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           Title: Training of the Twelve
      Creator(s): Bruce, A.B.
   CCEL Subjects: All; Bibles; Biography;
      LC Call no: BS2440.B7
   LC Subjects:

   The Bible

   New Testament

   Works about the New Testament

   Biography
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                          The Training of the Twelve

A. B. Bruce
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FOREWORD BY OLAN HENDRIX

   In more than twenty years in the ministry few books have influenced and
   helped me more than A. B. Bruce’s The Training of the Twelve. I was
   delighted to discover that Kregel Publications was planning to reissue this
   very valuable book, and I thank God for their foresight in this undertaking.
   With confidence and enthusiasm I commend this volume to my fellow ministers
   throughout the English speaking world.

   As never before in the history of the Christian ministry the servant of
   Jesus Christ is constantly grappling with the problem of how to reproduce
   himself and multiply his endeavors so as to encounter our ever increasing
   world population with the gospel of Jesus Christ. This book, as few other
   books, gives the practical as well as the theological guidelines for the man
   of God working with his flock. Every pastor knows the frustration of looking
   out upon a broken and often hostile world and experiencing haunting
   limitations to meet those needs. Obviously, a part of the answer to this
   kind of frustration is the genius of “getting things done through other
   people.” This is precisely what Jesus Christ did with his apostles. The
   pattern and the ageless principles of this endeavor on the part of our Lord
   is lifted from the Holy Scriptures to guide us in the day in which we live.

   The value of this volume is increased today as so many Christian workers are
   delving into the subject of management. For the first time in church history
   modern management techniques and principles are being sought out for their
   application to the local church, the mission, the missionary, and various
   types of Christian organizations. In the midst of this kind of upsurge of
   interest in management skills and tools it is increasingly vital that we
   have firmly fixed in our understanding the ageless management principles
   employed by our Lord in his relationships with his apostles.

   It is difficult to estimate the value of Bruce’s instruction for the young
   pastor just beginning his ministry. It would be well for ordination councils
   to consider this as required reading for the young man facing ordination. I
   would recommend the book to my brethren who have been in the ministry for
   many years as an ideal refresher course to lift and inspire the servant of
   God. I have read and reread the book through the years of my own ministry
   and always with increasing profit.

   All of this is to say nothing of the devotional benefit of these blessed
   pages. How wonderful and encouraging to realize that the problems we face in
   working with our people whom the Holy Spirit has called out into our flocks
   or organizations are like the problems the Lord Jesus faced in the
   apostolate.

   Further, I am delighted for the reappearance of this volume because of the
   depth and stability it will unquestionably bring to the ministry in this day
   when superficiality and wavering tends to abound.

   Olan Hendrix
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PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

   ON receiving notice from the publisher that a second edition of The Training
   of the Twelve which first appeared in 1871, was called for, I was obliged to
   consider the question what alterations should be made on a work which,
   though written with care, was too obviously, to my maturer judgment, stamped
   with imperfection. Two alternatives suggested themselves to my mind. One was
   to recast the whole, so as to give it a more critical and scientific
   character, and make it bear more directly on current controversies
   respecting the origin of Christianity. The other was to allow the book to
   remain substantially as it was, retaining its popular form, and limiting
   alterations to details susceptible of improvement without change of plan.
   After a little hesitation, I decided for the latter course, for the
   following reasons. From expressions of opinion that reached me from many and
   very diverse quarters, I had come to be convinced that the book was
   appreciated and found useful, and I thence concluded that, notwithstanding
   its faults, it might continue to be of service in its primitive shape. Then,
   considering how difficult in all things it is to serve two masters or
   accomplish at once two ends, I saw that the adoption of the former of the
   two alternative courses was tantamount to writing a new book, which could be
   done, if necessary, independently of the present publication. I confess to
   having a vague plan of such a work in my head, which may or may not be
   carried into effect. The Tübingen school of critics, with whose works
   English readers are now becoming acquainted through translations, maintain
   that catholic Christianity was the result of a compromise or reconciliation
   between two radically opposed tendencies, represented respectively by the
   original apostles and by Paul, the two tendencies being Judaistic
   exclusiveness on the one hand, and Pauline universalism on the other. The
   twelve said: Christianity for Jews, and all who are willing to become Jews
   by compliance with Jewish custom; Paul said: Christianity for the whole
   world, and for all on the same terms. Now the material dealt with in The
   Training of the Twelve, must, from the nature of the case, have some bearing
   on this conflict hypothesis of Dr. Barr and his friends. The question
   arises, What was to be expected of the men that were with Jesus? and the
   consideration of this question would form an important division of such a
   controversial work as I have in view. Another chapter might consider the
   part assigned to Peter in the Acts of the Apostles (alleged by the same
   school of critics to be a part invented for him by the writer for an
   apologetic purpose), seeking especially to determine whether it was a likely
   part for him to play — likely in view of his idiosyncrasies, or the training
   he had received. Another appropriate topic would be the character of the
   Apostle John, as portrayed in the synoptical Gospels, in its bearing on the
   questions of the authorship of the fourth Gospel, and the hostility to Paul
   and his universalism alleged to be manifested in the Book of Revelation. In
   such a work there would further fall to be considered the materials bearing
   on the same theme in other parts of the New Testament, especially those to
   be found in the Epistle to the Galatians. Finally, there might not
   inappropriately be found a place in such a work for a discussion of the
   question, How far do the synoptical Gospels — the principal sources of
   information regarding the teaching and public actions of Christ — bear
   traces of the influence of controversial or conciliatory tendencies? e.g.
   what ground is there for the assertion that the mission of the seventy is an
   invention in the interest of Pauline universalism intended to throw the
   original apostles into the shade?

   In the present work I have not attempted to develop the argument here
   outlined, but have merely indicated the places at which the different points
   of the argument might come in, and the way in which they might be used. The
   conflict hypothesis was not absent from my mind in writing the book at
   first; but I was neither so well acquainted with the literature relating
   thereto, nor so sensible of its importance, as I am now.

   In preparing this new edition for the press, I have not lost sight of any
   hints from friendly critics which might tend to make it more acceptable and
   useful. In particular, I have kept steadily in view retrenchment of the
   homiletic element, though I am sensible that I may still have retained too
   much for some tastes, but I hope not too much for the generality of readers.
   I have had to remember, that while some friends called for condensation,
   others have complained that the matter was too closely packed. I have also
   had occasion to observe in my reading of books on the Gospel history that it
   is possible to be so brief and sketchy as to miss not only the latent
   connections of thought, but even the thoughts themselves. The changes have
   not all been in the direction of retrenchment. While not a few paragraphs
   have been cancelled or reduced in bulk, other new ones have been added, and
   in one or two instances whole pages have been rewritten. Among the more
   important additions may be mentioned a note at the end of the chapter
   relating to the farewell discourse, giving an analysis of the discourse into
   its component parts; and a concluding paragraph at the end of the work
   summing up the instructions which the twelve had received from Jesus during
   the time they had been with Him. Besides these, a feature of this edition is
   a series of footnotes referring to some of the principal recent
   publications, British and foreign, whose contents relate more or less to the
   Gospel history, such as the works of Keim, Pfleiderer, Golani, Farrar,
   Sanday, and Supernatural Religion. The notes referring to Mr. Sanday’s work
   bear on the important question, how far we have in John’s Gospel a reliable
   record of the words spoken by Jesus to His disciples on the eve of His
   passion.

   Besides the index of passages discussed which appeared in the first edition,
   this edition contains a carefully-prepared table of contents at the end,
   which it is hoped will add to the utility of the work. To make the bearing
   of the contents on the training of the disciples more apparent, I have in
   several instances changed the titles of chapters, or supplied alternative
   titles.

   With these explanations, I send forth this new edition, with grateful
   feelings for the kind reception which the work has already received, and in
   the hope that by the divine blessing it may continue to be of use as an
   attempt to illustrate an interesting and important theme.

   A. B. B.
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1. BEGINNINGS

    John 1:29–51.

   The section of the Gospel history above indicated, possesses the interest
   peculiar to the beginnings of all things that have grown to greatness. Here
   are exhibited to our view the infant church in its cradle, the petty sources
   of the River of Life, the earliest blossoms of Christian faith, the humble
   origin of the mighty empire of the Lord Jesus Christ.

   All beginnings are more or less obscure in appearance, but none were ever
   more obscure than those of Christianity. What an insignificant event in the
   history of the church, not to say of the world, this first meeting of Jesus
   of Nazareth with five humble men, Andrew, Peter, Philip, Nathanael, and
   another unnamed! It actually seems almost too trivial to find a place even
   in the evangelic narrative. For we have here to do not with any formal
   solemn call to the great office of the apostleship, or even with the
   commencement of an uninterrupted discipleship, but at the utmost with the
   beginnings of an acquaintance with and of faith in Jesus on the part of
   certain individuals who subsequently became constant attendants on His
   person, and ultimately apostles of His religion. Accordingly we find no
   mention made in the three first Gospels of the events here recorded.

   Far from being surprised at the silence of the synoptical evangelists, one
   is rather tempted to wonder how it came to pass that John, the author of the
   fourth Gospel, after the lapse of so many years, thought it worth while to
   relate incidents so minute, especially in such close proximity to the
   sublime sentences with which his Gospel begins. But we are kept from such
   incredulous wonder by the reflection, that facts objectively insignificant
   may be very important to the feelings of those whom they personally concern.
   What if John were himself one of the five who on the present occasion became
   acquainted with Jesus? That would make a wide difference between him and the
   other evangelists, who could know of the incidents here related, if they
   knew of them at all, only at second hand. In the case supposed, it would not
   be surprising that to his latest hour John remembered with emotion the first
   time he saw the Incarnate Word, and deemed the minutest memorials of that
   time unspeakably precious. First meetings are sacred as well as last ones,
   especially such as are followed by a momentous history, and accompanied, as
   is apt to be the case, with omens prophetic of the future. [1] Such omens
   were not wanting in connection with the first meeting between Jesus and the
   five disciples. Did not the Baptist then first give to Jesus the name “Lamb
   of God,” so exactly descriptive of His earthly mission and destiny? Was not
   Nathanael’s doubting question, “Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?” an
   ominous indication of a conflict with unbelief awaiting the Messiah? And
   what a happy omen of an opening era of wonders to be wrought by divine grace
   and power was contained in the promise of Jesus to the pious, though at
   first doubting, Israelite: “Henceforth ye shall see heaven open, and the
   angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man”!

   That John, the writer of the fourth Gospel, really was the fifth unnamed
   disciple, may be regarded as certain. It is his way throughout his Gospel,
   when alluding to himself, to use a periphrasis, or to leave, as here, a
   blank where his name should be. One of the two disciples who heard the
   Baptist call Jesus the Lamb of God was the evangelist himself, Andrew, Simon
   Peter’s brother, being the other. [2]

   The impressions produced on our minds by these little anecdotes of the
   infancy of the Gospel must be feeble, indeed, as compared with the emotions
   awakened by the memory of them in the breast of the aged apostle by whom
   they are recorded. It would not, however, be creditable either to our
   intelligence or to our piety if we could peruse this page of the evangelic
   history unmoved, as if it were utterly devoid of interest. We should address
   ourselves to the study of the simple story with somewhat of the feeling with
   which men make pilgrimages to sacred places; for indeed the ground is holy.

   The scene of the occurrences in which we are concerned was in the region of
   Persia, on the banks of the Jordan, at the lower part of its course. The
   persons who make their appearance on the scene were all natives of Galilee,
   and their presence here is due to the fame of the remarkable man whose
   office it was to be the forerunner of the Christ. John, surnamed the
   Baptist, who had spent his youth in the desert as a hermit, living on
   locusts and wild honey, and clad in a garment of camel’s hair, had come
   forth from his retreat, and appeared among men as a prophet of God. The
   burden of his prophecy was, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at
   hand.” In a short time many were attracted from all quarters to see and hear
   him. Of those who flocked to his preaching, the greater number went as they
   came; but not a few were deeply impressed, and, confessing their sins,
   underwent the rite of baptism in the waters of the Jordan. Of those who were
   baptized, a select number formed themselves into a circle of disciples
   around the person of the Baptist, among whom were at least two, and most
   probably the whole, of the five men mentioned by the evangelist. Previous
   converse with the Baptist had awakened in these disciples a desire to see
   Jesus, and prepared them for believing in Him. In his communications to the
   people around him John made frequent allusions to One who should come after
   himself. He spoke of this coming One in language fitted to awaken great
   expectations. He called himself, with reference to the coming One, a mere
   voice in the wilderness, crying, “Prepare ye the way of the Lord.” At
   another time he said, “I baptize with water; but there standeth One among
   you whom ye know not: He it is who, coming after me, is preferred before me,
   whose shoe’s latchet I am not worthy to unloose.” This great One was none
   other than the Messiah, the Son of God, the King of Israel.

   Such discourses were likely to result, and by the man of God who uttered
   them they were intended to result, in the disciples of the Baptist leaving
   him and going over to Jesus. And we see here the process of transition
   actually commencing. We do not affirm that the persons here named finally
   quitted the Baptist’s company at this time, to become henceforth regular
   followers of Jesus. But an acquaintance now begins which will end in that.
   The bride is introduced to the Bridegroom, and the marriage will come in due
   season; not to the chagrin but to the joy of the Bridegroom’s friend. [3]

   How easily and artlessly does the mystic bride, as represented by these five
   disciples, become acquainted with her heavenly Bridegroom! The account of
   their meeting is idyllic in its simplicity, and would only be spoiled by a
   commentary. There is no need of formal introduction: they all introduce each
   other. Even John and Andrew were not formally introduced to Jesus by the
   Baptist; they rather introduced themselves. The exclamation of the desert
   prophet on seeing Jesus, “Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin
   of the world!” repeated next day in an abbreviated form, was the involuntary
   utterance of one absorbed in his own thoughts, rather than the deliberate
   speech of one who was directing his disciples to leave himself and go over
   to Him of whom he spake. The two disciples, on the other hand, in going away
   after the personage whose presence had been so impressively announced, were
   not obeying an order given by their old master, but were simply following
   the dictates of feelings which had been awakened in their breasts by all
   they had heard him say of Jesus, both on the present and on former
   occasions. They needed no injunction to seek the acquaintance of one in whom
   they felt so keenly interested: all they needed was to know that this was
   He. They were as anxious to see the Messianic King as the world is to see
   the face of a secular prince.

   It is natural that we should scan the evangelical narrative for indications
   of character with reference to those who, in the way so quaintly described,
   for the first time met Jesus. Little is said of the five disciples, but
   there is enough to show that they were all pious men. What they found in
   their new friend indicates what they wanted to find. They evidently belonged
   to the select band who waited for the consolation of Israel, and anxiously
   looked for Him who should fulfil God’s promises and realize the hopes of all
   devout souls. Besides this general indication of character supplied in their
   common confession of faith, a few facts are stated respecting these first
   believers in Jesus tending to make us a little better acquainted with them.
   Two of them certainly, all of them probably, had been disciples of the
   Baptist. This fact is decisive as to their moral earnestness. From such a
   quarter none but spiritually earnest men were likely to come. For if the
   followers of John were at all like himself, they were men who hungered and
   thirsted after real righteousness, being sick of the righteousness then in
   vogue; they said Amen in their hearts to the preacher’s withering exposure
   of the hollowness of current religious profession and of the worthlessness
   of fashionable good works, and sighed for a sanctity other than that of
   pharisaic superstition and ostentation; their conscience acknowledged the
   truth of the prophetic oracle, “We are all as an unclean thing, and all our
   righteousnesses are as filthy rags; and we all do fade as a leaf, and our
   iniquities like the wind have taken us away;.” and they prayed fervently for
   the reviving of true religion, for the coming of the divine kingdom, for the
   advent of the Messianic King with fan in His hand to separate chaff from
   wheat, and to put right all things which were wrong. Such, without doubt,
   were the sentiments of those who had the honor to be the first disciples of
   Christ.

   Simon, best known of all the twelve under the name of Peter, is introduced
   to us here, through the prophetic insight of Jesus, on the good side of his
   character as the man of rock. When this disciple was brought by his brother
   Andrew into the presence of his future Master, Jesus, we are told, “beheld
   him and said, Thou art Simon the son of Jona: thou shalt be called Cephas”
   — Cephas meaning in Syriac, as the evangelist explains, the same which
   Petros signifies in Greek. The penetrating glance of Christ discerned in
   this disciple latent capacities of faith and devotion, the rudiments of
   ultimate strength and power.

   What manner of man Philip was the evangelist does not directly tell us, but
   merely whence he came. From the present passage, and from other notices in
   the Gospels, the conclusion has been drawn that he was characteristically
   deliberate, slow in arriving at decision; and for proof of this view,
   reference has been made to the “phlegmatic circumstantiality” [4] with which
   he described to Nathanael the person of Him with whom he had just become
   acquainted. [5] But these words of Philip, and all that we elsewhere read of
   him, rather suggest to us the idea of the earnest inquirer after truth, who
   has thoroughly searched the Scriptures and made himself acquainted with the
   Messiah of promise and prophecy, and to whom the knowledge of God is the
   summum bonum. In the solicitude manifested by this disciple to win his
   friend Nathanael over to the same faith we recognize that generous
   sympathetic spirit, characteristic of earnest inquirers, which afterwards
   revealed itself in him when he became the bearer of the request of devout
   Greeks for permission to see Jesus. [6]

   The notices concerning Nathanael, Philip’s acquaintance, are more detailed
   and more interesting than in the case of any other of the five; and it is
   not a little surprising that we should be told so much in this place about
   one concerning whom we otherwise know almost nothing. It is even not quite
   certain that he belonged to the circle of the twelve, though the probability
   is, that he is to be identified with the Bartholomew of the synoptical
   catalogues — his full name in that case being Nathanael the son of Tolmai.
   It is strongly in favor of this supposition that the name Bartholomew comes
   immediately after Philip in the lists of the apostles. [7] Be this as it
   may, we know on the best authority that Nathanael was a man of great moral
   excellence. No sooner had Jesus seen him than He exclaimed, “Behold an
   Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile!” The words suggest the idea of one
   whose heart was pure; in whom was no doublemindedness, impure motive, pride,
   or unholy passion: a man of gentle, meditative spirit, in whose mind heaven
   lay reflected like the blue sky in a still lake on a calm summer day. He was
   a man much addicted to habits of devotion: he had been engaged in spiritual
   exercises under cover of a fig-tree just before he met with Jesus. So we are
   justified in concluding, from the deep impression made on his mind by the
   words of Jesus, “Before that Philip called thee, when thou wast under the
   fig-tree, I saw thee.” Nathanael appears to have understood these words as
   meaning, “I saw into thy heart, and knew how thou wast occupied, and
   therefore I pronounced thee an Israelite indeed.” He accepted the statement
   made to him by Jesus as an evidence of preternatural knowledge, and
   therefore he forthwith made the confession, “Rabbi! Thou art the Son of God;
   Thou art the King of Israel” — the King of that sacred commonwealth whereof
   you say I am a citizen.

   It is remarkable that this man, so highly endowed with the moral
   dispositions necessary for seeing God, should have been the only one of all
   the five disciples who manifested any hesitancy about receiving Jesus as the
   Christ. When Philip told him that he had found the Messiah in Jesus of
   Nazareth, he asked incredulously, “Can there any good thing come out of
   Nazareth?” One hardly expects such prejudice in one so meek and amiable; and
   yet, on reflection, we perceive it to be quite characteristic. Nathanael’s
   prejudice against Nazareth sprung not from pride, as in the case of the
   people of Judea who despised the Galileans in general, but from humility. He
   was a Galilean himself, and as much an object of Jewish contempt as were the
   Nazarenes. His inward thought was, “Surely the Messiah can never come from
   among a poor despised people such as we are — from Nazareth or any other
   Galilean town or village!” [8] He timidly allowed his mind to be biased by a
   current opinion originating in feelings with which he had no sympathy; a
   fault common to men whose piety, though pure and sincere, defers too much to
   human authority, and who thus become the slaves of sentiments utterly
   unworthy of them.

   While Nathanael was not free from prejudices, he showed his guilelessness in
   being willing to have them removed. He came and saw. This openness to
   conviction is the mark of moral integrity. The guileless man dogmatizes not,
   but investigates, and therefore always comes right in the end. The man of
   bad, dishonest heart, on the contrary, does not come and see. Deeming it his
   interest to remain in his present mind, he studiously avoids looking at
   aught which does not tend to confirm his foregone conclusions. He may,
   indeed, profess a desire for inquiry, like certain Israelites of whom we
   read in this same Gospel, of another stamp than Nathanael, but sharing with
   him the prejudice against Galilee. “Search and look,” said these Israelites
   not without guile, in reply to the ingenuous question of the honest but
   timid Nicodemus: “Doth our law judge any man before it hear him, and know
   what he doeth?” “Search and look,” said they, appealing to observation and
   inviting inquiry; but they added: “For out of Galilee ariseth no prophet”
   [9] — a dictum which at once prohibited inquiry in effect, and intimated
   that it was unnecessary. “Search and look; but we tell you beforehand you
   cannot arrive at any other conclusion than ours; nay, we warn you, you had
   better not.”

   Such were the characters of the men who first believed in Jesus. What, now,
   was the amount and value of their belief? On first view the faith of the
   five disciples, leaving out of account the brief hesitation of Nathanael,
   seems unnaturally sudden and mature. They believe in Jesus on a moment’s
   notice, and they express their faith in terms which seem appropriate only to
   advanced Christian intelligence. In the present section of John’s Gospel we
   find Jesus called not merely the Christ, the Messiah, the King of Israel,
   but the Son of God and the Lamb of God — names expressive to us of the
   cardinal doctrines of Christianity, the Incarnation and the Atonement.

   The haste and maturity which seem to characterize the faith of the five
   disciples are only superficial appearances. As to the former: these men
   believed that Messiah was to come some time; and they wished much it might
   be then, for they felt He was greatly needed. They were men who waited for
   the consolation of Israel, and they were prepared at any moment to witness
   the advent of the Comforter. Then the Baptist had told them that the Christ
   was come, and that He was to be found in the person of Him whom he had
   baptized, and whose baptism had been accompanied with such remarkable signs
   from heaven; and what the Baptist said they implicitly believed. Finally,
   the impression produced on their minds by the bearing of Jesus when they
   met, tended to confirm John’s testimony, being altogether worthy of the
   Christ.

   The appearance of maturity in the faith of the five brethren is equally
   superficial. As to the name Lamb of God, it was given to Jesus by John, not
   by them. It was, so to speak, the baptismal name which the preacher of
   repentance had learned by reflection, or by special revelation, to give to
   the Christ. What the name signified even he but dimly comprehended, the very
   repetition of it showing him to be but a learner striving to get up his
   lesson; and we know that what John understood only in part, the men whom he
   introduced to the acquaintance of Jesus, now and for long after, understood
   not at all. [10]

   The title Son of God was given to Jesus by one of the five disciples as well
   as by the Baptist, a title which even the apostles in after years found
   sufficient to express their mature belief respecting the Person of their
   Lord. But it does not follow that the name was used by them at the beginning
   with the same fulness of meaning as at the end. It was a name which could be
   used in a sense coming far short of that which it is capable of conveying,
   and which it did convey in apostolic preaching — merely as one of the Old
   Testament titles of Messiah, a synonyme for Christ. It was doubtless in this
   rudimentary sense that Nathanael applied the designation to Him, whom he
   also called the King of Israel.

   The faith of these brethren was, therefore, just such as we should expect in
   beginners. In substance it amounted to this, that they recognized in Jesus
   the Divine Prophet, King, Son of Old Testament prophecy; and its value lay
   not in its maturity, or accuracy, but in this, that however imperfect, it
   brought them into contact and close fellowship with Him, in whose company
   they were to see greater things than when they first believed, one truth
   after another assuming its place in the firmament of their minds, like the
   stars appearing in the evening sky as daylight fades away.
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   [1] Omina principiis inesse solent.–Ovid. Fast. i. 178.

   [2] Vers. 41.

   [3] John iii. 29.

   [4] Luthardt, Das Johan. Evang. i. 102.

   [5] Ver. 45.

   [6] John xii. 22

   [7] Ewald lays stress on this in proof of the identity of the two,
   Geschichte Christus, p. 327. In Acts i. 13 Thomas comes between Philip and
   Bartholomew.

   [8] Stanley thinks Nathanael meant to single out Nazareth from the rest of
   Galilee as of specially bad notoriety. In that case the argument would be à
   fortiori: Can any good come out of Galilee, and specially from Nazareth,
   infamous even there? — Sinai and Palestine, p. 366.

   [9] John vii. 52. The Revised Version has: “Search and see that out of
   Galilee ariseth no prophet.”

   [10] The use of such a title by John at such an early period does certainly
   give one a surprise. And yet is it not more surprising to find such a
   passage as the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, on any interpretation of it,
   in an Old Testament book? And being there, why wonder that this title was in
   John’s mouth? That John understood the full import of his own words we are
   not bound, or even entitled, to believe. Why should not the utterance be as
   much a mystery for him as, according to the Apostle Peter, similar
   utterances by older prophets were to them?
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2. FISHERS OF MEN

    Matt. 4:18-22; Mark 1:16–20; Luke 5:1-11.

   The twelve arrived at their final intimate relation to Jesus only by
   degrees, three stages in the history of their fellowship with Him being
   distinguishable. In the first stage they were simply believers in Him as the
   Christ, and His occasional companions at convenient, particularly festive,
   seasons. Of this earliest stage in the intercourse of the disciples with
   their Master we have some memorials in the four first chapters of John’s
   Gospel, which tell how some of them first became acquainted with Jesus, and
   represent them as accompanying Him at a marriage in Cana, [11] at a passover
   in Jerusalem, [12] on a visit to the scene of the Baptist’s ministry, [13]
   and on the return journey through Samaria from the south to Galilee. [14]

   In the second stage, fellowship with Christ assumed the form of an
   uninterrupted attendance on His person, involving entire, or at least
   habitual abandonment of secular occupations. [15] The present narratives
   bring under our view certain of the disciples entering on this second stage
   of discipleship. Of the four persons here named, we recognize three, Peter,
   Andrew, and John, as old acquaintances, who have already passed through the
   first stage of discipleship. One of them, James the brother of John, we meet
   with for the first time; a fact which suggests the remark, that in some
   cases the first and second stages may have been blended together —
   professions of faith in Jesus as the Christ being immediately followed by
   the renunciation of secular callings for the purpose of joining His company.
   Such cases, however, were probably exceptional and few.

   The twelve entered on the last and highest stage of discipleship when they
   were chosen by their Master from the mass of His followers, and formed into
   a select band, to be trained for the great work of the apostleship. This
   important event probably did not take place till all the members of the
   apostolic circle had been for some time about the person of Jesus.

   From the evangelic records it appears that Jesus began at a very early
   period of His ministry to gather round Him a company of disciples, with a
   view to the preparation of an agency for carrying on the work of the divine
   kingdom. The two pairs of brothers received their call at the commencement
   of the first Galilean ministry, in which the first act was the selection of
   Capernaum by the seaside as the centre of operations and ordinary place of
   abode. [16] And when we think what they were called unto, we see that the
   call could not come too soon. The twelve were to be Christ’s witnesses in
   the world after He Himself had left it; it was to be their peculiar duty to
   give to the world a faithful account of their Master’s words and deeds, a
   just image of His character, a true reflection of His spirit. [17] This
   service obviously could be rendered only by persons who had been, as nearly
   as possible, eye-witnesses and servants of the Incarnate Word from the
   beginning. While, therefore, except in the cases of Peter, James, John,
   Andrew, and Matthew, we have no particulars in the Gospels respecting the
   calls of those who afterwards became apostles, we must assume that they all
   occurred in the first year of the Saviour’s public ministry.

   That these calls were given with conscious reference to an ulterior end,
   even the apostleship, appears from the remarkable terms in which the
   earliest of them was expressed. “Follow Me,” said Jesus to the fishermen of
   Bethsaida, “and I will make you fishers of men.” These words (whose
   originality stamps them as a genuine saying of Jesus) show that the great
   Founder of the faith desired not only to have disciples, but to have about
   Him men whom He might train to make disciples of others: to cast the net of
   divine truth into the sea of the world, and to land on the shores of the
   divine kingdom a great multitude of believing souls. Both from His words and
   from His actions we can see that He attached supreme importance to that part
   of His work which consisted in training the twelve. In the intercessory
   prayer, [18] e.g., He speaks of the training He had given these men as if it
   had been the principal part of His own earthly ministry. And such, in one
   sense, it really was. The careful, painstaking education of the disciples
   secured that the Teacher’s influence on the world should be permanent; that
   His kingdom should be founded on the rock of deep and indestructible
   convictions in the minds of the few, not on the shifting sands of
   superficial evanescent impressions on the minds of the many. Regarding that
   kingdom, as our Lord Himself has taught us in one of His parables to do,
   [19] as a thing introduced into the world like a seed cast into the ground
   and left to grow according to natural laws, we may say that, but for the
   twelve, the doctrine, the works, and the image of Jesus might have perished
   from human remembrance, nothing remaining but a vague mythical tradition, of
   no historical value, and of little practical influence.

   Those on whom so much depended, it plainly behoved to possess very
   extraordinary qualifications. The mirrors must be finely polished that are
   designed to reflect the image of Christ! The apostles of the Christian
   religion must be men of rare spiritual endowment. It is a catholic religion,
   intended for all nations; therefore its apostles must be free from Jewish
   narrowness, and have sympathies wide as the world. It is a spiritual
   religion, destined ere long to antiquate Jewish ceremonialism; therefore its
   apostles must be emancipated in conscience from the yoke of ordinances. [20]
   It is a religion, once more, which is to proclaim the Cross, previously an
   instrument of cruelty and badge of infamy, as the hope of the world’s
   redemption, and the symbol of all that is noble and heroic in conduct;
   therefore its heralds must be superior to all conventional notions of human
   and divine dignity, capable of glorying in the cross of Christ, and willing
   to bear a cross themselves. The apostolic character, in short, must combine
   freedom of conscience, enlargement of heart, enlightenment of mind, and all
   in the superlative degree.

   The humble fishermen of Galilee had much to learn before they could satisfy
   these high requirements; so much, that the time of their apprenticeship for
   their apostolic work, even reckoning it from the very commencement of
   Christ’s ministry, seems all too short. They were indeed godly men, who had
   already shown the sincerity of their piety by forsaking all for their
   Master’s sake. But at the time of their call they were exceedingly ignorant,
   narrow-minded, superstitious, full of Jewish prejudices, misconceptions, and
   animosities. They had much to unlearn of what was bad, as well as much to
   learn of what was good, and they were slow both to learn and to unlearn. Old
   beliefs already in possession of their minds made the communication of new
   religious ideas a difficult task. Men of good honest heart, the soil of
   their spiritual nature was fitted to produce an abundant harvest; but it was
   stiff, and needed much laborious tillage before it would yield its fruit.
   Then, once more, they were poor men, of humble birth, low station, mean
   occupations, who had never felt the stimulating influence of a liberal
   education, or of social intercourse with persons of cultivated minds. [21]

   We shall meet with abundant evidence of the crude spiritual condition of the
   twelve, even long after the period when they were called to follow Jesus, as
   we proceed with the studies on which we have entered. Meantime we may
   discover significant indications of the religious immaturity of at least one
   of the disciples — Simon, son of Jonas — in Luke’s account of the incidents
   connected with his call. Pressed by the multitude who had assembled on the
   shore of the lake to hear Him preach, Jesus, we read, entered into a ship
   (one of two lying near at hand), which happened to be Simon’s, and
   requesting him to thrust out a little from the land, sat down, and taught
   the people from the vessel. Having finished speaking, Jesus said unto the
   owner of the boat, “Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a
   draught.” Their previous efforts to catch fish had been unsuccessful; but
   Simon and his brother did as Jesus directed, and were rewarded by an
   extraordinary take, which appeared to them and their fishing companions,
   James and John, nothing short of miraculous. Simon, the most impressible and
   the most demonstrative of the four, gave utterance to his feelings of
   astonishment by characteristic words and gestures. He fell down at Jesus’
   knees, saying, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord!”

   This exclamation opens a window into the inner man of him who uttered it
   through which we can see his spiritual state. We observe in Peter at this
   time that mixture of good and evil, of grace and nature, which so frequently
   reappears in his character in the subsequent history. Among the good
   elements discernible are reverential awe in presence of Divine Power, a
   prompt calling to mind of sin betraying tenderness of conscience, and an
   unfeigned self-humiliation on account of unmerited favor. Valuable features
   of character these; but they did not exist in Peter without alloy. Along
   with them were associated superstitious dread of the supernatural and a
   slavish fear of God. The presence of the former element is implied in the
   reassuring exhortation addressed to the disciple by Jesus, “Fear not; from
   henceforth thou shalt catch men.” Slavish fear of God is even more manifest
   in his own words, “Depart from me, O Lord.” Powerfully impressed with the
   super-human knowledge revealed in connection with the great draught of
   fishes, he regards Jesus for the moment as a supernatural being, and as such
   dreads Him as one whom it is not safe to be near, especially for a poor
   sinful mortal like himself. This state of mind shows how utterly unfit Peter
   is, as yet, to be an apostle of a Gospel which magnifies the grace of God
   even to the chief of sinners. His piety, sufficiently strong and decided, is
   not of a Christian type; it is legal, one might almost say pagan, in spirit.

   With all their imperfections, which were both numerous and great, these
   humble fishermen of Galilee had, at the very outset of their career, one
   grand distinguishing virtue, which, though it may co-exist with many
   defects, is the cardinal virtue of Christian ethics, and the certain
   forerunner of ultimate high attainment. They were animated by a devotion to
   Jesus and to the divine kingdom which made them capable of any sacrifice.
   Believing Him who bade them follow Him to the Christ, come to set up God’s
   kingdom on earth, they “straightway” left their nets and joined his company,
   to be thenceforth His constant companions in all His wanderings. The act was
   acknowledged by Jesus Himself to be meritorious; and we cannot, without
   injustice, seek to disparage it by ascribing it to idleness, discontent, or
   ambition as its motive. The Gospel narrative shows that the four brethren
   were not idle, but hard-working, industrious men. Neither were they
   discontented, if for no other reason than that they had no cause for
   discontent.

   The family of James and John at least seems to have been in circumstances of
   comfort; for Mark relates that, when called by Jesus, they left their father
   Zebedee in the ship with the hired servants, and went after Him. But
   ambition, had it no place among their motives? Well, we must admit that the
   twelve, and especially James and John, were by no means free from ambitious
   passions, as we shall see hereafter. But to whatever extent ambition may
   have influenced their conduct at a later period, it was not the motive which
   determined them to leave their nets. Ambition needs a temptation: it does
   not join a cause which is obscure and struggling, and whose success is
   doubtful; it strikes in when success is assured, and when the movement it
   patronizes is on the eve of its glorification. The cause of Jesus had not
   got to that stage yet.

   One charge only can be brought against those men, and it can be brought with
   truth, and without doing their memory any harm. They were enthusiasts: their
   hearts were fired, and, as an unbelieving world might say, their heads were
   turned by a dream about a divine kingdom to be set up in Israel, with Jesus
   of Nazareth for its king. That dream possessed them, and imperiously ruled
   over their minds and shaped their destinies, compelling them, like Abraham,
   to leave their kindred and their country, and to go forth on what might well
   appear beforehand to be a fool’s errand. Well for the world that they were
   possessed by the idea of the kingdom! For it was no fool’s errand on which
   they went forth, leaving their nets behind. The kingdom they sought turned
   out to be as real as the land of Canaan, though not such altogether as they
   had imagined. The fishermen of Galilee did become fishers of men on a most
   extensive scale, and, by the help of God, gathered many souls into the
   church of such as should be saved. In a sense they are casting their nets
   into the sea of the world still, and, by their testimony to Jesus in Gospel
   and Epistle, are bringing multitudes to become disciples of Him among whose
   first followers they had the happiness to be numbered.

   The four, the twelve, forsook all and followed their Master. Did the “all”
   in any case include wife and children? It did in at least one instance —
   that of Peter; for the Gospels tell how Peter’s mother-in-law was healed of
   a fever by the miraculous power of Christ. [22] From a passage in Paul’s
   first epistle to the Corinthian church, it appears that Peter was not the
   only one among the apostles who was married. [23] From the same passage we
   further learn, that forsaking of wives for Christ’s sake did not mean
   literal desertion. Peter the apostle led his wife about with him, and Peter
   the disciple may sometimes have done the same. The likelihood is that the
   married disciples, like married soldiers, took their wives with them or left
   them at home, as circumstances might require or admit. Women, even married
   women, did sometimes follow Jesus; and the wife of Simon, or of any other
   married disciple, may occasionally have been among the number. At an
   advanced period in the history we find the mother of James and John in
   Christ’s company far from home; and where mothers were, wives, if they
   wished, might also be. The infant church, in its original nomadic or
   itinerant state, seems to have been a motley band of pilgrims, in which all
   sorts of people as to sex, social position, and moral character were united,
   the bond of union being ardent attachment to the person of Jesus.

   This church itinerant was not a regularly organized society, of which it was
   necessary to be a constant member in order to true discipleship. Except in
   the case of the twelve, following Jesus from place to place was optional,
   not compulsory; and in most cases it was probably also only occasional. [24]
   It was the natural consequence of faith, when the object of faith, the
   centre of the circle, was Himself in motion. Believers would naturally
   desire to see as many of Christ’s works and hear as many of His words as
   possible. When the object of faith left the earth, and His presence became
   spiritual, all occasion for such nomadic discipleship was done away. To be
   present with Him thereafter, men needed only to forsake their sins.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [11] John ii. 1.

   [12] John ii. 13, 17, 22.

   [13] John iii. 22.

   [14] John iv. 1–27, 31, 43–45.

   [15] Entire in Matthew’s case, of course; in the case of the fishers, not
   necessarily so.

   [16] Matt. iv. 13.

   [17] It is not assumed here that the Gospels, as we have them, were written
   by apostles. The statement in the text implies only that the teaching of the
   apostles, whether oral or written, was the ultimate source of the evangelic
   traditions recorded in the Gospels.

   [18] John xvii. 6.

   [19] Mark iv. 26.

   [20] Universality and Spirituality are admitted by the Tübingen school to
   have been attributes of the religion of Jesus as set forth by Himself. This
   is an important fact in connection with their conflict-hypothesis.

   [21] Throughout this work great prominence is given to the moral and
   spiritual defects of the twelve. But we must protest at the outset against
   the inference that such men must remain permanently disqualified for the
   task of being the apostles of the universal religion, the religion of
   humanity. Everything may be hoped of men who could leave all for Christ’s
   society. Where there is a noble soul, there is an indefinite capacity of
   growth.

   [22] Matt. viii. 14; Mark i. 29–31; Luke iv. 38, 39,

   [23] 1 Cor. ix. 5.

   [24] The words recorded in Luke xxii. 28, as spoken by Jesus to the
   disciples on the night before his death, “Ye are they who have continued
   with me in my temptations,” might be referred to as tending to prove both
   the continuousness of the companionship of the twelve with Jesus and the
   early date of its commencement. The saying is directly intended to bear
   testimony to the fidelity of the disciples, but it bears indirect testimony
   on the other points also. They had been with their Master, if not as a
   constituted body of twelve, at least as individuals, from the time He began
   to have “temptations,” wich was very early, and they had been with Him
   throughout them all.
     _________________________________________________________________

3. MATTHEW THE PUBLICAN

    Matt. 9:9–13; Mark 2:15–17; Luke 5:27–32.

   The call of Matthew signally illustrates a very prominent feature in the
   public action of Jesus, viz., His utter disregard of the maxims of worldly
   wisdom. A publican disciple, much more a publican apostle, could not fail to
   be a stumbling-block to Jewish prejudice, and therefore to be, for the time
   at least, a source of weakness rather than of strength. Yet, while perfectly
   aware of this fact, Jesus invited to the intimate fellowship of disciplehood
   one who had pursued the occupation of a tax-gatherer, and at a later period
   selected him to be one of the twelve. His procedure in this case is all the
   more remarkable when contrasted with the manner in which He treated others
   having outward advantages to recommend them to favorable notice, and who
   showed their readiness to follow by volunteering to become disciples; of
   whom we have a sample in the scribe who came and said, “Master, I will
   follow Thee whithersoever Thou goest.” [25] This man, whose social position
   and professional attainments seemed to point him out as a very desirable
   acquisition, the “Master” deliberately scared away by a gloomy picture of
   his own destitute condition, saying, “The foxes have holes, and the birds of
   the air have nests, [26] but the Son of man hath not where to lay His
   head.”

   The eye of Jesus was single as well as omniscient: He looked on the heart,
   and had respect solely to spiritual fitness. He had no faith in any
   discipleship based on misapprehensions and by-ends; and, on the other hand,
   He had no fear of the drawbacks arising out of the external connections or
   past history of true believers, but was entirely indifferent to men’s
   antecedents. Confident in the power of truth, He chose the base things of
   the world in preference to things held in esteem, assured that they would
   conquer at the last. Aware that both He and His disciples would be despised
   and rejected of men for a season, He went calmly on His way, choosing for
   His companions and agents “whom He would,” undisturbed by the gainsaying of
   His generation — like one who knew that His work concerned all nations and
   all time.

   The publican disciple bears two names in the Gospel history. In the first
   Gospel he is called Matthew, while in the second and third Gospels he is
   called Levi. That the same person is intended, may, we think, be regarded as
   a matter of certainty. [27] It is hardly conceivable that two publicans
   should have been called to be disciples at the same place and time, and with
   all accompanying circumstances, and these so remarkable, precisely similar.
   We need not be surprised that the identity has not been notified, as the
   fact of the two names belonging to one individual would be so familiar to
   the first readers of the Gospels as to make such a piece of information
   superfluous.

   It is not improbable that Levi was the name of this disciple before the time
   of his call, and that Matthew was his name as a disciple, — the new name
   thus becoming a symbol and memorial of the more important change in heart
   and life. Similar emblematic changes of name were of frequent occurrence in
   the beginning of the Gospel. Simon son of Jonas was transformed into Peter,
   Saul of Tarsus became Paul, and Joses the Cypriot got from the apostles the
   beautiful Christian name of Barnabas (son of consolation or prophecy), by
   his philanthropy, and magnanimity, and spiritual wisdom, well deserved.

   Matthew seems to have been employed as a collector of revenue, at the time
   when he was called, in the town of Capernaum, which Jesus had adopted as His
   place of abode. For it was while Jesus was at home “in His own city,” [28]
   as Capernaum came to be called, that the palsied man was brought to Him to
   be healed; and from all the evangelists [29] we learn that it was on His way
   out from the house where that miracle was wrought that He saw Matthew, and
   spoke to him the word, “Follow Me.” The inference to be drawn from these
   facts is plain, and it is also important, as helping to explain the apparent
   abruptness of the call, and the promptitude with which it was responded to.
   Jesus and His new disciple being fellow-townsmen, had opportunities of
   seeing each other before.

   The time of Matthew’s call cannot be precisely determined, but there is good
   reason for placing it before the Sermon on the Mount, of which Matthew’s
   Gospel contains the most complete report. The fact just stated is of itself
   strong evidence in favor of this chronological arrangement, for so full an
   account of the sermon was not likely to emanate from one who did not hear
   it. An examination of the third Gospel converts probability into something
   like certainty. Luke prefixes to his abbreviated account of the sermon a
   notice of the constitution of the apostolic society, and represents Jesus as
   proceeding “with them” [30] — the twelve, whose names he has just given — to
   the scene where the sermon was delivered. Of course the act of constitution
   must have been preceded by the separate acts of calling, and by Matthew’s
   call in particular, which accordingly is related by the third evangelist in
   an earlier part of his Gospel. [31] It is true the position of the call in
   Luke’s narrative in itself proves nothing, as Matthew relates his own call
   after the sermon; and as, moreover, neither one nor other systematically
   adheres to the chronological principle of arrangement in the construction of
   his story. We base our conclusion on the assumption, that when any of the
   evangelists professes to give the order of sequence, his statement may be
   relied on; and on the observations, that Luke does manifestly commit himself
   to a chronological datum in making the ordination of the twelve antecedent
   to the preaching of the Sermon on the Mount, and that Matthew’s arrangement
   in the early part of his Gospel is as manifestly unchronological, his matter
   being massed on the topical principle, ch. v.–vii. showing Jesus as a great
   ethical teacher; ch. viii. and ix., as a worker of miracles; ch. x., as a
   master, choosing, instructing, and sending forth on an evangelistic mission
   the twelve disciples; ch. xi., as a critic of His contemporaries and
   assertor of His own prerogatives; ch. xii., as exposed to the contradictions
   of unbelief; and ch. xiii., as teaching the doctrines of the kingdom by
   parables.

   Passing from these subordinate points to the call itself, we observe that
   the narratives of the event are very brief and fragmentary. There is no
   intimation of any previous acquaintance such as might prepare Matthew to
   comply with the invitation addressed to him by Jesus. It is not to be
   inferred, however, that no such acquaintance existed, as we can see from the
   case of the four fishermen, whose call is narrated with equal abruptness in
   the synoptical Gospels, while we know from John’s Gospel that three of them
   at least were previously acquainted with Jesus. The truth is, that, in
   regard to both calls, the evangelists concerned themselves only about the
   crisis, passing over in silence all preparatory stages, and not deeming it
   necessary to inform intelligent readers that, of course, neither the
   publican nor any other disciple blindly followed one of whom he knew nothing
   merely because asked or commanded to follow. The fact already ascertained,
   that Matthew, while a publican, resided in Capernaum, makes it absolutely
   certain that he knew of Jesus before he was called. No man could live in
   that town in those days without hearing of “mighty works” done in and around
   it. Heaven had been opened right above Capernaum, in view of all, and the
   angels had been thronging down upon the Son of man. Lepers were cleansed,
   and demoniacs dispossessed; blind men received their sight, and palsied men
   the use of their limbs; one woman was cured of a chronic malady, and
   another, daughter of a distinguished citizen, — Jairus, ruler of the
   synagogue, — was brought back to life from the dead. These things were done
   publicly, made a great noise, and were much remarked on. The evangelists
   relate how the people “were all amazed, insomuch that they questioned among
   themselves, saying, What thing is this? what new doctrine is this? for with
   authority commandeth He even the unclean spirits, and they do obey Him;.”
   [32] how they glorified God, saying, “We never saw it on this fashion,” [33]
   or, “we have seen strange things today.” [34] Matthew himself concludes his
   account of the raising of Jairus’ daughter with the remark: “The fame hereof
   went abroad into all that land.” [35]

   We do not affirm that all these miracles were wrought before the time of the
   publican’s call, but some of them certainly were. Comparing one Gospel with
   another, to determine the historical sequence, [36] we conclude that the
   greatest of all these mighty works, the last mentioned, though narrated by
   Matthew after his call, really occurred before it. Think, then, what a
   powerful effect that marvelous deed would have in preparing the tax-gatherer
   for recognizing, in the solemnly uttered word, “Follow me,” the command of
   One who was Lord both of the dead and of the living, and for yielding to His
   bidding, prompt, unhesitating obedience!

   In crediting Matthew with some previous knowledge of Christ, we make his
   conversion to discipleship appear reasonable without diminishing its moral
   value. It was not a matter of course that he should become a follower of
   Jesus merely because he had heard of, or even seen, His wonderful works.
   Miracles of themselves could make no man a believer, otherwise all the
   people of Capernaum should have believed. How different was the actual fact,
   we learn from the complaints afterwards made by Jesus concerning those towns
   along the shores of the Lake of Gennesareth, wherein most of His mighty
   works were done, and of Capernaum in particular. Of this city He said
   bitterly: “Thou, Capernaum, shalt thou be exalted unto heaven? thou shalt go
   down unto Hades: for if the mighty works which have been done in thee had
   been done in Sodom, it would have remained until this day. [37] Christ’s
   complaint against the inhabitants of these favored cities was that they did
   not repent, that is, make the kingdom of heaven their chief good and chief
   end. They wondered sufficiently at His miracles, and talked abundantly of
   them, and ran after Him to see more works of the same kind, and enjoy anew
   the sensation of amazement; but after a while they relapsed into their old
   stupidity and listlessness, and remained morally as they had been before He
   came among them, not children of the kingdom, but children of this world.

   It was not so with the collector of customs. He not merely wondered and
   talked, but he “repented.” Whether he had more to repent of than his
   neighbors, we cannot tell. It is true that he belonged to a class of men
   who, seen through the colored medium of popular prejudice, were all bad
   alike, and many of whom were really guilty of fraud and extortion; but he
   may have been an exception. His farewell feast shows that he possessed
   means, but we must not take for granted that they were dishonestly earned.
   This only we may safely say, that if the publican disciple had been
   covetous, the spirit of greed was now exorcised; if he had ever been guilty
   of oppressing the poor, he now abhorred such work. He had grown weary of
   collecting revenue from a reluctant population, and was glad to follow One
   who had come to take burdens off instead of laying them on, to remit debts
   instead of exacting them with rigor. And so it came to pass that the voice
   of Jesus acted on his heart like a spell: “He left all, rose up, and
   followed Him.”

   This great decision, according to the account of all the evangelists, was
   followed shortly after by a feast in Matthew’s house at which Jesus was
   present. [38] From Luke we learn that this entertainment had all the
   character of a great occasion, and that it was given in honor of Jesus. The
   honor, however, was such as few would value, for the other guests were
   peculiar. “There was a great company of publicans, and of others that sat
   down with them;.” [39] and among the “others” were some who either were or
   were esteemed, in a superlative degree, “sinners.” [40]

   This feast was, as we judge, not less rich in moral significance than in the
   viands set on the board. For the host himself it was, without doubt, a
   jubilee feast commemorative of his emancipation from drudgery and
   uncongenial society and sin, or, at all events. temptation to sin, and of
   his entrance on the free, blessed life of fellowship with Jesus. It was a
   kind of poem, saying for Matthew what Doddridge’s familiar lines say for
   many another, perhaps not so well —


   ”Oh happy day, that fixed my choice

   On Thee, my Saviour, and my God!

   Well may this glowing heart rejoice,

   And tell its raptures all abroad!


   ’Tis done; the great transaction’s done;

   I am my Lord’s and He is mine;

   He drew me, and I followed on,

   Charmed to confess the voice divine.”

   The feast was also, as already said, an act of homage to Jesus. Matthew made
   his splendid feast in honor of his new master, as Mary of Bethany shed her
   precious ointment. It is the way of those to whom much grace is shown and
   given, to manifest their grateful love in deeds bearing the stamp of what a
   Greek philosopher called magnificence, [41] and churls call extravagance;
   and whoever might blame such acts of devotion, Jesus always accepted them
   with pleasure.

   The ex-publican’s feast seems further to have had the character of a
   farewell entertainment to his fellow-publicans. He and they were to go
   different ways henceforth, and he would part with his old comrades in peace.

   Once more: we can believe that Matthew meant his feast to be the means of
   introducing his friends and neighbors to the acquaintance of Jesus, seeking
   with the characteristic zeal of a young disciple to induce others to take
   the step which he had resolved on himself, or at least hoping that some
   sinners present might be drawn from evil ways into the paths of
   righteousness. And who can tell but it was at this very festive gathering,
   or on some similar occasion, that the gracious impressions were produced
   whose final outcome was that affecting display of gratitude unutterable at
   that other feast in Simon’s house, to which neither publicans nor sinners
   were admitted?

   Matthew’s feast was thus, looked at from within, a very joyous, innocent,
   and even edifying one. But, alas! looked at from without, like stained
   windows, it wore a different aspect: it was, indeed, nothing short of
   scandalous. Certain Pharisees observed the company assemble or disperse,
   noted their character, and made, after their wont, sinister reflections.
   Opportunity offering itself, they asked the disciples of Jesus the at once
   complimentary and censorious question: “Why eateth your master with
   publicans and sinners?” The interrogants were for the most part local
   members of the pharisaic sect, for Luke calls them “their scribes and
   Pharisees,” [42] which implies that Capernaum was important enough to be
   honored with the presence of men representing that religious party. It is by
   no means unlikely, however, that among the unfriendly spectators were some
   Pharisees all the way from Jerusalem, the seat of ecclesiastical government,
   already on the track of the Prophet of Nazareth, watching His doings, as
   they watched those of the Baptist before Him. The news of Christ’s wondrous
   works soon spread over all the land, and attracted spectators from all
   quarters — from Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea, and Persia, as well as Galilee:
   [43] and we may be sure that the scribes and Pharisees of the holy city were
   not the last to go and see, for we must own they performed the duty of
   religious espionage with exemplary diligence.

