But such a mode may here be followed with advantage; and I am led to give you now a specimen of this criticism upon the sense, rather than upon the words of an evangelist, because the eleventh chapter of John's Gospel may be stated in such a light as to illustrate much of what has been said with regard both to the internal evidence of Christianity, and to that branch of the external evidence which arises from miracles.

The eleventh chapter of John is the history of the resurrection of Lazarus, the greatest miracle which Jesus performed. Upon such a general view of the chapter as a critical lecture of this kind is meant to give, we are led to attend to that exhibition of character which the chapter contains-to the nature and circumstances of the miracle— and to the effects which the miracle produced.

I. The exhibition of character which this chapter contains is various, and our attention is directed to several very pleasing objects.

It is natural to speak first of the exhibition given of the character of the historian. The other evangelists have not mentioned this miracle, perhaps out of delicacy to Lazarus, who was alive when they wrote. They did not choose to expose the friend of their master to the fury of the Jews, by holding him forth in writings that were to go through the world, as a monument of his power. But John, who lived to see the destruction of Jerusalem, probably survived Lazarus ; and there was every reason why this evangelist, who has preserved other miracles and discourses which the former historians had omitted, should record this event. It is a subject suited to the pen of John the beloved disciple seems to delight in spreading it out; for he has coloured his narration with many beautiful circumstances, which unfold the characters of the other persons, and discover his intimate acquaintance with his master's heart. It is a striking instance of that strict propriety which pervades all the books of the New Testament, and which marks them to every discerning eye to be authentic writings, that the tenderest scenes in our Lord's life, those in which the warmth of his private affections is conspicuous, are recorded by this evangelist. From the others we learn his public life, the grace, the condescension, the benevolence which appeared in all his intercourse with those that had access to him. It was reserved to "the disciple whom Jesus loved" to present to succeeding ages this divine person in his family, and amongst his friends. In his Gospel, we see Jesus washing the feet of his disciples at the last supper that he ate with them. It is John, the disciple that leaned on the bosom of Jesus while he sat at meat, who relates the long discourse in which, with the most delicate sensibility for their condition, he soothes the troubled heart of his disciples, spares their feelings, while he tells them the truth, and gives them his parting blessing. It is John, whom Jesus judged worthy of the charge, who records the filial piety with which, in the hour of his agony, he provided for the comfort of his mother; and it is John, whose soul was congenial to that of his Master, tender, affectionate, and feeling like his, who dwells upon all the particulars of the resurrection of Lazarus, brings forward to our view the sympathy and attention with which Jesus took part in the sorrows of those whom he loved, and making us intimately acquainted with

them and with him, presents a picture at once delightful and instructive.

The next object in this exhibition of character is the friendship which Jesus entertained for the family of Lazarus. Bethany was a small village upon the mount of Olives, within two miles of Jerusalem, in the road from Galilee. Jesus, who resided in Galilee, and went only occasionally to Jerusalem, was accustomed to lodge with Lazarus in his way to the public festivals: and we are led to suppose, from an incidental expression in Luke,* that during the festivals he went out to Bethany in the evening, and returned to Jerusalem in the morning. To this little family he retired from the fatigues of his busy life, from the disputations of the Jewish doctors, and the bitterness of his enemies; and being, like his brethren, compassed with infirmity, like his brethren also he found refreshment to his soul in the intercourse of those whom he loved. "Now Jesus," says John, "loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus." He loved the world; he loved the chief of sinners. That was a love of pity, the compassion which a superior being feels for the wretched. This was the love of kindness, the complacency which kindred spirits take in the society of one another. Of the brother he says to his apostles, with the same cordiality with which you would speak of one like yourselves, "Our friend Lazarus." And although we shall find the character of the two sisters widely different, yet he discerned in both a mind worthy of his friendship.

