Part 5 (1/2)

And when you see Jonathan going thus into the woods he is going for the deliberate purpose of taking the crown off his own brow and putting it upon the brow of another. He is abdicating the throne in behalf of this outcast friend of his who is hiding here in the forest.

You will doubtless agree, therefore, that this old world has not been blessed with many visits so beautiful as this. Watch this Prince as he goes into the wood. His stride is like that of another:

”Into the woods my Master went, Clean forspent, forspent; Into the woods my Master came, Forspent with love and shame.

But the olive trees were not blind to Him, And the little gray leaves were kind to Him, And the thorn tree had a mind to Him, When into the woods He came.

”Out of the woods my Master went, And He was well content; Out of the woods my Master came, Content with death and shame.

When death and shame would woo Him last, From under the trees they drew Him last, 'Twas on a tree they slew him--last When out of the woods He came.”

Yes, Jonathan went into the woods to uncrown himself! to empty himself for his friend! Truly ”the spirit and mind was in him that was also in Christ Jesus, who being in the form of G.o.d thought it not a thing to be clung to to be equal with G.o.d, but emptied Himself and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.”

But the ”practical” man stands aside and looks on and says, ”Jonathan, you have made a great mistake. You never wore a crown and you never wielded a scepter. You took your opportunity for earthly greatness and threw it away. It was a great mistake.” And we take the words of Judas and say, ”Why this waste?”

But after all, was it a mistake? He lost his crown, but he won his friend. He helped banish the discord and increased the melody of the world. He threw aside his scepter of temporal power to lay hold on an eternal scepter. He threw aside the crown that he might have worn for a day to lay hold on a crown that will last forever more.

If ever I get to Heaven I expect to give particular attention to the Visitors' Gallery. I think there is going to be an especial place, a very choice place in Heaven for the visitors. Not, you will understand, for those who are visiting Heaven, but those who were good at visiting here. For mark you, the Lord has spoken of a special reward that He is going to give to those of whom He could say, ”Ye visited me.” And about the handsomest, the loveliest face I expect to find among the immortal and blood-washed visitors is the face of this man Jonathan.

And now, will you hear this closing word? Jonathan uncrowned himself for his friend. And he won his friend and he won an immortal crown.

But there was another who gave up infinitely more than Jonathan. And He came to you and me when we were in an infinitely worse plight than that in which David was. He came to us when we were dead in trespa.s.ses and in sin. And what He says to us this morning is this, ”I have called you friends. Ye are my friends.”

The Prince who did that for us was not the son of Saul, but the Son of G.o.d. Through His renunciation He was crowned. By His stooping He was forever elevated. ”Wherefore G.o.d has highly exalted Him and given Him a name that is above every name.” But what I ask is this: Have you responded to His friends.h.i.+p as David responded to that of Jonathan? He has been a friend to you. Have you, will you be a friend to Him? That is what He is seeking. That is what He is longing for to-day as for nothing else in earth or Heaven.

You know why He came. You know why He is here now. Why did Jonathan visit David in the gloomy wood that day and uncrown himself for him?

It was just this reason: It was because he loved him. Again and again the story had said that Jonathan loved David as his own soul. I thought it was a mere hyperbole at first. I thought it might be a kind of poetic way of putting it, but it was only sober truth. And David spoke sober truth in that n.o.ble and manly lamentation when he said, ”Thy love was wonderful to me, pa.s.sing the love of women.”

And it is love that seeks you and me to-day. It is a love that longs to gain our friends.h.i.+p. It is a love that had been told to us, but at last was shown to us in the death of the cross. And we know it is true. David responded to the love that was shown him. He did not disappoint his friend. May the Lord save you and me from disappointing our Friend. ”For He is a Friend that sticketh closer than a brother.”

VI

THE WOMAN OF THE SHATTERED ROMANCES--THE WOMAN OF SYCHAR

_John 4:4-26_

Look, will you, at this picture. There sits a man in the strength and buoyancy of young manhood. He is only thirty or thereabouts. About him is the atmosphere of vigor and vitality that belong to the spring-time of life. But to-day he is a bit tired. There is a droop in his shoulders. His feet and sandals are dusty. His garment is travel stained. He has been journeying all the morning on foot. And now at the noon hour he is resting.

The place of his resting is an old well curb. The well is one that was digged by hands that have been dust long centuries. This traveller is very thirsty. But he has no means of drawing the water, so he sits upon the well curb and waits. His friends who are journeying with him have gone into the city to buy food. Soon they will return and then they will eat and drink together.

As he looks along the road that leads into the city he sees somebody coming. That somebody is not one of his disciples. It is a woman. As she comes closer he sees that she is clad in the cheap and soiled finery of her cla.s.s. At once he knows her for what she is. He reads the dark story of her sinful life. He understands the whole fetid and filthy past through which she has journeyed as through the stenchful mud of a swamp.

As she approaches the well she glares at the Stranger seated upon the curb with bold and unsympathetic gaze. She knows his nationality at once. And all her racial resentment is alive and active.

A bit to her surprise the Stranger greets her with a request for a favor. ”Give me a drink,” he says. Christ was thirsty. He wanted a draught from Jacob's well. But far more He wanted a draught from this woman's heart. She was a slattern, an outcast. She was lower, in the estimation of the average Jew, than a street dog. Yet this weary Christ desired the gift of her burnt out and impoverished affections.

So He says, ”Give me to drink.”

There is no scorn in the tone, and yet the woman is not in the least softened by it. She rather glories in the fact that she has Him at a disadvantage. ”Oh, yes,” she doubtless says to herself, ”you Jews with your high-handed pride, you Jews with your bitter contempt for us Samaritans--you never have any use for us except when you need us.”

”How is it,” she says, ”that you being a Jew ask drink of me who am a woman of Samaria? You don't mean that you would take a drink at the hand of an unclean thing like me, do you?”

But this charming Stranger does not answer her as she had expected. He makes no apology for His request. Nor does He show the least bit of resentment or contempt. He does not answer scorn with scorn, but rather answers with a surprising tenderness: ”If thou knewest the gift of G.o.d and who it is that saith unto thee, Give me to drink, thou wouldest have asked of Him and He would have given thee living water.”