   The presence of ill-affected men belonging to the pharisaic order was almost
   a standing feature in Christ’s public ministry. But it never disconcerted
   Him. He went calmly on His way doing His work; and when His conduct was
   called in question, He was ever ready with a conclusive answer. Among the
   most striking of His answers or apologies to them who examined Him, were
   those in which He vindicated Himself for mixing with publicans and sinners.
   They are three in number, spoken on as many occasions: the first in
   connection with Matthew’s feast; the second in the house of Simon the
   Pharisee; [44] and the third on an occasion not minutely defined, when
   certain scribes and Pharisees brought against Him the grave charge, “This
   man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.” [45] These apologies for
   loving the unloved and the morally unlovely are full of truth and grace,
   poetry and pathos, and not without a touch of quiet, quaint satire directed
   against the sanctimonious fault-finders. The first may be distinguished as
   the professional argument, and is to this effect: “I frequent the haunts of
   sinners, because I am a physician, and they are sick and need healing. Where
   should a physician be but among his patients? where oftenest, but among
   those most grievously afflicted?” The second may be described as the
   political argument, its drift being this: “It is good policy to be the
   friend of sinners who have much to be forgiven; for when they are restored
   to the paths of virtue and piety, how great is their love! See that penitent
   woman, weeping for sorrow and also for joy, and bathing her Saviour’s feet
   with her tears. Those tears are refreshing to my heart, as a spring of water
   in the arid desert of pharisaic frigidity and formalism.” The third may be
   denominated the argument from natural instinct, and runs thus: “I receive
   sinners, and eat with them, and seek by these means their moral restoration,
   for the same reason which moves the shepherd to go after a lost sheep,
   leaving his unstrayed flock in the wilderness, viz. because it is natural to
   seek the lost, and to have more joy in finding things lost than in
   possessing things which never have been lost. Men who understand not this
   feeling are solitary in the universe; for angels in heaven, fathers,
   housewives, shepherds, all who have human hearts on earth, understand it
   well, and act on it every day.”

   In all these reasonings Jesus argued with His accusers on their own
   premises, accepting their estimate of themselves, and of the class with whom
   they deemed it discreditable to associate, as righteous and sinful
   respectively. But He took care, at the same time, to let it appear that His
   judgment concerning the two parties did not coincide with that of His
   interrogators. This He did on the occasion of Matthew’s feast, by bidding
   them go study the text, “I will have mercy, and not sacrifice;.” meaning by
   the quotation to insinuate, that while very religious, the Pharisees were
   also very inhuman, full of pride, prejudice, harshness, and hatred; and to
   proclaim the truth, that this character was in God’s sight far more
   detestable than that of those who were addicted to the coarse vices of the
   multitude, not to speak of those who were “sinners” mainly in the pharisaic
   imagination, and within inverted commas.

   Our Lord’s last words to the persons who called His conduct in question at
   this time were not merely apologetic, but judicial. “I came not,” He said,
   “to call the righteous, but sinners;.” [46] intimating a purpose to let the
   self-righteous alone and to call to repentance and to the joys of the
   kingdom those who were not too self-satisfied to care for the benefits
   offered, and to whom the gospel feast would be a real entertainment. The
   word, in truth, contained a significant hint of an approaching religious
   revolution in which the last should become first and the first last; Jewish
   outcasts, Gentile dogs, made partakers of the joys of the kingdom and the
   “righteous” shut out. It was one of the pregnant sayings by which Jesus made
   known to those who could understand, that His religion was an universal one,
   a religion for humanity, a gospel for mankind, because a gospel for sinners.
   And what this saying declared in word, the conduct it apologized for
   proclaimed yet more expressively by deed. It was an ominous thing that
   loving sympathy for “publicans and sinners” — the pharisaic instinct
   discerned it to be so, and rightly took the alarm. It meant death to
   privileged monopolies of grace and to Jewish pride and exclusivism — all men
   equal in God’s sight, and welcome to salvation on the same terms. In fact it
   was a virtual announcement of the Pauline programme of an universalistic
   gospel, which the twelve are supposed by a certain school of theologians to
   have opposed as determinedly as the Pharisees themselves. Strange that the
   men who had been with Jesus were so obtuse as not to understand, even at the
   last, what was involved in their Master’s fellowship with the low and the
   lost! Was Buddha more fortunate in his disciples than Jesus in His? Buddha
   said, “My law is a law of grace for all,” directing the saying immediately
   against Brahminical caste prejudice; and his followers understood that it
   meant, Buddhism a missionary religion, a religion even for Sudras, and
   therefore for all mankind!
     _________________________________________________________________

   [25] Matt. viii. 18–20.

   [26] More correctly, roosts, or lodging-places.

   [27] Ewald (Christus, pp. 364, 397) denies the identity, and asserts that
   Levi was not one of the twelve; yet he admits the far less certain identity
   of Nathanael and Bartholomew.

   [28] Matt. ix. 1.

   [29] Matt. ix. 9; Mark ii. 13; Luke v. 27.

   [30] Luke vi. 13–17.

   [31] Luke v. 27.

   [32] Mark i. 27.

   [33] Mark ii. 12.

   [34] Luke v. 26.

   [35] Matt. ix. 26.

   [36] See Ebrard, Gospel History, on the subject of sequence.

   [37] Matt. xi. 23. There can be little doubt that the reading mē hupsōthēsē,
   in the first clause, adopted in the R. V., is the correct one. It brings
   Christ’s prophetic word into closer correspondence with Isa. xiv. 13–15, to
   which there is an obvious allusion: “Thou hast said in thine heart, I will
   ascend unto heaven . . . Yet thou shalt be brought down to hell.”

   [38] Matthew says modestly, “in the house” (ix. 10).

   [39] Matt. ix. 10.

   [40] Luke v. 29.

   [41] megaloprepeia. — Aristotle’s Ethic. Nicomach. iv. 2.

   [42] Luke v. 30.

   [43] Matt. iv. 25.

   [44] Luke vii. 36.

   [45] Luke xv..

   [46] eis metanoian seems to be genuine only in Luke, and the words express
   only a part of Christ’s meaning. He called men not merely to repentance, but
   to participation in all the blessedness of the kingdom.
     _________________________________________________________________

4. THE TWELVE

    Matt. 10:1–4; Mark 3:13–19; Luke 6:12–16; Acts 1:13.

   The selection by Jesus of the twelve from the band of disciples who had
   gradually gathered around His person is an important landmark in the Gospel
   history. It divides the ministry of our Lord into two portions, nearly
   equal, probably, as to duration, but unequal as to the extent and importance
   of the work done in each respectively. In the earlier period Jesus labored
   single-handed; His miraculous deeds were confined for the most part to a
   limited area, and His teaching was in the main of an elementary character.
   But by the time when the twelve were chosen, the work of the kingdom had
   assumed such dimensions as to require organization and division of labor;
   and the teaching of Jesus was beginning to be of a deeper and more elaborate
   nature, and His gracious activities were taking on ever-widening range.

   It is probable that the selection of a limited number to be His close and
   constant companions had become a necessity to Christ, in consequence of His
   very success in gaining disciples. His followers, we imagine, had grown so
   numerous as to be an incumbrance and an impediment to his movements,
   especially in the long journeys which mark the later part of His ministry.
   It was impossible that all who believed could continue henceforth to follow
   Him, in the literal sense, whithersoever He might go: the greater number
   could now only be occasional followers. But it was His wish that certain
   selected men should be with Him at all times and in all places, — His
   travelling companions in all His wanderings, witnessing all His work, and
   ministering to His daily needs. And so, in the quaint words of Mark, “Jesus
   calleth unto Him whom He would, and they came unto Him, and He made twelve,
   that they should be with Him.” [47]

   These twelve, however, as we know, were to be something more than travelling
   companions or menial servants of the Lord Jesus Christ. They were to be, in
   the mean time, students of Christian doctrine, and occasional
   fellow-laborers in the work of the kingdom, and eventually Christ’s chosen
   trained agents for propagating the faith after He Himself had left the
   earth. From the time of their being chosen, indeed, the twelve entered on a
   regular apprenticeship for the great office of apostleship, in the course of
   which they were to learn, in the privacy of an intimate daily fellowship
   with their Master, what they should be, do, believe, and teach, as His
   witnesses and ambassadors to the world. Henceforth the training of these men
   was to be a constant and prominent part of Christ’s personal work. He was to
   make it His business to tell them in darkness what they should afterwards
   speak in the daylight, and to whisper in their ear what in after years they
   should preach upon the housetops. [48]

   The time when this election was made, though not absolutely determined, is
   fixed in relation to certain leading events in the Gospel history. John
   speaks of the twelve as an organized company at the period of the feeding of
   the five thousand, and of the discourse on the bread of life in the
   synagogue of Capernaum, delivered shortly after that miracle. From this fact
   we learn that the twelve were chosen at least one year before the
   crucifixion; for the miracle of the feeding took place, according to the
   fourth evangelist, shortly before a Passover season. [49] From the words
   spoken by Jesus to the men whom He had chosen, in justification of His
   seeming doubt of their fidelity after the multitude had deserted Him, “Did I
   not choose you the twelve, and one of you is a devil?” [50] we conclude that
   the choice was then not quite a recent event. The twelve had been long
   enough together to give the false disciple opportunity to show his real
   character.

   Turning now to the synoptical evangelists, we find them fixing the position
   of the election with reference to two other most important events. Matthew
   speaks for the first time of the twelve as a distinct body in connection
   with their mission in Galilee. He does not, however, say that they were
   chosen immediately before, and with direct reference to, that mission. He
   speaks rather as if the apostolic fraternity had been previously in
   existence, his words being, “When He had called unto Him His twelve
   disciples.” Luke, on the other hand, gives a formal record of the election,
   as a preface to his account of the Sermon on the Mount, so speaking as to
   create the impression that the one event immediately preceded the other.
   [51] Finally, Mark’s narrative confirms the view suggested by these
   observations on Matthew and Luke, viz. that the twelve were called just
   before the Sermon the Mount was delivered, and some considerable time before
   they were sent forth on their preaching and healing mission. There we read:
   “Jesus goeth up into the mountain (to oros), [52] and calleth unto Him whom
   He would” — the ascent referred to evidently being that which Jesus made
   just before preaching His great discourse. Mark continues: “And He ordained
   twelve, that they should be with Him, and that He might send them forth to
   preach, and to have power to heal sicknesses and to cast out devils.” Here
   allusion is made to an intention on Christ’s part to send forth His
   disciples on a mission, but the intention is not represented as immediately
   realized. Nor can it be said that immediate realization is implied, though
   not expressed; for the evangelist gives an account of the mission as
   actually carried out several chapters further on in his Gospel, commencing
   with the words, “And He calleth unto Him the twelve, and began to send them
   forth.” [53]

   It may be regarded, then, as tolerably certain, that the calling of the
   twelve was a prelude to the preaching of the great sermon on the kingdom, in
   the founding of which they were afterwards to take so distinguished a part.
   At what precise period in the ministry of our Lord the sermon itself is to
   be placed, we cannot so confidently determine. Our opinion, however, is,
   that the Sermon on the Mount was delivered towards the close of Christ’s
   first lengthened ministry in Galilee, during the time which intervened
   between the two visits to Jerusalem on festive occasions mentioned in the
   second and fifth chapters of John’s Gospel. [54]

   The number of the apostolic company is significant, and was doubtless a
   matter of choice, not less than was the composition of the selected band. A
   larger number of eligible men could easily have been found in a circle of
   disciples which afterwards supplied not fewer than seventy auxiliaries for
   evangelistic work; [55] and a smaller number might have served all the
   present or prospective purposes of the apostleship. The number twelve was
   recommended by obvious symbolic reasons. It happily expressed in figures
   what Jesus claimed to be, and what He had come to do, and thus furnished a
   support to the faith and a stimulus to the devotion of His followers. It
   significantly hinted that Jesus was the divine Messianic King of Israel,
   come to set up the kingdom whose advent was foretold by prophets in glowing
   language, suggested by the palmy days of Israel’s history, when the
   theocratic community existed in its integrity, and all the tribes of the
   chosen nation were united under the royal house of David. That the number
   twelve was designed to bear such a mystic meaning, we know from Christ’s own
   words to the apostles on a later occasion, when, describing to them the
   rewards awaiting them in the kingdom for past services and sacrifices, He
   said, “Verily I say unto you, that ye which have followed me, in the
   regeneration, when the Son of man shall sit in the throne of His glory, ye
   also shall sit upon twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.”
   [56]

   It is possible that the apostles were only too well aware of the mystic
   significance of their number, and found in it an encouragement to the fond
   delusive hope that the coming kingdom should be not only a spiritual
   realization of the promises, but a literal restoration of Israel to
   political integrity and independence. The risk of such misapprehension was
   one of the drawbacks connected with the particular number twelve, but it was
   not deemed by Jesus a sufficient reason for fixing on another. His method of
   procedure in this, as in all things, was to abide by that which in itself
   was true and right, and then to correct misapprehensions as they arose.

   From the number of the apostolic band, we pass to the persons composing it.
   Seven of the twelve — the first seven in the catalogues of Mark and Luke,
   assuming the identity of Bartholomew and Nathanael — are persons already
   known to us. With two of the remaining five — the first and the last — we
   shall become well acquainted as we proceed in the history. Thomas called
   Didymus, or the Twin, will come before us as a man of warm heart but
   melancholy temperament, ready to die with his Lord, but slow to believe in
   His resurrection. Judas Iscariot is known to all the world as the Traitor.
   He appears for the first time, in these catalogues of the apostles, with the
   infamous title branded on his brow, “Judas Iscariot, who also betrayed
   Him.” The presence of a man capable of treachery among the elect disciples
   is a mystery which we shall not now attempt to penetrate. We merely make
   this historical remark about Judas here, that he seems to have been the only
   one among the twelve who was not a Galilean. He is surnamed, from his native
   place apparently, the man of Kerioth; and from the Book of Joshua we learn
   that there was a town of that name in the southern border of the tribe of
   Judah. [57]

   The three names which remain are exceedingly obscure. On grounds familiar to
   Bible scholars, it has often been attempted to identify James of Alphæus
   with James the brother or kinsman of the Lord. The next on the lists of
   Matthew and Mark has been supposed by many to have been a brother of this
   James, and therefore another brother of Jesus. This opinion is based on the
   fact, that in place of the Lebbæus or Thaddæus of the two first Gospels, we
   find in Luke’s catalogues the name Judas “of James.” The ellipsis in this
   designation has been filled up with the word brother, and it is assumed that
   the James alluded to is James the son of Alphæus. However tempting these
   results may be, we can scarcely regard them as ascertained, and must content
   ourselves with stating that among the twelve was a second James, besides the
   brother of John and son of Zebedee, and also a second Judas, who appears
   again as an interlocutor in the farewell conversation between Jesus and His
   disciples on the night before His crucifixion, carefully distinguished by
   the evangelist from the traitor by the parenthetical remark “not
   Iscariot.” [58] This Judas, being the same with Lebbæus Thaddæus, has been
   called the three-named disciple. [59]

   The disciple whom we have reserved to the last place, like the one who
   stands at the head of all the lists, was a Simon. This second Simon is as
   obscure as the first is celebrated, for he is nowhere mentioned in the
   Gospel history, except in the catalogues; yet, little known as he is, the
   epithet attached to his name conveys a piece of curious and interesting
   information. He is called the Kananite (not Canaanite), which is a
   political, not a geographical designation, as appears from the Greek work
   substituted in the place of this Hebrew one by Luke, who calls the disciple
   we now speak of Simon Zelotes; that is, in English, Simon the Zealot. This
   epithet Zelotes connects Simon unmistakably with the famous party which rose
   in rebellion under Judas in the days of the taxing, [60] some twenty years
   before Christ’s ministry began, when Judea and Samaria were brought under
   the direct government of Rome, and the census of the population was taken
   with a view to subsequent taxation. How singular a phenomenon is this
   ex-zealot among the disciples of Jesus! No two men could differ more widely
   in their spirit, ends, and means, than Judas of Galilee and Jesus of
   Nazareth. The one was a political malcontent; the other would have the
   conquered bow to the yoke, and give to Cæsar Cæsar’s due. The former aimed
   at restoring the kingdom to Israel, adopting for his watchword, “We have no
   Lord or Master but God;.” the latter aimed at founding a kingdom not
   national, but universal, not “of this world,” but purely spiritual. The
   means employed by the two actors were as diverse as their ends. One had
   recourse to the carnal weapons of war, the sword and the dagger; the other
   relied solely on the gentle but omnipotent force of truth.

   What led Simon to leave Judas for Jesus we know not; but he made a happy
   exchange for himself, as the party he forsook were destined in after years
   to bring ruin on themselves and on their country by their fanatical,
   reckless, and unavailing patriotism. Though the insurrection of Judas was
   crushed, the fire of discontent still smouldered in the breasts of his
   adherents; and at length it burst out into the blaze of a new rebellion,
   which brought on a death-struggle with the gigantic power of Rome, and ended
   in the destruction of the Jewish capital, and the dispersion of the Jewish
   people.

   The choice of this disciple to be an apostle supplies another illustration
   of Christ’s disregard of prudential wisdom. An ex-zealot was not a safe man
   to make an apostle of, for he might be the means of rendering Jesus and His
   followers objects of political suspicion. But the Author of our faith was
   willing to take the risk. He expected to gain many disciples from the
   dangerous classes as well as from the despised, and He would have them, too,
   represented among the twelve.

   It gives one a pleasant surprise to think of Simon the zealot and Matthew
   the publican, men coming from so opposite quarters, meeting together in
   close fellowship in the little band of twelve. In the persons of these two
   disciples extremes meet — the tax-gatherer and the tax-hater: the
   unpatriotic Jew, who degraded himself by becoming a servant of the alien
   ruler; and the Jewish patriot, who chafed under the foreign yoke, and sighed
   for emancipation. This union of opposites was not accidental, but was
   designed by Jesus as a prophecy of the future. He wished the twelve to be
   the church in miniature or germ; and therefore He chose them so as to
   intimate that, as among them distinctions of publican and zealot were
   unknown, so in the church of the future there should be neither Greek nor
   Jew, circumcision nor uncircumcision, bond nor free, but only Christ — all
   to each, and in each of the all.

   These were the names of the twelve as given in the catalogues. As to the
   order in which they are arranged, on closely inspecting the lists we observe
   that they contain three groups of four, in each of which the same names are
   always found, though the order of arrangement varies. The first group
   includes those best known, the second the next best, and the third those
   least known of all, or, in the case of the traitor, known only too well.
   Peter, the most prominent character among the twelve, stands at the head of
   all the lists, and Judas Iscariot at the foot, carefully designated, as
   already observed, the traitor. The apostolic roll, taking the order given in
   Matthew, and borrowing characteristic epithets from the Gospel history at
   large, is as follows: —

   FIRST GROUP
   Simon Peter The man of rock.
   Andrew Peter’s brother.
   James and } { Sons of Zebedee, and sons of thunder.
   John
   SECOND GROUP
   Philip The earnest inquirer.
   Batholomew, or Nathanael The guileless Israelite.
   Thomas     The melancholy.
   John     The publican (so called) by himself only.
   THIRD GROUP
   James (the son) of Alphæus     (James the Less? Mark xv. 40.).
   Lebbæus, Thaddæus, Judas of James,     The three-named disciple.
   Simon     The Zealot.
   Judas, the man of Kerioth     The Traitor.

   Such were the men whom Jesus chose to be with Him while He was on this
   earth, and to carry on His work after He left it. Such were the men whom the
   church celebrates as the “glorious company of the apostles.” The praise is
   merited; but the glory of the twelve was not of this world. In a worldly
   point of view they were a very insignificant company indeed, — a band of
   poor illiterate Galilean provincials, utterly devoid of social consequence,
   not likely to be chosen by one having supreme regard to prudential
   considerations. Why did Jesus choose such men? Was He guided by feelings of
   antagonism to those possessing social advantages, or of partiality for men
   of His own class? No; His choice was made in true wisdom. If He chose
   Galileans mainly, it was not from provincial prejudice against those of the
   south; if, as some think, He chose two or even four [61] of his own kindred,
   it was not from nepotism; if He chose rude, unlearned, humble men, it was
   not because He was animated by any petty jealousy of knowledge, culture, or
   good birth. If any rabbi, rich man, or ruler had been willing to yield
   himself unreservedly to the service of the kingdom, no objection would have
   been taken to him on account of his acquirements, possessions, or titles.
   The case of Saul of Tarsus, the pupil of Gamaliel, proves the truth of this
   statement. Even Gamaliel himself would not have been objected to, could he
   have stooped to become a disciple of the unlearned Nazarene. But, alas!
   neither he nor any of his order would condescend so far, and therefore the
   despised One did not get an opportunity of showing His willingness to accept
   as disciples and choose for apostles such as they were.

   The truth is, that Jesus was obliged to be content with fishermen, and
   publicans, and quondam zealots, for apostles. They were the best that could
   be had. Those who deemed themselves better were too proud to become
   disciples, and thereby they excluded themselves from what all the world now
   sees to be the high honor of being the chosen princes of the kingdom. The
   civil and religious aristocracy boasted of their unbelief. [62] The citizens
   of Jerusalem did feel for a moment interested in the zealous youth who had
   purged the temple with a whip of small cords; but their faith was
   superficial, and their attitude patronizing, and therefore Jesus did not
   commit Himself unto them, because He knew what was in them. [63] A few of
   good position were sincere sympathizers, but they were not so decided in
   their attachment as to be eligible for apostles. Nicodemus was barely able
   to speak a timid apologetic word in Christ’s behalf, and Joseph of Arimathea
   was a disciple “secretly,” for fear of the Jews. These were hardly the
   persons to send forth as missionaries of the cross — men so fettered by
   social ties and party connections, and so enslaved by the fear of man. The
   apostles of Christianity must be made of sterner stuff.

   And so Jesus was obliged to fall back on the rustic, but simple, sincere,
   and energetic men of Galilee. And He was quite content with His choice, and
   devoutly thanked His Father for giving Him even such as they. Learning,
   rank, wealth, refinement, freely given up to his service, He would not have
   despised; but He preferred devoted men who had none of these advantages to
   undevoted men who had them all. And with good reason; for it mattered
   little, except in the eyes of contemporary prejudice, what the social
   position or even the previous history of the twelve had been, provided they
   were spiritually qualified for the work to which they were called. What
   tells ultimately is, not what is without a man, but what is within. John
   Bunyan was a man of low birth, low occupation, and, up till his conversion,
   of low habits; but he was by nature a man of genius, and by grace a man of
   God, and he would have made — he was, in fact — a most effective apostle.

   But it may be objected that all the twelve were by no means gifted like
   Bunyan; some of them, if one may judge from the obscurity which envelops
   their names, and the silence of history regarding them, having been
   undistinguished either by high endowment or by a great career, and in fact,
   to speak plainly, all but useless. As this objection virtually impugns the
   wisdom of Christ’s choice, it is necessary to examine how far it is
   according to truth. [64] We submit the following considerations with this
   view: —

   I. That some of the apostles were comparatively obscure, inferior men,
   cannot be denied; but even the obscurest of them may have been most useful
   as witnesses for Him with whom they had companied from the beginning. It
   does not take a great man to make a good witness, and to be witnesses of
   Christian facts was the main business of the apostles. That even the
   humblest of them rendered important service in that capacity we need not
   doubt, though nothing is said of them in the apostolic annals. It was not to
   be expected that a history so fragmentary and so brief as that given by Luke
   should mention any but the principal actors, especially when we reflect how
   few of the characters that appear on the stage at any particular crisis in
   human affairs are prominently noticed even in histories which go elaborately
   into detail. The purpose of history is served by recording the words and
   deeds of the representative men, and many are allowed to drop into oblivion
   who did nobly in their day. The less distinguished members of the apostolic
   band are entitled to the benefit of this reflection.

   2. Three eminent men, or even two (Peter and John), out of twelve, is a good
   proportion; there being few societies in which superior excellence bears
   such a high ratio to respectable mediocrity. Perhaps the number of
   “Pillars” [65] was as great as was desirable. Far from regretting that all
   were not Peters and Johns, it is rather a matter to be thankful for, that
   there were diversities of gifts among the first preachers of the gospel. As
   a general rule, it is not good when all are leaders. Little men are needed
   as well as great men; for human nature is one-sided, and little men have
   their peculiar virtues and gifts, and can do some things better than their
   more celebrated brethren.

   3. We must remember how little we know concerning any of the apostles. It is
   the fashion of biographers in our day, writing for a morbidly or idly
   curious public, to enter into the minutest particulars of outward event or
   personal peculiarity regarding their heroes. Of this fond idolatrous
   minuteness there is no trace in the evangelic histories. The writers of the
   Gospels were not afflicted with the biographic mania. Moreover, the apostles
   were not their theme. Christ was their hero; and their sole desire was to
   tell what they knew of Him. They gazed steadfastly at the Sun of
   Righteousness, and in His effulgence they lost sight of the attendant stars.
   Whether they were stars of the first magnitude, or of the second, or of the
   third, made little difference.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [47] Mark iii. 13.. The verb epoiēse, “made,” is used here in the same sense
   as in Heb. iii. 2, “who was faithful to Him that made Him” (tō poiēsanti
   auton). There it is rendered “appointed,” which the R. V. introduces here
   also.

   [48] Matt. x. 27.

   [49] John vi. 4.

   [50] John vi. 70, as in R. V.

   [51] Luke vi. 13 compared with 17, where note that Luke represents the name
   “apostle” as originating with Christ: “Whom also He named apostles” (ver.
   13).

   [52] This expression is used by all the Synoptics. It seems to signify a
   mountain district rather than a particular hill.

   [53] Mark vi. 7.

   [54] So Ebrard, Gosp. Hist. Ewald places the election after the feast of
   John v.

   [55] This mission of the seventy is regarded by Baur, and others of the same
   school, as a pure invention of the third Evangelist’s, meant to throw the
   twelve into the shade, and to serve the cause of Pauline universalism. This
   opinion is entirely arbitrary; but even supposing we were to concede the
   point, it would still remain true, as stated in the text, that Christ could
   have had more than twelve apostles had He desired.

   [56] Matt. xix. 28. Keim recognizes the number twelve as bearing a symbolic
   meaning, as stated in the text, against Schleiermacher, who regarded it as
   purely accidental. — Geschichte Jesu von Nazara, ii. 304.

   [57] Josh. xv. 24. See Renan, Vie de Jésus, p. 160 (13th ed.). Ewald
   (Christus, p. 398) thinks Kerioth is Kartah, in the tribe Zebulun (Josh.
   xxi. 34). If Judas was a Judean, he may have become a disciple at the time
   of Christ’s visit to the Jordan, mentioned in John iii. 22.

   [58] John xiv. 22.

   [59] Ewald (Christus, p. 399) thinks Lebbæus and Judas different persons,
   and supposes that the former had died in Christ’s lifetime, and that Judas
   had been chosen in his place.

   [60] Acts v. 37.

   [61] Matthew or Levi, being a son of Alphæus, has been supposed to be a
   brother of James, and Simon the Zealot to be the Simon mentioned in Matt.
   xiii. 55.

   [62] John vii. 48.

   [63] John ii. 23–25.

   [64] Keim says that Jesus was in a genuinely human way (ächt menschlich
   deceived in His disciples to a certain extent. They turned out not the men,
   He had hoped. The remark occurs in connection with the Galilean mission. —
   Geschichte Jesu von Nazara, ii. 332.

   [65] This title is given to Peter, James, and John by Paul in his Epistle to
   the Galatians (ii. 9). Hence in the Tübingen literature devoted to the
   maintainance of the conflict-theory, these three are called the “Pillar
   Apostles.”
     _________________________________________________________________

5. HEARING AND SEEING

    Luke 1:1–4; Matt. 13:16–17; Luke 10:23, 24; Matt. 5–7; Luke 6:17–49; Matt.
    13:1–52; Matt. 8:16, 17; Mark 4:33, 34.

   In the training of the twelve for the work of the apostleship, hearing and
   seeing the words and works of Christ necessarily occupied an important
   place. Eye and ear witnessing of the facts of an unparalleled life was an
   indispensable preparation for future witness-bearing. The apostles could
   secure credence for their wondrous tale only by being able to preface it
   with the protestation: “That which we have seen and heard declare we unto
   you.” None would believe their report, save those who, at the very least,
   were satisfied that it emanated from men who had been with Jesus. Hence the
   third evangelist, himself not an apostle, but only a companion of apostles,
   presents his Gospel with all confidence to his friend Theophilus as a
   genuine history, and no mere collection of fables, because its contents were
   attested by men who “from the beginning were eye-witnesses and ministers of
   the Word.”

   In the early period of their discipleship hearing and seeing seem to have
   been the main occupation of the twelve. They were then like children born
   into a new world, whose first and by no means least important course of
   lessons consists in the use of their senses in observing the wonderful
   objects by which they are surrounded.

   The things which the twelve saw and heard were wonderful enough. The great
   Actor in the stupendous drama was careful to impress on His followers the
   magnitude of their privilege. “Blessed,” said He to them on one occasion,
   “are the eyes which see the things that ye see: for I tell you, that many
   prophets and kings desired to see the things which ye see, and saw them not;
   and to hear the things which ye hear, and heard them not.” [66] Yet certain
   generations of Israel had seen very remarkable things: one had seen the
   wonders of the Exodus, and the sublimities connected with the lawgiving at
   Sinai; another, the miracles wrought by Elijah and Elisha; and successive
   generations had been privileged to listen to the not less wonderful oracles
   of God, spoken by David, Solomon, Isaiah, and the rest of the prophets. But
   the things witnessed by the twelve eclipsed the wonders of all bygone ages;
   for a greater than Moses, or Elijah, or David, or Solomon, or Isaiah, was
   here, and the promise to Nathanael was being fulfilled. Heaven had been
   opened, and the angels of God — the spirits of wisdom, and power, and love
   — were ascending and descending on the Son of man.

   We may here take a rapid survey of the mirabilia which it was the peculiar
   privilege of the twelve to see and hear, more or less during the whole
   period of their discipleship, and specially just after their election. These
   may be comprehended under two heads: the Doctrine of the Kingdom, and the
   Philanthropic Work of the Kingdom.

   I. Before the ministry of Jesus commenced, His forerunner had appeared in
   the wilderness of Judea, preaching, and saying, “Repent ye, for the kingdom
   of heaven is at hand;.” and some time after their election the twelve
   disciples were sent forth among the towns and villages of Galilee to repeat
   the Baptist’s message. But Jesus Himself did something more than proclaim
   the advent of the kingdom. He expounded the nature of the divine kingdom,
   described the character of its citizens, and discriminated between genuine
   and spurious members of the holy commonwealth. This He did partly in what is
   familiarly called the Sermon on the Mount, preached shortly after the
   election of the apostles; and partly in certain parables uttered about the
   same period. [67]

   In the great discourse delivered on the mountain-top, the qualifications for
   citizenship in the kingdom of heaven were set forth, first positively, and
   then comparatively. The positive truth was summed up in seven golden
   sentences called the Beatitudes, in which the felicity of the kingdom was
   represented as altogether independent of the outward conditions with which
   worldly happiness is associated. The blessed, according to the preacher,
   were the poor, the hungry, the mournful, the meek, the merciful, the pure in
   heart, the peaceable, the sufferers for righteousness’ sake. Such were
   blessed themselves, and a source of blessing to the human race: the salt of
   the earth, the light of the world raised above others in spirit and
   character, to draw them upwards, and lead them to glorify God.

   Next, with more detail, Jesus exhibited the righteousness of the kingdom,
   and of its true citizens, in contrast to that which prevailed. “Except your
   righteousness,” He went on to say with solemn emphasis, “shall exceed the
   righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into
   the kingdom of heaven;.” and then He illustrated and enforced the general
   proposition by a detailed description of the counterfeit in its moral and
   religious aspects: in its mode of interpreting the moral law, and its manner
   of performing the duties of piety, such as prayer, alms, and fasting. In the
   one aspect He characterized pharisaic righteousness as superficial and
   technical; in the other as ostentatious, self-complacent, and censorious. In
   contrast thereto, He described the ethics of the kingdom as a pure stream of
   life, having charity for its fountainhead; a morality of the heart, not
   merely of outward conduct; a morality also broad and catholic, overleaping
   all arbitrary barriers erected by legal pedantry and natural selfishness.
   The religion of the kingdom He set forth as humble, retiring, devoted in
   singleness of heart to God and things supernal; having faith in God as a
   benignant gracious Father for its root, and contentment, cheerfulness, and
   freedom from secular cares for its fruits; and, finally, as reserved in its
   bearing towards the profane, yet averse to severity in judging, yea, to
   judging at all, leaving men to be judged by God.

   The discourse, of which we have given a hasty outline, made a powerful
   impression on the audience. “The people,” we read, “were astonished at His
   doctrine; for He taught them as one having authority (the authority of
   wisdom and truth), and not as the scribes,” who had merely the authority of
   office. It is not probable that either the multitude or the twelve
   understood the sermon; for it was both deep and lofty, and their minds were
   pre-occupied with very different ideas of the coming kingdom. Yet the drift
   of all that had been said was clear and simple. The kingdom whereof Jesus
   was both King and Lawgiver was not to be a kingdom of this world: it was not
   to be here or there in space, but within the heart of man; it was not be the
   monopoly of any class or nation, but open to all possessed of the requisite
   spiritual endowments on equal terms. It is nowhere said, indeed, in the
   sermon, that ritual qualifications, such as circumcision, were not
   indispensable for admission into the kingdom. But circumcision is ignored
   here, as it was ignored the teaching of Jesus. It is treated as something
   simply out of place, which cannot be dove-tailed into the scheme of doctrine
   set forth; an incongruity the very mention of which would create a sense of
   the grotesque. How truly it was so any one can satisfy himself by just
   imagining for a moment that among the Beatitudes had been found one running
   thus: Blessed are the circumcised, for no uncircumcised ones shall enter
   into the kingdom of heaven. This significant silence concerning the seal of
   the national covenant could not fail to have its effect on the minds of the
   disciples, as a hint at eventual antiquation.

   The weighty truths thus taught first in the didactic form of an ethical
   discourse, Jesus sought at other times to popularize by means of parables.
   In the course of His ministry He uttered many parabolic sayings, the parable
   being with Him a favorite form of instruction. Of the thirty [68] parables
   preserved in the Gospels, the larger number were of an occasional character,
   and are best understood when viewed in connection with the circumstances
   which called them forth. But there is a special group of eight which appear
   to have been spoken about the same period, and to have been designed to
   serve one object, viz. to exhibit in simple pictures the outstanding
   features of the kingdom of heaven in its nature and progress, and in its
   relations to diverse classes of men. One of these, the parable of the sower,
   apparently the first spoken, shows the different reception given to the word
   of the kingdom by various classes of hearers, and the varied issues in their
   life. Two — the parables of the tares and of the net cast into the sea —
   describe the mixture of good and evil that should exist in the kingdom till
   the end, when the grand final separation would take place. Another pair of
   short parables — those of the treasure hid in a field and of the precious
   pearl — set forth the incomparable importance of the kingdom, and of
   citizenship therein. Other two — the grain of mustard seed, and the leaven
   hid in three measures of meal — explain how the kingdom advances from small
   beginnings to a great ending. An eighth parable, found in Mark’s Gospel
   only, teaches that growth in the divine kingdom proceeds by stages,
   analogous to the blade, the ear, and the full corn in the ear, in the growth
   of grain. [69]

   These parables, or the greater number of them, were spoken in the hearing of
   a miscellaneous audience; and from a reply of Jesus to a question put by the
   disciples, it might appear that they were intended mainly for the ignorant
   populace. The question was, “Why speakest Thou unto them in parables?” and
   the reply, “Because it is given unto you to know the mysteries of the
   kingdom of heaven, but to them it is not given;.” which seems to imply, that
   in the case of the twelve such elementary views of truth — such children’s
   sermons, so to speak — might be dispensed with. Jesus meant no more,
   however, than that for them the parables were not so important as for common
   hearers, being only one of several means of grace through which they were to
   become eventually scribes instructed in the kingdom, acquainted with all its
   mysteries, and able, like a wise householder, to bring out of their
   treasures things new and old; [70] while for the multitude the parables were
   indispensable, as affording their only chance of getting a little glimpse
   into the mysteries of the kingdom.

   That the twelve were not above parables yet appears from the fact that they
   asked and received explanations of them in private from their Master: of
   all, probably, though the interpretations of two only, the parables of the
   sower and the tares, are preserved in the Gospels. [71] They were still only
   children; the parables were pretty pictures to them, but of what they could
   not tell. Even after they had received private expositions of their meaning,
   they were probably not much wiser than before, though they professed to be
   satisfied. [72] Their profession was doubtless sincere: they spake as they
   felt; but they spake as children, they understood as children, they thought
   as children, and they had much to learn yet of these divine mysteries.

   When the children had grown to spiritual manhood, and fully understood these
   mysteries, they highly valued the happiness they had enjoyed in former
   years, in being privileged to hear the parables of Jesus. We have an
   interesting memorial of the deep impression produced on their minds by these
   simple pictures of the kingdom, in the reflection with, which the first
   evangelist closes his account of Christ’s parabolic teaching. “All these
   things,” he remarks, “spake Jesus unto the multitude in parables, . . . that
   it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet, saying, I will open
   my mouth in parables, I will utter things which have been kept secret from
   the foundation of the world.” [73] The quotation (from the seventy-eighth
   Psalm) significantly diverges both from the Hebrew original and from the
   Septuagint version. [74] Matthew has consciously adapted the words so as to
   express the absolute originality of the teaching in which he found their
   fulfilment. While the Psalmist uttered dark sayings from the ancient times
   of Israel’s history, Jesus in the parables had spoken things that had been
   hidden from the creation. Nor was this an exaggeration on the part of the
   evangelist. Even the use of the parable as a vehicle of instruction was all
   but new, and the truths expressed in the parables were altogether new. They
   were indeed the eternal verities of the divine kingdom, but till the days of
   Jesus they had remained unannounced. Earthly things had always been fit to
   emblem forth heavenly things; but, till the great Teacher appeared, no one
   had ever thought of linking them together, so that the one should become a
   mirror of the other, revealing the deep things of God to the common eye:
   even as no one before Isaac Newton had thought of connecting the fall of an
   apple with the revolution of the heavenly bodies, though apples had fallen
   to the ground from the creation of the world.

   2. The things which the disciples had the happiness to see in connection
   with the philanthropic work of the kingdom were, if possible, still more
   marvellous than those which they heard in Christ’s company. They were
   eye-witnesses of the events which Jesus bade the messengers of John report
   to their master in prison as unquestionable evidence that He was the Christ
   who should come. [75] In their presence, as spectators, blind men received
   their sight, lame men walked, lepers were cleansed, the deaf recovered
   hearing, dead persons were raised to life again. The performance of such
   wonderful works was for a time Christ’s daily occupation. He went about in
   Galilee and other districts, “doing good, and healing all that were
   oppressed of the devil.” [76] The “miracles” recorded in detail in the
   Gospels give no idea whatever of the extent to which these wondrous
   operations were carried on. The leper cleansed on the descent from the
   mountain, when the great sermon was preached, the palsied servant of the
   Roman centurion restored to health and strength, Peter’s mother-in-law cured
   of a fever, the demoniac dispossessed in the synagogue of Capernaum, the
   widow’s son brought back to life while he was being carried out to burial,
   — these, and the like, are but a few samples selected out of an innumerable
   multitude of deeds not less remarkable, whether regarded as mere miracles or
   as acts of kindness. The truth of this statement appears from paragraphs of
   frequent recurrence in the Gospels, which relate not individual miracles,
   but an indefinite number of them taken en masse. Of such paragraphs take as
   an example the following, cursorily rehearsing the works done by Jesus at
   the close of a busy day: “And at even, when the sun did set, they brought
   unto Him all that were diseased, and them that were possessed with devils;
   and all the city was gathered together at the door. And He healed many that
   were sick of divers diseases, and cast out many devils.” [77] This was what
   happened on a single Sabbath evening in Capernaum, shortly after the Sermon
   on the Mount was preached; and such scenes appear to have been common at
   this time: for we read a little farther on in the same Gospel, that “Jesus
   spake unto His disciples, that a small ship should wait on Him because of
   the multitude, lest they should throng Him; for He had healed many; insomuch
   that they pressed upon Him for to touch Him, as many as had plagues.” [78]
   And yet again Mark tells how “they went into an house, and the multitude
   cometh together again, so that they could not so much as eat bread.” [79]

   The inference suggested by such passages as to the vast extent of Christ’s
   labors among the suffering, is borne out by the impressions these made on
   the minds both of friends and foes. The ill-affected were so struck by what
   they saw, that they found it necessary to get up a theory to account for the
   mighty influence exerted by Jesus in curing physical, and especially
   psychical maladies. “This fellow,” they said, “doth not cast out devils but
   by Beelzebub the prince of devils.” It was a lame theory, as Jesus showed;
   but it was at least conclusive evidence that devils were cast out, and in
   great numbers.

   The thoughts of the well-affected concerning the works of Jesus were
   various, but all which have been recorded involve a testimony to His vast
   activity and extraordinary zeal. Some, apparently relatives, deemed him mad,
   fancying that enthusiasm had disturbed His mind, and compassionately sought
   to save Him from doing Himself harm through excessive solicitude to do good
   to others. [80] The sentiments of the people who received benefit were more
   devout. “They marvelled, and glorified God, which had given such power unto
   men;.” [81] and they were naturally not inclined to criticise an “enthusiasm
   of humanity” whereof they were themselves the objects.

   The contemporaneous impressions of the twelve concerning their Master’s
   deeds are not recorded; but of their subsequent reflections as apostles we
   have an interesting sample in the observations appended by the first
   evangelist to his account of the transactions of that Sabbath evening in
   Capernaum already alluded to. The devout Matthew, according to his custom,
   saw in these wondrous works Old Testament Scripture fulfilled; and the
   passage whose fulfilment he found therein was that touching oracle of
   Isaiah, “Surely He hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows;.” which,
   departing from the Septuagint, he made apt to his purpose by rendering,
   “Himself took our infirmities and bore our sicknesses.” [82] The Greek
   translators interpreted the text as referring to men’s spiritual maladies
   — their sins; [83] but Matthew deemed it neither a misapplication nor a
   degradation of the words to find in them a prophecy of Messiah’s deep
   sympathy with such as suffered from any disease, whether spiritual or
   mental, or merely physical. He knew not how better to express the intense
   compassion of his Lord towards all sufferers, than by representing Him in
   prophetic language as taking their sicknesses on Himself. Nor did he wrong
   the prophet’s thought by this application of it. He but laid the foundation
   of an à fortiori inference to a still more intense sympathy on the
   Saviour’s part with the spiritually diseased. For surely He who so cared for
   men’s bodies would care yet more for their souls. Surely it might safely be
   anticipated, that He who was so conspicuous as a healer of bodily disease
   would become yet more famous as a Saviour from sin.

   The works which the twelve were privileged to see were verily worth seeing,
   and altogether worthy of the Messianic King. They served to demonstrate that
   the King and the kingdom were not only coming, but come; for what could more
   certainly betoken their presence, than mercy dropping like the “gentle rain
   from heaven upon the place beneath”? John, indeed, seems to have thought
   otherwise, when he sent to inquire of Jesus if He were the Christ who was to
   come. He desiderated, we imagine, a work of judgment on the impenitent as a
   more reliable proof of Messiah’s advent than these miracles of mercy. The
   prophetic infirmity of querulousness and the prison air had got the better
   of his judgment and his heart, and he was in the truculent humor of Jonah,
   who was displeased with God, not because He was too stern, but rather
   because He was too gracious, too ready to forgive.

   The least in the kingdom of heaven is incapable now of being offended with
   these works of our Lord on account of their mercifulness. The offence in our
   day lies in a different direction. Men stumble at the miraculousness of the
   things seen by the disciples and recorded by the evangelists. Mercy, say
   they, is God-like, but miracles are impossible; and they think they do well
   to be sceptical. An exception is made, indeed, in favor of some of the
   healing miracles, because it is not deemed impossible that they might fall
   within the course of nature, and so cease to belong to the category of the
   miraculous. “Moral therapeutics” might account for them — a department of
   medical science which Mr. Matthew Arnold thinks has not been at all
   sufficiently studied yet. [84] All other miracles besides those wrought by
   moral therapeutics are pronounced fabulous. But why not extend the dominion
   of the moral over the physical, and say without qualification: Mercy is
   God-like, therefore such works as those wrought by Jesus were matters of
   course? So they appeared to the writers of the Gospels. What they wondered
   at was not the supernaturalness of Christ’s healing operations, but the
   unfathomable depth of divine compassion which they revealed. There is no
   trace of the love of the marvellous either in the Gospels or in the
   Epistles. The disciples may have experienced such a feeling when the era of
   wonders first burst on their astonished view, but they had lost it entirely
   by the time the New Testament books began to be written. [85] Throughout the
   New Testament miracles are spoken of in a sober, almost matter-of-fact,
   tone. How is this to be explained? The explanation is that the apostles had
   seen too many miracles while with Jesus to be excited about them. Their
   sense of wonder had been deadened by being sated. But though they ceased to
   marvel at the power of their Lord, they never ceased to wonder at His grace.
   The love of Christ remained for them throughout life a thing passing
   knowledge; and the longer they lived, the more cordially did they
   acknowledge the truth of their Master’s words: “Blessed are the eyes which
   see the things that ye see"
     _________________________________________________________________

   [66] Luke x. 23, 24. The authors of the Revised Version have introduced many
   changes in the A. V. by stricter rendering of tenses, and especially of the
   aorists, which in the old version are frequently treated as perfects. They
   may have carried this too far, but on the whole they have rendered good
   service in this department.

   [67] That the election of the twelve preceded the utterance of the parables
   is plain from Mark iv. 10, “They that were about Him with the twelve, asked
   of Him the parable.”

   [68] This number is only an approximate estimate. The number of the parables
   is estimated differently by different writers, according to their definition
   of a parable and method of treating the collection.

   [69] Mark iv. 26.

   [70] Matt. xiii. 52.

   [71] Mark iv. 34.

   [72] Matt. xiii. 51.

   [73] Matt. xiii. 34, 35.

   [74] ereuxomai kekrummena apo katabolēs kosmou (Matt.); אַכִּיעָה חִידוֹת
   מִנִּי־קֶדֶס (Hebrew); phthenxomai problēmata ap' archēs (Sept).

   [75] Matt. xi. 2.

   [76] Acts xi. 38.

   [77] Mark i. 32–34.

   [78] Mark iii. 9.

   [79] Mark iii. 19, 20.

   [80] Mark iii. 21.

   [81] Matt. ix. 8.

   [82] Matt. viii. 17.

   [83] outos tas amartias hēmōn pherei.

   [84] Literature and Dogma, p. 143, ed. 4.

   [85] Isaac Taylor, in The Restoration of Belief, founds on this fact an
   argument for the reality of miracles, contending that the calm,
   matter-of-fact tone in which miracles are spoken of in the Epistles can be
   accounted for only by their being a great outstanding fact of that age (vide
   pp. 128–211.)
     _________________________________________________________________

6. LESSONS ON PRAYER

    Matt. 6:5-13; 7:7-11; Luke 11:1-13; 18:1-5.

   It would have been matter for surprise if, among the manifold subjects on
   which Jesus gave instruction to His disciples, prayer had not occupied a
   prominent place. Prayer is a necessity of spiritual life, and all who
   earnestly try to pray soon feel the need of teaching how to do it. And what
   theme more likely to engage the thoughts of a Master who was Himself
   emphatically a man of prayer, spending occasionally whole nights in
   prayerful communion with His heavenly Father? [86]

   We find, accordingly, that prayer was a subject on which Jesus often spoke
   in the hearing of His disciples. In the Sermon on the Mount, for example, He
   devoted a paragraph to that topic, in which He cautioned His hearers against
   pharisaic ostentation and heathenish repetition, and recited a form of
   devotion as a model of simplicity, comprehensiveness, and brevity. [87] At
   other times He directed attention to the necessity, in order to acceptable
   and prevailing prayer, of perseverance, [88] concord, [89] strong faith,
   [90] and large expectation. [91]

   The passage cited from the eleventh chapter of Luke’s Gospel gives an
   account of what may be regarded as the most complete and comprehensive of
   all the lessons communicated by Jesus to His disciples on the important
   subject to which it relates. The circumstances in which this lesson was
   given are interesting. The lesson on prayer was itself an answer to prayer.
   A disciple, in all probability one of the twelve, [92] after hearing Jesus
   pray, made the request: “Lord, teach us to pray, as John also taught his
   disciples.” The request and its occasion taken together convey to us
   incidentally two pieces of information. From the latter we learn that Jesus,
   besides praying much alone, also prayed in company with His disciples,
   practising family prayer as the head of a household, as well as secret
   prayer in personal fellowship with God His Father. From the former we learn
   that the social prayers of Jesus were most impressive. Disciples hearing
   them were made painfully conscious of their own incapacity, and after the
   Amen were ready instinctively to proffer the request, “Lord, teach us to
   pray,” as if ashamed any more to attempt the exercise in their own feeble,
   vague, stammering words.

   When this lesson was given we know not, for Luke introduces his narrative of
   it in the most indefinite manner, without noting either time or place. The
   reference to John in the past tense might seem to indicate a date subsequent
   to his death; but the mode of expression would be sufficiently explained by
   the supposition that the disciple who made the request had previously been a
   disciple of the Baptist. [93] Nor can any certain inference be drawn from
   the contents of the lesson. It is a lesson which might have been given to
   the twelve at any time during their disciplehood, so far as their spiritual
   necessities were concerned. It is a lesson for children, for spiritual
   minors, for Christians in the crude stage of the divine life, afflicted with
   confusion of mind, dumbness, dejection, unable to pray for want of clear
   thought, apt words, and above all, of faith that knows how to wait in hope;
   and it meets the wants of such by suggesting topics, supplying forms of
   language, and furnishing their weak faith with the props of cogent arguments
   for perseverance. Now such was the state of the twelve during all the time
   they were with Jesus; till He ascended to heaven, and power descended from
   heaven on them, bringing with it a loosed tongue and an enlarged heart.
   During the whole period of their discipleship, they needed prompting in
   prayer such as a mother gives her child, and exhortations to perseverance in
   the habit of praying, even as do the humblest followers of Christ. Far from
   being exempt from such infirmities, the twelve may even have experienced
   them in a superlative degree. The heights correspond to the depths in
   religious experience. Men who are destined to be apostles must, as
   disciples, know more than most of the chaotic, speechless condition, and of
   the great, irksome, but most salutary business of Waiting on God for light,
   and truth, and grace, earnestly desired but long withheld.

