{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_39856/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_39856","id":"gutenberg_39856","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39856","summary":null,"tags":["Bible. Luke -- Commentaries","Category: Religion/Spirituality"],"text":"Produced by Marcia Brooks, Colin Bell, Julia Neufeld and\nthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images\ngenerously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian\nLibraries)\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nText enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\nSmall capital text has been replaced with all capitals.\n\n\n\n\n  THE EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE\n\n  EDITED BY THE REV.\n  SIR W. ROBERTSON NICOLL, M.A., LL.D.\n  _Editor of \"The Expositor,\" etc._\n\n  THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO ST. LUKE\n\n  BY THE REV.\n  HENRY BURTON, M.A., D.D.\n\n  HODDER AND STOUGHTON\n  PUBLISHERS      LONDON\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n                                       PAGE\n  THE GENESIS OF THE GOSPEL               1\n\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n\n  THE MUTE PRIEST                        15\n\n\n  CHAPTER III.\n\n  THE GOSPEL PSALMS                      29\n\n\n  CHAPTER IV.\n\n  THE VIRGIN MOTHER                      47\n\n\n  CHAPTER V.\n\n  THE ADORATION OF THE SHEPHERDS         67\n\n\n  CHAPTER VI.\n\n  THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS            80\n\n\n  CHAPTER VII.\n\n  THE TEMPTATION                        105\n\n\n  CHAPTER VIII.\n\n  THE GOSPEL OF THE JUBILEE             128\n\n\n  CHAPTER IX.\n\n  A SABBATH IN GALILEE                  148\n\n\n  CHAPTER X.\n\n  THE CALLING OF THE FOUR               162\n\n\n  CHAPTER XI.\n\n  CONCERNING PRAYER                     177\n\n\n  CHAPTER XII.\n\n  THE FAITH OF THE CENTURION            195\n\n\n  CHAPTER XIII.\n\n  THE ANOINTING OF THE FEET             209\n\n\n  CHAPTER XIV.\n\n  THE PARABLE OF THE SOWER              225\n\n\n  CHAPTER XV.\n\n  THE KINGDOM OF GOD                    241\n\n\n  CHAPTER XVI.\n\n  THE MIRACLES OF HEALING               255\n\n\n  CHAPTER XVII.\n\n  THE MIRACLE OF THE LOAVES             269\n\n\n  CHAPTER XVIII.\n\n  THE TRANSFIGURATION                   281\n\n\n  CHAPTER XIX.\n\n  THE GOOD SAMARITAN                    294\n\n\n  CHAPTER XX.\n\n  THE TWO SISTERS                       306\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXI.\n\n  LOST AND FOUND                        317\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXII.\n\n  THE ETHICS OF THE GOSPEL              336\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXIII.\n\n  THE ESCHATOLOGY OF THE GOSPEL         352\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXIV.\n\n  THE WATCH IN GETHSEMANE               364\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXV.\n\n  THE PASSION                           377\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXVI.\n\n  THE FIRST LORD'S DAY                  400\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n_THE GENESIS OF THE GOSPEL._\n\n\nThe four walls and the twelve gates of the Seer looked in different\ndirections, but together they guarded, and opened into, one City of God.\nSo the four Gospels look in different directions; each has its own\npeculiar aspect and inscription; but together they lead towards, and\nunveil, one Christ, \"which is, and which was, and which is to come, the\nAlmighty.\" They are the successive quarterings of the one Light. We call\nthem \"four\" Gospels, though in reality they form but one, just as the\nseven arches of colour weave one bow; and that there should be four, and\nnot three or five, was the purpose and design of the Mind which is above\nall minds. There are \"diversities of operations\" even in making\nTestaments, New or Old; but it is one Spirit who is \"over all, and in\nall;\" and back of all diversity is a heavenly unity--a unity that is not\nbroken, but rather beautified, by the variety of its component parts.\n\nTurning to the third Gospel, its opening sentences strike a key-note\nunlike the tone of the other three. Matthew, the Levite Apostle,\nschooled in the receipt of custom--where parleying and preambling were\nnot allowed--goes to his subject with sharp abruptness, beginning his\nstory with a \"genesis,\" \"the book of the generation of Jesus Christ.\"\nMark, too, and John, without staying for any prelude, proceed at once\nto their portrayals of the Divine Life, each starting with the same\nword \"beginning\"--though between the \"beginning\" of St. Mark and that of\nSt. John there is room for an eternity. St. Luke, on the other hand,\nstays to give to his Gospel a somewhat lengthy preface, a kind of\nvestibule, where we become acquainted with the presence and personality\nof the verger, before passing within the temple proper.\n\nIt is true the Evangelist does not here inscribe his name; it is true\nthat after inserting these lines of explanation, he loses sight of\nhimself completely, with a \"sublime repressing of himself\" such as John\ndid not know; but that he here throws the shadow of himself upon the\npage of Scripture, calling the attention of all people and ages to the\n\"me also,\" shows clearly that the personal element cannot be eliminated\nfrom the question of inspiration. Light is the same in its nature; it\nmoves only in straight lines; it is governed by fixed laws; but in its\nreflections it is infinitely varied, turning to purple, blue, or gold,\naccording to the nature of the medium and reflecting substance. And\nwhat, indeed, is beauty, what the harmony of colours, but the visible\nmusic as the same light plays upon the diverse keys? Exactly the same\nlaw rules in inspiration. As the Divine Love needed an incarnation, an\nenshrining in human flesh, that the Divine Word might be vocal, so the\nDivine Light needs its incarnation too. Indeed, we can scarcely conceive\nof any revelation of the Divine Mind but as coming through a human mind.\nIt needs the human element to analyze and to throw it forward, just as\nthe electric spark needs the dull carbon-point to make it visible.\nHeaven and earth are here, as elsewhere, \"threads of the same loom,\" and\nif we take out one, even the earthly woof of the humanities, we leave\nonly a tangle; and if it is true of works of art that \"to know them we\nmust know the man who produced them,\" it is equally important, if we\nwould know the Scripture, that we have some knowledge of the scribe. And\nespecially important is it here, for there are few books of Scripture on\nwhich the writer's own personality is more deeply impressed than on the\nGospel of St. Luke. The \"me also\" is only legible in the third verse,\nbut we may read it, between the lines, through the whole Gospel.\n\nConcerning the life of St. Luke the facts are few. It has been thought\nby some that he was one of the \"certain Greeks\" who came to Jerusalem to\nworship; while others, again, suppose him to be the nameless one of the\ntwo Emmaus travellers. But both these suppositions are set aside by the\nfact that the Evangelist carefully separates himself from those who were\n\"eye-witnesses,\" which he could not well have done had he taken part in\nthose closing scenes of the Lord's life, or had he been honoured with\nthat \"infallible proof\" of the Lord's resurrection. That he was a\nGentile is evident; his speech bewrayeth him; for he speaks with a\nGrecian accent, while Greek idioms are sprinkled over his pages. Indeed,\nSt. Paul speaks of him as not being of the \"circumcision\" (Col. iv. 11,\n14), and he himself, in Acts i. 19, speaks of the dwellers at Jerusalem,\nand the Aceldama of \"their\" proper tongue. Tradition, with unanimous\nvoice, represents him as a native of Antioch, in Syria.\n\nResponding to the Divine Voice that bids him \"write,\" St. Luke brings to\nthe task new and special qualifications. Familiar with the Old Testament\nScriptures--at least in their Septuagint form, as his many quotations\nshow--intimately acquainted with the Hebrew faith and ritual, he yet\nbrings to his work a mind unwarped by its traditions. He knows nothing\nof that narrowness of spirit that Hebraism unconsciously engendered,\nwith its insulation from the great outer world. His mount of vision was\nnot Mount Zion, but a new Pisgah, lying outside the sacred borders, and\nshowing him \"all the kingdoms of the world,\" as the Divine thought of\nhumanity took possession of him. And not only so, we must remember that\nhis connection with Christianity has been mainly through St. Paul, who\nwas the Apostle of the \"uncircumcision.\" For months, if not for years,\nhe has been his close companion, reading his innermost thoughts; and so\nlong and so close together have they been, their two hearts have learned\nto beat in a perfect synchronism. Besides, we must not forget that the\nGentile question--their _status_ in the new kingdom, and the conditions\ndemanded of them--had been the burning question of the early Church, and\nthat it was at this same Antioch it had reached its height. It was at\nAntioch the Apostle Peter had \"dissembled,\" so soon forgetting the\nlessons of the C\u00e6sarean Pentecost, holding himself aloof from the\nGentile converts until Paul felt constrained to rebuke him publicly; and\nit was to Antioch came the decree of the Jerusalem Council, that Magna\nCharta which recognized and enfranchised manhood, giving the privileges\nof the new kingdom to Gentiles, without imposing upon them the Judaic\nanachronism of circumcision. We can therefore well understand the bent\nof St. Luke's mind and the drift of his sympathies; and we may expect\nthat his pen--though it is a reed shaken with the breath of a higher\ninspiration--will at the same time move in the direction of these\nsympathies.\n\nAnd it is exactly this--its \"gentility,\" if we may be allowed to give a\nnew accent and a new meaning to an old word--that is a prominent feature\nof the third Gospel. Not, however, that St. Luke decries Judaism, or\nthat he denies the \"advantage\" the Jews have; he cannot do this without\nerasing Scripture and silencing history; but what he does is to lift up\nthe Son of man in front of their tabernacle of witness. He does not\nlevel down Judaism; he levels up Christianity, letting humanity absorb\nnationality. And so the Gospel of St. Luke is the Gospel of the world,\ngreeting \"all nations, and kindreds, and peoples, and tongues\" with its\n\"peace on earth.\" St. Matthew traces the genealogy of Christ back to\nAbraham; St. Luke goes farther back, to the fountain-head, where all the\ndivergent streams meet and mingle, as he traces the descent to Adam, the\nSon of God. Matthew shows us the \"wise men,\" lost in Jerusalem, and\ninquiring, \"Where is He that is born King of the Jews?\" But St. Luke\ngives, instead, the \"good tidings\" to \"all people;\" and then he repeats\nthe angel song, which is the key-note of his Gospel, \"Glory to God in\nthe highest, ... goodwill toward men.\" It is St. Luke only who records\nthe first discourse at Nazareth, showing how in ancient times, even, the\nmercy of God flowed out towards a Gentile widow and a Gentile leper. St.\nLuke alone mentions the mission of the Seventy, whose very number was a\nprophecy of a world-wide Gospel, seventy being the recognized symbol of\nthe Gentile world, as twelve stood for the Hebrew people. St. Luke alone\ngives us the parable of the Good Samaritan, showing that all the virtues\ndid not reside in Israel, but that there was more of humanity, and so\nmore of Divinity, in the compassionate Samaritan than in their priest\nand Levite. St. Luke alone records the call of Zacch\u00e6us, the Gentile\npublican, telling how Jesus cancelled their laws of heredity, passing\nhim up among the sons of Abraham. St. Luke alone gives us the twin\nparables of the lost coin and the lost man, showing how Jesus had come\nto seek and to save that which was lost, which was humanity, here, and\nthere, and everywhere. And so there breathes all through this Gospel a\ncatholic spirit, more pronounced than in the rest, a spirit whose rhythm\nand deep meaning have been caught in the lines--\n\n  \"There's a wideness in God's mercy,\n    Like the wideness of the sea.\"\n\nThe only other fact of the Evangelist's life we will here notice is that\nof his profession; and we notice this simply because it enters as a\nfactor into his work, reappearing there frequently. He was a physician;\nand from this fact some have supposed that he was a freedman, since many\nof the Roman physicians were of that class. But this by no means\nfollows. All physicians were not freedmen; while the language and style\nof St. Luke show him to be an educated man, one, too, who walked in the\nupper classes of society. Where he speaks natively, as here in the\nintroduction, he uses a pure Greek, somewhat rounded and ornate, in\nwhich there is a total absence of those rusticisms common in St. Mark.\nThat he followed his calling at Troas, where he first joined St. Paul,\nis probable; but that he practised it on board one of the large\ncorn-ships of the Mediterranean is a pure conjecture, for which even his\nnautical language affords no presumption; for one cannot be at sea for a\nfew weeks--especially with an observant eye and attentive ear, as St.\nLuke's were--without falling naturally into nautical language. One's\nspeech soon tastes of salt.\n\nThe calling of a physician naturally develops certain powers of analysis\nand synthesis. It is the art of putting things together. From the seen\nor felt symptoms he traces out the unseen cause. Setting down the known\nquantities, by processes of comparison or of elimination he finds the\nunknown quantity, which is the disease, its nature and its seat. And so\non the pages of the third Gospel we frequently find the shadow of\nthe physician. It appears even in his brief preface; for as he sits down\nwith ample materials before him--on one side the first-hand testimony of\n\"eye-witnesses,\" and on the other the many and somewhat garbled\nnarratives of anonymous scribes--we see the physician-Evangelist\nexercising a judicious selection, and thus compounding or distilling his\npure elixir. Then, too, a skilled and educated physician would find easy\naccess into the higher circles of society, his very calling furnishing\nhim with letters of introduction. And so, indeed, we find it. Our\nphysician dedicates his Gospel, and also the \"Acts,\" to, not the \"most\nexcellent,\" but the \"most noble\" Theophilus, giving to him the same\ntitle that he afterwards gave to Felix and to Festus. Perhaps its\nEnglish equivalent would be \"the honourable.\" At any rate it shows that\nthis Theophilus was no mere myth, a locution for any \"friend of God,\"\nbut that he was a person of rank and influence, possibly a Roman\ngovernor. Then, too, St. Luke's mention of certain names omitted by the\nother Evangelists, such as Chuza and Manaen, would suggest that probably\nhe had some personal acquaintance with the members of Herod's household.\nBe this as it may, we recognize the \"physician\" in St. Luke's habits of\nobservation, his attention to detail, his fondness for grouping together\nresemblances and contrasts, his fuller reference to miracles of healing,\nand his psychological observations. We find in him a student of the\nhumanities. Even in his portrayal of the Christ it is the human side of\nthe Divine nature that he emphasizes; while all through his Gospel, his\nthought of humanity, like a wide-reaching sky, overlooks and embraces\nall such earthly distinctions as position, sex, or race.\n\nWith a somewhat high-sounding word \"Forasmuch,\" which here makes its\nsolitary appearance in the pages of Scripture--a word, too, which, like\nits English equivalent, is a treble compound--the Evangelist calls our\nattention to his work, and states his reasons for undertaking it. It is\nimpossible for us to fix either the date or the place where this Gospel\nwas written, but probably it was some time between A.D. 58-60. Now, what\nwas the position of the Church at that date, thirty-five years after the\nCrucifixion? The fiery tongues of Pentecost had flashed far and wide,\nand from their heliogram even distant nations had read the message of\npeace and love. Philip had witnessed the wonderful revival in \"the (a)\ncity of Samaria.\" Antioch, C\u00e6sarea, Damascus, Lystra, Philippi, Athens,\nRome--these names indicate, but do not attempt to measure, the wide and\never-widening circle of light. In nearly every town of any size there is\nthe nucleus of a Church; while Apostles, Evangelists, and Christian\nmerchants are proclaiming the new kingdom and the new laws everywhere.\nAnd since the visits of the Apostles would be necessarily brief, it\nwould only be a natural and general wish that some permanent record\nshould be made of their narratives and teaching. In other places, which\nlay beyond the line of Apostles' travel, the story would reach them,\npassed from mouth to mouth, with all the additions of rumour, and\nexaggerations of Eastern loquacity. It is to these ephemeral Gospels the\nEvangelist now refers; and distinguishing, as he does, the \"many\" from\nthe \"eye-witnesses\" and \"ministers of the word,\" he shows that he does\nnot refer to the Gospels of St. Matthew and St. Mark--which probably he\nhas not seen--for one was an Apostle, and both were \"eye-witnesses.\"\nThere is no censure implied in these words, nor does the expression\n\"taken in hand\" in itself imply failure; but evidently, to St. Luke's\nmind, these manifold narratives were incomplete and unsatisfactory. They\ncontain some of the truth, but not all that the world should know. Some\nare put together by unskilled hands, and some have more or less of fable\nblended with them. They need sifting, winnowing, that the chaff may be\nblown away, and the seed tares separated from the wheat. Such is the\nphysician's reason for now assuming the r\u00f4le of an Evangelist. The\n\"forasmuch,\" before being entered on the pages of his Scriptures, had\nstruck upon the Evangelist's soul, setting it vibrating like a bell, and\nmoving mind and hand alike in sympathy.\n\nAnd so we see how, in ways simple and purely natural, Scripture grows.\nSt. Luke was not conscious of any special influence resting upon him. He\ndid not pose as an oracle or as the mouthpiece of an oracle, though he\nwas all that, and vastly more. He does not even know that he is doing\nany great work; and who ever does? A generous, unselfish thought takes\npossession of him. He will sacrifice leisure and ease, that he may throw\nforward to others the light that has fallen upon his own heart and life.\nHe will be a truth-seeker, and a light-bearer for others. Here, then,\nwe see how a human mind falls into gear with the Divine mind, and human\nthought gets into the rhythm and swing of the higher thought. Simply\nnatural, purely human are all his processes of reasoning, comparing, and\nplanning, and the whole Gospel is but the perfect bloom of this\nseed-thought. But whence came this thought? That is the question. Did it\nnot grow out of these manifold narratives? and did not the narratives\nthemselves grow out of the wonderful Life, the Life which was itself but\na Divine Thought and Word incarnate? And so we cannot separate heaven\nfrom earth, we cannot eliminate the Divine from even our little lives;\nand though St. Luke did not recognize it as such--he was an ordinary\nman, doing an ordinary thing--yet we, standing a few centuries back, and\nseeing how the Church has hidden in her ark the omer of manna that he\ngathered, to be carried on and down till time itself shall be no more,\nwe see another Apocalyptic vision, and we hear a Voice Divine that\ncommands him \"write.\" When St. Luke wrote, \"It seemed good to me also,\"\nhe doubtless wrote the pronoun small; for it was the \"me\" of his\nobscure, retiring self; but high above the human thought we see the\nDivine purpose, and as we watch, the smaller \"me\" grows into the ME,\nwhich is a shadow of the great I AM. And so while the \"many\" treatises,\nthose which were purely human, have passed out of sight, buried deep in\ntheir unknown sepulchres, this Gospel has survived and become\nimmortal--immortal because God was behind it, and God was in it.\n\nSo in the mind of St. Luke the thought ripens into a purpose. Since\nothers \"have taken in hand\" to draw up a narrative concerning those\nmatters which have been \"fulfilled among us,\" he himself will do the\nsame; for has he not a special fitness for the task, and peculiar\nadvantages? He has long been intimately associated with those who from\nthe very first were \"eye-witnesses and ministers of the Word,\" the\nchosen companion of one Apostle, and doubtless, owing to his visit to\nJerusalem and to his prolonged residence at C\u00e6sarea, personally\nacquainted with the rest. His shall not be a Gospel of surmise or of\nrumour; it shall only contain the record of facts--facts which he\nhimself has investigated, and for the truth of which he gives his\nguarantee. The clause \"having traced the course of all things accurately\nfrom the first\"--which is a more exact rendering than that of the\nAuthorized Version, \"having had perfect understanding of all things from\nthe very first\"--shows us the keen, searching eye of the physician. He\nlooks into things. He distinguishes between the To seem and the To be,\nthe actual and the apparent. He takes nothing for granted, but proves\nall things. He investigates his facts before he endorses them, sounding\nthem, as it were, and reading not only their outer voice, which may be\nassumed, and so untrue, but with his stethoscope of patient research\nlistening for the unconscious voices that speak within, and so finding\nout the reality. He himself is committed to nothing. He is not anxious\nto make up a story. Himself a searcher after truth, his one concern is\nto know, and then to tell, the truth, naturally, simply, with no\nfictitious adornment or dressing up of his own. And having submitted the\nfacts of the Divine Life to a close scrutiny, and satisfied himself of\ntheir absolute truth, and having thrown aside the many guesses and\nfables which somehow have woven themselves around the wonderful Name,\nhe will write down, in historical order as far as may be, the story, so\nthat his friend Theophilus may know the \"certainty of the things\" in\nwhich he has been \"instructed,\" or orally catechized, as the word would\nmean.\n\nWhere, then, it may be asked, is there room for inspiration? If the\ngenesis of the Gospel is so purely human, where is there room for the\ntouch of the Divine? Why should the Gospel of St. Luke be canonized,\nincorporated into Holy Scripture, while the writings of others are\nthrown back into an Apocrypha, or still farther back into oblivion? The\nvery questions will suggest an answer. That touch of the Divine which we\ncall inspiration is not always an equal touch. Now it is a pressure from\nabove that is overwhelming. The writer is carried out of himself, borne\nup into regions where Sight and Reason in their loftiest flights cannot\ncome, as the prophet foretells events no human mind could foresee, much\nless describe. In the case of St. Luke there was no need for this\nabnormal pressure, or for these prophetic ecstasies. He was to record,\nfor the most part, facts of recent occurrence, facts that had been\nwitnessed, and could now be attested, by persons still living; and a\nfact is a fact, whether it is inspired or no. Inspiration may record a\nfact, while others are omitted, showing that this fact has a certain\nvalue above others; but if it is true, inspiration itself cannot make it\nmore true. Nevertheless, there is the touch of the Divine even here.\nWhat is the meaning of this new departure? for it is a new and a wide\ndeparture. Why does not Thomas write a Gospel? or Philip, or Paul? Why\nshould the Evangelist-mantle be carried outside the bounds of the sacred\nland, to be thrown around a Gentile, who cannot speak the sacred tongue\nexcept with a foreign Shibboleth? Ah, we see here the movings of the\nHoly Ghost! selecting the separate agents for the separate tasks, and\ndividing to \"every man severally as He will.\" And not only does the Holy\nSpirit summon him to the work, He qualifies him for it, furnishing him\nwith materials, and guiding his mind as to what shall be omitted and\nwhat retained. It is the same Spirit, who moved \"holy men of old\" to\nspeak and write the things of God, who now touches the mind and heart of\nthe four Evangelists, enabling them to give the four versions of the one\nStory, in different language, and with sundry differences of detail, but\nwith no contradiction of thought, each being, in a sense, the complement\nof the rest, the four quarters making one rounded and perfect whole.\n\nPerhaps at first sight our subject may not seem to have any reference to\nour smaller lives; for who of us can be Evangelists or Apostles, in the\nhighest meaning of the words? And yet it has, if we look into it, a very\npractical bearing upon our lives, even the commonplace, every-day life.\nWhence come our gifts? Who makes these gifts to differ? Who gives us the\ndiffering taste and nature? for we are not consulted as to our nature\nany more than as to our nativities. The fact is, our \"human\" is touched\nby the Divine at every point. What are the chequered scenes of our lives\nbut the black or the white squares to which the Unseen Hand moves us at\nwill? Earth's problem is but Heaven's purpose. And are not we, too,\nwriting scriptures? putting God's thoughts into words and deeds, so that\nmen may read them and know them? Verily we are; and our writing is for\neternity. In the volume of our book are no omissions or erasures.\nListen, then, to the heavenly call. Be obedient to your heavenly vision.\nLeave mind and heart open to the play of the Divine Spirit. Keep self\nout of sight. Delight in God's will, and do it. So will you make your\nlowlier life another Testament, written ever with Gospels and Epistles,\nand closing at last with an Apocalypse.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n_THE MUTE PRIEST._\n\nLUKE i. 5-25, 57-80.\n\n\nAfter his personal prelude, our Evangelist goes on to give in detail the\npre-Advent revelations, so connecting the thread of his narrative with\nthe broken-off thread of the Old Testament. His language, however,\nsuddenly changes its character and accent; and its frequent Hebraisms\nshow plainly that he is no longer giving his own words, but that he is\nsimply recording the narratives as they were told him, possibly by some\nmember of the Holy Family.\n\n\"There was in the days of Herod, king of Jud\u00e6a.\" Even the surface-reader\nof Scripture will observe how little is made in its pages of the\ntime-element. There is a purposed vagueness in its chronology, which\nscarcely accords with our Western ideas of accuracy and precision. We\nobserve times and seasons. We strike off the years with the clang of\nbells or the hush of solemn services. Each day with us is lifted up into\nprominence, having a personality and history all its own, and as we\nwrite its history, we keep it clear of all its to-morrows and its\nyesterdays. And so the day grows naturally into a date, and dates\ncombine into chronologies, where everything is sharp, exact. Not so,\nhowever, was it, or indeed is it, in the Eastern world. Time there, if\nwe may speak temporally, was of little moment. To that slow-moving and\nslow-thinking world one day was a trifle, something atomic; it took a\nnumber of them to make an appreciable quantity. And so they divided\ntheir time, in ordinary speech, not minutely as we do, due into larger\nperiods, measuring its distances by the shadows of their striking\nevents. Why is it that we have four Gospels, and in fact a whole New\nTestament, without a date? for it cannot possibly be a chance omission.\nIs the time-element so subdued and set back, lest the \"things temporal\"\nshould lead off our minds from the \"things spiritual and eternal\"? For\nwhat is time, after all, but a negative quantity? an empty space, in\nitself all silent and dead, until our thoughts and deeds strike against\nit and make it vocal? Nay, even in the heavenly life we see the same\nlosing of the time-element, for we read, \"There should be time no\nlonger.\" Not that it will then disappear, swallowed up in that infinite\nduration we call eternity. That would make heaven a confusion; for to\nfinite minds eternity itself must come in measured beats, striking, like\nthe waves along the shore, in rhythmic intervals. But _our_ time will be\nno longer. It must needs be transfigured, ceasing to be earthly, that it\nmay become heavenly in its measurement and in its speech. And so in the\nBible, which is a Divine-human book, written for the ages, God has\npurposely veiled the times, at any rate the \"days\" of earthly reckoning.\nEven the day of our Lord's birth, and the day of His death, our\nchronologies cannot determine: we measure, we guess, but it is randomly,\nlike the blinded men of Sodom, who wearied themselves to find the door.\nIn Heaven's reckoning deeds are more than days. Time-beats by\nthemselves are only broken silences, but put a soul among them, and you\nmake songs, anthems, and all kinds of music. \"In those days\" may be a\ncommon Hebraism, but may it not be something more? may it not be an\nidiom of celestial speech, the heavenly way of referring to earthly\nthings? At any rate we know this, that while Heaven is careful to give\nus the purpose, the promise, and the fulfilment, the Divine Spirit does\nnot care to give us the exact moment when the promise became a\nrealization. And that it is so shows that it is best it should be so.\nSilence sometimes may be better than speech.\n\nBut in saying all this we do not say that Heaven is unobservant of\nearthly times and seasons. They are a part of the Divine order, stamped\non all lives, on all worlds. Our days and nights keep their alternate\nstep; our seasons observe their processional order, singing in\nantiphonal responses; while our world, geared in with other worlds,\nstrikes off our earthly years and days with an absolute precision. So,\nnow, the time of the Advent has been Divinely chosen, for whole\nmillenniums unalterably fixed; nor have the cries of Israel's impatient\nhopes been allowed to hurry forward the Divine purpose, so making it\npremature. But why should the Advent be so long delayed? In our\noff-handed way of thinking we might have supposed the Redeemer would\nhave come directly after the Fall; and as far as Heaven was concerned,\nthere was no reason why the Incarnation and the Redemption should not be\neffected immediately. The Divine Son was even then prepared to lay aside\nHis glories, and to become incarnate. He might have been born of the\nVirgin of Eden, as well as of the Virgin of Galilee; and even then He\nmight have offered unto God that perfect obedience by which the \"many\nare made righteous.\" Why, then, this strange delay, as the months\nlengthen into years, and the years into centuries? The Patriarchs come\nand go, and only see the promise \"afar off.\" Then come centuries of\noppression, as Canaan is completely eclipsed by the dark shadow of\nEgypt; then the Exodus, the wanderings, the conquest. The Judges\nadminister a rough-handed justice; Kings play with their little crowns;\nProphets rebuke and prophesy, telling of the \"Wonderful\" who shall be;\nbut still the Messiah delays His coming. Why this strange postponement\nof the world's hopes, as if prophecy dealt in illusions only? We find\nthe answer in St. Paul's Epistle to the Galatians (chap. iv. 4). The\n\"fulness of the time\" was not yet come. The time was maturing, but was\nnot yet ripe. Heaven was long ago prepared for an Incarnation, but Earth\nwas not; and had the Advent occurred at an earlier stage of the world's\nhistory, it would have been an anachronism the age would have\nmisunderstood. There must be a leading up to God's gifts, or His\nblessings cease to be blessings. The world must be prepared for the\nChrist, or virtually He is no Christ, no Saviour to them. The Christ\nmust come into the world's mind as a familiar thought, He must come into\nthe world's heart as a deep-felt need, before He can come as the Word\nIncarnate.\n\nAnd when is this \"fulness of the time\"? \"In the days of Herod, king of\nJud\u00e6a.\" Such is the phrase that now strikes the Divine hour, and leads\nin the dawn of a new dispensation. And what dark days were those to the\nHebrew people, when on the throne of their David sat that Idumean shadow\nof the dread C\u00e6sar! Their land swarms with Gentile hordes, and on the\nsoil devoted to Jehovah rise stately, splendid temples, dedicated to\nstrange gods. It is one irruption of Paganism, as if the Roman Pantheon\nhad emptied itself upon the Holy Land. Nay, it seemed as if the Hebrew\nfaith itself would become extinct, strangled by heathen fables, or at\nany rate that she would survive, only the ghost of her other self,\nwalking like an apparition, with veiled face and sealed lips, amid the\nscenes of her former glories. \"The days of Herod\" were the Hebrew\nmidnight, but they give us the Bright and Morning Star. And so upon this\ndial-plate of Scripture the great Herod, with all his royalties, is\nnothing more than the dark, empty shadow which marks a Divine hour, \"the\nfulness of the time.\"\n\nIsrael's corporate life began with four centuries of silence and\noppression, when Egypt gave them the doubled task, and Heaven grew\nstrangely still, giving them neither voice nor vision. Is it but one of\nthe chance repetitions of history that Israel's national life should\nend, too, with four hundred years of silence? for such is the\ncoincidence, if, indeed, we may not call it something more. It is,\nhowever, just such a coincidence as the Hebrew mind, quick to trace\nresemblances and to discern signs, would grasp firmly and eagerly. It\nwould revive their long-deferred and dying hopes, overlaying the near\nfuture with its gold. Possibly it was this very coincidence that now\ntransformed their hope into expectation, and set their hearts listening\nfor the advent of the Messiah. Did not Moses come when the task was\ndoubled? And was not the four hundred years' silence broken by the\nthunders of the Exodus, as the I AM, once again asserting Himself, \"sent\nredemption to His people\"? And so, counting back their silent years\nsince Heaven's last voice came to them through their prophet Malachi,\nthey caught in its very silences a sound of hope, the footfall of the\nforerunner, and the voice of the coming Lord. But where, and how, shall\nthe long silence be broken? We must go for our answer--and here, again,\nwe see a correspondence between the new Exodus and the old--to the tribe\nof Levi, and to the house of Amram and Jochebed.\n\nResiding in one of the priestly cities of the hill-country of\nJud\u00e6a--though not in Hebron, as is commonly supposed, for it is most\nunlikely that a name so familiar and sacred in the Old Testament would\nhere be omitted in the New--was \"a certain priest named Zacharias.\"\nHimself a descendant of Aaron, his wife, too, was of the same lineage;\nand besides being \"of the daughters of Aaron,\" she bore the name of\ntheir ancestral mother, \"Elisabeth.\" Like Abraham and Sarah, they were\nboth well advanced in years, and childless. But if they were not allowed\nto have any lien upon posterity, throwing themselves forward into future\ngenerations, they made up the lack of earthly relationships by\ncultivating the heavenly. Forbidden, as they thought, to look forward\ndown the lines of earthly hopes, they could and did look heavenward; for\nwe read that they were both \"righteous\"--a word implying a Mosaic\nperfection--\"walking in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord\nblameless.\" We may not be able, perhaps, to give the precise distinction\nbetween \"commandments\" and \"ordinances,\" for they were sometimes used\ninterchangeably; but if, as the general use of the words allows us, we\nrefer the \"commandments\" to the moral, and the \"ordinances\" to the\nceremonial law, we see how wide is the ground they cover, embracing, as\nthey do, the (then) \"whole duty of man.\" Rarely, if ever, do the\nScriptures speak in such eulogistic terms; and that they should here be\napplied to Zacharias and Elisabeth shows that they were advanced in\nsaintliness, as well as in years. Possibly St. Luke had another object\nin view in giving us the portraits of these two pre-Advent Christians,\ncompleting in the next chapter the quarternion, by his mention of Simeon\nand Anna. It is somewhat strange, to say the least, that the Gentile\nEvangelist should be the one to give us this remarkable group--the four\naged Templars, who, \"when it was yet dark,\" rose to chant their matins\nand to anticipate the dawn. Whether the Evangelist intended it or not,\nhis narrative salutes the Old, while it heralds the New dispensation,\npaying to that Old a high though unconscious tribute. It shows us that\nHebraism was not yet dead; for if on its central stem, within the\nlimited area of its Temple courts, such a cluster of beautiful lives\ncould be found, who will tell the harvest of its outlying branches?\nJudaism was not altogether a piece of mechanism, elaborate and exact,\nwith a soulless, metallic click of rites and ceremonies. It was an\norganism, living and sentient. It had nerves and blood. Possessed of a\nheart itself, it touched the hearts of its children. It gave them\naspirations and inspirations without number; and even its shadows were\nthe interpreters, as they were the creations, of the heavenly light. And\nif now it is doomed to pass away, outdated and superseded, it is not\nbecause it is bad, worthless; for it was a Divine conception, the \"good\"\nthing, preparing for and proclaiming God's \"better thing.\" Judaism was\nthe \"glorious angel, keeping the gates of light;\" and now, behold, she\nswings back the gates, welcomes the Morning, and herself then\ndisappears.\n\nIt is the autumn service for the course of Abia--which is the eighth of\nthe twenty-four courses into which the priesthood was divided--and\nZacharias proceeds to Jerusalem, to perform whatever part of the service\nthe lot may assign to him. It is probably the evening of the\nSabbath--the presence of the multitude would almost imply that--and this\nevening the lot gives to Zacharias the coveted distinction--which could\nonly come once in a lifetime--of burning incense in the Holy Place. At a\ngiven signal, between the slaying and the offering of the lamb,\nZacharias, barefooted and robed in white, passes up the steps,\naccompanied by two assistants, one bearing a golden censer containing\nhalf a pound of the sweet-smelling incense, the other bearing a golden\nvessel of burning coals taken from the altar. Slowly and reverently they\npass within the Holy Place, which none but Levites are permitted to\nenter; and having arranged the incense, and spread the live coals upon\nthe altar, the assistants retire, leaving Zacharias alone--alone in the\ndim light of the seven-branched candlestick, alone beside that veil he\nmay not uplift, and which hides from his sight the Holy of Holies, where\nGod dwells \"in the thick darkness.\" Such is the place, and such the\nsupreme moment, when Heaven breaks the silence of four hundred years.\n\nIt is no concern of ours to explain the phenomenon that followed, or to\ntone down its supernatural elements. Given an Incarnation, and then the\nsupernatural becomes not only probable, but necessary. Indeed, we could\nnot well conceive of any new revelation without it; and instead of its\nbeing a weakness, a blemish on the page of Scripture, it is rather a\nproof of its heavenliness, a hall-mark that stamps its Divinity. Nor is\nthere any need, believing as we do in the existence of intelligences\nother and higher than ourselves, that we apologize for the appearance of\nangels, here and elsewhere, in the story; such deference to Sadducean\ndoubts is not required.\n\nSuddenly, as Zacharias stands with uplifted hands, joining in the\nprayers offered by the silent \"multitude\" without, an angel appears. He\nstands \"on the right side of the altar of incense,\" half-veiled by the\nfragrant smoke, which curling upwards, filled the place. No wonder that\nthe lone priest is filled with \"fear,\" and that he is \"troubled\"--a word\nimplying an outward tremor, as if the very body shook with the unwonted\nagitation of the soul. The angel does not at first announce his name,\nbut seeks rather to calm the heart of the priest, stilling its tumult\nwith a \"Fear not,\" as Jesus stilled the waters with His \"Peace.\" Then he\nmakes known his message, speaking in language most homely and most\nhuman: \"Thy prayer is heard.\" Perhaps a more exact rendering would be,\n\"Thy request was granted,\" for the substantive implies a specific\nprayer, while the verb indicates a \"hearing\" that becomes an\n\"assenting.\" What the prayer was we may gather from the angel's words;\nfor the whole message, both in its promise and its prophecy, is but an\namplification of its first clause. To the Jew, childlessness was the\nworst of all bereavements. It implied, at least they thought so, the\nDivine displeasure; while it effectually cut them off from any personal\nshare in those cherished Messianic hopes. To the Hebrew heart the\nmessage, \"Unto you a son is born,\" was the music of a lower Gospel. It\nmarked an epoch in their life-history; it brought the fulfilment of\ntheir desires, and a wealth of added dignities. And Zacharias had\nprayed, earnestly and long, that a son might be born to them; but the\nbright hope, with the years, had grown distant and dim, until at last it\nhad dropped down beyond the horizon of their thoughts, and become an\nimpossibility. But those prayers were heard, yea, and granted, too, in\nthe Divine purpose; and if the answer has been delayed, it was that it\nmight come freighted with a larger blessing.\n\nBut in saying that this was the specific prayer of Zacharias we do not\nwish to disparage his motives, confining his thoughts and aspirations\nwithin a circle so narrow and selfish. This lesser hope of offspring,\nlike a satellite, revolved around the larger hope of a Messiah, and\nindeed grew out of it. It drew all its brightness and all its beauty\nfrom that larger hope, the hope that lighted up the dark Hebrew sky with\nthe auroras of a new and fadeless dawn. When mariners \"take the sun,\" as\nthey call it, reading from its disc their longitudes, they bring it down\nto their horizon-level. They get the higher in the lower vision, and the\nreal direction of their looks is not the apparent direction. And if\nZacharias' thoughts and prayers seem to have an earthward drift, his\nsoul looks higher than his speech; and if he looks along the\nhorizon-level of earthly hopes, it is that he may read the heavenly\npromise. It is not a son that he is looking for, but _the_ Son, the\n\"Seed\" in whom \"all the families of the earth shall be blessed.\" And so,\nwhen the silent tongue regains its powers of speech, it gives its first\nand highest doxologies for that other Child, who is Himself the promised\n\"redemption\" and a \"horn of salvation;\" his own child he sets back, far\nback in the shadow (or rather the light) of Him whom he calls the\n\"Lord.\" It is the near realization of both these hopes that the angel\nnow announces.\n\nA son shall be born to them, even in their advanced years, and they\nshall call his name \"John,\" which means \"The Lord is gracious.\" \"Many\nwill rejoice with them at his birth,\" for that birth will be the\nawakening of new hopes, the first hour of a new day. \"Great in the sight\nof the Lord,\" he must be a Nazarite, abstaining wholly from \"wine and\nstrong drink\"--the two Greek words including all intoxicants, however\nmade. \"Filled with the Holy Ghost from his mother's womb\"--that original\nbias or propensity to evil, if not obliterated, yet more than\nneutralized--he shall be the Elijah (in spirit and in power) of\nMalachi's prophecy, turning many of Israel's children \"to the Lord their\nGod.\" \"Going before Him\"--and the antecedent of \"Him\" must be \"the Lord\ntheir God\" of the preceding verse, so early is the purple of Divinity\nthrown around the Christ--he \"shall turn the hearts of fathers to their\nchildren,\" restoring peace and order to domestic life, and the\n\"disobedient\" he shall incline \"to walk in the wisdom of the just\"\n(R.V.), bringing back the feet that have erred and slipped to \"the paths\nof uprightness,\" which are the \"ways of wisdom.\" In short, he shall be\nthe herald, making ready a people prepared for the Lord, running before\nthe royal chariot, proclaiming the coming One, and preparing His way,\nthen leaving his own little footprints to disappear, thrown up in the\nchariot-dust of Him who was greater and mightier than he.\n\nWe can easily understand, even if we may not apologize for, the\nincredulity of Zacharias. There are crises in our life when, under\nprofound emotion, Reason herself seems bewildered, and Faith loses her\nsteadiness of vision. The storm of feeling throws the reflective powers\ninto confusion, and thought becomes blurred and indistinct, and speech\nincoherent and wild. And such a crisis was it now, but intensified to\nthe mind of Zacharias by all these additions of the supernatural. The\nvision, with its accessories of place and time, the message, so\nstartling, even though so welcome, must necessarily produce a strange\npertubation of soul; and what surprise need there be that when the\npriest does speak it is in the lisping accents of unbelief? Could it\nwell have been otherwise? Peter \"wist not that it was true which was\ndone by the angel, but thought he saw a vision;\" and though Zacharias\nhas none of these doubts of unreality--it is to him no dream of the\nmoment's ecstasy--still he is not yet aware of the rank and dignity of\nhis angel-visitant, while he is perplexed at the message, which so\ndirectly contravenes both reason and experience. He does not doubt the\nDivine power, let it be observed, but he does seek for a sign that the\nangel speaks with Divine authority. \"Whereby shall I know this?\" he\nasks, reminding us by his question of Jacob's \"Tell me thy name.\" The\nangel replies, in substance, \"You ask whereby you may know this; that\nis, you wish to know by whose authority I declare this message to you.\nWell, I am Gabriel, that stand in the presence of God; and I was sent to\nspeak unto you, and to bring you these good tidings. And since you ask\nfor a sign, an endorsement of my message, you shall have one. I put the\nseal of silence upon your lips, and you shall not be able to speak until\nthe day when these things shall come to pass, because you believed not\nmy words.\" Then the vision ends; Gabriel returns to the songs and\nanthems of the skies, leaving Zacharias to carry, in awful stillness of\nsoul, this new \"secret of the Lord.\"\n\nThis infliction of dumbness upon Zacharias has generally been regarded\nas a rebuke and punishment for his unbelief; but if we refer to the\nparallel cases of Abraham and of Gideon, such is not Heaven's wonted\nanswer to the request for a sign. We must understand it rather as the\nproof Zacharias sought, something at once supernatural and significant,\nthat should help his stumbling faith. Such a sign, and a most effective\none, it was. Unlike Gideon's dew, that would soon evaporate, leaving\nnothing but a memory, this was ever present, ever felt, at least until\nfaith was exchanged for sight. Nor was it dumbness simply, for the word\n(ver. 22) rendered \"speechless\" implies inability to hear as well as\ninability to speak; and this, coupled with the fact mentioned in ver.\n62, that \"they made signs to him\"--which they would scarcely have done\ncould he have heard their voices--compels us to suppose that Zacharias\nhad suddenly become deaf as well as dumb. Heaven put the seal of silence\nupon his lips and ears, that so its own voice might be more clear and\nloud; and so the profound silences of Zacharias' soul were but the blank\nspaces on which Heaven s sweet music was written.\n\nHow long the interview with the angel lasted we cannot tell. It must,\nhowever, have been brief; for at a given signal, the stroke of the\nMagrephah, the attendant priest would re-enter the Holy Place, to light\nthe two lamps that had been left unlighted. And here we must look for\nthe \"tarrying\" that so perplexed the multitude, who were waiting\noutside, in silence, for the benediction of the incensing priest.\nRe-entering the Holy Place, the attendant finds Zacharias smitten as by\na sudden paralysis--speechless, deaf, and overcome by emotion. What\nwonder that the strange excitement makes them oblivious of time, and,\nfor the moment, all-forgetful of their Temple duties! The priests are\nin their places, grouped together on the steps leading up to the Holy\nPlace; the sacrificing priest has ascended the great brazen altar; ready\nto cast the pieces of the slain lamb upon the sacred fire; the Levites\nstand ready with their trumpets and their psalms--all waiting for the\npriests who linger so long in the Holy Place. At length they appear,\ntaking up their position on the top of the steps, above the rows of\npriests, and above the silent multitude. But Zacharias cannot pronounce\nthe usual benediction to-day. The \"Jehovah bless thee and keep thee\" is\nunsaid; the priest can only \"beckon\" to them, perhaps laying his finger\non the silent lips, and then pointing to the silent heavens--to them\nindeed silent, but to himself all vocal now.\n\nAnd so the mute priest, after the days of his ministration are\ncompleted, returns to his home in the hill-country, to wait the\nfulfilment of the promises, and out of his deep silences to weave a song\nthat should be immortal; for the _Benedictus_, whose music girdles the\nworld to-day, before it struck upon the world's ear and heart, had,\nthrough those quiet months, filled the hushed temple of his soul,\nlifting up the priest and the prophet among the poets, and passing down\nthe name of Zacharias as one of the first sweet singers of the new\nIsrael.\n\nAnd so the Old meets, and merges into the New; and at the marriage it is\nthe speaking hands of the mute priest that join together the two\nDispensations, as each gives itself to the other, never more to be put\nasunder, but to be \"no longer twain, but one,\" one Purpose, one Plan,\none Divine Thought, one Divine Word.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n_THE GOSPEL PSALMS._\n\n\nUnlike modern church builders, St. Luke sets his chancel by the porch.\nNo sooner have we passed through the vestibule of his Gospel than we\nfind ourselves within a circle of harmonies. On the one side are\nZacharias and Simeon, the one chanting his _Benedictus_, and the other\nhis _Nunc Dimittis_. Facing them, as if in antiphon, are Elisabeth and\nMary, the one singing her _Beatitude_, and the other her _Magnificat_;\nwhile overhead, in the frescoed and star-lighted sky, are vast\nmultitudes of the heavenly host enriching the Advent music with their\n_Glorias_. What means this grand irruption of song? and why is St. Luke,\nthe Gentile Evangelist, the only one who repeats to us these Hebrew\npsalms? At first it would seem as if their natural place would be as a\nprelude to St. Matthew's Gospel, which is the Gospel of the Hebrews. But\nstrangely enough, St. Matthew passes them by in silence, just as he\nomits the two angelic visions. St. Matthew is evidently intent on one\nthing. Beginning a New Testament, as he is, he seems especially anxious\nthat there shall be no rent or even seam between the Old and the New;\nand so, in his first pages, after giving us the genealogy, running the\nline of descent up to Abraham, he laces up the threads of his narrative\nwith the broken-off threads of the old prophecies, so that the written\nWord may be a vestment of the Incarnate Word, which shall be \"without\nseam, woven from the top throughout.\" And so really the Advent hymns\nwould not have suited St. Matthew's purpose. Their ring would not have\nbeen in accord with the tone of his story; and had we found them in his\nfirst chapters, we should instinctively have felt that they were out of\nplace, as if we saw a rose blossoming on a widespread oak.\n\nSt. Luke, however, is portraying the Son of man. Coming to redeem\nhumanity, he shows how He was first born into that humanity, making His\nadvent in a purely human fashion. And so the two conceptions form a fit\nbeginning for his Gospel; while over the Divine Birth and Childhood he\nlingers reverently and long, paying it however, only the homage Heaven\nhad paid it before. Then, too, was there not a touch of poetry about our\nEvangelist? Tradition has been almost unanimous in saying that he was a\npainter; and certainly in the grouping of his figures, and his careful\nplay upon the lights and shadows, we can discover traces of his artistic\nskill, in word-painting at any rate. His was evidently a soul attuned to\nharmonies, quick to discern any accordant or discordant strains. Nor\nmust we forget that St. Luke's mind is open to certain occult\ninfluences, whose presence we may indeed detect, but whose power we are\nnot able to gauge. As we have already seen, it was the manifold\nnarratives of anonymous writers that first moved him to take up the pen\nof the historian; and to those narratives we doubtless owe something of\nthe peculiar cast and colouring of St. Luke's story. It is with the\nNativity that tradition would be most likely to take liberties. The\nfacts of the Advent, strange enough in themselves, would at the hands\nof rumour undergo a process of developing, like the magnified and\nsomewhat grotesque shadows of himself the traveller casts on Alpine\nmists. It was doubtless owing to these enlargements and distortions of\ntradition that St. Luke was led to speak of the Advent so fully, going\ninto the minuti\u00e6 of detail, and inserting, as is probable, from the\nHebrew tone of these first two chapters, the account as given orally, or\nwritten, by some members of the Holy Family.\n\nIt must be admitted that to some inquiring and honest minds these Advent\npsalms have been a difficulty, an enigma, if not a stumbling-block. As\nthe bells that summon to worship half-deafen the ear of the worshipper\non a too near approach, or they become merely a confused and unmeaning\nnoise if he climbs up into the belfry and watches the swing of their\nbrazen lips, so this burst of music in our third Gospel has been too\nloud for certain sensitive ears. It has shaken somewhat the foundations\nof their faith. They think it gives an unreality, a certain mythical\nflavour, to the story, that these four pious people, who have always led\na quiet, prosaic kind of life, should now suddenly break out into\nimpromptu songs, and when these are ended lapse again into complete\nsilence, like the century plant, which throws out a solitary blossom in\nthe course of a hundred years. And so they come to regard these Hebrew\npsalms as an interpolation, an afterthought, thrown into the story for\neffect. But let us not forget that we are dealing now with Eastern mind,\nwhich is naturally vivacious, imaginative, and highly poetical. Even our\ncolder tongue, in this glacial period of nineteenth-century\ncivilization, is full of poetry. The language of common every-day\nlife--to those who have ears to hear--is full of tropes, metaphors, and\nparables. Take up the commonest words of daily speech, and put them to\nyour ear, and they will sing like shells from the sea. There are whole\npoems in them--epics, idylls, of every sort; and let our colder speech\nget among the sweet influences of religion, and like the iceberg adrift\nin the Gulf Stream, it loses its rigidity and frigidity at once, melting\nin liquid, rhythmic measures, throwing itself away in hymns and\n_jubilates_. The fact is, the world is full of music. As the Sage of\nChelsea said, \"See deep enough, and you see musically, the heart of\nNature being everywhere music if you can only reach it.\" And it is so.\nYou can touch nothing but there are harmonies slumbering within it, or\nitself is a stray note of some grander song. Dead wood from the forest,\ndead ore from the mine, dead tusks of the beast--these are the \"base\nthings\" that strike our music; and only put a mind within them, and a\nliving soul with a living touch before them, and you have songs and\nanthems without number.\n\nBut to Eastern minds poetry was a sort of native language. Its\ninspiration was in the air. Their ordinary speech was ornate and\nefflorescent, throwing itself out in simile and hyperbole. It only\nneeded some small excitement, and they fell naturally into the couplet\nform of utterance. Even to-day the children swing under the\nmulberry-trees to songs and choruses; hucksters extol their wares in\nmeasured verse; and the Bethany fruit-girl sings in the market, \"O lady,\ntake of our fruit, without money and without price: it is yours; take\nall that you will\"! And so it need not surprise us, much less trouble\nus, that Simeon and Elisabeth, Zacharias and Mary, should each speak in\nmeasured cadences. Their speech blossomed with flowers of rhetoric, just\nas naturally as their hills were ablaze with daisies and anemones.\nBesides, they were now under the direct inspiration of the Holy Spirit.\nWe read, \"Elisabeth was filled with the Holy Ghost;\" and again,\nZacharias was \"filled with the Holy Ghost;\" Simeon \"came in the Spirit\ninto the Temple;\" while Mary now seemed to live in one conscious,\nconstant inspiration. It is said that \"a poet is born, not made;\" and if\nhe be not thus \"free-born\" no \"great sum,\" either of gold or toil, will\never pass him up within the favoured circle. And the same is true of the\npoet's creations. Sacred hymns are not the product of the unaided\nintellect. They do not come at the bidding of any human will. They are\ninspirations. There is the overshadowing of the Holy Spirit in their\nconception. The human mind, heart, and lips are but the instrument, a\nkind of \u00c6olian lyre, played upon by the Higher Breath, which comes and\ngoes--how, the singer himself can never tell; for\n\n      \"In the song\n  The singer has been lost.\"\n\nIt was when \"filled with the Spirit\" that Bezaleel put into his gold and\nsilver the thoughts of God; it was when the Spirit of God came upon him\nthat Balaam took up his parable, putting into stately numbers Israel's\nforward march and endless victories. And so the sacred psalm is the\nhighest type of inspiration; it is a voice from no earthly Parnassus,\nbut from the Mount of God itself--the nearest approach to the celestial\nharmonies, the harmonies of that city whose very walls are poetry, and\nwhose gates are praise.\n\nAnd so, after all, it was but fitting and perfectly natural that the\nGospel that Heaven had been so long time preparing should break upon\nthe world amid the harmonies of music. Instead of apologizing for its\npresence, as if it were but an interlude improvised for the occasion, we\nshould have noted and mourned its absence, as when one mourns for \"the\nsound of a voice that is still.\" When the ark of God was brought up from\nBaale Judah it was encircled with one wide wreath of music, a travelling\norchestra of harps and psalteries, castanets and cymbals; and as now\nthat Ark of all the promises is borne across from the Old to the New\nDispensation, as the promise becomes a fulfilment, and the hope a\nrealization, shall there not be the voice of song and gladness? Our\nsense of the fitness of things expects it; Heaven's law of the harmonies\ndemands it; and had there not been this burst of praise and song, we\nshould have listened for the very stones to cry out, rebuking the\nstrange silence. But the voice was not silent. The singers were there,\nin their places; and they sang, not because they would, but because they\nmust. A heavenly pressure, a sweet constraint, was upon them. If Wealth\nlays down her tribute of gold, with frankincense and myrrh, Poetry\nweaves for the Holy Child her beautiful songs, and crowns Him with her\nfadeless amaranth; and so around the earthly cradle of the Lord, as\naround His heavenly throne, we have angelic songs, and \"the voices of\nharpers, harping with their harps.\"\n\nTurning now to the four Gospel-psalmists--not, however, to analyze, but\nto listen to their song--we meet first with Elisabeth. This aged\ndaughter of Aaron, and wife of Zacharias, as we have seen, resided\nsomewhere in the hill-country of Jud\u00e6a, in their quiet, childless home.\nRighteous, blameless, and devout, religion to her was no mere form; it\nwas her life. The Temple services, with which she was closely\nassociated, were to her no cold clatter of dead rites; they were\nrealities, full of life and full of music, as her heart had caught their\ndeeper meaning. But the Temple, while it attracted her thoughts and\nhopes, did not enclose them; its songs and services were to her but so\nmany needles, swinging round on their marble pivot, and pointing beyond\nto the Living God, the God who dwelt not in temples made with hands, but\nwho, then as now, inhabits the purified temple of the heart. Long past\nthe time when motherly hopes were possible, the fretting had subsided,\nand her spirit had become, first acquiescent, then quiescent. But these\nhopes had been miraculously rekindled, as she slowly read the vision of\nthe Temple from the writing-table of her dumb husband. The shadow of her\ndial had gone backward; and instead of its being evening, with gathering\nshadows and ever-lessening light, she found herself back in the glow of\nthe morning, her whole life lifted to a higher level. She was to be the\nmother, if not of the Christ, yet of His forerunner. And so the Christ\nwas near at hand, this was certain, and she had the secret prophecy and\npromise of His advent. And Elisabeth finds herself exalted--borne up, as\nit were, into Paradise, among visions and such swells of hosannas that\nshe cannot utter them; they are too sweet and too deep for her shallow\nwords. Was it not this, the storm of inward commotion, that drove her to\nhide herself for the five months? Heaven has come so near to her, such\nthoughts and visions fill her mind, that she cannot bear the intrusions\nand jars of earthly speech; and Elisabeth passes into a voluntary\nseclusion and silence, keeping strange company with the dumb and deaf\nZacharias.\n\nAt length the silence is broken by the unexpected appearance of her\nNazareth relative. Mary, fresh from her hasty journey, \"entered into the\nhouse of Zacharias and saluted Elisabeth.\" It is a singular expression,\nand evidently denotes that the visit of the Virgin was altogether\nunlooked for. There is no going out to meet the expected guest, as was\ncommon in Eastern hospitalities; there was even no welcome by the gate;\nbut like an apparition, Mary passes within, and salutes the surprised\nElisabeth, who returns the salutation, not, however, in any of the\nprescribed forms, but in a benediction of measured verse:--\n\n      \"Blessed art thou among women,\n      And blessed is the fruit of thy womb!\n      And whence is this to me,\n  That the mother of my Lord should come unto me?\n  For, behold, when the voice of thy salutation came into mine ears\n      The babe leaped in my womb for joy.\n      And blessed is she that believed,\n  For there shall be a fulfilment of the things which have been spoken\n      to her from the Lord.\"\n\nThe whole canticle--and it is Hebrew poetry, as its parallelisms and\nstrophes plainly show--is one apostrophe to the Virgin. Striking the\nkey-note in its \"Blessed art thou,\" the \"thou\" moves on, distinct and\nclear, amid all variations, to the end, reaching its climax in its\ncentral phrase, \"The mother of my Lord.\" As one hails the morning star,\nnot so much for its own light as for its promise of the greater light,\nthe dayspring that is behind it, so Elisabeth salutes the morning star\nof the new dawn, at the same time paying homage to the Sun, whose near\napproach the star heralds. And why is Mary so blessed among women? Why\nshould Elisabeth, forgetting the dignity of years, bow so deferentially\nbefore her youthful relative, crowning her with a song? Who has\ninformed her of the later revelation at Nazareth? It is not necessary to\nsuppose that Elisabeth, in her seclusion, had received any corroborative\nvision, or even that she had been supernaturally enlightened. Had she\nnot the message the angel delivered to Zacharias? and was not that\nenough? Her son was to be the Christ's forerunner, going, as the angel\nsaid, before the face of \"the Lord.\" Three times had the angel\ndesignated the Coming One as \"the Lord,\" and this was the word she had\ncarried with her into her seclusion. What it meant she did not fully\nunderstand; but she knew this, that it was He of whom Moses and the\nprophets had written, the Shiloh, the Wonderful; and as she put together\nthe detached Scriptures, adding, doubtless, some guesses of her own, the\nChrist grew as a conception of her mind and the desire of her heart into\nsuch colossal proportions that even her own offspring was dwarfed in\ncomparison, and the thoughts of her own maternity became, in the rush of\ngreater thoughts, only as the stray eddies of the stream. That such was\nthe drift of her thoughts during the five quiet months is evident; for\nnow, taught of the Holy Ghost that her kinswoman is to be the mother of\nthe expected One, she greets the unborn Christ with her lesser\n_Benedictus_. Like the old painters, she puts her aureole of song around\nthe mother's head, but it is easy to see that the mother's honours are\nbut the far-off reflections from the Child. Is Mary blessed among women?\nit is not because of any wealth of native grace, but because of the\nfruit of her womb. Does Elisabeth throw herself right back in the shade,\nasking almost abjectly, \"Whence is this to me?\" it is because, like the\ncenturion, she feels herself unworthy that even the unborn \"Lord\" should\ncome under her roof. And so, while this song is really an ode to the\nVirgin, it is virtually Elisabeth's salute of the Christ who is to be, a\nsalute in which her own offspring takes part, for she speaks of his\n\"leaping\" in her womb, as if he were a participant in her joy,\ninterpreting its movements as a sort of \"Hail, Master!\" The canticle\nthus becomes invested with a higher significance. Its words say much,\nbut suggest more. It carries our thought out from the seen to the\nunseen, from the mother to the Holy Child, and Elisabeth's song thus\nbecomes the earliest \"Hosannah to the Son of David,\" the first prelude\nto the unceasing anthems that are to follow.\n\nIt will be observed that in the last line the song drops out of the\nfirst and the second personals into the third. It is no longer the\nfrequent \"thy,\" \"thou,\" \"my,\" but \"she:\" \"Happy is she that believed.\"\nWhy is this change? Why does she not end as she began--\"Happy art thou\nwho hast believed\"? Simply because she is no longer speaking of Mary\nalone. She puts herself as well within this beatitude, and at the same\ntime states a general law, how faith ripens into a harvest of\nblessedness. The last line thus becomes the \"Amen\" of the song. It\nreaches up among the eternal \"Verilies,\" and sets them ringing. It\nspeaks of the Divine faithfulness, out of which and within which human\nfaith grows as an acorn within its cup. And who could have better right\nto sing of the blessedness of faith, and to introduce this New Testament\ngrace--not unknown in the Old Testament, but unnamed--as she who was\nherself such an exemplification of her theme? How calmly her own heart\nreposed on the Divine word! How before her far-seeing and foreseeing\nvision valleys were exalted, mountains and hills made low, that the way\nof the Lord might appear! Elisabeth sees the unseen Christ, lays before\nHim the tribute of her song, the treasures of her affection and\ndevotion; even before the Magi had saluted the Child-King, Elisabeth's\nheart had gone out to meet Him with her hosannas, and her lips had\ngreeted Him \"My Lord.\" Elisabeth is thus the first singer of the New\nDispensation; and though her song is more a bud of poetry than the ripe,\nblossomed flower, enfolding rather than unfolding its hidden beauties,\nit pours out a fragrance sweeter than spikenard on the feet of the\nComing One, while it throws around Him the purple of new royalties.\n\nTurning now to the song of Mary, our _Magnificat_, we come to poetry of\na higher order. Elisabeth's introit was evidently spoken under intense\nfeeling; it was the music of the storm; for \"she lifted up her voice\nwith a loud cry.\" Mary's song, on the other hand, is calm, the hymn of\nthe \"quiet resting-place.\" There is no unnatural excitement now, no\ninward perturbation, half mental and half physical. Mary was perfectly\nself-possessed, as if the spell of some Divine \"peace\" were upon her\nsoul; and as Elisabeth's \"loud cry\" ceased, Mary \"said\"--so it\nreads--her response. But if the voice was lower, the thought was higher,\nmore majestic in its sweep. Elisabeth's song was on the lower heights.\n\"The mother of my Lord,\" this was its starting-place, and the centre\naround which its circles were described; and though its wings beat now\nand again against the infinities, it does not attempt to explore them,\nbut returns timidly to its nest. But Elisabeth's loftiest reach is\nMary's starting-point; her song begins where the song of Elisabeth ends.\nStriking her key-note in the first line, \"The Lord,\" this is her one\nthought, the Alpha and Omega of her psalm. We call it the _Magnificat_;\nit is a _Te Deum_, full of suggested doxologies. Beginning with the\npersonal, as she is almost compelled to do by the intense personality of\nElizabeth's song, Mary hastes to gather up the eulogies bestowed upon\nherself, and to bear them forward to Him who merits all praise, as He is\nthe Source of all blessing. Her soul \"magnifies the Lord,\" not that she,\nby any weak words of hers, can add to His greatness, which is infinite,\nbut even she may give the Lord a wider place within her thoughts and\nheart; and whoever is silent, her song shall make \"the voice of His\npraise to be heard.\" Her spirit \"hath rejoiced in God her Saviour,\" and\nwhy? Has He not looked down on her low estate, and done great things for\nher? \"The bondmaid of the Lord,\" as she a second time calls herself,\nglorying in her bonds, such is her promotion and exaltation that all\ngenerations shall call her blessed. Then, with a beautiful effacement of\nself, which henceforth is not even to be a mote playing in the sunshine,\nshe sings of Jehovah--His holiness, His might, His mercy, His\nfaithfulness.\n\nMary's song, both in its tone and language, belongs to the Old\nDispensation. Thoroughly Hebraic, and all inlaid with Old Testament\nquotations, it is the swan-song of Hebraism. There is not a single\nphrase, perhaps not a single word, that bears a distinctive Christian\nstamp; for the \"Saviour\" of the first strophe is the \"Saviour\" of the\nOld Testament, and not of the New, with a national rather than an\nevangelical meaning. The heart of the singer is turned to the past\nrather than to the future. Indeed, with the solitary exception, how all\ngenerations shall call her blessed, there is no passing glimpse into the\nfuture. Instead of speaking of the Expected One, and blessing \"the\nfruit of her womb,\" her song does not even mention Him. She tells how\nthe Lord hath done great things for her, but what those \"great things\"\nare she does not say; she might, as far as her own song tells us, be\nsimply a later Miriam, singing of some family or personal deliverance, a\nsalvation which was one of a thousand. A true daughter of Israel, she\ndwells among her own people, and her very broadest vision sees in her\noffspring no world-wide blessing, only a Deliverer for Israel, His\nservant. Does she speak of mercy? it is not that wider mercy that like a\nsea laves every shore, bearing on its still bosom a redeemed humanity;\nit is the narrower mercy \"toward Abraham and his seed for ever.\" Mary\nrecognizes the unity of the Godhead, but she does not recognize the\nunity, the brotherhood of man. Her thought goes back to \"our fathers,\"\nbut there it halts; the shrunken sinew of Hebrew thought could not cross\nthe prior centuries, to find the world's common father in Paradise. But\nin saying this we do not depreciate Mary's song. It is, and ever will\nbe, the _Magnificat_, great in its theme, and great in its conception.\nFollowing the flight of Hannah's song, and making use of its wings at\ntimes, it soars far above, and sweeps far beyond its original. Not even\nDavid sings of Jehovah in more exalted strains. The holiness of God, the\nmight supreme above all powers, the faithfulness that cannot forget, and\nthat never fails to fulfil, the Divine choice and exaltation of the\nlowly--these four chief chords of the Hebrew Psalter Mary strikes with a\ntouch that is sweet as it is clear.\n\nMary sang of God; she did not sing of the Christ. Indeed, how could she?\nThe Christ to be was part of her own life, part of herself; how could\nshe sing His praise without an appearance of egotism and\nself-gratulation? There are times when silence is more eloquent than\nspeech; and Mary's silence about the Christ was but the silence of the\nwinged cherubim, as they bend over the ark, beholding and feeling a\nmystery they can neither know nor tell. It was the hush inspired by a\nnear and glorious presence. And so the _Magnificat_, while it tells us\nnothing of the Christ, swings our thoughts around towards Him, sets us\nlistening for His advent; and Mary's silence is but the setting for the\nIncarnate WORD.\n\nThe song of Zacharias follows that of Mary, not only in the order of\ntime, but also in its sequence of thought. It forms a natural postlude\nto the _Magnificat_, while both are but different parts of one song,\nthis earliest \"Messiah.\" It is something remarkable that our first three\nChristian hymns should have their birth in the same nameless city of\nJudah, in the same house, and probably in the same chamber; for the\nroom, which now is filled with the priest's relatives, and where\nZacharias breaks the long silence with his prophetic _Benedictus_, is\ndoubtless the same room where Elisabeth chanted her greeting, and Mary\nsang her _Magnificat_. The song of Mary circled about the throne of\nJehovah, nor could she leave that throne, even to tell the great things\nthe Lord had done for her. Zacharias, coming down from his mount of\nvision and of silence, gives us a wider outlook into the Divine purpose.\nHe sings of the \"salvation\" of the Lord; and salvation, as it is the\nkey-note of the heavenly song, is the key-note of the _Benedictus_. Does\nhe bless the Lord, the God of Israel? it is because He has \"visited\" (or\nlooked upon) \"His people, and wrought redemption for\" them; it is\nbecause He has provided an abundant salvation, or a \"horn of salvation,\"\nas he calls it. Has God remembered His covenant, \"the oath He sware\nunto Abraham\"? has He \"shown mercy towards their fathers\"? that mercy\nand faithfulness are seen in this wonderful salvation--a salvation \"from\ntheir enemies,\" and \"from the hand of all that hate\" them. Is his child\nto be \"the prophet of the Most High,\" going \"before the face of the\nLord,\" and making \"ready His ways\"? it is that he may \"give knowledge\nof\" this \"salvation,\" in \"the remission of sins.\" Then the psalm ends,\nfalling back on its key-note; for who are they who \"sit in darkness and\nthe shadow of death,\" but a people lost? And who is the Day-spring who\nvisits them from on high, who shines upon their darkness, turning it\ninto day, and guiding their lost feet into the way of peace, but the\nRedeemer, the Saviour, whose name is \"Wonderful\"? And so the\n_Benedictus_, while retaining the form and the very language of the Old,\nbreathes the spirit of the New Dispensation. It is a fragrant breeze,\nblowing off from the shores of a new, and now near world, a world\nalready seen and possessed by Zacharias in the anticipations of faith.\nThe Saviour whose advent the inspired priest proclaims is no mere\nnational deliverer, driving back those eagles of Rome, and rebuilding\nthe throne of his father David. He might be all that--for even prophetic\nvision had not sweep of the whole horizon; it only saw the little\nsegment of the circle that was Divinely illumined--but to Zacharias He\nwas more, a great deal more. He was a Redeemer as well as Deliverer; and\na \"redemption\"--for it was a Temple word--meant a price laid down,\nsomething given. The salvation of which Zacharias speaks is not simply a\ndeliverance from our political enemies, and from the hand of all that\nhate us. It was a salvation higher, broader, deeper than that, a\n\"salvation\" that reached to the profound depths of the human soul, and\nthat sounded its jubilee there, in the remission of sin and deliverance\nfrom sin. Sin was the enemy to be vanquished and destroyed, and the\nshadow of death was but the shadow of sin. And Zacharias sings of this\ngreat redemption that leads to salvation, while the salvation leads into\nthe Divine peace, to \"holiness and righteousness,\" and a service that is\n\"without fear.\"\n\nThe ark of Israel was borne by four of the sons of Kohath; and here this\nark of song and prophecy is borne of four sweet singers, the sexes\ndividing the honours equally. We have listened to the songs of three,\nand have seen how they follow each other in a regular, rhythmic\nsuccession, the thought moving forward and outward in ever-widening\ncircles. Where is the fourth? and what is the burden of his song? It is\nheard within the precincts of the Temple, as the parents bring the Child\nJesus, to introduce Him to the visible sanctities of religion, and to\nconsecrate Him to the Lord. It is the _Nunc Dimittis_ of the aged\nSimeon. He too sings of \"salvation,\" \"Thy salvation\" as he calls it. It\nis the \"consolation of Israel\" he has looked for so ardently and so\nlong, and which the Holy Ghost had assured him he should behold before\nhis promotion to the higher temple. But the vision of Simeon was wider\nthan that of Zacharias, as that in turn was wider and clearer than the\nvision of Mary. Zacharias saw the spiritual nature of this near\nsalvation, and he described it in words singularly deep and accurate;\nbut its breadth he did not seem to realize. The theocracy was the\natmosphere in which he lived and moved; and even his vision was\ntheocratic, and so somewhat narrow. His _Benedictus_ was for the \"God\nof Israel,\" and the \"redemption\" he sang was \"for His people.\" The \"horn\nof salvation\" is \"for us;\" and all through his psalm these first\npersonal pronouns are frequent and emphatic, as if he would still\ninsulate this favoured people, and give them a monopoly even of\n\"redemption.\" The aged Simeon, however, stands on a higher Pisgah. His\nis the nearer and the clearer vision. Standing as he does in the Court\nof the Gentiles, and holding in his arms the Infant Christ, \"the Lord's\nChrist,\" he sees in Him a Saviour for humanity, \"the Lamb of God, who\ntaketh away the sin of the world.\" Still, as ever, \"the glory of God's\npeople Israel,\" but likewise \"a light for the unveiling of the\nGentiles.\" Like the sentry who keeps watch through the night till the\nsunrise, Simeon has been watching and longing for the Day-spring from on\nhigh, reading from the stars of promise the wearing of the night, and\nwith the music of fond hopes \"keeping his heart awake till dawn of\nmorn.\" Now at length the consummation, which is the consolation, comes.\nSimeon sees in the Child Jesus the world's hope and Light, a salvation\n\"prepared before the face of all people.\" And seeing this, he sees all\nhe desires. Earth can give no brighter vision, no deeper joy, and all\nhis request is--\n\n  \"Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart, O Lord,\n  According to Thy word, in peace;\n  For mine eyes have seen Thy salvation.\"\n\nAnd so the four psalms of the Gospels form in reality but one song, the\nnotes rising higher and still higher, until they reach the very pinnacle\nof the new temple--God's purpose and plan of redemption; that temple\nwhose altar is a cross, and whose Victim is \"the Lamb slain from the\nfoundation of the world;\" that temple where courts and dividing-lines\nall disappear; where the Holiest of all lies open to a redeemed\nhumanity, and Jews and Gentiles, bond and free, old and young, are alike\n\"kings and priests unto God.\" And so the Gospel psalms throw back, as it\nwere, in a thousand echoes, the _Glorias_ of the Advent angels, as they\nsing--\n\n  \"Glory to God in the highest,\n  And on earth peace.\"\n\nAnd what is this but earth's prelude or rehearsal for the heavenly song,\nas all nations, and kindreds, and peoples, and tongues, falling down\nbefore the Lamb in the midst of the throne, sing, \"Salvation unto our\nGod, which sitteth upon the throne, and unto the LAMB\"?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n_THE VIRGIN MOTHER._\n\n\nThe Beautiful Gate of the Jewish Temple opened into the \"Court of the\nWomen\"--so named from the fact that they were not allowed any nearer\napproach towards the Holy Place. And as we open the gate of the third\nGospel we enter the Court of the Women; for more than any other\nEvangelist, St. Luke records their loving and varied ministries. Perhaps\nthis is owing to his profession, which naturally would bring him into\nmore frequent contact with feminine life. Or perhaps it is a little\nPhilippian colour thrown into his Gospel; for we must not forget that\nSt. Luke had been left by the Apostle Paul at Philippi, to superintend\nthe Church that had been cradled in the prayers of the \"river-side\"\nwomen. It may be a tinge of Lydia's purple; or to speak more broadly and\nmore literally, it may be the subtle, unconscious influences of that\nPhilippian circle that have given a certain feminity to our third\nGospel. St. Luke alone gives us the psalms of the three women, Anna,\nElisabeth, and Mary; he alone gives us the names of Susanna and Joanna,\nwho ministered to Christ of their substance; he alone gives us that\nGalilean idyll, where the nameless \"woman\" bathes His feet with tears,\nand at the same time rains a hot rebuke on the cold civilities of the\nPharisee, Simon; he alone tells of the widow of Zarephath, who welcomed\nand saved a prophet men were seeking to slay; he alone tells us of the\nwidow of Nain, of the woman bent with infirmity, and of the woman\ngrieving over her lost piece of silver. And as St. Luke opens his Gospel\nwith woman's tribute of song, so in his last chapter he paints for us\nthat group of women, constant amid man's inconstancies, coming ere the\nbreak of day, to wrap around the body of the dead Christ the precious\nand fragrant offering of devotion. So, in this Paradise Restored, do\nEve's daughters roll back the reproach of their mother. But ever first\nand foremost among the women of the Gospels we must place the Virgin\nMother, whose character and position in the Gospel story we are now to\nconsider.\n\nWe need not stay to discuss the question--perhaps we ought not to stay\neven to give it a passing notice--whether there might have been an\nIncarnation even had there been no sin. It is not an impossible, it is\nnot an improbable supposition, that the Christ would have come into the\nworld even had man kept his first estate of innocence and bliss. But\nthen it would have been the \"Christ\" simply, and not Jesus Christ. He\nwould have come into the world, not as its Redeemer, but as the Son and\nHeir, laying tribute on all its harvests; He would have come as the\nflower and crown of a perfected humanity, to show the possibilities of\nthat humanity, its absolute perfections. But leaving the\n\"might-have-beens,\" in whose tenuous spaces there is room for the nebul\u00e6\nof fancies and of guesses without number, let us narrow our vision\nwithin the horizon of the real, the actual.\n\nGiven the necessity for an Incarnation, there are two modes in which\nthat Incarnation may be brought about--by creation, or by birth. The\nfirst Adam came into the world by the creative act of God. Without the\nintervention of second causes, or any waiting for the slow lapse of\ntime, God spake, and it was done. Will Scripture repeat itself here, in\nthe new Genesis? and will the second Adam, coming into the world to\nrepair the ruin wrought by the first, come as did the first? We can\neasily conceive such an advent to be possible; and if we regarded simply\nthe analogies of the case, we might even suppose it to be probable. But\nhow different a Christ it would have been! He might still have been bone\nof our bone, flesh of our flesh; He might have spoken the same truths,\nin the same speech and tone; but He must have lived apart from the\nworld. It would not be our humanity that He wore; it would only be its\nshadow, its semblance, playing before our minds like an illusion. No,\nthe Messiah must not be simply a second Adam; He must be the Son of man,\nand He cannot become Humanity's Son except by a human birth. Any other\nadvent, even though it had satisfied the claims of reason, would have\nfailed to satisfy those deeper voices of the heart. And so, on the first\npages of Scripture, before Eden's gate is shut and locked by bolts of\nflame, Heaven signifies its intention and decision. The coming One, who\nshall bruise the serpent's head, shall be the woman's \"Seed\"--the Son of\nwoman, that so He may become more truly the Son of man; while later a\nstrange expression finds its way into the sacred prophecy, how \"a Virgin\nshall conceive, and bear a son.\" It is true these words primarily might\nhave a local meaning and fulfilment--though what that narrower meaning\nwas no one can tell with any approach to certainty; but looking at the\nsingularity of the expression, and coupling it with the story of the\nAdvent, we can but see in it a deeper meaning and a wider purpose.\nEvidently it was that the virgin-conception might strike upon the\nworld's ear and become a familiar thought, and that it might throw\nbackwards across the pages of the Old Testament the shadow of the Virgin\nMother. We have already seen how the thought of a Messianic motherhood\nhad dropped deep within the heart of the Hebrew people, awaking hopes,\nand prayers, and all sorts of beautiful dreams--dreams, alas! that\nvanished with the years, and hopes that blossomed but to fade. But now\nthe hour is coming, that supreme hour for which the centuries have all\nbeen waiting. The forerunner is already announced, and in twelve short\nweeks he who loved to call himself a Voice will break the strange\nsilence of that Jud\u00e6an home. Whence will come his Lord, who shall be\n\"greater than he\"? Where shall we find the Mother-elect, for whom such\nhonours have been reserved--honours such as no mortal has ever yet\nborne, and as none will ever bear again? St. Luke tells us, \"Now in the\nsixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of Galilee,\nnamed Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man whose name was Joseph, of\nthe house of David; and the virgin's name was Mary\" (R.V.). And so the\nMother-designate takes her place in this firmament of Scripture,\nsilently and serenely as a morning star, which indeed she is; for she\nshines in a borrowed splendour, taking her glories all from Him around\nwhom she revolves, from Him who was both her Son and her Sun.\n\nIt will be seen in the above verse how particular the Evangelist is in\nhis topographical reference, putting a kind of emphasis upon the name\nwhich now appears for the first time upon the pages of Scripture. When\nwe remember how Nazareth was honoured by the angel visit; how it was,\nnot the chance, but the chosen home of the Christ for thirty years; how\nit watched and guarded the Divine Infancy, throwing into that life its\npowerful though unconscious influences, even as the dead soil throws\nitself forward and upward into each separate flower and farthest leaf;\nwhen we remember how it linked its own name with the Name of Jesus,\nbecoming almost a part of it; how it wrote its name upon the cross, then\nhanding it down to the ages as the name and watchword of a sect that\nshould conquer the world, we must admit that Nazareth is by no means\n\"the least among the cities\" of Israel. And yet we search in vain\nthrough the Old Testament for the name of Nazareth. History, poetry, and\nprophecy alike pass it by in silence. And so the Hebrew mind, while\nrightly linking the expected One with Bethlehem, never associated the\nChrist with Nazareth. Indeed, its moralities had become so questionable\nand proverbial that while the whole of Galilee was too dry a ground to\ngrow a prophet, Nazareth was thought incapable of producing \"any good\nthing.\" Was, then, the Nazareth chapter of the Christ-life an\nafterthought of the Divine Mind, like the marginal reading of an\nauthor's proof, put in to fill up a blank or to be a substitute for some\nerasure? Not so. It had been in the Divine Mind from the beginning; yea,\nit had been in the authorized text, though men had not read it plainly.\nIt is St. Matthew who first calls our attention to it. Writing, as he\ndoes, mainly for Hebrew readers, he is constantly looping up his story\nwith the Old Testament prophecies; and speaking of the return from\nEgypt, he says they \"came and dwelt in a city called Nazareth: that it\nmight be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophets, that He should be\ncalled a Nazarene.\" We said just now that the name of Nazareth was not\nfound in the Old Testament. But if we do not find the proper name, we\nfind the word which is identical with the name. It is now regarded by\ncompetent authorities as proved that the Hebrew name for Nazareth was\nNetser. Taking now this word in our mind, and turning to Isaiah xi. 1,\nwe read, \"And there shall come forth a shoot out of the stock of Jesse,\nand a branch [Netser] out of his roots shall bear fruit: and the Spirit\nof the Lord shall rest upon Him.\" Here, then, evidently, is the\nprophetic voice to which St. Matthew refers; and one little word--the\nname of Nazareth--becomes the golden link binding in one the Prophecies\nand the Gospels.\n\nReturning to our main subject, it is to this secluded, and somewhat\ndespised city of Nazareth the angel Gabriel is now sent, to announce the\napproaching birth of Christ. St. Luke, in his nominative way of\nspeaking, says he came \"to a Virgin betrothed to a man whose name was\nJoseph, of the house of David; and the Virgin's name was Mary.