(Luke 23:30-43.)
It is, at once, interesting and profitable to contemplate the two distinct classes of persons presented, in the New Testament, as subjects of divine grace. We see one class whom we should deem very good and another class whom we should consider very bad. Take, for example, Cornelius, the centurion of Caesarea, and the thief on the cross. We could hardly find a more striking contrast than is presented in these two men; and yet did they both need, the one as well as the other, the salvation which is in Christ Jesus. The pious centurion, as well as the dying thief, needed to be washed in the atoning blood of Christ to fit him for the presence of God. The one needed nothing more, and the other could do with nothing less, than that precious sacrifice.
Now, it is full of interest and instruction to notice the condition of these two persons when first the salvation of God shone upon their souls. Look at the picture of Cornelius. Here it is, in the veritable language of the Holy Ghost: “There was a certain man in Caesarea, called Cornelius, a centurion of the band called the Italian band, a devout man, and one that feared God with all his house, which gave much alms to the people, and prayed to God alway.” (Acts 10) What a character! Might we not, naturally enough, inquire, “Whatever can such a man want beyond what he already possesses? A devout, God-fearing, charitable, prayerful man? Surely, he is all right.” It would be difficult indeed to find any one in a more hopeful condition, or one whom we should be more disposed to regard as an enlightened and pious Christian. And yet was there one thing lacking, and that thing absolutely indispensable. There is, in the record of what he was, not a syllable about Jesus and His atoning blood. Let this be carefully noted. It may perhaps happen that this paper should fall into the hands of one who denies the need of the atonement of Christ — one who believes that human nature is capable of being so far cultivated and ameliorated as to be able to dispense with the sacrificial death of the Son of God. Let such a one think of Cornelius. He, with all his piety and benevolence, required to send for Simon Peter, and to hear words of him whereby he and all his house should be saved. (Compare Acts 10:22 with chap. 11:14.)
Observe, “He was warned from God by an holy angel, to send for thee into his house, and to hear words of thee.” This is of the deepest moments. A man who was continually engaged in the practice of good works — works most valuable in themselves, was called upon to hearken to words, and find in those words salvation. It was not, by any means, that the works were not most precious so far as they went. So far from that, we are told, by the inspired penman, that Cornelius received divine testimony as to their value. He was told that his prayers and his alms had come up for a memorial before God. They furnished precious evidence of the sincerity and earnestness of his soul, and as such they were owned of God. This will ever be the case, and it is well to remember it. Every earnest soul that honestly lives up to his light will assuredly be owned of God, and get more light. But, then, be it remembered, Cornelius had to hearken to words, in order to be saved. What words? Words about Jesus of Nazareth — words about His holy, spotless, loving life, His atoning death and triumphant resurrection. These were the “words” which were sent from heaven, through Peter’s lips, and let fall upon the ear and into the heart of the earnest and pious centurion of Caesarea. These words opened up a new world, and presented a new object altogether to the heart of Cornelius. Alms and prayers were good; but a crucified and risen Jesus — a Jesus once nailed to the tree, but now glorified in heaven, was far better. Prayers and alms might ascend as a memorial to heaven, but only the blood of Christ could bring Cornelius thither. Not all the prayers that ever ascended from earnest hearts, nor all the alms that ever flowed from the hand of benevolence could conduct a guilty sinner into the presence of a holy God. The blood and the blood alone can bring the sinner nigh to God, be he centurion or malefactor. The very best of men can do with nothing less, and the very worst of men need nothing more, than that precious blood which cleanseth from all sin. This is an all-important truth, and cannot be too urgently pressed upon the reader’s attention. If such an one as Cornelius had to look off from all his works and hearken to “words” — if he was called to look away from himself and find in a crucified and risen Savior all he needed — if, in a word, this man of good report for piety and active benevolence needed to hear of the death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth as the only ground of a sinner’s acceptance before God, then it is obvious that, no matter what a man may possess in the shape of piety and alms deeds, unless he has Christ he is unsaved. If there be so much as the thickness of a gold leaf between the soul and Christ, there is no life. This cannot be too solemnly or too earnestly pressed upon the heart in this day of religiousness. The devil is busy in seeking to displace Christ by ordinances and ceremonies — to hide that blessed One behind the dark cloud of religious formality and routine. He is publishing far and wide dangerous and soul-destroying error as to the powers that are in man — the so-called dignity of human nature — what man can be brought to by education, science, and philosophy. The cross of Jesus Christ is set aside, in various ways. Men are taught that they do not want that at all—that each one has in himself certain powers which only need to be properly cultivated and fully evolved in order to raise him to such a height of virtue and moral excellence as shall secure to him the possession of eternal felicity?
