01.13. Chapter 2. The Lost Sheep, the Lost Coin, and the Lost Son
Chapter 2.
The Lost Sheep, the Lost Coin, and the Lost Son Or, the Joy of Finding Persons and Things Lost. The manner in which Luke introduces these three parables is such as to indicate, not the particular occasion, but the kind of occasion on which they were spoken. The words, "Now there were approaching Him all the publicans and the sinners, to hear Him," could scarcely be used with reference to any one time. What is described is a prominent feature in the ministry of Jesus, ever growing more conspicuous, and arresting the attention and provoking the criticism of unsympathetic observers, viz. the interest awakened thereby in the minds of the classes in evil repute, and the gracious manner in which Jesus regarded those by whom that interest was manifested.[1] That the Evangelist has correctly indicated the general nature of the occasion of the parables recorded in the fifteenth chapter of his Gospel, is evident at a glance. On the very face of them these charming parables are an apology for loving and receiving the sinful—forming a part, and, we may add, the crowning part of Christ’s inimitable defence for that noble crime committed by Him against the conventional law and custom of contemporary Jewish society. The use made by Matthew[2] of the first of the three parables—that of the Lost Sheep—in introducing it into the discourse on Humility, to teach the truth that God cares for the lowly and insignificant, is legitimate; but it is easy to see that the parable, in that connection, falls short of its full significance and pathos, as also, and perhaps just in consequence of that, of its original literary grace. For Divine love is seen at its maximum, not in caring for the lowly, but in caring; for the low; and it was when speaking of this intensest and most pathetic manifestation of love, that the mind of Jesus was likely to conceive the parabolic representation of love’s gracious impulses in its most felicitous form, including the feature of the shepherd carrying the erring sheep on his shoulders, omitted by Matthew, which we cannot doubt belonged to the parable as originally spoken.[3] [1] Vide Hofmann, ’Das Evangelium des Lukas,’ p. 382.
[2] Mat 18:12.
[3] Ewald remarks that Matthew’s form of the parable wants den schönen Farbenschmelz, which it has in Luke. Weizsäcker, on the other hand, thinks Matthew gives the parable in at least the original connection; its design, according to him, being to apologise for despised ones against the grudges of Christ’s own disciples.—’Untersuchungen,’ p. 501.
We have as little doubt that these three parables, related by Luke at one gush, were all spoken at the same time; albeit the third is introduced in a very loose way with the vague phrase, "And He said,"[1] suggesting the idea that what follows is an annex to what goes before. Accumulation of parables teaching one lesson was certainly not a usual practice with Christ, but on the present occasion it was fitted to serve an important apologetic purpose. Multiplication of instances of rejoicing over things or persons lost tended to convey the impression that such joy was universal, a touch of nature in which the whole world was kin. Jesus thereby arrayed against his critics all mankind, people of all ranks, conditions, and relations: men, women, shepherds, housewives, fathers, householders, domestics; saying in. effect to the sour, cynical fault-finders: Are ye not men?—have ye not human hearts that I should need to explain to you so simple a matter? Multiplied illustration was thus an essential part of the argument.[2] [1]
[2] Hofmann thinks the third parable was spoken on a similar, but not on the same, occasion.—’Das Evang. des Lukas,’ p. 386. Assuming that they were all spoken on the same occasion, the effect would be to suggest that such illustrations might be multiplied ad libitum. Augustine, in his Confessions,’ cap. viii. 3, supplies a sample of how this might be done. One might have expected more from him, a prodigal returned to his father’s house, than this commonplace service in such a book. This consideration may be regarded as conclusive in favour of the view that a plurality of parables, exemplifying the law of human nature according to which a peculiar joy is felt in connection with the finding of things lost, was à priori to be expected. But it may be asked, On what principle is the second of the three parables to be justified, which, in comparison with the first, seems inferior, and as coming after it superfluous? By itself it might be well enough, but placed beside the other two, is it not deprived of all interest, so as to make it very doubtful that it was uttered at the same time? Such an objection would indicate a very imperfect comprehension of the moral situation. The very paltriness of the second parable is what gives it its value. The story of the housewife finding a piece of money worth little more than a sixpence, and rejoicing over the discovery, serves to suggest the thought, that it does not require things of great value to call into play the tendency of human nature to rejoice in finding things lost. And, be it noted, such a suggestion was most pertinent to the purpose for which all these parables were spoken, viz. to defend the conduct of Jesus in taking a warm interest in the moral recovery of the degraded. For, in the view of the fault-finders, publicans and ’sinners’ were infinitely insignificant. The conversion of one belonging to these classes to wisdom and righteousness was, in their esteem, all but an impossibility, and even should it occur, of no consequence. That Christ did not share their despair and indifference was what they could not comprehend, was so incomprehensible that they felt shut up to account for the fact by imputing to Him sinister motives. As addressed to such an audience, the parable of the lost sheep was not unlikely to fail of its purpose; for in Pharisaic esteem a man of the despised classes was not so valuable as a sheep.[1] If there were such a thing in the history of humanity as joy over the finding of a lost sixpence, a parable to that effect might serve the turn better, for probably the Pharisees would allow that a small coin was not unfit to represent the value of a publican. That joy of the kind described was by no means unexampled in Judaea in those days we may well believe, when we consider the many indications of abject poverty contained in the Gospels to which this same parable of the lost coin may be added.[2] The parable, therefore, did not violate natural probability; and if not, it certainly was in other respects most apposite, as virtually involving the argument: many poor housewives have genuine joy in finding a lost coin of small amount; is it so very surprising that I should experience similar joy when a lost sinner, no matter how insignificant socially, repents, that I should deem the meanest of mankind worth saving, and his salvation a cause of satisfaction?[3]
[1] Goebel thinks the parable of the lost sheep contains an argument à fortiori, on the principle: "How much better is a man than a sheep." Unfortunately the principle was practically denied, so that the argument would not be felt lo be à fortiori.