\" It is\ndifficult for us to form an unbiassed estimate of the character before\nus, as our minds are feeling the inevitable recoil from Roman\nassumptions. We are confused with the childish prattle of their _Ave\nMarias_; we are amused at their dogmas of Immaculate Conceptions and\nEver Virginities; we are surprised and shocked at their apotheosis of\nthe Virgin, as they lift her to a throne practically higher than that of\nher Son, worshipped in devouter homage, supplicated with more earnest\nand more frequent prayers, and at the blasphemies of their Mariolatry,\nwhich make her supreme on earth and supreme in heaven. This undue\nexaltation of the Virgin Mother, which becomes an adoration pure and\nsimple, sends our Protestant thought with a violent swing to the extreme\nof the other side, considerably over the line of the \"golden mean.\" And\nso we find it hard to dissociate in our minds the Virgin Mother from\nthese Marian assumptions and divinations; for which, however, she\nherself is in no way responsible, and against which she would be the\nfirst to protest. Seen only through these Romish haloes, and atmospheres\nhighly incensed, her very name has been distorted, and her features,\nspoiled of all grace and sweet serenity, have ceased to be attractive.\nBut this is not just. If Rome weights one scale with crowns, and\nsceptres, and piles of imperial purple, we need not load down the other\nwith our prejudices, satires, and negations. Two wrongs will not make a\nright. It is neither on the crest of the wave, nor yet in the deep\ntrough of the billows, that we shall find the mean sea-level, from which\nwe can measure all heights, running out our lines even among the stars.\nCan we not find that mean sea-level now, hushing alike the voices of\nadulation and of depreciation? Laying aside the traditions of antiquity\nand the legends of scribulous monks, laying aside, too, the coloured\nglasses of our prejudice, with which we have been wont to protect our\neyes from the glare of Roman suns, may we not get a true portraiture of\nthe Virgin Mother, in all the native naturalness of Scripture? We think\nwe can.\n\nShe comes upon us silently and suddenly, emerging from an obscurity\nwhose secrets we cannot read. No mention is made of her parents;\ntradition only has supplied us with their names--Joachim and Anna. But\nwhether Joachim or not, it is certain that her father was of the tribe\nof Judah, and of the house of David. Having this fact to guide us, and\nalso another fact, that Mary was closely related to Elisabeth--though\nnot necessarily her cousin--who was of the tribe of Levi and a daughter\nof Aaron, then it becomes probable, at least, that the unnamed mother of\nthe Virgin was of the tribe of Levi, and so the connecting link between\nthe houses of Levi and Judah--a probability which receives an indirect\nbut strong confirmation in the fact that Nazareth was intimately\nconnected with Jerusalem and the Temple, one of the cities selected as a\nresidence of the priests. May we not, then, suppose that this unnamed\nmother of the Virgin was a daughter of one of the priests then residing\nat Nazareth, and that Mary's relatives on the mother's side--some of\nthem--were also priests, going up at stated times to Jerusalem, to\nperform their \"course\" of Temple services? It is certainly a most\nnatural supposition, and one, too, that will help to remove some\nsubsequent difficulties in the story; as, for instance, the journey of\nMary to Jud\u00e6a. Some honest minds have stumbled at that long journey of a\nhundred miles, while others have grown pathetic in their descriptions of\nthat lonely pilgrimage of the Galilean Virgin. But it is neither\nnecessary nor likely that Mary should take the journey alone. Her\nconnection with the priesthood, if our supposition be correct, would\nfind her an escort, even among her own relatives, as least as far as\nJerusalem; and since the priestly courses were half-yearly in their\nservice, it would be just the time the \"course of Abijah,\" in which\nZacharias served, would be returning once again to their Jud\u00e6an homes.\nIt is only a supposition, it is true, but it is a supposition that is\nextremely natural and more than probable; and if we look through it,\ntaking \"Levi\" and \"Judah\" as our binocular lenses, it carries a thread\nof light through otherwise dark places; while throwing our sight\nforward, it brings distant Nazareth in line with Jerusalem and the\n\"hill-country of Jud\u00e6a.\"\n\nBetrothed to Joseph, who was of the royal line, and as some think, the\nlegal heir to David's throne, Mary was probably not more than twenty\nyears of age. Whether an orphan or not we cannot tell, though the\nsilence of Scripture would almost lead us to suppose that she was.\nPapias, however, who was a disciple of St. John, states that she had two\nsisters--Mary the wife of Cleophas, and Mary Salome the wife of Zebedee.\nIf this be so--and there is no reason why we should discredit the\nstatement--then Mary the Virgin Mother would probably be the eldest of\nthe three sisters, the house-mother in the Nazareth home. Where it was\nthat the angel appeared to her we cannot tell. Tradition, with one of\nits random guesses, has fixed the spot in the suburbs, beside the\nfountain. But there is something incongruous and absurd in the selection\nof such a place for an angelic appearance--the public resort and lounge,\nwhere the clatter of feminine gossip was about as constant as the flow\nand sparkle of its waters. Indeed, the very form of the participle\ndisposes of that tradition, for we read, \"He came in unto her,\" implying\nthat it was within her holy place of home the angel found her. Nor is\nthere any need to suppose, as some do, that it was in her quiet chamber\nof devotion, where she was observing the stated hours of prayer.\nCelestials do not draw that broad line of distinction between so-called\nsecular and sacred duties. To them \"work\" is but another form of\n\"worship,\" and all duties to them are sacred, even when they lie among\nlife's temporal, and so-called secular things. Indeed, Heaven reserves\nits highest visions, not for those quiet moments of still devotion, but\nfor the hours of busy toil, when mind and body are given to the \"trivial\nrounds\" and the \"common tasks\" of every-day life. Moses is at his\nshepherding when the bush calls him aside, with its tongues of fire;\nGideon is threshing out his wheat when God's angel greets him and\nsummons him to the higher task; and Zacharias is performing the routine\nservice of his priestly office when Gabriel salutes him with the first\nvoice of a New Dispensation. And so all the analogies would lead us to\nsuppose that the Virgin was quietly engaged in her domestic duties,\noffering the sacrifice of her daily task, as Zacharias offered his\nincense of stacte and onycha, when Gabriel addressed her, \"Hail, thou\nthat art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee\" (R.V.). The Romanists,\neager to accord Divine honours to the Virgin Mother as the dispenser of\nblessing and of grace, interpret the phrase, \"Thou that art full of\ngrace.\" It is, perhaps, not an inapt rendering of the word, and is\ncertainly more euphonious than our marginal reading \"much graced;\" but\nwhen they make the \"grace\" an inherent, and not a derived grace, their\ndoctrine slants off from all Scripture, and is opposed to all reason.\nThat the word itself gives no countenance to such an enthronement of\nMary, is evident, for St. Paul makes use of the same word when speaking\nof himself and the Ephesian Christians (Eph. i. 6), where we render it\n\"His grace, which He freely bestowed on us in the Beloved.\" But\ncriticism apart, never before had an angel so addressed a mortal, for\neven Daniel's \"greatly beloved\" falls below this Nazareth greeting. When\nGabriel came to Zacharias there was not even a \"Hail;\" it was simply a\n\"Fear not,\" and then the message; but now he gives to Mary a \"Hail\" and\ntwo beatitudes besides: \"Thou art highly favoured;\" \"the Lord is with\nthee.\" And do these words mean nothing? Are they but a few heavenly\ncourtesies whose only meaning is in their sound? Heaven does not speak\nthus with random, unmeaning words. Its voices are true, and deep as they\nare true, never meaning less, but often more than they say. That the\nangel should so address her is certain proof that the Virgin possessed a\npeculiar fitness for the Divine honours she was now to receive--honours\nwhich had been so long held back, as if in reserve for herself alone. It\nis only they who look heavenward who see heavenly things. There must be\na heart aflame before the bush burns; and when the bush is alight it is\nonly \"he who sees takes off his shoes.\"\n\nThe glimpses we get of the Virgin are few and brief; she is soon\neclipsed--if we may be allowed that shadowy word--by the greater glories\nof her Son; but why should she be selected as the mother of the human\nChrist? why should her life nourish His? why should the thirty years be\nspent in her daily presence, her face being the first vision of awaking\nconsciousness, as it was in the last earthward look from the cross?--why\nall this, except that there was a wealth of beauty and of grace about\nher nature, a certain tinge of heavenliness that made it fitting the\nMessiah should be born of her rather than of any woman else? As we have\nseen, the royal and the priestly lines meet in her, and Mary unites in\nherself all the dignity of the one with the sanctity of the other. With\nwhat delicacy and grace she receives the angel's message! \"Greatly\ntroubled\" at first--not, however, like Zacharias, at the sight of the\nmessenger, but at his message--she soon recovers herself, and \"casts in\nher mind what manner of salutation this might be.\" This sentence just\ndescribes one prominent feature of her character, her reflective,\nreasoning mind. Sparing of words, except when under the inspiration of\nsome _Magnificat_, she lived much within herself. She loved the\ncompanionship of her own thoughts, finding a certain music in their\nstill monologue. When the shepherds made known the saying of the angel\nabout this child, repeating the angelic song, perhaps, with sundry\nvariations of their own, Mary is neither elated nor astonished. Whatever\nher feelings--and they must have been profoundly moved--she carefully\nconceals them. Instead of telling out her own deep secrets, letting\nherself drift out on the ecstasies of the moment, Mary is silent,\nserenely quiet, unwilling that even a shadow of herself should dim the\nbrightness of His rising. \"She kept,\" so we read, \"all these sayings,\npondering them in her heart;\" or putting them together, as the Greek\nword means, and so forming, as in a mental mosaic, her picture of the\nChrist who was to be. And so, in later years, we read (ii. 51) how \"His\nmother kept all these sayings in her heart,\" gathering up the\nfragmentary sentences of the Divine Childhood and Youth, and hiding\nthem, as a treasure peculiarly her own, in the deep, still chambers of\nher soul. And what those still chambers of her soul were, how heavenly\nthe atmosphere that enswathed them, how hallowed by the Divine Presence,\nher _Magnificat_ will show; for that inspired psalm is but an opened\nwindow, letting the music pass without, as it throws the light within,\nshowing us the temple of a quiet, devout, and thoughtful soul.\n\nWith what complacency and with what little surprise she received the\nangel's message! The Incarnation does not come upon her as a new\nthought, a thought for which her mind cannot possibly find room, and\nhuman speech can weave no fitting dress. It disturbs neither her reason\nnor her faith. Versed in Scripture as she is, it comes rather as a\nfamiliar thought--a heavenly dove, it is true, but gliding down within\nher mind in a perfect, because a heavenly naturalness. And when the\nangel announces that the \"Son of the Most High,\" whose name shall be\ncalled Jesus, and who shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever,\nshall be born of herself, there is no exclamation of astonishment, no\nword of incredulity as to whether this can be, but simply a question as\nto the manner of its accomplishment: \"How shall this be, seeing that I\nknow not a man?\" The Christ had evidently been conceived in her mind,\nand cradled in her heart, even before He became a conception of her\nwomb.\n\nAnd what an absolute self-surrender to the Divine purpose! No sooner has\nthe angel told her that the Holy Ghost shall come upon her, and the\npower of the Most High overshadow her, than she bows to the Supreme Will\nin a lowly, reverential acquiescence: \"Behold, the handmaid [bondmaid]\nof the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word.\" So do the human and\nthe Divine wills meet and mingle. Heaven touches earth, comes down into\nit, that earth may evermore touch heaven, and indeed form part of it.\n\nThe angel departs, leaving her alone with her great secret; and little\nby little it dawns upon her, as it could not have done at first, what\nthis secret means for her. A great honour it is, a great joy it will be;\nbut Mary finds, as we all find, the path to heaven's glories lies\nthrough suffering; the way into the wealthy place is \"through the fire.\"\nHow can she carry this great secret herself? and yet how can she tell\nit? Who will believe her report? Will not these Nazarenes laugh at her\nstory of the vision, except that the matter would be too grave for a\nsmile? It is her own secret yet, but it cannot be a secret long; and\nthen--who can defend her, and ward off the inevitable shame? Where can\nshe find shelter from the venomed shafts that will be hurled from every\nside--where, save in her consciousness of unsullied purity, and in the\n\"shadow of the Highest\"? Was it thoughts like these that now agitated\nher mind, deciding her to make the hasty visit to Elisabeth? or was it\nthat she might find sympathy and counsel in communion with a kindred\nsoul, one that age had made wise, and grace made beautiful? Probably it\nwas both; but in this journey we will not follow her now, except to see\nhow her faith in God never once wavered. We have already listened to her\nsweet song; but what a sublime faith it shows, that she can sing in face\nof this gathering storm, a storm of suspicion and of shame, when Joseph\nhimself will seek to put her away, lest his character should suffer too!\nBut Mary believed, even though she felt and smarted. She endured \"as\nseeing Him who is invisible.\" Could she not safely leave her character\nto Him? Would not the Lord avenge His own elect? Would not Divine Wisdom\njustify her child? Faith and hope said \"Yes;\" and Mary's soul, like a\nnightingale, trilled out her _Magnificat_ when earth's light was\ndisappearing, and the shadows were falling thick and fast on every side.\n\nIt is on her return to Nazareth, after her three months' absence, that\nthe episode occurs narrated by St. Matthew. It is thrown into the story\nalmost by way of parenthesis, but it casts a vivid light on the painful\nexperience through which she was now called to pass. Her prolonged\nabsence, most unusual for one betrothed, was in itself puzzling; but she\nreturns to find only a scant welcome. She finds herself suspected of\nshame and sin, \"the white flower of her blameless life\" dashed and\nstained with black aspersions. Even Joseph's confidence in her is\nshaken, so shaken that he must put her away and have the betrothal\ncancelled. And so the clouds darken about the Virgin; she is left almost\nalone in the sharp travail of her soul, charged with sin, even when she\nis preparing for the world a Saviour, and likely, unless Heaven speedily\ninterpose, to become an outcast, if not a martyr, thrown outside the\ncircle of human courtesies and sympathies as a social leper. Like\nanother heir of all the promises, she too is led as a lamb to the\nslaughter, a victim bound, and all but sacrificed, upon the altar of the\npublic conscience. But Heaven did intervene, even as it stayed the knife\nof Abraham. An angel appears to Joseph, throwing around the suspected\none the mantle of unsullied innocence, and assuring him that her\nexplanation, though passing strange, was truth itself. And so the Lord\ndid avenge His own elect, stilling the babble of unfriendly tongues,\nrestoring to her all the lost confidences, together with a wealth of\nadded hopes and prospective honours.\n\nNot, however, out of Galilee must the Shiloh come, but out of Judah; and\nnot Nazareth, but Bethlehem Ephratah is the designated place of His\ncoming forth who shall be the Governor and Shepherd of \"My people\nIsrael.\" What means, then, this apparent divergence of the Providence\nfrom the Prophecy, the whole drift of the one being northward, while the\nother points steadily to the south? It is only a seeming divergence, the\nbackward flash of the wheel that all the time is moving steadily,\nswiftly forward. The Prophecy and the Providence are but the two staves\nof the ark, moving in different but parallel lines, and bearing between\nthem the Divine purpose. Already the line is laid that links Nazareth\nwith Bethlehem, the line of descent we call lineage; and now we see\nProvidence setting in motion another force, the Imperial Will, which,\nmoving along this line, makes the purpose a realization. Nor was it the\nImperial Will only; it was the Imperial Will acting through Jewish\nprejudices. These two forces, antagonistic, if not opposite, were the\ncentrifugal and centripetal forces that kept the Divine Purpose moving\nin its appointed round and keeping Divine hours. Had the registration\ndecreed by C\u00e6sar been conducted after the Roman manner, Joseph and Mary\nwould not have been required to go up to Bethlehem; but when, out of\ndeference to Jewish prejudice, the registration was made in the Hebrew\nmode, this compelled them, both being descendants of David, to go up to\ntheir ancestral city. It has been thought by some that Mary possessed\nsome inherited property in Bethlehem; and the narrative would suggest\nthat there were other links that bound them to the city; for evidently\nthey intended to make Bethlehem henceforth their place of residence, and\nthey would have done so had not a Divine monition broken in upon their\npurpose (Matt. ii. 23).\n\nAnd so they move southward, obeying the mandate of C\u00e6sar, who now is\nsimply the executor of the higher Will, the Will that moves silently but\nsurely, back of all thrones, principalities, and powers. We will not\nattempt to gild the gold, by enlarging upon the story of the Nativity,\nand so robbing it of its sweet simplicity. The toilsome journey; its\ninhospitable ending; the stable and the manger; the angelic symphonies\nin the distance; the adoration of the shepherds--all form one sweet\nidyll, no word of which we can spare; and as the Church chants her _Te\nDeum_ all down the ages this will not be one of its lowest strains:--\n\n  \"When Thou tookest upon Thee to deliver man\n  Thou didst not abhor the Virgin's womb.\"\n\nAnd so the Virgin becomes the Virgin Mother, graduating into motherhood\namid the acclamations of the sky, and borne on to her exalted honours in\nthe sweep of Imperial decrees.\n\nAfter the Nativity she sinks back into a second--a far-off\nsecond--place, \"for the greater glory doth dim the less;\" and twice only\ndoes her voice break the silence of the thirty years. We hear it first\nin the Temple, as, in tones tremulous with anxiety and sorrow, she asks,\n\"Son, why hast Thou thus dealt with us? Behold, Thy father and I sought\nThee sorrowing.\" The whole incident is perplexing, and if we read it\nsuperficially, not staying to read between the lines, it certainly\nplaces the mother in anything but a favourable light. Let us observe,\nhowever, that there was no necessity that the mother should have made\nthis pilgrimage, and evidently she had made it so that she might be near\nher precious charge. But now she strangely loses sight of Him, and goes\neven a day's journey without discovering her loss. How is this? Has she\nsuddenly grown careless? or does she lose both herself and her charge in\nthe excitements of the return journey? Thoughtfulness, as we have seen,\nwas a characteristic feature of her life. Hers was the \"harvest of the\nquiet eye,\" and her thoughts centred not on herself, but on her Divine\nSon; He was her Alpha and Omega, her first, her last, her only thought.\nIt is altogether outside the range of possibilities that she now could\nbe so negligent of her maternal duties, and so we are compelled to seek\nfor our explanation elsewhere. May we not find it in this? The parents\nhad left Jerusalem earlier in the day, arranging for the child Jesus to\nfollow with another part of the same company, which, leaving later,\nwould overtake them at their first camp. But Jesus not appearing when\nthe second company starts, they imagine that He has gone on with the\nfirst company, and so proceed without Him. This seems the only probable\nsolution of the difficulty; at any rate it makes plain and perfectly\nnatural what else is most obscure and perplexing. Mary's mistake,\nhowever--and it was not her fault--opens to us a page in the sealed\nvolume of the Divine Boyhood, letting us hear its solitary voice--\"Wist\nye not that I must be in My Father's house?\"\n\nWe see the mother again at Cana, where she is an invited and honoured\nguest at the marriage, moving about among the servants with a certain\nquiet authority, and telling her Divine Son of the breakdown in the\nhospitalities: \"They have no wine.\" We cannot now go into details, but\nevidently there was no distancing reserve between the mother and her\nSon. She goes to Him naturally; she speaks to Him freely and frankly, as\nany widow would speak to the son on whom she leaned. Nay, she seems to\nknow, as by a sort of intuition, of the superhuman powers that are lying\ndormant in that quiet Son of hers, and she so correctly reads the\nhoroscope of Heaven as to expect this will be the hour and the place of\ntheir manifestation. Perhaps her mind did not grasp the true Divinity of\nher Son--indeed, it could not have done so before the Resurrection--but\nthat He is the Messiah she has no doubt, and so, strong in her\nconfidence, she says to the servants, \"Whatsoever He saith unto you, do\nit.\" And her faith must have been great indeed, when it required a\n\"whatsoever\" to measure it. Some have thought they could detect a tinge\nof impatience and a tone of rebuke in the reply of Jesus; and doubtless\nthere is a little sharpness in our English rendering of it. It does\nsound to our ears somewhat unfilial and harsh. But to the Greeks the\naddress \"Woman\" was both courteous and respectful, and Jesus Himself\nuses it in that last tender salute from the cross. Certainly, she did\nnot take it as a rebuke, for one harsh word, like the touch on the\nsensitive plant, would have thrown her back into silence; whereas she\ngoes off directly to the servants with her \"whatsoever.\"\n\nWe get one more brief glimpse of her at Capernaum, as she and her other\nsons come out to Jesus to urge Him to desist from His long speaking. It\nis but a simple narrative, but it serves to throw a side-light on that\nhome-life now removed to Capernaum. It shows us the thoughtful, loving\nmother, as, forgetful of herself and full of solicitude for Him, who,\nshe fears, will tax Himself beyond His strength, she comes out to\npersuade Him home. But what is the meaning of that strange answer, and\nthe significant gesture? \"Mother,\" \"brethren\"? It is as if Jesus did not\nunderstand the words. They are something He has now outgrown, something\nHe must now lay aside, as He gives Himself to the world at large. As\nthere comes a time in the life of each when the mother is\nforsaken--left, that he may follow a higher call, and be himself a\nman--so Jesus now steps out into a world where Mary's heart, indeed, may\nstill follow, but a world her mind may not enter. The earthly relation\nis henceforth to be overshadowed by the heavenly. The Son of Mary grows\ninto the Son of man, belonging now to no special one, but to humanity at\nlarge, finding in all, even in us, who do the will of the Father in\nheaven, a brother, a sister, a mother. Not that Jesus forgets her. Oh,\nno! Even amid the agonies of the cross He thinks of her; He singles her\nout among the crowd, bespeaking for her a place--the place He Himself\nhas filled--in the heart of His nearest earthly friend; and amid the\nprayer for His murderers, and the \"Eloi, Eloi\" of a terrible forsaking,\nHe says to the Apostle of love, \"Behold thy mother,\" and to her, \"Behold\nthy son.\"\n\nAnd so the Virgin Mother takes her place in the focal point of all the\nhistories. Through no choice, no conceit or forwardness of her own, but\nby the grace of God and by an inherent fitness, she becomes the\nconnecting-link between earth and heaven. And throwing, as she does, her\nunconscious shadow back within the Paradise Lost, and forward through\nthe Gospels to the Paradise Regained, shall we not \"magnify the Lord\"\nwith her? shall we not \"magnify the Lord\" for her, as, with all the\ngenerations, we \"call her blessed\"?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n_THE ADORATION OF THE SHEPHERDS._\n\nLUKE ii. 8-21.\n\n\nThe Gospel of St. Mark omits entirely the Nativity, passing at once to\nthe words and miracles of His public ministry. St. John, too, dismisses\nthe Advent and the earlier years of the Divine Life with one solitary\nphrase, how the Word, which in the beginning was with God and was God,\n\"became flesh and dwelt among us\" (i. 14). St. Luke, however, whose\nGospel is the Gospel of the Humanity, lingers reverently over the\nNativity, throwing a variety of side-lights upon the cradle of the Holy\nChild. Already has he shown how the Roman State prepared the cradle of\nthe Infancy, and how C\u00e6sar Augustus unconsciously wrought out the\npurpose of God, the breath of his imperial decree being but part of a\nhigher inspiration; and now he proceeds to show how the shepherds of\nJud\u00e6a bring the greetings of the Hebrew world, the wave-sheaf of the\nripening harvests of homage which yet will be laid, by Jew and Gentile\nalike, at the feet of Him who was Son of David and Son of man.\n\nIt is generally supposed that these anonymous shepherds were residents\nof Bethlehem, and tradition has fixed the exact spot where they were\nfavoured with this Advent apocalypse, about a thousand paces from the\nmodern village. It is a historic fact that there was a tower near that\nsite, called Eder, or \"the Tower of the Flock,\" around which were\npastured the flocks destined for the Temple sacrifice; but the\ntopography of ver. 8 is purposely vague. The expression \"in that same\ncountry,\" written by one who both in years and in distance was far\nremoved from the events recorded, would describe any circle within the\nradius of a few miles from Bethlehem as its centre, and the very\nvagueness of the expression seems to push back the scene of the Advent\nmusic to a farther distance than a thousand paces. And this view is\nconfirmed by the language of the shepherds themselves, who, when the\nvision has faded, say one to another, \"Let us now go even unto\nBethlehem, and see this thing that is come to pass;\" for they scarcely\nwould have needed, or used, the adverbial \"even\" were they keeping their\nflocks so close up to the walls of the city. We may therefore infer,\nwith some amount of probability, that whether the shepherds were\nresidents of Bethlehem or not, when they kept watch over their flocks,\nit was not on the traditional site, but farther away over the hills.\nIndeed, it is difficult, and very often impossible, for us to fix the\nprecise locality of these sacred scenes, these bright points of\nintersection, where Heaven's glories flash out against the dull\ncarbon-points of earth; and the voices of tradition are at best but\ndoubtful guesses. It would almost seem as if God Himself had wiped out\nthese memories, hiding them away, as He hid the sepulchre of Moses, lest\nthe world should pay them too great a homage, and lest we might think\nthat one place lay nearer to heaven than another, when all places are\nequally distant, or rather equally near. It is enough to know that\nsomewhere on these lonely hills came the vision of the angels, perhaps\non the very spot where David was minding his sheep when Heaven summoned\nhim to a higher task, passing him up among the kings.\n\nWhile the shepherds were \"watching the watches of the night over their\nflock,\" as the Evangelist expresses it, referring to the pastoral custom\nof dividing the night into watches, and keeping watch by turns, suddenly\n\"an angel of the Lord stood by them, and the glory of the Lord shone\nround about them.\" When the angel appeared to Zacharias, and when\nGabriel brought to Mary her evangel, we do not read of any supernatural\nportent, any celestial glory, attending them. Possibly because their\nappearances were in the broad daylight, when the glory would be masked,\ninvisible; but now, in the dead of night, the angelic form is bright and\nluminous, throwing all around them a sort of heavenly halo, in which\neven the lustrous Syrian stars grow dim. Dazzled by the sudden burst of\nglory, the shepherds were awed by the vision, and stricken with a great\nfear, until the angel, borrowing the tones and accents of their own\nspeech, addressed to them his message, the message he had been\ncommissioned to bring: \"Be not afraid; for behold, I bring you good\ntidings of great joy which shall be to all the people: for there is born\nto you this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the\nLord.\" And then he gave them a sign by which they might recognize the\nSaviour Lord: \"Ye shall find a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, and\nlying in a manger.\"\n\nFrom the indefinite wording of the narrative we should infer that the\nangel who brought the message to the shepherds was not Gabriel, who had\nbefore brought the good tidings to Mary. But whether or not the\nmessenger was the same, the two messages are almost identical in\nstructure and in thought, the only difference being the personal element\nof the equation, and the shifting of the time from the future to the\npresent tense. Both strike the same key-note, the \"Fear not\" with which\nthey seek to still the vibrations of the heart, that the Virgin and the\nshepherds may not have their vision blurred and tremulous through the\nagitation of the mind. Both make mention of the name of David, which\nname was the key-word which unlocked all Messianic hopes. Both speak of\nthe Child as a Saviour--though Gabriel wraps up the title within the\nname, \"Thou shalt call His name Jesus;\" for, as St. Matthew explains it,\n\"it is He that shall save His people from their sins.\" Both, too, speak\nof Him as the Messiah; for when the angel now calls Him the \"Christ\" it\nwas the same \"Anointed\" one who, as Gabriel had said, \"should reign over\nthe house of Jacob for ever;\" while in the last august title now given\nby the angel, \"Lord,\" we may recognize the higher Divinity--that He is,\nin some unique, and to us incomprehensible sense, \"the Son of the Most\nHigh\" (i. 32). Such, then, is the triple crown the angel now bears to\nthe cradle of the Holy Child. What He will be to the world is still but\na prophecy; but as He, the Firstborn, is now brought into the world, God\ncommands all the angels to worship Him (Heb. i. 6); and with united\nvoice--though the antiphon sings back over a nine months silence--they\nsalute the Child of Bethlehem as Saviour, Messiah, Lord. The one title\nsets up His throne facing the lower world, commanding the powers of\ndarkness, and looking at the moral conditions of men; the second throws\nthe shadow of His throne over the political relations of men, making it\ndominate all thrones; while the third title sets up His throne facing\nthe heavens themselves, vesting Him with a supreme, a Divine authority.\n\nNo sooner was the message ended than suddenly there was with the angel a\nmultitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying--\n\n  \"Glory to God in the highest,\n  And on earth peace among men in whom He is well pleased.\"\n\nThe Revised Version lacks the rhythmic qualities of the Authorized\nVersion; and the wordy clause \"among men in whom He is well pleased\"\nseems but a poor substitute for the terse and clear \"good-will toward\nmen,\" which is an expression easy of utterance, and which seemed to have\nearned a prescriptive right to a place in our Advent music. The revised\nrendering, however, is certainly more in accord with the grammatical\nconstruction of the original, whose idiomatic form can scarcely be put\ninto English, except in a way somewhat circuitous and involved. In both\nexpressions the underlying thought is the same, representing man as the\nobject of the Divine good-pleasure, that Divine \"benevolence\"--using the\nword in its etymological sense--which enfolds, in the germ, the Divine\nfavour, compassion, mercy, and love. There is thus a triple parallelism\nrunning through the song, the \"Glory to God in the highest\" finding its\ncorresponding terms in the \"peace among (or to) men in whom He is well\npleased on earth;\" while altogether it forms one complete circle of\npraise, the \"good-pleasure to man,\" the \"peace on earth,\" the \"glory to\nGod\" marking off its three segments. And so the song harmonizes with the\nmessage; indeed, it is that message in an altered shape; no longer\nwalking in common prosaic ways, but winged now, it moves in its higher\ncircles with measured beat, leaving a path from the cradle of the\nInfancy to the highest heavens all strewn with _Glorias_. And what is\nthe triplicity of the song but another rendering of the three august\ntitles of the message--Saviour, Messiah, Lord? the \"Saviour\" being the\nexpression of the Divine good-pleasure; the \"Messiah\" telling of His\nreign upon earth who is Himself the Prince of peace; while the \"Lord,\"\nwhich, as we have seen, corresponds with \"the Son of the Most High,\"\nleads us up directly to the \"heavenlies,\" to Him who commands and who\ndeserves all doxologies.\n\nBut is this song only a song in some far-distant sky--a sweet memory\nindeed, but no experience? Is it not rather the original from which\ncopies may be struck for our individual lives? There is for each of us\nan advent, if we will accept it; for what is regeneration but the\nbeginning of the Divine life within our life, the advent of the Christ\nHimself? And let but that supreme hour come to us when place and room\nare made for Him who is at once the expression of the Divine favour and\nthe incarnation of the Divine love, and the new era dawns, the reign of\npeace, the \"peace _of_ God,\" because the \"peace _with_ God, through our\nLord Jesus Christ.\" Then will the heart throw off its _Glorias_, not in\none burst of song, which subsides quickly into silence, but in one\nperpetual anthem, which ever becomes more loud and sweet as the day of\nits perfected redemption draweth nigh; for when the Divine displeasure\nis turned away, and a Divine peace or comfort takes its place, who can\nbut say, \"O Lord, I will praise Thee\"?\n\nDirectly the angel-song had ceased, and the singers had disappeared in\nthe deep silence whence they came, the shepherds, garnering up their\nscattered thoughts, said one to another (as if their hearts were\nspeaking all at once and all in unison), \"Let us now go even unto\nBethlehem, and see this thing that is come to pass which the Lord hath\nmade known unto us.\" The response was immediate. They do not shut out\nthis heavenly truth by doubt and vain questioning; they do not keep it\nat a distance from them, as if it only indirectly and distantly\nconcerned themselves, but yield themselves up to it entirely; and as\nthey go hastily to Bethlehem, in the quick step and in the rapid beating\nof their heart, we can trace the vibrations of the angel-song. And why\nis this? Why is it that the message does not come upon them as a\nsurprise? Why are these men ready with such a perfect acquiescence,\ntheir hearts leaping forward to meet and embrace this Gospel of the\nangels? We shall probably find our answer in the character of the men\nthemselves. They pass into history unnamed; and after playing their\nbrief part, they disappear, lost in the incense-cloud of their own\npraises. But evidently these shepherds were no mean, no common men. They\nwere Hebrews, possibly of the royal line; at any rate they were Davids\nin their loftiness of thought, of hope and aspiration. They were devout,\nGod-fearing men. Like their father Jacob, they too were citizens of two\nworlds; they could lead their flocks into green pastures, and mend the\nfold; or they could turn aside from flock and fold to wrestle with God's\nangels, and prevail. Heaven's revelations come to noble minds, as the\nloftiest peaks are always the first to hail the dawn. And can we suppose\nthat Heaven would so honour them, lighting up the sky with an aureole of\nglory for their sole benefit, sending this multitude to sing to them a\nsweet chorale, if the men themselves had nothing heavenly about them, if\ntheir selfish, sordid mind could soar no higher than their flocks, and\nhave no wider range than the markets for their wool?\n\n            \"Let but a flute\n  Play 'neath the fine-mixed metal,\n  Then shall the huge bell tremble, then the mass\n  With myriad waves concurrent shall respond\n  In low, soft unison.\"\n\nBut there must be the music hidden within, or there is no unison. And we\nmay be sure of this, that the angel-song had passed by them as a cold\nnight-wind, had not their hearts been tuned up by intense desire, until\nthey struck responsive to the angel-voice. Though they knew it not, they\nhad led their flock to the mount of God; and up the steps of sacred\nhopes and lofty aspirations they had climbed, until their lives had got\nwithin the circle of heavenly harmonies, and they were worthy to be the\nfirst apostles of the New Dispensation.\n\nIn our earthly modes of thinking we push the sacred and the secular far\napart, as if they were two different worlds, or, at any rate, as\nopposite hemispheres of the same world, with but few points of contact\nbetween them. It is not so. The secular is the sacred on its under, its\nearthward side. It is a part of that great whole we call duty, and in\nour earthly callings, if they are but pure and honest, we may hear the\nechoes of a heavenly call. The temple of Worship and the temple of Work\nare not separated by indefinable spaces; they are contiguous, leaning\nupon each other, while they both front the same Divine purpose. Nor can\nit be simply a coincidence that Heaven's revelations should nearly\nalways come to man in the moments of earthly toil, rather than in the\nhours of leisure or of so-called worship. It was from his shepherding\nthe burning bush beckoned Moses aside; while Heaven's messenger found\nGideon on the threshing-floor, and Elisha in the furrow. In the New\nTestament, too, in all the cases whose circumstances are recorded, the\nDivine call reached the disciples when engaged in their every-day task,\nsitting at the receipt of custom, and casting or mending their nets. The\nfact is significant. In the estimate of Heaven, instead of a discount\nbeing put upon the common tasks of life, those tasks are dignified and\nennobled. They look towards heaven, and if the heart be only set in that\ndirection they lead too up towards heaven. Our weeks are not unlike the\nsheet of Peter's vision; we take care to tie up the two ends, attaching\nthem to heaven, and then we leave what we call the \"week-days\" bulging\ndown earthward in purely secular fashion. But would not our weeks, and\nour whole life, swing on a higher and holier level, could we but\nrecognize the fact that all days are the Lord's days, and did we but\nattach each day and each deed to heaven? Such is the truest, noblest\nlife, that takes the \"trivial rounds\" as a part of its sacred duties,\ndoing them all as unto the Lord. So, as we sanctify life's common\nthings, they cease to be common, and the earthly becomes less earthly as\nwe learn to see more of heaven in it. In the weaving of our life some of\nits threads stretch earthward, and some heavenward; but they cross and\ninterlace, and together they form the warp and woof of one fabric, which\nshould be, like the garment of the Master, without seam, woven from the\ntop throughout. Happy is that life which, keeping an open eye over the\nflock, keeps too a heart open towards heaven, ready to listen to the\nangelic music, and ready to transfer its rhythm to their own hastening\nfeet or their praising lips.\n\nOur Evangelist tells us that they \"came in haste\" in search of the young\nChild, and we may almost detect that haste in the very accents of their\nspeech. It is, \"Let us now go across even to Bethlehem,\" allowing the\nprefix its proper meaning; as if their eager hearts could not stay to go\nround by the ordinary road, but like bees scenting a held of clover,\nthey too must make their cross-country way to Bethlehem. Though the\nangel had not given explicit directions, the city of David was not so\nlarge but that they could easily discover the object of their\nsearch--the Child, as had been told them, wrapped in swaddling clothes\nand lying in a manager. It has been thought by some that the \"inn\" is a\nmistranslation, and that it really was the \"guest-chamber\" of some\nfriend. It is true the word is rendered \"guest-chamber\" on the other two\noccasions of its use (Mark xiv. 14; Luke xxii. 11), but it also\nsignified a public guest-house, as well as a private guest-chamber; and\nsuch evidently is its meaning here, for private hospitality, even had\nits \"guest-chamber\" been preoccupied, would certainly, under the\ncircumstances, have offered something more human than a stable. That\nwould not have been its only alternative.\n\nIt is an interesting coincidence, and one serving to link together the\nOld and the New Testament, that Jeremiah speaks of a certain _geruth_,\nor inn, as it may read, \"which is by Beth-lehem\" (Jer. xli. 17). How it\ncame into the possession of Chimham, who was a Gileadite, we are not\ntold; but we are told that because of the kindness shown to David in his\nexile by Barzillai, his son Chimham received special marks of the royal\nfavour, and was, in fact, treated almost as an adopted son (1 Kings ii.\n7). What is certain is that the _khan_ of Bethlehem bore, for successive\ngenerations, the name of Chimham; which fact is in itself evidence that\nChimham was its builder, as the well of Jacob retained, through all the\nchanges of inheritance, the name of the patriarch whose thought and gift\nit was. In all probability, therefore, the \"inn\" was built by Chimham,\non that part of the paternal estate which David inherited; and as the\n_khans_ of the East cling with remarkable tenacity to their original\nsites, it is probable, to say the least, that the \"inn of Chimham\" and\nthe inn of Bethlehem, in which there was no room for the two late-comers\nfrom Nazareth, were, if not identical, at any rate related\nstructures--so strangely does the cycle of history complete itself, and\nthe Old merge into the New. And so, while Prophecy sings audibly and\nsweetly of the place which yet shall give birth to the Governor who\nshall rule over Israel, History puts up her silent hand, and salutes\nBeth-lehem Ephratah as by no means the least among the cities of Judah.\n\nBut not in the inn do the shepherds find the happy parents--the\nspring-tide of the unusual immigration had completely flooded that,\nleaving no standing-place for the son and daughter of David--but they\nfind them in a stable, probably in some adjoining cave, the swaddled\nChild, as the angels had foretold, lying in the manger. Art has lingered\nreverently and long over this stable scene, hiding with exquisite\ndraperies its baldness and meanness, and lighting up its darkness with\nwreaths of golden glory; but these splendours are apocryphal, existing\nonly in the mind of the beholder; they are the luminous mist of an\nadoring love. What the shepherds do find is an extemporized apartment,\nmean in the extreme; two strangers fresh from Nazareth, both young and\nboth poor; and a new-born infant asleep in the manger, with a group of\nsympathizing spectators, who have brought, in the emergency, all kinds\nof proffered helps. It seems a strange ending for an angel-song, a far\ndrop from the superhuman to the subhuman. Will it shake the faith of\nthese apostle-shepherds? Will it shatter their bright hope? And\nchagrined that their auroral dream should have so poor a realization,\nwill they return to their flocks with heavy hearts and sad? Not they.\nThey prostrate themselves before the Infant Presence, repeating over and\nover the heavenly words the angels had spoken unto them concerning the\nChild, and while Mary announces the name as \"Jesus,\" they salute Him, as\nthe angels had greeted Him before, as Saviour, Messiah, Lord; thus\nputting on the head of the Child Jesus that triple crown, symbol of a\nsupremacy which knows no limit either in space or time. It was the _Te\nDeum_ of a redeemed humanity, which succeeding years have only made more\ndeep, more full, and which in ever-rising tones will yet grow into the\nAlleluias of the heavens. Saviour, Messiah, Lord! these titles struck\nupon Mary's ear not with surprise, for she has grown accustomed to\nsurprises now, but with a thrill of wonder. She could not yet spell out\nall their deep meaning, and so she pondered \"them in her heart,\" hiding\nthem away in her maternal soul, that their deep secrets might ripen and\nblossom in the summer of the after-years.\n\nThe shepherds appear no more in the Gospel story. We see them returning\nto their task \"glorifying and praising God for all the things that they\nhad heard and seen,\" and then the mantle of a deep silence falls upon\nthem. As a lark, rising heavenward, loses itself from our sight,\nbecoming a sweet song in the sky, so these anonymous shepherds, these\nfirst disciples of the Lord, having laid their tribute at His feet--in\nthe name of humanity saluting the Christ who was to be--now pass out of\nour sight, leaving for us the example of their heavenward look and their\nsimple faith, and leaving, too, their _Glorias_, which in multiplied\nreverberations fill all lands and all times, the earthly prelude of the\nNew, the eternal Song.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n_THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS._\n\n\nWhen the Old Testament closed, prophecy had thrown upon the screen of\nthe future the shadows of two persons, cast in heavenly light. Sketched\nin outline rather than in detail, still their personalities were\nsufficiently distinct as to attract the gaze and hopes of the\nintervening centuries; while their differing, though related missions\nwere clearly recognized. One was the Coming One, who should bring the\n\"consolation\" of Israel, and who should Himself be that Consolation; and\ngathering into one august title all such glittering epithets as Star,\nShiloh, and Emmanuel, prophecy reverently saluted Him as \"the Lord,\"\npaying Him prospective homage and adoration. The other was to be the\nherald of another Dispensation, proclaiming the new kingdom and the new\nKing, running before the royal chariot, even as Elijah ran before Ahab\nto the ivory palace at Jezreel, his voice then dying away in silence, as\nhe himself passes out of sight behind the throne. Such were the two\nfigures that prophecy, in a series of dissolving views, had thrown\nforward from the Old into the New Testament; and such was the signal\nhonour accorded to the Baptist, that while many of the Old Testament\ncharacters appear as reflections in the New, his is the only human\nshadow thrown back from the New into the Old.\n\nThe forerunner thus had a virtual existence long before the time of the\nAdvent. Known by his synonym of Elias, the prophesied, he became as a\nreal presence, moving here and there among their thoughts and dreams,\nand lighting up their long night with the beacon-fires of new and bright\nhopes. His voice seemed familiar, even though it came to them in\nfar-distant echoes, and the listening centuries had caught exactly both\nits accent and its message. And so the preparer of the way found his own\npath prepared; for John's path and \"the way of the Lord\" were the same;\nit was the way of obedience and of sacrifice. The two lives were thus\nthrown into conjunction from the first, the lesser light revolving\naround the Greater, as they fulfil their separate courses--separate\nindeed, as far as the human must ever be separated from the Divine, yet\nmost closely related.\n\nLiving thus through the pre-Advent centuries, both in the Divine purpose\nand in the thoughts and hopes of men, so early designated to his\nheraldic office, \"My messenger,\" in a singular sense, as no other of\nmortals could ever be, it is no matter of apology, or even of surprise,\nthat his birth should be attended by so much of the supernatural. The\nDivine designation seems to imply, almost to demand, a Divine\ndeclaration; and in the birth-story of the Baptist the flashes of the\nsupernatural, such as the angelic announcement and the miraculous\nconception, come with a simple naturalness. The prelude is in perfect\nsymphony with the song. St. Luke is the only Evangelist who gives us the\nbirth-story. The other three speak only of his mission, introducing him\nto us abruptly, as, like another Moses, he comes down from his new\nSinai with the tables of the law in his hands and the strange light upon\nhis face. St. Luke takes us back to the infancy, that we may see the\nbeginnings of things, the Divine purpose enwrapped in swaddling clothes,\nas it once was set adrift in a rush-plaited ark. Before the message he\nputs the man, and before the man he puts the child--for is not the child\na prophecy or invoice of the man?--while all around the child he puts\nthe environment of home, showing us the subtle, powerful influences that\ntouched and shaped the young prophet-life. As a plant carries up into\nits outmost leaves the ingredients of the rock around which its fibres\ncling, so each upspringing life--even the life of a prophet--carries\ninto its farthest reaches the unconscious influence of its home\nassociations. And so St. Luke sketches for us that quiet home in the\nhill-country, whose windows opened and whose doors turned toward\nJerusalem, the \"city of the great\" and invisible \"King.\" He shows us\nZacharias and Elisabeth, true saints of God, devout of heart and\nblameless of life, down into whose placid lives an angel came, rippling\nthem with the excitements of new promises and hopes. Where could the\nfirst meridian of the New Dispensation run better than through the home\nof these seers of things unseen, these watchers for the dawn? Where\ncould be so fitting a receptacle for the Divine purpose, where it could\nso soon and so well ripen? Had not God elected them to this high honour,\nand Himself prepared them for it? Had He not purposely kept back all\nearlier, lower shoots, that their whole growth should be upward, one\nreaching out towards heaven, like the palm, its fruit clustering around\nits outmost branches? We can easily imagine what intense emotion the\nmessage of the angel would produce, and that Zacharias would not so much\nmiss the intercourse of human speech now that God's thoughts were\naudible in his soul. What loving preparation would Elisabeth make for\nthis child of hers, who was to be \"great in the sight of the Lord\"! what\nmusic she would strike out from its name, \"John\" (the Grace of Jehovah),\nthe name which was both the sesame and symbol of the New Dispensation!\nHow her eager heart would outrun the slow months, as she threw herself\nforward in anticipation among the joys of maternity, a motherhood so\nexalted! And why did she hide herself for the five months, but that she\nmight prepare herself for her great mission? that in her seclusion she\nmight hear more distinctly the voices that spake to her from above, or\nthat in the silence she might hear her own heart sing?\n\nBut neither the eagerness of Elisabeth nor the dumbness of Zacharias is\nallowed to hasten the Divine purpose. That purpose, like the cloud of\nold, accommodates itself to human conditions, the slow processions of\nthe humanities; and not until the time is \"full\" does the hope become a\nrealization, and the infant voice utter its first cry. And now is\ngathered the first congregation of the new era. It is but a family\ngathering, as the neighbours and relatives come together for the\ncircumcising of the child--which rite was always performed on the\ncorresponding day of the week after its birth; but it is significant as\nbeing the first of those ever-widening circles that moving outwards from\nits central impulse, spread rapidly over the land, as they are now\nrapidly spreading over all lands. Zacharias, of course, was present; but\nmute and deaf, he could only sit apart, a silent spectator. Elisabeth,\nas we may gather from various references and hints, was of modest and\nretiring disposition, fond of putting herself in the shade, of standing\nbehind; and so now the conduct of the ceremony seems to have fallen into\nthe hands of some of the relatives. Presuming that the general custom\nwill be observed, that the first-born child will take the name of the\nfather, they proceed to name it \"Zacharias.\" This, however, Elisabeth\ncannot allow, and with an emphatic negative, she says, \"Not so; but he\nshall be called John.\" Persistent still in their own course, and not\nsatisfied with the mother's affirmation, the friends turn to the aged\nand mute priest, and by signs ask how they shall name the child (and had\nZacharias heard the conversation, he certainly would not have waited for\ntheir question, but would have spoken or written at once); and\nZacharias, calling for the writing-table, which doubtless had been his\nclose companion, giving him his only touch of the outer world for the\nstill nine months, wrote, \"His name is John.\" Ah, they are too late! the\nchild was named even long before its birth, named, too, within the Holy\nPlace of the Temple, and by an angel of God. \"John\" and \"Jesus,\" those\ntwo names, since the visit of the Virgin, have been like two bells of\ngold, throwing waves of music across heart and home, ringing their\nwelcome to \"the Christ who is to be,\" the Christ who is now so near.\n\"His name is John;\" and with that brief stroke of his pen Zacharias half\nrebukes these intrusions and interferences of the relatives, and at the\nsame time makes avowal of his own faith. And as he wrote the name\n\"John,\" his present obedience making atonement for a past unbelief,\ninstantly the paralyzed tongue was loosed, and he spake, blessing God,\nthrowing the name of his child into a psalm; for what is the\n_Benedictus_ of Zacharias but \"John\" written large and full, one sweet\nand loud magnifying of \"the Grace and Favour of Jehovah\"?\n\nIt is only a natural supposition that when the inspiration of the song\nhad passed away, Zacharias' speech would begin just where it was broken\noff, and that he would narrate to the guests the strange vision of the\nTemple, with the angel's prophecy concerning the child. And as the\nguests depart to their own homes, each one carries the story of this new\napocalypse, as he goes to spread the evangel, and to wake among the\nneighbouring hills the echoes of Zacharias' song. No wonder that fear\ncame upon all that dwelt round about, and that they who pondered these\nthings in their hearts should ask, \"What then shall this child be?\"\n\nAnd here the narrative of the childhood suddenly ends, for with two\nbrief sentences our Evangelist dismisses the thirty succeeding years. He\ntells us that \"the hand of the Lord was with the child,\" doubtless\narranging its circumstances, giving it opportunities, preparing it for\nthe rugged manhood and the rugged mission which should follow in due\ncourse; and that \"the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit,\" the very\nsame expression he afterwards uses in reference to the Holy Child, an\nexpression we can best interpret by the angel's prophecy, \"He shall be\nfilled with the Holy Ghost even from his mother's womb.\" His native\nstrength of spirit was made doubly strong by the touch of the Divine\nSpirit, as the iron, coming from its baptism of fire, is hardened and\ntempered into steel. And so we see that in the Divine economy even a\nconsecrated childhood is a possible experience; and that it is\ncomparatively infrequent is owing rather to our warped views, which\npossibly may need some readjustment, than to the Divine purpose and\nprovision. Is the child born into the Divine displeasure, branded from\nits birth with the mark of Cain? Is it not rather born into the Divine\nmercy, and all enswathed in the abundance of Divine love? True, it is\nborn of a sinful race, with tendencies to self-will which may lead it\nastray; but it is just as true that it is born within the covenant of\ngrace; that around its earliest and most helpless years is thrown the\n\u00e6gis of Christ's atonement; and that these innate tendencies are held in\ncheck and neutralized by what is called \"prevenient grace.\" In the\nstruggle for that child-life are the powers of darkness the first in the\nfield, outmarching and out-man\u0153uvring the powers of light? Why, the\nvery thought is half-libellous. Heaven's touch is upon the child from\nthe first. Ignore it as we may, deny it as some will, yet back in life's\nearliest dawn the Divine Spirit is brooding over the unformed world,\nparting its firmaments of right and wrong, and fashioning a new\nParadise. Is evil the inevitable? Must each life taste the forbidden\nfruit before it can attain to a knowledge of the good? In other words,\nis sin a great though dire necessity? If a necessity, then it is no\nlonger sin, and we must seek for another and more appropriate name. No;\nchildhood is Christ's purchased and peculiar possession; and the best\ntype of religious experience is that which is marked by no rapid\ntransitions, which breaks upon the soul softly and sweetly as a dawn,\nits beginnings imperceptible, and so unremembered. So not without\nmeaning is it that right at the gate of the New Dispensation we find the\ncradle of a consecrated childhood. Placed there by the gate, so that all\nmay see it, and placed in the light, so that all may read it, the\nchildhood of the Baptist tells us what our childhood might oftener be,\nif only its earthly guardians--whose hands are so powerful to impress\nand mould the plastic soul--were, like Zacharias and Elisabeth,\nthemselves prayerful, blameless, and devout.\n\nNow the scene shifts; for we read he \"was in the deserts till the day of\nhis showing unto Israel.\" From the fact that this clause is intimately\nconnected with the preceding, \"and the child grew and waxed strong in\nspirit\"--the two clauses having but one subject--some have supposed that\nJohn was but a child when he turned away from the parental roof and\nsought the wilderness. But this does not follow. The two parts of the\nsentence are only separated by a comma, but that pause may bridge over a\nchasm wide enough for the flow of numerous years, and between the\nchildhood and the wilderness the narrative would almost compel us to put\na considerable space. As his physical development was, in mode and\nproportion, purely human, with no hint of anything unnatural or even\nsupernatural, so we may suppose was his mental and spiritual\ndevelopment. The voice must become articulate; it must play upon the\nalphabet, and turn sound into speech. It must learn, that it may think;\nit must study, that it may know. And so the human teacher is\nindispensable. Children reared of wolves may learn to bark, but, in\nspite of mythology, they will not build cities and found empires. And\nwhere could the child find better instructors than in his own parents,\nwhose quiet lives had been passed in an atmosphere of prayer, and to\nwhom the very jots and tittles of the law were familiar and dear?\nIndeed, we can scarcely suppose that after having prepared Zacharias and\nElisabeth for their great mission, working what is something like a\nmiracle, that she and no one else shall be the mother of the\nforerunner, the child should then be torn away from its natural\nguardians before the processes of its education are complete. It is true\nthey were both \"well stricken in years,\" but that phrase would cover any\nperiod from threescore years and upwards, and to that threescore the\nusual longevity of the Temple ministrants would easily allow another\ntwenty years to be added. May we not, then, suppose that the\nchild-Baptist studied and played under the parental roof, the bright\nfocus to which their hopes, and thoughts, and prayers converged; that\nhere, too, he spent his boyhood and youth, preparing for that priestly\noffice to which his lineage entitled and designated him? for why should\nnot the \"messenger of the Lord\" be priest as well? We have no further\nmention of Zacharias and Elisabeth, but it is not improbable that their\ndeath was the occasion of John's retirement to the deserts, now a young\nman, perhaps, of twenty years.\n\nAccording to custom, John now should have been introduced and\nconsecrated to the priesthood, twenty years being the general age of the\ninitiates; but in obedience to a higher call, John renounces the\npriesthood, and breaks with the Temple at once and for ever. Retiring to\nthe deserts, which, wild and gloomy, stretch westward from the Dead Sea,\nand assuming the old prophet garb--a loose dress of camel's hair, bound\nwith a thong of leather--the student becomes the recluse. Inhabiting\nsome mountain cave, tasting only the coarse fare that nature\noffered--locusts and wild honey--the new Elias has come and has found\nhis Cherith; and here, withdrawn far from \"the madding crowd\" and the\nincessant babble of human talk, with no companions save the wild beasts\nand the bright constellations of that Syrian sky, as they wheel round in\ntheir nightly dance, the lonely man opens his heart to God's great\nthoughts and purposes, and by constant prayer keeps his clear, trumpet\nvoice in drill. Evidently, John had seen enough of so-called \"society,\"\nwith its cold conventionalities and hypocrisies; his keen eye had seen\nonly too easily the hollowness and corruption that lay beneath the outer\ngloss and varnish--the thin veneer that but half concealed the worminess\nand rottenness that lay beneath. John goes out into the desert like\nanother scapegoat, bearing deep within his heart the sins of his\nnation--sins, alas, which are yet unrepented of and unforgiven! It was\ndoubtless thoughts like these, and the constant brooding upon them,\nwhich gave to the Baptist the touch of melancholy that we can detect\nboth in his features and his speech. Austere in person, with a wail in\nhis voice like the sighing of the wind, or charged at times with\nsuppressed thunders, the Baptist reminds us of the Peri, who\n\n                \"At the gate\n  Of Eden stood disconsolate.\"\n\nSin had become to John an awful fact. He could see nothing else. The\nfragments of the law's broken tables strewed the land, even the courts\nof the Temple itself, and men were everywhere tripping against them and\nfalling. But John did see something else; it was the day of the Lord,\nnow very near, the day that should come scathing and burning \"as a\nfurnace,\" unless, meanwhile, Israel should repent. So the prophet mused,\nand as he mused the fire burned within his soul, even the fire of the\nRefiner, the fire of God.\n\nOur Evangelist characterizes the opening of John's ministry with an\nofficial word. He calls it a \"showing,\" a \"manifestation,\" putting upon\nthe very word the stamp and sanction of a Divine appointment. He is\ncareful, too, to mark the time, so giving the Gospel story its place\namong the chronologies of the world; which he does in a most elaborate\nway. He first reads the time on the horoscope of the Empire, whose\nswinging pendulum was a rising or a falling throne; and he states that\nit was \"the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius C\u00e6sar,\" counting the\ntwo years of his joint rule with Augustus. Then, as if that were not\nenough, he notes the hour as indicated on the four quarters of the\nHebrew commonwealth, the hour when Pilate, Herod, Philip, and Lysanias\nwere in conjunction, ruling in their divided heavens. Then, as if that\neven were not enough, he marks the ecclesiastical hour as indicated by\nthe marble time-piece of the Temple; it was when Annas and Caiaphas held\njointly the high priesthood. What is the meaning of this elaborate\nmechanism, wheels within wheels? Is it because the hour is so important,\nthat it needs the hands of an emperor, a governor, three tetrarchs, and\ntwo high priests to point it? Ewald is doubtless right in saying that\nSt. Luke, as the historian, wished \"to frame the Gospel history into the\ngreat history of the world\" by giving precise dates; but if that were\nthe Evangelist's main reason, such an accumulation of time-evidence were\nscarcely necessary; for what do the subsequent statements add to the\nprecision of the first--\"In the fifteenth year of Tiberius\"? We must,\nthen, seek for the Evangelist's meaning elsewhere. Among the oldest of\nthe Hebrew prophecies concerning the Messiah was that of Jacob. Closing\nhis life, as Moses did afterwards, with a wonderful vision, he looked\ndown on the far-off years, and speaking of the coming \"Seed,\" he said,\n\"The sceptre shall not depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from between\nhis feet, until Shiloh come\" (Gen. xlix. 10). Might not this prophecy\nhave been in the thought of the Evangelist when he stayed so much longer\nthan his wont to note times and seasons? Why does he mention Herod and\nPilate, Philip and Lysanias, but to show how the sceptre has, alas,\ndeparted from Judah, and the lawgiver from between his feet, and how the\nchosen land is torn to pieces by the Roman eagles? And why does he name\nAnnas and Caiaphas, but to show how the same disintegrating forces are\nat work even within the Temple, when the rightful high priest can be set\naside and superseded by the nominee of a foreign and a Pagan power?\nVerily \"the glory has departed from Israel;\" and if St. Luke introduces\nforeign emperors, tetrarchs, and governors, it is that they may ring a\nmuffled peal over the grave of a dead nation, a funeral knell, which,\nhowever, shall be the signal for the coming of the Shiloh, and the\ngathering of the people unto Him.\n\nSuch were the times--times of disorganization, disorder, and almost\ndespair--when the word of God came unto John in the wilderness. It came\n\"upon\" him, as it literally reads, probably in one of those wonderful\ntheophanies, as when God spake to Moses from the flaming bush, or as\nwhen He appeared to Elijah upon Horeb, sending him back to an unfinished\ntask. John obeyed. Emerging from his wilderness retreat, clad in his\nstrange attire, spare in build, his features sharp and worn with\nfasting, his long, dishevelled hair telling of his Nazarite vow, he\nmoves down to the Jordan like an apparition. His appearance is\neverywhere hailed with mingled curiosity and delight. Crowds come in\never-increasing numbers, not one class only, but all classes--priests,\nsoldiers, officials, people--until it seemed as if the cities had\nemptied themselves into the Jordan valley. And what went they \"out for\nto see\"? \"A reed shaken with the wind\"? A prophesier of smooth things? A\npreacher of revolt against tyranny? Nay; John was no wind-shaken reed,\nhe was rather the heavenly wind itself, swaying the multitudes at will,\nand bending hearts and consciences into penitence and prayer. John was\nno preacher of revolt against the powers that be; in his mind, Israel\nhad revolted more and more, and he must bring them back to their\nallegiance, or himself die in the attempt. John was no preacher of\nsmooth things; there was not even the charm of variety about his speech.\nThe one burden of his message was, \"Repent: for the kingdom of heaven is\nat hand.\" But the effect was marvellous. The lone voice from the\nwilderness swept over the land like the breath of God. Borne forwards on\na thousand lips, it echoed through the cities and penetrated into\nremotest places. Jud\u00e6a, Samaria, and even distant Galilee felt the\nquiver of the strange voice, and even from the shore of the Northern Sea\nmen came to sit at the feet of the new teacher, and to call themselves\nJohn's disciples. So widespread and so deep was the movement, it sent\nits ripples even within the royal palace, awaking the curiosity, and\nperhaps the conscience, of Herod himself. It was a genuine revival of\nreligion, such as Jud\u00e6a had not witnessed since the days of Ezra, the\nawaking of the national conscience and of the national hope.\n\nPerhaps it would be difficult, by any analysis of ours, to discover or\nto define the secret of John's success. It was the resultant, not of one\nforce, but of many. For instance, the hour was favourable. It was the\nSabbatic year, when field-work was in the main suspended, and men\neverywhere had leisure mind and hand lying, as it were, fallow. Then,\ntoo, the very dress of the Baptist would not be without its influence,\nespecially on a mind so sensitive to form and colour as the Hebrew mind\nwas. Dress to them was a form of duty. They were accustomed to weave\ninto their tassels sacred symbols, so making the external speak of the\neternal. Their hands played on the parti-coloured threads most\nfaithfully and sacredly; for were not these the chords of Divine\nharmonies? But here is one who discards both the priestly and the\ncivilian dress, and who wears, instead, the rough camel's hair robe of\nthe old prophets. The very dress would thus appeal most powerfully to\ntheir imagination, carrying back their thoughts to the time of the\nTheocracy, when Jehovah was not silent as now, and when Heaven was so\nnear, speaking by some Samuel or Elijah. Are those days returning? they\nwould ask. Is this the Elias who was to come and restore all things?\nSurely it must be. And in the rustle of the Baptist's robe they heard\nthe rustle of Elijah's mantle, dropping a second time by these Jordan\nbanks. Then, too, there was the personal charm of the man. John was\nyoung, if years are our reckoning, for he counted but thirty; but in his\ncase the _verve_ and energy of youth were blended with the discretion\nand saintliness of age. What was the world to him, its fame, its luxury\nand wealth? They were only the dust he shook from his feet, as his\nspirit sighed for and soared after Heaven's better things. He asks\nnothing of earth but her plainest fare, a couch of grass, and by-and-by\na grave. Then, too, there was a positiveness about the man, that would\nnaturally attract, in a drifting, shifting, vacillating age. The strong\nwill is magnetic; the weaker wills follow and cluster round it, as\nswarming bees cluster around their queen. And John was intensely\npositive. His speech was clear-cut and incisive, with a tremendous\nearnestness in it, as if a \"Thus saith the Lord\" were at his heart.\nJohn's mood was not the subjunctive, where his words could eddy among\nthe \"mays\" and \"mights;\" it was plainly the indicative, or better still,\nthe imperative. He spoke as one who believed, and who intensely felt\nwhat he believed. Then, too, there was a certain nobleness about his\ncourage. He knew no rank, no party; he was superior to all. He feared\nGod too much to have any fear of man. He spake no word for the sake of\npleasing, and he kept back no word--even the hot rebuke--for fear of\noffending. Truth to him was more than titles, and right was the only\nroyalty. How he painted the Pharisees--those shiny, slimy men, with\ncreeping, sinuous ways--with that dark epithet \"brood of vipers\"! With\nwhat a fearless courage he denounced the incest of Herod! _He_ will not\nlevel down Sinai, accommodating it to royal passions! Not he. \"It is not\nlawful for thee to have her\"--such were his words, that rolled in upon\nHerod's conscience like a peal of Sinai's thunder, telling him that law\nwas law, that right was more than might, and purity more than power.\nThen, too, there was something about his message that was attractive.\nThat word \"the kingdom of heaven\" struck upon the national heart like a\nbell, and set it vibrating with new hopes, and awaking all kinds of\nbeautiful dreams of recovered pre-eminence and power.\n\nBut while all these were auxiliaries, factors, and co-efficients in the\nproblem of the Baptist's success, they are not sufficient in themselves\nto account for that success. It is not difficult for a man of superior\nmental attainment, and of strong individuality, to attract a following,\nespecially if that following be in the direction of self-interest. The\nemotions and passions of humanity lie near the surface; they can be\neasily swept into a storm by the strong or by the pathetic voice. But to\nreach the conscience, to lift up the veil, and to pass within to that\nMost Holy of the human soul is what man, unaided, cannot do. Only the\nDivine Voice can break those deep silences of the heart; or if the human\nvoice is used the power is not in the words of human speech--those\nwords, even the best, are but the dead wires along which the Divine\nVoice moves--it is the power of God.\n\n  \"Some men live near to God, as my right arm\n  Is near to me; and then they walk about\n  Mailed in full proof of faith, and bear a charm\n  That mocks at fear, and bars the door on doubt,\n  And dares the impossible.\"\n\nJust such a man was the Baptist. He was a \"man of God.\" He lived, and\nmoved, and had his being in God. Self to him was an extinct passion.\nEnvy, pride, ambition, jealousy, these were unknown tongues; his pure\nsoul understood not their meaning. Like his great prototype, \"the Spirit\nof the Lord God\" was upon him. His life was one conscious inspiration;\nand John himself had been baptized with the baptism of which he spoke,\nbut which he himself could not give, the baptism of the Holy Ghost and\nof fire. This only will account for the wonderful effects produced by\nhis preaching. John, in his own experience, had antedated Pentecost,\nreceiving the \"power from on high,\" and as he spoke it was with a tongue\nof fire, a voice in whose accent and tone the people could detect the\ndeeper Voice of God.\n\nBut if John could not baptize with the higher baptism, usurping the\nfunctions of the One coming after, he could, and he did, institute a\nlower, symbolic baptism of water, that thus the visible might lead up to\nthe invisible. In what mode John's baptism was administered we cannot\ntell, nor is it material that we should know. We do know, however, that\nthe baptism of the Spirit--and in John's mind the two were closely\nrelated--was constantly referred to in Scripture as an effusion, a\n\"pouring out,\" a sprinkling, and never once as an immersion. And what\nwas the \"baptism of fire\" to the mind of John? Was it not that which the\nprophet Isaiah had experienced, when the angel touched his lips with the\nlive coal taken from the altar, pronouncing over him the great\nabsolution, \"Lo, this hath touched thy lips; and thine iniquity is taken\naway, and thy sin purged\" (Isa. vi. 7)? At best, the baptism of water is\nbut a shadow of the better thing, the outward symbol of an inward grace.\nWe need not quarrel about modes and forms. Scripture has purposely left\nthem indeterminate, so that we need not wrangle about them. There is no\nneed that we exalt the shadow, levelling it up to the substance; and\nstill less should we level it down, turning it into a playground for the\nschools.\n\nThus far the lives of Jesus and John have lain apart. One growing up in\nthe hill-country of Galilee, the other in the hill-country of Jud\u00e6a, and\nthen in the isolation of the wilderness, they have never looked in each\nother's face, though they have doubtless heard often of each other's\nmission. They meet at last. John had been constantly telling of ONE who\nwas coming after--\"after,\" indeed, in order of time, but \"before,\"\ninfinitely before, in pre-eminence and authority. Mightier than he, He\nwas the Lord. John would deem it an honour to kneel down before so\naugust a Master, to untie and bear away His shoes; for in such a\nPresence servility was both becoming and ennobling. With such words as\nthese the crier in the wilderness had been transferring the people's\nthought from himself, and setting their hearts listening for the Coming\nOne, so preparing and broadening His way. Suddenly, in one of the pauses\nof his ministrations, a Stranger presents Himself, and asks that the\nrite of baptism may be administered to Him. There is nothing peculiar\nabout His dress; He is younger than the Baptist--much younger,\napparently, for the rough, ascetic life has prematurely aged him--but\nsuch is the grace and dignity of His person, such the mingled \"strength\nand beauty\" of His manhood, that even John, who never quailed in the\npresence of mortal before, is awed and abashed now. Discerning the\ninnate royalty of the Stranger, and receiving a monition from the Higher\nWorld, with which he kept up close correspondence, the Baptist is\nassured that it is He, the Lord and Christ. Immediately his whole manner\nchanges. The voice that has swept over the land like a whirlwind, now is\nhushed, subdued, speaking softly, deferentially, reverentially. Here is\na Presence in which his imperatives all melt away and disappear, a Will\nthat is infinitely higher than his own, a Person for whom his baptism is\nout of place. John is perplexed; he hesitates, he demurs. \"I have need\nto be baptized of Thee, and comest Thou to me?\" and John, Elias-like,\nwould fain have wrapped his mantle around his face, burying out of sight\nhis little \"me,\" in the presence of the Lord. But Jesus said, \"Suffer\nit now: for thus it becometh us to fulfil all righteousness\" (Matt. iii.\n15).\n\nThe baptism of Jesus was evidently a new kind of baptism, one in which\nthe usual formulas were strangely out of place; and the question\nnaturally arises, Why should Jesus submit to, and even ask for, a\nbaptism that was so associated with repentance and sin? Could there be\nany place for repentance, any room for confession, in the Sinless One?\nJohn felt the anomaly, and so shrank from administering the rite, till\nthe reply of Jesus put His baptism on different ground--ground\naltogether clear of any personal demerit. Jesus asked for baptism, not\nfor the washing away of sin, but that He might \"fulfil all\nrighteousness.\" He was baptized, not for His own sake, but for the\nworld's sake. Coming to redeem humanity, He would identify Himself with\nthat humanity, even the sinful humanity that it was. Son of God, He\nwould become a true Son of man, that through His redemption all other\nsons of men might become true sons of God. Bearing the sins of many,\ntaking away the sin of the world, that heavy burden lay at His heart\nfrom the first; He could not lay it down until He left it nailed to His\ncross. Himself knowing no sin, He yet becomes the Sin-offering, and is\n\"numbered among the transgressors.\" And as Jesus went to the cross and\ninto the grave mediatorially, as Humanity's Son, so Jesus now passes\ninto the baptismal waters mediatorially, repenting for that world whose\nheart is still hard, and whose eyes are dry of godly tears, and\nconfessing the sin which He in love has made His own, the \"sin of the\nworld,\" the sin He has come to make atonement for and to bear away.\n\nSuch is the meaning of the Jordan baptism, in which Jesus puts the\nstamp of Divinity upon John's mission, while John bears witness to the\nsinlessness of Jesus. But a Higher Witness came than even that of John;\nfor no sooner was the rite administered, and the river-bank regained,\nthan the heavens were opened, and the Spirit of God, in the form of a\nfiery dove, descended and alighted on the head of Jesus; while a Voice\nout of the Unseen proclaimed, \"This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well\npleased.\" And so the Son of man receives the heavenly, as well as the\nearthly baptism. Baptized with water, He is now baptized with the Holy\nGhost and with fire, anointed with the unction of the Holy One. But why\nshould the Holy Spirit descend upon Jesus in the form of a dove, and\nafterwards upon the disciples in the form of cloven tongues of fire? We\ncan understand the symbolism of the cloven tongues; for was not their\nmission to preach and teach, spreading and establishing the kingdom by a\nconsecrated speech--the Divine word carried forward by the human voice?\nWhat, then, is the meaning of the dove-form? Does it refer to the dove\nof the Old Dispensation, which bearing the olive-leaf in its mouth,\npreached its Gospel to the dwellers in the ark, telling of the abatement\nof the angry waters, and of a salvation that was near? And was not Jesus\na heavenly Dove, bearing to the world the olive-branch of reconciliation\nand of peace, proclaiming the fuller, wider Gospel of mercy and of love?\nThe supposition, at any rate, is a possible one, while the words of\nJesus would almost make it a probable one; for speaking of this same\nbaptism of the Spirit, He says--and in His words we can hear the beat\nand whir of dove-wings--\"He anointed me to preach good tidings to the\npoor: He hath sent me to proclaim release to the captives, ... to set\nat liberty them that are bruised\" (iv. 18).\n\nThe interview between Jesus and John was but brief, and in all\nprobability final. They spend the following night near to each other,\nbut apart. The day after, John sees Jesus walking, but the narrative\nwould imply that they did not meet. John only points to Him and says,\n\"Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world;\" and\nthey part, each to follow his separate path, and to accomplish his\nseparate mission.\n\n\"The Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.\" Such was\nJohn's testimony to Jesus, in the moment of his clearest illumination.\nHe saw in Jesus, not as one learned writer would have us suppose, the\nsheep of David's pastoral, its life encircled with green pastures and\nstill waters--not this, but a lamb, \"the Lamb of God,\" the Paschal Lamb,\nled all uncomplaining to the slaughter, and by its death bearing away\nsin--not either the sin of a year or the sin of a race, but \"the sin of\nthe world.\" Never had prophet so prophesied before; never had mortal eye\nseen so clearly and so deeply into God's great mystery of mercy. How,\nthen, can we explain that mood of disappointment and of doubt which\nafterwards fell upon John? What does it mean that from his prison he\nshould send two of his disciples to Jesus with the strange question,\n\"Art Thou He that cometh, or look we for another?\" (vii. 19). John is\nevidently disappointed--yes, and dejected too; and the Elias still,\nHerod's prison is to him the juniper of the desert. He thought the\nChrist would be one like unto himself, crying in the wilderness, but\nwith a louder voice and more penetrating accent. He would be some ardent\nReformer, with axe in hand, or fan, and with baptism of fire. But lo,\nJesus comes so different from his thought--with no axe in hand that he\ncan see, with no baptism of fire that he can hear of, a Sower rather\nthan a Winnower, scattering thoughts, principles, beatitudes, and\nparables, telling not so much of \"the wrath to come\" as of the love that\nis already come, if men will but repent and receive it--that John is\nfairly perplexed, and actually sends to Jesus for some word that shall\nbe a solvent for his doubts. It only shows how this Elias, too, was a\nman of like passions with ourselves, and that even prophets' eyes were\nsometimes dim, reading God's purposes with a blurred vision. Jesus\nreturns a singular answer. He says neither Yes nor No; but He goes out\nand works His accustomed miracles, and then dismisses the two disciples\nwith the message, \"Go your way, and tell John what things ye have seen\nand heard; how that the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are\ncleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, to the poor the Gospel is\npreached. And blessed is he, whosoever shall not be offended in Me.\"\nThese words are in part a quotation from John's favourite prophet,\nIsaiah, who emphasized as no other prophet did the evangelistic\ncharacter of Christ's mission--which characteristic John seems to have\noverlooked. In his thought the Christ was Judge, the great Refiner,\nsifting the base from the pure, and casting it into some Gehenna of\nburnings. But Jesus reminds John that mercy is before and above\njudgment; that He has come, \"not to condemn the world,\" but to save it,\nand to save it, not by reiterations of the law, but by a manifestation\nof love. Ebal and Sinai have had their word; now Gerizim and Calvary\nmust speak.\n\nAnd so this greatest of the prophets was but human, and therefore\nfallible. He saw the Christ, no longer afar off, but near--yea,\npresent; but he saw in part, and he prophesied in part. He did not see\nthe whole Christ, or grasp the full purport of His mission. He stood on\nthe threshold of the kingdom; but the least of those who should pass\nwithin that kingdom should stand on a higher vantage-ground, and so be\ngreater than he. Indeed, it seems scarcely possible that John could have\nfully understood Jesus; the two were so entirely different. In dress, in\naddress, in mode of life, in thought the two were exact opposites. John\noccupies the border-region between the Old and the New; and though his\nlife appears in the New, he himself belongs rather to the Old\nDispensation. His accent is Mosaic, his message a tritonomy, a third\ngiving of the law. When asked the all-important question, \"What shall we\ndo?\" John laid stress on works of charity, and by his metaphor of the\ntwo coats he showed that men should endeavour to equalize their mercies.\nAnd when publicans and soldiers ask the same question John gives a sort\nof transcript of the old tables, striking the negatives of duty: \"Extort\nno more than that which is appointed you;\" \"Do violence to no man.\"\nJesus would have answered in the simple positive that covered all\nclasses and all cases alike: \"Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.\"\nBut such was the difference between the Old and the New: the one said,\n\"Do, and thou shalt live;\" the other said, \"Live, and thou shalt do.\"\nThe voice of John awoke the conscience, but he could not give it rest.\nHe was the preparer of the way; Jesus was the Way, as He was the Truth\nand the Life. John was the Voice; Jesus was the Word. John must\n\"decrease\" and disappear; Jesus must \"increase,\" filling all times and\nall climes with His glorious, abiding presence.\n\nBut the mission of John is drawing to a close, and dark clouds are\ngathering in the west. The popular idol still, a hostile current has set\nagainst him. The Pharisees, unforgetting and unforgiving, are deadly\nbitter, creeping across his path, and hissing out their \"Devil;\" while\nHerod, who in his better moods had invited the Baptist to his palace,\nnow casts him into prison. He will silence the voice he has failed to\nbribe, the voice that beat against the chambers of his revelry, like a\nstrange midnight gust, and that set him trembling like an aspen. We need\nnot linger over the last sad tragedy--how the royal birthday was kept,\nwith a banquet to the State officials; how the courtesan daughter of\nHerodias came in and danced before the guests; and how the half-drunken\nHerod swore a rash oath, that he would give her anything she might ask,\nup to the half of his kingdom. Herodias knew well what wine and passion\nwould do for Herod. She even guessed his promise beforehand, and had\ngiven full directions to her daughter; and soon as the rash oath had\nfallen from his lips--before he could recall or change his words--sharp\nand quick the request is made, \"Give me here John Baptist's head in a\ncharger.\" There is a momentary conflict, and Herod gives the fearful\nword. The head of John is brought into the banquet-hall before the\nassembled guests--the long flowing locks, the eyes that even in death\nseemed to sparkle with the fire of God; the lips sacred to purity and\ntruth, the lips that could not gloss a sin, even the sin of a Herod.\nYes; it is there, the head of John the Baptist. The courtiers see it,\nand smile; Herod sees it, but does not smile. That face haunts him; he\nnever forgets it. The dead prophet lives still, and becomes to Herod\nanother conscience.\n\n\"And she brought it to her mother. And his disciples came, and took up\nthe corpse, and buried him; and they went and told Jesus\" (Matt. xiv.\n11, 12). Such is the _finis_ to a consecrated life, and such the work\nachieved by one man, in a ministry that was only counted by months.\nShall not this be his epitaph, recording his faithfulness and zeal, and\nat the same time rebuking our aimlessness and sloth?--\n\n  \"He liveth long who liveth well;\n  All other life is short and vain:\n  He liveth longest who can tell\n  Of living most for heavenly gain.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n_THE TEMPTATION._\n\n\nThe waters of the Jordan do not more effectually divide the Holy Land\nthan they bisect the Holy Life. The thirty years of Nazareth were quiet\nenough, amid the seclusions of nature and the attractions of home; but\nthe double baptism by the Jordan now remits that sweet idyll to the\npast. The I AM of the New Testament moves forward from the passive to\nthe active voice; the long peace is exchanged for the conflict whose\nconsummation will be the Divine Passion.\n\nThe subject of our Lord's temptation is mysterious, and therefore\ndifficult. Lying in part within the domain of human consciousness and\nexperience, it stretches far beyond our sight, throwing its dark\nprojections into the realm of spirit, that realm, \"dusk with horrid\nshade,\" which Reason may not traverse, and which Revelation itself has\nnot illumined, save by occasional lines of light, thrown into, rather\nthan across it. We cannot, perhaps, hope to have a perfect understanding\nof it, for in a subject so wide and deep there is room for the play of\nmany hypotheses; but inspiration would not have recorded the event so\nminutely had it not a direct bearing upon the whole of the Divine Life,\nand were it not full of pregnant lessons for all times. To Him who\nsuffered within it, it was a wilderness indeed; but to us \"the\nwilderness and the solitary place\" have become \"glad, and the desert ...