You observe there are twelve things mentioned in the narrative that the Samaritan did. We can dismiss in a word all that the priest and the Levite did--they did _nothing_.
(1.) He "came to where he was."
(2.) He "saw him;" he did not, like the priest, pa.s.s by on the other side.
(3.) He "had compa.s.sion on him." If we would be successful winners of souls we, too, must be moved with compa.s.sion for the lost and the perishing. We must sympathize with men in their sorrows and troubles, if we would hope to gain their affections and to do them good.
(4.) He "went to him." The Levite went _toward_ him, but we are told that he, as well as the priest, "pa.s.sed by on the other side."
(5.) He "bound up his wounds." Perhaps he had to tear up his own garments in order to bind them up.
(6.) He poured in oil and gave some wine to the fainting man.
(7.) He "set him on his own beast." Do you not think that this poor Jew must have looked with grat.i.tude and tenderness on the Samaritan, as he was placed on the beast, while his deliverer walked by his side?
All the prejudice in his heart must have disappeared long before they got to the end of their journey.
(8.) He "brought him to an inn."
(9.) He "took care of him." I was greatly touched at hearing of a Christian worker in one of the districts in London where we were, who met with a drinking man at the meeting. He saw that the man was in drink, so he took him home and stayed all night with him; then, when he got sober the next morning, he talked with him. Many are willing enough to talk with drunkards when they are sober, but how few there are who will go and hunt them up when they are in their fallen condition, and stay with them till they can be reasoned with about their salvation.
(10.) When he departed on the morrow, the good Samaritan asked the host to care for him.
(11.) He gave him some money to pay the bill.
(12.) He said: "Whatever thou spendest more, when I come again I will repay thee."
There is nothing I think in all the teachings of Christ that brings out the whole Gospel better than this parable. It is a perfect picture of Christ coming down to this world to seek and save the lost.
(1.) He came to this world of sin and sorrow where we were, laying by His glory for the time, that He might a.s.sume our human nature, and put Himself on a level with those He came to save.
(2.) He mingled with the poor and needy so that He might see their condition.
(3.) He was "moved with compa.s.sion" for the mult.i.tudes; how often this is recorded in the Gospels. We are told, on more than one occasion, that He wept as He thought of all the woe and distress that sin had brought upon the human family.
(4.) Wherever Jesus Christ heard of a case of sorrow or need He went at once. No cry of distress ever reached His ears in vain.
(5.) On one occasion He read from the prophets concerning Himself, "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me . . . . because the Lord hath . . . .
sent me to bind up the broken-hearted." He Himself was wounded, that the wounds which sin had made in us might be bound up and healed.
(6.) He not only comforted the sorrowing, but gave the promise of the Holy Spirit, Who was to bring comfort and strength to His redeemed people.
(7.) As the good Samaritan set the wounded man on his own beast, so the Savior gives us the unfailing promise of His word on which we may rest during our pilgrim journey. He Himself has promised to be with us in spirit by the way.
(8.) He brings us to the place of rest--rest in His love, in His willingness to save, in His power to keep. At the last He will bring us to the home of everlasting rest.
(9.) When He was on the earth He took a personal interest in all that concerned His disciples, and
(10.) When He had gone up on high He sent another Comforter who should abide with the Church.
(11.) He has furnished the Church with all that is needful for her support and growth in grace.
(12.) He will come again and reward His servants for all their faithful service.
Do you want to know how you can reach the ma.s.ses? Go to their homes and enter into sympathy with them; tell them you have come to do them good, and let them see that you have a heart to feel for them. When they find out that you really love them, all those things that are in their hearts against G.o.d and against Christianity will be swept out of the way. Atheists may tell them that you only want to get their money, and that you do not really care for their happiness. We have to contradict that lie by our lives, and send it back to the pit where it came from.
We are not going to do it unless we go personally to them and prove that we really love them. There are hundreds and thousands of families that could easily be reached if we had thousands of Christians going to them and entering into sympathy with their sorrows. That is what they want. This poor world is groaning and sighing for sympathy--human sympathy. I am quite sure it was that in Christ"s life which touched the hearts of the common people. He made Himself one with them. He who was rich for our sakes became poor. He was born in the manger so that He might put himself on a level with the lowest of the low.
