XX.

THE PARABLE OF THE PRODIGAL SON.

ST. LUKE Xv. 11-32.

If it were not for the miserable poverty of our faith, —the miserable blindness of our carnal nature—and that sad proneness to sin that lingers in the believer, so as to cause him discomfort to the end of this life, we should never be able to read or hear this beautiful parable, without experiencing each time feelings of penitential sorrow for the past, of gratitude to God, of joy and exultation in God, ever fresh and genuine. It is a lovely allegory, into which we cannot examine closely enough, full of exquisite touches that serve to open out everywhere the eternal love of God for the sinner, so as to give him hope and peace, if only he seeks them aright, in every stage of alienation from the Father of his spirit. And, to our infinite comfort, let us remember, that it conveys to us throughout an unerring picture. It describes, in the guise of allegory, eternal and unchangeable realities, precious to the believing soul at all times,

but especially so in the gloomy season of sickness. And they are realities known to Him who spoke them by no mere hearsay, for the Author of this parable is One with the Father, and has an equal share in all His spotless perfections of love and power, and from all eternity He has known His Father's loving purposes, and His own, towards us His sinful creatures.

I can only hope to put before you very briefly some few points in the parable, that, as I humbly pray, may, with the Holy Spirit's aid, interest, comfort, and edify you.

It is one addressed to us all. It contemplates the spiritual state of all. All may be alike God's dear children in Christ Jesus, however far they may have wandered from Him; the grace of God is an Ocean, that is ready to overflow all hearts, whose depths are unfathomable, past finding out, and exhaustless.

The younger son is the Gentile, the elder is the Jew. Our heavenly Father loves both with the same strength and endurance of affection. But He called the descendants of Abraham first, from whom, after the flesh, Christ came, and caused that he should be brought nearer to Him, for a season, than the other, to show us that man is incapable of serving God of his own will; that the exercise of free grace must precede his salvation, and that that grace is eventu

ally offered to all. These first drawings of God's love, which, as I humbly trust, you and I have felt again and again, prove to us that He is "the Alpha and Omega" of our conversion to Himself, and illustrate our blessed Lord's own words to His apostles-words that explain His uniform method of dealing with all sinners. “Ye have not chosen Me, but I have chosen you, and ordained you, that ye should go and bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain: that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in My name, He may give it you."

But the parable becomes more precious to us, when it is brought to bear directly upon that life of alienation from God by wicked works, which you and I, if left to ourselves, should inevitably lead from day to day.

Sin is not without its enticements. We know this by sad experience. The road to ruin would never be taken, if, at first sight, it did not seem to us to be strewn with flowers-to be smooth and delightful. So the prodigal looked at it in the early morning of his life. Sin's pathway smiled on him deceitfully; evil voices made themselves heard within him. They spoke to him of the dulness of his then present life, of all his keen capacities for happiness. They painted for him all that was entrancing on the horizon of the future. They promised him prosperity, pleasure, friends, perfect contentment, increasing

happiness year by year. And so he took his journey into the far country of sensual delights—far, because God was not near it-and there, in a little while, he saw how false the tempter had been to him. There he found bitterest adversity, keenest pain, neglect, and desolation, hunger, both of soul and body, and a misery that threatened to engulph him in its yawning depths for ever and ever.

So it is, my brother, with all who seek happiness away from God. The prodigal's is a case too sadly common. Would that men were wise enough to foresee the end of an abandoned career! But he that "was a liar from the beginning, and the father of it," promises them—" Oh, you shall see no sorrow in it." God's grace whispers solemn warning. Who has not felt those strong pleadings of conscience ? And, in calm moments, who that has felt them can deny, that in that sublime silence, although he could see no one near him from the heavenly world, the all-perfect God, the loving Father in this parable, was warning him, and that guardian angels were doing their utmost to keep him back from destruction ? But, no! He rushed madly away, he banished those troublesome thoughts, he blunted the keen edge of those pressing convictions; he chose sin, and proved, to his own sorrow, that “at the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder."

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Tell me, my brother, if, looking back on your past life, you have not experienced the "mighty famine" that is sure to fall on those who are conscious to themselves that they find no pleasure to satisfy them here, and that they have no inheritance in God? He who has not found God, to his heart's peace, has too surely within him, under the very brightest skies, a gnawing hunger, that nothing below God can satisfy.

But how it re-assures our souls, when we begin to trace, step by step, the prodigal's return! Those who have been slaves of sin-and every one is so who, in the least thing, permits sin to obtain the mastery over him-and who have been anxious for reconciliation with God-know somewhat of the power over them of those longings to obliterate the past, of that keen desire to stand before God as they were accustomed to do in earlier and less sinful days; of those impetuously formed resolutions of amendment, not, alas, unmingled with dark, despairing fears of rejection by Him whom they had forsaken. But must it not be precious to us, my brother, to feel that these are just the emotions of heart which the Omniscient God discerns while yet the penitent "is a great way off;" while he is struggling to throw aside all his pride and repugnance to return; while he is losing himself in fond memories of days gone by, when the sunlight of his