[2] Vide note in last chapter containing extract from Hausrath on this subject
[3] Unger takes this view of the argumentative import of the second parable: in quâ auctior adeo apparet probans illa gradatio quatenus intendit, solitam in exiguâ adeo re perditâ curam.—’De Parab.’ p. 148. The two foregoing considerations—the cumulative force of the three parables, and the peculiar appositeness of the second to the moral situation—are of prime importance as enabling us to understand the general drift and exact point of these parables, regarded, as they ought in the first place to be, from the apologetic point of view. If the chosen point of view were the didactic or dogmatic, we might set ourselves, after the fashion of some interpreters, to discover reasons for there being three parables, and three just such as those recorded; one about a shepherd, a second about a housewife, and a third about a father; and to ascertain the recondite theological lessons distinctively taught by each. We have no objections to such lines of study, and are willing to allow that here, as elsewhere, they may serve the good purpose of bringing out into relief the felicity of the parables in suggesting thoughts which they are not primarily intended to teach. But for our own part, we prefer the historical to the dogmatic or mystic method of interpretation, and therefore mean to keep close throughout to the original apologetic aim, and to give greatest prominence to those thoughts which serve to show how the parables bear thereon. We do not, therefore, ask ourselves, Why precisely these parables? We are content to regard the first parable as the standard one, as it is most akin to Christ’s professed character as a Shepherd who was in quest of the lost sheep of the house of Israel; and the second as a supplement to the first, rendered necessary by the contemptuous feelings of the Pharisees towards the lower orders, and meant to teach that the law of joy over things lost obtains in reference even to things of little value; and the third as meant to exemplify the action of the same law in the human sphere, and to suggest the great truth, that even the meanest of mankind is, at the worst, only a degraded son of God, whose repentance ought therefore to be an occasion of joy to all who love God. Nor do we find any mystery in the numbers—one hundred, ten, two. The hundred sheep are the property of a shepherd of ordinary average wealth; the ten pieces of money the pecuniary possession of a woman in humble life; the two sons signify a family just large enough to supply illustrations of the two contrasted characters, and concentrate attention upon them. In one respect only do we feel disposed to accentuate the distinctive didactic significance of the parables, viz. in regard to the different senses of the term ’lost’ employed in them all. We reserve our remarks on this point till the close.
There is one aspect of these parables closely connected with their apologetic use to which we have not yet referred, and of which we must here take notice. In all three there is apparent not merely a defensive, but an offensive, attitude. Christ not only apologises for His misunderstood love, but rebukes the Pharisees for their want of sympathy with such love as inspired His conduct, and the inhumanity therein revealed. The shepherd not only himself rejoices over his lost sheep, but he calls on his neighbours and friends to sympathise with his joy, and it is taken for granted that they do so. The same holds true of the woman who lost and found the piece of money. These two parables showed the Pharisees how they ought to have acted towards Jesus as the friend of the publicans and sinners. The third parable assails them in another way, not by showing them how they ought to have acted, but by showing them how they did act. The elder brother in the parable is the Pharisee’s picture, and the elaboration of this part of the story shows how distinctly the purpose to attack and rebuke was present to Christ’s mind.[1] But having pointed this out, we must at the same time point out another fact in a preliminary way, reserving details for a more advanced stage. The exposure of Pharisaic inhumanity, though unavoidably severe, is markedly mild and conciliatory in tone. Jesus had no wish to exasperate His critics; His heart was too sad to indulge in bitterness. Throughout, He aims, on the one hand, so to depict the publicans and sinners as to awaken pity, and on the other, so to speak of the Pharisees as, while pointing out clearly to them their characteristic vice, if possible to win them to a better mind. The Saviour spoke these exquisite parables in a tender, gracious mood, as one who would by the very words he uttered be a healer of social breaches, and reconciler of alienated classes. These parables, and especially the last of the three, are thus, as it were, a prelude to the cross. Heavenly charity enacts in word the part of a peace-maker, which it afterwards enacted in the death on Calvary. When we read these parables we wonder not at the spectacle presented in the crucifixion; for the love which could inspire such touching utterances in the interest of redeeming love could also, if needful, die. Jesus said of the anointing in Bethany, "she did it for My burial." We may say of these irenical parables that they were spoken against the day of the Passion.
[1] Goebel’s exposition has the merit of duly emphasising the offensive aspect of the three parables. With these remarks we proceed to the consideration of the individual parables, and first that of— The Lost Sheep
He spake to them this parable, saying: What man of you having an hundred sheep, and having lost one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness,[1] and go after the lost one, until he find it? And having found it, he layeth it upon his shoulders rejoicing. And on arriving at his house, he calleth together his friends and neighhours, saying to them: Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost. I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner repenting, more than over ninety and nine just persons such as have not need of repentance.—Luk 15:3-7.
[1]
There is much latent pathos in this short parable which it is desirable we should make an effort to perceive, that we may be prepared to understand the shepherd’s demand for sympathy, which, on a superficial reading of the story, before we have penetrated to its heart, may appear exaggerated. The chief interest, of course, centres in the shepherd, and his behaviour on one of his sheep being found missing. And in the first place, it is taken for granted that any shepherd to whom this happens will immediately set off in quest of the erring sheep. "What man of you having a flock of sheep, and losing one, will not go after it?" asks Jesus, confident that here at least He will meet with no contradiction, virtually asserting that it is a universal human instinct to go in quest of lost property. This implied assertion is in truth the radical part of His apology for His own conduct. As in the earliest instance in which He was put on His defence he vindicated Himself by the suggestion, "I am a Physician," so in the present instance He offers as His apology the suggestion, "I am a Shepherd;" and as in the former case so in the latter, the suggestion being once accepted all the rest follows of course. No one wonders that a shepherd goes after his straying sheep, any more than one wonders that a physician visits the sick rather than the whole, and visits most frequently those whose ailments are most serious. Neither is any one surprised at the joy of a shepherd on finding his sheep, which is the special feature insisted on in the present parable; the most cynical will admit that the finding of a lost sheep is a most legitimate occasion of satisfaction to the finder himself at least, and therefore a perfectly reasonable motive for seeking the lost. Such joy in a shepherd, and we may add similar joy in a physician on succeeding in restoring a patient to health, Christ’s Pharisaic censors were not so stupid as to condemn. Their want of sympathy with Him as the friend of publicans and sinners sprang from their failure to recognise in Him a Physician and a Shepherd. And that failure again was due to their own want of love for their fellow-men. Their hearts were hardened against the social outcasts by prejudice and pride, and therefore when they saw the common people scattered and torn[1] like a flock of sheep without a shepherd, the spectacle did not make their hearts bleed as it made the heart of Jesus bleed. And that made all the difference. Jesus, seeing the miserable plight of the lost sheep of the house of Israel, sought to be a Shepherd to them and associated with Himself in the pastoral care of the people His disciples;[2] while the Pharisees, on the other hand, neither cared themselves for the lost, nor sympathised with, or even so much as believed in, the loving care of others.
