Ezekiel 34:16

I will seek that which was lost, and bring again that which was driven away.

The good shepherd

In reading this verse hastily we are apt to overlook the new and very interesting idea introduced in each succeeding clause of it. Our feeling is that each clause is just meant to teach the idea of the former one in different terms. A little attention will satisfy us that this is far from doing justice to the verse.

I. The first class suggested to our notice comprehends “the lost,” of whom it is said that the Saviour “will seek them.” The language, every Gospel-hearer is familiar with, as descriptive, on the one hand, of man’s natural state of spiritual stupidity and danger, and on the other, of the tender compassion of Christ, the great Shepherd, in redeeming and reclaiming him.

II. “The driven away,” whom the Saviour tells us He “will bring again.” It implies, no doubt, like the former, that the sheep is gone out of the fold, and cannot, therefore, for the present be in a situation of comfort or safety. But does it not imply that the sheep has left the fold reluctantly? It has not escaped of its own accord. It has been “driven away” by some enemy; and, wandering now in want and fear, it longs to return to “the green pastures” where it had hitherto fed in plenty and safety. What could be more descriptive than this of the case of the backsliding Christian? Was it not thus that, by the violence of temptation, David was for a time driven away into sin, so that he lost his previous consciousness of the saving care and countenance of his God? Was it not so, too, with Peter, whom the fear of man so far overcame in a moment of weakness that he denied his Lord, and so was for a season visibly separated from the fold of Christ? Even now, is not the voice of our great Shepherd lifted up amongst us, at once rebuking our wanderings and encouraging our return?

III. “The broken,” whom He graciously promises to “bind up.” Solemn pledges forgotten, broken through, trampled on,--mercies of every description slighted and abused,--the cause of Christ dishonoured,--perhaps, through their unaccountable folly, some neighbour, some companion, if not some relative or child, hardened against the Gospel, and led away to ruin! Oh! the very thought of such aggravated sin is heart rending, and the appalled backslider can only cry out in vexation and trembling, “Mine iniquities have taken hold upon me, so that I am not able to look up; they are more than the hairs of my head, therefore my heart faileth me.” Or, in another way still, may the heart of a backsliding Christian be broken. Think of the deep wounds of adversity to which Jesus has found it necessary to subject him, as the means of putting an end to his wanderings. Now by these and similar measures Jesus may have checked the believer’s wanderings, and won back his heart. He has recovered His straying sheep, and brought it home to His fold. But oh! is it not broken, suffering bitterly under the consequences of its wanderings, and therefore needing greatly the attention and sympathy of its Shepherd? Wounded and bleeding, it must now become the object of His tenderest care, and with skilful hand must He now apply the healing balm of His blood and grace. And He does so.

IV. “I will strengthen that which was sick.” This description refers to those more secret, insidious diseases by which the shepherd’s flock is liable to be infected, and which, if allowed to take their course, may prove as fatal as any of the seemingly more alarming casualties to which the wandering sheep may be subjected. The seat of this spiritual sickness is the heart; and it will be in operation there for months, perhaps, before the symptoms of it appear outwardly, or assume a serious aspect. It may receive a check at any stage of its progress, or it may be suffered to take its course, till at last it prostrates its victim before some gross temptation, so that his case becomes an astonishment to the world, and a grief to all who respect the honour of the Gospel. This is certain, it will receive a check, sooner or later, in the case of every true Christian. “I will strengthen that which was sick.” True, it may often seem to our narrow view as if He delayed the communication of spiritual strength long after it has become every way needful. Such delay, however, undoubtedly accords with His own sovereign and, wise plan, though we cannot understand it; and so far from indicating a want of interest in the individual, or a want of power or of determination eventually “to restore his soul,” it would be seen, if we rightly comprehended the case, to indicate the contrary; just as Lazarus’s death, which could easily have been prevented, is allowed to take place, in order that the Saviour’s power and love may be the more signally displayed in His resurrection. (P. Hannay.)

Will strengthen that which was sick.