It appears strange to me, that any person who ever read this chapter can blame the Gospel, as some deistical writers in the last century were accustomed to do, for not recommending private friendship. Can there be a stronger recommendation than this picture of the Author of the Gospel, drawn by the hand of his beloved disciple? When you follow Jesus to Jerusalem, you may learn from his public life, fortitude, diligence, wisdom. When you retire with him to Bethany, you may learn tenderness, confidence, and fellow feeling, with those whom you choose as your friends. The servants of Jesus may not in every situation find persons so worthy of their friendship as this family; and there is neither duty nor satisfaction in making an improper choice. Many circumstances may appoint for individuals days of solitude, and therefore the universal religion of Jesus has wisely refrained from delivering a precept which it may often be impossible to obey. But they who are able to follow the example of their master, by having a heart formed for friendship, and by meeting with those who are worthy of it, have found the medicine of life. Their happiness is independent of noise, and dissipation, and show; amidst the tumult of the world, their spirits enter into rest; and in the quiet, pleasing, rational intercourse of Bethany, they forget the strife of Jerusalem.

The next object in this exhibition is the character of the two sisters, painted in that most perfect and natural manner, which the Scriptures almost always adopt, by actions, not by words. As soon as Lazarus is sick, the two sisters send a message to Jesus, with entire confidence in his power to heal, and his willingness to come. He is

• Luke xxi. 37, 38.

now beyond Jordan; the countries of Samaria and Galilee lie between Bethany and his present abode. But the sisters of Lazarus knew too well his affection for their brother, and his readiness to do good, to think that distance would prevent his coming. They say no more than, "He whom thou lovest is sick," and they leave Jesus to interpret their wish. When Jesus arrives at Bethany, after the death of Lazarus, the different characters of the two sisters are supported with the most delicate discrimination, even under that pressure of grief which, in the hand of a coarse painter, would have obliterated every distinguishing feature. Martha, who had been "cumbered with much serving," when she had to entertain our Lord, rises with the same officious zeal from the ground, where she was sitting dishevelled and in sackcloth, amongst the friends who had come to comfort her. She rises the moment she hears by some chance messenger that Jesus is at hand, and runs to meet him. Mary, who had sat at the feet of Jesus, so much engaged with his discourse as not to think of providing for his entertainment, is incapable of so brisk an exertion, or thinks it more respectful to Jesus to wait his coming. This difference in the conduct of the two sisters is in the style of nature, according to which the particular temper, and feelings of particular persons, give a very great variety to the language of passion upon occasions equally interesting to all of them. A man may know, he ought to know, every corner in his own heart, how far any part of his conduct proceeds from the defect of good, or the prevalence of wrong principles. But the most intimate acquaintance does not give him access to know all the notions of delicacy and propriety which may restrain, or urge on others at particular seasons, and may give to their conduct, in the eye of careless observers, a very different appearance from that which they would wish; and it argues both an uncandid spirit, and very little knowledge of the world, to say or to think this man does not feel as he ought, because he does not express his feelings as I would express mine. Martha ran and met Jesus: Mary sat still in the house. When Martha comes to Jesus, there is in her first words a mixture of reproach for his delay, and of confidence in his kindness, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." A gleam of hope, indeed, shoots athwart the sorrowful mind of Martha at the sight of Jesus. But her wish was so great that she is afraid to mention it. "I know, that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee." She has conceived a hope, in the state of her mind it was a wild hope, that her brother whom she had lost might be instantly restored. Jesus composes her spirit, prepares her for this gift, by recalling her thoughts from the general resurrection to himself, and probably gives her some sign or some direction, in consequence of which she goes to the house, and without alarming the Jews who were assembled there, says secretly to her sister, "The Master is come, and calleth for thee." This message instantly rouses Mary. Her spirit, bowed down with grief, revives at his call, and without knowing, probably without conceiving the purpose for which he called her, she arose quickly and went to him. When she arrives, there is more submission in her manner than there had been in that of Martha. The marks are stronger of a depressed and afflicted spirit. She fell down at his feet, weeping. But, as if to remind us that we should

look beyond these outward expressions, which, being very much a matter of constitution, vary exceedingly in different persons, the evangelist puts the same words into the mouth of both, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died;" and whatever interpretation we give to these words when they are spoken by the one sister, we cannot avoid giving them the same when they are spoken by the other. In this exhibition of the manner of the two sisters there is so much of nature, and of nature appearing strongly in minute circumstances, as to be far superior to that truth of painting which we admire in a fancied picture, and to carry with it an internal evidence that John was a witness of what he describes, and that his drawing is part of a scene which, from the powerful, yet different emotions of the two sisters, had made a deep impression upon his feeling breast.

