BIBLE STUDIES FOR HOME AND SCHOOL. clogs which one of them had given me, I tramped to Chesterfield. I did not venture to offer myself dirty as I was, on the works, so I took off my shirt, washed it in a brook and laid it out in the sun to dry. While I waited a gentleman came along. What are you doing lying there, my man?" "I am waiting for my shirt to dry. I've been out of work a long time" (which was true enough); "I have only one shirt, and cannot bear to be dirty." I said this coolly, though I well knew how filthy I was from sleeping in the padding-kens. The gentleman gave me a shilling. I stopped not at a ken, but a poor lodging-house, bought a penny-worth of white rags, wrapped my feet in them, blackened my clogs to look decent, and went to the railway works, and told the manager I had just come out of the hospital. He gave me some stone-breaking. Nothing could have been harder, as my hands were soft with long disuse, but I stuck to it. My hands bled so much with the strain, that sometimes the handle of the hammer was red with it, but I was determined to persevere. And that was the beginning of a better life. After a time, I got into a clean lodge, and got some decent working-clothes. I never begged again, but my life for a long time was about as bad as it could be. I was a navvy for years, a wanderer about the country, uncared for and shunned, and I don't wonder. Then God found me. I got to a spot where there was a little church, a night-school and reading-room, and a Sunday Bibleclass, all for us chaps. I saw a lot of my mates go, and I was asked to join them. I hardly liked to do it, but I had given my word. So I went to the Bibleclass that Sunday, and never missed again when I had made the start. It was the opening into a new life. I don't mean I got all straight at once; it took me years fairly to master the drink, but God is stronger than the devil, and I've changed masters now, and I am sure "He will never leave me, nor forsake me." I'd rather die any day, than be back in that bad life, and He knows it. 221 That to be done to reform it; but to "make all things new," is rather a threat than a promise. holiness, without which no man shall see God," is not desired by the natural heart of man, nay, it is more or less dreaded. To those, however, who have fled to Christ and laid upon Him the burden of their sins, and taken up His yoke and His burden, the hope of perfect renewal after His image, and the prospect of a state in which all things will be thus renewed, is unspeakably dear. The weight of sin within us and around us, would be unbearable without such a hope. The thought of the numbers who live at a distance from God, would be crushing could we not lay the load upon Him. He knows how to make all things new, and He has said that He will do it. Let us be assured that He will fulfil His word. It is impossible for us to see how His gracious will in this respect is to be accomplished; but it is not impossible for us to say, "Lord, I believe; help Thou mine unbelief!" The worst of all sins against Him is unbelief; let us pray continually, "Lord, strengthen our faith; strengthen within us the new nature; and may we rejoice in the thought that Thou art working even now, by Thy Word and Thy Spirit, to make all things new." "Thy nature, Lord, to me impart, Come quickly from above; GOLDEN TEXT, LEV. XIX. 18.-Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself!' CONNECTION. This parable is without express note of time or place, but it probably belongs to the series of incidents and discourses connected with our Lord's visit to Jerusalem for the Feast of Tabernacles. See Introduction to Lesson for April 3. The Mission of the Seventy to Peræa, to prepare the way for our Lord's ministry in that district, is recorded just before, and His visit to Bethany just after. Robinson places the parable immediately after the discourses at the Feast, John vii., viii. I. A QUESTION CONCERNING SALVATION, AND CHRIST'S ANSWER.-A certain lawyer; expositor or professor of the Mosaic law. Tempting Him; not in any evil sense, but "He that sat upon the throne said, Behold I make all things wishing to test the opinion, perhaps the knowledge, of the new."-Rev. xxi. 5. great Galilean Teacher. The same question was asked by another with a serious practical aim (ch. xviii. 18). Such testquestions were common. Compare Matt. xxii. 26; answered in the same way. But there Christ gives the reply; here the answer is challenged from the questioner. How readest thou? That is, It is your business to know and teach this very thing. The answer was probably the regularly accepted one: the first part of it (Deut. vi. 5) was the summary of the Law which was read in Jewish households, morning and evening; the latter part (from Lev. xix. 18, our Golden Text) was appended to it by the most famous teachers of the time, as Hillel. How is God 222 BIBLE STUDIES FOR HOME AND SCHOOL. business-will cost some money and time. Poor fellow! I shall have to leave him!' There are those who would do good if it were not too much trouble, and if it cost them nothing; as it is, selfishness wins the day; and they too pass by