3491. The Saviour’s Charity

A Sermon Published On Thursday, December 23, 1915.

Jesus answered and said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” {Mr 10:51}

For other sermons on this text:

   {See Spurgeon_Sermons No. 266, “Blind Beggar, The” 259}

   {See Spurgeon_Sermons No. 2458, “Reasons for an Exceptional Question” 2459}

   {See Spurgeon_Sermons No. 3277, “Good Cheer from Christ’s Call and from Himself” 3279}

   {See Spurgeon_Sermons No. 3491, “Saviour’s Charity, The” 3493}

   {See Spurgeon_Sermons No. 3537, “Definite Challenge for Definite Prayer, A” 3539}

   Exposition on Mr 10:13-27,32-52 {See Spurgeon_Sermons No. 3491, “Saviour’s Charity, The” 3493 @@ "Exposition"}

   Exposition on Mr 10:46-52 Joh 9:1-7 {See Spurgeon_Sermons No. 2955, “Simple But Sound” 2956 @@ "Exposition"}

   Exposition on Mr 10:46-52 {See Spurgeon_Sermons No. 3505, “Miracle of Grace, A” 3507 @@ "Exposition"}

1. The story of this miracle is amazingly attractive. It has always been a favourite theme with preachers. From the days of the apostles and the fathers of the Church they have delighted to dwell on any single item of it as it is described by the three evangelists who record it. We have frequently spoken of the incident as a whole; let us, therefore, now confine our attention to the question which Jesus asked of the blind man, “What do you want me to do for you?” He asks the same question at this good hour; he asks it of blind men, and, I think, he asks it of partially blind men too. There are some of us whose eyes are opened, but whose vision is obscure; we cannot see afar off. Our blessed Lord and Master says to us, as well as to the blind ones, “What do you want me to do for you?”

2. Let us consider this question attentively, first on our Saviour’s part — the disposition it shows and then on our own part — the appeal to which we should respond.

3. I. THE QUESTION, AS ASKED BY OUR SAVIOUR, is expressive of much tenderness.

4. There is a beautiful delicacy in its manner. The absence of any distinct allusion to the deprivation the poor man suffered from is kind. I have noticed, in many cases, that for afflicted people any allusion to their infirmities is very distasteful. You could hardly do anything that would be more ungracious to a blind person than to be perpetually reminding him of his blindness, or to a person who was lame than constantly referring to his misfortune. Such people are hopeful that, bearing the evil patiently themselves, it will not be detected by others, and they are anxious to avoid the pity which is grievous when it becomes obtrusive. Now our Saviour did not say to this man, “Alas! poor creature, what a sad state you are in!” There was not a word concerning the man’s blindness to hurt his feelings. He was a beggar, to boot, and his dependence on alms for his subsistence would be by itself humiliating enough without referring to that poverty which, if keenly felt, is apt to crush a man’s spirit, and shear him of self-respect. But there is not a word about poverty here. Christ did not say, “How long have you been sitting by the wayside begging? How much have you obtained from the cold hand of charity during the last few days?” You would not know that the man was a beggar and blind by the question which the Saviour addressed to him. “What do you want me to do for you?” — might have been spoken to a prince or to a king as gracefully as it was spoken to the poor blind beggar of Jericho.

5. I do not know whether you see much to admire and appreciate in this tenderness. I think it needs a man of fine feeling and generous sympathy to fully estimate it. It was very characteristic of the way in which Christ deals with souls, as other cases show. The parable of the prodigal son is a correct picture of our heavenly Father’s dealings with his returning sons. In that parable we are told of the youth’s nakedness, and poverty, and hunger, and so on, but the Father never mentions any one of these things, but he fell on his son’s unwashed neck, and kissed his filthy face, and received him into his arms, all ragged as he still was. To anyone else he would have been a loathsome object, and yet to his father’s heart he was still lovely, for he was his own dear child. He perceived the jewel, though it was lying on a dunghill. He did not say, “My dear son, how sad a thing it is that you should have left my roof! How could you be so foolish as to spend your living with prostitutes? Alas! my dear son, to what a degradation have you been brought in feeding swine.” No, there must be no kind of allusion at all to the plight in which the prodigal youth returned. He was acknowledged and welcomed just as he was, in his sinnership.

