I am the more interested in the history of the younger son, because I read in it somewhat of my own history. I think I remember when I first became dissatisfied with my condition, and felt that I must improve it, though I was at that time quite young. I did not then, nor for twenty years after, understand my situation, nor my exercises, as a sinner under the law, and trying to work myself free from its condemnation. I did not understand that my works were all legal works, by which no man can be justified. But one thing I learned again and again, and that was that my condition was not improved by any efforts I made, but rather became worse. Instead of obtaining more righteousness, and of a better quality, by my trading, I lost what I had, and became in my own sight utterly vile. I had nothing more to trade with, no legal goods left. My works were spoiled sin, polluted, vile, and I had nothing more to offer. My hunger for righteousness was greater than ever, and there was nothing in sight to satisfy it. To me there appeared to arise all at once a mighty famine in all the land. For the first time I saw that there was no righteousness within my reach. Others appeared to have all they wanted, but I was in want, and no man gave unto me. If any was offered me it was a kind not suited to my need. When I tried to eat it I became hungrier than before.

I hired out to those who appeared rich, hoping thereby to satisfy my conscience and obtain some peace of mind with God, some feeling of righteousness, but in vain. I thought my devotion and works might; help me, as those for whom I worked approved and relished them, and commended me for them; but they were husks to me, and I had to turn from it all, though my hunger consumed me. I was indeed "in a far country," "at the ends of the earth," farther off from God than any one else. All my goods, ray substance, my strength, my hope, were gone, and I was left a vile, polluted sinner, "without God and without hope in the world."

But where could I go? I looked longingly toward the only righteousness I knew anything about, the righteousness of the law. Much as I had read the Scriptures which testify of Jesus, I yet knew nothing about him truly as the Savior of his people. I was totally ignorant of him as "the Way, the Truth and the Life." My former condition, which I had been so confident I could improve, now appeared good compared to my present, and I wished I could get back to it. I believed in salvation by grace, for that the Bible taught; but I thought of grace as given to show me what to do, and to enable me to do it. That one could come into God's favor without having done something to make him in some sense worthy of that favor, never had occurred to my mind. I knew I could do nothing of myself, but had till now hoped that my efforts might cause the Lord to show me what to do, and give me ability to do it. But now that hope was gone. I had been getting farther and farther away from what the law required, and now it appeared impossible that I should ever get back to where I was before. But while there is life there will be a cry in the poor; sin-sick soul. My cry was for mercy, like the publican's cry, but it was made in the legal temple, and looking toward Abraham, or the Abrahamic covenant. The eyes could not be lifted, there was not confidence enough in myself for that. Knowing no other place of righteousness, and having forfeited all rights under that covenant against Which I had sinned I could only hope for some crumbs from that legal table. To be engaged about those holy things as the meanest servant seemed desirable now. I think, as nearly as I can interpret my own feelings on that memorable Monday morning, more than thirty-six years ago, that my face was turned as steadfastly toward that legal covenant as the face of the prodigal was toward the house of Abraham his father, from whence he had wandered away. I was wondering what the end would be, wondering if ever I would know anything, ever be anything but a vile sinner; if ever a ray of true light or a crumb of heavenly comfort would be given to me; when something wonderful took place within my mind, and I saw that the work was already done, the atonement for my sins was already made, and they were gone. That was the wonderful but trembling hope that arose within me. The words through which the revelation was made were these: "Blessed are they who hunger and thirst after righteousness." Then it appeared I was one of those for whom Jesus died, and that I was already saved. I was one of those hungry ones who are already blessed. I saw no vision, but in my soul Jesus appeared as he had never appeared before, and I was glad as I had never been glad before. I think I was received into Abraham's house, not the legal house or field from which I had gone out, but into the gospel house, into Jerusalem which is from above, to sit down among Sarah's freeborn children, where there is joy and gladness, thanksgiving and the voice of melody.

The elder son never becomes dissatisfied with his work or wages, but he is always jealous and angry when he hears music and rejoicing because a sinner has returned. The suggestion that salvation is for sinners, for those who own that they have done nothing to deserve it, excites the enmity of the legal character today the same as it did in the days of Jesus. They murmured then because he received publicans and sinners, and ate with them, and so they murmur now. It was on that account that he spake this parable, teaching thus the difference between the legal and the gospel character (Luke xv.), and showing by what experience of sin and suffering the children of the free woman are separated from the children of the bond woman, and brought by the way of "the end of the earth" to finally experience a soul-surprising welcome among the children of the heavenly Jerusalem, "which is the mother of us all." (Gal. iv. 22-29.)
JANUARY 24, 1901.