Jesus Christ the physician of sin sick souls, opened and applied, in a sermon delivered to the First Society in Lebanon, with a farewell address to the people upon leaving them. December 7th, 1777. / By Solomon Williams of Hartford, A.M. ; Printed at the particular desire of a number of the hearers.

MATTHEW IX.12.

But when Jesus heard that, he said unto them, They that be whole need not a Physician, but they that are sick.— That part of the verse—They that be whole need not a Physician, but they that are sick.

I think it is an observation that will hold throughout, that Christ ever used the easiest and happiest methods to instruct his hearers. He scarcely failed of opening and illustrating the most important truths by things drawn from common life, and within every ones reach and ac|quaintance. He did not need to be let into our slowness of understanding, into our misapprehensions and prejudi|ces, into our spiritual blindness and darkness, He, there|fore, knew the need of the plainest preaching. He knew that what was not understood, could not be rationally loved nor practised.—He came to instruct the ignorant, to enlighten the blind, to guide the doubting, and strengthen the weak. With this great design ever full in his view, he accommodated himself, in his private conversation and public preaching, to the circumstances and capacities of all—He adapted himself to the weakest and meanest mind. He spoke for God to man. He spoke to dying and immortal creatures. He spoke from the most benevolent heart—Christ was a poor weak man's preacher—He that was to teach mankind must use a plain familiar method; or he would never succeed. A school master, for such was Christ, and such were his Apostles, begins with the easiest lessons, and talk in such a strain, as that the tender pupil takes it in by little and little, and gradually goes forward, when under proper

care, adding one improvement to another: Beginning, (in the metaphorical language of the bible,) with milk, and ending in strong meat suited to a robust constitution: suited, (to drop the Metaphor,) to an enlarged well grown capacity. A public teacher, as Christ was, should al|ways endeavour to get, while he avoids vulgarism's, the plainest style, the most obvious and striking thoughts, and the simplest connection between his ideas. He should open it with such ease, that all may see it; and apply it in such a manner, if possible, that all may feel it and pro|fit by it—It should run in as clear, as constant and copi|ous a stream as may be—His own heart should ever burn with a love for it: his life should exemplify it; and warm from his heart, it should run thro' all his sermons.—

Not only did Christ use a familiar intelligible method in opening truth, but he dwelt upon the greatest truths.—

The fundamental articles of our faith and practice were the burden, the substance, the ground work of his preaching. Unprofitable nicities, trifling questions, learned pompous harangue made no part of his public teaching—In this, he is an excellent pattern—Nor is this all—His method was close and pungent—Truth was in|finitely dear to him—He was the truth—Truth itself o|riginal, essential eternal truth—His sermons are filled with the most interesting truths—He told all, as he judg|ed best, when opportunity offered, their true character and situation—He was not a courtier nor a fawning flat|terer—He did not seek applause and honor from crea|tures—He could never be prevailed upon to feed our va|nity, gratify a carnal heart, and build our hopes upon a false foundation—We are ever directed to the Rock of ages for comfort and support—Every carnal confidence and creature trust is a bed shorter than that a man can stretch himself on it, and a covering too narrow to wrap himself in it—Christ is a sure foundation—Isa—28—He

is an hiding place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest—Isa—32—He is the only way, the truth and the life—John 14—He ever labored to divert their at|tention, and withdraw their hearts from every thing else. Momentous truths he repeatedly and abundantly explain|ed, inculcated and inforced—Hence this may be gather|thered, that the plainest, most pungent and practical ser|mons are the best—The man, that preaches plain profit|able truths, in a close pungent manner, preaches like Christ, and is the most desirable preacher—Indeed gene|ral observation and our own feelings confirm this point, That he who squares his preaching by the polite taste of the world, consults the humours and darling sentiments of mankind, pays greater difference, to capital characters than to God's authority, and is more concerned to obtain the good will of his hearers, than to instruct them, nourish them by truth, and build them up in the belief of the foundest doctrines—In one word, the man who loves o|ther's pockets and favors, better than their souls will be dispised by all. Even the very worst revere, and esteem an honest faithful man—It is a character that will com|mand respect: And as much, if not more, in a Minister, than in any other man. That preaching, the leading ob|ject and sole tendency of which, is evidently, to get a name, to gratify curiosity, to lull people a sleep when dead in trespasses and sins, and feed their native pride, will do ten thousand times the mischief, that it doth good. And here I know not how to pass it by, that it is for the most part, very easy to discover such kind of preaching— It is easy to see the preacher's carnality and thirst for ap|plause in his performances—It is happy that detection is so easy—Such preaching is what the bible, every where▪ condemns as pernicious to souls, more precious than mil|lions of gold and silver—There is such a proneness in nature to preach it self rather than Christ, that the closest