6. Neither does the gospel of Jesus Christ come to you with taunts and upbraidings, continually reminding you of your sin. That is the work of the law. The law is like a sharp needle. It must go through the fabric, and draw after it the silver thread of the gospel; but the gospel’s message is not so much about your sin as it is about the remedy for it, and when it comes to deal with your sin it deals less with it as a crime than as a disease. It looks on it as an affliction. It takes the most merciful view that is possible, and how little does it say to you even of disease? It gives you many invitations, “Ho, everyone who is thirsty.” Nothing about sin there. “Come to me, all you who labour and are heavy laden”; nothing about sin there. You remember that hymn of Rowland Hill’s, which says: — 

   “Come filthy, come naked,

   Come just as you are”?

But I am not quite certain that that is precisely the style of the gospel invitation, for that seems to say, “Come to me, all you who wish to; whoever wishes, let him come and drink of the water of life freely.” There is as little allusion made by the gospel itself to the sin of the sinner as possible. Of course, the sinner must be called a sinner, and the gospel never says, “Peace, peace,” where there is no peace; and at the same time it does not expose the disease without prescribing the remedy. The gospel does not appeal to us so much in tones of thunder to acquaint us with our peril as it admonishes us to flee without delay to a place of safety. The gospel does not speak from Sinai, but from Calvary. From Sinai you hear the voice of rigid justice; from Calvary you hear the voice of tender mercy and gracious pardon. There is something, I think, then, in this omission of the Saviour’s which has a blessed tenderness in it. Do you ask, “Why such tenderness towards the sinner?” The reply is, “Because he is one who needs to be tenderly dealt with.”

7. It has been said that the good surgeon should have a lion’s heart and a lady’s hand. He should have the courage to do anything that is vital to the physical body, whether it is to set a joint, to amputate a limb, or to uncover a sensitive nerve, yet he should have the utmost delicacy of touch, and the most tender of hearts, in performing an operation that involves pain to the patient. To have his bones set with downy fingers is the injured man’s desire. The awakened conscience is extremely sensitive. The law has been using its cat-o’-ten-tails on the sinner’s back until it has been furrowed with deep gashes. “The whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint; from the sole of the foot, even to the head, there is no soundness in it, but wounds, and bruises, and putrefying sores.” Such a man needs to be gently handled. The Physician of souls knows this; the Saviour of sinners acts like this. Not a harsh word is spoken, but grace is poured out from his lips; not threatening, terror, rebuke, but grace, and peace, and love.

8. I revel in this thought; commonplace though it may be, but practical and precious it certainly is. What instruction is afforded us! How it teaches us wisely to deal with the tender conscience! Like the Saviour himself, we ought to minister to those who feel their need of help and healing very lovingly and gently, lest we break the bruised reed, or quench the smoking flax. The hypocrite and self-righteous need have no tenderness shown towards them. Caresses would only nourish their conceit. The Saviour addresses them with scathing threats: “Woe to you, scribes, Pharisees, hypocrites!” What indignant epithets he uses! With what utter contempt does he assail them, calling them “fools, and blind,” “serpents, and a generation of vipers!” yes, “whitewashed sepulchres,” and I do not know what else besides! But when he comes to deal with the shorn lambs, how tenderly he carries them in his bosom! How gently he addresses those whose broken hearts need gentleness! Let us do the same. Let us try to bring out the sweets of the promise. Let us seek to break the promise into small pieces, that it may give them the meaning and sense, so that they can understand it. Let us pray that the Holy Spirit, the Comforter, would effectively make us the instruments of comforting every soul that is depressed and disconsolate.