Now, we solemnly warn the reader against all this fatal delusion. We hesitate not to pronounce it Satan’s lie — a lie which he is craftily seeking to gild and decorate in the most fascinating manner, in order to shut out all thought of Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice. If it should so happen that the name of Jesus is thought of or named at all, He is merely looked at as one who lived and died in order to set an example of exalted virtue, which man, by the exercise of his innate power, can follow. The fall of man is denied, his total depravity explained away — his reason almost deified. Man is taught that he does not need the death of Christ to save him, he can save himself — that he does not need the word and Spirit of God to guide him, he can guide himself by his own reason and moral sense.
How important, in the face of all this, is the lesson taught us in the tenth of Acts. There we see a man of exalted virtue and ardent piety, who laid on his family altar the continual sacrifice of prayer, and whose liberal hand was ever open to meet the need of his fellow-creature. And yet this man had to listen to “words,” and in those words to find salvation and a Savior. Let the reader turn, for a moment, to Peter’s address in the house of Cornelius. We should like to quote it at length; but there is no need. We would merely ask, what is the substance of it? What is its grand and glorious theme? JESUS! Yes, Jesus, the object of divine delight — Jesus, the subject of prophetic testimony — Jesus, the ground of the sinner’s confidence and eternal salvation. “To him give all the prophets witness, that through his name, whosoever believeth in him shall receive remission of sins.” Mark those words, “believeth in him.” It is not merely believing something about Him, or something that He did; but believing in Him. It is faith in His Person that gives life and salvation to the ruined and guilty sinner. “Neither is there salvation in any other; for there is no other name under heaven, given among men, whereby we must be saved.”
We shall now turn to the dying thief, and see what his case teaches as to the power and value of the blood of Jesus. The contrast between him and Cornelius is full of interest and instruction. There are two ways in which Satan seeks to delude and destroy souls. He comes to one person, and whispers into his ear, “You are not so very bad as to need salvation.” He comes to another, and whispers into his ear, “You are too bad to think of ever getting it.” Now, the centurion of Caesarea affords an answer to the former. The thief on the cross affords an answer to the latter. If anyone is so far led astray by the blinding power of the deceiver and destroyer of souls, as to think that he does not need salvation through the atoning death of Jesus Christ — if he considers himself all right, and square, and safe, because he has never done anything very wrong — does not wish any one ill — does his duty as a husband, a father, a master, a servant, a neighbor, a friend — attends to his religion, whatever it is — supposing for a moment that all this is true, to what does it amount? Clearly it does not go beyond the case of Cornelius, for he had an angel sent from heaven to tell him that his prayers and his alms had come up for a memorial before God. And what then? Did his prayers and his alms save him? No; they only proved that he was sincerely seeking to serve God according to his light — that he was anxious to find the truth, and, through mercy, he found it — found it in Jesus of Nazareth, crucified, buried, and raised again. It is not, by any means, that his works were not genuine and valuable. They were; but it is precisely because they were so, that we learn so forcibly from his history, that nothing but the atoning death of the Son of God can save even the very best of men.