examination of that heart, which is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked, is to the last degree need|ful—In one word, the plainess of Christ's preaching, the important truths which he taught, not less than his abund|ant and unwearied labor are worthy of our imitation— A better copy than this we can never have—A more per|fect model of excellent preaching we must never expect— The original will not be exceeded nor equalled—The nearer we come to it, the better—But to attend to the text—The immediate occasion of it seems to be this. The 9th ver. informs us of the call and conversion of Matthew; who was a publican, or a collector of taxes. This business opened a door for cruelty, oppression and injustice—And the temptation, likely, proved too strong for the most. We find that this sort of officers was ge|nerally hated and dispised. This Matthew was however, where he should be; sitting at the receit of custom. It is always best to be where Providence calls us—where our proper business lies. Idleness exposes to almost every sin. But tho' this was his business, yet that was no insupera|ble bar in the way of his salvation. Christ calls him, and he comes—Almighty power accompanied the call. As in creation, so here. He speaks, and it is done. When grace took possession of his heart, he bid farewell to his post with all its profits. The charmes were gone. Oh how small an object will grace make this world appear! How trifling its offer—How empty its pleasures—How vain its honors—How short lived its riches—when com|pared with the satisfying, solid and permanent possession of eternity!—

The next ver. seats our Saviour at a feast that was made by this young convert. Tho' he doth not menti|on it as of his own providing, another evangelist doth. The guests were chiefly publicans and sinners. His dis|ciples, indeed, were present—They who love Christ, love

his disciples. It is not said that kings and rulers, the chief priests and doctors of the law were with him; wait|ing upon him, washing his feet, and anointing his head. Persons cloathed with such authority and dignity, did not often attend him but to blacken his character, discredit his preaching, and ruin his influence as a public teacher. Rulers and phylosophers were disgusted with the plainess, the simplicity and holiness of his religion—Publicans and sinners were round him—His name was Jesus—He came to seek and to save that which was lost—Offence is at once given to the Pharisees, the most notable Jewish sect—And when the Pharisees saw it, they said unto his disciples, Why eat••st your master with publicans and sinners? They would not follow him, because he paid not the least regard to their great abilities, their fancied importanc, their pomp|ous professions, and visible strictness and devotion—He was continually holding them up to public view as de|signing hypocritical persons. He exposed the badness of their real characters, the emptiness of their professions, the carnality of their views, and the secret wickedness of their life. Hence they hated him: For who can bear such cutting truths? Who can bear to have their inside character, their retired sentiments and hidden baseness ex|posed to the view and detestation of every one? That person must be a profound stranger to his own heart, who doth not know, that he will not bear to see himself in his native deformity stript of every disguise—It is a very ten|der and delicate matter to tell others their faults without giving offence—It is well known, how often truth cuts to the quick—It needs a masterly hand to do it to pur|pose.—To return—These Pharisees did not desire to see any around him, receiving instruction. They care no|thing about him, and as little about publicans and sinners. This question is put either thro' envy, malice or spite— Wishing to injure him if they could. For they seized e|very

opportunity to do it, and converted every circum|stance of his life into an objection against him. There is, in the question, a seeming tenderness for Christ's charac|ter—But it covered the wickedness of their hearts— Christ heared it, and prevents an answer from his disciples: who might be unable to make a suitable reply and wipe off the reproach that was thrown upon their Master. The reply and answer is our text—They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick—

As tho' he had said.

Why do you quarrel with me on this account. You see what I am ever upon. I am always doing good either to the souls or bodies of men, or to both. My works on every side speak forth the goodness of my heart—But besides, you do not love my company. You will not hearken to my instructions. You resist the evidence of my miracles. You have op|posed me from the beginning. You still retain the same temper. You do not rejoice at my coming into the world upon the most benevolent design, nor do you welcome me into your houses. And the reason is plain. You are they that justify yourselves. You see no need of a Saviour. You think that you are good enough. You have no guilt to be removed. No na|ture to be washed in my blood. Your apprehensions of religious subjects are spiritual. Your will is pliable. Your affections are under the happy government of reason and religion. All within is as it ought to be. This is your opinion of yourselves. No wonder then, that you do not look elsewhere, to me, and to heaven for help. Pray why should you, when your own strength, wisdom and goodness answers all necessary purposes? The man that enjoys good health, and la|bors under no real nor imaginary indisposition will not apply to a doctor, physic himself, and keep his bed. And if he knows that he feels very well, finds himself

strong, able to travel, labor or do what he pleases, it will be a difficult matter to persuade or reason him in|to a fit of sickness: To bring him to believe that the dropsy, or pluricy, or the gout is fixed on him. To spi|ritualise the similitude, it is so with you.

In what a familiar, striking, and, one would think, unexceptionable manner, is an important truth opened and illustrated? It was a full answer to their objections and cavils. It was calculated to make them feel to whom it was spoken: and it ought to have opened their eyes, and turned their attention wholly upon themselves. To forbear a longer introduction, we shall attend to these things from the text.

