SUNDAY READING.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXV, Issue 9094, 30 June 1888, Page 4 (Supplement)

SUNDAY READING.

THE THEOLOGY OF THE BLIND. [by rev. mark, guy pearse.] He is a shrewd, clever fellow ; the loss of his eyes has sharpened his wits, and he has a bold tongue. I want to sit by his side for a little while and talk to him. Poor man! overhead that deep blue Syrian sky, ancl up against it. sharp and clear, the fretted pinnacles 01 the Temple; there, too, the crowded porticos, the steps thronged with the gay figures of the crowd ; the colours and shapes of things; the light of faces, the varied incidents and bits of life and all this lost to him. Yours is a great anl.'ction, my friend." I knew such a blind man once —sharp, shrewd, clever. I was staying at a little village on the Cornish coast, and the good man of the house sat in the settle by the fire. I was anxious to make his acquaintance, and, seeing he was blind, I said, with as much sympathy as I could, "Yours is a great affliction, my friend." To my astonishment, he got up and turned upon me angrily, and denied it utterly. " No, it is not,' said he; not a bit." And he groped his way out. His wife hurried in to apologise and explain. "Oh, sir, I am so sorry; ! meant to nave asked you nob to say anything about my husband's blindness. He always gets so angry. You know, hs thinks eyes are such stupid things. And he can do a great deal more without his eyes than many men can do with them." That blind man opened my eyes. I watched henceforth most carefully, and I think I learned thin : that, generally speaking, a blind man is not conscious of his infirmity. A deaf man sees that he is deaf, but a blind man cannot see that he is blind. As the result of my altered manner. I got an invitation to address some two or three hundred blind people. I was almost shocked at the reason given for asking me. "He won't pity us." Not pity the 'poor blind ! Why, it was the appeal that had often diverted my earliest pence from some indulgence. But I knew what they meant, and was glad that they had discerned my knowledge—the blind only know that they are blind by being pitied. The blind man is conscious, of. course, of many wants, of many diiiiculties —it may be, of sorrows and of needs; but be does not accept them as the result of his blindness so much as the natural course of things. And now I can quite think, if I had sat down by the side of this blind man of olden time, and had begun to talk to hiin, and had got his confidence, he might have turned the sightless eyes towards me, and havp said, "Shall. 1 tell you what I think ? Well, you know, I think that it is all nonsense talking about eyes and the glories of vision, and all that sort of thing; 1 don't believe there are any such things as eyes. Prove it I" I do not know that anybody living could prove it to him. Look at him, born blind, and not believing that anybody can see; that it is all nonsense to talk of eyes and sight. It is a very picture of thousands, tens of thousands, about us.

To you and me, thank God, the presence anil help of the Heavenly Father are as real as the earth is real. Life to us is lit up with Ilia love, sure as the ground on which we tread, and bright as the Heaven in which we .dwell; we are arched about with His care, compassed with His favour as with a shield. To us the Lord Jesus is most real, a gracious Friend and Brother, our blessed Master whom it is our delight to serve ; to commune with Him is as easy and as natural as breathing. And yet there are hosts of men to whom all this is but a sound that conveys no definite idea—God is not a reality, only a name, and Jesus Christ is but One who lived long ago. Religion moves their scorn. They cannot see it, and, therefore, they cannot believe it.

A man born blind, who does not believe in eyes : what are you going to do for him ? It is no use tormenting him with blisters and home-made ointments and cruel operations. When a man has got no eyes, it is no good trying to open them. And what is the use of getting eloquent men to describe the marvels of the eye? Read him, if you will, a masterly treatise on optics. But what of that! It is not light that the man wants, but eyes. No arguments, theories, philosophies as to the plan of salvation, evidences of Christianity, explanations of faith —what do these avail when men are blind, born blind? Can we do nothing to help them, then? Yes, certainly, something, only let it be the right thing Call Bartimii'us. He is with the crowd about the Master somewhere. " Here, Bartinueus, is a case for you. A blind man sits there just above the steps. Have a word with him."

And Bartimanis sits beside him, and begins to talk. "Do you know that I was born blind like you?' " And what arc you now?" asks the beggar. " What am I now?" cries Bartimieus. " Why, I have got as good a pair of eyes as ever man had. 1 can see everything." "And you were born blind?" "Yes, indeed, and was blind for years. There are many people in the city who knew me when I was a poor beggar down in Jericho." "What did you do?" he asks. "1 heard that Jesus of Nazareth was passing through the place. They had told me of the wonders that He had done; so that, when He came near enough, I cried out to Him to have mercy upon me. And Hi stopped, just as if I had been a prince, and called me over to Him, and gave me this glorious gift of sight in a moment. He is in the city now, and will be sure to pass this way. And He will do as much for you as He did for me." That would set the blind man thinking, hoping, yes, longing. The masterpiece of argument is what Jesus Christ has done for us. The greatest power we have to help others is in telling them what Jesus Christ has done for us. One thing 1 know, whereas I was blind, now I can see.

