And he said to the woman, Thy faith hath saved thee. Go in peace.—St. LUKE vii. 50.
The Epiphany, or Manifestation of Christ to the wise men who came from the East, is the introduction to a number of Epiphanies or Manifestations which are commemorated in the Epistles and Gospels for these Sundays. All the acts of Christ upon earth—though there are other aspects of them to which our minds are directed at other seasons—may be most fittingly contemplated under this aspect. I shall, I think, be doing my best to illustrate the different topics which are brought before us in the 7th chapter of St. Luke, if I trace this thread through them all. I have chosen the last verse of the chapter as my text, not only for its own sake, but because it bears upon all the previous manifestations of which the Evangelist has been speaking.
They were addressed not to the eye but to the faith of those who received them. That is the characteristic of an Epiphany in the sense in which the Church uses it. The wise men have been asking the stars to tell them if there is any King of men, any one mightier over human hearts than the lights which shine in the firmament can be. They are led to Bethlehem. They see only a child lying in a cradle. A glory within that child reveals itself not to their sight, but to their spirits. A circle of legends forms itself about this story. The glory becomes an outward, visible glory. The craving for wonders is gratified by imaginations of what these magicians may have been, and what must have convinced them that the King was there. The passages which we read on Wednesday from Isaiah and St. Paul drew away our thoughts from an incident to the universal principle which it illustrates and embodies. The Gospel of the Kingdom of Heaven to the nations can only be described as the arising and shining of a light upon the consciences and hearts of those who were sitting in darkness. God revealed to those consciences and hearts their true King. A Church rises up to bear witness of His Name and of His dominion to the human race.
(1.) The first story which comes before us in this chapter is in direct connection with the illumination to the Gentile sages. The hero of it, indeed, is not a sage. He is a simple Roman centurion; one who had been bred in the camp; one whose experiences had been all derived from the camp. ‘He is a man under authority. He has soldiers under him. He says to one, Go, and he goeth; to another, Come, and he cometh; to his servant, Do this, and he doeth it. Very obvious facts these; what could they be worth? What could they have to do with his acknowledgment of Jesus as One who could heal his servant, even if He only spoke a word? These simple lessons about obedience and authority—about the might of words spoken by a weak man in governing a number of strong men—had been of quite unspeakable worth to this Roman. They had been, in the strictest sense, a Divine education to him. They had prepared him to believe that the highest power of all has nothing to do with force. They had led him practically, insensibly, through no arguments of religion or philosophy, to confess a Divine Word from whom a governing, restoring power might go forth. They had taught him to own such a Word as speaking in the lowly man whom he besought, through others, to heal his servant; whom he did not think himself worthy to receive under his roof. Faithful to his vocation as a soldier, as the wise men were faithful to their vocation as students; profiting by the Roman discipline, as they profited by their oriental discipline; he was ready, as they were, for the manifestation of the Light which had risen upon the earth, let the outward medium through which it came to him seem ever so poor. And so it is written: ’When Jesus heard these things, he marvelled at him, and turned him about, and said unto the people that followed Him, I say unto you, I have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel.’ He had found men in Israel who were astonished at the strangeness of His acts, who thought that He must be endued with rare and wonderful powers. He had not found any who, with the frankness and simplicity of this centurion, bowed before a power which had been exerted over him and his soldiers and his general; before that Word of God who had been always enlightening, ruling, quickening. This faith—faith rising above the present and the visible—faith taking hold of the eternal—came forth in a Gentile who had not known the letter of Scripture, but who had been instructed by the Living Teacher—the source of all the wisdom which Scripture imparts.
(2.) The raising of the child of the widow of Nain—which is the subject of the verses from the 11th to the 18th—is the next of the manifestations that I desired to bring under your notice. In what sense did this act reveal Christ’s nature and Christ’s power? Undoubtedly the compassion to the mother, which was expressed in His countenance, would have brought to her the sense of a divine compassion—thoroughly divine, and therefore thoroughly human—of which she might have dreamed before, but which she had never realised. I do not overlook that influence. I consider it all-important. The instinct which has fixed on the collateral incidents of this story and of similar stories in the Gospels, and has prized them above all the formal arguments which apologists have built upon them, is a true and holy instinct. Still I cannot help perceiving another and deeper purpose in the minds of the Evangelists, when they record so naturally, with so little effort and pomp, the words of Christ to this young man, to the daughter of Jairus, to His friend Lazarus. I find in those words a clear and distinct proclamation that the man was then as much within the Kingdom of the Son of Man—within the reach of His voice—as while his breath dwelt in his body, whilst his friends could look into his face, and he could smile upon them. It is not to the eye or the ear in us that Christ has spoken here. It is not the closing of the eye or the ear which will hinder Him from manifesting Himself to any human spirit. That spirit can understand Him, and respond to Him, at all times, and in all places. If we would earnestly meditate on that truth which the Evangelists so distinctly assert, these narratives would be signs to us indeed. We should never dream of limiting their meaning to that country or that generation. We should close the eyes of those we have loved best on earth in sure and certain hope that He who is the Resurrection and Life is calling them not to die but to arise out of death. We should not have need to ask curiously, however we may long to know, what is the condition of those whose dust we commit to the dust. We know who He is that came into the world to seek them—that He died and rose again. Are they not in His hands? Will He not deal righteously with them, so as to fulfil His Father’s divine purpose towards them? Can we not trust them to His keeping? Are we afraid to say that He in His great mercy has taken them to Himself? Have we been such faithful stewards of our brothers’ souls that we suppose they would be safer if they were trusted any longer to us?