I. We shall first draw the character of sin sick sinners, who feel their need of Christ the physician of souls.

II. We shall then shew whence it it that Christ is wel|come only to persons of such a character.

III. In the 3d place, We shall describe Christ under the character of the physician of souls.

IV. And lastly apply the subject, as our time allows— To begin with the first,

I. The character of sin sick sinners, who feel their need of Christ, the physician of souls—

I say, who feel their need of Christ, because all need him, as he is the only way to the Father. But all do not feel their need of him, and apply to him for healing— As we are about to draw the character of sin sick sinners, who only welcome Christ to the throne in their hearts. We observe in the 1st place. That such sinners condemn themselves for all their sins. They see that the divine character, which they have hated, is incomparably glori|ous. That the divine authority is infinitely reasonable— that God's laws are holy, just and good—They feel the strong obligations under which they have long lain to love God with all their heart, mind, and strength: to obey God's laws continually thro' out, with a perfect heart:

to adore the Saviour, and give him the uppermost room in their affections. They see that they have done in ten thousands, yea, in numberless instances, what they ought not to have done. They see that months, and years, in one word, their past life, is little else or more than a blank in their existence: that they have abused their mercies, misimproved their privileges, trifled with concerns of e|ternal moment, and lost many precious counsels, warnings and reproofs. They see that ingratitude, disaffection, rebellion, stupidity, and madness, are written and en|stamped upon their heart and life. Let them look where they will, it is bad. They see that they have acted in an unreasonable, unprovoked perverse manner. They see that all their desires, purposes and ends were wrong—Here, my hearers, is enough to condemn. It is all condemned. Heart and life are sentenced and condemned. The more there is that opens to view: the more such a sinner knows of himself, the more particular will this condem|nation be. The sooner a thing is traced to the source, the sooner will it be adjudged and condemned. For if the fountain be corrupt, so will the streams be. If the heart be bad, the life can't be good. The one is but the expression, the opening, the letting out of the other. The action wholly separate from the heart is nothing. No more virtuous nor vicious than the motion of a clock, the blowing of the wind, or the rollings of the sea. The sin sick sinner condemns vain thoughts, carnal de|sires, retired lusts, as well as an immoral life. He con|demns all that he did, without any love for God, and holy delight in duty. He views all that he has done as trifling, as empty shew, but the form of godliness with|out any of the power, the spirit and beauty of it. He was all the time, when he had worked himself to the highest pitch of goodness, dead in trespasses and sins, a child of disobedience, and an heir of wrath. He con|demns

his treatment of God, and Christ, and the Spirit: his treatment of gospel offers, of the word, and the preach|ing of it: his treatment of convictions. He condemns himself, that he has used both soul and body in the ser|vice of sin and satan: that he has loved this world so well; himself so well; his own religious performances so well: that he has done no more good; and, not to en|large here, that he has been such an unprofitable fruitless creature under the plentiful cultivation of Providence, and the blessings of the sanctuary—But this condemnati|on is not only particular and universal, reaching to all within him, and all without him—but it is a chearful, and sweet one—There is nothing forced in it. It is the spontanious unconstrained working and exercise of the heart. I had almost said necessary. And, indeed, it is true. For it is not a necessity that lessons or destroys free agency. The person is so penetrated with the evil of his conduct, that he condemns it unavoidably, as well as freely and chearfully. It is an act in which the soul acquiesces, and with which it is pleased. It chooses, it rejoices so to do. The view that it has of sin, strikes it with such abhorrence, that the contrary act, that of ap|probation, would shock it beyond account. The beauty and fitness of this self-condemning act, strike it with irre|sistible force. But again—It is a righteous condemnati|on—The person sees that it is a reasonable, and a righte|ous thing to pass the sentence upon himself, and against himself. The rule by which he should walk, is a reason|able, a righteous, a perfect and unchangeable rule. Hence as he has not walked by it at all, his condemnation is perfectly just; and he sees it to be so. We should ever be pleased with a righteous sentence, a righteous punish|ment, and a righteous law. And we shall do it, when we are properly disposed toward spiritual objects—Further, We shall not only condemn ourselves, if we are heartily sick of sin, but we shall realise and feel the justice of God in condemning of us too.

