Whilst they were sitting at table, a Woman enters, and shows by her eagerness that there is some weighty matter upon her mind. Simon, the master of the house, is filled with astonishment, for the woman is a notorious character, well known for her evil life to all who dwelt at Bethany.

She comes, bringing in her hand a box of sweet-smelling ointment. She approaches the Saviour, places herself at His feet, and bursts into a flood of tears. Ah, such tears they were as she had never shed before-tears of bitterest sorrow-tears which flowed from the fountain of a broken and contrite heart. The big drops fell upon our Lord's feet, and she wiped them off, as they trickled down, with her long flowing hair.

At this Jesus shows no surprise, and no indignation. He does not send her away, as Simon expected, and as Simon probably would have done himself-saying, "Touch me not. Come not into my presence. Depart from me, thou sinful one."

No, such was not His

spirit, who came to save the lost the Friend of Publicans and Sinners. But He knew more than Simon knew. He knew all that

woman's history, past and present, just as He knows ours. He knew what those tears meant. He knew that she, who had been so great a sinner, was now a true penitent. He knew that her heart, once so full of evil, was now yearning for better things-that she was a lost one, seeking mercy from Him who was ever ready to bestow it.

Not a word seems to have been spoken either by the Woman, or by our Lord. But presently Simon breaks the silence. He is full of indignation, and mutters to himself, "This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth him: for she is a sinner." He had hitherto looked upon Jesus as a great Prophet; but now he almost doubts it. If He were indeed a discerner of hearts, would He receive such an one? Here was something of the old Pharisee-spirit rising up in Simon. had much yet to learn both concerning himself, and concerning the Saviour. He had to learn the greatness of his own sins, and the wonders of that love of Christ which could reach down to the very worst of sinners.

He

Now, our Lord not only knew who this

woman was, and could read her whole character at a glance; but He also knew what was passing in Simon's mind. And this it was that made Him speak the Parable of the Two Debtors.

You see, the Woman during the last few minutes had given proof of her penitence, and also of her love to the Saviour. Her heart was drawn towards Him. And there she stood at His feet, anxious to hear from His lips some word of kindness and of mercy. Simon was for sending her away. But Jesus seemed to say, "Suffer her to come unto me, and forbid her not, for such penitents are welcome, such loving hearts are very dear to me.'

And now for the Parable. There were two Debtors. One owed a much larger sum than the other ten times as much. And neither of them had a farthing to pay the debt with. They were penniless. But the Creditor, the person to whom they owed the money, was a kind man; and instead of thrusting them into prison, forgave both of them their whole debt.

It is left to us to picture to ourselves what must have been the joy of these two men, when they found themselves thus free. We are not told anything about their gratitude or their happiness; but we may be quite sure that their hearts must have leapt for joy. Indeed our Lord leaves it to Simon to say, which of the two would naturally love his kind Benefactor the most. He takes it for granted that both would return love for such great kindness; but whose heart, He asks, would be fullest? Simon at once answers, and that rightly, “I suppose he to whom he forgave most."

No one can for a moment be at any loss to discover our Lord's meaning in this Parable. He Himself, as God, is the Great Creditor, and we are His Debtors-some owing fifty, and some five hundred, pence; but all owing Him something, and, what is more, unable to pay our debt.

These debts of ours, how great they are! We brought them with us into the world; and they have been gathering in amount ever since. Who among us can say how much we owe to our heavenly Father? There is not a day, nor an hour, when we have not incurred some

fresh debt. And are there not some, who have gone on so recklessly, that their whole lives have been, as it were, one great transgression-one enormous debt. And yet this has not disturbed them, or made them uneasy. There was a time when their conscience smarted a little; but it soon grew callous, and sin became their daily habit; they could not live without it.

Oh, why did not the Lord seize them, and thrust them into His everlasting prison-house? Why did He not lay bare His arm, and smite them to the ground? He could have done so. Like a stern Creditor, He could have said,

Pay me that thou owest." He could have entered into judgment with them at once, and inflicted upon them the penalty they deserved.

But no. Mercy rejoiceth over judgment. He bears long with His guilty ones. He would not that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance. He says, "Deliver him from going down to the pit: I have found a ransom. He comes to the sinner, and whispers to him, "I, even I, am he that blotteth out thy transgressions, for

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