[1] Mat 9:36.
[2] Mat 10:1-42., which relates the mission of the twelve to the people of Galilee. The next feature in the shepherd’s conduct is that he seeks till he finds.[1] He is thoroughly in earnest in the search; he is determined to recover his lost property, and will spare himself no trouble for that end. This touch is omitted in Matthew’s version of the parable, where we read instead the expression, "if he happen to find it;"[2] but who can doubt that it belongs to the original form of the parable as first uttered? Jesus was a very earnest Shepherd Himself, who spared no pains to find the lost sheep of God’s fold, and he was not likely to omit this trait in the portrait of the shepherd’s character. It is true that the most earnest quest may after all, end in failure, and therefore such a phrase as "if so be he find" is perfectly legitimate and appropriate. Jesus Himself knew too well what such failure was, and therefore it is quite possible that in repeating the parable, if He did repeat it, He gave prominence to that aspect. But it is certain that if there is to be failure it will not be for want of effort and pains on the shepherd’s part. There will be persistent search in every quarter where there is the least chance of the lost being found. How true is this of Christ Himself! He could say for Himself as the Shepherd of Israel, "How often would I have gathered thee!"[3] and His failure after all His efforts broke His heart and made Him shed bitter tears. This phrase, until he find it, is a touch we owe to the pastoral love of the speaker, as the spiritual Shepherd of men.
[1]
[2]
[3] Mat 23:38.
Having found the straying sheep, the shepherd layeth it upon his shoulders. This possibly he would do in any case, however short the distance the sheep had strayed from the fold, to make sure of his captive; but this feature in the picture most probably points to exhaustion produced by long-continued wandering, exposure, and lack of food. The erring sheep needs to be carried, it cannot return on its own feet; the shepherd finds it with torn fleece, lying on the ground, emaciated, helplessly weak. This is intrinsically probable, even had we nothing but the language of the parable itself to guide us; it becomes almost certain when we bear in mind the terms in which Jesus described the state of the people at the time of the Galilean mission. To His compassionate eye the lower masses of Jewish society appeared torn and scattered about,—weary, worn, abject,[1]—like sheep without a shepherd; therefore he sent His disciples among them to preach the good tidings of the kingdom and to heal their diseases, deeming it better they should have the benefit of inexperienced care than that they should continue longer utterly uncared for. He had the same people in the same miserable condition in view when He spake this parable. The straying sheep of our parable represents the neglected, perishing masses of the people, is one of the scattered and torn. Jesus thinks of it now, as He thought of the people on that other occasion—would have His hearers so think of it, as found by the shepherd in a pitiable plight; for His own heart is now as full of compassion as it was then, and He desires to awaken compassion in the hard hearts of His audience, that they may cease to blame Him, and begin rather to imitate Him by compassionate consideration for the lost sheep of the house of Israel.
[1] Mat 9:36.
[1] John 4:31-34. The weary, fatiguing journey at length comes to an end; and naturally, on arriving at his home, there is a new rush of emotion in the shepherd’s heart, and an eventful story to tell, and a craving for friendly neighbourly sympathy. This accordingly is the next feature in the parable: "When he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost." This is the point in the parable at which our sense of its fitness or naturalness is apt to be weakest. Is there not, we are ready to ask, something resembling effeminate sentimentalism in that calling of friends and neighbours together, and that demand for sympathy with the joy of finding the lost sheep? Would it not have been more manly and more shepherd-like to have returned quietly to ordinary duties as if nothing had happened? Have we not reason to suspect that at this point the natural realism of the parable has been sacrificed to the feelings of the speaker smarting under a keen sense of the general lack of sympathy with His own aims, and eager to reproach the Pharisees on that account? Now in meeting these objections we assume the truth of the interpretation we have put on the previous points of the parable; that is to say, that the parable has reference to a serious occurrence, and not merely to an insignificant everyday case of wandering for a short distance from the fold. We are entitled to assume this, for the simple reason that a trivial case would not be parallel to the circumstances which created the need for a parable. That which made apology necessary was Christ’s interest in men who, in the opinion even of His critics, had gone far astray, and the parable, to serve its purpose, must put a case analogous to that of those whom the straying sheep represents. This would be perfectly understood by the parties to whom the parable was addressed.
But, even in that case, was not the shepherd’s demand for sympathy overdone? We think not, and in saying so we take no account of difference of temperament between Eastern shepherds and those of our own land, though doubtless this might somewhat affect the manner of parties similarly situated. Two considerations suffice to redeem the shepherd’s behaviour from sentimentalism. On the one hand, it was perfectly natural that there should be a desire, at the end of an eventful journey, to give expression to the pent-up feeling connected with its object, and to talk to acquaintances about the incidents of the way; all the circumstances connected with the search, and the finding of the lost sheep. His whole interest has been concentrated upon, his whole mind absorbed by, that one sheep; it has cost him much thought, anxiety, and effort; and now that all is happily ended, there is a rush of emotion which seeks relief in the narration of the story to sympathetic hearers. All men may not speak as the shepherd is represented speaking, but all men feel as he felt, in similar circumstances. The secret thought of every human heart, on the recovery of something lost after much and painful anxiety and effort, is, "Rejoice with me, for I have found that which was lost;" and Christ makes the shepherd say what all men think, because one chief purpose of the parable is to accentuate the joy of finding things lost. Then, on the other hand, the shepherd’s desire to unburden himself to his neighbours would be greatly intensified by the assurance that his tale would greatly interest the listeners. On that he might safely reckon; not merely because of the innate curiosity of mankind, or of the craving for news to relieve the dull monotony of life in a thinly peopled, pastoral country, or of the interest which human beings take in each other, especially in rural districts, where the feeling of neighbourliness is strong, making the simple, honest denizens of hills and dales mutually communicative and sympathetic; but more particularly because of the bearing of the tale on their own personal interest. For the case of their friend and neighbour might be their own, and it would greatly interest them to know the track of the wanderer, the risks it ran, where it was found, and in what condition; for such knowledge would be useful to themselves in case any of their own sheep should stray from the fold. Therefore the returned shepherd, in asking neighbours to come and hear his story, was but giving them an expected opportunity. And we are not to think of the invitation as formal, as of a host inviting guests to a feast. The words put into the shepherd’s mouth scarce needed to be spoken. The home-coming of one who had been absent for