If God is our proper Sovereign, and we are under ob|ligation to do what he would have us: if all that God requires of us we ought to do, then, it is easy to see, if we do not yield a cordial obedience, we are criminal; and, if criminal, condemned. For the penalty follows disobedience. He that believeth not, saith the gospel, is condemned already. John 3.18. The wrath of God abideth on him—ver.—36—If he is condemned, the sentence is just, the punishment is just, for the law is holy—In this light, is it viewed by such a person. He sees that God would be just in punishing of him with everlasting de|struction. In as much as sin is an infinite evil. It is just, and he will see it. If he doth not, he must be unac|quainted with the infinitude of divine eccellence—with the spotless rectitude, the wisdom and goodness of God's goverment, and with the purity of God's laws. If I have done wrong, I can't see, why it is not as reasonable that I should blame myself, condemn myself, and acknowledge the justice of my punishment, as that I should condemn another. The relation in which I stand to myself, in no shape alters the nature of the crime, nor the degree of criminality and baseness. It is as bad for me to hate a good parent, a good magistrate, a good government, as for my brother, my neighbour, 〈…〉〈…〉, or any one. I deserve as much to be punished as they, in this point of light. It is beyond dispute, our sinful attachments blind our eyes, and prevent a just judgment in our own case. I am fully sensible, that we can see a fault in another much sooner than in ourselves. We can see more aggra|vating circumstances attending of it—attending the same crime in another than in ourselves. It is much easier to subscribe to the justice of another's punishment than to my own—But then, it is not because there is any impro|priety, or injustice in my being punished according to my deserts—I may deserve it as much as another—I may

deserve it much more than another—And why should I not be pleased with it? I do not ask whether bodily pain is pleasant? Whether shame, disgrace, and wretchedness are pleasant things in themselves. But this I ask—Why should I not be pleased with the exercise of justice? In seeing a good government maintained, a just penalty ex|ecuted, and every vice discountenanced? If I have broken an indisputably needful wise law, why should I not be frowned upon as well as any other criminal—any transi|ent person, a stranger, or an obscure mean person? And should I not be punished with as much severity too, if my crime deserves it? In point of justice, why should not I? The question is not whether it is prudent, or, upon the whole, best, in every instance, but whether the punishment is just. If it is just, then I am so far from being justified in complaining of it, that if I am properly disposed, I shall be pleased with it—I would say further, that we may sub|mit to a punishment, and, at the same time oppose it in our hearts to the utmost—There may be a forced sub|mission, which doth not imply the least degree of acqui|escence, and approbation. We may care nothing about the support of good government and the execution of good laws—We may see no beauty in order, propriety and obedience—To apply these plain thoughts—The penalty which is inseparably connected with disobedience to di|vine laws, is a proper expression of God's infinite and un|changeable hatred of moral evil, and of the greatness of the evil—Hence a breach of his law at once exposes us to the penalty—The penalty is as it ought to be. Why should we not then be pleased that God necessarily fore|ver hates sin, and is unalterably determined to punish it in such a wise and holy manner? And why should we not be pleased with a display of his infinite perfection in punishing disobedience, ingratitude, stupidity in ourselves, as well as in any other sinner? It is agreed on all sides,

even by the greatest savers of themselves, that there is no change in the reason, and justice of the punishment, let the subject be whom it may.—

But once more, The sin sick sinner blames himself for all his sins—This, in deed, is rather a consequence of what has been said, and almost a repetition of it—However, I thought it might be well to pay a more particular attenti|on to it—He sees that he is altogether in fault. He has no disposition to apologise, palliate and excuse his con|duct.—He does not wish to throw any blame upon ano|ther.—Nor doth he worry his mind with the introduction of moral evil. Convinced of this, that the corruption of his nature, and the unreasonable enmity of his carnal mind are the separating wall between God and himself: Convinced of this, that his opposition to God's interest and glory, is his sin, and absolutely inexcusable, his in|dignation is levelled at himself, and centers in himself. He does not attempt his own justification. He can form no plea for himself.—Hence we meet with such passages— If we justify ourselves, our own mouths shall condemn us: If we say that we are perfect, that also shall prove us perverse. If he will contend with us, we cannot answer him for one of a thousand—Job—9—And now, O our God, what shall we say after this, for we have forsaken thy commandments— Ezra—9—If thou shouldest lay righteousness to the line—see Isa. 28—Wherefore should a living man complain, a man for the punishment of his sins—Lam. 3.—If then their uncircum|cised hearts be humbled, and they then accept of the punishment of their iniquity—Lev—26.—But I forbear to add here, and go on to say secondly—Sin sick sinners loath and ab|hor themselves for their sins—God loaths them; as it would be most easy to prove from the infinite purity of his nature—from both particular and general expressions in the bible, holding it forth—from the epithets used ex|pressive of their character—and from the loathsome ob|jects to which they are so frequently compared.

