can hardly be seen, but from this tiny little seed, if it is put into
good earth, springs up a fine shrub, and the fowls of the air lodge in
the branches of it. The grain of wheat is not large, the farmer throws
it into the ground and then goes on about his other affairs; he sleeps,
he goes away from home and comes back. Days pass and nights pass, no
thought is given to the seed, but underneath there in the moist, plowed
field the seed has germinated. There comes out a blade of green and at
the top of this blade an ear, at first green and graceful, then little
by little becoming golden grain. Now the field is ready for the mowing
and the farmer can commence his harvesting.
Likewise with the Kingdom of Heaven and the first news of it. A word
seems nothing. What is a word? Syllables, sounds, which come from the
lips, enter with difficulty into the ears and only when they come from
the heart find other hearts; it is a little thing, small, a breath, a
sigh, a sound which comes and goes and the wind carries it away. And yet
the word of the Kingdom is like yeast. If it goes into good flour, clean
honest flour not adulterated with other grains, it ferments and grows.
It is like the seed of the fields which germinates deep under the
ground, patient as the earth which hides it, which, when Spring comes,
grows green and strong and with the beginning of summer, lo, the harvest
is ready!
The gospel is made up of few words, “The Kingdom is at hand, change your
souls!” but if it falls into the heart of men ready for it, of simple
men who wish to become great, of righteous men who wish to become holy,
of sinners who seek in good for that happiness which they have vainly
sought in evil, then those words take root in the depths, put out buds
and shoots, flourish up in clusters and ears, and luxuriate in a summer
never to be followed by the decay of Autumn.
Only a few men of those living about Christ believed in the Kingdom and
prepared themselves for the great day. Only a few, insignificant men,
scattered like tiny particles of yeast in the midst of the divided
nations and the immense Empires, but these few dozen insignificant men
gathered together in the midst of a predestined people were to become,
through the contagion of their example, thousands upon thousands, and
only three hundred years after them, in the place of Tiberius, ruled a
man who bowed the knee before the heirs of the Apostles.
But men must renounce everything else if they are to enjoy the promised
Kingdom. Worldly-minded men do the same in their temporal affairs. If a
man working in another’s field discovers a treasure-store, he quickly
hides it again and hurries to sell all that he has to buy that field. If
a merchant looking for marvelous jewels worthy to be offered to
monarchs, finds a pearl larger and purer than any he has ever seen, he
goes and sells everything that he has, even the other pearls of less
price, to buy this unique and wonderful pearl.
If the workman and the merchant, material-minded men, who are satisfied
with frail acquisitions, are thus ready to sell all their goods to
acquire a treasure which seems to them more precious than anything they
possess, even though it is only a material and perishable treasure, how
much more reason there is for men to renounce what they hold most dear,
in order to achieve the Kingdom of God. If the laboring-man and the
merchant for a money gain, likely to be stolen or destroyed, thus
consent to a provisional sacrifice which will give them a hundred per
cent profit, ought not we for an infinitely greater, infinitely higher
profit, throw away the best we have, even if it has seemed until now of
inestimable price?
But before we make this renunciation we must take thought and be sure
that what remains to us will be enough to take us to the end of this new
undertaking. We must measure the forces of our soul, that it may not
happen to us as to the man who wished to build up a tower, a beautiful
tower which would soar up to the sky like that of Jerusalem. He took no
account of the cost but called the diggers, had the foundations
excavated; called the masons and had the four walls of the foundations
begun; but when the tower had scarcely been raised above the level of
the earth, and was not yet as high as the roof of a house, he was
obliged to stop because he had no more money to pay for the mortar, the
stones, the bricks and the working men; and the tower remained thus, low
and unsightly, in memory of his presumption: and his neighbors mocked at
him.