days on so interesting an errand said to all the dwellers around: Come hear my story; come congratulate me on the success of my quest. And the point of importance here is, that the neighbours would certainly gather around their fellow-shepherd to hear his tale, and would hear it with sympathetic ears. That is not expressly stated, but it is more impressively said by being taken for granted. Jesus pays human nature the compliment of treating neighbourly sympathy in the circumstances as a thing of course. In the application of the parable, which we have now to notice, neighbourly sympathy could not be treated as a thing of course, for it was precisely the absence of it that had given occasion to the parable being spoken. It is therefore to this side of the subject that prominence is given. Jesus passes over in silence His own feelings as the Shepherd of morally lost men, His joy over finding even one, and His desire that others should rejoice along with Him, delicately leaving these to be inferred from the behaviour cf the shepherd in the parable; and emphasises the sympathy which He receives in the prosecution of His work—receives, however, not from men, but from the inhabitants of the upper world. There is wonderful pathos and pungency in this reference to heaven as the scene of sympathetic joy over the restoration of erring sinners to the fold of God. It implies that Jesus meets with no such joy on earth. It is a virtual complaint against his Pharisaic critics, which is none the less effective that it is indirectly conveyed in the form of a contrast between their conduct and that of celestials. The Son of man, who was ever busy seeking the lost, finds Himself utterly isolated and misunderstood; and with His back to the wall, as it were, He is fain to go to heaven in quest of beings who shared His feelings towards the sinful. To heaven, since He could not find backing nearer hand. Where shall I go, He asked Himself, to find beings who feel as I do? To the righteous men of Israel? No! they have no joy over poor vulgar publicans and sinners repenting; they joy only in the fact that they are not as other men. To cultivated Sadducees? No! they think men well enough as they are, and look on repentance as much ado about nothing, an unnecessary disturbance of one’s happiness during his brief tenure of existence. To the world outside Judaea? No! the day will come ere long when they will be thankful to hear of Him whose countrymen brought it as a heavy charge against Him that He received sinners; but as yet the heathen know neither the joy of saving, nor the joy of being saved. Nowhere on earth can I find sympathisers. In heaven then? Yes! in heaven they understand Me; in heaven they feel as I feel; there is joy in heaven, I tell you, over sinners repenting; yea, even over one of these despised sinners repenting, more than over ninety and nine just persons that need no repentance. The Pharisaic fault-finders might well feel ashamed for compelling the object of their censure to go so far in quest of sympathy, and they might also well feel self-condemned if they reflected for a moment on the startling declaration their cynicism had provoked. For it was by no means an improbable statement, however strange it might appear; no mere justifiable jeu d’esprit, uttered on the spur of the moment by one who felt himself hard pressed. A jeu d’esprit it certainly is; for the occasion is one of those in which Christ’s words were apt to be full of poetry and passion; not merely rays of light, but flashes of lightning. But it is more, even sober truth. For, take the kernel of the statement—that there is joy in heaven over the repentance of a sinner, is that incredible? The denizens of heaven are the good; and what better occasion for joy can good beings have than the turning of a sinner from evil to righteousness? Ask not sceptically:
"Is there care in heaven? and is there love In heavenly spirits to these creatures base That may compassion of their evils move?"
Why not? The angels have the same occupation as Jesus: they are ministering spirits to those who are about to inherit salvation, and they have therefore a fellow-feeling with the Good Shepherd, like the neighbours of the shepherd in the parable. Nay, hath not the Eternal Himself a most real joy over a sinner repenting? God is love, therefore He hath no pleasure in the death of a sinner, therefore He hath pleasure when a sinner turns from his evil ways; yea, even if that sinner be the meanest of mankind. For consider what a difference it would make to ourselves if that meanest one were related to us as a son or a brother! Now the blessed truth is, that in the meanest member of the human race repenting, God sees a prodigal child of His returning to his Father’s house. That is the truth implied in the golden saying with which the first and second of these three parables end, and it is the truth expressly taught in the third. It is the great Christian doctrine concerning God which the world never has believed, and which the Church has only half-believed, and which God knew from of old men would ever be slow to believe; hence the protestation by the mouth of prophecy: "My thoughts are not your thoughts," following the declaration: "Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord, and He will have mercy upon him, and to our God, for He will abundantly pardon."[1]
[1] Isa 55:7-8.
There may appear to be more difficulty in understanding this declaration of our Lord’s, taken as referring to God, when regard is had to the comparative form in which it is put—more joy over one sinner repenting than over ninety-and-nine just persons who need no repentance—the reason being the peculiarly sweet pleasure connected with finding things lost. It may appear that this peculiar experience is due to the constitution of human nature, and that it therefore savours of anthropopathism to ascribe such joy to the Divine Being. We need not, however, trouble ourselves with this metaphysical problem; for if we are going to be sensitive about anthropopathism, we must go further back, and inquire whether we can legitimately ascribe joy in any form, or any emotion whatsoever, to God. We shall, therefore, rather ask what this comparative statement made by Christ signifies for men; or, to be more definite, for Christ Himself. What does our Lord mean, when he says in effect: I have more joy in one of these poor sinners repenting, than in ninety-and-nine just men who need no repentance? Is He sneering at the sham righteousness of the Pharisees? No! He is in too tender a mood for sneering, not to say that He has too much love in His heart, even for Pharisees, to sneer at any time. He argues with His censors on the assumption that they are as good as they think themselves. He means to say, that there is a sense in which a man may rationally rejoice more over the repentance of a notable sinner than over the righteousness of many men who have all their days lived in an exemplary manner, if not absolutely, yet comparatively, sinless. This greater joy over the penitent sinner needs no more explanation than the joy of the shepherd over the sheep which was lost It is simply an illustration of the great law, according to which all human beings have peculiar joy over lost things found. If the Pharisees had only made use of their own human instincts as a guide to their judgment in the affairs of morals and religion, they would not have thought the statement surprising. Nay, if they had but recollected their own theoretical views, even within the moral sphere, they would have sympathised with Christ’s conduct and feelings, instead of putting Him on His defence by captious criticism. For it was a doctrine of the Talmudists of after-days, and was probably an opinion current in Rabbinical schools even in our Lord’s time, that a man who had been guilty of many sins might by repentance raise himself to a higher degree of virtue than the perfectly righteous man who had never experienced his temptations.
