Though the multitudes which had flocked to hear John might be fickle
and thoughtless, surely better things might be expected of those
favoured towns by the lake of Galilee, where the signs of the kingdom
had been so abundantly exhibited and the truth of the kingdom so
earnestly and frequently preached. But no: even they "repented not."
They would bring their sick in crowds to get them healed; but they hid
as it were their faces from Him. They had not indeed treated Him as
the people of Nazareth had done; for Nazareth had cast Him out, and
Capernaum had taken Him in. Yet His lamentation is not over Nazareth,
but over Capernaum. We can readily see why. What He suffered at
Nazareth was a personal indignity. He was so summarily ejected that He
had not time or opportunity to set before them the signs of the
kingdom. But in Capernaum the time and opportunity had been ample. The
truth had been fully told; the signs had been fully wrought. The
people had seemed to listen; and all betokened a happy issue. We can
imagine the Saviour waiting and hoping and longing (for again, let it
be remembered that He was very man, and that this experience
discouraged Him as it would discourage any of us), and then tasting
all the bitterness of hope deferred, ending in crushing
disappointment.
For a long time He continues silent, bearing the heavy burden in His
heart, till the fountain of grief could be pent up no longer: "Then
began He to upbraid the cities wherein most of His mighty works were
done, because they repented not." The words He speaks are very awful;
but it is in the last resort. Love and mercy have been His theme from
day to day; and it is only because these are obstinately rejected that
wrath and judgment must now find a voice. It is not a wrathful voice:
there are tears in it. What must it have cost Him to speak these awful
words about Capernaum's impending doom! To think that those who were
nearest His heart of all, to whom He devoted the freshness of His
first days of service, the dew of His youth, so to speak--that they
would have none of Him, but preferred to remain in sin with all the
woe it necessarily entailed,--oh! it must have been torture to that
loving heart. And we may be sure there was no less pathos in this last
appeal to Bethsaida, Chorazin and Capernaum, than there was in the
later lamentation over the city of the South.
* * * * *
How does the Saviour bear Himself under these repeated
discouragements? The passage which follows will show (vv. 25-30). Some
have found a difficulty in the word "answered," because there appears
no question with which it is connected. But did not these
discouragements require an answer? As we read, first of the doubts of
John, then of the thoughtlessness of the multitudes, and then of the
impenitence of the favoured cities by the lake, is there not a
question in our hearts, becoming more and more urgent as each new
discouragement appears, What will He say to this? What can He answer?
Thus our minds are well prepared for that which immediately follows:
"At that time Jesus answered and said, I thank Thee, O Father." Is it
to be a thanksgiving, then, after such a series of disappointments and
vexations? Even so. As He has looked to the cities of the plain, His
voice has been a wail; now that He looks up to His Father, wailing
ceases, and thanksgiving takes its place. So will it always be to
faith which is genuine and deep enough. It is only when we look below
and around that we are depressed. When we look up we are strong. "I
will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My
help cometh from the Lord Who made heaven and earth." Was it the
remembrance of this passage at the time of need which suggested the
form of His thanksgiving: "I thank Thee, Father, _Lord of heaven and
earth_"?
Surely we have here the living original of that grand apostolic word,
"In everything give thanks"; for if "at that season" (R.V.) the
Saviour of men found occasion for thanksgiving, we may well believe
that at any season, however dark, we may find something to stir our
hearts to gratitude; and the very exercise of thanksgiving will bring
a deep spiritual joy to set against the bitterest sorrow, even as it
was with our Lord, Who, as St. Luke informs us, "rejoiced in spirit"
as He lifted up His soul in thanks to God that day.
What, then, does He find to be thankful for? First, He discovers a
cause for gratitude in the very limitation which occasions His sorest
disappointments: "I thank Thee, ... because Thou hast hid these things
from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes." There
is of course the cheering thought that amid the general unbelief and
rejection there are some childlike souls who have welcomed the truth.
Some are fain to make this the sole cause of thankfulness, as if He
meant to say, "I thank Thee, that _though_ Thou hast hid these things
from the wise and prudent, Thou hast revealed them unto babes." But
there is no authority for introducing this little word. The Saviour
gives thanks, not merely in spite of this hiding, but because of it.
It is true, indeed, that He uses the language of resignation, "Even
so, Father: for so it seemed good in Thy sight," which makes it
evident that the fact that so many of the wise and intelligent
rejected His gospel presented a real difficulty to His mind, as it has
done to earnest souls in all ages. But while it was no doubt enough
for Him to feel sure that it was right in the sight of God, we are not
without indication in what follows, that His faith not only led to
resignation, but enabled Him to see for Himself that it was wisely
ordered. For what is the great object of the Gospel? Is it not to
dethrone self and enthrone God in the hearts of men? It is clear, then,
that, if it had in any way appealed to pride and self-sufficiency, it
would have defeated its own end. Suppose the revealing of things had
been to the wise and prudent as such, what would have been the result?
The kingdom of heaven would have become a mere scholarship prize. And,
however good a thing scholarship may be, and however important that it
be encouraged, this is not the work of the Christ of God. His Gospel
is for all; so it is addressed not to the great in intellect, which
would confine it to the few, but to the lowly in heart, which brings
it within reach of all,--for the very wisest and greatest in
intellect may be, and ought to be, meek and lowly in heart.
Indeed, is it not to the meek and lowly heart that even the truths of
science are disclosed? A man who approaches nature with a preconceived
theory, about which his mind is already made up, is sure to miss the
mark. To enter into its secrets, prejudices and prepossessions must be
laid aside, and things observed with open mind and simple receptiveness.