A king who wants to make war on another king first takes account of his
soldiers, and if he can count only on ten thousand and the other has
twenty thousand, he puts off any idea of war, and sends an embassy of
peace before his enemy can take the first hostile step. He who is not
sure of himself, of being able to conquer to the last, does not follow
Christ. For the foundation of the Kingdom is infinitely harder work than
the building of a tower, and the creation of the new man is war not less
harsh than external war, although silent and inner.
THE BANQUET
Only the clean of heart can enter into the Kingdom. The Kingdom is an
eternal feast, and only those dressed for a feast can go there. There
was a King who celebrated his son’s wedding, and those whom he invited
did not come. Then the King called in the common people, the passers-by,
the beggars, every one; but when the King came into the banqueting hall
and saw one of the guests all filthy with grease and mud, he had him
cast outside the door, to gnash his teeth in the coldness of night.
At the banquet of the Kingdom if the first called do not come, all are
accepted; even the wretched and the sinners. The King had invited first
the chosen people; but one had bought a piece of ground, another five
yoke of oxen, a third had taken a wife that day. They were all deep in
their affairs, and some did not even trouble to send an excuse. Then the
King sent his servants to pick up out of the streets the blind, the
poor, the maimed and the halt, the lowest of the rabble; and still there
was room. Then he commanded that those who passed in front of his palace
should be forced to come in, whoever they might be; and the banquet
began. It was a royal banquet, a rich and magnificent feast; but after
all, it consisted in enjoying lamb and fish, in getting drunk on wine
and cider. At the break of day the bonfire was burned out, the tables
were cleared, every one had to return to his home and to his poverty. If
some of those whom the King first invited preferred another material
pleasure to this material pleasure it was pardonable.
But the invitation to the banquet of the Kingdom is a promise of
spiritual happiness, absolute, satisfying, perpetual. Something else
than the passing amusements of terrestrial life: nauseating drunkenness,
food that distends the stomach, sensual pleasures that leave a man
bone-weary and defiled. And yet the men whom Jesus chose among all other
men, and called first of all to the divine feast of the reborn, did not
respond. They made wry faces, complained, slipped away and continued
their habitual low actions. They preferred the rubbish of carnal goods
to the splendor of high hope which is the only reasonable reason for
living.
Then all the others were called in their place: beggars instead of the
rich, sinners instead of Pharisees, women of the streets instead of fine
ladies, the sick and sorrowing instead of the strong and happy.
Even the latest arrivals if they come in time will be admitted to the
feast. The master of the vineyard saw in the marketplace certain
laborers who were waiting for work, sent them out to prune his vines,
and agreed on their wages. Later at noon-day he saw others without work
and sent also those; and still later more again, and he sent them all.
And they all worked, some at pruning and some at hoeing, and when the
evening came the master gave the same pay to all. But those who had
begun in the morning early, murmured, “Why do those who have worked less
than we receive the same payment?” But the master answered one of them
and said, “Didst not thou agree with me for a penny; why then dost thou
lament? If it is my pleasure to give the same to the working men of the
last hour, is that robbing you others?”
The apparent injustice of the master is only a more generous justice. To
all he gives what he has promised, and he who arrived last but works
with equal hope has the same right as the others to enjoy that Kingdom
for which he has labored until the night.
Woe to him who comes too late! No one knows the exact day, but after
that hour he who has not gone in will knock at the door, and it will not
be opened to him, and he will mourn in outer darkness.
The master has gone to the wedding and the servants do not know when he
will come back. Fortunate are those who have waited for him and whom he
will find awake. The master himself will seat them at the table and will
serve them. But if he find them sleeping, if no one is ready to receive
him, if they make him knock at the door before opening it, if they come
to meet him disheveled, tousled, half-clad, and if he finds in the house
no lamp lighted, no water warmed, he will take the servants by the arm
and drive them out without pity.