\nblossoms as the rose.\" Let us, then, seek the wilderness reverently yet\nhopefully, and in doing so let us carry in our minds these two guiding\nthoughts--they will prove a silken thread for the labyrinth--first, that\nJesus was tempted as man; and second, that Jesus was tempted as the Son\nof man.\n\nJesus was tempted as man. It is true that in His Person the human and\nthe Divine natures were in some mysterious way united; that in His flesh\nwas the great mystery, the manifestation of God; but now we must regard\nHim as divested of these dignities and Divinities. They are laid aside,\nwith all other pre-mundane glories; and whatever His miraculous power,\nfor the present it is as if it were not. Jesus takes with Him into the\nwilderness our manhood, a perfect humanity of flesh and blood, of bone\nand nerve; no Docetic shadow, but a real body, \"made in all things like\nunto His brethren;\" and He goes into the wilderness, to be tempted, not\nin some unearthly way, as one spirit might be tempted of another, but to\nbe \"tempted in all points like as we are,\" in a fashion perfectly human.\nThen, too, Jesus was tempted as the Son of man, not only as the perfect\nMan, but as the representative Man. As the first Adam, by disobedience,\nfell, and fallen, was driven forth into the wilderness, so the second\nAdam comes to take the place of the first. Tracking the steps of the\nfirst Adam, He too goes out into the wilderness, that He may spoil the\nspoiler, and that by His perfect obedience He may lead a fallen but\nredeemed humanity back again to Paradise, reversing the whole drift of\nthe Fall, and turning it into a \"rising again for many.\" And so Jesus\ngoes, as the Representative Man, to do battle for humanity, and to\nreceive in His own Person, not one form of temptation, as the first\nAdam did, but every form that malignant Evil can devise, or that\nhumanity can know. Bearing these two facts in mind, we will\nconsider--(1) the circumstances of the Temptation, and (2) the nature of\nthe temptation.\n\n1. The circumstances of the Temptation. \"And Jesus, full of the Holy\nSpirit, returned from the Jordan, and was led by the Spirit in the\nwilderness.\" The Temptation, then, occurred immediately after the\ntwofold baptism; or, as St. Mark expresses it, using his characteristic\nword, \"And straightway the Spirit driveth Him forth into the wilderness\"\n(Mark i. 12). Evidently there is some connection between the Jordan and\nthe wilderness, and there were Divine reasons why the test should be\nplaced directly after the baptism. Those Jordan waters were the\ninauguration for His mission--a kind of Beautiful Gate, leading up to\nthe different courts and courses of His public ministry, and then up to\nthe altar of sacrifice. The baptism of the Spirit was His anointing for\nthat ministry, and borrowing our light from the after Pentecostal days,\nHis enduement of power for that ministry. The Divine purpose, which had\nbeen gradually shaping itself to His mind, now opens in one vivid\nrevelation. The veil of mist in which that purpose had been enwrapped is\nswept away by the Spirit's breath, disclosing to His view the path\nredeeming Love must take, even the way of the cross. It is probable,\ntoo, that He received at the same time, if not the enduement, at least\nthe consciousness of miraculous power; for St. John, with one stroke of\nhis pen, brushes away those glossy webs that later tradition has spun,\nthe miracles of the Childhood. The Scriptures do not represent Jesus as\nany prodigy. His childhood, youth, and manhood were like the\ncorresponding phases of other lives; and the Gospels certainly put no\naureole about His head--that was the afterglow of traditional fancy.\nNow, however, as He leaves the wilderness, He goes to open His mission\nat Cana, where He works His first miracle, turning, by a look, the water\ninto wine. The whole Temptation, as we shall see, was one prolonged\nattack upon His miraculous power, seeking to divert it into unlawful\nchannels; which makes it more than probable that this power was first\nconsciously received at the baptism--the second baptism of fire; it was\na part of the anointing of the Lord He then experienced.\n\nWe read that Jesus now was \"full of the Holy Spirit.\" It is an\nexpression not infrequent in the pages of the New Testament, for we have\nalready met with it in connection with Zacharias and Elisabeth; and St.\nLuke makes use of it several times in his later treatise on the \"Acts.\"\nIn these cases, however, it generally marked some special and sudden\nillumination or inspiration, which was more or less temporary, the\ninspiration passing away when its purpose was served. But whether this\n\"filling of the Spirit\" was temporary, or permanent, as in the case of\nStephen and Barnabas, the expression always marked the highest elevation\nof human life, when the human spirit was in entire subordination to the\nDivine. To Jesus, now, the Holy Spirit is given without measure; and we,\nwho in our far-off experiences can recall moments of Divine baptisms,\nwhen our spirits seemed for the time to be caught up into Paradise,\nhearing voices and beholding visions we might not utter, even we may\nunderstand in part--though but in part--what must have been the emotions\nand ecstasies of that memorable hour by the Jordan. How much the opened\nheavens would mean to Him, to whom they had been so long and strangely\nclosed! How the Voice that declared His heavenly Sonship, \"This is My\nbeloved Son,\" must have sent its vibrations quivering through soul and\nspirit, almost causing the tabernacle of His flesh to tremble with the\nnew excitements! Mysterious though it may seem to us, who ask\nimpotently, How can these things be? yet unless we strip the heavenly\nbaptism of all reality, reducing it to a mere play of words, we must\nsuppose that Jesus, who now becomes Jesus Christ, was henceforth more\ndirectly and completely than before under the conscious inspiration of\nthe Holy Spirit. What was an atmosphere enswathing the young life,\nbringing to that life its treasures of grace, beauty, and strength, now\nbecomes a breath, or rather a rushing wind, of God, carrying that life\nforward upon its mission and upward to its goal. And so we read, He \"was\nled by the Spirit in the wilderness.\" The verb generally implies\npressure, constraint; it is the enforced leading of the weaker by the\nstronger. In this case, however, the pressure was not upon a resisting,\nbut a yielding medium. The will of Jesus swung round instantly and\neasily, moving like a vane only in the direction of the Higher Will. The\nnarrative would imply that His own thought and purpose had been to\nreturn to Galilee; but the Divine Spirit moves upon Him with such\nclearness and force--\"driveth\" is St. Mark's expressive word--that He\nyields Himself up to the higher impulse, and allows Himself to be\ncarried, not exactly as the heath is swept before the wind, but in a\npassive-active way, into the wilderness. The wilderness was thus a\nDivine interjection, thrown across the path of the Son of God and Son of\nman.\n\nWhere it was is a point of no great moment. That it was in the Desert\nof Sinai, as some suppose, is most unlikely. Jesus did not so venerate\nplaces; nor was it like Him to make distant excursions to put Himself in\nthe track of Moses or Elijah. He beckons them to Him. He does not go to\nthem, not even to make historical repetitions. There is no reason why we\nmay not accept the traditional site of the Quarantania, the wild,\nmountainous region, intersected by deep, dark gorges, that sweeps\nwestward from Jericho. It is enough to know that it was a wilderness\nindeed, a wildness, unsoftened by the touch of human strength or skill;\na still, vacant solitude, where only the \"wild beasts,\" preying upon\neach other, or prowling outward to the fringe of civilization, could\nsurvive.\n\nIn the narrative of the Transfiguration we read that Moses and Elias\nappeared on the holy mount \"talking with Jesus;\" and that these two\nonly, of all departed saints, should be allowed that privilege--the one\nrepresenting the Law, and the other the Prophets--shows that there was\nsome intimate connection between their several missions. At any rate, we\nknow that the emancipator and the regenerator of Israel were specially\ncommissioned to bear Heaven's salutation to the Redeemer. It would be an\ninteresting study, did it lie within the scope of our subject, to trace\nout the many resemblances between the three. We may, however, notice how\nin the three lives the same prolonged fast occurs, in each case covering\nthe same period of forty days; for though the expression of St. Matthew\nwould not of necessity imply a total abstention from food, the more\nconcise statement of St. Luke removes all doubt, for we read, \"He did\neat nothing in those days.\" Why there should be this fast is more\ndifficult to answer, and our so-called reasons can be only guesses. We\nknow, however, that the flesh and the spirit, though closely associated,\nhave but few things in common. Like the centripetal and the centrifugal\nforces in nature, their tendencies and propulsions are in different and\nopposite directions. The one looks earthward, the other heavenward. Let\nthe flesh prevail, and the life gravitates downwards, the sensual takes\nthe place of the spiritual. Let the flesh be placed under restraint and\ncontrol, taught its subordinate position, and there is a general uplift\nto the life, the untrammelled spirit moving upwards toward heaven and\nGod. And so in the Scriptures we find the duty of fasting prescribed;\nand though the Rabbis have treated it in an _ad absurdum_ fashion,\nbringing it into disrepute, still the duty has not ceased, though the\npractice may be well-nigh obsolete. And so we find in Apostolic days\nthat prayer was often joined to fasting, especially when a question of\nimportance was under consideration. The hours of fasting, too, as we may\nlearn from the cases of the centurion and of Peter, were the perihelion\nof the Christian life, when it swung up in its nearest approaches to\nheaven, getting amid the circles of the angels and of celestial visions.\nPossibly in the case before us there was such an absorption of spirit,\nsuch rapture (using the word in its etymological, rather than in its\nderived meaning), that the claims of the body were utterly forgotten,\nand its ordinary functions were temporarily suspended; for to the spirit\ncaught up into Paradise it matters little whether in the body or out of\nit.\n\nThen, too, the fast was closely related to the temptation; it was the\npreparation for it. If Jesus is tempted as the Son of man, it must be\nour humanity, not at its strongest, but at its weakest. It must be\nunder conditions so hard, no other man could have them harder. As an\nathlete, before the contest, trains up his body, bringing each muscle\nand nerve to its very best, so Jesus, before meeting the great adversary\nin single combat, trains _down_ His body, reducing its physical\nstrength, until it touches the lowest point of human weakness. And so,\nfighting the battle of humanity, He gives the adversary every advantage.\nHe allows him choice of place, of time, of weapons and conditions, so\nthat His victory may be more complete. Alone in the wild, dreary\nsolitude, cut off from all human sympathies, weak and emaciated with the\nlong fast, the Second Adam waits the attack of the tempter, who found\nthe first Adam too easy a prey.\n\n2. The nature of the Temptation. In what form the tempter came to Him,\nor whether he came in any form at all, we cannot tell. Scripture\nobserves a prudent silence, a silence which has been made the occasion\nof much speculative and random speech on the part of its would-be\ninterpreters. It will serve no good purpose even to enumerate the\ndifferent forms the tempter is said to have assumed; for what need can\nthere be for any incarnation of the evil spirit? and why clamour for the\nsupernatural when the natural will suffice? If Jesus was tempted \"as we\nare,\" will not our experiences throw the truest light on His? We see no\nshape. The evil one confronts us; he presents thoughts to our minds; he\ninjects some proud or evil imagination; but he himself is masked,\nunseen, even when we are distinctly conscious of his presence. Just so\nwe may suppose the tempter came to Him. Recalling the declaration made\nat the baptism, the announcement of His Divine Sonship, the devil says,\n\"If\" (or rather \"Since,\" for the tempter is too wary to suggest a doubt\nas to His relationship with God) \"Thou art the Son of God, command this\nstone that it become bread.\" It is as if he said, \"You are a-hungered,\nexhausted, Your strength worn away by Your long fast. This desert, as\nYou see, is wild and sterile; it can offer You nothing with which to\nsupply Your physical wants; but You have the remedy in Your own hands.\nThe heavenly Voice proclaimed You as God's Son--nay, His beloved Son.\nYou were invested, too, not simply with Divine dignities, but with\nDivine powers, with authority, supreme and absolute, over all creatures.\nMake use now of this newly given power. Speak in these newly learned\ntones of Divine authority, and command this stone that it become bread.\"\nSuch was the thought suddenly suggested to the mind of Jesus, and which\nwould have found a ready response from the shrinking flesh, had it been\nallowed to speak. And was not the thought fair and reasonable, to our\nthinking, all innocent of wrong? Suppose Jesus should command the stone\ninto bread, is it any more marvellous than commanding the water into\nwine? Is not all bread stone, dead earth transformed by the touch of\nlife? If Jesus can make use of His miraculous power for the benefit of\nothers, why should He not use it in the emergencies of His own life? The\nthought seemed reasonable and specious enough; and at first glance we do\nnot see how the wings of this dove are tipped, not with silver, but with\nsoot from the \"pots.\" But stop. What does this thought of Satan mean? Is\nit as guileless and guiltless as it seems? Not quite; for it means that\nJesus shall be no longer the Son of man. Hitherto His life has been a\npurely human life. \"Made in all things like unto His brethren,\" from His\nhelpless infancy, through the gleefulness of childhood, the discipline\nof youth, and the toil of manhood, His life has been nourished from\npurely human sources. His \"brooks in the way\" have been no secret\nsprings, flowing for Himself alone; they have been the common brooks,\nopen and free to all, and where any other child of man might drink. But\nnow Satan tempts Him to break with the past, to throw up His\nSon-of-manhood, and to fall back upon His miraculous power in this, and\nso in every other emergency of life. Had Satan succeeded, and had Jesus\nwrought this miracle for Himself, putting around His human nature the\nshield of His Divinity, then Jesus would have ceased to be man. He would\nhave forsaken the plane of human life for celestial altitudes, with a\nwide gulf--and oh, how wide!--between Himself and those He had come to\nredeem. And let the perfect humanity go, and the redemption goes with\nit; for if Jesus, just by an appeal to His miraculous power, can\nsurmount every difficulty, escape any danger, then you leave no room for\nthe Passion, and no ground on which the cross may rest.\n\nAgain, the suggestion of Satan was a temptation to distrust. The\nemphasis lay upon the title, \"Son of God.\" \"The Voice proclaimed You, in\na peculiar sense, the beloved Son of God; but where have been the marks\nof that special love? Where are the honours, the heritage of joy, the\nSon should have? Instead of that, He gives You a wilderness of solitude\nand privation; and He who rained manna upon Israel, and who sent an\nangel to prepare a cake for Elias, leaves You to pine and hunger. Why\nwait longer for help which has already tarried too long? Act now for\nYourself. Your resources are ample; use them in commanding this stone\ninto bread.\" Such was the drift of the tempter's words; it was to make\nJesus doubt the Father's love and care, to lead Him to act, not in\nopposition to, but independently of, the Father's will. It was an artful\nendeavour to throw the will of Jesus out of gear with the Higher Will,\nand to set it revolving around its own self-centre. It was, in reality,\nthe same temptation, in a slightly altered form, which had been only too\nsuccessful with the first Adam.\n\nThe thought, however, was no sooner suggested than it was rejected; for\nJesus had a wonderful power of reading thought, of looking into its very\nheart; and He meets the evil suggestion, not with an answer of His own,\nbut with a singularly apt quotation from the Old Testament: \"It is\nwritten, Man shall not live by bread alone.\" The reference is to a\nparallel experience in the history of Israel, a narrative from which\ndoubtless Jesus had drawn both strength and solace during His prolonged\ndesert fast. Had not the Divine Voice adopted Israel to a special\nrelationship and privilege, announcing within the palace of Pharaoh,\n\"Israel is My Son, My firstborn\"? (Exod. iv. 22). And yet had not God\nled Israel for forty years through the desert, suffering him to hunger,\nthat He might humble and prove him, and show him that men are\n\n          \"Better than sheep and goats,\n  That nourish a blind life within the brain;\"\n\nthat man has a nature, a life, that cannot live on bread, but--as St.\nMatthew completes the quotation--\"by every word that proceedeth out of\nthe mouth of God\"? Some have supposed that by \"bread alone\" Jesus refers\nto the manifold provision God has made for man's physical sustenance;\nthat He is not limited to one course, but that He can just as easily\nsupply flesh, or manna, or a thousand things besides. But evidently\nsuch is not the meaning of Jesus. It was not His wont to speak in such\nliteral, commonplace ways. His thought moved in higher circles than His\nspeech, and we must look upward through the letter to find the higher\nspirit. \"I have meat to eat that ye know not of,\" said Jesus to His\ndisciples; and when He caught the undertone of their literalistic\nquestions He explained His meaning in words that will interpret His\nanswer to the tempter: \"My meat is to do the will of Him that sent Me.\"\nSo now it is as if He said, \"The Will of God is My meat. That Will\nbrought Me hither; that Will detains Me here. Nay, that Will commands Me\nto fast and hunger, and so abstinence from food is itself My food. I do\nnot fear. This wilderness is but the stone-paved court of My Father's\nhouse, whose many chambers are filled with treasures, 'bread enough and\nto spare,' and can I perish with hunger? I wait His time; I accept His\nwill; nor will I taste of bread that is not of His sending.\"\n\nThe tempter was foiled. The specious temptation fell upon the mind of\nJesus like a spark in the sea, to be quenched, instantly and utterly;\nand though Satan found a powerful lever in the pinch of the terrible\nhunger--one of the sorest pains our human nature can feel--yet even then\nhe could not wrench the will of Jesus from the will of God. The first\nAdam doubted, and then disobeyed; the Second Adam rests in God's will\nand word; and like the limpet on the rocks, washed by angry waves, the\npressure of the outward storm only unites His will more firmly to the\nFather's; nor does it for one moment break in upon that rest of soul.\nAnd Jesus never did make use of His miraculous power solely for His own\nbenefit. He would live as a man among men, feeling--probably more\nintensely than we do--all the weaknesses and pains of humanity, that He\nmight be more truly the Son of man, the sympathizing High Priest, the\nperfect Saviour. He became in all points--sin excepted--one with us, so\nthat we might become one with Him, sharing with Him the Father's love on\nearth, and then sharing His heavenly joys.\n\nBaffled, but not confessing himself beaten, the tempter returns to the\ncharge. St. Luke here inverts the order of St. Matthew, giving as the\nsecond temptation what St. Matthew places last. We prefer the order of\nSt. Luke, not only because in general he is more observant of\nchronology, but because there is in the three temptations what we might\ncall a certain seriality, which demands the second place for the\nmountain temptation. It is not necessary that we put a literal stress\nupon the narrative, supposing that Jesus was transported bodily to the\n\"exceeding high mountain.\" Not only has such a supposition an air of the\nincredulous about it, but it is set aside by the terms of the narrative\nitself; for the expression he \"showed Him all the kingdoms of the world\nin a moment of time\" cannot be forced into a literalistic mould. It is\neasier and more natural to suppose that this and the succeeding\ntemptation were presented only to the spirit of Jesus, without any\nphysical accessories; for after all, it is not the eye that sees, but\nthe soul. The bodily eye had not seen the \"great sheet let down from\nheaven,\" but it was a real vision, nevertheless, leading to very\npractical results--the readjustment of Peter's views of duty, and the\nopening of the door of grace and privilege to the Gentiles. It was but a\nmental picture, as the \"man of Macedonia\" appeared to Paul, but the\nvision was intensely real--more real, if that were possible, than the\nleagues of intervening sea; and louder to him than all the voices of\nthe deep--of winds, and waves, and storm--was the voice, \"Come over and\nhelp us,\" the cry which only the ear of the soul had heard. It was in a\nsimilar manner, probably, that the second temptation was presented to\nJesus.\n\nHe finds Himself upon a lofty eminence, when suddenly, \"in a moment of\ntime,\" as St. Luke expresses it, the world lies unveiled at His feet.\nHere are fields white with ripened harvests, vineyards red with\nclustering grapes, groves of olives shimmering in the sunlight like\nfrosted silver, rivers threading their way through a sea of green; here\nare cities on cities innumerable, quivering with the tread of uncounted\nmillions, streets set with statues, and adorned with temples, palaces,\nand parks; here are the flagged Roman roads, all pointing to the world's\ngreat centre, thronged with chariots and horsemen, the legions of war,\nand the caravans of trade. Beyond are seas where a thousand ships are\nskimming over the blue; while still beyond, all environed with temples,\nis the palace of the C\u00e6sars, the marble pivot around which the world\nrevolves.\n\nSuch was the splendid scene set before the mind of Jesus. \"All this is\nmine,\" said Satan, speaking a half-truth which is often but a whole lie;\nfor he was indeed the \"prince of the power of the air,\" ruling, however,\nnot in absolute kingship, but as a pretender, a usurper; \"and I give it\nto whom I will. Only worship me (or rather, 'do homage to me as Your\nsuperior'), and all shall be thine.\" Amplified, the temptation was this:\n\"You are the Son of God, the Messiah-King, but a King without a retinue,\nwithout a throne. I know well all the devious, somewhat slippery ways to\nroyalty; and if You will but assent to my plan, and work on my lines, I\ncan assure You of a throne that is higher, and of a realm that is\nvaster, than that of C\u00e6sar. To begin with: You have powers not given to\nother mortals, miraculous powers. You can command nature as easily as\nYou can obey her. Trade with these at first, freely. Startle men with\nprodigies, and so create a name and gain a following. Then when that is\nsufficiently large set up the standard of revolt. The priesthood and the\npeople will flock to it; Pharisees and Sadducees, giving up their\npaper-chases after phantoms, shadows, will forget their strife in the\npeace of a common war, and before a united people. Rome's legions must\nretire. Then, pushing out Your borders, and avoiding reverse and\ndisaster by a continual appeal to Your miraculous powers, one after\nanother You will make the neighbouring nations dependent and tributary.\nSo, little by little, You will hem in the might of Rome, until by one\ndesperate struggle You will vanquish the Empire. The lines of history\nwill then be all reversed. Jerusalem will become the mistress, the\ncapital of the world; along all these roads swift messengers shall carry\nYour decrees; Your word shall be law, and Your will over all human wills\nshall be supreme.\"\n\nSuch was the meaning of the second temptation. It was the chord of\nambition Satan sought to strike, a chord whose vibrations are so\npowerful in the human heart, often drowning or deafening other and\nsweeter voices. He put before Jesus the highest possible goal, that of\nuniversal empire, and showed how that goal was comparatively easy of\nattainment, if Jesus would only follow his directions and work on his\nplans. The objective point at which the tempter aimed was, as in the\nfirst temptation, to shift Jesus from the Divine purpose, to detach His\nwill from the Father's will, and to induce Him to set up a sort of\nindependence. The life of Jesus, instead of moving on steadily around\nits Divine centre, striking in with absolute precision to the beat of\nthe Divine purpose, should revolve only around the centre of its\nnarrower self, exchanging its grander, heavenlier sweep for certain\nintermittent, eccentric motions of its own. If Satan could not prevent\nthe founding of \"the kingdom,\" he would, if it were possible, change its\ncharacter. It should not be the kingdom of heaven, but a kingdom of\nearth, pure and simple, under earthly conditions and earthly laws. Might\nshould take the place of right, and force the place of love. He would\nset Jesus after gaining the whole world, that so He might forget that\nHis mission was to save it. Instead of a Saviour, they should have a\nSovereign, decked with this world's glory and the pomps of earthly\nempire.\n\nIt is easy to see that if Jesus had been merely man the temptation would\nhave been most subtle and most powerful; for how many of the sons of\nmen, alas, have been led astray from the Divine purpose with a far less\nbait than a whole world! A momentary pleasure, a handful of glittering\ndust the more, some dream of place or fame--these are more than enough\nto tempt men to break with God. But while Jesus was man, the Perfect\nMan, He was more. The Holy Spirit was now given to Him without measure.\nFrom the beginning His will had been subordinate to the Father's,\ngrowing up within it and configuring itself to it, even as the ductile\nmetal receives the shape of the mould. The Divine purpose, too, had now\nbeen revealed to Him in the vivid enlightenment of the Baptism; for the\nshadow of the cross was thrown back over His life, at any rate as far as\nthe Jordan. And so the second temptation fell harmless as the first.\nThe chord of ambition Satan sought to strike was not found in the pure\nsoul of Jesus, and all these visions of victory and empire awoke no\nresponse in His heart, any more than the flower-wreaths laid upon the\nbreast of the dead can quicken the beat of the now silent heart.\n\nThe answer of Jesus was prompt and decisive. Not deigning to use any\nwords of His own, or to hold any parley, even the shortest, He meets the\nword of the tempter with a Divine word: \"It is written, Thou shalt\nworship the Lord thy God, and Him only shalt thou serve.\" The tempting\nthought is something foreign to the mind of Jesus, something unwelcome,\nrepulsive, and it is rejected instantly. Instead of allowing Himself to\nbe diverted from the Divine purpose, His will detached from the Father's\nwill, He turns to that will and word at once. It is His refuge, His\nhome. The thought of Jesus cannot pass beyond the circle of that will,\nany more than a dove can pass beyond the over-arching sky. He sees the\nThrone that is above all thrones, and gazing upon that, worshipping only\nthe Great King, who is over all and in all, the thrones and crowns of\nearthly dominion are but as motes of the air. The victory was complete.\nQuickly as it came, the splendid vision conjured up by the tempter\ndisappeared, and Jesus turned away from the path of earthly glory, where\npower without measure and honours without number awaited Him, to tread\nthe solitary, lowly path of submission and of sacrifice, the path that\nhad a crucifixion, and not a coronation, as its goal.\n\nTwice baffled, the enemy comes once again to the charge, completing the\nseries with the pinnacle temptation, to which St. Luke naturally, and as\nwe think rightly, gives the third place. It follows the other two in\norderly sequence, and it cannot well be placed second, as in St.\nMatthew, without a certain overlapping of thought. If we must adhere to\nthe literalistic interpretation, and suppose Jesus led up to Jerusalem\nbodily, then, perhaps, St. Matthew's order would be more natural, as\nthat would not necessitate a return to the wilderness. But that is an\ninterpretation to which we are not bound. Neither the words of the\nnarrative nor the conditions of the temptation require it; and when art\nrepresents Jesus as flying with the tempter through the air it is a\nrepresentation both grotesque and gratuitous. Thus far, in his\ntemptations, Satan has been foiled by the faith of Jesus, the implicit\ntrust He reposed in the Father; but if he cannot break in upon that\ntrust, causing it to doubt or disobey, may he not push the virtue too\nfar, goading Him \"to sin in loving virtue\"? If the mind and heart of\nJesus are so grooved in with the lines of the Divine will that he cannot\nthrow them off the metals, or make them reverse their wheels, perhaps he\nmay push them forward so fast and so far as to bring about the collision\nhe seeks--the clash of the two wills. It is the only chance left him, a\nforlorn hope, it is true, but still a hope, and Satan moves forward, if\nperchance he may realize it.\n\nAs in the second temptation, the wilderness fades out of sight. Suddenly\nJesus finds Himself standing on the pinnacle of the Temple, probably the\neastern corner of the royal portico. On the one side, deep below, were\nthe Temple courts, crowded with throngs of worshippers; on the other lay\nthe gorge of the Kedron, a giddy depth, which made the eye of the down\nlooker to swim, and the brain to reel. \"If (or rather 'Since') said\nSatan, Thou art the Son of God, cast Thyself down from hence; for it is\nwritten, He shall give His angels charge concerning Thee, to guard Thee;\non their hands they shall bear Thee up, lest haply Thou dash Thy foot\nagainst a stone.\" It is as if he said, \"You are the Son of God, in a\nspecial, favoured sense. You are set in title and authority above the\nangels; they are Your ministering servants; and You reciprocate the\ntrust Heaven reposes in You. The will of God is more to You than life\nitself; the word of God outweighs with You thrones and empires. And You\ndo well. Continue thus, and no harm can overtake You. And just to show\nhow absolute is Your faith in God, cast Yourself down from this height.\nYou need not fear, for You will but throw Yourself upon the word of God;\nand You have only to speak, and unseen angels will crowd the air,\nbearing You up in their hands. Cast Yourself down, and so test and\nattest Your faith in God; and doing so You will give to these multitudes\nindubitable proof of Your Sonship and Messiahship.\" Such was the\nargument, specious, but fallacious, of the tempter. Misquoting Scripture\nby omitting its qualifying clause, distorting the truth into a dangerous\nerror, he sought to impale his Victim on the horn of a dilemma. But\nJesus was on the alert. He recognized at once the seductive thought,\nthough, Jacob-like, it had come robed in the assumed dress of Scripture.\nIs not obedience as sacred as trust? Is not obedience the life, the soul\nof trust, without which the trust itself is but a semblance, a decaying,\ncorrupt thing? But Satan asks Him to disobey, to set Himself above the\nlaws by which the world is governed. Instead of His will being entirely\nsubordinate, conforming itself in all things to the Divine will, if He\nshould cast Himself down from this pinnacle it would be putting\npressure upon that Divine will, forcing it to repeal its own physical\nlaws, or at any rate to suspend their action for a time. And what would\nthat be but insubordination, no longer faith, due presumption, a\ntempting, and not a trusting God? The Divine promises are not cheques\nmade payable to \"bearer,\" regardless of character, place, or time, and\nto be realized by any one who may happen to possess himself of them,\nanywhere. They are cheques drawn out to \"order,\" crossed cheques, too,\nnegotiated only as the conditions of character and time are fulfilled.\nThe Divine protection and guardianship are indeed assured to every child\nof God, but only as he \"dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High,\nas he abides under the shadow of the Almighty;\" in other words, so long\nas \"thy ways\" are \"His ways.\" Step out from that pavilion of the Most\nHigh, and you step from under the bright bow of promise. Put yourself\nabove, or put yourself out of, the Divine order of things, and the very\npromise becomes a threatening, and the cloud that else would protect and\nguide becomes a cloud full of suppressed thunders, and flashing in vivid\nlightnings its thousand swords of flame. Faith and fidelity are thus\ninseparable. The one is the calyx, the other the involved corolla; and\nas they open outwards into the perfect flower they turn towards the\nDivine will, configuring themselves in all things to that will.\n\nA third time Jesus replied to the tempter in words of Old Testament\nScripture, and a third time, too, from the same book of Deuteronomy. It\nwill be observed, however, that the terms of His reply are slightly\naltered. He no longer uses the \"It is written,\" since Satan himself has\nborrowed that word, but substitutes another: \"It is said, Thou shalt\nnot tempt the Lord thy God.\" It has been thought by some that Jesus used\nthe quotation in an accommodated sense, referring the \"Thou\" to the\ntempter himself, and so making \"the Lord thy God\" an attestation of His\nown Divinity. But such an interpretation is forced and unnatural. Jesus\nwould not be likely to hide the deep secret from His own disciples, and\nannounce it for the first time to the ears of the seducer. It is an\nimpossible supposition. Besides, too, it was as man that Jesus was\ntempted. Only on the side of His humanity could the enemy approach Him,\nand for Jesus now to take refuge in His Divinity would strip the\ntemptation of all its meaning, making it a mere acting. But Jesus does\nnot so throw up humanity, or which is the same thing, take Himself out\nof it, and when He says, \"Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God\" He\nincludes Himself in the \"thou.\" Son though He is, He must put Himself\nunder the law that prescribes the relations of man towards God. He must\nlearn obedience as other sons of men. He must submit, that He may serve,\nnot seeking to impose His will upon the Father's will, even by way of\nsuggestion, much less by way of demand, but waiting upon that will in an\nabsolute self-surrender and instant acquiescence. Moses must not command\nthe cloud; all that he is permitted to do is to observe it and follow.\nTo go before God is to go without God, and to go without Him is to go\nagainst Him; and as to the angels bearing Him up in their hands, that\ndepends altogether upon the path and the errand. Let it be the Divinely\nordered path, and the unseen convoys of heaven will attend, a sleepless,\ninvincible guard; but let it be some self-chosen path, some forbidden\nway, and the angel's sword will flash its warning, and send the foot of\nthe unfaithful servant crushing against the wall.\n\nAnd so the third temptation failed, as did the other two. With but a\nlittle tension, Satan had made the will of the first Adam to strike a\ndiscordant note, throwing it out of all harmony with the Higher Will;\nbut by no pressure, no enticements, can he influence the Second Adam.\nHis will vibrates in a perfect consonance with the Father's, even under\nthe terrible pressure of hunger, and the more terrible pressure, the\nfearful impact of evil.\n\nSo Satan completed, and so Jesus resisted, \"every temptation\"--that is,\nevery form of temptation. In the first, Jesus was tempted on the side of\nHis physical nature; in the second the attack was on the side of His\nintellectual nature, looking out on His political life; while in the\nthird the assault was on the side of His spiritual life. In the first He\nis tempted as the Man, in the second as the Messiah, and in the third as\nthe Divine Son. In the first temptation He is asked to make use of His\nnewly received miraculous power over nature--passive, unthinking nature;\nin the second He is asked to throw it over the \"world\", which in this\ncase is a synonym for humankind; while in the third He is asked to widen\nthe realm of His authority, and to command the angels, nay, God Himself.\nSo the three temptations are really one, though the fields of battle lie\nin three several planes. And the aim was one. It was to create a\ndivergence between the two wills, and to set the Son in a sort of\nantagonism to the Father, which would have been another Absalom revolt,\na Divine mutiny it is impossible for us even to conceive.\n\nSt. Luke omits in his narrative the ministry of angels mentioned by the\nother two Synoptists, a sweet postlude we should have missed much, had\nit been wanting; but he gives us instead the retreat of the adversary:\n\"He departed from Him for a season.\" How long a season it was we do not\nknow, but a brief one it must have been, for again and again in the\nstory of the Gospels we see the dark shadow of the evil one; while in\nGethsemane the \"prince of this world\" cometh, but to find \"nothing in\nMe.\" And what was the horror of great darkness, that strange eclipse of\nsoul Jesus suffered upon Calvary, but the same fearful presence,\nintercepting for a time even the Father's smile, and throwing upon the\npure and patient Sufferer a strip of the outer darkness itself?\n\nThe test was over. Tried in the fires of a persistent assault, the faith\nand obedience of Jesus were found perfect. The shafts of the tempter had\nrecoiled upon himself, leaving all stainless and scatheless the pure\nsoul of Jesus. The Son of man had conquered, that all other sons of men\nmay learn the secret of constant and complete victory; how faith\novercomes, putting to flight \"the armies of the aliens,\" and making even\nthe weakest child of God \"more than conqueror.\" And from the wilderness,\nwhere innocence has ripened into virtue, Jesus passes up, like another\nMoses, \"in the power of the Spirit,\" to challenge the world's magicians,\nto baffle their sleight of hand and skill of speech, and to proclaim to\nredeemed humanity a new Exodus, a life-long Jubilee.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n_THE GOSPEL OF THE JUBILEE._\n\n\nImmediately after the Temptation Jesus returned, \"in the power of the\nSpirit,\" and with all the added strength of His recent victories, to\nGalilee. Into what parts of Galilee He came, our Evangelist does not\nsay; but omitting the visit to Cana, and dismissing the first Galilean\ntour with a sentence--how \"He taught in their synagogues, being\nglorified of all\"--St. Luke goes on to record in detail the visit of\nJesus to Nazareth, and His rejection by His townsmen. In putting this\nnarrative in the forefront of his Gospel is St. Luke committing a\nchronological error? or is he, as some suppose, purposely antedating the\nNazareth story, that it may stand as a frontispiece to his Gospel, or\nthat it may serve as a key for the after-music? This is the view held by\nmost of our expositors and harmonists, but, as it appears to us, on\ninsufficient grounds; the balance of probability is against it. It is\ntrue that St. Matthew and St. Mark record a visit to Nazareth which\nevidently occurred at a later period of His ministry. It is true also\nthat between their narratives and this of St. Luke there are some\nstriking resemblances, such as the teaching in the synagogue the\nastonishment of His hearers, their reference to His parentage, and then\nthe reply of Jesus as to a prophet receiving scant honour in his own\ncountry--resemblances which would seem to indicate that the two\nnarratives were in reality one. But still it is possible to push these\nresemblances too far, reading out from them what we have first read into\nthem. Let us for the moment suppose that Jesus made two visits to\nNazareth; and is not such a supposition both reasonable and natural? It\nis not necessary that the first rejection should be a final rejection,\nfor did not the Jews seek again and again to kill Him, before the cross\nsaw their dire purpose realized? Remaining for so long in Galilee, would\nit not be a most natural wish on the part of Jesus to see the home of\nHis boyhood once again, and to give to His townspeople one parting word\nbefore taking His farewell of Galilee? And suppose He did, what then?\nWould He not naturally go to the synagogue--as was His custom in every\nplace--and speak? And would they not listen with the same astonishment,\nand then harp on the very same questions as to His parentage and\nbrotherhood--questions that would have their readiest and fittest answer\nin the same familiar proverb? Instead, then, of these resemblances\nidentifying the two narratives, and proving that St. Luke's story is but\nan amplification of the narratives of the other Synoptists, the\nresemblances themselves are what we might naturally expect in our\nsupposition of a second visit. But if there are certain coincidences\nbetween the two narratives, there are marked differences, which make it\nextremely improbable that the Synoptists are recording one event. In the\nvisit recorded by St. Luke there were no miracles wrought; while St.\nMatthew and St. Mark tell us that He could not do many mighty works\nthere, because of their unbelief, but that He \"laid His hands on a few\nsick folk, and healed them.\" In the narrative by St. Mark we read that\nHis disciples were with Him while St. Luke makes no mention of His\ndisciples; but St. Luke does mention the tragic ending of the visit, the\nattempt of the men of Nazareth to hurl Him down from a lofty cliff, an\nincident St. Matthew and St. Mark omit altogether. But can we suppose\nthe men of Nazareth would have attempted this, had the strong body-guard\nof disciples been with Jesus? Would they be likely to stand by, timidly\nacquiescent? Would not Peter's sword have flashed instantly from its\nscabbard, in defence of Him whom he served and dearly loved? That St.\nMatthew and St. Mark should make no reference to this scene of violence,\nhad it occurred at the visit they record, is strange and unaccountable;\nand the omission is certainly an indication, if not a proof, that the\nSynoptists are describing two separate visits to Nazareth--the one, as\nnarrated by St. Luke, at the commencement of His ministry; and the other\nat a later date, probably towards its close. And with this view the\nsubstance of the Nazareth address perfectly accords. The whole address\nhas the ring of an inaugural message; it is the voice of an opening\nspring, and not of a waning summer. \"This day is this Scripture\nfulfilled in your ears\" is the blast of the silver trumpet announcing\nthe beginning of the Messianic year, the year of a truer, wider Jubilee.\n\nIt seems to us, therefore, that the chronology of St. Luke is perfectly\ncorrect, as he places in the forefront of his Gospel the earlier visit\nto Nazareth, and the violent treatment Jesus there received. At the\nsecond visit there was still a widespread unbelief, which caused Jesus\nto marvel; but there was no attempt at violence, for His disciples were\nwith Him now, while the report of His Jud\u00e6an ministry, which had gone\nbefore Him, and the miracles He wrought in their presence, had softened\ndown even Nazareth prejudices and asperities. The events of the first\nGalilean tour were probably in the following order. Jesus, with His five\ndisciples, goes to Cana, invited guests at the marriage, and here He\nopens His miraculous commission, by turning the water into wine. From\nCana they proceed to Capernaum, where they remain for a short time,\nJesus preaching in their synagogue, and probably continuing His\nmiraculous works. Leaving His disciples behind at Capernaum--for between\nthe preliminary call by the Jordan and the final call by the lake the\nfisher-disciples get back to their old occupations for a while--Jesus\ngoes up to Nazareth, with His mother and His brethren. Thence, after His\nviolent rejection, He returns to Capernaum, where He calls His disciples\nfrom their boats and receipt of custom, probably completing the sacred\nnumber before setting out on His journey southward to Jerusalem. If this\nharmony be correct--and the weight of probability seems to be in its\nfavour--then the address at Nazareth, which is the subject for our\nconsideration now, would be the first recorded utterance of Jesus; for\nthus far Cana gives us one startling miracle, while in Capernaum we find\nthe report of His acts, rather than the echoes of His words. And that\nSt. Luke alone should give us this incident, recording it in such a\ngraphic manner, would almost imply that he had received the account from\nan eye-witness, probably--if we may gather anything from the Nazarene\ntone of St. Luke's earlier pages--from some member of the Holy Family.\n\nJesus has now fairly embarked upon His Messianic mission, and He begins\nthat mission, as prophecy had long foretold He should, in Galilee of the\nGentiles. The rumour of His wonderful deeds at Cana and Capernaum had\nalready preceded Him thither, when Jesus came once again to the home of\nHis childhood and youth. Going, as had been His custom from boyhood,\ninto the synagogue on the Sabbath day (St. Luke is writing for Gentiles\nwho are unversed in Jewish customs), Jesus stood up to read. \"The\nMegilloth,\" or Book of the Prophets, having been handed to Him, He\nunrolled the book, and read the passage in Isaiah (lxi. 1) to which His\nmind had been Divinely directed, or which He had purposely chosen:--\n\n  \"The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me,\n  Because He anointed Me to preach good tidings to the poor,\n  He hath sent Me to proclaim release to the captives,\n  And recovering of sight to the blind,\n  To set at liberty them that are bruised,\n  To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord.\"\n\nThen closing, or rolling up, the book, and handing it back to the\nattendant, Jesus sat down, and began His discourse. The Evangelist does\nnot record any of the former part of the discourse, but simply gives us\nthe effect produced, in the riveted gaze and the rising astonishment of\nHis auditors, as they caught up eagerly His sweet and gracious words.\nDoubtless, He would explain the words of the prophet, first in their\nliteral, and then in their prophetic sense; and so far He carried the\nhearts of His hearers with Him, for who could speak of their Messianic\nhopes without awaking sweet music in the Hebrew heart? But directly\nJesus applies the passage to Himself, and says, \"This day is this\nScripture fulfilled in your ears,\" the fashion of their countenance\nalters; the Divine emphasis He puts upon the Me curdles in their heart,\nturning their pleasure and wonder into incredulity, envy, and a perfect\nfrenzy of rage. The primary reference of the prophecy seems to have been\nto the return of Israel from captivity. It was a political Jubilee he\nproclaimed, when Zion should have a \"garland for ashes,\" when the\ncaptive should be free, and aliens should be their servants. But the\nflowers of Scripture are mostly double; its pictures and parables have\noften a nearer meaning, and another more remote, or a spiritual,\ninvolved in the literal sense. That it was so here is evident, for Jesus\ntakes this Scripture--which we might call a Babylonish garment, woven\nout of the Exile--and wraps it around Himself, as if it belonged to\nHimself alone, and were so intended from the very first. His touch thus\ninvests it with a new significance; and making this Scripture a vestment\nfor Himself, Jesus, so to speak, shakes out its narrower folds, and\ngives it a wider, an eternal meaning. But why should Jesus select this\npassage above all others? Were not the Old Testament Scriptures full of\ntypes, and shadows, and prophecies which testified of Him, any one of\nwhich He might have appropriated now? Yes, but no other passage so\ncompletely answered His design, no other was so clearly and fully\ndeclarative of His earthly mission. And so Jesus selected this picture\nof Isaiah, which was at once a prophecy and an epitome of His own\nGospel, as His inaugural message, His manifesto.\n\nThe Mosaic Code, in its play upon the temporal octaves, had made\nprovision, not only for a weekly Sabbath, and for a Sabbath year, but it\ncompleted its cycle of festivals by setting apart each fiftieth year as\na year of special grace and gladness. It was the year of redemption and\nrestoration, when all debts were remitted, when the family inheritance,\nwhich by the pressure of the times had been alienated, reverted to its\noriginal owner, and when those who had mortgaged their personal liberty\nregained their freedom. The \"Jubilee\" year, as they called it--putting\ninto its name the play of the priestly trumpets which ushered it in--was\nthus the Divine safeguard against monopolies, a Divine provision for a\nperiodic redistribution of the wealth and privileges of the theocracy;\nwhile at the same time it served to keep intact the separate threads of\nfamily life, running its lines of lineage down through the centuries,\nand across into the New Testament. Seizing upon this, the gladdest\nfestival of Hebrew life, Jesus likens Himself to one of the priests, who\nwith trumpet of silver proclaims \"the acceptable year of the Lord.\" He\nfinds in that Jubilee a type of His Messianic year, a year that shall\nbring, not to one chosen race alone, but to a world of debtors and\ncaptives, remissions and manumissions without number, ushering in an era\nof liberty and gladness. And so in these words, adapted and adopted from\nIsaiah, Jesus announces Himself as the world's Evangelist, and Healer,\nand Emancipator; or separating the general message into its prismatic\ncolours, we have the three characteristics of Christ's Gospel--(1) as\nthe Gospel of Love; (2) the Gospel of Light; and (3) the Gospel of\nLiberty.\n\n1. The Gospel of Jesus was the Gospel of Love. \"He anointed Me to preach\ngood tidings to the poor.\" That there is a Gospel even in the Old\nTestament no one will attempt to deny, and able writers have delighted\nin tracing out the evangelism that, like hidden veins of gold, runs here\nand there, now embedded deep in historical strata, and now cropping out\nin the current of prophetical speech. Still, an ear but little trained\nto harmonies can detect a marvellous difference between the tone of the\nOld and the tone of the New Dispensation. \"Evangelists\" is scarcely the\nname we should give to the prophets and preachers of the Old Testament,\nif we except that prophet of the dawn, Isaiah. They came, not as the\nbearers of glad tidings, but with the pressure, the burden of a terrible\n\"woe\" upon them. With a voice of threat and doom they recall Israel back\nto the ways of fidelity and purity, and with the caustic of biting words\nthey seek to burn out the cancer of national corruption. They were no\ndoves, those old-time prophets, building their nests in the blossoming\nolives, in soft accents telling of a winter past and a summer near; they\nwere storm-birds rather, beating with swift, sad wings on the crest of\nsullen waves, or whirling about among the torn shrouds. Even the eremite\nBaptist brought no evangel. He was a sad man, with a sad message,\ntelling, not of the right which men should do, but of the wrong they\nshould not do, his ministry, like that of the law, being a ministry of\ncondemnation. Jesus, however, announces Himself as the world's\nEvangelist. He declares that He is anointed and commissioned to be the\nbearer of good, glad tidings to man. At once the Morning Star and Sun,\nHe comes to herald a new day; nay, He comes to make that day. And so it\nwas. We cannot listen to the words of Jesus without noticing the high\nand heavenly pitch to which their music is set. Beginning with the\nBeatitudes, they move on in the higher spaces, striking the notes of\ncourage, hope, and faith, and at last, in the guest-chamber, dropping\ndown to their key-note, as they close with an _eirenicon_ and a\nbenediction. How little Jesus played upon men's fears! how, instead, He\nsought to inspire them with new hopes, telling of the possibilities of\ngoodness, the perfections which were within reach of even the human\nendeavour! How seldom you catch the tone of despondency in His words! As\nHe summons men to a life of purity, unselfishness, and faith, His are\nnot the voice and mien of one who commands to a forlorn hope. There is\nthe ring of courage, conviction, certainty about His tone, a hopefulness\nthat was itself half a victory. Jesus was no Pessimist, reading over the\ngrave of departed glories His \"ashes to ashes;\" He who knew our human\nnature best had most hopes of it, for He saw the Deity that was around\nit and within it.\n\nAnd just here we touch what we may call the fundamental chord in the\nGospel of Jesus, the Fatherhood of God; for though we can detect other\nstrains running through the music of the Gospel, such as the Love of\nGod, the Grace of God, and the Kingdom of God, yet these are but the\nconsonant notes completing the harmonic scale, or the variations that\nplay about the Divine Fatherhood. To the Hebrew conception of God this\nwas an element altogether new. To their mind Jehovah is the Lord of\nhosts, an invisible, absolute Power, inhabiting the thick darkness, and\nspeaking in the fire. Sinai thus throws its shadow across the Old\nTestament Scriptures, and men inhale an atmosphere of law rather than of\nlove.\n\nBut what a transformation was wrought in the world's thought and life as\nJesus unfolded the Divine Fatherhood! It altered the whole aspect of\nman's relation to God, with a change as marked and glorious as when our\nearth turns its face more directly to the sun, to find its summer. The\nGreat King, whose will commanded all forces, became the Great Father, in\nwhose compassionate heart the toiling children of men might find refuge\nand rest. The \"Everlasting Arms\" were none the less strong and\nomnipotent; but as Jesus uncovered them they seemed less distant, less\nrigid; they became so near and so gentle, the weakest child of earth\nmight not fear to lay its tired heart upon them. Law was none the less\nmighty, none the less majestic, but it was now a transfigured law, all\nlighted up and suffused with love. No longer was life one round of\nservile tasks, demanded by an inexorable, invisible Pharaoh; no longer\nwas it a trampled playground, where all the flowers are crushed, as Fate\nand Chance take their alternate innings. No; life was ennobled, adorned\nwith new and rare beauties; and when Jesus opened the gate of the Divine\nFatherhood the light that was beyond, and that \"never was on sea or\nland,\" shone through, putting a heavenliness upon the earthly, and a\nDivineness upon the human life. What better, gladder tidings could the\npoor (whether in spirit or in life) hear than this--that heaven was no\nlonger a distant dream, but a present and most precious reality,\ntouching at every point, and enfolding their little lives; that God was\nno longer hostile, or even indifferent to them, but that He cared for\nthem with an infinite care, and loved them with an infinite love? Thus\ndid Jesus proclaim the \"good tidings;\" for love, grace, redemption, and\nheaven itself are all found within the compass of the Fatherhood. And He\nwho gave to His disciples, in the Paternoster, a golden key for heaven's\naudience-chamber, speaks that sacred name \"Father\" even amid the agonies\nof the cross, putting the silver trumpet to His parched and quivering\nlips, so that earth may hear once again the music of its new and more\nglorious Jubilee.\n\n2. The Gospel of Jesus was a Gospel of Light. \"And recovering of sight\nto the blind,\" which is the Septuagint rendering of the Hebrew passage\nin Isaiah, \"the opening of the prison to them that are bound.\" At first\nsight this appears to be a break in the Jubilee idea; for physical\ncures, such as the healing of the blind, did not come within the scope\nof Jubilatic mercies. The original expression, however, contains a\nblending of figures, which together preserve the unity of the prophetic\npicture. Literally it reads, \"The opening of the eyes to them that are\nbound;\" the figure being that of a captive, whose long captivity in the\ndarkness has filmed his vision, and who now passes through the opened\ndoor of his prison into the light of day.\n\nIn what way shall we interpret these words? Are they to be taken\nliterally, or spiritually? or are both methods equally legitimate?\nEvidently they are both intended, for Jesus was the Light-bringer in\nmore senses than one. That the Messiah should signalize His advent by\nperforming wonders and signs, and by working physical cures, was\ncertainly the teaching of prophecy, as it was a fixed and prominent hope\nin the expectation of the Jews. And so, when the despondent Baptist sent\ntwo of his disciples to ask \"Art Thou He that should come?\" Jesus gave\nno direct answer, but turning from His questioners to the multitude of\nsick who pressed around Him, He healed their sick, and gave sight to\nmany that were blind. Then returning to the surprised strangers, He bids\nthem carry back to their master these visible proofs of His\nMessiahship--how that \"lepers are cleansed, and the blind receive their\nsight.\" Jesus Himself had a wonderful power of vision. His eyes were\ndivinely bright, for they carried their own light. Not only had He the\ngift of prescience, the forward-looking eye; He had what for want of a\nword we may call the gift of perscience, the eye that looked within,\nthat saw the heart and soul of things. What a strange fascination there\nwas in His very look! how it flashed like a subtle lightning, striking\nand scathing with its holy indignation the half-veiled meanness and\nhypocrisy! and how again, like a beam of light, it fell upon Peter's\nsoul, thawing the chilled heart, and opening the closed fountain of his\ntears, as an Alpine summer falls on the rigid glacier, and sends it\nrippling and singing through the lower vales. And had not Jesus an\nespecial sympathy for cases of ophthalmic distress, paying to the blind\na peculiar attention? How quickly He responded to Bartim\u00e6us--\"What is it\nthat I shall do for thee?\"--as if Bartim\u00e6us were conferring the benefit\nby making his request. Where on the pages of the four Gospels do we find\na picture more full of beauty and sublimity than when we read of Jesus\ntaking the blind man by the hand, and leading him out of the town? What\nmoral grandeur and what touching pathos are there! and how that stoop of\ngentleness makes Him great! No other case is there of such prolonged and\ntender sympathy, where He not only opens the gates of day for the\nbenighted, but leads the benighted one up to the gates. And why does\nJesus make this difference in His miracles, that while other cures are\nwrought instantly, even the raising of the dead, with nothing more than\na look, a word, or a touch, in healing the blind He should work the\ncure, as it were, in parts, or by using such intermediaries as clay,\nsaliva, or the water of Siloam's pool? Must it not have been\nintentional? It would seem so, though what the purpose might be we can\nonly guess. Was it so gradual an inletting of the light, because a glare\ntoo bright and sudden would only confuse and blind? or did Jesus linger\nover the cure with the pleasure of one who loves to watch the dawn, as\nit paints the east with vermilion and gold? or did Jesus make use of the\nsaliva and clay, that like crystal lenses, they might magnify His power,\nand show how His will was supreme, that He had a thousand ways of\nrestoring sight, and that He had only to command even unlikely things,\nand light, or rather sight, should be? We do not know the purpose, but\nwe do know that physical sight was somehow a favourite gift of the Lord\nJesus, one that He handed to men carefully and tenderly. Nay, He Himself\nsaid that the man of Jerusalem had been born blind \"that the works of\nGod should be manifest in him;\" that is, his firmament had been for\nforty years darkened that his age, and all coming ages, might see\nshining within it the constellations of Divine Pity and Divine Power.\n\nBut while Jesus knew well the anatomy of the natural eye, and could and\ndid heal it of its disorders, putting within the sunken socket the\nrounded ball, or restoring to the optic nerve its lost powers, this was\nnot the only sight He brought. To the companion clauses of this\nprophecy, where Jesus proclaims deliverance to the captives, and sets at\nliberty them that are bruised, we are compelled to give a spiritual\ninterpretation; and so \"the recovering of sight to the blind\" demands a\nfar wider horizon than the literalistic sense offers. It speaks of the\ntrue Light which lighteth every man, that spiritual photosphere that\nenvirons and enswathes the soul, and of the opening and adjusting of the\nspiritual sense; for as sight without light is darkness, so light\nwithout sight is darkness still. The two facts are thus related, each\nuseless apart from the other, but together producing what we call\nvision. The recovering of sight to the blind is thus the universal\nmiracle. It is the \"Let light be\" of the new Genesis, or, as we prefer\nto call it, the \"regeneration.\" It is the dawn, which, breaking over the\nsoul, broadens unto the perfect day, the heavenly, the eternal noon.\nJesus Himself recognized this binoculism, this double vision. He says\n(John xvi. 16), \"A little while, and ye behold Me no more; and again a\nlittle while, and ye shall see Me,\" using two altogether different\nwords--the one speaking of the vision of the sense, the other of the\ndeeper vision of the soul. And it was so. The disciples' vision of the\nChrist, at least so long as the bodily presence was with them, was the\nearthly, physical vision. The spiritual Christ was, in a sense, lost,\nmasked in the corporeal. The veil of His flesh hung dense and heavy\nbefore their eyes, and not until it was uplifted on the cross, not until\nit was rent in twain, did they see the mysterious Holy Presence that\ndwelt within the veil. Nor was the clearer vision given them even now.\nThe dust of the sepulchre was in their eyes, blurring, and for a time\nhalf-blinding them--the anointing with the clay. The emptied grave, the\nResurrection, was their \"pool of Siloam,\" washing away the blinding\nclay, the dust of their gross, materialistic thoughts. Henceforth they\nsaw Christ, not, as before, ever coming and going, but as the\never-present, the abiding One. In the fuller light of the Pentecostal\nflames the unseen Christ became more near and more real than the seen\nChrist ever was. Seeing Him as visible, their minds were holden,\nsomewhat perplexed; they could neither accomplish much nor endure much;\nbut seeing Him who had become invisible, they were a company of\ninvincibles. They could do and they could endure anything; for was not\nthe I AM with them always?\n\nNow, even in the physical vision there is a wonderful correspondence\nbetween the sight and the soul, the prospect and introspect. As men read\nthe outward world they see pretty much the shadow of themselves, their\nthoughts, feelings, and ideas. In the German fable the travelled stork\nhad nothing to say about the beauty of the fields and wonders of the\ncities over which it passed, but it could discourse at length about the\ndelicious frogs it had found in a certain ditch. Exactly the same law\nrules up in the higher vision. Men see what they themselves love and\nare; the sight is but a sort of projection of the soul. As St. Paul\nsays, \"The natural man receiveth not the things of God;\" the things\nwhich God hath prepared for them that love Him are \"things which eye saw\nnot, and ear heard not.\" And so Jesus gives sight by renewing the soul;\nHe creates around us a new heaven and a new earth, by creating a new, a\nclean heart within us. Within every soul there are the possibilities of\na Paradise, but these possibilities are dormant. The natural heart is a\nchaos of confusion and darkness, until it turns towards Jesus as its\nSaviour and its Sun, and henceforth revolves around Him in its\never-narrowing circles.\n\n3. The Gospel of Jesus was a Gospel of Liberty. \"He hath sent Me to\nproclaim release to the captives,\" \"to set at liberty them that are\nbruised.\" The latter clause is not in the original prophecy, but is a\nrough adaptation of another passage in Isaiah (lviii. 6). Probably it\nwas quoted by Jesus in His address, and so was inserted by the\nEvangelist with the passages read; for in the New Testament the\nquotations from the Old are grouped together by affinities of spirit,\nrather than by the law of textual continuity. The two passages are one\nin their proclamation and promise of liberty, but they by no means cover\nthe same ground. The former speaks of the liberation of captives, those\nwhom the exigencies of war or some change of fortune have thrown into\nprison; the latter speaks of deliverance to the oppressed, those whose\npersonal liberties may not be impawned, but whose lives are made hard\nand bitter under severe exactions, and whose spirits are broken, crushed\nbeneath a weight of accumulated ills. Speaking generally, we should call\nthe one an amnesty, and the other an enfranchisement; for one is the\noffer of freedom to the captive, the other of freedom to the slave;\nwhile together they form an act of emancipation for humanity,\nenfranchising and ennobling each individual son of man, and giving to\nhim, even the poorest, the freedom of God's world.\n\nIn what sense, then, is Jesus the great Emancipator? It would be easy to\nshow that Jesus, personally, was a lover of freedom. He could not brook\nrestraints. Antiquity, conventionalism, had no charms for Him. Keenly in\ntouch with the present, He did not care to take the cold, clammy hand of\na dead Past, or allow it to prescribe His actions. Between the right and\nthe wrong, the good and the evil, He put a wall of adamant, God's\neternal \"No;\" but within the sphere of the right, the good, He left room\nfor largest liberties. He observed forms--occasionally, at least--but\nformalism He could not endure. And so Jesus was constantly coming into\ncollision with the Pharisaic school of thought, the school of\nroutinists, casuists, whose religion was a glossary of terms, a volume\nof formulas and negations. To the Pharisee religion was a cold, dead\nthing, a mummy, all enswathed in the cerecloths of tradition; to Jesus\nit was a living soul within a living form, an angel of grace and\nbeauty, whose wings would bear her aloft to higher, heavenlier spheres,\nand whose feet and hands fitted her just as well for the common walks of\nlife, in a beautiful, every-day ministry of blessing. And how Jesus\nloved to give personal liberty to man--to remove the restrictions\ndisease had put around their activities, and to leave them physically,\nmentally free! And what were His miracles of healing but proclamations\nof liberty, in the lowest sense of that word? He found the human body\nenfeebled, enslaved; here it was an arm, there an eye, so held in the\ngrip of disease that it was as if dead. But Jesus said to Disease,\n\"Loose that half-strangled life and let it go,\" and in an instant it was\nfree to act and feel, finding its lesser jubilee. Jesus saw the human\nmind led into captivity. Reason was dethroned and immured in the\ndungeon, while the feet of lawless passions were trampling overhead. But\nwhen Jesus healed the demoniac, the imbecile, the lunatic, what was it\nbut a mental jubilee, as He gives peace to a distracted soul, and leads\nbanished Reason back to her Jerusalem?\n\nBut these deliverances and liberties, glorious as they are, are but\nfigures of the true, which is the enfranchisement of the soul. The\ndisciples were perplexed and sorely disappointed that Jesus should die\nwithout having wrought any \"redemption\" for Israel. This was their one\ndream, that the Messiah should break in pieces the hated Roman yoke, and\neffect a political deliverance. But they see Him moving steadily to His\ngoal, taking no note of their aspirations, or noticing them only to\nrebuke them, and scarce giving a passing glance to these Roman eagles,\nwhich darken the sky, and cast their ominous shadows over the homes and\nfields of Israel. But Jesus had not come into the world to effect any\nlocal, political redemption; another Moses could have done that. He had\ncome to lead captive the captivity of Sin, as Zacharias had foretold,\n\"that being delivered out of the hand of our (spiritual) enemies, we\nmight serve Him without fear, in holiness and righteousness all the days\nof our life.\" The sphere of His mission was where His kingdom should be,\nin the great interior of the heart. A Prophet like unto Moses, but\ninfinitely greater than he, He too leaves the palace, of the Eternal,\nlaying aside, not the robes of a prospective royalty, but the glories He\npossessed with the Father; He too assumes the dress, the speech, nay,\nthe very nature, of the race He has come to redeem. And when no other\nransom was sufficient He \"offered Himself without spot to God,\" \"our\nPassover, sacrificed for us,\" so sprinkling the doorway of the new\nExodus with His own blood. But here we stand on the threshold of a great\nmystery; for if angels bend over the mercyseat, desiring, but in vain,\nto read the secret of redemption, how can our finite minds grasp the\ngreat thought and purpose of God? We do know this, however, for it is\nthe oft-repeated truth of Scripture, that the life, or, as St. Peter\nputs it, \"the precious blood of Christ,\" was, in a certain sense, our\nransom, the price of our redemption. We say \"in a certain sense,\" for\nthe figure breaks down if we press it unduly, as if Heaven had held a\nparley with the power that had enslaved man, and, at a stipulated price,\nhad bought him off. That certainly was no part of the Divine purpose and\nfact of redemption. But an atonement was needed in order to make\nsalvation possible; for how could God, infinitely holy and just, remit\nthe penalty due to sin with no expression of His abhorrence of sin,\nwithout destroying the dignity of law, and reducing justice to a mere\nname? But the obedience and death of Christ were a satisfaction of\ninfinite worth. They upheld the majesty of law, and at the same time\nmade way for the interventions of Divine Love. The cross of Jesus was\nthus the place where Mercy and Truth met together, and Righteousness and\nPeace kissed each other. It was at once the visible expression of God's\ndeep hatred of sin, and of His deep love to the sinner. And so, not\nvirtually simply, in some far-off sense, but in truest reality, Jesus\n\"died for our sins,\" Himself tasting death that we might have life, even\nthe life \"more abundant,\" the life everlasting; suffering Himself to be\nled captive by the powers of sin, bound to the cross and imprisoned in a\ngrave, that men might be free in all the glorious liberty of the\nchildren of God.\n\nBut this deliverance from sin, the pardon for past offences, is but one\npart of the salvation Jesus provides and proclaims. Heaven's angel may\nlight up the dungeon of the imprisoned soul; he may strike off its\nfetters, and lead it forth into light and liberty; but if Satan can\nreverse all this, and fling back the soul into captivity, what is that\nbut a partial, intermittent salvation, so unlike Him whose name is\nWonderful? The angel said, \"He shall save His people,\" not from the\neffects of their sin, from its guilt and condemnation alone, but \"from\ntheir sins.\" That is, He shall give to the pardoned soul power over sin;\nit shall no longer have dominion over him; captivity itself shall be led\ncaptive; for\n\n  \"His grace, His love, His care\n  Are wider than our utmost need,\n  And higher than our prayer.\"\n\nYes, verily; and the life that is hid with Christ in God, that, with no\nside-glances at self, is set apart utterly to do the Divine will, that\nabandons itself to the perfect keeping of the perfect Saviour, will find\non earth the \"acceptable year of the Lord,\" its years, henceforth, years\nof liberty and victory, a prolonged Jubilee.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n_A SABBATH IN GALILEE._\n\n\nWe should naturally expect that our physician-Evangelist would have a\npeculiar interest in Christ's connection with human suffering and\ndisease, and in this we are not mistaken.\n\nIt is almost a superfluous task to consider what our Gospels would have\nbeen had there been no miracles of healing to record; but we may safely\nsay that such a blank would be inexplicable, if not impossible. Even had\nprophecy been utterly silent on the subject, should we not look for the\nChrist to signalize His advent and reign upon earth by manifestations of\nHis Divine power? A Man amongst men, human yet superhuman, how can He\nmanifest the Divinity that is within, except by the flashings forth of\nHis supernatural power? Speech, however eloquent, however true, could\nnot do this. There must be a background of deeds, visible credentials of\nauthority and power, or else the words are weak and vain--but the play\nof a borealis in the sky, beautiful and bright indeed, but distant,\ninoperative, and cold. If the prophets of old, who were but acolytes\nswinging their lamps and singing their songs before the coming Christ,\nwere allowed to attest their commission by occasional enduements of\nmiraculous power, must not the Christ Himself prove His super-humanity\nby fuller measures and exhibitions of the same power? And where can He\nmanifest this so well as in connection with the world's suffering, need,\nand pain? Here is a background prepared, and all dark enough in sooth;\nwhere can He write so well that men may read His messages of good-will,\nlove, and peace? Where can He put His sign manual, His Divine autograph,\nbetter than on this firmament of human sorrow, disease, and woe? And so\nthe miracles of healing fall naturally into the story; they are the\nnatural and necessary accompaniments of the Divine life upon earth.\n\nThe first miracle that Jesus wrought was in the home at Cana; His first\nmiracle of healing was in the synagogue. He thus placed Himself in the\ntwo pivotal centres of our earthly life; for that life, with its\nheavenward and earthward aspects, revolves about the synagogue and the\nhome. He touches our human life alike on its temporal and its spiritual\nside. To a nature like that of Jesus, which had an intense love for what\nwas real and true, and as intense a scorn for what was superficial and\nunreal, it would seem as if a Hebrew synagogue would offer but few\nattractions. True, it served as the visible symbol of religion; it was\nthe shrine where the Law and the Prophets spoke; what spiritual life\nthere was circled and eddied around its door; while its walls, pointing\nto Jerusalem, kept the scattered populations in touch with the Temple,\nthat marbled dream of Hebraism; but in saying this we say nearly all.\nThe tides of worldliness and formality, which, sweeping through the\nTemple gates, had left a scum of mire even upon the sacred courts,\nchilling devotion and almost extinguishing faith, had swept over the\nthreshold of the synagogue. There the scribes had usurped Moses' seat,\nexalting Tradition as a sort of essence of Scripture, and deadening the\nmajestic voices of the law in the jargon of their vain repetitions. But\nJesus does not absent Himself from the service of the synagogue because\nthe fires upon its altars are dulled and quenched by the down-draught of\nthe times. To Him it is the house of God, and if others see it not, He\nsees a ladder of light, with ascending and descending angels. If others\nhear but the voices of man, all broken and confused, He hears the\nDiviner voice, still and small; He hears the music of the heavenly host,\nthrowing down their _Glorias_ upon earth. The pure in heart can find and\nsee God anywhere. He who worships truly carries his Holy of holies\nwithin him. He who takes his own fire need never complain of the cold,\nand with wood and fire all prepared, he can find or he can build an\naltar upon any mount. Happy is the soul that has learned to lean upon\nGod, who can say, amid all the distractions and interventions of man,\n\"My soul, wait thou only upon God.\" To such a one, whose soul is athirst\nfor God, the Valley of Baca becomes a well, while the hot rock pours out\nits streams of blessing. The art of worship avails nothing if the heart\nof worship is gone; but if that remain, subtle attractions will ever\ndraw it to the place where \"His name is recorded, and where His honour\ndwelleth.\"\n\nIn his earlier chapters St. Luke is careful to light his Sabbath lamp,\ntelling that such and such miracles were wrought on that day, because\nthe Sabbath question was one on which Jesus soon came into collision\nwith the Pharisees. By their traditions, and the withs of dry and sharp\nlegalities, they had strangled the Sabbath, until life was well-nigh\nextinct. They had made rigorous and exacting what God had made bright\nand restful, fencing it around with negations, and burdening it with\npenalties. Jesus broke the withs that bound her, let the freer air play\nupon her face, and then led her back to the sweet liberties of her\nearlier years. How He does it the sequel will show.\n\nThe Sabbath morning finds Jesus repairing to the synagogue at Capernaum,\na sanctuary built by a Gentile centurion, and presided over by Jairus,\nboth of whom are yet to be brought into close personal relationship with\nChrist. From the silence of the narrative we should infer that the\ncourtesy offered at Nazareth was not repeated at Capernaum--that of\nbeing invited to read the lesson from the Book of the Prophets. But\nwhether so or not, He was allowed to address the congregation, a\nprivilege which was often accorded to any eminent stranger who might be\npresent. Of the subject of the discourse we know nothing. Possibly it\nwas suggested by some passing scene or incident, as the sculptured pot\nof manna, in this same synagogue, called forth the remarkable address\nabout the earthly and the heavenly bread (John vi. 31). But if the\nsubstance of the discourse is lost to us, its effect is not. It awoke\nthe same feeling of surprise at Capernaum as it had done before among\nthe more rustic minds of Nazareth. There, however, it was the\ngraciousness of His words, their mingled \"sweetness and light,\" which so\ncaused them to wonder; here at Capernaum it was the \"authority\" with\nwhich He spoke that so astonished them, so different from the speech of\nthe scribes, which, for the most part, was but an iteration of quibbles\nand trivialities, with just as much of originality as the \"old clo'\"\ncries of our modern streets. The speech of Jesus came as a breath from\nthe upper air; it was the intense language of One who possessed the\ntruth, and who was Himself possessed by the truth. He dealt in\nprinciples, not platitudes; in eternal facts, and not in the fancies of\ngossamer that tradition so delighted to spin. Others might speak with\nthe hesitancy of doubt; Jesus spoke in \"verilys\" and verities, the very\nessences of truth. And so His word fell upon the ears of men with the\ntones of an oracle; they felt themselves addressed by the unseen Deity\nwho was behind; they had not learned, as we have, that the Deity of\ntheir oracle was within. No wonder that they are astonished at His\nauthority--an authority so perfectly free from any assumptions; they\nwill wonder still more when they find that demons, too, recognize this\nauthority, and obey it.\n\nWhile Jesus was still speaking--the tense of the verb implies an\nunfinished discourse--suddenly He was interrupted by a loud, wild shout:\n\"Ah, what have we to do with Thee, Thou Jesus of Nazareth? Art Thou come\nto destroy us? I know Thee, who Thou art, the Holy One of God.\" It was\nthe cry of a man who, as our Evangelist expresses it, \"had a spirit of\nan unclean devil.\" The phrase is a singular one, in fact unique, and\nsavours a little of tautology; for St. Luke uses the words \"spirit\" and\n\"devil\" as synonyms (ix. 39). Later in his Gospel he would simply have\nsaid \"he had an unclean devil;\" why, then, does he here amplify the\nphrase, and say he had \"a spirit of an unclean devil\"? We can, of\ncourse, only conjecture, but might it not be because to the Gentile\nmind--to which he is writing--the powers of evil were represented as\npersonifications, having a corporeal existence? And so in his first\nreference to demoniacal possession he pauses to explain that these\ndemons are evil \"spirits,\" with existences altogether separate from the\ndiseased humanity which temporarily they were allowed to inhabit and to\nrule. Neither can we determine with certainty the meaning of the phrase\n\"an unclean devil,\" though probably it was so called because it drove\nits victim to haunt unclean places, like the Gadarene, who had his\ndwelling among the tombs.\n\nThe whole subject of demonology has been called in question by certain\nmodern critics. They aver that it is simply an after-growth of Paganism,\nthe seeds of worn-out mythologies which had been blown over into the\nChristian mind; and eliminating from them all that is supernatural, they\nreduce the so-called \"possessions\" to the natural effects of purely\nnatural causes, physical and mental. It is confessedly a subject\ndifficult as it is mysterious; but we are not inclined, at the bidding\nof rationalistic clamour, so to strike out the supernatural. Indeed, we\ncannot, without impaling ourselves upon this dilemma, that Jesus,\nknowingly or unknowingly, taught as the truth what was not true. That\nJesus lent the weight of His testimony to the popular belief is evident;\nnever once, in all His allusions, does He call it in question, nor hint\nthat He is speaking now only in an accommodated sense, borrowing the\naccents of current speech. To Him the existence and presence of evil\nspirits was just as patent and as solemn a fact as was the existence of\nthe arch-spirit, even Satan himself. And granting the existence of evil\nspirits, who will show us the line of limitation, the \"Hitherto, but no\nfarther,\" where their influence is stayed? Have we not seen, in\nmesmerism, cases of real possession, where the weaker human will has\nbeen completely overpowered by the stronger will? when the subject was\nno longer himself, but his thoughts, words, and acts were those of\nanother? And are there not, in the experiences of all medical men, and\nof ministers of religion, cases of depravity so utterly foul and\nloathsome that they cannot be explained except by the Jewish taunt, \"He\nhath a devil\"? According to the teaching of Scripture, the evil spirit\npossessed the man in the entirety of his being, commanding his own\nspirit, ruling both body and mind. Now it touched the tongue with a\ncertain glibness of speech, becoming a \"spirit of divination,\" and now\nit touched it with dumbness, putting upon the life the spell of an awful\nsilence. Not that the obscurity of the eclipse was always the same.\nThere were more lucid moments, the penumbras of brightness, when, for a\nbrief interval, the consciousness seemed to awake, and the human will\nseemed struggling to assert itself; as is seen in the occasional dualism\nof its speech, when the \"I\" emerges from the \"we,\" only, however, to be\ndrawn back again, to have its identity swallowed up as before.\n\nSuch is the character who, leaving the graves of the dead for the abodes\nof the living, now breaks through the ceremonial ban, and enters the\nsynagogue. Rushing wildly within--for we can scarcely suppose him to be\na quiet worshipper; the rules of the synagogue would not have allowed\nthat--and approaching Jesus, he abruptly breaks in upon the discourse of\nJesus with his cry of mingled fear and passion. Of the cry itself we\nneed not speak, except to notice its question and its confession. \"Art\nThou come to destroy us?\" he asks, as if, somehow, the secret of the\nRedeemer's mission had been told to these powers of darkness. Did they\nknow that He had come to \"destroy\" the works of the devil, and\nultimately to destroy, with an everlasting destruction, him who had the\npower of death, that is, the devil? Possibly they did, for, citizens of\ntwo worlds, the visible and the invisible, should not their horizon be\nwider than our own? At any rate, their knowledge, in some points, was in\nadvance of the nascent faith of the disciples. They knew and confessed\nthe Divinity of Christ's mission, and the Divinity of His Person,\ncrying, \"I know Thee, who Thou art, the Holy One of God;\" \"Thou art the\nSon of God\" (iv. 41), when as yet the faith of the disciples was only a\nnebula of mist, made up in part of unreal hopes and random guesses.\nIndeed, we seldom find the demons yielding to the power of Christ, or to\nthe delegated power of His disciples, but they make their confession of\nsuperior knowledge as if they possessed a more intimate acquaintance\nwith Christ. \"Jesus I know, and Paul I know,\" said the demon, which the\nsons of Sceva could not exorcise (Acts xix. 15), while now the demon of\nCapernaum boasts, \"I know Thee, who Thou art, the Holy One of God.\" Nor\nwas it a vain boast either, for our Evangelist asserts that Jesus did\nnot suffer the demons to speak, \"because they knew that He was the\nChrist\" (ver. 41). They knew Jesus, but they feared and hated Him. In a\ncertain sense they believed, but their belief only caused them to\ntremble, while it left them demons still. Just so is it now:--\n\n  \"There are, too, who believe in hell and lie;\n  There are who waste their souls in working out\n  Life's problem, on these sands betwixt two tides,\n  And end, 'Now give us the beasts' part, in death.'\"\n\nSaving faith is thus more than a bare assent of the mind, more than some\ncold belief, or vain repetition of a creed. A creed may be complete and\nbeautiful, but it is not the Christ; it is only the vesture the Christ\nwears; and alas, there are many still who will chaffer about, and cast\nlots for, a creed, who will go directly and crucify the Christ Himself!\nThe faith that saves, besides the assent of the mind, must have the\nconsent of the will and the surrender of the life. It is \"with the\nheart,\" and not only with the mind, man \"believeth unto righteousness.\"\n\nThe interruption brought the discourse of Jesus to an abrupt end, but it\nserved to point the discourse with further exclamations of surprise,\nwhile it offered space for a new manifestation of Divine authority and\npower. It did not in the least disconcert the Master, though it had\ndoubtless sent a thrill of excitement through the whole congregation. He\ndid not even rise from His seat (ver. 38), but retaining the teaching\nposture, and not deigning a reply to the questions of the demon, He\nrebuked the evil spirit, saying, \"Hold thy peace, and come out of him,\"\nthus recognizing the dual will, and distinguishing between the possessor\nand the possessed. The command was obeyed instantly and utterly; though,\nas if to make one last supreme effort, he throws his victim down upon\nthe floor of the synagogue, like Samson Agonistes, pulling to the ground\nthe temple of his imprisonment. It was, however, a vain attempt, for he\ndid him \"no hurt.\" The roaring lion had indeed been \"muzzled\"--which is\nthe primitive meaning of the verb rendered \"Hold thy peace\"--by the\nomnipotent word of Jesus.\n\nThey were \"astonished at His teaching\" before, but how much more so now!\nThen it was a convincing word; now it is a commanding word. They hear\nthe voice of Jesus, sweeping like suppressed thunder over the boundaries\nof the invisible world, and commanding even devils, driving them forth,\njust with one rebuke, from the temple of the human soul, as afterwards\nHe drove the traders from His Father's house with His whip of small\ncords. No wonder that \"amazement came upon all,\" or that they asked,\n\"What is this word? for with authority and power He commandeth the\nunclean spirits, and they come out.\"\n\nAnd so Jesus began His miracles of healing at the outmost marge of human\nmisery. With the finger of His love, with the touch of His omnipotence,\nHe swept the uttermost circle of our human need, writing on that far and\nlow horizon His wonderful name, \"Mighty to save.\" And since none are\noutcasts from His mercy save those who outcast themselves, why should we\nlimit \"the Holy One of Israel\"? why should we despair of any? Life and\nhope should be coeval.\n\nImmediately on retiring from the synagogue, Jesus passes out of\nCapernaum, and along the shore to Bethsaida, and enters, together with\nJames and John, the house of Peter and Andrew (John i. 44). It is a\nsingular coincidence that the Apostle Peter, with whose name the Romish\nChurch takes such liberties, and who is himself the \"Rock\" on which they\nrear their huge fabric of priestly assumptions, should be the only\nApostle of whose married life we read; for though John afterwards\npossesses a \"home,\" its only inmate besides, as far as the records show,\nis the new \"mother\" he leads away from the cross. It is true we have not\nthe name of Peter's wife, but we find her shadow, as well as that of her\nhusband, thrown across the pages of the New Testament; cleaving to her\nmother even while she follows another; ministering to Jesus, and for a\ntime finding Him a home; while later we see her sharing the privations\nand the perils of her husband's wandering life (1 Cor. ix. 5). Verily,\nRome has drifted far from the \"Rock\" of her anchorage, the example of\nher patron saint; and between the Vatican of the modern Pontiff and the\nsweet domesticities of Bethsaida is a gulf of divergence which only a\npowerful imagination can cross.