharisee did when he gloried in his own righteousness; but now that the veil is removed, he has a full view of the true character of God, especially as regards His majesty, His omniscience, His holiness, His justice and truth. This is very manifest from his confession and the whole of his deportment.
He stood afar off—would not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven—but cried, “God be merciful to me, a sinner.” There was here a full acknowledgment of the majesty of God. It was not against one like himself he had sinned, but against the Great and Glorious Being who created all things, and who is Sovereign Lord of the universe, who is glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, and to whom is due the homage and obedience of all in heaven and earth; and this sense that he had of the divine majesty made him tremble in His presence, stand at a distance, and not open his mouth before Him except in self-condemnation and in pleading for mercy. He feels also that he has to do with one who is omniscient, from whom nothing secret or open can be hid. The eyes of Jehovah were at that moment as a flame of fire searching his heart, and all his sins—whether secret or open—lay exposed in their true colour at once to the view of God and to his own; and hence he addresses Him as one who knew him to be a sinner of such a description, and confesses, without palliation or reserve, that he is that sinner. And as he is sensible of His omniscience, so is he also of His holiness and justice. It was in the light of the former that he saw what he was himself, and in the latter he saw what he deserved and what he must expect unless mercy interpose in his behalf. For, when he says, “God be merciful to me, a sinner,” he thereby acknowledges that sin is that abominable thing which God hates, that it is contrary to His nature, and that the person on whom it is found is thereby cut off from His favour and justly exposed to everlasting punishment.
(2) As the publican was convinced of the true character of God, so was he also convinced of the true nature of sin.
This is manifest also from his manner and his confession, “God be merciful to me, a sinner.” This is the cry of a man in distress—one who feels himself sinking into perdition, and is calling out for help; and we are here told the cause of his distress—it is sin! But can this be the harmless thing with which so many amuse themselves and in the commission of which they feel so secure and unconcerned? Certainly not: for although such may in their turn, like the publican, confess that they are sinners, yet to them sin never appeared in its true character—it is only a name for something that has no real existence. “Without the law sin is dead,” and hence it follows that in order to be truly convinced of sin, the law must be set home upon the conscience by the Spirit of God. “For by the law is the knowledge of sin” (Rom. iii. 20). By its operation on the conscience it makes sin revive; it imparts unto it life, strength, and terror; for “the strength of sin is the law” (2 Cor. xv. 56). Sin thus seen in the glass of the law is a terrible thing—the sinner dies at the very sight of it. So did the publican, and so did Saul of Tarsus. “When the commandment came, sin revived and I died.” The law reveals to the sinner what sin is, where it is, and then stops his mouth and declares the wrath of God against him, for, “what things soever the law saith it saith to them who are under the law; that every mouth may be stopped and all the world may become guilty before God” (Rom. iii. 19). It thus calls the sinner’s sins to his remembrance, and increases them until they are more than can be numbered. It discovers to him that he is not only guilty of actual transgression, but that he is a sinner by nature—that the tree is corrupt and is therefore incapable of bearing good fruit. And, having thus mustered up his sins before him, it binds them upon his back with strong bands, and then utters its curse upon him, and follows him up and down wherever he goes, continually cursing him until at last, unless he is delivered from it, it drives him into hell.
It was in this miserable condition that the publican felt himself to be when he cried out, “God be merciful to me, a sinner.” He thus expressed his sense of the great evil of sin that it was indeed the greatest of all evils, since nothing could remove it but mercy. It had utterly ruined him and rendered him worthy of death—of everlasting destruction from the presence of the Lord, and neither tears nor repentance, nor anything he could ever do in the way of obedience could suffice to atone for it.
2. His confession, his sorrow, shame, and repentance.
On this and on the following heads we must be brief. In all cases where conviction is followed with conversion, there will invariably accompany it a candid confession, heart-felt sorrow and shame for sin and genuine repentance. This we see clearly exemplified in the case of the publican. His standing afar off, and his hanging down his head with shame were themselves tacit confessions of what he was. But he is not satisfied with merely silent confessions of his guilt, but speaks out—“God be merciful to me, a sinner.”
There is here a full and candid confession of what he was. He makes no attempt to conceal his sin or make his case appear better than it is, but comes and tells the whole truth. He is a sinner; nor has he any one to blame for his being so but himself. In this, his confession, he represents his case in the very worst light in which it could be viewed, for there is implied in it that he had sinned against the majesty of God; that his guilt was consequently unspeakably great; that no satisfaction made by him can atone for it; that the wages of sin is death; that he deserves to die; and that God is righteous when He inflicts this punishment upon a sinner. Having thus pleaded guilty before the bar of God, he left no means for himself of escape. Why, then, should not the sentence be executed upon him? He has no just reason to assign why it should not, but simply casts himself on the mercy of his Judge. Now, rarely is such unqualified confession and self-condemnation to be found among sinners! Most find it an easy matter to confess themselves sinners, and call for mercy to save them, and the reason why they find it so easy is because God and sin are at a distance; but to see their sins and confess them in the light of God’s countenance is a different matter. The publican’s way, however, was the wisest and the only way for procuring the favour of God, and in choosing this way, he was evidently moved by divine grace.
