AFTERWORD.

THE reader will perhaps remember the words with which this volume opened:

This little book is dedicated

To My Friend.

I met him for the first time on an October evening in 1856. This is the fifty-eighth anniversary of our acquaintance. It would appear that I have known him long enough to prove him. I have summered and wintered with him. I have been with him at the cross-roads of conduct and he has always pointed out the right way. I have been with him in the Valley of Baca, and he has given me good cheer. I have been with him in the Mount of Transfiguration and seen his face shining as the sun shineth in its strength. I have been with him in bright and dark days, in evil and good report, and he has never failed me yet. And I expect to go with him presently through the Valley of the Shadow of Death; and I am confident that there his rod and his staff will comfort me.

I had known about him before that October day; but we were not on what would be called intimate terms; indeed, we were scarcely speaking acquaintances. I had read of him, had heard him spoken of in the village church and in the family circle; but he had seemed to me as "a root out of a dry ground," and when I casually saw him there was no form nor comeliness in him that I should desire. What led me to change my mind? I scarcely know. It was as if a veil were lifted. So that when I saw him that October day he seemed to me the chiefest among ten thousand and altogether lovely. Oh happy day!

And we have walked together pleasantly ever since. Not that we have never disagreed; but the fault has always been with me. And now that fifty-eight years have passed, I am prepared to say that there has never been a moment when I would willingly have parted company with him. He has never wronged me; never deceived me; never failed me. He has been as true as steel. When I have stumbled he has helped me up; when I have been perplexed he has counseled me. He is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother. I only wish that everybody knew him!

Go with me and I will introduce you. He is to be found in a quiet trysting-place that I know of. You will be expected: for I have already spoken to him about the matter; and he said, "Bring him to me." There will be no need of knocking. Go right in; you will find him waiting for you. I will remain without, however, lest I intrude. But before you cross the threshold let me advise you as to what you are about

to see.

To begin with, you will find him a man; a man in all points such as you are.

He has been painted by the old masters with a halo encircling his head; do not look for anything of the sort. You will be more likely to find him in homespun; his hands marked with the callous ridges of toil. For he is an average man; a man of the people, knowing what it is to be weary at the day's close. He will not address you in the terminology of the schools; but will show himself possessed of great common sense. His usual greeting is, “Come, now, and let us reason together." He is familiar with all the thoroughfares of human experience, and can, therefore, be touched with a feeling of your infirmities. You will find him a man of deep sympathy, a very human man.

But you will discover that he is a singular man in some ways; particularly in this, that he is without sin.

The world has never seen another such. We have known men without eyes, without hands, without feet; but never a man without sin. "For there is no distinction; for all have sinned, and fall short of the glory of God": that is, all except this friend of mine, He has been in all points tempted like

as we are, yet without sin. He never did a wrong act; never spoke a wrong word; never had a wrong thought. He is negatively perfect, in that he never broke the law. He is positively perfect, in that he has obeyed the law even to the last jot and tittle of it. His life is recorded in this brief monograph, "He went about doing good." He did good always as he had opportunity unto all men.

He once issued a challenge on this wise: "Which of you convicteth me of sin?" It would have been infinite presumption in any other man to speak that way. His challenge was accepted; he was arrested, haled to court and put through "the third degree," and when the case was concluded, the presiding judge summed up the evidence in these memorable words: “Behold the man! . . I find no fault in him." The united testimony of the world for nineteen centuries has been. an echo of those words. All the searchlights of history have been turned upon my friend, and no flaw has been found in the harness of his righteousness. There are spots on the noonday sun; but there is not a fleck discernible in the character of this man. He stands solitary and alone, as the one perfect, incomparable, unaccountable man.

You will find him, furthermore, claiming to be the Son of God.

Now, there is a sense in which we are all sons of God. We are his sons by creation: as it is written, "God created man in his own image: in the image of God created he him." Some are sons of God by adoption: as it is written, "We have received the spirit of adoption whereby we cry, 'Abba, Father.' But this friend of mine is God's Son not by creation, for he never was created; nor by adoption, for he never was adopted; but by an eternal begetting. He stands alone and solitary as "the only-begotten Son."