1 Vide on this Lightfoot, ’Horæ Hebraicæ,’ and Schwab, ’Traité des Berackhoth,’ introduction, p. xxxii. There is not perfect consent as to what the Rabbinical doctrine was; but Schwab’s view is that in the case of sins against God and sobriety, a man might by repentance make himself equal or superior to the perfectly just man, Zadic gamour; but in the case of sins against men, repentance, while obtaining pardon from God, and regaining the esteem of men, could not make the penitent equal or superior to the perfectly good man. If this were so, surely it was reasonable to occupy oneself in endeavouring to get sinners to start on this noble career of self-elevation, and to rejoice when in any instance he had succeeded. But it is one thing to have correct theories, and another to put them in practice. These Pharisaic faultfinders believed in a coming Messiah, but they rejected Jesus; they searched the Scriptures as writings in which they expected to find eternal life, and they listened not to Him who had the words of eternal life; they reckoned it possible for a penitent sinner not only to equal, but to excel, one that by comparison needed no repentance, and they found fault with one who not only held this view as an abstract doctrine, but acted on it, and sought to bring those who had strayed furthest from the paths of righteousness to repentance, believing that though last they might yet be first The Lost Drachma Or what woman having ten drachma, if she lose one drachma, doth not light a lamp, and sweep the house, and seek carefully till she find it; and, having found it, she calls together her female friends and neighbours,[1] saying: Rejoice with me, because I have found the drachma which I lost.—Luk 15:8-10.
[1]
[1] Robinson, in his ’Biblical Researches,’ vol. iii. p. 44, mentions a house in the Lebanon in which he passed a night, answering to this description. "There was no window, and no light except from the door."
It scarcely needs to be remarked that the housewife of the second parable would be more demonstrative than the shepherd of the first in the expression of her joy, and in her demand for the sympathy of her female friends and neighbours. Of this difference some trace may be found in the text, if we regard that as the true reading which gives the Greek verb rendered in the English Version, "calls together," in the middle voice in the second parable, instead of in the active as in the first. With Godet we think this reading is to be preferred, but we doubt if he has correctly indicated the significance of the change in the mode of expression. He thinks that the active (
[2] To show bow much in such minute points one is apt to be influenced by fancy, it may be mentioned that Trench puts the following construction on the diverse manner of expression in reference to the two lost objects: The Shepherd, being Christ, says My sheep; the woman, being the Church, says the drachma. In the application of this parable Jesus contents Himself with the positive statement that "there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth." A comparative statement in this case would have been unsuitable, as tending to weaken rather than strengthen the sentiment expressed at the close of the first parable; seeing that it would have had to run thus: There is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over nine sinners that need no repentance.[1]
[1] Lightfoot (’Horæ Hebraicæ’) gives a parable from the Talmud like the foregoing one of the Lost Piece, the aim of which is to illustrate the quest of wisdom. Here again we have to note the comparatively commonplace moral of the Talmudic parables. But the moral as repeated here has an interest and a pathos of its own. It suggests the thought that the repentance of the meanest of mankind, however insignificant in social position or degraded in character, calls forth a sympathetic thrill in the heart of God. It teaches us that all souls and their moral history are precious in God’s sight, that every human being has value in the esteem of heaven, as endowed with reason and free will, and subject to infinite moral possibilities. This was then a new doctrine concerning man, and it is still very contrary to the world’s way of thinking concerning human beings. For on this earth men are still very cheap in one another’s esteem for various reasons, theoretical and practical. Some regard the moral interests of humanity with comparative indifference because their philosophy teaches them to treat as insignificant the distinction between man and beast, in nature and in destiny. Others, through the lust for gain, are accustomed to regard human life as of no account in comparison with commercial profit. Jesus assures us that in heaven human beings are not valued so cheaply. There, He tells us, all souls are precious, the souls of publicans and profligates, of bondsmen and negroes; and though nothing spiritually great should come out of the repentance of any of these least ones, though they should remain least ones for ever, yet is the change implied in repentance, even in their case deemed an event of solemn interest, because the blurred image of God is restored in some degree, and the soul is at least saved, though as through fire. Surely an altogether God-worthy way of thinking! Long may it prevail on earth as well as in heaven! For if even in spite of a Christian way of thinking and acting, the condition of many be far from satisfactory, it would certainly be infinitely worse were the way of thinking peculiar to philosophic atheism, or to brutal mammon-worship, universally prevalent. As it is, we manage to make many ignorant and erring ones imperfect Christians; as it would be then, the multitude would live unheeded in misery, and die unmourned in sin. This is all that needs to be said on this parable. If we were anxious to draw out our exposition to a greater length, we might easily do so, by following the example of commentators who indulge in spiritualising interpretation, telling us that the house is the Church; and the woman the indwelling Spirit; and the drachma, man with the image of God stamped upon him, but lying in the dust of sin and corruption; the candle the Word of God held forth by the Church, and the sweeping the disturbance caused by the action of the Spirit in the individual and in society, making dust rise and fly about, and turning the world upside down. To our mind, however, this style of interpretation savours of frigidity. If we may say it without offence, it seems to us to savour, moreover, of Pharisaism. It looks as if interpreters found it impossible to discover any real interest in the story itself, taken as a natural illustration of the joy of finding things lost, and felt it necessary to fly to the spiritual sense to get something to say. What is this but Pharisaic indifference to the affairs of common humanity in a new form? The parable as a scene from ordinary life is of no account, and all the objects must be transformed into theological equivalents ere they can be worthy of attention. How much better to try first of all to feel the human pathos of the parable as a story of real life, and then to make that pathos the one link of connection between the natural and the spiritual. The Lost Son And He said, A certain man had two sons: and the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of the property that falleth to me as my share.[1] And he divided between them his living.[2] And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with prodigal living.[3] And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. And he went ana attached himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into the fields to feed swine. And he was fain to fill his belly with the carobtree pods[4] that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him. Bui when he came to himself he said, How many hired servants of my fathers have bread enough and to spare, and I am perishing here with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, I am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants. And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him. And the son said unto him, Father, I sinned against heaven and before thee, I am no more worthy to be called thy son. But the father said to his servants, Bring forth quickly[5] the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet; and bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it: and let us eat and be merry: for this person, my son, was dead, and is alive again; was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry. But his elder ton was in the field: and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dancing. And, calling one of the servants, he asked what these things meant. And he said to him (it is), Because thy brother is come; and thy father killed the fatted calf, because he received him safe and sound. And he was angry, and would not go in: and his father came out and entreated him. And he answering said to his father, Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment, and thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends. But as soon as thy (precious)[6] son, this fellow who devoured thy living with harlots, arrived, thou didst kill for him the fatted calf And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me and all mine is thine. It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad; for this thy (dear) brother was dead, and is alive again, and was lost, and is found.—Luk 15:11-32.