I think that in this matter He teaches His disciples a lesson. He wants us to convince the world that He is their friend. They do not believe it. If once the world were to grasp this thought, that Jesus Christ is the Friend of the sinner, they would soon flock to Him. I am sure that ninety-nine in every hundred of those out of Christ think that, instead of loving them, G.o.d hates them. How are they to find out their mistake? They do not attend our churches; and if they did there are many places where they would not hear it. Do you think that if those poor harlots walking the streets of our cities really believed that Jesus Christ loved them and wanted to be their friend--that if He were here in person He would not condemn them, but would take sides with them, and try to lift them up--they would go on in their sins? Do you think the poor drunkard who reels along the street really believes that Christ is his friend and loves him? The Scripture plainly teaches that though Christ hates sin He loves the sinner. This story of the good Samaritan is given to teach us this lesson. Let us publish abroad the good news that Christ loves sinners, and came into the world that He might save them.
There was a man who lived in one of our large cities. He died quite suddenly, and it was not long before his wife followed him to the grave. They left two boys, and there was a wealthy citizen who took the more promising of the boys and adopted him. The other boy was placed in the orphan asylum. He had never been away from his father and mother during their lives, and he had not been separated from his brother before. Every night he would go to sleep crying for his brother. One night they could not find him. Next morning he was found under the steps of the house of the wealthy banker who had adopted his little brother. When they asked him why he had left a good comfortable bed at the orphan home and stayed out there all night in the cold, he said he wanted to get near Charlie. He knew that if he rang the bell and they found him at the door they would send him hack, and it was a comfort to him to be near Charlie, even if he had to pa.s.s the night out there. His young heart was craving for sympathy, and he knew that Charlie loved him as no one else in the world did. If we can only convince these poor lost ones that some one loves them, then their hearts will be moved.
During the war a little boy, Frankie Bragg, was placed in one of the hospitals. He said it was so hard to be there away from all those who loved him. The nurse who was attending him, bent down and kissed him, and said she loved him. "Do you love me?" he said; "kiss me again; that was like my sister"s kiss?" The nurse kissed him again, and he said with a smile: "It is not hard for me to die now, when I know that some one loves me." If we had more of this sympathy for the lost and the sorrowing, the world would soon feel our influence.
Shall we not learn a lesson from the good Samaritan? Let us hear the voice of the Master saying: "Go thou and do likewise." We can all do something. If we cannot reach the older people, let us try and win the young. It is a blessed privilege to be used of G.o.d to bring one little lamb into the kingdom. If we are only the means of saving one child our life will not be a failure; we shall hear the Master"s "Well done, good and faithful servant."
A lady started a hospital for sick crippled children in Edinburgh two years ago. I was asking her if she had been blessed in the work. I shall not forget how her face lit up. She was in one of our recent meetings in London, and her face was beaming. She was telling of some very interesting cases of conversion among the children. What a privilege it is to lead these afflicted ones into the kingdom of G.o.d.
A little boy was brought to Edinburgh from Fife. There was no room in the children"s hospital, and he was taken to the general hospital. He was only six years old; his father was dead; his mother was sick, so that she could not take care of him, and he had to be brought to the hospital in Edinburgh. My friend, Rev. George Wilson, went in one day and sat at the bedside of the little sufferer. He was telling him that the doctor was coming on Thursday to take off his little leg. You parents can imagine, if one of your children, six years old, away from home, and in a hospital, were told that the doctor was coming on a certain day to take his leg off, how he would suffer at the thought.
The little fellow, of course, was in great trouble about it. The minister wanted to know about his mother; she was sick and his father was dead. The minister wished to comfort him, and he said: "The nurse is such a good woman; she will help you." "Yes," said the boy, "and perhaps Jesus will be with me." Do you have any doubt of it? Next Friday the man of G.o.d went to the hospital, but he found the cot was empty. The poor boy was gone; the Savior had come and taken him to His bosom.
In our great cities are there not hundreds and thousands who are in some need of human sympathy? That will speak to their hearts a good deal louder than eloquent sermons. Many will not be moved by eloquent sermons, who would yield to tenderness and gentleness and sympathy.
Said the great Dr. Chalmers: "The little that I have seen in the world, and know of the history of mankind, teaches me to look upon their errors in sorrow, not in anger. When I take the one poor heart that has sinned and suffered, and represent to myself the struggles and temptations it has pa.s.sed through; the brief pulsation of joy; the tears of regret; the feebleness of purpose; the scorn of the world that has little charity; the desolation of the soul"s sanctuary and threatening voices within; health gone--happiness gone--I would fain leave the erring soul of my fellowman with Him from whose hands it came."
Some of you may say: "How am I to get into sympathy with those who are in sorrow?" That is a very important question. Many people go to work for G.o.d, but they seem to do it in such a professional way. I will tell you how you can be brought into sympathy. I have found this rule to be of great help to me. Put yourself in the place of the sorrowing and afflicted ones, with whom you want to sympathize. If you do that you will soon gain their affections and be able to help them.