And now Jesus is beside him. Do you notice that the Master did not ask him if he would be made whole or anything else? Perhaps it was that Jesus feared the man's readiness to argue, and He knew how easily the chance might be lost. He stooped and moistened the clay into an ointment, and laid it on his eyes, and said unto him, "Go, wash in the pool of Siloam." He gave him 110 promise. He made the clavwhy? Partly, I think, because He would protest once more against the strangling tyranny to which the Pharisees had brought the notion of the Sabbath, that, whilst it was lawful to stone Jesus Himself to death on that day, they said it was not lawful for a man to anoint his eyes with eye salve, because that was too much like work ! He made clay as a sign, I think, to those who had eyes to see it, that, as at the first He made the man out of the dust, so, now, out of the dust He could restore that which the man lacked. It was the proof of the Creator, the Light of the World. Perhaps there was a whisper of hope in it, that, as through the clay there came the healing power, so through the cold, dead clay should come the perfect wholeness of the body, and that thus one day shall our blind eyes be opened that we, too, may see the King in His beauty. And yet again a gracious hint that, though He work whose word made the heavens, yet will He stoop to earth to find an instrument of service, and in the weakest and commonest of us, if only passive in His hands, He will find that which will be made of great service and blessing. At once up rose the blind man, and, followed by a crowd of people, ho makes his way to the pool of Siloam. It was a noble faith. He might have begun to tease himself with a great number of questions: " i have tried all sorts of things; whatever good can these plasters of mud do me? That man from Jericho had nothing like this ! If this Jeans can heal me at all, why does He not heal me at once?" No! Christ said, "Go, wash," and away he went and washed—and came seeing. Ah! I should like to have seen him then. I do not wonder that it made a stir throughout the city. It must have seemed as if Heaven came in at his eyes. Oh, the glories of the sky, the streets, the faceseverything! I think I see him, rather afraid to trust this new faculty: habit making him still stretch out the hand and cautiously put down the foot, yet intoxicated with the bliss of seeing. He docs not want any argument now. livery sense and feeling of the man, the great world that lay about him, the sky above him—everything that his eyes rested upon testified to the completeness of the change. His neighbours were not sure that it was the man. Is this he that sat and begged? "Yes," said some. "No," said others. "He is like him," said others still. "I am he," cried the man, with the confidence of one who ought to know. So sudden, so complete, so glorious is the blessing which Jesus can estow.

And now this same Jesus Christ is here* It were a cruel thing to tell of miracles like this if Jesus be gone. All time is darker and all the life emptier if we can only look back upon the memory of such an One. Jesus is here— fleeing from the hands of His enemies, but tarrying in the house of His friends. Where is the soul burdened with sorrow, some sore need thrusting you away alone in darkness and grief ? Ah ! this is the one—the very one— Jesus always sees. This is the one that He cannot pass by. From thy need, dear soul, pluck hope; and let expectation look out from thine eyes, because thou art blind. # " Ah, but," say you, " I am so dark !" So, indeed, was this man. And if the Lord says. "I am the Light of this world, where shall I expect to find Him but where He is most needed, and where darkness spreads her dreariest night ? " But I have so many disadvantages." So, indeed, had he who was born blind. But every disadvantage was a hold and a claim upon the help' ana pity of the Lord Jesus. ''But I cannot pray.' Well, I do not find that this man said a prayer; but he looked a more effectual prayer than he could ever utter. He sat there, and just let Jesus look down upon his misery and need, whilst he looked up his longing. Think you nob that the

' — ~—"" - .....UL jjj sightless face turned toward the li-ht- wad (I more than any words ? a IIJ waa "But I do not understand the wav "■ salvation. Most certainly this man did W with the plaster of clay on each eye. Hut i did not think of the method only of tf' C Master, and did what; he was told.' Jesus k l * here; speak to Him; long for Him ; expect Him; put out the hand, and claim Him as your own. Tell Him: "I have heard that < rhou art the Friend and Saviour of sinners I claim Thy nity; I need Thy help; Lord' save me!" lie will, He cannot hut save! We hold Him by the omnipotence of His I own most gracious "Word: "Him that 1 cometh unto Me I will in 110 wise cast out," e "I AM WITH YOU A LWAY." 1

Who can make this positive assurance truthfully ? Not your mother. She was your earliest friend, and in infancy and childhood you were happy only in her presence. Her smile was your sunshine, her frown your darkest cloud. But, as the years passed by, you hc.ci to leave her, and make your own place in „he world. In heart, you were still her loving child ; but one sad day she went away from you and earth for ever. She could not be with you 'alway. Your father cannot make you thus promise. His care sheltered and fostered you in your young days. His counsels guide,! you. His warnings turned your feet away from dangerous paths. You felt that in him you had a strong place of refuge. But, ere you were aware, his work for you was ende.l. He could not be with you alway. Your brothers and sisters, children 0: y7 U r own parents, cannot promise to be with you alway. You grew up together. You ki'ielc around one mother's knee for your evening prayers. You shared the same joys uad sorrows. Your lives seemed woven toother. But the time came when, inevitably, cadi One r >'. you began to entertain hones and tears and plans of your own. The old home was broken up, and you separated to form new homes widely severed from each other. Continents and oceans divide you, and some have journeyed still farther —even to the land 111 at is very far off. They could not be with you alway. Nor yet the friends and companions you j have bound to yourself during your life. They have been tested in many an hour of ! trial. Some have proved true as steel. Some have been out sunshine friends, v.h> deserted you when the first shadow darkened athwart your sky. But, for true or faithless, nice and change have conic to all. You may cherish fond remembrance of i them, but they are with you 110 more. Neither, as you have proved by heartbreaking experience, can your wife, your husband, be with you alway. In life's young morning you held eachother by the hand at tinaltar, and promised to love and cherish each other till death did you separate. You k your vows, and in your mutual love the 'Id story of Eden was repeated ; and, in spite «,{ . sorrow and trial, your home was a Paradise on earth. But death came to dissolve the bonds, and now you. will go mourning all tin; remainder of your days because your dea, est, best beloved friend can be with you in this world 110 more for ever.