[1]
[2]
[3]
[4]
[5]
[6] We throw this word in to bring out the tone in which the elder son referred to his brother. It is gratifying to find Dr. Field suggesting the use of the same epithet, also of the epithet ’dear’ in the next verse to bring out what the returned son ought to be to his brother. The latter suggestion we have adopted from him. This parable differs from the preceding two in length, in the multiplicity of picturesque and pathetic details, in heightened moral interest due to the fact of the example being taken from the sphere of human conduct, and in the manner in which Pharisaic severity is rebuked; the former parables showing the censors of Jesus how they ought to have acted, this parable showing them (through the picture of the elder brother) how they did act. It was fitting that this should be done in the last of the three parables rather than in the others because, the illustration being taken from human conduct, the term ’lost’ has a moral sense, and there is a conflict of feeling towards the lost object; on the one hand resentment against folly, on the other pity awakened by misery. In this case, therefore, sympathy with one who has recovered the lost cannot be taken for granted, as it could in the case of a lost sheep, or of a lost coin; for the feeling of resentment might predominate, as accordingly it is made to do in the case of the elder brother. By conveying reproof in this instance under this form, Jesus showed His respect for the feelings of men of exemplary lives against the sinful, so far as these were based on sincere love of virtue. He said thereby in effect: "What I condemn in you is not your disapprobation of sin, but merely the excessive one-sided nature of your resentment, shutting your hearts against pity for the sinful." This tone of carefully-qualified and guarded blame, very observable in the closing part of the parable, is traceable throughout the whole, in the picture of the Prodigal, and of the Father, not less than in that of the Elder Brother. Christ’s purpose evidently is not to provoke but to conciliate, not to treat moral severity as inadmissible, but to moderate its excess, and to soften it with a mixture of compassion. The three pictures of the Prodigal Son, the loving Father, and the relentless Elder Brother, make up this parable of exquisite beauty and inexhaustible didactic significance. Let us stand and gaze upon each of them in turn, till we have become duly impressed with the inimitable skill of the Artist who drew them.
1. The prodigal is so depicted as to show us his sin and folly, and yet to awaken in us pity for his misery. He is an unfilial, thoughtless, self-willed, sensual youth, who by his follies brings upon himself many sorrows; and he excites in us just the sort of mixed feeling with which Jesus regarded the publicans and sinners whom he represents, extenuating not their guilt, yet deeply commiserating them. This foolish, wayward one is the younger of two sons. He might have been either of them, but it was fitting to make the younger the prodigal; because the younger the more likely to be thoughtless, and the weaker the influences tending to give steadiness by developing the sense of responsibility; for by the Hebrew Law the younger of two sons had a claim to only one-third of the paternal inheritance, the elder receiving a double share of two-thirds,[1] and being the more likely just on that account to conduct himself with gravity as one conscious of the dignity of birthright. The career of this younger son is exhibited in four successive scenes, in the first of which we see his self-will, in the second his folly, in the third his misery, and in the fourth his repentance.[2] His self-will manifests itself in the request to have his share of the paternal property given into his hands at once, that he may be free to do with it what he chooses. His motive is speedily revealed by his subsequent conduct in setting off with all his means to a distant country, where he can forget his home and family, and be, as he hopes, forgotten by, and hidden from the knowledge of, his friends.[3] There are passionate impulses and hungry appetites within him which can get no outlet in his father’s house, and he is impatient to get away from it to a place where he can follow his bent without restraint. The youth is in the Byronic or Werterean vein, and he desires freedom to sow his wild oats. It is strange that the father, who, if he had any discernment, must have noticed the mood of his boy, consented to his request;[4] but parental softheartedness often does what a dispassionate judgment cannot approve. Moreover, the exigencies of the parable required that he should so act, and also the rôle which he sustained as the representative of Divine Providence: for God in his Providence often gives to men towards whom He has a high purpose of grace, free rein, permitting them to go to wild excesses of riot before he breaks them in to the yoke of obedience; of which we have a notable instance in the case of Augustine, whose history supplies a far more instructive commentary on our parable than anything to be found in his writings.[5]
[1] Deu 21:17.
[2] Luk 15:12; Luk 15:13; Luk 15:14-16; Luk 15:17-19.
[3] Luk 15:13.
[4] Legally he might either grant or refuse the request: "Fecit non quod oportebat, sed quod licebat facere."—Maldonatus.
[5] Godet refers to Rom 1:24 as illustrating the father’s consent to his son’s foolish wishes. The folly of the youth is depicted in very few words. He scattered his substance, living in sensual indulgence, continuing this course of wasteful excesses till all his means were gone. Melancholy picture of enslavement to passion, and of utter thoughtlessness and absence of self-control! The fire of sinful impulse once kindled burns on till the fuel is exhausted, when the poor wretch, who in thoughtless joy kindled this fire, and for a while compassed himself about with its sparks, must lie down in sorrow.[1]. Where, all the while, is the reason firm and temperate will? Alas! these do not usually keep company with self-will and lawless desire. They may return when the tempest of passion has spent its force, but meantime madness rules the hour. How the youth spent the months of folly it is not difficult to imagine. With characteristic delicacy Jesus omits details, leaving the ungracious task of filling in repulsive particulars to the elder son.[2] It is the animus of his representation that is at fault; his statement, though brutally unfeeling, was probably too true. We may without any breach of charity conceive the prodigal as wasting his means on every form of sensual gratification, playing the fool in no half and half manner.[3]
[1] Isa 1:11
[2] Luk 15:30.