They now begin to see things as God sees them—They loath the fountain of pollution within them. They detest a principle of opposition to the blessed God—They loath all the streams that run thro' life: for they smell strong of the fountain. They see that they have abundant rea|son for loathing themselves. All is deformity, wretched|ness, and pollution. They appear to be ten thousand times viler, in their own view, than the beasts that perish. They see there is sufficient reason why God should loath them forever. Why all good beings should do so. Why saints and angels should do so. They see that there is reason why they should hold themselves in perpetual ab|horrence—They marvel that they could ever love such a mass of corruption, such a body of deformity, of sin and death—They marvel that they do not loath themselves more—They see no object so loathsome, so nauseous and offensive as a sinner dead in sin. They appear more loath|some to themselves, than others do to them; because they have a more perfect knowledge of themselves. Their vileness brings them into the lowest posture of humility before God. Thus speaks the bible, O our God, we are ashamed, and blush to lift up our faces before thee our God, for our iniquities have increased over our head, and our tres|pass is grown up unto the heavens. Ezra 9. To us belong shame and confusion of face, because we have sinned against thee. Dan. 9. Behold we are vile, what shall we answer thee. Job—40—Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes. Job—42—It is sin, which alone is the proper source of shame, sorrow and confusion of face—They loath themselves for all the dishonour that they have cast upon God, upon his character and government: that they have treated the Son of God, and the Spirit of God, in such an unworthy manner: that they have been influenc|ed by such base motives, and directed every thing to such a low end: that they have yielded their members instru|ments

of unrighteousness, and of iniquity unto iniquity▪ that they have acted so far beneath their profession, their advantages, and consequent obligations: so much below the character of rational and immortal creatures. What abundant matter for loathing, and detestation, opens up|on the sin sick sinner! Did we descend to all the parti|culars which might be named, we should never finish—

3. Sin sick sinners feel their utter unworthiness of mer|cy—They see that they have nothing to recommend them to the notice and favor of God. Nothing that they can do while out of Christ is pleasing to him. Nothing of their own can lay any foundation for their acceptance, pardon, and salvation. So far, in their own apprehensi|on, from deserving any good, that they are undeserving, ill deserving, and hell deserving creatures. They deserve of themselves nothing but to be made monuments of folly and madness, and trophies of justice in the regions of eternal misery. They see that nothing of their own can ever be the moving or meritorious cause, the matter and ground of their justification—All that they can do, will make no part of the righteousness that justifies them. After they have reached the pinnacle of human attain|ments, they see that their best righteousness is as filthy rags. All is nothing. They can never bring God under the least possible obligation to save them. Claims, obli|gations, good works are hushed, silent as the mansions of the dead. They 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that they are unworthy of the society of saints and angels, and or communion with the Deity. They choose the posture of importunate beggars at the foot-stool. They see that they are poor, miserable, wretched, blind, and naked—In one word, they see that they are destitute of all goodness, moral beauty and love|liness—

4. Sin sick sinners feel their absolute immediate perish|ing need of Christ, to remove ther guilt, and heal their maledies.

When they are brought to condemn themselves; to loath and abhor themselves; to see their unworthiness of any good, their incapacity to help themselves: When they are driven from every groundless plea, and realise their deplorable circumstances, like those in the Acts, Men and brethren, what shall we do? Acts—2. Then they will see their need of Christ—They will never go to him, un|till they are forced from every thing else. A stranger to his own heart, little conceives of the endless shifts an a|wakened sinner makes, before he is brought to an hearty closure with Christ. When the sinner is sick of sin, or weary and heavy laden with it: when it appears to be an insupportable burden, a vast and mountainous load which will sink him into eternal misery; and that he must des|pair of all help from any earthly quarter, then a view of Christ as the savior of sinners, will be welcome news. Hence one remark offers it self—That we must know what we be, our character and circumstances, before we shall feel our need of Christ. If I do not feel that I am a guilty, infinitely guilty creature, I shall not see the need of such a costly sacrifice for sin. If I do not realise the universal and total corruption of my nature, I shall not view it of much consequence to be washed in the foun|tain of Christ's spotless meritorious blood. If I do not feel the hardness of my heart, I shall forbear any im|portunate and unwearied application to the Spirit to re|move it.—But when we are heartily sick of sin, we shall discover our absolute need of Christ, because every other prop will be thrown down. We shall discover our im|mediate need, because we are in perpetual danger: our perishing need, because we perish eternally, and justly too, without him—A discovery of our need of Christ, is at|tended with other discoveries—We discover the perfecti|on of his righteousness—Satisfaction, all must see, must be made to justice. It has been made. There is an infi|nity

of merit in the righteousness of Christ. It can never be exhausted. It was accepted by God, as every way sufficient. Hence sin may be consistently, and honora|bly pardoned. We likewise carry to Christ a mind to be inlightened, to be cured of innumerable mistakes and prejudices: we go to have all our blindness and darkness done away. All this he can do with infinite ease.—We discover Christ as sustaining the office of a king—Hence he is abundantly able to bow our stubborn will—to reign in us, and over us, and to give law to our affections and life—Able to bear down all possible opposition to our e|ternal happiness. Able to support us under every bur|den, and crown us, thro' sovereign grace, a triumphant conqueror in heaven—

