I WISH to call your earnest attention to the fact, that he went as he was. He had said, “I will arise and go to my father,” and he went. Unlike many who follow these words Sunday after Sunday, but never go―have no desire to go―have not “come to themselves”―in fact, do not feel the misery of their condition—have not even “begun to be in want,” that is, to feel the vanity, the emptiness of everything here to satisfy the craving of an immortal soul.
And not only did he arise and go, but he went as he was, and owned what he had done, and what he was. He had “sinned,” and was unworthy.
The fatal mistake which so many make of trying to make themselves better, more fit for God, before going, is well illustrated by the following story of the beggar and the painter: ―
A celebrated painter was engaged on a great picture of “The Prodigal Son”―a picture which he intended should be a masterpiece, and establish his reputation. He had already painted in all the accessory objects. The father’s house was seen in the background, with the calf in the stall. The servants had the robe and ring and sandals in readiness, even to the father running forth with outstretched arms to embrace his long-lost son. But the son, the central object of his picture, was lacking. A blank occupied the space where he should have stood; for the painter had never yet seen a subject sufficiently destitute and degraded to sit for a model of what he considered his prodigal should be.
One day, when walking the streets of London, his eye lighted on a broken-down, disheveled, ragged, filthy creature. He thought he had never seen such a wretched object in his whole life before. He was filled with delight. “Here,” thought he, “is the very man I want. At last I have found a model that will come up even to my idea of what the prodigal was like.”
He went up to the man, and, accosting him, made him an offer of a sum of money which would be a prize to such as he, providing he would do exactly what he told him, and sit as a model for a picture he was painting. As an evidence of his good faith, he produced a sovereign, and gave it to the man, who, as may be supposed, readily consented. “But,” said the painter, “mind you come to me just as you are; do not alter or improve your appearance in the smallest particular. I want you just as you are.” Having laid these strict injunctions upon him, and appointed the time for the first sitting, he gave him his card with his name and address.
No sooner had the gentleman left him, amazed at his good fortune, and gazing at the sovereign in his band―he had not possessed such a sum all at once for years, if ever, and then so much more in prospect! ―no sooner was he alone than he began to think what he should do First of all, he would go and have his fill at a cook-shop. Having done this, and feeling somewhat easier and on better terms with himself, he began to consider his condition. A mirror, hanging on the wall, reflected his dirty face and unkempt hair. Why, even he was shocked at the filthiness of his appearance. “This would never do,” thought he. “What, go to a gentleman’s house in such a state as this!” And then his garments! He began to examine them one by one. The coat was out at the elbows, patched and torn and greased all over, and held together over his naked chest by some odd pieces of string. His trousers broken at the knees, frayed out at the bottoms, and two odd boots, through various rents in which his crippled feet protruded.
“This would never do.” He must rig himself up a bit, to make himself fit for a gentleman’s house. So off he went and got a piece of soap, and at the nearest pump he washed off as much of his dirt as he could. At a barber’s he had his long matted hair and beard cut and made decent-looking; and with the remainder of the sovereign he procured a suit of clothes and boots at a slop-shop. When arrayed in these, and having duly admired himself, in a condition in which he had not seen himself for years, he awaited the time appointed for going to the artist’s studio.
He presented himself at the address he had received in due time, and rang the bell. A footman answered the door, and asked his business. “Please, sir, the gentleman as lives here told me to come to sit for he to paint.” “You are not the man,” replied the servant. “Yes, I be,” responded the beggar. “No, you are not, replied the servant,” you cannot be the man. My master told me to expect a dirty beggar in rags and tatters.” “I be the man,” asserted the other, and produced the artist’s card in proof.” But I thought it would never do to come to a gentleman’s house without cleaning myself up a bit.” “That is just what my master did not want you to do,” answered the servant. “But I will tell him you are here, and see what he says.”
When the servant announced the model’s arrival to the expectant artist, he rushed out, without hearing more, to bring in the object he had so long sought, and had found at last―the model which would enable him to paint in the prodigal in his great picture. What was his dismay when his eyes fell on the made-up man before him. He had lost his ideal. “You have spoiled it all, you have spoiled it all. I told you to come just as you were,” he exclaimed, and without waiting to hear the wretched man’s explanations, he ordered his servant to thrust him out of doors.
How many make this grave mistake. They go to the pump of morality, temperance, or legality to cleanse their ways, or to the slop-shop of religious observances―religion without Christ―to fit themselves for God. These things only spoil them for God and for His grace. The more unworthy the objects, the more glory their salvation brings to God. The chief of sinners will be the brightest trophy of grace for eternity. Not that I would say one word against true temperance, morality, or religion in their proper place, but that is after, and not before, salvation (see Eph. 2:8-108For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: 9Not of works, lest any man should boast. 10For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them. (Ephesians 2:8‑10)), ―not to procure salvation, but the proofs and fruits of grace already received.
“Confession is good for the soul,” is a true saying. It is the invariable accompaniment of real repentance. It is due to God. Paul preached “repentance toward God,” as well as “faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ.” And it is the forerunner of forgiveness. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:99If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. (1 John 1:9)). And again, “He that covereth his sins shall not prosper; but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy” (Prov. 28:1313He that covereth his sins shall not prosper: but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy. (Proverbs 28:13)).
“Once as prodigals we wandered,
In our folly, far from Thee;
But Thy grace, o’er sin abounding,
Rescued us from misery;
Thou the prodigal hast pardoned,
Kissed us with a Father’s love,
Killed the fatted calf, and called us,
E’er to dwell with Thee above.”
W. G. B.