\n\nNo sooner, however, has Jesus entered the house than He is told\nhow Peter's mother-in-law has been suddenly stricken down by a\nviolent fever, probably a local fever for which that lake-shore was\nnotorious, and which was bred from the malaria of the marsh. Our\nphysician-Evangelist does not stay to diagnose the malady, but he speaks\nof it as \"a great fever,\" thus giving us an idea of its virulence and\nconsequent danger. \"And they besought Him for her;\" not that He was at\nall reluctant to grant their request, for the tense of the verb implies\nthat once asking was sufficient; but evidently there was the\n\"beseeching\" look and tone of a mingled love and fear. Jesus responds\ninstantly; for can He come fresh from the healing of a stranger, to\nallow a dread shadow to darken the home and the hearts of His own?\nSeeking the sick chamber, He bends over the fever-stricken one, and\ntaking her hand in His (Mark i. 31), He speaks some word of command,\n\"rebuking the fever,\" as St. Luke expresses it. In a moment the fatal\nfire is quenched, the throbbing heart regains its normal beat, a\ndelicious coolness takes the place of the burning heat, while the\nfever-flush steals away to make place for the bloom of health. The cure\nwas perfect and instant. The lost strength returned, and \"immediately\nshe arose and ministered unto them,\" preparing, doubtless, the evening\nmeal.\n\nMay we not throw the light of this narrative upon one of the questions\nof the day? Men speak of the reign of law, and the drift of modern\nscientific thought is against any interference--even Divine--with the\nordinary operations of physical law. As the visible universe is opened\nup and explored the heavens are crowded back and back, until they seem\nnothing but a golden mist, some distant dream. Nature's laws are seen to\nbe so uniform, so ruthlessly exact, that certain of those who should be\nteachers of a higher faith are suggesting the impossibility of any\ninterference with their ordinary operations. \"You do but waste your\nbreath,\" they say, \"in asking for any immunities from Nature's\npenalties, or for any deviation from her fixed rules. They are\ninvariable, inviolate. Be content rather to be conformed, mentally and\nmorally, to God's will.\" But is prayer to have so restricted an area? is\nthe physical world to be buried so deep in \"law\" that it shall give no\nrest to prayer, not even for the sole of her foot? Entire conformity to\nGod's will is, indeed, the highest aim and privilege of life, and he who\nprays the most seeks most for this; but has God no will in the world of\nphysics, in the realm of matter? Shall we push Him back to the narrow\nledge of a primal Genesis? or shall we leave Him chained to that\nfrontier coast, another Prometheus bound? It is well to respect and to\nhonour law, but Nature's laws are complex, manifold. They can form\ncombinations numberless, working different or opposite results. He who\nsearches for \"the springs of life\" will\n\n  \"Reach the law within the law;\"\n\nand who can tell whether there is not a law of prayer and faith, thrown\nby the Unseen Hand across all the warp of created things, binding \"the\nwhole round earth\" about \"the feet of God\"? Reason says, \"It might be\nso,\" and Scripture says, \"It is so.\" Was Jesus angry when they told Him\nof the fever-stricken, and they implored His intervention? Did He say,\n\"You mistake My mission. I must not interfere with the course of the\nfever; it must have its range. If she lives, she lives; and if she dies,\nshe dies; and whether the one or the other, you must be patient, you\nmust be content\"? But such were not the words of Jesus, with their\nlatent fatalism. He heard the prayer, and at once granted it, not by\nannulling Nature's laws, nor even suspending them, but by introducing a\nhigher law. Even though the fever was the result of natural causes, and\nthough it probably might have been prevented, had they but drained the\nmarsh or planted it with the eucalyptus, yet this does not shut out all\ninterventions of Divine mercy. The Divine compassion makes some\nallowance for our human ignorance, when it is not wilful, and for our\nhuman impotence.\n\nThe fever \"left her, and immediately she rose up and ministered unto\nthem.\" Yes, and there are fevers of the spirit as well as of the flesh,\nwhen the heart is quick and flurried, the brain hot with anxious\nthought, when the fret and jar of life seem eating our strength away,\nand our disquiet spirit finds its rest broken by the pressure of some\nfearful nightmare. And how soon does this soul-fever strike us down! how\nit unfits us for our ministry of blessing, robbing us of the \"heart at\nleisure from itself,\" and filling the soul with sad, distressing fears,\nuntil our life seems like the helpless, withered leaf, whirled and\ntossed hither and thither by the wind! For the fever of the body there\nmay not always be relief, but for the fever of the spirit there is a\npossible and a perfect cure. It is the touch of Jesus. A close personal\ncontact with the living and loving Christ will rebuke the fever of your\nheart; it will give to your soul a quietness and restfulness that are\nDivine; and with the touch of His omnipotence upon you, and with all the\nelation of conscious strength, you too will arise into a nobler life, a\nlife which will find its supremest joy in ministering unto others, and\nso ministering unto Him.\n\nSuch was the Sabbath in Galilee in which Jesus began His miracles of\nhealing. But if it saw the beginning of His miracles, it did not see\ntheir end; for soon as the sun had set, and the Sabbath restraint was\nover, \"all that had any sick with divers diseases brought them unto Him,\nand He laid His hands on every one of them, and healed them.\" A\nmarvellous ending of a marvellous day! Jesus throws out by handfuls His\nlargesse of blessing, health, which is the highest wealth, showing that\nthere is no end to His power, as there is no limit to His love; that His\nwill is supreme over all forces and all laws; that He is, and ever will\nbe, the perfect Saviour, binding up the broken in heart, assuaging all\ngriefs, and healing all wounds!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n_THE CALLING OF THE FOUR._\n\n\nWhen Peter and his companions had the interview with Jesus by the\nJordan, and were summoned to follow Him, it was the designation, rather\nthan the appointment, to the Apostleship. They did accompany Him to\nCana, and thence to Capernaum; but here their paths diverged for a time,\nJesus passing on alone to Nazareth, while the novitiate disciples fall\nback again into the routine of secular life. Now, however, His mission\nis fairly inaugurated, and He must attach them permanently to His\nperson. He must lay His hand, where His thoughts have long been, upon\nthe future, making provision for the stability and permanence of His\nwork, that so the kingdom may survive and flourish when the Ascension\nclouds have made the King Himself invisible.\n\nSt. Matthew and St. Mark insert their abridged narrative of the call\nbefore the healing of the demoniac and the cure of Peter's\nmother-in-law; and most expositors think that St. Luke's setting \"in\norder,\" in this case at least, is wrong; that he has preferred to have a\nchronological inaccuracy, so that His miracles may be gathered into\nrelated groups. But that our Evangelist is in error is by no means\ncertain; indeed, we are inclined to think that the balance of\nprobability is on the side of his arrangement. How else shall we\naccount for the crowds who now press upon Jesus so importunately and\nwith such Galilean ardour? It was not the rumour of His Jud\u00e6an miracles\nwhich had awoke this tempest of excitement, for the journey to Jerusalem\nwas not yet taken. And what else could it be, if the miraculous draught\nof fishes was the first of the Capernaum miracles? But suppose that we\nretain the order of St. Luke, that the call followed closely upon that\nmemorable Sabbath, then the crowds fall into the story naturally; it is\nthe multitude which had gathered about the door when the Sabbath sun had\nset, putting an after-glow upon the hills, and on whose sick He wrought\nHis miracles of healing. Nor does the fact that Jesus went to be a guest\nin Peter's house require us to invert the order of St. Luke; for the\ncasual acquaintance by the Jordan had since ripened into intimacy, so\nthat Peter would naturally offer hospitality to his Master on His coming\nto Capernaum. Again, too, going back to the Sabbath in the synagogue, we\nread how they were astonished at His doctrine; \"for His word was with\nauthority;\" and when that astonishment was heightened into amazement, as\nthey saw the demon cowed and silenced, this was their exclamation, \"What\na word is this!\" And does not Peter refer to this, when the same voice\nthat commanded the demon now commands them to \"Let down the nets,\" and\nhe answers, \"At Thy word I will\"? It certainly seems as if the \"word\" of\nthe sea-shore were an echo from the synagogue, and so a \"word\" that\njustifies the order of our Evangelist.\n\nIt was probably still early in the morning--for the days of Jesus began\nback at the dawn, and very often before--when He sought the quiet of the\nsea-shore, possibly to find a still hour for devotion, or perhaps to\nsee how His friends had fared with their all-night fishing. Little\nquiet, however, could He find, for from Capernaum and Bethsaida comes a\nhurrying and intrusive crowd, surging around Him with the swirl and roar\nof confused voices, and pressing inconveniently near. Not that the crowd\nwas hostile; it was a friendly but inquisitive multitude, eager, not so\nmuch to see a repetition of His miracles, as to hear Him speak, in those\nrare, sweet accents, \"the word of God.\" The expression characterizes the\nwhole teaching of Jesus. Though His words were meant for earth, for\nhuman ears and for human hearts, there was no earthliness about them. On\nthe topics in which man is most exercised and garrulous, such as local\nor national events, Jesus is strangely silent. He scarcely gives them a\npassing thought; for what were the events of the day to Him who was\n\"before Abraham,\" and who saw the two eternities? what to Him was the\ngossip of the hour, how Rome's armies marched and fought, or how \"the\ndogs of faction\" bayed? To His mind these were but as dust caught in the\neddies of the wind. The thoughts of Jesus were high. Like the figures of\nthe prophet's vision, they had feet indeed, so that they could alight\nand rest awhile on earthly things--though even here they only touched\nearth at points which were common to humanity, and they were winged,\ntoo, having the sweep of the lower spaces and of the highest heavens.\nAnd so there was a heavenliness upon the words of Jesus, and a\nsweetness, as if celestial harmonies were imprisoned within them. They\nset men looking upwards, and listening; for the heavens seemed nearer as\nHe spoke, and they were no longer dumb. And not only did the words of\nJesus bring to men a clearer revelation of God, correcting the hard\nviews which man, in his fears and his sins, had formed of Him, but men\nfelt the Divineness of His speech; that Jesus was the Bearer of a new\nevangel, God's latest message of hope and love. And He was the Bearer of\nsuch a message; He was Himself that Evangel, the Word of God incarnate,\nthat men might hear of heavenly things in the common accents of earthly\nspeech.\n\nNor was Jesus loth to deliver His message; He needed no constraining to\nspeak of the things pertaining to the kingdom of God. Only let Him see\nthe listening heart, the void of a sincere longing, and His speech\ndistilled as the dew. And so no time was to Him inopportune; the break\nof day, the noon, the night were all alike to Him. No place was out of\nharmony with His message--the Temple-court, the synagogue, the domestic\nhearth, the mountain, the lake-shore; He consecrated all alike with the\nmusic of His speech. Nay, even upon the cross, amid its agonies, He\nopens His lips once more, though parched with terrible thirst, to speak\npeace within a penitent soul, and to open for it the gate of Paradise.\n\nDrawn up on the shore, close by the water's edge, are two boats, empty\nnow, for Simon and his partners are busy washing their nets, after their\nnight of fruitless toil. Seeking for freer space than the pushing crowd\nwill allow Him, and also wanting a point of vantage, where His voice\nwill command a wider range of listeners, Jesus gets into Simon's boat,\nand requests him to put out a little from the land. \"And He sat down,\nand taught the multitudes out of the boat,\" assuming the posture of the\nteacher, even though the occasion partook so largely of the impromptu\ncharacter. When He dispensed the material bread He made the multitudes\n\"sit down;\" but when He dispensed the living bread, the heavenly manna,\nHe left the multitudes standing, while He Himself sat down, so claiming\nthe authority of a Master, as His posture emphasized His words. It is\nsomewhat singular that when our Evangelist has been so careful and\nminute in his description of the scene, giving us a sort of photograph\nof that lakeside group, with bits of artistic colouring thrown in, that\nthen he should omit entirely the subject-matter of the discourse. But so\nhe does, and we try in vain to fill up the blank. Did He, as at\nNazareth, turn the lamps of prophecy full upon Himself, and tell them\nhow the \"great Light\" had at last risen upon Galilee of the nations? or\ndid He let His speech reflect the shimmer of the lake, as He told in\nparable how the kingdom of heaven was \"like unto a net that was cast\ninto the sea, and gathered of every kind\"? Possibly He did, but His\nwords, whatever they were, \"like the pipes of Pan, died with the ears\nand hearts of those who heard them.\"\n\n\"When He had left speaking,\" having dismissed the multitude with His\nbenediction, He turns to give to His future disciples, Peter and Andrew,\na private lesson. \"Put out into the deep,\" He said, including Andrew now\nin His plural imperative, \"and let down your nets for a draught.\" It was\na commanding voice, altogether different in its tone from the last words\nHe addressed to Peter, when He \"requested\" him to put out a little from\nthe land. Then He spoke as the Friend, possibly the Guest, with a\ncertain amount of deference; now He steps up to a very throne of power,\na throne which in Peter's life He never more abdicates. Simon recognizes\nthe altered conditions, that a Higher Will is now in the boat, where\nhitherto his own will has been supreme; and saluting Him as \"Master,\" he\nsays, \"We toiled all night, and took nothing; but at Thy word I will\nlet down the nets.\" He does not demur; he does not hesitate one moment.\nThough himself weary with his night-long labours, and though the command\nof the Master went directly against his nautical experiences, he sinks\nhis thoughts and his doubts in the word of his Lord. It is true he\nspeaks of the failure of the night, how they have taken nothing; but\ninstead of making that a plea for hesitancy and doubt, it is the foil to\nmake his unquestioning faith stand out in bolder relief. Peter was the\nman of impulse, the man of action, with a swift-beating heart and an\never-ready hand. To his forward-stepping mind decision was easy and\nimmediate; and so, almost before the command was completed, his swift\nlips had made answer, \"I will let down the nets.\" It was the language of\na prompt and full obedience. It showed that Simon's nature was\nresponsive and genuine, that when a Christly word struck upon his soul\nit set his whole being vibrating, and drove out all meaner thoughts. He\nhad learned to obey, which was the first lesson of discipleship; and\nhaving learned to obey, he was therefore fit to rule, qualified for\nleadership, and worthy of being entrusted with the keys of the kingdom.\n\nAnd how much is missed in life through feebleness of resolve, a lack of\ndecision! How many are the invertebrate souls, lacking in will and void\nof purpose, who, instead of piercing waves and conquering the flow of\nadverse tides, like the medus\u00e6, can only drift, all limp and languid, in\nthe current of circumstance! Such men do not make apostles; they are but\nciphers of flesh and blood, of no value by themselves, and only of any\nworth as they are attached to the unit of some stronger will. A poor\nbroken thing is a life spent in the subjunctive mood, among the\n\"mights\" and \"shoulds,\" where the \"I will\" waits upon \"I would\". That is\nthe truest, worthiest life that is divided between the indicative and\nthe imperative. As in shaking pebbles the smaller ones drop down to the\nbottom, their place determined by their size, so in the shaking together\nof human lives, in the rub and jostle of the world, the strong wills\ninvariably come to the top.\n\nAnd how much do even Christians lose, through their partial or their\nslow obedience! How we hesitate and question, when our duty is simply to\nobey! How we cling to our own ways, modes, and wills, when the Christ is\ncommanding us forward to some higher service! How strangely we forget\nthat in the grammar of life the \"Thou willest\" should be the first\nperson, and the \"I will\" a far-off second! When the soldier hears the\nword of command he becomes deaf to all other voices, even the voice of\ndanger, or the voice of death itself; and when Christ speaks to us His\nword should completely fill the soul, leaving no room for hesitancy, no\nplace for doubt. Said the mother to the servants of Cana, \"Whatsoever He\nsaith unto you, do it.\" That \"whatsoever\" is the line of duty, and the\nline of beauty too. He who makes Christ's will his will, who does\nimplicitly \"whatsoever He saith,\" will find a Cana anywhere, where\nlife's water turns to wine, and where life's common things are exalted\ninto sacraments. He who walks up to the light will surely walk in the\nlight.\n\nWe can imagine with what alacrity Simon obeys the Master's word, and how\nthe disappointment of the night and all sense of fatigue are lost in the\nexhilaration of the new hopes. Seconded by the more quiet Andrew, who\ncatches the enthusiasm of his brother's faith, he pulls out into deep\nwater, where they let down the nets. Immediately they enclosed \"a great\nmultitude\" of fishes, a weight altogether beyond their power to lift;\nand as they saw the nets beginning to give way with the strain, Peter\n\"beckoned\" to his partners, James and John, whose boat, probably, was\nstill drawn up on the shore. Coming to their assistance, together they\nsecured the spoil, completely filling the two boats, until they were in\ndanger of sinking with the over-weight.\n\nHere, then, we find a miracle of a new order. Hitherto, in the narrative\nof our Evangelist, Jesus has shown His supernatural power only in\nconnection with humanity, driving away the ills and diseases which\npreyed upon the human body and the human soul. And not even here did\nJesus make use of that power randomly, making it common and cheap; it\nwas called forth by the constraint of a great need and a great desire.\nNow, however, there is neither the desire nor the need. It was not the\nfirst time, nor was it to be the last, that Peter and Andrew had spent a\nnight in fruitless toil. That was a lesson they had early to learn, and\nwhich they were never allowed long to forget. They had been quite\ncontent to leave their boat, as indeed they had intended, on the sands,\nuntil the evening should recall them to their task. But Jesus volunteers\nHis help, and works a miracle--whether of omnipotence, or omniscience,\nor of both, it matters not, and not either to relieve some present\ndistress, or to still some pain, but that He might fill the empty boats\nwith fishes. We must not, however, assess the value of the miracle at\nthe market-price of the take, for evidently Jesus had some ulterior\nmotive and design. As the leaden types, lying detached and meaningless\nin the \"case,\" can be arranged into words and be made to voice the very\nhighest thought, so these boats and oars, nets and fish are but so many\ncharacters, the Divine \"code\" as we may call it, spelling out, first to\nthese fishermen, and then to mankind in general, the deep thought and\npurpose of Christ. Can we discover that meaning? We think we may.\n\nIn the first place, the miracle shows us the supremacy of Christ. We may\nalmost read the Divineness of Christ's mission in the manner of its\nmanifestation. Had Jesus been man only, His thoughts running on human\nlines, and His plans built after human models, He would have arranged\nfor another Epiphany at the beginning of His ministry, showing His\ncredentials at the first, and announcing in full the purpose of His\nmission. That would have been the way of man, fond as he is of surprises\nand sudden transitions; but such is not the way of God. The forces of\nheaven do not move forward in leaps and somersaults; their advances are\ngradual and rhythmic. Evolution, and not revolution, is the Divine law,\nin the realm of matter and of mind alike. The dawn must precede the day.\nAnd just so the life of the Divine Son is manifested. He who is the\n\"Light of the world\" comes into that world softly as a sunrise, lighting\nup little by little the horizon of His disciples' thought, lest a\nrevelation which was too full and too sudden should only dazzle and\nblind them. So far they have seen Him exercise His power over diseases\nand demons, or, as at Cana, over inorganic matter; now they see that\npower moving out in new directions. Jesus sets up His throne to face the\nsea, the sea with which they were so familiar, and over which they\nclaimed some sort of lordship. But even here, upon their own element,\nJesus is supreme. He sees what they do not; He knows these deeps,\nfilling up with His omniscience the blanks they seek to fill with their\nrandom guesses. Here, hitherto, their wills have been all-powerful; they\ncould take their boats and cast their nets just when and where they\nwould; but now they feel the touch of a Higher Will, and Christ's word\nfills their hearts, impelling them onward, even as their boats were\ndriven of the wind. Jesus now assumes the command. His Will, like a\nmagnet, attracts to itself and controls their lesser wills; and as His\nword now launches out the boat and casts the nets, so shortly, at that\nsame \"word,\" will boats and nets, and the sea itself, be left behind.\n\nAnd did not that Divine Will move beneath the water as well as above it,\ncontrolling the movements of the shoal of fishes, as on the surface it\nwas controlling the thoughts and moving the hands of the fishermen? It\nis true that in Gennesaret, as in our modern seas, the fish sometimes\nmoved in such dense shoals that an enormous \"take\" would be an event\npurely natural, a wonder indeed, but no miracle. Possibly it was so\nhere, in which case the narrative would resolve itself into a miracle of\nomniscience, as Jesus saw, what even the trained eyes of the fishermen\nhad not seen, the movements of the shoal, then regulating His commands,\nso making the oars above and the fins below strike the water in unison.\nBut was this all? Evidently not, to Peter's mind, at any rate. Had it\nbeen all to him, a purely natural phenomenon, or had he seen in it only\nthe prescience of Christ, a vision somewhat clearer and farther than his\nown, it would not have created such feelings of surprise and awe. He\nmight still have wondered, but he scarcely would have worshipped. But\nPeter feels himself in the presence of a Power that knows no limit, One\nwho has supreme authority over diseases and demons, and who now commands\neven the fishes of the sea. In this sudden wealth of spoil he reads the\nmajesty and glory of the new-found Christ, whose word, spoken or\nunspoken, is omnipotent, alike in the heights above and in the depths\nbeneath. And so the moment his thoughts are disengaged from the pressing\ntask he prostrates himself at the feet of Jesus, crying with\nawe-stricken speech, \"Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord!\" We\nare not, perhaps, to interpret this literally, for Peter's lips were apt\nto become tremulous with the excitement of the moment, and to say words\nwhich in a cooler mood he would recall, or at least modify. So here, it\nsurely was not his meaning that \"the Lord,\" as he now calls Jesus,\nshould leave him; for how indeed should He depart, now that they are\nafloat upon the deep, far from land? But such had been the revelation of\nthe power and holiness of Jesus, borne in by the miracle upon Peter's\nsoul, that he felt himself thrown back, morally and in every way, to an\ninfinite distance from Christ. His boat was unworthy to carry, as the\nhouse of the centurion was unworthy to receive, such infinite\nperfections as now he saw in Jesus. It was an apocalypse indeed,\nrevealing, together with the purity and power of Christ, the littleness,\nthe nothingness of his sinful self; that, as Elijah covered his face\nwhen the Lord passed by, so Peter feels as if he ought to draw the veil\nof an infinite distance around himself--the distance which would ever be\nbetween him and the Lord, were not His mercy and His love just as\ninfinite as His power.\n\nThe fuller meaning of the miracle, however, becomes apparent when we\ninterpret it in the light of the call which immediately followed.\nReading the sudden fear which has come over Peter's soul, and which has\nthrown his speech somewhat into confusion, Jesus first stills the\nagitation of his heart by a word of assurance and of cheer. \"Fear not,\"\nHe says, for \"from henceforth thou shalt catch men.\" It will be observed\nthat St. Luke puts the commission of Christ in the singular number, as\naddressed to Peter alone, while St. Matthew and St. Mark put it in the\nplural, as including Andrew as well: \"I will make you to become fishers\nof men.\" The difference, however, is but immaterial, and possibly the\nreason why St. Luke introduces the Apostle Peter with such a frequent\nnomination--for \"Simon\" is a familiar name in these early\nchapters--making his call so emphatic and prominent, was because in the\npartisan times which came but too early in the Church the Gentile\nChristians, for whom our Evangelist is writing, might think unworthily\nand speak disparagingly of him who was the Apostle of the Circumcision.\nBe this as it may, Simon and Andrew are now summoned to, and\ncommissioned for, a higher service. That \"henceforth\" strikes across\ntheir life like a high watershed, severing the old from the new, their\nfuture from their past, and throwing all the currents of their thoughts\nand plans into different and opposite directions. They are to be\n\"fishers of men,\" and Jesus, who so delights in giving object-lessons to\nHis disciples, uses the miracle as a sort of background, on which He may\nwrite their commission in large and lasting characters; it is the Divine\nseal upon their credentials.\n\nNot that they understood the full purport of His words at once. The\nphrase \"fishers of men\" was one of those seed-thoughts which needed\npondering in the heart; it would gradually unfold itself in the\nafter-months of discipleship, ripening at last in the summer heat and\nsummer light of the Pentecost. They were now to be fishers of the higher\nart, their quest the souls of men. This must now be the one object, the\nsupreme aim of their life, a life now ennobled by a higher call. Plans,\njourneys, thoughts, and words, all must bear the stamp of their great\ncommission, which is to \"catch men,\" not unto death, however, as the\nfish expire when taken from their native element, but unto life--for\nsuch is the meaning of the word. And to \"take them alive\" is to save\nthem; it is to take them out of an element which stifles and destroys,\nand to draw them, by the constraints of truth and love, within the\nkingdom of heaven, which kingdom is righteousness and life, even eternal\nlife.\n\nBut if the full meaning of the Master's words grows upon them--an\naftermath to be harvested in later months--enough is understood to make\nthe line of present duty plain. That \"henceforth\" is clear, sharp, and\nimperative. It leaves room neither for excuse nor postponement. And so\nimmediately, \"when they had brought their boats to land, they left all\nand followed Him,\" to learn by following how they too might be winners\nof souls, and in a lesser, lower sense, saviours of men.\n\nThe story of St. Luke closes somewhat abruptly, with no further\nreference to Simon's partners; and having \"beckoned\" them into his\ncentral scene, and filled their boat, then, as in a dissolving-view, the\npen of our Evangelist draws around them the haze of silence, and they\ndisappear. The other Synoptists, however, fill up the blank, telling how\nJesus came to them, probably later in the day, for they were mending\nthe nets, which had been tangled and somewhat torn with the weight of\nspoil they had just taken. Speaking no word of explanation, and giving\nno word of promise, He simply says, with that commanding voice of His,\n\"Follow Me,\" thus putting Himself above all associations and all\nrelationships, as Leader and Lord. James and John recognize the call,\nfor which doubtless they had been prepared, as being for themselves\nalone, and instantly leaving the father, the \"hired servants,\" and the\nhalf-mended nets, and breaking utterly with their past, they follow\nJesus, giving to Him, with the exception of one dark, hesitating hour, a\nlife-long devotion. And forsaking all, the four disciples found all.\nThey exchanged a dead self for a living Christ, earth for heaven.\nFollowing the Lord fully, with no side-glances at self or selfish\ngain--at any rate after the enduement and the enlightenment of\nPentecost--they found in the presence and friendship of the Lord the\n\"hundredfold\" in the present life. Allying themselves with Christ, they\ntoo rose with the rising Sun. Obscure fishermen, they wrote their names\namong the immortals as the first Apostles of the new faith, bearers of\nthe keys of the kingdom. Following Christ, they led the world; and as\nthe Light that rose over Galilee of the nations becomes ever more\nintense and bright, so it makes ever more intense and vivid the shadows\nof these Galilean fishermen, as it throws them across all lands and\ntimes.\n\nAnd such even now is the truest and noblest life. The life which is \"hid\nwith Christ\" is the life that shines the farthest and that tells the\nmost. Whether in the more quiet paths and scenes of discipleship or in\nthe more responsible and public duties of the apostolate, Jesus demands\nof us a true, whole-souled, and life-long devotion. And, here indeed,\nthe paradox is true, for by losing life we find it, even the life more\nabundant; for\n\n  \"Men may rise on stepping-stones\n  Of their dead selves to higher things.\"\n\nNay, they may attain to the highest things, even to the highest\nheavens.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n_CONCERNING PRAYER._\n\n\nWhen the Greeks called man \u1f41 \u03b1\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03c9\u03c0\u03bf\u03c2, or the \"uplooking\none,\" they did but crystallize in a word what is a universal fact, the\nreligious instinct of humanity. Everywhere, and through all times, man\nhas felt, as by a sort of intuition, that earth was no Ultima Thule,\nwith nothing beyond but oceans of vacancy and silence, but that it lay\nin the over-shadow of other worlds, between which and their own were\nsubtle modes of correspondence. They felt themselves to be in the\npresence of Powers other and higher than human, who somehow influenced\ntheir destiny, whose favour they must win, and whose displeasure they\nmust avert. And so Paganism reared her altars, almost numberless,\ndedicating them even to the \"Unknown God,\" lest some anonymous deity\nshould be grieved at being omitted from the enumeration. The prevalence\nof false religions in the world, the garrulous babble of mythology, does\nbut voice the religious instinct of man; it is but another Tower of\nBabel, by which men hope to find and to scale the heavens which must be\nsomewhere overhead.\n\nIn the Old Testament, however, we find the clearer revelation. What to\nthe unaided eye of reason and of nature seemed but a wave of golden mist\nathwart the sky--\"a meeting of gentle lights without a name\"--now\nbecomes a wide-reaching and shining realm, peopled with intelligences of\ndivers ranks and orders; while in the centre of all is the city and the\nthrone of the Invisible King, Jehovah, Lord of Sabaoth. In the breath of\nthe new morning the gossamer threads Polytheism had been spinning\nthrough the night were swept away, and on the pillars of the New\nJerusalem, that celestial city of which their own Salem was a far-off\nand broken type, they read the inscription, \"Hear, O Israel: the Lord\nour God is one Lord.\" But while the Old Testament revealed the unity of\nthe Godhead, it emphasized especially His sovereignty, the glories of\nHis holiness, and the thunders of His power. He is the great Creator,\narranging His universe, commanding evolutions and revolutions, and\ngiving to each molecule of matter its secret affinities and repulsions.\nAnd again He is the Lawgiver, the great Judge, speaking out of the\ncloudy pillar and the windy tempest, dividing the firmaments of Right\nand Wrong, whose holiness hates sin with an infinite hatred, and whose\njustice, with sword of flame, pursues the wrong-doer like an\nunforgetting Nemesis. It is only natural, therefore, that with such\nconceptions of God, the heavens should appear distant and somewhat cold.\nThe quiet that was upon the world was the hush of awe, of fear, rather\nthan of love; for while the goodness of God was a familiar and favourite\ntheme, and while the mercy of God, which \"endureth for ever,\" was the\nrefrain, oft repeated, of their loftiest songs, the love of God was a\nheight the Old Dispensation had not explored, and the Fatherhood of God,\nthat new world of perpetual summer, lay all undiscovered, or but dimly\napprehended through the mist. The Divine love and the Divine Fatherhood\nwere truths which seemed to be held in reserve for the New Dispensation;\nand as the light needs the subtle and sympathetic ether before it can\nreach our outlying world, so the love and the Fatherhood of God are\nborne in upon us by Him who was Himself the Divine Son and the\nincarnation of the Divine love.\n\nIt is just here where the teaching of Jesus concerning prayer begins. He\ndoes not seek to explain its philosophy; He does not give hints as to\nany observance of time or place; but leaving these questions to adjust\nthemselves, He seeks to bring heaven into closer touch with earth. And\nhow can He do this so well as by revealing the Fatherhood of God? When\nthe electric wire linked the New with the Old World the distances were\nannihilated, the thousand leagues of sea were as if they were not; and\nwhen Jesus threw across, between earth and heaven, that word \"Father,\"\nthe wide distances vanished, and even the silences became vocal. In the\nPsalms, those loftiest utterances of devotion, Religion only once\nventured to call God \"Father;\" and then, as if frightened at her own\ntemerity, she lapses into silence, and never speaks the familiar word\nagain. But how different the language of the Gospels! It is a name that\nJesus is never weary of repeating, striking its music upwards of seventy\ntimes, as if by the frequent iteration He would lodge the heavenly word\ndeep within the world's heart. This is His first lesson in the science\nof prayer: He drills them on the Divine Fatherhood, setting them on that\nword, as it were, to practise the scales; for as he who has practised\nwell the scales has acquired the key to all harmonies, so he who has\nlearned well the \"Father\" has learned the secret of heaven, the sesame\nthat opens all its doors and unlocks all its treasures.\n\n\"When ye pray,\" said Jesus, replying to a disciple who sought\ninstruction in the heavenly language, \"say, Father,\" thus giving us what\nwas His own pass-word to the courts of heaven. It is as if He said, \"If\nyou would pray acceptably put yourself in the right position. Seek to\nrealize, and then to claim, your true relationship. Do not look upon God\nas a distant and cold abstraction, or as some blind force; do not regard\nHim as being hostile to you or as careless about you. Else your prayer\nwill be some wail of bitterness, a cry coming out of the dark, and\nlosing itself in the dark again. But look upon God as your Father, your\nliving, loving, heavenly Father; and then step up with a holy boldness\ninto the child-place, and all heaven opens before you there.\"\n\nAnd not only does Jesus thus \"show us the Father,\" but He takes pains to\nshow us that it is a real, and not some fictitious Fatherhood. He tells\nus that the word means far more in its heavenly than in its earthly use;\nthat the earthly meaning, in fact, is but a shadow of the heavenly. For\n\"if ye then,\" He says, \"being evil, know how to give good gifts unto\nyour children: how much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy\nSpirit to them that ask Him?\" He thus sets us a problem in Divine\nproportion. He gives us the human fatherhood, with all it implies, as\nour known quantities, and from these He leaves us to work out the\nunknown quantity, which is the Divine ability and willingness to give\ngood gifts to men; for the Holy Spirit includes in Himself all spiritual\ngifts. It is a problem, however, which our earthly figures cannot solve.\nThe nearest that we can approach to the answer is that the Divine\nFatherhood is the human fatherhood multiplied by that \"how much more\"--a\nfactor which gives us an infinite series.\n\nAgain, Jesus teaches that character is an important condition of prayer,\nand that in this realm heart is more than any art. Words alone do not\nconstitute prayer, for they may be only like the bubbles of the\nchildren's play, iridescent but hollow, never climbing the sky, but\nreturning to the earth whence they came. And so when the scribes and\nPharisees make \"long prayers,\" striking devotional attitudes, and\nputting on airs of sanctity, Jesus could not endure them. They were a\nweariness and abomination to Him; for He read their secret heart, and\nfound it vain and proud. In His parable (xviii. 11) He puts the genuine\nand the counterfeit prayer side by side, drawing the sharp contrast\nbetween them. He gives us that of the Pharisee wordy, inflated, full of\nthe self-eulogizing \"I.\" It is the prayerless prayer, that had no need,\nand which was simply an incense burned before the clayey image of\nhimself. Then He gives us the few brief words of the publican, the cry\nof a broken heart, \"God be merciful to me, a sinner,\" a prayer which\nreached directly the highest heaven, and which came back freighted with\nthe peace of God. \"If I regard iniquity in my heart,\" the Psalmist said,\n\"the Lord will not hear me.\" And it is true. If there be the least\nunforgiven sin within the soul we spread forth our hands, we make many\nprayers, in vain; we do but utter \"wild, delirious cries\" that Heaven\nwill not hear, or at any rate regard. The first cry of true prayer is\nthe cry for mercy, pardon; and until this is spoken, until we step up by\nfaith into the child-position, we do but offer vain oblations. Nay, even\nin the regenerate heart, if there be a temporary lapse, and unholy\ntempers brood within, the lips of prayer become paralyzed at once, or\nthey only stammer in incoherent speech. We may with filled hands\ncompass the altar of God, but neither gifts nor prayers can be accepted\nif there be bitterness and jealousy within, or if our \"brother has aught\nagainst\" us. The wrong must be righted with our brother, or we cannot be\nright with God. How can we ask for forgiveness if we ourselves cannot\nforgive? How can we ask for mercy if we are hard and merciless, gripping\nthe throat of each offender, as we demand the uttermost farthing? He who\ncan pray for them who despitefully use him is in the way of the Divine\ncommandment; he has climbed to the dome of the temple, where the\nwhispers of prayer, and even its inarticulate aspirations, are heard in\nheaven. And so the connection is most close and constant between praying\nand living, and they pray most and best who at the same time \"make their\nlife a prayer.\"\n\nAgain, Jesus maps out for us the realm of prayer, showing the wide areas\nit should cover. St. Luke gives us an abbreviated form of the prayer\nrecorded by St. Matthew, and which we call the \"Lord's Prayer.\" It is a\ndisputed point, though not a material one, whether the two prayers are\nbut varied renderings of one and the same utterance, or whether Jesus\ngave, on a later occasion, an epitomized form of the prayer He had\nprescribed before, though from the circumstantial evidence of St. Luke\nwe incline to the latter view. The two forms, however, are identical in\nsubstance. It is scarcely likely that Jesus intended it to be a rigid\nformula, to which we should be slavishly bound; for the varied\nrenderings of the two Evangelists show plainly that Heaven does not lay\nstress upon the _ipsissima verba_. We must take it rather as a Divine\nmodel, laying down the lines on which our prayers should move. It is, in\nfact, a sort of prayer-microcosm, giving a miniature reflection of the\nwhole world of prayer, as a drop of dew will give a reflection of the\nencircling sky. It gives us what we may call the _species_ of prayer,\nwhose _genera_ branch off into infinite varieties; nor can we readily\nconceive of any petition, however particular or private, whose root-stem\nis not found in the few but comprehensive words of the Lord's Prayer. It\ncovers every want of man, just as it befits every place and time.\n\nRunning through the prayer are two marked divisions, the one general,\nthe other particular and personal; and in the Divine order, contrary to\nour human wont, the general stands first, and the personal second. Our\nprayers often move in narrow circles, like the homing birds coming back\nto this \"centred self\" of ours, and sometimes we forget to give them the\nwider sweeps over a redeemed humanity. But Jesus says, \"When ye pray,\nsay, Father, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come.\" It is a temporary\nerasure of self, as the soul of the worshipper is absorbed in God. In\nits nearness to the throne it forgets for awhile its own little needs;\nits low-flying thoughts are caught up into the higher currents of the\nDivine thought and purpose, moving outwards with them. And this is the\nfirst petition, that the name of God may be hallowed throughout the\nworld; that is, that men's conceptions of the Deity may become just and\nholy, until earth gives back in echo the _Trisagion_ of the seraphim.\nThe second petition is a continuation of the first; for just in\nproportion as men's conceptions of God are corrected and hallowed will\nthe kingdom of God be set up on earth. The first petition, like that of\nthe Psalmist, is for the sending out of \"Thy light and Thy truth;\" the\nsecond is that humanity may be led to the \"holy hill,\" praising God\nupon the harp, and finding in God their \"exceeding joy.\" To find God as\nthe Father-King is to step up within the kingdom.\n\nThe prayer now descends into the lower plane of personal wants, covering\n(1) our physical, and (2) our spiritual needs. The former are met with\none petition, \"Give us day by day our daily bread,\" a sentence\nconfessedly obscure, and which has given rise to much dispute. Some\ninterpret it in a spiritual sense alone, since, as they say, any other\ninterpretation would break in upon the uniformity of the prayer, whose\nother terms are all spiritual. But if, as we have suggested, the whole\nprayer must be regarded as an epitome of prayer in general, then it must\ninclude somewhere our physical needs, or a large and important domain of\nour life is left uncovered. As to the meaning of the singular adjective\n\u03b5\u03c0\u03b9\u03bf\u03c5\u03c3\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd we need not say much. That it can scarcely mean\n\"to-morrow's\" bread is evident from the warning Jesus gives against\n\"taking thought\" for the morrow, and we must not allow the prayer to\ntraverse the command. The most natural and likely interpretation is that\nwhich the heart of mankind has always given it, as our \"daily\" bread, or\nbread sufficient for the day. Jesus thus selects, what is the most\ncommon of our physical wants, the bread which comes to us in such purely\nnatural, matter-of-course ways, as the specimen need of our physical\nlife. But when He thus lifts up this common, ever-recurring mercy into\nthe region of prayer He puts a halo of Divineness about it, and by\nincluding this He teaches us that there is no want of even our physical\nlife which is excluded from the realm of prayer. If we are invited to\nspeak with God concerning our daily bread, then certainly we need not\nbe silent as to aught else.\n\nOur spiritual needs are included in the two petitions, \"And forgive us\nour sins; for we ourselves also forgive everyone that is indebted to us.\nAnd bring us not into temptation.\" The parenthesis does not imply that\nall debts should be remitted, for payment of these is enjoined as one of\nthe duties of life. The indebtedness spoken of is rather the New\nTestament indebtedness, the failure of duty or courtesy, the omission of\nsome \"ought\" of life or some injury or offence. It is that human\nforgiveness, the opposite of resentment, which grows up under the shadow\nof the Divine forgiveness. The former of these petitions, then, is for\nthe forgiveness of all past sin, while the latter is for deliverance\nfrom present sinning; for when we pray, \"Bring us not into temptation,\"\nit is a prayer that we may not be tempted \"above that we are able,\"\nwhich, amplified, means that in all our temptations we may be\nvictorious, \"kept by the power of God.\"\n\nSuch, then, is the wide realm of prayer, as indicated by Jesus. He\nassures us that there is no department of our being, no circumstance of\nour life, which does not lie within its range; that\n\n  \"The whole round world is every way\n  Bound with gold chains about the feet of God,\"\n\nand that on these golden chains, as on a harp, the touch of prayer may\nwake sweet music, far-off or near alike. And how much we miss through\nrestraining prayer, reserving it for special occasions, or for the\ngreater crises of life! But if we would only loop up with heaven each\nsuccessive hour, if we would only run the thread of prayer through the\ncommon events and the common tasks, we should find the whole day and\nthe whole life swinging on a higher, calmer level. The common task would\ncease to be common, and the earthly would be less earthly, if we only\nthrew a bit of heaven upon it, or we opened it out to heaven. If in\neverything we could but make our requests known unto God--that is, if\nprayer became the habitual act of life--we should find that heaven was\nno longer the land \"afar off,\" but that it was close upon us, with all\nits proffered ministries.\n\nAgain, Jesus teaches the importance of earnestness and importunity in\nprayer. He sketches the picture--for it is scarcely a parable--of the\nman whose hospitality is claimed, late at night, by a passing friend,\nbut who has no provision made for the emergency. He goes over to another\nfriend, and rousing him up at midnight, he asks for the loan of three\nloaves. And with what result? Does the man answer from within, \"Trouble\nme not: the door is now shut, and my children are with me in bed; I\ncannot rise and give thee\"? No, that would be an impossible answer; for\n\"though he will not rise and give him because he is his friend, yet\nbecause of his importunity he will rise and give him as many as he\nneedeth\" (xi. 8). It is the unreasonableness, or at any rate the\nuntimeliness of the request Jesus seems to emphasize. The man himself is\nthoughtless, improvident in his household management. He disturbs his\nneighbour, waking up his whole family at midnight for such a trivial\nmatter as the loan of three loaves. But he gains his request, not,\neither, on the ground of friendship, but through sheer audacity,\nimpudence; for such is the meaning of the word, rather than importunity.\nThe lesson is easily learned, for the suppressed comparison would be,\n\"If man, being evil, will put himself out of the way to serve a friend,\neven at this untimely hour, filling up by his thoughtfulness his\nfriend's lack of thought, how much more will the heavenly Father give to\nHis child such things as are needful?\"\n\nWe have the same lesson taught in the parable of the Unjust Judge\n(xviii. 1), that \"men ought always to pray, and not to faint.\" Here,\nhowever, the characters are reversed. The suppliant is a poor and a\nwronged widow, while the person addressed is a hard, selfish, godless\nman, who boasts of his atheism. She asks, not for a favour, but for her\nrights--that she may have due protection from some extortionate\nadversary, who somehow has got her in his power; for justice rather than\nvengeance is her demand. But \"he would not for awhile,\" and all her\ncries for pity and for help beat upon that callous heart only as the\nsurf upon a rocky shore, to be thrown back upon itself. But afterwards\nhe said within himself, \"Though I fear not God, nor regard man, yet\nbecause this widow troubleth me, I will avenge her, lest she wear me out\nby her continual coming.\" And so he is moved to take her part against\nher adversary, not for any motive of compassion or sense of justice, but\nthrough mere selfishness, that he may escape the annoyance of her\nfrequent visits--lest her continual coming \"worry\" me, as the colloquial\nexpression might be rendered. Here the comparison, or contrast rather,\nis expressed, at any rate in part. It is, \"If an unjust and abandoned\njudge grants a just petition at last, out of base motives, when it is\noften urged, to a defenceless person for whom he cares nothing, how much\nmore shall a just and merciful God hear the cry and avenge the cause of\nthose whom He loves?\"[1]\n\n  [1] Farrar\n\nIt is a resolute persistence in prayer the parable urges, the continued\nasking, and seeking, and knocking that Jesus both commended and\ncommanded (xi. 9), and which has the promise of such certain answers,\nand not the tantalizing mockeries of stones for bread, or scorpions for\nfish. Some blessings lie near at hand; we have only to ask, and we\nreceive--receive even while we ask. But other blessings lie farther off,\nand they can only be ours by a continuance in prayer, by a persistent\nimportunity. Not that our heavenly Father needs any wearying into mercy;\nbut the blessing may not be ripe, or we ourselves may not be fully\nprepared to receive it. A blessing for which we are unprepared would\nonly be an untimely blessing, and like a December swallow, it would soon\ndie, without nest or brood. And sometimes the long delay is but a test\nof faith, whetting and sharpening the desire, until our very life seems\nto depend upon the granting of our prayer. So long as our prayers are\namong the \"may-be's\" and \"mights\" there are fears and doubts alternating\nwith our hope and faith. But when the desires are intensified, and our\nprayers rise into the \"must-be's,\" then the answers are near at hand;\nfor that \"must be\" is the soul's Mahanaim, where the angels meet us, and\nGod Himself says \"I will.\" Delays in our prayers are by no means\ndenials; they are often but the lengthened summer for the ripening of\nour blessings, making them larger and more sweet.\n\nAnd now we have only to consider, which we must do briefly, the practice\nof Jesus, the place of prayer in His own life; and we shall find that in\nevery point it coincides exactly with His teaching. To us of the clouded\nvision heaven is sometimes a hope more than a reality. It is an unseen\ngoal, luring us across the wilderness, and which one of these days we\nmay possess; but it is not to us as the wide-reaching, encircling sky,\nthrowing its sunshine into each day, and lighting up our nights with its\nthousand lamps. To Jesus, heaven was more and nearer than it is to us.\nHe had left it behind; and yet He had not left it, for He speaks of\nHimself, the Son of man, as being now in heaven. And so He was. His feet\nwere upon earth, at home amid its dust; but His heart, His truer life,\nwere all above. And how constant His correspondence, or rather\ncommunion, with heaven! At first sight it appears strange to us that\nJesus should need the sustenance of prayer, or that He could even adopt\nits language. But when He became the Son of man He voluntarily assumed\nthe needs of humanity; He emptied Himself, as the Apostle expresses a\ngreat mystery, as if for the time divesting Himself of all Divine\nprerogatives, choosing to live as man amongst men. And so Jesus prayed.\nHe was wont, even as we are, to refresh a wasted strength by draughts\nfrom the celestial springs; and as Ant\u00e6us, in his wrestling, recovered\nhimself as he touched the ground, so we find Jesus, in the great crises\nof His life, falling back upon Heaven.\n\nSt. Luke, in his narrative of the Baptism, inserts one fact the other\nSynoptists omit--that Jesus was in the act of prayer when the heavens\nwere opened, and the Holy Ghost descended, in the semblance of a dove,\nupon Him. It is as if the opened heavens, the descending dove, and the\naudible voice were but the answer to His prayer. And why not? Standing\non the threshold of His mission, would He not naturally ask that a\ndouble portion of the Spirit might be His--that Heaven might put its\nmanifest seal upon that mission, if not for the confirmation of His own\nfaith, yet for that of His forerunner? At any rate, the fact is plain\nthat it was while He was in the act of prayer that He received that\nsecond and higher baptism, even the baptism of the Spirit.\n\nA second epoch in that Divine life was when Jesus formally instituted\nthe Apostleship, calling and initiating the Twelve into the closer\nbrotherhood. It was, so to speak, the appointment of a regency, who\nshould exercise authority and rule in the new kingdom, sitting, as Jesus\nfiguratively expresses it (xxii. 30), \"on thrones, judging the twelve\ntribes of Israel.\" It is easy to see what tremendous issues were\ninvolved in this appointment; for were these foundation-stones untrue,\nwarped by jealousies and vain ambitions, the whole superstructure would\nhave been weakened, thrown out of the square. And so before the\nselection is made, a selection demanding such insight and foresight,\nsuch a balancing of complementary gifts, Jesus devotes the whole night\nto prayer, seeking the solitude of the mountain-height, and in the early\ndawn coming down, with the dews of night upon His garment and with the\ndews of heaven upon His soul, which, like crystals or lenses of light,\nmade the invisible visible and the distant near.\n\nA third crisis in that Divine life was at the Transfiguration, when the\nsummit was reached, the borderline between earth and heaven, where, amid\ncelestial greetings and overshadowing clouds of glory, that sinless life\nwould have had its natural transition into heaven. And here again we\nfind the same coincidence of prayer. Both St. Mark and St. Luke state\nthat the \"high mountain\" was climbed for the express purpose of\ncommunion with Heaven; they \"went up into the mountain to pray.\" It is\nonly St. Luke, however, who states that it was \"as He was praying\" the\nfashion of His countenance was altered, thus making the vision an\nanswer, or at least a corollary, to the prayer. He is at a point where\ntwo ways meet: the one passes into heaven at once, from that high level\nto which by a sinless life He has attained; the other path sweeps\nsuddenly downward to a valley of agony, a cross of shame, a tomb of\ndeath; and after this wide _d\u00e9tour_ the heavenly heights are reached\nagain. Which path will He choose? If He takes the one He passes solitary\ninto heaven; if He takes the other He brings with Him a redeemed\nhumanity. And does not this give us, in a sort of echo, the burden of\nHis prayer? He finds the shadow of the cross thrown over this\nheaven-lighted summit--for when Moses and Elias appear they would not\nintroduce a subject altogether new; they would in their conversation\nstrike in with the theme with which His mind is already preoccupied,\nthat is the decease He should accomplish at Jerusalem--and as the chill\nof that shadow settles upon Him, causing the flesh to shrink and quiver\nfor a while, would He not seek for the strength He needs? Would He not\nask, as later, in the garden, that the cup might pass from Him; or if\nthat should not be possible, that His will might not conflict with the\nFather's will, even for a passing moment? At any rate we may suppose\nthat the vision was, in some way, Heaven's answer to His prayer, giving\nHim the solace and strengthening that He sought, as the Father's voice\nattested His Sonship, and celestials came forth to salute the\nWell-beloved, and to hearten Him on towards His dark goal.\n\nJust so was it when Jesus kept His fourth watch in Gethsemane. What\nGethsemane was, and what its fearful agony meant, we shall consider in\na later chapter. It is enough for our present purpose to see how Jesus\nconsecrated that deep valley, as before He had consecrated the\nTransfiguration height, to prayer. Leaving the three outside the veil of\nthe darkness, He passes into Gethsemane, as into another Holy of holies,\nthere to offer up for His own and for Himself the sacrifice of prayer;\nwhile as our High Priest He sprinkles with His own blood, that blood of\nthe everlasting covenant, the sacred ground. And what prayer was that!\nhow intensely fervent! That if it were possible the dread cup might pass\nfrom Him, but that either way the Father's will might be done! And that\nprayer was the prelude to victory; for as the first Adam fell by the\nassertion of self, the clashing of his will with God's, the second Adam\nconquers by the total surrender of His will to the will of the Father.\nThe agony was lost in the acquiescence.\n\nBut it was not alone in the great crises of His life that Jesus fell\nback upon Heaven. Prayer with Him was habitual, the fragrant atmosphere\nin which He lived, and moved, and spoke. His words glide as by a natural\ntransition into its language, as a bird whose feet have lightly touched\nthe ground suddenly takes to its wings; and again and again we find Him\npausing in the weaving of His speech, to throw across the earthward warp\nthe heavenward woof of prayer. It was a necessity of His life; and if\nthe intrusive crowds allowed Him no time for its exercise, He was wont\nto elude them, to find upon the mountain or in the desert His\nprayer-chamber beneath the stars. And how frequently we read of His\n\"looking up to heaven\" amid the pauses of His daily task! stopping\nbefore He breaks the bread, and on the mirror of His upturned glance\nleading the thoughts and thanks of the multitude to the All-Father, who\ngiveth to all His creatures their meat in due season; or pausing as He\nworks some impromptu miracle, before speaking the omnipotent\n\"Ephphatha,\" that on His upward look He may signal to the skies! And\nwhat a light is turned upon His life and His relation to His disciples\nby a simple incident that occurs on the night of the betrayal! Reading\nthe sign of the times, in His forecast of the dark to-morrow, He sees\nthe terrible strain that will be put upon Peter's faith, and which He\nlikens to a Satanic sifting. With prescient eye He sees the temporary\ncollapse; how, in the fierce heat of the trial, the \"rock\" will be\nthrown into a state of flux; so weak and pliant, it will be all rippled\nby agitation and unrest, or driven back at the mere breath of a\nservant-girl. He says mournfully, \"Simon, Simon, behold. Satan asked to\nhave you, that he might sift you as wheat: but I made supplication for\nthee, that thy faith fail not\" (xxii. 31). So completely does Jesus\nidentify Himself with His own, making their separate needs His care (for\nthis doubtless was no solitary case); but just as the High Priest\ncarried on his breastplate the twelve tribal names, thus bringing all\nIsrael within the light of Urim and Thummim, so Jesus carries within His\nheart both the name and the need of each separate disciple, asking for\nthem in prayer what, perhaps, they have failed to ask for themselves.\nNor are the prayers of Jesus limited by any such narrow circle; they\ncompassed the world, lighting up all horizons; and even upon the cross,\namid the jeers and laughter of the crowd, He forgets His own agonies, as\nwith parched lips He prays for His murderers, \"Father, forgive them; for\nthey know not what they do.\"\n\nThus, more than any son of man, did Jesus \"pray without ceasing,\" \"in\neverything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving\" making request\nunto God. Shall we not copy His bright example? shall we not, too, live,\nlabour, and endure, as \"seeing Him who is invisible\"? He who lives a\nlife of prayer will never question its reality. He who sees God in\neverything, and everything in God, will turn his life into a south land,\nwith upper and nether springs of blessing in ceaseless flow; for the\nlife that lies full heavenward lies in perpetual summer, in the eternal\nnoon.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n_THE FAITH OF THE CENTURION._\n\nLUKE vii. 1-10.\n\n\nOur Evangelist prefaces the narrative of the healing of the centurion's\nservant with one of his characteristic time-marks, the shadow upon his\ndial-plate being the shadow of the new mount of God: \"After He had ended\nall His sayings in the ears of the people, He entered into Capernaum.\"\nThe language is unusually weighty, almost solemn, as if the Sermon on\nthe Mount were not so much a sermon as a manifesto, the formal\nproclamation of the kingdom of heaven. Our word \"ended,\" too, is\nscarcely an equivalent of the original word, whose underlying idea is\nthat of fullness, completion. It is more than a full-stop to point a\nsentence; it is a word that characterizes the sentence itself,\nsuggesting, if not implying, that these \"sayings\" of His formed a\ncomplete and rounded whole, a body of moral and ethical truth which was\nperfect in itself. The Mount of Beatitudes thus stands before us as the\nSinai of the New Testament, giving its laws to all peoples and to all\ntimes. But how different the aspect of the two mounts! Then the people\ndare not touch the mountain; now they press close up to the \"Prophet\nlike unto Moses\" to hear the word of God. Then the Law came in a cluster\nof restrictions and negations; it now speaks in commands most positive,\nin principles permanent as time itself; while from this new Sinai the\nclouds have disappeared, the thunders ceased, leaving a sky serene and\nbright, and a heaven which is strangely near.\n\nReturning to Capernaum--which city, after the ejection from Nazareth,\nbecame the home of Jesus, and the centre of His Galilean ministry--He\nwas met by a deputation of Jewish elders, who came to intercede with Him\non behalf of a centurion whose servant was lying dangerously ill and\napparently at the point of death. The narrative thus gives us, as its\n_dramatis person\u00e6_, the Sufferer, the Intercessor, and the Healer.\n\nAs we read the story our thought is arrested, and naturally so, by the\ncentral figure. The imposing shadow of the centurion so completely fills\nour range of vision that it throws into the background the nameless one\nwho in his secret chamber is struggling vainly in the tightening grip of\ndeath. But who is he who can command such a service? around whose couch\nis such a multitude of ministering feet? who is he whose panting breath\ncan throw over the heart of his master, and over his face, the\nripple-marks of a great sorrow, which sends hither and thither, as the\nwind tosses the dry leaves, soldiers of the army, elders of the Jews,\nfriends of the master, and which makes even the feet of the Lord hasten\nwith His succour?\n\n\"And a certain centurion's servant, who was dear unto him, was sick and\nat the point of death.\" Such is the brief sentence which describes a\ncharacter, and sums up the whole of an obscure life. We are not able to\ndefine precisely his position, for the word leaves us in doubt whether\nhe were a slave or a servant of the centurion. Probably--if we may throw\nthe light of the whole narrative upon the word--he was a confidential\nservant, living in the house of his master, on terms of more than usual\nintimacy. What those terms were we may easily discover by opening out\nthe word \"dear,\" reading its depths as well as its surface-meaning. In\nits lower sense it means \"valuable,\" \"worth-y\" (putting its ancient\naccent upon the modern word). It sets the man, not over against the\ntables of the Law, but against the law of the tables, weighing him in\nthe balances of trade, and estimating him by the scale of commercial\nvalues. But in this meaner, worldly mode of reckoning he is not found\nwanting. He is a servant proved and approved. Like Eliezer of old, he\nhas identified himself with his master's interests, listening for his\nvoice, and learning to read even the wishes which were unexpressed in\nwords. Adjusting his will to the higher will, like a vane answering the\ncurrents of the wind, his hands, his feet, and his whole self have swung\nround to fall into the unit of his master's purpose. Faithful in his\nservice, whether that service were under the master's eye or not, and\nfaithful alike in the great and the little things, he has entered into\nhis master's confidence, and so into his joy. Losing his own\npersonality, he is content to be something between a cipher and a unit,\nonly a \"hand.\" But he is the master's right hand, strong and ever ready,\nso useful as to be almost an integral part of the master's self, without\nwhich the master's life would be incomplete and strangely bereaved. All\nthis we may learn from the lower meaning of the phrase \"was dear unto\nhim.\"\n\nBut the word has a higher meaning, one that is properly rendered by our\n\"dear.\" It implies esteem, affection, transferring our thought from the\nsubject to the object, from the character of the servant to the\ninfluence it has exerted upon the master, The word is thus an index, a\nbarometrical reading, measuring for us the pressure of that influence,\nand recording for us the high sentiments of regard and affection it has\nevoked. As the trees around the pond lean towards the water which laves\ntheir roots, so the strong soul of the centurion, drawn by the\nattractions of a lowly but a noble life, leans toward, until it leans\nupon, his servant, giving him its confidence, its esteem and love, that\ngolden fruitage of the heart. That such was the mutual relation of the\nmaster and the servant is evident, for Jesus, who read motives and heard\nthoughts, would not so freely and promptly have placed His miraculous\npower at the disposal of the centurion had his sorrow been only the\nselfish sorrow of losing what was commercially valuable. To an appeal of\nselfishness, though thrown forward and magnified by the sounding-boards\nof all the synagogues, the ears of Jesus would have been perfectly deaf;\nbut when it was the cry of a genuine sorrow, the moan of a vicarious\npain, an unselfish, disinterested grief, then the ears of Jesus were\nquick to hear, and His feet swift to respond.\n\nIt is impossible for us to define exactly what the sickness was, though\nthe statement of St. Matthew that it was \"palsy,\" and that he was\n\"grievously tormented,\" would suggest that it might be an acute case of\ninflammatory rheumatism. But whatever it might be, it was a most\npainful, and as every one thought a mortal sickness, one that left no\nroom for hope, save this last hope in the Divine mercy. But what a\nlesson is here for our times, as indeed for all times, the lesson of\nhumanity! How little does Heaven make of rank and station! Jesus does\nnot even see them; He ignores them utterly. To His mind Humanity is one,\nand the broad lines of distinction, the impassable barriers Society is\nfond of drawing or setting up, to Him are but imaginary meridians of the\nsea, a name, but nothing more. It is but a nameless servant of a\nnameless master, one, too, of many, for a hundred others are ready, with\nmilitary precision, to do that same master's will; but Jesus does not\nhesitate. He who voluntarily took upon Himself the form of a servant, as\nHe came into the world \"not to be ministered unto, but to minister,\" now\nbecomes the Servant of a servant, saying to him who knew only how to\nobey, how to serve, \"Here am I; command Me; use Me as thou wilt.\" All\nservice is honourable, if we serve not ourselves, but our fellows, and\nit is doubly so if, serving man, we serve God too. As the sunshine looks\ndown into, and strews with flowers, the lowest vales, so the Divine\ncompassion falls on the lowliest lives, and the Divine grace makes them\nsweet and beautiful. Christianity is the great leveller, but it levels\nupwards, and if we possess the mind of Christ, His Spirit dwelling and\nruling within, we too, like the great Apostle, shall know no man after\nthe flesh; the accidents of birth, and rank, and fortune will sink back\ninto the trifles that they are; for however these may vary, it is an\neternal truth, though spoken by a son of the soil and the heather--\n\n  \"A man's a man for a' that.\"\n\nIt is not easy to tell how the seed-thought is borne into a heart, there\nto germinate and ripen; for influences are subtle, invisible things.\nLike the pollen of a flower, which may be carried on the antenn\u00e6 of some\nunconscious insect, or borne into the future by the passing breeze, so\ninfluences which will yet ripen into character and make destinies are\nthrown off unconsciously from our common deeds, or they are borne on\nthe wings of the chance, casual word. The case of the centurion is no\nexception. By what steps he has been brought into the clearer light we\ncannot tell, but evidently this Pagan officer is now a proselyte to the\nHebrew faith and worship, the window of his soul open towards Jerusalem,\nwhile his professional life still looks towards Rome, as he renders to\nC\u00e6sar the allegiance and service which are C\u00e6sar's due. And what a\ntestimony it is to the vitality and reproductive power of the Hebrew\nfaith, that it should boast of at least three centurions, in the\nimperial ranks, of whom Scripture makes honourable mention--one at\nCapernaum; another, Cornelius, at C\u00e6sarea, whose prayers and alms were\nhad in remembrance of Heaven; and the third in Jerusalem, witnessing a\ngood confession upon Calvary, and proclaiming within the shadow of the\ncross the Divinity of the Crucified. It shows how the Paganism of Rome\nfailed to satisfy the aspirations of the soul, and how Mars, red and\nlurid through the night, paled and disappeared at the rising of the Sun.\n\nAlthough identifying himself with the religious life of the city, the\ncenturion had not yet had any personal interview with Jesus. Possibly\nhis military duties prevented his attendance at the synagogue, so that\nhe had not seen the cures Jesus there wrought upon the demoniac and the\nman with the withered hand. The report of them, however, must soon have\nreached him, intimate as he was with the officials of the synagogue;\nwhile the nobleman, the cure of whose sick son is narrated by St. John\n(iv. 46), would probably be amongst his personal friends, an\nacquaintance at any rate. The centurion \"heard\" of Jesus, but he could\nnot have heard had not some one spoken of Him. The Christ was borne\ninto his mind and heart on the breath of common speech; that is, the\nlittle human word grew into the Divine Word. It was the verbal testimony\nas to what Jesus had done that now led to the still greater things He\nwas prepared to do. And such is the place and power of testimony to-day.\nIt is the most persuasive, the most effective form of speech. Testimony\nwill often win where argument has failed, and gold itself is\nall-powerless to extend the frontiers of the heavenly kingdom until it\nis melted down and exchanged for the higher currency of speech. It is\nfirst the human voice crying in the wilderness, and then the incarnate\nWord, whose coming makes the wilderness to be glad, and the desert\nplaces of life to sing. And so, while a sword of flame guards the\nParadise Lost, it is a \"tongue\" of flame, that symbol of a perpetual\nPentecost, which calls man back, redeemed now, to the Paradise Restored.\nIf Christians would only speak more for Christ; if, shaking off that\nfoolish reserve, they would in simple language testify to what they\nthemselves have seen, and known, and experienced, how rapidly would the\nkingdom come, the kingdom for which we pray, indeed, but for which,\nalas, we are afraid to speak! Nations then would be born in a day, and\nthe millennium, instead of being the distant or the forlorn hope it is,\nwould be a speedy realization. We should be in the fringe of it\ndirectly. It is said that on one of the Alpine glaciers the guides\nforbid travellers to speak, lest the mere tremor of the human voice\nshould loosen and bring down the deadly avalanche. Whether this be so or\nnot, it was some unnamed voice that now sent the centurion to Christ,\nand brought the Christ to him.\n\nIt was probably a sudden relapse, with increased paroxysms of pain, on\nthe part of the sufferer, which now decided the centurion to make his\nappeal to Jesus, sending a deputation of Jewish elders, as the day was\non the wane, to the house to which Jesus had now returned. They make\ntheir request that \"He would come and save the servant of the centurion,\nwho was now lying at the point of death.\" True advocates, and skilful,\nwere these elders. They made the centurion's cause their own, as if\ntheir hearts had caught the rhythmic beat of his great sorrow, and when\nJesus held back a little--as He often did, to test the intensity of the\ndesire and the sincerity of the suppliant--\"they besought Him\nearnestly,\" or \"kept on beseeching,\" as the tense of the verb would\nimply, crowning their entreaty with the plea, \"He is worthy that Thou\nshouldest do this, for he loveth our nation, and himself built us our\nsynagogue.\" Possibly they feared--putting a Hebrew construction upon His\nsympathies--that Jesus would demur, and perhaps refuse, because their\nclient was a foreigner. They did not know, what we know so well, that\nthe mercy of Jesus was as broad as it was deep, knowing no bounds where\nits waves of blessing are stayed. But how forceful and prevalent was\ntheir plea! Though they knew it not, these elders do but ask Jesus to\nillustrate the words He has just spoken, \"Give, and it shall be given\nunto you.\" And had not Jesus laid this down as one of the laws of mercy,\nthat action and reaction are equal? Had He not been describing the orbit\nin which blessings travel, showing that though its orbit be apparently\neccentric at times, like the boomerang, that wheels round and comes back\nto the hand that threw it forward, the mercy shown will eventually come\nback to him who showed it, with a wealth of heavenly usury? And so\ntheir plea was the one of all others to be availing. It was the precept\nof the mount evolved into practice. It was, \"Bless him, for he has\nrichly blessed us. He has opened his hand, showering his favours upon\nus; do Thou open Thine hand now, and show him that the God of the\nHebrews is a God who hears, and heeds, and helps.\"\n\nIt has been thought, from the language of the elders, that the synagogue\nbuilt by the centurion was the only one that Capernaum possessed; for\nthey speak of it as \"the\" synagogue. But this does not follow, and\nindeed it is most improbable. They might still call it \"the\" synagogue,\nnot because it was the only one, but because it was the one foremost and\nuppermost in their thought, the one in which they were particularly\ninterested. The definite article no more proves this to be the only\nsynagogue in Capernaum than the phrase \"the house\" (ver. 10) proves the\nhouse of the centurion to be the only house of the city. The fact is\nthat in the Gospel age Capernaum was a busy and important place, as\nshown by its possessing a garrison of soldiers, and by its being the\nplace of custom, situated as it was on the great highway of trade. And\nif Jerusalem could boast of four hundred synagogues, and Tiberias--a\ncity not even named by the Synoptists--fourteen, Capernaum certainly\nwould possess more than one. Indeed, had Capernaum been the\ninsignificant village that one synagogue would imply, then, instead of\ndeserving the bitter woes Jesus pronounced upon it, it would have\ndeserved the highest commendation, as the most fruitful field in all His\nministry, giving Him, besides other disciples, a ruler of the Jews and\nthe commandant of the garrison. That it deserved such bitter \"woes\"\nproves that Capernaum had a population both dense and, in the general,\nhostile to Jesus, compared with which His friends and adherents were a\nfeeble few.\n\nIn spite of the negative manner Jesus purposely showed at the first, He\nfully intended to grant all the elders had asked, and allowing them now\nto guide Him, He \"went with them.\" When, however, they were come near\nthe house, the centurion sent other \"friends\" to intercept Jesus, and to\nurge Him not to take any further trouble. The message, which they\ndeliver in the exact form in which it was given to them, is so\ncharacteristic and exquisitely beautiful that it is best to give it\nentire: \"Lord, trouble not Thyself: for I am not worthy that Thou\nshouldest come under my roof: wherefore neither thought I myself worthy\nto come unto Thee: but say the word, and my servant shall be healed. For\nI also am a man set under authority, having under myself soldiers: and I\nsay to this one, Go, and he goeth; and to another, Come, and he cometh;\nand to my servant, Do this, and he doeth it.\"\n\nThe narrative of St. Matthew differs slightly from that of St. Luke, in\nthat he omits all reference to the two deputations, speaking of the\ninterview as being personal with the centurion. But St. Matthew's is\nevidently an abbreviated narrative, and he passes over the\nintermediaries, in accordance with the maxim that he who acts through\nanother does it _per se_. But both agree as to the terms of the message,\na message which is at once a marvel and a rebuke to us, and one which\nwas indeed deserving of being twice recorded and eulogized in the pages\nof the Gospels.\n\nAnd how the message reveals the man, disclosing as in a transparency the\ncharacter of this nameless foreigner! We have already seen how broad\nwere his sympathies, and how generous his deeds, as he makes room in\nhis large heart for a conquered and despised people, at his own cost\nbuilding a temple for the exercises of their faith. We have seen, too,\nwhat a wealth of tenderness and benevolence was hiding beneath a\nsomewhat stern exterior, in his affection for a servant, and his anxious\nsolicitude for that servant's health. But now we see in the centurion\nother graces of character, that set him high amongst those \"outside\nsaints\" who worshipped in the outer courts, until such time as the veil\nof the Temple was rent in twain, and the way into the Holiest was opened\nfor all. And what a beautiful humility is here! what an absence of\nassumption or of pride! Occupying an honoured position, representing in\nhis own person an empire which was world-wide, surrounded by troops of\nfriends, and by all the comforts wealth could buy, accustomed to speak\nin imperative, if not in imperious ways, yet as he turns towards Jesus\nit is with a respectful, yea, a reverential demeanour. He feels himself\nin the presence of some Higher Being, an unseen but august C\u00e6sar. Nay,\nnot in His presence either, for into that audience-chamber he feels that\nhe has neither the fitness nor the right to intrude. All that he can do\nis to send forward his petition by the hands of worthier advocates, who\nhave access to Him, while he himself keeps back out of sight, with bared\nfeet standing by the outer gate. Others can speak well and highly of\nhim, recounting his noble deeds, but of himself he has nothing good to\nsay; he can only speak of self in terms of disparagement, as he\nemphasizes his littleness, his unworthiness. Nor was it with him the\nconventional hyperbole of Eastern manners; it was the language of\ndeepest, sincerest truth, when he said that he was not worthy even to\nspeak with Christ, or to receive such a Guest beneath his roof. Between\nhimself and the One he reverently addressed as \"Lord\" there was an\ninfinite distance; for one was human, while the Other was Divine.\n\nAnd what a rare and remarkable faith! In his thought Jesus is an\nImperator, commanding all forces, as He rules the invisible realms. His\nwill is supreme over all substances, across all distances. \"Thou hast no\nneed, Lord, to take any trouble about my poor request. There is no\nnecessity that Thou shouldest take one step, or even lift up a finger;\nThou hast only to speak the word, and it is done;\" and then he gives\nthat wonderfully graphic illustration borrowed from his own military\nlife.\n\nThe passage \"For I also am a man set under authority\" is generally\nrendered as referring to his own subordinate position under the\nChiliarch. But such a rendering, as it seems to us, breaks the\ncontinuity of thought, and grammatically is scarcely accurate. The whole\npassage is an amplification and description of the \"word\" of ver. 7, and\nthe \"also\" introduces something the centurion and Jesus possess in\ncommon, _i.e._, the power to command; for the \"I also\" certainly\ncorresponds with the \"Thou\" which is implied, but not expressed. But the\ncenturion did not mean to imply that Jesus possessed only limited,\ndelegated powers; this was farthest from his thought, and formed no part\nof the comparison. But let the clause \"I also am a man set under\nauthority\" be rendered, not as referring to the authority which is above\nhim, but to that which is _upon_ him--\"I also am vested with authority,\"\nor \"Authority is put upon me\"--and the meaning becomes clear. The \"also\"\nis no longer warped into an ungrammatical meaning, introducing a\ncontrast rather than a likeness; while the clause which follows, \"having\nunder myself soldiers,\" takes its proper place as an enlargement and\nexplanation of the \"authority\" with which the centurion is invested.\n\nThe centurion speaks in a soldierly way. There is a crispness and\nsharpness about his tones--that shibboleth of militaryism. He says, \"My\nword is all-powerful in the ranks which I command. I have but to say\n'Come,' or 'Go,' and my word is instantly obeyed. The soldier upon whose\near it falls dare not hesitate, any more than he dare refuse. He 'goes'\nat my word, anywhither, on some forlorn hope it may be, or to his\ngrave.\" And such is the obedience, instant and absolute, that military\nservice demands. The soldier must not question, he must obey; he must\nnot reason, he must act; for when the word of command--that leaded word\nof authority--falls upon his ear, it completely fills his soul, and\nmakes him deaf to all other, meaner voices.\n\nSuch was the thought in the centurion's mind, and from the \"go\" and\n\"come\" of military authority to the higher \"word\" of Jesus the\ntransition is easy. But how strong the faith that could give to Jesus\nsuch an enthronement, that could clothe His word with such superhuman\npower! Yonder, in his secluded chamber, lies the sufferer, his nerves\nquivering in their pain, while the mortal sickness physicians and\nremedies have all failed to touch, much less to remove, has dragged him\nclose up to the gate of death. But this \"word\" of Jesus shall be\nall-sufficient. Spoken here and now, it shall pass over the intervening\nstreets and through the interposing walls and doors; it shall say to\nthese demons of evil, \"Loose him, and let him go,\" and in a moment the\ntorturing pain shall cease, the fluttering heart shall resume its\nhealthy, steady beat, the rigid muscles shall become pliant as before,\nwhile through arteries and veins the life-blood--its poison all\nextracted now--shall regain its healthful, quiet flow. The centurion\nbelieved all this of the \"word\" of Jesus, and even more. In his heart it\nwas a word all-potent, if not omnipotent, like to the word of Him who\n\"spake, and it was done,\" who \"commanded, and it stood fast.\" And if the\nword of Jesus in these realms of life and death was so imperative and\nall-commanding, could the Christ Himself be less than Divine?\n\nTo find such confidence reposed in Himself was to Jesus something new;\nand to find this rarest plant of faith growing up on Gentile soil was a\nstill greater marvel and turning to the multitude which clustered thick\nand eager around, He said to them, \"I have not found so great faith, no,\nnot in Israel.\" And commending the centurion's faith, He honours it too,\ndoing all he requested, and even more, though without the \"word.\" Jesus\ndoes not even say \"I will,\" or \"Be it so,\" but He works the instant and\nperfect cure by a mere volition. He wills it, and it is done, so that\nwhen the friends returned to the house they found the servant \"whole.\"\n\nOf the sequel we know nothing. We do not even read that Jesus saw the\nman at whose faith He had so marvelled. But doubtless He did, for His\nheart was drawn strangely to him, and doubtless He gave to him many of\nthose \"words\" for which his soul had longed and listened, words in which\nwere held, as in solution, all authority and all truth. And doubtless,\ntoo, in the after-years, Jesus crowned that life of faithful but unnoted\nservice with the higher \"word,\" the heavenly \"Well done.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n_THE ANOINTING OF THE FEET._\n\nLUKE vii. 36-50.\n\n\nWhether the narrative of the Anointing is inserted in its chronological\norder we cannot say, for the Evangelist gives us no word by which we may\nrecognize either its time or its place-relation; but we can easily see\nthat it falls into the story artistically, with a singular fitness.\nGoing back to the context, we find Jesus pronouncing a high eulogium\nupon John the Baptist. Hereupon the Evangelist adds a statement of his\nown, calling attention to the fact that even John's ministry failed to\nreach and influence the Pharisees and lawyers, who rejected the counsel\nof God, and declined the baptism of His messenger. Then Jesus, in one of\nHis brief but exquisite parables, sketches the character of the\nPharisees. Recalling a scene of the market-place, where the children\nwere accustomed to play at \"weddings\" and \"funerals\"--which, by the way,\nare the only games at which the children of the land play to-day--and\nwhere sometimes the play was spoiled and stopped by some of the children\ngetting into a pet, and lapsing into a sullen silence, Jesus says that\nis just a picture of the childish perversity of the Pharisees. They\nrespond neither to the mourning of the one nor to the music of the\nother, but because John came neither eating bread nor drinking wine,\nthey can him a maniac, and say, \"He hath a devil;\" while of Jesus, who\nhas no ascetic ways, but mingles in the gatherings of social life, a Man\namongst men, they say, \"Behold a gluttonous man and a wine-bibber, a\nfriend of publicans and sinners.\" And having recorded this, our\nEvangelist inserts, as an appropriate sequel, the account of the supper\nin the Pharisee's house, with its idyllic interlude, played by a woman's\nhand, a narrative which shows how Wisdom is justified of all her\nchildren, and how these condescensions of Jesus, His intercourse with\neven those who were ceremonially or morally unclean, were both proper\nand beautiful.\n\nIt was in one of the Galilean towns, perhaps at Nain, where Jesus was\nsurprised at receiving an invitation to the house of a Pharisee. Such\ncourtesies on the part of a class who prided themselves on their\nexclusiveness, and who were bitterly intolerant of all who were outside\ntheir narrow circle, were exceptional and rare. Besides, the teaching of\nJesus was diametrically opposed to the leaven of the Pharisees. Between\nthe caste of the one and the Catholicism of the other was a wide gulf of\ndivergence. To Jesus the heart was everything, and the outflowing issues\nwere coloured by its hues; to the Pharisees the hand, the outward touch,\nwas more than heart, and contact more than conduct. Jesus laid a Divine\nemphasis upon character; the cleanness He demanded was moral cleanness,\npurity of heart; that of the Pharisees was a ceremonial cleanness, the\navoidance of things which were under a ceremonial ban. And so they\nmagnified the jots and tittles, scrupulously tithing their mint and\nanise, while they overlooked completely the moralities of the heart,\nand reduced to a mere nothing those grander virtues of mercy and of\njustice. Between the Separatists and Jesus there was therefore constant\nfriction, which afterwards developed into open hostility; and while they\never sought to damage Him with opprobrious epithets, and to bring His\nteaching into disrepute, He did not fail to expose their hollowness and\ninsincerity, tearing off the veneer with which they sought to hide the\nbrood of viperous things their creed had gendered, and to hurl against\ntheir whited sepulchres His indignant \"woes.\"\n\nIt would almost seem as if Jesus hesitated in accepting the invitation,\nfor the tense of the verb \"desired\" implies that the request was\nrepeated. Possibly other arrangements had been made, or perhaps Jesus\nsought to draw out and test the sincerity of the Pharisee, who in kind\nand courteous words offered his hospitality. The hesitation would\ncertainly not arise from any reluctance on His part, for Jesus refused\nno open door; he welcomed any opportunity of influencing a soul. As the\nshepherd of His own parable went over the mountainous paths in quest of\nhis lone, lost sheep, so Jesus was glad to risk unkind aspersions, and\nto bear the \"fierce light\" of hostile, questioning eyes, if He might but\nrescue a soul, and win some erring one back to virtue and to truth.