Hence we discover the perfect safety of venturing our souls with Christ.—We see the foundation which is laid in Zion, will bear up our hopes, tho' they are high as heaven, and lasting as eternity. Ample provision is made. Proper attention is paid to every thing. Every bar is re|moved—There is unering wisdom to direct in the most intricate and trying scenes. There is infinite power to uphold under the heaviest pressures. There is an over|flowing fulness of goodness forever, by its expressions and exercises, to refresh and exhilarate the soul—Besides, The sin sick sinner discovers incomparable beauties, and glories in the Savior, and in this method of salvation. It is, therefore preferred before every other conceivable or possible method. The shining of the divine charac|ter and perfections, the honorable maintainance of the divine law and government are great, glorious and sweet objects. These are uppermost in the scheme. Hence he sees that God can be just, and true, and holy, and yet the justifier of him that believeth in his son Jesus Christ. And now Christ is seated upon the throne in his heart— he is joyfully welcomed within—Crying to the faculties

of his soul, Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall come in. Psalms—24—It may be needful to observe—that the Spirit is the Author of the whole.

He begins, carries on, and compleats the work. It is God that fulfils in us the whole good pleasure of his good|ness, and the grace of faith with Almighty power. Faith is his gift, his work—Every encrease of it is from him— As one might shew by running over the new testement—

Time is wanting to illustrate the whole, or any part of what has been said by the metaphor in the text, which is borrowed from natural things.—

II. I proceed 2dly, in a breath, To consider whence it is that Christ is welcome to no other character than that which we have described—

The whole need not a physician, but they that are sick—

The plain reason is, because that no other persons are sick of themselves, nor of sin. No other are emptied of self-strength, wisdom and goodness. No other see any need of Christ. Why then should they go to Christ? who came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repent|ance. Why should, healthy sound people apply to a physician for help, for physic and a cure? They need no help, no medicines, no cure. One might enlarge. Tho' words can scarcely make it plainer.

III. We pass in the 3d place—Briefly to describe Christ under the character of the physician of sin sick sinners— the physician of souls—

He is called by the prophet—The balm of Gilead. Jer. 8—His name is Jesus, because he saves his people from their sins. Mat—1—The most that might be said here, must be waved—We may name a few things; for we can do lit|tle more—Christ heals in a sovereign way—He is under no obligation, beyond his own good pleasure, and eternal purpose to heal any one. He heals whom he will, and

passes by whom he will—This we are taught in the sacred pages. Christ is a faithful physician—He never left the patient that he undertook and engaged to cure. None can tax him with the least injustice. He is faithful to do all that he has promised to do. The weary and heavy laden, the sick sinners upon their closing with Christ, will find all to be true which he has told them. Christ is a most compassionate physician.—He takes all proper care of all the lambs and sheep of his fold. He knows their burdens, not one for whom he died, will be overlooked and lost—The name of each is written upon his heart— He is infinitely kind, and compassionate—It was peculiar to him—To bind up the broken hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound: To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness—Isa. 61—Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. My yoke is easy, and my burden is light. Mat. 11. He proportions their trials to their strength—Christ is a powerful physician—There is no disease of body nor of mind beyond his power. He came to heal the chief of sinners—Hence there is encouragement to all who have not sinned the unpardonable sin—Let our sins be ever so many, and greatly aggravated, yet they shall never re|proach the power, and skill of this physician. The con|version of a persecuting Paul, and a murderous Manasah, may remove our fears on this head—I may not add more here. We shall touch at the improvement—

IMPROVEMENT.

1. We remark in the 1st place, That sin sick souls are blessed souls—Their mourning will be turned into joy. Precious seed is sown in such tears. Sick souls will wel|come the physician. And he has promised rest, eternal

rest, and blessedness to such as come to him. If he gives rest, all is well. No insuperable difficulties can spring from any quarter. Let the soul, if there is such an one in this crowded assembly, that is borne down with the in|supportable load of sin, that feels its infinite vileness, and internal malignancy, and loaths and hates itself, and finds it to be impossible to help itself, go to Christ, and throw itself at his feet; for it has sweet encouragement so to do. The condescension and grace of the Redeemer are very wonderful in undertaking such an arduous work—his en|treaties are many and pathetic: His arms are ever extend|ed to receive the returning sinner. God even commands us to believe. Surely if we come in a suitable manner, he will not send us away—

2. Carnal stupid sinners have no ground to hope for mercy while they are at ease—There is no|thing but terror, and thunder for them. They are going to hell, tho' they think and care nothing a|bout it; as fast as rolling time can carry them.— And God only knows how many of us will drop, without making a perceivable blank in creation, into endless burnings, in a little while: it may be in a few weeks, or months. Then farewel Christ▪ and all the rich blessings of his purchase: farewel mi|nisters and sinners: farewel friendly instruction, loud warnings, painful labors for our salvation. We shall then be fixed in unchangable hatred of the glorious God, of all holy beings, and holy duties—We shall, beyond dispute, have dispised mercies, counsels, calls, and instructions, turned into useless things.—