on the other side. to be loved? The fourfold description of our nature, as devoted | left the man alone; why should not I? It will be a disagreeable entirely to Him. The heart, as the source of all, the centre, so to speak, of our spiritual being; from which the rays of the moral life go forth in their three chief directions:** the soul, emotional, the strength, practical, the mind, intellectual. How, again, is our neighbour to be loved? The test is the simplest conceivable, yet the greatest. Another's self and our own, upon the same level! Here truly we find the second commandment like unto the first' (Matt. xxii. 39), as it is only when we apprehend our same relation to the one Father, that we can thus place ourselves and others on an equality in love. Does our Lord accept the lawyer's reply, only as announcing a great impossibility, serving to discover human weakness? This you cannot do? Not quite so, in the first instance. His reply is literally true to the spirit of both Law and Gospel. Love is LIFE. Love God thus, your neighbour thus, and thou shalt live. Observe how Christ unexpectedly turns the question into a personal one. The lawyer proposed a problem, his what shall I do? breathing no anxious concern (as in Acts xvi. 30); simply using himself as an illustration. But Jesus drives the appeal home, awakening the conviction, I do not thus love! That is, I do not thus love my neighbour,' for he has nothing to say to the 'first commandment.'. There, as a Jew, probably a Pharisee, an accredited teacher of the people, he thinks himself all right! But this 'second' command arouses some uneasy reflection. He needs to justify himself, even without being accused except by his own conscience! And so he takes refuge in the ambiguity of the law. I would obey, if I knew how.' Who is my neighbour? The rabbis had certain rules upon this point: thus, Not a Gentile, not a publican, not a Samaritan.' But there was an instinct in this lawyer's breast telling him that such distinctions would not do. Uneasily he looks to the Great Teacher for a reply. Then Jesus tells the story which has answered the question for all time. II. THE PARABLE. Read vers. 29-35.-The vivid truthfulness of every detail in the narrative, like the finish of an exquisite picture, has often been noticed. To this day, the traveller descends the steep rocky bridle-path from Jerusalem to Jericho, about 21 miles, a fall of 3,000 feet,t only attempting the journey when protected by a strong escort from the Bedouin robbers who haunt the overhanging limestone caves, or lurk behind the crags. The tale has been literally true of many a solitary wayfarer in our own day; they stripped and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead, to perish beneath the burning Eastern sun, should no timely help arrive. By chance-by coincidence-it so happened that—on that day three other travellers were respectively wending their way along the defile. The priest had doubtless been engaged for his week in the services of the Temple, and was returning home to the priestly city of Jericho. Had he learned no lessons of charity in the sanctuary? He might have there read in the Law that if his brother's or or ass had fallen down by the way he was bound to give a helping hand (Exod. xxiii. 5; Deut. xxii. 4): but here was a brother man! To pass by on the other side was to ignore the sufferer altogether-plainly from selfish motives, whether indifference, or fear of consequences, or dislike of trouble. Some are so sensitive' that they cannot look on pain, and therefore offer no help. Others coldly say, 'It is not my busi ness.' Many reasons might offer themselves for the refusal of help, but the true reason is hardness of heart. The Levite represents a somewhat different class. He came and looked -his was calculating selfishness, as that of the other was instinctive. Why should I help? My spiritual superior has *Godet. The O. T. passage has heart, soul and might; heart being rendered in the LXX. by the word here used for mind. Our Lord in Matt. xxii. 37, has heart, soul, and mind, in Mark xii. 30, heart, soul, mind and strength (might). Stanley, Sinai and Palestine, p. 424. Farrar says 15 miles. Josephius says that in his time there were in Jericho 12,000 priests. It was not without a reason that these types of character are taken from the class that the 'lawyer' would hold in respect : and the utmost possible contrast follows. A certain Samaritan-a stranger-an enemy, who had come down from worshipping in a different Temple-one of a class whose churlish unkindness Jesus had so recently experienced (ch. ix. 53), nay, whose name of scorn had been applied to Himself (John viii. 48). Compassion conquers prejudice, bigotry, fear; makes the Samaritan patient, helpful, generous, self-denying. He delays his journey-produces from his store the costliest remedies (wine to cleanse the wounds, oil to soothe their smart), gives up his time, which to a busy man is often a greater sacrifice, dismounts that the beast of burden-the ass-may carry him, and stays the night to care for him at the inn-perhaps at Bahurim on the road-until the crisis of danger