9. Not less remarkable is the wisdom of the Saviour. You notice the question, “What do you want me to do for you?” It is a rule with Christ never to do for us what we can do for ourselves. He did not tell the man that he was blind, because the man knew that himself. He did not undertake to do the work of conscience. In vain you look to Jesus Christ or to the Holy Spirit to do for a man what it behoves the man to do for himself. This poor fellow could tell that he was blind, hence our Lord asked him a question which set his own mind to work. Now, dear friend, if you are desirous of being saved, Christ asks you, “What do you want me to do for you?” Your own conscience, if it is at all enlightened, will tell you that you have many sins that need to be forgiven. Why should Christ tell you that? The inward monitor, when fully awakened, knows that there is much sin that you have committed which requires absolution, and much sin cleaving to your nature from which you require to be cleansed you have much depravity to overcome. Your conscience tells you so. Christ does not come to you in the gospel, and tell you this. He does not accuse you or excuse you in this way. With all mildness and gentleness, he asks the question like this, “What do you want me to do for you?” — as if to make the blind man really think of the darkness in which he had lived for so long, of the scales that were over his eyes, and the disease that affected his optic nerve. It was good to make him think of all this, so that his conscience should be naturally and thoroughly exercised. It seems to me to have been a salutary lesson, without which he would never have felt the gratitude that the gift of sight should inspire. Very many a mercy we receive, and inadequately appreciate, because we have never known the lack of it. People who have never been sick in their lives are not so grateful for health as those who are restored after a long illness, or those who have often been cast on a bed of languishing. Those who have never known the pinch of poverty are seldom so grateful as they ought to be for food and clothing. While this man could see nothing without, he could discern a great deal with his inward consciousness. His deprivation would suggest so many disadvantages, that when he received the light he would be sure to bless Christ for it. With the power of vision, once more to gaze on the outward world, he would have a song in his mouth, as well as light in his eyes. So it was wise in Christ to exercise his conscience that he might evoke his gratitude.

10. By means of this question Christ was giving the man lessons in prayer. A school boy is encouraged by his teacher to come to him if he finds any difficulty in his exercises that he cannot grapple with. Suppose it is the translation of a sentence from Latin into English. When he asks for help, does the teacher at once take the matter out of his hands do it for him? Certainly not! He says, “Where is your difficulty; is it the meaning of that noun, or the construction of that verb, or what is it that perplexes you? Put your finger on the point that distresses you, and I will give you the assistance you require.” When the blind man said, “You Son of David, have mercy on me,” his request was valid, but vague. He craved mercy, but what particular mercy was he in need of? He needed to learn the sacred art of pleading. The most advanced Christian still has need to pray, “Lord, teach us how to pray.” I have noticed that though the disciples often heard Christ preach, they never said, “Lord, teach us how to preach”; but when they heard him pray — you remember the passage — “As he was praying in a certain place, the disciples said to him, ‘Lord, teach us how to pray.’” They were so astonished with such praying as the Saviour’s, that though, perhaps, they thought that they might emulate his preaching, his praying seemed too masterly, too infinitely above them, and they could not help exclaiming, “Oh! God, show us how to pray like that.” They felt that the majesty of his prayer was a great thing if they could only attain to it. They desired to be taught how to pray. This is what Christ was doing with this man; he was teaching him how to pray. He did not at once open his eyes, but encouraged him to ask what he wanted to have done for him. When the child first begins to walk, he runs, eager to catch hold of something. The mother gets a little farther back, and a little farther, and the child goes tottering onwards to reach what he desires, and so he learns to walk. So it is with the mercy of God; he holds it out a little farther, and yet a little farther, so that the soul may pray even more. It was wisdom on the part of Christ, then, for this reason to propound the question.

