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demanded much more than he imagined. But its use is more extensive: it is admirably calculated to teach all men the nature, the extent, and the obligation of benevolence. For this reason we 'have chosen it on the present occasion.

A teacher of the law inquired of our Redeemer, "Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?" Jesus Christ, in reply, asked him what the law which he taught declared on this point: "He said unto him, What is written in the law, how readest thou ?" The man replied, "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and thy neighbour as thyself." Our Saviour commended him for the answer: "Thou hast answered right; this do, and thou shalt live."

But he, willing to justify himself, said unto Jesus, Who is my neighbour?" Willing to justify himself! As to his love to God, this "blind teacher of the blind" supposed there could be no doubt; because he had abstained from apostacy and idolatry, and had observed the Jewish ritual, he imagined that he had kept this commandment. But he was conscious that his justification as to the performance of the social and benevolent duties depended upon the sense that should be given to the term neighbour: he therefore makes this inquiry, hoping that the answer of Jesus would correspond with the opinion of the Jews, who considered as their neighbours those only who were of their religion, or who were contained within the limits of Palestine. Jesus Christ might in a single sentence have told him, that all men, whatever their character, situation, or religion, are comprehended among those neighbours whom we are bound to love; but knowing that this teacher of the law would not acquiesce in this decision, he

presents to him this parable, in which this truth is clothed in images so striking, that it is impossible not to acknowledge it.

"A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, who stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead." This unhappy man was extended along the road, when by chance a priest came that way. If the unfortunate traveller retained any knowledge, he certainly could not doubt, on seeing a man of his nation, and that man a priest, that he was about to receive all the succour of which he had need. It was not necessary that he should solicit the charity of him who was approaching: his situation spoke for him; his deadly paleness, his shed blood, his open wounds, pleaded in his behalf. He perhaps already inwardly blessed Providence for taking pity on him, and conducting on this road a man whom his nation, his religion, his character, engaged to succour him; but he was deceived in expecting succour from a heart more hard and inhuman than that of the thieves who had wounded him. Yes! this action of the priest is more cruel than that of these murderers. They, hardened in guilt, inured to blood and crime, and desirous of gain, acted in consistence with their character. But the priest, born and educated at the foot of the altar; the minister of a God who is the Father and Creator of all men; professing and perhaps boasting of his inviolable attachment to religion; is insensible to the emotions of nature, and passes on the other

side of the way. Barbarian! whither goest thou?

Darest thou take another road than that into which God has led thee for thy happiness, and for the consolation of the unhappy object that lies before

thee? Is there any excuse, any pretext, that thou canst plead for neglecting him? Dost thou fear to be surprised in this office of charity, and treated in the same manner with this unhappy person? But couldst thou shed thy blood in a situation more honourable or more acceptable to God, than while stanching that of thy brother? Hast thou any pressing business which admits of no delay? But there is no occupation which can be put in parallel with this. Wert thou even about to perform the functions of thine office, and going to offer some sacrifice to the Lord, this afflictive spectacle dispenses thee from it, for "mercy is better than sacrifice." But why do I speak? He has departed, and is already lost from our view. Another person appears: perhaps he will be more charitable.

It is a Levite who approaches, but who, following the footsteps of the priest, is careful not to approach too near. As soon as he perceives this wounded body, he flies from it with more rapidity than if it exhaled the strongest infection! He also passed on the other side. It must be confessed, my brethren, that the choice which the Saviour makes of two ecclesiastics, to serve as examples of the want of charity, is not honourable to the Jewish clergy. It is certain that, while the Redeemer was upon earth, the ministers of religion were hard-hearted, vindictive, and sanguinary. Were there no other proof of this than their persecutions of Jesus, this alone would be sufficient. The excesses and cruelties which were committed at the last siege of Jerusalem, had, in part, for their authors, people of the sacerdotal race. Careless, except of the exterior of religion; reducing all piety to certain ceremonials; tything, with scrupulous accuracy, the mint, annise, and

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cummin; the great and solid virtues, and especially charity, were esteemed of no consequence: for these reasons, the Saviour embraced every opportunity of reproaching them for their odious conduct. But let us return to the dying traveller, and see whence he will receive that succour so long and so vainly expected.

"A certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came that way." What a painful spectacle to the dying man! A Samaritan! Does he come to insult the misery of the Jew? Does he come to feast his eyes with the sight of an expiring enemy? Ah! why have not the thieves rather consummated their crime, than left this business to one so execrable as a Samaritan? Such were probably the thoughts, and perhaps the expressions, of the prejudiced teacher whom Jesus addressed. The reciprocal enmity between the Samaritans and the Jews, is well known. It appears from the whole history of Josephus, and from various parts of the New Testament. The evangelists tell us that they had no intercourse together. The Samaritan woman at Sichem expressed her surprise that Jesus Christ should ask of her water to drink. The Jews, offended at the Redeemer, called him a Samaritan, not being able to use any term more reproachful. The Son of God chose then a Samaritan, rather than any other stranger, because, if he could force the Jew to grant that the Samaritan, whom he considered as his greatest enemy, could, nevertheless, be his neighbour, it would follow, that much more ought the rest of men to be so esteemed.

The Samaritan approaches, and "hath compassion on him." The emotions of humanity are manifested where they were least expected. This compassionate stranger cannot, with a dry eye and

a cold indifference, view the distresses, even of an enemy. But it is not merely a mechanical impression, which is derived from the senses, and which is dissipated in a moment, that is felt by this benevolent man. The duration and the efficacy of his compassion are the traits which entitle it to our praise. It is not sufficient externally to be moved at the view of the miseries of others; this is only the preliminary, the commencement of charity. Useless comforters, who come with a sympathizing countenance, with weeping eyes, and perhaps with an affected heart, to soften our sorrows, who even assure us that you divide them with us, have you no succours that are more real to bestow upon us? "And he went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and sat him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him." This is true charity; this is real consolation; where actions as well as words attest the sincerity of our feelings.

This is not all; the beneficence of the Samaritan is not bounded to the present; he is not contented with having plucked the Jew from the arms of death, he resolves to finish his benevolent work, by procuring his perfect restoration; and, being obliged to continue his journey, he says to the host, "Take care of him, and whatever thou spendest, when I come again I will pay thee." This foresight and attention to the future, consummates his generosity. By desisting from any thing which we have commenced, we lose all the fruit of what we have done. This is peculiarly the case with charity. In numberless cases we might as well do nothing, as to do good by halves; yet this defect is found in the alms of very many persons. A pressing necessity

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