Every one should be ready because the Son of Man is like a thief in the
night who sends no word beforehand when he will come. Or like a
bridegroom who has been detained by some one in the street. In the house
of the bride there are ten virgins who are waiting to go to meet him
with the light of the procession. Five, the wise virgins, take oil for
their lamps, and wait to hear the voices and the steps of the
approaching bridegroom. The other five, the foolish, do not think of the
oil, and, tired of waiting, fall asleep. And suddenly there is the sound
of the nuptial procession arriving. The five wise virgins light their
lamps and run out into the street joyfully to welcome the bridegroom.
The other five wake up with a start and ask their companions to give
them a little oil. But the others say, “Why did you not provide for that
sooner? Go and buy some.” And the foolish run from one house to another
to get a little oil; but everybody is asleep, and nobody answers them,
and the shops are closed and the roaming dogs bark at their heels. They
go back to the house of the wedding, but now the door is closed. The
five wise virgins are already there and feasting with the bridegroom.
The five foolish virgins knock and beg and cry out, but no one comes to
open for them. Through the cracks in the window casings they see the
glowing lights of the supper. They hear the clatter of the dishes, the
clinking of the cups, the songs of the young men, the sound of the
musical instruments, but they cannot enter. They must stay there until
morning, in the dark, and the wind. Shut out from the pleasures of the
evening festival, they tremble and shake in terror.
THE NARROW GATE
“Enter ye in at the strait gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the
way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat:
Because strait is the gate, narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life,
and few there be that find it.” Those who will try to enter will fail,
because the master of the house, when he has shut his door, will no
longer recognize any one.
Until the great day, until it is too late, “Ask and it shall be given to
you; seek and ye shall find, knock and it shall be opened unto you.”
Even hard, slothful, obstinate men give way to persistent entreaty. If
even men are not always insensible to pleadings how much surer will be
the response from a Father who loves us?
A man at midnight knocks at the door of a friend and wakens him. Through
the door he says to him, “Friend, lend me three loaves; For a friend of
mine in his journey is come to me, and I have nothing to set before
him.” But the other, still half asleep, replies, “Trouble me not: for I
am tired, and I do not wish to arise. And here in my bed I have my
children who are asleep and if I get up I will wake them and chill
them.” But the other will not give up, and knocks again on the door and
raises his voice and begs with clasped hands that the other one will do
him this service, for he has no other friends near, and the hour is late
and his guest hungry and waiting for him. And he storms so at the door
that his friend gets out of bed and lets him come in and gives him as
many loaves as he needs. The friend was weak, but good-hearted. And even
the bad-hearted do as he does. There was in a certain city a judge who
cared for no one, a morose and scornful man who wanted to do everything
as it suited him best. A widow went every day before him and asked for
justice, and although her cause was just the judge always sent her away
and would not do what she wished. But the widow patiently endured all
his repulses and did not weary in her importunity. And finally the judge
to get rid of this woman who wore him out with her supplications,
pleadings, and prayers, gave the sentence and sent her in peace.
But no more must be asked than can be expected. He who has accomplished
his task will eat and drink but will not have any special place of
honor, nor will he be better served than his brother, and certainly not
so well as his superior. When the servant, having been in the field
sowing or pasturing the cattle, comes back to the house, the master does
not call him to eat at his own table, but first is served himself and
afterwards gives the servant the meal which is due him. This is a
Parable which Jesus meant for His Apostles, who were already disputing
about who would have the highest place in the Kingdom. “Doth he thank
that servant because he did the things that were commanded him? I trow
not. So likewise ye, when ye shall have done all those things which were
commanded you, say: We are unprofitable servants: we have done that
which was our duty to do.”
The only thing which counts is the actual doing. There are those who say
“yes” to orders but who after this do nothing. Such men shall be
condemned more severely than those who refused openly and then
afterwards, repentant, obeyed. A father had two sons and said to the
older, “Son, go work to-day in my vineyard.” And the son answered, “I
go, sir,” but instead of going to work in the vineyard he lay down in
the shade to sleep. And the father said to the second, “Go too and work
with your brother.” But the son answered, “No, to-day I wish to rest
because I am not well.” But later, thinking of the old man who could not
do the work himself any longer, he took back his refusal, overcame his
indolence and went to the vineyard and worked with a will till evening.