11. And oh! what marvellous generosity this question implies! The Saviour’s generosity knows no bound. “What do you want me to do for you?” If the Messrs. Rothschild, or some other eminent capitalists were to place in one’s hand a book of blank cheques, and say, “There, draw what you like,” it would be an unheard-of generosity. To whatever extent a man may be willing to benefit his fellow man, there must be a limit; but, when Jesus says, “What do you want me to do for you?” there is no limit to his resources, or his readiness to bestow. The will of the person of whom the question is asked may limit the petition; but as the Saviour put it, he gave, as it were, a kind of challenge to the poor beggar to ask whatever he liked. Now, brethren, this is much the way the Saviour deals with all his people. “What do you want me to do for you?” Whatever your desire may be, he will hear you and attend to it. I do not say that he will grant it to you if it is not for your profit; but he would have you tell him what it is you are desirous to ask. We have an example in this chapter of this kind of limitation, when James and John asked for something which our Lord thought it would do them no good to have. Nevertheless, if it is truly for your benefit and for his glory, you shall have it, ask whatever you wish. You are not to dictate, but you may plead. You are not omniscient; therefore, your will can never be wiser than his; but you are God’s child, and therefore your desire shall be very prevalent with him. “Ask whatever you wish, and it shall be done for you.” Take this Book; the promises in it are very great and inestimably precious, so great that no man need ever complain that they are not large enough for him to stretch himself on them. There are promises of God in this Book, the bottom of which no man can ever touch; streams of mercy which flow on with such a volume of grace that it is impossible they should ever be exhausted. Even though we should be like that mighty one who drinks up Jordan at a draught, yet we should never exhaust the mighty promises of God. I wish we could really feel how freely Christ gives. When we consider that he did not spare himself, but gave up his whole heart, and emptied out his whole soul to death for us, we can well understand that, having given himself for us, he will also freely give us all things.

12. II. I have spoken so much concerning the question of our text as it interprets the goodwill of Christ; let us now turn it over again: — AS IT APPEALS TO OURSELVES.

13. What do you think it ought to say to us? Or what should we say in response to it? It strikes me that, just as it shows Christ’s tenderness, so, on our part, it ought to prompt a corresponding tenderness. Horrible is the state of that man’s mind who can presume on Christ’s tenderness, and yet love sin. I have heard some preach the doctrine that God sees no sin in Jacob, neither iniquity in Israel, in such a way as to make you feel that they could not see any sin in the people of Jehovah’s choice. But I would like to feel that his great forbearance aroused my scrupulousness. Does the Lord say that he can see no sin, then I will see it all the more. Does he say of his exquisite tenderness, “You are all fair, my love; there is no spot in you” — shall I, therefore, treat sin as though it were nothing, trifle with it, and call it a nonentity? Oh! no; I will weep because of the tenderness of him who knows all about me; and though he is too gracious to throw my sin in my teeth, yet I will take care to bemoan it myself. God forgives me, and for that reason I cannot forgive myself. God casts my sin behind his back; therefore, I have it continually before my face. Such love as his makes me appear all the more black, the more detestable in my own eyes.

14. If I had a friend who knew that I had some besetting sin, some grievous infirmity, and if that dear friend, out of the tenderness of his heart for me, never mentioned it to me, though it had grieved him much, should I, therefore, treat it with levity? Suppose I had injured him in business, do you think I should forget it for that reason? Or had I been the instrument of his losing some dear relative, and yet he never said a word to me about it, never upbraided me, never looked as if he felt that I had wronged him, never even hinted in a side way that I was the cause of his pain — well, I hope I speak honestly when I say that his kind reticence would wound and cut me to the heart more than if he spoke bitterly to me. If you, as a servant, have committed a fault, and your master never says a word by way of blame, I am sure you will feel all the more sorry rather than the less concerned for the wrong you have done. If a man comes to me in a rage, and calls me bad names, I consider then that, whatever my fault may be, he has taken his revenge, and I am not bound to humble myself; but when he says, “Ah! well, I will say nothing about it,” or when he passes it over in silence, and is as quiet and tender towards me as if I had never done him an injury, why, then I must chastise myself, even if he will not chastise me; I must blame myself, since he will not blame me. Dear Christian friends, let us cultivate a holy sensibility. There is what is called the sensitive plant, which turns up its leaves when it is touched. Let us be like that plant. If Christ has been tender towards us, let us also be tender.