The next object which presents itself in this moral exhibition, is the character of the Apostles. The Gospels present us with the most natural picture of the Apostles; their doubts, their fears, their slowness of apprehension and of belief. By circumstances that seem to be incidentally recorded, we see them feeling and acting, not indeed in the manner which would have occurred to a rude, unskilful hand, had he attempted to draw those who were honoured with being the companions of Jesus, but in the manner which any one intimately acquainted with the human heart will perceive to be the most natural for men of their condition and education, and situated as they were. We see them differing from one another in sentiments and conduct, with the same kind of variety which is observable amongst our neighbours and companions, each preserving in every situation his peculiar character, and all at the same time uniting in attachment to their master.

Although the companions of Jesus were interested in the fate of his friend Lazarus, yet they did not understand the hints which our Lord gave them. Although sleep is one of the most common images of death, they suppose when Jesus says, "Our friend Lazarus sleepeth," that he was enjoying a refreshing sleep, by which nature was to work his cure; and not attending to the impropriety of Jesus going a long way to awake him out of such a sleep, they say, "Lord, if he sleep he shall do well." When Jesus tells them plainly "Lazarus is dead," Thomas stands forth, and by one expression presents to us the same character which is more fully unfolded in another chapter of this Gospel.*

All the disciples were filled with sorrow and despair, when they saw their Master condemned, executed, and laid in the tomb. "For as yet," says John, "they knew not the Scripture that he must rise again from the dead." At length, "Jesus came and stood in the midst of them." "Then were the disciples glad when they saw the Lord." It happened that Thomas was not present. And when "the other disciples had said to him, we have seen the Lord," his answer was, "Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe." About eight days after, Jesus condescended to give him this proof. "Reach hither," said he, "thy finger, and

* John xx. 9, 19, 20, 24-28.

L

behold my hands; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side, and be not faithless but believing. And Thomas answered and said, My Lord and my God." He had felt doubts, but his heart appears full of affection and reverence. Now, mark here the same Thomas. The disciples were alarmed at the danger of going back to Judea. They had tried to dissuade their Master, but they find him fixed in his purpose. "Lazarus is dead, nevertheless let us go unto him. Then said Thomas unto his fellow disciples, let us also go, that we may die with him." You see here the same warmth of temper, the same firm determined mind which appeared at the other time, but you see also the same defect of faith. Thomas does not think it possible that Jesus could shelter himself from the Jews. He does not see any purpose that could be served by the journey. He thinks Jesus is going to throw away his life. Yet he resolves himself, and he encourages his fellow disciples not to part with him. Our Master makes a sacrifice of his life. We have forsaken all and followed him. Let us follow him also in this journey; "let us go that we may die with him." It is the strong effort of a mind which loved and venerated Jesus, yet distrusted and did not know his divine power: Thomas faithless, yet affectionate and manly.

Such is the mixture of character which we often meet with in common life. They who are most intimately acquainted with the workings of the human heart, and who have observed most accurately the manners of those around them, will best perceive the truth of that picture which the Evangelists have drawn of themselves, and they will be struck with the force of that internal evidence for the Gospel history which arises from this simple natural record. We cannot attend to this picture without recollecting the divine power which, out of these feeble doubting men, raised the most successful instruments of spreading the religion of Jesus. There was no want of faith after the day of Pentecost. Thomas was one of that company which was assembled, when they were all filled with the Holy Ghost; and he who now says, "Let us go and die with Jesus," with power gave witness of the resurrection of the Lord.*

The principal object in this moral exhibition yet remains. It is Jesus himself. The striking feature throughout the whole is tenderness and love. But we discern also prudence, fortitude, and dignity; and this chapter may thus serve as a specimen of that most perfect and most difficult character, which the Apostles were incapable of conceiving, and which, had they conceived it, they would have been unable to support in every situation with such exact propriety, if they had not drawn it from the life.

After he receives the message from the sisters, he relieves himself from the importunity of his disciples, by an assurance which was sufficient to remove their anxiety, and he lingers for two days in the place where he was. The purpose of his lingering was, that Lazarus might be truly dead, that he might not merely recover a man who was sick, but that he might raise a man who had been in the grave. But this lingering did not proceed from indifference. Mark how beautifully the fifth verse is thrown in between the assurance given to the dis

Acts iv. 31, 33.