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<p>"It is not the <em>healthy</em> who need a physician—but those who are <em>sick</em>." Matthew 9:12<br><br>
There is no article of faith more certain than that Jesus Christ is an all-sufficient and most willing Saviour, "able to save to the uttermost, all who come unto God through him," and that "all who come unto him—he will never cast out." Those who entrust their souls in his hands he keeps, and none of them is lost. It is also certain that all the guilty sons of Adam stand in the most absolute need of him: in vain do they look for salvation in any other. Without him, they are undone forever: and without him, their very existence becomes a curse, and their immortality but the duration of their misery. The <em>disease of sin </em>has so deeply infected their souls, that none but this divine Physician can heal them.<br><br>
Since this is the case, who would not expect that Jesus would be universally the <em>darling of mankind? </em>Who would not expect that as many as are wounded, and just perishing of their wounds—would all earnestly apply to this Physician, and seek relief from him upon any terms? Who would suspect there should be so much as one heart cold and disaffected towards him? Must not all love and desire him, since all <em>need </em>him so extremely, and since he is so completely qualified to be their deliverer?<br><br>
But, alas! notwithstanding such favourable presumptions from the nature of the thing, it is a most notorious fact that this <em>divine Physician </em>is but little regarded in our dying world. This all-sufficient and willing Saviour is generally neglected by perishing sinners. There are thousands among us who have no affectionate thoughts of him, no eager longings after him, they exert no vigorous endeavours to obtain a saving interest in him, nor are they tenderly solicitous about it. They indeed <em>profess </em>his religion, and <em>call</em>themselves Christians after his name: they pay him the <em>compliment </em>of a bended knee, and now and then perform the external duties of religion, and thus have high hopes they shall be saved through him. But as to their <em>hearts </em>and <em>affections</em>, he has no share there: these are reserved for the <em>world</em>, which, in <em>practical estimation</em>, they prefer to him, whatever they profess.<br><br>
Now whence is this strange and shocking phenomenon in the rational world? Whence is it, that the dying are careless about a Physician? That a Deliverer is neglected by those who are perishing? The true reason we may find in my text, "It is not the healthy who need a physician—but those who are sick." That is, "those who <em>imagine </em>themselves well, however disordered they are in reality, do not <em>feel </em>their need of a physician, and therefore will not apply to him; but those who feel themselves sick, will eagerly apply to him, and put themselves under his care."<br><br>
This is the answer of Christ to the proud cavilling Pharisees, who censured his free conversation with publicans and sinners, at an entertainment which Matthew had prepared for him. The publicans were a sort of tax collectors among the Jews, appointed by the Romans, whose tributaries they then were, to collect the levies or duties imposed by the government. They were generally people of bad morals, and particularly given to rapine and extortion in raising the taxes. On this account they were particularly hated by the Jews, especially by the strict sect of Pharisees. Their very office would have rendered them odious, even though they had behaved well in it; for it was a public badge of the slavery of the Jews to the Romans; which, to a people so proud and so fond of liberty as the Jews, was a mortification they could not patiently bear. The publicans, therefore, were objects of general contempt and abhorrence, as an abandoned sort of men; and the Jews, particularly the rigid and haughty Pharisees, held no conversation with them—but kept them at a distance, as though they had been excommunicated. Hence, says Christ, concerning one excommunicated by the church for incorrigible wickedness, "Let him be to you as an heathen man, and a publican," Matt, 18:17, that is, have no fellowship with him—but treat him as the Jews do the publicans.<br><br>
The condescending Jesus, who "came to seek and save that which was lost," did not conduct himself towards those poor outcasts, upon the rigid principles of the Pharisees. They held them in such contempt, that they did not labour to instruct and reform them. But Jesus preached to them, conversed with them freely, treated them most condescending and affable, and ingratiating measures to reform them, and called some of them to the honour of being his disciples. Of this number was <em>Matthew</em>, the author of this history; once an abandoned publican, afterwards a disciple, an apostle, and one of the four evangelists, whose immortal writings have diffused the vital savour of the name of Jesus through all ages and countries.<br><br>