15. Did we not also say that Christ exhibits wisdom in the question which he asked this blind man? Let us always seek to acquire wisdom. The text suggests the idea of studying. “What do you want me to do for you?” How few students among us are studious to do the will of the Lord! They may take to studying Ezekiel, and Daniel, and the Revelation, and they get a blessing out of those three books, but I wish they would do a little more for the Master than they are ordinarily accustomed to do. Some people are so busy studying the stars that they have no time to trim the lamps here below, and yet I think the stars would shine as brightly without their study, whereas the lamps below might give clearer light if only they gave them a careful trimming. But while this is the fault of some, the fault of others is that they are all for sowing, but they scatter seed out of an empty basket; they are all for working, but their tools are broken; they would go fishing, but they forgot to mend their nets. It would be good if some who are teachers became students. Martha worked for Christ, and Mary learned from Christ. A holy mixture of these employments would be profitable. We would have Martha and Mary together, first learn from Christ, and then work for Christ — this would be very good.

16. Very familiar is that quotation from Pope: — 

   “The proper study of mankind is man.”

I am not so sure that it deserves the currency it has obtained. It is hardly standard gold. The proper study of mankind is God, but in order to get to God one must know something about man. It is good for us to know something of man’s ruined state, and especially to be acquainted with our own weakness, our own danger, and our present exposure. Christian, study this; it is a very black book, but read on, for it is useful, because of another book which shall follow. For, in order to get wisdom, we need to study the Scriptures too, with a view to the practical testing of what we learn abroad.

17. This leads me to the remark that it would be profitable to us if we were to study our prayers. Does that sound strange? You do not think it is right to come to the Lord’s Table without some degree of preparation; why should you not prepare to go to the mercy seat and to the throne of grace? If you were permitted to have an audience with Her Majesty, I will warrant you that if you intended to ask anything you would weigh your thoughts and almost construct your sentences before you were ushered into her presence. Certainly you would not go without considering what you intended to ask. When a man sends a petition to the House of Commons he knows what he needs, it would be idle to throw together a mere jumble of words. It is true that the Holy Spirit has promised to help our infirmities, but he will not do for us what we can do for ourselves. I love extemporaneous prayer, for I believe that when the thoughts are clear, and the emotions vigorous, fitting words will not be lacking. But I am not so fond of extemporaneous prayer when the sentiment itself is extemporized. Let a sermon be delivered extempore, it will be doubtless more effective than the reading of an elaborate essay, but it would be a poor sermon which the preacher never thought about before he uttered it. I have heard of a certain divine, who, after preaching, observed to some of his hearers that he had never thought about his sermon before he went into the pulpit. The answer he got was, “That is just what we suspected.” They had noticed how void it was of meaning and method. We ought to consider our prayers well. Are we not told that we do not have because we ask amiss? I fear we often ask amiss from lack of preparation. The archer, when he draws his bow, not only puts his whole strength into the effort, but he diligently takes his aim before he actually discharges his arrow. So let the supplicant pray. “To you,” says David, “I will direct my prayer.” Follow David’s example, my friend. Be considerate of the requests you prefer before the Most High.