\n\nThe character of the host we cannot exactly determine. The narrative\nlights up his features but indistinctly, for the nameless \"sinner\" is\nthe central object of the picture, while Simon stands in the background,\nout of focus, and so somewhat veiled in obscurity. To many he appears as\nthe cold and heartless censor, distant and haughty, seeking by the guile\nof hospitality to entrap Jesus, hiding behind the mask of friendship\nsome dark and sinister motive. But such deep shadows are cast by our own\nthoughts rather than by the narrative; they are the random \"guesses\nafter truth,\" instead of the truth itself. It will be noticed that Jesus\ndoes not impugn in the least his motive in proffering his hospitality;\nand this, though but a negative evidence, is not without its weight,\nwhen on a similar occasion the evil motive was brought to light. The\nonly charge laid against him--if charge it be--was the omission of\ncertain points of etiquette that Eastern hospitality was accustomed to\nobserve, and even here there is nothing to show that Jesus was treated\ndifferently from the other invited guests. The omission, while it failed\nto single out Jesus for special honour, might still mean no disrespect;\nand at the most it was a breach of manners, deportment, rather than of\nmorals, just one of those lapses Jesus was most ready to overlook and\nforgive. We shall form a juster estimate of the man's character if we\nregard him as a seeker after truth. Evidently he has felt a drawing\ntowards Jesus; indeed, ver. 47 would almost imply that he had received\nsome personal benefit at His hands. Be this as it may, he is desirous of\na closer and a freer intercourse. His mind is perplexed, the balances of\nhis judgment swinging in alternate and opposite ways. A new problem has\npresented itself to him, and in that problem is one factor he cannot yet\nvalue. It is the unknown quantity, Jesus of Nazareth. Who is He? what is\nHe? A prophet--the Prophet--the Christ? Such are the questions running\nthrough his mind--questions which must be answered soon, as his thoughts\nand opinions have ripened into convictions. And so he invites Jesus to\nhis house and board, that in the nearer vision and the unfettered\nfreedom of social intercourse he may solve the great enigma. Nay, he\ninvites Jesus with a degree of earnestness, putting upon Him the\nconstraint of a great desire; and leaving his heart open to conviction,\nready to embrace the truth as soon as he recognizes it to be truth, he\nflings open the door of his hospitalities, though in so doing he shakes\nthe whole fabric of Pharisaic exclusiveness and sanctity. Seeking after\ntruth, the truth finds him.\n\nThere was a simplicity and freeness in the social life of the East which\nour Western civilization can scarcely understand. The door of the\nguest-chamber was left open, and the uninvited, even comparative\nstrangers, were allowed to pass in and out during the entertainment; or\nthey might take their seats by the wall, as spectators and listeners. It\nwas so here. No sooner have the guests taken their places, reclining\naround the table, their bared feet projecting behind them, than the\nusual drift of the uninvited set in, amongst whom, almost unnoticed in\nthe excitements of the hour, was \"a woman of the city.\" Simon in his\nsoliloquy speaks of her as \"a sinner;\" but had we his testimony only, we\nshould hesitate in giving to the word its usually received meaning; for\n\"sinner\" was a pet term of the Pharisees, applied to all who were\noutside their circle, and even to Jesus Himself. But when our\nEvangelist, in describing her character, makes use of the same word, we\ncan only interpret the \"sinner\" in one way, in its sensual, depraved\nmeaning. And with this agrees the phrase \"a woman which was in the\ncity,\" which seems to indicate the loose relations of her too-public\nlife.\n\nBearing in her hand \"an alabaster cruse of ointment,\" for a purpose\nwhich soon became apparent, she passed over to the place where Jesus\nsat, and stood directly behind Him. Accustomed as she had been to hide\nher deeds in the veil of darkness, nothing but the current of a deep\nemotion could have carried her thus through the door of the\nguest-chamber, setting her, alone of her sex, full in the glare of the\nlamps and the light of scornful eyes; and no sooner has she reached her\ngoal than the storm of the heart breaks in a rain of tears, which fall\nhot and fast upon the feet of the Master. This, however, is no part of\nher plan; they were impromptu tears she could not restrain; and\ninstantly she stoops down, and with the loosened tresses of her hair she\nwipes His feet, kissing them passionately as she did so. There is a\ndelicate meaning in the construction of the Greek verb, \"she began to\nwet His feet with her tears;\" it implies that the action was not\ncontinued, as when afterwards she \"anointed\" His feet. It was momentary,\ninstantaneous, checked soon as it was discovered. Then pouring from her\nflask the fragrant nard, she proceeded with loving, leisurely haste to\nanoint His feet, until the whole chamber was redolent of the sweet\nperfume.\n\nBut what is the meaning of this strange episode, this \"song without\nwords,\" struck by the woman's hands as from a lyre of alabaster? It was\nevidently something determined, prearranged. The phrase \"when she knew\nthat He was sitting at meat\" means something more than she \"heard.\" Her\nknowledge as to where Jesus was had not come to her in a casual way, in\nthe vagrant gossip of the town; it had come by search and inquiry on her\npart, as if the plan were already determined, and she were eager to\ncarry it out. The cruse of ointment that she brings also reveals the\nsettled resolve that she came on purpose, and she came only, to anoint\nthe feet of Jesus. The word, too, rendered \"she brought\" has a deeper\nmeaning than our translation conveys. It is a word that is used in ten\nother passages of the New Testament, where it is invariably rendered\n\"receive,\" or \"received,\" referring to something received as a wage, or\nas a gift, or as a prize. Used here in the narrative, it implies that\nthe cruse of ointment had not been bought; it was something she had\nreceived as a gift, or possibly as the wages of her sin. And not only\nwas it prearranged, part of a deliberate intention, but evidently it was\nnot displeasing to Jesus. He did not resent it. He gives Himself up\npassively to the woman's will. He allows her to touch, and even to kiss\nHis feet, though He knows that to society she is a moral leper, and that\nher fragrant ointment is possibly the reward of her shame. We must,\nthen, look behind the deed to the motive. To Jesus the ointment and the\ntears were full of meaning, eloquent beyond any power of words. Can we\ndiscover that meaning, and read why they were so welcome? We think we\nmay.\n\nAnd here let us say that Simon's thoughts were perfectly natural and\ncorrect, with no word or tone that we can censure. Canon Farrar, it is\ntrue, detects in the \"This man\" with which he speaks of Jesus a\n\"supercilious scorn;\" but we fail to see the least scorn, or even\ndisrespect, for the pronoun Simon uses is the identical word used by St.\nMatthew (Matt. iii. 3), of John the Baptist, when he says, \"_This_ is he\nthat was spoken of by the prophet Esaias,\" and the word of the \"voice\nfrom heaven\" which said, \"_This_ is My beloved Son\" (Matt. iii. 17).\nThat the woman was a sinner Simon knew well; and would not Jesus know it\ntoo, if He were a prophet? Doubtless He would; but as Simon marks no\nsign of disapproval upon the face of Jesus, the enigmatical \"if\" grows\nlarger in his mind, and he begins to think that Jesus has scarcely the\nkeen insight--the power of seeing through things--that a true prophet\nwould have. Simon's reasoning was right, but his facts were wrong. He\nimagined that Jesus did not know \"who and what manner of woman\" this\nwas; whereas Jesus knew more than he, for He knew not only the past of\nshame, but a present of forgiveness and hope.\n\nAnd what did the tears and the ointment mean, that Jesus should receive\nthem so readily, and that He should speak of them so approvingly? The\nparable Jesus spoke to Simon will explain it. \"Simon, I have somewhat to\nsay unto thee,\" said Jesus, answering his thoughts--for He had heard\nthem--by words. And falling naturally into the parabolic form of\nspeech--as He did when He wanted to make His meaning more startling and\nimpressive--He said, \"A certain money-lender had two debtors: the one\nowed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. When they had not\nwherewith to pay, he forgave them both. Which of them therefore will\nlove him most?\" A question to which Simon could promptly answer, \"He, I\nsuppose, to whom he forgave the most.\" It is clear, then, whatever\nothers might see in the woman's deed, that Jesus read in it the\nexpression of her love, and that He accepted it as such; the tears and\noutpoured ointment were the broken utterances of an affection which was\ntoo deep for words. But if her offering--as it certainly was--was the\ngift of love, how shall we explain her tears? for love, in the presence\nof the beloved, does not weep so passionately, indeed does not weep at\nall, except, it may be, tears of joy, or tears of a mutual sorrow. In\nthis way: As the wind blows landward from the sea, the mountain ranges\ncool the clouds, and cause them to unlock their treasures, in the\nfertile and refreshing rains; so in the heart of this \"sinner\" a cloud\nof recollections is blown up suddenly from her dark past; the memories\nof her shame--even though that shame be now forgiven--sweep across her\nsoul with resistless force, for penitence does not end when forgiveness\nis assured; and as she finds herself in the presence of Infinite Purity,\nwhat wonder that the heart's great deeps are broken up, and that the\nwild storm of conflicting emotions within should find relief in a rain\nof tears? Tears of penitence they doubtless were, bitter with the sorrow\nand the shame of years of guilt; but they were tears of gratitude and\nholy love as well, all suffused and brightened by the touch of mercy and\nthe light of hope. And so the passionate weeping was no acted grief, no\nhysterical tempest; it was the perfectly natural accompaniment of\nprofound emotion, that storm of mingled but diverse elements which now\nswept through her soul. Her tears, like the dew-drops that hang upon\nleaf and flower, were wrought in the darkness, fashioned by the Night,\nand at the same time they were the jewels that graced the robe of a new\ndawn, the dawn of a better, a purer life.\n\nBut how came this new affection within her heart, an affection so deep\nthat it must have tears and anointings for its expression--this new\naffection, which has become a pure and holy passion, and which breaks\nthrough conventional bonds, as it has broken through the old habits, the\nill usages of a life? Jesus Himself traces for us this affection to its\nsource. He tells us--for the parable is all meaningless unless we\nrecognize in the five-hundred-pence debtor the sinning woman--that her\ngreat love grows out of her great forgiveness, a past forgiveness too,\nfor Jesus speaks of the change as already accomplished: \"Her sins, which\nwere many, are (have been) forgiven.\" And here we touch an unwritten\nchapter of the Divine life; for as the woman's love flows up around\nJesus, casting its treasures at His feet, so the forgiveness must first\nhave come from Jesus. His voice it must have been which said, \"Let there\nbe light,\" and which turned the chaos of her dark soul into another\nParadise. At any rate, she thinks she owes to Him her all. Her new\ncreation, with its deliverance from the tyrannous past; her new joys and\nhopes, the spring-blossom of a new and heavenly existence; the conscious\npurity which has now taken the place of lust--she owes all to the word\nand power of Jesus. But when this change took place, or when, in the\ngreat transit, this Venus of the moral firmament passed across the disc\nof the Sun, we do not know. St. John inserts in his story one little\nincident, which is like a piece of mosaic dropped out from the Gospels\nof the Synoptists, of a woman who was taken in her sin and brought to\nJesus. And when the hands of her accusers were not clean enough to cast\nthe first stone, but they shrank one by one out of sight,\nself-condemned, Jesus bade the penitent one to \"go in peace, and sin no\nmore.\"[2] Are the two characters identical? and does the forgiven one,\ndismissed into peace, now return to bring to her Saviour her offering of\ngratitude and love? We can only say that such an identification is at\nleast possible, and more so far than the improbable identification of\ntradition, which confounds this nameless \"sinner\" with Mary Magdalene,\nwhich is an assumption perfectly baseless and most unlikely.\n\n  [2] The narrative is of doubtful authenticity; but even should it be\n  proved to be a postscript by some later scribe, it would still point to\n  a tradition, which, as Stier says, was \"well founded and genuine.\"\n\nAnd so in this erring one, who now puts her crown of fragrance upon the\nfeet of Jesus, since she is unworthy to put it upon His head, we see a\npenitent and forgiven soul. Somewhere Jesus found her, out on the\nforbidden paths, the paths of sin, which, steep and slippery, lead down\nto death; His look arrested her, for it cast within her heart the light\nof a new hope; His presence, which was the embodiment of a purity\ninfinite and absolute, shot through her soul the deep consciousness and\nconviction of her guilt; and doubtless upon her ears had fallen the\nwords of the great absolution and the Divine benediction, \"Thy sins are\nall forgiven; go in peace,\" words which to her made all things new--a\nnew heart within, and a new earth around. And now, regenerate and\nrestored, the sad past forgiven, all the currents of her thought and\nlife reversed, the love of sin turned into a perfect loathing, her\nlanguage, spoken in tears, kisses, and fragrant nard, is the language of\nthe Psalmist, \"O Lord, I will praise Thee; for though Thou wast angry\nwith me, Thine anger is turned away, and Thou comfortedst me.\" It was\nthe _Magnificat_ of a forgiven and a loving soul.\n\nSimon had watched the woman's actions in silence, though in evident\ndispleasure. He would have resented her touch, and have forbade even her\npresence; but found under his roof, she became in a certain sense a\nguest, shielded by the hospitable courtesies of Eastern life. But if he\nsaid nothing, he thought much, and his thoughts were hard and bitter. He\nlooked upon the woman as a moral leper, an outcast. There was\ndefilement in her touch, and he would have shaken it off from him as if\nit were a viper, fit only to be cast into the fire of a burning\nindignation. Now Jesus must teach him a lesson, and throw his thoughts\nback upon himself. And first He teaches him that there is forgiveness\nfor sin, even the sin of uncleanness; and in this we see the bringing in\nof a better hope. The Law said, \"The soul that sinneth, it shall surely\ndie;\" it shall be cut off from the people of Israel. The Law had but one\nvoice for the adulterer and adulteress, the voice which was the knell of\na sharp and fearful doom, without reprieve or mercy of any kind. It cast\nupon them the deadly rain of stones, as if it would hurl a whole Sinai\nupon them. But Jesus comes to man with a message of mercy and of hope.\nHe proclaims a deliverance from the sin, and a pardon for the sinner;\nnay, He offers Himself, as at once the Forgiver of sin and the Saviour\nfrom sin. Let Him but see it repented of; let Him but see the tears of\npenitence, or hear the sighs of a broken and contrite heart, and He\nsteps forward at once to deliver and to save. The valley of Achor, where\nthe Law sets up its memorial of shame, Jesus turns into a door of hope.\nHe speaks life where the Law spoke death; He offers hope where the Law\ngave but despair; and where exacting Law gave pains and fearful\npunishment only, the Mediator of the New Covenant, to the penitent\nthough erring ones, spoke pardon and peace, even the perfect peace, the\neternal peace.\n\nAnd Jesus teaches Simon another lesson. He teaches him to judge himself,\nand not either by his own fictitious standard, by the Pharisaic table of\nexcellence, but by the Divine standard. Holding up as a mirror the\nexample of the woman, Jesus gives to Simon a portrait of his own self,\nas seen in the heavenly light, all shrunken and dwarfed, the large \"I\"\nof Pharisaic complacency becoming, in comparison, small indeed. Turning\nto the woman, He said unto Simon, \"Seest thou this woman?\" (And Simon\nhad not seen her; he had only seen her shadow, the shadow of her sinful\npast). \"I entered into thine house; thou gavest Me no water for My feet:\nbut she hath wetted My feet with her tears, and wiped them with her\nhair. Thou gavest Me no kiss: but she, since the time I came in, hath\nnot ceased to kiss My feet. My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but\nshe hath anointed My feet with ointment.\" It is a problem of the\npronouns, in which the \"I\" being given, it is desired to find the\nrelative values of \"thou\" and \"she.\" And how beautifully does Jesus work\nit out, according to the rules of Divine proportions! With what\nantithetical skill does He make His comparison, or rather His contrast!\n\"_Thou_ gavest me _no water_ for My feet; _she_ hath wetted My feet with\nher _tears_, and wiped them with her hair. _Thou_ gavest me _no kiss_:\nshe hath not ceased _to kiss my feet_. My _head_ with _oil thou_ didst\nnot anoint: _she_ hath anointed My _feet_ with _ointment_.\"\n\nAnd so Jesus sets over against the omissions of Simon the loving and\nlavish attentions of the woman; and while reproving him, not for a lack\nof civility, but for a want of heartiness in his reception of Himself,\nHe shows how deep and full run the currents of her affection, breaking\nthrough the banks and bounds of conventionality in their sweet overflow,\nwhile as yet the currents of his love were intermittent, shallow, and\nsomewhat cold. He does not denounce _this_ Simon as having no part or\nlot in this matter. No; He even credits him with a little love, as He\nspeaks of him as a pardoned, justified soul. And it was true. The heart\nof Simon had been drawn toward Jesus, and in the urgent invitation and\nthese proffered hospitalities we can discern a nascent affection. His\nlove is yet but in the bud. It is there, a thing of life; but it is\nconfined, constrained, and lacking the sweetness of the ripened and\nopened flower. Jesus does not cut off the budding affection, and cast it\nout amongst the withered and dead things, but sprinkling it with the dew\nof His speech, and throwing upon it the sunshine of His approving look,\nHe leaves it to develop, ripening into an after-harvest of fragrance and\nof beauty. And why was Simon's love more feeble and immature than that\nof the woman? First, because he did not see so much in Jesus as she did.\nHe was yet stumbling over the \"if,\" with some lingering doubts as to\nwhether He were \"the prophet;\" to her He is more than a \"prophet,\" even\nher Lord and her Saviour, covering her past with a mantle of mercy, and\nopening within her heart a heaven. Then, too, Simon's forgiveness was\nnot so great as hers. Not that any forgiveness can be less than entire;\nfor when Heaven saves it is not a salvation by instalments--certain sins\nremitted, while others are held back uncancelled. But Simon's views of\nsin were not so sharp and vivid as were those of the woman. The\natmosphere of Phariseeism in its moral aspects was hazy; it magnified\nhuman virtues, and created all sorts of illusive mirages of\nself-righteousness and reputed holiness, and doubtless Simon's vision\nhad been impaired by the refracting atmosphere of his creed. The\ngreatness of our salvation is ever measured by the greatness of our\ndanger and our guilt. The heavier the burden and weight of condemnation,\nthe deeper is the peace and the higher are the ecstasies of joy when\nthat condemnation is removed. Shall we say, then, \"We must sin more,\nthat love may more abound\"? Nay, we need not, we must not; for as Godet\nsays, \"What is wanting to the best of us, in order to love much, is not\nsin, but the knowledge of it.\" And this deeper knowledge of sin, the\nmore vivid realization of its guilt, its virulence, its\nall-pervasiveness, comes just in proportion as we approach Christ.\nStanding close up to the cross, feeling the mortal agonies of Him whose\ndeath was necessary as sin's atonement, in that vivid light of redeeming\nlove even the strict moralist, the Pharisee of the Pharisees, could\nspeak of himself as the \"chief\" of sinners.\n\nThe lesson was over, and Jesus dismissed the woman--who, with her empty\nalabaster flask, had lingered at the feast, and who had heard all the\nconversation--with the double assurance of pardon: \"Thy sins are\nforgiven; thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace.\" And such is the\nDivine order everywhere and always--Faith, Love, Peace. Faith is the\nprocuring cause, or the condition of salvation; love and peace are its\nafter-fruits; for without faith, love would be only fear, and peace\nitself would be unrest.\n\nShe went in peace, \"the peace of God, which passeth all understanding;\"\nbut she left behind her the music of her tears and the sweet fragrance\nof her deed, a fragrance and a music which have filled the whole world,\nand which, floating across the valley of death, will pass up into heaven\nitself!\n\nThere was still one little whisper of murmuring, or questioning rather;\nfor the guests were startled by the boldness of His words, and asked\namong themselves, \"Who is this that even forgiveth sins?\" But it will be\nnoticed that Simon himself is no longer among the questioners, the\ndoubters. Jesus is to him \"the Prophet,\" and more than a prophet, for\nwho can forgive sins but God alone? And though we hear no more of him or\nof his deeds, we may rest assured that his conquered heart was given\nwithout reserve to Jesus, and that he too learned to love with a true\naffection, even with the \"perfect love,\" which \"casteth out fear.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n_THE PARABLE OF THE SOWER._\n\nLUKE viii. 1-18.\n\n\nIn a single parenthetical sentence our Evangelist indicates a marked\nchange in the mode of the Divine ministry. Hitherto \"His own city,\"\nCapernaum, has been a sort of centre, from which the lines of light and\nblessing have radiated. Now, however, He leaves Capernaum, and makes a\ncircuit through the province of Galilee, going through its cities and\nvillages in a systematic, and as the verb would imply, a leisurely way,\npreaching the \"good tidings of the kingdom of God.\" Though no mention is\nmade of them, we are not to suppose that miracles were suspended; but\nevidently they were set in the background, as secondary things, the\nby-plays or \"asides\" of the Divine Teacher, who now is intent upon\ndelivering His message, the last message, too, that they would hear from\nHim. Accompanying Him, and forming an imposing demonstration, were His\ntwelve disciples, together with \"many\" women, who ministered unto them\nof their substance, among whom were three prominent ones, probably\npersons of position and influence--Mary of Magdala, Joanna, wife of\nChuza, Herod's steward, and Susanna, who had been healed by Jesus of\n\"evil spirits and infirmities\"--which last word, in New Testament\nlanguage, is a synonym for physical weakness and disorder. Of the\nparticulars and results of this mission we know nothing, unless we may\nsee, in the \"great multitude\" which followed and thronged Jesus on His\nreturn, the harvest reaped from the Galilean hills. Our Evangelist, at\nany rate, links them together, as if the \"great multitude\" which now\nlines the shore was, in part at least, the cloud of eager souls which\nhad been caught up and borne along on His fervid speech, as the echoes\nof the kingdom went resounding among the hills and vales of Galilee.\n\nReturning to Capernaum, whither the crowds follow Him, every city\nsending its contingent of curious or conquered souls, Jesus, as St.\nMatthew and St. Mark inform us, leaves the house, and seeks the open\nstretch of shore, where from a boat--probably the familiar boat of\nSimon--He addresses the multitudes, adopting now, as His favourite mode\nof speech, the amplified parable. It is probable that He had observed on\nthe part of His disciples an undue elation of spirit. Reading the crowds\nnumerically, and not discerning the different motives which had brought\nthem together, their eyes deceived them. They imagined that these eager\nmultitudes were but a wave-sheaf of the harvest already ripe, which only\nwaited their gathering-in. But it is not so; and Jesus sifts and winnows\nHis audience, to show His disciples that the apparent is not always the\nreal, and that between the hearers of the word and the doers there will\never be a wide margin of disappointment and comparative failure. The\nharvest, in God's husbandry, as in man's, does not depend altogether\nupon the quality of the seed or the faithfulness of the sower, but upon\nthe nature of the soil on which it falls.\n\nAs the sower went forth to sow his seed, \"some fell by the way-side,\nand it was trodden under-foot, and the birds of the heaven devoured it.\"\nIn his carefulness to cover all his ground, the sower had gone close up\nto the boundary, and some of the seed had fallen on the edge of the bare\nand trampled path, where it lay homeless and exposed. It was in contact\nwith the earth, but it was a mechanical, and not a vital touch. There\nwas no correspondence, no communion between them. Instead of welcoming\nand nourishing the seed, it held it aloof, in a cold, repelling way. Had\nthe soil been sympathetic and receptive, it held within itself all the\nelements of growth. Touched by the subtle life that was hidden within\nthe seed, the dead earth itself had lived, growing up into blades of\npromise, and from the full ear throwing itself forward into the future\nyears. But the earth was hard and unreceptive; its possibilities of\nblessing were locked up and buried beneath a crust of trampled soil that\nwas callous and unresponsive as the rock itself. And so the seed lay\nunwelcomed and alone, and the life which the warm touch of earth would\nhave loosened and set free remained within its husk as a dead thing,\nwithout voice or hearing. There was nothing else for it but to be ground\ninto dust by the passing foot or to be picked up by the foraging birds.\n\nThe parable was at once a prophecy and an experience. Forming a part of\nthe crowd which surrounded Jesus was an outer ring of hearers who came\nbut to criticize and to cavil. They had no desire to be taught--at any\nrate by such a teacher. They were themselves the \"knowing ones,\" the\nlearned, and they looked with suspicion and ill-concealed scorn upon the\nyouthful Nazarene. Turning upon the Speaker a cold, questioning glance,\nor exchanging signals with one another, they were evidently hostile to\nJesus, listening, it is true, but with a feline alertness, hoping to\nentrap the sweet Singer in His speech. Upon these, and such as these,\nthe word of God, even when spoken by the Divine Son, made no impression.\nIt was a speaking to the rocks, with no other result than the awaking of\na few echoes of mockery and banter.\n\nThe experience is still true. Among those who frequent the house of God\nare many whose worship is a cold, conventional thing. Drawn thither by\ncustom, by the social instinct, or by the love of change, they pass\nwithin the gates of the Lord's house, ostensibly to worship. But they\nare insincere, indifferent; they bring their body, and deposit it in the\naccustomed pew, but they might as well have put there a bag of ashes or\nan automaton of brass. Their mind is not here, and the cold, stolid\nfeatures, unlighted by any passing gleam, tell too surely of a vacancy\nor vagrancy of thought. And even while the lips are throwing off\nmechanically _Jubilates_ and _Te Deums_ their heart is \"far from Me,\"\nchasing some phantom \"will o' the wisp,\" or dreaming their dreams of\npleasure, gain, and ease. The worship of God they themselves would call\nit, but God does not recognize it. He calls their prayers a weariness,\ntheir incense an abomination. Theirs is but a worship of Self, as,\nsetting up their image of clay, they summon earth's musicians to play\ntheir sweet airs about it. God, with them, is set back, ignored,\nproscribed. The personal \"I\" is writ so large, and is so all-pervasive,\nthat there is no room for the I AM. Living for earth, all the fibres of\ntheir being growing downwards towards it, heaven is not even a cloud\ndrifting across their distant vision; it is an empty space, a vacancy.\nTo the voices of earth their ears are keenly sensitive; its very\nwhispers thrill them with new excitements; but to the voices of Heaven\nthey are deaf; the still, small voice is all unheard, and even the\nthunders of God are so muffled as to be unrecognized and scarcely\naudible. And so the word of God falls upon their ears in vain. It drops\nupon a soil that is impervious and antipathetic, a heart which knows no\npenitence, and a life whose fancied goodness has no room for mercy, or\nwhich finds such complete satisfaction in the gains of unrighteousness\nor the pleasures of sin that it is purposely and persistently deaf to\nall higher, holier voices. Ulysses filled his ears with wax, lest he\nshould yield himself up to the enchantments of the sirens. The fable is\ntrue, even when read in reversed lines; for when Virtue, Purity, and\nFaith invite men to their resting-place, calling them to the Islands of\nthe Blessed, and to the Paradise of God, they charm in vain. Deafening\ntheir ears, and not deigning to give a passing thought to the higher\ncall, men drift past the heaven which might have been theirs, until\nthese holier voices are silenced by the awful distance.\n\nThat the word of God is inoperative here is through no fault, either of\nthe seed or of the sower. That word is still \"quick and powerful,\" but\nit is sterile, because it finds nothing on which it may grow. It is not\n\"understood,\" as Jesus Himself explains. It falls upon the outward ear\nalone, and there only as unmeaning sound, like the accents of some\nunknown tongue. And so the wicked one easily takes away the word from\ntheir heart; for, as the preposition itself implies, that word had not\nfallen into the heart; it was lying on it in a superficial way, like the\nseed cast upon the trampled path.\n\nIs there, then, no hope for these way-side hearers? and sparing our\nstrength and toil, shall we leave them for soils more promising? By no\nmeans. The fallow ground may be broken up; the ploughshare can loosen\nthe hardened, unproductive earth. Pulverized by the teeth of the harrow\nor the teeth of the frost, the barren track itself disappears; it passes\nup into the advanced classes, giving back the seed with which it is now\nentrusted, with a thirty, sixty, or a hundredfold increase. And this is\ntrue in the higher husbandry, in which we are permitted to be \"God's\nfellow-workers.\" The heart which to-day is indifferent or repellent,\nto-morrow, chastened by sickness or torn by the ploughshare of some keen\ngrief, may hail with eagerness the message it rejected and even scorned\nbefore. Amid the penury and shame of the far country, the father's\nhouse, from which he had wantonly turned, now comes to the prodigal like\na sweet dream, and even its bread has all the aroma and sweetness of\nambrosial food. No matter how disappointing the soil, we are to do our\nduty, which is to \"sow beside all waters;\" nor should any calculations\nof imaginary productiveness make us slack our hand or cast away our\nhope. When the Spirit is poured out from on high, even \"the wilderness\nbecomes as a fruitful field,\" and death itself becomes instinct with\nlife.\n\n\"And other fell on the rock; and as soon as it grew it withered away,\nbecause it had no moisture.\" Here is a second quality of soil. It is\nnot, however, a soil that is weakened by an intermixture of gravel or of\nstones, but rather a soil that is thinly spread upon the rock. It is\ngood soil as far as it goes, but it is shallow. It receives the seed\ngladly, as if that were its one mission, as indeed it is; it gives the\nseed a hiding-place, throwing over it a mantle of earth, so that the\nbirds shall not devour it. It lays its warm touch upon the enveloping\nhusk, as the Master once laid His finger upon the bier, and to the\nimprisoned life which was within it said, \"Arise and multiply. Pass up\ninto the sunlight, and give God's children bread.\" And the seed\nresponds, obeys. The emerging life throws out its two wings--one\ndownwards, as its roots clasp the soil; one upwards, as the blade,\npushing the clods aside, makes for the light and the heavens that are\nabove it. \"Surely,\" we should say, if we read the future from the\npresent merely, \"the hundredfold is here. Pull down your barns and build\ngreater, for never was seed received more kindly, never were the\nbeginnings of life more auspicious, and never was promise so great.\" Ah\nthat the promise should so soon be a disappointment, and the forecast be\nso soon belied! The soil has no depth. It is simply a thin covering\nspread over the rock. It offers no room for growth. The life it\nnourishes can be nothing more than an ephemeral life, which owns but a\nto-day, whose \"to-morrow\" will be in the oven of a burning heat. The\ngrowth is entirely superficial, for its roots come directly to the hard,\nimpenetrable rock, which, yielding no support, but cutting off all\nsupplies from the unseen reservoirs beneath, turns back the incipient\nlife all starved and shrunken. The result is a sudden withering and\ndecay. A foundling, left, not by some iron gate which the touch of mercy\nmight open, but by a dead wall of cold, unresponsive stone, the plant\nthrows up its arms into the air, in its vain struggle for life, and then\nwilts and droops, lying at last, a dead and shrivelled thing, on the dry\nbosom of the earth which had given it its untimely birth.\n\nSuch, says Jesus, are many who hear the word. Unlike those by the\nway-side, these do not reject it. They listen, bending toward that word\nwith attentive ears and eager hearts. Nay, they receive it with joy; it\nstrikes upon their soul with the music of a new evangel. But the work is\nnot thorough; it is superficial, external. They \"have no root\" in a deep\nand settled conviction, only a green blade of profession and of mock\npromise, and when the testing-time comes, as it comes to all, \"the time\nof temptation,\" they fall away, or they \"stand off,\" as the verb might\nbe literally rendered.\n\nIn this second class we must place a large proportion of those who heard\nand who followed Jesus. There was something attractive about His manner\nand about His message. Again and again we read how they \"pressed upon\nHim\" to hear His words, the multitude hanging on His lips as the bees\nwill cluster upon a honeyed leaf. Thousands upon thousands thus came\nwithin the spell of His voice, now wondering at His gracious words, and\nnow stunned with astonishment, as they marked the authority with which\nHe spoke, the compressed thunder that was in His tones. But in how many\ncases are we forced to admit the interest to be but momentary! It was\nwith many--shall we say with most?--merely a passing excitement, the\neffervescence of personal contact. The words of Jesus came \"as a very\nlovely song of one that hath a pleasant voice,\" and for the moment the\nhearts of the multitudes were set vibrating in responsive harmonies. But\nthe music ceased when the Singer was absent. The impressions were not\npermanent, and even the emotions had soon passed away, almost from\nmemory. St. John speaks of one sifting in Galilee when \"many of His\ndisciples went back, and walked no more with Him\" (vi. 66), showing that\nwith them at least it was an attachment rather than an attachment that\nbound them to Himself. The bond of union was the hope of some personal\ngain, rather than the bond of a pure and deep affection. And so directly\nHe speaks of His approaching death, of His \"flesh and blood\" which He\nshall give them to eat and to drink, like an icy breath from the north,\nthose words chill their devotion, turning their zeal and ardour into a\ncold indifference, if not into an open hostility. And this same\nwinnowing of Galilee is repeated in Jud\u00e6a. We read of multitudes who\nescorted Jesus down the Mount of Olives, strewing His path with\ngarments, giving Him a royal welcome to the \"city of the Great King.\"\nBut how soon a change \"came o'er the spirit of their dream\"! how soon\nthe hosannahs died away! As a hawk in the sky will still in a moment the\nwarbling of the birds, so the uplifted cross threw its cold shadow upon\ntheir hearts, drowning the brief hosannahs in a strange silence. The\ncross was the fan in the Masters hand, with which He \"throughly purged\nHis floor,\" separating the true from the false. It blew away into the\ndeep valley of Oblivion the chaff, the dead superficialities, the barren\nyawns, leaving as the residuum of the sifted multitudes a mere handful\nof a hundred and twenty names.\n\nThese _pro tem._ believers are indigenous to every soil. There never is\na great movement afloat--philanthropic, political or spiritual--but\nnumberless smaller craft are lifted up on its swell. For a moment they\nseem instinct with life, but having no propelling power in themselves,\nthey drop behind, soon to be embedded in the mire. And especially is\nthis true in the region of spiritual dynamics. In all so-called\n\"revivals\" of religion, when the Church rejoices in a deepened and\nquickened life, when a cooling zeal has been rewarmed at the heavenly\nfires, and converts are multiplied, in the accessions which follow\nalmost invariably will be found a proportion of what we may call\n\"casuals.\" We cannot say they are counterfeits, for the work, as far as\nit goes, seems real, and the change, both in their thought and life, is\nclearly marked. But they are unstable souls, prone to drifting, their\ndirection given in the main by the set of the current in which they\nhappen to be. And so when they reach the point--which all must reach\nsooner or later--where two seas meet, the cross current of enticement\nand temptation bears hard upon them, and they make shipwreck of faith.\nOthers, again, are led by impulse. Religion with them is mainly a matter\nof feeling. Overlooking the fact that the emotions are easily stirred,\nthat they respond to the passing breath just as the sea ripples to the\nbreeze, they substitute emotion for conviction, feeling for faith. But\nthese have no foundation, no root, no independent life, and when the\nexcitements on which they feed are withdrawn, when the emotion subsides,\nthe high tide of fervour falling back to its mean sea-level, they lose\nheart and hope. They are even ready to pity themselves as the objects of\nan illusion. But the illusion was one of their own making. They set the\npleasant before the right, delight before duty, comfort before Christ,\nand instead of finding their heaven in doing the will of God, no matter\nwhat the emotions, they sought their heaven in their own personal\nhappiness, and so they missed both.\n\n\"They endure for a while.\" And of how many are these words true! Verily\nwe must not count our fruits from the blossoms of spring, nor must we\nreckon our harvest in that easy, hopeful way of multiplying each seed,\nor even each blade, by the hundredfold, for the blade may be only a\nshort-lived blade and nothing more.\n\n\"And other fell amidst the thorns; and the thorns grew with it, and\nchoked it.\" Here is a third quality of soil in the ascending series. In\nthe first, the trampled path, life was not possible; the seed could find\nnot the least response. In the second there was life. The thinly\nsprinkled soil gave the seed a home, a rooting; but lacking depth of\nearth and the necessary moisture, the life was precarious, ephemeral. It\ndied away in the blade, and never reached its fruitage. Now, however, we\nhave a deeper, richer soil, with an abundance of vitality, one capable\nof sustaining an exuberant life. But it is not clean; it is already\nthickly sown with thorns, and the two growths running up side by side,\nthe hardier gets the mastery. And though the corn-life struggles up into\nthe ear, bearing a sort of fruit, it is a grain that is dwarfed and\nshrivelled, a mere husk and shell, which no leaven can transmute into\nbread. It brings forth fruit, as the exposition of the parable\nindicates, but it has not strength to complete its task; it does not\nripen it, bringing the fruit \"to perfection.\"\n\nSuch, says Jesus, is another and a large class of hearers. They are\nnaturally capable of doing great things. Possessing strong wills, and a\nlarge amount of energy, they are just the lives to be fruitful,\nimpressing themselves upon others, and so throwing their manifold\ninfluence down into the future. But they do not, and for the simple\nreason that they do not give to the word a whole heart. Their attentions\nand energies are divided. Instead of seeking \"first the kingdom of God,\"\nmaking that the supreme quest of life, it is with them but one of many\nthings to be desired and sought. Chief among the hindrances to a\nperfected growth and fruitfulness, Jesus mentions three; namely, cares,\nriches, and pleasures. By the \"cares of life\" we must understand--\ninterpreting the word by its related word in Matthew vi. 34--the\nanxieties of life. It is the anxious thought, mainly about the\n\"to-morrow,\" which presses upon the heart as a sore and constant burden.\nIt is the fearfulness and unrest of soul which gloom the spirit and\nshroud the life, making the Divine peace itself a fret and worry. And\nhow many Christians find this to be the normal experience! They love\nGod, they seek to serve Him; but they are weighted and weary. Instead of\nhaving the hopeful, buoyant spirit which rises to the crest of passing\nwaves, it is a heart depressed and sad, living in the deeps. And so the\nbrightness of their life is dimmed; they walk not \"in the light, as He\nis in the light,\" but beneath a sky frequently overcast, their days\nbringing only \"a little glooming light, much like a shade.\" And so their\nspiritual life is stunted, their usefulness impaired. Instead of having\na heart \"at leisure from itself,\" they are engrossed with their own\nunsatisfactory experiences. Instead of looking upwards to the heavens\nwhich are their own, or outwards upon the crying needs of earth, they\nlook inward with frequent and morbid introspection; and instead of\nlending a hand to the fallen, that a brotherly touch might help them to\nrise, their hands find full employment in steadying the world, or\nworlds, of care which, Atlas-like, they are doomed to carry.\nSelf-doomed, we should have said; for the Divine Voice invites us to\ncast \"all our anxiety upon Him,\" assuring us that He careth for us, an\nassurance and an invitation which make our anxieties, the fret and fever\nof life, altogether superfluous.\n\nExactly the same effect of making the spiritual life incomplete, and so\nunproductive, is caused by riches and pleasures, or, as we might render\nthe expression, by the pursuit after riches or after pleasure. Not that\nthe Scriptures condemn wealth in itself. It is, _per se_, of a neutral\ncharacter, whether a blessing or a bane depends on how it is earned and\nhow it is held. Nor do the Scriptures condemn legitimate modes and\nmeasures of business; they condemn waste and indolence, but they commend\nindustry, diligence, thrift. But the evil is in making wealth the chief\naim of life. It is deceptive, promising satisfaction which it never\ngives, creating a thirst which it is powerless to slake, until the\ndesire, ever more greedy and clamorous, grows into a \"love of money,\" a\npure worship of Mammon. Religion and business may well go together, for\nGod has joined them in one. Each keeping its proper place, religion\nfirst and most, and business a far-off second, together they are the\ncentrifugal and centripetal forces that keep the life revolving steadily\naround its Divine centre. But let the positions be reversed; let\nbusiness be the first, chief thought, let religion sink down to some\nsecond or third place, and the life swings farther and farther from its\npivotal centre, into wildernesses of dearth and cold. To give due\nthought to earthly things is right; nay, we may give all diligence to\nmake our earthly, as well as our heavenly calling sure; but when\nbusiness gets imperious in its demands, swallowing up all our thought\nand energy, leaving no time for spiritual exercises or for personal\nservice for Christ, then the religious life declines. Crowded back into\nthe chance corners, with nothing left it but the brief interstices of a\nbusy life, religion can do little more than maintain a profession; its\nhelpfulness is, in the main, remitted to the past, and its fruitfulness\nis postponed to that uncertain nowhere of the Greek calends.\n\nThe same is true with regard to the pleasures of life. The word\n\"pleasure\" is a somewhat infrequent word in the New Testament, and\ngenerally it is used of the lower, sensual pleasures. We are not\nobliged, however, to give the word its lowest meaning; indeed, the\nanalogy of the parable would scarcely allow such an interpretation.\nSinful pleasure would not check growth; it would simply prevent it,\nmaking a spiritual life impossible. We must therefore interpret the\n\"pleasures\" which retard the upward growth, and render it infertile, as\nthe lawful pleasures of life, such as the delights of the eye and ear,\nthe gratification of the tastes, the enjoyments of domestic or social\nlife. Perfectly innocent and pure in themselves, purposely designed for\nour enjoyment, as St. Paul plainly intimates (1 Tim. vi. 17), they are\npleasures which we have no right to treat with the stoic's disdain, nor\nwith the ascetic's aversion. But the snare is in permitting these\ndesires to step out of their proper place, in allowing them to have a\ncontrolling influence. As servants their ministry is helpful and benign;\nbut if we make them \"lords,\" then, like \"the ill uses of a life,\" we\nfind it difficult to put them down; they rather put us down, making us\ntheir thrall. To please God should be the one absorbing pursuit and\npassion of life, and wholly bent on this, if other pure enjoyments come\nin our way we may receive them thankfully. But if we make our personal\ngratification the aim, if our thoughts and plans are set on this rather\nthan upon the pleasing of God, then our spiritual life is enfeebled and\nstifled, and the fruit we should bear shrivels up into chaff. Then we\nbecome selfish and self-willed, and the pure pleasures of life, which\nlike Vestal Virgins minister within the temple of God, leading us ever\nto Him, turn round to burn perpetual incense before our enlarged and\nexalted Self. He who stops to confer with flesh and blood, who is ever\nconsulting his own likes and leanings, can never be an apostle to\nothers.\n\n\"And other fell into the good ground, and grew, and brought forth fruit\na hundredfold.\" Here is the highest quality of soil. Not hard, like the\ntrampled path, nor shallow, like the covering of the rock, not\npreoccupied with the roots of other growths, this is mellow, deep,\nclean, and rich. The seed falls, not \"by,\" or \"in,\" or \"among,\" but\n\"into\" it, while seed and soil together grow up in an affluence of life,\nand passing through the blade-age and the earing, it ripens into a\nharvest of a hundredfold. Such, says Jesus, are they who, in an honest\nand good heart, having heard the word, hold it fast, and bring forth\nfruit with patience. Here, then, we reach the germ of the parable, the\nsecret of fruitfulness. The one difference between the saint and the\nsinner, between the hundredfold hearer and him whose life is spent in\nthrowing out promises of a harvest which never ripens, is their\ndifferent attitude towards the word of God. In the one case that word is\nrejected altogether, or it is a concept of the mind alone, an aurora of\nthe Arctic night, distant and cold, which some mistake for the dawn of a\nnew day. In the other the word passes through the mind into the deepest\nheart; it conquers and rules the whole being; it becomes a part of one's\nvery self, the soul of the soul. \"Thy word have I hid in my heart,\" said\nthe Psalmist, and he who puts the Divine word there, before all earthly\nand selfish voices, letting that Divine Voice fill up that most sacred\ntemple of the heart, will make his outer life both beautiful and\nfruitful. He will walk the earth as one of God's seers, ever beholding\nHim who is invisible, speaking by life or lips in heavenly tones, and\nby his own steadfast, upward gaze lifting the hearts and thoughts of men\n\"above the world's uncertain haze.\" Such is the Divine law of life; the\nmeasure of our faith is the measure of our fruitfulness. If we but half\nbelieve in the promises of God or in the eternal realities, then the\nsinews of our soul are houghed, and there comes over us the sad\nparalysis of doubt. How can we bring forth fruit except we abide in Him?\nand how can we abide in Him but by letting His words abide in us? But\nhaving His words abiding in us, then His peace, His joy, His life are\nours, and we, who without Him are poor, dead things, now become strong\nin His infinite strength, and fruitful with a Divine fruitfulness; and\nto our lives, which were all barren and dead, will men come for the\nwords that \"help and heal,\" while the Master Himself gathers from them\nHis thirty, sixty, or hundredfold, the fruitage of a whole-hearted,\npatient faith.\n\nLet us take heed, therefore, how we hear, for on the character of the\nhearing depends the character of the life. Nor is the truth given us for\nourselves alone; it is given that it may become incarnate in us, so that\nothers may see and feel the truth that is in us, even as men cannot help\nseeing the light which is manifest.\n\nAnd so the parable closes with the account of the visit of His mother\nand brethren, who came, as St. Matthew informs us, \"to take Him home;\"\nand when the message was passed on to Him that His mother and His\nbrethren wished to see Him, this was His remarkable answer, claiming\nrelationship with all whose hearts vibrate to the same \"word:\" \"My\nmother and My brethren are those which hear the word of God, and DO IT.\"\nIt is the secret of the Divine life on earth; they hear, and they do.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\n_THE KINGDOM OF GOD._\n\n\nIn considering the words of Jesus, if we may not be able to measure\ntheir depth or to scale their height, we can with absolute certainty\ndiscover their drift, and see in what direction they move, and we shall\nfind that their orbit is an ellipse. Moving around the two centres, sin\nand salvation, they describe what is not a geometric figure, but a\nglorious reality, \"the kingdom of God.\" It is not unlikely that the\nexpression was one of the current phrases of the times, a golden casket,\nholding within it the dream of a restored Hebraism; for we find, without\nany collusion or rehearsal of parts, the Baptist making use of the\nidentical words in his inaugural address, while it is certain the\ndisciples themselves so misunderstood the thought of their Master as to\nrefer His \"kingdom\" to that narrow realm of Hebrew sympathies and hopes.\nNor did they see their error until, in the light of Pentecostal flames,\ntheir own dream disappeared, and the new kingdom, opening out like a\nreceding sky, embraced a world within its folds. That Jesus adopted the\nphrase, liable to misconstruction as it was, and that He used it so\nrepeatedly, making it the centre of so many parables and discourses,\nshows how completely the kingdom of God possessed both His mind and\nheart. Indeed, so accustomed were His thoughts and words to flow in\nthis direction that even the valley of Death, \"lying darkly between\" His\ntwo lives, could not alter their course, or turn His thoughts out of\ntheir familiar channel; and as we find the Christ beyond the cross and\ntomb, amid the resurrection glories, we hear Him speaking still of \"the\nthings pertaining to the kingdom of God.\"\n\nIt will be observed that Jesus uses the two expressions \"the kingdom of\nGod\" and \"the kingdom of heaven\" interchangeably. But in what sense is\nit the \"kingdom of heaven\"? Does it mean that the celestial realm will\nso far extend its bounds as to embrace our outlying and low-lying world?\nNot exactly, for the conditions of the two realms are so diverse. The\none is the perfected, the visible kingdom, where the throne is set, and\nthe King Himself is manifest, its citizens, angels, heavenly\nintelligences, and saints now freed from the cumbering clay of\nmortality, and for ever safe from the solicitations of evil. This New\nJerusalem does not come down to earth, except in the vision of the seer,\nas it were in a shadow. And yet the two kingdoms are in close\ncorrespondence, after all; for what is the kingdom of God in heaven but\nHis eternal rule over the spirits of the redeemed and of the unredeemed?\nwhat are the harmonies of heaven but the harmonies of surrendered wills,\nas, without any hesitation or discord, they strike in with the Divine\nWill in absolute precision? To this extent, then, at least, heaven may\nproject itself upon earth; the spirits of men not yet made perfect may\nbe in subjection to the Supreme Spirit; the separate wills of a redeemed\nhumanity, striking in with the Divine Will, may swell the heavenly\nharmonies with their earthly music.\n\nAnd so Jesus speaks of this kingdom as being \"within you.\" As if He\nsaid, \"You are looking in the wrong direction. You expect the kingdom of\nGod to be set up around you, with its visible symbols of flags and\ncoins, on which is the image of some new C\u00e6sar. You are mistaken. The\nkingdom, like its King, is unseen; it seeks, not countries, but\nconsciences; its realm is in the heart, in the great interior of the\nsoul.\" And is not this the reason why it is called, with such emphatic\nrepetition, \"_the_ kingdom,\" as if it were, if not the only, at any rate\nthe highest kingdom of God on earth? We speak of a kingdom of Nature,\nand who will know its secrets as He who was both Nature's child and\nNature's Lord? And how far-reaching a realm is that! from the motes that\nswim in the air to the most distant stars, which themselves are but the\ngateway to the unseen Beyond! What forces are here, forces of chemical\naffinities and repulsions, of gravitation and of life! What successions\nand transformations can Nature show! what infinite varieties of\nsubstance, form, and colour! what a realm of harmony and peace, with no\nirruptions of discordant elements! Surely one would think, if God has a\nkingdom upon earth, this kingdom of Nature is it. But no; Jesus does not\noften refer to that, except as He makes Nature speak in His parables, or\nas He uses the sparrows, the grass, and the lilies as so many lenses\nthrough which our weak human vision may see God. The kingdom of God on\nearth is as much higher than the kingdom of Nature as spirit is above\nmatter, as love is more and greater than power.\n\nWe said just now how completely the thought of \"the kingdom\" possessed\nthe mind and heart of Jesus. We might go one step farther, and say how\ncompletely Jesus identified Himself with that kingdom. He puts. Himself\nin its pivotal centre, with all possible naturalness, and with an ease\nthat assumption cannot feign. He gathers up its royalties and draws them\naround His own Person. He speaks of it as \"My kingdom;\" and this, not\nalone in familiar discourse with His disciples, but when face to face\nwith the representative of earth's greatest power. Nor is the personal\npronoun some chance word, used in a far-off, accommodated sense; it is\nthe crucial word of the sentence, underscored and emphasized by a\nthreefold repetition; it is the word He will not strike out, nor recall,\neven to save Himself from the cross. He never speaks of the kingdom but\neven His enemies acknowledge the \"authority\" that rings in His tones,\nthe authority of conscious power, as well as of perfect knowledge. When\nHis ministry is drawing to a close He says to Peter, \"I will give unto\nthee the keys of the kingdom of heaven;\" which language may be\nunderstood as the official designation of the Apostle Peter to a\nposition of pre-eminence in the Church, as its first leader. But\nwhatever it may mean, it shows that the keys of the kingdom are His; He\ncan bestow them on whom He will. The kingdom of heaven is not a realm in\nwhich authority and honours move upwards from below, the blossoming of\n\"the people's will;\" it is an absolute monarchy, an autocracy, and Jesus\nHimself is here King supreme, His will swaying the lesser wills of men,\nand rearranging their positions, as the angel had foretold: \"He shall\nreign over the house of David for ever, and of His kingdom there shall\nbe no end.\" Given Him of the Father it is (xxii. 29; i. 32), but the\nkingdom is His, not either as a metaphor, but really, absolutely,\ninalienably; nor is there admittance within that kingdom but by Him who\nis the Way, as He is the Life. We enter into the kingdom, or the kingdom\nenters into us, as we find, and then crown the King, as we sanctify in\nour hearts \"Christ as Lord\" (1 Pet. iii. 15).\n\nThis brings us to the question of citizenship, the conditions and\ndemands of the kingdom; and here we see how far this new dynasty is\nremoved from the kingdoms of this world. They deal with mankind in\ngroups; they look at birth, not character; and their bounds are well\ndefined by rivers, mountains, seas, or by accurately surveyed lines. The\nkingdom of heaven, on the other hand, dispenses with all space-limits,\nall physical configurations, and regards mankind as one group, a unity,\na lapsed but a redeemed world. But while opening its gates and offering\nits privileges to all alike, irrespective of class or circumstance, it\nis most eclective in its requirements, and most rigid in the application\nof its test, its one test of character. Indeed, the laws of the heavenly\nkingdom are a complete reversal of the lines of worldly policy. Take,\nfor instance, the two estimates of wealth, and see how different the\nposition it occupies in the two societies. The world makes wealth its\n_summum bonum_; or if not exactly in itself the highest good, in\ncommercial values it is equivalent to the highest good, which is\nposition. Gold is all-powerful, the goal of man's vain ambitions, the\npanacea of earthly ill. Men chase it in hot, feverish haste, trampling\nupon each other in the mad scramble, and worshipping it in a blind\nidolatry. But where is wealth in the new kingdom? The worlds first\nbecomes the last. It has no purchasing-power here; its golden key cannot\nopen the least of these heavenly gates. Jesus sets it back, far back, in\nHis estimate of the good. He speaks of it as if it were an encumbrance,\na dead weight, that must be lifted, and that handicaps the heavenly\nathlete. \"How hardly,\" said Jesus, when the rich ruler turned away \"very\nsorrowful,\" \"shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God!\"\n(xviii. 24); and then, by way of illustration, He shows us the picture\nof the camel passing through the so-called \"needle's eye\" of an Eastern\ndoor. He does not say that such a thing is impossible, for the camel\ncould pass through the \"needle's eye,\" but it must first kneel down and\nbe stripped of all its baggage, before it can pass the narrow door,\nwithin the larger, but now closed gate. Wealth may have its uses, and\nnoble uses too, within the kingdom--for it is somewhat remarkable how\nthe faith of the two rich disciples shone out the brightest, when the\nfaith of the rest suffered a temporary eclipse from the passing\ncross--but he who possesses it must be as if he possessed it not. He\nmust not regard it as his own, but as talents given him in trust by his\nLord, their image and superscription being that of the Invisible King.\n\nAgain, Jesus sets down vacillation, hesitancy, as a disqualification for\ncitizenship in His kingdom. At the close of His Galilean ministry our\nEvangelist introduces us to a group of embryo disciples. The first of\nthe three says, \"Lord, I will follow Thee whithersoever Thou goest\" (ix.\n57). Bold words they were, and doubtless well meant, but it was the\nlanguage of a passing impulse, rather than of a settled conviction; it\nwas the coruscation of a glowing, ardent temperament. He had not counted\nthe cost. The large word \"whithersoever\" might, indeed, easily be\nspoken, but it held within it a Gethsemane and a Calvary, paths of\nsorrow, shame, and death he was not prepared to face. And so Jesus\nneither welcomed nor dismissed him, but opening out one part of his\n\"whithersoever,\" He gave it back to him in the words, \"The foxes have\nholes, and the birds of the heaven have nests; but the Son of man hath\nnot where to lay His head.\" The second responds to the \"Follow Me\" of\nChrist with the request that he might be allowed first to go and bury\nhis father. It was a most natural request, but participation in these\nfuneral rites would entail a ceremonial uncleanness of seven days, by\nwhich time Jesus would be far away. Besides, Jesus must teach him, and\nthe ages after him, that His claims were paramount; that when He\ncommands obedience must be instant and absolute, with no interventions,\nno postponement. Jesus replies to him in that enigmatical way of His,\n\"Leave the dead to bury their own dead: but go thou and publish abroad\nthe kingdom of God;\" indicating that this supreme crisis of his life is\nvirtually a passing from death to life, a \"resurrection from earth to\nthings above.\" The last in this group of three volunteers his pledge, \"I\nwill follow Thee, Lord; but first suffer me to bid farewell to them that\nare at my house\" (ix. 61); but to him Jesus replies, mournfully and\nsorrowfully, \"No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking\nback, is fit for the kingdom of God\" (ix. 62). Why does Jesus treat\nthese two candidates so differently? They both say, \"I will follow\nThee,\" the one in word, the other by implication; they both request a\nlittle time for what they regard a filial duty; why, then, be treated so\ndifferently, the one thrust forward to a still higher service,\ncommissioned to preach the kingdom, and afterwards, if we may accept the\ntradition that he was Philip the Evangelist, passing up into the\ndiaconate; the other, unwelcomed and uncommissioned, but disapproved as\n\"not fit for the kingdom\"? Why there should be this wide divergence\nbetween the two lives we cannot see, either from their manner or their\nwords. It must have been a difference in the moral attitude of the two\nmen, and which He who heard thoughts and read motives detected at once.\nIn the case of the former there was the fixed, determined resolve, which\nthe bier of a dead father might hold back a little, but which it could\nnot break or bend. But Jesus saw in the other a double-minded soul,\nwhose feet and heart moved in diverse, opposite ways, who gave, not his\nwhole, but a very partial, self to his work; and this halting, wavering\none He dismissed with the words of forecasted doom, \"Not fit for the\nkingdom of God.\"\n\nIt is a hard saying, with a seeming severity about it; but is it not a\ntruth universal and eternal? Are any kingdoms, either of knowledge or\npower, won and held by the irresolute and wavering? Like the stricken\nmen of Sodom, they weary themselves to find the door of the kingdom; or\nif they do see the Beautiful Gates of a better life, they sit with the\nlame man, outside, or they linger on the steps, hearing the music\nindeed, but hearing it from afar. It is a truth of both dispensations,\nwritten in all the books; the Reubens who are \"unstable as water\" can\nnever excel; the elder born, in the accident of years, they may be, but\nthe birthright passes by them, to be inherited and enjoyed by others.\n\nBut if the gates of the kingdom are irrevocably closed against the\nhalf-hearted, the self-indulgent, and the proud, there is a sesame to\nwhich they open gladly. \"Blessed are ye poor,\" so reads the first and\ngreat Beatitude: \"for yours is the kingdom of God\" (vi. 20); and\nbeginning with this present realization, Jesus goes on to speak of the\nstrange contrasts and inversions the perfected kingdom will show, when\nthe weepers will laugh, the hungry be full, and those who are despised\nand persecuted will rejoice in their exceeding great reward. But who are\nthe \"poor\" to whom the gates of the kingdom are open so soon and so\nwide? At first sight it would appear as if we must give a literal\ninterpretation to the word, reading it in a worldly, temporal sense; but\nthis is not necessary. Jesus was now directly addressing His disciples\n(vi. 20), though, doubtless, His words were intended to pass beyond\nthem, to those ever-enlarging circles of humanity who in the after-years\nshould press forward to hear Him. But evidently the disciples were in no\nweeping mood to-day; they would be elated and joyful over the recent\nmiracles. Neither should we call them \"poor,\" in the worldly sense of\nthat word, for most of them had been called from honourable positions in\nsociety, while some had even \"hired servants\" to wait upon and assist\nthem. Indeed, it was not the wont of Jesus to recognize the class\ndistinctions Society was so fond of drawing and defining. He appraised\nmen, not by their means, but by the manhood which was in them; and when\nHe found a nobility of soul--whether in the higher or the lower walks of\nlife it made no difference--He stepped forward to recognize and to\nsalute it. We must therefore give to these words of Jesus, as to so many\nothers, the deeper meaning, making the \"blessed\" of this Beatitude, who\nare now welcomed to the opened gate of the kingdom, the \"poor in\nspirit,\" as, indeed, St. Matthew writes it.\n\nWhat this spirit-poverty is, Jesus Himself explains, in a brief but\nwonderfully realistic parable. He draws for us the picture of two men at\ntheir Temple devotions. The one, a Pharisee, stands erect, with head\nuplifted, as if it were quite on a level with the heaven he was\naddressing, and with supercilious pride he counts his beads of rounded\negotisms. He calls it a worship of God, when it is but a worship of\nself. He inflates the great \"I,\" and then plays upon it, making it\nstrike sharp and loud, like the _tom-tom_ of a heathen fetish. Such is\nthe man who fancies that he is rich toward God, that he has need of\nnothing, not even of mercy, when all the time he is utterly blind and\nmiserably poor. The other is a publican, and so presumably rich. But how\ndifferent his posture! With heart broken and contrite, self with him is\na nothing, a zero; nay, in his lowly estimate it had become a minus\nquantity, less than nothing, deserving only rebuke and chastisement.\nDisclaiming any good, either inherent or acquired, he puts the deep need\nand hunger of his soul into one broken cry, \"God be merciful to me a\nsinner (xviii. 13). Such are the two characters Jesus portrays as\nstanding by the gate of the kingdom, the one proud in spirit, the other\n\"poor in spirit;\" the one throwing upon the heavens the shadow of his\nmagnified self, the other shrinking up into the pauper, the nothing that\nhe was. But Jesus tells us that he was \"justified,\" accepted, rather\nthan the other. With nought he could call his own, save his deep need\nand his great sin, he finds an opened gate and a welcome within the\nkingdom; while the proud in spirit is sent empty away, or carrying back\nonly the tithed mint and anise, and all the vain oblations Heaven could\nnot accept.\n\n\"Blessed\" indeed are such \"poor;\" for He giveth grace unto the lowly,\nwhile the proud He knoweth afar off. The humble, the meek, these shall\ninherit the earth, ay, and the heavens too, and they shall know how\ntrue is the paradox, having nothing, yet possessing all things. The\nfruit of the tree of life hangs low, and he must stoop who would gather\nit. He who would enter God's kingdom must first become \"as a little\nchild,\" knowing nothing as yet, but longing to know even the mysteries\nof the kingdom, and having nothing but the plea of a great mercy and a\ngreat need. And are they not \"blessed\" who are citizens of the\nkingdom--with righteousness, peace, and joy all their own, a peace which\nis perfect and Divine, and a joy which no man taketh from them? Are they\nnot blessed, thrice blessed, when the bright shadow of the Throne covers\nall their earthly life, making its dark places light, and weaving\nrainbows out of their very tears? He who through the strait gate of\nrepentance passes within the kingdom finds it \"the kingdom of heaven\"\nindeed, his earthly years the beginnings of the heavenly life.\n\nAnd now we touch a point Jesus ever loved to illustrate and emphasize,\nthe manner of the kingdom's growth, as with ever-widening frontiers it\nsweeps outward in its conquest of a world. It was a beautiful dream of\nHebrew prophecy that in the latter days the kingdom of God, or the\nkingdom of the Messiah, should overlap the bounds of human empires, and\nultimately cover the whole earth. Looking through her kaleidoscope of\never-shifting but harmonious figures, Prophecy was never weary of\ntelling of the Golden Age she saw in the far future, when the shadows\nwould lift, and a new Dawn, breaking out of Jerusalem, would steal over\nthe world. Even the Gentiles should be drawn to its light, and kings to\nthe brightness of its rising; the seas should offer their abundance as\na willing tribute, and the isles should wait for and welcome its laws.\nTaking up into itself the petty strifes and jealousies of men, the\ndiscords of earth should cease; humanity should again become a unit,\nrestored and regenerate fellow-citizens of the new kingdom, the kingdom\nwhich should have no end, no boundaries either of space or time.\n\nSuch was the dream of Prophecy, the kingdom Jesus sets Himself to found\nand realize upon earth. But how? Disclaiming any rivalry with Pilate, or\nwith his imperial master, Jesus said, \"My kingdom is not of this world,\"\nso lifting it altogether out of the mould in which earthly dynasties are\ncast. \"This world\" uses force; its kingdoms are won and held by metallic\nprocesses, tinctures of iron and steel. In the kingdom of God carnal\nweapons are out of place; its only forces are truth and love, and he who\ntakes the sword to advance this cause wounds but himself, after the vain\nmanner of Baal's priests. \"This world\" counts heads or hands; the\nkingdom of God numbers its citizens by hearts alone. \"This world\"\nbelieves in pomp and show, in outward visibilities and symbols; the\nkingdom of God cometh not \"with observation;\" its voices are gentle as a\nzephyr, its footsteps noiseless as the coming of spring. If man had had\nthe ordering of the kingdom he would have summoned to his aid all kinds\nof portents and surprises; he would have arranged processions of\nimposing events; but Jesus likens the coming of the kingdom to a grain\nof mustard-seed cast into a garden, or to a handful of leaven hid in\nthree _sata_ of meal. The two parables, with minor distinctions, are one\nin their import, the leading thought common to both being the contrast\nbetween its ultimate growth and the smallness and obscurity of its\nbeginnings. In both the recreative force is a hidden force, buried out\nof sight, in the soil or in the meal. In both the force works outward\nfrom its centre, the invisible becoming visible, the inner life assuming\nan outer, external form. In both we see the touch of life upon death;\nfor left to itself, the soil never would be anything more than dead\nearth, as the meal would be nothing more than dust, the broken ashes of\na life that was departed. In both there is extension by assimilation,\nthe leaven throwing itself out among the particles of kindred meal,\nwhile the tree attracts to itself the kindred elements of the soil. In\nboth there is the mediation of the human hand; but as if to show that\nthe kingdom offers equal privilege to male and female, with like\npossibilities of service, the one parable shows us the hand of a man,\nthe other the hand of a woman. In both there is a perfect work, a\nconsummation, the one parable showing us the whole mass leavened, the\nother showing us the wide-spreading tree, with the birds nesting in its\nbranches.\n\nSuch, in outline, is the rise and progress of the kingdom of God in the\nheart of the individual man, and in the world; for the human soul is the\nprotoplasm, the germ-cell, out of which this world-wide kingdom is\nevolved. The mass is leavened only by the leavening of the separate\nunits. And how comes the kingdom of God within the soul and life of man?\nNot with observation or supernatural portents, but silently as the\nflashing forth of light. Thought, desire, purpose, prayer--these are the\nwheels of the chariot in which the Lord comes to His temple, the King\ninto His kingdom. And when the kingdom of God is set up \"within you\" the\nouter life shapes itself to the new purpose and aim, the writ and will\nof the King running unhindered through every department, even to its\noutmost frontier, while thoughts, feelings, desires, and all the golden\ncoinage of the heart bear, not, as before, the image of Self, but the\nimage and superscription of the Invisible King--the \"Not I, but Christ.\"\n\nAnd so the honour of the kingdom is in our keeping, as the growths of\nthe kingdom are in our hands. The Divine Cloud adjusts its pace to our\nhuman steps, alas, often far too slow! Shall the leaven stop with us, as\nwe make religion a kind of sanctified selfishness, doing nothing but\ngauging the emotions and singing its little doxologies? Do we forget\nthat the weak human hand carries the Ark of God, and pushes forward the\nboundaries of the kingdom? Do we forget that hearts are only won by\nhearts? The kingdom of God on earth is the kingdom of surrendered wills\nand of consecrated lives. Shall we not, then, pray, \"Thy kingdom come,\"\nand living \"more nearly as we pray,\" seek a redeemed humanity as\nsubjects of our King? So will the Divine purpose become a realization,\nand the \"morning\" which now is always \"somewhere in the world\" will be\neverywhere, the promise and the dawn of a heavenly day, the eternal\nSabbath!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n_THE MIRACLES OF HEALING._\n\n\nIt is only natural that our Evangelist should linger with a professional\nas well as a personal interest over Christ's connection with human\nsuffering and disease, and that in recounting the miracles of healing he\nshould be peculiarly at home; the theme would be in such thorough accord\nwith his studies and tastes. It is true he does not refer to these\nmiracles as being a fulfilment of prophecy; it is left for St. Matthew,\nwho weaves his Gospel on the unfinished warp of the Old Testament, to\nrecall the words of Isaiah, how \"Himself took our infirmities and bare\nour diseases;\" yet our physician-Evangelist evidently lingers over the\npathological side of his Gospel with an intense interest. St. John\npasses by the miracles of healing in comparative silence, though he\nstays to give us two cases which are omitted by the Synoptists--that of\nthe nobleman's son at Capernaum, and that of the impotent man at\nBethesda. But St. John's Gospel moves in more etherial spheres, and the\ntouches he chronicles are rather the touches of mind with mind, spirit\nwith spirit, than the physical touches through the coarser medium of the\nflesh. The Synoptists, however, especially their earlier chapters, bring\nthe works of Christ into prominence, travelling too very much over the\nsame ground, though each introduces some special facts omitted by the\nrest, while in their record of the same fact each Evangelist throws some\nadditional colouring.\n\nGrouping together the miracles of healing--for our space will not allow\na separate treatment of each--our thought is first arrested by the\nvariety of forms in which suffering and disease presented themselves to\nJesus, the wideness of the ground, physical and psychical, the miracles\nof healing cover. Our Evangelist mentions fourteen different cases, not,\nhowever, as including the whole, or even the greater part, but rather as\nbeing typical, representative cases. They are, as it were, the nearer\nconstellations, localized and named; but again and again in his\nnarrative we find whole groups and clusters lying farther back, making a\nsort of Milky Way of light, whose thickly clustered worlds baffle all\nour attempts at enumeration. Such are the \"women\" of chap. viii. ver. 2,\nwho had been healed of their infirmities, but whose record is omitted in\nthe Gospel story; and such, too, are those groups of cures mentioned in\nchapters iv. 40, v. 15, vi. 19, and vii. 21, when the Divine power\nseemed to culminate, throwing itself out in a largesse of blessing,\nfairly raining down its bright gifts of healing like meteoric showers.\n\nTurning now to the typical cases mentioned by St. Luke, they are as\nfollows: the man possessed of an unclean demon; Peter's wife's mother,\nwho was sick of a fever; a leper, a paralytic, the man with the withered\nhand, the servant of the centurion, the demoniac, the woman with an\nissue, the boy possessed with a demon, the man with a dumb demon, the\nwoman with an infirmity, the man with the dropsy, the ten lepers, and\nblind Bartim\u00e6us. The list, like so many lines of dark meridians,\nmeasures off the entire circumference of the world of suffering,\nbeginning with the withered hand, and going on and down to that\n\"sacrament of death,\" leprosy, and to that yet further deep, demoniacal\npossession. Some diseases were of more recent origin, as the case of\nfever; others were chronic, of twelve or eighteen years' standing, or\nlifelong, as in the case of the possessed boy. In some a solitary organ\nwas affected, as when the hand had withered, or the tongue was tied by\nsome power of evil, or the eyes had lost their gift of vision. In others\nthe whole person was diseased, as when the fires of the fever shot\nthrough the heated veins, or the leprosy was covering the flesh with the\nwhite scales of death. But whatever its nature or its stage, the disease\nwas acute, as far as human probabilities went, past all hope of healing.\nIt was no slight attack, but a \"great fever\" which had stricken down the\nmother-in-law of Peter, the intensive adjective showing that it had\nreached its danger-point. And where among human means was there hope for\na restored vision, when for years the last glimmer of light had faded\naway, when even the optic nerve was atrophied by the long disuse? and\nwhere, among the limited pharmacop\u0153ias of ancient or even among the\nvastly extended lists of modern times, was there a cure for the leper,\nwho carried, burned into his very flesh, his sentence of death? No, it\nwas not the trivial, temporary cases of sickness Jesus took in hand; but\nHe passed into that innermost shrine of the temple of suffering, the\nshrine that lay in perpetual night, and over whose doorway was the\ninscription of Dante's \"Inferno,\" \"All hope abandon, ye who enter here!\"\nBut when Jesus entered this grim abode He turned its darkness to light,\nits sighs to songs, bringing hope to despairing ones, and leading back\ninto the light of day these captives of Death, as Orpheus is fabled to\nhave brought back to earth the lost Eurydice.\n\nAnd not only are the cases so varied in their character, and humanly\nspeaking, hopeless in their nature, but they were presented to Jesus in\nsuch a diversity of ways. They are none of them arranged for, studied.\nThey could not have formed any plan or routine of mercy, nor were they\ntimed for the purpose of producing spectacular effects. They were nearly\nall of them impromptu, extemporary events, coming without His seeking,\nand coming often as interruptions to His own plans. Now it is in the\nsynagogue, in the pauses of public worship, that Jesus rebukes an\nunclean devil, or He bids the cripple stretch out his withered hand. Now\nit is in the city, amid the crowd, or out upon the plain; now it is\nwithin the house of a chief Pharisee, in the very midst of an\nentertainment; while at other times He is walking on the road, when,\nwithout even stopping in His journey, He wills the leper clean, or He\nthrows the gift of life and health forward to the centurion's servant,\nwhom He has not seen. No times were inopportune to Him, and no places\nwere foreign to the Son of man, where men suffered and pain abode. Jesus\nrefused no request on the ground that the time was not well chosen, and\nthough He did again and again refuse the request of selfish interest or\nvain ambition, He never once turned a deaf ear to the cry of sorrow or\nof pain, no matter when or whence it came.\n\nAnd if we consider His methods of healing we find the same diversity.\nPerhaps we ought not to use that word, for there was a singular absence\nof method. There was nothing set, artificial in His way, but an easy\nfreedom, a beautiful naturalness. In one respect, and perhaps in one\nonly, are all similar, and that is in the absence of intermediaries.\nThere was no use of means, no prescription of remedies; for in the\nseeming exception, the clay with which He anointed the eyes of the\nblind, and the waters of Siloam which He prescribed, were not remedial\nin themselves; the washing was rather the test of the man's faith, while\nthe anointing was a sort of \"aside,\" spoken, not to the man himself, but\nto the group of onlookers, preparing them for the fresh manifestation of\nHis power. Generally a word was enough, though we read of His healing\n\"touch,\" and twice of the symbolic laying on of hands. And by-the-way,\nit is somewhat singular that Jesus made use of the touch at the healing\nof the leper, when the touch meant ceremonial uncleanness. Why does He\nnot speak the word only, as He did afterwards at the healing of the\n\"ten\"? And why does He, as it were, go out of His way to put Himself in\npersonal contact with a leper, who was under a ceremonial ban? Was it\nnot to show that a new era had dawned, an era in which uncleanness\nshould be that of the heart, the life, and no longer the outward\nuncleanness, which any accident of contact might induce? Did not the\ntouching of the leper mean the abrogation of the multiplied bans of the\nOld Dispensation, just as afterwards a heavenly vision coming to Peter\nwiped out the dividing-line between clean and unclean meats? And why did\nnot the touch of the leper make Jesus ceremonially unclean? for we do\nnot read that it did, or that He altered His plans one whit because of\nit. Perhaps we find our answer in the Levitical regulations respecting\nthe leprosy. We read (Lev. xiv. 28) that at the cleansing of the leper\nthe priest was to dip his right finger in the blood and in the oil, and\nput it on the ear, and hand, and foot of the person cleansed. The finger\nof the priest was thus the index or sign of purity, the lifting up of\nthe ban which his leprosy had put around and over him. And when Jesus\ntouched the leper it was the priestly touch; it carried its own\ncleansing with it, imparting power and purity, instead of contracting\nthe defilement of another.\n\nBut if Jesus touched the leper, and permitted the woman of Capernaum to\ntouch Him, or at any rate His garment, He studiously avoided any\npersonal contact with those possessed of devils. He recognized here the\npresence of evil spirits, the powers of darkness, which have enthralled\nthe weaker human spirit, and for these a word is enough. But how\ndifferent a word to His other words of healing, when He said to the\nleper, \"I will; be thou clean,\" and to Bartim\u00e6us, \"Receive thy sight\"!\nNow it is a word sharp, imperative, not spoken to the poor helpless\nvictim, but thrown over and beyond him, to the dark personality, which\nheld a human soul in a vile, degrading bondage. And so while the\npossessed boy lay writhing and foaming on the ground, Jesus laid no hand\nupon him; it was not till after He had spoken the mighty word, and the\ndemon had departed from him, that Jesus took him by the hand and lifted\nhim up.\n\nBut whether by word or by touch, the miracles were wrought with\nconsummate ease; there were none of those artistic flourishes which mere\nperformers use as a blind to cover their sleight of hand. There was no\nstraining for effect, no apparent effort. Jesus Himself seemed perfectly\nunconscious that He was doing anything marvellous or even unusual. The\nwords of power fell naturally from His lips, like the falling of leaves\nfrom the tree of life, carrying, wheresoever they might go, healing for\nthe nations.\n\nBut if the method of the cures is wonderful, the unstudied ease and\nsimple naturalness of the Healer, the completeness of the cures is even\nmore so. In all the multitudes of cases there was no failure. We find\nthe disciples baffled and chagrined, attempting what they cannot\nperform, as with the possessed boy; but with Jesus failure was an\nimpossible word. Nor did Jesus simply make them better, bringing them\ninto a state of convalescence, and so putting them in the way of getting\nwell. The cure was instant and complete; \"immediately\" is St. Luke's\nfrequent and favourite word; so much so that she who half an hour ago\nwas stricken down with malignant fever, and apparently at the point of\ndeath, now is going about her ordinary duties as if nothing had\nhappened, \"ministering\" to Peter's many guests. Though Nature possesses\na great deal of resilient force, her periods of convalescence, when the\ndisease itself is checked, are more or less prolonged, and weeks, or\nsometimes months, must elapse before the spring-tides of health return,\nbringing with them a sweet overflow, an exuberance of life. Not so,\nhowever, when Jesus was the Healer. At His word, or at the mere\nbeckoning of His finger, the tides of health, which had gone far out in\nthe ebb, suddenly returned in all their spring fulness, lifting high on\ntheir wave the bark which through hopeless years had been settling down\ninto its miry grave. Eighteen years of disease had made the woman quite\ndeformed; the contracting muscles had bent the form God made to stand\nerect, so that she could \"in no wise lift herself up;\" but when Jesus\nsaid, \"Woman, thou art loosed from thine infirmity,\" and laid His hands\nupon her, in an instant the tightened muscles relaxed, the bent form\nregained its earlier grace, for \"she was made straight, and glorified\nGod.\" One moment, with the Christ in it, was more than eighteen years of\ndisease, and with the most perfect ease it could undo all the eighteen\nyears had done. And this is but a specimen case, for the same\ncompleteness characterizes all the cures that Jesus wrought. \"They were\nmade whole,\" as it reads, no matter what the malady might be; and though\ndisease had loosened all the thousand strings, so that the wonderful\nharp was reduced to silence, or at best could but strike discordant\nnotes, the hand of Jesus has but to touch it, and in an instant each\nstring recovers its pristine tone, the jarring sounds vanish, and body,\n\"mind, and soul according well, awake sweet music as before.\"\n\nBut though Jesus wrought these many and complete cures, making the\nhealing of the sick a sort of pastime, the interludes in that Divine\n\"Messiah,\" still He did not work these miracles indiscriminately,\nwithout method or conditions. He freely placed His service at the\ndisposal of others, giving Himself up to one tireless round of mercy;\nbut it is evident there was some selection for these gifts of healing.\nThe healing power was not thrown out randomly, falling on any one it\nmight chance to strike; it flowed out in certain directions only, in\nordered channels; it followed certain lines and laws. For instance,\nthese circles of healing were geographically narrow. They followed the\npersonal presence of Jesus, and with one or two exceptions, were never\nfound apart from that presence; so that, many as they were, they would\nform but a small part of suffering humanity. And even within these\ncircles of His visible presence we are not to suppose that all were\nhealed. Some were taken, and others were left, to a suffering from which\nonly death would release them. Can we discover the law of this election\nof mercy? We think we may.\n\n(1) In the first place, there must be the need for the Divine\nintervention. This perhaps goes without saying, and does not seem to\nmean much, since among those who were left unhealed there were needs\njust as great as those of the more favoured ones. But while the \"need\"\nin some cases was not enough to secure the Divine mercy, in other cases\nit was all that was asked. If the disease was mental or psychical, with\nreason all bewildered, and the firmaments of Right and Wrong mixed\nconfusedly together, making a chaos of the soul, that was all Jesus\nrequired. At other times He waited for the desire to be evoked and the\nrequest to be made; but for these cases of lunacy, epilepsy, and\ndemoniacal possession He waived the other conditions, and without\nwaiting for the request, as in the synagogue (iv. 34) or on the Gadarene\ncoast, He spoke the word, which brought order to a distracted soul, and\nwhich led Reason back to her Jerusalem, to the long-vacant throne.\n\nFor others the need itself was not sufficient; there must be the\nrequest. Our desire for any blessing is our appraisement of its value,\nand Jesus dispensed His gifts of healing on the Divine conditions, \"Ask,\nand ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find.\" How the request came,\nwhether from the sufferer himself or through some intercessor, it did\nnot matter; for no request for healing came to Jesus to be disregarded\nor denied. Nor was it always needful to put the request into words.\nPrayer is too grand and great a thing for the lips to have a monopoly of\nit, and the deepest prayers may be put into acts as well as into words,\nas they are sometimes uttered in inarticulate sighs, and in groans which\nare too deep for words. And was it not truest prayer, as the multitudes\ncarried their sick and laid them down at the feet of Jesus, even had\ntheir voice spoken no solitary word? and was it not truest prayer, as\nthey put themselves, with their bent forms and withered hands right in\nHis way, not able to speak one single word, but throwing across to Him\nthe piteous but hopeful look? The request was thus the expression of\ntheir desire, and at the same time the expression of their faith,\ntelling of the trust they reposed in His pity and His power, a trust He\nwas always delighted to see, and to which He always responded, as He\nHimself said again and again, \"Thy faith hath saved thee.