He is the pre-existent Son. He speaks of "the glory which he had with the Father before the world was." Our life had a beginning: his never. From everlasting to everlasting he is God's only-begotten Son.

He is the co-equal Son. He arrogates to himself every one of the divine attributes. He claims omnipotence, omniscience, omnipresence. He was charged by his accusers with blas

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phemy, in that "he made himself equal with God." The charge of blasphemy was false; but the specifications were true. There is no question as to his claim; and there is no escape from the consequent dilemma; he was a blasphemer unless he was what he claimed to be.

And, further still, he is identical with God. A man once said to him, "Show us the Father, and it sufficeth us." Listen to his answer: "Have I been so long time with you, and dost thou not know me? He that hath seen me hath seen the Father; how sayest thou, Show us the Father. Believest thou not that I am in the Father and the Father in me?" On another occasion he said more plainly still, "I and my Father

are one."

It will be found, also, as this interview proceeds, that my friend claims to be the Messiah.

The word Messiah means "anointed." In old times men were anointed when they were set apart to important tasks. Kings were anointed to rule; priests to minister at the altar; prophets to teach. And Christ was anointed because he had something definite to do.

What was the errand which brought him into this world of ours? A Book was written about this matter in which his mission is made very clear. The Book referred to, which is called The Old Testament, opens with a statement that the Messiah is to come in the fullness of time to "bruise the serpent's head" and repair the damage wrought by sin. The theme of the entire Book is this Mission of the Messiah. It states specifically how he is to accomplish the work marked out for him. He comes into the world to die as a ransom, or in payment of the penalty of sin. He is to be "wounded for our transgressions, .. bruised for our iniquities, by his stripes we are healed." The Book presents an elaborate cult or ceremonial system, the center of which is an altar on which a lamb is sacrificed. This is "the Lamb of God slain from the foundation of the world," whose blood cleanseth from all sin. The people who were divinely "chosen" to hold this Book were accustomed to speak of the Messiah as "the Hope of Israel"; they confidently expected him to come in the fullness of time.

My friend claims to be that Messiah. To the woman of Samaria, who pathetically expressed a desire for the coming of "Messiah, he that is called Christ," he said plainly, "I that speak unto thee am he."

He emphasizes the fact that the saving power of his gospel is his death: a singular death, differing from that of all other men in that it was vicarious. He tasted death not for himself but "for every man."

We must needs pass through the little wicket-gate of eternity all alone, each for himself; but he changed places with many, dying their death that he might accomplish their salvation. Wherefore his praises are sung by a great multitude which no man can number in these words: "Worthy art thou, for thou wast slain, and didst purchase unto God with thy blood men of every tribe and tongue and people and nation, and madest them to be unto our God a kingdom and priests!" But, despite the fact that my friend is thus distinguished above all, he presents himself to you as a suppliant.

He has a request to make: a great request, namely, that he may be permitted to save you. He wants you to receive the benefit of his vicarious death so that, with sins forgiven, you may enter into the glory of the endless life.

This proffer is addressed to all the children of men. There is blood enough in the fountain opened for uncleanness on Calvary to cleanse all sinners even unto the uttermost. The cross of Christ proclaimed a Universal Amnesty: through it the Messiah stretches forth his hands with the invitation, "Look unto me and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth!"

But there is one condition affixed to the gift of spiritual and eternal life. It is that you shall appropriate it. This appropriation is faith, a hand stretched out to take it. Is this asking too much? "What is not worth the taking is not worth the having." My friend wants you to be free from the handicap of a mislived past, so that, unhampered, you may run up the heavenly way: but to that end you must give up all other plans of salvation whatsoever and be willing to be saved in his way. This is the great doctrine known as "Justification by Faith" reduced to its simplest terms. Only believe! "He that