There is, I know, a notion in some of us that faith ceases and sight begins for those who have fallen asleep. A strange fancy, surely! Are we not learning slowly to believe during our earthly pilgrimage? Is not our contest with all the impressions which our senses make upon us? Are we not practising awkwardly, and as little children—the use of our spirits? Is all this to be changed, and are we to fall back into the condition out of which we have been so painfully growing under God’s gracious guidance? Was this what St. Paul meant when he said that the tongues and prophecies which belonged to the time of our pupilage will pass away in the fulness of manhood, and then added, ‘But now abideth faith, hope, charity?’ Did he not mean that these were the permanent and substantial blessings which would not pass away, which would be ripest in the noblest condition that human creatures would ever attain? And if this faith comes, as we are told, by hearing, and, hearing by the Word of God, am I not justified in saying that the Divine Word manifested Himself to the spirit of the young man who was on his bier at Nain, and that this faith, just as much as the faith of the Roman centurion, confessed its rightful Lord?
(3.) The next incident in the chapter is directly and obviously connected with faith. ‘The disciples of John shewed him of all these things. And John calling unto him two of his disciples sent them to Jesus, saying, Art thou he that should come? or look we for another?’ The disciples came. ‘And in that same hour he cured many of their infirmities and plagues, and of evil spirits; and unto many that were blind he gave sight. Then Jesus answering said unto them, Go your way, and tell John what things ye have seen and heard; how that the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, to the poor the Gospel is preached. And blessed is he, whosoever shall not be offended in me.’ John, as it is written, did no miracle. He bore witness of the Light which was about all men. He bade them turn to this Light. He gave the sign that the sins which had been brought home to their consciences by that Light, and which they had confessed, were put away. He said that One should come after him who would do what he could not do; who should baptise with the Holy Spirit and with fire. Was the Person who, as he heard, was performing so many cures, indeed this baptiser with the Spirit, as he had once supposed? Did not these miracles rather create a suspicion that He might not be completing John’s mission; that He might not be bringing men to repentance; that He might only be one of the pretenders to rare powers, of which there had been many in all ages, and were many then? His disciples would tell him that Jesus and His disciples were wholly unlike them in their discipline and mode of behaviour. They might suggest the thought to him that if Christ had such powers, it was wonderful that they were not used to deliver a great prophet out of the hands of Herod, I apprehend many doubts, many contradictory impressions, were struggling in his own mind—were unsettling the minds of those to whom he had done good. Let them go and see for themselves what this teacher was, and what He was really doing. They are present at those acts which make them suspicious. Are these acts done for display? Or are they parts of a Gospel to the poor? Did they not proclaim them John’s own message, ‘The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand?’ Did they not show that there was really such a Kingdom, that it was at work upon the humblest Israelite, for the humblest Israelite? The disciples of John saw and heard these things. But the seeing and hearing were not of themselves convincing. John had not taught them to set any store by mere appearances. He had warned them against appearances. They might explain these miracles as the Pharisees did. Jesus might be casting out demons by the help of Beelzebub, the prince of the demons. Unless these acts spoke to their consciences—unless they were to them manifestations of a Divine Prince and Deliverer—the mere sight of them would not convince the scholar—the report of them would have no effect on the master. That report was accompanied with a message which can have been clearly understood by none but him who received it. ‘Blessed is he whosoever shall not be offended in me.’ It was a message to the heart of that imprisoned prophet; it has reached the hearts of a number of imprisoned prophets, and of sufferers who had no claim to be called prophets, in all periods: ‘Thou criest bitterly, How long, oh Lord, how long? When shall this oppression which is on me and on Thy earth end? When shall the Deliverer come? Cry, and cease not. But it is a blessing for thee, for every man, not to be offended while the waiting lasts. Take the signs which are given thee, that God’s purposes are accomplishing themselves; that He is beating down the enemies of men—the enemies of their bodies, the enemies of their spirits. Believe that He who has begun the work will complete it. If the battle is long the victory shall come. Hold fast that faith. As you hold it fast you will know that you are one with all the seers of old who have fainted and been weary but whose strength has been renewed, with all to whom the Word of God has come in their hours of gloom, and who have been assured that His brightness will one day fill the whole earth.’