18. The generosity involved in our Lord’s question, “What do you want me to do for you?” supplies us with a strong incentive to boldness at the throne of heavenly grace. This is our last thought. Should we not seek much liberty in prayer when we are encouraged by such generosity, such a profusion of grace? Let us not be so reluctant to ask while our Lord and Master is so ready to supply. “Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it,” says our God. A traveller thinks that this passage must bear an allusion to a custom which prevails in the East, and was practised not many months ago by a Persian Shah. The monarch told one of his subjects to open his mouth, and when the man had done so he began to put into it diamonds, pearls, emeralds, rubies, and all kinds of jewels. Well, though I suppose that these are not very pleasant things to have in one’s mouth, I can readily understand that a man who knew he was to have as many of them as he could hold in his mouth would open his mouth rather wide. And are not God’s mercies so rich that they are like diamonds of the first water and jewels beyond all price? Surely there should be no need to press the exhortation, “Open your mouth wide,” when the promise says, “I will fill it.” We do not ask enough. This is a complaint which was never brought against any poor mendicant in quest of this world’s comforts, and yet it is a complaint which God brings against us. Our puny souls do not crave so much as his infinite bounty is willing to bestow. Let us so esteem God as that courtier whom Alexander told to ask whatever he wanted. He asked for so much that the king’s treasurer was staggered at the demand. Not so Alexander the Great. He said, “Though it was much for a subject to ask, it was not much for Alexander to give.” Let the riches of God’s glory rather than the baseness of your own estate measure the scope of your requests, when he says, “What do you want me to do for you?”

19. Now the Saviour is present with us in Spirit. He will soon be here in Person. I think I hear his voice as he asks this question, in loving tones, to each one of us, “What do you want me to do for you?” You aged folks, who have passed your “best days” (as they are called, though I hope your best days are really now coming), what do you want Christ to do for you? You venerable saints, if you have little to ask for yourselves in this world, what will you ask for us who are bearing the heat and burden of the day? You soldiers of Christ, who are in midlife, what do you want Christ to do for you? Have you no children to pray for, no household mercies to seek, no troubles from which you would be delivered? And you young men and maidens, the Master says to you, “What do you want me to do for you?” If you can, I trust you will express a desire while you are in your pews. If not, let the question greet you at the bedside, where you have bowed so often. Pause for a while before you pray. Think what you shall ask. It may be that the Lord, who appeared to Solomon, and said, “I will give you whatever you shall ask for,” may have appeared to you to make this the night of mercy. Do not ask for wealth from him, do not ask for honour, do not ask for rank and position, but ask him to give you his dear Son; ask to have the Saviour to be yours for ever, and if you ask this, it will be a wide-mouthed prayer, but God will answer it, and you shall have this grateful response, “According to your faith be it done for you.” Amen.

Exposition By C. H. Spurgeon {Mr 10:13-27,32-52}

13. And they brought young children to him, so that he should touch them: and his disciples rebuked those who brought them.

They thought them too little, too insignificant, and that the Master had greater things to do; but he does not think so. No one is too little for him. He accepts even childish honours.

14. But when Jesus saw this he was much displeased, and said to them, “Permit the little children to come to me, and do not forbid them: for of such is the kingdom of God.

Many of them come into that kingdom, and all who come there must be like them. The child is not the hardest subject of conversion; no, rather:

15. Truly I say to you, ‘Whoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter into it.’”

Instead of growing wiser, in order to be fit for Christ, we must be more conscious of ignorance, more trustful towards him, more dependent on him, more childlike.

16-18. And he took them up in his arms, put his hands on them, and blessed them. And when he was gone out into the way, there came one running, and kneeled to him, and asked him, “Good Master, what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?” And Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? There is no one good but one, that is, God.

He did not here unveil his deity to that young man, but if he had thought for a while, he might have seen it. However, he answered his question. “If you are to be saved by your doings, this is what you have to do — not attend to sacraments and go through performances, but this.”

19, 20. You know the commandments, ‘Do not commit adultery,’ ‘Do not kill,’ ‘Do not steal’. ‘Do not bear false witness,’ ‘Do not defraud.’ ‘Honour your father and mother.’” And he answered and said to him, “Master, all these I have observed from my youth.”

