Luke 7
The Lord again and again touched the defiling thing. He seems to have done so very advisedly, for He did it somewhat unnecessarily. His word would have wrought His purpose without His touch—but He touched the leper, and He touched the bier; either of which would have left Him unclean, had He been anyone but Himself, or had He stood in the relationship of a mere Jew to the law of Moses. In that case, instead of virtue going out of Him, He Himself would have needed cleansing. But He needed no cleansing. No ordinance for purifying could befriend Him. He was magnifying the law, as an obedient Jew, in all things, making it honorable, fulfilling all righteousness; and yet, had He not, on such occasions, held a peculiar relationship to the law, He would have been nothing less than disobedient to it; for the law both demanded and provided these cleansings for these defilements. But we know He was not disobedient. The revelation of His Person makes all simple though He was a Jew, and most surely and simply a man, partaker of flesh and blood, yet was He unspotted, undefilable, in the midst of pollutions, such as none other was.
And, connected with this, we see in Him the overflowings of life. He meets the power of death in all its forms and measures, in diseases of every sort, and death itself—in the different stages or places of its victory, on the bed, on the bier, or in the sepulcher. There was this exuberance, this fullness of life in Him, that could go forth and meet all this power of death, and death itself. It was life in victory.
And still further, as connected with all this, we notice the ease with which this virtue that was in Him, this exuberant power of life, does its divine work in this scene of the power of death. He speaks, and it is done; disease and death give place to health and life. Of old it had been, “Let there be light, and there was light;” now, in like simplicity, it is, “I will, be thou clean.” Life has lost nothing of its original fullness or authority in Him. It quickens all that it meets, and can bring itself to bear upon its subject by a touch or by a word.
All this is seen in the case at Nain. And further—what I would more specially heed at this time—we see the grace with which this life that was in the Son of God puts itself forth and does its work. It flows out to heal, and to heal perfectly. It flows out to impart, but not to enrich itself.
In this case at Nain, there were two healings effected—the body of the dead son was raised to life again, and the heart of the widowed mother was satisfied and each of those healings was perfect in its generation. When the young man revived, we read, “he sat up and began to speak,” giving witness of the full life that was in him, life performing its proper offices; while she not only saw her son in life again, but gets him back to herself again—for we read, “Jesus delivered him to his mother.”
This was perfect grace towards her. She lost nothing. Jesus did not claim him for Himself as the fruit of the life He had imparted. This would not have been the thing. The life would then have been seeking a return. But that is not its way. This overflowing life, as I may say, acts in the greatness of its own nature; and being rich in itself, it flows out only to impart itself.
And it will, I believe, be found to be always the ease, that the Lord never claims the person, or the services of the person whom He heals. And this is much to be observed. It is, “go in peace,” or “go thy way,” or “take up thy bed,” or “go into thine house,” or words of like spirit. He never claims the healed one for Himself, making the deliverance He had conferred His title to services. And how can we, I ask, sufficiently admire this?
He would not let the poor Legion, the poor restored Gadarene, be with Him, though he desired and sought it, but told him to go back to his friends. Jairus’ daughter He left in the bosom of her family. The child at the foot of the holy mount, delivered by His grace and power from so fearful a state, He delivered back to his father. Here the widow’s son, restored to life, He restores to his mother. He claims nothing on the ground of the healings or recoveries, or revivings, which He works. Grace would not so dishonor itself—for its nature is to share or to impart to others, not to enrich itself. The Lord does not save us in order that we may serve Him otherwise, “grace is no more grace.”
This absence of the Lord making any claims to either themselves or their services, in the case of those whom He heals, is not casual—it is advised. It is a needed expression of what He is. We could not do without it. Would the time of His healing be a time for Him “to receive money, to receive garments, and oliveyards, and vineyards, and sheep and oxen?” Does Christ give in order that He may receive again? Even the spirit of Elisha may give us an answer—how much more the spirit of Elisha’s Lord. (2 Kings 5)
There is something very blessed in this constant, undeviating way of the Lord. He did good and lent, hoping for nothing again. He gave, and His left hand did not know what His right hand was doing. He found servants in the world, it is true; but they were the fruit of His call and of the energy of His Spirit; the fruit, too, of affections kindled in hearts constrained by His love. He called Levi, and Levi followed. He called Andrew and Simon, and James and John, and they followed. He did not heal them, and then claim them. He called them and endowed them; and then, sending them forth, He said to them, in the spirit of His own service, “freely ye have received, freely give.”
He chose them that they should go and bring forth fruit, and that their fruit should remain, and be for reward and honor in the day of the kingdom; but this was quite another thing. They might say within themselves, “The love of Christ constraineth us, because we thus judge, that if one died for all, then were all dead, that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him that died for them and rose again.” This was quite right on their part—but this likewise was quite another thing. Jesus loved, and healed, and saved, looking for nothing again; never, in one single instance, claiming either the persons or the services of those whom He restored and delivered. Grace would then have been wanting in its finest expression—but He came that in Him, and in His ways, it might shine in the exceeding riches and glory that belong to it.
It comes forth, again we say, to heal and to heal perfectly, not to enrich, but to impart, itself.
And the first duty of faith is to take our place exactly there. We should charge our hearts to know this secret—and instead of painfully inquiring of ourselves whether we are making suited returns to the healing and life-giving of the Son of God, we should rather believe, that it is in the large overflowings of life that He has visited us, finding, as in creation of old, His delight and His glory in His own works.