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DISCOURSE VIII.

MARK, X. 21.

Then Jesus, beholding him, loved him.

You ou all, doubtless, recollect the passage from which these words are taken. Few young persons can read the narrative, without feeling a lively and lasting interest. Few, of any class, can reflect upon its circumstances, without being awakened to very solemn considerations.

There is something remarkable, in the manner, in which the evangelist introduces my text. The young man addresses our Lord, with every appearance of zeal the most devoted: he runs to him, he kneels to him, he calls him good master. But this warmth is far from being returned. His master receives him with an uninviting reserve, not a little removed from his wonted affability. When, however, the young man declares, that, from his earliest years, he had observed all the commandments, "then Jesus, beholding him, loved him."

But the narrative is no less instructive, in what it omits, than in what it communicates. There is no intimation given, of the final fate of this person; and we can see reason to be satisfied, with the wisdom of the concealment. Were we sure that he was received, it might lead us from the cross,

to our own fancied merits; it might tempt us to trust in ourselves that we are righteous, and to despise others; it might delude us, into the fond belief of our own spiritual wealth; and it might prevent that first and indispensable conviction, that, of ourselves, we are "wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked." On the contrary, if we were certain, that he was rejected, we might be deceived into the notion, that a moral and sober life is a thing of no value. But, as it is, neither of these opinions can find a pretext, in this impressive history. We know, that our Lord loved the youth; and we know, at the same time, that he spoke of his future state, with a studied and mysterious ambiguity. Enough is said, for the purposes of warning. We are then left, in fear and trembling, to work out our own salvation.

But our chief concern is, with the character of this person. The sketch of him which is given us, brief as it is, contains, not only all that worldly men wish for, but the greater part of those things, which, even to the best regulated minds, are objects of desire and emulation. He was a young, and wealthy man; the comforts, the pleasures, the honours of life, lay all before him. He was a person of weight among his countrymen; he occupied a rank, which implies education, understanding, and practical knowledge. Yet, neither riches, nor honours, nor learning, made him presumptuous. He is not ashamed of the poverty of our Saviour; he comes with an amiable alacrity;

he renders public obeisance, to the man of sorrows, who had not where to lay his head. He lived at a degenerate period, and in a depraved city; yet, he walked not in the way of the ungodly. He had not yet passed that dangerous period of life, when passion is boisterous, reason feeble, and experience narrow; yet he was temperate, and sober-minded. He abstained: but his abstinence was not the reluctant consequence of a wasted fortune, or an enfeebled frame. He had not yet proved the vanity of all under the sun. Whatever there was of gay or attractive in life, still glittered before him, in the freshness of novelty; engaging his notice, and inviting his enjoyment; yet he passed on, and the temptation had no power. Nor had he the virtues of self-government only. He had kept all the commandments, from his childhood upwards. Which of us, can say so much for himself? To say this with truth (and we find he was not contradicted), he must have been upright in his actions; in his language, charitable and ingenuous. As a neighbour, a master, a magistrate, and a citizen, — in all those diversified relations, which an extensive intercourse with society induces, he must have been pure and blameless. He must have been attentive to those, with whom nature or Providence had more immediately connected him; affectionate to his parents; and not unmindful of his God. But why inferentially insist on what he must have been? Why not remind you, of what he might have been, of what, probably, he was? He might, then, have

been courteous, affable, and humane. He might have been a father to the poor; and the cause which he knew not, he might have searched out. When the ear heard him, it might have blessed him; when the eye saw him, it might have given witness to him. Where is the country, which would not feel complacency in such a citizen? Where is the mother, whose heart would not sing for joy, could she contemplate such a son?

He, of whom so much can be justly said, is no ordinary person. Yet, this was insufficient: so we are told by our Saviour; and our Saviour loved him. Let us, then, with that humility which best becomes us, examine, if we be in a like error; let his example be our warning; and, if we find, or fancy that we find, ground for hoping that we are rescued from the danger which impended over him, let us resolve it all into the unmerited grace of God. Let us not thank the Lord, that we are not such as others but let us pray HIм to have mercy, and intreat that he will not enter into judgment with his unprofitable servants.

And here seems to have been the great source of failure, in the character now before us. It is obvious, that, however sincere in doing justice, and loving mercy, he was not walking humbly with his God. However respectful in his manner, he undoubtedly had cherished a self-sufficiency, a reliance on his own strength, an opinion of his own merit, which, in all men, is irreconcilable with the spirit of the Gospel; but which, in the young, is

the ruin of all good promise, the destruction of every thing amiable and excellent. He was not, therefore, prepared to understand the character, or to receive the precepts, of Christ; of Him, who proposed his own meekness and lowliness of heart, as special objects of imitation. He comes to Christ, indeed, with alacrity; but it is rather to claim a reward, than to receive instruction, or to abide reproof. He asks what he should do, to obtain eternal life; but he did not expect to be told, that he yet lacked any thing. He did not know, either the deceitfulness of his own heart, or the purity of that holy law, of which he professed himself so accurate an observer. He seems to have possessed not that godly fear of himself, without which there can scarcely be a hope of safety. He manifested not an humble and contrite spirit; and such a spirit alone can lead the way to all true religious joy, to any moral advancement. He knew not how to pray; because the very essence and soul of prayer, is a deep and solemn sense of our infirmities, our wants, our unworthiness. He knew not what to pray for; because he had no true conception of that eternal life, for which he was inquiring. He thought of heaven, as he might have thought of a new estate; as a possession, which could be transferred to him, by something like a bargain; as a speculation, which would bring him many external advantages, - an increase of power, distinction, and emolument; and, for which, he must, therefore, offer some external compensation. He did not know,