(4.) The discourse respecting John which followed the departure of the messengers refers, first, to the kind of power which he exercised. He drew crowds into the wilderness. By what attraction? There was nothing to entice them in the sight of reeds shaking with the winds. Had he the habits and acts of a prince? Or did they go to him because they felt that he was a prophet—one not speaking his own words—one with a message to them from the Searcher of Hearts? That, then, was his power. He called them to repent, and they felt God was calling them to repent, and was shewing them what they had to repent of. Yes! John was a prophet, the most remarkable of all the prophets, more than a prophet—the messenger who told that the King of Heaven was Himself asserting His dominion over men—that He was about to be manifested. Thus the power which addresses itself to the conscience is magnified above all other powers—is shewn to be that which is widest as well as deepest in its operation. But it is said, secondly, that though the messenger of the Kingdom of Heaven is greater than all that went before, the least in the Kingdom of Heaven is greater than he. The man however insignificant in himself, however feeble his speech, who can say, ‘The Father has redeemed men by His Son, has baptised men with His Spirit,’ has a mightier responsibility, a larger knowledge, a greater power of calling men out of darkness to light than John had. Thirdly, He explains by whom such prophets as John are welcomed, by whom they are rejected. The people—the publicans and sinners however bewildered in their impressions, however open to impositions—still justified the man who told them of a deliverance from burdens which actually oppressed them, from the evil which was close to them and which they could not shake off. But Pharisees and Lawyers, satisfied with themselves, asked for no deliverance. The command of God to repent had for them no practical signification. Repentance was good for the wicked; how could it be needful for the righteous? And therefore He goes on to say, that people of this sort will find cause of complaint against all who disturbed their self-complacency, though the complaints might be of the most contradictory kind. The man who came with a leathern girdle about his loins would be in their eyes a morose madman. He who mixed with men, eating at their feasts, would be a gluttonous man and a winebibber, a friend of publicans and sinners.’ But wisdom, He adds, is justified of all her children.’ These opposite methods approve themselves to the consciences of those who are really craving for light and guidance. They meet the different wants of their minds at different periods. An inner harmony is recognised under their superficial disagreement. Here then, as everywhere, our Lord appeals to a faith which alone can receive what the hard dogmatist scorns. To that He manifests Himself; to the faith which seeks a divine refuge from the misery and torment of self-indulgence, self-will, self-glorification.
(5.) So we come naturally and in order to the last and most striking passage of this chapter. It is the story of the sinful woman who came to the entrance of the house of the Pharisee, Simon, in which Jesus had been sitting at meat. The consistency of such a story with oriental habits is attested by the writer who rejects most rigidly all that he considers supernatural in the records of our Lord’s life. To me nothing seems more supernatural than this story in which he discovers truth as well as grace. Two figures are brought distinctly before us,—Simon, wondering that Jesus should not be able to discern a woman that is a sinner, certain that if He be a prophet, He must have that power; the woman, thinking little of the difference which separates her from all respectable people, not afraid to approach Him who is most unlike her, casting herself before Him, washing His feet with her tears, and wiping them with the hair of her head. All of us know the picture well. And all know the story by which our Lord explained the coldness of the host, the fervent devotion of the sinner. A creditor has two debtors; one owes five hundred pence, the other fifty. He forgives both. Which of them loves him most? A light had burst in upon the woman’s conscience, discovering to her an infinite evil. That same light had discovered an infinite goodness. She must escape from the one. She might escape to the other. She knew that she might. She heard that same voice which bade the widow’s son rise out of his death calling her to rise out of her death. The Light had shone upon Simon also, but it had not penetrated far. It had shewn him some little faults which might easily be corrected, which did not, in any serious sense, demand forgiveness. By various religious acts he might hope to avert the punishment of them. To cast them off—to cast off himself—he felt no necessity for that. And, therefore, according to the eternal law, each found what each sought. The woman could not be content with indulgence or with remission of penalty. She needed a remission of sins. There was One who could give her that. The words, ‘Thy sins be forgiven thee,’ had that sense for her. She rose up another person. She believed in a righteous almighty Friend. She might believe in Him always. Her faith had saved her from herself; she could go in peace. Here, then, was another Epiphany, the greatest of all; the Epiphany of the God in whom there is mercy that He may be feared, who seeks to bring men out of their falsehoods that they may be partakers of His truth. Thus it was to the faith of men in all cases that Christ revealed Himself on earth. To their faith He reveals Himself now. The faith to which He speaks is not one which will content itself with the letters of a book, or the authority of a priest. If it hears of a revelation in a book, it asks whether that book speaks of a living Person; if it hears of the authority of a priest, it asks whether he can tell of a living Person who knows what is in us, and who is able to send us away saved from ourselves, at peace with Him. If we substitute the book, or the priest, for the Son of Man, He will confound us in His final and perfect Epiphany.