is past. (Note: the inn was not like that at Bethlehem, a caravanserai, where travellers took care of themselves; it was a house in the care of a host, Roman-fashion, like our modern inns). Nor was the Samaritan content with this. He had charged himself with the care of this poor man, and provided means for his maintenance awhile, with promise of more. The two pence (denarii) representing two days' wages of a labouring man) would probably suffice until the Samaritan should come again that way, having finished his errand at Jericho. So our Lord dwells not only on the tenderness and readiness, but on the completeness of this act of compassion. III. THE APPLICATION. Read vers. 36, 37. The Lesson here seems a little different from that which we should expect. The lawyer had asked virtually, Who is the neighbour whom I am to help? Christ's answer is by describing the deed of the neighbour who helped. In truth the relation is mutual; the Samaritan acting a neighbour's part; as though he said to himself, 'This wounded Jew is my neighbour.' And, plainly, if the Samaritan owns the Jew, the Jew must own the Samaritan. This the lawyer acknowledges, though he cannot bring himself to say, The Samaritan'; only, He that shewed mercy on him. The great lesson in the word likewise is that no differences of nation, creed, or circumstance should be suffered to stay the helping hand. Our neighbour is any and every one who comes across our path, and to whom we can show a kindness. The opportunity creates the obligation. 6 Are there no deeper truths inculcated than the simple duty of neighbourly kindness and help? The question is best answered by remembering that the great type of human brotherhood and love is in Him who took upon Himself our nature that He might unite all men in one bond of love. It is for Christ's sake, pre-eminently, that we own this neighbourly' tic. In pursuance of this thought the simple narrative has often been employed as a parable of redemption: an application to which its details lend themselves in a remarkable way, although it is by way of illustration rather than of interpretation. The descent from Jerusalem, the city of God, to Jericho, the doomed city (Josh. vi. 17), suggests the Fall; the robbers and their cruel work illustrate the powers of sin and temptation as they beset humanity, and leave it more than half dead. To no purpose do Priest and Levite pass by, sacrifice and ceremony cannot restore; and human nature still lies prostrate and bleeding until He who was 'despised and rejected of men' passes by, and tenderly raises an! gently soothes, providing in His Church the means of grace, and promising to perfect His work when He comes again. Such use of the parable, if kept within due bounds and not mistaken for doctrine, will be useful; otherwise it degene rates into mysticism, prompts unwarrantable interpretations, A SHAWL FOR MOTHER. OT August had given place to the last week in September. There had been a good deal of wind and rain lately, and some of the trees were already almost bare. But the last few days had been very fine, clear, bright, and dry; and the woods were becoming glorious in clothing of gold and crimson. The Anderson children had put up a petition that the utmost advantage might be taken of the beautiful weather, and accordingly on the Wednesday half-holiday the party was assembled at a very early dinner to give time for the proposed afternoon's expedition. While they were still at dinner a servant came into the room: 223 and Gerty and Harry had no sooner reached the edge of the deep tree shadows than they hushed their voices, and slackened their hasty steps. Their more sedate sister, with her mamma, soon came up with them, and then the whole four penetrated into the depths of the wood, and in silence walked on, looking hither and thither for their bushy-tailed little favourites. At last Harry spied one springing from branch to branch of a tree before them, whilst in the same tree sat another, cracking away at the hard shell of a nut, with its sharp brown teeth, in a most business-like manner. Harry pressed Gerty's arm to enjoin silence, and signed to his mamma and Sylvia. They all stood still and watched the pretty spectacle. There was nothing to be heard but the soft rustle of the swaying branches and crisp withered leaves. The squirrels were too well accustomed to that sound to be frightened by it. No doubt they considered it a pretty musical accompaniment to their feast and play. But all of a sudden both they and their human watchers were alike startled by something very different breaking through the stillness. The squirrels scuttled away in double-quick time, whatever that may be, and the children looked at each other and whispered, "Who is that?" Just as the nut-eating squirrel had finished its meal, and was beginning to wash its face in the most graceful manner possible, a voice had been heard close at hand, saying aloud with rather a sorrowful tone: "Oh, dear, I want thirty-nine more twopences before I'll have enough. How shall I ever get them all?" Those were the words that had made the timid little squirrels scuttle away as