   It was well for the church that her first ministers needed this lesson on
   prayer; for the time comes in the case of most, if not all, who are
   spiritually earnest, when its teaching is very seasonable. In the spring of
   the divine life, the beautiful blossom-time of piety, Christians may be able
   to pray with fluency and fervor, unembarrassed by want of words, thoughts,
   and feelings of a certain kind. But that happy stage soon passes, and is
   succeeded by one in which prayer often becomes a helpless struggle, an
   inarticulate groan, a silent, distressed, despondent waiting on God, on the
   part of men who are tempted to doubt whether God be indeed the hearer of
   prayer, whether prayer be not altogether idle and useless. The three wants
   contemplated and provided for in this lesson — the want of ideas, of words,
   and of faith — are as common as they are grievous. How long it takes most to
   fill even the simple petitions of the Lord’s Prayer with definite meanings!
   the second petition, e.g., “Thy kingdom come,” which can be presented with
   perfect intelligence only by such as have formed for themselves a clear
   conception of the ideal spiritual republic or commonwealth. How difficult,
   and therefore how rare, to find out acceptable words for precious thoughts
   slowly reached! How many, who have never got any thing on which their hearts
   were set without needing to ask for it often, and to wait for it long (no
   uncommon experience), have been tempted by the delay to give up asking in
   despair! And no wonder; for delay is hard to bear in all cases, especially
   in connection with spiritual blessings, which are in fact, and are by Christ
   here assumed to be, the principal object of a Christian man’s desires.
   Devout souls would not be utterly confounded by delay, or even refusal, in
   connection with mere temporal goods; for they know that such things as
   health, wealth, wife, children, home, position, are not unconditionally
   good, and that it may be well sometimes not to obtain them, or not easily
   and too soon. But it is most confounding to desire with all one’s heart the
   Holy Ghost, and yet seem to be denied the priceless boon; to pray for light,
   and to get instead deeper darkness; for faith, and to be tormented with
   doubts which shake cherished convictions to their foundations; for sanctity,
   and to have the mud of corruption stirred up by temptation from the bottom
   of the well of eternal life in the heart. Yet all this, as every experienced
   Christian knows, is part of the discipline through which scholars in
   Christ’s school have to pass ere the desire of their heart be fulfilled.
   [94]

   The lesson on prayer taught by Christ, in answer to request, consists of two
   parts, in one of which thoughts and words are put into the mouths of
   immature disciples, while the other provides aids to faith in God as the
   answerer of prayer. There is first a form of prayer, and then an argument
   enforcing perseverance in prayer.

   The form of prayer commonly called the Lord’s Prayer, which appears in the
   Sermon on the Mount as a sample of the right kind of prayer, is given here
   as a summary of the general heads under which all special petitions may be
   comprehended. We may call this form the alphabet of all possible prayer. It
   embraces the elements of all spiritual desire, summed up in a few choice
   sentences, for the benefit of those who may not be able to bring their
   struggling aspirations to birth in articulate language. It contains in all
   six petitions, of which three — the first three, as was meet — refer to
   God’s glory, and the remaining three to man’s good. We are taught to pray,
   first for the advent of the divine kingdom, in the form of universal
   reverence for the divine name, and universal obedience to the divine will;
   and then, in the second place, for daily bread, pardon, and protection from
   evil for ourselves. The whole is addressed to God as Father, and is supposed
   to proceed from such as realize their fellowship one with another as members
   of a divine family, and therefore say, “Our Father.” The prayer does not
   end, as our prayers now commonly do, with the formula, “for Christ’s
   sake;.” nor could it, consistently with the supposition that it proceeded
   from Jesus. No prayer given by Him for the present use of His disciples,
   before His death, could have such an ending, because the plea it contains
   was not intelligible to them previous to that event. The twelve did not yet
   know what Christ’s sake (sache) meant, nor would they till after their Lord
   had ascended, and the Spirit had descended and revealed to them the true
   meaning of the facts of Christ’s earthly history. Hence we find Jesus, on
   the eve of His passion, telling His disciples that up to that time they had
   asked nothing in His name, and representing the use of His name as a plea to
   be heard, as one of the privileges awaiting them in the future.
   “Hitherto,” He said, “have ye asked nothing in my name; ask, and ye shall
   receive, that your joy may be full.” [95] And in another part of His
   discourse: “Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, that will I do, that the
   Father may be glorified in the Son.” [96]

   To what extent the disciples afterwards made use of this beautifully simple
   yet profoundly significant form, we do not know; but it may be assumed that
   they were in the habit of repeating it as the disciples of the Baptist might
   repeat the forms taught them by their master. There is, however, no reason
   to think that the “Lord’s Prayer,” though of permanent value as a part of
   Christ’s teaching, was designed to be a stereotyped, binding method of
   addressing the Father in heaven. It was meant to be an aid to inexperienced
   disciples, not a rule imposed upon apostles. [97] Even after they had
   attained to spiritual maturity, the twelve might use this form if they
   pleased, and possibly they did occasionally use it; but Jesus expected that
   by the time they came to be teachers in the church they should have outgrown
   the need of it as an aid to devotion. Filled with the Spirit, enlarged in
   heart, mature in spiritual understanding, they should then be able to pray
   as their Lord had prayed when He was with them; and while the six petitions
   of the model prayer would still enter into all their supplications at the
   throne of grace, they would do so only as the alphabet of a language enters
   into the most extended and eloquent utterances of a speaker, who never
   thinks of the letters of which the words he utters are composed. [98]

   In maintaining the provisional, pro tempore character of the Lords’ Prayer,
   so far as the twelve were concerned, we lay no stress on the fact already
   adverted to, that it does not end with the phrase, “for Christ’s sake.” That
   defect could easily be supplied afterwards mentally or orally, and therefore
   was no valid reason for disuse. The same remark applies to our use of the
   prayer in question. To allow this form to fall into desuetude merely because
   the customary concluding plea is wanting, is as weak on one side as the too
   frequent repetition of it is on the other. The Lord’s Prayer is neither a
   piece of Deism unworthy of a Christian, nor a magic charm like the “Pater
   noster” of Roman Catholic devotion. The most advanced believer will often
   find relief and rest to his spirit in falling back on its simple, sublime
   sentences, while mentally realizing the manifold particulars which each of
   them includes; and he is but a tyro in the art of praying, and in the divine
   life generally, whose devotions consist exclusively, or even mainly, in
   repeating the words which Jesus put into the mouths of immature disciples.

   The view now advocated regarding the purpose of the Lord’s Prayer is in
   harmony with the spirit of Christ’s whole teaching. Liturgical forms and
   religious methodism in general were much more congenial to the strict
   ascetic school of the Baptist than to the free school of Jesus. Our Lord
   evidently attached little importance to forms of prayer, any more than to
   fixed periodic fasts, else He would not have waited till He was asked for a
   form, but would have made systematic provision for the wants of His
   followers, even as the Baptist did, by, so to speak, compiling a book of
   devotion or composing a liturgy. It is evident, even from the present
   instructions on the subject of praying, that Jesus considered the form He
   supplied of quite subordinate importance: a mere temporary remedy for a
   minor evil, the want of utterance, till the greater evil, the want of faith,
   should be cured; for the larger portion of the lesson is devoted to the
   purpose of supplying an antidote to unbelief. [99]

   The second part of this lesson on prayer is intended to convey the same
   moral as that which is prefixed to the parable of the unjust judge — "that
   men ought always to pray, and not to faint.” The supposed cause of fainting
   is also the same, even delay on the part of God in answering our prayers.
   This is not, indeed, made so obvious in the earlier lesson as in the later.
   The parable of the ungenerous neighbor is not adapted to convey the idea of
   long delay: for the favor asked, if granted at all, must be granted in a
   very few minutes. But the lapse of time between the presenting and the
   granting of our requests is implied and presupposed as a matter of course.
   It is by delay that God seems to say to us what the ungenerous neighbor said
   to his friend, and that we are tempted to think that we pray to no purpose.

   Both the parables spoken by Christ to inculcate perseverance in prayer seek
   to effect their purpose by showing the power of importunity in the most
   unpromising circumstances. The characters appealed to are both bad — one in
   ungenerous, and the other unjust; and from neither is any thing to be gained
   except by working on his selfishness. And the point of the parable in either
   case is, that importunity has a power of annoyance which enables it to gain
   its object.

   It is important again to observe what is supposed to be the leading subject
   of prayer in connection with the argument now to be considered. The thing
   upon which Christ assumes His disciples to have set their hearts is personal
   sanctification. [100] This appears from the concluding sentence of the
   discourse: “How much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to
   them that ask Him!” Jesus takes for granted that the persons to whom He
   addresses Himself here seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness.
   Therefore, though He inserted a petition for daily bread in the form of
   prayer, He drops that object out of view in the latter part of His
   discourse; both because it is by hypothesis not the chief object of desire,
   and also because, for all who truly give God’s kingdom the first place in
   their regards, food and raiment are thrown into the bargain. [101]

   To such as do not desire the Holy Spirit above all things, Jesus has nothing
   to say. He does not encourage them to hope that they shall receive any thing
   of the Lord; least of all, the righteousness of the kingdom, personal
   sanctification. He regards the prayers of a double-minded man, who has two
   chief ends in view, as a hollow mockery — mere words, which never reach
   Heaven’s ear.

   The supposed cause of fainting being delay, and the supposed object of
   desire being the Holy Spirit, the spiritual situation contemplated in the
   argument is definitely determined. The Teacher’s aim is to succor and
   encourage those who feel that the work of grace goes slowly on within them,
   and wonder why it does so, and sadly sigh because it does so. Such we
   conceive to have been the state of the twelve when this lesson was given
   them. They had been made painfully conscious of incapacity to perform aright
   their devotional duties, and they took that incapacity to be an index of
   their general spiritual condition, and were much depressed in consequence.

   The argument by which Jesus sought to inspire His discouraged disciples with
   hope and confidence as to the ultimate fulfilment of their desires, is
   characterized by boldness, geniality, wisdom, and logical force. Its
   boldness is evinced in the choice of illustrations . Jesus has such
   confidence in the goodness of His cause, that He states the case as
   disadvantageously for Himself as possible, by selecting for illustration not
   good samples of men, but persons rather below than above the ordinary
   standard of human virtue. A man who, on being applied to at any hour of the
   night by a neighbor for help in a real emergency, such as that supposed in
   the parable, or in a case of sudden sickness, should put him off with such
   an answer as this, “Trouble me not, the door is now shut, and my children
   are with me in bed; I cannot rise and give thee,” would justly incur the
   contempt of his acquaintances, and become a byword among them for all that
   is ungenerous and heartless. The same readiness to take an extreme case is
   observable in the second argument, drawn from the conduct of fathers towards
   their children. “If a son shall ask bread of any of you” — so it begins.
   [102] Jesus does not care what father may be selected; He is willing to take
   any one they please: He will take the very worst as readily as the best;
   nay, more readily, for the argument turns not on the goodness of the parent,
   but rather on his want of goodness, as it aims to show that no special
   goodness is required to keep all parents from doing what would be an outrage
   on natural affection, and revolting to the feelings of all mankind.

   The genial, kindly character of the argument is manifest from the insight
   and sympathy displayed therein. Jesus divines what hard thoughts men think
   of God under the burden of unfulfilled desire; how they doubt His goodness,
   and deem Him indifferent, heartless, unjust. He shows His intimate knowledge
   of their secret imaginations by the cases He puts; for the unkind friend and
   unnatural father, and we may add, the unjust judge, are pictures not indeed
   of what God is, or of what He would have us believe God to be, but certainly
   of what even pious men sometimes think Him to be. [103] And He cannot only
   divine, but sympathize. He does not, like Job’s friends, find fault with
   those who harbor doubting and apparently profane thoughts, nor chide them
   for impatience, distrust, and despondency. He deals with them as men
   compassed with infirmity, and needing sympathy, counsel, and help. And in
   supplying these, He comes down to their level of feeling, and tries to show
   that, even if things were as they seem, there is no cause for despair. He
   argues from their own thoughts of God, that they should still hope in Him.
   “Suppose,” He says in effect, “God to be what you fancy, indifferent and
   heartless, still pray on; see, in the case I put, what perseverance can
   effect. Ask as the man who wanted loaves asked, and ye shall also receive
   from Him who seems at present deaf to your petitions. Appearances, I grant,
   may be very unfavorable, but they cannot be more so in your case than in
   that of the petitioner in the parable; and yet you observe how he fared
   through not being too easily disheartened.”

   Jesus displays His wisdom in dealing with the doubts of His disciples, by
   avoiding all elaborate explanations of the causes or reasons of delay in the
   answering of prayer, and using only arguments adapted to the capacity of
   persons weak in faith and in spiritual understanding. He does not attempt to
   show why sanctification is a slow, tedious work, not a momentary act: why
   the Spirit is given gradually and in limited measure, not at once and
   without measure. He simply urges His hearers to persevere in seeking the
   Holy Spirit, assuring them that, in spite of trying delay, their desires
   will be fulfilled in the end. He teaches them no philosophy of waiting on
   God, but only tells them that they shall not wait in vain.

   This method the Teacher followed not from necessity, but from choice. For
   though no attempt was made at explaining divine delays in providence and
   grace, it was not because explanation was impossible. There were many things
   which Christ might have said to His disciples at this time if they could
   have borne them; some of which they afterwards said themselves, when the
   Spirit of Truth had come, and guided them into all truth, and made them
   acquainted with the secret of God’s way. He might have pointed out to them,
   e.g., that the delays of which they complained were according to the analogy
   of nature, in which gradual growth is the universal law; that time was
   needed for the production of the ripe fruits of the Spirit, just in the same
   way as for the production of the ripe fruits of the field or of the orchard;
   that it was not to be wondered at if the spiritual fruits were peculiarly
   slow in ripening, as it was a law of growth that the higher the product in
   the scale of being, the slower the process by which it is produced; [104]
   that a momentary sanctification, though not impossible, would be as much a
   miracle in the sense of a departure from law, as was the immediate
   transformation of water into wine at the marriage in Cana; that if
   instantaneous sanctification were the rule instead of the rare exception,
   the kingdom of grace would become too like the imaginary worlds of
   children’s dreams, in which trees, fruits, and palaces spring into being
   full-grown, ripe, and furnished, in a moment as by enchantment, and too
   unlike the real, actual world with which men are conversant, in which delay,
   growth, and fixed law are invariable characteristics.

   Jesus might further have sought to reconcile His disciples to delay by
   descanting on the virtue of patience. Much could be said on that topic. It
   could be shown that a character cannot be perfect in which the virtue of
   patience has no place, and that the gradual method of sanctification is best
   adapted for its development, as affording abundant scope for its exercise.
   It might be pointed out how much the ultimate enjoyment of any good thing is
   enhanced by its having to be waited for; how in proportion to the trial is
   the triumph of faith; how, in the quaint words of one who was taught wisdom
   in this matter by his own experience, and by the times in which he lived,
   “It is fit we see and feel the shaping and sewing of every piece of the
   wedding garment, and the framing and moulding and fitting of the crown of
   glory for the head of the citizen of heaven;.” how “the repeated sense and
   frequent experience of grace in the ups and downs in the way, the falls and
   risings again of the traveller, the revolutions and changes of the spiritual
   condition, the new moon, the darkened moon, the full moon in the Spirit’s
   ebbing and flowing, raiseth in the heart of saints on their way to the
   country a sweet smell of the fairest rose and lily of Sharon;.” how, “as
   travellers at night talk of their foul ways, and of the praises of their
   guide, and battle being ended, soldiers number their wounds, extol the
   valor, skill, and courage of their leader and captain,” so “it is meet that
   the glorified soldiers may take loads of experience of free grace to heaven
   with them, and there speak of their way and their country, and the praises
   of Him that hath redeemed them out of all nations, tongues, and languages.
   [105] ”

   Such considerations, however just, would have been wasted on men in the
   spiritual condition of the disciples. Children have no sympathy with growth
   in any world, whether of nature or of grace. Nothing pleases them but that
   an acorn should become an oak at once, and that immediately after the
   blossom should come the ripe fruit. Then it is idle to speak of the uses of
   patience to the inexperienced; for the moral value of the discipline of
   trial cannot be appreciated till the trial is past. Therefore, as before
   stated, Jesus abstained entirely from reflections of the kind suggested, and
   adopted a simple, popular style of reasoning which even a child could
   understand.

   The reasoning of Jesus, while very simple, is very cogent and conclusive.
   The first argument — that contained in the parable of the ungenerous
   neighbor — is fitted to inspire hope in God, even in the darkest hour, when
   He appears indifferent to our cry, or positively unwilling to help, and so
   to induce us to persevere in asking. “As the man who wanted the loaves
   knocked on louder and louder, with an importunity that knew no shame, [106]
   and would take no refusal, and thereby gained his object, the selfish friend
   being glad at last to get up and serve him out of sheer regard to his own
   comfort, it being simply impossible to sleep with such a noise; so (such is
   the drift of the argument), so continue thou knocking at the door of heaven,
   and thou shalt obtain thy desire if it were only to be rid of thee. See in
   this parable what a power importunity has, even at a most unpromising time
   — midnight — and with a most unpromising person, who prefers his own comfort
   to a neighbor’s good: ask, therefore, persistently, and it shall be given
   unto you also; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto
   you.”

   At one point, indeed, this most pathetic and sympathetic argument seems to
   be weak. The petitioner in the parable had the selfish friend in his power
   by being able to annoy him and keep him from sleeping. Now, the tried
   desponding disciple whom Jesus would comfort may rejoin: “What power have I
   to annoy God, who dwelleth on high, far beyond my reach, in imperturbable
   felicity? ‘Oh that I knew where I might find Him, that I might come even to
   His seat! But, behold, I go forward, but He is not there; and backward, but
   I cannot perceive Him: on the left hand, where He doth work, but I cannot
   behold Him: He hideth Himself on the right hand, that I cannot see Him.’“
   [107] The objection is one which can hardly fail to occur to the subtle
   spirit of despondency, and it must be admitted that it is not frivolous.
   There is really a failure of the analogy at this point. We can annoy a man,
   like the ungenerous neighbor in bed, or the unjust judge, but we cannot
   annoy God. The parable does not suggest the true explanation of divine
   delay, or of the ultimate success of importunity. It merely proves, by a
   homely instance, that delay, apparent refusal, from whatever cause it may
   arise, is not necessarily final, and therefore can be no good reason for
   giving up asking.

   This is a real if not a great service rendered. But the doubting disciple,
   besides discovering with characteristic acuteness what the parable fails to
   prove, may not be able to extract any comfort from what it does prove. What
   is he to do then? Fall back on the strong asseveration with which Jesus
   follows up the parable: “And I say unto you.” Here, doubter, is an oracular
   dictum from One who can speak with authority; One who has been in the bosom
   of the eternal God, and has come forth to reveal His inmost heart to men
   groping in the darkness of nature after Him, if haply they might find Him.
   When He addresses you in such emphatic, solemn terms as these, “I say unto
   you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it
   shall be opened unto you,” you may take the matter on His word, at least pro
   tempore. Even those who doubt the reasonableness of prayer, because of the
   constancy of nature’s laws and the unchangeableness of divine purposes,
   might take Christ’s word for it that prayer is not vain, even in relation to
   daily bread, not to speak of higher matters, until they arrive at greater
   certainty on the subject than they can at present pretend to. Such may, if
   they choose, despise the parable as childish, or as conveying crude
   anthropopathic ideas of the Divine Being, but they cannot despise the
   deliberate declarations of One whom even they regard as the wisest and best
   of men.

   The second argument employed by Jesus to urge perseverance in prayer is of
   the nature of a reductio ad absurdum, ending with a conclusion à fortiori.
   “If,” it is reasoned, “God refused to hear His children’s prayers, or, worse
   still, if He mocked them by giving them something bearing a superficial
   resemblance to the things asked, only to cause bitter disappointment when
   the deception was discovered, then were He not only as bad as, but far worse
   than, even the most depraved of mankind. For, take fathers at random, which
   of them, if a son were to ask bread, would give him a stone? or if he asked
   a fish, would give him a serpent? or if he asked an egg, would offer him a
   scorpion? The very supposition is monstrous. Human nature is largely
   vitiated by moral evil; there is, in particular, an evil spirit of
   selfishness in the heart which comes into conflict with the generous
   affections, and leads men ofttimes to do base and unnatural things. But men
   taken at the average are not diabolic; and nothing short of a diabolic
   spirit of mischief could prompt a father to mock a child’s misery, or
   deliberately to give him things fraught with deadly harm. If, then, earthly
   parents, though evil in many of their dispositions, give good, and, so far
   as they know, only good, gifts to their children, and would shrink with
   horror from any other mode of treatment, is it to be credited that the
   Divine Being, that Providence, can do what only devils would think of doing?
   On the contrary, what is only barely possible for man is for God altogether
   impossible, and what all but monsters of iniquity will not fail to do God
   will do much more. He will most surely give good gifts, and only good gifts,
   to His asking children; most especially will He give His best gift, which
   His true children desire above all things, even the Holy Spirit, the
   enlightener and the sanctifier. Therefore again I say unto you: Ask, and ye
   shall receive; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened.”

   Yet it is implied in the very fact that Christ puts such cases as a stone
   given for bread, a serpent for a fish, or a scorpion for an egg, that God
   seems at least sometimes so to treat His children. The time came when the
   twelve thought they had been so treated in reference to the very subject in
   which they were most deeply interested, after their own personal
   sanctification, viz., the restoration of the kingdom to Israel. But their
   experience illustrates the general truth, that when the Hearer of prayer
   seems to deal unnaturally with His servants, it is because they have made a
   mistake about the nature of good, and have not known what they asked. They
   have asked for a stone, thinking it bread, and hence the true bread seems a
   stone; for a shadow, thinking it a substance, and hence the substance seems
   a shadow. The kingdom for which the twelve prayed was a shadow, hence their
   disappointment and despair when Jesus was put to death: the egg of hope,
   which their fond imagination had been hatching, brought forth the scorpion
   of the cross, and they fancied that God had mocked and deceived them. But
   they lived to see that God was true and good, and that they had deceived
   themselves, and that all which Christ had told them had been fulfilled. And
   all who wait on God ultimately make a similar discovery, and unite in
   testifying that “the Lord is good unto them that wait for Him, to the soul
   that seeketh Him.” [108]

   For these reasons should all men pray, and not faint. Prayer is rational,
   even if the Divine Being were like men in the average, not indisposed to do
   good when self-interest does not stand in the way — the creed of heathenism.
   It is still more manifestly rational if, as Christ taught and Christians
   believe, God be better than the best of men — the one supremely good Being
   — the Father in heaven. Only in either of two cases would prayer really be
   irrational: if God were no living being at all, — the creed of atheists,
   with whom Christ holds no argument; or if He were a being capable of doing
   things from which even bad men would start back in horror, i.e., a being of
   diabolic nature, — the creed, it is to be hoped, of no human being.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [86] Mark i. 35; Luke vi. 12; Matt. xiv. 23.

   [87] Matt. vi. 5-13

   [88] Luke xi. 1-13, xviii. 1-5.

   [89] Matt. xviii. 19.

   [90] Matt. xxi. 22.

   [91] John xvi. 23, 24

   [92] The twelve are not named; but the lesson must, from its nature, have
   been given to a close circle of disciples.

   [93] The request, in that case, might be paraphrased: “Lord, teach (Thou
   also) us to prau, as John taught us when we were his disciples.

   [94] Readers may be reminded here of the well-known hymn of Newton,
   beginning —

   “I asked the Lord that I might grow

   In faith, and love, and every grace.” — (No. 25, F. C. Hymn-Book.)

   [95] John xvi. 24.

   [96] John xiv. 13.

   [97] Jeremy Taylor, in his Apology for Authorized and Set Forms of Liturgy,
   makes no distinction between disciples and apostles. When the distinction is
   attended to, much of his argument falls to the ground. Vid. §§ 86-112.

   [98] Keim takes the same view: he thinks the Mustergebet was not meant to be
   an Alltagsgebet, and in proof adduces the facts that no trace of its use
   appears in the history of Christ’s own life, in the times of the Jerusalem
   Church, in the recollections of the Apostle Paul, and that only in the
   second century it began to be the object of a regular “ja
   mechanisch-katholischen” use. — Jesu von Nazara, ii. 280.

   [99] From the design of the Lord’s Prayer as now explained we may determine
   the proper place and use of all fixed forms of devotion. Liturgical forms
   are for private rather than for public use; for those who are in the dumb,
   arid stage of the spiritual life, rather than for those who have attained
   the power and utterance of spiritual maturity. To the private use of such
   forms by persons who desire to pray, yet cannot do it, no reasonable
   objection can be taken. Advantage justifies use. The less experienced
   Christian may ask the more experienced to teach him to pray, and the more
   experienced may reply, “After this manner pay ye.” If we may read and repeat
   the sacred songs of Christian poets to find expression for emotions which
   are common to us and them, but which we cannot, like them, adequately
   express, why may we not read and repeat the prayers of the saints for a
   similar purpose? The superficial, who have not earnestness and sincerity
   enough to know what it is to stammer, may despise such aids as suited only
   for children; and those who are yet in the first flush of religious fervor
   may turn away from written forms as cold and dead, however classical. Well,
   let all do without such aids who can; only the time may come, even for the
   fervent, when, forsaken of emotion, deficient in experience, discouraged by
   failure, disappointed in ardent youthful hopes, tormented by speculative
   doubts concerning the utility and the reasonableness of prayer coming over
   the soul like chill east winds in the winter of its religious history, they
   may be very glad to read over forms of devotion which, by their simplicity
   and dignity, serve to inspire a sense of reality, and to produce a soothing,
   sedative effect on their distressed, restless spirits. For all such a
   plight, we, having respect to the example of Christ, are entitled to plead
   that they shall not be required to remain prayerless because they cannot for
   the time pray without book. But when we pass from the closet to the church,
   the case is altered. There we ought to find pastors capable of doing, each
   one for his fellow-worshippers, what Christ did for His disciples, and of
   praying with the freedom and force to which the disciples themselves
   afterwards attained. It may be asserted, inded, that this, though the
   desirable, is not the actual state of matters. A recent writer, in
   advocating the introduction of written forms of prayer into the Presbyterian
   Church, says: “I feel persuaded that a verbatim report of all the public
   prayers uttered in Scotland any one Sunday in the year would settle the
   question forever in the mind of every person who was capable of forming a
   rational judgment on such a matter” [The Reform of the Church of Scotland,
   by Robert Lee, D.D., p. 76.]. It is to be hoped that this is an exaggerated
   view of existing ministerial incapacity; but even granting its accuracy, it
   is a fair question whether the remedy proposed would not be worse than the
   evil, and the gain in propriety more than counterbalanced by a loss in the
   more important quality of fervor. This much we may say, even if not disposed
   to take up high ground of principles in opposition to liturgical forms, but
   rather to concur in the moderate sentiments of Richard Baxter, when he says:
   “I cannot be of their opinion who think God will not accept him that prayeth
   by the common Prayer-book, and that such forms are a self-invented worship
   which God rejecteth; nor yet can I be of their mind that say the like of
   extemporary prayers” [Baxter’s Life, from his own original MS., lib. i. part
   i. § 213.]. In Baxter’s time religious controversy ran very high, and
   opposed views were stated in extreme form. The Churchman derided the
   extempore effusions of the Puritan; the Puritans went so far in his
   opposition to liturgical prayer as even to maintain that the Lord’s Prayer
   itself should never be repeated. Baxter, not being a partisan, but a lover
   of truth, sympathized with neither party, but regarded the question at issue
   as one of policy rather than of principle, to be settled not by abstract
   reasoning, but by a calm consideration of what on the whole was most
   conducive to edification; in which point of view his judgment and his
   practice were both on the side of extempore prayer. Looking at the question,
   with Baxter, as one of policy, we are fully persuaded that the existing
   practice of Presbyterian and other churches can be justified on such good
   grounds as should make them contented, to say the least, with their own way,
   and indisposed to imitate those whose way is different in this matter. The
   ministers of religion, like the apostles, ought to be able to dispense with
   liturgical forms; and the best way to secure that they shall possess such
   ability, is to throw them on their own resources, and on God, and so convert
   the ideal into a requirement applicable to all, making no provision for
   exceptions. The full benefit of a system cannot be obtained unless it be
   rigidly enforced; and while such enforcement may involve occasional
   disadvantages, the relaxation of the rule would probably produce greater
   damage to the church. Allowance made for timidity, inexperience, or
   extraordinary incapacity, would be abused by the indolent and the careless;
   and many would remain permanently in a state similar to that of the
   disciples, who, if compelled to stir up the gift of God which is in them, or
   to seek earnestly gifts and graces not possessed, might ere long attain to
   apostolic freedom and power. The same remarks might be applied to preaching.
   In individual instances congregations might benefit by the preacher being
   allowed to use foreign materials of instruction; but under such a
   permission, how many would content themselves with reading sermons out of
   books, or from manuscripts purchased at so much per dozen, who, under a
   system aiming at turning to the utmost account individual talent, and
   therefore requiring all teachers of truth to give their hearers the benefit
   of their own thoughts, would through practice attain to a fair measure of
   preaching power. On the whole, therefore, the Presbyterian Church has reason
   to be satisfied with its existing system of public worship, whatever reason
   there may be for dissatisfaction with the existing state of worship in
   particular instances. The ideal is good, however far short the reality may
   come of it. The aim and effect of the liturgical system is to make the mass
   of worshippers as independent as possible of the individual minister; the
   aim, if not the effect of our system, is to make individual ministers as
   valuable as possible to the worshippers, for their instruction and
   edification. The one system may secure a uniform solemnity and decency, but
   the other system tends to secure the more important qualities of fervor,
   energy, and life; and we believe, whatever fastidious critics may allege, it
   does to a considerable extent secure them. At lowest, the non-liturgical
   method secures that the worship of the church shall be a true reflection of
   here life, and therefore, however beggarly, at least sincere. Men who preach
   their own sermons and pray their own prayers are more likely to preach and
   pray as they believe and live, than those who merely read compositions
   provided to their hand. It only remains to add, that while having no
   objection on principle to an attempt at amalgamating the two methods so as
   to reap the advantages of both — a scheme favored by some respected brethren
   in all the churches — we confess to grave doubts, for the reasons above
   explained, as to the utility of such an attempt. [We leave the above as in
   the second edition. Our present impression, however, is that a mixture of
   the liturgical system, with fixed forms, with the free extempore method, is
   not impracticable, and might yield better results than either separately.
   — Note to third edition.]

   [100] The supposed subject of prayer in Luke xviii. is the general interest
   of the divine kingdom on the earth.

   [101] In Matt. vii. 11, which answers to Luke xi. 13, the phrase expressive
   of the object of desire is agatha, “good things.’ instead of pneuma agion.
   The Pauline character of the latter expression has been remarked on, as one
   of many traces of the apostle’s influence on the third Evangelist. The
   doctrine that the Holy Spirit is the immanent ground of Christian sanctity
   is emphatically Pauline. But the doctrine of gradual sanctification is not
   prominent in Paulinism.

   [102] Or “of which of you that is a father shall his son ask a loaf,” as in
   R. V. The sense is the same.

   [103] See the Book of Job, passim, and Ps. lxxiii., lxxvii., etc.

   [104] This idea is well worked out in a sermon by H. W. Beecher on “Waiting
   for the Lord.” — Sermons, vol. 1.

   [105] Samuel Rutherford, Trial and Triumph of Faith, Sermon xviii.

   [106] The Greek word is anaideian = shamelessness.

   [107] Job xxiii. 3, 8, 9.

   [108] Lam. iii. 25.
     _________________________________________________________________

7. LESSONS IN RELIGIOUS LIBERTY; OR, THE NATURE OF TRUE HOLINESS
     _________________________________________________________________

  SECTION I. FASTING

    Matt. 9:14–17; Mark 2:16–22; Luke 5:33–39.

   We have learnt in the last chapter how Jesus taught His disciples to pray,
   and we are now to learn in the present chapter how He taught them to live.

   Christ’s ratio vivendi was characteristically simple; its main features
   being a disregard of minute mechanical rules, and a habit of falling back in
   all things on the great principles of morality and piety.

   The practical carrying out of this rule of life led to considerable
   divergence from prevailing custom. In three respects especially, according
   to the Gospel records, were our Lord and His disciples chargeable, and
   actually charged, with the offence of nonconformity. They departed from
   existing practice in the matters of fasting, ceremonial purifications as
   prescribed by the elders, and Sabbath sanctification. The first they
   neglected for the most part, the second altogether; the third they did not
   neglect, but their mode of observing the weekly rest was in spirit totally,
   and in detail widely, diverse from that which was in vogue.

   These divergences from established custom are historically interesting as
   the small beginnings of a great moral and religious revolution. For in
   teaching His disciples these new habits, Jesus was inaugurating a process of
   spiritual emancipation which was to issue in the complete deliverance of the
   apostles, and through them of the Christian church, from the burdensome yoke
   of Mosaic ordinances, and from the still more galling bondage of a “vain
   conversation received by tradition from the fathers.”

   The divergences in question have much biographical interest also in
   connection with the religious experience of the twelve. For it is a solemn
   crisis in any man’s life when he first departs in the most minute
   particulars from the religious opinions and practices of his age. The first
   steps in the process of change are generally the most difficult, the most
   perilous, and the most decisive. In these respects, learning spiritual
   freedom is like learning to swim. Every expert in the aquatic art remembers
   the troubles he experienced in connection with his first attempts, — how
   hard he found it to make arms and legs keep stroke; how he floundered and
   plunged; how fearful he was lest he should go beyond his depth and sink to
   the bottom. At these early fears he may now smile, yet were they not
   altogether groundless; for the tyro does run some risk of drowning though
   the bathing-place be but a small pool or dam built by schoolboys on a burn
   flowing through an inland dell, remote from broad rivers and the great sea.

   It is well both for young swimmers and for apprentices in religious freedom
   when they make their first essays in the company of an experienced friend,
   who can rescue them should they be in danger. Such a friend the twelve had
   in Christ, whose presence was not only a safeguard against all inward
   spiritual risks, but a shield from all assaults which might come upon them
   from without. Such assaults were to be expected. Nonconformity invariably
   gives offence to many, and exposes the offending party to interrogation at
   least, and often to something more serious. Custom is a god to the
   multitude, and no one can withhold homage from the idol with impunity. The
   twelve accordingly did in fact incur the usual penalties connected with
   singularity. Their conduct was called in question, and censured, in every
   instance of departure from use and wont. Had they been left to themselves,
   they would have made a poor defence of the actions impugned; for they did
   not understand the principles on which the new practice was based, but
   simply did as they were directed. But in Jesus they had a friend who did
   understand those principles, and who was ever ready to assign good reasons
   for all He did Himself, and for all He taught His followers to do. The
   reasons with which he defended the twelve against the upholders of
   prevailing usage were specially good and telling; and they constitute, taken
   together, an apology for nonconformity not less remarkable than that which
   He made for graciously receiving publicans and sinners, [109] consisting,
   like it, of three lines of defence corresponding to the charges which had to
   be met. That apology we propose to consider in the present chapter under
   three divisions, in the first of which we take up the subject of fasting.

   From Matthew’s account we learn that the conduct of Christ’s disciples in
   neglecting fasting was animadverted on by the disciples of John the Baptist.
   “Then,” we read, “came to Him the disciples of John” — those, that is, who
   happened to be in the neighborhood — “saying, Why do we and the Pharisees
   fast oft, but Thy disciples fast not?” [110] From this question we learn
   incidentally that in the matter of fasting the school of the Baptist and the
   sect of the Pharisees were agreed in their general practice. As Jesus told
   the Pharisees at a later date, John came in their own “way” of legal
   righteousness.” [111] But it was a case of extremes meeting; for no two
   religious parties could be more remote in some respects than the two just
   named. But the difference lay rather in the motives than in the external
   acts of their religious life. Both did the same things — fasted, practised
   ceremonial ablutions, made many prayers — only they did them with a
   different mind. John and his disciples performed their religious duties in
   simplicity, godly sincerity, and moral earnestness; the Pharisees, as a
   class, did all their works ostentatiously, hypocritically, and as matters of
   mechanical routine.

   From the same question we further learn that the disciples of John, as well
   as the Pharisees, were very zealous in the practice of fasting. They fasted
   oft, much (pukna, Luke; polla, Matthew). This statement we otherwise know to
   be strictly true of such Pharisees as made great pretensions to piety.
   Besides the annual fast on the great day of atonement appointed by the law
   of Moses, and the four fasts which had become customary in the time of the
   Prophet Zechariah, in the fourth, fifth, seventh, and tenth months of the
   Jewish year, the stricter sort of Jews fasted twice every week, viz., on
   Mondays and Thursdays. [112] This bi-weekly fast is alluded to in the
   parable of the Pharisee and the publican.Luke xviii. 12. It is not to be
   assumed, of course, that the practice of the Baptist’s disciples coincided
   in this respect with that of the strictest sect of the pharisaic party.
   Their system of fasting may have been organized on an independent plan,
   involving different arrangements as to times and occasions. The one fact
   known, which rests on the certain basis of their own testimony, is that,
   like the Pharisees, John’s disciples fasted often, if not on precisely the
   same days and for the same reasons.

   It does not clearly appear what feelings prompted the question put by
   John’s disciples to Jesus. It is not impossible that party spirit was at
   work, for rivalry and jealousy were not unknown, even in the environment of
   the forerunner.John iii. 26. In that case, the reference to pharisaic
   practice might be explained by a desire to overwhelm the disciples of Jesus
   by numbers, and put them, as it were, in a hopeless minority on the
   question. It is more likely, however, that the uppermost feeling in the mind
   of the interrogators was one of surprise, that in respect of fasting they
   should approach nearer to a sect whose adherents were stigmatized by their
   own master as a “generation of vipers,” than to the followers of One for
   whom that master cherished and expressed the deepest veneration. In that
   case, the object of the question was to obtain information and instruction.
   It accords with this view that the query was addressed to Jesus. Had
   disputation been aimed at, the questioners would more naturally have applied
   to the disciples.

   If John’s followers came seeking instruction, they were not disappointed.
   Jesus made a reply to their question, remarkable at once for originality,
   point, and pathos, setting forth in lively parabolic style the great
   principles by which the conduct of His disciples could be vindicated, and by
   which He desired the conduct of all who bore His name to be regulated. Of
   this reply it is to be observed, in the first place, that it is of a purely
   defensive character. Jesus does not blame John’s disciples for fasting, but
   contents Himself with defending His own disciples for abstaining from
   fasting. He does not feel called on to disparage the one party in order to
   justify the other, but takes up the position of one who virtually says: “To
   fast may be right for you, the followers of John: not to fast is equally
   right for my followers.” How grateful to Christ’s feelings it must have been
   that He could assume this tolerant attitude on a question in which the name
   of John was mixed up! For He had a deep respect for the forerunner and his
   work, and ever spoke of him in most generous terms of appreciation; now
   calling him a burning and a shining lamp,John v. 35. and at another time
   declaring him not only a prophet but something more.Matt. xi. 7-15 And we
   may remark in passing, that John reciprocated these kindly feelings, and had
   no sympathy with the petty jealousies in which his disciples sometimes
   indulged. The two great ones, both of them censured for different reasons by
   their degenerate contemporaries, ever spoke of each other to their disciples
   and to the public in terms of affectionate respect; the lesser light
   magnanimously confessing his inferiority, the greater magnifying the worth
   of His humble fellow-servant. What a refreshing contrast was thus presented
   to the mean passions of envy, prejudice, and detraction so prevalent in
   other quarters, under whose malign influence men of whom better things might
   have been expected spoke of John as a madman, and of Jesus as immoral and
   profane! [113]

   Passing from the manner to the matter of the reply, we notice that, for the
   purpose of vindicating His disciples, Jesus availed Himself of a metaphor
   suggested by a memorable word uttered concerning Himself at an earlier
   period by the master of those who now examined Him. To certain disciples who
   complained that men were leaving him and going to Jesus, John had said if
   effect: “Jesus is the Bridegroom, I am but the Bridegroom’s friend;
   therefore it is right that men should leave me and join Jesus.”John iii. 29.
   Jesus now takes up the Baptist’s words, and turns them to account for the
   purpose of defending the way of life pursued by His disciples. His reply,
   freely paraphrased, is to this effect: “I am the Bridegroom, as your master
   said; it is right that the children of the bride-chamber come to me; and it
   is also right that, when they have come, they should adapt their mode of
   life to their altered circumstances. Therefore they do well not to fast, for
   fasting is the expression of sadness, and how should they be sad in my
   company? As well might men be sad at a marriage festival. The days will come
   when the children of the bride-chamber shall be sad, for the Bridegroom will
   not always be with them; and at the dark hour of His departure it will be
   natural and seasonable for them to fast, for then they shall be in a fasting
   mood — weeping, lamenting, sorrowful, and disconsolate.”

   The principle underlying this graphic representation is, that fasting should
   not be a matter of fixed mechanical rule, but should have reference to the
   state of mind; or, more definitely, that men should fast when they are sad,
   or in a state of mind akin to sadness — absorbed, pre-occupied — as at some
   great solemn crisis in the life of an individual or a community, such as
   that in the history of Peter, when he was exercised on the great question of
   the admission of the Gentiles to the church, or such as that in the history
   of the Christian community at Antioch, when they were about to ordain the
   first missionaries to the heathen world. Christ’s doctrine, clearly and
   distinctly indicated here, is that fasting in any other circumstances is
   forced, unnatural, unreal; a thing which men may be made to do as a matter
   of form, but which they do not with their heart and soul. “Can ye make the
   children of the bride-chamber fast while the bridegroom is with them?” [114]
   He asked, virtually asserting that it was impossible.

   By this rule the disciples of our Lord were justified, and yet John’s were
   not condemned. It was admitted to be natural for them to fast, as they were
   mournful, melancholy, unsatisfied. They had not found Him who was the Desire
   of all nations, the Hope of the future, the Bridegroom of the soul. They
   only knew that all was wrong; and in their querulous, despairing mood they
   took pleasure in fasting, and wearing coarse raiment, and frequenting
   lonely, desolate regions, living as hermits, a practical protest against an
   ungodly age. The message that the kingdom was at hand had indeed been
   preached to them also; but as proclaimed by John the announcement was awful
   news, not good news, and made them anxious and dispirited, not glad. Men in
   such a mood could not do otherwise than fast; though whether they did well
   to continue in that mood after the Bridegroom had come, and had been
   announced to them as such by their own master, is another matter. Their
   grief was wilful, idle, causeless, when He had appeared who was to take away
   the sin of the world.

   Jesus had yet more to say in reply to the questions addressed to Him. Things
   new and unusual need manifold apology, and therefore to the beautiful
   similitude of the children of the bride-chamber He added two other equally
   suggestive parables: those, viz., of the new patch on the old garment, and
   the new wine in old skins. The design of these parables is much the same as
   that of the first part of His reply, viz., to enforce the law of congruity
   in relation to fasting and similar matters; that is, to show that in all
   voluntary religious service, where we are free to regulate our own conduct,
   the outward act should be made to correspond with the inward condition of
   mind, and that no attempt should be made to force particular acts or habits
   on men without reference to that correspondence. “In natural things,” He
   meant to say, “we observe this law of congruity. No man putteth a piece of
   unfulled cloth [115] on an old garment. Neither do men put new wine into old
   skins, and that not merely out of regard to propriety, but to avoid bad
   consequences. For if the rule of congruity be neglected, the patched garment
   will be torn by the contraction of the new cloth; [116] and the old skin
   bottles will burst under the fermenting force of the new liquor, and the
   wine will be spilled and lost.”

   The old cloth and old bottles in these metaphors represent old ascetic
   fashions in religion; the new cloth and the new wine represent the new
   joyful life in Christ, not possessed by those who tenaciously adhered to the
   old fashions. The parables were applied primarily to Christ’s own age, but
   they admit of application to all transition epochs; indeed, they find new
   illustration in almost every generation.

   The force of these homely parables as arguments in vindication of departure
   from current usage in matters of religion may be evaded in either of two
   ways. First, their relevancy may be denied; i.e., it may be denied that
   religious beliefs are of such a nature as to demand congenial modes of
   expression, under penalties if the demand is not complied with. This
   position is usually assumed virtually or openly by the patrons of use and
   wont. Conservative minds have for the most part a very inadequate conception
   of the vital force of belief. Their own belief, their spiritual life
   altogether, is often a feeble thing, and they imagine tameness or pliancy
   must be an attribute of other men’s faith also. Nothing but dire experience
   will convince them that they are mistaken; and when the proof comes in the
   shape of an irrepressible revolutionary outburst, they are stupefied with
   amazement. Such men learn nothing from the history of previous generations;
   for they persist in thinking that their own case will be an exception. Hence
   the vis inertiæ of established custom evermore insists on adherence to what
   is old, till the new wine proves its power by producing an explosion
   needlessly wasteful, by which both wine and bottles often perish, and
   energies which might have quietly wrought out a beneficent reformation are
   perverted into blind powers of indiscriminate destruction.

   Or, in the second place, the relevancy of these metaphors being admitted in
   general terms, it may be denied that a new wine (to borrow the form of
   expression from the second, more suggestive metaphor) has come into
   existence. This was virtually the attitude assumed by the Pharisees towards
   Christ. “What have you brought?” they asked Him in effect, “to your
   disciples, that they cannot live as others do, but must needs invent new
   religious habits for themselves? This new life of which you boast is either
   a vain pretence, or an illegitimate, spurious thing, not worthy of
   toleration, and the waste of which would be no matter for regret.” Similar
   was the attitude assumed towards Luther by the opponents of the Reformation.
   They said to him in effect: “If this new revelation of yours, that sinners
   are justified by faith alone, were true, we admit that it would involve very
   considerable modification in religious opinion, and many alterations in
   religious practice. But we deny the truth of your doctrine, we regard the
   peace and comfort you find in it as a hallucination; and therefore we insist
   that you return to the time-honored faith, and then you will have no
   difficulty in acquiescing in the long-established practice.” The same thing
   happens to a greater or less extent every generation; for new wine is always
   in course of being produced by the eternal vine of truth, demanding in some
   particulars of belief and practice new bottles for its preservation, and
   receiving for answer an order to be content with the old ones.

   Without going the length of denunciation or direct attempt at suppression,
   those who stand by the old often oppose the new by the milder method of
   disparagement. They eulogize the venerable past, and contrast it with the
   present, to the disadvantage of the latter.” The old wine is vastly superior
   to the new: how mellow, mild, fragrant, wholesome, the one! how harsh and
   fiery the other!” Those who say so are not the worst of men: they are often
   the best, — the men of taste and feeling, the gentle, the reverent, and the
   good, who are themselves excellent samples of the old vintage. Their
   opposition forms by far the most formidable obstacle to the public
   recognition and toleration of what is new in religious life; for it
   naturally creates a strong prejudice against any cause when the saintly
   disapprove of it.

   Observe, then, how Christ answers the honest admirers of the old wine. He
   concedes the point: He admits that their preference is natural. Luke
   represents Him as saying, in the conclusion of His reply to the disciples of
   the Baptist: “No man also, having drunk old wine, desireth the new; for he
   saith, The old is good.” [117] This striking sentiment exhibits rare candor
   in stating the case of opponents, and not less rare modesty and tact in
   stating the case of friends. It is as if Jesus had said: “I do not wonder
   that you love the old wine of Jewish piety, fruit of a very ancient vintage;
   or even that you dote upon the very bottles which contain it, covered over
   with the dust and cobwebs of ages. But what then? Do men object to the
   existence of new wine, or refuse to have it in their possession, because the
   old is superior in flavor? No: they drink the old, but they carefully
   preserve the new, knowing that the old will get exhausted, and that the new,
   however harsh, will mend with age, and may ultimately be superior even in
   flavor to that which is in present use. Even so should you behave towards
   the new wine of my kingdom. You may not straightway desire it, because it is
   strange and novel; but surely you might deal more wisely with it than merely
   to spurn it, or spill and destroy it!”

   Too seldom for the church’s good have lovers of old ways understood
   Christ’s wisdom, and lovers of new ways sympathized with His charity. A
   celebrated historian has remarked: “It must make a man wretched, if, when on
   the threshold of old age, he looks on the rising generation with uneasiness,
   and does not rather rejoice in beholding it; and yet this is very common
   with old men. Fabius would rather have seen Hannibal unconquered than see
   his own fame obscured by Scipio.” [118] There are always too many Fabii in
   the world, who are annoyed because things will not remain stationary, and
   because new ways and new men are ever rising up to take the place of the
   old. Not less rare, on the other hand, is Christ’s charity among the
   advocates of progress. Those who affect freedom despise the stricter sort as
   fanatics and bigots, and drive on changes without regard to their scruples,
   and without any appreciation of the excellent qualities of the “old wine.”
   When will young men and old men, liberals and conservatives, broad
   Christians and narrow, learn to bear with one another; yea, to recognize
   each in the other the necessary complement of his own one-sidedness?
     _________________________________________________________________

   [109] Vide pp. 26, 27.

   [110] Matt. ix. 14. From Mark and Luke it might be inferred that some
   Pharisees were joint interrogators; but it is not asserted, neither is it
   likely.

   [111] Matt. xxi. 32.

   [112] See Buxtorf, De Synagoga Judaica, c. xxx.; also Zech. viii. 19.

   [113] Matt. xi. 16, 19

   [114] Luke v. 34, mē dunasthe . . . poiēsai nēsteuein.

   [115] Matt. ix. 16. rhakous agnaphou.

   [116] Luke v. 36 gives the thought a different turn. The cloth is merely new
   (kainon), and two objections to patching are hinted at. First, good cloth is
   wasted in patching, which would have been better employed in making a new
   garment. Second, the patchwork is unseemly and unsatisfactory. The old and
   the new do not agree (ou sumphōnei).

   [117] Luke v. 39. The version given in the text is in accordance with the
   reading approved by critics, in which eutheōs (straightway) is omitted, and
   instead of chrēstoteros (better) stands chrēstos (good). The sense, however,
   is the same. It is implied that the new wine will be desired by and by, and
   good is an emphatic positive which virtually asserts superiority.

   [118] Niebuhr, Lectures on Roman History, ii. 77, 78.
     _________________________________________________________________

  SECTION II. RITUAL ABLUTIONS

    Matt. xv. 1–20; Mark vii. 1-23; Luke xi. 37–41.

   The happy free society of Jesus, which kept bridal hightide when others
   fasted, was in this further respect singular in its manners, that its
   members took their meals unconcerned about existing usages of purification.
   They ate bread with “defiled, that is to say, with unwashen hands.” Such was
   their custom, it may be assumed, from the beginning, though the practice
   does not appear to have become the subject of animadversion till an advanced
   period in the ministry of our Lord, [119] at least in a way that gave rise
   to incidents worthy of notice in the Gospel records. Even at the marriage in
   Cana, where were set six water-pots of stone for the purposes of purifying,
   Christ and His disciples are to be conceived as distinguished from the other
   guests by a certain inattention to ritual ablutions. This we infer from the
   reasons by which the neglect was defended when it was impugned, which
   virtually take up the position that the habit condemned was not only lawful,
   but incumbent — a positive duty in the actual circumstances of Jewish
   society, and therefore, of course, a duty which could at no time be
   neglected by those who desired to please God rather than men. But indeed it
   needs no proof that one of such grave earnest spirit as Jesus could never
   have paid any regard to the trifling regulations about washing before eating
   invented by the “elders.”

   These regulations were no trifles in the eyes of the Pharisees; and
   therefore we are not surprised to learn that the indifference with which
   they were treated by Jesus and the twelve provoked the censure of that
   zealous sect of religionists on at least two occasions, adverted to in the
   Gospel narratives. On one of these occasions, certain Pharisees and scribes,
   who had followed Christ from Jerusalem to the north, seeing some of His
   disciples eat without previously going through the customary ceremonial
   ablutions, came to Him, and asked, “Why walk not Thy disciples according to
   the traditions of the elders, but eat bread with unwashen hands?”Mark vii.
   1, 2, 5. In the other instance Jesus Himself was the direct object of
   censure. “A certain Pharisee,” Luke relates, “besought Jesus to dine with
   him; and He went in, and sat (directly) down to meat: and when the Pharisee
   saw it, he marvelled that He had not first washed before dinner.” [120]
   Whether the host expressed his surprise by words or by looks only is not
   stated; but it was observed by his guest, and was made an occasion for
   exposing the vices of the pharisaic character. “Now,” said the accused, in
   holy zeal for true purity, “now do ye Pharisees make clean the outside of
   the cup and platter, but your inward part is full of ravening and
   wickedness. Ye fools, did not He that made that which is without make that
   which is within also? But rather give alms of such things as ye have; and,
   behold, all things are clean unto you.” [121] That is to say, the offending
   guest charged His scandalized host, and the sect he belonged to, with
   sacrificing inward to outward purity, and at the same time taught the
   important truth that to the pure all things are pure, and showed the way by
   which inward real purity was to be reached, viz., by the practice of that
   sadly neglected virtue, humanity or charity.