[3] From a fragment of Eusebius it might be inferred that the Ebionitic Gospel went beyond the elder brother in describing the evil life of the prodigal. In that passage Eusebius refers to the ’Gospel according to the Hebrews’ in connection with the parable of the Talents, and uses the expression,
[1]
[3]
[4] The words
Desperation formed the turning-point in the youth’s career, and the next scene shows him returning to his senses, and beginning to think soberly and wisely. He is brought to his last shifts, but there is one course open: he may go back to his father’s house. Of that house, and of the happiness of even those in servile position therein, he begins now, for the first time for many days, to think. The thought begets a purpose, and suggests a plan. He will go home, and he will make confession of his sin in well-premeditated form, suited at once to propitiate an injured father, and to express the modesty of his present expectations. He will own that he has been an offender both against God and against his parent, and he will beg a servant’s place and position, a great boon to a starving man.[1] The picture of the penitent is not drawn in the ethereal colours of philosophy. Repentance has its source in hunger, and its motive is to get a bit of bread. How much nobler to have returned to rationality in folly’s mid career, to have pulled up suddenly and said: "This will never do; I have been a fool. I will be a fool no longer; I will henceforth live a life of sobriety and wisdom." Perhaps; but the parable is true to life. Hunger, stern necessity, abject poverty, has made many a man wise who had been foolish before, and though the repentance which thus begins is somewhat impure in its source, it clears itself betimes, as reason gradually gains its ascendancy, and the moral nature grows into strength. The prodigal’s repentance became purified, whether as the result of reflection on the way home, or as the effect of an unexpectedly gracious reception from his father, is matter of conjecture; but, at all events, he dropped the last part of his premeditated confession when he came into his father’s presence, and made no request, but only owned his sin.[2]
[1]
[2] The premeditated confession was the repentance of fear; the actual confession, the repentance of love. The discovery of the difference produced the Reformation.—Godet.
2. We have now to look at the picture of the father of this penitent prodigal. He descries his son while he is yet a great way off, at the point where the road brings a traveller first into view. He has not forgotten his son, though his son has long forgotten him. He has been thinking of him through the long period of his absence. Probably he often cast glances along the road to see if perchance the erring one was returning, thinking he saw him in every stranger who made his appearance. He has continued looking, longing, till hope deferred has made his heart sick and weary almost to despair. If he is not represented as going in search of his lost child, it is not because he cares less for that child than the shepherd for his straying sheep, or the housewife for her missing coin; but because in this case the lost one is a man, not a beast or a lifeless thing, and can return of his own accord when his mind changes; and because only when the return is his own act, has it any moral significance. The father’s solicitude therefore takes the form of waiting for his son’s return. He has to wait long, but at last his patience is rewarded. For lo! at length there is one who does look like the long lost one. He is much changed, wears the aspect of a beggar, and trudges along like an aged man, weak and footsore. But love is quick to discern resemblances, and there is something in the stranger’s gait and bearing that recalls the lost son. The father watches his movements for a little, till in the end he feels certain that it is none other than his son. The tide of compassion rises instantaneously, sweeping every other feeling before it. There is not even a momentary struggle between pity and resentment, such as the prophet represents taking place in the Divine bosom, in reference to Ephraim.[1]. He "ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him;" kissed him not once but many times, with fervency and rapture.[2] The moving scene over, the son gets an opportunity at length of making his confession. On arriving at the homestead together, the happy father gives orders to his servants, which indicate the completeness of his forgiveness, and the depth of his joy. First, he commands them to bring forth quickly the best robe and put it on him as the badge of distinction,[3] and a ring for his finger, and shoes for his feet as the badges of a free man[4] (though the shoes, and indeed all the three things—robe, ring, shoes, may be regarded simply as a provision rendered necessary by the destitute condition of the beggared prodigal). These instructions signify full reinstatement in filial position and privilege. He who has confessed himself no more worthy to be called a son is to be treated as a son, not as a servant, and as the son of such a father, attired as becomes the member of a respectable family. He receives the adoption, the
[1] Jer 31:20 [2]
[3]
[4] So Meyer. Grotius takes
[5] Isa 63:16.
Next the father gives orders that a feast be made to celebrate his son’s return, not merely to express his own joy and thankfulness, but to give the whole household an opportunity of sharing his gladness. The fatted calf, which had been in keeping for some periodically recurring high tide,[1] must be killed to-day, for never was there a fitter occasion for feasting and mirth than the day on which a son who has been as dead comes to life again, and who has been lost is found. So the father describes the case, and we can understand what a depth of meaning the words have for him. For the servants to whom he first utters them, they describe merely the outer aspect of the fact: a son who has been very long away from home and of whom no tidings have been received, returned to his father’s house in good health. For the father, they express this outer fact, and more, the inner ethical aspect of the event, the great fact of a morally altered life. It is idle* therefore, to discuss, as some recent writers have done, the question, whether the words "dead and alive," "lost and found," have an ethical or only a physical meaning.[2] That depends on who uses them or hears them. The father employed a mode of expression which conveyed to his servants a meaning which they could understand and appreciate, and at the same time expressed for himself a thought he hid in his own bosom, as one with which hirelings might not inter-meddle. For him such words could not but mean more than met the ear of unreflecting domestics. But what did meet their ear sufficed to make them happy. They sympathised heartily with their master’s joy, promptly executed his orders for the preparation of a feast, and then "began to be merry."[3] All in that household were in holiday humour that day,—all but one.
[1]
[2] Hofmann contends that the words are to be taken in an ethical sense; Goebel takes the contrary view.
[3] Viewing the return of the prodigal simply from the outside as a finding of one lost for a time, the servants in this parable hold the place of the neighbours and friends in the other two parables. They, regarding the event from the outside, as a matter of course sympathise with their master.