The sinner can never succeed while he stands upon his own defence. So saith the Scripture—”He that covereth his sins shall not prosper; but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy” (Prov. xxviii. 13). The publican made full confession, and as he confessed so did he also repent of and forsake his sins. “He smote upon his breast”—this was expressive of his sorrow for what he had done. His heart was turned against sin. His confession was but the language of his heart expressing its abhorrence of sin and its desire to be delivered from it. He was fully sensible of its hateful nature. He felt he was full of this loathsome disease, that he was but a mass of corruption, an object of abhorrence, and—as the leper under the law was commanded to do—he stands afar off, smiting upon his breast as he gazes upon the horrible picture of himself which the law presents to his view. O how does he blush and hang down his head with shame as he thus stands exposed in the presence of a Holy God! His heart is wrung with grief; and for shame and confusion of face, he will not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven, but in the bitterness of his soul bursts out with the distressing cry—”God be merciful to me, a sinner.”
3. His Faith.
It does not always follow that conviction ends in conversion. There may be very deep conviction of sin, and yet the sinner may not be saved. Guilt, when truly apprehended, has invariably a tendency to drive the sinner away from God, and it would unquestionably have done so in the case of the publican, had not saving grace been imparted to him. What inducement could there be to him, or to any other in like circumstances, to come into the presence of Him who is a consuming fire, and from whom they had nothing to expect but wrath and indignation which would devour them as adversaries? They did not like Him, and they knew full well He did not like them, and hence it is that conviction of sin, and awful apprehensions of the character of God, drive many into absolute despair. It was so with Judas, and others, of whom mention is made in the Scriptures. But in the case of the publican, while the Spirit of the Lord was working conviction on his conscience, divine grace was powerfully and savingly operating upon his heart. While he knew on the one hand that God was a consuming fire, and that if He should mark iniquities he could not stand before Him, yet he knew on the other there was forgiveness with Him that He might be feared (Ps. cxxx.). He had heard that He was a merciful God; and although he could not expect that anything he might promise to do could procure His favor, yet there was a possibility, if not even a probability, that He would freely pardon his sin; yea, there was even a promise made that he who should confess his sins, and forsake them, should find mercy, and many who tried, testified that they had found it so. “I acknowledged my sin unto Thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid. I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord; and Thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin” (Ps. xxxii. 5). Besides, if he remained where he was there was no hope for him—he would certainly die; and if he went and did not succeed, he could only but die. He would therefore put his life in his hand and venture his soul on the mercy of Him who justifieth the ungodly, and having thus resolved, he arose and went unto Him a guilty sinner as he was—made his confession and admission, and fled to his mercy for shelter.
This was indeed strong faith violently wrestling, and taking the kingdom of heaven by force; for nothing but true faith could have surmounted the difficulties which lay in his way, and these were neither few nor small. There was a guilty conscience full of fears and terror; there was the curse of the law; and there were also dreadful apprehensions of the majesty, the holiness, the righteousness and justice of that God against whom he had sinned; but an invisible power sustained him and carried him triumphantly over them all. His eye was directed to the sacrifice which atoned for sin, and all at once to his joyful experience, where sin abounded, grace did much more abound.
4. His success.
“He went down to his house justified rather than the other.” His sins, which were many, were forgiven; his person was accepted; the sentence of condemnation was removed, and he was declared a righteous man. O how different are the thoughts and ways of God from those of men! At the very moment that the Pharisee was frowning upon the poor publican, and looking down upon him with proud contempt and detestation, as an object of God’s abhorrence, God was then viewing him with a peculiar interest. As the father, in the parable, who had seen in the distance his prodigal son returning home, ran to meet him while he was yet a great way off, and fell on his neck and kissed him, so, likewise, were the bowels of God’s compassion moved towards this returning publican, as He saw him standing afar off in the temple, and heard him say secretly in his heart, “I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son,” etc.
But are there not some who, notwithstanding their application at a throne of grace for mercy, still feel the burden of their guilt hanging about them, destroying their comfort, and filling them with anxiety and alarm? Let such put the question to their own consciences—have they adopted the publican’s way? It is the only way of obtaining peace; it is a sure and infallible way, but one which is the most difficult of any to a proud and self-righteous heart. Have you then honestly and candidly confessed your sins before God, or have you attempted to conceal any of them, or have you merely confessed them in a loose and general way, which, after all, made you no greater sinners than others? Have you brought your sins with you, and, viewing them in the light of God’s holiness, have you then confessed them as your own sins, for which you are condemned in your own conscience, and at the bar of God, and for which you deserve to die? And having thus passed upon yourself an unqualified sentence of condemnation, have you then, like the publican, fled for refuge to the mercy of God? Have you by a humble faith endeavoured to cast your guilty soul on the merits of Christ Jesus, who shed His blood that He might redeem sinners like you from the curse of the law? If you cannot answer these questions in the affirmative, I am not surprised that you should still feel guilt as a heavy burden upon your soul. “Blessed is the man whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man unto whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no guile.” Be persuaded to seek the removal of your burden in the good old way. God will never meet you in any other but as an adversary and a consuming fire.
Let it not once be supposed that He is now more tardy in showing mercy to returning penitents than on former occasions. If you have not experienced the blessedness of forgiveness, be assured that the fault is yours. You must first be condemned ere you are justified—you must be lost before you can be saved, and humbled before you can be exalted. Put yourselves, therefore, in His way and you will find that He will come more than half way to meet you. You will find that His compassions are very great. You will hear Him say regarding you as He did regarding a great sinner of old—”Is Ephraim my dear son? is he a pleasant child? for since I spake against him, I do earnestly remember him still: therefore my bowels are troubled for him: I will surely have mercy upon him, saith the Lord” (Jer. xxxi. 20).