   The Lord’s reply in the other encounter with pharisaic adversaries on the
   subject of washings was similar in its principle, but different in form. He
   told the zealots for purifications, without periphrasis, that they were
   guilty of the grave offence of sacrificing the commandments of God to the
   commandments of men — to these pet traditions of the elders. The statement
   was no libel, but a simple melancholy fact, though its truth does not quite
   lie on the surface. This we hope to show in the following remarks; but
   before we proceed to that task, we must force ourselves, however
   reluctantly, to acquire a little better acquaintance with the contemptible
   senilities whose neglect once seemed so heinous a sin to persons deeming
   themselves holy.

   The aim of the rabbinical prescriptions respecting washings was not physical
   cleanliness, but something thought to be far higher and more sacred. Their
   object was to secure, not physical, but ceremonial purity; that is, to
   cleanse the person from such impurity as might be contracted by contact with
   a Gentile, or with a Jew in a ceremonially unclean state, or with an unclean
   animal, or with a dead body or any part thereof. To the regulations in the
   law of Moses respecting such uncleanness the rabbis added a vast number of
   additional rules on their own responsibility, in a self-willed zeal for the
   scrupulous observance of the Mosaic precepts. They issued their
   commandments, as the Church of Rome has issued hers, under the pretext that
   they were necessary as means towards the great end of fulfilling strictly
   the commandments of God.

   The burdens laid on men’s shoulders by the scribes on this plausible ground
   were, by all accounts, indeed most grievous. Not content with purifications
   prescribed in the law for uncleanness actually contracted, they made
   provision for merely possible cases. If a man did not remain at home all
   day, but went out to market, he must wash his hands on his return, because
   it was possible that he might have touched some person or thing ceremonially
   unclean. Great care, it appears, had also to be taken that the water used in
   the process of ablution was itself perfectly pure; and it was necessary even
   to apply the water in a particular manner to the hands, in order to secure
   the desired result. Without travelling beyond the sacred record, we find, in
   the items of information supplied by Mark respecting prevailing Jewish
   customs of purification, enough to show to what ridiculous lengths this
   momentous business of washing was carried. “Many other things,” remarks he
   quaintly, and not without a touch of quiet satire, “there be which they have
   received to hold, as the washing of cups and pots, brazen vessels, and of
   tables.” [122] All things, in short, used in connection with food — in
   cooking it, or in placing it on the table — had to be washed, not merely as
   people might wash them now to remove actual impurity, but to deliver them
   from the more serious uncleanness which they might possibly have contracted
   since last used, by touching some person or thing not technically clean. A
   kind and measure of purity, in fact, were aimed at incompatible with life in
   this world. The very air of heaven was not clean enough for the doting
   patrons of patristic traditions; for, not to speak of other more real
   sources of contamination, the breeze, in blowing over Gentile lands to the
   sacred land of Jewry, had contracted defilement which made it unfit to pass
   into ritualistic lungs till it had been sifted by a respirator possessing
   the magic power to cleanse it from its pollution.

   The extravagant fanatical zeal of the Jews in these matters is illustrated
   in the Talmud by stories which, although belonging to a later age, may be
   regarded as a faithful reflection of the spirit which animated the Pharisees
   in the time of our Lord. Of these stories the following is a sample: “Rabbi
   Akiba was thrown by the Christians into prison, and Rabbi Joshua brought him
   every day as much water as sufficed both for washing and for drinking. But
   on one occasion it happened that the keeper of the prison got the water to
   take in, and spilled the half of it. Akiba saw that there was too little
   water, but nevertheless said, Give me the water for my hands. His brother
   rabbi replied, My master, you have not enough for drinking. But Akiba
   replied, He who eats with unwashed hands perpetrates a crime that ought to
   be punished with death. Better for me to die of thirst than to transgress
   the traditions of my ancestors.” [123] Rabbi Akiba would rather break the
   sixth commandment, and be guilty of self-murder, than depart from the least
   punctilio of a fantastic ceremonialism; illustrating the truth of the
   declaration made by Christ in His reply to the Pharisees, which we now
   proceed to consider.

   It was not to be expected that, in defending His disciples from the
   frivolous charge of neglecting the washing of hands, Jesus would show much
   respect for their accusers. Accordingly, we observe a marked difference
   between the tone of His reply in the present case, and that of His answer to
   John’s disciples. Towards them the attitude assumed was respectfully
   defensive and apologetic; towards the present interrogants the attitude
   assumed is offensive and denunciatory. To John’s disciples Jesus said,
   “Fasting is right for you: not to fast is equally right for my disciples.”
   To the Pharisees He replies by a retort which at once condemns their conduct
   and justifies the behavior which they challenged. “Why,” ask they, “do Thy
   disciples transgress the traditions of the elders?” “Why,” asked He in
   answer, “do ye also transgress the commandments of God by your
   traditions?” as if to say, “It becomes not you to judge; you, who see the
   imaginary mote in the eye of a brother, have a beam in your own.”

   This spirited answer was something more than a mere retort or et tu quoque
   argument. Under an interrogative form it enunciated a great principle, viz.,
   that the scrupulous observance of human traditions in matters of practice
   leads by a sure path to a corresponding negligence and unscrupulousness in
   reference to the eternal laws of God. Hence Christ’s defence of His
   disciples was in substance this: “I and my followers despise and neglect
   those customs because we desire to keep the moral law. Those washings,
   indeed, may not seem seriously to conflict with the great matters of the
   law, but to be at worst only trifling and contemptible. But the case is not
   so. To treat trifles as serious matters, as matters of conscience, which ye
   do, is degrading and demoralizing. No man can do that without being or
   becoming a moral imbecile, or a hypocrite: either one who is incapable of
   discerning between what is vital and what not in morals, or one who finds
   his interest in getting trifles, such as washing of hands, or paying tithe
   of herbs, to be accepted as the important matters, and the truly great
   things of the law — justice, mercy, and faith — quietly pushed aside as if
   they were of no moment whatever.”

   The whole history of religion proves the truth of these views. A ceremony
   and tradition ridden time is infallibly a morally corrupt time. Hypocrites
   ostensibly zealots, secretly atheists; profligates taking out their revenge
   in licentiousness for having been compelled, by tyrannous custom or
   intolerant ecclesiastical authorities, to conform outwardly to practices for
   which they have no respect; priests of the type of the sons of Eli,
   gluttonous, covetous, wanton: such are the black omens of an age in which
   ceremonies are every thing, and godliness and virtue nothing. Ritualistic
   practices, artificial duties of all kinds, whether originating with Jewish
   rabbis or with doctors of the Christian church, are utterly to be abjured.
   Recommended by their zealous advocates, often sincerely, as eminently fitted
   to promote the culture of morality and piety, they ever prove, in the long
   run, fatal to both. Well are they called in the Epistle to the Hebrews “dead
   works.” They are not only dead, but death-producing; for, like all dead
   things, they tend to putrefy, and to breed a spiritual pestilence which
   sweeps thousands of souls into perdition. If they have any life at all, it
   is life feeding on death, the life of fungi growing on dead trees; if they
   have any beauty, it is the beauty of decay, of autumnal leaves sere and
   yellow, when the sap is descending down to the earth, and the woods are
   about to pass into their winter state of nakedness and desolation. Ritualism
   at its best is but the shortlived after-summer of the spiritual year! very
   fascinating it may be, but when it cometh, be sure winter is at the doors.
   “We all do fade as a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, have taken us
   away.”

   Having brought a grave countercharge against the Pharisees, that of
   sacrificing morality to ceremonies, the commandments of God to the
   traditions of men, Jesus proceeded forthwith to substantiate it by a
   striking example and a Scripture quotation. The example selected was the
   evasion of the duties arising out of the fifth commandment, under pretence
   of a previous religious obligation. God said, “Honor thy father and
   mother,” and attached to a breach of the commandment the penalty of death.
   The Jewish scribes said, “Call a thing Corban, and you will be exempt from
   all obligation to give it away, even for the purpose of assisting needy
   parents.” The word Corban in the Mosaic law signifies a gift or offering to
   God, of any kind, bloody or bloodless, presented on any occasion, as in the
   fulfilment of a vow. [124] In rabbinical dialect it signified a thing
   devoted to sacred purposes, and therefore not available for private or
   secular use. The traditional doctrine on the subject of Corban was
   mischievous in two ways. It encouraged men to make religion an excuse for
   neglecting morality, and it opened a wide door to knavery and hypocrisy. It
   taught that a man might not only by a vow deny himself the use of things
   lawful, but that he might, by devoting a thing to God, relieve himself of
   all obligation to give to others what, but for the vow, it would have been
   his duty to give them. Then, according to the pernicious system of the
   rabbis, it was not necessary really to give the thing to God in order to be
   free of obligation to give it to man. It was enough to call it Corban. Only
   pronounce that magic word over any thing, and forthwith it was sealed over
   to God, and sacred from the use of others at least, if not from your own
   use. Thus self-willed zeal for the honor of God led to the dishonoring of
   God, by taking His name in vain; and practices which at best were chargeable
   with setting the first table of the law over against the second, proved
   eventually to be destructive of both tables. They made the whole law of God
   of none effect by their traditions. The disannulling of the fifth
   commandment was but a sample of the mischief the zealots for the
   commandments of men had wrought, as is implied in Christ’s concluding words,
   “Many such like things do ye.” [125]

   The Scripture quotation [126] made by our Lord in replying to the Pharisees
   was not less apt than the example was illustrative, as pointing out their
   characteristic vices, hypocrisy and superstition. They were near to God with
   their mouth, they honored Him with their lips, but they were far from Him in
   their hearts. Their religion was all on the outside. They scrupulously
   washed their hands and their cups, but they took no care to cleanse their
   polluted souls. Then, in the second place, their fear of God was taught by
   the precept of men. Human prescriptions and traditions were their guide in
   religion, which they followed blindly, heedless how far these commandments
   of men might lead them from the paths of righteousness and true godliness.

   The prophetic word was quick, powerful, sharp, searching, and conclusive.
   Nothing more was needed to confound the Pharisees, and nothing more was said
   to them at this time. The sacred oracle was the fitting conclusion of an
   unanswerable argument against the patrons of tradition. But Jesus had
   compassion on the poor multitude who were being misled to their ruin by
   their blind spiritual guides, and therefore He took the opportunity of
   addressing a word to those who stood around on the subject of dispute. What
   He had to say to them He expressed in the terse, pointed form of a proverb:
   “Hear and understand: not that which goeth into the mouth defileth a man;
   but that which cometh out of the mouth, this defileth a man.” This was a
   riddle to be solved, a secret of wisdom to be searched out, a lesson in
   religion to be conned. Its meaning, though probably understood by few at the
   moment, was very plain. It was simply this: “Pay most attention to the
   cleansing of the heart, not, like the Pharisees, to the cleansing of the
   hands. When the heart is pure, all is pure; when the heart is impure, all
   outward purification is vain. The defilement to be dreaded is not that from
   meat ceremonially unclean, but that which springs from a carnal mind, the
   defilement of evil thoughts, evil passions, evil habits.”

   This passing word to the bystanders became the subject of a subsequent
   conversation between Jesus and His disciples, in which He took occasion to
   justify Himself for uttering it, and explained to them its meaning. The
   Pharisees had heard the remark, and were naturally offended by it, as
   tending to weaken their authority over the popular conscience. The twelve
   observed their displeasure, perhaps they overheard their comments; and,
   fearing evil consequences, they came and informed their Master, probably
   with a tone which implied a secret regret that the speaker had not been less
   outspoken. Be that as it may, Jesus gave them to understand that it was not
   a case for forbearance, compromise, or timid, time-serving, prudential
   policy; the ritualistic tendency being an evil plant which must be uprooted,
   no matter with what offence to its patrons. He pleaded, in defence of His
   plainness of speech, His concern for the souls of the ignorant people whose
   guides the Pharisees claimed to be. “Let them alone, what would follow? Why,
   the blind leaders and the blindly led would fall together into the ditch.
   Therefore if the leaders be so hopelessly wedded to their errors that they
   cannot be turned from them, let us at least try to save their comparatively
   ignorant victims.”

   The explanation of the proverbial word spoken to the people Jesus gave to
   His disciples by request of Peter. [127] It is rudely plain and particular,
   because addressed to rudely ignorant hearers. It says over again, in the
   strongest possible language, that to eat with unwashen hands defileth not a
   man, because nothing entering the mouth can come near the soul; that the
   defilement to be dreaded, the only defilement worth speaking of, is that of
   an evil, unrenewed heart, out of which proceed thoughts, words, and acts
   which are offences against the holy, pure law of God. The concluding words,
   “purging all meats,” have, however, a peculiar significance, if we adopt the
   reading approved by critics: “This He said, purging all meats.” In that case
   we have the evangelist giving his own opinion of the effect of Christ’s
   words, viz., that they amounted to an abrogation of the ceremonial
   distinction between clean and unclean. A very remarkable comment, as coming
   from the man to whom we are indebted for the report of the preaching of that
   apostle who in his disciple days called forth the declaration, and who had
   the vision of the sheet let down from heaven.

   The evangelist having given us his comment, we may add ours. We observe that
   our Lord is here silent concerning the ceremonial law of Moses (to which the
   traditions of the elders were a supplement), and speaks only of the
   commandments of God, i. e. the precepts of the decalogue. The fact is
   significant, as showing in what direction He had come to destroy, and in
   what to fulfil. Ceremonialism was to be abolished, and the eternal laws of
   morality were to become all in all. Men’s consciences were to be delivered
   from the burden of outward positive ordinances, that they might be free to
   serve the living God, by keeping His ten words, or the one royal law of
   love. And it is the duty of the church to stand fast in the liberty Christ
   designed and purchased for her, and to be jealous of all human traditions
   out of holy zeal for the divine will, shunning superstition on the one side,
   and the licentious freedom of godless libertinism on the other. Christ’s
   true followers wish to be free, but not to do as they like; rather to do
   what God requires of them. So minded, they reject unceremoniously all human
   authority in religion, thereby separating themselves from the devotees to
   tradition; and at the same time, as God’s servants, they reverence His word
   and His law, thereby putting a wide gulf between them and the lawless and
   disobedient, who side with movements of religious reform, not in order to
   get something better in the place of what is rejected, but to get rid of all
   moral restraint in matters human or divine.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [119] During the last stay in Galilee, within six months of the crucifixion.

   [120] Luke xi. 37.

   [121] Luke xi. 39-41. Vide, for a similar passage, Matt. xxiii. 25, 26.

   [122] Mark vii. 4. klinōn means “couches” rather than tables. But the right
   of the word to be in the text is very doubtful, and it is omitted in R. V.

   [123] Buxtorf, De Syn. Jud. pp. 236, 237. This author quotes the following
   saying of another rabbi: “Qui illotis manibus panem comedit, idem est ac si
   scorto accubaret” (p. 236).

   [124] Num. vi. 14.

   [125] Mark vii. 13.

   [126] Isa. xxix. 13.

   [127] Matt. xv. 17-20; Mark vii. 18-23.
     _________________________________________________________________

  SECTION III. SABBATH OBSERVANCE

    Matt. xii. 1–14; Mark ii. 23–28; Mark iii. 1–6; Luke vi. 1–11; xiii. 10-16;
    xiv. 1–6; John v. 1–18; ix. 13-17.

   In no part of their conduct were Jesus and His disciples more frequently
   found fault with than in respect to their mode of observing the Sabbath. Six
   distinct instances of offence given or taken on this score are recorded in
   the Gospel history; in five of which Jesus Himself was the offender, while
   in the remaining instance His disciples were at least the ostensible objects
   of censure.

   The offences of Jesus were all of one sort; His crime was, that on the
   Sabbath-day He wrought works of healing on the persons of men afflicted
   respectively with palsy, a withered hand, blindness, dropsy, and on the body
   of a poor woman “bowed together” by an infirmity of eighteen years’
   standing. The offence of the disciples, on the other hand, was that, while
   walking along a way which lay through a corn-field, they stepped aside and
   plucked some ears of grain for the purpose of satisfying their hunger. This
   was not theft, for it was permitted by the law of Moses; [128] but
   nevertheless it was, in the judgment of the Pharisees, Sabbath-breaking. It
   was contrary to the command, “Thou shalt not work;.” for to pluck some ears
   was reaping on a small scale, and to rub them was a species of threshing!

   These offences, deemed so grave when committed, seem very small at this
   distance. All the transgressions of the Sabbath law charged against Jesus
   were works of mercy; and the one transgression of the disciples was for them
   a work of necessity, and the toleration of it was for others a duty of
   mercy, so that in condemning them the Pharisees had forgotten that divine
   word: “I will have mercy, and not sacrifice.” It is, indeed, hard for us now
   to conceive how any one could be serious in regarding such actions as
   breaches of the Sabbath, especially the harmless act of the twelve. There is
   a slight show of plausibility in the objection taken by the ruler of the
   synagogue to miraculous cures wrought on the seventh day: “There are six
   days on which men ought to work; in them therefore come and be healed, and
   not on the Sabbath-day.” [129] The remark was specially plausible with
   reference to the case which had provoked the ire of the dignitary of the
   synagogue. A woman who had been a sufferer for eighteen years might surely
   bear her trouble one day more, and come and be healed on the morrow! But on
   what pretence could the disciples be blamed as Sabbath-breakers for helping
   themselves to a few ears of corn? To call such an act working was too
   ridiculous. Men who found a Sabbatic offence here must have been very
   anxious to catch the disciples of Jesus in a fault.

   On the outlook for faults we have no doubt the Pharisees were; and yet we
   must admit that, in condemning the act referred to, they were acting
   faithfully in accordance with their theoretical views and habitual
   tendencies. Their judgment on the conduct of the twelve was in keeping with
   their traditions concerning washings, and their tithing of mint and other
   garden herbs, and their straining of gnats out of their wine-cup. Their
   habit, in all things, was to degrade God’s law by framing innumerable petty
   rules for its better observance, which, instead of securing that end, only
   made the law appear base and contemptible. In no case was this miserable
   micrology carried greater lengths than in connection with the fourth
   commandment. With a most perverse ingenuity, the most insignificant actions
   were brought within the scope of the prohibition against labor. Even in the
   case put by our Lord, that of an animal fallen into a pit, it was deemed
   lawful to lift it out — so at least those learned in rabbinical lore tell us
   — only when to leave it there till Sabbath was past would involve risk to
   life. When delay was not dangerous, the rule was to give the beast food
   sufficient for the day; and if there was water in the bottom of the pit, to
   place straw and bolsters below it, that it might not be drowned. [130]

   Yet with all their strictness in abstaining from every thing bearing the
   faintest resemblance to work, the Jews were curiously lax in another
   direction. While scrupulously observing the law which prohibited the cooking
   of food on Sabbath, [131] they did not make the holy day by any means a day
   of fasting. On the contrary, they considered it their duty to make the
   Sabbath a day of feasting and good cheer. [132] In fact, it was at a Sabbath
   feast, given by a chief man among the Pharisees, that one of the Sabbath
   miracles was wrought for which Jesus was put upon His defence. At this feast
   were numerous guests, Jesus Himself being one, — invited, it is to be
   feared, with no friendly feelings, but rather in the hope of finding
   something against Him concerning the Sabbatic law. “It came to pass,” we
   read in Luke, “as He (Jesus) went into the house of one of the rulers of the
   Pharisees to eat bread on a Sabbath-day, that they were watching Him. [133]
   They set a trap, and hoped to catch in it Him whom they hated without cause;
   and they got for their pains such searching, humbling table-talk as they had
   probably never heard before. [134] This habit of feasting had grown to a
   great abuse in the days of Augustine, as appears from the description he
   gives of the mode in which contemporary Jews celebrated their weekly
   holiday. “To-day,” he writes, “is the Sabbath, which the Jews at the present
   time keep in loose, luxurious ease, for they occupy their leisure in
   frivolity; and whereas God commanded a Sabbath, they spend it in those
   things which God forbids. Our rest is from evil works, theirs is from good
   works; for it is better to plough than to dance. They rest from good work,
   they rest not from idle work.” [135]

   From the folly and pedantry of scribes and Pharisees we gladly turn to the
   wisdom of Jesus, as revealed in the animated, deep, and yet sublimely simple
   replies made by Him to the various charges of Sabbath-breaking brought
   against Himself and His disciples. Before considering these replies in
   detail, we premise one general remark concerning them all. In none of these
   apologies or defences does Jesus call in question the obligation of the
   Sabbath law. On that point He had no quarrel with His accusers. His argument
   in this instance is entirely different from the line of defence adopted in
   reference to fasting and purifications. In regard to fasting, the position
   He took up was: Fasting is a voluntary matter, and men may fast or not as
   they are disposed. In regard to purification His position was: Ceremonial
   ablutions at best are of secondary moment, being mere types of inward
   purity, and as practised now, lead inevitably to the utter ignoring of
   spiritual purity, and therefore must be neglected by all who are concerned
   for the great interests of morality. But in reference to the alleged
   breaches of the Sabbath, the position Jesus took up was this: These acts
   which you condemn are not transgressions of the law, rightly apprehended, in
   its spirit and principle. The importance of the law was conceded, but the
   pharisaic interpretation of its meaning was rejected. An appeal was made
   from their pedantic code of regulations about Sabbath observance to the
   grand design and principle of the law; and the right was asserted to examine
   all rules in the light of the principle, and to reject or disregard those in
   which the principle had either been mistakenly applied, or, as was for the
   most part the case with the Pharisees, lost sight of altogether.

   The key to all Christ’s teaching on the Sabbath, therefore, lies in His
   conception of the original design of that divine institution. This
   conception we find expressed with epigrammatic point and conciseness, in
   contrast to the pharisaic idea of the Sabbath, in words uttered by Jesus on
   the occasion when He was defending His disciples. “The Sabbath,” said He,
   “was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath.” In other words, His
   doctrine was this: The Sabbath was meant to be a boon to man, not a burden;
   it was not a day taken from man by God in an exacting spirit, but a day
   given by God in mercy to man — God’s holiday to His subjects; all
   legislation enforcing its observance having for its end to insure that all
   should really get the benefit of the boon — that no man should rob himself,
   and still less his fellow-creatures, of the gracious boon.

   This difference between Christ’s mode of regarding the Sabbath and the
   pharisaic involves of necessity a corresponding difference in the spirit and
   the details of its observance. Take Christ’s view, and your principle
   becomes: That is the best way of observing the Sabbath which is most
   conducive to man’s physical and spiritual well-being — in other words, which
   is best for his body and for his soul; and in the light of this principle,
   you will keep the holy day in a spirit of intelligent joy and thankfulness
   to God the Creator for His gracious consideration towards His creatures.
   Take the pharisaic view, and your principle of observance becomes: He best
   keeps the Sabbath who goes greatest lengths in mere abstinence from any
   thing that can be construed into labor, irrespective of the effect of this
   abstinence either on his own well-being or on that of others. In short, we
   land in the silly, senseless minuteness of a rabbinical legislation, which
   sees in such an act as that of the disciples plucking and rubbing the ears
   of corn, or that of the healed man who carried his bed home on his
   shoulders, [136] or that of one who should walk a greater distance than two
   thousand cubits, or three-fourths of a mile, [137] on a Sabbath, a heinous
   offence against the fourth commandment and its Author.

   A Sabbath observance regulated by the principle that the institution was
   made for man’s good, obviously involves two great general uses — rest for
   the body, and worship as the solace of the spirit. We should rest from
   servile labor on the divinely given holiday, and we should lift up our
   hearts in devout thought to Him who made all things at the first, who
   “worketh hitherto,” preserving the creation in being and well-being, and
   whose tender compassion towards sinful men is great, passing knowledge.
   These things are both necessary to man’s true good, and therefore must enter
   as essential elements of a worthy Sabbath observance.

   But, on the other hand, the Sabbath being made for man, the two general
   requirements of rest and worship may not be so pressed that they shall
   become hostile to man’s well-being, and in effect self-destructive, or
   mutually destructive. The rule, “Thou shalt rest,” must not be so applied as
   to exclude all action and all work; for absolute inaction is not rest, and
   entire abstinence from work of every description would often-times be
   detrimental both to private and to public well-being. Room must be left for
   acts of “necessity and mercy;.” and too peremptory as well as too minute
   legislation as to what are and what are not acts of either description must
   be avoided, as these may vary for different persons, times, and
   circumstances, and men may honestly differ in opinion in such details who
   are perfectly loyal to the great broad principles of Sabbath sanctification.
   In like manner, the rule, “Thou shalt worship,” must not be so enforced as
   to make religious duties irksome and burdensome — a mere mechanical, legal
   service; or so as to involve the sacrifice of the other great practical end
   of the Sabbath, viz., rest to the animal nature of man. Nor may men dictate
   to each other as to the means of worship any more than as to the amount; for
   one may find helps to devotion in means which to another would prove a
   hindrance and a distraction.

   It was only in regard to cessation from work that pharisaic legislation and
   practice anent Sabbath observance were carried to superstitious and
   vexatious excess. The Sabbatic mania was a monomania, those affected thereby
   being mad simply on one point, the stringent enforcement of rest. Hence the
   peculiar character of all the charges brought against Christ and His
   disciples, and also of His replies. The offences committed were all works
   deemed unlawful; and the defences all went to show that the works done were
   not contrary to law when the law was interpreted in the light of the
   principle that the Sabbath was made for man. They were works of necessity or
   of mercy, and therefore lawful on the Sabbath-day.

   Jesus drew His proofs of this position from three sources: Scripture
   history, the everyday practice of the Pharisees themselves, and the
   providence of God. In defence of His disciples, He referred to the case of
   David eating the shewbread when he fled to the house of God from the court
   of King Saul, [138] and to the constant practice of the priests in doing
   work for the service of the temple on Sabbath-days, such as offering double
   burnt-offerings, and removing the stale shewbread from the holy place, and
   replacing it by hot loaves. David’s case proved the general principle that
   necessity has no law, hunger justifying his act, as it should also have
   justified the act of the disciples even in pharisaic eyes. The practice of
   the priests showed that work merely as work is not contrary to the law of
   the Sabbath, some works being not only lawful, but incumbent on that day.

   The argument drawn by Jesus from common practice was well fitted to silence
   captious critics, and to suggest the principle by which His own conduct
   could be defended. It was to this effect: “You would lift an ox or an ass
   out of a pit on Sabbath, would you not? Why? To save life? Why then should
   not I heal a sick person for the same reason? Or is a beast’s life of more
   importance than that of a human being? Or again: Would you scruple to loose
   you ox or your ass from the stall on the day of rest, and lead him away to
   watering? [139] If not, why object to me when on the Sabbath-day I release a
   poor human victim from a bondage of eighteen years’ duration, that she may
   draw water out of the wells of salvation?” The argument is irresistible, the
   conclusion inevitable; that it is lawful, dutiful, most seasonable, to do
   well on the Sabbath-day. How blind they must have been to whom so obvious a
   proposition needed to be proved! how oblivious of the fact that love is the
   foundation and fulfilment of all law, and that therefore no particular
   precept could ever be meant to suspend the operation of that divine
   principle!

   The argument from providence used by Jesus on another occasion [140] was
   designed to serve the same purpose with the others, viz., to show the
   lawfulness of certain kinds of work on the day of rest. “My Father worketh
   even until now,” said He to His accusers, “and I work.” The Son claimed the
   right to work because and as the Father worked on all days of the week. The
   Father worked incessantly for beneficent, conservative ends, most holily,
   wisely, and powerfully preserving and governing all His creatures and all
   their actions, keeping the planets in their orbits, causing the sun to rise
   and shine, and the winds to circulate in their courses, and the tides to ebb
   and flow on the seventh day as on all the other six. So Jesus Christ, the
   son of God, claimed the right to work, and did work — saving, restoring,
   healing; as far as might be bringing fallen nature back to its pristine
   state, when God the Creator pronounced all things good, and rested,,
   satisfied with the world He had brought into being. Such works of
   beneficence, by the doctrine of Christ, may always be done on the
   Sabbath-day: works of humanity, like those of the physician, or of the
   teacher of neglected children, or of the philanthropist going his rounds
   among the poor and needy, or of the Christian minister preaching the gospel
   of peace, and many others, of which men filled with love will readily
   bethink themselves, but whereof too many, in the coldness of their heart, do
   not so much as dream. Against such works there is no law save that of
   churlish, ungenial, pharisaic custom.

   One other saying our Lord uttered on the present subject, which carries
   great weight for Christians, though it can have had no apologetic value in
   the opinion of the Pharisees, but must rather have appeared an aggravation
   of the offence it was meant to excuse. We refer to the word, “The Son of man
   is Lord even of the Sabbath-day,” uttered by Jesus on the occasion when He
   defended His disciples against the charge of Sabbath-breaking. This
   statement, remarkable, like the claim made at the same time to be greater
   than the temple, as an assertion of superhuman dignity on the part of the
   meek and lowly One, was not meant as a pretension to the right to break the
   law of rest without cause, or to abrogate it altogether. This is evident
   from Mark’s account, [141] where the words come in as an inference from the
   proposition that the Sabbath was made for man, which could not logically be
   made the foundation for a repeal of the statute, seeing it is the most
   powerful argument for the perpetuity of the weekly rest. Had the Sabbath
   been a mere burdensome restriction imposed on men, we should have expected
   its abrogation from Him who came to redeem men from all sorts of bondage.
   But was the Sabbath made for man — for man’s good? Then should we expect
   Christ’s function to be not that of a repealer, but that of a universal
   philanthropic legislator, making what had previously been the peculiar
   privilege of Israel a common blessing to all mankind. For the Father sent
   His Son into the world to deliver men indeed from the yoke of ordinances,
   but not to cancel any of His gifts, which are all “without repentance,” and,
   once given, can never be withdrawn.

   What, then, does the lordship of Christ over the Sabbath signify? Simply
   this: that an institution which is of the nature of a boon to man properly
   falls under the control of Him who is the King of grace and the
   administrator of divine mercy. He is the best judge how such an institution
   should be observed; and He has a right to see that it shall not be perverted
   from a boon into a burden, and so put in antagonism to the royal imperial
   law of love. The Son of man hath authority to cancel all regulations tending
   in this direction emanating from men, and even all by-laws of the Mosaic
   code savoring of legal rigor, and tending to veil the beneficent design of
   the fourth commandment of the decalogue. [142] He may, in the exercise of
   His mediatorial prerogative, give the old institution a new name, alter the
   day of its celebration, so as to invest it with distinctively Christian
   associations congenial to the hearts of believers, and make it in all the
   details of its observance subservient to the great ends of His incarnation.

   To such effect did the Son of man claim to be Lord of the Sabbath-day; and
   His claim, so understood, was acknowledged by the church, when, following
   the traces of the apostolic usage, she changed the weekly rest from the
   seventh day to the first, [143] that it might commemorate the joyful event
   of the resurrection of the Saviour, which lay nearer the heart of a believer
   than the old event of the creation, and called the first day by His name,
   the Lord’s day. [144] That claim all Christians acknowledge who, looking at
   the day in the light of God’s original design, and of Christ’s teaching,
   example and work, so observe it as to keep the golden mean between the two
   extremes of pharisaic rigor and of Sadducaic laxity: recognizing on the one
   hand the beneficent ends served by the institution, and doing their utmost
   to secure that these ends shall be fully realized, and, on the other hand,
   avoiding the petty scrupulosity of a cheerless legalism, which causes many,
   especially among the young, to stumble at the law as a statute of
   unreasonable arbitrary restriction; avoiding also the bad pharisaic habit of
   indulging in over-confident judgments on difficult points of detail, and on
   the conduct of those who in such points do not think and act as they do
   themselves.

   We may not close this chapter, in which we have been studying the lessons in
   free yet holy living given by our Lord to His disciples, without adding a
   reflection applicable to all the three. By these lessons the twelve were
   taught a virtue very necessary for the apostles of a religion in many
   respects new — the power to bear isolation and its consequences. When Peter
   and John appeared before the Sanhedrim, the rulers marvelled at their
   boldness, till they recognized in them companions of Jesus the Nazarene.
   They seem to have imagined that His followers were fit for any thing
   requiring audacity. They were right. The apostles had strong nerves, and
   were not easily daunted; and the lessons which we have been considering help
   us to understand whence they got their rare moral courage. They had been
   accustomed for years to stand alone, and to disregard the fashion of the
   world, till at length they could do what was right, heedless of human
   criticism, without effort, almost without thought.
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   [128] Deut. xxiii. 24, 25

   [129] Luke xiii. 14

   [130] Buxtorf, De Syn. Jud. pp. 352-356. The same author states that it was
   a breach of the law to let a cock wear a piece of ribbon round its leg on
   Sabbath: it was making it bear something. It was also forbidden to walk
   through a stream on stilts, because, though the stilts appear to bear you,
   you really carry the stilts. These were probably later refinements.

   [131] Ex. xvi. 23.

   [132] They appealed, in justification of this practice, to Neh. viii. 10.

   [133] Luke xiv. 1.

   [134] Luke xiv. 7-24.

   [135] Enarratio in Psalmum xci. (xcii.) 2. Similar complaints were made by
   other Fathers, such as Prudentius and Chrysostom. Vide Bingham, B. xx. c.
   ii.

   [136] John v. 10.

   [137] This was the limit of a Sabbath-day journey according to the scribes.
   It was fixed by the distance between the wall of a Levitical city and the
   outside boundary of its suburb. There were casuistical contrivances for
   lengthening the journey. See Num. xxxv. 5; and Buxtorf, De Syn. Jud. c. xvi.

   [138] 1 Sam. xxi. 6. This occurred on Sabbath, for the old shewbread was
   replaced by new on that day (hot loaves baked on Sabbath). But this is not
   the point insisted on by Christ.

   [139] Luke xiii. 14, 15.

   [140] John v. 17.

   [141] Mark ii. 27, 28.

   [142] The position of the Sabbath in the decalogue (where nothing is placed
   which was of merely Jewish concern, and which was not of fundamental
   importance) is a presumption of perpetuity for every candid mind. The much
   disputed question of the ethical nature of the Sabbath law is not of so
   great moment as has been imagined. Moral or not, the weekly rest is to all
   men, and at all times, of vital importance; therefore practically, if not
   philosophically, of ethical value. The fourth commandment certainly differs
   from the others in this respect, that it is not written on the natural
   conscience. The utmost length reason could go would be to determine that
   rest is needful. Whether rest should be periodical or at irregular
   intervals, on the seventh day or on the tenth, as in revolutionary France,
   with its mania for the decimal system, the light of nature could not teach.
   But the decalogue settles that point, and settles it forever, for all who
   believe in the divine origin of the Mosaic legislation. The fourth
   commandment is a revelation for all time of God’s mind on the universally
   important question of the proper relation between labor and rest.

   [143] How this change was brought about we do not well know. Probably it was
   accomplished by degrees, and without full consciousness of the transition
   which was being made, or of its import. From the beginning believers seem to
   have met for worship on the first day of the week; but there is no evidence
   that they rested entirely from work on that day. In many cases they could
   not have done so if they wished, e.g. in the case of slaves of heathen
   masters. Hence, probably, we account for the church in Troas meeting in the
   evening, and worshipping till midnight. The likelihood is that the first
   Christians rested on the seventh day as the Jews, and as Christians
   worshipped on the morning or evening of the first day, before or after their
   daily toil. In course of time, as Jewish believers became more weaned from
   Judaism, the Gentile worshippers multiplied, so as to have a preponderating
   influence on the customs of the church, the seventh-day rest would
   disappear, and the first-day rest, the Lord’s day, would take its place. To
   prevent misapprehension, it is necessary to explain that the seventh day
   continued to be observed as a fast-day or a festival, with religious
   services, long after it had ceased to be regarded as a day on which men
   ought entirely to rest from labor. Vide on this, Bingham, Origines
   Ecclesiasticæ, B. xx. c. iii.

   [144] In Greek kuriakē hēmera, or simply hē kuriakē: in Latin Dies
   Dominicus. Thus in Tertullian, De Corona, iii., “Die Dominico jejunium nefas
   ducimus.”
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8. FIRST ATTEMPTS AT EVANGELISM
     _________________________________________________________________

  SECTION I. THE MISSION

    Matt. 10; Mark 6:7–13, 30–32; Luke 9:1–11.

   The twelve are now to come before us as active agents in advancing the
   kingdom of God. Having been for some time in Christ’s company, witnessing
   His miraculous works, hearing His doctrine concerning the kingdom, and
   learning how to pray and how to live, they were at length sent forth to
   evangelize the towns and villages of their native province, and to heal the
   sick in their Master’s name, and by His power. This mission of the disciples
   as evangelists or miniature apostles was partly, without doubt, an
   educational experiment for their own benefit; but its direct design was to
   meet the spiritual necessities of the people, whose neglected condition lay
   heavy on Christ’s heart. The compassionate Son of man, in the course of His
   wanderings, had observed how the masses of the population were, like a
   shepherdless flock of sheep, scattered and torn, [145] and it was His desire
   that all should know that a good Shepherd had come to care for the lost
   sheep of the house of Israel. The multitudes were ready enough to welcome
   the good news; the difficulty was to meet the pressing demand of the hour.
   The harvest, the grain, ready for reaping, was plenteous, but the laborers
   were few. [146]

   In connection with this mission four things call for special notice: The
   sphere assigned for the work, the nature of the work, the instructions for
   carrying it on, the results of the mission, and the return of the
   missionaries. These points we shall consider in their order, except that,
   for convenience, we shall reserve Christ’s instructions to His disciples for
   the last place, and give them a section to themselves.

   I. The sphere of the mission, as described in general terms, was the whole
   land of Israel. “Go,” said Jesus to the twelve, “to the lost sheep of the
   house of Israel;.” and further on, in Matthew’s narrative, He speaks to them
   as if the plan of the mission involved a visit to all the cities of Israel.
   [147] Practically, however, the operations of the disciples seem to have
   been restricted to their native province of Galilee, and even within its
   narrow limits to have been carried on rather among the villages and hamlets,
   than in considerable towns or cities like Tiberias. The former of these
   statements is supported by the fact that the doings of the disciples
   attracted the attention of Herod the tetrarch of Galilee, [148] which
   implies that they took place in his neighborhood; [149] while the latter is
   proved by the words of the third evangelist in giving a summary account of
   the mission: “They departed and went through the villages (towns, Eng.
   Ver.), preaching the gospel, and healing everywhere.” [150]

   While the apprentice missionaries were permitted by their instructions to go
   to any of the lost sheep of Israel, to all if practicable, they were
   expressly forbidden to extend their labors beyond these limits. They were
   not to go into the way of the Gentiles, nor enter into any city or town of
   the Samaritans. [151] This prohibition arose in part out of the general plan
   which Christ had formed for founding the kingdom of God on the earth. His
   ultimate aim was the conquest of the world; but in order to do that, He
   deemed it necessary first to secure a strong base of operations in the Holy
   Land and among the chosen people. Therefore He ever regarded Himself
   personally as a Messenger of God to the Jewish nation, seriously giving that
   as a reason why He should not work among the heathen, [152] and departing
   occasionally from the rule only in order to supply in His own ministry
   prophetic intimations of an approaching time when Jew and Samaritan and
   Gentile should be united on equal terms in one divine commonwealth. [153]
   But the principal reason of the prohibition lay in the present spiritual
   condition of the disciples themselves. The time would come when Jesus might
   say to His chosen ones, “Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to
   every creature;.” [154] but that time was not yet. The twelve, at the period
   of their first trial mission, were not fit to preach the gospel, or to do
   good works, either among Samaritans or Gentiles. Their hearts were too
   narrow, their prejudices too strong: there was too much of the Jew, too
   little of the Christian, in their character. For the catholic work of the
   apostleship they needed a new divine illumination and a copious baptism with
   the benignant spirit of love. Suppose these raw evangelists had gone into a
   Samaritan village, what would have happened? In all probability they would
   have been drawn into disputes on the religious differences between
   Samaritans and Jews, in which, of course, they would have lost their temper;
   so that, instead of seeking the salvation of the people among whom they had
   come, they would rather be in a mood to call down fire from heaven to
   consume them, as they actually proposed to do at a subsequent period. [155]

   2. The work intrusted to the twelve was in one department very extensive,
   and in the other very limited. They were endowed with unlimited powers of
   healing, but their commission was very restricted so far as preaching was
   concerned. In regard to the former their instructions were: “Heal the sick,
   cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils: freely ye have
   received, freely give;.” in regard to the latter: “As ye go, preach, saying,
   The kingdom of heaven is at hand.” [156] The commission in the one case
   seems too wide, in the other too narrow; but in both the wisdom of Jesus is
   apparent to a deeper consideration. In so far as miraculous works were
   concerned, there was no need for restriction, unless it were to avoid the
   risk of producing elation and vanity in those who wielded such wonderful
   power — a risk which was certainly not imaginary, but which could be
   remedied when it assumed tangible form. All the miracles wrought by the
   twelve were really wrought by Jesus Himself, their sole function consisting
   in making a believing use of His name. This seems to have been perfectly
   understood by all; for the works done by the apostles did not lead the
   people of Galilee to wonder who they were, but only who and what He was in
   whose name all these things were done. [157] Therefore, it being Christ’s
   will that such miracles should be wrought through the instrumentality of His
   disciples, it was just as easy for them to do the greatest works as to do
   the smaller; if, indeed, there be any sense in speaking of degrees of
   difficulty in connection with miracles, which is more than doubtful.

   As regards the preaching, on the other hand, there was not only reason, but
   necessity, for restriction. The disciples could do no more than proclaim the
   fact that the kingdom was at hand, and bid men everywhere repent, by way of
   a preparation for its advent. This was really all they knew themselves. They
   did not as yet understand, in the least degree, the doctrine of the cross;
   they did not even know the nature of the kingdom. They had, indeed, heard
   their Master discourse profoundly thereon, but they had not comprehended his
   words. Their ideas respecting the coming kingdom were nearly as crude and
   carnal as were those of other Jews, who looked for the restoration of
   Israel’s political independence and temporal prosperity as in the glorious
   days of old. In one point only were they in advance of current notions. They
   had learned from John and from Jesus that repentance was necessary in order
   to citizenship in this kingdom. In all other respects they and their hearers
   were pretty much on a level. Far from wondering, therefore, that the
   preaching programme of the disciples was so limited, we are rather tempted
   to wonder how Christ could trust them to open their mouths at all, even on
   the one topic of the kingdom. Was there not a danger that men with such
   crude ideas might foster delusive hopes, and give rise to political
   excitement? Nay, may we not discover actual traces of such excitement in the
   notice taken of their movements at Herod’s court, and in the proposal of the
   multitude not long after, to take Jesus by force to make Him a king? [158]
   Doubtless there was danger in this direction; and therefore, while He could
   not, to avoid it, leave the poor perishing people uncared for, Jesus took
   all possible precautions to obviate mischief as far as might be, by in
   effect prohibiting His messengers from entering into detail on the subject
   of the kingdom, and by putting a sound form of words into their mouths. They
   were instructed to announce the kingdom as a kingdom of heaven; [159] a
   thing which some might deem a lovely vision, but which all worldly men would
   guess to be quite another thing from what they desired. A kingdom of heaven!
   What was that to them? What they wanted was a kingdom of earth, in which
   they might live peaceably and happily under just government, and, above all,
   with plenty to eat and drink. A kingdom of heaven! That was only for such as
   had no earthly hope; a refuge from despair, a melancholy consolation in
   absence of any better comfort. Even so, ye worldlings! Only for such as ye
   deem miserable was the message meant. To the poor the kingdom was to be
   preached. To the laboring and heavy laden was the invitation “Come to me”
   addressed, and the promise of rest made; of rest from ambition and
   discontent, and scheming, carking care, in the blessed hope of the supernal
   and the eternal.

   3. The impression produced by the labors of the twelve seems to have been
   very considerable. The fame of their doings, as already remarked, reached
   the ears of Herod, and great crowds appear to have accompanied them as they
   moved from place to place. On their return, e.g. from the mission to rejoin
   the company of their Master, they were thronged by an eager, admiring
   multitude who had witnessed or experienced the benefits of their work, so
   that it was necessary for them to withdraw into a desert place in order to
   obtain a quiet interval of rest. “There were many,” the second evangelist
   informs us, “coming and going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat.
   And they departed unto a desert place by ship privately.” [160] Even in the
   desert solitudes on the eastern shore of the Sea of Galilee they failed to
   secure the desired privacy. “The people saw them departing, and ran afoot
   thither (round the end of the sea) out of all cities, and outwent them, and
   came together unto Him.” [161]

   In quality the results of the mission appear to have been much less
   satisfactory than in their extent. The religious impressions produced seem
   to have been in a great measure superficial and evanescent. There were many
   blossoms, so to speak, on the apple-tree in the springtide of this Galilean
   “revival;.” but only a comparatively small number of them set in fruit,
   while of these a still smaller number ever reached the stage of ripe fruit.
   This we learn from what took place shortly after, in connection with
   Christ’s discourse on the bread of life, in the synagogue of Capernaum. Then
   the same men who, after the miraculous feeding in the desert, would have
   made Christ a king, deserted Him in a body, scandalized by His mysterious
   doctrine; and those who did this were, for the most part, just the men who
   had listened to the twelve while they preached repentance. [162]

   Such an issue to a benevolent undertaking must have been deeply
   disappointing to the heart of Jesus. Yet it is remarkable that the
   comparative abortiveness of the first evangelistic movement did not prevent
   Him from repeating the experiment some time after on a still more extensive
   scale. “After these things,” writes the third evangelist, “the Lord
   appointed other seventy also, and sent them two and two before His face,
   into every city and place whither He Himself would come.” [163] The Tübingen
   school of critics, indeed, as we have already indicated, [164] assure us
   that this mission had no existence, being a pure invention of the third
   evangelist, intended to thrust into the shade the mission of the twelve, and
   to exhibit the Christian religion as a religion for humanity, represented by
   the Samaritans as the recipients, and by the seventy as the preachers of the
   faith, the number corresponding to the number of the nations. The theory is
   not devoid of plausibility, and it must be owned the history of this mission
   is very obscure; but the assumption of invention is violent, and we may
   safely take for granted that Luke’s narrative rests on an authentic
   tradition. The motive of this second mission was the same as in the case of
   the first, as were also the instructions to the missionaries. Jesus still
   felt deep compassion for the perishing multitude, and hoping against hope,
   made a new attempt to save the lost sheep. He would have all men called at
   least to the fellowship of the kingdom, even though few should be chosen to
   it. And when the immediate results were promising He was gratified, albeit
   knowing, from past experience as well as by divine insight, that the faith
   and repentance of many were only too likely to be evanescent as the early
   dew. When the seventy returned from their mission, and reported their great
   success, He hailed it as an omen of the downfall of Satan’s kingdom, and,
   rejoicing in spirit, gave thanks to the Supreme Ruler in heaven and earth,
   His Father, that while the things of the kingdom were hid from the wise and
   the prudent, the people of intelligence and discretion, they were by His
   grace revealed unto babes — the rude, the poor, the ignorant. [165]

   The reference in the thanksgiving prayer of Jesus to the “wise and
   prudent” suggests the thought that these evangelistic efforts were regarded
   with disfavor by the refined, fastidious classes of Jewish religious
   society. This is in itself probable. There are always men in the church,
   intelligent, wise, and even good, to whom popular religious movements are
   distasteful. The noise, the excitement, the extravagances, the delusions,
   the misdirection of zeal, the rudeness of the agents, the instability of the
   converts — all these things offend them. The same class of minds would have
   taken offence at the evangelistic work of the twelve and the seventy, for
   undoubtedly it was accompanied with the same drawbacks. The agents were
   ignorant; they had few ideas in their heads; they understand little of
   divine truth; their sole qualification was, that they were earnest and could
   preach repentance well. Doubtless, also, there was plenty of noise and
   excitement among the multitudes who heard them preach; and we certainly know
   that their zeal was both ill-informed and short-lived. These things, in
   fact, are standing features of all popular movements. Jonathan Edwards,
   speaking with reference to the “revival” of religion which took place in
   America in his day, says truly: “A great deal of noise and tumult, confusion
   and uproar, darkness mixed with light, and evil with good, is always to be
   expected in the beginning of something very glorious in the state of things
   in human society or the church of God. After nature has long been shut up in
   a cold, dead state, when the sun returns in the spring, there is, together
   with the increase of the light and heat of the sun, very tempestuous weather
   before all is settled, calm, and serene, and all nature rejoices in its
   bloom and beauty.” [166]

   None of the “wise and prudent” knew half so well as Jesus what evil would be
   mixed with the good in the work of the kingdom. But He was not so easily
   offended as they. The Friend of sinners was ever like Himself. He
   sympathized with the multitude, and could not, like the Pharisees,
   contentedly resign them to a permanent condition of ignorance and depravity.
   He rejoiced greatly over even one lost sheep restored; and He was, one might
   say overjoyed, when not one, but a whole flock, even began to return to the
   fold. It pleased Him to see men repenting even for a season, and pressing
   into the kingdom even rudely and violently; [167] for His love was strong,
   and where strong love is, even wisdom and refinement will not be fastidious.

   Before passing from this topic, let us observe that there is another class
   of Christians, quite distinct from the wise and prudent, in whose eyes such
   evangelistic labors as those of the twelve stand in no need of vindication.
   Their tendency, on the contrary, is to regard such labors as the whole work
   of the kingdom. Revival of religion among the neglected masses is for them
   the sum of all good-doing. Of the more still, less observable work of
   instruction going on in the church they take no account. Where there is no
   obvious excitement, the church in their view is dead, and her ministry
   inefficient. Such need to be reminded that there were two religious
   movements going on in the days of the Lord Jesus. One consisted in rousing
   the mass out of the stupor of indifference; the other consisted in the
   careful, exact training of men already in earnest, in the principles and
   truths of the divine kingdom. Of the one movement the disciples, that is,
   both the twelve and the seventy, were the agents; of the other movement they
   were the subjects. And the latter movement, though less noticeable, and much
   more limited in extent, was by far more important than the former; for it
   was destined to bring forth fruit that should remain — to tell not merely on
   the present time, but on the whole history of the world. The deep truths
   which the great Teacher was now quietly and unobservedly, as in the dark,
   instilling into the minds of a select band, the recipients of His
   confidential teaching were to speak in the broad daylight ere long; and the
   sound of their voice would not stop till it had gone through all the earth.
   There would have been a poor outlook for the kingdom of heaven if Christ had
   neglected this work, and given Himself up entirely to vague evangelism among
   the masses.

   4. When the twelve had finished their mission, they returned and told their
   Master all that they had done and taught. Of their report, or of His remarks
   thereon, no details are recorded. Such details we do find, however, in
   connection with the later mission of the seventy. “The seventy,” we read,
   “returned again with joy, saying, Lord, even the devils are subject unto us
   through Thy name.” [168] The same evangelist from whom these words are
   quoted, informs us that, after congratulating the disciples on their
   success, and expressing His own satisfaction with the facts reported, Jesus
   spoke to them the warning word: “Notwithstanding in this rejoice not, that
   the spirits are subject unto you; but rather rejoice because your names are
   written in heaven.” [169] It was a timely caution against elation and
   vanity. It is very probable that a similar word of caution was addressed to
   the twelve also after their return. Such a word would certainly not have
   been unseasonable in their case. They had been engaged in the same exciting
   work, they had wielded the same miraculous powers, they had been equally
   successful, they were equally immature in character, and therefore it was
   equally difficult for them to bear success. It is most likely, therefore,
   that when Jesus said to them on their return, “Come ye yourselves apart into
   a desert place, and rest awhile,” [170] He was not caring for their bodies
   alone, but was prudently seeking to provide repose for their heated minds as
   well as for their jaded frames.