3. That one was the elder son. He has been "in the field" all the day long, so that he is ignorant of what has happened, till returning home towards the evening he learns, from sounds which reach him from the house, that something unusual is going on. He has been busy at work on the paternal estate, for he is a dutiful, diligent, methodical, plodding, prosaic, uninteresting man. Inquiring what the music and the sound as of dancing means, he receives from the slave to whom he addresses his question the answer: "Thy brother is come, and thy father killed the fatted calf, because he received him safe and sound." In the words we are to find neither a sneer, nor a studied reserve in reporting the facts, as if in doubt how the news would be received, but simply an honest statement of the facts as they appeared to the superficial view of the servile mind, which thought only of the outward aspect of the event related.[1] Probably the honest slave expected that the tidings he communicated would give the elder son as much pleasure as they gave himself. If he did, he was very much mistaken. The report that a feast had been extemporised, to celebrate the return of a worthless member of the family, roused in the virtuous man a storm of indignation, and he could not endure the thought of appearing in a company where a spirit of mirth reigned, with which he had no sympathy. Strange that a brother should come behind even a slave in joy over the return of the erring one! And yet we must not overlook the fact, that in his very anger the eldest son showed himself morally superior to the slave. The slave was glad because he looked merely at the exterior side of the event: a member of the family long absent from home, at length returned. The son was angry because he looked at the moral side of his brother’s history; at the cause of his absence, and the sort of life he had been living. For thinking of these he was not to be blamed; his fault lay here, that he was readier to think of the sin than of the repentance, which in the judgment of charity might be presumed to have been the motive impelling the prodigal to return. This was the fault of the Pharisees, of whom he is the type. They thought only of the vices of the class whom Jesus loved, never of their repentance, and hence their inability to comprehend the motives, and to sympathise with the feelings, of Jesus. It was a fault due immediately to the want of a hopeful spirit in reference to the moral reformation of the degraded members of society. But that want of hope resolved itself ultimately into a lack of love. Charity hopeth all things. Jesus hoped for the repentance of publicans and sinners, because He loved them deeply; the Pharisees despaired of them because their hearts were cold, frozen with the pride of virtue. Even so with the elder son, to return to him. His virtue made him hard and severe, and unable to be forbearing, gentle, pitiful, or, to use the pregnant word of the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews,
[1] Hofmann, with a strange want of insight, finds in the words a sneer adapted by a cunning domestic to the manifest ill-will of the elder brother. Meyer, on the other hand, thinks the servant showed discretion in speaking only of the physical health of the returned son. Godet, with superior discernment, says, the words of the servant describe the fact without the moral appreciation which did not suit a servant.
[2] Heb 5:2.
[3] Luk 15:31.
[4]
[5] The servile tone pervades the elder brother’s words throughout, and in this he was a faithful picture of the Pharisees, whose religion was essentially legal and servile in spirit. The elder brother in the parable is the representative of the Pharisees in their good and bad points, in their moral correctness, and in their severity and pride, as the younger brother is the representative of the "publicans and sinners" in their depravity and repentance. This seems so evident to us, that we have all along taken it for granted. Some, however, and notably the critics who are always discovering traces of tendency in the Gospel, are of opinion that the two brothers represent not the Pharisees and publicans respectively, but Jews and Gentiles. But we must here, as in all cases, distinguish between the applications of which the parable admits, and the application primarily intended. That the reference, in the first place, is to Pharisees and publicans is to us beyond question; but that the doctrine of the parable admitted of being applied to Jews and Pagans, and that Jesus, and likewise Luke, was conscious of its applicability to the wider distinction, we have as little doubt. The Pharisees themselves could hardly fail to discern in Christ’s sympathy with the degraded class, and in His defence thereof a latent universalism. The offence they took at Christ’s conduct was probably due to an instinctive, half-conscious perception, that this new love for the sinful portended a religious revolution, the setting aside of Jewish prerogative, and the introduction of a religion of humanity to which Jew and Gentile should be as one.[1] They might arrive at this conclusion by a very simple process of reasoning. They themselves called Jesus "Friend of publicans and sinners"; but publicans were to them as heathens, and ’sinners’ was the epithet they used to denote the Gentiles. Therefore they might readily argue that the man who took such an interest in publicans and sinners could have no objection in principle to associating with Gentiles, and that when the leaven of His influence had had time to work, the religion associated with His name would become the religion, not of the Jews, but of mankind. If they reasoned thus they reasoned rightly Christ’s love was indeed revolutionary in tendency, and so was the doctrine He taught in these apologetic parables. The doctrine that every penitent sinner, though he were the meanest of mankind, is a son of God, could only issue in the new humanity of Paul, wherein "is neither Jew nor Greek, neither bond nor free, neither male nor female, but all are one in Christ Jesus."[2] [1] Reuss says under ’sinners’ Pagans are included, and in the sense explained above we agree with him.
[2] Gal 3:28.
It remains now to make a few observations on the import of the term ’lost’ which occurs in all these three parables. It was a term frequently employed by Jesus to denote the objects of His redemptive activity. "I came," He said once and again, "to seek the lost" (
[1] John 3:16.
[2] On this distinction vide Cramer’s ’Dictionary of New Testament Greek.’
[3] Luk 19:10; cf. Mat 10:6; Mat 15:24.
What, then, is the moral condition of humanity considered as that which, while lost, is yet capable of being found and saved? The parables we have been considering help us to answer this question. Man, viewed as the object of the Saviour’s solicitude, is lost as a straying sheep is lost, through thoughtlessness; as a piece of money is lost to use, when its owner cannot find it; as a prodigal is lost, who in wayward-ness and self-will departs from his father’s house to a distant land, and there lives a life utterly diverse from that of the home he has left, and so living holds no correspondence with his family, but is content to be as dead to them, and that they in turn should be as dead to him. Man as ’lost’ is foolish as a straying sheep, to his own peril; lives in vain, not fulfilling the end of his existence, like a lost coin; is without God in the world, alienated from God, like a prodigal son. As a straying sheep he is not only lost, but has lost himself, bewildered like a traveller in a snowstorm, or a child in a wood. He has gone astray not in wantonness merely, but in quest of pasture, seeking after good, blindly groping after the summum bonum. He has gone further astray from that which he seeks, instead of coming nearer it. As a lost piece of money, he is forgetful of his chief end, and so lives in vain, so far as the higher purposes of life are concerned. As a lost son of God, he is not only witless like a sheep, and useless like a lost coin, but positively evil-minded, disobedient, undutiful, devoid of right affection, a lover of pleasure more than of God, one who banishes God from his thoughts, and who desires that he may not be in God’s thoughts, and does what he can to hide himself from God, by living a prayerless, irreligious life, behaving as a runaway who holds no correspondence with friends that he may conceal from them his whereabouts. Such were the thoughts of Jesus concerning man when He described him as
[1] Bengel distinguishes the senses of the term ’lost,’ as used in the three parables respectively, thus: Ovis, drachma, filius perditus; peccator stupidus, sui plane nescius, sciens et voluntarius. Our interpretation agrees with his in the first and third cases, but diverges from it in the second—he emphasising the unconsciousness of the lifeless piece of money; we, the fact that a lost coin is lost to use.