3. The reason why sinners perish, is, because they will not go to Christ the physician of souls. The bible attributes it to this. I think therefore, I am warranted to say the same—Ye will not come unto

me, that ye might have life. John 5.40. And it is true now of sinners as it was 1700 years ago. There is nothing forbids but an unwilling mind. The diffi|culty originates from the opposition of our hearts to Christ—Were we cordially willing to embrace Christ upon his own offer, we should certainly do it. Were we cordially willing, there is nothing in the divine decree 〈…〉〈…〉 the counsels of eternity would prevent. True it is, that our hatred of God is so great, so deep rooted, so implacable, we shall never of our own true choice, will an approbation, and hearty ac|ceptance of Christ. But let it ever be kept in view, and written in indelible characters upon our hearts, that the want of this will is our own fault, it is our sin; and likewise, that God has no where bound himself to give us one.—

4. Suffer me, in the last place, for I have wearied your patience, to suggest a few needful cautions, that may tend to prevent our being ship-wrecked upon the sands and rocks that surround us—Let us be cautioned against deferring an application to this physician— Delays harden us. We can not boast of an hour. The next minute is not yet ours. If it comes, it may be the last. The distemper grows worse. God is now dishonored by delay; Christ is more affront|ed: the spirit is more slighted; the offers of salva|tion are more undervalued. Our danger encreases. Delays are dangerous. How many multitudes have lost their souls by putting off, and putting off! Now, this hour, this minute, while I am speaking, it is time to go to Christ—Thou fool, may be said of any delayers here present, this night thy soul shall be required of thee. And what then? "Procrastination is the thief of time"—Let no one say it is too late;

my time is past. We do not know. It is certain, that present delay doth not better our circumstances. If we come to Christ, he will in no wise cast us out. It is also certain, that if we do not go, we perish forever. There is no other alternative: Either go, or resolve to perish.—

2ndly. Apply no where else but to Christ— There is no other physician, no other savior, no o|ther advocate but Christ. There is salvation in no other, neither is there any other name given under heaven among men by which we can be saved. Saints and angels can't heal us: men and means can't of themselves do it—We shall never heal ourselves— There is balm in Gilead, and a physician there,— and no where else.—

3dly. Let us renounce ourselves wholly in point of justification before God—It is a fatal opinion, to suppose that we can do something, while sinners, to recommend ourselves to God, to pacify the Deity, and shorten the distance between heaven and earth— We can do nothing of this kind. The utmost that we do in a natural state is infinitely beneath the di|vine acceptance. We must go with all our sins a|bout us to Christ to be pardoned and healed to purpose. If we wait till we recommend ourselvess, we shall wait forever, and dye in our sins.—

4thly—If we are healed, let us not attribute it in any measure to ourselves, and rob Christ of the whole honor of a total cure—Let him have all the honor. It is his due. He fitted every instrument for its work and owned it. The song of saints in heaven is ••••|to him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood, and hath made us kings and priests un|to God, and his Father; to him be glory and dominion.

Rev—1—And our song must be the same. We must feel the temper of heaven, or we shall never live in heaven.—

But it is more than time that I draw to a close— However, I think I have a precedent for what I have done. Paul, when at Troas, expecting to depart on the morrow, preached uncommonly long; desir|ing to do what good he could, another opportunity might never offer.—This easily introduces the most affecting part of my discourse, my final farewell.— But what did I say? My final farewell? Yes, my hearers, I did. This day puts a period to future la|bors among you. This day almost compleats two years since my first coming. And pray who thought then, we should this hour have been bidding a long, a long farewell? But in what respect doth this day differ from former ones? Permit me to tell you— It puts an end to future regular interviews, stated meet|ings together, and a multitude of kind offices. It puts an end to future opportunity for private in|struction—We shall see one another but a few times more: rejoice and weep together no more—There is a period put to my public labors. I shall preach to you no more; worship with you no more; pray with you no more—this is all over. I shall no more endeavor to open to you the wonders of redemption: the endless, ever growing wonders of that love, which Gabriel plays on every chord—I shall no more tell you the vast importance, and absolute necessity of conversion; nor the freeness, the riches, the sovereign|ty of grace displayed in the salvation of a sinner— I shall no more, in your hearing, dwell with plea|sure upon the conquests and triumphs of the cross— I shall no more, in this house a fresh explain, and