   The admonition to the seventy is indeed a word in season to all who are very
   zealous in the work of evangelism, especially such as are crude in knowledge
   and grace. It hints at the possibility of their own spiritual health being
   injured by their very zeal in seeking the salvation of others. This may
   happen in many ways. Success may make the evangelists vain, and they may
   begin to sacrifice unto their own net. They may fall under the dominion of
   the devil through their very joy that he is subject unto them. They may
   despise those who have been less successful, or denounce them as deficient
   in zeal. The eminent American divine already quoted gives a lamentable
   account of the pride, presumption, arrogance, conceit, and censoriousness
   which characterized many of the more active promoters of religious revival
   in his day. [171] Once more, they may fall into carnal security respecting
   their own spiritual state, deeming it impossible that any thing can go wrong
   with those who are so devoted, and whom God has so greatly owned. An obvious
   as well as dangerous mistake; for doubtless Judas took part in this Galilean
   mission, and, for aught we know to the contrary, was as successful as his
   fellow-disciples in casting out devils. Graceless men may for a season be
   employed as agents in promoting the work of grace in the hearts of others.
   Usefulness does not necessarily imply goodness, according to the teaching of
   Christ Himself. “Many,” He declares in the Sermon on the Mount, “will say
   unto me on that day, Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy by Thy name, and by Thy
   name cast out devils, and by Thy name do many wonderful works?” And mark the
   answer which He says He will give such. It is not: I call in question the
   correctness of your statement — that is tacitly admitted; it is: “I never
   knew you; depart from me, ye that work iniquity.” [172]

   These solemn words suggest the need of watchfulness and self-examination;
   but they are not designed to discourage or discountenance zeal. We must not
   interpret them as if they meant, “Never mind doing good, only be good;.” or,
   “Care not for the salvation of others: look to your own salvation.” Jesus
   Christ did not teach a listless or a selfish religion. He inculcated on His
   disciples a large-hearted generous concern for the spiritual well-being of
   men. To foster such a spirit He sent the twelve on this trial mission, even
   when they were comparatively unfitted for the work, and notwithstanding the
   risk of spiritual harm to which it exposed them. At all hazards He would
   have His apostles be filled with enthusiasm for the advancement of the
   kingdom; only taking due care, when the vices to which young enthusiasts are
   liable began to appear, to check them by a warning word and a timely retreat
   into solitude.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [145] eskulmenoi, Matt. ix. 36, the reading preferred by critics = flayed,
   harassed. The idea suggested is that of sheep whose fleeces are torn by
   thorns.

   [146] Matt. ix. 37.

   [147] Matt. x. 6, 23.

   [148] Mark vi. 14; Luke ix. 7.

   [149] Herod resided at Tiberias.

   [150] Luke ix. 6, kata tas kōmas = “villages,” R. V.

   [151] Matt. x. 5.

   [152] Matt. xv. 24.

   [153] John iv. 7-24

   [154] Mark xvi. 15.

   [155] Luke ix. 54. Some have imagined that the restriction proceeded from
   the limitation of Christ’s own aims. but had His aim been as limited as is
   supposed, there would have been no mention of restrictions, and no need for
   them, for the disciples would never have thought of going among the
   Samaritans or Gentiles to preach and heal.

   [156] Matt. x. 7, 8.

   [157] Mark vi. 14, “His name was spread abroad” (phaneron egeneto).

   [158] John vi. 15.

   [159] This is the name usually given to the kingdom in Matthew, as distinct
   from the other evangelists, who employ the title “kingdom of God.” It is a
   curious fact that the most Hebrew Gospel should thus use the most spiritual
   designation for the kingdom.

   [160] Mark vi. 31, 32.

   [161] Mark vi. 33.

   [162] Compare Mark vi. 30-35 with John vi. 22-25.

   [163] Luke x. 1.

   [164] Vide note, p. 32.

   [165] Luke x. 17-21.

   [166] Thoughts on Revival, Part o. sec. iii.

   [167] Matt. xi. 12.

   [168] Luke x. 17.

   [169] Luke x. 20.

   [170] Mark vi. 31.

   [171] Thoughts on Revival, Part iv.

   [172] Matt. vii. 22. See, for views similar to those above stated,
   Edwards’ Thoughts on Revival, Part ii. sec. ii.
     _________________________________________________________________

  SECTION II. THE INSTRUCTIONS

   The instructions given by Jesus to the twelve in sending them forth on their
   first mission, are obviously divisible into two parts. The first, shorter
   part, common to the narratives of all the three first evangelists, relates
   to the present; the second and much the longer part, peculiar to Matthew’s
   narrative, relates mainly to the distant future. In the former, Christ tells
   His disciples what to do now in their apprentice apostleship; in the latter,
   what they must do and endure when they have become apostles on the great
   scale, preaching the gospel, not to Jews only, but to all nations.

   It has been doubted whether the discourse included in the second part of the
   apostolic or missionary instructions, as given by Matthew, was really
   uttered by Jesus on this occasion. Stress has been laid by those who take
   the negative view of this question on the facts that the first evangelist
   alone gives the discourse in connection with the trial mission, and that the
   larger portion of its contents are given by the other evangelists in other
   connections. Reference has also been made, in support of this view, to the
   statement made by Jesus to His disciples, in His farewell address to them
   before the crucifixion, that He had not till then spoken to them of coming
   persecutions, and for this reason, that while He was with them it was
   unnecessary. [173] Finally, it has been deemed unlikely that Jesus would
   frighten His inexperienced disciples by alluding to dangers not imminent at
   the time of their mission in Galilee. These doubts, in view of the topical
   method of grouping his materials undoubtedly followed by Matthew, are
   legitimate, but they are not conclusive. It was natural that Jesus should
   signalize the first missionary enterprise of the twelve chosen men by some
   such discourse as Matthew records, setting forth the duties, perils,
   encouragements, and rewards of the apostolic vocation. It was His way, on
   solemn occasions, to speak as a prophet who in the present saw the future,
   and from small beginnings looked forward to great ultimate issues. And this
   Galilean mission, though humble and limited compared with the great
   undertaking of after years, was really a solemn event. It was the beginning
   of that vast work for which the twelve had been chosen, which embraced the
   world in its scope, and aimed at setting up on earth the kingdom of God. If
   the Sermon on the Mount was appropriately delivered on the occasion when the
   apostolic company was formed, this discourse on the apostolic vocation was
   not less appropriate when the members of that company first put their hands
   to the work unto which they had been called. Even the allusions to distant
   dangers contained in the discourse appear on reflection natural and
   seasonable, and calculated to re-assure rather than to frighten the
   disciples. It must be remembered that the execution of the Baptist had
   recently occurred, and that the twelve were about to commence their
   missionary labors within the dominions of the tyrant by whose command the
   barbarous murder had been committed. Doubtless these humble men who were to
   take up and repeat the Baptist’s message, “Repent,” ran no present risk of
   his fate; but it was natural that they should fear, and it was also natural
   that their Master should think of their future when such fears would be any
   thing but imaginary; and on both accounts it was seasonable to say to them
   in effect: Dangers are coming, but fear not.

   Such, in substance, is the burden of the second part of Christ’s
   instructions to the twelve. Of the first part, on the other hand, the burden
   is, Care not. These two words, Care not, Fear not, are the soul and marrow
   of all that was said by way of prelude to the first missionary enterprise,
   and we may add, to all which might follow. For here Jesus speaks to all ages
   and to all times, telling the Church in what spirit all her missionary
   enterprises must be undertaken and carried on, that they may have His
   blessing.

   I. The duty of entering on their mission without carefulness, relying on
   Providence for the necessaries of life, was inculcated on the twelve by
   their Master in very strong and lively terms. They were instructed to
   procure nothing for the journey, but just to go as they were. They must
   provide neither gold nor silver, nor even so much as brass coin in their
   purses, no scrip or wallet to carry food, no change of raiment; not even
   sandals for their feet, or a staff for their hands. If they had the
   last-mentioned articles, good and well; if not, they could do without them.
   They might go on their errand of love barefooted, and without the aid even
   of a staff to help them on their weary way, having their feet shod only with
   the preparation of the gospel of peace, and leaning their weight upon God’s
   words of promise, “As thy days, so shall thy strength be.” [174]

   In these directions for the way, it is the spirit, and not the mere letter,
   which is of intrinsic and permanent value. The truth of this statement is
   evident from the very variations of the evangelists in reporting Christ’s
   words. One, for example (Mark), makes Him say to His disciples in effect:
   “If you have a staff in your hand, and sandals on your feet, and one coat on
   your back, let that suffice.” Another (Matthew) represents Jesus as saying:
   “Provide nothing for this journey, neither coat, shoes, nor staff.” [175] In
   spirit the two versions come to the same thing; but if we insist on the
   letter of the injunctions with legal strictness, there is an obvious
   contradiction between them. What Jesus meant to say, in whatever form of
   language He expressed Himself, was this: Go at once, and go as you are, and
   trouble not yourselves about food or raiment, or any bodily want; trust in
   God for these. His instructions proceeded on the principle of division of
   labor, assigning to the servants of the kingdom military duty, and to God
   the commissariat department.

   So understood, the words of our Lord are of permanent validity, and to be
   kept in mind by all who would serve Him in His kingdom. And though the
   circumstances of the church have greatly altered since these words were
   first spoken, they have not been lost sight of. Many a minister and
   missionary has obeyed those instructions almost in their letter, and many
   more have kept them in their spirit. Nay, has not every poor student
   fulfilled these injunctions, who has gone forth from the humble roof of his
   parents to be trained for the ministry of the gospel, without money in his
   pocket either to buy food or to pay fees, only with simple faith and
   youthful hope in his heart, knowing as little how he is to find his way to
   the pastoral office, as Abraham knew how to find his way to the promised
   land when he left his native abode, but, with Abraham, trusting that He who
   said to him, “Leave thy father’s house,” will be his guide, his shield, and
   his provider? And if those who thus started on their career do at length
   arrive at a wealthy place, in which their wants are abundantly supplied,
   what is that but an indorsement by Providence of the law enunciated by the
   Master: “The workman is worthy of his meat”? [176]

   The directions given to the twelve with respect to temporalities, in
   connection with their first mission, were meant to be an education for their
   future work. On entering on the duties of the apostolate, they should have
   to live literally by faith, and Jesus mercifully sought to inure them to the
   habit while He was with them on earth. Therefore, in sending them out to
   preach in Galilee, He said to them in effect: “Go and learn to seek the
   kingdom of God with a single heart, unconcerned about food or raiment; for
   till ye can do that ye are not fit to be my apostles.” They had indeed been
   learning to do that ever since they began to follow Him; for those who
   belonged to His company literally lived from day to day, taking no thought
   for the morrow. But there was a difference between their past state and that
   on which they were about to enter. Hitherto Jesus had been with them; now
   they were to be left for a season to themselves. Hitherto they had been like
   young children in a family under the care of their parents, or like young
   birds in a nest sheltered by their mother’s wing, and needing only to open
   their mouths wide in order to get them filled; now they were to become like
   boys leaving their father’s house to serve an apprenticeship, or like
   fledglings leaving the warm nest in which they were nursed, to exercise
   their wings and seek food for themselves.

   While requiring His disciples to walk by faith, Jesus gave their faith
   something to rest on, by encouraging them to hope that what they provided
   not for themselves God would provide for them through the instrumentality of
   His people. “Into whatsoever city or town ye shall enter, inquire who in it
   is worthy, and there abide till ye go thence.” [177] He took for granted, we
   observe, that there would always be found at every place at least one good
   man with a warm heart, who would welcome the messengers of the kingdom to
   his house and table for the pure love of God and of the truth. Surely no
   unreasonable assumption! It were a wretched hamlet, not to say town, that
   had not a single worthy person in it. Even wicked Sodom had a Lot within its
   walls who could entertain angels unawares.

   To insure good treatment of His servants in all ages wherever the gospel
   might be preached, Jesus made it known that He put a high premium on all
   acts of kindness done towards them. This advertisement we find at the close
   of the address delivered to the twelve at this time: “He that receiveth
   you,” He said to them, “receiveth me; and he that receiveth me, receiveth
   Him that sent me. He that receiveth a prophet in the name of a prophet,
   shall receive a prophet’s reward; and he that receiveth a righteous man in
   the name of a righteous man, shall receive a righteous man’s reward.” And
   then, with increased pathos and solemnity, He added: “Whosoever shall give
   to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water only in the name
   of a disciple, verily I say unto you, he shall in no wise lose his
   reward.” [178] How easy to go forth into Galilee, yea, into all the world,
   serving such a sympathetic Master on such terms!

   But while thus encouraging the young evangelists, Jesus did not allow them
   to go away with the idea that all things would be pleasant in their
   experience. He gave them to understand that they should be ill received as
   well as kindly received. They should meet with churls who would refuse them
   hospitality, and with stupid, careless people who would reject their
   message; but even in such cases, He assured them, they should not be without
   consolation. If their peaceful salutation were not reciprocated, they should
   at all events get the benefit of their own spirit of good-will: their peace
   would return to themselves. If their words were not welcomed by any to whom
   they preached, they should at least be free from blame; they might shake off
   the dust from their feet, and say: “Your blood be upon your own heads, we
   are clean; we leave you to your doom, and go elsewhere.” [179] Solemn words,
   not to be uttered, as they are too apt to be, especially by young and
   inexperienced disciples, in pride, impatience, or anger, but humbly, calmly,
   deliberately, as a part of God’s message to men. When uttered in any other
   spirit, it is a sign that the preacher has been as much to blame as the
   hearer for the rejection of his message. Few have any right to utter such
   words at all; for it requires rare preaching indeed to make the fault of
   unbelieving hearers so great that it shall be more tolerable for Sodom and
   Gomorrah in the day of judgment than for them. But such preaching has been.
   Christ’s own preaching was such, and hence the fearful doom He pronounced on
   those who rejected His words. Such also the preaching of the apostles was to
   be; and therefore to uphold their authority, Jesus solemnly declared that
   the penalty for despising their word would be not less than for neglecting
   His own. [180]

   2. The remaining instructions, referring to the future rather than to the
   present, while much more copious, do not call for lengthened explanation.
   The burden of them all, as we have said, is “Fear not.” This exhortation,
   like the refrain of a song, is repeated again and again in the course of the
   address. [181] From that fact the twelve might have inferred that their
   future lot was to be of a kind fitted to inspire fear. But Jesus did not
   leave them to learn this by inference; He told them of it plainly.
   “Behold,” He said, with the whole history of the church in His view,
   “Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves.” Then He went on
   to explain in detail, and with appalling vividness, the various forms of
   danger which awaited the messengers of truth; how they should be delivered
   up to councils, scourged in synagogues, brought before governors and kings
   (like Felix, Festus, Herod), and hated of all for His name’s sake. [182] He
   explained to them, at the same time, that this strange treatment was
   inevitable in the nature of things, being the necessary consequence of
   divine truth acting in the world like a chemical solvent, and separating men
   into parties, according to the spirit which ruled in them. The truth would
   divide even members of the same family, and make them bitterly hostile to
   each other; [183] and however deplorable the result might be, it was one for
   which there was no remedy. Offences must come: “Think not,” He said to His
   disciples, horrified at the dark picture, and perhaps secretly hoping that
   their Master had painted it in too sombre colors, “Think not that I am come
   to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword. For I am come
   to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her
   mother, and the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. And a man’s foes
   shall be they of his own household.” [184]

   Amid such dangers two virtues are specially needful — caution and fidelity;
   the one, that God’s servants may not be cut off prematurely or
   unnecessarily, the other, that while they live, they may really do God’s
   work, and fight for the truth. In such times Christ’s disciples must not
   fear, but be brave and true; and yet, while fearless, they must not be
   foolhardy. These qualities it is not easy to combine; for conscientious men
   are apt to be rash, and prudent men are apt to be unfaithful. Yet the
   combination is not impossible, else it would not be required, as it is in
   this discourse. For it was just the importance of cultivating the apparently
   incompatible virtues of caution and fidelity that Jesus meant to teach by
   the remarkable proverb-precept: “Be wise as serpents, harmless as doves.”
   [185] The serpent is the emblem of cunning, the dove of simplicity. No
   creatures can be more unlike; yet Jesus requires of His disciples to be at
   once serpents in cautiousness, and doves in simplicity of aim and purity of
   heart. Happy they who can be both; but if we cannot, let us at least be
   doves. The dove must come before the serpent in our esteem, and in the
   development of our character. This order is observable in the history of all
   true disciples. They begin with spotless sincerity; and after being betrayed
   by a generous enthusiasm into some acts of rashness, they learn betimes the
   serpent’s virtues. If we invert the order, as too many do, and begin by
   being prudent and judicious to admiration, the effect will be that the
   higher virtue will not only be postponed, but sacrificed. The dove will be
   devoured by the serpent: the cause of truth and righteousness will be
   betrayed out of a base regard to self-preservation and worldly advantage.

   On hearing a general maxim of morals announced, one naturally wishes to know
   how it applies to particular cases. Christ met this wish in connection with
   the deep, pregnant maxim, “Be wise as serpents, harmless as doves,” by
   giving examples of its application. The first case supposed is that of the
   messengers of truth being brought up before civil or ecclesiastical
   tribunals to answer for themselves. Here the dictate of wisdom is, “Beware
   of men,” [186] “Do not be so simple as to imagine all men good, honest,
   fair, tolerant. Remember there are wolves in the world — men full of malice,
   falsehood, and unscrupulousness, capable of inventing the most atrocious
   charges against you, and of supporting them by the most unblushing
   mendacity. Keep out of their clutches if you can; and when you fall into
   their hands, expect neither candor, justice, nor generosity.” But how are
   such men to be answered? Must craft be met with craft, lies with lies? No;
   here is the place for the simplicity of the dove. Cunning and craft boot not
   at such an hour; safety lies in trusting to Heaven’s guidance, and telling
   the truth. “When they deliver you up, take no (anxious) thought how or what
   ye shall speak; for it shall be given you in that same hour what ye shall
   speak. For it is not ye that speak, but the Spirit of your Father which
   speaketh in you.” [187] The counsel given to the apostles has been justified
   by experience. What a noble book the speeches uttered by confessors of the
   truth under the inspiration of the Divine Spirit, collected together, would
   make! It would be a sort of Martyrs’ Bible.

   Jesus next puts the case of the heralds of His gospel being exposed to
   popular persecutions, and shows the bearing of the maxim upon it likewise.
   Such persecutions, as distinct from judicial proceedings, were common in
   apostolic experience, and they are a matter of course in all critical eras.
   The ignorant, superstitious populace, filled with prejudice and passion, and
   instigated by designing men, play the part of obstructives to the cause of
   truth, mobbing, mocking, and assaulting the messengers of God. How, then,
   are the subjects of this ill-treatment to act? On the one hand, they are to
   show the wisdom of the serpent by avoiding the storm of popular ill-will
   when it arises; and on the other hand, they are to exhibit the simplicity of
   the dove by giving the utmost publicity to their message, though conscious
   of the risk they run. “When they persecute you in this city, flee ye into
   the next;.” [188] yet, undaunted by clamor, calumny, violence, “what I tell
   you in darkness, that speak ye in light; what ye hear in the ear, that
   preach ye upon the house-tops.” [189]

   To each of these injunctions a reason is annexed. Flight is justified by the
   remark, “Verily I say unto you, Ye shall not have gone over the cities of
   Israel till the Son of man be come.” [190] The coming alluded to is the
   destruction of Jerusalem and the dispersion of the Jewish nation; and the
   meaning is, that the apostles would barely have time, before the catastrophe
   came, to go over all the land, warning the people to save themselves from
   the doom of an untoward generation, so that they could not well afford to
   tarry in any locality after its inhabitants had heard and rejected the
   message. The souls of all were alike precious; and if one city did not
   receive the word, perhaps another would. [191] The reason annexed to the
   injunction to give the utmost publicity to the truth, in spite of all
   possible dangers, is: “The disciple is not above his master, nor the servant
   above his lord.” [192] That is to say: To be evil entreated by the ignorant
   and violent multitude is hard to bear, but not harder for you than for me,
   who already, as ye know, have had experience of popular malice at Nazareth,
   and am destined, as ye know not, to have yet more bitter experience of it at
   Jerusalem. Therefore see that ye hide not your light under a bushel to
   escape the rage of wolfish men.

   The disciples are supposed, lastly, to be in peril not merely of trial,
   mocking, and violence, but even of their life, and are instructed how to act
   in that extremity. Here also the maxim, “Wise as serpents, harmless as
   doves,” comes into play in both its parts. In this case the wisdom of the
   serpent lies in knowing what to fear. Jesus reminds His disciples that there
   are two kinds of deaths, one caused by the sword, the other by
   unfaithfulness to duty; and tells them in effect, that while both are evils
   to be avoided, if possible, yet if a choice must be made, the latter death
   is most to be dreaded. “Fear not,” He said, “them which kill the body, but
   are not able to kill the soul; but rather fear him who is able to destroy
   both soul and body in hell,” — the tempter, that is, who, when one is in
   danger, whispers: Save thyself at any sacrifice of principle or conscience.
   [193] The simplicity of the dove in presence of extreme peril consists in
   childlike trust in the watchful providence of the Father in heaven. Such
   trust Jesus exhorted His disciples to cherish in charmingly simple and
   pathetic language. He told them that God cared even for sparrows, and
   reminded them that, however insignificant they might seem to themselves,
   they were at least of more value than many sparrows, not to say than two,
   whose money value was just one farthing. If God neglected not even a pair of
   sparrows, but provided for them a place in His world where they might build
   their nest and safely bring forth their young, would He not care for them as
   they went forth two and two preaching the doctrine of the kingdom? Yea! He
   would; the very hairs of their head were numbered. Therefore they might go
   forth without fear, trusting their lives to His care; remembering also that,
   at worst, death was no great evil, seeing that for the faithful was reserved
   a crown of life, and, for those who confessed the Son of man, the honor of
   being confessed by Him in turn before His Father in heaven. [194]

   Such were the instructions of Christ to the twelve when He sent them forth
   to preach and to heal. It was a rare, unexampled discourse, strange to the
   ears of us moderns, who can hardly imagine such stern requirements being
   seriously made, not to say exactly complied with. Some readers of these
   pages may have stood and looked up at Mont Blanc from Courmayeur or
   Chamounix. Such is our attitude towards this first missionary sermon. It is
   a mountain at which we gaze in wonder from a position far below, hardly
   dreaming of climbing to its summit. Some noble ones, however, have made the
   arduous ascent; and among these the first place of honor must be assigned to
   the chosen companions of Jesus.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [173] John xvi. 4.

   [174] Deut. xxxiii. 25.

   [175] The first evangelist may be reconciled with the second by laying
   stress on the word “provide” (mē ktēsēsthe. See Alford, in loco.

   [176] Matt. x. 10.

   [177] Matt. x. 11.

   [178] Matt. x. 40-42.

   [179] Matt. x. 13, 14.

   [180] Matt. x. 15.

   [181] Matt. x. 26, 28, 31.

   [182] Matt. x. 16-18.

   [183] Matt. x. 21.

   [184] Matt. x. 34-36.

   [185] Matt. x. 16.

   [186] Matt. x. 17.

   [187] Matt. x. 19, 20.

   [188] Matt. x. 23.

   [189] Matt. x. 27.

   [190] Matt. x. 23.

   [191] Paul and Barnabas acted on this principle at Antioch of Pisidia. Acts.
   xiii. 46.

   [192] Matt. x. 24, 25.

   [193] Matt. x. 28. It has been much disputed who is referred to here — God
   or Satan. It may be either: God as Judge; Satan as tempter. We prefer the
   latter.

   [194] Matt. x. 32, 33.
     _________________________________________________________________
     _________________________________________________________________

9. THE GALILEAN CRISIS
     _________________________________________________________________

  SECTION I. THE MIRACLE

    John 6:1-15; Matt. 14:13-21; Mark 6:33-34; Luke 9:11-17.

   The sixth chapter of John’s Gospel is full of marvels. It tells of a great
   miracle, a great enthusiasm, a great storm, a great sermon, a great
   apostasy, and a great trial of faith and fidelity endured by the twelve. It
   contains, indeed, the compendious history of an important crisis in the
   ministry of Jesus and the religious experience of His disciples, — a crisis
   in many respects foreshadowing the great final one, which happened little
   more than a year afterwards, [195] when a more famous miracle still was
   followed by a greater popularity, to be succeeded in turn by a more complete
   desertion, and to end in the crucifixion, by which the riddle of the
   Capernaum discourse was solved, and its prophecy fulfilled. [196]

   The facts recorded by John in this chapter of his Gospel may all be
   comprehended under these four heads: the miracle in the wilderness, the
   storm on the lake, the sermon in the synagogue, and the subsequent sifting
   of Christ’s disciples. These, in their order, we propose to consider in four
   distinct sections.

   The scene of the miracle was on the eastern shore of the Galilean Sea. Luke
   fixes the precise locality in the neighborhood of a city called Bethsaida.
   [197] This, of course, could not be the Bethsaida on the western shore, the
   city of Andrew and Peter. But there was, it appears, another city of the
   same name at the north-eastern extremity of the lake, called by way of
   distinction, Bethsaida Julias. [198] The site of this city, we are informed
   by an eye-witness, “is discernible on the lower slope of the hill which
   overhangs the rich plain at the mouth of the Jordan” (that is, at the place
   where the waters of the Upper Jordan join the Sea of Galilee). “The ‘desert
   place,’” the same author goes on to say, by way of proving the suitableness
   of the locality to be the scene of this miracle, “was either the green
   tableland which lies halfway up the hill immediately above Bethsaida, or
   else in the parts of the plain not cultivated by the hand of man would be
   found the ‘much green grass,’ still fresh in the spring of the year when
   this event occurred, before it had faded away in the summer sun: the tall
   grass which, broken down by the feet of the thousands then gathered
   together, would make ‘as it were, ‘couches’ for them to recline upon.” [199]

   To this place Jesus and the twelve had retired after the return of the
   latter from their mission, seeking rest and privacy. But what they sought
   they did not find. Their movements were observed, and the people flocked
   along the shore toward the place whither they had sailed, running all the
   way, as if fearful that they might escape, and so arriving at the landing
   place before them. [200] The multitude which thus gathered around Jesus was
   very great. All the evangelists agree in stating it at five thousand; and as
   the arrangement of the people at the miraculous repast in groups of hundreds
   and fifties [201] made it easy to ascertain their number, we may accept this
   statement not as a rough estimate, but as a tolerably exact calculation.

   Such an immense assemblage testifies to the presence of a great excitement
   among the populations living by the shore of the Sea of Galilee. A fervid
   enthusiasm, a hero-worship, whereof Jesus was the object, was at work in
   their minds. Jesus was the idol of the hour: they could not endure his
   absence; they could not see enough of His work, nor hear enough of His
   teaching. This enthusiasm of the Galileans we may regard as the cumulative
   result of Christ’s own past labors, and in part also of the evangelistic
   mission which we considered in the last chapter. [202] The infection seems
   to have spread as far south as Tiberias, for John relates that boats came
   from that city “to the place where they did eat bread.” [203] Those who were
   in these boats came too late to witness the miracle and share in the feast,
   but this does not prove that their errand was not the same as that of the
   rest; for, owing to their greater distance from the scene, the news would be
   longer in reaching them, and it would take them longer to go thither.

   The great miracle wrought in the neighborhood of Bethsaida Julias consisted
   in the feeding of this vast assemblage of human beings with the utterly
   inadequate means of “five barley loaves and two small fishes.” [204] It was
   truly a stupendous transaction, of which we can form no conception; but no
   event in the Gospel history is more satisfactorily attested. All the
   evangelists relate the miracle with much minuteness, with little even
   apparent discrepancy, and with such graphic detail as none but eye-witnesses
   could have supplied. Even John, who records so few of Christ’s miracles,
   describes this one with as careful a hand as any of his brother evangelists,
   albeit introducing it into his narrative merely as a preface to the sermon
   on the Bread of Life found in his Gospel only.

   This wonderful work, so unexceptionably attested, seems open to exception on
   another ground. It appears to be a miracle without a sufficient reason. It
   cannot be said to have been urgently called for by the necessities of the
   multitude. Doubtless they were hungry, and had brought no victuals with them
   to supply their bodily wants. But the miracle was wrought on the afternoon
   of the day on which they left their homes, and most of them might have
   returned within a few hours. It would, indeed, have been somewhat hard to
   have undertaken such a journey at the end of the day without food; but the
   hardship, even if necessary, was far within the limits of human endurance.
   But it was not necessary; for food could have been got on the way without
   going far, in the neighboring towns and villages, so that to disperse them
   as they were would have involved no considerable inconvenience. This is
   evident from the terms in which the disciples made the suggestion that the
   multitude should be sent away. We read: “When the day began to wear away,
   then came the twelve, and said unto Him, Send the multitude away, that they
   may go into the villages and country round about, and lodge and get
   victuals.” [205] In these respects there is an obvious difference between
   the first miraculous feeding and the second, which occurred at a somewhat
   later period at the south-eastern extremity of the Lake. On that occasion
   the people who had assembled around Jesus had been three days in the
   wilderness without aught to eat, and there were no facilities for procuring
   food, so that the miracle was demanded by considerations of humanity. [206]
   Accordingly we find that compassion is assigned as the motive for that
   miracle: “Jesus called His disciples unto Him, and saith unto them, I have
   compassion on the multitude, because they have now been with me three days,
   and have nothing to eat; and if I send them away fasting to their own
   houses, they will faint by the way; for some of them are come from far.”
   [207]

   If our object were merely to get rid of the difficulty of assigning a
   sufficient motive for the first great miracle of feeding, we might content
   ourselves with saying that Jesus did not need any very urgent occasion to
   induce Him to use His power for the benefit of others. For His own benefit
   He would not use it in case even of extreme need, not even after a fast of
   forty days. But when the well-being (not to say the being) of others was
   concerned, He dispensed miraculous blessings with a liberal hand. He did not
   ask Himself: Is this a grave enough occasion for the use of divine power? Is
   this man ill enough to justify a miraculous interference with the laws of
   nature by healing him? Are these people here assembled hungry enough to be
   fed, like their fathers in the wilderness, with bread from heaven? But we do
   not insist on this, because we believe that something else and higher was
   aimed at in this miracle than to satisfy physical appetite. It was a
   symbolic, didactic, critical miracle. It was meant to teach, and also to
   test; to supply a text for the subsequent sermon, and a touchstone to try
   the character of those who had followed Jesus with such enthusiasm. The
   miraculous feast in the wilderness was meant to say to the multitude just
   what our sacramental feast says to us: “I, Jesus the Son of God Incarnate,
   am the bread of life. What this bread is to your bodies, I myself am to your
   souls.” And the communicants in that feast were to be tested by the way in
   which they regarded the transaction. The spiritual would see in it a sign of
   Christ’s divine dignity, and a seal of His saving grace; the carnal would
   rest simply in the outward fact that they had eaten of the loaves and were
   filled, and would take occasion from what had happened to indulge in high
   hopes of temporal felicity under the benign reign of the Prophet and King
   who had made His appearance among them.

   The miracle in the desert was in this view not merely an act of mercy, but
   an act of judgment. Jesus mercifully fed the hungry multitude in order that
   He might sift it, and separate the true from the spurious disciples. There
   was a much more urgent demand for such a sifting than for food to satisfy
   merely physical cravings. If those thousands were all genuine disciples, it
   was well; but if not — if the greater number were following Christ under
   misapprehension — the sooner that became apparent the better. To allow so
   large a mixed multitude to follow Himself any longer without sifting would
   have been on Christ’s part to encourage false hopes, and to give rise to
   serious misapprehensions as to the nature of His kingdom and His earthly
   mission. And no better method of separating the chaff from the wheat in that
   large company of professed disciples could have been devised, than first to
   work a miracle which would bring to the surface the latent carnality of the
   greater number, and then to preach a sermon which could not fail to be
   offensive to the carnal mind.

   That Jesus freely chose, for a reason of His own, the miraculous method of
   meeting the difficulty that had arisen, appears to be not obscurely hinted
   at in the Gospel narratives. Consider, for example, in this connection,
   John’s note of time, “The passover, a feast of the Jews, was nigh.” Is this
   a merely chronological statement? We think not. What further purpose, then,
   is it intended to serve? To explain how so great a crowd came to be gathered
   around Jesus? — Such an explanation was not required, for the true cause of
   the great gathering was the enthusiasm which had been awakened among the
   people by the preaching and healing work of Jesus and the twelve. The
   evangelist refers to the approaching passover, it would seem, not to explain
   the movement of the people, but rather to explain the acts and words of His
   Lord about to be related. “The passover was nigh, and” — so may we bring out
   John’s meaning — "Jesus was thinking of it, though He went not up to the
   feast that season. He thought of the paschal lamb, and how He, the true
   Paschal Lamb, would ere long be slain for the life of the world; and He gave
   expression to the deep thoughts of His heart in the symbolic miracle I am
   about to relate, and in the mystic discourse which followed.” [208]

   The view we advocate respecting the motive of the miracle in the wilderness
   seems borne out also by the tone adopted by Jesus in the conversation which
   took place between Himself and the twelve as to how the wants of the
   multitude might be supplied. In the course of that conversation, of which
   fragments have been preserved by the different evangelists, two suggestions
   were made by the disciples. One was to dismiss the multitude that they might
   procure supplies for themselves; the other, that they (the disciples) should
   go to the nearest town (say Bethsaida Julias, probably not far off) and
   purchase as much bread as they could get for two hundred denarii, which
   would suffice to alleviate hunger at least, if not to satisfy appetite.
   [209] Both these proposals were feasible, otherwise they would not have been
   made; for the twelve had not spoken thoughtlessly, but after consideration,
   as appears from the fact that one of their number, Andrew, had already
   ascertained how much provision could be got on the spot. The question how
   the multitude could be provided for had evidently been exercising the minds
   of the disciples, and the two proposals were the result of their
   deliberations. Now, what we wish to point out is, that Jesus does not appear
   to have given any serious heed to these proposals. He listened to them, not
   displeased to see the generous concern of His disciples for the hungry
   people, yet with the air of one who meant from the first to pursue a
   different line of action from any they might suggest. He behaved like a
   general in a council of war whose own mind is made up, but who is not
   unwilling to hear what his subordinates will say. This is no mere inference
   of ours, for John actually explains that such was the manner in which our
   Lord acted on the occasion. After relating that Jesus addressed to Philip
   the question, Whence shall we buy bread, that these may eat? he adds the
   parenthetical remark, “This He said to prove him, for He Himself knew what
   He would do.” [210]

   Such, then, was the design of the miracle; what now was its result? It
   raised the swelling tide of enthusiasm to its full height, and induced the
   multitude to form a foolish and dangerous purpose — even to crown the wonder
   — working Jesus, and make Him their king instead of the licentious despot
   Herod. They said, “This is of a truth that Prophet that should come into the
   world;.” and they were on the point of coming and taking Jesus by force to
   make Him a king, insomuch that it was necessary that He should make His
   escape from them, and depart into a mountain Himself alone. [211] Such are
   the express statements of the fourth Gospel, and what is there stated is
   obscurely implied in the narratives of Matthew and Mark. They tell how,
   after the miracle in the desert, Jesus straightway constrained His disciples
   to get into a ship and to go to the other side. [212] Why such haste, and
   why such urgency? Doubtless it was late, and there was no time to lose if
   they wished to get home to Capernaum that night. But why go home at all,
   when the people, or at least a part of them, were to pass the night in the
   wilderness? Should the disciples not rather have remained with them, to keep
   them in heart and take a charge of them? Nay, was it dutiful in disciples to
   leave their Master alone in such a situation? Doubtless the reluctance of
   the twelve to depart sprang from their asking themselves these very
   questions; and, as a feeling having such an origin was most becoming, the
   constraint put on them presupposes the existence of unusual circumstances,
   such as those recorded by John. In other words, the most natural explanation
   of the fact recorded by the synoptical evangelists is, that Jesus wished to
   extricate both Himself and His disciples from the foolish enthusiasm of the
   multitude, an enthusiasm with which, beyond question, the disciples were
   only too much in sympathy, and for that purpose arranged that they should
   sail away in the dusk across the lake, while He retired into the solitude of
   the mountains. [213]

   What a melancholy result of a hopeful movement have we here! The kingdom has
   been proclaimed, and the good news has been extensively welcomed. Jesus, the
   Messianic King, is become the object of most ardent devotion to an
   enthusiastic population. But, alas! their ideas of the kingdom are radically
   mistaken. Acted out, they would mean rebellion and ultimate ruin. Therefore
   it is necessary that Jesus should save Himself from His own friends, and
   hide Himself from His own followers. How certainly do Satan’s tares get sown
   among God’s wheat! How easily does enthusiasm run into folly and mischief!

   The result of the miracle did not take Jesus by surprise. It was what He
   expected; nay, in a sense, it was what He aimed at. It was time that the
   thoughts of many hearts should be revealed; and the certainty that the
   miracle would help to reveal them was one reason at least for its being
   worked. Jesus furnished for the people a table in the wilderness, and gave
   them of the corn of heaven, and sent them meat to the full, [214] that He
   might prove them, and know what was in their heart, [215] — whether they
   loved Him for His own sake, or only for the sake of expected worldly
   advantage. That many followed Him from by-ends He knew beforehand, but He
   desired to bring the fact home to their own consciences. The miracle put
   that in His power, and enabled Him to say, without fear of contradiction,
   “Ye seek me, not because ye saw the miracles, but because ye did eat of the
   loaves and were filled.” [216] It was a searching word, which might well put
   all His professed followers, not only then, but now, on self-examining
   thoughts, and lead each man to ask himself, Why do I profess Christianity?
   is it from sincere faith in Jesus Christ as the Son of God and Saviour of
   the world, or from thoughtless compliance with custom, from a regard to
   reputation, or from considerations of worldly advantage?
     _________________________________________________________________

   [195] John vi. 4: “the passover, a feast of the Jews, was nigh.”

   [196] Keim, while admitting the reality of a Galilean crisis, thinks the
   account of it in John vi. unhistorical, though he praises it as one of the
   finest compositions in the whole book. The historical account he finds in
   Matt. xvi.; and he discovers in the fourth Gospel manifest points of
   correspondence to the synoptical version. Peter’s utterance in the close of
   the chapter is simply his famous confession in another form. The devil in
   John’s account corresponds to the Satan of the synoptical, only John’s devil
   is in Judas, while the synoptical one is in Peter. Keim says that in John’s
   account of the crisis the rise and fall of the star of Jesus is compressed
   into a single chapter, and treated as the work of a day. Through feeding and
   storm Jesus mounts at once to the highest popularity, and loses it again as
   suddenly in consequence of the repulsive discourse in Capernaum. But this is
   a most incorrect representation. John does indeed dispose of the crisis in
   one chapter, but he does not make the enthusiasm of the people appear as the
   result of the miracle of feeding or of any one act. He takes up the Galilean
   ministry (of which he knows, though he does not relate it) at the point
   where it has already reached the crisis. And the history which he gives,
   consistent and intelligible in itself, as we hope to show, helps to explain
   things in the synoptical account not in themselves clear, e.g. Christ’s
   compelling the disciples to go away across the lake in great haste, of which
   we shall speak farther on. Vide Jesu von Nazara, ii. 578.

   [197] Luke ix. 10.

   [198] Rebuilt by Philip the tetrarch, and referred to by Josephus.

   [199] Stanley, Sinai and Palestine, p. 382. The “desert place’ is spoken of
   in Luke ix. 10, the “much green grass” in Mark vi. 39 and John vi. 10
   combines.

   [200] Mark vi. 33.

   [201] Mark vi. 40.

   [202] Vide p. 104.

   [203] John vi. 23.

   [204] John vi. 9.

   [205] Luke ix. 12.

   [206] Mark viii. 3, 4.

   [207] Mark viii. 1-3.

   [208] For the view of John vi. 4 above given, see Luthardt, Das Johan.
   Evangelium, i. 80, ii. 41.

   [209] Mark vi. 37; John vi. 7. A denarius (Eng. Ver. a penny) seems to have
   been a day’s wages (Matt. xx. 9), and was about the eighth part of an ounce
   of silver.

   [210] John vi. 6.

   [211] John vi. 14, 15. The prophet meant was one like Moses (Deut. xviii.
   15).

   [212] Matt. xiv. 22; Mark i. 45, Eutheōs hēnankasen.

   [213] John vi. 15, 16. Vide p. 116, note 2.

   [214] Ps. lxxxviii. 19, 24, 25.

   [215] Deut. viii. 2.

   [216] John vi. 26.
     _________________________________________________________________

  SECTION II. THE STORM

    Matt. xiv. 24–33; Mark vi. 45–52; John vi. 16–21.

   “In perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea,” wrote Paul, describing
   the varied hardships encountered by himself in the prosecution of his great
   work as the apostle of the Gentiles. Such perils meet together in this
   crisis in the life of Jesus. He has just saved himself from the dangerous
   enthusiasm manifested by the thoughtless multitude after the miraculous
   repast in the desert; and now, a few hours later, a still greater disaster
   threatens to befall Him. His twelve chosen disciples, whom He had hurriedly
   sent off in a boat, that they might not encourage the people in their
   foolish project, have been overtaken in a storm while He is alone on the
   mountain praying, and are in imminent danger of being drowned. His
   contrivance for escaping one evil has involved Him in a worse; and it seems
   as if, by a combination of mischances, He were to be suddenly deprived of
   all His followers, both true and false, at once, and left utterly alone, as
   in the last great crisis. The Messianic King watching on those heights, like
   a general on the day of battle, is indeed hard pressed, and the battle is
   going against Him. But the Captain of salvation is equal to the emergency;
   and however sorely perplexed He may be for a season, He will be victorious
   in the end.

   The Sea of Galilee, though but a small sheet of water, some thirteen miles
   long by six broad, is liable to be visited by sharp, sudden squalls,
   probably due to its situation. It lies in a deep hollow of volcanic origin,
   bounded on either side by steep ranges of hills rising above the water-level
   from one to two thousand feet. The difference of temperature at the top and
   bottom of these hills is very considerable. Up on the tablelands above the
   air is cool and bracing; down at the margin of the lake, which lies seven
   hundred feet below the level of the ocean, the climate is tropical. The
   storms caused by this inequality of temperature are tropical in violence.
   They come sweeping down the ravines upon the water; and in a moment the
   lake, calm as glass before, becomes from end to end white with foam, whilst
   the waves rise into the air in columns of spray. [217]

   Two such storms of wind were encountered by the twelve after they had become
   disciples, probably within the same year; the one with which we are
   concerned at present, and an earlier one on the occasion of a visit to
   Gadara. [218] Both happened by night, and both were exceedingly violent. In
   the first storm, we are told, the ship was covered with the waves, and
   filled almost to sinking, so that the disciples feared they should perish.
   The second storm was equally violent, and was of much longer duration. It
   caught the twelve apparently when they were half-way across, and after the
   gray of dusk had deepened into the darkness of night. From that time the
   wind blew with unabated force till daybreak, in the fourth watch, between
   the hours of three and six in the morning. Some idea of the fury of the
   blast may be gathered from the fact recorded, that even then they were still
   little more than half-way over the sea. They had rowed in all only a
   distance of twenty-five or thirty furlongs, [219] the whole distance in a
   slanting direction, from the eastern to the western shore, being probably
   about fifty. During all those weary hours they had done little more, pulling
   with all their might, than hold their own against wind and waves.

   All this while what was Jesus doing? In the first storm He had been with His
   disciples in the ship, sweetly sleeping after the fatigues of the day,
   “rocked in cradle of the imperious surge.” This time He was absent, and not
   sleeping; but away up among the mountains alone, watching unto prayer. For
   He, too, had His own struggle on that tempestuous night; not with the
   howling winds, but with sorrowful thoughts. That night He, as it were,
   rehearsed the agony in Gethsemane, and with earnest prayer and absorbing
   meditation studied the passion sermon which He preached on the morrow. So
   engrossed was His mind with His own sad thoughts, that the poor disciples
   were for a season as if forgotten; till at length, at early dawn, looking
   seawards, [220] He saw them toiling in rowing against the contrary wind, and
   without a moment’s further delay made haste to their rescue.

   This storm on the Sea of Galilee, besides being important as a historical
   fact, possesses also the significance of an emblem. When we consider the
   time at which it occurred, it is impossible not to connect it in our
   thoughts with the untoward events of the next day. For the literal storm on
   the water was succeeded by a spiritual storm on the land, equally sudden and
   violent, and not less perilous to the souls of the twelve than the other had
   been to their bodies. The bark containing the precious freight of Christ’s
   true discipleship was then overtaken by a sudden gust of unpopularity,
   coming down on it like a squall on a highland loch, and all but upsetting
   it. The fickle crowd which but the day before would have made Jesus their
   king, turned away abruptly from Him in disappointment and disgust; and it
   was not without an effort, as we shall see, [221] that the twelve maintained
   their steadfastness. They had to pull hard against wind and waves, that they
   might not be carried headlong to ruin by the tornado of apostasy.

   There can be little doubt that the two storms, — on the lake and on the
   shore, — coming so close one on the other, would become associated in the
   memory of the apostles; and that the literal storm would be stereotyped in
   their minds as an expressive emblem of the spiritual one, and of all similar
   trials of faith. The incidents of that fearful night — the watching, the
   wet, the toil without result, the fatigue, the terror and despair — would
   abide indelibly in their recollection, the symbolic representation of all
   the perils and tribulations through which believers must pass on their way
   to the kingdom of heaven, and especially of those that come upon them while
   they are yet immature in the faith. Symbolic significance might be
   discovered specially in three features. The storm took place by night; in
   the absence of Jesus; and while it lasted all progress was arrested. Storms
   at sea may happen at all hours of the day, but trials of faith always happen
   in the night. Were there no darkness there could be no trial. Had the twelve
   understood Christ’s discourse in Capernaum, the apostasy of the multitude
   would have seemed to them a light matter. But they did not understand it,
   and hence the solicitude of their Master lest they too should forsake Him.
   In all such trials, also, the absence of the Lord to feeling is a constant
   and most painful feature. Christ is not in the ship while the storm rages by
   night, and we toil on in rowing unaided, as we think, by His grace,
   uncheered by His spiritual presence. It was so even with the twelve next day
   on shore. Their Master, present to their eyes, had vanished out of sight to
   their understanding. They had not the comfort of comprehending His meaning,
   while they clung to Him as one who had the words of eternal life. Worst of
   all, in these trials of faith, with all our rowing, we make no progress; the
   utmost we can effect is to hold our own, to keep off the rocky shore in the
   midst of the sea. Happily that is something, yea, it is every thing. For it
   is not always true that if not going forward we must be going backward. This
   is an adage for fair weather only. In a time of storm there is such a thing
   as standing still, and then to do even so much is a great achievement. Is it
   a small thing to weather the storm, to keep off the rocks, the sands, and
   the breakers? Vex not the soul of him who is already vexed enough by the
   buffeting winds, by retailing wise saws about progress and backsliding
   indiscriminately applied. Instead of playing thus the part of a Job’s
   friend, rather remind him that the great thing for one in his situation is
   to endure, to be immovable, to hold fast his moral integrity and his
   profession of faith, and to keep off the dangerous coasts of immorality and
   infidelity; and assure him that if he will only pull a little longer,
   however weary his arm, God will come and calm the wind, and he will
   forthwith reach the land.

   The storm on the lake, besides being an apt emblem of the trial of faith,
   was for the twelve an important lesson in faith, helping to prepare them for
   the future which awaited them. The temporary absence of their Master was a
   preparation for His perpetual absence. The miraculous interposition of Jesus
   at the crisis of their peril was fitted to impress on their minds the
   conviction that even after He had ascended He would still be with them in
   the hour of danger. From the ultimate happy issue of a plan which threatened
   for a time to miscarry, they might further learn to cherish a calm
   confidence in the government of their exalted Lord, even in midst of most
   untoward events. They probably concluded, when the storm came on, that Jesus
   had made a mistake in ordering them to sail away across the lake while He
   remained behind to dismiss the multitude. The event, however, rebuked this
   hasty judgment, all ending happily. Their experience in this instance was
   fitted to teach a lesson for life: not rashly to infer mismanagement or
   neglect on Christ’s part from temporary mishaps, but to have firm faith in
   His wise and loving care for His cause and people, and to anticipate a happy
   issue out of all perplexities; yea, to glory in tribulation, because of the
   great deliverance which would surely follow.

   Such strong faith the disciples were far enough from possessing at the time
   of the storm. They had no expectation that Jesus would come to their rescue;
   for when He did come, they though He was a spirit flitting over the water,
   and cried out in an agony of superstitious terror. Here also we note, in
   passing, a curious correspondence between the incidents of this crisis and
   those connected with the final one. The disciples had then as little
   expectation of seeing their Lord return from the dead as they had now of
   seeing Him come to them over the sea; and therefore His re-appearance at
   first frightened rather than comforted them. “They were terrified and
   affrighted, and supposed that they had seen a spirit.” [222] Good, unlooked
   for in either case, was turned into evil; and what to faith would have been
   a source of intense joy, became, through unbelief, only a new cause of
   alarm.

   The fact of His not being expected seems to have imposed on Jesus the
   necessity of using artifice in His manner of approaching His storm-tossed
   disciples. Mark relates that “He would have passed by then,” [223] affecting
   strangeness, as we understand it, out of delicate consideration for their
   weakness. He knew what He would be taken for when first observed; and
   therefore He wished to attract their attention at a safe distance, fearing
   lest, by appearing among them at once, He might drive them distracted. He
   found it needful to be as cautious in announcing His advent to save as men
   are wont to be in communicating evil tidings: first appearing, as the
   spectre, as far away as He could be seen; then revealing Himself by His
   familiar voice uttering the words of comfort, “It is I; be not afraid,” and
   so obtaining at length a willing reception into the ship. [224]

   The effects which followed the admission of Jesus into the vessel betrayed
   the twelve into a new manifestation of the weakness of their faith. “The
   wind ceased: and they were sore amazed in themselves beyond measure, and
   wondered.” [225] They ought not to have wondered so greatly, after what had
   happened once before on these same waters, and especially after such a
   miracle as had been wrought in the wilderness on the previous day. But the
   storm had blown all thoughts of such things out of their mind, and driven
   them utterly stupid. “They reflected not on the loaves (nor on the rebuking
   of the winds), for their heart was hardened.” [226]

   But the most interesting revelation of the mental state of the disciples at
   the time when Jesus came to their relief, is to be found in the episode
   concerning Peter related in Matthew’s Gospel. When that disciple understood
   that the supposed spectre was his beloved Master, he cried, “Lord, if it be
   Thou, bid me come unto Thee on the water;” [227] and on receiving
   permission, he forthwith stepped out of the ship into the sea. This was not
   faith, but simple rashness. It was the rebound of an impetuous, headlong
   nature from one extreme of utter despair to the opposite extreme of
   extravagant, reckless joy. What in the other disciples took the tame form of
   a willingness to receive Jesus into the ship, after they were satisfied it
   was He who walked on the waters, [228] took, in the case of Peter, the form
   of a romantic, adventurous wish to go out to Jesus where He was, to welcome
   Him back among them again. The proposal was altogether like the man —
   generous, enthusiastic, and well-meant, but inconsiderate.

   Such a proposal, of course, could not meet with Christ’s approval, and yet
   He did not negative it. He rather thought good to humor the impulsive
   disciple so far, by inviting him to come, and then to allow him, while in
   the water, to feel his own weakness. Thus would He teach him a little
   self-knowledge, and, if possible, save him from the effects of his rash,
   self-confident temper. But Peter was not to be made wise by one lesson, nor
   even by several. He would go on blundering and erring, in spite of rebuke
   and warning, till at length he fell into grievous sin, denying the Master
   whom he loved so well. The denial at the final crisis was just what might be
   looked for from one who so behaved at the minor crisis preceding it. The man
   who said, “Bid me come to Thee,” was just the man to say, “Lord, I am ready
   to go with Thee both into prison and to death.” He who was so courageous on
   deck, and so timid amid the waves, was the one of all the disciples most
   likely to talk boldly when danger was not at hand, and then play the coward
   when the hour of trial actually arrived. The scene on the lake was but a
   foreshadowing or rehearsal of Peter’s fall.