G.o.d taught me a lesson a few years ago that I shall never forget. I was Superintendent of a Sunday-school in Chicago with over 1,500 scholars. In the months of July and August many deaths took place among the children, and as most of the ministers were out of the city I had to attend a great many funerals. Sometimes I had to be at four or five in one day. I was so accustomed to it that I got to do it almost mechanically. I could see the mother take her last look at the child, and see the coffin lid closed without being moved by it.
One day when I came home my wife told me that one of the Sunday-school children had been drowned, and the mother wanted to see me. I took my little daughter with me and we went to the house. I found the father in one corner of the room drunk. The mother told me that she took in washing in order to get a living for herself and her children, as her husband drank up all his wages. Little Adelaide used to go to the river and gather the floating wood for the fire. That day she had gone as usual; she saw a piece of wood out a little way from the bank; in stretching out to reach it she slipped, and fell into the water and was drowned. The mother told me her sad story; how she had no money to buy the shroud and the coffin, and she wanted me to help her. I took out my note-book and put down her name and address, and took the measure of the coffin, in order to send it to the undertakers.
The poor mother was much distressed, but it did not seem to move me. I told her I would be at the funeral, and then I left. As my little girl walked by my side she said to me: "Papa, suppose we were very poor, and mamma had to wash for a living, and I had to go to the river to get sticks to make a fire; if I were to fall into the water and get drowned would you feel bad?" "Feel bad! Why, my child, I do not know what I should do. You are my only daughter, and if you were taken from me I think it would break my heart." And I took her to my bosom and kissed her. "Then did you feel bad for that mother?" How that question cut me to the heart.
I went back to the house, and took out my Bible and read to the mother the fourteenth chapter of John. Then I prayed with her and endeavored to comfort her. When the day for the funeral arrived I attended it. I had not been to the cemetery for a good many years; I had thought my time was too precious, as it was some miles away. I found the father was still drunk. I had got a lot in the strangers" field for little Adelaide. As we were laying the coffin in the grave another funeral procession came up, and the corpse was going to be laid near by.
Adelaide"s mother said, as we were covering up the coffin: "Mr. Moody, it is very hard to lay her away among strangers. I have been moving about a good deal, and have lived among strangers, and I have never had a burying-lot. It is very hard to place my firstborn among strangers." I said to myself that it would be pretty hard to have to bury my child in the strangers" field. I had got into full sympathy with the poor mother by this time.
Next Sabbath I told the children in the Sunday-school what had taken place. I suggested that we should buy a Sunday-school lot, and when any of the children attending the school died, they would not be laid in the strangers" field, but would be put in our own lot. Before we could get the t.i.tle made out, a mother came and wanted to know if her little girl who had just died could be buried in the lot. I told her I would give permission. I went to the funeral, and as we were lowering the little coffin I asked what was the name. She said it was Emma.
That was the name of my own little girl, and I could not help but weep as I thought of how I would feel if it were my own Emma. Do you tell me I could not sympathize with that bereaved mother? Very soon afterward, another mother came and wished to have her dead child buried in our lot. She told me his name was Willie. At that time that was the name of my only boy, and I thought how it would be with me if it were my Willie who was dead. So the first children buried there bore the names of my two children. I tried to put myself in the places of these sorrowing mothers, and then it was easy for me to sympathize with them in their grief, and point them to Him who "shall wipe away all tears from their eyes."
About the first thing I did when I returned to Chicago nine years ago, was to drive up to and see our children"s lot. I thought it would last a good many years, but it was about full, for many of my old Sabbath-school scholars had gone while I had been away, and their bodies were resting in this lot till the great day. I understood, however, that the children of the Sabbath-school were about to purchase another and a larger lot which would suffice for many years under ordinary circ.u.mstances. Many little ones are laid there, waiting for the resurrection, and I would like to be buried beside them, it would be so sweet to be in their company when we rise and meet our Lord.
Dear friends, if you would get into full sympathy with others put yourself in their places. May G.o.d fill our hearts with the spirit of the good Samaritan, so that we may be filled with tenderness and love and compa.s.sion.
I want to give you a motto that has been a great help to me. It was a Quaker"s motto:
"I expect to pa.s.s through this world but once. If, therefore, if there be any kindness I can show or any good thing I can do to any fellow human being let me do it now; let me not defer nor neglect it, for I will not pa.s.s this way again."