Sickness a strengthener

I. Sickness makes us contented to perform all the God-assigned tasks of life, severe as these tasks may be. When I hear people complaining of the burdens of life, and expressing a longing to die, I say to myself: They are only talking, and their words are empty words. A visitation of sickness would change their tone. A square look at death would make them satisfied to live, and to live right in the midst of the toils against which they speak. The ancients were fond of relating this tale which falls into the line of my thought. A discontented man heavily burdened was called to the task of carrying his burden to a town on the other side of a steep hill. Murmuringly he began the toil of ascent. The burden was heavy before, but it grew still heavier as he climbed. At last his discontent knew no bounds, and, disgusted and dissatisfied with his lot, he threw the burden from him and cast himself upon the ground, crying, “O death, come and deliver me! O death, come and deliver me!” Death heard the cry of the man and responded, and came to take him at his word. In the dim distance the discontented man saw the awful form coming into sight. There was a great gaunt figure, a skeleton form, sweeping toward him with tremendous gigantic strides. Instantly he leaped to his feet and laid hold of his burden and endeavoured to shoulder it. With a sepulchral voice Death greeted him: “I believe you called me; now here I am. What do you want of me?” With the look of the sweetest innocence the man replied: “It was my voice that you heard, no doubt. My burden fell off my shoulder, and I was only calling for someone to come help me restore it to its place again.” The sight and voice were enough. They were an inspiration to the man. Of his own strength he lifted his old burden, and with a positive pleasure carried it to the town over the hill. That story, whether it be fact or fiction, is true to life. We leave the sickroom, where we have looked death in the face, willing to take up the toils of life, and we find the heaviest task within the compass of our abilities a delight. Willing workers, satisfied workers, enthusiastic workers, bright-faced workers, mastering and performing the duties of life, and carrying forward the great enterprises of the age--these are the product of the sickroom. These are what the world needs. They carry in them a spirit that is contagious, and that generates faithfulness to duty in all whom they touch.

II. Sickness gives us a new appreciation of the Divine things in our lives. I knew a man who for years spent his Sabbaths in the machine shop, repairing engines, without a single desire toward the house of God. I begged him many a time to give up his irreligious life and worship with his family on the Sabbath; but to no purpose. The time came when he was imprisoned in the sickroom, and then his lament was that he had neglected the sanctuary. That man spent the first returning strength of convalescence in travelling three miles to my house, and for what purpose? That I might kneel with him at the Throne of Grace and offer prayer of thanksgiving for him. Not only is the Throne of Grace made appreciable by sickness; the Book of God also is made appreciable. The Bible of the invalid is a well-used book. It is thumb-marked--at the writings of Job; at the 23rd Psalm; at the 14th chapter of John; at the 15th chapter of 1 Corinthians; at the 21st and 22nd Chapter s of Revelation. These closing Chapter s of the Divine volume are studied until the geography of the heavenly land is as well known as that of the land in which we live.

III. Sickness teaches us the value of health and the duty of looking after the condition of the body.

IV. Sickness cuts up by the roots our conceit and pride and selfishness and develops in the places of these humility and sympathy. If this be true, then physical pains bring spiritual gains. Humility and sympathy help in the making of grand men. Humanity should be willing to pay a great price for the eradication of such evils as pride and selfishness, for they are social curses and social disorganisers. Humanity should count nothing too dear to pay as a purchase of humility and sympathy. Humility and sympathy were two of the virtues that made the Christ of history the Man who inaugurated the highest civilisation of the world. That which has the power of making men Christ-men is a most desirable factor in this world. It is easily seen why man is unsympathetic. The sense of power generates independence; the sense of independence closes the avenues of sympathy. Where there is no sympathy, where there is no recognition of the mutual dependence of man upon his brother man, man becomes selfish and proud and hard. The sense of dependence is the basis of sympathy. Sickness brings the sense of dependence. A man who has to be lifted and turned by his nurse, a man who has to be fed by a spoon in the hand of another, cannot look down and despise his fellow men. There, in the hour of weakness, he learns his indebtedness to man, and his duty to make a return for benefits received by willingly giving service and kindness and interest and care and his very life. These things he is constantly receiving from others, and these things make him what he is. These things it is his duty to pass on. At a railroad station a benevolent man found a schoolboy crying because he had not quite enough to pay his fare home. He remembered suddenly how years before he had been in the same plight, and had been helped by an unknown friend who enjoined upon him that some day he should pass that kindness on. Now he saw that the opportunity spoken of had come. He took the weeping boy aside, heard his story, and paid his fare, and asked him in turn to pass the kindness on. As the train moved off from the station the lad waved his hand to his benefactor and cried cheerily, “I will pass it on, sir.” That act of thoughtful love is being passed on through our globe, nor will it stay until its ripples have belted the globe and met again. To every man who has received kindness and sympathy in the hour of his sickness and trial God is saying, “Pass these on. Remember there are hearts to be bound like thine; there are tears to be dried like thine; there are lives to be illumined like thine. Light up the lives of others.” (D. Gregg, D. D.)