id any such personal conversation, out
and out comes a faith that means a changed life, and then earnest
bringing of others till the whole village acclaims Jesus a Saviour,
_the_ Saviour.

And the very title they apply to Jesus reveals as by a flash-light the
chief personal meaning the interview had for this outcast woman. In one
way her faith meant more than Nicodemus', for it meant a radical change
of outer life with her. And many a one stops short of that, though the
real thing never does, and can't.[68]

Then the circle widens yet more, geographically. Jew, Samaritan, it is a
_Roman_ this time, one of the conquering nation under whose iron heel
the nation writhes restlessly. He is of gentle birth and high official
position. It is his sense of acute personal need that draws him to
Jesus. The child of his love is slipping from his clinging but helpless
grasp.

There's the loose sort of hearsay groping faith that turns to Jesus in
desperation. Things can't be worse, and possibly there might be help.
There's the very different faith that looks Jesus in the face and hears
the simple word of assurance so quietly spoken. He actually heard the
word spoken about _his_ dying darling, "_thy son liveth_."

Then there is that wondrous new sort of faith whose sharper hooks of
steel enter and take hold of your very being as you actually
_experience_ the power of Jesus in a way wholly new to you. As it came
to his keenly awakened mind that the favourable turn had come at the
very moment Jesus uttered those quiet words, and then as he looked into
the changed face of his recovering child, he became a changed man. The
faith in Jesus was a part of his being. The two could never be put
asunder. So the Roman world brought its grateful tribute of acceptance
to this great wooing brooding Lover. The wooing had won again.

And now there's another extreme social turnabout in the circle that
feels the power of Jesus' wooing. We turned from Jerusalem aristocrat to
Samaritan outcast; now it's from gentle Roman official to a beggaring
pauper. It is at the Tabernacles' visit. Jesus, quietly masterfully
passing out from the thick of the crowd that would stone Him, noticed a
blind ragged beggar by the roadway. One of those speculative questions
that are always pushing in, and that never help any one is asked: "Who's
to blame here?"

With His characteristic intense practicality Jesus quietly pushes the
speculative question aside with a broken