Then, again, if any one should say, “I am too bad — too wretched — too guilty to be saved —I am beyond the reach of mercy,” let such an one look at the case of the dying thief. It would be hard indeed to find any one lower down in the scale than he. He had been condemned by the law of his country to die an ignominious death on account of his crimes; and, not only so, but while hanging-on the cross, and standing at the very portal of the eternal world, he was engaged in the terrible wickedness of railing upon the Son of God. It may be said, “He did not know Him to be the Son of God when he was railing upon Him.” True, but still he did rail upon Him, and, in so doing, he proved the deep moral darkness in which his guilty soul was plunged.
It is important to see that both the malefactors were engaged in blaspheming and insulting the dying Savior. It greatly magnifies the grace that shines so brightly in the salvation of the penitent. Matthew, in his narrative,, tells us that, “ The thieves also, which were crucified with him, cast the same in his teeth.” (Matt. 27:44.) So also, in Mark, we read, “They that were crucified with him reviled him.” Mark 15:32.
Thus, then, the dying thief stands before us as a specimen of the very worst form of fallen humanity. There is not a single redeeming feature. He was a condemned malefactor, nailed to a cross, and, in that awful condition, reviling and blaspheming the Son of God. But he was not beyond the reach of divine love; nay, he was just one in which that love could display its triumph. Jesus came to seek and to save that which is lost. And that word “lost” describes the condition of men who may stand at the very antipodes — at the very opposite points of what is called the moral, social, and religious world. The thief was lost—the centurion was lost; and, albeit, the one is presented to us at the very lowest point of guilt and degradation; and the other, as treading the lofty walks of piety and benevolence; yet were they both, in themselves, lost, guilty, and undone — needing, the one as well as the other, to be washed in the atoning blood of the Lamb of God.
But let us look a little closely at the narrative of the dying thief. It is very evident that the Holy Spirit in Luke takes him up at the moment in which the first ray of divine light penetrated his dark and benighted soul. Matthew and Mark present the crowning evidence of his guilt. Luke lets us see the earliest dawnings of divine grace. “We must put both together in order to have a proper view of the penitent thief. The divine record of aggravated guilt enhances the value of divine grace. It proves that our Savior-God has gone down to the very lowest depths of man’s condition — that there is salvation, full, free, and everlasting salvation, for the very vilest of men — that no one is beyond the reach of the sovereign mercy and grace of God. This is what we learn from the case of the dying thief, looked at by itself; but when we look at it in connection with Cornelius, we learn, in the fullest possible manner, the perfect efficacy and absolute necessity of the atoning death of Jesus Christ. The dying thief shows me the former; the living centurion shows me the latter. The one needed nothing more, the latter could do with nothing less, than the propitiatory sacrifice of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. The crime and guilt of the former were canceled by the blood of the cross, and the alms and prayers of the latter were insufficient without it. Let all who think themselves too bad to be saved, look at the thief on the cross. Let all who think themselves too good to want salvation, look at the centurion of Caesarea. If the centurion needed the blood of Jesus, then who can do without it? And if the thief was saved by the blood of Jesus, who need despair? The two cases, taken together, illustrate, in the most forcible manner, the utter insufficiency of man’s best efforts, and the perfect efficacy and all sufficiency of the atoning work of Christ.
And now let us mark the progress of the work of grace in the soul of the dying malefactor. He was, in every respect, a fit and proper subject for the action of that grace.