And he probably had very cautiously and anxiously done so, yet, for all that, he had not really kept all those commandments without a flaw. We are very certain of that, but as yet his eyes were not open to see his own shortcomings.

21. Then Jesus beholding him loved him,

There was so much that was amiable about him.

21. And he said to him, “One thing you lack: go your way, sell whatever you have, and give to the poor, and you shall have treasure in heaven: and come, take up the cross, and follow me.”

He knew that there was a weak point in the young man’s character — that he did not yet supremely love God, but loved his wealth — that he was living for this world, after all. And are there not many such — most correct in character? No one could point to a single flaw in their morals, but they are living purely for self — altogether that they may buy and sell, and get gain. No thought of God, except a fear lest they should come under his rod, but no thought of serving him, and laying themselves out for his glory, nor much thought, either, for their fellow men. Christ had hit the spot — marked it out for him.

23. And the disciples were astonished at his words.

For the rabbis had pretty well taught that money would answer everything — that if you could give so much, and pay so much, it was all well with you. Christ went against all such teaching, and showed that, in this respect, money was of no use — in fact, that it often was a hindrance.

24. But Jesus answers again, and says to them, “Children, how hard it is for those who trust in riches to enter into the kingdom of God!

It is an impossibility. Only God can do it.

25-35. It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.” And they were astonished beyond measure, saying among themselves, “Who then can be saved?” And Jesus looking at them says, “With men it is impossible, but not with God: for with God all things are possible.” And they were in the way going up to Jerusalem; and Jesus went before them: and they were amazed: and as they followed, they were afraid. And he took the twelve, and began to tell them what things should happen to him, saying, “Behold, we go up to Jerusalem; and the Son of man shall be delivered to the chief priests, and to the scribes; and they shall condemn him to death and shall deliver him to the Gentiles: and they shall mock him, and shall scourge him, and shall spit on him, and shall kill him: and the third day he shall rise again.”

From the number of these sentences it is clear that our Saviour entered into a very detailed account of his sufferings, dwelling on each detail which he plainly foresaw, by which we see his prophetic character. But it is more to our point to see that he knew beforehand what it would cost him to redeem our souls. “When the Saviour knew the price of pardon was his blood, his pity ne’er withdrew.” He knew not only that he must die, but he knew all the circumstances of pain and shame with which that death should be attended. They would condemn him: would deliver him to the Gentiles; mock him; scourge him; spit on him; kill him. So we learn that we also should dwell in holy, grateful meditation on every point of our Lord’s passion. There is something in it. He himself would not have so divided it out, and laid it, as it were, piece by piece, if he had not intended us to do with it as they did with the burnt offering of old, when they divided it — a picture of what every intelligent, instructed believer should do with the passion of his Master. He should try to look into the details of the great sacrifice, and have communion with God in it. Now, albeit that this revelation of his coming shame, and sorrow, and death afflicted the hearts of his disciples, yet, for all that, observe what they did.

35. And James and John, the sons of Zebedee, come to him, saying, “Master, we wish that you should do for us whatever we shall desire.”

Strange request! First of all, read those words, “We wish that you should do for us.” Now the genuine spirit of a Christian is not to ask that something should be done for him, but to ask his Master, especially in such a time as that, what they could do for him. Christ was all unselfishness, but his disciples had not yet learned the lesson. “We wish that you should do for us.” And then see how much they indulged their ambition. “We wish that you should do for us whatever we desire.” And yet I question whether any of us is free from this spirit; for when the Lord reproves us a little, and we do not have everything our own way, how apt we are to rebel! The fact is, we have this tincture — this gall — in us — we want that he should do for us whatever we shall desire. Should it be according to your mind? Should the disciple dictate to his Master? Should the child be lord of the family?

