Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 473
“But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was.” Luke 10:33. THE good Samaritan is a masterly picture of true benevolence. The Samaritan had no kinship with the Jew, he was purely of foreign origin, yet he pities his poor neighbor. The Jews cursed the Cuthites and would have no dealings with them, for they were intruders in their land. There was nothing, therefore, in the object of the Samaritan’s pity that could excite his national sympathies, but everything to arouse his prejudices, hence the grandeur of his benevolence. It is not my intention, this morning, to indicate the delightful points of excellence which Christ brings out in order to illustrate what true charity will perform. I want you only to notice this one fact, that the benevolence which the Samaritan exhibited towards this poor wounded and half-dead man, was available benevolence. He did not say to him, “If you will walk to Jericho, then I will bind up your wounds, pouring in the oil and wine.” Or, “If you will journey with me as far as Jerusalem, I will then attend to your wants.”
Oh, no, he came “where he was,” and finding that the man could do nothing whatever for his own assistance, the good Samaritan began with him, then and there, upon the spot, putting no impossible conditions to him, proposing no stipulations which the man could not perform—but doing everything for the man, and doing it for him as he was, and where he was.
Beloved, we are all quite aware that a charity of which a man cannot avail himself, is no charity at all. Go among the operatives of Lancashire and tell them that there is no necessity for any of them to starve, for on the top of Mount St. Bernard, there are hospitable monks who keep a refectory, where they relieve all passers-by. Tell them they have nothing to do but to journey to the top of the Alps and there they will find food enough. Poor souls! They feel that you mock them, for the distance is too great.
Penetrate one of our back streets, climb up three pair of stairs into a wretched room, so dilapidated that the stars look between the tiles. See a poor young girl dying of consumption and poverty. Tell her, if you dare, “If you could get to the seaside, and if you could eat so much beef steak, you would no doubt recover.” You are shamefully laughing at her—she cannot get these things. They are beyond her reach—she cannot journey to the seaside—she would die before she reached it. Like the wicked, your tender mercies are cruel.
I have noticed this unavailing charity in hard winters. People give away bread and soup tickets to poor people who are to give sixpence and then receive soup and bread. And often I have had persons come to me—“Sir, I have a ticket. It would be worth a great deal to me, if I had sixpence to go with it to get the relief. But I have not a farthing in all the world, and I cannot make out the good of giving me this ticket at all.” This is hardly charity.
Think you see Jeremiah, down in the low dungeon—if Ebedmelech and Baruch had stood over the top of the dungeon and called out to him, “Jeremiah, if you will get half way up, we will pull you out,” when there was not a ladder, nor any means by which he could possibly get so far, how cruel would have been this charity. But, instead thereof, they took old rags from under the king’s treasury, and put them on ropes and bade him put the rags under his armholes and sling his arms through the ropes and then they pulled him up all the way. This was available charity. The other would have been hypocritical pretense.
Brethren, if in the description of a good Samaritan, Christ describes him as giving to this poor wounded man a charity of which he could avail himself, does it not seem to be strongly probable—no, even certain—that when Christ comes to deal with sinners, He gives them available mercy—Divine Grace which may be of real service to them?
Therefore, permit me to say I do not believe in the way in which some people pretend to preach the Gospel. They have no Gospel for sinners as sinners, but only for those who are above the dead level of sinnership and are technically styled sensible sinners. Like the priest in this parable. They see the poor sinner, and they say, “He is not conscious of his need, we cannot invite him to Christ.” “He is dead,” they say, “it is of no use preaching to dead souls.” So they pass by on the other side, keeping close to the elect and quickened, but having nothing whatever to say to the dead, lest they should make out Christ to be too gracious and His mercy to be too free.
The Levite was not in quite such a hurry as the priest. The priest had to preach, and might be too late for the service, and therefore he could not stop to relieve the man. Besides, he might have soiled his cassock, or made himself unclean. And then he would have been hardly fit for the dainty and respectable congregation over which he officiated.