We may, observe, then, that the moment the arrow of conviction entered his soul, he began at the right point, even at that which Scripture declares to be the beginning of wisdom. He says to his fellow, “Dost thou not fear God?” What a change! We are not told what it was that produced such a change. But we know that between the point presented in Matthew and Mark, and that presented in Luke, a mighty change had taken place. A ray of divine light had entered his soul; and inasmuch as every ray of divine light that has ever shone in this dark world has come through the medium of Jesus of Nazareth, we may believe that the eye of the poor dying thief had been opened to see something of the divine glory of that blessed One who hung beside him on the cursed tree. “Dost thou not fear God?” he says, “seeing we are in the same condemnation; and we indeed justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds; but this man hath done nothing amiss.” he does not say, “Dost thou not fear wrath, judgment, or future punishment?” No; it is “the fear of God” that is before his eyes; and it is well to note this. Very many are governed by the fear of future punishment; and no doubt the Spirit of God may, at times, press that home, in overwhelming power, upon the soul. It is right to urge upon men the solemn importance of fleeing from the wrath to come—to set before them faithfully the certain consequences of their sins; to point out, in great plainness of speech, the inevitable doom of all who die in their sins. All this is right and seasonable; but then we must bear in mind that “the fear of the Lord is the Beginning of wisdom.” The Holy Ghost will always impress the heart with a sense of the seriousness of having to do with God Himself, and then it is not so much a question of the consequences of sin as of the hatefulness of the thing itself in the sight of God. When God gets His right place in the heart, everything else will follow; we shall then look at ourselves, our ways, our condition, our sins, and the state of our hearts, our nature and all its fruits, in the light of what God is. A person may seem to be deeply affected, for a time, by the fear of wrath and eternal punishment. The thought of hell fire, of the lake that burneth with fire and brimstone, and the worm that never dieth, may cause a chill to pass through the heart, and check, for a moment, the sinner in his career of sin. But there may not be one particle of the true fear of God in all this, and, as a consequence, when the momentary terror passes off, the tide of lust and passion returns, with augmented force, and bears the man away like a cork upon its bosom.
Not so when the Spirit of God lays upon the soul the solemn sense of what it is to have to do with God — when He fills the heart with the fear of the Lord which is the beginning of wisdom. Then sin is not measured by its consequences to us, but by its hatefulness to Him. We shall not so much be occupied with the results of sin, real and terrible as these assuredly are, but with the vileness of sin itself. We shall hate sin for its own sake, as a thing which God hates. We shall fully own what is sin’s just condemnation, but we shall chiefly dwell upon the true nature and character of sin, in its principle, as seen in the light of the holiness of God.
But it is truly wonderful to mark the way in which this dying thief is led on by divine teaching. He seems to pass, with amazing rapidity, from stage to stage, laying hold of great foundation truths of revelation. He takes his true place as a sinner, justly condemned. “We receive the due reward of our deeds.” Instead of railing upon the blessed Lord, and derisively saying, “If thou be the Christ save thyself and us,” he, under the holy influence of the fear of God, owns himself justly condemned, bears testimony to his companion, and faithfully reproves his blasphemy — a blasphemy, too, in which he had himself so lately participated. He then turns to Jesus and owns His spotless manhood — that great foundation truth of Christianity. “This man hath done nothing amiss.” Here he offers a flat contradiction to the chief priests, the elders, and scribes, the nation of Israel, and the world at large. All had agreed to deliver Him as an evildoer; but this dying malefactor declares that He had done nothing amiss and although it may be said that this testimony only goes the length of declaring that it was for nothing amiss that He had been condemned to death, yet does the grand fact remain untouched, namely, the thief on the cross gave the lie to the world in reference to Jesus. The world had condemned Him and cast Him out—it had nailed Him to a shameful cross, the most ignominious death it could have imposed upon Him; but in the midst of the dark shadows of that awful cross, the clear and unreserved testimony came forth from the lips of a convicted and penitent malefactor, “This man hath done nothing amiss.”
Precious, invaluable, glorious testimony! How it must have refreshed the heart of the dying Savior, in the midst of all the reproach and blasphemy, the opposition and hatred of men and devils, to hear from the lips of this poor thief such a testimony! The blessed Lord had been forsaken by all His disciples. They fled from Him in the dark and evil hour. How like man! The whole world — the Jew, the Gentile, the civil and ecclesiastical powers — the hosts of hell — all were ranged against the Son of God; but in the midst of this scene of untold and unimaginable horrors, one solitary voice breaks forth in accents clear and bold, and bears this testimony, “This man hath done nothing amiss.”
(To be continued, if the Lord will.)