Oh, the condescension, the freeness, the efficacy of the grace of Christ! It can make a publican into an apostle! It can make an abhorred outcast into the favourite of heaven, and the companion of angels! What abundant encouragement does this give to the most abandoned sinner among you to turn unto the Lord! Let publicans and sinners despair of mercy and salvation if they continue in their present condition; but if they arise and follow Jesus at his call, and become his humble, teachable disciples, they need not despair; nay, they may rejoice in hope of the glory of God, and be assured they shall be admitted into the kingdom of God—when the self-righteous and religious are shut out.<br><br>
When Matthew had embraced the call, he made a feast for his new Master, that he might show his respect and gratitude to him, and that he might let his fellow publicans and old companions have an opportunity of conversing with him, and receiving his instructions. How natural is it for a sinner, just brought to love Jesus, to use means to allure <em>others </em>to him, especially his former companions! Having seen his own guilt and danger, he is deeply affected with theirs, and would willingly lead them to that Saviour who has given him so gracious a reception. Indeed his sincere endeavours of this kind, though the most substantial and unselfish evidences of friendship, often excite the <em>contempt </em>and <em>ridicule </em>of his former companions; and the more so, as they are generally attended with the imprudent but <em>well-meant </em>blunders of inexperience, and an honest zeal mingled with wild-fire. But at times such a convert is made the instrument of bringing those to be his companions in the way to heaven, who had walked with him in the ways of sin: and this is sufficient encouragement to such of you as have been called, like Matthew, to use your best endeavours with our fellow-sinners. Who knows but we may "save a soul from death, and hide a multitude of sins?" And what a noble, beneficent exploit is this!<br><br>
The blessed Jesus, who was always ready to embrace every opportunity of doing good, whatever popular odium it might expose him to, cheerfully complies with Matthew's invitation, and mingles with a crowd of publicans at his table. Like a physician—he employs himself in an hospital, among the sick and dying, and not among the healthy and mirthful. The conversation of sinners could not be agreeable to him for itself; but as it gave him opportunity of doing them good, it afforded him a sincere pleasure. To converse with his Father and the holy angels in his native heaven, would have been more pleasing in itself to his holy soul; but if by conversing with sinners in our guilty world, he can but save the perishing creatures, he cheerfully submits to self-denial, and even rejoices in it; just as a compassionate physician, though he has no pleasure in the melancholy haunts of sickness—yet frequents them, that he may relieve the distressed.<br><br>
The Pharisees now thought they had a good handle to raise popular clamour against Christ, and therefore cavil at these freedoms, as though they had been profane and inconsistent with the character of the Messiah, or even of a prophet. If he claimed this character, they thought it much more befitting in him to keep company with them—than with profligate publicans. Hence to stumble and perplex his disciples, they come to them, and ask, "Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and 'sinners'?" The disciples were not as yet endowed with that <em>mouth </em>and <em>wisdom </em>which all their enemies could not withstand; and therefore Jesus answers them, and takes upon himself his own defence. "It is not the healthy who need a physician—but those who are sick."<br><br>
Some suppose, that by <em>the healthy</em>, Christ means those who were really healthy, or who were not so infected with the disease of sin, as to stand in need of him as a physician. And when such people can be found among the sons of men, this exposition will appear more plausible. But since we know that all have sinned, and stand in need of Christ as a Saviour, it is much more reasonable, I think, to suppose that, by <em>the healthy</em>, Christ means those who <em>imagined themselves </em>to be healthy, though really languishing with the deadly disease of sin. It seems to me that he here answers the Pharisees upon their own principles, and proves his conduct to be justifiable, even supposing their high opinion of themselves, and their contemptuous idea of the publicans, to be true; as if he had said, "I come into the world under the character of a <em>physician for sick souls</em>. Such, you will grant, these despised publicans are; and therefore, you must also grant, that these are the people I have to deal with, and these are the most likely to make application to me. But as for <em>yourselves</em>, you think that you are righteous; you think you are not so far gone with the <em>disease of sin </em>as to need a physician sent down from heaven to heal you. Now I will not determine at present, whether this high opinion you have of yourselves is just or not. Be it right or wrong, it is certain, that while you entertain it, you cannot consistently find fault with my conduct. If you are such, I have no business with <em>you, </em>as a physician. I must, therefore, rather choose to converse with these sinners, who now begin to <em>see </em>themselves such, and to be <em>sensible </em>of their need of a physician."<br><br>