\" Faith then,\nas now, was the sesame to which all Heaven's gates fly open; and as in\nthe case of the paralytic who was borne of four, and let down through\nthe roof, even a vicarious faith prevails with Jesus, as it brings to\ntheir friend a double and complete salvation. And so they who sought\nJesus as their Healer found Him, and they who believed entered into His\nrest, this lower rest of a perfect health and perfect life; while they\nwho were indifferent and they who doubted were left behind, crushed by\nthe sorrow that He would have removed, and tortured by pains that His\ntouch would have completely stilled.\n\nAnd now it remains for us to gather up the light of these miracles, and\nto focus it on Him who was the central Figure, Jesus, the Divine Healer.\nAnd (1) the miracles of healing speak of the knowledge of Jesus. The\nquestion, \"What is man?\" has been the standing question of the ages, but\nit is still unanswered, or answered but in part. His complex nature is\nstill a mystery, the eternal riddle of the Sphinx, and \u0152dipus comes\nnot. Physiology can number and name the bones and muscles, can tell the\nforms and functions of the different organs; chemistry can resolve the\nbody into its constituent elements, and weigh out their exact\nproportions; philosophy can map out the departments of the mind; but man\nremains the great enigma. Biology carries her silken clue right up to\nthe primordial cell; but here she finds a Gordian knot, which her\nkeenest instruments cannot cut, or her keenest wit unravel. Within that\ncomplex nature of ours are oceans of mystery which Thought may indeed\nexplore, but which she cannot fathom, paths which the vulture eye of\nReason hath not seen, whose voices are the voices of unknown tongues,\nanswering each other through the mist. But how familiar did Jesus seem\nwith all these life-secrets! how intimate with all the life-forces! How\nversed He was in etiology, knowing without possibility of mistake whence\ndiseases came, and just where they looked! It was no mystery to Him how\nthe hand had shrunk, shrivelling into a mass of bones, with no skill in\nits fingers, and no life in its cloyed-up veins, or how the eyes had\nlost their power of vision. His knowledge of the human frame was an\nexact and perfect knowledge, reading its innermost secrets, as in a\ntransparency, knowing to a certainty what links had dropped out of the\nsubtle mechanism, and what had been warped out of place, and knowing\nwell just at what point and to what an extent to apply the healing\nremedy, which was His own volition. All earth and all heaven were\nwithout a covering to His gaze; and what was this but Omniscience?\n\n(2) Again, the miracles of healing speak of the compassion of Jesus. It\nwas with no reluctance that He wrought these works of mercy; it was His\ndelight. His heart was drawn towards suffering and pain by the magnetism\nof a Divine sympathy, or rather, we ought to say, towards the sufferers\nthemselves; for suffering and pain, like sin and woe, were exotics in\nHis Father's garden, the deadly nightshade an enemy had sown. And so we\nmark a great tenderness in all His dealings with the afflicted. He does\nnot apply the caustic of bitter and biting words. Even when, as we may\nsuppose, the suffering is the harvest of earlier sin, as in the case of\nthe paralytic, Jesus speaks no harsh reproaches; He says simply and\nkindly, \"Go in peace, and sin no more.\" And do we not find here a reason\nwhy these miracles of healing were so frequent in His ministry? Was it\nnot because in His mind sickness was somehow related to sin? If miracles\nwere needed to attest the Divineness of His mission, there was no need\nof the constant succession of them, no need, that they should form a\npart, and a large part, of the daily task. Sickness is, so to speak,\nsomething unnaturally natural. It results from the transgression of some\nphysical law, as sin is the transgression of some moral law; and He who\nis man's Saviour brings a complete salvation, a redemption for the body\nas well as a redemption for the soul. Indeed, the diseases of the body\nare but the shadows, seen and felt, of the deeper diseases of the soul,\nand with Jesus the physical healing was but a step to the higher truth\nand higher experience, that spiritual cleansing, that inner creation of\na right spirit, a perfect heart. And so Jesus carried on the two works\nside by side; they were the two parts of His one and great salvation;\nand as He loved and pitied the sinner, so He pitied and loved the\nsufferer; His sympathies all went out to meet him, preparing the way for\nHis healing virtues to follow.\n\n(3) Again, the miracles of healing speak of the power of Jesus. This was\nseen indirectly when we considered the completeness of the cures, and\nthe wide field they covered, and we need not enlarge upon it now. But\nwhat a consciousness of might there was in Jesus! Others, prophets and\napostles, have healed the sick, but their power was delegated. It came\nas in waves of Divine impulse, intermittent and temporary. The power\nthat Jesus wielded was inherent and absolute, deeps which knew neither\ncessation nor diminution. His will was supreme over all forces. Nature's\npotencies are diffused and isolated, slumbering in herb or metal, flower\nor leaf, in mountain or sea. But all are inert and useless until man\ndistils them with his subtle alchemies, and then applies them by his\nslow processes, dissolving the tinctures in the blood, sending on its\nwarm currents the healing virtue, if haply it may reach its goal and\naccomplish its mission. But all these potencies lay in the hand or in\nthe will of Christ. The forces of life all were marshalled under His\nbidding. He had but to say to one \"Go,\" and it went, here or there, or\nanywhither; nor does it go for nought; it accomplishes its high behest,\nthe great Master's will. Nay, the power of Jesus is supreme even in that\noutlying and dark world of evil spirits. The demons fly at His rebuke;\nand let Him throw but one healing word across the dark, chaotic soul of\none possessed, and in an instant Reason dawns; bright thoughts play on\nthe horizon; the firmaments of Right and Wrong separate to infinite\ndistances; and out of the darkness a Paradise emerges, of beauty and\nlight, where the new son of God resides, and God Himself comes down in\nthe cool and the heat of the days alike. What power is this? Is it not\nthe power of God? is it not Omnipotence?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n_THE MIRACLE OF THE LOAVES._\n\nLUKE ix. 1-17.\n\n\nThe Galilean ministry was drawing to a close, for the \"great Light\"\nwhich had risen over the northern province must now move southward, to\nset behind a cross and a grave. Jesus, however, is reluctant to leave\nthese borders, amid whose hills the greater part of His life has been\nspent, and among whose composite population His greatest successes have\nbeen won, without one last effort. Calling together the Twelve, who\nhitherto have been Apostles in promise and in name rather than in fact,\nHe lays His plans before them. Dividing the district into sections, so\nas to equalize their labours and prevent any overlapping, He sends them\nout in pairs; for in the Divine arithmetic two are more than twice one,\nmore than the sum of the separate units by all the added force and\nstrength of fellowship. They are to be the heralds of the new kingdom,\nto \"preach the kingdom of God,\" their insignia no outward, visible\nbadge, but the investiture of authority over all demons, and power over\nall diseases. Apostles of the Unseen, servants of the Invisible King,\nthey must dismiss all worldly cares; they must not even make provision\nfor their journey, weighting themselves with such _impedimenta_ as\nwallets stored with bread or changes of raiment. They must go forth in\nan absolute trust in God, thus proving themselves citizens of the\nheavenly kingdom, whose gates they open to all who will repent and step\nup into them. They may take a staff, for that will help rather than\nhinder on the steep mountain paths; but since the King's business\nrequireth haste, they must not spend their time in the interminable\nsalutations of the age, nor in going about from house to house; such\nchanges would only distract, diverting to themselves the thought which\nshould be centred upon their mission. Should any city not receive them,\nthey must retire at once, shaking off, as they depart, the very dust\nfrom their feet, as a testimony against them.\n\nSuch were the directions, as Jesus dismissed the Twelve, sending them to\nreap the Galilean harvest, and at the same time to prepare them for the\nwider fields which after the Pentecost would open to them on every side.\nIt is only by incidental allusions that we learn anything as to the\nsuccess of the mission, but when our Evangelist says \"they went\nthroughout the villages, preaching the Gospel and healing everywhere,\"\nthese frequent miracles of healing would imply that they found a\nsympathetic and receptive people. Nor were the impulses of the new\nmovement confined to the lower reaches of society; for even the palace\nfelt its vibrations, and St. Luke, who seems to have had private means\nof information within the Court, possibly through Chuza and Manaen,\npauses to give us a kind of _silhouette_ of the Tetrarch. Herod himself\nis perplexed. Like a vane, \"that fox\" swings round to the varying gusts\nof public opinion that come eddying within the palace from the excited\nworld outside; and as some say that Jesus is Elias, and others \"one of\nthe old prophets,\" while others aver that He is John himself, risen\nfrom the dead, this last rumour falls upon the ears of Herod like\nalarming thunders, making him quiver like an aspen. \"And he sought to\nsee Jesus.\" The \"conscience that makes cowards of us all\" had unnerved\nhim, and he longed by a personal acquaintance with Jesus to waive back\nout of his sight the apparition of the murdered prophet. Who Jesus might\nbe did not much concern Herod. He might be Elias, or one of the old\nprophets, anything but John; and so when Herod did see Jesus afterwards,\nand saw that He was not the risen Baptist, but the Man of Galilee, his\ncourage revived, and he gave Jesus into the hands of his cohorts, that\nthey might mock Him with the faded purple.\n\nWhat steps Herod took to secure an interview we do not know; but the\nverb indicates more than a wish on his part; it implies some plan or\nattempt to gratify the wish; and probably it was these advances of\nHerod, together with the Apostles' need of rest after the strain and\nexcitements of their mission, which prompted Jesus to seek a place of\nretirement outside the bounds of Antipas. On the northern shore of the\nSea of Galilee, and on the eastern bank of the Jordan, was a second\nBethsaida, or \"House of Fish\" as the name means, built by Philip, and to\nwhich, in honour of C\u00e6sar's daughter, he gave the surname of \"Julias.\"\nThe city itself stood on the hills, some three or four miles back from\nthe shore; while between the city and the lake swept a wide and silent\nplain, all untilled, as the New Testament \"desert\" means, but rich in\npasturage, as the \"much grass\" of John vi. 10 would show. This still\nshore offered, as it seemed, a safe refuge from the exacting and\nintrusive crowds of Capernaum, whose constant coming and going left\nthem no leisure so much as to eat; and bidding them launch the familiar\nboat, Jesus and the twelve sail away to the other side. The excited\ncrowds, however, which followed them to the water's edge, are not so\neasily to be shaken off; but guessing the direction of the boat, they\nseek to head her off by a quick _detour_ round the shore. And some of\nthem do; for when the boat grates on the northern shingle some of the\nswift-footed ones are already there; while stretching back for miles is\na stream of humanity, of both sexes and of all ages, but all fired with\none purpose. The desert has suddenly grown populous.\n\nAnd how does Jesus bear this interruption to His plans? Does He chafe at\nthis intrusion of the people upon His quiet hours? Does He resent their\nimportunity, calling it impertinence, then driving them from Him with a\nwhip of sharp words? Not so. Jesus was accustomed to interruptions; they\nformed almost the staple of His life. Nor did He repulse one solitary\nsoul which sought sincerely His mercy, no matter how unseasonable the\nhour, as men would read the hours. So now Jesus \"received\" them, or\n\"welcomed\" them, as it is in the R.V. It is a favourite word with St.\nLuke, found in his Gospel more frequently than in the other three\nGospels together. Applied to persons, it means nearly always to receive\nas guests, to welcome to hospitality and home. And such is its meaning\nhere. Jesus takes the place of the host. True, it is a desert place, but\nit is a part of the All-Father's world, a room of the Father's house,\ncarpeted with grass and ablaze with flowers; and Jesus, by His welcome,\ntransforms the desert into a guest-chamber, where in a new way He keeps\nthe Passover with His disciples, at the same time entertaining His\nthousands of self-bidden guests, giving to them truth, speaking of the\nkingdom of God, and giving health, healing \"those that had need of\nhealing.\"\n\nIt was toward evening, \"when the day began to wear away,\" that Jesus\ngave to a bright and busy day its crowning benediction. The thought had\nalready ripened into purpose, in His mind, to spread a table for them in\nthe wilderness; for how could He, the compassionate One, send them to\ntheir homes famishing and faint? These poor, shepherdless sheep have put\nthemselves into His care. Their simple, unproviding confidence has made\nHim in a sense responsible, and can He disappoint that confidence? It is\ntrue they have been thoughtless and improvident. They have let the\nenthusiasm of the hour carry them away, without making any provision of\nthe necessary food; but even this does not check the flow of the Divine\ncompassion, for Jesus proceeds to fill up their lack of thought by His\nDivine thoughtfulness, and their scarcity with His Divine affluence.\n\nAccording to St. John, it was Jesus who took the initiative, as He put\nthe test-question to Philip, \"Whence shall we buy bread, that these may\neat?\" Philip does not reply to the \"whence;\" that may stand aside\nawhile, as in mathematical language he speaks to the previous question,\nwhich is their ability to buy. \"Two hundred pennyworth of bread,\" he\nsaid, \"is not sufficient for them, that every one may take a little.\" He\ndoes not say how much would be required to satisfy the hunger of the\nmultitude; his reckoning is not for a feast, but for a taste, to every\none \"a little.\" Nor does he calculate the full cost of even this, but\nsays simply, \"Two hundred pennyworth would _not_ be sufficient.\"\nEvidently, in Philip's mind the two hundred, pence is the known\nquantity of the equation, and he works out his calculation from that, as\nhe proves the impossibility of buying bread for this vast company\nanywhere. We may therefore conclude that the two hundred pence\nrepresented the value of the common purse, the purchasing power of the\nApostolic community; and this was a sum altogether inadequate to meet\nthe cost of providing bread for the multitude. The only alternative, as\nfar as the disciples see, is to dismiss them, and let them requisition\nfor themselves; and in a peremptory manner they ask Jesus to \"send the\nmultitude away,\" reminding Him of what certainly they had no need to\nremind Him, that they were here \"in a desert place.\"\n\nThe disciples had spoken in their subjunctive, _non possumus_, way; it\nis now time for Jesus to speak, which He does, not in interrogatives\nlonger, but in His imperative, commanding tone: \"Give ye them to eat,\" a\nword which throws the disciples back upon themselves in astonishment and\nutter helplessness. What can they do? The whole available supply, as\nAndrew reports it, is but five barley loaves and two small fishes, which\na lad has brought, possibly for their own refreshment. Five flat loaves\nof barley, which was the food of the poorest of the poor, and \"two small\nfishes,\" as St. John calls them, throwing a bit of local colouring into\nthe narrative by his diminutive word--these are the foundation repast,\nwhich Jesus asks to be brought to Himself, that from Himself it may go,\nbroken and enlarged, to the multitude of guests. Meantime the crowd is\njust as large, and perhaps more excited and impatient than before; for\nthey would not understand these \"asides\" between the disciples and the\nMaster, nor could they read as yet His compassionate and benevolent\nthought. It would be a pushing, jostling crowd, as these thousands were\nmassed on the hill-side. Some are gathered in little groups, discussing\nthe Messiahship; others are clustered round some relative or friend, who\nto-day has been wonderfully healed; while others, of the forward sort,\nare selfishly elbowing their way to the front. The whole scene is a\nkaleidoscope of changing form and colour, a perfect chaos of confusion.\nBut Jesus speaks again: \"Make them sit down in companies;\" and those\nwords, thrown across the seething mass, reduce it to order,\ncrystallizing it, as it were, into measured and numbered lines. St.\nMark, half-playfully, likens it to a garden, with its _parterres_ of\nflowers; and such indeed it was, but it was a garden of the higher cult,\nwith its variegated beds of humanity, a hundred men broad, and fifty\ndeep.\n\nWhen order was secured, and all were in their places, Jesus takes His\nplace as the host at the head of the extemporized table, and though it\nis most frugal fare, He holds the barley loaves heavenward, and lifting\nup His eyes, He blesses God, probably in the words of the usual formula,\n\"Blessed art Thou, Jehovah our God, King of the world, Who causeth to\ncome forth bread from the earth.\" Then breaking the bread, He\ndistributes it among the disciples, bidding them bear it to the people.\nIt is not a matter of moment as to the exact point where the\nsupernatural came in, whether it was in the breaking or the\ndistributing. Somewhere a power which must have been Divine touched the\nbread, for the broken pieces strangely grew, enlarging rapidly as they\nwere minished. It is just possible that we have a clue to the mystery in\nthe tense of the verb, for the imperfect, which denotes continued\naction, would read, \"He brake,\" or \"He kept on breaking,\" from which we\nmight almost infer that the miracle was coincident with the touch. But\nwhether so or not, the power was equal to the occasion, and the supply\nover and above the largest need, completely satisfying the hunger of the\nfive thousand men, besides the off-group of women and children, who,\nthough left out of the enumeration, were within the circle of the\nmiracle, the remembered and satisfied guests of the Master.\n\nIt now remains for us to gather up the meaning and the practical lessons\nof the miracle. And first, it reveals to us the Divine pity. When Jesus\ncalled Himself the Son of man it was a title full of deep meaning, and\nmost appropriate. He was the true, the ideal Humanity, humanity as it\nwould have been without the warps and discolourations that sin has made,\nand within His heart were untold depths of sympathy, the \"fellow-feeling\nthat makes man wondrous kind.\" To the haughty and the proud He was\nstern, lowering upon them with a withering scorn; to the unreal, the\nfalse, the unclean He was severity itself, with lightnings in His looks\nand terrible thunders in His \"woes;\" but for troubled and tired souls He\nhad nothing but tenderness and gentleness, and a compassion that was\ninfinite. Even had He not called the weary and heavy-laden to Himself,\nthey would have sought Him; they would have read the \"Come\" in the\nsunlight of His face. Jesus felt for others a vicarious pain, a\nvicarious sorrow, His heart responding to it at once, as the delicately\npoised needle responds to the subtle sparks that flash in upon it from\nwithout. So here; He receives the multitude kindly, even though they are\nstrangers, and though they have thwarted His purpose and broken in upon\nHis rest, and as this stream of human life flows out to Him His\ncompassion flows out to them. He commiserates their forlorn condition,\nwandering like straying sheep upon the mountains; He gives Himself up to\nthem, healing all that were sick, assuaging the pain or restoring the\nlost sense; while at the same time He ministers to a higher nature,\ntelling them of the kingdom of God, which had come nigh to them, and\nwhich was theirs if they would surrender themselves to it and obey. Nor\nwas even this enough to satisfy the promptings of His deep pity, but\nall-forgetful of His own weariness, He lengthens out this day of mercy,\nstaying to minister to their lower, physical wants, as He spreads for\nthem a table in the wilderness. Verily He was, incarnate, as He is in\nHis glory, \"touched with the feelings of our infirmities.\"\n\nAgain, we see the Divine love of order and arrangement. Nothing was done\nuntil the crowding and confusion had ceased, and even the Divine\nbeneficence waits until the turbulent mass has become quiet, settled\ndown into serried lines, the five thousand making two perfect squares.\n\"Order,\" it is said, \"is Heaven's first law;\" but whether the first or\nthe second, certain it is that Heaven gives us the perfection of order.\nIt is only in the lawless wills of man that \"time is broke, and no\nproportion kept.\" In the heavenly state nothing is out of place or out\nof time. All wills there play into each other with such absolute\nprecision that life itself is a song, a _Gloria in Excelsis_. And how\nthis is seen in all the works of God! What rhythmic motions are in the\nmarches of the stars and the processions of the seasons! To everything a\nplace, to everything a time; such is the unwritten law of the realm of\nphysics, where Law is supreme, and anarchy is unknown. So in our earthly\nlives, on their secular and on their spiritual side alike, order is\ntime, order is strength, and he who is deficient in this grace should\npractise on it the more. Avoid slovenliness; it is a distant relation of\nsin itself. Arrange your duties, and do not let them crowd one upon the\nother. Set the greater duties, not abreast, but one behind the other,\nfilling up the spaces with the smaller ones. Do not let things drift, or\nyour life, built for carrying precious argosies, and accomplishing\nsomething, will break up into pieces, the flotsam and jetsam of a barren\nshore. In prayer be orderly. Arrange your desires. Let some come first,\nwhile others stand back in the second or the third row, waiting their\nturn. If your relations with your fellows have got a little disarranged,\natwist, seek to readjust the disturbed relation. Oppose what is evil and\nmean with all your might; but if no principle is involved, even at the\ncost of a little feeling, seek to have things put square. To get things\ninto a tangle requires no great skill; but he who would be a true\nartist, keeping the Divine pattern before him, and ever working towards\nit, if not up to it, may reduce the tangled skein to harmony, and like\nthe Gobelin tapestry-makers, weave a life that is noble and beautiful, a\nlife on which men will love to gaze.\n\nAgain, we see the Divine concern for little things. Abundance always\ntempts to extravagance and waste. And so here; the broken remnants of\nthe repast might have been thrown away as of no account; but Jesus bade\nthem, \"Gather up the fragments, that nothing be lost;\" and we read they\nfilled with the broken bread, which remained over and above to them that\nhad eaten, twelve baskets full--and, by the way, the word rendered\n\"basket\" here corresponds with the frugal fare, for, made of willow or\nof wicker, it was of the coarsest kind, used only by the poor. What\nbecame of the fragments, which outweighed the original supply, we do not\nread; but though they were only the crumbs of the Divine bounty, and\nthough there was no present use for them, Jesus would not allow them to\nbe wasted.\n\nBut the true meaning of the narrative lies deeper than this. It is a\nmiracle of a new order, this multiplying of the loaves. In His other\nmiracles Jesus has wrought on the line of Nature, accelerating her\nslower processes, and accomplishing in an instant, by His mere volition,\nwhat by natural causes must have been the work of time, but which in the\nspecific cases would have been purely impossible, owing to the\nenfeeblement of nature by disease. Sight, hearing, even life itself,\ncome to man through channels purely natural; but Nature never yet has\nmade bread. She grows the corn, but there her part ends, while Science\nmust do the rest, first reducing the corn to flour, then kneading it\ninto dough, and by the burning fires of the oven transmuting the dough\nto bread. Why does Jesus here depart from His usual order, creating what\nneither nature nor science can produce alone, but which requires their\nconcurrent forces? Let us see. To Jesus these visible, tangible things\nwere but the dead keys His hand touched, as He called forth some deeper,\nfarther-off music, some spiritual truth that by any other method men\nwould be slow to learn. Of what, then, is this bread of the desert the\nemblem? St. John tells us that when the miracle occurred \"the Passover\nwas nigh at hand,\" and this time-mark helps to explain the overcrowding\ninto the desert, for probably many of the five thousand were men who\nwere now on their way to Jerusalem, and who had stayed at Capernaum and\nthe neighbouring cities for the night. This supposition, too, is\nconsiderably strengthened by the words of the disciples, as they suggest\nthat they should go and \"lodge\" in the neighbouring cities and villages,\nwhich word implies that they were not residents of that locality, but\npassing strangers. And as Jesus cannot now go up to Jerusalem to the\nfeast, He gathers the shepherdless thousands about Him, and keeps a sort\nof Passover in the open guest-chamber of the mountainside. That such was\nthe thought of the Master, making it an anterior sacrament, is evident\nfrom the address Jesus gave the following day at Capernaum, in which He\npasses, by a natural transition, from the broken bread with which He\nsatisfied their physical hunger to Himself as the Bread come down from\nheaven, the \"living Bread\" as He called it, which was His flesh. There\nis thus a Eucharistic meaning in the miracle of the loaves, and this\nnorthern hill signals in its subtle correspondences on to Jerusalem, to\nanother hill, where His body was bruised and broken \"for our\niniquities,\" and His blood was poured out, a precious oblation for sin.\nAnd as that Blood was typified by the wine of the first miracle at Cana,\nso now Jesus completes the prophetic sacrament by the miraculous\ncreation of bread from the five seminal loaves, bread which He Himself\nhas consecrated to the holier use, as the visible emblem of that Body\nwhich was given for us, men, women, and children alike, even for a\nredeemed humanity. Cana and the desert-place thus draw near together,\nwhile both look across to Calvary; and as the Church keeps now her\nEucharistic feast, taking from the one the consecrated bread, and from\nthe other the consecrated wine, she shows forth the Lord's death \"till\nHe come.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n_THE TRANSFIGURATION._\n\n\nThe Transfiguration of Christ marks the culminating point in the Divine\nlife; the few remaining months are a rapid descent into the valley of\nSacrifice and Death. The story is told by each of the three Synoptists,\nwith an almost equal amount of detail, and all agree as to the time when\nit occurred; for though St. Matthew and St. Mark make the interval six\ndays, while St. Luke speaks of it as \"about eight,\" there is no real\ndisagreement; St. Luke's reckoning is inclusive. As to the locality,\ntoo, they all agree, though in a certain indefinite way. St. Matthew and\nSt. Mark leave it indeterminate, simply saying that it was \"a high\nmountain,\" while St. Luke calls it \"the mountain.\" Tradition has long\nlocalised the scene upon Mount Tabor, but evidently she has read off her\nbearings from her own fancies, rather than from the facts of the\nnarrative. To say nothing of the distance of Mount Tabor from C\u00e6sarea\nPhilippi--which, though a difficulty, is not an insuperable one, since\nit might easily be covered in less than the six intervening days--Tabor\nis but one of the group of heights which fringe the Plain of Esdraelon,\nand so one to which the definite article would not, and could not, be\napplied. Besides, Tabor now was crowned by a Roman fortress, and so\ncould scarcely be said to be \"apart\" from the strifes and ways of men,\nwhile it stood within the borders of Galilee, whereas St. Mark, by\nimplication, sets his \"high mountain\" outside the Galilean bounds (ix.\n30). But if Tabor fails to meet the requirements of the narrative, Mount\nHermon answers them exactly, throwing its spurs close up to C\u00e6sarea\nPhilippi, while its snow-crowned peak shone out pure and white above the\nlesser heights of Galilee.\n\nIt is not an unmeaning coincidence that each of the Evangelists should\nintroduce his narrative with the same temporal word, \"after.\" That word\nis something more than a connecting link, a bridge thrown over a blank\nspace of days; it is rather, when taken in connection with the preceding\nnarrative, the key which unlocks the whole meaning and mystery of the\nTransfiguration. \"After these sayings,\" writes St. Luke. What sayings?\nLet us go back a little, and see. Jesus had asked His disciples as to\nthe drift of popular opinion about Himself, and had drawn from Peter the\nmemorable confession--that first Apostle's Creed--\"Thou art the Christ\nof God.\" Immediately, however, Jesus leads down their minds from these\ncelestial heights to the lowest depths of degradation, dishonour, and\ndeath, as He says, \"The Son of man must suffer many things, and be\nrejected of the elders, chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and\nthe third day be raised up.\" Those words shattered their bright dream at\nonce. Like some fearful nightmare, the foreshadow of the cross fell upon\ntheir hearts, filling them with fear and gloom, and striking down hope,\nand courage, yea, even faith itself. It would almost seem as if the\ndisciples were unnerved, paralyzed by the blow, and as if an atrophy had\nstolen over their hearts and lips alike; for the next six days are one\nvoid of silence, without word or deed, as far as the records show. How\nshall their lost hope be recalled, or courage be revived? How shall they\nbe taught that death does not end all--that the enigma was true of\nHimself, as well as of them, that He shall find His life by losing it?\nThe Transfiguration is the answer.\n\nTaking with Him Peter, John, and James--the three who shall yet be\nwitnesses of His agony--Jesus retires to the mountain height, probably\nintending, as our Evangelist indicates, to spend the night in prayer.\nKeeping the midnight watch was nothing new to these disciples; it was\ntheir frequent experience upon the Galilean lake; but now, left to the\nquiet of their own thoughts, and with none of the excitements of the\nspoil about them, they yield to the cravings of nature and fall asleep.\nAwaking, they find their Master still engaged in prayer, all oblivious\nof earthly hours, and as they watch He is transfigured before them. The\nfashion, or appearance, of His countenance, as St. Luke tersely puts it,\n\"became another,\" all suffused with a heavenly radiance, while His very\ngarments became lustrous with a whiteness which was beyond the fuller's\nart and beyond the whiteness of the snow, and all iridescent, flashing\nand sparkling as if set with stars. Suddenly, ere their eyes have grown\naccustomed to the new splendours, two celestial visitants appear,\nwearing the glorious body of the heavenly life and conversing with\nJesus.\n\nSuch was the scene upon the \"holy mount,\" which the Apostles could never\nforget, and which St. Peter recalls with a lingering wonder and delight\nin the far-off after-years (2 Pet. i. 18). Can we push aside the outward\ndraperies, and read the Divine thought and purpose that are hidden\nwithin? We think we may. And--\n\n1. We see the place and meaning of the Transfiguration in the life of\nJesus. Hitherto the humanity of Jesus had been naturally and perfectly\nhuman; for though heavenly signs have, as at the Advent and the Baptism,\nborne witness to its super-humanity, these signs have been temporary and\nexternal, shining or alighting upon it from without. Now, however, the\nsign is from within. The brightness of the outer flesh is but the\noutshining of the inner glory. And what was that glory but the \"glory of\nthe Lord,\" a manifestation of the Deity, that fulness of the Godhead\nwhich dwelt within? The faces of other sons of men have shone, as when\nMoses stepped downwards from the mount, or as Stephen looked upwards to\nthe opened heavens; but it was the shining of a reflected glory, like\nthe sunlight upon the moon. But when the humanity of Jesus was thus\ntransfigured it was a native glory, the inward radiance of the soul\nstealing through, and lighting up, the enveloping globe of human flesh.\nIt is easy to see why this celestial appearance should not be the normal\nmanifestation of the Christ; for had it been, He would no longer have\nbeen the \"Son of man.\" Between Himself and the humanity He had come to\nredeem would have been a gulf wide and profound, while the Fatherhood of\nGod would have been a truth lying back in the vistas of the unknown, a\ntruth unfelt; for men only reach up to that Fatherhood through the\nBrotherhood of Christ. But if we ask why now, just for once, there\nshould be this transfiguring of the Person of Jesus, the answer is not\nso evident. Godet has a suggestion which is as natural as it is\nbeautiful. He represents the Transfiguration as the natural issue of a\nperfect, a sinless his, a life in which death should have no place, as\nit would have had no place in the life of unfallen man. Innocence,\nholiness, glory--these would have been the successive steps connecting\nearth with heaven, an ever-upward path, across which death would not\neven have cast a shadow. Such would have been the path opened to the\nfirst Adam, had not sin intervened, bringing death as its wage and\npenalty. And now, as the Second Adam takes the place of the first,\nmoving steadily along the path of obedience from which the first Adam\nswerved, should we not naturally look for that life to end in some\ntranslation or transfiguration, the body of the earthly life blossoming\ninto the body of the heavenly? and where else so appropriately as here,\nupon the \"holy mount,\" when the spirits of the perfected come forth to\nmeet Him, and the chariot of cloud is ready to convey Him to the heavens\nwhich are so near? It is thus something more than conjecture--it is a\nprobability--that had the life of Jesus been by itself, detached from\nmankind in general, the Transfiguration had been the mode and the\nbeginning of the glorification. The way to the heavens, from which He\nwas self-exiled, was open to Him from the mount of glory, but He\npreferred to pass up by the mount of passion and of sacrifice. The\nburden of the world's redemption is upon Him, and that eternal purpose\nleads Him down from the Transfiguration glories, and onwards to a cross\nand grave. He chooses to die, with and for man, rather than to live and\nreign without man.\n\nBut not only does the \"holy mount\" throw its light on what would have\nbeen the path of unfallen man, it gives us in prophecy a vision of the\nresurrection life. Compare the picture of the transfigured Christ, as\ndrawn by the Synoptists, with the picture, drawn by John himself, of the\nChrist of the Exaltation, and how strikingly similar they are! (Rev. i.\n13-17). In both descriptions we have an affluence of metaphor and\nsimile, which affluence was itself but the stammering of our weak human\nspeech, as it seeks to tell the unutterable. In both we have a whiteness\nlike the snow, while to portray the countenance St. John repeats almost\nverbatim St. Matthew's words, \"His face did shine as the sun.\" Evidently\nthe Christ of the Transfiguration and the Christ of the Exaltation are\none and the same Person; and why do we blame Peter for speaking in such\nrandom, delirious words upon the mount, when John, by the glory of that\nsame vision, in Patmos, is stricken to the ground as if dead, not able\nto speak at all? When Peter spoke, somewhat incoherently, about the\n\"three tabernacles,\" it was not, as some aver, the random speech of one\nwho was but half awake, but of one whose reason was dazzled and confused\nwith the blinding glory. And so the Transfiguration anticipates the\nGlorification, investing the sacred Person with those same robes of\nlight and royalty He had laid aside for a time, but which He will\nshortly assume again--the habiliments of an eternal re-enthronement.\n\n2. Again, the holy mount shows us the place of death in the life of man.\nWe read, \"There talked with Him two men, which were Moses and Elijah;\"\nand as if the Evangelist would emphasize the fact that it was no\napparition, existing only in their heated imagination, he repeats the\nstatement (ver. 35) that they were \"two men.\" Strange gathering--Moses,\nElias, and Christ!--the Law in the person of Moses, the Prophets in the\nperson of Elias, both doing homage to the Christ, who was Himself the\nfulfilment of prophecy and law. But what the Evangelist seems to note\nparticularly is the humanness of the two celestials. Though the earthly\nlife of each ended in an abrupt, unearthly way, the one having a\ntranslation, the other a Divine interment (whatever that may mean), they\nhave both been residents of the heavenly world for centuries. But as\nthey appear to-day \"in glory,\" that is, with the glorified body of the\nheavenly life, outwardly, visibly, their bodies are still human. There\nis nothing about their form and build that is grotesque, or even\nunearthly. They have not even the traditional but fictitious wings with\nwhich poetry is wont to set on the inhabitants of the sky. They are\nstill \"men,\" with bodies resembling, both in size and form, the old body\nof earth. But if the appearance of these \"men\" reminds us of earth, if\nwe wait awhile, we see that their natures are very unearthly, not\nunnatural so much as supernatural. They glide down through the air with\nthe ease of a bird and the swiftness of light, and when the interview\nends, and they go their separate ways, these heavenly \"men\" gather up\ntheir robes and vanish, strangely and suddenly as they came. And yet\nthey can make use of earthly supports, even the grosser forms of matter,\nplanting their feet upon the grass as naturally as when Moses climbed up\nPisgah or as Elijah stood in Horeb's cave.\n\nAnd not only do the bodies of these celestials retain still the image of\nthe earthly life, but the bent of their minds is the same, the set and\ndrift of their thoughts following the old directions. The earthly lives\nof Moses and Elias had been spent in different lands, in different\ntimes; five hundred eventful years pushed them far apart; but their\nmission had been one. Both were prophets of the Highest, the one\nbringing God's law down to the people, the other leading a lapsed people\nback and up to God's law. Yes, and they are prophets still, but with a\nnearer vision now. No longer do they gaze through the crimson lenses of\nthe sacrificial blood, beholding the Promised One afar off. They have\nread the Divine thought and purpose of redemption; they are initiated\ninto its mysteries; and now that the cross is close at hand, they come\nto bring to the world's Saviour their heavenly greetings, and to invest\nHim, by anticipation, with robes of glory, soon to be His for evermore.\n\nSuch is the apocalypse of the holy mount. The veil which hides from our\ndull eye of sense the hereafter was lifted up. The heavens were opened\nto them, no longer far away beyond the cold stars, but near them,\ntouching them on every side. They saw the saints of other days\ninteresting themselves in earthly events--in one event at least, and\nspeaking of that death which they mourned and feared, calmly, as a thing\nexpected and desired, but calling it by its new and softened name, a\n\"departure,\" an \"exodus.\" And as they see the past centuries saluting\nHim whom they have learned to call the Christ, \"the Son of God,\" as the\ntruth of immortality is borne in upon them, not as a vague conception of\nthe mind, but by oral and ocular demonstration, would they not see the\nshadow of the coming death in a different light? would not the painful\npressure upon their spirits be eased somewhat, if not, indeed, entirely\nremoved? and--\n\n  \"The Apostle's heart of rock\n  Be nerved against temptation's shock\"?\n\nWould they not more patiently endure, now that they had become apostles\nof the Invisible, seers of the Unseen?\n\nBut if the glory of the holy mount sets in a fairer light the cross and\ngrave of Christ, may we not throw from the mirror of our thought some of\nits light upon our lowlier graves? What is death, after all, but the\ntransition into life? Retaining its earthly accent, we call it a\n\"decease;\" but that is true only of the corporeal nature, that body of\n\"flesh and blood\" which cannot inherit the higher kingdom of glory to\nwhich we pass. There is no break in the continuity of the soul's\nexistence, not even one parenthetic hour. When He who was the\nResurrection and the Life said, \"To-day shalt thou be with Me in\nparadise,\" that word passed on a forgiven soul directly to a state of\nconscious blessedness. From \"the azure deep of air\" does the eagle look\nregretfully upon the eyrie of its crag, where it lay in its unfledged\nweakness? or does it mourn the broken shell from which its young life\nemerged? And why should we mourn, or weep with unrestrained tears, when\nthe shell is broken that the freed spirit may soar up to the regions of\nthe blessed, and range the eternities of God? Paganism closed the story\nof human life with an interrogation-point, and sought to fill up with\nguesses the blank she did not know. Christianity speaks with clearer\nvoice; hers is \"a sure and certain hope,\" for He who \"hath abolished\ndeath\" hath \"brought life and immortality to light.\" Earth's exodus is\nheaven's genesis, and what we call the end celestials call the\nbeginning.\n\nAnd not only does the mount speak of the certainties of the after-life,\nit gives, in a binocular vision, the likeness of the resurrection body,\nanswering, in part, the standing question, \"How are the dead raised\nup?\" The body of the heavenly life must have some correspondence with,\nand resemblance to, the body of our earthly life. It will, in a sense,\ngrow out of it. It will not be something entirely new, but the old\nrefined, spiritualized, the dross and earthliness all removed, the marks\nof care, and pain, and sin all wiped out. And more, the Transfiguration\nmount gives us indubitable proof that heaven and earth lie, virtually,\nclose together, and that the so-called \"departed\" are not entirely\nsevered from earthly things; they can still read the shadows upon\nearthly dials, and hear the strike of earthly hours. They are not so\nabsorbed and lost in the new glories as to take no note of earthly\nevents; nor are they restrained from visiting, at permitted times, the\nearth they have not wholly left; for as heaven was theirs, when on\nearth, in hope and anticipation, so now, in heaven, earth is theirs in\nthought and memory. They have still interests here, associations they\ncannot forget, friends who are still beloved, and harvests of influence\nthey still may reap. With the absurdities and follies of so-called\nSpiritualism we have no sort of sympathy--they are the vagaries of weak\nminds; but even their eccentricities and excesses shall not be allowed\nto rob us of what is a truly Christian hope, that they who cared for us\non earth care for us still, and that they who loved and prayed for us\nbelow love us none the less, and pray for us none the less frequently,\nnow that the conflict with them is over, and the eternal rest begun. And\nwhy may not their spirits touch ours, influencing our mind and heart,\neven when we are not conscious whence those influences come? for are\nthey not, with the angels, \"ministering spirits, sent forth to do\nservice for the sake of them that shall inherit salvation?\" The Mount of\nTransfiguration does indeed stand \"apart,\" for on its summit the paths\nof the celestials and of the terrestrials meet and merge; and it is\n\"high\" indeed, for it touches heaven.\n\n3. Again, the holy mount shows us the place of death in the life of\nJesus. How long the vision lasted we cannot tell, but in all probability\nthe interview was but brief. What supreme moments they were! and what a\nrush of tumultuous thoughts, we may suppose, would fill the minds of the\ntwo saints, as they stand again on the familiar earth! But listen! They\nspeak no word to revive the old-time memories; they bring no tidings of\nthe heavenly world; they do not even ask, as they well might, the\nthousand questions concerning His life and ministry. They think, they\nspeak, of one thing only, the \"decease which He was about to accomplish\nat Jerusalem.\" Here, then, we see the drift of heavenly minds, and here\nwe learn a truth which is wonderfully true, that the death of Jesus, the\ncross of Jesus, was the one central thought of heaven, as it is the one\ncentral hope of earth. But how can it be such if the life of Jesus is\nall we need, and if the death is but an ordinary death, an appendix,\nnecessary indeed, but unimportant? Such is the belief of some, but such\ncertainly is not the teaching of this narrative, nor of the other\nScriptures. Heaven sets the cross of Jesus \"in the midst,\" the one\ncentral fact of history. He was born that He might die; He lived that He\nmight die. All the lines of His human life converge upon Calvary, as He\nHimself said, \"For unto this hour came I into the world.\" And why is\nthat death so all-important, bending towards its cross all the lines of\nScripture, as it now monopolizes the speech of these two celestials?\nWhy? There is but one answer which is satisfactory, the answer St.\nPeter himself gives: \"His own Self bare our sins in His body upon the\ntree, that we, having died unto sins, might live unto righteousness\" (1\nPet. ii. 24). And so the Mount of Transfiguration looks towards the\nMount of Sacrifice. It lights up Calvary, and lays a wreath of glory\nupon the cross.\n\nWe need not speak again of Peter's random words, as he seeks to detain\nthe celestial visitants. He would fain prolong what to him is a Feast of\nTabernacles, and he suggests the building of three booths upon the\nmountain slope--\"one for Thee,\" putting his Lord first, \"and one for\nMoses, and one for Elias.\" He makes no mention of himself or of his\ncompanions. He is content to remain outside, so that he may only be\nnear, as it were on the fringe of the transfiguring glories. But what a\nstrange request! what wandering, delirious words, almost enough to make\ncelestials smile! Well might the Evangelist excuse Peter's random words\nby saying, \"Not knowing what he said.\" But if Peter gets no answer to\nhis request, and if he is not permitted to build the tabernacles, Heaven\nspreads over the group its canopy of cloud, that Shekinah-cloud whose\nvery shadow was brightness; while once again, as at the Baptism, a Voice\nspeaks out of the cloud, the voice of the Father: \"This is My Son, My\nChosen; hear ye Him.\" And so the mountain pageant fades; for when the\ncloud has passed away Moses and Elias have disappeared, \"Jesus only\" is\nleft with the three disciples. Then they retrace their steps down the\nmountain side, the three carrying in their heart a precious memory, the\nstrains of a lingering music, which they only put into words when the\nSon of man is risen from the dead; while Jesus turns, not reluctantly,\nfrom the opened door and the welcome of Heaven, to make an atonement\nupon Calvary, and through the veil of His rent flesh to make a way for\nsinful man even into the Holiest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\n_THE GOOD SAMARITAN._\n\nLUKE x. 25-37.\n\n\nIt would scarcely have accorded with the traditions of human nature had\nthe teachers of religion looked favourably upon Jesus. Stepping, as He\ndid, within their domain, without any human ordination or scholastic\nauthority, they naturally resented the intrusion, and when the teaching\nof the new Rabbi so distinctly contravened their own interpretation of\nthe law their curiosity deepened into jealousy, and curdled at last into\na virulent hate. The ecclesiastical atmosphere was charged with\nelectricity, but it only manifested itself at first in the harmless play\nof summer lightning, the cross-fire of half-earnest and half-captious\nquestions; later it was the forked lightning that struck Him down into a\ngrave.\n\nWe have no means of localizing, either in point of time or place, the\nincident here recorded by our Evangelist, and which, by the way, only\nSt. Luke mentions. It stands by itself, bearing in its dependent parable\nof the Good Samaritan an exquisite and perfect flower, from whose deep\ncup has dropped the very nectar of the gods.\n\nIt was probably during one of His public discourses that a \"certain\nlawyer,\" or scribe--for the two titles are used interchangeably--\"stood\nup and tempted Him.\" He sought to prove Him by questions, as the word\nmeans here, hoping to entrap Jesus amid the vagaries of Rabbinical\ntradition. \"Teacher,\" said he, hiding his sinister motive behind a veil\nof courtesy and apparent candour, \"what shall I do to inherit eternal\nlife?\" Had the question been sincere, Jesus would probably have given a\ndirect answer; but reading the under-current of his thought, which moved\ntransversely to the surface-current of his speech, Jesus simply answered\nhis question by asking another: \"What is written in the Law? How readest\nthou?\" With a readiness which implied a perfect familiarity with the\nLaw, he replied, \"Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart,\nand with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind;\nand thy neighbour as thyself.\" Some expositors have thought that the\nEvangelist here gives the summary of what was a lengthened conversation,\nand that Jesus Himself led the mind of the lawyer to join together these\ndetached portions of Scripture--one from Deuteronomy vi. 5, and the\nother from Leviticus xix. 18. It is true there is a striking resemblance\nbetween the answer of the lawyer and the answer Jesus Himself gave\nsubsequently to a similar question (Mark xii. 30, 31); but there is no\nnecessity for us to apologize for the resemblance, as if it were\nimprobable and unnatural. The fact is, as the narrative of Mark xii.\nplainly indicates, that these two sentences were held in general consent\nas the epitome of the Law, its first and its second commandment. Even\nthe scribe assents to this as an axiomatic truth he has no wish to\nchallenge. It will be observed that a fourth term is added to the three\nof the original, possibly on account of the Septuagint rendering, which\ntranslated the Hebrew \"heart\" by \"mind.\" Godet suggests that since the\nterm \"heart\" is the most general term, denoting \"in Scripture the\ncentral focus from which all the rays of the moral life go forth,\" that\nit stands in apposition to the other three, the one in its three\nparticulars. This, which is the most natural interpretation, would refer\nthe \"mind\" to the intellectual faculties, the \"soul\" to the emotional\nfaculties, the sensibilities, and the \"might\" to the will, which rules\nall force; while by the \"heart\" is meant the unit, the \"centred self,\"\ninto which the others merge, and of which they form a part.\n\nJesus commended him for his answer: \"Thou hast answered right: this do,\nand thou shalt live\"--words which brushed away completely the Hebraic\nfigment of inherited life. That life was not something that should be\nreached by processes of loving. The life should precede the love, and\nshould give birth to it: the love should grow out of the life, its\nblossoming flower.\n\nHaving the tables so turned upon himself, and wishing to \"justify,\" or\nto put himself right, the stranger asks still another question: \"And who\nis my neighbour?\" doubtless hoping to cover his retreat in the smoke of\na burning question. To our minds, made familiar with the thought of\nhumanity, it seems as if a question so simple scarcely deserved such an\nelaborate answer as Jesus gave to it. But the thought of humanity had\nnot yet possessed the world; indeed, it had only just come to earth, to\nbe spoken by, and incarnate in, Him who was the Son of man. To the Jew\nthe question of the lawyer was a most important one. The word\n\"neighbour\" could be spoken in a breath; but unwind that word, and it\nmeasures off the whole of our earthly life, it covers all our practical,\nevery-day duties. It ran through the pages of the Law, the ark in which\nthe Golden Rule was hidden; or like a silent angel, it flashed its sword\nacross life's forbidden paths. But if the Jew could not erase this broad\nword from the pages of the Law, he could narrow and emasculate its\nmeaning by an interpretation of his own. And this they had done, making\nthis Divine word almost of none effect by their tradition. To the Jewish\nmind \"neighbour\" was simply \"Jew\" spelt large. The only neighbourhood\nthey recognized was the narrow neighbourhood of Hebrew speech and Hebrew\nsympathies. The Hebrew mind was isolated as their land, and all who\ncould not frame their shibboleths were barbarians, Gentiles, whom they\nwere at perfect liberty to spoil, as with anathemas and swords they\nchased them over their Jordans. Jesus, however, is on the alert; and how\nwisely He answers! He does not declaim against the narrowness of Hebrew\nthought; He utters no denunciatory word against their proud and false\nexclusiveness. He quietly unfolds the word, spreading it out into an\nexquisite parable, that all coming times may see how beautiful, how\nDivine the word \"neighbour\" is.\n\nHe said, \"A certain man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho; and he\nfell among robbers, which both stripped him, and beat him, and departed,\nleaving him half dead.\" The parables of Jesus, though drawn from real\nlife, had no local colouring. They grouped themselves around some\nwell-known fact of nature, or some general custom of social life; and so\ntheir spirit was national or cosmopolitan, rather than local. Here,\nhowever, Jesus departs from His usual manner, giving to His parable a\nlocal habitation. It is the road which led steeply down from Jerusalem\nto Jericho, and which for centuries has been so infested with robbers or\nbandits as to earn for itself the darkly ominous name of \"the Bloody\nWay.\" Possibly that name itself is an outgrowth from the parable; but\nwhether so or not, it is scarcely to be supposed that it had so evil a\ncharacter in the days of Christ. As Jericho then was a populous city,\nand intimately connected with Jerusalem in its social and business life,\nthe road would be much frequented. Indeed, the parable indicates as\nmuch; for Jesus, whose words were never untrue to nature or to history,\nrepresents His three travellers as all journeying singly; while the khan\nor \"inn\" shows, in its reflection, a constant stream of travel. Our\nanonymous traveller, however, does not find it so safe as he had\nanticipated. Attacked, in one of its dusky ravines, by a band of\nbrigands, they strip him of his clothing, with whatever the girdle-purse\nmight contain, and beating him out of sheer devilry, they leave him by\nthe road-side, unable to walk, unable even to rise, a living-dying man.\n\n\"And by chance, a certain priest was going down that way; and when he\nsaw him he passed by on the other side. And in like manner a Levite\nalso, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other\nside.\" As in a _tableaux vivants_, Jesus shows us the two ecclesiastics,\nwho come in sight in the happy, coincidental way that Romance so\ndelights in. They had probably just completed their \"course\" of Temple\nservice, and were now going down to Jericho, which was a favourite\nresidence of the priests, for the somewhat long interval their sacred\nduties allowed them. They had, therefore, no pressure of business upon\nthem; indeed, the verb would almost imply that the priest was walking\nleisurely along. But they bring no help to the wounded man. Directly\nthey see him, instead of being drawn to him by the attractions of\nsympathy, something, either the shock or the fright, acts upon them as\na centrifugal force, and sends them describing an arc of a circle around\nthat centre of groans and blood. At any rate they \"passed by on the\nother side,\" leaving behind them neither deed nor word of mercy, but\nleaving behind them a shadow of themselves which, while time itself\nlasts, will be vivid, cold, and repelling. It is just possible, however,\nthat they do not deserve all the unmeasured censure which the critics\nand the centuries have given, and are still likely to give. It is very\neasy for us to condemn their action as selfish, heartless; but let us\nput ourselves in their place, alone in the lonely pass, with this proof\nof an imminent danger sprung suddenly upon us, and it is possible that\nwe ourselves should not have been quite so brave as by our safe\nfiresides we imagine ourselves to be. The fact is it needed something\nmore than sympathy to make them turn aside and befriend the wounded man;\nit needed physical courage, and that of the highest kind, and this\nwanting, sympathy itself would not be sufficient. The heart might long\nto help, even when the feet were hastening away. A sudden inrush of\nfear, even of vague alarm, will sometimes drive us contrary to the drift\nof our sympathies, just as our feet are lifted and we ourselves carried\nonwards by a surging crowd.\n\nWhether this be a correct interpretation of their conduct or not, it\ncertainly harmonizes with the general attitude of Jesus towards the\npriesthood. The chief priests were always and bitterly hostile, but we\nhave reasonable ground for supposing that the priests, as a body, looked\nfavouringly upon Jesus. The bolts of terrible \"woes\" are hurled against\nPharisees and scribes, yet Jesus does not condemn the priests in a\nsingle word; while in that aftermath of the Pentecost the Temple courts\nyielded the richest harvests, as \"a great company of the priests were\nobedient to the faith.\" If, then, Jesus now holds up the priesthood to\nexecration, setting these ecclesiastics in the pillory of His parable,\nthat the coming centuries may throw sharp words at them, it is certainly\nan exceptional mood. The sweet silence has curdled into acrid speech.\nBut even here Jesus does not condemn, except, as it would seem, by\nimplication, the conduct of the priest and Levite. They come into the\nparable rather as accessories, and Jesus makes use of them as a foil, to\nthrow out into bolder relief the central figure, which is the Samaritan,\nand so to emphasize His central truth, which is the real answer to the\nlawyer's question, that \"neighbour\" is too broad, and too human, a word\nto be cut off and eliminated by any boundaries of race.\n\nBut in thus casting a mantle of charity around our priest and Levite, we\nmust admit that the character is sometimes true even down to recent\ndays. Ecclesiasticism and religion, alas! are not always synonyms.\nRevolted Israel sins and sacrifices by turns, and seeking to keep the\nbalance in equal poise, she puts over against her multitude of sins her\nmultitude of sacrifices. Religiousness may be at times but a cloak for\nmoral laxity, and to some rite is more than right. There are those,\nalas! to-day, who wear the livery of the Temple, to whom religion is a\nroutine mechanism of dead things, rather than the commerce of living\nhearts, who open with hireling hand the Temple gates, who chant with\nhireling lips how \"His mercy endureth for ever,\" and then step down from\ntheir sacred Jerusalem, to toss justice and mercy to the winds, as they\ndefraud the widow and oppress the poor.\n\n\"But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when\nhe saw him, he was moved with compassion, and came to him, and bound up\nhis wounds, pouring on them oil and wine; and he set him on his own\nbeast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him.\" At first sight\nit would appear as if Jesus had weakened the narrative by a\ntopographical inaccuracy, as if He had gone out of His way to place a\nSamaritan on the road to Jericho, which was altogether out of the line\nof Samaritan travel. But it is a deliberate purpose on the part of\nJesus, and not a _lapsus lingu\u00e6_, that introduces this Samaritan; for\nthis is the gist of the whole parable. The man who had fallen among the\nrobbers was doubtless a Jew; for had it been otherwise, the fact would\nhave been stated. Now there was no question as to whether the word\n\"neighbour\" embraced their fellow-countrymen; the question was whether\nit passed beyond their national bounds, opening up lines of duty across\nthe outlying world. It is therefore almost a necessity that the one who\nteaches this lesson should be himself an alien, a foreigner, and Jesus\nchooses the Samaritan as being of a race against which Jewish\nantipathies were especially strong, but for which He Himself had a\nspecial regard and warmest sympathy. Though occupying adjacent\nterritory, the Jews and the Samaritans practically were far apart,\nantipodal races we might almost call them. Between them lay a wide and\ndeep chasm that trade even could not bridge, and across which the\ncourtesies and sympathies of life never passed. \"The Jews have no\ndealings with the Samaritans,\" said the flippant woman of Samaria, as\nshe voiced a jealousy and hatred which were as mutual as they were deep.\nBut here, in this ideal Samaritan, is a noble exception. Though\nbelonging to a lowly and obscure race, his thoughts are high. The ear of\nhis soul has so caught the rhythm of Divine harmonies that it does not\nhear longer the little lisping shibboleths of earthly speech; and while\nthe sympathies of smaller hearts flow like a stream down in their\nwell-defined and accustomed channel, seldom knowing any overflow, save\nin some rare freshet of impulse and of feeling, the sympathies of the\nSamaritan moved outward like the currents of the wind, sweeping across\nall chasms and over all mountain heights of division, bearing their\nclouds of blessing anywhither as the need required. It makes no\ndifference to him that the fallen man is of an alien race. He is a\n_man_, and that is enough; and he is down, and must be raised; he is in\nneed, and must be helped. The priest and Levite thought first and most\nof themselves, and giving to the man but a brief and scared look, they\npassed on with a quickened pace. Not so with the Samaritan; he loses all\nthought of himself, and is perfectly oblivious to the danger he himself\nmay be running. Upon his great soul he feels the pressure of this\n\"must;\" it runs along the tightened muscles of his arm, as he checks his\nsteed. He himself comes down, dismounting, that he may help the man to\nrise. He opens his flask and puts his wine to the lips, that their\ngroans may cease, or that they may be soothed down into inarticulate\nspeech. The oil he has brought for his own food he pours upon the\nwounds, and when the man has sufficiently recovered he lifts him upon\nhis own beast and takes him to the inn. Nor is this enough for his great\nheart, but continuing his journey on the morrow, he first arranges with\nhis host that the man shall be well cared for, giving him two pence,\nwhich was the two days' wages of a labouring man, at the same time\ntelling him that he must not limit his attentions to the sum he pays in\nadvance, but that if anything more should be needed he would pay the\nbalance on his return. We do not read whether it was needed or not, for\nthe Samaritan, mounting his steed, passes out of our hearing and out of\nour sight. Not quite out of our hearing, however, for Heaven has caught\nhis gentle, loving words, and hidden them within this parable, that all\ncoming times may listen to their music; nor out of our sight either, for\nhis photograph was caught in the sunlight of the Master's speech; and as\nwe turn over the pages of Inspiration there is no picture more beautiful\nthan that of the nameless Samaritan, whom all the world calls \"the\nGood,\" the man who knew so much better than his age what humanity and\nmercy meant.\n\nIn the new light the lawyer can answer his own question now, and he\ndoes; for when Jesus asks, \"Which of these three, thinkest thou, proved\nneighbour unto him that fell among the robbers?\" he replies, with no\nhesitation, but with a lingering prejudice that does not care to\npronounce the, to him, outlandish name, \"He that showed mercy on him.\"\nThe lesson is learned, the lesson of humanity, for the whole parable is\nbut an amplification of the Golden Rule, and Jesus dismisses the subject\nand the scholar with the personal application, which is but a corollary\nof the proposition He has demonstrated, \"Go thou and do likewise.\" Go\nand do to others as you would have them do to you, were the\ncircumstances reversed and your places changed. Read off your duty, not\nfrom your own low standpoint merely, but in a binocular vision, as you\nput yourself in his place; so will you find that the line of duty and\nthe line of beauty are one.\n\nThe practical lessons of the parable are easy to trace, as they are of\nuniversal application. The first, lesson it teaches is the lesson of\nhumanity, the neighbourhood and brotherhood of man. It is a convenience,\nand perhaps a necessity, of human life, that the great mass of humanity\nshould be broken up into fragments, sections, with differing customs,\nlanguages, and names. It gives to the world the stimulus of competition\nand helpful rivalries. But these distinctions are superficial,\ntemporary, and beneath this diversity of speech and thought there is the\ndeeper unity of soul. We emphasize our differences; we pride ourselves\nupon them; but how little does Heaven make of them! Heaven does not even\nsee them. Our national boundaries may climb up over the Alps, but they\ncannot touch the sky. Those skies look down and smile on all alike,\ndivinely impartial in their gifts of beauty and of light. And how little\nof the provincial, or even national, there was about Jesus! Though He\nkept Himself almost entirely within the borders of the Holy Land, never\ngoing far from His central pivot, which was Jerusalem, and its cross,\nyet He belonged to the world, as the world belonged to Him. He called\nHimself the Son of man, at once humanity's flower, and humanity's Son\nand Saviour. And as over the cradle of the Son of man the far east and\nthe far west together leaned, so around His cross was the meeting-place\nof the races. The three chief languages inscribed upon it proclaimed His\nroyalty, while the cross itself, on which the Sacrifice for humanity was\nto be offered, was itself the gift of humanity at large, as Asia\nprovided it, and Europe prepared it, and Africa, in the person of the\nCyrenean, bore it. In the mind of Jesus, as in the purpose of God,\nhumanity was not a group of fractions, but a unit one and indivisible,\nmade of one blood, and by one Blood redeemed. In the heart of Jesus\nthere was the \"enthusiasm of humanity,\" all-absorbing and complete, and\nthat enthusiasm takes possession of us, a new force generated in our\nlives, as we approach in spirit the great Ideal Man.\n\nThe second lesson of the parable is the lesson of mercy, the beauty of\nself-sacrifice. It was because the Samaritan forgot himself that all the\nworld has remembered and applauded him. It is because of his stoop of\nself-renouncing love that his character is so exalted, his memory so\ndear, and that his very name, which is a title without a name, floats\ndown the ages like a sweet song. \"Go and do thou likewise\" is the\nMaster's word to us. Discipline your heart that you may see in man\neverywhere a brother, whose keeper you are. Let fraternity be, not a\ntheory only, but a realized fact, and then a factor of your life. Train\nyour eye to watch for others' needs, to read another's woe. Train your\nsoul to sympathy, and your hand to helpfulness; for in our world there\nis room enough for both. Bethesda's porches stretch far as our eye can\nreach, all crowded, too, with the sorrowing, the sick, and the sad,\nthick enough indeed, but not so close as that an angel's foot may not\nstep between them, and not so sad but an angel's voice may soothe and\ncheer. He who lifts another's load, who soothes another's smart, who\nbrightens a life that else would be dark, who puts a music within a\nbrother's soul, though it be only for a passing moment, wakes even a\nsweeter music within his own, for he enters on earth into his Master's\njoy, the joy of a redeeming, self-sacrificing love.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\n_THE TWO SISTERS._\n\nLUKE x. 38-42.\n\n\nAt first sight it appears as if our Evangelist had departed from the\norderly arrangement of which he speaks in his prelude, in thus linking\nthis domestic scene of Jud\u00e6a with His northern Galilean journey, and to\nthe casual glance this home-flower does certainly seem an exotic in\n_this_ garden of the Lord. The strangeness, the out-of-placeness,\nhowever, vanishes entirely upon a nearer, closer view. If, as is\nprobable, the parable of the Good Samaritan was spoken during that\nnorthward journey, its scene lies away in Jud\u00e6a, in the dangerous road\nthat sweeps down from Jerusalem to Jericho. Now, this road to Jericho\nlay through the village of Bethany, and in the Evangelist's mind the two\nplaces are intimately connected, as we see (chap. xix. vv. 1, 29); so\nthat the idyll of Bethany would follow the parable of the Good Samaritan\nwith a certain naturalness, the one recalling the other by the simple\nassociation of ideas. Then, too, it harmonizes so thoroughly with its\ncontext, as it comes between a parable on works and a chapter on prayer.\nIn the one, man is the doer, heart and hand going out in the beautiful\nministries of love; in the other, man is the receiver, waiting upon God,\nopening hand and heart for the inflow of Divine grace. In one it is Love\nin action that we see; in the other it is Love at rest, at rest from\nactivities of her own, in quest of further good. This is exactly the\npicture our Evangelist draws of the two sisters, and which might have\nserved as a parable had it not been so plainly taken from real life.\nPerhaps, too, another consideration influenced the Evangelist, and one\nthat is suggested by the studied vagueness of the narrative. He gives no\nclue as to where the little incident occurred, for the \"certain village\"\nmight be equally appropriate in Samaria or Jud\u00e6a; while the two names,\nMartha and Mary, apart from the corroboration of St. John's Gospel,\nwould not enable us to localize the scene. It is evident that St. Luke\nwished to throw around them a sort of _incognito_, probably because they\nwere still living when he wrote, and too great publicity might subject\nthem to inconvenience, or even to something more. And so St. Luke\nconsiderately masks the picture, shutting off the background of\nlocality, while St. John, who writes at a later date, when Jerusalem has\nfallen, and who is under no such obligation of reserve, fixes the scene\nprecisely; for there can be no doubt that the Mary and Martha of his\nGospel, of Bethany, are the Martha and Mary of St. Luke; their very\ncharacters, as well as names, are identical.\n\nIt was in one of His journeys to the south, though we have no means of\ntelling which, that He came to Bethany, a small village on the eastern\nslope of Olivet, and about three-quarters of an hour from Jerusalem.\nThere are several indications in the Gospels that this was a favourite\nresort of Jesus during His Jud\u00e6an ministry (Matt. xxi. 1; John viii. 1);\nand it is somewhat singular that the only nights that we read He spent\nin Jerusalem were the night in the garden and the two nights He slept\nin its grave. He preferred the quiet haven of Bethany; and though we\ncannot with absolute certainty recognize the village home where Jesus\nhad such frequent welcome, yet throwing the side-light of John xi. 5\nupon the haze, it seems in part to lift; for the deep affection Jesus\nhad for the three implies a close and ripened intimacy.\n\nSt. John, in his allusions to the family, makes Mary prominent, giving\nprecedence to her name, as he calls Bethany \"the village of Mary and her\nsister Martha\" (John xi. 1). St. Luke, however, makes Martha the central\nfigure of his picture, while Mary is set back in the shade, or rather in\nthe sunshine of that Presence which was and is the Light of the world.\nIt was, \"Martha received Him into her house.\" She was the recognized\nhead of the family, \"the lady\" in fact, as well as by the implication of\nher name, which was the native equivalent of \"lady.\" It was she who gave\nthe invitation to the Master, and on her devolved all the care of the\nentertainment, the preparation of the feast, and the reception of the\nguests; for though the change of pronoun in ver. 38 from \"they\" to \"Him\"\nwould lead us to suppose that the disciples had gone another way, and\nwere not with Him now, still the \"much serving\" would show that it was a\nspecial occasion, and that others had been invited to meet Jesus.\n\nIt is a significant coincidence that St. John, speaking (xii. 2) of\nanother supper at Bethany, in the house of Simon, states that Martha\n\"served,\" using the same word that Jesus addressed to her in the\nnarrative of St. Luke. Evidently Martha was a \"server.\" This was her\nforte, so much so that her services were in requisition outside her own\nhouse. Hers was a culinary skill, and she delighted with her sleight of\nhand to effect all sorts of transformations, as, conjuring with her\nfire, she called forth the pleasures and harmonies of taste. In this\ncase, however, she overdid it; she went beyond her strength. Perhaps her\nguests outnumbered her invitations, or something unforeseen had upset\nher plans, so that some of the viands were belated. At any rate, she was\ncumbered, distracted, \"put about\" as our modern colloquialism would have\nit. Perhaps we might say she was \"put out\" as well, for we can certainly\ndetect a trace of irritability both in her manner and in her speech. She\nbreaks in suddenly among the guests (the aorist participle gives the\nrustle of a quick movement), and in the hearing of them all she says to\nJesus, \"Lord, dost Thou not care that my sister did leave me to serve\nalone? bid her therefore that she help me.\" Her tone is sharp,\nquerulous, and her words send a deep chill across the table, as when a\nsea-fret drifts coldly inland. If Mary was in the wrong thus to sit at\nthe feet of Jesus, Martha certainly was not in the right. There was no\noccasion to give this public reprimand, this round-hand rebuke. She\nmight have come and secretly called her, as she did afterwards, on the\nday of their sorrow, and probably Mary would have risen as quickly now\nas then. But Martha is overweighted, ruffled; her feelings get the\nbetter of her judgment, and she speaks, out of the impatience of her\nheart, words she never would have spoken had she but known that\nInspiration would keep their echoes reverberating down all the years of\ntime. And besides, her words were somewhat lacking in respect to the\nMaster. True, she addresses Him as \"Lord;\" but having done this, she\ngoes off into an interrogative with an implied censure in it, and closes\nwith an imperative, which, to say the least, was not becoming, while\nall through an undue emphasis is laid upon the first personal pronoun,\nthe \"me\" of her aggrieved self.\n\nTurning to the other sister, we find a striking contrast, for Mary, as\nour Evangelist puts it, \"also sat at the Lord's feet, and heard His\nword.\" This does not imply any forwardness on her part, or any desire to\nmake herself conspicuous; the whole drift of her nature was in the\nopposite direction. Sitting \"at His feet\" now that they were reclining\nat the table, meant sitting behind Him, alone amid the company, and\nscreened from their too-curious gaze by Him who drew all eyes to\nHimself. Nor does she break through her womanly reserve to take part in\nthe conversation; she simply \"heard His word;\" or \"she kept listening,\"\nas the imperfect tense denotes. She put herself in the listening\nattitude, content to be in the shadow, outside the charmed circle, if\nshe only might hear Him speak, whose words fell like a rain of music\nupon her soul. Her sister chided her for this, and the large family of\nmodern Marthas--for feminine sentiment is almost entirely on Martha's\nside--blame her severely, for what they call the selfishness of her\nconduct, seeking her own enjoyment, even though others must pay the\nprice of it. But was Mary so utterly selfish? and did she sacrifice duty\nto gratify her inclination? Not at all, and certainly not to the extent\nour Marthas would have us believe. Mary had assisted in the preparations\nand the reception, as the \"also\" of ver. 39 shows; while Martha's own\nwords, \"My sister did leave me to serve alone,\" themselves imply that\nMary had shared the labours of the entertainment before taking her place\nat the feet of Jesus. The probability is that she had completed her\ntask; and now that He who spake as never man spake before was\nconversing with the guests, she could not forego the privilege of\nlistening to the voice she might not hear again.\n\nIt is to Jesus, however, that we must go with our rivalry of claims. He\nis our Court of Equity. His estimate of character was never at fault. He\nlooked at the essences of things, the soul of things, and not to the\noutward wrappings of circumstance, and He read that palimpsest of\nmotive, the underlying thought, more easily than others could read the\noutward act. And certainly Jesus had no apology for selfishness; His\nwhole life was one war against it, and against sin, which is but\nselfishness ripened. But how does Jesus adjust this sisterly difference?\nDoes He dismiss the listener, and send her back to an unfinished task?\nDoes He pass on to her Martha's warm reproof? Not at all; but He gently\nreproves the elder sister. \"Martha, Martha,\" He said, as if her mind had\nwandered, and the iteration was necessary to call her to herself, \"thou\nart anxious and troubled about many things: but one thing is needful:\nfor Mary hath chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from\nher.\"\n\nIt is easy to see from this where Jesus thought the blame should rest.\nIt was Martha who had taken too much upon herself. Her generous heart\nhad gone beyond her strength, and far beyond the need. Wishing to do\nhonour to her Guest, studying to please Him, she had been over-lavish in\nher entertainment, until she had become worried--anxious, troubled, as\nJesus said, the former word referring to the inner disquiet, the unrest\nof soul, and the latter to the outward perturbation, the tremor of the\nnerves, and the cloudiness that looked from her eyes. The fact was that\nMartha had misread the tastes of her Guest. She thought to please Him\nby the abundance of her provision, the largeness of her hospitality; but\nfor these lower pleasures of sense and of taste Jesus cared little. He\nhad meat to eat that others knew not of, and to do the will of Him that\nsent Him was to Jesus more than any ambrosia or nectar of the gods. The\nmore simple the repast, the more it pleased Him, whose thoughts were\nhigh in the heavenly places, even while His feet and the mortal body He\nwore touched lightly the earth. And so while Martha's motive was pure,\nher judgment was mistaken, and her eager heart tempted her to works of\nsupererogation, to an excess of care which was anxiety, the fret and\nfever of the soul. Had she been content with a modest service, such as\nwould have pleased her Guest, she too might have found time to sit at\nHis feet, and to have found there an Elim of rest and a Mount of\nBeatitudes.\n\nBut while Jesus has a kind rebuke for Martha, He has only words of\ncommendation for her sister, whom she has been so openly and sharply\nupbraiding. \"Mary,\" He said, speaking the name Martha had not uttered,\n\"hath chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her.\" He\nanswers Martha in her own language, her native tongue; for in speaking\nof Mary's choice as the \"good part,\" it is a culinary phrase, the\n_parlance_ of the kitchen or the table, meaning the choice bit. The\nphrase is in apposition with the one thing which is needful, which\nitself is the antithesis to the \"many things\" of Martha's care. What the\n\"one thing\" is of which Jesus speaks we cannot say with certainty, and\nalmost numberless have been the interpretations given to it. But without\ngoing into them, can we not find the truest interpretation in the Lord's\nown words? We think we may, for in the Sermon on the Mount we have an\nexact parallel to the narrative. He finds people burdened, anxious about\nthe things of this life, wearying themselves with the interminable\nquestions, \"What shall we eat? or What shall we drink?\" as if life had\nno quest higher and vaster than these. And Jesus rebukes this spirit of\nanxiety, exorcising it by an appeal to the lilies and the grass of the\nfield; and summing up His condemnation of anxiety, He adds the\ninjunction, \"Seek ye His kingdom, and these things shall be added unto\nyou\" (xii. 31). Here, again, we have the \"many things\" of human care and\nstrife contrasted with the \"one thing\" which is of supremest moment.\nFirst, the kingdom; this in the mind of Jesus was the _summum bonum_,\nthe highest good of man, compared with which the \"many things\" for which\nmen strive and toil are but the dust of the balances. And this was the\nchoice of Mary. She sought the kingdom of God, sitting at the feet of\nHim who proclaimed it, and who was, though she knew it not as yet,\nHimself the King. Martha too sought the kingdom, but her distracted mind\nshowed that that was not her only, perhaps not her chief quest. Earthly\nthings weighed too heavily upon her mind and heart, and through their\ndust the heavenly things became somewhat obscured. Mary's heart was set\nheavenward. She was the listener, eager to know the will of God, that\nshe might do it. Martha was so busied with her own activities that she\ncould not give her thoughts to Christ; Mary ceased from her works, that\nso she might enter into His rest, setting the world behind her, that her\nundivided gaze might be upon Him who was truly her Lord. And so Jesus\nloved Martha, yet pitied and chided her, while He loved and commended\nMary.\n\nNor was the \"good part\" ever taken from her, for again and again we find\nher returning to the feet of Jesus. In the day of their great sorrow, as\nsoon as she heard that the Master had come and called her, she arose\nquickly, and coming to Jesus, though it was the bare, dusty ground, she\nfell at His feet, seeking strength and help where she before had sought\nlight and truth. And once more: when the shadow of the cross came\nvividly near, when Simon gave the feast which Martha served, Mary sought\nthose feet again, to pour upon them the precious and fragrant nard, the\nsweet odours of which filled all the house, as they have since filled\nall the world. Yes, Mary did not sit at the feet of Jesus in vain; she\nhad learned to know Christ as few of the disciples did; for when Jesus\nsaid, \"She has done it for My burying,\" He intends us to infer that Mary\nfeels, stealing over her retiring but loving soul, the cold and awful\nshadow of the cross. Her broken alabaster and its poured-out spikenard\nare her unspoken ode to the Redeemer, her pre-dated homage to the\nCrucified.\n\nAnd so we find in Mary the truest type of service. Hers was not always\nthe passive attitude, receiving and never giving, absorbing and not\ndiffusing. There was the service before the session; her hands had\nprepared and wrought for Christ before she placed herself at His feet,\nand the sacrifice followed, as she brought her costly gift, to the\nastonishment of all the rest, her sweet and healing balm for the wounds\nwhich were soon to follow.\n\nThe life that is all receptive, that has no active ministries of love,\nno waiting upon Christ in the person of His followers, is an unnatural,\nan unhealthy life, a piece of morbid selfishness which neither pleases\nGod nor blesses man. On the other hand, the life that is always busy,\nthat is in a constant swirl of outward duties, flying here and there\nlike the stormy petrel over the unresting waves, will soon weary or wear\nitself out, or it will grow into an automaton, a mechanism without a\nsoul. Receiving, giving, praying, working--these are the alternate\nchords on which the music of our lives should be struck. Heavenward,\nearthward, should be the alternate looks--heavenward in our waiting upon\nGod, and earthward in our service for man. That life shines the most and\nis seen the farthest which reflects most of the heavenly light; and he\nserves Christ the best who now sits humbly and prayerfully at His feet,\nand then goes forth to be a \"living echo\" of His voice, breaking for Him\nthe alabaster of a self-sacrificing love. As one has beautifully\nexpressed it, \"The effective life and the receptive life are one. No\nsweep of arm that does some work for God but harvests also some more of\nthe truth of God and sweeps it into the treasury of the life.\"[3]\n\n  [3] Phillips Brooks.\n\nBut if Mary gives us a type of the truest and best service, Martha shows\nus a kind of service which is only too common. She gave to Jesus a right\nloving welcome, and was delighted with the privilege of ministering to\nHis wants; but the coming of Jesus brought her, not peace, but\ndistraction--not rest, but worry. Her very service ruffled and irritated\nher, until mind and heart were like the tempestuous lake ere the spell\nof the Divine \"Peace\" fell upon it. And all the time the Christ was\nnear, who could bear each burden, and still all the disquiet of the\nsoul! But Martha was all absorbed in the thought of what she could do\nfor Him, and she forgot how much more He could do for her, giving to\nher chafed spirit quietness and rest, even amid her toil. The Divine\nPeace was near her, within her home, but the hurryings of her restless\nwill and her manifold activities effectually excluded that peace from\nher heart.\n\nAnd how many who call themselves Christians are true Marthas, serving\nChrist, but feeling the yoke to chafe, and the burden to weight them!\nperhaps preaching to others the Gospel of rest and peace, and themselves\nknowing little of its experience and blessedness--like the camels of the\ndesert, which carry their treasures of corn and sweet spices to others,\nand themselves feed on the bitter and prickly herbs. Ah, you are too\nmuch upon your feet! Cease for awhile from your own works, and let God\nwork in you. Wait in His presence. Let His words take hold of you, and\nHis love enthuse you; so will you find rest amid your toil, calmness\namid the strife, and you will prove that the fret and the fever of life\nwill all disappear at the touch of the living Christ.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\n_LOST AND FOUND._\n\nLUKE xv.\n\n\nIn this chapter we see how the waves of influence, moving outward from\ntheir Divine centre, touch the outermost fringe of humanity, sending the\npulsations of new excitements and new hopes through classes Religion and\nSociety both had banned. \"Now all the publicans and sinners were drawing\nnear unto Him, for to hear Him.\" It was evidently a movement widespread\nand deep. The hostility of Pharisees and scribes would naturally give to\nthese outcasts a certain bias in His favour, causing their hearts to\nlean towards him, while His words of hope fell upon their lives like the\nbreaking of a new dawn. Nor did Jesus forbid their approach. Instead of\nlooking upon it as an intrusion, an impertinence, the attraction was\nmutual. Instead of receiving them with a cold and scant courtesy, He\nwelcomed them, receiving them gladly, as the verb of the Pharisees'\nmurmur implies. He even mingled with them in social intercourse, with an\nacceptance, if not an interchange, of hospitality. To the Pharisaic\nmind, however, this was a flagrant lapse, a breach of the proprieties\nwhich was unpardonable and half criminal, and they gave vent to their\ndisapprobation and disgust in the loud and scornful murmur, \"This man\nreceiveth sinners, and eateth with them.\" It is from this hard sentence\nof withering contempt, as from a prickly and bitter calyx, we have the\ntrifoliate parables of the Lost Sheep, the Lost Coin, and the Lost Man,\nthe last of which is perhaps the crown and flower of all the parables.\nWith minor differences, the three parables are really one, emphasizing,\nas they reiterate, the one truth how Heaven seeks after the lost of\nearth, and how it rejoices when the lost is found.\n\nThe first parable is pastoral: \"What man of you,\" asks Jesus, using the\n_Tu quoque_ retort, \"having a hundred sheep, and having lost one of\nthem, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after\nthat which is lost, until he find it?\" It is one of those questions\nwhich only need to be asked to be answered, an interrogative which is\naxiomatic and self-evident. Jesus tries to set his detractors in His\nplace, that they may think His thoughts, feel His feelings, as they look\nout on the world from His standpoint; but since they cannot follow Him\nto these redemptive heights, He comes down to the lower level of their\nvision. \"Suppose you have a hundred sheep, and one of them, getting\nseparated from the rest, goes astray, what do you do? Dismissing it from\nyour thought, do you leave it to its fate, the certain slaughter that\nawaits it from the wild beasts? or do you seek to minimize your loss,\nworking it out by the rule of proportion as you ask, 'What is one to\nninety-nine?' then writing off the lost one, not as a unit, but as a\ncommon fraction? No; such a supposition is incredible and impossible.\nYou would go in search of the lost directly. Turning your back upon the\nninety and nine, and turning your thoughts from them too, you would\nleave them in their mountain pasture,[4] as you sought the lost one.