   And yet that scene showed something more than the weakness of that
   disciple’s faith. It showed also what is possible to those who believe. If
   the tendency of weak faith be to sink, the triumph of strong faith is to
   walk on the waves, glorying in tribulation, and counting it all joy when
   exposed to divers temptations. It is the privilege of those who are weak in
   faith, and the duty of all, mindful of human frailty, to pray, “Lead us not
   into temptation.” But when storms come not of their inviting, and when their
   ship is upset in midst of the sea, then may Christians trust to the promise,
   “When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee;.” and if only
   they have faith, they shall be enabled to tread the rolling billows as if
   walking on firm land.


   ”He bids me come; His voice I know,

   And boldly on the waters go,

   And brave the tempest’s shock.

   O’er rude temptations now I bound;

   The billows yield a solid ground,

   The wave is firm as rock.”
     _________________________________________________________________

   [217] Stanley, Sinai and Palestine, p. 380.

   [218] Matt. viii. 23; Mark iv. 35; Luke viii. 22.

   [219] John vi. 19.

   [220] Mark vi. 48.

   [221] See Section IV. of the present chapter.

   [222] Luke xxiv. 37.

   [223] Mark vi. 48.

   [224] John vi. 21.

   [225] Mark vi. 51.

   [226] Mark vi. 52.

   [227] Matt. xiv. 28.

   [228] John vi. 21.
     _________________________________________________________________

  SECTION III. THE SERMON

    John vi. 32–58.

   The task now before us is to study that memorable address delivered by Jesus
   in the synagogue of Capernaum on the bread of life, which gave so great
   offence at the time, and which has ever since been a stone of stumbling, a
   subject of controversy, and a cause of division in the visible church, and,
   so far as one can judge from present appearances, will be to the world’s
   end. On a question so vexed as that which relates to the meaning of this
   discourse, one might well shrink from entering. But the very confusion which
   prevails here points it out as our plain duty to disregard the din of
   conflicting interpretations, and, humbly praying to be taught of God, to
   search for and set forth Christ’s own mind.

   The sermon on the bread of life, however strangely it sounds, was
   appropriate both in matter and manner to the circumstances in which it was
   delivered. It was natural and seasonable that Jesus should speak to the
   people of the meat that endureth unto everlasting life after miraculously
   providing perishable food to supply their physical wants. It was even
   natural and seasonable that He should speak of this high topic in the
   startling, apparently gross, harsh style which He adopted on the occasion.
   The form of thought suited the situation. Passover time was approaching,
   when the paschal lamb was slain and eaten; and if Jesus desired to say in
   effect, without saying it in so many words, “I am the true Paschal Lamb,”
   what more suitable form of language could He employ than this: “The bread
   that I will give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world”?
   The style was also adapted to the peculiar complexion of the speaker’s
   feelings at the moment. Jesus was in a sad, austere mood when He preached
   this sermon. The foolish enthusiasm of the multitude had saddened Him. Their
   wish to force a crown on His head made Him think of His cross; for He knew
   that this idolatrous devotion to a political Messiah meant death sooner or
   later to one who declined such carnal homage. He spoke, therefore, in the
   synagogue of Capernaum with Calvary in view, setting Himself forth as the
   life of the world in terms applicable to a sacrificial victim, whose blood
   is shed, and whose flesh is eaten by those presenting the offering; not
   mincing His words, but saying every thing in the strongest and intensest
   manner possible.

   The theme of this memorable address was very naturally introduced by the
   preceding conversation between Jesus and the people who came from the other
   side of the lake, hoping to find Him at Capernaum, His usual place of abode.
   [229] To their warm inquiries as to how He came thither, He replied by a
   chilling observation concerning the true motive of their zeal, and an
   exhortation to set their hearts on a higher food than that which perisheth.
   [230] Understanding the exhortation as a counsel to cultivate piety, the
   persons to whom it was addressed inquired what they should do that they
   might work the works of God, i.e. please God. [231] Jesus replied by
   declaring that the great testing work of the hour was to receive Himself as
   one whom God had sent. [232] This led to a demand on their part for evidence
   in support of this high claim to be the divinely missioned Messiah. The
   miracle just wrought on the other side of the lake was great, but not great
   enough, they thought, to justify such lofty pretensions. In ancient times a
   whole nation had been fed for many years by bread brought down from heaven
   by Moses. What was the recent miracle compared to that? He must show a sign
   on a far grander scale, if He wished them to believe that a greater than
   Moses was here. [233] Jesus took up the challenge, and boldly declared that
   the manna, wonderful as it was, was not the true heavenly bread. There was
   another bread, of which the manna was but the type: like it, coming down
   from heaven; [234] but unlike it, giving life not to a nation, but to a
   world, and not life merely for a few short years, but life for eternity.
   This announcement, like the similar one concerning the wonderful water of
   life made to the woman of Samaria, provoked desire in the hearts of the
   hearers, and they exclaimed, “Lord, evermore give us this bread.” Then said
   Jesus unto them, “I am the bread of life: he that cometh unto me shall never
   hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst.” [235]

   In these words Jesus briefly enunciated the doctrine of the true bread,
   which He expounded and inculcated in His memorable Capernaum discourse. The
   doctrine, as stated, sets forth what the true bread is, what it does, and
   how it is appropriated.

   I. The true bread is He who here speaks of it — Jesus Christ. “I am the
   bread.” The assertion implies, on the speaker’s part, a claim to have
   descended from heaven; for such a descent is one of the properties by which
   the true bread is defined. [236] Accordingly we find Jesus, in the sequel of
   His discourse, expressly asserting that He had come down from heaven. [237]
   This declaration, understood in a supernatural sense, was the first thing in
   His discourse with which His hearers found fault. “The Jews then murmured at
   Him, because He said, I am the bread which came down from heaven. And they
   said, Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know?
   how is it then that He saith, I came down from heaven?” [238] It was natural
   they should murmur if they did not know or believe that there was any thing
   out of course in the way in which Jesus came into the world. For such
   language as He here employs could not be used without blasphemy by a mere
   man born after the fashion of other men. It is language proper only in the
   mouth of a Divine Being who, for a purpose, hath assumed human nature.

   In setting Himself forth, therefore, as the bread which came down from
   heaven, Jesus virtually taught the doctrine of the incarnation. The solemn
   assertion, “I am the bread of life,” is equivalent in import to that made by
   the evangelist respecting Him who spoke these words: “The Word became flesh,
   and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.” [239]

   It is, however, not merely as incarnate that the Son of God is the bread of
   eternal life. Bread must be broken in order to be eaten. The Incarnate One
   must die as a sacrificial victim that men may truly feed upon Him. The Word
   become flesh, and crucified in the flesh, is the life of the world. This
   special truth Jesus went on to declare, after having stated the general
   truth that the heavenly bread was to be found in Himself. “The bread,” said
   He, “that I will give is my flesh, (which I will give) for the life of the
   world.” [240] The language here becomes modified to suit the new turn of
   thought. “I am” passes into “I will give,” and “bread” is transformed into
   “flesh.”

   Jesus evidently refers here to His death. His hearers did not so understand
   Him, but we can have no doubt on the matter. The verb “give,” suggesting a
   sacrificial act, and the future tense both point that way. In words dark and
   mysterious before the event, clear as day after it, the speaker declares the
   great truth, that His death is to be the life of men; that His broken body
   and shed blood are to be as meat and drink to a perishing world, conferring
   on all who shall partake of them the gift of immortality. How He is to die,
   and why His death shall possess such virtue, He does not here explain. The
   Capernaum discourse makes no mention of the cross; it contains no theory of
   atonement, the time is not come for such details; it simply asserts in
   broad, strong terms that the flesh and blood of the incarnate Son of God,
   severed as in death, are the source of eternal life.

   This mention by Jesus of His flesh as the bread from heaven gave rise to a
   new outburst of murmuring among His hearers. “They strove among themselves,
   saying, How can this man give us His flesh to eat?” [241] Jesus had not yet
   said that His flesh must be eaten, but they took for granted that such was
   His meaning. They were right; and accordingly He went on to say, with the
   greatest solemnity and emphasis, that they must even eat His flesh and drink
   His blood. Unless they did that, they should have no life in them; if they
   did that, they should have life in all its fulness — life eternal both in
   body and in soul. For His flesh was the true food, and His blood was the
   true drink. They who partook of these would share in His own life. He should
   dwell in them, incorporated with their very being; and they should dwell in
   Him as the ground of their being. They should live as secure against death
   by Him, as He lived from everlasting to everlasting by the Father. “This,
   therefore,” said the speaker, reverting in conclusion to the proposition
   with which he started, “this (even my flesh) is that bread which came down
   from Heaven; not as your fathers did eat manna and are dead: he that eateth
   of this bread shall live forever.” [242]

   A third expression of disapprobation ensuing led Jesus to put the copestone
   on His high doctrine of the bread of life, by making a concluding
   declaration, which must have appeared at the time the most mysterious and
   unintelligible of all: that the bread which descended from heaven must
   ascend up thither again, in order to be to the full extent the bread of
   everlasting life. Doth this offend you? asked He at his hearers: this which
   I have just said about your eating my flesh and blood; what will ye say “if
   ye shall see the Son of man ascend up where He was before?” [243] The
   question was in effect an affirmation, and it was also a prophetic hint,
   that only after He had left the world would He become on an extensive scale
   and conspicuously a source of life to men; because then the manna of grace
   would begin to descend not only on the wilderness of Israel, but on all the
   barren places of the earth; and the truth in Him, the doctrine of His life,
   death, and resurrection, would become meat indeed and drink indeed unto a
   multitude, not of murmuring hearers, but of devout, enlightened, thankful
   believers; and no one would need any longer to ask for a sign when he could
   find in the Christian church, continuing steadfastly in the apostles’
   doctrine and fellowship, and in breaking bread and in prayers, the best
   evidence that He had spoken truth who said, “I am the bread of life.”

   2. This, then, is the heavenly bread: even the God-man incarnate, crucified,
   and glorified. Let us now consider more attentively the marvellous virtue of
   this bread. It is the bread of life. It is the office of all bread to
   sustain life, but it is the peculiarity of this divine bread to give eternal
   life. “He that cometh to me,” said the speaker, “shall never hunger, and he
   that believeth on me, shall never thirst.” [244] With reference to this
   life-giving power He called the bread of which He spake “living bread,” and
   meat indeed, and declared that he who ate thereof should not die, but should
   live forever. [245]

   In commending this miraculous bread to His hearers, Jesus, we observe, laid
   special stress on its power to give eternal life even to the body of man.
   Four times over He declared in express terms that all who partook of this
   bread of life should be raised again at the last day. [246] The prominence
   thus given to the resurrection of the body is due in part to the fact that
   throughout His discourse Jesus was drawing a contrast between the manna
   which fed the Israelites in the desert and the true bread of which it was
   the type. The contrast was most striking just at this point. The manna was
   merely a substitute for ordinary food; it had no power to ward off death:
   the generation which had been so miraculously supported passed away from the
   earth, like all other generations of mankind. Therefore, argued Jesus, it
   could not be the true bread from heaven; for the true bread must be capable
   of destroying death, and endowing the recipients with the power of an
   endless existence. A man who eats thereof must not die; or dying, must rise
   again. “Your fathers did eat manna in the wilderness, and are dead. This is
   the bread which cometh down from heaven, that a man may eat thereof, and not
   die.” [247]

   But the prominence given to the resurrection of the body is due mainly to
   its intrinsic importance. For if the dead rise not, then is our faith vain,
   and the bread of life degenerates into a mere quack nostrum, pretending to
   virtues which it does not possess. True, it may still give spiritual life to
   those who eat thereof, but what is that without the hope of a life
   hereafter? Not much, according to Paul, who says, “If in this life only we
   have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.” [248] Many, indeed,
   in our day do not concur in the apostle’s judgment. They think that the
   doctrine of the life everlasting may be left out of the creed without loss
   — nay, even with positive advantage, to the Christian faith. The life of a
   Christian seems to them so much nobler when all thought of future reward or
   punishment is dismissed from the mind. How grand, to pass through the
   wilderness of this world feeding on the manna supplied in the high, pure
   teaching of Jesus, without caring whether there be a land of Canaan on the
   other side of Jordan! Very sublime indeed! but why, in that case, come into
   the wilderness at all? why not remain in Egypt, feeding on more substantial
   and palatable viands? The children of Israel would not have left the house
   of bondage unless they had hoped to reach the promised land. An immortal
   hope is equally necessary to the Christian. He must believe in a world to
   come in order to live above the present evil world. If Christ cannot redeem
   the body from the power of the grave, then it is in vain that He promises to
   redeem us from guilt and sin. The bread of life is unworthy of the name,
   unless it hath power to cope with physical as well as with moral corruption.

   Hence the prominence given by Jesus in this discourse to the resurrection of
   the body. He knew that here lay the crucial experiment by which the value
   and virtue of the bread He offered to His hearers must be tested. “You call
   this bread the bread of life, in contrast to the manna of ancient times: —
   do you mean to say that, like the tree of life in the garden of Eden, it
   will confer on those who eat thereof the gift of a blessed immortality?”
   “Yes, I do,” replied the Preacher in effect to this imaginary question:
   “this bread I offer you will not merely quicken the soul to a higher, purer
   life; it will even revivify your bodies, and make the corruptible put on
   incorruption, and the mortal put on immortality.”

   3. And how, then, is this wondrous bread to be appropriated that one may
   experience its vitalizing influences? Bread, of course, is eaten; but what
   does eating in this case mean? It means, in one word, faith. “He that cometh
   to me shall never hunger, and he that believeth in me shall never thirst.”
   [249] Eating Christ’s flesh and drinking His blood, and, we may add,
   drinking the water of which he spake to the woman by the well, all signify
   believing in Him as He is offered to men in the gospel: the Son of God
   manifested in the flesh, crucified, raised from the dead, ascended into
   glory; the Prophet, the Priest, the King, and the Mediator between God and
   man. Throughout the Capernaum discourse eating and believing are used
   interchangeably as equivalents. Thus, in one sentence, we find Jesus saying,
   “Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth on me hath everlasting
   life: I am that bread of life;.” [250] and shortly after remarking,: “I am
   the living bread which came down from heaven: If any man eat of this bread
   he shall live forever.” [251] If any further argument were necessary to
   justify the identifying of eating with believing, it might be found in the
   instruction given by the Preacher to His hearers before He began to speak of
   the bread of life; “This is the work of God, that ye believe on Him whom He
   hath sent.” [252] That sentence furnishes the key to the interpretation of
   the whole subsequent discourse. “Believe,” said Jesus, with reference to the
   foregoing inquiry, What shall we do, that we might work the works of God?
   — "Believe, and thou hast done God’s work.” “Believe,” we may understand Him
   as saying with reference to an inquiry, How shall we eat this bread of life?
   — "Believe, and thou hast eaten.”

   Believe, and thou hast eaten: such was the formula in which Augustine
   expressed his view of Christ’s meaning in the Capernaum discourse. [253] The
   saying is not only terse, but true, in our judgment; but it has not been
   accepted by all interpreters. Many hold that eating and faith are something
   distinct, and would express the relation between them thus: Believe, and
   thou shalt eat. Even Calvin objected to the Augustinian formula.
   Distinguishing his own views from those held by the followers of Zwingli, he
   says: “To them to eat is simply to believe. I say that Christ’s flesh is
   eaten in believing because it is made ours by faith, and that eating is the
   fruit and effect of faith. Or more clearly: To them eating is faith, to me
   it seems rather to follow from faith.” [254]

   The distinction taken by Calvin between eating and believing seems to have
   been verbal rather than real. With many other theologians, however, it is
   far otherwise. All upholders of the magical doctrines of transubstantiation
   and consubstantiation contend for the literal interpretation of the
   Capernaum discourse even in its strongest statements. Eating Christ’s flesh
   and drinking His blood are, for such, acts of the mouth, accompanied perhaps
   with acts of faith, but not merely acts of faith. It is assumed for the most
   part as a matter of course, that the discourse recorded in the sixth chapter
   of John’s Gospel has reference to the sacrament of the Supper, and that only
   on the hypothesis of such a reference can the peculiar phraseology of the
   discourse be explained. Christ spoke then of eating His flesh and drinking
   His blood, so we are given to understand, because He had in His mind that
   mystic rite ere long to be instituted, in which bread and wine should not
   merely represent, but become, the constituent elements of His crucified
   body.

   While the sermon on the bread of life continues to be mixed up with
   sacramentarian controversies, agreement in its interpretation is altogether
   hopeless. Meantime, till a better day dawn on a divided and distracted
   church, every man must endeavor to be fully persuaded in his own mind. Three
   things are clear to our mind. First, it is incorrect to say that the sermon
   delivered in the Capernaum synagogue refers to the sacrament of the Supper.
   The true state of the case is, that both refer to a third thing, viz. the
   death of Christ, and both declare, in different ways, the same thing
   concerning it. The sermon says in symbolic words what the Supper says in a
   symbolic act: that Christ crucified is the life of men, the world’s hope of
   salvation. The sermon says more than this, for it speaks of Christ’s
   ascension as well as of His death; but it says this for one thing.

   A second point on which we are clear is, that it is quite unnecessary to
   assume a mental reference by anticipation to the Holy Supper, in order to
   account for the peculiarity of Christ’s language in this famous discourse.
   As we saw at the beginning, the whole discourse rose naturally out of the
   present situation. The mention by the people of the manna naturally led
   Jesus to speak of the bread of life; and from the bread He passed on as
   naturally to speak of the flesh and the blood, because he could not fully be
   bread until He had become flesh and blood dissevered, i.e. until He had
   endured death. All that we find here might have been said, in fact, although
   the sacrament of the Supper had never existed. The Supper is of use not so
   much for interpreting the sermon as for establishing its credibility as an
   authentic utterance of Jesus. There is no reason to doubt that He who
   instituted the mystic feast, could also have preached this mystic sermon.

   The third truth which shines clear as a star to our eye is, — that through
   faith alone we may attain all the blessings of salvation. Sacraments are
   very useful, but they are not necessary. If it had pleased Christ not to
   institute them, we could have got to heaven notwithstanding. Because He has
   instituted them, it is our duty to celebrate them, and we may expect benefit
   from their celebration. But the benefit we receive is simply an aid to
   faith, and nothing which cannot be received by faith. Christians eat the
   flesh and drink the blood of the Son of man at all times, not merely at
   communion times, simply by believing in Him. They eat His flesh and drink
   His blood at His table in the same sense as at other times; only perchance
   in a livelier manner, their hearts being stirred up to devotion by
   remembrance of His dying love, and their faith aided by seeing, handling,
   and tasting the bread and the wine.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [229] John vi. 24. Luthardt very properly points out that the fact of the
   people expecting to find Jesus in Capernaum implies such a residence there
   as the synoptical Gospels inform us of. — Das Joh. Evang. ii. 50.

   [230] Vers. 26, 27

   [231] Ver. 28.

   [232] Ver. 29.

   [233] Vers. 30, 31. Moses is not named, but he is in their thoughts.

   [234] ho katabainōn, ver. 33, refers to artos, not the speaker directly.

   [235] John vi. 32-35.

   [236] Vers. 33

   [237] Vers. 38, 51, 58, 62.

   [238] Vers. 41, 42.

   [239] John i. 14.

   [240] John vi. 51. The words in the original represented by those within
   brackets are of doubtful authority, but the sense is the same whether they
   be erased or retained. The first dōsō contains the idea.

   [241] John vi. 52.

   [242] John vi. 53-58. In vers. 55 the reading vibrates between alēthōs and
   alēthēs. Ver. 57, dia ton patera means literally “on account of,” but “by”
   gives the practical sense. So with di' eme.

   [243] John vi. 61, 62.

   [244] John vi. 35.

   [245] John vi. 51, 55, 50.

   [246] John vi. 39, 40, 44, 54.

   [247] John vi. 49, 50.

   [248] 1 Cor. xv. 19.

   [249] John vi. 35.

   [250] Vers. 47, 48

   [251] Ver. 51.

   [252] Ver. 29.

   [253] Crede et manducasti.–In joannis Evangelium Tract. xxv. § 12.

   [254] Calv. Institutio IV. xvii. 5.
     _________________________________________________________________

  SECTION IV. THE SIFTING

    John vi. 66–71.

   The sermon on the bread of life produced decisive effects. It converted
   popular enthusiasm for Jesus into disgust; like a fan, it separated true
   from false disciples; and like a winnowing breeze, it blew the chaff away,
   leaving a small residuum of wheat behind. “From that time many of His
   disciples went back, and walked no more with Him.”

   This result did not take Jesus by surprise. He expected it; in a sense, He
   wished it, though He was deeply grieved by it. For while His large, loving
   human heart yearned for the salvation of all, and desired that all should
   come and get life, He wanted none to come to Him under misapprehension, or
   to follow Him from by-ends. He sought disciples God-given, [255] God-drawn,
   [256] God-taught, [257] knowing that such alone would continue in His word.
   [258] He was aware that in the large mass of people who had recently
   followed Him were many disciples of quite another description; and He was
   not unwilling that the mixed multitude should be sifted. Therefore He
   preached that mystic discourse, fitted to be a savor of life or of death
   according to the spiritual state of the hearer. Therefore, also, when
   offence was taken at the doctrine taught, He plainly declared the true
   cause, [259] and expressed His assurance that only those whom His Father
   taught and drew would or could really come unto Him. [260] These things He
   said not with a view to irritate, but He deemed it right to say them though
   they should give rise to irritation, reckoning that true believers would
   take all in good part, and that those who took umbrage would thereby reveal
   their true character.

   The apostatizing disciples doubtless thought themselves fully justified in
   withdrawing from the society of Jesus. They turned their back on Him, we
   fancy, in most virtuous indignation, saying in their hearts — nay, probably
   saying aloud to one another: “Who ever heard the like of that? how absurd!
   how revolting! The man who can speak thus is either a fool, or is trying to
   make fools of his hearers.” And yet the hardness of His doctrine was not the
   real reason which led so many to forsake Him; it was simply the pretext, the
   most plausible and respectable reason that they could assign for conduct
   springing from other motives. The grand offence of Jesus was this: He was
   not the man they had taken Him for; He was not going to be at their service
   to promote the ends they had in view. Whatever He meant by the bread of
   life, or by eating His flesh, it was plain that He was not going to be a
   bread-king, making it His business to furnish supplies for their physical
   appetites, ushering in a golden age of idleness and plenty. That
   ascertained, it was all over with Him so far as they were concerned: He
   might offer His heavenly food to whom He pleased; they wanted none of it.

   Deeply affected by the melancholy sight of so many human beings deliberately
   preferring material good to eternal life, Jesus turned to the twelve, and
   said, “Will ye also go away?” or more exactly, “You do not wish to go away
   too, do you?” [261] The question may be understood as a virtual expression
   of confidence in the persons to whom it was addressed, and as an appeal to
   them for sympathy at a discouraging crisis. And yet, while a negative answer
   was expected to the question, it was not expected as a matter of course.
   Jesus was not without solicitude concerning the fidelity even of the twelve.
   He interrogated them, as conscious that they were placed in trying
   circumstances, and that if they did not actually forsake Him now, as at the
   great final crisis, they were at least tempted to be offended in Him.

   A little reflection suffices to satisfy us that the twelve were indeed
   placed in a position at this time calculated to try their faith most
   severely. For one thing, the mere fact of their Master being deserted
   wholesale by the crowd of quondam admirers and followers involved for the
   chosen band a temptation to apostasy. How mighty is the power of sympathy!
   how ready are we all to follow the multitude, regardless of the way they are
   going! and how much moral courage it requires to stand alone! How difficult
   to witness the spectacle of thousands, or even hundreds, going off in sullen
   disaffection, without feeling an impulse to imitate their bad example! how
   hard to keep one’s self from being carried along with the powerful tide of
   adverse popular opinion! Especially hard it must have been for the twelve to
   resist the tendency to apostatize if, as is more than probable, they
   sympathized with the project entertained by the multitude when their
   enthusiasm for Jesus was at full-tide. If it would have gratified them to
   have seen their beloved Master made king by popular acclamation, how their
   spirits must have sunk when the bubble burst, and the would-be subjects of
   the Messianic Prince were dispersed like an idle mob, and the kingdom which
   had seemed so near vanished like a cloudland!

   Another circumstance trying to the faith of the twelve was the strange,
   mysterious character of their Master’s discourse in the synagogue of
   Capernaum. That discourse contained hard, repulsive, unintelligible sayings
   for them quite as much as for the rest of the audience. Of this we can have
   no doubt when we consider the repugnance with which some time afterward they
   received the announcement that Jesus was destined to be put to death. [262]
   If they objected even to the fact of His death, how could they understand
   its meaning, especially when both fact and meaning were spoken of in such a
   veiled and mystic style as that which pervades the sermon on the bread of
   life? While, therefore, they believed that their Master had the words of
   eternal life, and perceived that His late discourse bore on that high theme,
   it may be regarded as certain that the twelve did not understand the words
   spoken any more than the multitude, however much they might try to do so.
   They knew not what connection existed between Christ’s flesh and eternal
   life, how eating that flesh could confer any benefit, or even what eating it
   might mean. They had quite lost sight of the Speaker in His eagle flight of
   thought; and they must have looked on in distress as the people melted away,
   painfully conscious that they could not altogether blame them.

   Yet, however greatly tempted to forsake their Master, the twelve did abide
   faithfully by His side. They did come safely through the spiritual storm.
   What was the secret of their steadfastness? what were the anchors that
   preserved them from shipwreck? These questions are of practical interest to
   all who, like the apostles at this crisis, are tempted to apostasy by evil
   example or by religious doubt; by the fashion of the world they live in,
   whether scientific or illiterate, refined or rustic; or by the deep things
   of God, whether these be the mysteries of providence, the mysteries of
   revelation, or the mysteries of religious experience: we may say, indeed, to
   all genuine Christians, for what Christian has not been tempted in one or
   other of these ways at some period in his history?

   Sufficient materials for answering these questions are supplied in the words
   of Simon Peter’s response to Jesus. As spokesman for the whole company, that
   disciple promptly said: “Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of
   eternal life. And we believe and know that Thou art that Christ, the son of
   the living God,” [263] or, according to the reading preferred by most
   critics, “that Thou art the Holy One of God.” [264]

   Three anchors, we infer from these words, helped the twelve to ride out the
   storm: Religious earnestness or sincerity; a clear perception of the
   alternatives before them; and implicit confidence in the character and
   attachment to the person of their Master.

   I. The twelve, as a body, were sincere and thoroughly in earnest in
   religion. Their supreme desire was to know “the words of eternal life,” and
   actually to gain possession of that life. Their concern was not about the
   meat that perisheth, but about the higher heavenly food of the soul which
   Christ had in vain exhorted the majority of His hearers to labor for. As yet
   they knew not clearly wherein that food consisted, but according to their
   light they sincerely prayed, “Lord, evermore give us this bread.” Hence it
   was no disappointment to them that Jesus declined to become a purveyor of
   mere material food: they had never expected or wished Him to do so; they had
   joined His company with entirely different expectations. A certain element
   of error might be mingled with truth in their conceptions of His Mission,
   but the gross, carnal hopes of the multitude had no place in their breasts.
   They became not disciples to better their worldly circumstances, but to
   obtain a portion which the world could neither give them nor take from them.

   What we have now stated was true of all the twelve save one; and the crisis
   we are at present considering is memorable for this, among other things,
   that it was the first occasion on which Jesus gave a hint that there was a
   false disciple among the men whom He had chosen. To justify Himself for
   asking a question which seemed to cast a doubt upon their fidelity, He
   replied to Peter’s protestation by the startling remark: “Did not I choose
   you the twelve, and one of you is a devil?” [265] as if to say: “It is
   painful to me to have to use this language of suspicion, but I have good
   cause: there is one among you who has had thoughts of desertion, and who is
   capable even of treachery.” With what sadness of spirit must He have made
   such an intimation at this crisis! To be forsaken by the fickle crowd of
   shallow, thoughtless followers had been a small matter, could He have
   reckoned all the members of the select band good men and true friends. But
   to have an enemy in one’s own house, a diabolus capable of playing Satan’s
   part in one’s small circle of intimate companions: — it was hard indeed!

   But how could a man destined to be a traitor, and deserving to be
   stigmatized as a devil, manage to pass creditably through the present
   crisis? Does not the fact seem to imply that, after all, it is possible to
   be steadfast without being single-minded? Not so; the only legitimate
   inference is, that the crisis was not searching enough to bring out the true
   character of Judas. Wait till you see the end. A little religion will carry
   a man through many trials, but there is an experimentum crucis which nothing
   but sincerity can stand. If the mind be double, or the heart divided, a time
   comes that compels men to act according to the motives that are deepest and
   strongest in them. This remark applies especially to creative,
   revolutionary, or transition epochs. In quiet times a hypocrite may pass
   respectably through this world, and never be detected till he get to the
   next, whither his sins follow him to judgment. But in critical eras the sins
   of the double-minded find them out in this life. True, even then some
   double-minded men can stand more temptation than others, and are not to be
   bought so cheaply as the common herd. But all of them have their price, and
   those who fall less easily than others fall in the end most deeply and
   tragically.

   Of the character and fall of Judas we shall have another opportunity to
   speak. Our present object is simply to point out that from such as he Jesus
   did not expect constancy. By referring to that disciple as He did, He
   intimated His conviction that no one in whom the love of God and truth was
   not the deepest principle of his being would continue faithful to the end.
   In effect He inculcated the necessity, in order to steadfastness in faith,
   of moral integrity, or godly sincerity.

   2. The second anchor by which the disciples were kept from shipwreck at this
   season was a clear perception of the alternatives. “To whom shall we go?”
   asked Peter, as one who saw that, for men having in view the aim pursued by
   himself and his brethren, there was no course open but to remain where they
   were. He had gone over rapidly in his mind all the possible alternatives,
   and this was the conclusion at which he had arrived. “To whom shall we go
   — we who seek eternal life? John, our former master, is dead; and even were
   he alive, he would send us back to Thee. Or shall we go to the scribes and
   Pharisees? We have been too long with Thee for that; for Thou hast taught us
   the superficiality, the hypocrisy, the ostentatiousness, the essential
   ungodliness of their religious system. Or shall we follow the fickle
   multitude there, and relapse into stupidity and indifference? It is not to
   be thought of. Or, finally, shall we go to the Sadducees, the idolaters of
   the material and the temporal, who say there is no resurrection, neither any
   angels nor spirits? God forbid! That were to renounce a hope dearer than
   life, without which life to an earnest mind were a riddle, a contradiction,
   and an intolerable burden.”

   We may understand what a help this clear perception of the alternatives was
   to Peter and his brethren, by reflecting on the help we ourselves might
   derive from the same source when tempted by dogmatic difficulties to
   renounce Christianity. It would make one pause if he understood that the
   alternatives open to him were to abide with Christ, or to become an atheist,
   ignoring God and the world to come; that when he leaves Christ, he must go
   to school to some of the great masters of thoroughgoing unbelief. In the
   works of a well-known German author is a dream, which portrays with
   appalling vividness the consequences that would ensue throughout the
   universe should the Creator cease to exist. The dream was invented, so the
   gifted writer tells us, for the purpose of frightening those who discussed
   the being of God as coolly as if the question respected the existence of the
   Kraken or the unicorn, and also to check all atheistic thoughts which might
   arise in his own bosom. “If ever,” he says, “my heart should be so unhappy
   and deadened as to have all those feelings which affirm the being of a God
   destroyed, I would use this dream to frighten myself, and so heal my heart,
   and restore its lost feelings.” [266] Such benefit as Richter expected from
   the perusal of his own dream, would any one, tempted to renounce
   Christianity, derive from a clear perception that in ceasing to be a
   Christian he must make up his mind to accept a creed which acknowledges no
   God, no soul, no hereafter.

   Unfortunately it is not so easy for us now as it was for Peter to see
   clearly what the alternatives before us are. Few are so clear-sighted, so
   recklessly logical, or so frank as the late Dr. Strauss, who in his latest
   publication. The Old and the New Faith, plainly says that he is no longer a
   Christian. Hence many in our day call themselves Christians whose theory of
   the universe (or Weltanschauung, as the Germans call it) does not allow them
   to believe in the miraculous in any shape or in any sphere; with whom it is
   an axiom that the continuity of nature’s course cannot be broken, and who
   therefore cannot even go the length of Socinians in their view of Christ and
   declare Him to be, without qualification, the Holy One of God, the morally
   sinless One. Even men like Renan claim to be Christians, and, like Balaam,
   bless Him whom their philosophy compels them to blame. Our modern Balaams
   all confess that Jesus is at least the holiest of men, if not the absolutely
   Holy One. They are constrained to bless the Man of Nazareth. They are
   spellbound by the Star of Bethlehem, as was the Eastern soothsayer by the
   Star of Jacob, and are forced to say in effect: “How shall I curse, whom God
   hath not cursed? or how shall I defy, whom the Lord hath not defied? Behold,
   I have received commandment to bless: and He hath blessed; and I cannot
   reverse it.” [267] Others not going so far as Renan, shrinking from
   thoroughgoing naturalism, believing in a perfect Christ, a moral miracle,
   yet affect a Christianity independent of dogma, and as little as possible
   encumbered by miracle, a Christianity purely ethical, consisting mainly in
   admiration of Christ’s character and moral teaching; and, as the professors
   of such a Christianity, regard themselves as exemplary disciples of Christ.
   Such are the men of whom the author of Supernatural Religion speaks as
   characterized by a “tendency to eliminate from Christianity, with
   thoughtless dexterity, every supernatural element which does not quite
   accord with current opinions,” and as endeavoring “to arrest for a moment
   the pursuing wolves of doubt and unbelief by practically throwing to them
   scrap by scrap the very doctrines which constitute the claims of
   Christianity to be regarded as a divine revelation at all.” [268] Such men
   can hardly be said to have a consistent theory of the universe, for they
   hold opinions based on incompatible theories, are naturalistic in tendency,
   yet will not carry out naturalism to all its consequences. They are either
   not able, or are disinclined, to realize the alternatives and to obey the
   voice of logic, which like a stern policeman bids them “Move on;.” but would
   rather hold views which unite the alternatives in one compound eclectic
   creed, like Schleiermacher, — himself an excellent example of the class, —
   of whom Strauss remarks that he ground down Christianity and Pantheism to
   powder, and so mixed them that it is hard to say where Pantheism ends and
   Christianity begins. In presence of such a spirit of compromise, so
   widespread, and recommended by the example of many men of ability and
   influence, it requires some courage to have and hold a definite position, or
   to resist the temptation to yield to the current and adopt the watchword:
   Christianity without dogma and miracle. But perhaps it will be easier by and
   by to realize the alternatives, when time has more clearly shown whither
   present tendencies lead. Meantime it is the evening twilight, and for the
   moment it seems as if we could do without the sun, for though he is below
   the horizon, the air is still full of light. But wait awhile; and the
   deepening of the twilight into the darkness of night will show how far
   Christ the Holy One of the Church’s confession can be dispensed with as the
   Sun of the spiritual world.

   3. The third anchor whereby the twelve were enabled to ride out the storm,
   was confidence in the character of their Master. They believed, yea, they
   knew, that He was the Holy One of God. They had been with Jesus long enough
   to have come to very decided conclusions respecting Him. They had seen Him
   work many miracles; they had heard Him discourse with marvellous wisdom, in
   parable and sermon, on the divine kingdom; they had observed His wondrously
   tender, gracious concern for the low and the lost; they had been present at
   His various encounters with Pharisees, and had noted His holy abhorrence of
   their falsehood, pride, vanity, and tyranny. All this blessed fellowship had
   begotten a confidence in, and reverence for, their beloved Master, too
   strong to be shaken by a single address containing some statements of an
   incomprehensible character, couched in questionable or even offensive
   language. Their intellect might be perplexed, but their heart remained true;
   and hence, while others who knew not Jesus well went off in disgust, they
   continued by His side, feeling that such a friend and guide was not to be
   parted with for a trifle.

   “We believe and know,” said Peter. He believed because he knew. Such
   implicit confidence as the twelve had in Jesus is possible only through
   intimate knowledge; for one cannot thus trust a stranger. All, therefore,
   who desire to get the benefit of this trust, must be willing to spend time
   and take trouble to get into the heart of the Gospel story, and of its great
   subject. The sure anchorage is not attainable by a listless, random reading
   of the evangelic narratives, but by a close, careful, prayerful study,
   pursued it may be for years. Those who grudge the trouble are in imminent
   danger of the fate which befell the ignorant multitude, being liable to be
   thrown into panic by every new infidel book, or to be scandalized by every
   strange utterance of the Object of faith. Those, on the other hand, who do
   take the trouble, will be rewarded for their pains. Storm-tossed for a time,
   they shall at length reach the harbor of a creed which is no nondescript
   compromise between infidelity and scriptural Christianity, but embraces all
   the cardinal facts and truths of the faith, as taught by Jesus in the
   Capernaum discourse, and as afterwards taught by the men who passed safely
   through the Capernaum crisis.

   May God in His mercy guide all souls now out in the tempestuous sea of doubt
   into that haven of rest!
     _________________________________________________________________

   [255] John vi. 37.

   [256] John vi. 44.

   [257] John vi. 45.

   [258] John viii. 31.

   [259] John vi. 36, 37

   [260] John vi. 44.

   [261] John vi. 67. The particle mē implies that a negative answer is looked
   for. See Winer, Neutest. Grammatik, § 57, Moulton’s translation, p. 641.

   [262] Matt. xvi. 22.

   [263] John vi. 68, 69.

   [264] See Alford in loc. The confession of Christ’s holiness was
   appropriate, as meeting an implied charge of having uttered language
   shocking to the moral feelings.

   [265] John vi. 70.

   [266] J. F. Richter, Siebenkäs, viii.

   [267] Numb. xxiii. 8, 20.

   [268] Supernatural Religion, i. 92 (6th ed.).
     _________________________________________________________________
     _________________________________________________________________

  10. THE LEAVEN OF THE PHARISEES AND SADDUCES

    Matt. 16:1–12; Mark 8:10–21.

   This new collision between Jesus and His opponents took place shortly after
   a second miracle of feeding similar to that performed in the neighborhood of
   Bethsaida Julias. What interval of time elapsed between the two miracles
   cannot be ascertained; [269] but it was long enough to admit of an extended
   journey on the part of our Lord and His disciples to the coasts of Tyre and
   Sidon, the scene of the pathetic meeting with the Syrophenician woman, and
   round from thence through the region of the ten cities, on the eastern
   border of the Galilean lake. It was long enough also to allow the cause and
   the fame of Jesus to recover from the low state to which they sank after the
   sifting sermon in the synagogue of Capernaum. The unpopular One had again
   become popular, so that on arriving at the south-eastern shore of the lake
   He found Himself attended by thousands, so intent on hearing Him preach, and
   on experiencing His healing power, that they remained with Him three days,
   almost, if not entirely, without food, thus creating a necessity for the
   second miraculous repast.

   After the miracle on the south-eastern shore, Jesus, we read, sent away the
   multitude; and taking ship, came into the coasts of Magdala, on the western
   side of the sea. [270] It was on His arrival there that He encountered the
   party who came seeking of Him a sign from heaven. These persons had probably
   heard of the recent miracle, as of many others wrought by Him; but,
   unwilling to accept the conclusion to which these wondrous works plainly
   led, they affected to regard them as insufficient evidence of His
   Messiahship, and demanded still more unequivocal proof before giving in
   their adherence to His claim. “Show us a sign from heaven,” said they;
   meaning thereby, something like the manna brought down from heaven by Moses,
   or the fire called down by Elijah, or the thunder and rain called down by
   Samuel; [271] it being assumed that such signs could be wrought only by the
   power of God, whilst the signs on earth, such as Jesus supplied in His
   miracles of healing, might be wrought by the power of the devil! [272] It
   was a demand of a sort often addressed to Jesus in good faith or in bad;
   [273] for the Jews sought after such signs — miracles of a singular and
   startling character, fitted to gratify a superstitious curiosity, and
   astonish a wonder-loving mind — miracles that were merely signs, serving no
   other purpose than to display divine power; like the rod of Moses, converted
   into a serpent, and reconverted into its original form.

   These demands of the sign-seekers Jesus uniformly met with a direct refusal.
   He would not condescend to work miracles of any description merely as
   certificates of His own Messiahship, or to furnish food for a superstitious
   appetite, or materials of amusement to sceptics. He knew that such as
   remained unbelievers in presence of His ordinary miracles, which were not
   naked signs, but also works of beneficence, could not be brought to faith by
   any means; nay, that the more evidence they got, the more hardened they
   should become in unbelief. He regarded the very demand for these signs as
   the indication of a fixed determination on the part of those who made it not
   to believe in Him, even if, in order to rid themselves of the disagreeable
   obligation, it should be necessary to put Him to death. Therefore, in
   refusing the signs sought after, He was wont to accompany the refusal with a
   word of rebuke or of sad foreboding; as when He said, at a very early period
   of His ministry, on His first visit to Jerusalem, after His baptism:
   “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” [274]

   On the present occasion the soul of Jesus was much perturbed by the renewed
   demands of the sign-seekers. “He sighed deeply in His spirit,” knowing full
   well what these demands meant, with respect both to those who made them and
   to Himself; and He addressed the parties who came tempting Him in
   excessively severe and bitter terms, — reproaching them with spiritual
   blindness, calling them a wicked and adulterous generation, and ironically
   referring them now, as He had once done before, [275] to the sign of the
   prophet Jonas. He told them, that while they knew the weather signs, and
   understood what a red sky in the morning or evening meant, they were blind
   to the manifest signs of the times, which showed at once that the Sun of
   righteousness had arisen, and that a dreadful storm of judgment was coming
   like a dark night on apostate Israel for her iniquity. He applied to them,
   and the whole generation they represented, the epithet “wicked,” to
   characterize their false-hearted, malevolent, and spiteful behavior towards
   Himself; and He employed the term “adulterous,” to describe them, in
   relation to God, as guilty of breaking their marriage covenant, pretending
   great love and zeal with their lip, but in their heart and life turning away
   from the living God to idols — forms, ceremonies, signs. He gave them the
   story of Jonah the prophet for a sign, in mystic allusion to His death;
   meaning to say, that one of the most reliable evidences that He was God’s
   servant indeed, was just the fact that He was rejected, and ignominiously
   and barbarously treated by such as those to whom He spake: that there could
   be no worse sign of a man than to be well received by them — that he could
   be no true Christ who was so received. [276]

   Having thus freely uttered His mind, Jesus left the sign-seekers; and
   entering into the ship in which He had just crossed from the other side,
   departed again to the same eastern shore, anxious to be rid of their
   unwelcome presence. On arriving at the land, He made the encounter which had
   just taken place the subject of instruction to the twelve. “Take heed,” He
   said as they walked along the way, “and beware of the leaven of the
   Pharisees and Sadducees.” The word was spoken abruptly, as the utterance of
   one waking out of a revery. Jesus, we imagine, while His disciples rowed Him
   across the lake, had been brooding over what had occurred, sadly musing on
   prevailing unbelief, and the dark, lowering weather-signs, portentous of
   evil to Him and to the whole Jewish people. And now, recollecting the
   presence of the disciples, He communicates His thoughts to them in the form
   of a warning, and cautions them against the deadly influence of an evil
   time, as a parent might bid his child beware of a poisonous plant whose
   garish flowers attracted its eye.

   In this warning, it will be observed, pharisaic and sadducaic tendencies are
   identified. Jesus speaks not of two leavens, but of one common to both
   sects, as if they were two species of one genus, two branches from one stem.
   [277] And such indeed they were. Superficially, the two parties were very
   diverse. The one was excessively zealous, the other was “moderate” in
   religion; the one was strict, the other easy in morals; the one was
   exclusively and intensely Jewish in feeling, the other was open to the
   influence of pagan civilization. Each party had a leaven peculiar to itself:
   that of the Pharisees being, as Christ was wont to declare, hypocrisy; [278]
   that of the Sadducees, an engrossing interest in merely material and
   temporal concerns, assuming in some a political form, as in the case of the
   partisans of the Herod family, called in the Gospels Herodians, in others
   wearing the guise of a philosophy which denied the existence of spirit and
   the reality of the future life, and made that denial an excuse for exclusive
   devotion to the interests of time. But here, as elsewhere, extremes met.
   Phariseeism, Sadduceeism, Herodianism, though distinguished by minor
   differences, were radically one. The religionists, the philosophers, the
   politicians, were all members of one great party, which was inveterately
   hostile to the divine kingdom. All alike were worldly-minded (of the
   Pharisees it is expressly remarked that they were covetous [279] ); all were
   opposed to Christ for fundamentally the same reason, viz. because He was not
   of this world; all united fraternally at this time in the attempt to vex Him
   by unbelieving, unreasonable demands; [280] and they all had a hand in His
   death at the last. It was thus made apparent, once for all, that a Christian
   is not one who merely differs superficially either from Pharisees or from
   Sadducees separately, but one who differs radically from both. A weighty
   truth, not yet well understood; for it is fancied by many that right
   believing and right living consist in going to the opposite extreme from any
   tendency whose evil influence is apparent. To avoid pharisaic strictness and
   superstition, grown odious, men run into sadducaic scepticism and license;
   or, frightened by the excesses of infidelity and secularity, they seek
   salvation in ritualism, infallible churches, and the revival of medieval
   monkery. Thus the two tendencies continue ever propagating each other on the
   principle of action and reaction; one generation or school going all lengths
   in one direction, and another making a point of being as unlike its
   predecessor or its neighbor as possible, and both being equally far from the
   truth.

   What the common leaven of Phariseeism and Sadduceeism was, Jesus did not
   deem it necessary to state. He had already indicated its nature with
   sufficient plainness in His severe reply to the sign-seekers. The radical
   vice of both sects was just ungodliness: blindness, and deadness of heart to
   the Divine. They did not know the true and the good when they saw it; and
   when they knew it, they did not love it. All around them were the evidences
   that the King and the kingdom of grace were among them; yet here were they
   asking for arbitrary outward signs, “external evidences” in the worst sense,
   that He who spake as never man spake, and worked wonders of mercy such as
   had never before been witnessed, was no impostor, but a man wise and good, a
   prophet, and the Son of God. Verily the natural man, religious or
   irreligious, is blind and dead! What these seekers after a sign needed was
   not a new sign, but a new heart; not mere evidence, but a spirit willing to
   obey the truth.

   The spirit of unbelief which ruled in Jewish society Jesus described as a
   leaven, with special reference to its diffusiveness; and most fitly, for it
   passes from sire to son, from rich to poor, from learned to unlearned, till
   a whole generation has been vitiated by its malign influence. Such was the
   state of things in Israel as it came under His eye. Spiritual blindness and
   deadness, with the outward symptom of the inward malady, — a constant
   craving for evidence, — met him on every side. The common people, the
   leaders of society, the religious, the sceptics, the courtiers, and the
   rustics, were all blind, and yet apparently all most anxious to see; ever
   renewing the demand, “What sign showest Thou, that we may see and believe
   Thee? What dost Thou work?”

   Vexed an hour ago by the sinister movements of foes, Jesus next found new
   matter for annoyance in the stupidity of friends. The disciples utterly,
   even ludicrously, misunderstood the warning word addressed to them. In
   conversation by themselves, while their Master walked apart, they discussed
   the question, what the strange words, so abruptly and earnestly spoken,
   might mean; and they came to the sapient conclusion that they were intended
   to caution them against buying bread from parties belonging to either of the
   offensive sects. It was an absurd mistake, and yet, all things considered,
   it was not so very unnatural: for, in the first place, as already remarked,
   Jesus had introduced the subject very abruptly; and secondly, some time had
   elapsed since the meeting with the seekers of a sign, during which no
   allusion seems to have been made to that matter. How were they to know that
   during all that time their Master’s thoughts had been occupied with what
   took place on the western shore of the lake? In any case, such a supposition
   was not likely to occur to their mind; for the demand for a sign had,
   doubtless, not appeared to them an event of much consequence, and it was
   probably forgotten as soon as their backs were turned upon the men who made
   it. And then, finally, it so happened that, just before Jesus began to
   speak, they remembered that in the hurry of a sudden departure they had
   forgotten to provide themselves with a stock of provisions for the journey.
   That was what they were thinking about when He began to say, “Take heed, and
   beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and of the Sadducees.” The momentous
   circumstance that they had with them but one loaf was causing them so much
   concern, that when they heard the caution against a particular kind of
   leaven, they jumped at once to the conclusion, “It is because we have no
   bread.”

   Yet the misunderstanding of the disciples, though simple and natural in its
   origin, was blameworthy. They could not have fallen into the mistake had the
   interest they took in spiritual and temporal things respectively been
   proportional to their relative importance. They had treated the incident on
   the other side of the lake too lightly, and they had treated their neglect
   to provide bread too gravely. They should have taken more to heart the
   ominous demand for a sign, and the solemn words spoken by their Master in
   reference thereto; and they should not have been troubled about the want of
   loaves in the company of Him who had twice miraculously fed the hungry
   multitude in the desert. Their thoughtlessness in one direction, and their
   over-thoughtfulness in another, showed that food and raiment occupied a
   larger place in their minds than the kingdom of God and its interests. Had
   they possessed more faith and more spirituality, they would not have exposed
   themselves to the reproachful question of their Master: “How is it that ye
   do not understand that I spake it not to you concerning bread, that ye
   should beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees?” [281]

   And yet, Jesus can hardly have expected these crude disciples to appreciate
   as He did the significance of what had occurred on the other side of the
   lake. It needed no common insight to discern the import of that demand for a
   sign; and the faculty of reading the signs of the times possessed by the
   disciples, as we shall soon see, and as all we have learned concerning them
   already might lead us to expect, was very small indeed. One of the principal
   lessons to be learned from the subject of this chapter, indeed, is just
   this: how different were the thoughts of Christ in reference to the future
   from the thoughts of His companions. We shall often have occasion to remark
   on this hereafter, as we advance towards the final crisis. At this point we
   are called to signalize the fact prominently for the first time.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [269] The chronological relation of the events recorded in Matt. xv. and
   xvi. to the feast of tabernacles spoken of in John vii. is an important
   question. It is one, however, on which the learned differ, and certainly is
   unattainable.

   [270] Matt. xv. 39.

   [271] See Alford. Stier refers to the apocryphal books to explain the nature
   of the signs demanded.

   [272] Matt. xii. 24 et par.

   [273] John ii. 18, vi. 30; Matt. xii. 38.

   [274] John ii. 19.

   [275] Matt. xii. 40.

   [276] Pfleiderer (Die Religion, ii. 447) recognizes so fully the importance
   of this encounter between Jesus and the Pharisees, that he fixes on it as
   the historical germ of the Temptation-history. He looks on the demand as
   made in earnest by persons ready to receive Jesus as the Christ, if He gave
   the necessary miracle-sign, and to form a friendly alliance with Him. Jesus,
   on the other hand, he represents as unwilling to take the Messiah sceptre
   out of hands sin-stained, and preferring to reach by another path His
   throne. That He was not, however, insensible to the temptation, Pfleiderer
   thinks was shown by the word of warning He afterwards uttered about the
   leaven of the Pharisees.

   [277] In this connection, the omission of the article before Saddoukaiōn is
   significant.

   [278] Luke xii. 1.

   [279] Luke xvi. 14.

   [280] in Mark (viii. 15) the “leaven of Herod” is mentioned.

   [281] Matt. xvi. 11.
     _________________________________________________________________

11. PETER’S CONFESSION; OR, CURRENT OPINION AND ETERNAL TRUTH

    Matt. 16:13–20; Mark 8:27–30; Luke 9:18–21.