if they had heard a gun go off, and had even startled the children by their unexpectedness. Very quickly, however, Gerty gathered back her courage, and ran forward to see who was the "tiresome thing" who had frightened away the squirrels. Mrs. Anderson and the others followed her. And in the midst of a little clearing, where three worn-out old forest giants had been cut down, they came upon Neddy Steadman. The little lame boy was seated on one of the tree stumps. On a second, about a yard or so before him to the right, were arranged a number of pennies in a circle. On the third stump to the left, was a very large circle of fir-cones placed two by two all round. And with his hands on his knees and his head "Please, ma'am, little Steadman has come to ask if you have stretched forward, Neddy was gazing at this fir-cone circle as any work for him? Mrs. Anderson was in a hurry, and she was busy carving. She answered quickly, "No, no, Jane. He must not get troublesome. Tell him there is nothing for him to do here today, and most likely there will not be for some time to come." And then she went on with her dinner, for she was in haste to set out with the three elder children for the long walk through Chesnut Wood, whence they meant to climb Redstone Hill, and come home along the cliffs. "A most splendiferous plan!" said Gerty. "Yes," said Harry, "and you can't think what a heap of cakes and apples I saw mamma putting into her bag. They'll taste ever so delicious on the top of Redstone Hill!” "Will they indeed?" laughed Mrs. Anderson, who had just come up unperceived. "How do you know that my bag is going with us? But this is certain, if you are not quick in getting those boots of yours done up, neither we nor the apples and cakes will get to the top of the hill to-day. Where is your button-hook?" "I-I-don't know." "Oh! dear, dear, my sad little untidy boy," said the mother gently, as she knelt down and did up the stiff buttons herself. "I will look for it, and look for it, and look for it, when we come back, till I find it," whispered Harry penitently, and then he got his hat, and the happy party set off, although they were indeed not destined to get to the top of the hill that day. Chesnut Wood was an especial favourite with the children on account of the many squirrels' which had their dwellings there, though, as Gerty whispered mischievously, "it were a slug or a blackbeetle." But, as you may imagine, he did not give his unexpected companions very much time to note that especial expression, for even before Harry had regained breath to shout, "Why, it's Neddy!" Neddy had seen them, and started up with a cry and a blush from his seat. Kind-hearted Mrs. Anderson, some months before, had found the poor child sitting under a hedge in one of the lanes with a most sad-looking, little woe-begone face. And when she questioned him he almost sobbed out his little story; how he had wished to earn some money, but was so little and weak nobody would have him, not even to frighten away the sparrows. And then Mrs. Anderson had offered to give him the twopence for helping to weed the garden paths, and carry the gardener's tools and basket hither and thither for him, or do anything he might require. It need not be said that Neddy had given a joyful yes to the offer, and little and weak as he was, he was so earnestly anxious to earn the promised payment, that even grave, stern Tooms had confessed that he had really been of use to him. And so the lame boy had got his pennies; but there was not sufficient work to keep him always employed, and he had been told that he must look elsewhere. "Why, what a lot of pennies you have got, Ned!" Harry added admiringly, as he walked up to the penny table. "But they would look more still if you put them all separate instead of two together." A smile darted over Neddy's crimson face as he said softly, "Please, Master Harry, it wasn't to make them look a lot that I put them out like that. It was only," with a weary little sigh, "to see how few they were to what I want to get." "Oh!" said Harry. It did not sound very sympathising, but he did not see what else there was to say, seeing that his mamma had told him he must not tease Ned with questions as to why he was longing so especially just now after pennies. Gerty had been told this too, but curiosity now got the better of politeness, and she exclaimed: "Oh, please, Neddy, do tell us why you want a heap of twopences. Please do, to make up for frightening away the squirrels." "Hush, hush," cried Mrs. Anderson almost sternly. "Gerty, my child, you are forgetting yourself. Don't tell us anything, my boy, that you do not like, and don't look so sorry about the squirrels. You had as much right to speak in the wood if you chose as we had to please ourselves by being quiet, and besides that we were sadly wasting our time with them." "Oh yes, so we were; I forgot that," said Gerty with sudden compunction. "And I'm sorry I pressed you to tell about your pennies, Neddy; I really am, only I did so want to know." Neddy looked at her with a bright smile. He was not accustomed to get much sympathy from any one but his