\nCalling it by its name, you would climb the terraced hills, and awake\nthe echoes of the wadies, until the flinty heart of the mountain had\nfelt the sympathy of your sorrow, repeating with you the lost wanderer's\nname. And when at last you found it you would not chide or punish it;\nyou would not even force it to retrace its steps across the weary\ndistance, but taking compassion on its weakness, you would lift it upon\nyour shoulders and bear it rejoicing home. Then forgetful of your own\nweariness, fatigue and anxiety swallowed up in the new-found joy, you\nwould go round to your neighbours, to break the good news to them, and\nso all would rejoice together.\"\n\n  [4] The word rendered \"wilderness\" means any land unenclosed.\n\nSuch is the picture, warm in colour and instinct with life, Jesus\nsketches in a few well-chosen words. He delicately conceals all\nreference to Himself; but even the chromatic vision of the Pharisees\nwould plainly perceive how complete was its justification of His own\nconduct, in mingling thus with the erring and the lost; while to us the\nparable is but a veil of words, through which we discern the form and\nfeatures of the \"Good Shepherd,\" who gave even His life for the sheep,\nseeking that He might save that which was lost.\n\nThe second, which is a twin parable, is from domestic life. As in the\nparables of the kingdom, Jesus sets beside the man with the mustard-seed\nthe woman with her leaven, so here He makes the same distinction,\nclothing the Truth both in a masculine and a feminine dress. He asks\nagain, \"Or what woman\" (He does not say \"of you,\" for if women were\npresent amongst His hearers they would be in the background) \"having\nten pieces of silver, if she lose one piece, doth not light a lamp, and\nsweep the house, and seek diligently until she find it? And when she\nhath found it, she calleth together her friends and neighbours, saying,\nRejoice with me, for I have found the piece which I had lost.\" Much\nobjection has been taken to this parable for its supposed want of\nnaturalness and reality. \"Is it likely,\" our objectors say, \"that the\nloss of a small coin like a drachma, whose value was about\nsevenpence-halfpenny, could be the occasion of so much concern, and that\nits recovery should be enough to call forth the congratulations of all\nthe village matrons? Surely that is not parable, but hyperbole.\" But\nthings have a real as well as an intrinsic value, and what to others\nwould be common and cheap, to its possessor might be a treasure beyond\nreckoning, with all the added values of association and sentiment. So\nthe ten drachmas of the woman might have a history; they might have been\na family heirloom, moving quietly down the generations, with whole\npoems, ay, and even tragedies, hidden within them. Or we can conceive of\na poverty so dire and strait that even one small coin in the emergent\ncircumstance might grow into a value far beyond its intrinsic worth. But\nthe parable does not need all these suppositions to steady it and keep\nit from falling to the ground. When rightly understood it becomes\nsingularly natural, the truth of truth, if such an essence can be\ndistilled in human speech. The probable interpretation is that the ten\ndrachmas were the ten coins worn as a frontlet by the women of the east.\nThis frontlet was given by the bridegroom to the bride at the time of\nmarriage, and like the ring of western life, it was invested with a kind\nof sanctity. It must be worn on all public occasions, and guarded with\na jealous, sacred care; for should one of its pieces be lost, it would\nbe regarded as an indication that the possessor had not only been\ncareless, but also that she had been unfaithful to her marriage vow.\nThrowing, then, this light of eastern custom upon the parable, how vivid\nand lifelike it becomes! With what intense eagerness would she seek for\nthe missing coin! Lighting her lamp--for the house would be but dimly\nlighted with its open door and its small unglazed window--how carefully\nand almost tremblingly she would peer along its shelves, and sweep out\nthe corners of her few rooms! and how great would be her joy as she saw\nit glistening in the dust! Her whole soul would go out after it, as if\nit were a living, sentient thing. She would clasp it in her hand, and\neven press it to her lips; for has it not taken a heavy care and sorrow\nfrom her heart? That one coin rising from the dust has been to her like\nthe rising of another sun, filling her home with light and her life with\nmelody; and what wonder that she hastens to communicate her joy, as,\nstanding by her door, after the eastern wont, she holds up the missing\ntreasure, and calls on her neighbours and friends (the substantives are\nfeminine now) to rejoice with her.\n\nThe third parable carries the thought still higher, forming the crown of\nthe ascending series. Not only is there a mathematical progression, as\nthe lost fraction increases from one-hundredth to one-tenth, and then to\none-half of the whole, but the intrinsic value of the loss rises in a\ncorresponding series. In the first it was a lost sheep, a loss which\nmight soon be replaced, and which would soon be forgotten; in the second\nit was a lost coin, which, as we have seen, meant the loss of what was\nmore valuable than gold, even honour and character; while in the third\nit is a lost child. We call it the parable of the Prodigal Son; it might\nwith equal propriety be called the Parable of the Bereaved Father, for\nthe whole story crystallizes about that name, repeating it, in one form\nor another, no less than twelve times.\n\n\"A certain man,\" so begins this parabolic _Paternoster_, \"had two sons.\"\nTired of the restraints of home and the surveillance of the father's\neye, the younger of them determined to see the world for himself, in\norder, as the sequel shows, that he might have a free hand, and give\nloose reins to his passions. With a cold, impertinent bluntness, he says\nto the father, whose death he thus anticipates, \"Father, give me the\nportion of thy substance that falleth to me,\" a command whose sharp,\nimperative tone shows but too plainly the proud, masterful spirit of the\nyouth. He respects neither age nor law; for though the paternal estate\ncould be divided during the father's life, no son, much less the\nyounger, had any right to demand it. The father grants the request,\ndividing \"unto them,\" as it reads, \"his living;\" for the same line which\nmarks off the portion of the younger marks out too that of the elder\nson, though he holds his portion as yet only in promise. Not many days\nafter--for having found its wings, the foolish bird is in haste to\nfly--the youth gathers all together, and then takes his journey into a\nfar country. The down grades of life are generally steep and short, and\nso one sentence is enough to describe this _descensus Averni_, down\nwhich the youth plunges so insanely: \"He wasted his substance with\nriotous living,\" scattering it, as the verb means, throwing it away\nafter low, illicit pleasures. \"And when he had spent all\"--the \"all\" he\nhad scrambled for and gathered a short while before--\"there arose a\nmighty famine in that country; and he began to be in want;\" and so great\nwere his straits, so remorseless the pangs of hunger, that he was glad\nto attach himself to a citizen of that country as swineherd, living out\nin the fields with his drove, like the swineherds of Gadara. But such\nwas the pressure of the famine that his mere pittance could not cope\nwith famine prices, and again and again he hungered to have his fill of\nthe carob-pods, which were dealt out statedly and sparingly to the\nswine. But no man gave even these to him; he was forgotten, as one\nalready dead.\n\nSuch is the picture Jesus draws of the lost man, a picture of abject\nmisery and degradation. When the sheep wandered it strayed unwittingly,\nblindly, getting farther from its fellows and its fold even when\nbleating vainly for them. When the drachma was lost it did not lose\nitself, nor had it any consciousness that it had dropped out of its\nproper environment. But in the case of the lost man it was altogether\ndifferent. Here it is a wilful perversity, which breaks through the\nrestraints of home, tramples upon its endearments, and throws up a\nblighted life, scarred and pealed amid the husks and swine of a far\ncountry. And it is this element of perversity, self-will, which\nexplains, as indeed it necessitates, another marked difference in the\nparables. When the sheep and the drachma were lost there was an eager\nsearch, as the shepherd followed the wanderer over the mountain gullies,\nand the woman with broom and lamp went after the lost coin. But when the\nyouth is lost, flinging himself away, the father does not follow him,\nexcept in thought, and love, and prayer. He sits \"still in the house,\"\nnursing a bitter grief, and the work on the farm goes on just as usual,\nfor the service of the younger brother would probably be not much\nmissed. And why does not the father summon his servants, bidding them go\nafter the lost child, bringing him home, if necessary, by force? Simply\nbecause such a finding would be no finding. They might indeed carry the\nwanderer home, setting down his feet by the familiar door; but of what\nuse is that if his heart is still wayward and his will rebellious? Home\nwould not be home to him; and with his heart in the far country, he\nwould walk even in his father's fields and in his father's house as an\nalien, a foreigner. And so all embassies, all messages would be in vain;\nand even a father's love can do no more than wait, patiently and\nprayerfully, in hopes that a better spirit may yet come over him, and\nthat some rebound of feeling may bring him home, a humbled penitent. The\nchange comes at length, and the slow morning dawns.\n\nWhen the photographer wishes to develop the picture that is hidden in\nthe film of the sensitive plate he carries it to a darkened room, and\nbathed in the developing solution the latent image gradually appears,\neven to the minutest details. It was so here; for when in his extremest\nneed, with the pinch of a fearful hunger upon him, and the felt darkness\nof a painful isolation surrounding him, there came into the prodigal's\nsoul a sweet picture of the far-away home, the home which might still\nhave been his but for his wantonness, but which is his now only in\nmemory. It is true his first thoughts of that home were not very lofty;\nthey only crouched with the dogs under the father's table, or hovered\naround the plentiful board of the servants, attracted by the \"bread\nenough and to spare.\" But such is the natural association of ideas; the\ncarob-pods of the swine naturally suggest the bread of the servants,\nwhile this in turn opens up all the chambers of the father's house,\nreviving its half-faded images of happiness and love, and awaking all\nthe sweet memories that sin had stifled and silenced. That it was so\nhere, the lower leading up to the higher thought, is evident from the\nyoung man's soliloquy: \"I will arise and go to my father, and will say\nunto him, Father, I have sinned against Heaven and in thy sight: I am no\nmore worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants.\"\nThe hunger for the servants' bread is all forgotten now, swallowed up in\nthe hunger of the soul, as it pines for the father's presence and for\nthe father's smile, longing for the lost Eden. The very name \"father\"\nstrikes with a strange music upon his awakened and penitent soul, making\nhim for the time half-oblivious to his present wretchedness; and as\nMemory recalls a bright but vanished past, Hope peoples the dark sky\nwith a heavenly host, who sing a new Advent, the dawn of a heavenly day.\nAn Advent? Perhaps it was an Easter rather, with a \"resurrection from\nearth to things above,\" an Easter whose anthem, in songs without end,\nwas, \"I will arise and go to my father,\" that _Resurgam_ of a new and\nholier life.\n\nNo sooner is the \"I will\" spoken than there is a reversing of all the\nwheels. The hands follow whither the heart has gone; the feet shake off\nthe dust of the far country, retracing the steps they measured so\nfoolishly and lightly before; while the eyes, washed by their bitter\ntears--\n\n  \"Not backward are their glances bent,\n  But onward to the Father's house.\"\n\n\"And he arose and came to his father.\" He came to himself first; and\nhaving found that better self, he became conscious of the void he had\nnot felt before. For the first time he realizes how much the father is\nto him, and how terrible the bereavement and loss he inflicted upon\nhimself when he put between that father and himself the desert of an\nawful distance. And as the bright memories of other days flash up within\nhis soul, like the converging rays of a borealis, they all turn towards\nand centre in the father. Servants, home, and loaves of bread alike\nspeak of him whose very shadow is brightness to the self-orphaned child.\nHe yearns for the father's presence with a strange and intense yearning;\nand could that presence be his again, even if he were nothing more than\na servant, with but casual interviews, hearing his voice but in its\ncommanding tones, he would be content and happy.\n\nAnd so he comes and seeks the father; will the father relent and receive\nhim? Can he overlook and forgive the waywardness and wantonness which\nhave embittered his old age? Can he receive him back even as a servant,\na child who has scorned his authority, slighted his love, and squandered\nhis substance in riotous living? Does the father say, \"He has made his\nown bed, and he must lie upon it; he has had his portion, even to the\nswept-up crumbs, and there is nothing left for him now\"? No, for there\nis something left, a treasure which he might scorn, indeed, but which he\ncould not throw away, even a heritage of love. And what a picture the\nparable draws of the love that hopeth and endureth all things! \"But\nwhile he was yet afar off, his father saw him, and was moved with\ncompassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.\" As the moon\nin her revolutions lifts up the tides, drawing the deep oceans to\nherself, so do the unsounded depths of the father's heart turn towards\nthe prodigal whose life has set, dropping out of sight behind\nwildernesses of darkness. Thought, prayer, pity, compassion, love flow\nout towards the attraction they can no longer see. Nay, it seems as if\nthe father's vision were transfixed riveted to the spot where the form\nof his erring lad vanished out of sight; for no sooner has the youth\ncome within sight of the home, than the father's eyes, made telescopic\nwith love, discern him, and as if by intuition, recognize him, even\nthough his attire be mean and tattered, and his step has no longer the\nlightness of innocence nor the firmness of integrity. It is, it is his\nchild, the erring but now repenting child, and the pent-up emotions of\nthe father's soul rush out as in a tumultuous freshet to meet him. He\neven \"ran\" to meet him, all forgetful of the dignity of years, and\nthrowing himself upon his neck, he kissed him, not either with the cold\nkiss of courtesy, but with the warm, fervent kiss of love, as the\nintensive prefix of the verb implies.\n\nSo far this scene of reconciliation has been as a dumb show. The storm\nof emotion so interrupted the electric flow of quiet thought and speech\nthat no word was spoken in the mutual embrace. When, however, the power\nof speech returns the youth is the first to break the silence. \"Father,\"\nhe said, repeating the words of his mental resolve when in the far\ncountry, \"I have sinned against Heaven, and in thy sight: I am no more\nworthy to be called thy son.\" It is no longer the sense of physical\nneed, but the deeper sense of guilt, that now presses upon his soul. The\nmoral nature, which by the anodynes of sin had been thrown into a state\nof coma, awakes to a vivid consciousness, and in the new awakening, in\nthe broadening light of the new dawn, he sees one thing only, and that\nis his sin, a sin which has thrown its blackness over the wasted years,\nwhich has embittered a father's heart, and which cast its shadow even\ninto heaven itself. Nor is it the conviction of sin only; there is a\nfull and frank confession of it, with no attempt at palliation or\nexcuse. He does not seek to gloss it over, but smiting his breast with\nbitter reproaches, he confesses his sin with \"a humble, lowly, penitent,\nand obedient heart,\" hoping for the mercy and forgiveness he is\nconscious he does not deserve. Nor does he hope in vain. Even before the\nconfession is completed, the absolution is spoken, virtually at least;\nfor without allowing the youth to finish his sentence, in which he\noffers to renounce his sonship and to accept a menial position, the\nfather calls to the servants, \"Bring forth quickly the best robe, and\nput it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: and\nbring the fatted calf, and kill it, and let us eat and make merry.\" In\nthis peal of imperatives we detect the rapid beating of the father's\nheart, the loving, eager haste to wipe out all the sad marks that sin\nhas left. In the luminous atmosphere of the father's love the youth is\nno more the prodigal; he is as one transfigured; and now that the\nchrysalis has left the mire, and crept up into the sunlight, it must\nhave a dress befitting its new summer life, wings of gauze, and robes of\nrainbow hues. The best, or \"the first robe\" as it is in the Greek, must\nbe brought out for him; a signet-ring, the pledge of authority, must be\nput upon his hand; shoes, the badge of freedom, must be found for the\ntired and bared feet; while for the merry-making which is extemporized,\nthe domestic _festa_ which is the crown of these rejoicings, the fatted\ncalf, which was in reserve for some high festival, must be killed. And\nall this is spoken in a breath, in a sort of bewilderment, the ecstasy\nof an excessive joy; and forgetting that the simple command is enough\nfor servants, the master must needs tell out his joy to them: \"For this\nmy son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.\"\n\nIf the three parables were all through coincident, the parable of the\nProdigal Son should close at this point, the curtain dropping over the\nfestive scene, where songs, and music, and the rhythm of the dance are\nthe outward and weak expressions of the father's joy over the son who\ncomes back from the far country, as one alive from the dead. But Jesus\nhas another purpose; He must not only plead the cause of the outcast and\nthe low, setting open for them the door of mercy and of hope; He must\nalso rebuke and silence the unreasoning murmur of the Pharisees and\nscribes--which He does in the picture of the Elder Brother. Coming from\nthe field, the heir is surprised to find the whole house given up to an\nimpromptu feast. He hears the sounds of merriment and music, but its\nstrains fall strange and harsh upon his ear. What can it mean? Why was\n_he_ not consulted? Why should his father thus take occasion of his\nabsence in the fields to invite his friends and neighbours? The proud\nspirit chafes under the slight, and calling one of the servants, he asks\nwhat it all means. The answer is not reassuring, for it only perplexes\nand pains him the more: \"Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed\nthe fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound\"--an answer\nwhich does but deepen his displeasure, turning his sullenness to anger.\n\"And would not go in.\" They may end the feast, as they began it,\nwithout him. The festive joy is something foreign to his nature; it\nawakes but feelings of repulsion, and all its music is to him a grating\ndiscord, a _Miserere_.\n\nBut let us not be too severe upon the elder brother. He was not perfect,\nby any means, but in any appraisement of his character there are certain\nveinings of worth and nobleness that must not be omitted. We have\nalready seen how, in the division of the father's goods, when he divided\nunto them his living, while the younger took away his portion, and\nswiftly scattered it in riotous living, the elder brother took no\nadvantage of the deed of gift. He did not dispossess the father,\nsecuring for himself the paternal estate. He put it back into his\nfather's hands, content with the filial relation of dependence and\nobedience. The father's word was still his law. He was the dutiful son;\nand when he said, \"These many years do I serve thee, and I never\ntransgressed a commandment of thine,\" the boast was no exaggeration but\nthe statement of a simple truth. Compared with the life of the prodigal,\nthe life of the elder brother had been consistent, conscientious, and\nmoral. Where, then, was his failure, his lack? It was just here, in the\nlack of heart, the absence of affection. He bore the name of a son, but\nhe carried the heart of a servant. His nature was servile, rather than\nfilial; and while his hands offered a service unremitting and precise,\nit was the cold service of an impassive mechanism. Instead of love\npassing out in living heart-throbs, suffusing all the life with its\nwarmth, and clothing it in its own iridescent colouring, it was only a\nmetallic mainspring called \"duty.\" The father's presence is not the\ndelight to him; he does not once mention that tender name in which the\nrepenting one finds such a heaven; and when he draws the picture of his\nhighest happiness, the feast of his earthly Walhalla, \"my friends\" are\nthere, though the father is excluded. And so between the father and the\nelder brother, with all this seeming nearness, there was a distance of\nreserve, and where the voices of affection and of constant communion\nshould have been heard there was too often a vacancy of silence. It\ntakes a heart to read a heart; and since this was wanting in the elder\nbrother, he could not know the heart of the father; he could not\nunderstand his wild joy. He had no patience with his younger brother;\nand had he received him back at all, it would have been with a haughty\nstiffness, and with a lowering in his looks, which should have been at\nonce a rebuke for the past and a warning for the future. The father\nlooked on his son's repentance; the elder brother did not regard the\nrepentance at all; perhaps he had not heard of it, or perhaps he could\nnot understand it; it was something that lay out of the plane of his\nconsciousness. He saw the sin only, how the younger son had devoured his\nliving with harlots; and so he was severe, exacting, bitter. He would\nhave brought out the sackcloth, but nothing more; while as to the music\nand the fatted calf, they would appear to his loveless soul as an absurd\nanachronism.\n\nBut far removed as he is from the father's spirit, he is still his son;\nand though the father rejoices more over the younger than over the\nelder, as was but natural, he loves them both with an equal love. He\ncannot bear that there should be any estrangement now; and he even\nleaves the festive throng, and the son he has welcomed and robed, and\ngoing out, he begs, he entreats the elder brother to pass in, and to\nthrow himself into the general joy. And when the elder son complains\nthat, with all his years of obedient, dutiful service, he has never had\neven a kid, much less a fatted calf, on which to feast his friends, the\nfather says, lovingly, but chidingly, \"Son\"--or \"Child,\" rather, for it\nis a term of greater endearment than the \"son\" he had just used\nbefore--\"thou art ever with me, and all that is mine is thine. But it\nwas meet to make merry and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and\nis alive again; and was lost, and is found.\" He plays upon the \"child\"\nas upon a harp, that he may drive away the evil spirits of jealousy and\nanger, and that even within the servant-heart he may awake some chords,\nif only the far-off echoes of a lost childhood. He reminds him how\nvastly different their two positions are. For him there has been no\nbreak in their intercourse; the father's house has been his home; he has\nhad the free range of all: to the younger that home has been nothing but\na distant memory, with a waste of dreary years between. He has been heir\nand lord of all; and so completely have father and son been identified,\ntheir separate personalities merged the one in the other, that the\npossessive pronouns, the \"mine\" and the \"thine,\" are used\ninterchangeably. The younger returns penniless, disinherited by his own\nmisdeed. Nay, he has been as one dead; for what was the far country but\na vault of slimy things, the sepulchre of a dead soul? \"And should we\nnot make merry and be glad, when thy brother\" (it is the antithesis to\n\"thy son\" of ver. 30, a mutual \"thy\") \"comes back to us as one raised\nfrom the dead?\"\n\nWhether the father's pleading prevailed, or not, we are not told. We can\nbut hope it did, and that the elder brother, with his asperities all\ndissolved, and his jealousies removed, did pass within to share the\ngeneral joy, and to embrace a lost brother. Then he too would know the\nsweetness of forgiveness, and taught by the erring but now forgiven one,\nhe too would learn to spell out more correctly that deep word \"father,\"\nthe word he had stammered at, and perhaps misspelt before, as the\nfatherhood and the brotherhood became to him not ideas merely, but\nbright realities.\n\nGathering up now the lessons of the parables, they show us (1) the\nDivine grief over sin. In the first two this is the prominent thought,\nthe sorrow of the loser. God is represented as losing that which is of\nworth to Him, something serviceable, and therefore valuable. In the\nthird parable the same idea is suggested rather than stated; but the\nthought is carried farther, for now it is more than a loss, it is a\nbereavement the father suffers. The retreating form of the wanderer\nthrows back its shadow across the father's home and heart, a shadow that\ncongeals and stays, and that is darker than the shadow of Death itself.\nIt is the Divine Grief, whose depths we cannot sound, and from whose\nmystery we must stand back, not one stone's cast, but many.\n\nThe parables show (2) the sad state of the sinner. In the case of the\nLost Sheep and the Lost Coin we see his perfect helplessness to recover\nhimself, and that he must remain lost, unless One higher than himself\nundertakes his cause, and \"help is laid upon One that is mighty.\" It is\nthe third parable, however, which especially emphasizes the downward\ncourse of sin and the deepening wretchedness of the sinner. The flowery\npath leads on to a valley of desolation. The way of transgressors is\never a downward path; and let an evil spirit possess a soul, it hurries\nhim directly down the steep place, where, unless the flight be checked,\na certain destruction awaits him. Sin degrades and isolates. Want,\nsorrow, penury, and pain are but a part of its viperous brood, and he\nwho plays with sin, calling it freedom, will find his rod blossom with\nbitter fruit, or he will see it grow into a serpent with poison in its\nfangs.\n\nThe parables show (3) God's willingness and eagerness to save. The long\nand eager search after the lost sheep and the lost coin show, though but\nimperfectly, the supreme efforts God makes for man's salvation. He is\nnot left to wander unrebuked and unsought. There is no forbidden path\nalong which men insanely rush, but some bright angel stands beside it,\nwarning back the sinner, it may be with a drawn sword, some \"terror of\nthe Lord,\" or it may be with a cross, the sacrifice of an infinite love.\nThough He could send His armies to destroy, He sends His messengers to\nwin us back to obedience and to love--Conscience, Memory, Reason, the\nWord, the Spirit, and even the well-beloved Son. Nor is the great search\ndiscontinued, until it has proved to be in vain.\n\nThe parables show (4) the eager interest Heaven takes in man's\nsalvation, and the deep joy there is among the angels over his\nrepentance and recovery. And so the three parables close with a\n_Jubilate_. The shepherd rejoices over his recovered sheep more than\nover the ninety and nine which went not astray; the woman rejoices over\nthe one coin found more than over the nine which were not lost. And this\nis perfectly natural. The joy of acquisition is more than the joy of\npossession; and as the crest of the waves is thrown up above the mean\nsea-level by the alternate depths of depression, so the very sorrow and\ngrief over the loss and bereavement, now that the lost is found and the\ndead is alive, throw up the emotions beyond their mean level, up to the\nsummits of an exuberant joy. And whether Jesus meant, by the ninety and\nnine just persons who needed no repentance the unfallen intelligences of\nheaven, or whether, as Godet thinks, He referred to those who under the\nOld Covenant were sincere doers of the Law, and who found their\nrighteousness therein (Deut. vi. 25), it is still true, and a truth\nstamped with a Divine \"Verily,\" that more than the joy of Heaven over\nthese is its joy over the sinner that repented, the dead who now was\nalive, and the lost who now was found!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\n_THE ETHICS OF THE GOSPEL._\n\n\nWhatever of truth there may be in the charge of \"other-worldliness,\" as\nbrought against the modern exponents of Christianity, such a charge\ncould not even be whispered against its Divine Founder. It is just\npossible that the Church had been gazing too steadfastly up into heaven,\nand that she had not been studying the science of the \"Humanities\" as\nzealously as she ought, and as she has done since; but Jesus did not\nallow even heavenly things to obliterate or to blur the lines of earthly\nduty. We might have supposed that coming down from heaven, and familiar\nwith its secrets, He would have much to say about the New World, its\nposition in space, its society and manner of life. But no; Jesus says\nlittle about the life which is to come; it is the life which now is that\nengrosses His attention, and almost monopolizes His speech. Life with\nHim was not in the future tense; it was one living present, real,\nearnest, but fugitive. Indeed, that future was but the present projected\nover into eternity. And so Jesus, founding the kingdom of God on earth,\nand summoning all men into it, if he did not bring commandments written\nand lithographed, like Moses, yet He did lay down principles and rules\nof conduct, marking out, in all departments of human life, the straight\nand white lines of duty, the eternal \"ought.\" It is true that Jesus\nHimself did not originate much in this department of Christian ethics,\nand probably for most of His sayings we can find a symphony struck from\nthe pages of earlier, and perhaps heathen moralists; but in the wide\nrealm of Right there can be no new law. Principles may be evolved,\ninterpreted; they cannot be created. Right, like Truth, holds the\n\"eternal years;\" and through the millenniums before Christ, as through\nthe millenniums after, Conscience, that \"ethical intellect\" which speaks\nto all men if they will but draw near to her Sinai and listen, spoke to\nsome in clear, authoritative tones. But if Jesus did no more, He\ngathered up the \"broken lights\" of earth, the intermittent flashes which\nhad played on the horizon before, into one steady electric beam, which\nlights up our human life outward to its farthest reach, and onward to\nits farthest goal.\n\nIn the mind of Jesus conduct was the outward and visible expression of\nsome inner invisible force. As our earth moves round its elliptic in\nobedience to the subtle attractions of other outlying worlds, so the\norbits of human lives, whether symmetrical or eccentric, are determined\nmainly by the two forces' Character and Circumstance. Conduct is\ncharacter in motion; for men do what they themselves are, _i.e._ as far\nas circumstances will allow. And it is just at this point the ethical\nteaching of Jesus begins. He recognizes the _imperium in imperio_, that\nhidden world of thought, feeling, sentiment, and desire which, itself\ninvisible, is the mould in which things visible are cast. And so Jesus,\nin His influence upon men, worked outward from within. He sought, not\nreform, but regeneration, moulding the life by changing the character;\nfor, to use His own figure, how could the thorn produce grapes, or the\nthistle figs?\n\nAnd so when Jesus was asked, \"What shall I do that I may inherit eternal\nlife?\" He gave an answer which at first sight seemed to ignore the\nquestion entirely. He said no word about \"doing,\" but threw the\nquestioner back upon \"being,\" asking what was written in the law: \"Thou\nshalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul,\nand with all thy strength, and with all thy mind; and thy neighbour as\nthyself\" (x. 27). And as Jesus here makes Love the condition of eternal\nlife, its _sine qua non_, so He makes it the one all-embracing duty, the\nfulfilling of the law. If a man love God supremely, and his neighbour as\nhimself, he cannot do more; for all other commandments are included in\nthese, the sub-sections of the greater law. Jesus thus sought to create\na new force, hiding it within the heart, as the mainspring of duty,\nproviding for that duty both aim and inspiration. We call it a \"new\"\nforce, and such it was practically; for though it was, in a way,\nembedded in their law, it was mainly as a dead letter, so much so that\nwhen Jesus bade His disciples to \"love one another\" He called it a \"new\ncommandment.\" Here, then, we find what is at once the rule of conduct\nand its motive. In the new system of ethics, as taught and enforced by\nJesus, and illustrated by His life, the Law of Love was to be supreme.\nIt was to be to the moral world what gravitation is to the natural, a\nsilent but mighty and all-pervasive force, throwing its spell upon the\nisolated actions of the common day, giving impulse and direction to the\nwhole current of life, ruling alike the little eddies of thought and the\nwider sweeps of benevolent activities. To Jesus \"the soul of improvement\nwas the improvement of the soul.\" He laid His hand upon the heart's\ninnermost shrine, building up that unseen temple four-square, like the\ncity of the Apocalypse, and lighting up all its windows with the warm,\niridescent light of love.\n\nWith this, then, as the foundation-tone, running through all the spaces\nand along all the lines of life, the thoughts, desires, words, and acts\nmust all harmonize with love; and if they do not, if they strike a note\nthat is foreign to its key-tone, it breaks the harmony at once, throwing\njars and discords into the music. Such a breach of the harmonic law\nwould be called a mistake, but when it is a breach of Christ's moral law\nit is more than a mistake, it is a wrong.\n\nBefore passing to the outer life Jesus pauses, in this Gospel, to\ncorrect certain dissonances of mind and soul, of thought and feeling,\nwhich put us in a wrong attitude towards our fellows. First of all, He\nforbids us to sit in judgment upon others. He says, \"Judge not, and ye\nshall not be judged: and condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned\"\n(vi. 37). This does not mean that we close our eyes with a voluntary\nblindness, working our way through life like moles; nor does it mean\nthat we keep our opinions in a state of flux, not allowing them to\ncrystallize into thought, or to harden into the leaden alphabets of\nhuman speech. There is within us all a moral sense, a miniature Sinai,\nand we can no more suppress its thunders or sheath its lightnings than\nwe can hush the breakers of the shore into silence, or suppress the play\nof the Northern Lights. But in that unconscious judgment we pass upon\nthe actions of others, with our condemnation of the wrong, we pass our\nsentence upon the wrong-doer, mentally ejecting him from the courtesies\nand sympathies of life, and if we allow him to live at all, compelling\nhim to live apart, as a moral incurable. And so, with our hatred of the\nsin, we learn to hate the sinner, and calling from him both our\ncharities and our hopes, we hurl him down into some little Gehenna of\nour own. But it is exactly this feeling, this kind of judgment, the Law\nof Love condemns. We may \"hate the sin, and yet the sinner love,\"\nkeeping him still within the circle of our sympathies and our hopes. It\nis not meet that we should be merciless who have ourselves experienced\nso much of mercy; nor is it for us to hale others off to prison, or\nruthlessly to exact the uttermost farthing, when we ourselves at the\nvery best are erring and unfaithful servants, standing so much and so\noften in need of forgiveness.\n\nBut there is another \"judging\" that the command of Christ condemns, and\nthat is the hasty and the false judgments we pass on the motives and\nlives of others. How apt we are to depreciate the worth of others who do\nnot happen to belong to our circle! We look so intently for their faults\nand foibles that we become blind to their excellences. We forget that\nthere is some good in every person, some that we can see if we only\nlook, and we may be always sure that there is some we cannot see. We\nshould not prejudge. We should not form our opinion upon an _ex parte_\nstatement. We should not leave the heart too open to the flying germs of\nrumour, and we should discount heavily any damaging, disparaging\nstatement. We should not allow ourselves to draw too many inferences,\nfor he who is given to drawing inferences draws largely on his\nimagination. We should think slowly in our judgment of others, for he\nwho leaps to conclusions generally takes his leap in the dark. We should\nlearn to wait for the second thoughts, for they are often truer than\nthe first. Nor is it wise to use too much \"the spur of the moment;\" it\nis a sharp weapon, and is apt to cut both ways. We should not interpret\nothers' motives by our own feelings, nor should we \"suppose\" too much.\nAbove all, we should be charitable, judging of others as we judge\nourselves. Perhaps the beam that is in a brother's eye is but the\nmagnified mote that is in our own. It is better to learn the art of\nappreciating than that of depreciating; for though the one is easy, and\nthe other difficult, yet he who looks for the good, and exalts the good,\nwill make the very wilderness to blossom and be glad; while he who\ndepreciates everything outside his own little self impoverishes life,\nand makes the very garden of the Lord one arid, barren desert.\n\nAgain, Jesus condemns pride, as being a direct contravention of His Law\nof Love. Love rejoices in the possessions and gifts of others, nor would\nshe care to add to her own if it must be at the cost of theirs. Love is\nan equalizer, levelling up the inequalities the accidents of life have\nmade, and preferring to stand on some lower level with her fellows than\nto sit solitary on some lofty and cold Olympus. Pride, on the other\nhand, is a repelling, separating force. Scorning those who occupy the\nlower places, she is contented only on her Olympian summit, where she\nkeeps herself warm with the fires of her self-adulation. The proud heart\nis the loveless heart, one huge inflation; if she carries others at all,\nit is only as a steadying ballast; she will not hesitate to throw them\nover and throw them down, as mere dust or sand, if their fall will help\nher to rise. Pride, like the eagle, builds her nest on high, bringing\nforth whole broods of loveless, preying passions, hatreds, jealousies,\nand hypocrisies. Pride sees no brotherhood in man; humanity to her\nmeans no more than so many serfs to wait upon her pleasure, or so many\nvictims for her sacrifice! And how Jesus loved to prick these bubbles of\nairy nothings, showing up these vanities as the very essence of\nselfishness! He did not spare His words, even though they stung, when\n\"He marked how they chose out the chief seats\" at the friendly supper\n(xiv. 7); and one of His bitter \"woes\" He hurled at the Pharisees just\nbecause \"they loved the chief seats in the synagogues,\" worshipping\nSelf, when they pretended to worship God, so making the house of God\nitself an arena for the sport and play of their proud ambitions. \"He\nthat is least among you all,\" He said, when rebuking the disciples' lust\nfor pre-eminence, \"the same is great.\" And such is Heaven's law:\nhumility is the cardinal virtue, the \"strait\" and low gate which opens\ninto the very heart of the kingdom. Humility is the one and the only way\nof heavenly preferments and eternal promotions; for in the life to come\nthere will be strange contrasts and inversions, as he that exalted\nhimself is now humbled, and he that humbled himself is now exalted (xiv.\n11).\n\nTracing now the lines of duty as they run across the outer life, we find\nthem following the same directions. As the golden milestone of the Forum\nmarked the centre of the empire, towards which its roads converged, and\nfrom which all distances were measured, so in the Christian commonwealth\nJesus makes Love the capital, the central, controlling power; while at\nthe focal point of all the duties He sets up His Golden Rule, which\ngives direction to all the paths of human conduct: \"And as ye would that\nmen should do to you, do ye also to them likewise\" (vi. 31). In this\ngeneral law we have what we might call the ethical compass, for it\nembraces within its circle the \"whole duty of man\" towards his fellow;\nand it only needs an adjusted conscience, like the delicately poised\nneedle, and the line of the \"ought\" can be read off at once, even in\nthose uncertain latitudes where no specific law is found. Are we in\ndoubt as to what course of conduct to pursue, as to the kind of\ntreatment we should accord to our fellow? we can always find the _via\nrecta_ by a short mental transposition. We have only to put ourselves in\nhis place, and to imagine our relative positions reversed, and from the\n\"would\" of our supposed desires and hopes we read the \"ought\" of present\nduty. The Golden Rule is thus a practical exposition of the Second\nCommandment, investing our neighbour with the same luminous atmosphere\nwe throw about ourselves, the atmosphere of a benevolent, beneficent\nlove.\n\nBut beyond this general law Jesus gives us a prescript as to the\ntreatment of enemies. He says, \"Love your enemies, do good to them that\nhate you, bless them that curse you, pray for them that despitefully use\nyou. To him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other: and\nfrom him that taketh away thy cloak withhold not thy coat also\" (vi.\n27-29). In considering these injunctions we must bear in mind that the\nword \"enemy\" in its New Testament meaning had not the wide and general\nsignification it has to-day. It then stood in antithesis to the word\n\"neighbour,\" as in Matt. v. 43; and as the word \"neighbour\" to the Jew\nincluded those, and those only, who were of the Hebrew race and faith,\nthe word \"enemy\" referred to those outside, who were aliens from the\ncommonwealth of Israel. To the Hebrew mind it stood as a synonym for\n\"Gentile.\" In these words, then, we find, not a general and universal\nlaw, but the special instructions as to their course of conduct in\ndealing with the Gentiles, to whom they would shortly be sent. No matter\nwhat their treatment, they must bear it with an uncomplaining patience.\nStripped, beaten, they must not resist, much less retaliate; they must\nnot allow any vindictive feelings to possess them, nor must they take in\ntheir own hot hand the sword of a \"sweet revenge.\" Nay, they must even\nbear a good-will towards their enemies, repaying their hate with love,\ntheir spite and enmity with prayers, and their curses with sincerest\nbenedictions.\n\nIt will be observed that no mention is made of repentance or of\nrestitution: without waiting for these, or even expecting them, they\nmust be prepared to forgive and prepared to love their enemies, even\nwhile they are shamefully treating them. And what else, under the\ncircumstances, could they have done? If they appealed to the secular\npower it would simply have been an appeal to a heathen court, from\nenemies to enemies. And as to waiting for repentance, their \"enemies\"\nare only treating them as enemies, aliens and foreigners, wronging them,\nit is true, but ignorantly, and not through any personal malice. They\nmust forgive just for the same reason that Jesus forgave His Roman\nmurderers, \"for they know not what they do.\"\n\nWe cannot, therefore, take these injunctions, which evidently had a\nspecial and temporary application, as the literal rule of conduct\ntowards those who are unfriendly or hostile to us. This, however, is\nplain, that even our enemies, whose enmity is directly personal rather\nthan sectional or racial, are not to be excluded from the Law of Love.\nWe must bear them neither hatred nor resentment; we must guard our\nhearts sacredly from all malevolent, vindictive feelings. We must not\nbe our own avenger, taking vengeance upon our adversaries, as we let\nloose the barking Cerberus to track and run them down. All such feelings\nare contrary to the Law of Love, and so are contraband, entirely foreign\nto the heart that calls itself Christian. But with all this we are not\nto meet all sorts of injuries and wrongs without protest or resistance.\nWe cannot condone a wrong without being accomplices in the wrong. To\ndefend our property and life is just as much our duty as it was the\nwisdom and the duty of those to whom Jesus spoke to offer an\nuncomplaining cheek to the Gentile smiter. Not to do this is to\nencourage crime, and to put a premium upon evil. Nor is it inconsistent\nwith a true love to seek to punish, by lawful means, the wrong-doer.\nJustice here is the highest type of mercy, and pains and penalties have\na remedial virtue, taming the passions which had grown too wild, or\nstraightening the conscience that had become warped.\n\nAnd so Jesus, speaking of the \"offences,\" the occasions of stumbling\nthat would come, said, \"If thy brother sin, rebuke him; and if he\nrepent, forgive him\" (xvii. 3). It is not the patient, silent\nacquiescence now. No, we must _rebuke_ the brother who has sinned\nagainst us and wronged us. And if this is vain, we must tell it to the\nChurch, as St. Matthew completes the injunction (xviii. 17); and if the\noffender will not hear the Church, he must be cast out, ejected from\ntheir fellowship, and becoming to their thought as a heathen or a\npublican. The wrong, though it is a brother who does it, must not be\nglossed over with the enamel of a euphemism; nor must it be hushed up,\nveiled by a silence. It must be brought to the light of day; it must be\nrebuked and punished; nor must it be forgiven until it is repented of.\nLet there be, however, a genuine repentance, and there must be on our\npart the prompt and complete forgiveness of the wrong. We must set it\nback out of our sight, amongst the forgotten things. And if the wrong be\nrepeated, if the repentance be repeated, the forgiveness must be\nrepeated too, not only for seven times seven offences, but for seventy\ntimes seven. Nor is it left to our option whether we forgive or no; it\nis a duty, absolute and imperative; we must forgive, as we ourselves\nhope to be forgiven.\n\nAgain, Jesus treats of the true use of wealth. He Himself assumed a\nvoluntary poverty. Silver and gold had He none; indeed, the only coin\nthat we read He handled was the borrowed Roman penny, with C\u00e6sar's\ninscription upon it. But while Jesus Himself preferred poverty, choosing\nto live on the outflowing charities of those who felt it both a\nprivilege and an honour to minister to Him of their substance, yet He\ndid not condemn wealth. It was not a wrong _per se_. In the Old\nTestament it had been regarded as a sign of Heaven's special favour, and\namongst the rich Jesus Himself found some of His warmest, truest\nfriends--friends who came nobly to the front when some who had made\nlouder professions had ignominiously fled. Nor did Jesus require the\nrenunciation of wealth as the condition of discipleship. He did not\nadvocate that fictitious _\u00e9galit\u00e9_ of the Commune. He sought rather to\nlevel up than to level down. It is true He did say to the ruler, \"Sell\nall that thou hast, and distribute unto the poor;\" but this was an\nexceptional case[5] and probably it was put before him as a test\ncommand, like the command to Abraham that he should sacrifice his\nson--which was not intended to be carried out literally, but only as far\nas the intention, the will. There was no such demand made from\nNicodemus, and when Zacch\u00e6us testified that it had been his practice\n(the present tense would indicate a retrospective rather than a\nprospective rule) to give one-half of his income to the poor, Jesus does\nnot find fault with his division, and demand the other half; He commends\nhim, and passes him up, right over the excommunication of the rabbis,\namong the true sons of Abraham. Jesus did not pose as an assessor; He\nleft men to divide their own inheritance. It was enough for Him if He\ncould put within the soul this new force, the \"moral dynamic\" of love to\nGod and man; then the outward relations would shape themselves,\nregulated as by some automatic action.\n\n  [5] This demand was made from the Apostles (xii. 33), but not from\n  others beyond the Apostolic circle.\n\nBut with all this, Jesus recognized the peculiar temptations and dangers\nof wealth. He saw how riches tend to engross and monopolize the thought,\ndiverting it from higher things, and so He classed riches with cares,\npleasures, which choke the Word of life, and make it unfruitful. He saw\nhow wealth tended to selfishness; that it acted as an astringent,\nclosing up the valves of the heart, and thus shutting down the outflow\nof its sympathies. And so Jesus, whenever He spoke of wealth, spoke in\nwords of warning: \"How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the\nkingdom of God!\" He said, when He saw how the rich ruler set wealth\nbefore faith and hope. And singularly enough, the only times Jesus, in\nHis parables, lifts up the curtain of doom it is to tell of \"certain\nrich\" men--the one, whose soul swung selfishly between his banquets and\nhis barns, and who, alas! had laid up no treasures in heaven; and the\nother, who exchanged his purple and fine linen for the folds of\nenveloping flames, and the sumptuous fare of earth for eternal want, the\neternal hunger and thirst of the after-retribution!\n\nWhat, then, is the true use of wealth? and how may we so hold it that it\nshall prove a blessing, and not a bane? In the first place, we must hold\nit in our hand, and not lay it up in the heart. We must possess it; it\nmust not possess us. We may give our thought, moderately, to it, but our\naffections must not be allowed to centre upon it. We read that the\nPharisees \"were lovers of money\" (xvi. 14), and that argentic passion\nwas the root of all their evils. The love of money, like an opiate,\nlittle by little, steals over the whole frame, deadening the\nsensibility, perverting the judgment, and weakening the will, producing\na kind of intoxication, in which the better reason is lost, and the\nconfused speech can only articulate, with Shylock, \"My ducats, my\nducats!\" The true way of holding wealth is to hold it in trust,\nrecognizing God's ownership and our stewardship. Bank it up, give it no\noutlet, and your wealth becomes a stagnant pool, breeding malaria and\nburning fevers; but open the channel, give it an outlet, and it will\nbring life and music to a thousand lower vales, increasing the happiness\nof others, and increasing your own the more. And so Jesus strikes in\nwith His frequent imperative, \"Give\"--\"Give, and it shall be given unto\nyou; good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, shall\nthey give into your bosom\" (vi. 38). And this is the true use of wealth,\nits consecration to the needs of humanity. And may we not say that here\nis its truest pleasure? He who has learned the art of generous giving,\nwho makes his life one large-hearted benevolence, living for others and\nnot for himself, has acquired an art that is beautiful and Divine, an\nart that turns the deserts into gardens of the Lord, and that peoples\nthe sky overhead with unseen singing Ariels. Giving and living are\nheavenly synonyms, and he who giveth most liveth best.\n\nBut not from the words of Jesus alone do we read off the lines of our\nduty. He is in His own Person a Polar Star, to whom all the meridians of\nour round life turn, and from whom they emanate. His life is thus our\nlaw, His example our pattern. Do we wish to learn what are the duties of\nchildren to their parents? the thirty silent years of Nazareth speak in\nanswer. They show us how the Boy Jesus is in subjection to His parents,\ngiving to them a perfect obedience, a perfect trust, and a perfect love.\nThey show us the Divine Youth, still shut in within that narrow circle,\nministering to that circle, by hard manual toil becoming the stay of\nthat fatherless home. Do we wish to learn our duties to the State? See\nhow Jesus walked in a land across which the Roman eagle had cast its\nshadow! He did not preach a crusade against the barbarian invaders. He\nrecognized in their presence and power the ordination of God--that they\nhad been sent to chastise a lapsed Israel. And so Jesus spoke no word of\ndenunciation, no fiery word, which might have proved the spark of a\nrevolution. He took Himself away from the multitudes when they would by\nforce make Him King. He spoke in respectful terms of the powers that\nwere; He even justified the payment of tribute to C\u00e6sar, acknowledging\nhis lordship, while at the same time He spoke of the higher tribute to\nthe great Over-Lord, even God. When upon His trial for life or death,\nbefore a Roman tribunal, He even stayed to apologize for Pilate's\nweakness, casting the heavier sin back on the hierarchy that had bought\nHim and delivered Him up; while upon the cross, amid its untold agonies,\nthough His lips were glued by a fearful thirst, He opened them to\nbreathe a last prayer for His Roman executioners: \"Father, forgive them;\nfor they know not what they do.\"\n\nBut was Jesus, then, an alien from His kinsmen according to the flesh?\nWas patriotism to Him an unknown force? Did He know nothing of love of\ncountry, that inspiration which has turned common men into heroes and\nmartyrs, that love which oceans cannot quench, nor distance weaken,\nwhich throws an auroral brightness around the most sterile shores, and\nwhich makes the emigrant sick with a strange _Heimweh_? Did the Son of\nman, the ideal Man, know nothing at all of this? He did know it, and\nknow it well. He identified Himself thoroughly with His people; He\nplaced Himself under the law, observing its rites and ceremonies. After\nthe Childhood-exile in Egypt, He scarcely passed out of the sacred\nbounds; no storms of rough persecution could dislodge the heavenly Dove,\nor send Him wheeling off from His native hills. And if He did not preach\nrebellion, He did preach that righteousness which gives to a nation its\ntruest wealth and widest liberty. He did denounce the Pharisaic shams,\nthe hollow hypocrisies, which had eaten away the nation's heart and\nstrength. And how He loved Jerusalem, forgetting His own triumph in the\nvision of her humiliation, and weeping for the desolations which were\ncoming sure and fast! This, the Holy City, was the centre to which He\never returned, and to which He gave His last bequest--His cross and His\ngrave. Nay, when the cross is taken down, and the grave is vacant, He\nlingers to give His Apostles their commission; and when He bids them,\n\"Go ye out into all the world,\" He adds, \"beginning at Jerusalem.\" The\nSon of man is the Son of David still, and within His deep love for\nhumanity at large was a peculiar love for His \"own,\" as the ark itself\nwas enshrined within the Holy of holies.\n\nAnd so we might traverse the whole ethical domain, and we should find no\nduty which is not enforced or suggested by the words or the life of the\ngreat Teacher. As Dr. Dorner says, \"There is only one morality; the\noriginal of it is in God; the copy of it is in the Man of God.\" Happy is\nHe who sees this Polar Star, whose light shines clear and calm above the\nrush of human years and the ebbs and flows of human life! Happier still\nis he who shapes his course by it, who reads off all his bearings from\nits light! He who builds his life after the Divine model, reading the\nChrist-life into his own, will build up another city of God on earth,\nfour-square and compact together, a city of peace, because a city of\nrighteousness and a city of love.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\n_THE ESCHATOLOGY OF THE GOSPEL._\n\n\nCoifi, in his parable to the thanes and nobles of the North Humber\ncountry, likened the present life of man to the flight of a sparrow\nthrough one of their lighted halls, coming out of the night, and then\ndisappearing in the dark winter whence it came; and he asked for\nChristianity a candid hearing, if perhaps she might tell the secrets of\nthe beyond. And so indeed she does, lighting up the \"dark winter\" with a\nbright, though a partial apocalypse. It is not our purpose to enter into\na general discussion of the subject; our task is simply to arrest the\nbeams of inspired light hiding within this Gospel, and by a sort of\nspectrum analysis to read from them what they are permitted to reveal.\nAnd--\n\n1. The Gospel teaches that the grave is not the end of life. It may seem\nas if we were stating but a truism in saying this; yet if a truism, it\nperhaps has not been allowed its due place in our thought, and its\nrestatement may not be altogether a superfluous word. We cannot study\nthe life of Jesus without noticing that His views of earth were not the\nviews of men in general. To them this world was everything; to possess\nit, even in some infinitesimal quantity, was their supreme ambition; and\nthough in their better, clearer moments they caught glimpses of worlds\nother than their own, yet to their distant vision they were as the\ntwinkling stars of the azure, far off and cold, soon losing themselves\nin the haze of unreality, or setting in the shadows of the imposing\nearth. To Jesus earth was but a fragment of a vaster whole, a fragment\nwhose substances were but the shadows of higher, heavenlier realities.\nNor were these outlying spaces to His mind voids of silence, a \"dark\ninane,\" without life or thought; they were peopled with intelligences\nwhose personalities were as distinctly marked as is this human _Ego_,\nand whose movements, unweighted by the gyves of flesh, seemed subtle and\nswift as thought itself. With one of these worlds Jesus was perfectly\nfamiliar. With heaven, which was the abode of His Father and innumerable\nhosts of angels, He was in close and constant correspondence, and the\nfrequent prayer, the frequent upward looks tell us how near and how\nintensely real the heavenly places were to Him. But in the mind of Jesus\nthis empyrean of happiness and light had its antipodes of woe and\ndarkness, a penal realm of fearful shadow, and which, borrowing the\nlanguage of the city, He called the Gehenna of burning. Such were the\ntwo invisible realms, lying away from earth, yet closely touching it\nfrom opposite directions, and to one or other of which all the paths of\nhuman life turned, to find their goal and their self-chosen destiny.\n\nAnd not only so, but the transition from the Seen to the Unseen was not\nto Jesus the abrupt and total change that it seems to man. To us the\ndividing-line is both dark and broad. It seems to us a transmigration to\nsome new and strange world, where we must begin life _de novo_. To Jesus\nthe line was narrow, like one of the imaginary meridians of earth, the\n\"here\" shading off into the \"hereafter,\" while both were but the\nhemispheres of one round life. And so Jesus did not often speak of\n\"death;\" that was too human a word. He preferred the softer names of\n\"sleep\" or \"exodus,\" thus making death the quickener of life, or\nlikening it to a triumphal march from bondage to liberty. Nor was \"the\nValley of the Shadow\" to Jesus a strange, unfamiliar place. He knew all\nits secrets, all its windings. It was His own territory, where His will\nwas supreme. Again and again He throws a commanding voice across the\nvalley, a voice which goes reverberating among the heights beyond, and\ninstantly the departed spirit retraces its steps, to animate again the\ncold clay it had forsaken. \"He is not the God of the dead, but of the\nliving,\" said Jesus, as He claimed for Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob an\nexistence altogether apart from the crumbling dust of Hebron; and as we\nsee Moses and Elias coming to the Mount of Transfiguration, we see that\nthe departed have not so far departed as to take no interest in earthly\nthings, and as not to hear the strike of earthly hours. And how clearly\nthis is seen in the resurrection life of Jesus, with which this Gospel\ncloses! Death and the Grave have done their worst to Him, but how little\nis that worst! how insignificant the blank it makes in the Divine Life!\nThe few hours in the grave were but a semibreve rest in the music of\nthat Life; the Easter morning struck a fresh bar, and the music went on,\nin the higher spaces, it is true, but in the same key and in the same\nsweet strain. And just so is it with all human life; \"the grave is not\nour goal.\" Conditions and circumstances will of necessity change, as the\nmortal puts on immortality, but the life itself will be one and the\nsame life, here amid things visible and temporal, and there amid the\ninvisible and eternal.\n\n2. The Gospel shows in what respects the conditions of the after-life\nwill be changed. In chapter xx. 27 we read how that the Sadducees came\nto Jesus, tempting Him. They were the cold materialists of the age,\ndenying the existence of spirits, and so denying the resurrection. They\nput before Him an extreme, though not impossible case, of a woman who\nhad been the wife, successively, of seven brethren; and they ask, with\nthe ripple of an inward laugh in their question, \"In the resurrection\ntherefore whose wife of them shall she be?\" Jesus answered, \"The sons of\nthis world marry, and are given in marriage: but they that are accounted\nworthy to attain to that world, and the resurrection from the dead,\nneither marry, nor are given in marriage: for neither can they die any\nmore: for they are equal unto the angels; and are sons of God, being\nsons of the resurrection.\" It will be observed how Jesus plays with the\nword around which the Sadducean mind revolves. To them marriage was a\nkey-word which locked up the gates of an after-life, and threw back the\nresurrection among the impossibilities and absurdities. But Jesus takes\nup their key-word, and turning it round and round in His speech, He\nmakes it unlock and open the inner soul of these men, showing how, in\nspite of their intellectuality, the drift of their thoughts was but low\nand sensual. At the same time Jesus shows that their test-word is\naltogether mundane. It is made for earth alone; for having a nature of\nflesh and blood, it cannot enter into the higher kingdom of glory.\nMarriage has its place in the life whose termini are birth and death. It\nexists mainly for the perpetuation and increase of the human race. It\nhas thus to do with the lower nature of man, the physical, the earthly;\nbut in the world to come birth, marriage, death will be outdated,\nobsolete terms. Man then will be \"equal unto the angels,\" the coarser\nnature which fitted him for earth being shaken off and left behind,\namongst other mortalities.\n\nAnd exactly the same truth is taught by the three posthumous appearances\nrecorded in this Gospel. When they appeared upon the Mount of\nTransfiguration, Moses and Elias had been residents of the other world,\nthe one for nine, the other for fourteen centuries. But while possessing\nthe form, and perhaps the features of the old body of earth, the\nglorious body they wear now is under conditions and laws altogether\ndifferent. How easy and a\u00ebrial are its movements! Though it possesses no\nwings, it has the lightness and buoyancy of a bird, moving through space\nswiftly and silently as the light pulses through the ether. Or take the\nbody of Christ's resurrection life. It has not yet become the glorified\nbody of the heavenly life; it is in its transition state, between the\ntwo; yet how changed it is! Lifted above the needs and laws of our\nearth-bound nature, the risen Christ no longer lives among His own; He\ndwells apart, where we cannot tell. When He does appear He comes in upon\nthem suddenly, giving no warning of His approach; and then, after the\nbright though brief apocalypse, He vanishes as mysteriously as He came,\npassing at the last on the clouds to heaven. There is thus some\ncorrespondence between the body of the old and that of the new life,\nthough how far the resemblance extends we cannot tell; we can only fall\nback upon the Apostle's words, which to our human ear sound like a\nparadox, but which give us our only solution of the enigma, \"It is\nraised a spiritual body\" (i Cor. xv. 44). It is no longer the \"natural\nbody,\" but a supernatural one, with a spiritual instead of a material\nform, and under spiritual laws.\n\nBut taking the Apostle's words as our base-line, and measuring from\nthem, we may throw our lines of sight across the hereafter, reading at\nleast as much as this, that whatever may be the pleasures or the pains\nof the after-life, they will be of a spiritual, and not of a physical\nkind. It is just here that our vision sometimes gets blurred and\nindistinct, as all the descriptions of that after-life, even in\nScripture, are given in earthly figures. And so we have built up before\nus a material heaven, with jasper walls, and gates of pearl, and gardens\nof perennial fruits, with crowns and other palace delights. But it is\nevident that these are but the earthly shadows of the heavenly\nrealities, the darkened glasses of our earthly speech, which help our\ndull vision to gaze upon glories which the eye of our mortality hath not\nseen, and which its heart cannot conceive, except dimly, as a few\n\"broken lights\" pass through the dark lenses of these earthly figures.\nWhat new senses may be created we do not know, but if the body of the\nafter-life is \"a spiritual body,\" then its whole environment must be\nchanged. Material substances can no longer affect it, either to cause\npleasure or pain; and though we may not yet tell in what the delights of\nthe one state, or the pains of the other will consist, we do know that\nthey must be something other than literal palms and crowns, and other\nthan material fires. These figures are but the stammerings of our\nearthly speech, as it tries to tell the unutterable.\n\n3. Our Gospel teaches that character determines destiny. \"A man's life,\"\nsaid Jesus, when rebuking covetousness (xii. 15), \"consisteth not in the\nabundance of the things which he possesseth.\" These are not life's\nnoblest aim, nor its truest wealth. They are but the accidents of life,\nthe particles of floating dust, caught up by the stream; they will be\nleft behind soon as the sediment, if not before, when they reach the\nbarrier of the grave. A man's possessions do not constitute the true\nlife; they do not make the real self, the man. Here it is not what a man\nhas, but what a man is. And a man is just what his heart makes him. The\nouter life is but the blossoming of the inner soul, and what we call\ncharacter, in its objective meaning, is but the subtle and silent\ninfluence, the odour, as we might call it, fragrant or otherwise, which\nthe soul unconsciously throws out. And even in this world character is\nmore than circumstance, for it gives aim and direction to the whole\nlife. Men do not always reach their goal in earthly things, but in the\nmoral world each man goes to his \"own place,\" the place he himself has\nchosen and sought; he is the arbiter of his own destiny.\n\nAnd what we find to be a law of earth is the law of the kingdom of\nheaven, as Jesus was constantly affirming. The future life would simply\nbe the present life, with eternity as its coefficient. Destiny itself\nwould be but the harvest of earthly deeds, the hereafter being only the\nafter-here. Jesus shows us how while on earth we may lay up \"treasures\nin the heavens,\" making for ourselves \"purses which wax not old,\" and\nthus becoming \"rich toward God.\" He draws a vivid picture of \"a certain\nrich man,\" whose one estimate of life was \"the abundance of the things\nwhich he possessed,\" the size and affluence of his barns, and whose soul\nwas required of him just when he was congratulating it on the years of\nguaranteed plenty, bidding it, \"Take thine ease, eat, drink, and be\nmerry (xii. 16-12).\" He does not here trace for us the destiny of such a\nsoul--He does this in another parable--but He pictures it as suddenly\ntorn away, and eternally separated, from all it had possessed before,\nleaving it, perhaps, to be squandered thriftlessly, or consumed by the\nfires of lust; while, starved and shrivelled, the pauper soul is driven\nout from its earthly stewardship, to find, alas! no welcome in the\n\"eternal tabernacles.\" In the appraisement of this world such a man\nwould be deemed wise and happy, but to Heaven he is the \"foolish one,\"\ncommitting the great, the eternal folly.\n\nThe same lesson is taught in the parables of the Housebuilders (vi. 47)\nand of the Talents (xix. 12). In each there comes the inevitable test,\nthe down-rush of the flood and the reckoning of the lord, a test which\nleaves the obedient secure and happy, the faithful promoted to honour\nand rewards, passed up among the kings; but the disobedient, if not\nentombed in the ruins of their false hopes, yet all shelterless from the\npitiless storm, and the unfaithful and slothful servant stripped of even\nthe little he had, passed downwards into dishonour and shame.\n\nIn another parable, that of the Rich Man and Lazarus (xvi. 19-31) we\nhave a light thrown upon our subject which is at once vivid and lurid.\nIn a few graphic words He draws for us the picture of strange contrasts.\nThe one is rich, dwelling in a palatial residence, whose imposing\ngateway looked down upon the vulgar crowd; clothed in garments of Tyrian\npurple and of Egyptian byssus, which only great wealth could purchase,\nand faring sumptuously every day. So, with perpetual banquets, the rich\nman lived his selfish, sensual life. With thought all centred upon\nhimself, and that his lowest self, he has no thoughts or sympathies to\nspare for the outlying world. They do not even travel so far as to the\npoor beggar who is cast daily at his gate, in hopes that some of the\nshaken-out crumbs of the banquet may fall within his reach. Such is the\ncontrast--the extreme of wealth, and the extreme of poverty; the one\nwith troops of friends, the other friendless--for the verb shows that\nthe hands which laid him down by the rich man's gate were not the gentle\nhands of affection, but the rough hands of duty or of a cold charity;\nthe one clothed in splendid attire, the other not possessing enough even\nto cover his sores; the one gorged to repletion, the other shrunken and\nstarved; the one the anonymous Epicurean, the other possessing a name\nindeed, but nought beside, but a name that had a Divinity hidden within\nit,[6] and which was an index to the soul that bore it. Such were the\ntwo characters Jesus portrayed; and then, lifting up the veil of\nshadows, He shows how the marked contrast reappears in the after-life,\nbut with a strange inverting. Now the poor man is blessed, the rich in\ndistress; the one is enfolded in Abraham's bosom, the other enveloped in\nflames; the one has all the delights of Paradise, the other begs for\njust a drop of water with which to cool the parched tongue.\n\n  [6] The name \"Lazarus\" is derived from El-ezer, or \"God helps.\"\n\nIt may be said that this is simply parable, set forth in language which\nmust not be taken literally. So it is; but the parables of Jesus were\nnot mere word-pictures; they field in solution essential truth. And when\nwe have eliminated all this figurative colouring there is still left\nthis residuary, elementary truth, that character determines destiny:\nthat we cast into our future the shadow of our present selves; that the\ngood will be blessed, and the evil unblessed, which means accursed; and\nthat heaven and hell are tremendous realities, whose pleasures and whose\npains lie alike deep beyond the sounding of our weak speech. When the\nrich man forgot his duties to humanity; when he banished God from his\nmansion, and proscribed mercy from his thoughts; when he left Heaven's\nfoundling to the dogs, he was writing out his book of doom, passing\nsentence upon himself. The tree lies as it falls, and it falls as it\nleans; and where is there place for the unforgiven, the unregenerate,\nfor the sensual and the selfish, the unjust and the unclean, but\nsomewhere in the outer darkness they themselves have helped to make? To\nthe sensual and the vile heaven itself would be a hell, its very joys\ncurdling into pain, its streets, thronged with the multitudes of the\nredeemed, offering to the guilty and unrenewed soul but a solitude of\nsilence and anguish; and even were there no final judgment, no solemn\npronouncement of destiny, the evil could never blend with the good, the\npure with the vile; they would gravitate, even as they do now, in\nopposite directions, each seeking its \"own place.\" Wherever and whatever\nour final heaven may be, no one is an outcast but who casts himself out,\na self-immolation, a suicide.\n\nBut is it destiny? it may be asked. May there not be an after-probation,\nso that character itself may be transformed? may not the \"great gulf\"\nitself disappear, or at last be bridged over, so that the repentant may\npass out of its penal but purifying fires? Such, indeed, is the belief,\nor rather the hope, of some; but \"the larger hope\" as they are pleased\nto call it, as far as this Gospel is concerned, is a beautiful but\nillusive dream. He who was Himself the \"Resurrection and the Life,\" and\nwho holds in His own hands the keys of death and of Hades, gives no hint\nof such a posthumous palingenesis. He speaks again and again of a day of\ntest and scrutiny, when actions will be weighed and characters assayed,\nand when men will be judged according to their works. Now it is at the\n\"coming\" of the Son of man, in the glory of His Father, and with a\nretinue of \"holy angels;\" now it is the returning of the lord, and the\nreckoning with his servants; while again it is at the end of the world,\nas the angel-reapers separate the wheat from the tares; or as He\nHimself, the great Judge, with His \"Come ye,\" passes on the faithful to\nthe heavenly kingdom, and at the same time, with His \"Depart ye,\" drives\nfrom His presence the unfaithful and unforgiven into the outer darkness.\nNor does Jesus say one word to suggest that the judgment is not final.\nThe blasphemy against the Holy Ghost, whatever that may mean, shall not\nbe forgiven (xii. 10), or, as St. Matthew expresses it, \"neither in this\nworld, nor in that which is to come.\" The unfaithful servant is \"cut\nasunder\" (xii. 46); the enemies who would not have their Lord to reign\nover them are slain (xix. 27); and when once the door is shut it is all\nin vain that those outside cry, \"Lord, open to us!\" They had an open\ndoor, but they slighted and scorned it, and now they must abide by their\nchoice, outside the door, outside the kingdom, with the \"workers of\niniquity,\" where \"there is weeping and gnashing of teeth\" (xiii. 28).\n\nOr if we turn again to the parable of the Rich Man, where is there room\nfor the \"larger hope\"? where is the suggestion that these \"pains of\nhell\" may be lessened; and ultimately escaped altogether? We listen in\nvain for one syllable of hope. In vain he makes his appeal to \"father\nAbraham;\" in vain he entreats the good offices of Lazarus; in vain he\nasks for a momentary alleviation of his pain, in the boon of one drop of\nwater: between him and help, yea, between him and hope, is a \"great gulf\nfixed, ... that none may cross\" (xvi. 26).\n\n\"That none may cross.\" Such are the words of Jesus, though here put in\nthe mouth of Abraham; and if finality is not here, where can we find it?\nWhat may be the judgment passed upon those who, though erring, are\nignorant, we cannot tell, though Jesus plainly indicates that the number\nof the stripes will vary, as they knew, or they did not know, the Lord's\nwill; but for those who had the light, and turned from it, who saw the\nright, but did it not, who heard the Gospel of love, with its great\nsalvation, and only rejected it--for these there is only an \"outer\ndarkness\" of eternal hopelessness. And what is the outer darkness itself\nbut the darkness of their own inner blindness, a blindness which was\nwilful and persistent?\n\nOur Gospel thus teaches that death does not alter character, that\ncharacter makes destiny, and that destiny once determined is unalterable\nand eternal. Or, to put it in the words of the angel to the seer, \"He\nthat is unrighteous, let him do unrighteousness still: and he that is\nfilthy, let him be made filthy still: and he that is righteous, let him\ndo righteousness still: and he that is holy, let him be made holy still\"\n(Rev. xxii. 11).\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\n_THE WATCH IN GETHSEMANE._\n\n\nHitherto the life of Jesus has been comparatively free from sorrow and\nfrom pain. With the exception of the narrow strip of wilderness which\nfell between the Baptism and His inaugural miracle, the Divine Life has\nlain for the most part in the sunshine, above the fret and fever of\nanxious thought and care. True, He had enemies, whose hatred was\npersistent and virulent; the shafts of calumny fell around Him in one\nsteady rain; His motives were constantly misconstrued, His words\nmisunderstood; but with all this His life was peace. How could He have\nspoken of \"rest\" of soul, and have promised it to the weary and\nheavy-laden, if He Himself were a stranger to its experience? How could\nHe have awoke such songs and shouts of gladness, or have strewn the\nlives of men with such unusual brightness, without having that\nbrightness and music coming back in reflections and echoes within His\nown heart--that heart which was the fontal source of their new-found\njoys? And if many doubted, or even hated Him, there were many who\nadmired and feared, and not a few who loved and adored Him, and who were\nglad to place at His disposal their entire substance, nay, their entire\nselves. But if His anointing thus far has been the anointing of\ngladness, there is a baptism of sorrow and anguish prepared for Him,\nand to that ordeal He now proceeds, first girding up His soul with the\nmusic of a thanksgiving psalm. Let us, too, arise and follow Him; but\ntaking off our shoes, let us step softly and reverently into the mystery\nof the Divine sorrow; for though we must ever stand back from that\nmystery more than a \"stone's cast,\" perhaps, if we keep mind and heart\nawake and alert, we may read something of its deep meaning.\n\nThe whole scene of Gethsemane is unique. Like the Mount of\nTransfiguration, the Garden of the Agony stands \"apart\" from all other\npaths, in a profound isolation. And in more senses than this these two\naugust scenes are related and coincident. Indeed, we cannot fully\nunderstand the mystery of the Garden but as we allow the mystery of the\nMount to explain it, in part at least, so threading the light of the one\ninto the darkness of the other. On the Mount of Transfiguration the\nDivine Life, as we have seen, reached its culminating point, its\nperihelion as we may call it, where it touched the very heavens for one\nbrief night, passing through its out-streaming glories and crossing the\npaths of celestials. In Gethsemane we have the antipodal fact; we see\nthe Divine Life in its far aphelion, where it touches hell itself,\nmoving round in an awful gloom, and crossing the paths of the \"powers of\ndarkness.\" And so our best outlook into Gethsemane is not from the Mount\nof Olives--though the two names are related, as the two places are\nadjacent, Gethsemane lying at the foot of Olivet--but from that more\ndistant Mount of Transfiguration.\n\nLeaving the \"guest-chamber,\" where a Passover of a new order has been\ninstituted, and the cup, with its fruit of the vine, has received a\nhigher consecration, Jesus leads the broken band down the stairs, which\nstill vibrate with the heavy tread of the traitor, and in the still,\nfull moonlight they pass out of the city, the gates being open because\nof the Passover. Descending the steep ravine, and crossing the brook\nKedron, they enter the enclosure of Gethsemane. Both St. Luke and St.\nJohn tell us that He was accustomed to resort thither--for, strangely\nenough, we do not read of Jesus spending so much as one night within the\ncity walls--and so probably the garden belonged to one of His adherents,\npossibly to St. Mark. Bidding the eight remain near the entrance, and\nexhorting them to pray that they enter not into, or, as it means here,\nthat they \"yield not to,\" the temptation which is shortly to come upon\nthem, Jesus takes Peter, James, and John farther into the garden. They\nwere witnesses of His Transfiguration, when His face shone like the sun,\nand the spirits of the perfected came to do Him homage; they must now\nsee a transfiguration of sorrow, as that face is furrowed by the sharp\nlines of pain, and half-masked by a veil of blood. From the narratives\nof St. Matthew and St. Mark it would appear as if Jesus now experienced\na sudden change of feeling. In the guest-chamber He was calmly\nconfident; and though we may detect in His words and symbolic acts a\ncertain undertone of sadness, the salutation of one \"about to die,\" yet\nthere was no tremor, no fear. He spoke of His own death, which now was\nnear at hand, as calmly as if the Mount of Sacrifice were but another\nmountain of spices; while to His disciples He spoke words of cheer and\nhope, putting around their hearts a soothing, healing balm, even before\nthe dreadful wound is made. But now all this is changed: \"He began to be\ngreatly amazed and sore troubled\" (St. Mark xiv. 33). The word we here\nrender \"amazed,\" as St. Mark uses it, has sometimes the element of fear\nwithin it, as when the women were \"amazed,\" or \"affrighted,\" by the\nvision of the angels (xvi. 5); and such, we are inclined to think, is\nits meaning here. It was not so much wonder as it was trepidation, and a\ncertain dread, which now fell of a sudden upon the Master. Over that\npure soul, which ever lay calm and serene as the bright heaven which\nstooped to embrace it, has broken a storm of conflicting winds, and\ndense, murky clouds, and all is disquiet and distress, where before was\nnothing but peace. \"My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death;\"\nsuch is the strange confession of tremulous lips, as for once He opens\nthe infinite depths of His heart, and shows the mortal grief which has\nsuddenly fallen there. It is the first contact of the eclipse, as\nbetween Himself and the Father's smile another world is passing, the\nworld of the \"outer darkness,\" even hell, throwing down upon His soul a\nchilling, awful shadow.\n\nJesus understands its meaning. It is the signal for the final battle,\nthe shadow of the \"prince of this world,\" who, rallying all his forces,\ncometh to find \"nothing in Me.\" Jesus accepts the challenge, and that He\nmay meet the enemy single-handed, with no earthly supports, He bids the\nthree, \"Abide ye here, and watch with Me.\" \"With Me,\" and not \"for Me;\"\nfor what could avail to Him the vigilance of human eyes amid this felt\ndarkness of the soul? It was not for Himself He bade them \"watch,\" but\nfor themselves, that waking and praying they might gain a strength which\nwould be proof against temptation, the test which would be keenly\nsevere, and which now was close at hand.\n\n\"And He was parted from them about a stone's cast.\" The verb implies a\nmeasure of constraint, as if, in the conflict of emotion, the longing\nfor some human presence and human sympathy held Him back. And why not?\nIs not the very presence of a friend a solace in grief, even if no words\nare spoken? and does not the \"aloneness\" of a sorrow make the sorrow\ntenfold more bitter? Not like the \"stricken deer that left the herd,\"\nthe human heart, when wounded or sore pressed, yearns for sympathy,\nfinding in the silent look or in the touch of a hand a grateful anodyne.\nBut this wine-press He must tread alone, and of the people there must be\nnone with Him; and so the three who are most favoured and most beloved\nare left back at a stone's cast from the physical suffering of Christ,\nwhile from His heart-agony they must stand back at an infinite distance.\n\nIt was while Jesus was praying upon the holy mount that the heavens were\nopened unto Him; and now, as another cloud envelopes Him, not of glory,\nbut of a thick darkness, it finds Him in the same attitude of prayer. He\nat whose feet sinful man had knelt, all unrebuked, Himself now kneels,\nas He sends to heaven the earnest and almost bitter cry, \"O My Father,\nif it be possible, let this cup pass from Me!\" The three Evangelists\ndiffer in their wording of the Saviour's petition, showing that the\nspirit is more than the letter of prayer; that Heaven thinks more of the\ninner thought than of the outward drapery of words; but the thought of\nthe three is identical, while all make prominent the central figure of\nthe \"cup.\"\n\nThe cups of Scripture are of divers patterns and of varied meanings.\nThere was the cup of blessing, like that of the Psalmist (Psalm xxiii.\n5), filled to the brim and running over with mercy. There was the \"cup\nof salvation,\" that sacrament of the Old Testament which kept in memory\none deliverance, that of Israel, while it prophesied of another, the\n\"great salvation\" which was to come. What, then, was the cup Jesus so\nfeared to drink, and which He asked, so earnestly and repeatedly, that\nit might pass from Him? Was it the fear of death? Certainly not; for how\ncould He be afraid of death, who had so triumphed over it, and who had\nproclaimed Himself the Resurrection and the Life? How could He fear\ndeath, when He knew so well \"the seraph face that smiled beneath the\nfrowning mask,\" and knew that it would end for ever all His sufferings\nand His pain? Death to Him was a familiar thought. He spoke of it\nfreely, not either with the hard indifference of the Stoic, or with the\npalsied speech of one whose lips shake with an inward fear, but in calm,\nsweet accents, as any child of earth might speak of going home. Was this\n\"cup,\" then, the death itself? and when He asked that it might pass\naway, was He suggesting that possibly some mode of atonement might be\nfound other than the cross? We think not. Jesus knew full well that His\nearthly life would have, and could have, but one issue. Death would be\nits goal, as it was its object. Whether, as Holman Hunt represents, the\ncross threw its shadow back as far as the shop at Nazareth, we do not\nknow, for the record is silent. But we do know that the shadow of death\nlay across the whole of His public life, for we find it appearing in His\nwords. The cross was a dark and vivid certainty that He wished neither\nto forget nor to evade, for must not the Son of man be \"lifted up,\" that\nHe may draw all men to Himself? Must not the corn of wheat be hidden in\nits grave before it can become fruitful, throwing itself forward down\nthe years in hundredfold multiplications? Yes; death to Jesus is the\ninevitable, and long before the Roman soldiers have pieced together the\ntransverse beams Jesus had made His cross, fashioning it in His thought,\nand hiding it in His words. Nay, He has this very night instituted a new\nsacrament, in which, for all generations, the broken bread shall be the\nemblem of His bruised and broken body, and the wine, of His blood, the\nblood of the New Testament, which is shed for man. And does Jesus now\nseek, by reiterated prayers, to shift that cross from the Divine\npurpose, substituting in its place something less painful, less cruel?\ndoes He seek now to annul His own predictions, and to make His own\nsacrament void and meaningless? This cannot be; and so, whatever the\n\"cup\" may mean, we cannot take it as a synonym for His death.\n\nWhat, then, is its meaning? The Psalmist had long before sung--\n\n  \"For in the hand of the Lord there is a cup, and the wine foameth;\n  It is full of mixture, and He poureth out of the same:\n  Surely the dregs thereof, all the wicked of the earth shall wring\n      them out, and drink them\" (Psalm lxxv. 8);\n\nwhile St. John, speaking of the last woes (Rev. xiv. 10), tells how they\nwho have the mark of the beast upon their foreheads \"shall drink of the\nwine of the wrath of God, which is prepared unmixed in the cup of His\nanger.\" Here, then, is the \"cup\" which now is set before the Son of man,\nthe very touch of which fills His soul with unutterable dread. It is the\ncup of God's anger, filled to the brim with its strange red wine, the\nwine of His wrath. Jesus comes to earth as the Representative Man, the\nSecond Adam, in whom all shall be made alive. He voluntarily assumes the\nplace of the transgressor, as St. Paul writes (2 Cor. v. 21), \"Him who\nknew no sin He made to be sin on our behalf; that we might become the\nrighteousness of God in Him,\" a passage which corresponds exactly with\nthe prophetic idea of substitution, as given by Isaiah (liii. 5), \"He\nwas wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities:\nthe chastisement of our peace was upon Him; and with His stripes we are\nhealed.\" And so \"the iniquity of us all\" was laid on Him, the Holy One.\nIn His own Person He must feel, in its concentrated forms, the smart and\nconsequence of sin; and as His physical sufferings are the extremest\npain even sin can produce, so Jesus must suffer, too, all the mental\nanguish, the agony of a soul bereft of God. And as Jesus, on the\nTransfiguration mount, passed up to the very gate of heaven, so lighting\nup with splendour and glory the lost path of unfallen man, so now, in\nthe Garden, Jesus tracks the path of fallen man, right on to its fearful\nconsummation, which is the \"outer darkness\" of hell itself. This vivid\nconsciousness has been graciously withheld from Him hitherto; for the\nterrible pressure would simply have unfitted Him for His ministry of\nblessing; for how could He have been the \"kindly Light,\" leading\nhumanity homeward, heavenward, if that Light Himself were hidden in\n\"encircling gloom,\" and lost in a felt darkness? But ere His mission is\ncomplete this is an experience that He must know. Identifying Himself\nwith sin, He must feel its very farthest consequence, the awful\nsolitude, and the unutterable anguish, of a soul now bereft of hope and\nforsaken of God. In the heathen fable Orpheus goes down, lyre in hand,\nto the Plutonic realm, to bring back again to life and love the lost\nEurydice; but Jesus, in His vicarious sufferings, goes down to hell\nitself, that He may win back from their sins, and bear in triumph to the\nupper heavens, a lost humanity.