36-39. And he said to them, “What do you want me to do for you?” They said to him, “Grant to us that we may sit, one on your right hand, and the other on your left hand, in your glory.” But Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you ask: can you drink from the cup that I drink from, and be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” And they said to him, “We can.”

Again, he might have said, “You do not know what you are saying.”

39, 40. And Jesus said to them, “You shall indeed drink from the cup that I drink from; and you also shall be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with. But to sit on my right hand and on my left hand is not mine to give; but it shall be given to those for whom it is prepared.”

They are not content, you see, with being ambitious themselves; they would fire him with ambition — that humble, lowly servant of God, who had laid aside for a while the power to distribute crowns and thrones. But he does not forget himself, nor the position which he had taken up in reference to the Father, but said, “It is not mine to give.”

41-43. And when the ten heard it, they began to be much displeased with James and John. But Jesus called them to him, and says to them, “You know that those who are considered rulers over the Gentiles exercise lordship over them; and their great ones exercise authority on them. But it shall not be so among you:

However, how sad the contrast is — the Master’s thoughts all taken up with his death for others, and their thoughts occupied with little petty jealousies concerning who should be the greatest! It is a sad thing when this creeps into Christian churches (and it still does), when souls are perishing, and this poor world needs our weeping eyes and our laborious hands, and we get quarrelling about points of precedence. This brother thinks the other is too forward. This one does not have enough respect paid to him. This one has spoken sharply, and the other cannot bear it. Oh! what poor disciples we are! What a blessing it is we have a patient Master, who still bears with us, and will not leave us until he has infused his own spirit into us, which spirit is the spirit of self-denial, self-abnegation — the spirit which does not desire its own, but considers the things of others. May God grant us all to be full of it.

43. But whoever will be great among you, shall be your minister:

Your servant.

44. And whoever of you will be the chiefest, shall be servant of all.

And that is the way to be truly great in the Church of God. It is to be less and less in your own esteem, and willing to be nothing. The way up is downward. That is not a contradiction, but it is a paradox. Sink, and you shall rise. Be willing to serve the very least, and you shall have honour among your brethren. Remember that the King of kings was the servant of servants. “Whoever of you will be the chiefest, shall be servant of all.”

45-49. For even the Son of man did not come to be ministered to, but to minister and to give his life a ransom for many.” And they came to Jericho: and as he went out of Jericho with his disciples and a great number of people, blind Bartimaeus, the son of Timaeus, sat by the highway side begging. And when he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry out, and say, “Jesus, you son of David, have mercy on me.” And many charged him that he should hold his peace; but he cried a great deal more, “You son of David, have mercy on me.” And Jesus stood still, and commanded him to be called. And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Be of good comfort,

“Cheer up.” That would be a very exact translation.

49-51. Rise; he calls you.” And he, casting away his garment, rose, and came to Jesus. And Jesus answered and said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?”

Do you notice here a kind of gentle rebuke that the Saviour gives to James and John? Read the thirty-sixth verse, and then read this again. “He said to them, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’” And now here is a blind beggar, and he sweetly asks the same question of him, “What do you want me to do for you?”

51. The blind man said to him,

And here he might well have shamed John and James. He asked for no thrones or kingdoms.

51. “Lord, that I might receive my sight.”

“Lord, that I might look up.” That was the word he used exactly; for no doubt he had been conscious that the light came from the sun as he felt its warmth on him as he sat by the wayside; and, therefore, he thought that seeing must be looking up towards the place from where the sunlight came. “Lord, that I might look up.”

52, 53. And Jesus said to him, “Go your way; your faith has healed you.” And immediately he received his sight, and followed Jesus in the way.

It is a very remarkable thing that you will not often find the Lord Jesus Christ granting a favour without ascribing it to some excellency in the person to whom he grants it. It is generally “Great is your faith,” or something of that kind — “I have not seen such faith.” Now this is a very remarkable thing, because we know there really was nothing whatever in the people that they should deserve his great favour.