Thus, as I observed, Jesus here vindicates his conduct even upon the principles of the Pharisees themselves. It was not now to his purpose to dispute the high opinion they had of themselves; even that opinion furnished him with a sufficient defence. But, when it was proper, he faithfully exposes their true character, as proud, self-righteous hypocrites, and denounces the most dreadful woes against them!<br><br>
I might perhaps render the matter plainer by a familiar illustration. Suppose a man of learning in company with two people: the one really ignorant—but highly conceited of his knowledge, and consequently unteachable; the other ignorant too—but sensible of it, and therefore desirous of instruction: suppose he should turn from the self-conceited creature, and carry on conversation with the other, who was likely to profit by it; and suppose the former should resent it, and say, "If he were indeed a scholar, as he pretends to be—then he would not be fond of the society of such an ignorant dunce—but would rather choose me for a companion." How properly might a teacher reply, "Oh! you are a <em>wise man</em>; and have no need of my instruction; and, therefore, as a teacher, I have no business with you; but this poor, ignorant creature is sensible of his lack of instruction; and, therefore, it is most fit I should converse with him." Such a reply has a peculiar pungency and mortifying force in it; and such Jesus used in the case before us.<br><br>
To give a fuller view of this text, and to adapt it to practical purposes, I intend to describe the CHARACTERS of those who are<em>healthy</em>—and of those who are <em>sick</em>, in the senses here intended:<br><br>
There are none of the sons of men who are really <em><strong>HEALTHY</strong></em>. Their souls are all diseased; for all have sinned, and there are none righteous, no, not one! And perhaps there are none upon earth so proud, and so ignorant of themselves, as to affirm in so many words, that they are healthy; that is, "perfectly righteous." Therefore, by the healthy, cannot be meant either those who are <em>really</em>free from all sin; or those who <em>imagine </em>themselves entirely free from it. It does not appear that even the proud Pharisees were capable of flattering themselves so far.<br><br>
But by the <em>healthy</em>, are meant those who are indeed guilty, depraved sinners, and who are ready to make a superficial confession in words that they are sinners—but continue secure and impenitent, insensible of their guilt, their corruption, their danger, and their need of a Savior. That is, those who are really sick and dangerously ill—and yet are as easy, as unapprehensive of danger, as careless about applying to the physician, as if nothing ailed them. The disease is of a lethargic nature, and stupefies the unhappy creatures, so that they are not <em>sensible </em>of it. It renders them delirious, so that they think themselves well—when the symptoms of death are strong upon them.<br><br>
What multitudes of such may we see in the world! The Word of God pronounces them dangerously ill; their friends may see the most deadly symptoms upon them—but alas! They are <em>stupidly insensible of their own case</em>. Jesus, the divine Physician, warns them of their danger, offers them his help, and prescribes to them the infallible means of recovery; but they disregard his warnings, neglect his gracious offer, and refuse to submit to his prescriptions. This is the general character of those who are<em>healthy</em>, in the sense of my text.<br><br>
By the <em><strong>SICK</strong></em>, are meant those who, like the former, are really guilty, corrupt sinners, in extreme need of a Saviour—and who readily confess they are such. But here lies the difference, they are not only such in reality, and they not only <em>acknowledge </em>that they are such—but they are <em>deeply sensible </em>of it, they are tenderly affected with their case! Their temper and conduct, their thoughts of themselves and of Jesus Christ, their designs and endeavours, are such as are natural to a soul sensibly sick of sin—and such as bear a resemblance to those of a person sick in body, and using all means for a recovery.<br><br>
It is the characteristic of this class of sinners; not that they are less holy, or in more danger, than others; but that they are more sensible of their condition, and more solicitous and laborious about deliverance. They feel themselves disordered; they put themselves under the care of Jesus, the only Physician of souls; they submit to his prescriptions, and use all means for their recovery to soundness of mind, from the deadly disease of sin! This is the general character of the sick, in the sense of my text; but it is necessary I should descend to particulars.<br><br>
The particular characters of the healthy and the sick, in contrast, are such as these:<br><br>
    <strong></strong>
<strong>1.</strong> He who is <em>healthy </em>has never had a clear affecting sight and sense of sin; but he who is <em>sick </em>is fully convicted, and deeply sensible of it.<br><br>