To listen to the word of the Kingdom is not enough. To consent verbally
and to live just as before, without effort to change the heart, is less
than nothing. “Whosoever cometh to me, and heareth my sayings, and doeth
them, I will show you to whom he is like; He is like a man which built
an house, and digged deep, and laid the foundation on a rock, and when
the flood arose, the stream beat vehemently upon that house, and could
not shake it, for it was founded upon a rock. But he that heareth and
doeth not, is like a man that without a foundation built an house upon
the earth; against which the stream did beat vehemently, and immediately
it fell; and the ruin of that house was great.”
The same teaching is in the Parable of the Sowing, “A sower went out to
sow his seed: and as he sowed, some fell by the wayside; and it was
trodden down, and the fowls of the air devoured it, and some fell upon a
rock; and as soon as it was sprung up, it withered away, because it
lacked moisture. And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprang up
with it and choked it. And other fell on good ground, and sprang up and
bare fruit an hundredfold.” This is the Parable which the Twelve were
incapable of understanding. Jesus was obliged to explain it Himself. The
seed is the Word of God. Those by the wayside are they that hear, then
cometh Satan and taketh the Word out of their hearts lest they should
believe and be saved. They on the rock are they which when they hear
receive the Word with joy, and these have no root which for a while
believe and in time of temptation fall away. And that which fell among
thorns are they which when they have heard go forth and are choked with
cares and riches and pleasures of this life, and bring no fruit to
perfection. But that on the good ground are they which in an honest and
good heart having heard the Word keep it and bring forth fruit with
patience. But it is not enough to hear it merely, to understand it, to
practice it. He who has received it should not keep it to himself. Who
is the man who having a lamp hides it under the bed or covers it with a
vessel? The light should stand high in the center of the room that they
which enter in may see it and be lighted.
A Lord traveling into a far country left to each of his servants ten
talents with the understanding that they should use the money to good
purpose. And when he came back he reckoned with them. And the first
delivered to him twenty talents, because with the first ten he had
earned ten other talents. And the Lord made him steward over all his
goods. And the second delivered him fifteen talents, for he had not been
able to earn more than five more. But the third presented himself
timorously and showed him, wrapped up in a napkin, the ten talents which
he had received. “Lord, I knew thee that thou art an hard man, reaping
where thou hast not sown, and gathering where thou hast not strawed: And
I was afraid, and went and hid thy talents in the earth.” And the Lord
answered, “Thou wicked and slothful servant, I will judge thee by thine
own words. Take the talents and give them to him who has twenty.” But he
has already plenty. “I say unto you,” answered the Lord, “For unto every
one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him
that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath.” And the
unprofitable servant was cast into outer darkness, where there was
weeping and gnashing of teeth. He who has received the Word ought to
double his wealth. He has received so great a treasure that if he leaves
it useless, he deserves to have it taken away from him. From him who
does not add to it shall be taken away even that which he has, and unto
him who has doubled his treasures shall be given even more. Those who do
not use the treasure of the Word are not poverty-stricken men who need
gifts because they are destitute, but faithless and slothful husbandmen,
to whom was entrusted the most fruitful field in all the universe. Happy
the steward whom the Master shall find attentive to act justly and to
give to all their rightful part of the harvest. But if the steward
begins to oppress the serving men and women and thinks only of eating
and getting drunk he will be scourged and punished when the Master
returns, just punishment for the faithless!
The servant who does not know what the Master wishes done, and so, not
knowing, does not carry out His wishes, shall be less punished than he
who knew, and still does the contrary, for he shall be driven out of the
house where he gave orders. The bearers of the Word have no excuse if
they are not the first to obey God’s wishes. From him to whom much was
given, much shall be required.