enforce the duties of faith and repentance—I shall no more with you, for my hearers, ascend to heaven, and unfold the state of the blessed, nor unveil the bottomless pit—I shall no more, with this congre|gation around me, expose in its native baseness, and deformity, in all its deplorable circumstances, human nature—Upon these great and important subjects, my pen and voice, as to you, will be silent as the grave. Me thinks past time comes fresh to mind, when I well remember, this house seemed to hang upon a feeble tongue. And will not you yourselves bear me witness, that I labored to the utmost, if, at such a time, some word might make an indelible impression upon a former thoughtless mind. And shall I never, never have any more such opportunities in this place, where I have so long been laboring? No, never. They are gone as a dream or vision of the night. It is often hard parting from a short acquaintance: But how much more difficult to leave near and va|luable friends, when the band is strengthened by time, ripened into firmness by age, and endeared by a thou|sand things? Experience this day convinces my friends and me—It is rending work—An unexpected Pro|vidence has kept me here laboring till this time. And the same Providence that seemed at first to invite me here, now points it to be my duty to go away. And since it is the will of heaven I heartily acqui|esce in it, not with standing all that can be thrown into the other scale—But whom do I leave? My near re|lations, that view me as a son and brother. I leave him, who to universal acceptance and admiration fills the first place of honor and importance in the State. I leave a large majority of this respectable congre|gation that have long manifested an inviolable at|tachment

to me. All these I leave.—I thank you, my dear friends, who will, probably, never see me stand in this desk again, I most sincerely thank you for your many and frequent kind offices: for the place that I have long had in your affections; for all the prayers that you have put up for me, in secret, private and public. I still ask your prayers; and the prayers of you all. I thank you for that readiness and chearfulness with which you have at|tended my services among you: for all your endea|vors to render me comfortable and useful. I thank the young and old of both sexes, that have mani|fested a friendly heart, and treated me with unaffect|ed kindness. And I would thank God in his house, if I have done you any good: if I have instructed, refreshed, and comforted any by the sincere milk of the word.—And if I have been severely handled, and illy dealt with by any that have acted uniform|ly against my continuance and settlement, I pray God to forgive them, and open their eyes—to bless them in life, at death and thro' eternity—and I pray, that my dear friends may never remember it to the fu|ture disadvantage of this church and society; to the continuance of present difficulties▪ the preventing of the settling a gospel minister, and the destruction of peace. Let every thing uncomfortable and amiss be forgotten, and buried in eternal silence. Let the be|nevolent spirit of christianity possess all your hearts, run thro' your counsels, and speak in every action. Suffer me, at parting, to suggest some things that may deserve your notice and remembrance—

And let me do it in the more pertinent words of inspiration— Let no man seek his own, but every man another's wealth—Let each one consult the good of

the whole. For while together, you are members of the same body. Let all throw all their abilites, their influence upon the side of the general good. May no one militate against it. Let all promote one an|others holiness, comfort, and salvation. Each one should make it a fixed principle to do all that he can for the good of society, by his prayers, his counsels and labors—Again—Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love—Oh my hearers, what is sweeter on this side of heaven, than to love and be beloved: to love like brethren, like christians: to hear each others burdens, and comfort one another's hearts? Love will unite you, like plain polished surfaces which can't be separated, it will give energy to your mea|sures, success to your undertakings—and bring heaven in miniature into every public meeting—Again—Pray with out ceasing—There is enough to pray for—Do not be weary of the duty of sincere fervent prayer— Pray for one another, and with one another—Such a practice may be attended with the most desirable consequences. God may give you all the same ami|able blessed temper, while thus employed. Again— If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably among yourselves—If any thing should prevent great familiarity, yet let all be harmless and inoffensive, avoiding all occasions of quarrels—Beware of reflec|tions upon one another—of hard speeches—of angry debates—of party meetings—Let the usual place for meeting, be the place to discuss points—to hold forth light and truth, and agree upon the happiest mea|sures for the promotion of religion—Let good sense and sound judgment ever have their proper weight— Guard against itching ears. A thirst for novelty has distracted many a people—It is more than probable,

that the multiplying of Candidates, will multiply your sorrows—Hasten the settlement of the gospel ministry among you. Let no time be lost. The enemy watch|es the favorable moment. Your situation is peculi|arly dangerous—As far as possible live in peace, is the divine command—One thing worthy of your no|tice is—that your religion will bear proportion to your peace and union—The longer and sharper your contests, the less religion you will have, till it dwin|dles into almost nothing—Religious quarrels are the worst of quarrels— And tho' they are about religi|on—it is commonly lost—Let all remember the day of judgment—when we shall all meet together, and our hearts will be opened to the view of men and angels—Let eternity ever be in view—Get pure reli|gion to your hearts—Do nothing for the success of which you dare not ask a blessing—Finally, my brethren, farewell. Be perfect, be of good comfort, be of one mind, live in peace; and the God of love and peace shall be with you—2 Cor. 13. I bid you all, once more, both young and old, men, women and children, farewell—And will God grant that we may all meet and dwell together in heaven—Where there is no jealousy, no coldness, no disaffection—but all is perfect peace, uninterrupted harmony and eternal love: Where divine love runs thro' every soul, and burns with an unquenchable flame. Amen and Amen.