   From the eastern shore of the lake Jesus directed His course northwards
   along the banks of the Upper Jordan, passing Bethsaida Julias, where, as
   Mark informs us, He restored eyesight to a blind man. Pursuing His journey,
   He arrived at length in the neighborhood of a town of some importance,
   beautifully situated near the springs of the Jordan, at the southern base of
   Mount Hermon. This was Cæsarea Philippi, formerly called Paneas, from the
   heathen god Pan, who was worshipped by the Syrian Greeks in the limestone
   cavern near by, in which Jordan’s fountains bubble forth to light. Its
   present name was given to it by Philip, tetrarch of Trachonitis, in honor of
   Cæsar Augustus; his own name being appended (Cæsarea Philippi, or Philip’s
   Cæsarea) to distinguish it from the other town of the same name on the
   Mediterranean coast. The town so named could boast of a temple of white
   marble, built by Herod the Great to the first Roman Emperor, besides villas
   and palaces, built by Philip, Herod’s son, in whose territories it lay, and
   who, as we have just stated, gave it its new name.

   Away in that remote secluded region, Jesus occupied Himself for a season in
   secret prayer, and in confidential conversations with His disciples on
   topics of deepest interest. One of these conversations had reference to His
   own Person. He introduced the subject by asking the twelve the question,
   “Whom do men say that I, the Son of man, am?” This question He asked, not as
   one needing to be informed, still less from any morbid sensitiveness, such
   as vain men feel respecting the opinions entertained of them by their
   fellow-creatures. He desired of His disciples a recital of current opinions,
   merely by way of preface to a profession of their own faith in the eternal
   truth concerning Himself. He deemed it good to draw forth from them such a
   profession at this time, because He was about to make communications to them
   on another subject, viz. His sufferings, which He knew would sorely try
   their faith. He wished them to be fairly committed to the doctrine of His
   Messiah-ship before proceeding to speak in plain terms on the unwelcome
   theme of His death.

   From the reply of the disciples, it appears that their Master had been the
   subject of much talk among the people. This is only what we should have
   expected. Jesus was a very public and a very extraordinary person, and to be
   much talked about is one of the inevitable penalties of prominence. The
   merits and the claims of the Son of man were accordingly freely and widely
   canvassed in those days, with gravity or with levity, with prejudice or with
   candor, with decision or indecision, intelligently or ignorantly, as is the
   way of men in all ages. As they mingled with the people, it was the lot of
   the twelve to hear many opinions concerning their Lord which never reached
   His ear; sometimes kind and favorable, making them glad; at other times
   unkind and unfavorable, making them sad.

   The opinions prevalent among the masses concerning Jesus — for it was with
   reference to these that He interrogated His disciples [282] — seem to have
   been mainly favorable. All agreed in regarding Him as a prophet of the
   highest rank, differing only as to which of the great prophets of Israel He
   most nearly resembled or personated. Some said He was John the Baptist
   revived, others Elias, while others again identified Him with one or other
   of the great prophets, as Jeremiah. These opinions are explained in part by
   an expectation then commonly entertained, that the advent of the Messiah
   would be preceded by the return of one of the prophets by whom God had
   spoken to the fathers, partly by the perception of real or supposed
   resemblances between Jesus and this or that prophet; His tenderness
   reminding one hearer of the author of the Lamentations, His sternness in
   denouncing hypocrisy and tyranny reminding another of the prophet of fire,
   while perhaps His parabolic discourses led a third to think of Ezekiel or of
   Daniel.

   When we reflect on the high veneration in which the ancient prophets were
   held, we cannot fail to see that these diverse opinions current among the
   Jewish people concerning Jesus imply a very high sense of His greatness and
   excellence. To us, who regard Him as the Sun, while the prophets were at
   best but lamps of greater or less brightness, such comparisons may well seem
   not only inadequate, but dishonoring. Yet we must not despise them, as the
   testimonies of open-minded but imperfectly-formed contemporaries to the
   worth of Him whom we worship as the Lord. Taken separately, they show that
   in the judgment of candid observers Jesus was a man of surpassing greatness;
   taken together, they show the many-sidedness of His character, and its
   superiority to that of any one of the prophets; for He could not have
   reminded those who witnessed His works, and heard Him preach, of all the
   prophets in turn, unless He had comprehended them all in His one person. The
   very diversity of opinion respecting Him, therefore, showed that a greater
   than Elias, or Jeremiah, or Ezekiel, or Daniel, had appeared.

   These opinions, valuable still as testimonials to the excellence of Christ,
   must be admitted further to be indicative, so far, of good dispositions on
   the part of those who cherished and expressed them. At a time when those who
   deemed themselves in every respect immeasurably superior to the multitude
   could find no better names for the Son of man than Samaritan, devil,
   blasphemer, glutton and drunkard, companion of publicans and sinners, it was
   something considerable to believe that the calumniated One was a prophet as
   worthy of honor as any of those whose sepulchres the professors of piety
   carefully varnished, while depreciating, and even putting to death, their
   living successors. The multitude who held this opinion might come short of
   true discipleship; but they were at least far in advance of the Pharisees
   and Sadducees, who came in tempting mood to ask a sign from heaven, and whom
   no sign, whether in heaven or in earth, would conciliate or convince.

   How, then, did Jesus receive the report of His disciples? Was He satisfied
   with these favorable, and in the circumstances really gratifying, opinions
   current among the people? He was not. He was not content to be put on a
   level with even the greatest of the prophets. He did not indeed express any
   displeasure against those who assigned Him such a rank, and He may even have
   been pleased to hear that public opinion had advanced so far on the way to
   the true faith. Nevertheless He declined to accept the position accorded.
   The meek and lowly Son of man claimed to be something more than a great
   prophet. Therefore He turned to His chosen disciples, as to men from whom He
   expected a more satisfactory statement of the truth, and pointedly asked
   what they thought of Him. “But you — whom say ye that I am?”

   In this case, as in many others, Simon son of Jonas answered for the
   company. His prompt, definite, memorable reply to his Master’s question was
   this: “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.” [283]

   With this view of His person Jesus was satisfied. He did not charge Peter
   with extravagance in going so far beyond the opinion of the populace. On the
   contrary, He entirely approved of what the ardent disciple had said, and
   expressed His satisfaction in no cold or measured terms. Never, perhaps, did
   He speak in more animated language, or with greater appearance of deep
   emotion. He solemnly pronounced Peter “blessed” on account of His faith; He
   spake for the first time of a church which should be founded, professing
   Peter’s faith as its creed; He promised that disciple great power in that
   church, as if grateful to him for being the first to put the momentous truth
   into words, and for uttering it so boldly amid prevailing unbelief, and
   crude, defective belief; and He expressed, in the strongest possible terms,
   His confidence that the church yet to be founded would stand to all ages
   proof against all the assaults of the powers of darkness.

   Simon’s confession, fairly interpreted, seems to contain these two
   propositions, — that Jesus was the Messiah, and that He was divine. “Thou
   art the Christ,” said he in the first place, with conscious reference to the
   reported opinions of the people, — "Thou art the Christ,” and not merely a
   prophet come to prepare Christ’s way. Then he added: “the Son of God,” to
   explain what he understood by the term Christ. The Messiah looked for by the
   Jews in general was merely a man, though a very superior one, the ideal man
   endowed with extraordinary gifts. The Christ of Peter’s creed was more than
   man — a superhuman, a divine being. This truth he sought to express in the
   second part of his confession. He called Jesus Son of God, with obvious
   reference to the name His Master had just given Himself — Son of man.
   “Thou,” he meant to say, “art not only what Thou hast now called Thyself,
   and what, in lowliness of mind, Thou art wont to call Thyself — the Son of
   man; [284] Thou art also Son of God, partaking of the divine nature not less
   really than of the human.” Finally, he prefixed the epithet “living” to the
   divine name, to express his consciousness that he was making a very
   momentous declaration, and to give that declaration a solemn, deliberate
   character. It was as if he said: “I know it is no light matter to call any
   one, even Thee, Son of God, of the One living eternal Jehovah. But I shrink
   not from the assertion, however bold, startling, or even blasphemous it may
   seem. I cannot by any other expression do justice to all I know and feel
   concerning Thee, or convey the impression left on my mind by what I have
   witnessed during the time I have followed Thee as a disciple.” In this way
   was the disciple urged on, in spite of his Jewish monotheism, to the
   recognition of his Lord’s divinity. [285]

   That the famous confession, uttered in the neighborhood of Cæsarea Philippi,
   really contains in germ [286] the doctrine of Christ’s divinity, might be
   inferred from the simple fact that Jesus was satisfied with it; for He
   certainly claimed to be Son of God in a sense predicable of no mere man,
   even according to synoptical accounts of His teaching. [287] But when we
   consider the peculiar terms in which He expressed Himself respecting
   Peter’s faith, we are still further confirmed in this conclusion. “Flesh and
   blood,” said He to the disciple, “hath not revealed it unto thee, but my
   Father which is in heaven.” These words evidently imply that the person
   addressed had said something very extraordinary; something he could not have
   learned from the traditional established belief of his generation respecting
   Messiah; something new even for himself and his fellow-disciples, if not in
   word, at least in meaning, [288] to which he could not have attained by the
   unaided effort of his own mind. The confession is virtually represented as
   an inspiration, a revelation, a flash of light from heaven, — the utterance
   not of the rude fisherman, but of the divine Spirit speaking, through his
   mouth, a truth hitherto hidden, and yet but dimly comprehended by him to
   whom it hath been revealed. All this agrees well with the supposition that
   the confession contains not merely an acknowledgment of the Messiahship of
   Jesus in the ordinary sense, but a proclamation of the true doctrine
   concerning Messiah’s person — viz. that He was a divine being manifest in
   the flesh.

   The remaining portion of our Lord’s address to Simon shows that He assigned
   to the doctrine confessed by that disciple the place of fundamental
   importance in the Christian faith. The object of these remarkable statements
   [289] is not to assert the supremacy of Peter, as Romanists contend, but to
   declare the supremely important nature of the truth he has confessed. In
   spite of all difficulties of interpretation, this remains clear and certain
   to us. Who or what the “rock” is we deem doubtful; it may be Peter, or it
   may be his confession: it is a point on which scholars equally sound in the
   faith, and equally innocent of all sympathy with Popish dogmas, are divided
   in opinion, and on which it would ill become us to dogmatize. Of this only
   we are sure, that not Peter’s person, but Peter’s faith, is the fundamental
   matter in Christ’s mind. When He says to that disciple, “Thou art Petros,”
   He means, “Thou art a man of rock, worthy of the name I gave thee by
   anticipation the first time I met thee, because thou hast at length got thy
   foot planted on the rock of the eternal truth.” He speaks of the church that
   is to be, for the first time, in connection with Simon’s confession, because
   that church is to consist of men adopting that confession as their own, and
   acknowledging Him to be the Christ, the Son of God. [290] He alludes to the
   keys of the kingdom of heaven in the same connection, because none but those
   who homologate the doctrine first solemnly enunciated by Simon, shall be
   admitted within its gates. He promises Peter the power of the keys, not
   because it is to belong to him alone, or to him more than others, but by way
   of honorable mention, in recompense for the joy he has given his Lord by the
   superior energy and decision of his faith. He is grateful to Peter, because
   he has believed most emphatically that He came out from God; [291] and He
   shows His gratitude by promising first to him individually a power which He
   afterwards conferred on all His chosen disciples. [292] ] Finally, if it be
   true that Peter is here called the rock on which the church shall be built,
   this is to be understood in the same way as the promise of the keys. Peter
   is called the foundation of the church only in the same sense as all the
   apostles are called the foundation by the Apostle Paul, [293] viz. as the
   first preachers of the true faith concerning Jesus as the Christ and Son of
   God; and if the man who first professed that faith be honored by being
   called individually the rock, that only shows that the faith, and not the
   man, is after all the true foundation. That which makes Simon a Petros, a
   rock-like man, fit to build on, is the real Petra on which the Ecclesia is
   to be built.

   After these remarks we deem it superfluous to enter minutely into the
   question to what the term “rock” refers in the sentence, “Thou art Peter,
   and on this rock I will build my church.” At the same time, we must say that
   it is by no means so clear to us that the rock must be Peter, and can be
   nothing else, as it is the fashion of modern commentators to assert. To the
   rendering, “Thou art Petros, a man of rock; and on thee, as on a rock, I
   will build my church,” it is possible, as already admitted, to assign an
   intelligible scriptural meaning. But we confess our preference for the old
   Protestant interpretation, according to which our Lord’s words to His
   disciple should be thus paraphrased: “Thou, Simon Barjonas, art Petros, a
   man of rock, worthy of thy name Peter, because thou hast made that bold,
   good confession; and on the truth thou hast now confessed, as on a rock,
   will I build my church; and so long as it abides on that foundation it will
   stand firm and unassailable against all the powers of hell.” So rendering,
   we make Jesus say not only what He really thought, but what was most worthy
   to be said. For divine truth is the sure foundation. Believers, even Peters,
   may fail, and prove any thing but stable; but truth is eternal, and faileth
   never. This we say not unmindful of the counterpart truth, that “the
   truth,” unless confessed by living souls, is dead, and no source of
   stability. Sincere personal conviction, with a life corresponding, is needed
   to make the faith in the objective sense of any virtue.

   We cannot pass from these memorable words of Christ without adverting, with
   a certain solemn awe, to the strange fate which has befallen them in the
   history of the church. This text, in which the church’s Lord declares that
   the powers of darkness shall not prevail against her, has been used by these
   powers as an instrument of assault, and with only too much success. What a
   gigantic system of spiritual despotism and blasphemous assumption has been
   built on these two sentences concerning the rock and the keys! How nearly,
   by their aid, has the kingdom of God been turned into a kingdom of Satan!
   One is tempted to wish that Jesus, knowing beforehand what was to happen,
   had so framed His words as to obviate the mischief. But the wish were vain.
   No forms of expression, however carefully selected, could prevent human
   ignorance from falling into misconception, or hinder men who had a purpose
   to serve, from finding in Scripture what suited that purpose. Nor can any
   Christian, on reflection, think it desirable that the Author of our faith
   had adopted a studied prudential style of speech, intended not so much to
   give faithful expression to the actual thoughts of His mind and feelings of
   His heart, as to avoid giving occasion of stumbling to honest stupidity, or
   an excuse for perversion to dishonest knavery. The spoken word in that case
   had been no longer a true reflection of the Word incarnate. All the poetry
   and passion and genuine human feeling which form the charm of Christ’s
   sayings would have been lost, and nothing would have remained but prosaic
   platitudes, like those of the scribes and of theological pedants. No; let us
   have the precious words of our Master in all their characteristic intensity
   and vehemence of unqualified assertion; and if prosaic or disingenuous men
   will manufacture out of them incredible dogmas, let them answer for it. Why
   should the children be deprived of their bread, and only the dogs be cared
   for?

   One remark more ere we pass from the subject of this chapter. The part we
   find Peter playing in this incident at Cæsarea Philippi prepares us for
   regarding as historically credible the part assigned to him in the Acts of
   the Apostles in some momentous scenes, as, e.g., in that brought before us
   in the tenth chapter. The Tübingen school of critics tell us that the Acts
   is a composition full of invented situations adapted to an apologetic
   design; and that the plan on which the book proceeds is to make Peter act as
   like Paul as possible in the first part, and Paul, on the other hand, as
   much like Peter as possible in the second. The conversion of the Roman
   centurion by Peter’s agency they regard as a capital instance of Peter being
   made to pose as Paul, i.e., as an universalist in his views of Christianity.
   Now, all we have to say on the subject here is this. The conduct ascribed to
   Peter the apostle in the tenth chapter of the Acts is credible in the light
   of the narrative we have been studying. In both we find the same man the
   recipient of a revelation; in both we find him the first to receive, utter,
   and act on a great Christian truth. Is it incredible that the man who
   received one revelation as a disciple should receive another as an apostle?
   Is it not psychologically probable that the man who now appears so original
   and audacious in connection with one great truth, will again show the same
   attributes of originality and audacity in connection with some other truth?
   For our part, far from feeling sceptical as to the historic truth of the
   narrative in the Acts, we should have been very much surprised if in the
   history of the nascent church Peter had been found playing a part altogether
   devoid of originalities and audacities. He would in that case have been very
   unlike his former self.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [282] Luke ix. 18, hoi ochloi.

   [283] So in Matthew; in the other Gospels the reply is abbreviated, and the
   confession of Messiahship alone mentioned. Matthew’s account of this
   memorable incident is throughout the fullest, a fact of importance when it
   is considered that Matthew’s, according to even Dr. Baur, is the oldest and
   most historical Gospel.

   [284] For a fuller exposition of the view we take of this title, which has
   occasioned so much discussion, we may refer our readers to The Humiliation
   of Christ, note, p. 225 (Cunningham Lectures, sixth series, 2d ed.).

   [285] On this topic consult Wace, Christianity and Morality, the Boyle
   Lectures for 1874-75, Lecture V., second course.

   [286] Of course all that was implied was not yet present in Peter’s mind.

   [287] E.g., in Matthew xi. 27, though we cannot go into the discussion here.

   [288] The words, with exception of the epithet “living,’ are found in John
   i. 49.

   [289] Matt. xvi. 18, 19.

   [290] This was the usual formula by which converts confessed their faith in
   the apostolic age.

   [291] John xvi. 27.

   [292] Matt. xviii. 18; John xx. 23.

   [293] Eph. ii. 20.
     _________________________________________________________________

12. FIRST LESSON ON THE CROSS
     _________________________________________________________________

  SECTION I. FIRST ANNOUNCEMENT OF CHRIST’S DEATH

    Matt. 16:21-28; Mark 8:31-38; Luke 9:22-27.

   Not till an advanced period in His public ministry — not, in fact, till it
   was drawing to a close — did Jesus speak in plain, unmistakable terms of His
   death. The solemn event was foreknown by Him from the first; and He betrayed
   His consciousness of what was awaiting Him by a variety of occasional
   allusions. These earlier utterances, however, were all couched in mystic
   language. They were of the nature of riddles, whose meaning became clear
   after the event, but which before, none could, or at least did, read. Jesus
   spake now of a temple, which, if destroyed, He should raise again in three
   days; [294] at another time of a lifting up of the Son of man, like unto
   that of the brazen serpent in the wilderness; [295] and on yet other
   occasions, of a sad separation of the bridegroom from the children of the
   bridechamber, [296] of the giving of His flesh for the life of the world,
   [297] and of a sign like that of the prophet Jonas, which should be given in
   His own person to an evil and adulterous generation. [298]

   At length, after the conversation in Cæsarea Philippi, Jesus changed His
   style of speaking on the subject of His sufferings, substituting for dark,
   hidden allusions, plain, literal, matter-of-fact statements. [299] This
   change was naturally adapted to the altered circumstances in which He was
   placed. The signs of the times were growing ominous; storm-clouds were
   gathering in the air; all things were beginning to point towards Calvary.
   His work in Galilee and the provinces was nearly done; it remained for Him
   to bear witness to the truth in and around the holy city; and from the
   present mood of the ecclesiastical authorities and the leaders of religious
   society, as manifested by captious question and unreasonable demand, [300]
   and a constant espionage on His movements, it was not difficult to foresee
   that it would not require many more offences, or much longer time, to ripen
   dislike and jealousy into murderous hatred. Such plain speaking, therefore,
   concerning what was soon to happen, was natural and seasonable. Jesus was
   now entering the valley of the shadow of death, and in so speaking He was
   but adapting His talk to the situation.

   Plain-speaking regarding His death was now not only natural on Christ’s
   part, but at once necessary and safe in reference to his disciples. It was
   necessary, in order that they might be prepared for the approaching event,
   as far as that was possible in the case of men who, to the last, persisted
   in hoping that the issue would be different from what their Master
   anticipated. It was safe; for now the subject might be spoken of plainly
   without serious risk to their faith. Before the disciples were established
   in the doctrine of Christ’s person, the doctrine of the cross might have
   scared them away altogether. Premature preaching of a Christ to be crucified
   might have made them unbelievers in the fundamental truth that Jesus of
   Nazareth was the Christ. Therefore, in consideration of their weakness,
   Jesus maintained a certain reserve respecting His sufferings, till their
   faith in Him as the Christ should have become sufficiently rooted to stand
   the strain of the storm soon to be raised by a most unexpected, unwelcome,
   and incomprehensible announcement. Only after hearing Peter’s confession was
   He satisfied that the strength necessary for enduring the trial had been
   attained.

   Wherefore, “from that time forth began Jesus to show unto His disciples how
   that He must go unto Jerusalem, and suffer many things of the elders and
   chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and be raised again the third
   day.”

   Every clause in this solemn announcement demands our reverent scrutiny.

   Jesus showed unto His disciples —

   I. “That He must go unto Jerusalem.” Yes! there the tragedy must be enacted:
   that was the fitting scene for the stupendous events that were about to take
   place. It was dramatically proper that the Son of man should die in that
   “holy,” unholy city, which had earned a most unenviable notoriety as the
   murderess of the prophets, the stoner of them whom God sent unto her. “It
   cannot be” — it were incongruous — "that a prophet perish out of
   Jerusalem.” [301] It was due also to the dignity of Jesus, and to the design
   of His death, that He should suffer there. Not in an obscure corner or in an
   obscure way must He die, but in the most public place, and in a formal,
   judicial manner. He must be lifted up in view of the whole Jewish nation, so
   that all might see Him whom they had pierced, and by whose stripes also they
   might yet be healed. The “Lamb of God” must be slain in the place where all
   the legal sacrifices were offered.

   2. “And suffer many things.” Too many to enumerate, too painful to speak of
   in detail, and better passed over in silence for the present. The bare fact
   that their beloved Master was to be put to death, without any accompanying
   indignities, would be sufficiently dreadful to the disciples; and Jesus
   mercifully drew a veil over much that was present to His own thoughts. In a
   subsequent conversation on the same sad theme, when His passion was near at
   hand, He drew aside the veil a little, and showed them some of the “many
   things.” But even then He was very sparing in His allusions, hinting only by
   a passing word that He should be mocked, and scourged, and spit upon. [302]
   He took no delight in expatiating on such harrowing scenes. He was willing
   to bear those indignities, but He cared not to speak of them more than was
   absolutely necessary.

   3. “Of the elders and chief priests and scribes.” Not of them alone, for
   Gentile rulers and the people of Israel were to have a hand in
   evil-entreating the Son of man as well as Jewish ecclesiastics. But the
   parties named were to be the prime movers and most guilty agents in the
   nefarious transaction. The men who ought to have taught the people to
   recognize in Jesus the Lord’s Anointed, would hound them on to cry, “Crucify
   Him, crucify Him,” and by importunities and threats urge heathen authorities
   to perpetrate a crime for which they had no heart. Gray-haired elders
   sitting in council would solemnly decide that He was worthy of death; high
   priests would utter oracles, that one man must die for the people, that the
   whole nation perish not; scribes learned in the law would use their legal
   knowledge to invent plausible grounds for an accusation involving capital
   punishment. Jesus had suffered many petty annoyances from such persons
   already; but the time was approaching when nothing would satisfy them but
   getting the object of their dislike cast forth out of the world. Alas for
   Israel, when her wise men, and her holy men, and her learned men, knew of no
   better use to make of the stone chosen of God, and precious, than thus
   contemptuously and wantonly to fling it away!

   4. “And be killed.” Yes, and for blessed ends pre-ordained of God. But of
   these Jesus speaks not now. He simply states, in general terms, the fact, in
   this first lesson on the doctrine of the cross. [303] Any thing more at this
   stage had been wasted words. To what purpose speak of the theology of the
   cross, of God’s great design in the death which was to be brought about by
   man’s guilty instrumentality, to disciples unwilling to receive even the
   matter of fact? The rude shock of an unwelcome announcement must first be
   over before any thing can be profitably said on these higher themes.
   Therefore not a syllable here of salvation by the death of the Son of man;
   of Christ crucified for man’s guilt as well as by man’s guilt. The hard bare
   fact alone is stated, theology being reserved for another season, when the
   hearers should be in a fitter frame of mind for receiving instruction.

   5. Finally, Jesus told His disciples that He should “be raised again the
   third day.” To some so explicit a reference to the resurrection at this
   early date has appeared improbable. [304] To us, on the contrary, it appears
   eminently seasonable. When was Jesus more likely to tell His disciples that
   He would rise again shortly after His death, than just on the occasion when
   He first told them plainly that He should die? He knew how harsh the one
   announcement would be to the feelings of His faithful ones, and it was
   natural that He should add the other, in the hope that when it was
   understood that His death was to be succeeded, after a brief interval of
   three days, by resurrection, the news would be much less hard to bear.
   Accordingly, after uttering the dismal words “be killed,” He, with
   characteristic tenderness, hastened to say, “and be raised again the third
   day;.” that, having torn, He might heal, and having smitten, He might bind
   up. [305]

   The grave communications made by Jesus were far from welcome to His
   disciples. Neither now nor at any subsequent time did they listen to the
   forebodings of their Lord with resignation even, not to speak of cheerful
   acquiescence or spiritual joy. They never heard Him speak of His death
   without pain; and their only comfort, in connection with such announcements
   as the present, seems to have been the hope that He had taken too gloomy a
   view of the situation, and that His apprehensions would turn out groundless.
   They, for their part, could see no grounds for such dark anticipations, and
   their Messianic ideas did not dispose them to be on the outlook for these.
   They had not the slightest conception that it behoved the Christ to suffer.
   On the contrary, a crucified Christ was a scandal and a contradiction to
   them, quite as much as it continued to be to the majority of the Jewish
   people after the Lord had ascended to glory. Hence the more firmly they
   believed that Jesus was the Christ, the more confounding it was to be told
   that He must be put to death. “How,” they asked themselves, “can these
   things be? How can the Son of God be subject to such indignities? How can
   our Master be the Christ, as we firmly believe, come to set up the divine
   kingdom, and to be crowned its King with glory and honor, and yet at the
   same time be doomed to undergo the ignominious fate of a criminal
   execution?” These questions the twelve could not now, nor until after the
   Resurrection, answer; nor is this wonderful, for if flesh and blood could
   not reveal the doctrine of Christ’s person, still less could it reveal the
   doctrine of His cross. Not without a very special illumination from heaven
   could they understand the merest elements of that doctrine, and see, e.g.,
   that nothing was more worthy of the Son of God than to humble Himself and
   become subject unto death, even the death of the cross; that the glory of
   God consists not merely in being the highest, but in this, that being high,
   He stoops in lowly love to bear the burden of His own sinful creatures; that
   nothing could more directly and certainly conduce to the establishment of
   the divine kingdom than the gracious self-humiliation of the King; that only
   by ascending the cross could Messiah ascend the throne of His mediatorial
   glory; that only so could He subdue human hearts, and become Lord of men’s
   affections as well as of their destinies. Many in the church do not
   understand these blessed truths, even at this late era: what wonder, then,
   if they were hid for a season from the eyes of the first disciples! Let us
   not reproach them for the veil that was on their faces; let us rather make
   sure that the same veil is not on our own.

   On this occasion, as at Cæsarea Philippi, the twelve found a most eloquent
   and energetic interpreter of their sentiments in Simon Peter. The action and
   speech of that disciple at this time were characteristic in the highest
   degree. He took Jesus, we are told (laid hold of Him, we suppose, by His
   hand or His garment), and began to rebuke Him, saying, “Be it far from Thee,
   Lord;.” or more literally, “God be merciful to Thee: God forbid! this shall
   not be unto Thee.” What a strange compound of good and evil is this man! His
   language is dictated by the most intense affection: he cannot bear the
   thought of any harm befalling his Lord; yet how irreverent and disrespectful
   he is towards Him whom he has just acknowledged to be the Christ, the Son of
   the living God! How he overbears, and contradicts, and domineers, and, as it
   were, tries to bully his Master into putting away from His thoughts those
   gloomy forebodings of coming evil! Verily he has need of chastisement to
   teach him his own place, and to scourge out of his character the bad
   elements of forwardness, and undue familiarity, and presumptuous self-will.

   Happily for Peter, he had a Master who, in His faithful love, spared not the
   rod when it was needful. Jesus judged that it was needed now, and therefore
   He administered a rebuke not less remarkable for severity than was the
   encomium at Cæsarea Philippi for warm, unqualified approbation, and
   curiously contrasting with that encomium in the terms in which it was
   expressed. He turned round on His offending disciple, and sternly said: “Get
   thee behind me, Satan; thou art an offence unto me: for thou savorest not
   the things that be of God, but those that be of men.” The same disciple who
   on the former occasion had spoken by inspiration of Heaven is here
   represented as speaking by inspiration of mere flesh and blood — of mere
   natural affection for his Lord, and of the animal instinct of
   self-preservation, thinking of self-interest merely, not of duty. He whom
   Christ had pronounced a man of rock, strong in faith, and fit to be a
   foundation-stone in the spiritual edifice, is here called an offence, a
   stumbling-stone lying in his Master’s path. Peter, the noble confessor of
   that fundamental truth, by the faith of which the church would be able to
   defy the gates of hell, appears here in league with the powers of darkness,
   the unconscious mouth-piece of Satan the tempter. “Get thee behind me,
   Satan!” What a downcome for him who but yesterday got that promise of the
   power of the keys! How suddenly has the novice church dignitary, too
   probably lifted up with pride or vanity, fallen into the condemnation of the
   devil!

   This memorable rebuke seems mercilessly severe, and yet on consideration we
   feel it was nothing more than what was called for. Christ’s language on this
   occasion needs no apology, such as might be drawn from supposed excitement
   of feeling, or from a consciousness on the speaker’s part that the infirmity
   of His own sentient nature was whispering the same suggestion as that which
   came from Peter’s lips. Even the hard word Satan, which is the sting of the
   speech, is in its proper place. It describes exactly the character of the
   advice given by Simon. That advice was substantially this: “Save thyself at
   any rate; sacrifice duty to self-interest, the cause of God to personal
   convenience.” An advice truly Satanic in principle and tendency! For the
   whole aim of Satanic policy is to get self-interest recognized as the chief
   end of man. Satan’s temptations aim at nothing worse than this. Satan is
   called the Prince of this world, because self-interest rules the world; he
   is called the accuser of the brethren, because he does not believe that even
   the sons of God have any higher motive. He is a sceptic; and his scepticism
   consists in determined, scornful unbelief in the reality of any chief end
   other than that of personal advantage. “Doth Job, or even Jesus, serve God
   for naught? Self-sacrifice, suffering for righteousness’ sake, fidelity to
   truth even unto death: — it is all romance and youthful sentimentalism, or
   hypocrisy and hollow cant. There is absolutely no such thing as a surrender
   of the lower life for the higher; all men are selfish at heart, and have
   their price: some may hold out longer than others, but in the last extremity
   every man will prefer his own things to the things of God. All that a man
   hath will he give for his life, his moral integrity and his piety not
   excepted.” Such is Satan’s creed.

   The suggestion made by Peter, as the unconscious tool of the spirit of evil,
   is identical in principle with that made by Satan himself to Jesus in the
   temptation in the wilderness. The tempter said then in effect: “If Thou be
   the Son of God, use Thy power for Thine own behoof; Thou art hungry, e.g.,
   make bread for Thyself out of the stones. If Thou be the Son of God, presume
   on Thy privilege as the favorite of Heaven; cast Thyself down from this
   elevation, securely counting on protection from harm, even where other men
   would be allowed to suffer the consequences of their foolhardiness. What
   better use canst Thou make of Thy divine powers and privileges than to
   promote Thine own advantage and glory?” Peter’s feeling at the present time
   seems to have been much the same: “If Thou be the Son of God, why shouldst
   Thou suffer an ignominious, violent death? Thou hast power to save Thyself
   from such a fate; surely Thou wilt not hesitate to use it!” The attached
   disciple, in fact, was an unconscious instrument employed by Satan to
   subject Jesus to a second temptation, analogous to the earlier one in the
   desert of Judea. It was the god of this world that was at work in both
   cases; who, being accustomed to find men only too ready to prefer safety to
   righteousness, could not believe that he should find nothing of this spirit
   in the Son of God, and therefore came again and again seeking an open point
   in His armor through which he might shoot his fiery darts; not renouncing
   hope till his intended victim hung on the cross, apparently conquered by the
   world, but in reality a conqueror both of the world and of its lord.

   The severe language uttered by Jesus on this occasion, when regarded as
   addressed to a dearly beloved disciple, shows in a striking manner His holy
   abhorrence of every thing savoring of self-seeking. “Save Thyself,” counsels
   Simon: “Get thee behind me, Satan,” replies Simon’s Lord. Truly Christ was
   not one who pleased Himself. Though He were a Son, yet would He learn
   obedience by the things which He had to suffer. And by this mind He proved
   Himself to be the Son, and won from His Father the approving voice: “Thou
   art my beloved Son, in Thee I am well pleased,” — Heaven’s reply to the
   voice from hell counselling Him to pursue a course of self-pleasing.
   Persevering in this mind, Jesus was at length lifted up on the cross, and so
   became the Author of eternal salvation unto all them that obey Him. Blessed
   now and forevermore be His name, who so humbled Himself, and became obedient
   as far as death!
     _________________________________________________________________

   [294] John ii. 19.

   [295] John iii. 14.

   [296] Matt. ix. 15.

   [297] John vi.

   [298] Matt. xvi. 4.

   [299] “He spake that saying openly” (parrhēsia, Mark viii. 32.

   [300] Matt. xv. 1sqq., xvi. 1 sqq.

   [301] Luke xiii. 33.

   [302] Mark x. 34; Luke xviii. 32.

   [303] The cross is not even named here; but it was in Christ’s thoughts as
   the following address to the disciples plainly shows. The fact, without the
   mode, of death was enough for the first lesson.

   [304] The three synoptical evangelists agree in adding this reference to the
   resurrection to the first announcement of Christ’s death. Their agreement in
   the whole of this announcemtn is very striking, yet only what was to be
   expected, considering its contents.

   [305] Pleiderer regards the pre-intimations by Jesus of a supernatural
   restitution of His person as the Messiah of the kingdom of god, as not less
   historical than any of the words ascribed to Him in the synoptical Gospel.
   He only thinks the definite fixation of the interval between death and
   resurrection due to later redaction. — Die Religion, ii. 433.
     _________________________________________________________________

  SECTION II. CROSS-BEARING, THE LAW OF DISCIPLESHIP

    Matt. xvi. 24–28; Mark viii. 34–38; Luke ix. 23–27.

   After one hard announcement, comes another not less hard. The Lord Jesus has
   told His disciples that He must one day be put to death; He now tells them,
   that as it fares with Him, so it must fare with them also. The second
   announcement was naturally occasioned by the way in which the first had been
   received. Peter had said, and all had felt, “This shall not be unto Thee.”
   Jesus replies in effect, “Say you so? I tell you that not only shall I, your
   Master, be crucified, — for such will be the manner of my death, [306] — but
   ye too, faithfully following me, shall most certainly have your crosses to
   bear. ‘If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his
   cross, and follow me.’ “

   The second announcement was not, like the first, made to the twelve only.
   This we might infer from the terms of the announcement, which are general,
   even if we had not been informed, as we are by Mark and Luke, that before
   making it Jesus called the people unto Him, with His disciples, and spake in
   the hearing of them all. [307] The doctrine here taught, therefore, is for
   all Christians in all ages: not for apostles only, but for the humblest
   disciples; not for priests or preachers, but for the laity as well; not for
   monks living in cloisters, but for men living and working in the outside
   world. The King and Head of the church here proclaims a universal law
   binding on all His subjects, requiring all to bear a cross in fellowship
   with Himself.

   We are not told how the second announcement was received by those who heard
   it, and particularly by the twelve. We can believe, however, that to Peter
   and his brethren it sounded less harsh than the first, and seemed, at least
   theoretically, more acceptable. Common experience might teach them that
   crosses, however unpleasant to flesh and blood, were nevertheless things
   that might be looked for in the lot of mere men. But what had Christ the Son
   of God to do with crosses? Ought He not to be exempt from the sufferings and
   indignities of ordinary mortals? If not, of what avail was His divine
   Sonship? In short, the difficulty for the twelve was probably, not that the
   servant should be no better than the Master, but that the Master should be
   no better than the servant.

   Our perplexity, on the other hand, is apt to be just the reverse of this.
   Familiar with the doctrine that Jesus died on the cross in our room, we are
   apt to wonder what occasion there can be for our bearing a cross. If He
   suffered for us vicariously, what need, we are ready to inquire, for
   suffering on our part likewise? We need to be reminded that Christ’s
   sufferings, while in some respects peculiar, are in other respects common to
   Him with all in whom His spirit abides; that while, as redemptive, His death
   stands alone, as suffering for righteousness’ sake it is but the highest
   instance of a universal law, according to which all who live a true godly
   life must suffer hardship in a false evil world. [308] And it is very
   observable that Jesus took a most effectual method of keeping this truth
   prominently before the mind of His followers in all ages, by proclaiming it
   with great emphasis on the first occasion on which He plainly announced that
   He Himself was to die, giving it, in fact, as the first lesson on the
   doctrine of His death: the first of four to be found in the Gospels. [309]
   Thereby He in effect declared that only such as were willing to be crucified
   with Him should be saved by His death; nay, that willingness to bear a cross
   was indispensable to the right understanding of the doctrine of salvation
   through Him. It is as if above the door of the school in which the mystery
   of redemption was to be taught, He had inscribed the legend: Let no man who
   is unwilling to deny himself, and take up his cross, enter here.

   In this great law of discipleship the cross signifies not merely the
   external penalty of death, but all troubles that come on those who earnestly
   endeavor to live as Jesus lived in this world, and in consequence of that
   endeavor. Many and various are the afflictions of the righteous, differing
   in kind and degree, according to times and circumstances, and the callings
   and stations of individuals. For the righteous One, who died not only by the
   unjust, but for them, the appointed cup was filled with all possible
   ingredients of shame and pain, mingled together in the highest degree of
   bitterness. Not a few of His most honored servants have come very near their
   Master in the manner and measure of their afflictions for His sake, and have
   indeed drunk of His cup, and been baptized with His bloody baptism. But for
   the rank and file of the Christian host the hardships to be endured are
   ordinarily less severe, the cross to be borne less heavy. For one the cross
   may be the calumnies of lying lips, “which speak grievous things proudly and
   contemptuously against the righteous;.” for another, failure to attain the
   much-worshipped idol success in life, so often reached by unholy means not
   available for a man who has a conscience; for a third, mere isolation and
   solitariness of spirit amid uncongenial, unsympathetic neighbors, not minded
   to live soberly, righteously, and godly, and not loving those who do so
   live.

   The cross, therefore, is not the same for all. But that there is a cross of
   some shape for all true disciples is clearly implied in the words: “If any
   one will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross.” The
   plain meaning of these words is, that there is no following Jesus on any
   other terms — a doctrine which, however clearly taught in the Gospel,
   spurious Christians are unwilling to believe and resolute to deny. They take
   the edge off their Lord’s statement by explaining that it applies only to
   certain critical times, happily very different from their own; or that if it
   has some reference to all times, it is only applicable to such as are called
   to play a prominent part in public affairs as leaders of opinion, pioneers
   of progress, prophets denouncing the vices of the age, and uttering
   unwelcome oracles, — a proverbially dangerous occupation, as the Greek poet
   testified who said: “Apollo alone should prophesy, for he fears nobody.”
   [310] To maintain that all who would live devoutly in Christ Jesus must
   suffer somehow, is, they think, to take too gloomy and morose a view of the
   wickedness of the world, or too high and exacting a view of the Christian
   life. The righteousness which in ordinary times involves a cross is in their
   view folly and fanaticism. It is speaking when one should be silent,
   meddling in matters with which one has no concern; in a word, it is being
   righteous overmuch. Such thoughts as these, expressed or unexpressed, are
   sure to prevail extensively when religious profession is common. The fact
   that fidelity involves a cross, as also the fact that Christ was crucified
   just because He was righteous, are well understood by Christians when they
   are a suffering minority, as in primitive ages. But these truths are much
   lost sight of in peaceful, prosperous times. Then you shall find many
   holding most sound views of the cross Christ bore for them, but sadly
   ignorant concerning the cross they themselves have to bear in fellowship
   with Christ. Of this cross they are determined to know nothing. What it can
   mean, or whence it can come, they cannot comprehend; though had they the
   true spirit of self-denial required of disciples by Christ, they might find
   it for themselves in their daily life, in their business, in their home,
   nay, in their own heart, and have no need to seek for it in the ends of the
   earth, or to manufacture artificial crosses out of ascetic austerities.

   To the law of the cross Jesus annexed three reasons designed to make the
   obeying of it easier, by showing disciples that, in rendering obedience to
   the stern requirement, they attend to their own true interest. Each reason
   is introduced by a “For.”

   The first reason is: “For whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but
   whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.” In this startling
   paradox the word “life” is used in a double sense. In the first clause of
   each member of the sentence it signifies natural life, with all the adjuncts
   that make it pleasant and enjoyable; in the second, it means the spiritual
   life of a renewed soul. The deep, pregnant saying may therefore be thus
   expanded and paraphrased: Whosoever will save, i.e., make it his first
   business to save or preserve, his natural life and worldly wellbeing, shall
   lose the higher life, the life indeed; and whosoever is willing to lose his
   natural life for my sake shall find the true eternal life. According to this
   maxim we must lose something, it is not possible to live without sacrifice
   of some kind; the only question being what shall be sacrificed — the lower
   or the higher life, animal happiness or spiritual blessedness. If we choose
   the higher, we must be prepared to deny ourselves and take up our cross,
   though the actual amount of the loss we are called on to bear may be small;
   for godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of the life that
   now is, as well as of that which is to come. [311] If, on the other hand, we
   choose the lower, and resolve to have it at all hazards, we must inevitably
   lose the higher. The soul’s life, and all the imperishable goods of the
   soul, — righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, meekness, [312] —
   are the price we pay for worldly enjoyment.

   This price is too great: and that is what Jesus next told His hearers as the
   second persuasive to cross-bearing. “For what,” He went on to ask, “is a man
   profited if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what
   shall a man give in exchange for his soul?” The two questions set forth the
   incomparable value of the soul on both sides of a commercial transaction.
   The soul, or life, in the true sense of the word, [313] is too dear a price
   to pay even for the whole world, not to say for that small portion of it
   which falls to the lot of any one individual. He who gains the world at such
   a cost is a loser by the bargain. On the other hand, the whole world is too
   small, yea, an utterly inadequate price, to pay for the ransom of the soul
   once lost. What shall a man give in exchange for the priceless thing he has
   foolishly bartered away? “Wherewith shall I come before the Lord, and bow
   myself before the high God? shall I come before Him with burnt-offerings,
   with calves of a year old? will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams,
   or with ten thousands of rivers of oil? shall I give my firstborn for my
   transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?” [314] No! O
   man; not any of these things, nor any thing else thou hast to give; not the
   fruit of thy merchandise, not ten thousands of pounds sterling. Thou canst
   not buy back thy soul, which thou hast bartered for the world, with all that
   thou hast of the world. The redemption of the soul is indeed precious; it
   cannot be delivered from the bondage of sin by corruptible things, such as
   silver and gold: the attempt to purchase pardon and peace and life that way
   can only make thy case more hopeless, and add to thy condemnation.

   The appeal contained in these solemn questions comes home with irresistible
   force to all who are in their right mind. Such feel that no outward good can
   be compared in value to having a “saved soul,” i. e. being a right-minded
   Christian man. All, however, are not so minded. Multitudes account their
   souls of very small value indeed. Judas sold his soul for thirty pieces of
   silver; and not a few who probably deem themselves better that he would part
   with theirs for the most paltry worldly advantage. The great ambition of the
   million is to be happy as animals, not to be blessed as “saved,”
   noble-spirited, sanctified men. “Who will show us any good?” is that which
   the many say. “Give us health, wealth, houses, lands, honors, and we care
   not for righteousness, either imputed or personal, peace of conscience, joy
   in the Holy Ghost. These may be good also in their way, and if one could
   have them along with the other, without trouble or sacrifice, it were
   perhaps well; but we cannot consent, for their sakes, to deny ourselves any
   pleasure, or voluntarily endure any hardship.”

   The third argument in favor of cross-bearing is drawn from the second
   advent. “For the son of man shall come in the glory of His Father, with His
   angels; and then shall He reward every man according to his works.” [315]
   These words suggest a contrast between the present and the future state of
   the speaker, and imply a promise of a corresponding contrast between the
   present and the future of His faithful followers. Now Jesus is the Son of
   man, destined ere many weeks pass to be crucified at Jerusalem. At the end
   of the days He will appear invested with the manifest glory of Messiah,
   attended with a mighty host of ministering spirits; His reward for enduring
   the cross, despising the shame. Then will He reward every man according to
   the tenor of his present life. To the cross-bearers He will grant a crown of
   righteousness; to the cross-spurners He will assign, as their due, shame and
   everlasting contempt. Stern doctrine, distasteful to the modern mind on
   various grounds, specially on these two: because it sets before us
   alternatives in the life beyond, and because it seeks to propagate heroic
   virtue by hope of reward, instead of exhibiting virtue as its own reward. As
   to the former, the alternative of the promised reward is certainly a great
   mystery and burden to the spirit; but it is to be feared that an alternative
   is involved in any earnest doctrine of moral distinctions or of human
   freedom and responsibility. As to the other, Christians need not be afraid
   of degenerating into moral vulgarity in Christ’s company. There is no
   vulgarity or impurity in the virtue which is sustained by the hope of
   eternal life. That hope is not selfishness, but simply self-consistency. It
   is simply believing in the reality of the kingdom for which you labor and
   suffer; involving, of course, the reality of each individual Christian’s
   interest therein, your own not excepted. And such faith is necessary to
   heroism. For who would fight and suffer for a dream? What patriot would risk
   his life for his country’s cause who did not hope for the restoration of her
   independence? And who but a pedant would say that the purity of his
   patriotism was sullied, because his hope for the whole nation did not
   exclude all reference to himself as an individual citizen? Equally necessary
   is it that a Christian should believe in the kingdom of glory, and equally
   natural and proper that he should cherish the hope of a personal share in
   its honors and felicities. Where such faith and hope are not, little
   Christian heroism will be found. For as an ancient Church Father said,
   “There is no certain work where there is an uncertain reward.” [316] Men
   cannot be heroes in doubt or despair. They cannot struggle after perfection
   and a divine kingdom, sceptical the while whether these things be more than
   devout imaginations, unrealizable ideals. In such a mood they will take
   things easy, and make secular happiness their chief concern. [317]
     _________________________________________________________________

   [306] The cross, though not mentioned, was evidently in Christ’s thoughts
   when He spake of His death at this time. Vide las section, note, p. 176.

   [307] Mark viii. 34, proskalesamenos ton ochlon; Luke ix. 23, elege de pros
   pantas.

   [308] Plato had a glimpse of this law. “The just,” he writes, “will be
   scourged, racked, bound, will have his eyes put out, and after suffering
   many ills will be crucified” (anaschindileuthēsetai). — De Republica, lib.
   ii.

   [309] Vide chaps. xvii., xviii., xxii.

   [310] Phoibon anthrōpois monon Chrēn thespiōdein hos dedoiken oudena —
   Eurip. PhŒnnissæ, 958, 959.

   [311] 1 Tim. iv. 8.

   [312] 1 Tim. vi. 11.

   [313] The word rendered “soul” in ver. 26 is the same which is rendered
   “life” in ver. 25 (psuchē. The two meanings are blended here.

   [314] Micah vi. 6.

   [315] Matt. xvi. 17. Ver. 28 presents a difficulty on which we cannot enter
   here.

   [316] Nullum opus certum est mercedis incertæ. Tertulliani De Resurrectione
   Carnis, cap. xxi. See also Clark’s Ante-Nicene Library: Tertullian, ii. 251.

   [317] Pfleiderer, who occupies the standpoint of a peculative theism which
   recognizes no miraculous breach of the world’s continuity, and who maintains
   the doctrine of universal restitution, the ultimate unconditional victory of
   good over evil, in his work, Die Religion, advocates the views above
   expressed in reference to the moral quality of virtue stimulated by the
   Eternal Hope. He bases the doctrine of immortality on this, that a belief in
   the realizableness of the kingdom of God is a necessary condition of
   heroism, and he resolves the hope of the individual Christian, as we have
   done, into that belief. With reference to the value of this hope to the
   heroes of the race, he remarks: “Look at the real heroes of good in the
   world, as distinct from the vain prattlers about virtue: is not in all these
   the ground-tone a deep elegiac rather than a cheerful one? do not they all
   speak more of the bitterness than of the happiness of life?” Having pointed
   out the cause of this in the frustration of noble aims in the present life,
   he asks where a fight begun and carried on with the consciousness of its
   hopelessness has a rational sense. The whole argument is very well worth
   perusal. Vide Die Religion, ii. 238, 239. In his more recent work,
   Religionsphilosophie, published 1878, this author expresses himself in a
   more unfavorable manner respecting the life to come, treating the fact as
   doubtful, and faith in it as not indispensable.
     _________________________________________________________________
     _________________________________________________________________

13. THE TRANSFIGURATION

    Matt. 17:1–13; Mark 9:2–13; Luke 9:28–36.

   The transfiguration is one of those passages in the Saviour’s earthly
   history which an expositor would rather pass over in reverent silence. For
   such silence the same apology might be pleaded which is so kindly made in
   the Gospel narrative for Peter’s foolish speech concerning the three
   tabernacles: “He wist not what to say.” Who does know what to say any more
   than he? Who is able fully to speak of that wondrous night-scene among the
   mountains, [318] during which heaven was for a few brief moments let down to
   earth, and the mortal body of Jesus being transfigured shone with celestial
   brightness, and the spirits of just men made perfect appeared and held
   converse with Him respecting His approaching passion, and a voice came forth
   from the excellent glory, pronouncing Him to be God’s well-beloved Son? It
   is too high for us, this august spectacle, we cannot attain unto it; its
   grandeur oppresses and stupefies; its mystery surpasses our comprehension;
   its glory is ineffable. Therefore, avoiding all speculation, curious
   questioning, theological disquisition, and ambitious word-picturing in
   connection with the remarkable occurrence here recorded, we confine
   ourselves in this chapter to the humble task of explaining briefly its
   significance for Jesus Himself, and its lesson for His disciples.

   The “transfiguration,” to be understood, must be viewed in connection with
   the announcement made by Jesus shortly before it happened, concerning His
   death. This it evident from the simple fact, that the three evangelists who
   relate the event so carefully note the time of its occurrence with reference
   to that announcement, and the conversation which accompanied it. All tell
   how, within six or eight days thereafter, [319] Jesus took three of His
   disciples, Peter, James, and John, and brought them into an high mountain
   apart, and was transfigured before them. The Gospel historians are not wont
   to be so careful in their indications of time, and their minute accuracy
   here signifies in effect: “While the foregoing communications and discourses
   concerning the cross were fresh in the thoughts of all the parties, the
   wondrous events we are now to relate took place.” The relative date, in
   fact, is a finger post pointing back to the conversation on the passion, and
   saying: “If you desire to understand what follows, remember what went
   before.”

   This inference from the note of time given by all the evangelists is fully
   borne out by a statement made by Luke alone, respecting the subject of the
   conversation on the holy mount between Jesus and His celestial visitants.
   “And,” we read, “behold, there talked with Him two men, which were Moses and
   Elias; who appeared in glory, and spake of His decease (or exodus) which He
   should accomplish at Jerusalem.” [320] That exit, so different from their
   own in its circumstances and consequences, was the theme of their talk. They
   had appeared to Jesus to converse with Him thereon; and when they ceased
   speaking concerning it, they took their departure for the abodes of the
   blessed. How long the conference lasted we know not, but the subject was
   sufficiently suggestive of interesting topics of conversation. There was,
   e.g, the surprising contrast between the death of Moses, immediate and
   painless, while his eye was not dim nor his natural force abated, and the
   painful and ignominious death to be endured by Jesus. Then there was the not
   less remarkable contrast between the manner of Elijah’s departure from the
   earth — translated to heaven without tasting death at all, making a
   triumphant exit out of the world in a chariot of fire, and the way by which
   Jesus should enter into glory — the via dolorosa of the cross. Whence this
   privilege of exemption from death, or from its bitterness, granted to the
   representatives of the law and the prophets, and wherefore denied to Him who
   was the end both of law and of prophecy? On these points, and others of
   kindred nature, the two celestial messengers, enlightened by the clear light
   of heaven, may have held intelligent and sympathetic converse with the Son
   of man, to the refreshment of His weary, saddened, solitary soul.