THE PRODIGAL SON
A man had two sons. His wife was dead, but he still had these two sons,
only two. But two are always better than one. If the first is away from
home, the second is still there; if the younger fall ill, the older
works for two; if one should die ... even children die, even the young
die, and sometimes before the old ... if one of the two should die,
there is at least one left who will care for the poor father.
This man loved his sons, not only because they were of his blood but
because he had a loving heart. He loved them both, the older and the
younger; perhaps the younger a little more than the older, but so little
that he did not realize it himself. Fathers and mothers often have a
weakness for the youngest because he is the smallest, he is the
sweetest, he is the last baby, and after his birth there was never
another one, so that his boyhood, still so recent, so prolonged,
stretches out to the sill of his young manhood like a lingering halo of
tenderness. It seems only yesterday that he was a baby at the breast,
that he took his first stumbling steps, that he sprang up to embrace his
father, or sat astride his knees.
But this man was not partial. He loved his sons like his two eyes and
his two hands, equally dear, one at the left, one at the right, and he
saw to it that both were happy. Nothing lacked for either one.
And yet, even in the case of sons of one father, it almost never happens
that two brothers have the same tastes or even similar tastes. The older
was a serious-minded young man, sedate, settled, who seemed already
grown up and mature, a husband, the head of a family. He respected his
father, but more as master than as father, without any impulsive show of
affection. He worked faithfully, but he was hard and captious with the
servants; he went through all the religious forms, but did not let the
poor come about him. Although the house was full of all possible good
things, yet for them there was never anything. He pretended to love his
brother, but his heart was full of the poison of envy. When people say
“to love like a brother” they say the contrary of what ought to be said.
Brothers very rarely love each other. Jewish history, not to speak of
any other, begins with Cain, goes on with Jacob’s cheating Esau, with
Joseph sold by his brothers, with Absalom, who killed Amon, with Solomon
who had Adonijah killed: a long bloody road of jealousy, opposition and
betrayal. It would be more correct to say “a father’s love,” rather than
a brother’s.
The second son seemed of another race. He was younger and was not
ashamed to be young. He splashed about and made merry in his youth as in
a warm lake. He had all the desires, the graces, and the defects of his
age. He was fitful with his father. One day he hurt him, the next, put
him into the seventh heaven; he was capable of not saying a word for
weeks together and then suddenly throwing himself on his father’s neck
in the highest spirits. Good times with his friends were more to his
taste than work. He refused no invitations to drink, stared at women and
dressed better than other people. But he was warmhearted; he gave money
to the needy, was charitable without boasting of it, never sent away any
one disconsolate. He was seldom seen at the synagogue, and for this and
for other reasons the middle-class people of the neighborhood, timid,
colorless people, religious and self-seeking, did not think well of him
and advised their sons to have nothing to do with him. So much the more
because the young man wanted to spend more than his father’s resources
allowed him—a good man, they said, but weak and blinded—and because he
talked recklessly and said things which were not fitting for the son of
a good family brought up as he ought to be. The little life of that
little country hole was repugnant to him; he said it was better to look
for adventure in rich countries, populous, far away, beyond the
mountains and the sea, where the big, luxurious cities are, with marble
buildings and the best wines and shops full of silk and silver, and
women dressed in fine clothes like queens fresh from aromatic baths who
lightly give themselves for a piece of gold.
There in the country you had to obey orders and work hard, and there was
no outlet for gypsy-like and nomadic tastes. His father, although he was
rich, although he was good, measured out the drachma as if they were
talents. His brother was vexed if he bought a new tunic or came home a
little tipsy; in the family all they knew was the field, the furrow, the
pasture, the stock; a life that was not a life but one long effort.
And one day (he had thought of it many times before, but had never had
the courage to say it) he hardened his heart and his face and said to
his father, “Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me,
and I will ask nothing more of thee.”