The HEALTHY one has only a general, superficial, un-affecting conviction, that he is 'a sinner': that he has not been as good as he should have been; that his heart is <em>somewhat </em>disordered; and especially that he has been guilty of sundry bad actions. But, alas; he neither sees his sinfulness in its full extent, nor is suitably affected with that little of it which he sees. He does not clearly see the <em>entire </em>and <em>universal </em>corruption of his heart, and the numberless <em>principles and seeds of sin </em>that are there. He does not clearly see the blindness of his mind as to divine things. He does not clearly see the secret disaffection of his heart towards God and holiness. He does not clearly see the carnality of his mind, and his lukewarmness and formality in the duties of religion. He may have a transient glance, a superficial view of these things; but he has not a deep, settled conviction of them: nor is he <em>suitably affected </em>with what he knows of his own sinfulness.<br><br>
It does not appear to him such a mighty matter to have such a disordered heart towards God, to have dropped a forbidden word now and then, or to have committed a few bad actions; few, I say, for so they appear to him, though repeated times and ways beyond number. SIN appears to him a <em>trifling peccadillo</em>, a small evil, and he has a thousand <em>excuses </em>to make for it. Hence he is as easy, as careless, as presumptuous in his hopes, as if he believed he did not really deserve punishment from a righteous God, and therefore was in no danger. Though the leprosy of sin spreads ever so wide, and breaks out into ever so many putrid and mortifying sores—yet he is easy and secure, and <em>insensible of the disease! </em>Thus, like a man in health, he is unconcerned, and neither apprehends himself sick, nor uses the least means for his recovery!<br><br>
Oh! what multitudes of such are among us! They will confess themselves 'sinners', with as little concern as if they were quite free from sin, or as if they thought there was little or no danger in it.<br><br>
But is it so with the poor SICK sinner! Oh! no! He <em>sees</em>, he feels that his whole head is sick, and his whole heart faint, and that from the crown of the head, even unto the sole of the foot, there are nothing but wounds, bruises, and putrefying sores! He <em>feels</em>the plague of a hard, senseless heart, and the secret springs of wickedness within him. He feels that sin has enfeebled all his powers, and that he is no more able to exert them in pious endeavours, than a sick man is to employ himself in active life. Oh! into what a consternation is the sinner struck, when he is awakened out of his lethargic security, and his eyes are opened to <em>see himself </em>in a just light! He had flattered himself that he had a good constitution of soul, and that little or nothing ailed him; but now he is surprised to see the strong symptoms of spiritual death upon himself!<br><br>
Suppose some of you, who have come here today vigorous and healthy, should suddenly discover the spots of a plague broken out all over you, how would it strike you with surprise and horror! Such is the surprise and horror of the awakened sinner; thus is he alarmed and amazed! So clear are his views of his entire and universal <em>depravity</em>, and imminent <em>danger</em>—that he is utterly astonished he was so stupid as never to discover it before. Now, also, he has a <em>deep sense of the evil of sin: </em>he not only sees himself universally disordered—but he sees, he feels the disorder to be deadly! Sin now appears to him—to be the greatest evil upon <em>earth</em>, or even in <em>hell</em>. Oh! how worthy of the severest vengeance from a righteous God! Oh! how contrary to the divine purity! Oh! how base, how ungrateful a violation of the most strong and endearing obligations! Oh! how destructive to the soul, not only according to the penalty of the divine law—but in its own native tendency!<br><br>
During the progress of the Christian life, he feels himself recovering a little, though very slowly, while he follows the prescriptions of his divine Physician, and receives healing influences from him. He feels his enfeebled soul gathering a little strength; his vitiated taste gradually corrected; and the welcome symptoms of returning health; but oh! he is sensibly sick still. The cure is not<em>complete </em>in this world; but the <em>remains of his old disorder </em>hang upon him all his life, and he is subject to many dangerous relapses, in which it gathers new strength—and he is afraid it is incurable!<br><br>
    <strong></strong>
<strong>2.</strong> Those who are <em>healthy </em>are generally easy and secure, and unapprehensive of danger; but the <em>sick soul </em>is alarmed and anxious—and cannot be easy, until it perceives some appearances of recovery. He who is <em>healthy</em>, is benumbed with a stupid insensibility; but he who is <em>sick—</em>is in pain from the disease of sin, which he sensibly feels. The one can walk about merry and thoughtless, with a hard, depraved heart within him; the other is perpetually uneasy, and, like a sick man, has no taste for anything while he feels such a heart within him. If the healthy one is anxious—it is with some worldly care; if the sick one is anxious—it is chiefly for the recovery of his dying soul.<br><br>