toilworn mother, and it seemed to bring a little bit of unexpected sunlight into his grey life to see those bright-eyed rosy-faced children looking with such interest at his earnings, and to find them showing a real wish to know what he meant to do with them. A few weeks ago he would have been too shy to speak about his affairs, but since he had been working up at the Manor House he had almost lost all fear with kind-hearted Mrs. Anderson and her children, and after twisting his shabby cap about for a few moments in his hands, he ended by holding it out as a pointer towards the pennies with the short explanation: "Please, Miss Gerty, they's to help buy mother a shawl when the cold weather comes; and I don't mind telling you at all. Whenever I can earn twopence I save it for her." "Thank you," said Gerty in a low voice, still half-ashamed of the way in which she had asked for the information. Harry's feelings, however, were very different. He had speculated about those pennies till his curly head had got quite troubled about them, and he found it a most perfect relief to know what they really were intended to be used for. "But I did think," he said aloud, "that they must be for a fishing-rod, or a butterfly-net, or something for yourself." Neddy smiled again as he murmured softly, "They would be nice. But oh! this will be a deal nicer, if"-and his face clouded once more-" if only I can get it." “Oh, you must,” cried Gerty impulsively. "I do hope you will be able," said Florry, more quietly. "But what made you think of trying to buy such a big thing?" "Why, miss, mother had saved up the money to buy herself one, when her other went quite all to bits last winter. But one day she happened to hear some boys laughing at my old clothes as I came home from Sunday-school. I didn't mind a bitthey'd often laughed; but mother did, so on Monday she went out and bought me some new things, and then all her money was spent, and she had nothing for herself, and not a bit of chance she'd be able to save enough again this year." Here Neddy stopped with a sob, and Mrs. Anderson said gently: "And then you determined to try what you could do?” Yes, ma'am. I went out the very next day to try to earn some money. I went all round to the farmers and the village shops, and they all said the same-they'd lots of work for strong folks, but none for a little lame chap like me. And then I went into the lane at t' back of home, that mother mightn't see how miserable I was, and while I was sitting under the hedge-"" Here Neddy broke off once more, and looked up with grateful, tear-filled eyes at Mrs. Anderson, while Gerty finished his sentence for him, exclaiming: "Oh, yes, I know. While you were sitting there crying, mamma found you, and helped you to earn the first twopence towards your mother's shawl by giving you work in our garden. But you need not work any more, for now we know what you want we'll give you the rest of the money between us. Here's six more of the twopences to clear away some of those fir-cones, and I've six more at home which you shall have." As the little girl spoke, she eagerly held out a shilling towards little Steadman, her mamma smiling approval at her ready generosity, and Florry and Harry fumbling hastily in their pockets for more contributions to the shawl fund. But to the sore disappointment of Gerty, and the surprise of all the others, the lame boy, instead of taking the offered gift, drew hastily back as if he supposed shillings would bite, and he trembled, turned red and pale by turns, and seemed on the point of bursting into tears. Gerty looked up at her mamma, grievously vexed and astonished at this unexpected reception of her kind present, and mutely asking for an explanation. "What is it, my boy?" asked Mrs. Anderson wonderingly. "What is the matter? Do not be afraid to take the money; little girl has free leave to do as she likes with it." my Ye-yes, ma'am," stammered Neddy, twisting his cap about more than ever. It's not that, ma'am. But you-you seeif it's-give to me that-won't be nothing-I-I want to be able to earn it." And then the tears would come. He could not keep them back any longer, as the thought of the almost impossibility of that same earning rushed into his sad little mind, and they streamed down his cheeks, and through the thin fingers he put up in an attempt to hide them. The children grew very grave, and the tears gathered also in their mother's eyes as they rested on the child before her. Lame, and weak, and helpless, with nothing strong about him but his brave longing to share his mother's burdens, and filled with a bitter feeling of powerlessness to aid one whom his warm young heart loved far better than himself. Poor, little, wan-faced boy! Many a one who secretly buys up a measure of self-conscious pride for saying "Thy will be done," has in reality far less to bear than had Neddy Steadman, who generally bent so patiently under the heavy burden laid upon him. SCRIPTURE ENIGMA. NO. XI. 1. My first true charity defines, O Jesu, set my spirit free, 2. My second marks the hoary head, 3. My whole denotes a yoke of sin, O Jesu, in my nature shine, W. L |