\n\nRising from the ground, and going back to His three disciples, He finds\nthem asleep. The Synoptists all seek to explain, and to apologize for,\ntheir unnatural slumber, St. Matthew and St. Mark telling us that their\n\"eyes were heavy,\" while St. Luke states that their sleep was the result\nof their grief; for, happily, in the wonderful compensations of nature,\nintense grief does tend to induce somnolence. But while the Evangelists\nrefer their slumber to natural causes, might there not be something more\nin it, some supernatural element? Sleep can be caused by natural means,\nand yet be an unnatural sleep, as when narcotics benumb the senses, or\nsome mesmeric spell muffles the speech, and makes the soul for a time\nunconscious. And might it not have been some invisible touch which made\ntheir eyes so heavy? for it is an exact repetition of their attitude\nwhen on the holy mount, and in that sleep sorrow certainly had no part.\nWhen St. John saw the vision upon Patmos, he \"fell at His feet as one\ndead;\" and when Saul beheld the light, near Damascus, he fell to the\nground. And how often we find the celestial vision connected with a\ntrance-like state! and why may not the \"trance\" be an effect of the\nvision, just as well as its cause, or rather its circumstance? At any\nrate, the fact is plain, that supernatural visions tend to lock up the\nnatural senses, the veil which is uplifted before the unseen world being\nwrapped around the eyes and the soul of the seer. And this, we are\ninclined to think, was a possible, partial cause for the slumber upon\nthe mount and in the garden, a sleep which, under the circumstances,\nwas strangely unnatural and almost unpardonable.\n\nAddressing Himself directly to Peter, who had promised to follow His\nLord unto death, but whose heart now strangely lagged behind, and\ncalling him by his earlier name--for Jesus only once made use of the\nname He Himself had chosen; the \"Rock\" was at present in a state of\nflux, and had not yet settled down to its petrine character--He said,\n\"What, Simon, could ye not watch with Me one hour? Watch and pray, that\nye enter not into temptation.\" Then, for a moment forgetting His own\nsorrow, and putting Himself in their place, He makes the apology for\nthem which their lips are afraid to utter: \"The spirit indeed is\nwilling, but the flesh is weak;\" so compassionate is He over human\nweakness and infirmity, even while He is severity itself towards falsity\nand sin.\n\nSt. Luke records the narrative only in a condensed form, giving us the\nsalient points, but not entering so fully into detail. It is from St.\nMatthew and St. Mark that we learn how Jesus went back a second time,\nand falling prostrate on the ground, prayed still in the self-same\nwords, and how He returned to His disciples to find them again asleep;\neven the reproof of the Master has not been able to counterbalance the\npressure of the supernatural heaviness. No word is spoken this time--at\nany rate the Evangelists have not repeated them for us--but how eloquent\nwould be that look of disappointment and of grief! and how that rebuke\nwould fall burning hot upon their heart, focussed in the lenses of His\nsad and tearful eyes! But the three are dazed, bewildered, and for once\nthe ready tongue of Peter is speechless; \"they wist not what to answer\nHim\" (Mark xiv. 40).\n\nNot yet, however, is the conflict ended. Three times did the tempter\ncome to Him in the wilderness, and three times is the fierce battle to\nbe waged in the garden, the last the sorest. It would almost seem as if\nthe three assaults were descending steps of sorrow, each marking some\nlower deep in the dark mystery; for now the death-sorrow becomes an\n\"agony\" of spirit, a pressure from within so fearful as to arrest the\nflow of blood, forcing it through the opened pores in an awful sweat,\nuntil great drops, or \"clots,\" of blood gathered upon His face, and then\nfell to the ground. Could there be possibly, even for the lost, an\nanguish more intense? and was not Jesus then, as man's Surety, wringing\nout and drinking the very last dregs of that cup of His anger which \"the\nwicked of the earth,\" if unredeemed, had been doomed to drink? Verily He\nwas, and the bloody sweat was a part, an earnest, of our atonement,\nsprinkling with its redemptive virtues the very ground which was\n\"cursed\" for man's sake (Gen. iii. 17). It was the pledge and the\nforegathered fruit of a death already virtually accomplished, in the\nabsolute surrender of the Divine Son as man's sacrifice.\n\nAnd so the thrice-uttered prayer of Jesus, even though He prayed the\n\"more earnestly,\" was not granted. It was heard, and it was answered,\nbut not in the specific way of the request. Like Paul's prayer for the\nremoval of the thorn, and which, though not granted, was yet answered in\nthe promise of the \"sufficient\" grace, so now the thrice-uttered prayer\nof Jesus does not remove the cup. It is there, and it is there for Him\nto drink, as He tastes for man both of the earthly death and of the\nbitterness of the after, the second death. But the answer came in the\nstrengthening of His soul, and in the heavenly greetings the angel\nbrought down to Him when the conflict was over. But in this reiterated\nprayer for the removal of the cup there was no conflict between Himself\nand the Father. The request itself was enveloped in submission, the\ncontingent \"if\" which preceded it, and the \"not My win, but Thine,\"\nwhich followed, completely enclosing it. The will of Jesus was ever\nadjusted to the will of the Father, working within it in an absolute\nprecision, with no momentary breaks. But here the \"if\" implies\nuncertainty, doubt. Even Jesus is not quite sure as to what, in the\nspecial case, the Father's will may involve, and so, while He asks for\nthe removal of the cup, this is the smaller request, inlaid within the\nlarger, deeper prayer, that \"not My will, but Thine, be done.\" Jesus did\nnot seek to bend the Father's will, and make it conform to His desires,\nbut He sought, whatever might be the cost, to configure His desires to\nthat all-wise and all-loving Will.\n\nSo in our smaller lives there may be hours of distress and uncertainty.\nWe may see, mingled for us, cups of sorrow, loss, or pain, which we fear\nto drink, and the shrinking flesh may seek to be exempted from the\nordeal; but let us not too hastily ask that they may be put away, for\nfear we may dismiss some cup of blessing from our life. Let us seek\nrather for a perfect submission to the will of God, conforming all our\ndesires and all our prayers to that will. So in that \"perfect\nacquiescence\" there will be for us a \"perfect rest.\" Gethsemane itself\nwill become bright and all musical with songs, and where the powers of\ndarkness mocked us Heaven's angels will come, with their sweet ministry.\nNay, the cup of sorrow and of pain, at which we trembled before, if we\nsee how God's will has wrought and filled it, and we embrace that will,\nthe cup of sorrow will be a transfigured cup, a golden chalice of the\nKing, all filled to the brim, and running over, with the new wine of the\nkingdom.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\n_THE PASSION._\n\nLUKE xxii. 47-xxiii.\n\n\nWhile Jesus kept His sad watch in Gethsemane, treading the winepress\nalone, His enemies kept theirs in the city. The step of Judas, as he\npassed out into the night, went verberating within the house of the high\npriest, and onwards into the palace of Pilate himself, awaking a\nthousand echoes, as swift messengers flew hither and thither, bearing\nthe hurried summons, calling the rulers and elders from their repose,\nand marshalling the Roman cohort. Hitherto the powers of darkness have\nbeen restrained, and though they have, again and again, attempted the\nlife of Jesus, as if some occult spell were upon them, they could not\naccomplish their purpose. Far back in the Infancy Herod had sought to\nkill Him; but though his cold steel reaped a bloody swath in Ramah, it\ncould not touch the Divine Child. The men of Nazareth had sought to hurl\nHim down the sheer precipice, but He escaped; Jesus had not come into\nthe world to die at Nazareth, thrown off, as by an accident, from a\nGalilean cliff. He had come to \"accomplish His decease,\" as the\ncelestials put it upon the mount, \"at Jerusalem,\" and that too, as He\nindicated plainly and frequently in His speech, upon a cross. Now,\nhowever, the hour of darkness has struck, and the fulness of the time\nhas come. The cross and the Victim both are ready, and Heaven itself\nconsents to the great sacrifice.\n\nStrangely enough, the first overture of the \"Passion music\" is by one of\nthe twelve--as our Evangelist names him, \"Judas who was called Iscariot,\nbeing of the number of the twelve\" (xxii. 3). It will be observed that\nSt. Luke puts a parenthesis of forty verses between the actual betrayal\nand its preliminary stages, so throwing the conception of the plot back\nto an earlier date than the eve of the Last Supper, and the subsequent\nnarrative is best read in the light of its programme. At first sight it\nwould appear as if the part of the betrayer were superfluous, seeing\nthat Jesus came almost daily into the Temple, where He spoke openly,\nwithout either reserve or fear. What need could there be for any\nintermediary to come between the chief priests and the Victim of their\nhate? Was not His person familiar to all the Temple officials? and could\nthey not apprehend Him almost at any hour? Yes, but one thing stood in\nthe way, and that was \"the fear of the people.\" Jesus evidently had an\ninfluential following; the popular sympathies were on His side; and had\nthe attack been made upon Him during the day, in the thronged streets of\nthe city or in the Temple courts, there would have been, almost to a\ncertainty, a popular rising on His behalf. The arrest must be made in\nthe absence of the multitude (xxii. 6), which means that they must fall\nupon Him in one of His quiet hours, and in one of His quiet retreats; it\nmust be a night attack, when the multitudes are asleep. Here, then, is\nroom for the betrayer, who comes at the opportune moment, and offers\nhimself for the despicable task, a task which has made the name of\n\"Judas\" a synonym for all that is treacherous and vile. How the base\nthought could ever have come into the mind of Judas it were hard to\ntell, but it certainly was not sprung upon him as a surprise. But men\nlean in the direction of their weakness, and when they fall it is\ngenerally on their weakest side, the side on which temptation is the\nstrongest. It was so here. St. John writes him down in a single\nsentence: \"He was a thief, and having the bag, took away what was put\ntherein\" (John xii. 6). His ruling passion was the love of money, and in\nthe delirium of this fever his hot hands dashed to the ground and broke\nin pieces the tables of law and equity alike, striking at all the\nmoralities. And between robbing his Master and betraying Him there was\nno great distance to traverse, especially when conscience lay in a numb\nstupor, drugged by opiates, these tinctures of silver.\n\nHere, then, is a betrayer ready to their hand. He knows what hour is\nbest, and how to conduct them to His secret retreats. And so Judas\ncommuned with the chief priests and captains, or he \"talked it over with\nthem\" as the word means, the secret conference ending in a bargain, as\nthey \"covenanted\" to give him money (xxii. 5). It was a hard and fast\nbargain; for the word \"covenanted\" has about it a metallic ring, and\nopening it out, it lets us see the wordy chaffering, as Judas abates his\nprice to the offer of the high priests, the thirty pieces of silver,\nwhich was the market price of an ordinary slave. Not that Judas intended\nto be a participator in His death, as the sequel of his remorse shows.\nHe probably thought and hoped that his Master would escape, slipping\nthrough the meshes they so cunningly had thrown about Him; but having\ndone his part of the covenant, his reward would be sure, for the thirty\npieces were already in his possession. Ah, he little dreamed how\nfar-reaching his action would be! That silver key of his would set in\nmotion the ponderous wheel which would not stop until his Master was its\nVictim, lying all crushed and bleeding beneath it! He only discovered\nhis mistake when, alas! it was too late for remedy. Gladly would he have\ngiven back his thirty pieces, ay, and thirty times thirty, to have\ncalled back his treacherous \"Hail,\" but he could not. That \"Hail,\nMaster,\" had gone beyond his recall, reverberating down the ages and up\namong the stars, while even its echoes, as they came back to him in\npainful memories, threw him out of the world an unloved and guilty\nsuicide!\n\nWhat with the cunning of the high priests and the cold calculations of\nJudas, whose mind was practised in weighing chances and providing for\ncontingences, the plot is laid deeply and well. No detail is omitted:\nthe band of soldiers, who shall put the stamp of officialism upon the\nprocedure, while at the same time they cower the populace and repress\nany attempt at rescue; the swords and staves, should they have to resort\nto force; the lanterns and torches, with which to light up the dark\nhiding-places of the garden; the cords or chains, with which to bind\ntheir Prisoner; the kiss, which should be at once the sign of\nrecognition and the signal for the arrest, all are prearranged and\nprovided; while out of sight the high priests are keeping their midnight\nwatch, ready for the mock trial, for which the suborned witnesses are\neven now rehearsing their parts. Could worldly prudence or malicious\nskill go farther?\n\nStealthily as the leopard approaches its victim, the motley crowd enter\nthe garden, coming with muffled steps to take and lead away the Lamb of\nGod. Only the glimmer of their torches gave notice of their approach,\nand even these burned dull in the intense moonlight. But Jesus needed no\naudible or visible warning, for He Himself knew just how events were\ndrifting, reading the near future as plainly as the near past; and\nbefore they have come in sight He has awoke the three sleeping sentinels\nwith a word which will effectually drive slumber from their eyelids:\n\"Arise, let us be going: behold, he is at hand that betrayeth Me\" (Matt.\nxxvi. 46).\n\nIt will be seen from this that Jesus could easily have eluded His\npursuers had He cared to do so. Even without any appeal to His\nsupernatural powers, He could have withdrawn Himself under cover of the\nnight, and have left the human sleuth-hounds foiled of their prey and\nvainly baying at the moon. But instead of this, He makes no attempt at\nflight. He even seeks the glades of Gethsemane, when by simply going\nelsewhere He might have disconcerted their plot and brought their\ncounsel to nought. And now He yields Himself up to His death, not\npassively merely, but with the entire and active concurrence of His\nwill. He \"offered Himself,\" as the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews\nexpresses it (Heb. ix. 14), a free-will Offering, a voluntary Sacrifice.\nHe could, as He Himself said, have called legions of angels to His help;\nbut He would not give the signal, though it were no more than one\nuplifted look. And so He does not refuse even the kiss of treachery; He\nsuffers the hot lips of the traitor to burn His cheeks; and when others\nwould have shaken off the viper into the fire, or have crushed it with\nthe heel of a righteous indignation, Jesus receives patiently the stamp\nof infamy, His only word being a question of surprise, not at the\ntreachery itself, but at its mode: \"Betrayest thou the Son of man with a\nkiss?\" And when for the moment, as St. John tells us, a strange awe fell\nupon the multitude, and they \"went backward and fell to the ground,\"\nJesus, as it were, called in the outshining glories, masking them with\nthe tired and blood-stained humanity that He wore, so stilling the\ntremor that was upon His enemies, as He nerved the very hands that\nshould take Him. And again, when they do bind Him, He offers no\nresistance; but when Peter's quick sword flashes from its scabbard, and\ntakes off the right ear of Malchus, the servant of the high priest, and\nso one of the leaders in the arrest, Jesus asks for the use of His\nmanacled hand--for so we read the \"Suffer ye thus far\"--and touching the\near, heals it at once. He Himself is willing to be wounded even unto\ndeath, but His alone must be the wounds. His enemies must not share His\npain, nor must His disciples pass with Him into this temple of His\nsufferings; and He even stays to ask for them a free parole: \"Let these\ngo their way.\"\n\nBut while for the disciples Jesus has but words of tender rebuke or of\nprayer, while for Malchus He has a word and a touch of mercy, and while\neven for Judas He has an endearing epithet, \"friend,\" for the chief\npriests, captains, and elders He has severer words. They are the\nringleaders, the plotters. All this commotion, this needless parade of\nhostile strength, these superfluous insults are but the foaming of their\nrabid frenzy, the blossoming of their malicious hate; and turning to\nthem as they stand gloating in their supercilious scorn, He asks, \"Are\nye come out, as against a robber, with swords and staves? When I was\ndaily with you in the Temple, ye stretched not forth your hands against\nMe: but this is your hour, and the power of darkness.\" True words, for\nthey who should have been priests of Heaven are in league with hell,\nwilling ministers of the powers of darkness. And this was indeed their\nhour, but the hour of their victory would prove the hour of their doom.\n\nSt. Luke, as do the other Synoptists, omits the preliminary trial before\nAnnas, the ex-high priest (John xviii. 13), and leads us direct to the\npalace of Caiaphas, whither they conduct Jesus bound. Instead, however,\nof pursuing the main narrative, he lingers to gather up the side-lights\nof the palace-yard, as they cast a lurid light upon the character of\nSimon. Some time before, Jesus had forewarned him of a coming ordeal,\nand which He called a Satanic sifting; while only a few hours ago He had\nprophesied that this night, before the cock should crow twice, Peter\nwould thrice deny Him--a singular prediction, and one which at the time\nseemed most unlikely, but which proved true to the very letter. After\nthe encounter in the garden, Peter retires from our sight for awhile;\nbut his flight was neither far nor long, for as the procession moves up\ntowards the city Peter and John follow it as a rear-guard, on to the\nhouse of Annas, and now to the house of Caiaphas. We need not repeat the\ndetails of the story--how John passed him through the door into the\ninner court, and how he sat, or \"stood,\" as St. John puts it, by the\ncharcoal fire, warming himself with the officers and servants. The\ndiffering verbs only show the restlessness of the man, which was a\nlife-long characteristic of Peter, but which would be doubly accentuated\nhere, with suspecting eyes focussed upon him. Indeed, in the whole\nscene of the courtyard, as sketched for us in the varying but not\ndiscordant narratives of the Evangelists, we may detect the vibrations\nof constant movement and the ripple-marks of intense excitement.\n\nWhen challenged the first time, by the maid who kept the door, Peter\nanswered with a sharp, blunt negative: he was not a disciple; he did not\neven know Him. At the second challenge, by another maid, he replied with\nan absolute denial, but added to his denial the confirmation of an oath.\nAt the third challenge, by one of the men standing near, he denied as\nbefore, but added to his denial both an oath and an anathema. It is\nrather unfortunate that our version renders it (Matt. xxvi. 74; Mark\nxiv. 71), \"He began to curse and to swear;\" for these words have a\npeculiarly ill savour, a taste of Billingsgate, which the original words\nhave not. To our ear, \"to curse and to swear\" are the accomplishments of\na loose and a foul tongue, which throws out its fires of passion in\nprofanity, or in coarse obscenities, as it revels in immoralities of\nspeech. The words in the New Testament, however, have a meaning\naltogether different. Here \"to swear\" means to take an oath, as in our\ncourts of law, or rather to make an affirmation. Even God Himself is\nspoken of as swearing, as in the song of Zacharias (i. 73), where He is\nsaid to have remembered His holy covenant, \"the oath which He sware unto\nAbraham our father.\" Indeed, this form of speech, the oath or\naffirmation, had come into too general use, as we may see from the\nparagraph upon oaths in the Sermon on the Mount (Matt. v. 33-37). Jesus\nhere condemned it, it is true, for to Him who was Truth itself our word\nshould be as our bond; but His reference to it shows how prevalent the\ncustom was, even amongst strict legalists and moralists. When, then,\nPeter \"swore,\" it does not mean that he suddenly became profane, but\nsimply that he backed up his denial with a solemn affirmation. So, too,\nwith the word \"curse;\" it has not our modern meaning. Literally\nrendered, it would be, \"He put himself under an anathema,\" which\n\"anathema\" was the bond or penalty he was willing to pay if his words\nshould not be true. In Acts xxiii. 12 we have the cognate word, where\nthe \"anathema\" was, \"They would neither eat nor drink till they had\nkilled Paul.\" The curse thus was nothing immoral in itself; it was a\nform of speech even the purest might use, a sort of underlined\naffirmation.\n\nBut though the language of Peter was neither profane nor foul, though in\nhis \"oath\" and in his \"curse\" there is nothing for which the purest\ntaste need apologize, yet here was his sin, his grievous sin: he made\nuse of the oath and the curse to back up a deliberate and cowardly lie,\neven as men to-day will kiss the book to make God's Word of truth a\ncover for perjury. How shall we explain the sad fall of this\ncaptain-disciple, who was first and foremost of the Twelve? Were these\ndenials but the wild and wandering cries of some delirium? We find that\nPeter's lips did sometimes throw off unreasoning and untimely words,\nspeaking like one in a dream, as he proposed the three tabernacles on\nthe mount, \"not knowing what he said.\" But this is no delirium, no\necstasy; his mind is clear as the sky overhead, his thought bright and\nsharp as was his sword just now. No, it was not a failure in the reason;\nit was a sadder failure in the heart. Of physical courage Simon had an\nabundance, but he was somewhat deficient in moral courage. His surname\n\"Peter\" was as yet but a forename, a prophecy; for the \"rock\"-granite\nwas yet in a state of flux, pliant, somewhat wavering, and too easily\nimpressed. It must \"be dipped in baths of hissing tears\" ere it hardens\ninto the foundation-rock for the new temple. In the garden he was too\nready, too brave. \"Shall we smite with the sword?\" he asked, matching\nthe \"we,\" which numbered two swords, against a whole Roman cohort; but\nthat was in the presence of his Master, and in the consciousness of\nstrength which that Presence gave. It is different now. His Master is\nHimself a bound and helpless Prisoner. His own sword is taken from him,\nor, which is the same thing, it is ordered to its sheath. The bright\ndream of temporal sovereignty, which like a beautiful mirage had played\non the horizon of his thought, had suddenly faded, withdrawing itself\ninto the darkness. Simon is disappointed, perplexed, bewildered, and\nwith hopes shattered, faith stunned, and love itself in a momentary\nconflict with self-love, he loses heart and becomes demoralized, his\nbetter nature falling to pieces like a routed army.\n\nSuch were the conditions of Peter's denial, the strain and pressure\nunder which his courage and his faith gave way, and almost before he\nknew it he had thrice denied his Lord, tossing away the Christ he would\ndie for on his cold, impetuous words, as, with a tinge of disrespect in\nhis tone and word, he called Him \"the Man.\" But hardly had the denial\nbeen made and the anathema been said when suddenly the cock crew. It was\nbut the familiar call of an unwitting bird, but it smote upon Peter's\near like a near clap of thunder; it brought to his mind those words of\nhis Master, which he had thought were uncertain parable, but which he\nfinds now were certain prophecy, and thus let in a rush of sweet,\nold-time memories. Conscience-stricken, and with a load of terrible\nguilt pressing upon his soul, he looks up timidly towards the Lord he\nhas forsworn. Will He deny _him_, on one of His bitter \"woes\" casting\nhim down to the Gehenna he deserves? No; Jesus looks upon Peter; nay, He\neven \"turns\" round toward him, that He may look; and as Peter saw that\nlook, the face all streaked with blood and lined with an unutterable\nanguish, when he felt that glance fixed upon him of an upbraiding but a\npitying and forgiving love, that look of Jesus pierced the inmost soul\nof the denying, agnostic disciple, breaking up the fountains of his\nheart, and sending him out to weep \"bitterly.\" That look was the supreme\nmoment in Peter's life. It forgave, while it rebuked him; it passed\nthrough his nature like refining fire, burning out what was weak, and\nselfish and sordid, and transforming Simon, the boaster, the man of\nwords, into Peter, the man of deeds, the man of \"rock.\"\n\nBut if in the outer court truth is thrown to the winds, within the\npalace justice herself is parodied. It would seem as if the first\ninterview of Caiaphas with Jesus were private, or in the presence at\nmost of a few personal attendants. But at this meeting, as the High\nPriest of the New was arraigned before the high priest of the Old\nDispensation, nothing was elicited. Questioned as to His disciples and\nas to His doctrine, Jesus maintained a dignified silence, only speaking\nto remind His pseudo-judge that there were certain rules of procedure\nwith which he himself was bound to comply. He would not enlighten him;\nwhat He had said He had said openly, in the Temple; and if he wished to\nknow he must appeal to those who heard Him, he must call his witnesses;\nan answer which brought Him a sharp and cruel blow from one of the\nofficers, the first of a sad rain of blows which bruised His flesh and\nmade His visage marred more than any man's.\n\nThe private interview ended, the doors were thrown open to the mixed\ncompany of chief priests, elders, and scribes, probably the same as had\nwitnessed the arrest, with others of the council who had been hastily\nsummoned, and who were known to be avowedly hostile to Jesus. It\ncertainly was not a properly constituted tribunal, a council of the\nSanhedrim, which alone had the power to adjudicate on questions purely\nreligious. It was rather a packed jury, a Star Chamber of self-appointed\nassessors. With the exception that witnesses were called (and even these\nwere \"false,\" with discrepant stories which neutralized their testimony\nand made it valueless), the whole proceedings were a hurried travesty of\njustice, unconstitutional, and so illegal. But such was the virulent\nhate of the hierarchy of the Temple, they were prepared to break through\nall legalities to gain their end; yea, they would even have broken the\ntables of the law themselves, if they might only have stoned the\nNazarene with the fragments, and then have buried Him under the rude\ncairn. The only testimony they could find was that He had said He would\ndestroy the temple made with hands, and in three days build another made\nwithout hands (Mark xiv. 58); and even in this the statements of the two\nwitnesses did not agree, while both were garbled misrepresentations of\nthe truth.\n\nHitherto Jesus had remained silent, and when Caiaphas sprang from his\nseat, asking, \"Answerest Thou nothing?\" seeking to extract some broken\nspeech by the pressure of an imperious mien and browbeating words,\nJesus answered by a majestic silence. Why should He cast His pearls\nbefore these swine, who were even now turning upon Him to rend Him? But\nwhen the high priest asked, \"Art Thou the Christ?\" Jesus replied, \"If I\ntell you, ye will not believe: and if I ask you, ye will not answer. But\nfrom henceforth shall the Son of man be seated at the right hand of the\npower of God;\" thus anticipating His enthronement far above all\nprincipalities and powers, in His eternal reign. The words \"Son of man\"\nstruck with loud vibrations upon the ears of His enraged jurors,\nsuggesting the antithesis, and immediately all speak at once, as they\nclamour, \"Art Thou, then, the Son of God?\" a question which Caiaphas\nrepeats as an adjuration, and which Jesus answers with a brief, calm,\n\"Ye say that I am.\" It was a Divine confession, at once the confession\nof His Messiahship and a confession of His Divinity. It was all that His\nenemies wanted; there was no need of further witnesses, and Caiaphas\nrent his clothes and asked his echoes of what the blasphemer was worthy?\nAnd opening their clenched teeth, his echoes shouted, \"Death!\"\n\nThe lingering dawn had not broken when the high priest and his barking\nhounds had run their Prey down to death--that is, as far as they were\nallowed to go; and as the meeting of the full council could not be held\ntill the broad daylight, the men who have Jesus in charge extemporize a\nlittle interlude of their own. Setting Jesus in the midst, they mock\nHim, and make sport of Him, heaping upon that Face, still streaked with\nits sweat of blood, all the indignities a malign ingenuity can suggest.\nNow they \"cover His face\" (Mark xiv. 65), throwing around it one of\ntheir loose robes; now they \"blindfold\" Him, and then strike \"Him on\nthe face\" (xxii. 64), as they derisively ask that He will prophecy who\nsmote Him; while, again, they \"spit in His face\" (Matt. xxvi. 67),\nbesmearing it with the venom of unclean, hissing lips! And amid it all\nthe patient Sufferer answers not a word; He is silent, dumb, the Lamb\nbefore His shearers.\n\nSoon as the day had fairly broke, the Sanhedrists, with the chief\npriests, meet in full council, to give effect to the decision of the\nearlier conclave; and since it is not in their power to do more, they\ndetermine to hand Jesus over to the secular power, going to Pilate in a\nbody, thus giving their informal endorsement to the demand for His\ndeath. So now the scene shifts from the palace of Caiaphas to the\nPr\u00e6torium, a short distance as measured by the linear scale, but a far\nremove if we gauge thought or if we consider climatic influences. The\npalace of Caiaphas lay toward the Orient; the Pr\u00e6torium was a growth of\nthe Occident, a bit of Western life transplanted to the once fruitful,\nbut now sterile East. Within the palace the air was close and mouldy;\nthought could not breathe, and religion was little more than a mummy,\ntightly bound by the grave-clothes of tradition, and all scented with\nold-time cosmetics. Within the Pr\u00e6torium the atmosphere was at least\nfreer; there was more room to breathe; for Rome was a sort of libertine\nin religion, finding room within her Pantheon for all the deities of\nthis and almost any other world. In matters of religion the Roman power\nwas perfectly indifferent, her only policy the policy of _laissez\nfaire_; and when Pilate first saw Jesus and His crowd of accusers he\nsought to dismiss them at once, remitting Him to be judged \"according to\nyour law,\" putting, doubtless, an inflection of contempt upon the\n\"your.\" It was not until they had shifted the charge altogether, making\nit one of sedition instead of blasphemy, as they accuse Jesus of\n\"perverting our nation, and forbidding to give tribute to C\u00e6sar,\" that\nPilate took the case seriously in hand. But from the first his\nsympathies evidently were with the strange and lonely Prophet.\n\nLeft comparatively alone with Pilate--for the crowd would not risk the\ndefilement of the Pr\u00e6torium--Jesus still maintained a dignified reserve\nand silence, not even speaking to Pilate's question of surprise,\n\"Answerest Thou nothing?\" Jesus would speak no word in self-defence, not\neven to take out the twist His accusers had put into His words, as they\ndistorted their meaning. When, however, He was questioned as to His\nmission and Royalty He spoke directly, as He had spoken before to\nCaiaphas, not, however, claiming to be King of the Jews, as His enemies\nasserted, but Lord of a kingdom which was not of this world; that is,\nnot like earthly empires, whose bounds are mountains and seas, and whose\nthrones rest upon pillars of steel, the carnal weapons which first\nupbuild, and then support them. He was a King indeed; but His realm was\nthe wide realm of mind and heart; His was a kingdom in which love was\nlaw, and love was force, a kingdom which had no limitations of speech,\nand no bounds, either of time or space.\n\nPilate was perplexed and awed. Governor though he was, he mentally did\nhomage before the strange Imperator whose nature was imperial, whatever\nHis realm might be. \"I find no fault in this Man,\" he said, attesting\nthe innocence he had discovered in the mien and tones of his Prisoner;\nbut his attestation only awoke a fiercer cry from the chief priests,\n\"that He was a seditious person, stirring up the people, and preparing\ninsurrection even from Galilee to Jerusalem.\" The word Galilee caught\nPilate's ear, and at once suggested a plan that would shift the\nresponsibility from himself. He would change the _venue_ from Jud\u00e6a to\nGalilee; and since the Prisoner was a Galilean, he would send Him to the\nTetrarch of Galilee, Herod, who happened to be in Jerusalem at the time.\nIt was the stratagem of a wavering mind, of a man whose courage was not\nequal to his convictions, of a man with a double purpose. He would like\nto save his Prisoner, but he _must_ save himself; and when the two\npurposes came into collision, as they did soon, the \"might\" of a timid\ndesire had to give way to the \"must\" of a prudential necessity; the\nChrist was pushed aside and nailed to a cross, that Self might survive\nand reign. And so \"Pilate sent Him to Herod.\"\n\nHerod was proud to have this deference shown him in Jerusalem, and by\nhis rival, too, and \"exceeding glad\" that, by a caprice of fortune, his\nlong-cherished desire, which had been baffled hitherto, of seeing the\nProphet of Galilee, should be realized. He found it, however, a\ndisappointing and barren interview; for Jesus would work no miracle, as\nhe had hoped; He would not even speak. To all the questions and threats\nof Herod, Jesus maintained a rigid and almost scornful silence; and\nthough to Pilate He had spoken at some length, Jesus would have no\nintercourse with the murderer of the Baptist. Herod had silenced the\nVoice of the wilderness; he should not hear the Incarnate Word. Jesus\nthus set Herod at nought, counting him as a nothing, ignoring him\npurposely and utterly; and stung with rage that his authority should be\nthus contemned before the chief priests and scribes, Herod set his\nVictim \"at nought,\" mocking Him in coarse banter; and as if the whole\nproceeding were but a farce, a bit of comedy, he invests Him with one of\nhis glittering robes, and sends the Prophet-King back to Pilate.\n\nFor a brief space Jesus finds shelter by the judgment-seat, removed from\nthe presence of His accusers, though still within hearing of their\ncries, as Pilate himself keeps the wolves at bay. Intensely desirous of\nacquitting his Prisoner, he leaves the seat of judgment to become His\nadvocate. He appeals to their sense of justice; that Jesus is entirely\ninnocent of any crime or fault. They reply that according to their law\nHe ought to die, because He called Himself the \"Son of God.\" He appeals\nto their custom of having some prisoner released at this feast, and he\nsuggests that it would be a personal favour if they would permit him to\nrelease Jesus. They answer, \"Not this man, but Barabbas.\" He offers to\nmeet them half-way, in a sort of compromise, and out of deference to\ntheir wishes he will chastise Jesus if they will consent to let Him go;\nbut it is not chastisement they want--they themselves could have done\nthat--but death. He appeals to their pity, leading Jesus forth, wearing\nthe purple robe, as if to ask, \"Is it not enough already?\" but they cry\neven more fiercely for His death. Then he yields so far to their clamour\nas to deliver up Jesus to be mocked and scourged, as the soldiers play\nat \"royalty,\" arraying Him in the purple robe, putting a reed in His\nhand as a mock sceptre, and a crown of thorns upon His head, then\nturning to smite Him on the head, to spit in His face, and to kneel\nbefore Him in mock homage, saluting Him, \"Hail, King of the Jews!\" And\nPilate allows all this, himself leading Jesus forth in this mock array,\nas he bids the crowd, \"Behold your King!\" And why? has He experienced\nsuch a revulsion of feeling towards his Prisoner that he can now vie\nwith the chief priests in his coarse insult of Jesus? Not so; but it is\nPilate's last appeal. It is a sop thrown out to the mob, in hopes that\nit may slake their terrible blood-thirst, a sacrifice of pain and shame\nwhich may perhaps prevent the greater sacrifice of life; while at the\nsame time it is an ocular demonstration of the incongruity of their\ncharge; for His Kingship, whatever it might be, was nothing the Roman\npower had to fear; it was not even to be taken in a serious way; it was\na matter for ridicule, and not for revenge, something they could easily\nafford to play with. But this last appeal was futile as the others had\nbeen, and the crowd only became more fierce as they saw in Pilate traces\nof weakening and wavering. At last the courage of Pilate breaks down\nutterly before the threat that he will not be C\u00e6sar's friend if he let\nthis man go, and he delivers up Jesus to their will, not, however,\nbefore he has called for water, and by a symbolic washing of his hands\nhas thrown back, or tried to throw back, upon his accusers, the crime of\nshedding innocent blood. Weak, wavering Pilate--\n\n      \"Making his high place the lawless perch\n  Of winged ambitions;\"\n\noverridden by his fears; governor, but governed by his subjects; sitting\non the judgment-seat, and then abdicating his position of judge; the\npersonification of law, and condemning the Innocent contrary to the law;\ngiving up to the extremest penalty and punishment One whom he has thrice\nproclaimed as guiltless, without fault, and that, too, in the face of a\nHeaven-sent warning dream! In the wild inrush of his fears, which swept\nover him like an inbreaking sea, his own weak will was borne down, and\nreason, right, conscience, all were drowned. Verily Pilate washes his\nhands in vain; he cannot wipe off his responsibility or wipe out the\ndeep stains of blood.\n\nAnd now we come to the last act of the strange drama, which the four\nEvangelists give from their different stand-points, and so with varying\nbut not differing details. We will read it mainly from the narrative of\nSt. Luke. The shadow of the cross has long been a vivid conception of\nHis mind; and again and again we can see its reflection in the current\nof His clear speech; now, however, it is present to His sight, close at\nhand, a grim and terrible reality. It is laid upon the shoulder of the\nSufferer, and the Victim carries His altar through the streets of the\ncity and up towards the Mount of Sacrifice, until He faints beneath the\nburden, when the precious load is laid upon Simon the Cyrenian, who,\ncoming out of the country, met the procession as it issued from the\ngate. It was probably during this halt by the way that the incident\noccurred, related only by our Evangelist, when the women who followed\nwith the multitude broke out into loud lamentation and weeping, the\nfirst expression of human sympathy Jesus has received through all the\nagonies of the long morning. And even this sympathy He gave back to\nthose who proffered it, bidding these \"daughters of Jerusalem\" weep not\nfor Him, but for themselves and for their children, because of the day\nof doom which was fast coming upon their city and on them. Thus Jesus\npushes from Him the cup of human sympathy, as afterwards He refused the\ncup of mingled wine and myrrh: He would drink the bitter draught\nunsweetened; alone and all unaided He would wrestle with death, and\nconquer.\n\nIt is somewhat singular that none of the Evangelists have left us a clue\nby which we can recognize, with any certainty, the scene of the\nCrucifixion. In our thoughts and in our songs Calvary is a mount,\ntowering high among the mounts of God, higher than Sinai itself. And\nsuch it is, potentially; for it has the sweep of all the earth, and\ntouches heaven. But the Scriptures do not call it a \"mount,\" but only a\n\"place.\" Indeed, the name of \"Calvary\" does not appear in Scripture,\nexcept as the Latin translation of the Greek _Kranion_, or the Hebrew\n_Golgotha_, both of which mean \"the place of the skull.\" All that we can\nsafely say is that it was probably some rounded eminence, as the name\nwould indicate, and as modern explorations would suggest, on the north\nof the city, near the tomb of Jeremiah.\n\nBut if the site of the cross is only given us in a casual way, its\nposition is noted by all the Evangelists with exactness. It was between\nthe crosses of two malefactors or bandits; as St. John puts it, in an\nemphatic, Divine tautology, \"On either side one, and Jesus in the\nmidst.\" Possibly they intended it as their last insult, heaping shame\nupon shame; but unwittingly they only fulfilled the Scripture, which had\nprophesied that He would be \"numbered among the transgressors,\" and that\nHe would make His grave \"with the wicked\" in His death.\n\nSt. Luke omits several details, which St. John, who was an eye-witness,\ncould give more fully; but he stays to speak of the parting of His\nraiment, and he adds, what the others omit, the prayer for His\nexecutioners, \"Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do,\" an\nincident he probably had heard from one of the band of crucifiers,\nperhaps the centurion himself.\n\nWith a true artistic skill, however, and with brief touches, he draws\nfor us the scene on which all ages will reverently gaze. In the\nforeground is the cross of Jesus, with its trilingual superscription,\n\"This is the King of the Jews;\" while close beside it are the crosses of\nthe thieves, whose very faces St. Luke lights up with life and\ncharacter. Standing near are the soldiers, relieving the _ennui_ with\ncruel sport, as they rail at the Christ, offering Him vinegar, and\nbidding Him come down. Then we have the rulers, crowding up near the\ncross, scoffing, and pelting their Victim with ribald jests, the\n\"people\" standing back, beholding; while \"afar off,\" in the distance,\nare His acquaintance and the women from Galilee. But if our Evangelist\ntouches these incidents lightly, he lingers to give us one scene of the\ncross in full, which the other Evangelists omit. Has Jesus found an\nadvocate in Pilate? has He found a cross-bearer in the Cyrenian, and\nsympathisers in the lamenting women? He finds now upon His cross a\ntestimony to His Messiahship more clear and more eloquent than the\nhieroglyphs of Pilate; for when one of the thieves railed upon Him,\nshouting out \"Christ\" in mockery, Jesus made no reply. The other\nanswered for Him, rebuking his fellow, while attesting the innocence of\nJesus. Then, with a prayer in which penitence and faith were strangely\nblended, he turned to the Divine Victim and said, \"Jesus, remember me\nwhen Thou comest in Thy kingdom.\" Rare faith! Through the tears of his\npenitence, as through lenses of light, he sees the new Dawn to which\nthis fearful night will give birth, the kingdom which is sure to come,\nand which, coming, will abide, and he salutes the dying One as Christ,\nthe King! Jesus did not reply to the railer; He received in silence his\nbarbed taunts; but to this cry for mercy Jesus had a quick\nresponse--\"To-day shalt thou be with Me in Paradise,\" so admitting the\npenitent into His kingdom at once, and, ere the day is spent, passing\nhim up to the abodes of the Blessed, even to Paradise itself.\n\nAnd now there comes the hush of a great silence and the awe of a strange\ndarkness. From the sixth to the ninth hour, over the cross, and the\ncity, and the land, hung the shadow of an untimely night, when the\n\"sun's light failed,\" as our Evangelist puts it; while in the Temple was\nanother portent, the veil, which was suspended between the Holy Place\nand the Most Holy, being rent in the midst! The mysterious darkness was\nbut the pall for a mysterious death; for Jesus cried with a loud voice\ninto the gloom, \"Father, into Thy hands I commend My spirit,\" and then,\nas it reads in language which is not applied to mortal man, \"He gave up\nthe ghost.\" He dismissed His spirit, a perfectly voluntary Sacrifice,\nlaying down the life which no man was able to take from Him.\n\nAnd why? What meant this death, which was at once the end and the crown\nof His life? What meant the cross, which thus draws to itself all the\nlines of His earthly life, while it throws its shadow back into the Old\nDispensation, over all its altars and its passovers? To other mortals\ndeath is but an appendix to the life, a negation, a something we could\ndispense with, were it possible thus to be exempt from the bond we all\nmust pay to Nature. But not so was it with Jesus. He was born that He\nmight die; He lived that He might die; it was for this hour on Calvary\nthat He came into the world, the Word being made flesh, that the sacred\nflesh might be transfixed to a cross, and buried in an earthly grave.\nSurely, then, it was not _as_ man that Jesus died; He died _for_ man; He\ndied as the Son of God! And when upon the cross the horror of a great\ndarkness fell upon His soul, and He who had borne every torture that\nearth could inflict without one murmur of impatience or cry of pain,\ncried, with a terrible anguish in His voice, \"My God, My God, why hast\nThou forsaken Me?\" we can interpret the great horror and the strange cry\nbut in one way: the Lamb of God was bearing away the sin of the world;\nHe was tasting for man the bitter pains of the second death; and as He\ndrinks the cup of the wrath of God against sin He feels passing over Him\nthe awful loneliness of a soul bereft of God, the chill of the \"outer\ndarkness\" itself. Jesus lived as our Example; He died as our Atonement,\nopening by His blood the Holiest of all, even His highest heaven.\n\nAnd so the cross of Jesus must ever remain \"in the midst,\" the one\nbright centre of all our hopes and all our songs; it must be \"in the\nmidst\" of our toil, at once our pattern of service and our inspiration.\nNay, the cross of Jesus will be \"in the midst\" of heaven itself, the\ncentre towards which the circles of redeemed saints will bow, and round\nwhich the ceaseless \"Alleluia\" will roll; for what is \"the Lamb in the\nmidst of the throne\" (Rev. vii. 17) but the cross transfigured, and the\nLamb eternally enthroned?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nTHE FIRST LORD'S DAY.\n\nST. LUKE xxiv.\n\n\nThe Sabbath came and went over the grave of its Lord, and silence\nreigned in Joseph's garden, broken only by the mailed sentinels, who\nlaughed and chatted by the sealed sepulchre. As to the disciples, this\n\"high day\" is a _dies non_ to them, for the curtain of a deep silence\nhides them from our view. Did they go up to the Temple to join in the\nPsalm, how \"His mercy endureth for ever?\" Scarcely: their thoughts were\ntransfixed to the cross, which haunted them like a horrid dream; its\nrude dark wood had stunned them for awhile, as it broke down their faith\nand shattered all their hopes. But if the constellation of the Apostles\npasses into temporary eclipse, with no beam of inspired light falling\nupon them, \"the women\" are not thus hidden, for we read, \"And on the\nSabbath day they rested, according to the commandment\". It is true it is\nbut a negative attitude that is portrayed, but it is an exceedingly\nbeautiful one. It is Love waiting upon Duty. The voices of their grief\nare not allowed to become so excessive and clamorous as to drown the\nDivine voice, speaking through the ages, \"Remember that thou keep holy\nthe Sabbath day;\" and even the fragrant offerings of their devotion are\nset aside, that they may keep inviolate the Sabbath rest.\n\nBut if the spices of the women are the spikenard and myrrh of a mingled\nlove and grief, they are at the same time a tacit admission of their\nerror. They prove conclusively that the women, at any rate, had no\nthought of a resurrection. It appears strange to us that such should be\nthe case, after the frequent references Jesus made to His death and\nrising again. But evidently the disciples attached to these sayings of\nJesus one of those deeper, farther-off meanings which were so\ncharacteristic of His speech, interpreting in some mysterious spiritual\nsense what was intended to be read in a strict literalness. At present\nnothing could be farther from their thoughts than a resurrection; it had\nnot even occurred to them as a possible thing; and instead of being\nsomething to which they were ready to give a credulous assent, or a myth\nwhich came all shaped and winged out of their own heated imaginings, it\nwas something altogether foreign to their thoughts, and which, when it\ndid occur, only by many infallible proofs was recognized and admitted\ninto their hearts as truth. And so the very spices the women prepare for\nthe embalming are a silent but a fragrant testimony to the reality of\nthe Resurrection. They show the drift of the disciples' thought, that\nwhen the stone was rolled to the door of the sepulchre it shut in to the\ndarkness, and buried, all their hopes. The only Easter they knew, or\neven dreamed of, was that first and final Easter of the last day.\n\nAs soon as the restraint of the Sabbath was over, the women turned again\nto their labour of love, preparing the ointment and spices for the\nembalming, and coming with the early dawn to the sepulchre. Though it\nwas \"yet dark,\" as St. John tells us, they did not anticipate any\ndifficulty from the city gates, for these were left open both by night\nand day during the Passover feast; but the thought did occur to them on\nthe way as to how they should roll back the stone, a task for which they\nhad not prepared, and which was evidently beyond their unaided strength.\nTheir question, however, had been answered in anticipation, for when\nthey reached the garden the stone was rolled away, and the sepulchre all\nexposed. Surprised and startled by the discovery, their surprise\ndeepened into consternation as passing within the sepulchre, they found\nthat the body of Jesus, on which they had come to perform the last kind\noffices of affection, had disappeared. And how? could there be more than\none solution of the enigma? The enemies of Jesus had surely laid violent\nhands upon the tomb, rifling it of the precious dust they sorrowfully\nhad committed to its keeping, reserving it for fresh indignities. St.\nJohn supplements the narrative of our Evangelist, telling how the\nMagdalene, slipping out from the rest, \"ran\" back to the city to\nannounce, in half-hysterical speech, \"They have taken away the Lord out\nof the tomb, and we know not where they have laid Him;\" for though St.\nJohn names but the Magdalene, the \"we\" implies that she was but one of a\ngroup of ministering women, a group that she had abruptly left. The rest\nlingered by the tomb perplexed, with reason blinded by the whirling\nclouds of doubt, when suddenly--the \"behold\" indicates a swift\nsurprise--\"two men stood by them in dazzling apparel.\"\n\nIn speaking of them as \"two men\" probably our Evangelist only intended\nto call attention to the humanness of their form, as in verse 23 he\nspeaks of the appearance as \"a vision of angels.\" It will be observed,\nhowever, that in the New Testament the two words \"men\" and \"angels\" are\nused interchangeably; as in St. Luke vii. 24, Rev. xxii. 8, where the\n\"angels\" are evidently men, while in Mark xvi. 5, and again in the verse\nbefore us, the so-called \"men\" are angels. But does not this\ninterchangeable use of the words imply a close relation between the two\norders of being? and is it not possible that in the eternal ripenings\nand evolutions of heaven a perfected humanity may pass up into the\nangelic ranks? At any rate, we do know that when angels have appeared on\nearth there has been a strange humanness about them. They have not even\nhad the fictitious wings which poetry has woven for them; they have\nnearly always appeared wearing the human face divine, and speaking with\nthe tones and in the tongues of men, as if it were their native speech.\n\nBut if their form is earthly, their dress is heavenly. Their garments\nflash and glitter like the robes of the transfigured Christ; and awed by\nthe supernatural portent, the women bow down their faces to the earth.\n\"Why,\" asked the angels, \"seek ye the living among the dead? He is not\nhere, but is risen: remember how He spake unto you when He was yet in\nGalilee, saying that the Son of man must be delivered up into the hands\nof sinful men, and be crucified, and the third day rise again.\" Even the\nangels are not allowed to disclose the secret of His resurrection life,\nor to tell where He may be found, but they announce the fact that they\nare not at liberty to explain. \"He is not here; He is risen,\" is the\nGospel of the angels, a Gospel whose prelude they themselves have heard,\nbut, alas! forgotten; and since Heaven does not reveal what by searching\nwe ourselves may find out, the angels throw them back upon their own\nrecollections, recalling the words Jesus Himself had spoken, and which,\nhad they been understood and remembered, would have lighted up the\nempty sepulchre and have solved the great mystery. And how much we lose\nbecause we do not remember, or if remembering, we do not believe! Divine\nwords have been spoken, and spoken to us, but to our ear, dulled by\nunbelief, they have come as empty sound, all inarticulate, and we have\nsaid it was some thunder in the sky or the voices of a passing wind. How\nmany promises, which, like the harps of God, would have made even our\nwildernesses vocal, have we hung up, sad and silent, on the willows of\nthe \"strange lands\"! If we only \"remembered\" the words of the Lord\nJesus, if they became to us real and eternally true, instead of being\nthe unreal voices of a dream, those words would be, not \"the distant\nlamps\" of Heaven, but near at hand, lighting up all dark places, because\nthrowing their light within, turning even the graves of our buried hopes\ninto sanctuaries of joy and praise!\n\nAnd so the women, instead of embalming their Lord, carried their spices\nback unused. Not unused, however, for in the spices and ointments the\nLiving One did not need their own names were embalmed, a fragrant\nmemory. Coming to the tomb, as they thought, to do homage to a dead\nChrist, the Magdalene, and Mary, and Johanna, and Salome found a Christ\nwho had conquered death, and at the same time found an immortality for\nthemselves; for the fragrance of their thought, which was not permitted\nto ripen into deeds, has filled the whole world.\n\nReturning to the city, whither the Magdalene had outrun them, they\nannounced to the rest, as she had done to Peter and John, the fact of\nthe empty grave; but they completed the story with the narrative of the\nangelic vision and the statement that Jesus had risen. So little,\nhowever, were the disciples predisposed to receive the tidings of a\nresurrection, they would not admit the fact even when attested by at\nleast four witnesses, but set it down as idle, silly talk, something\nwhich was not only void of truth, but void of sense. Only Peter and John\nof the Apostles, as far as we know, visited the sepulchre, and even they\ndoubted, though they found the tomb empty and the linen clothes\ncarefully wrapped up. They \"believed\" that the body had disappeared,\nbut, as St. John tells us, \"as yet they knew not the Scripture, that He\nmust rise again from the dead\" (St. John xx. 9); and as they leave the\nempty grave to return to their own home, they only \"wondered at that\nwhich was come to pass.\" It was an enigma they could not solve; and\nthough the Easter morning had now fully broke, the day which should\nlight all days, as it drew to itself the honours and songs of the\nSabbath, yet to the minds and hearts of the Apostles it was \"yet dark;\"\nthe glory of the Lord had not yet risen upon them.\n\nAnd now comes one of those beautiful pictures, peculiar to St. Luke, as\nhe lights up the Jud\u00e6an hills with a soft afterglow, an afterglow which\nat the same time is the aurora of a new dawn. It was in the afternoon of\nthat first Lord's day, when two disciples set out from Jerusalem for\nEmmaus, a village, probably the modern Khamasa, sixty furlongs from the\ncity. Who the two disciples were we cannot say, for one is unnamed,\nwhile the other bears a name, Cleopas, we do not meet with elsewhere,\nthough its Greek origin would lead us to infer that he was some Gentile\nproselyte who had attached himself to Jesus. As to the second, we have\nnot even the clue of an obscure name with which to identify him, and in\nthis somewhat strange anonymity some expositors have thought they\ndetected the shadow of the Evangelist, Luke, himself. The supposition\nis not an impossible one; for though St. Luke was not an eye-witness\nfrom the beginning, he might have witnessed some of the closing scenes\nof the Divine life; while the very minuteness of detail which\ncharacterizes his story would almost show that if not himself a\nparticipant, he was closely related to those who were; but had St. Luke\nhimself been the favoured one, it is scarcely likely that he would have\nomitted this personal testimony when speaking of the \"many infallible\nproofs\" of His resurrection.\n\nWhoever the two might be, it is certain that they enjoyed the esteem and\nconfidence of the disciples, having free access, even at untimely hours,\nto the Apostolic circle, while the fact that Jesus Himself sought their\ncompany, and selected them to such honours, shows the high place which\nwas accorded to them in the Divine regard.\n\nWe are not apprised of the object of their journey; indeed, they\nthemselves seem to have lost sight of that in the gleams of glory which,\nall unexpected, fell across their path. It is not unlikely that it was\nconnected with recent events; for now that the central Sun, around whom\ntheir lives revolved, has disappeared, will not those lives necessarily\ntake new directions, or drift back into the old orbits? But whatever\ntheir purposes might be, their thoughts are retrospective rather than\nprospective; for while their faces are set towards Emmaus, and their\nfeet are steadily measuring off the furlongs of the journey, their\nthoughts are lingering behind, clinging to the dark crest of Calvary, as\nthe cloud-pennon clings to the Alpine peak. They can speak but of one\ntheme, \"these things which have happened:\" the One whom they took to be\nthe Christ, to whom their hearts had been so strangely drawn; His\ncharacter, miracles, and words; the ignominious Death, in which that\nLife, with all their hopes, was quenched; and then the strange tidings\nwhich had been brought by the women, as to how they had found the grave\nempty, and how they had seen a vision of angels. The word \"questioned\ntogether\" generally implies a difference of opinion, and refers to the\ncross-questioning of disputants; but in this case it probably referred\nonly to the innumerable questions the report of the Resurrection would\nraise in their minds, the honest doubts and difficulties with which they\nfelt themselves compelled to grapple.\n\nIt was while they were discussing these new problems, walking leisurely\nalong the road--for men walk heavily when weighted at the heart--a\nStranger overtook and joined them, asking, after the usual salutation,\nwhich would not be omitted, \"What communications are these that ye have\none with another, as ye walk?\" The very form of the question would help\nto disguise the familiar voice, while the changed \"form\" of which St.\nMark speaks would somewhat mask the familiar features; but at the same\ntime it would appear that there was a supernatural holding of their\neyes, as if a dusky veil were wrapped about the Stranger. His question\nstartled them, even as a voice from another world, as, indeed, it\nseemed; and stopping suddenly, they turned their \"sad\" faces to the\nStranger in a momentary and silent astonishment, a silence which Cleopas\nbroke by asking, \"Dost thou alone sojourn in Jerusalem, and not know the\nthings which are come to pass there in these days?\" a double question,\nto which the stranger replied with the brief interrogative, \"What\nthings?\" It needed no more than that solitary word to unseal the\nfountain of their lips, for the clouds which had broken so wildly and\ndarkly over Calvary had filled their hearts with an intense and bitter\ngrief, which longed for expression, even for the poor relief of words.\nAnd so they break in together with their answer (the pronoun is changed\nnow), \"Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, which was a Prophet mighty in deed\nand word before God and all the people: and how the chief priests and\nour rulers delivered Him up to be condemned to death, and crucified Him.\nBut we hoped that it was He which should redeem Israel. Yea, and beside\nall this, it is now the third day since these things came to pass.\nMoreover certain women of our company amazed us, having been early at\nthe tomb; and when they found not His body, they came, saying, that they\nhad also seen a vision of angels, which said that He was alive. And\ncertain of them that were with us went to the tomb, and found it even so\nas the women had said: but Him they saw not.\"\n\nIt is the impetuous language of intense feeling, in which hope and\ndespair strike alternate chords. In the first strain Jesus of Nazareth\nis lifted high; He is a Prophet mighty in word and deed; then He is\nstricken down, condemned to death, and crucified. Again, hope speaks,\nrecalling the bright dream of a redemption for Israel; but having spoken\nthat word, Hope herself goes aside to weep by the grave where her\nRedeemer was hurriedly buried. Still again is the glimmer of a new\nlight, as the women bring home the message of the angels; but still\nagain the light sets in darkness, a gloom which neither the eyes of\nReason nor of Faith could as yet pierce; for \"Him they saw not\" marks\nthe totality of the eclipse, pointing to a void of darkness, a firmament\nwithout a sun or star.\n\nBut incidentally, in the swift current of their speech, we catch a\nreflection of the Christ as He appeared to their minds. He was indeed a\nProphet, second to none, and in their hope He was more, for He was the\nRedeemer of Israel. It is evident the disciples had not yet grasped the\nfull purport of the Messianic mission. Their thought was hazy, obscure,\nlike the vision of men walking in a mist. The Hebrew dream of a temporal\nsovereignty seems to have been a prevailing, perhaps _the_ prevailing\nforce in their minds, the attraction which drew and cheered them on. But\ntheir Redeemer was but a local, temporal one, who will restore the\nkingdom to Israel; He was not yet the Redeemer of the world, who should\nsave His people from their sins. The \"regeneration,\" as they fondly\ncalled it, the \"new creation,\" was purely national, when out of the\nchaos of Roman irruptions their Hebrew paradise will come. For one\nthing, the disciples were too near the Divine life to see its just and\nlarge proportions. They must stand back from it the distance of a\nPentecost; they must look on it through their lenses of flame, before\nthey can take in the profound meaning of that Life, or the awful mystery\nof that Death. At present their vision is out of focus, and all they can\nsee is the blurred and shadowy outline of the reality, the temporal\nrather than the spiritual, a redeemed nationality rather than a redeemed\nand regenerated humanity.\n\nThe risen Jesus, for such the Stranger was, though they knew it not,\nlistened to their requiem patiently and wonderingly, glad to find within\ntheir hearts such deep and genuine love, which even the cross and the\ngrave had not been able to extinguish. The men themselves were true,\neven though their views were somewhat warped--the refractions of their\nHebrew atmosphere. And Jesus leads them in thought to those \"shining\nuplands\" of truth; as it were, spurring them on, by a sharp though kind\nrebuke, to the heights where Divine thoughts and purposes move on to\ntheir fulfilment. \"O foolish men,\" He said, \"and slow of heart to\nbelieve in all that the prophets have spoken! Behoved it not the Christ\nto suffer these things, and to enter into His glory?\" They thought He\nwas some stranger in Jerusalem, yet He knows their prophets better than\nthemselves; and hark, He puts in a word they had feared to use. They\nonly called Him \"Jesus of Nazareth;\" they did not give Him that higher\ntitle of \"the Christ\" which they had freely used before. No; for the\ncross had rudely shattered and broken that golden censer, in which they\nhad been wont to burn a royal incense. But here the Stranger recasts\ntheir broken, golden word, burning its sweet, Divine incense even in\npresence of the cross, calling the Crucified the \"Christ\"! Verily, this\nStranger has more faith than they; and they still their garrulous lips,\nwhich speak so randomly, to hear the new and august Teacher, whose voice\nwas an echo of the Truth, if not the Truth itself!\n\n\"And beginning from Moses and from all the prophets, He interpreted to\nthem in all the Scriptures the things concerning Himself.\" It will be\nobserved that our Evangelist uses a peculiar word in speaking of this\nDivine exposition. He calls it an \"interpretation,\" a word used in the\nNew Testament only in the sense of translating from one language to\nanother, from the unknown to the known tongue. And such, indeed, it was;\nfor they had read the Scriptures but in part, and so misread them. They\nhad thrown upon those Scriptures the projections of their own hopes and\nillusions; while other Scriptures, those relating to the sufferings of\nChrist, were set back, out of sight, or if heard at all, they were only\nthe voice of an unknown tongue, a _vox et preterea nihil_. So Jesus\ninterprets to them the voices of this unknown tongue. Beginning at\nMoses, He shows, from the types, the prophecies, and the Psalms, how\nthat the Christ must suffer and die, ere the glories of His kingdom can\nbegin; that the cross and the grave both lay in the path of the\nRedeemer, as the bitter and prickly calyx out of which the \"glories\"\nshould unfold themselves. And thus, opening their Scriptures, putting in\nthe crimson lens of the blood, as well as the chromatic lens of the\nMessianic glory, the disciples find the cross all transfigured, inwoven\nin God's eternal purpose of redemption; while the sufferings of Christ,\nat which they had stumbled before, they now see were part of the eternal\nplan of mercy, a Divine \"ought,\" a great necessity.\n\nThey had now reached Emmaus, the limit of their journey, but the two\ndisciples cannot lose the company of One whose words have opened to them\na new and a bright world; and though He was evidently going on farther,\nthey constrained Him to abide with them, as it was towards evening and\nthe day was far spent. And He went in to tarry with them, though not for\nlong. Sitting down to meat, the Stranger Guest, without any apology,\ntakes the place of the host, and blessing the bread, He breaks and gives\nto them. Was it the uplifted face threw them back on the old, familiar\ndays? or did they read the nail-mark in His hand? We do not know; but in\nan instant the veil in which He had enfolded Himself was withdrawn, and\nthey knew Him: it was the Lord Himself, the risen Jesus! In a moment\nthe hush of a great awe fell upon them, and before they had time to\nembrace Him whom they had loved so passionately, indeed before their\nlips could frame an exclamation of surprise, He had vanished; He \"became\ninvisible\" to them, as it reads, passing out of their sight like a\ndissolving cloud. And when they did recover themselves it was not to\nspeak His name--there was no need of that--but to say one to another,\n\"Was not our heart burning within, us while He spake to us in the way,\nwhile He opened to us the Scriptures?\" It was to them a bright\nApocalypse, \"the Revelation of Jesus Christ,\" who was dead, and is alive\nfor evermore; and all-forgetful of their errand, and though it is\nevening, they leave Emmaus at once, their winged feet not heeding the\nsixty furlongs now, as they haste to Jerusalem to announce to the\neleven, and to the rest, that Jesus has indeed arisen, and has appeared\nunto them.\n\nReturning to Jerusalem, they go direct to the well-known trysting-place,\nwhere they find the Apostles (\"the eleven\" as the band was now called,\nthough, as St. John informs us, Thomas was not present) and others\ngathered for their evening meal, and speaking of another and later\nappearance of Jesus to Simon, which must have occurred during their\nabsence from the city; and they add to the growing wonder by telling of\ntheir evening adventure, and how Jesus was known of them in breaking of\nbread. But while they discussed the subject--for the majority were yet\nin doubt as to the reality of the appearances--Jesus Himself stood\nbefore them, passing through the fastened door; for the same fear that\nshut the door would securely lock it. Though giving to them the old-time\nsalutation, \"Peace be to you,\" it did not calm the unrest and agitation\nof their soul; the chill of a great fear fell upon them, as the spectral\nShadow, as they thought it; stood before them. \"Why are ye troubled?\"\nasks Jesus, \"and wherefore do reasonings arise in your hearts?\" for they\nfairly trembled with fear, as the word would imply. \"See My hands and My\nfeet, that it is I Myself: handle Me, and see; for a spirit hath not\nflesh and bones, as ye behold Me having.\" He then extended His hands,\ndrew back His robe from His feet, and, as St. John says, uncovered His\nside, that they might see the wounds of the nails and the spear, and\nthat by these visible, tangible proofs they might be convinced of the\nreality of His Resurrection body. It was enough; their hearts in an\ninstant swung round from an extreme of fear to an extreme of joy, a sort\nof wild joy, in which Reason for the moment became confused, and Faith\nbewildered. But while the heavenly trance is yet upon them Jesus recalls\nthem to earthly things, asking if they have any meat; and when they give\nHim a piece of a broiled fish, some of the remnants of their own repast,\nHe takes and eats before them all; not that now He needed the sustenance\nof earthly food, in His resurrection life, but that by this simple act\nHe might put another seal upon His true humanity. It was a kind of\nsacrament, showing forth His oneness with His own; that on the farther\nside of the grave, in His exaltation, as on this, in His humiliation, He\nwas still the \"Son of man,\" interested in all things, even the\ncommonplaces, of humanity.\n\nThe interview was not for long, for the risen Christ dwelt apart from\nHis disciples, coming to them at uncertain times and only for brief\nspaces. He lingers, however, now, to explain to the eleven, as before to\nthe two, the great mystery of the Redemption. He opens their minds,\nthat the truth may pass within. Gathering up the lamps of prophecy\nsuspended through the Scriptures, He turns their varying lights upon\nHimself, the ME of whom they testify. He shows them how it is written in\ntheir law that the Christ must suffer, the Christ must die, the Christ\nmust rise again the third day, and \"that repentance and remission of\nsins should be preached in His name unto all the nations, beginning from\nJerusalem.\" And then He gave to these preachers of repentance and\nremission the promise of which the Book of the Acts is a fulfilment and\nenlargement, the \"promise of the Father,\" which is the gift of the Holy\nGhost. It was the prophecy of the Pentecost, the first rustle of the\nmighty rushing wind, that Divine breath which comes to all who will\nreceive it.\n\nOur Evangelist passes in silence other appearances of the Resurrection\nLife, those forty days in which, by His frequent manifestations, He was\ntraining His disciples to trust in His unseen Presence. He only in a few\nclosing words tells of the Ascension; how, near Bethany, He was parted\nfrom them, and taken up into heaven, throwing down benedictions from His\nuplifted hands even as He went; and how the disciples returned to\nJerusalem, not sorrowing, as men bereaved, but with great joy, having\nlearned now to endure and rejoice as seeing Him who is invisible, the\nunseen but ever-present Christ. That St. Luke omits the other\nResurrection appearances is probably because he intended to insert them\nin his prelude to the Acts of the Apostles, which he does, as he joins\nhis second treatise to the first. Nor is it altogether an incidental\ncoincidence that as he writes his later story he begins at Jerusalem,\nlingering in the upper room which was the wind-rocked cradle of the\nChurch, and inserting as key-words of the new story these four words\nfrom the old: Repentance, Remission, Promise, Power. The two books are\nthus one, a seamless robe, woven for the living Christ, the one giving\nus the Christ of the Humiliation, the other the Christ of the\nExaltation, who speaks now from the upper heavens, and whose power is\nthe power of the Holy Ghost.\n\nAnd was it altogether undesigned that our Evangelist, omitting other\nappearances of the forty days, yet throws such a wealth of interest and\nof colouring into that first Easter day, filling it up from its early\ndawn to its late evening? We think not. He is writing to and for the\nGentiles, whose Sabbaths are not on the last but on the first day of the\nweek, and he stays to picture for us that first Lord's day, the day\nchosen by the Lord of the Sabbath for this high consecration. And as the\nHoly Church throughout all the world keeps her Sabbaths now, her anthems\nand songs are a sweet incense burned by the door of the empty sepulchre;\nfor, \"The light which threw the glory of the Sabbath into the shade was\nthe glory of the Risen Lord.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE.\n\n\n  FIRST SERIES.\n\n  Colossians.\n  By the Rev. A. MACLAREN, D.D., D.Lit.\n\n  St. Mark.\n  By the Right Rev. the Bishop of Derry.\n\n  Genesis.\n  By Prof. MARCUS DODS, D.D.\n\n  1 Samuel.\n  By Prof. W. G. BLAIKIE, D.D.\n\n  2 Samuel.\n  By the same Author.\n\n  Hebrews.\n  By Principal T. C. EDWARDS, D.D.\n\n\n  SECOND SERIES.\n\n  Galatians.\n  By Prof. G. G. FINDLAY, B.A., D.D.\n\n  The Pastoral Epistles.\n  By the Rev. A. PLUMMER, D.D.\n\n  Isaiah I.--XXXIX.\n  By Prin. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Vol. I.\n\n  The Book of Revelation.\n  By Prof. W. MILLIGAN, D.D.\n\n  1 Corinthians.\n  By Prof. MARCUS DODS, D.D.\n\n  The Epistles of St. John.\n  By the Most Rev. the Archbishop of Armagh.\n\n\n  THIRD SERIES.\n\n  Judges and Ruth.\n  By the Rev. R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.\n\n  Jeremiah.\n  By the Rev. C. J. BALL, M.A.\n\n  Isaiah XL.--LXVI.\n  By Prin. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Vol. II.\n\n  St. Matthew.\n  By the Rev. J. MONRO GIBSON, D.D.\n\n  Exodus.\n  By the Right Rev. the Bishop of Derry.\n\n  St. Luke.\n  By the Rev. H. BURTON, M.A.\n\n\n  FOURTH SERIES.\n\n  Ecclesiastes.\n  By the Rev. SAMUEL COX, D.D.\n\n  St. James and St. Jude.\n  By the Rev. A. PLUMMER, D.D.\n\n  Proverbs.\n  By the Rev. R. F. HORTON, D.D.\n\n  Leviticus.\n  By the Rev. S. H. KELLOGG, D.D.\n\n  The Gospel of St. John.\n  By Prof. M. DODS, D.D. Vol. I.\n\n  The Acts of the Apostles.\n  By Prof. STOKES, D.D. Vol. I.\n\n\n  FIFTH SERIES.\n\n  The Psalms.\n  By the Rev. A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. I.\n\n  1 and 2 Thessalonians.\n  By Prof. JAMES DENNEY, D.D.\n\n  The Book of Job.\n  By the Rev. R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.\n\n  Ephesians.\n  By Prof. G. G. FINDLAY, B.A., D.D.\n\n  The Gospel of St. John.\n  By Prof. M. DODS, D.D. Vol. II.\n\n  The Acts of the Apostles.\n  By Prof. STOKES, D.D. Vol. II.\n\n\n  SIXTH SERIES.\n\n  1 Kings.\n  By the Very Rev. F. W. FARRAR, F.R.S.\n\n  Philippians.\n  By Principal RAINY, D.D.\n\n  Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther.\n  By Prof. W. F. ADENEY, M.A.\n\n  Joshua.\n  By Prof. W. G. BLAIKIE, D.D.\n\n  The Psalms.\n  By the Rev. A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. II.\n\n  The Epistles of St. Peter.\n  By Prof. RAWSON LUMBY, D.D.\n\n\n  SEVENTH SERIES.\n\n  2 Kings.\n  By the Very Rev. F. W. FARRAR, F.R.S.\n\n  Romans.\n  By the Right Rev. H. C. G. MOULE, D.D.\n\n  The Books of Chronicles.\n  By Prof. W. H. BENNETT, D.D., D.Lit.\n\n  2 Corinthians.\n  By Prof. JAMES DENNEY, D.D.\n\n  Numbers.\n  By the Rev. R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.\n\n  The Psalms.\n  By the Rev. A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. III.\n\n\n  EIGHTH SERIES.\n\n  Daniel.\n  By the Very Rev. F. W. FARRAR, F.R.S.\n\n  The Book of Jeremiah.\n  By Prof. W. H. BENNETT, D.D., D.Lit.\n\n  Deuteronomy.\n  By Prof. ANDREW HARPER, B.D.\n\n  The Song of Solomon and Lamentations.\n  By Prof. W. F. ADENEY, M.A.\n\n  Ezekiel.\n  By Prof. JOHN SKINNER, M.A.\n\n  The Books of the Twelve Prophets.\n  By Prin. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Two Vols.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX.\n\n\n  Acts, the, and the Gospel, 415.\n\n  Adoration of the shepherds, 67.\n\n  Advent, the, long, delayed, 17.\n    \"     the music of the, 29.\n\n  Agony, the, and the Transfiguration, 365.\n\n  Angels and \"men,\" 402.\n\n  Anointing, the, of the feet, 209.\n\n  Antioch, 3, 4.\n\n  Apostleship, the, instituted, 190.\n\n  Apostles, the, sent forth, 269.\n\n  Augustus C\u00e6sar, 62.\n\n  Authority, set under, 206.\n\n\n  Baptism, the, of Jesus, 189.\n\n  Beatitudes, the Mount of, 195.\n\n  Being, more than doing, 338.\n\n  _Benedictus_, the, 42, 43.\n\n  Bethany, 307.\n\n  Bethlehem Ephratah, 61, 62.\n\n  Bethsaida, 157.\n    \"        Julias, 271.\n\n  Betrayer, the, 378.\n\n  Blind, the, sight for, 138, 139.\n\n  Blindness, spiritual, 140.\n\n  Body, the spiritual, 356.\n\n  \"Bread enough and to spare,\" 324.\n\n  Brotherhood, the, of man, 304.\n\n  Business and religion, 237.\n\n\n  Caiaphas, 383, 387.\n\n  Calling, the, of the four, 162.\n\n  Cana, 64, 131.\n    \"  and the desert-place, 280.\n\n  Capernaum, 65, 131, 203.\n\n  Cares, the, of life, 235.\n\n  Carlyle, 32.\n\n  Casual disciples, 234.\n\n  Centurion, faith of the, 195.\n    \"        humility of the, 204.\n\n  Centurions, the three, 200.\n\n  Character, in the kingdom of heaven, 245.\n    \"        and circumstance, 337.\n    \"        makes destiny, 357.\n\n  Childhood consecrated, 85.\n\n  Christ, the transfigured, 283.\n    \"      \"  suffering, 410.\n\n  Christianity, the rapid spread of, 8.\n\n  Chronology of New Testament vague, 16.\n\n  Circumcision, the rite of, 83.\n\n  Citizenship in the new kingdom, 245, 248.\n\n  Cleopas, 405.\n\n  Coifi and his parable, 352.\n\n  Common things made sacred, 75.\n\n  Concerning prayer, 177.\n\n  Conduct, character in motion, 337.\n\n  Court of the women, 47.\n\n  Creed, a, not a Christ, 155.\n\n  Cross, the foreshadow of the, 282.\n    \"    the, the central thought of heaven, 291.\n\n  Cup, the, of the Agony, 368.\n    \"   \"   of sorrow transfigured, 375.\n\n\n  Death, foreign to the sinless life, 285.\n    \"    an \"exodus,\" 288.\n\n  Debtors, the two, 216.\n\n  Decision of character, 167.\n\n  Demonology, 153, 155.\n\n  \"Depart from me, O lord,\" 172.\n\n  Departed, the, interested in earthly things, 290.\n\n  Destiny, eternal, 363.\n\n  Disciples, the three candidate, 246, 247.\n    \"         \"  sleeping, 372, 381.\n    \"        misunderstand Christ's mission, 409.\n\n  Divided energies, 235.\n\n  Dorner, Dr., 351.\n\n  Drachma, the lost, 339.\n\n  Draught, the, of fishes, 169.\n\n  Duties owing to the State, 349.\n\n\n  Eastern mind poetic, 31.\n\n  \"Eat, drink, and be merry,\" 358.\n\n  Elder brother, the, 329.\n\n  Elizabeth, 20, 34.\n    \"        song of, 20, 36, 37.\n\n  Emmaus, the walk to, 405.\n    \"     the, apocalypse, 411.\n\n  Eschatology, the, of St. Luke, 352.\n\n  Ethics, the, of St. Luke, 336, 351.\n\n  Ethical, the, compass, 342.\n\n  Evolution, not revolution, 170.\n\n  Ewald, 90.\n\n\n  Faith, the secret of victory, 127.\n\n  Farrar, Archdeacon, 187, 215.\n\n  Fast, the forty days', 110.\n\n  Fasting and prayer, 111.\n\n  Fatherhood, the, of God, 179.\n\n  Forgiveness, the joy of, 217.\n    \"          to follow repentance, 346.\n\n\n  Gabriel and the Virgin Mary, 55.\n\n  Gethsemane, 191, 284, 296, 364.\n\n  \"Give ye them to eat,\" 274.\n\n  Giving, 202, 348.\n\n  Godet, Professor, 223, 296, 335.\n\n  Golden rule, the, 303.\n\n  Good tidings to the poor, 136.\n    \"  part, the, 312.\n\n  Gospel, the, of the Old Testament, 134.\n    \"      \"   \"  liberty, 142.\n\n  Gospels, the four, a unity, 1.\n\n  Grave, the, not our goal, 354.\n\n  Growth of the kingdom, 251.\n\n  Gulf, the great, 363.\n\n\n  Healing, miracles of, 255.\n\n  Hearers, not doers, 226.\n\n  Heaven in the Old Testament, 178.\n    \"    near and real to Jesus, 189.\n    \"    and hell, 361.\n\n  Hebraisms in St. Luke, 15.\n\n  Hermon, Mount, 282.\n\n  Herod, king of Jud\u00e6a, 18.\n    \"    the Tetrarch, 270.\n    \"    Jesus before, 392.\n\n  Herodias, daughter of, 103.\n\n  Holy Spirit, full of the, 108.\n\n  Home associations, 82.\n    \"  and the synagogue, 149.\n\n  Hope and despair, 408.\n\n  Housebuilders, the, 359.\n\n  Humanity and nationality, 5.\n\n  Humility, 342.\n\n  Hundredfold, the, increase, 239.\n\n\n  Incarnation, the, 48.\n\n  Inn, the, of Bethlehem, 76.\n    \"   \"   \"  Chimham, 77.\n\n  Inspiration, the personal element in, 2, 10.\n    \"           \"  work of the Holy Spirit, 12, 13.\n\n\n  Jesus, baptism of, 97.\n    \"   returns to Nazareth, 128.\n    \"   preaches in the synagogue, 132.\n    \"   no pessimist, 136.\n    \"   and the Fatherhood of God, 136.\n    \"   a Lover of freedom, 143.\n    \"   the King, 244.\n    \"    \"  knowledge of, 264.\n    \"    \"  compassion of, 266.\n    \"    \"  power of, 267.\n    \"   \"offered Himself,\" 381.\n    \"   appears to the eleven, 412.\n\n  Jews, the, and the Samaritans, 301.\n\n  Joachim and Anna, 53.\n\n  John the Baptist, a Nazarite, 25.\n    \"  his mission foretold, 81.\n    \"  withdraws to the desert, 88.\n    \"  his manifestation, 89.\n    \"  effect of his ministry, 92.\n    \"  secret of his success, 93.\n    \"  his wavering faith, 100.\n    \"  belongs to the old dispensation, 102.\n\n  Joseph, 50.\n\n  Judaism and spiritual life, 21.\n\n  Judas Iscariot, 378.\n\n  Judging others, 339.\n\n\n  Khamasa, the modern Emmaus, 405.\n\n  Kingdom, the, of heaven, 241.\n    \"      the keys of the, 244.\n    \"      the, and its citizens, 245.\n    \"      the growth of the, 251.\n    \"      the, not of this world, 252.\n\n\n  Lamb, the, of God, 100.\n\n  \"Larger hope,\" the, 361.\n\n  Law, the, exacting, unforgiving, 220.\n    \"  of love, the, supreme, 338.\n\n  Leaven, the, hid in the meal, 252.\n\n  Leper, Jesus touches the, 259.\n\n  Life, the, which now is, 336.\n\n  Little things, the Divine care for, 278.\n\n  Loan, the, of the three loaves, 186.\n\n  Loaves, the miracle of the, 269.\n\n  Lord's Day, the first, 400.\n\n  Losing all, to gain all, 175.\n\n  Lost and found, 317.\n\n  Love in action and love at rest, 307.\n    \"  the all-embracing duty, 338.\n    \"  of country, 350.\n\n  Loving the sinner, 324.\n    \"    our enemies, 343.\n\n  Luke, St., and humanity, 4.\n    \"   \"    his Gentile sympathies, 4, 5.\n    \"   \"    his profession, 6, 7.\n    \"   \"    reasons for writing his Gospel, 9.\n\n\n  Magnificat, the, 39.\n\n  Malchus, 382.\n\n  Mariolatry, 52.\n\n  Marriage in the after-life, 355.\n\n  Martha of Bethany, 309.\n\n  Mary the listener, 310.\n    \"  anoints the feet of Jesus, 314.\n\n  Miracles, natural and necessary, 148.\n\n  Miracle, a, of a new order, 169, 279.\n\n  Misery, the, of sin, 333.\n\n  Money, the love of, 348, 379.\n\n  Moses and Elijah, 286.\n\n  Mustard seed, a grain of, 252.\n\n  \"My soul is exceeding sorrowful,\" 367.\n\n\n  Nature, the kingdom of, 243.\n\n  Nazareth, 37, 50.\n\n  Needle's eye, the, 246.\n\n  Neighbour, my, 296.\n\n  Ninety and nine, the, just persons, 335.\n\n  \"Numbered among the transgressors,\" 396.\n\n  _Nunc Dimittis_, 44.\n\n\n  Oaths and curses, 384.\n\n  Obedience, in the Christian life, 168.\n\n  Obedience to parents, 349.\n\n  Order, Heaven's love of, 277.\n\n  Orpheus and his lyre, 371.\n\n\n  Papias, 55.\n\n  Passover, an extemporised, 280.\n    \"       the, 377.\n\n  Paternoster, a parabolic, 322.\n\n  Peter, the faith of, 167.\n\n  Peter's wife's mother, 157.\n    \"     denial, 383.\n    \"     lack of moral courage, 386.\n\n  Pharisee, the, and the publican, 181, 250.\n\n  Pharisees, the teaching of the, 200.\n    \"        the, reject both Jesus and John, 209.\n\n  Philip the evangelist, 247.\n\n  Phillips Brooks, 315.\n\n  Pilate, Jesus before, 390.\n    \"     pleads for Jesus, 393.\n    \"     character of, 394.\n\n  Pity, the Divine, 276.\n\n  Pleasures, the, of life, 238.\n    \"        and pains of the after-life, 357.\n\n  Poor, the, in spirit, 249.\n    \"    \"   and the proud in spirit, 250.\n\n  Prayer and healing, 159.\n    \"    character, a condition of, 181.\n    \"    the Lord's, 182.\n    \"     \"  wide realm of, 185.\n    \"    importunity in, 186.\n    \"    habitual with Jesus, 189, 194.\n    \"    of Jesus for Simon, 193.\n    \"    answered, but not granted, 374.\n\n  Pride condemned, 341.\n\n  Priest, the, and Levite, 298.\n\n  Priesthood, friendly to Jesus, 299.\n\n  Principles, evolved but not created, 337.\n\n  Prodigal son, the, 321.\n\n  Promise, the, of the Father, 414.\n\n  Prophets of the old dispensation, 135.\n\n  Psalms, the, of the Advent, 33.\n    \"     the four, one song, 45.\n\n\n  Quarantania, the, 110.\n\n\n  Receiving and giving, 315.\n\n  Regeneration not reform, 337.\n\n  Religion, little more than form, 149.\n\n  Religiousness not always religion, 300.\n\n  Religious, the, instinct, 177.\n\n  Repentant, Heaven's joy over the, 334.\n\n  Resurrection life, the, 285.\n\n  Return, the, of the prodigal, 325.\n\n  Riches, the pursuit after, 237.\n\n  Rich man, the, and Lazarus, 359.\n\n\n  Sabbath, a, in Galilee, 148.\n    \"      the, question, 150.\n    \"       \"   and the Lords Day, 415.\n\n  Sacrament, the new, 370.\n\n  Sacred sites obscure, 68.\n\n  Samaritan, the good, 294.\n    \"        his thoughtful sympathy, 302.\n\n  Sceptre, the departed, 91.\n\n  Scriptures, the misread, 410.\n\n  Sea, the, is His, 171.\n\n  Seed, the way-side, 227.\n    \"   the, on the rocks, 230.\n    \"    \"   amid the thorns, 235.\n    \"    \"   in the good ground, 238.\n\n  Self-sacrifice, the beauty of, 305.\n\n  Servant, the, of the centurion, 196.\n\n  Sheep, the lost, 318.\n\n  Shepherds, the, and the angels, 69.\n    \"        character of the, 73.\n\n  Sight for the soul, 306.\n\n  Silence, four centuries of, 19.\n\n  Simon the Pharisee, 211.\n    \"    \"     \"      a seeker after truth, 212.\n    \"   the Cyrenean, 395.\n\n  Sin, confessed, then forgiven, 328.\n    \"  the Divine grief over, 330.\n    \"  to be rebuked, 345.\n\n  Sinners, hope for, 220.\n\n  Sisters, the two, 306.\n\n  Son, a, with a servant's heart, 330.\n\n  Sower, parable of the, 225.\n\n  Spices for the embalming, 401.\n\n  Spikenard and tears, 216.\n\n  Stier, 218.\n\n  Sympathy in sorrow, 368.\n\n  Synagogue, the, at Capernaum, 151.\n\n\n  Talents, parable of the, 359.\n\n  Taxing, the, 62.\n\n  Temptation, the, 105.\n\n  Testimony, value of personal, 201.\n\n  Testing times, 233.\n\n  Theophilus, 7.\n\n  Thief, the penitent, 397.\n\n  Tower, the, of the flock, 68.\n\n  Transfiguration, the, 191, 281.\n\n  Trial, the mock, 388.\n\n\n  Ulysses and the sirens, 229.\n\n  Unclean devil, the, 152.\n\n  Unity, the, of the Godhead, 178.\n\n  Unjust judge, the, 187.\n\n  Unquiet heart, the, 315.\n\n\n  Vacillation, a bar to heavenly citizenship, 246.\n\n  Valley, the, of the shadow, 354.\n\n  Vindictive feelings disallowed, 344.\n\n  Virgin-conception, the, a familiar thought, 50.\n\n  Vision, the double, 141.\n\n  Voice, the human, and the Divine Word, 201.\n\n\n  Watch, the, in Gethsemane, 364.\n\n  Wayside, the, may become fruitful, 230.\n\n  Wealth, its place in the new kingdom, 245.\n    \"     the true use of, 346.\n    \"      \"  peculiar dangers of, 347.\n    \"     to be held in trust, 348.\n    \"     consecrated, 348.\n\n  Welcome home, the, 328.\n\n  Will, submission to the Father's, 375.\n\n  Woman, a, of the city, 213.\n\n  Words, the, of Jesus, the Word of God, 164.\n    \"    Divine, forgotten, 403.\n\n  Work and worship, 55, 74.\n\n  Worlds beyond the world, 353.\n\n  Worship, the heart in, 150.\n    \"      counterfeit, 228.\n\n  Wrong not to be condoned, 345.178\n\n\n\n  Zacharias, 20.\n    \"        in the holy place, 22.\n    \"        prayer of, 23.\n    \"        the angel's message to, 23.\n    \"        asks for a sign, 26.\n    \"        and the _Benidictus_, 28.\n\nTranscriber's Note:\n\nMinor typographical errors and inconsistencies have been silently\n    normalized.\n\nHyphenation is inconsistent.\n\nThe list of the Expositor's Bible Series has been moved from the\n    beginning to the end of the book.","title":"Expositor's Bible: The Gospel of St Luke","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":126852}