All this imparts a peculiar interest to the history of Saul of Tarsus. In him we see, at one view, the power of the blood of Christ, and the utter worthlessness of the fairest robe of self-righteousness that ever decked the person of a legalist. Looking at him, no sinner need despair; looking at him, no legalist can boast. If the chief of sinners is in heaven, I can get there too. If the greatest religionist, legalist, and doer, that ever lived had to come down from the ladder of self-righteousness, it is of no use for me to go up.
The guilt of Saul of Tarsus was completely covered by the blood of Christ; and his lofty religious pride and boasting was swept away by a sight of Jesus, and Saul found his place at the pierced feet of Jesus of Nazareth. His guilt was no hindrance, and his righteousness no use. The former was washed away by the blood, and the latter turned into dung and dross by the moral glory of Christ. It mattered not whether it was "I chief," or "I more." The cross was the only remedy. "God forbid," says this chief of sinners and prince of legalists, "that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world" (Gal. 6: 14). Paul had just as little idea of trusting in his righteousness as in his crimes. He was permitted to win the laurel of victory in the grand legal struggle with his "equals in his own nation," only that he might fling it, as a withered, worthless thing, at the foot of the Cross. He was permitted to outstrip all in the dark career of guilt, only that he might exemplify the power of the love of God and the efficacy of the blood of Christ. Saul was no nearer to Christ as the chief of legalists than he was as the chief of sinners. There was no more justifying merit in his noblest efforts in the school of legalism than in his wildest acts of opposition to the name of Christ. He was saved by grace, saved by blood, saved by faith. There is no other way for sinner or legalist.
There is another point in Paul's history at which we must briefly glance, in order to shew the practical results of the grace of Christ wherever that grace is known. This will present him to our notice as
THE MOST LABORIOUS OF APOSTLES.
If Paul learned to cease working for righteousness, he also learned to begin working for Christ. When we behold on Damascus' road the shattered fragments of this worst and best men—when we hear those pathetic accents emanating from the depths of a broken heart, "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?"—when we see that man who had left Jerusalem in the mad fury of a persecuting zealot, now stretching forth the hand of blind helplessness to be led like a little child into Damascus, we are led to form the very highest expectations as to his future career; nor are we disappointed. Mark the progress of that most remarkable man, behold his gigantic labors in the vineyard of Christ; see his tears, his toils, his travels, his perils, his struggles; see him as he bears his golden sheaves into the heavenly garner, and lays them down at the Master's feet; see him wearing the noble bonds of the gospel, and finally laying his head on a martyr's block, and say if the gospel of God's free grace—the gospel of Christ's free salvation, does away with good works? Nay, my reader, that precious gospel is the only true basis on which the superstructure of good works can ever be erected. Morality, without Christ, is an icy morality. Benevolence, without Christ, is a worthless benevolence. Ordinances, without Christ are powerless and valueless. Orthodoxy, without Christ, is heartless and fruitless. We must get to the end of self, whether it be a guilty self or a religious self, and find Christ as the satisfying portion of our hearts, now and for ever. Then we shall be able to say, with truth,
"Thou, O Christ, art all I want,
More than all in Thee I find."
And again:
"Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all."
Thus it was with Saul of Tarsus. He got rid of himself and found his all in Christ; and hence, as we hang over the impressive page of his history, we hear, from the depths of ruin, the words, "I am chief"—from the most elevated point in the legal system, the words, "I more"—and from amid the golden fields of apostolic labor, the words, "I labored more abundantly than they all."