   The same evangelist who specifies the subject of conversation on the holy
   mount further records that, previous to His transfiguration, Jesus had been
   engaged in prayer. We may therefore see, in the honor and glory conferred on
   Him there, the Father’s answer to His Son’s supplications; and from the
   nature of the answer we may infer the subject of prayer. It was the same as
   afterwards in the garden of Gethsemane. The cup of death was present to the
   mind of Jesus now, as then; the cross was visible to His spiritual eye; and
   He prayed for nerve to drink, for courage to endure. The attendance of the
   three confidential disciples, Peter, James, and John, significantly hints at
   the similarity of the two occasions. The Master took these disciples with
   Him into the mount, as He afterwards took them into the garden, that He
   might not be altogether destitute of company and kindly sympathy as He
   walked through the valley of the shadow of death, and felt the horror and
   the loneliness of the situation.

   It is now clear how we must view the transfiguration scene in relation to
   Jesus. It was an aid to faith and patience, specially vouchsafed to the meek
   and lowly Son of man, in answer to His prayers, to cheer Him on His
   sorrowful path towards Jerusalem and Calvary. Three distinct aids to His
   faith were supplied in the experiences of that wondrous night. The first was
   a foretaste of the glory with which He should be rewarded after His passion,
   for His voluntary humiliation and obedience unto death. For the moment He
   was, as it were, rapt up into heaven, where He had been before He came into
   the world; for His face shone like the sun, and His raiment was white as the
   pure untrodden snow on the high alpine summits of Herman. “Be of good
   cheer,” said that sudden flood of celestial light: “the suffering will soon
   be past, and Thou shalt enter into Thine eternal joy!”

   A second source of comfort to Jesus in the experiences on the mount, was the
   assurance that the mystery of the cross was understood and appreciated by
   saints in heaven, if not by the darkened minds of sinful men on earth. He
   greatly needed such comfort; for among the men then living, not excepting
   His chosen disciples, there was not one to whom He could speak on that theme
   with any hope of eliciting an intelligent and sympathetic response. Only a
   few days ago, He had ascertained by painful experience the utter incapacity
   of the twelve, even of the most quick-witted and warm-hearted among them, to
   comprehend the mystery of His passion, or even to believe in it as a certain
   fact. Verily the Son of man was most lonely as He passed through the dark
   valley! the very presence of stupid, unsympathetic companions serving only
   to enhance the sense of solitariness. When He wanted company that could
   understand His passion thoughts, He was obliged to hold converse with
   spirits of just men made perfect; for, as far as mortal men were concerned,
   He had to be content to finish His great work without the comfort of being
   understood until it was accomplished.

   The talk of the great lawgiver and of the great prophet of Israel on the
   subject of His death was doubtless a real solace to the spirit of Jesus. We
   know how He comforted Himself at other times with the thought of being
   understood in heaven if not on earth. When heartless Pharisees called in
   question His conduct in receiving sinners, He sought at once His defense and
   His consolation in the blessed fact that there was joy in heaven at least,
   whatever there might be among them, over one penitent sinner, more than over
   ninety and nine just persons that needed no repentance. When He thought how
   “little ones,” the weak and helpless, were despised and trampled under foot
   in this proud inhuman world, He reflected with unspeakable satisfaction that
   in heaven their angels did always behold the face of His Father; yea, that
   in heaven there were angels who made the care of little ones their special
   business, and were therefore fully able to appreciate the doctrine of
   humility and kindness which He strove to inculcate on ambitious and
   quarrelsome disciples. Surely, then, we may believe that when He looked
   forward to His own decease — the crowning evidence of His love for sinners
   — it was a comfort to His heart to think: “Up yonder they know that I am to
   suffer, and comprehend the reason why, and watch with eager interest to see
   how I move on with unfaltering step, with my face steadfastly set to go to
   Jerusalem.” And would it not be specially comforting to have sensible
   evidence of this, in an actual visit from two denizens of the upper world,
   deputed as it were and commissioned to express the general mind of the whole
   community of glorified saints, who understood that their presence in heaven
   was due to the merits of that sacrifice which He was about to offer up in
   His own person on the hill of Calvary?

   A third, and the chief solace to the heart of Jesus, was the approving voice
   of His heavenly Father: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well
   pleased.” That voice, uttered then, meant: “Go on Thy present way,
   self-devoted to death, and shrinking not from the cross. I am pleased with
   Thee, because Thou pleasest not Thyself. Pleased with Thee at all times, I
   am most emphatically delighted with Thee when, in a signal manner, as lately
   in the announcement made to Thy disciples, Thou dost show it to be Thy fixed
   purpose to save others, and not to save Thyself.”

   This voice from the excellent glory was one of three uttered by the divine
   Father in the hearing of His Son during His life on earth. The first was
   uttered by the Jordan, after the baptism of Jesus, and was the same as the
   present, save that it was spoken to Him, not concerning Him, to others. The
   last was uttered at Jerusalem shortly before the crucifixion, and was of
   similar import with the two preceding, but different in form. The soul of
   Jesus being troubled with the near prospect of death, He prayed: “Father,
   save me from this hour; but for this cause came I unto this hour. Father,
   glorify Thy name.” Then, we read, came there a voice from heaven, saying:
   “I have both glorified it (by Thy life), and will glorify it again” (more
   signally by Thy death). All three voices served one end. Elicited at crises
   in Christ’s history, when He manifested in peculiar intensity His devotion
   to the work for which He had come into the world, and His determination to
   finish it, however irksome the task might be to flesh and blood, these
   voices expressed, for His encouragement and strengthening, the complacency
   with which His Father regarded His self-humiliation and obedience unto
   death. At His baptism, He, so to speak, confessed the sins of the whole
   world; and by submitting to the rite, expressed His purpose to fulfill all
   righteousness as the Redeemer from sin. Therefore the Father then, for the
   first time, pronounced Him His beloved Son. Shortly before the
   transfiguration He had energetically repelled the suggestion of an
   affectionate disciple, that He should save Himself from His anticipated
   doom, as a temptation of the devil; therefore the Father renewed the
   declaration, changing the second person into the third, for the sake of
   those disciples who were present, and specially of Peter, who had listened
   to the voice of his own heart rather than to his Master’s words. Finally, a
   few days before His death, He overcame a temptation of the same nature as
   that to which Peter had subjected Him, springing this time out of the
   sinless infirmity of His own human nature. Beginning His prayer with the
   expression of a wish to be saved from the dark hour, He ended it with the
   petition, “Glorify Thy name.” Therefore the Father once more repeated the
   expression of His approval, declaring in effect His satisfaction with the
   way in which His Son had glorified His name hitherto, and His confidence
   that He would not fail to crown His career of obedience by a God-glorifying
   death.

   Such being the meaning of the vision on the mount for Jesus, we have now to
   consider what lesson it taught the disciples who were present, and through
   them their brethren and all Christians.

   The main point in this connection is the injunction appended to the heavenly
   voice: “Hear Him.” This command refers specially to the doctrine of the
   cross preached by Jesus to the twelve, and so ill received by them. It was
   meant to be a solemn, deliberate endorsement of all that He had said then
   concerning His own sufferings, and concerning the obligation to bear their
   cross lying on all His followers. Peter, James, and John were, as it were,
   invited to recall all that had fallen from their Master’s lips on the
   unwelcome topic, and assured that it was wholly true and in accordance with
   the divine mind. Nay, as these disciples had received the doctrine with
   murmurs of disapprobation, the voice from heaven addressed to them was a
   stern word of rebuke, which said: “Murmur not, but devoutly and obediently
   hear.”

   This rebuke was all the more needful, that the disciples had just shown that
   they were still of the same mind as they had been six days ago. Peter at
   least was as yet in no cross-bearing humor. When, on wakening up to clear
   consciousness from the drowsy fit which had fallen on him, that disciple
   observed the two strangers in the act of departing, he exclaimed: “Master,
   it is good for us to be here, and let us make three tabernacles; one for
   Thee, and one for Moses, and one for Elias.” He was minded, we perceive, to
   enjoy the felicities of heaven without any preliminary process of
   cross-bearing. He thought to himself: “How much better to abide up here with
   the saints than down below amidst unbelieving captious Pharisees and
   miserable human beings, enduring the contradiction of sinners, and battling
   with the manifold ills wherewith the earth is cursed! Stay here, my Master,
   and you may bid good-by to all those dark forebodings of coming sufferings,
   and will be beyond the reach of malevolent priests, elders, and scribes.
   Stay here, on this sun-lit, heaven-kissing hill; go no more down into the
   depressing, sombre valley of humiliation. Farewell, earth and the cross:
   welcome, heaven and the crown!”

   We do not forget, while thus paraphrasing Peter’s foolish speech, that when
   he uttered it he was dazed with sleep and the splendors of the midnight
   scene. Yet, when due allowance has been made for this, it remains true that
   the idle suggestion was an index of the disciple’s present mind. Peter was
   drunken, though not with wine; but what men say, even when drunken, is
   characteristic. There was a sober meaning in his senseless speech about the
   tabernacle. He really meant that the celestial visitants should remain, and
   not go away, as they were in the act of doing when he spoke. [321] This
   appears from the conversation which took place between Jesus and the three
   disciples while descending the mountain. [322] Peter and his two companions
   asked their Master: “Why then say the scribes that Elias must first come?”
   The question referred, we think, not to the injunction laid on the disciples
   by Jesus just before, “Tell the vision to no man until the Son of man be
   risen again from the dead,” but rather to the fugitive, fleeting character
   of the whole scene on the mountain. The three brethren were not only
   disappointed, but perplexed, that the two celestials had been so like angels
   in the shortness of their stay and the suddenness of their departure. They
   had accepted the current notion about the advent of Elias before, and in
   order to, the restoration of the kingdom; and they fondly hoped that this
   was he come at last in company with Moses, heralding the approaching glory,
   as the advent of swallows from tropical climes is a sign that summer is
   nigh, and that winter with its storms and rigors is over and gone. In truth,
   while their Master was preaching the cross they had been dreaming of crowns.
   We shall find them continuing so to dream till the very end.

   “Hear ye Him:.” — this voice was not meant for the three disciples alone, or
   even for the twelve, but for all professed followers of Christ as well as
   for them. It says to every Christian: “Hear Jesus, and strive to understand
   Him while He speaks of the mystery of His sufferings and the glory that
   should follow — those themes which even angels desire to look into. Hear Him
   when He proclaims cross-bearing as a duty incumbent on all disciples, and
   listen not to self-indulgent suggestions of flesh and blood, or the
   temptations of Satan counseling thee to make self-interest or
   self-preservation thy chief end. Hear Him, yet again, and weary not of the
   world, nor seek to lay down thy burden before the time. Dream not of
   tabernacles where thou mayest dwell secure, like a hermit in the wild,
   having no share in all that is done beneath the circuit of the sun. Do thy
   part manfully, and in due season thou shalt have, not a tent, but a temple
   to dwell in: an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.

   It is true, indeed, that we who are in this tabernacle of the body, in this
   world of sorrow, cannot but groan now and then, being burdened. This is our
   infirmity, and in itself it is not sinful; neither is it wrong to heave an
   occasional sigh, and utter a passing wish that the time of cross-bearing
   were over. Even the holy Jesus felt at times this weariness of life. An
   expression of something like impatience escaped His lips at this very
   season. When He came down from the mount and learned what was going on at
   its base, He exclaimed, with reference at once to the unbelief of the
   scribes who were present, to the weak faith of the disciples, and to the
   miseries of mankind suffering the consequences of the curse: “O faithless
   and perverse generation, how long shall I be with you? how long shall I
   suffer you?” Even the loving Redeemer of man felt tempted to be weary in
   well-doing — weary of encountering the contradiction of sinners and of
   bearing with the spiritual weakness of disciples. Such weariness therefore,
   as a momentary feeling, is not necessarily sinful: it may rather be a part
   of our cross. But it must not be indulged in or yielded to. Jesus did not
   give Himself up to the feeling. Though He complained of the generation
   amidst which He lived, He did not cease from His labors of love for its
   benefit. Having relieved His heart by this utterance of a reproachful
   exclamation, He gave orders that the poor lunatic should be brought to Him
   that he might be healed. Then, when He had wrought this new miracle of
   mercy, He patiently explained to His own disciples the cause of their
   impotence to cope successfully with the maladies of men, and taught them how
   they might attain the power of casting out all sorts of devils, even those
   whose hold of their victims was most obstinate, viz. by faith and prayer.
   [323] So He continued laboring in helping the miserable and instructing the
   ignorant, till the hour came when He could truly say, “It is finished.”
     _________________________________________________________________

   [318] Of Hermon? The traditional scene of the transfiguration was Mount
   Tabor.

   [319] meth' hēmeras ex, Matthew and Mark; hōsei hēmerai oktō, Luke. The two
   expressions may easily mean the same period of time.

   [320] Luke ix. 31, elegon tēn exodon autou.

   [321] Luke ix. 33, en tō diachōrizesthai.

   [322] Matt. xvii. 9-13; Mark ix. 9-13.

   [323] Matt. xvii. 19-21; Mark ix. 28, 29. Ver. 21 in Matthew is not genuine,
   being borrowed by copyists from Mark. In Mark ix. 29 the true text is “This
   kind can come forth by nothing but by prayer.” The addition, kai nēsteia,
   “and fasting,” is a gloss, due to the ascetic spirit which early crept into
   the church.
     _________________________________________________________________

14. TRAINING IN TEMPER; OR, DISCOURSE ON HUMILITY
     _________________________________________________________________

  SECTION I. AS THIS LITTLE CHILD

    Matt. 18:1–14; Mark 9:33–37; Mark 9:42–50; Luke 9:46–48.

   From the Mount of Transfiguration Jesus and the twelve returned through
   Galilee to Capernaum. On this homeward journey the Master and His disciples
   were in very different moods of mind. He sadly mused on His cross; they
   vainly dreamed of places of distinction in the approaching kingdom. The
   diversity of spirit revealed itself in a corresponding diversity of conduct.
   Jesus for the second time began to speak on the way of His coming
   sufferings, telling His followers how the Son of man should be betrayed into
   the hands of men, and how they should kill Him, and how the third day He
   should be raised again. [324] The twelve, on the other hand, began as they
   journeyed along to dispute among themselves who should be the greatest in
   the kingdom of heaven. [325] Strange, humiliating contrast exhibited again
   and again in the evangelic history; jealous, angry altercations respecting
   rank and precedence, on the part of the disciples, following new
   communications respecting His passion on the part of their Lord, as comic
   follows tragic in a dramatic representation.

   This unseemly and unseasonable dispute shows clearly what need there was for
   that injunction appended to the voice from heaven, “Hear Him;.” and how far
   the disciples were as yet from complying therewith. They heard Jesus only
   when He spake things agreeable. They listened with pleasure when He assured
   them that ere long they should see the Son of man come in His kingdom; they
   were deaf to all He said concerning the suffering which must precede the
   glory. They forgot the cross, after a momentary fit of sorrow when their
   Lord referred to it, and betook themselves to dreaming of the crown; as a
   child forgets the death of a parent, and returns to its play. “How great,”
   thought they, “shall we all be when the kingdom comes!” Then by an easy
   transition they passed from idle dreams of the common glory to idle disputes
   as to who should have the largest share therein; for vanity and jealousy lie
   very near each other. “Shall we all be equally distinguished in the kingdom,
   or shall one be higher than another? Does the favor shown to Peter, James,
   and John, in selecting them to be eye-witnesses of the prefigurement of the
   coming glory, imply a corresponding precedence in the kingdom itself?” [326]
   The three disciples probably hoped it did; the other disciples hoped not,
   and so the dispute began. It was nothing that they should all be great
   together; the question of questions was, who should be the greatest — a
   question hard to settle when vanity and presumption contend on one side, and
   jealousy and envy on the other.

   Arrived at Capernaum, Jesus took an early opportunity of adverting to the
   dispute in which His disciples had been engaged, and made it the occasion of
   delivering a memorable discourse on humility and kindred topics, designed to
   serve the purpose of disciplining their temper and will. The task to which
   He now addressed Himself was at once the most formidable and the most
   needful He had as yet undertaken in connection with the training of the
   twelve. Most formidable, for nothing is harder than to train the human will
   into loyal subjection to universal principles, to bring men to recognize the
   claims of the law of love in their mutual relations, to expel pride,
   ambition, vainglory, and jealousy, and envy from the hearts even of the
   good. Men may have made great progress in the art of prayer, in religious
   liberty, in Christian activity, may have shown themselves faithful in times
   of temptation, and apt scholars in Christian doctrine, and yet prove
   signally defective in temper: self-willed, self-seeking, having an eye to
   their own glory, even when seeking to glorify God. Most needful, for what
   good could these disciples do as ministers of the kingdom so long as their
   main concern was about their own place therein? Men full of ambitious
   passions and jealous of each other could only quarrel among themselves,
   bring the cause they sought to promote into contempt, and breed all around
   them confusion and every evil work. No wonder then that Jesus from this time
   forth devoted Himself with peculiar earnestness to the work of casting out
   from His disciples the devil of self-will, and imparting to them as a salt
   His own spirit of meekness, humility, and charity. He knew how much depended
   on His success in this effort to salt the future apostles, to use His own
   strong figure, [327] and the whole tone and substance of the discourse
   before us reveal the depth of His anxiety. Specially significant in this
   respect is the opening part in which He makes use of a child present in the
   chamber as the vehicle of instruction; so, out of the mouth of a babe and
   suckling, perfecting the praise of a lowly mind. Sitting in the midst of
   ambitious disciples with the little one in His arms for a text, He who is
   the greatest in the kingdom proceeds to set forth truths mortifying to the
   spirit of pride, but sweeter than honey to the taste of all renewed souls.

   The first lesson taught is this: To be great in the kingdom, yea, to gain
   admission into it at all, it is necessary to become like a little child.
   “Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter
   into the kingdom of heaven. Whosoever, therefore, shall humble himself as
   this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” The
   feature of child-nature which forms the special point of comparison is its
   unpretentiousness. Early childhood knows nothing of those distinctions of
   rank which are the offspring of human pride, and the prizes coveted by human
   ambition. A king’s child will play without scruple with a beggar’s, thereby
   unconsciously asserting the insignificance of the things in which men
   differ, compared with the things that are common to all. What children are
   unconsciously, that Jesus requires His disciples to be voluntarily and
   deliberately. They are not to be pretentious and ambitious, like the grown
   children of the world, but meek and lowly of heart; disregarding rank and
   distinctions, thinking not of their place in the kingdom, but giving
   themselves up in simplicity of spirit to the service of the King. In this
   sense, the greatest one in the kingdom, the King Himself, was the humblest
   of men. Of humility in the form of self-depreciation or self-humiliation on
   account of sin Jesus could know nothing, for there was no defect or fault in
   His character. But of the humility which consists in self-forgetfulness He
   was the perfect pattern. We cannot say that He thought little of Himself,
   but we may say that He thought not of Himself at all: He thought only of the
   Father’s glory and of man’s good. Considerations of personal aggrandizement
   had no place among His motives. He shrank with holy abhorrence from all who
   were influenced by such considerations; no character appearing so utterly
   detestable in His eye as that of the Pharisee, whose religion was a
   theatrical exhibition, always presupposing the presence of spectators, and
   who loved the uppermost rooms at feasts and the chief seats in the
   synagogues, and to be called of men Rabbi, Rabbi. For Himself He neither
   desired nor received honor from men. He came not to be ministered unto, but
   to minister: He, the greatest, humbled Himself to be the least — to be a
   child born in a stable and laid in a manger; to be a man of sorrow, lightly
   esteemed by the world; yea, to be nailed to a cross. By such wondrous
   self-humiliation He showed His divine greatness.

   The higher we rise in the kingdom the more we shall be like Jesus in this
   humbling of Himself. Childlikeness such as He exhibited is an invariable
   characteristic of spiritual advancement, even as its absence is the mark of
   moral littleness. The little man, even when well-intentioned, is ever
   consequential and scheming, — ever thinking of himself, his honor, dignity,
   reputation, even when professedly doing good. He always studies to glorify
   God in a way that shall at the same time glorify himself. Frequently above
   the love of gain, he is never above the feeling of self-importance. The
   great ones in the kingdom, on the other hand, throw themselves with such
   unreservedness into the work to which they are called, that they have
   neither time nor inclination to inquire what place they shall obtain in this
   world or the next. Leaving consequences to the great Governor and Lord, and
   forgetful of self-interest, they give their whole soul to their appointed
   task; content to fill a little space or a large one, as God shall appoint,
   if only He be glorified.

   This is the true road to a high place in the eternal kingdom. For be it
   observed, Jesus did not summarily dismiss the question, who is greatest in
   the kingdom, by negativing the existence of distinctions therein. He said
   not on this occasion, He said not on any other, “It is needless to ask who
   is the greatest in the kingdom: there is no such thing as a distinction of
   greater and less there.” On the contrary, it is implied here, and it is
   asserted elsewhere, that there is such a thing. According to the doctrine of
   Christ, the supernal commonwealth has no affinity with jealous radicalism,
   which demands that all shall be equal. There are grades of distinction there
   as well as in the kingdoms of this world. The difference between the divine
   kingdom and all others lies in the principle on which promotion proceeds.
   Here the proud and the ambitious gain the post of honor; there honors are
   conferred on the humble and the self-forgetful. He that on earth was willing
   to be the least in lowly love will be the great one in the kingdom of
   heaven.

   The next lesson Jesus taught His disciples was the duty of receiving little
   ones; that is, not merely children in the literal sense, but all that a
   child represents — the weak, the insignificant, the helpless. The child
   which He held in His arms having served as a type of the humble in spirit,
   next became a type of the humble in station, influence, and importance; and
   having been presented to the disciples in the former capacity as an object
   of imitation, was commended to them in the latter as an object of kind
   treatment. They were to receive the little ones graciously and lovingly,
   careful not to offend them by harsh, heartless, contemptuous conduct. All
   such kindness He, Jesus, would receive as done to Himself.

   This transition of thought from being like a child to receiving all that of
   which childhood in its weakness is the emblem, was perfectly natural; for
   there is a close connection between the selfish struggle to be great and an
   offensive mode of acting towards the little. Harshness and contemptuousness
   are vices inseparable from an ambitious spirit. An ambitious man is not,
   indeed, necessarily cruel in his disposition, and capable of cherishing
   heartless designs in cold blood. At times, when the demon that possesses him
   is quiescent, the idea of hurting a child, or any thing that a child
   represents, may appear to him revolting; and he might resent the imputation
   of any such design, or even a hint at the possibility of his harboring it,
   as a wanton insult. “Is thy servant a dog?” asked Hazael indignantly at
   Elisha, when the prophet described to him his own future self, setting the
   strongholds of Israel on fire, slaying their young men with the sword,
   dashing their children to the earth, and ripping up their women with child.
   At the moment his horror of these crimes was quite sincere, and yet he was
   guilty of them all. The prophet rightly divined his character, and read his
   future career of splendid wickedness in the light of it. He saw that he was
   ambitious, and all the rest followed as a matter of course. The king of
   Syria, his master, about whose recovery he affected solicitude, he should
   first put to death; and once on the throne, the same ambition that made him
   a murderer would goad him on to schemes of conquest, in the prosecution of
   which he should perpetrate all the barbarous cruelties in which Oriental
   tyrants seemed to take fiendish delight.

   The crimes of ambition, and the lamentations with which it has filled the
   earth, are a moral commonplace. Full well aware of the fact, Jesus
   exclaimed, as the havoc already wrought and yet to be wrought by the lust
   for place and power rose in vision before His eye: “Woe to the world because
   of offences!” Woe indeed, but not merely to the wrong-sufferer; the greater
   woe is reserved for the wrong-doer. So Jesus taught His disciples, when He
   added: “but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh!” Nor did He leave
   His hearers in the dark as to the nature of the offender’s doom. “Whoso,” He
   declared, in language which came forth from His lips like a flame of
   righteous indignation at thought of the wrongs inflicted on the weak and
   helpless, — ” Whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in
   me, it were better for him that a mill-stone were hanged about his neck, and
   that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.” “It were better for him “ —
   or, it suits him, it is what he deserves; and it is implied, though not
   expressed, that it is what he gets when divine vengeance at length overtakes
   him. The mill-stone is no idle figure of speech, but an appropriate emblem
   of the ultimate doom of the proud. He who will mount to the highest place,
   regardless of the injuries he may inflict on little ones, shall be cast
   down, not to earth merely, but to the very lowest depths of the ocean, to
   the very abyss of hell, with a heavy weight of curses suspended on his neck
   to sink him down, and keep him down, so that he shall rise no more. [328]
   “They sank as lead in the mighty waters! “

   Such being the awful doom of selfish ambition, it were wise in the
   high-minded to fear, and to anticipate God’s judgment by judging themselves.
   This Jesus counselled His disciples to do by repeating a stern saying
   uttered once before in the Sermon on the Mount, concerning the cutting off
   offending members of the body. [329] At first view that saying appears
   irrelevant here, because the subject of discourse is offences against
   others, not offences against one’s self. But its relevancy becomes evident
   when we consider that all offences against a brother are offences against
   ourselves. That is the very point Christ wishes to impress on His disciples.
   He would have them understand that self-interest dictates scrupulous care in
   avoiding offences to the little ones. “Rather than harm one of these,” says
   the great Teacher in effect, “by hand, foot, eye, or tongue, have recourse
   to self-mutilation; for he that sinneth against even the least in the
   kingdom, sinneth also against his own soul.”

   One thing more Jesus taught His disciples while He held the child in His
   arms, viz. that those who injured or despised little ones were entirely out
   of harmony with the mind of Heaven. “Take heed,” said He, “that ye despise
   not one of these little ones;.” and then He proceeded to enforce the warning
   by drawing aside the veil, and showing them a momentary glimpse of that very
   celestial kingdom in which they were all so desirous to have prominence.
   “Lo, there! see those angels standing before the throne of God — these be
   ministering spirits to the little ones! And lo, here am I, the Son of God,
   come all the way from heaven to save them! And behold how the face of the
   Father in heaven smiles on the angels and on me because we take such loving
   interest in them!” [330] How eloquent the argument! how powerful the appeal!
   “The inhabitants of heaven,” such is its drift, “are loving and humble; ye
   are selfish and proud. What hope can ye cherish of admission into a kingdom,
   the spirit of which is so utterly diverse from that by which ye are
   animated? Nay, are ye not ashamed of yourselves when ye witness this glaring
   contrast between the lowliness of the celestials and the pride and
   pretensions of puny men? Put away, henceforth and forever, vain, ambitious
   thoughts, and let the meek and gentle spirit of Heaven get possession of
   your hearts.”

   In the beautiful picture of the upper world one thing is specially
   noteworthy, viz. the introduction by Jesus of a reference to His work as the
   Saviour of the lost, into an argument designed to enforce care for the
   little ones. [331] The reference is not an irrelevance; it is of the nature
   of an argument à fortiori. If the Son of man cared for the lost, the low,
   the morally degraded, how much more will He care for those who are merely
   little! It is a far greater effort of love to seek the salvation of the
   wicked than to interest one’s self in the weak; and He who did the one will
   certainly not fail to do the other. In adverting to His love as the Saviour
   of the sinful, as set forth in the parable of the good shepherd going after
   the straying sheep, [332] Jesus further directed the attention of His
   disciples to the sublimest example of humility. For that love shows that
   there was not only no pride of greatness in the Son of God, but also no
   pride of holiness. He could not only condescend to men of humble estate, but
   could even become the brother of the vile: one with them in sympathy and
   lot, that they might become one with Him in privilege and character. Once
   more, in making reference to His own love as the Saviour, Jesus pointed out
   to His disciples the true source of that charity which careth for the weak
   and despiseth not the little. No one who rightly appreciated His love could
   deliberately offend or heartlessly contemn any brother, however
   insignificant, who had a place in His Saviour-sympathies. The charity of the
   Son of man, in the eyes of all true disciples, surrounds with a halo of
   sacredness the meanest and vilest of the human race.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [324] Matt. xvii. 22, 23; Mark ix. 30-32; Luke ix. 44, 45.

   [325] Mark ix. 33.

   [326] The three disciples were forbidden to tell any man what they had seen
   on the holy mount. The prohibition was probably not meant to refer to their
   brethren. Even if it did, they must have found it very hard to keep silent
   about such a dondrous scene.

   [327] Mark ix. 49. The words “and every sacrifice shall be salted with
   salt,” are a gloss from Lev. ii. 13, introduced to explain the saying. For
   remarks on this passage see note at close of Section III. of the present
   chapter.

   [328] mulos onikos, stone of a mill turned by an ass, larger than one
   belonging to a handmill, selected to make sure that the wicked shall sink to
   rise no more. How Christ’s words fulfil themselves from age to age! Think of
   the “Bulgarian atrocities” of 1876, the execrations they awakened in
   Britain, and the all too probable fate which awaits Turkey in the near
   future!

   [329] Matt. xviii. 8, 9; compare v. 29, 30.

   [330] Matt. xviii. 10-14.

   [331] Matt. xviii. 11 is not found in the best critical authorities, and is
   regarded by scholars as interpolated from Luke xix. 10; and the parable of
   the good shepherd is also regarded by many as foreign to the connection of
   thought. As to the former point, we agree with Alford in thinking that ver.
   11 cannot be interpolated from Luke, “lst, from the absence of any
   sufficient reason (apparent on the surface) for insertion; 2d, from the
   nearly unanimous omission of Luke’s zētēsai kai, which would have exactly
   suited the zētei of ver. 12.” That it should form a part of the text in a
   critical edition of the Greek Testament we do not assert, but it is quite
   credible to us that Christ uttered such a sentiment on this occasion. The
   thought is germain to the connection, however awkwardly it may come in in
   the narrative. For a similar reason, we think it quite likely that the
   parable of the good shepherd was spoken at this time. It was just as much
   needed to rebuke the ambitious spirit of disciples as to ward off the
   assaults of censorious Pharisees.

   [332] Matt. xviii. 12, 13.
     _________________________________________________________________

  SECTION II. CHURCH DISCIPLINE

    Matt. xviii. 15–20.

   Having duly cautioned His hearers against offending the little ones, Jesus
   proceeded (according to the account of His words in the Gospel of Matthew)
   to tell them how to act when they were not the givers, but the receivers or
   the judges, of offences. In this part of His discourse He had in view the
   future rather than the present. Contemplating the time when the kingdom —
   that is, the church — should be in actual existence as an organized
   community, with the twelve exercising in it authority as apostles, He gives
   directions for the exercise of discipline, in order to the purity and
   wellbeing of the Christian brotherhood; [333] confers on the twelve
   collectively what He had already granted to Peter singly — the power to bind
   and loose, that is, to inflict and remove church censures; [334] and makes a
   most encouraging promise of His own spiritual presence, and of prevailing
   power with His heavenly Father in prayer, to all assembled in His name, and
   agreeing together in the objects of their desires. [335] His aim throughout
   is to insure beforehand that the community to be called after His name shall
   be indeed a holy, loving, united society.

   The rules here laid down for the guidance of the apostles in dealing with
   offenders, though simple and plain, have given rise to much debate among
   religious controversialist interested in the upholding of diverse theories
   of church government. [336] Of these ecclesiastical disputes we shall say
   nothing here; nor do we deem it needful to offer any expository comments on
   our Lord’s words, save a sentence of explanation on the phrase employed by
   Him to describe the state of excommunication: “Let him” (that is, the
   impenitent brother about to be cast out of the church) “be unto thee as an
   heathen man and a publican.” These words, luminous without doubt at the time
   they were spoken, are not quite so clear to us now; but yet their meaning in
   the main is sufficiently plain. The idea is, that the persistently
   impenitent offender is to become at length to the person he has offended,
   and to the whole church, one with whom is to be held no religious, and as
   little as possible social fellowship. The religious aspect of
   excommunication is pointed at by the expression “as an heathen man,” and the
   social side of it is expressed in the second clause of the sentence, “and a
   publican.” Heathens were excluded from the temple, and had no part in Jewish
   religious rites. Publicans were not excluded from the temple, so far as we
   know; but they were regarded as social pariahs by all Jews affecting
   patriotism and religious strictness. This indiscriminate dislike of the
   whole class was not justifiable, nor is any approval of it implied here.
   Jesus refers to it simply as a familiar matter of fact, which conveniently
   and clearly conveyed His meaning to the effect: Let the impenitent offender
   be to you what heathens are to all Jews by law — persons with whom to hold
   no religious fellowship; and what publicans are to Pharisees by inveterate
   prejudice — persons to be excluded from all but merely unavoidable social
   intercourse.”

   Whatever obscurity may attach to the letter of the rules for the management
   of discipline, there can be no doubt at all as to the loving, holy spirit
   which pervades them.

   The spirit of love appears in the conception of the church which underlies
   these rules. The church is viewed as a commonwealth, in which the concern of
   one is the concern of all, and vice versa. Hence Jesus does not specify the
   class of offences He intends, whether private and personal ones, or such as
   are of the nature of scandals, that is, offences against the church as a
   whole. On His idea of a church such explanations were unnecessary, because
   the distinction alluded to in great part ceases to exist. An offence against
   the conscience of the whole community is an offence against each individual
   member, because he is jealous for the honor of the body of believers; and on
   the other hand, an offence which is in the first place private and personal,
   becomes one in which all are concerned so soon as the offended party has
   failed to bring His brother to confession and reconciliation. A chronic
   alienation between two Christian brethren will be regarded, in a church
   after Christ’s mind, as a scandal not to be tolerated, because fraught with
   deadly harm to the spiritual life of all.

   Very congenial also to the spirit of charity is the order of proceeding
   indicated in the directions given by Jesus. First, strictly private dealing
   on the part of the offended with his offending brother is prescribed; then,
   after such dealing has been fairly tried and has failed, but not till then,
   third parties are to be brought in as witnesses and assistants in the work
   of reconciliation; and finally, and only as a last resource, the subject of
   quarrel is to be made public, and brought before the whole church. This
   method of procedure is obviously most considerate as towards the offender.
   It makes confession as easy to him as possible by sparing him the shame of
   exposure. It is also a method which cannot be worked out without the purest
   and holiest motives on the part of him who seeks redress. It leaves no room
   for the reckless talkativeness of the scandalmonger, who loves to divulge
   evil news, and speaks to everybody of a brother’s faults rather than to the
   brother himself. It puts a bridle on the passion of resentment, by
   compelling the offended one to go through a patient course of dealing with
   his brother before he arrive at the sad issue at which anger jumps at once,
   viz. total estrangement. It gives no encouragement to the officious and
   over-zealous, who make themselves busy in ferreting out offences; for the
   way of such is not to begin with the offender, and then go to the church,
   but to go direct to the church with severe charges, based probably on
   hearsay information gained by dishonorable means.

   Characteristic of the loving spirit of Jesus, the Head of the church, is the
   horror with which He contemplates, and would have His disciples contemplate,
   the possibility of any one, once a brother, becoming to his brethren as a
   heathen or a publican. This appears in His insisting that no expedient shall
   be left untried to avert the sad catastrophe. How unlike in this respect is
   His mind to that of the world, which can with perfect equanimity allow vast
   multitudes of fellow-men to be what heathens were to Jews, and publicans to
   Pharisees — persons excluded from all kindly communion! Nay, may we not say,
   how unlike the mind of Jesus in this matter to that of many even in the
   church, who treat brethren in the same outward fellowship with most perfect
   indifference, and have become so habituated to the evil practice, that they
   regard it without compunction as a quite natural and right state of things!

   Such heartless indifferentism implies a very different ideal of the church
   from that cherished by its Founder. Men who do not regard ecclesiastical
   fellowship as imposing any obligation to love their Christian brethren,
   think, consciously or unconsciously, of the church as if it were a hotel,
   where all kinds of people meet for a short space, sit down together at the
   same table, then part, neither knowing nor caring any thing about each
   other; while, in truth, it is rather a family, whose members are all
   brethren, bound to love each other with pure heart fervently. Of course this
   hotel theory involves as a necessary consequence the disuse of discipline.
   For, strange as the idea may seem to many, the law of love is the basis of
   church discipline. It is because I am bound to take every member of the
   church to my arms as a brother, that I am not only entitled, but bound, to
   be earnestly concerned about his behavior. If a brother in Christ, according
   to ecclesiastical standing, may say to me, “You must love me with all your
   heart,” I am entitled to say in reply, “I acknowledge the obligation in the
   abstract, but I demand of you in turn that you shall be such that I can love
   you as a Christian, however weak and imperfect; and I feel it to be both my
   right and my duty to do all I can to make you worthy of such brotherly
   regard, by plain dealing with you anent your offences. I am willing to love
   you, but I cannot, I dare not, be on friendly terms with your sins; and if
   you refuse to part with these, and virtually require me to be a partaker in
   them by connivance, then our brotherhood is at an end, and I am free from my
   obligations.” To such a language and such a style of thought the patron of
   the hotel theory of church fellowship is an utter stranger. Disclaiming the
   obligation to love his brethren, he at the same time renounces the right to
   insist on Christian virtue as an indispensable attribute of church
   membership, and declines to trouble himself about the behavior of any
   member, except in so far as it may affect himself personally. All may think
   and act as they please — be infidels or believers, sons of God or sons of
   Belial: it is all one to him.

   Holy severity finds a place in these directions, as well as tender,
   considerate love. Jesus solemnly sanctions the excommunication of an
   impenitent offender. “Let him,” saith He, with the tone of a judge
   pronouncing sentence of death, “be unto thee as an heathen man and a
   publican.” Then, to invest church censures righteously administered with all
   possible solemnity and authority, He proceeds to declare that they carry
   with them eternal consequences; adding in His most emphatic manner the awful
   words — awful both to the sinner cast out and to those who are responsible
   for his ejection: “Verily I say unto you, Whatsoever ye shall bind on earth
   shall be bound in heaven; and whatsoever ye shall loose on earth, shall be
   loosed in heaven.” The words may be regarded in one sense as a caution to
   ecclesiastical rulers to beware how they use a power of so tremendous a
   character; but they also plainly show that Christ desired His church on
   earth, as nearly as possible, to resemble the church in heaven: to be holy
   in her membership, and not an indiscriminate congregation of righteous and
   unrighteous men, of believers and infidels, of Christians and reprobates;
   and for that end committed the power of the keys to those who bear office in
   His house, authorizing them to deliver over to Satan’s thrall the proud,
   stubborn sinner who refuses to be corrected, and to give satisfaction to the
   aggrieved consciences of his brethren.

   Such rigor, pitiless in appearance, is really merciful to all parties. It is
   merciful to the faithful members of the church, because it removes from
   their midst a mortifying limb, whose presence imperils the life of the whole
   body. Scandalous open sin cannot be tolerated in any society without general
   demoralization ensuing; least of all in the church, which is a society whose
   very raison d’être is the culture of Christian virtue. But the apparently
   pitiless rigor is mercy even towards the unfaithful who are the subjects
   thereof. For to keep scandalous offenders inside the communion of the church
   is to do your best to damn their souls, and to exclude them ultimately from
   heaven. On the other hand, to deliver them over to Satan may be, and it is
   to be hoped will be, but giving them a foretaste of hell now that they may
   be saved from hell-fire forever. It was in this hope that Paul insisted on
   the excommunication of the incestuous person from the Corinthian church,
   that by the castigation of his fleshly sin “his spirit might be saved in the
   day of the Lord Jesus.” It is this hope which comforts those on whom the
   disagreeable task of enforcing church censures falls in the discharge of
   their painful duty. They can cast forth evil-doers from the communion of
   saints with less hesitation, when they know that as “publicans and
   sinners” the excommunicated are nearer the kingdom of God than they were as
   church members, and when they consider that they are still permitted to seek
   the good of the ungodly, as Christ sought the good of all the outcasts of
   His day; that it is still in their power to pray for them, and to preach to
   them, as they stand in the outer court of the Gentiles, though they may not
   put into their unholy hands the symbols of the Saviour’s body and blood.

   Such considerations, indeed, would go far to reconcile those who are
   sincerely concerned for the spiritual character of the church, and for the
   safety of individual souls, to very considerable reductions of communion
   rolls. There cannot be a doubt that, if church discipline were upheld with
   the efficiency and vigor contemplated by Christ, such reductions would take
   place on an extensive scale. It is indeed true that the purging process
   might be carried to excess, and with very injurious effects. Tares might be
   mistaken for wheat, and wheat for tares. The church might be turned into a
   society of Pharisees, thanking God that they were not as other men, or as
   the poor publicans who stood without, hearing and praying, but not
   communicating; while among those outside the communion rails might be not
   only the unworthy, but many timid ones who dared not come nigh, but, like
   the publican of the parable, could only stand afar off, crying, “God be
   merciful to me, a sinner,” yet all the while were justified rather than the
   others. A system tending to bring about such results is one extreme to be
   avoided. But there is another yet more pernicious extreme still more
   sedulously to be shunned: a careless laxity, which allows sheep and goats to
   be huddled together in one fold, the goats being thereby encouraged to deem
   themselves sheep, and deprived of the greatest benefit they can enjoy — the
   privilege of being spoken to plainly as “unconverted sinners.”

   Such unseemly mixtures of the godly and the godless are too common phenomena
   in these days. And the reason is not far to seek. It is not indifference to
   morality, for that is not generally a characteristic of the church in our
   time. It is the desire to multiply members. The various religious bodies
   value members still more than morality or high-toned Christian virtue, and
   they fear lest by discipline they may lose one or two names from their
   communion roll. The fear is not without justification. Fugitives from
   discipline are always sure of an open door and a hearty welcome in some
   quarter. This is one of the many curses entailed upon us by that greatest of
   all scandals, religious division. One who has become, or is in danger of
   becoming, as a heathen man and a publican to one ecclesiastical body, has a
   good chance of becoming a saint or an angel in another. Rival churches play
   at cross purposes, one loosing when another binds; so doing their utmost to
   make all spiritual sentences null and void, both in earth and heaven, and to
   rob religion of all dignity and authority. Well may libertines pray that the
   divisions of the church may continue, for while these last they fare well!
   Far otherwise did it fare with the like of them in the days when the church
   was catholic and one; when sinners repenting worked their way, in the slow
   course of years, from the locus lugentium outside the sanctuary, through the
   locus audientium and the locus substratorum to the locus fidelium: in that
   painful manner learning what an evil and a bitter thing it is to depart from
   the living God. [337]

   The promise made to consent in prayer [338] comes in appropriately in a
   discourse delivered to disciples who had been disputing who should be the
   greatest. In this connection the promise means: “So long as ye are divided
   by dissensions and jealousies, ye shall be impotent alike with men and with
   God; in your ecclesiastical procedure as church rulers, and in your
   supplications at the throne of grace. But if ye be united in mind and heart,
   ye shall have power with God, and shall prevail: my Father will grant your
   requests, and I myself will be in the midst of you.”

   It is not necessary to assume any very close connection between this promise
   and the subject of which Jesus had been speaking just before. In this
   familiar discourse transition is made from one topic to another in an easy
   conversational manner, care being taken only that all that is said shall be
   relevant to the general subject in hand. The meeting, supposed to be
   convened in Christ’s name, need not therefore be one of church officers
   assembled for the transaction of ecclesiastical business: it may be a
   meeting, in a church or in a cottage, purely for the purposes of worship.
   The promise avails for all persons, all subjects of prayer, all places, and
   all times; for all truly Christian assemblies great and small.

   The promise avails for the smallest number that can make a meeting — even
   for two or three. This minimum number is condescended on for the purpose of
   expressing in the strongest possible manner the importance of brotherly
   concord. Jesus gives us to understand that two agreed are better, stronger,
   than twelve or a thousand divided by enmities and ambitious passions. “The
   Lord, when He would commend unanimity and peace to His disciples, said, ‘If
   two of you shall agree on earth,’ etc., to show that most is granted not to
   the multitude, but to the concord of the supplicants.” [339] It is an
   obvious inference, that if by agreement even two be strong, then a multitude
   really united in mind would be proportionally stronger. For we must not
   fancy that God has any partiality for a little meeting, or that there is any
   virtue in a small number. Little strait sects are apt to fall into this
   mistake, and to imagine that Christ had them specially in His eye when He
   said two or three, and that the kind of agreement by which they are
   distinguished — agreement in whim and crotchet — is what He desiderated.
   Ridiculous caricature of the Lord’s meaning! The agreement He requires of
   His disciples is not entire unanimity in opinion, but consent of mind and
   heart in the ends they aim at, and in unselfish devotion to these ends. When
   He spake of two or three, He did not contemplate, as the desirable state of
   things, the body of His church split up into innumerable fragments by
   religious opinionativeness, each fragment in proportion to its minuteness
   imagining itself sure of His presence and blessing. He did not wish His
   church to consist of a collection of clubs having no intercommunion with
   each other, any more than He desired it to be a monster hotel, receiving and
   harboring all comers, no questions being asked. He made the promise now
   under consideration, not to stimulate sectarianism, but to encourage the
   cultivation of virtues which have ever been too rare on earth —
   brotherly-kindness, meekness, charity. The thing He values, in a word, is
   not paucity of numbers, due to the want of charity, but union of hearts in
   lowly love among the greatest number possible.
     _________________________________________________________________

   [333] Matt. xviii. 15-17. Keim views the whole discourse (which he regards
   as substantially one continuous utterance as recorded in Matt. xviii. with
   the supplement in the other evangelists) as meant by Jesus to serve the
   purpose of organizing the disciples into a religious community (Gemeinde in
   view of His probable death. This piece of work Keim calls Christ’s last
   Galilean task, and he represents it as in accordance with Christ’s wisdom
   and love that He attended to the duty the. Vide Geschichte Jesu, ii. 605.

   [334] Ver. 18.

   [335] Vers. 19, 20.

   [336] Persons curious concerning these controversies will find abundant
   information in Gillespie’s Aaron’s Rod Blossoming.

   [337] See Bingham’s Origines Ecclesiasticæ for an account of the ancient
   church discipline.

   [338] Matt. xviii. 19, 20

   [339] Cyprianus, De Unitate Ecclesiæ.
     _________________________________________________________________

  SECTION III. FORGIVING INJURIES

    Matt. xviii. 21–35.

   A lesson on forgiveness fitly ended the solemn discourse on humility
   delivered in the hearing of disputatious disciples. The connection of
   thought between beginning and end is very real, though it does not quite lie
   on the surface. A vindictive temper, which is the thing here condemned, is
   one of the vices fostered by an ambitious spirit. An ambitious man is sure
   to be the receiver of many offences, real or imaginary. He is quick to take
   offence, and slow to forgive or forget wrong. Forgiving injuries is not in
   his way: he is more in his element when he lays hold of his debtor by the
   throat, and with ruffian fierceness demands payment.

   The concluding part of the discourse was occasioned by a question put by
   Peter, the usual spokesman of the twelve, who came to Jesus and said: “Lord,
   how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven
   times?” By what precise association of ideas the question was suggested to
   Peter’s mind we know not; perhaps he did not know himself, for the movements
   of the mind are often mysterious, and in impulsive mercurial natures they
   are also apt to be sudden. Thoughts shoot into consciousness like meteors
   into the upper atmosphere; and suddenly conceived, are as abruptly uttered,
   with physical gestures accompanying, indicating the force with which they
   have taken possession of the soul. Suffice it to say, that the disciple’s
   query, however suggested, was relevant to the subject in hand, and had
   latent spiritual affinities with all that Jesus had said concerning humility
   and the giving and receiving of offences. It showed on Peter’s part an
   intelligent attention to the words of his Master, and a conscientious
   solicitude to conform his conduct to those heavenly precepts by which he
   felt for the moment subdued and softened.

   The question put by Peter further revealed a curious mixture of
   childlikeness and childishness. To be so earnest about the duty of
   forgiving, and even to think of practicing the duty so often as seven times
   towards the same offender, betrayed the true child of the kingdom; for none
   but the graciously-minded are exercised in that fashion. But to imagine that
   pardon repeated just so many times would exhaust obligation and amount to
   something magnanimous and divine, was very simple. Poor Peter, in his
   ingenuous attempt at the magnanimous, was like a child standing on tiptoe to
   make himself as tall as his father, or climbing to the top of a hillock to
   get near the skies.

   The reply of Jesus to His honest but crude disciple was admirably adapted to
   put him out of conceit with himself, and to make him feel how puny and petty
   were the dimensions of his charity. Echoing the thought of the prophetic
   oracle, it tells those who would be like God that they must multiply
   pardons: [340] “I say not unto thee, Until seven times; but, Until seventy
   times seven.” Alas for the rarity of such charity under the sun! Christ’s
   thoughts are not man’s thoughts, neither are His ways common among men. As
   the heavens are higher than the earth, so are His thoughts and ways higher
   than those current in this world. For many, far from forgiving times without
   number a brother confessing his fault, do not forgive even so much as once,
   but act so that we can recognize their portrait drawn to the life in the
   parable of the unmerciful servant.

   In this parable, whose minutes details are fraught with instruction, three
   things are specially noteworthy: the contrast between the two debts; the
   corresponding contrast between the two creditors; and the doom pronounced on
   those who, being forgiven the large debt owed by them, refuse to forgive the
   small debt owed to them.

   The two debts are respectively ten thousand talents and a hundred denarii,
   being to each other in the proportion of, say, a million to one. The
   enormous disparity is intended to represent the difference between the
   shortcomings of all men towards God, and those with which any man can charge
   a fellow-creature. The representation is confessed to be just by all who
   know human nature and their own hearts; and the consciousness of its truth
   helps them greatly to be gentle and forbearing towards offenders. Yet the
   parable seems to be faulty in this, that it makes the unmerciful servant
   answerable for such a debt as it seems impossible for any man to run up. Who
   ever heard of a private debt amounting in British money to millions
   sterling? The difficulty is met by the suggestion that the debtor is a
   person of high rank, like one of the princes whom Darius set over the
   kingdom of Persia, or a provincial governor of the Roman Empire. Such an
   official might very soon make himself liable for the huge sum here
   specified, simply by retaining for his own benefit the revenues of his
   province as they passed through his hands, instead of remitting them to the
   royal treasury.

   That it was some such unscrupulous minister of state, guilty of the crime of
   embezzlement, whom Jesus had in His eye, appears all but certain when we
   recollect what gave rise to the discourse of which this parable forms the
   conclusion. The disciples had disputed among themselves who should be
   greatest in the kingdom, each one being ambitious to obtain the place of
   distinction for himself. Here, accordingly, their Master holds up to their
   view the conduct of a great one, concerned not about the faithful discharge
   of his duty, but about his own aggrandizement. “Behold,” He says to them in
   effect, “what men who wish to be great ones do! They rob their king of his
   revenue, and abuse the opportunities afforded by their position to enrich
   themselves; and while scandalously negligent of their own obligations, they
   are characteristically exacting towards any little one who may happen in the
   most innocent way, not by fraud, but by misfortune, to have become their
   debtor.”

   Thus understood, the parable faithfully represents the guilt and criminality
   of those at least who are animated by the spirit of pride, and deliberately
   make self-advancement their chief end: a class by no means small in number.
   Such men are great sinners, whoever may be little ones. They not merely come
   short of the glory of God, the true chief end of man, but they deliberately
   rob the Supreme of His due, calling in question His sovereignty, denying
   their accountability to Him for their actions, and by the spirit which
   animates them, saying every moment of their lives, “Who is Lord over us?” It
   is impossible to over-estimate the magnitude of their guilt.

   The contrast between the two creditors is not less striking than that
   between the two debts. The king forgives the enormous debt of his
   unprincipled sat rap on receiving a simple promise to pay; the forgiven sat
   rap relentlessly exacts the petty debt of some three pounds sterling from
   the poor hapless underling who owes it, stopping his ear to the identical
   petition for delay which he had himself successful