The healthy one can give himself up to business, or pleasure, or idleness, as a man in health, and at ease; the SICK one is apprehensive that his soul is in great danger; and, like a sick man, gives up his eager pursuits, until he sees whether he is likely to recover. He is alarmed with the deadly consequences of sin, as it exposes him to the wrath of God, the loss of heaven, and all the miseries of the infernal world. But this is not all that distresses him; he considers sin, in itself, as a loathsome disease, and is pained with its present effects upon him. As a sick man is not only alarmed at the consequence of his disease, namely, death—but considers it as a present pain, and as depriving him of the present comforts of life; so the sick soul feels sin to be a loathsome, painful disease, which now deprives it of the exalted pleasures of religion, and renders it incapable of serving its God with vigour and life.<br><br>
This indisposition of soul for the exercises of piety, is, in itself, a constant uneasiness to him who is spiritually sick. How strongly does Paul represent the case, when he cries out, "Oh! wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death!" Romans 7:24. The image seems to be that of a living man walking about with a rotten, nauseous carcass tied fast to him, which oppresses him, and he cannot, with all his efforts, cast it off; but it lies heavy upon him wherever he goes—which constrains him to cry out, "Oh! who shall deliver me from this dead body?" This is the character of the soul <em>sick </em>of sin.<br><br>
But he who is HEALTHY has little or no uneasiness upon this account. If he is alarmed at all, it is with the consequence of sin; his slavish soul fears nothing but the punishment. As for the <em>disease </em>itself, it is so far from giving him uneasiness, that he is in <em>love</em>with it! It affords him sensations of <em>pleasure</em>, rather than of pain—and he rather dreads a recovery, than the continuance of the disorder! Sin has intoxicated him to such a degree, that <em>holiness</em>, which is the <em>health </em>of the soul—is disagreeable to him, and he would rather continue languishing, than recover!<br><br>
My friends, you can easily distinguish between sickness and health of <em>body</em>; and you are very ready to do it. And will you not inquire what state your <em>souls </em>are in? whether they are sensible of their sickness, and in a way of recovery? or whether they are stupefied, or made delirious by the disorder, insensible of their danger, and solicitousness about their recovery? I beg you to examine yourselves in these particulars.<br><br>
    <strong></strong>
<strong>3.</strong> Those who are healthy—are unwilling to apply to a physician, or to follow his prescriptions; but to the sick—a physician is most welcome, and they will submit to his directions, however self-denying and mortifying. This is the point my text has particularly in view, and therefore we must take particular notice of it.<br><br>
They that are in HEALTH have no regard to a physician, as such; they neither send for him, nor will they accept of his help, even if offered <em>gratis</em>. They look upon the best of medicines with neglect, as of no use or importance to them: the prescriptions proper to the sick they hear with indifference, as not being their particular concern.<br><br>
Thus it is with thousands, who <em>imagine </em>themselves to be healthy in soul. The Lord Jesus exhibits himself to men under the character of a <em>physician</em>; the gospel makes a free offer of his assistance to all sick souls who will freely accept it. And what reception does he generally meet with? Why, multitudes <em>neglect </em>him, as though they had no <em>need </em>of him. They may indeed pay him the compliment of professing his religion, because it happened to be the religion of their fathers and their country—but they have no eager desires after him; they are not in earnest and laborious to obtain his assistance; they do not invite him with the most affectionate entreaties to undertake their case; they do not beg and cry for relief from him, like blind Bartimeus, Mark 10:47, "Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me!"<br><br>
In short, whatever regard they may <em>profess </em>for him, they are not deeply <em>sensible </em>of their <em>absolute need </em>of him! They are not feelingly affected towards him, as towards a being with whom they have the greatest personal concern, a concern of the utmost importance: and the reason is, they are <em>healthy in their own apprehensions</em>. Or if they feel some qualms of conscience, some fits of painful remorse, they soon "heal their own hurt slightly, crying, '<em>Peace, peace!'</em> when there is no peace!" They make a <em>medicine</em>of their own prayers, tears, repentance, and religious endeavours, and with this they hope to heal themselves! Thus Jesus is neglected; they give him the <em>name </em>of a Saviour; but in reality—they look to <em>themselves </em>for a cure!<br>
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