In this connection one sees the special appropriateness of the
reference to "the Lord of heaven and earth." The principle is one
which is not restricted in its range: it runs all through nature.
Still more appropriate is the appeal to the fatherhood of God. It is
not for the Father to be partial to his clever children, and leave the
less favoured ones to shift for themselves. To Him they are all
"babes"; and to them He must be not examiner, nor prize-giver, but
above all _Father_, if they would understand and feel His love. So the
more one thinks of it, the more in every point of view does it seem
good and necessary that these things should not be made known to the
"wise and understanding" (R.V.) as such, but should be revealed to
"babes," to those of childlike spirit. It is well. The wisest and most
learned may join in the thanksgiving, for it is far better for them to
take their places with the rest, as many happily do, and receive the
same loving welcome; and those of us who cannot call ourselves wise
and learned should surely be most devoutly thankful that, however
impossible it may be to compete with these highly favoured ones in
obtaining the prizes of earth, we are at no disadvantage in striving
for "the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus."
The next great thought which comes to the relief of the Saviour in
His discouragement is that, while there are barriers in the heart of
man, there is no barrier in the heart of God, no limit whatever to the
outpouring of Divine love and grace: "All things are delivered unto Me
of My Father." Even at the time when it is borne in upon Him that men
will have none of Him, He exults in the thought that He has everything
for them. If only they could see it! If only they knew the boundless
treasure there was for them in God! If only they knew that God had put
all within their reach by sending them His Son! But the Son is unknown
except to the Father, Who sent Him; and the Father is unknown except
to the Son, Who has come to reveal Him. But He _has_ come to reveal
Him; and with the revealing the way will be opened for all good things
to follow. As He thinks of it His heart yearns over the orphaned
children of men, and He exults in the thought that He has for them the
revelation of the Father's heart and home, with enough and to spare
for all His children (ver. 27).
Then follows such an outpouring of heart as there never has been
before. He knows that only in the Father can the children of men find
rest, and so He says "Come unto Me," and I will lead you to the
Father, Who alone knows Me, as I alone know Him; and you, finding Him
in Me, shall know Him too, and your hearts shall be at rest.
It is beautiful and most touching to observe how our Lord is, as it
were, compelled to make His appeal more personal than He has ever done
before. We look in vain through His previous utterances as reported in
this Gospel for such reduplication of the personal pronouns as there
is here. What is the reason of it? We can see it when we read between
the lines. Hitherto His great subject has been the kingdom of heaven.
This kingdom He has been preaching through all the country-side,
setting forth its purity and blessedness, unfolding its unspeakable
riches, and entreating all to enter in by the strait gate, which He
has thrown open to receive them. But they will not enter. These
things, in spite of all He can say, are hid from them. Well He knows
what is the difficulty: it is the hardness of their hearts. If He
could only get at these hearts! How can He do it? It can only be by
the opening out of all His heart to them; so He will make His pleading
a personal entreaty now. Hence the peculiarly winning form His
invitation now assumes. It is no longer "Enter ye in at the strait
gate"; it is not even, "I have come to call sinners to repentance"; it
is the cry of a loving, yearning heart, "Come unto Me." And how
tenderly He thinks of them!--no more upbraiding now, no more reproof.
He will try to reach the conscience through the heart, and so He does
not even think of them as sinners now--He forgets everything but their
weariness and woe: "Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy
laden, and I will rest you."[10]
We shall not, however, dwell on the precious words with which this
chapter ends. They are as rich and suggestive as they are simple and
heart-thrilling; but for this very reason we must not attempt to do
more than place them in their setting, which is often missed, for the
words themselves have attracted so much attention, and so filled the
minds and hearts of those who have looked at them that too little has
been made of their surroundings. Observe only how nobly the Son of man
comes out of this ordeal of disappointment and discouragement. See the
grandeur of His faith. "At that season," when we should expect to see
Him in the depths, He rises to the very height of His dignity and
majesty. This passage above all others has been cited as an example of
the self-assertion of Jesus--say rather His sublime consciousness of
divine dignity, prerogative and power; yet so entirely natural and
unassuming is it all, that in the very same breath He can say, without
conveying to the most thoughtful mind the least feeling of
incongruity: "I am meek and lowly in heart." Then, behold what manner
of love! These chilling blasts of doubt, indifference, and unbelief,
only fan it into a warmer, steadier flame. The sweetest of all His
invitations, the most touching of all His appeals, comes from a heart
which has just been wounded in its tenderest place, and has tasted the
bitterness of cruel disappointment. Who can measure the patient love
which "at that season" finds such utterance?
II.--THE CONTRADICTION OF SINNERS (xii.).
The darkness deepens on the Saviour's path. He has now to encounter
direct antagonism. There have been, indeed, signs of opposition
before. When the man sick of the palsy was forgiven, "certain of the
scribes said within themselves, This man blasphemeth" (ix. 3); but it
was only "within themselves," they did not venture to speak out.
Again, after the feast in the house of Levi, the Pharisees complained,
but not to Christ Himself; "they said unto His disciples, Why eateth
your Master with publicans and sinners?" (ix. 11). And when the dumb
demoniac was cured, the Pharisees muttered, "He casteth out devils
through the prince of the devils" (ix. 34), but did not yet say it to
His face. But now they are emboldened to attack Him directly. Possibly
they saw as clearly as any the discouraging aspect of affairs for the
new kingdom. They had, in all probability, heard of the doubts of
John, had taken note of the fault-findings of the people (if, indeed,
these had not been first suggested by themselves), had observed that
even "the cities where most of His mighty works were done repented
not" (xi. 20); and having therefore less occasion to fear
consequences, they might think it safe to attack one who stood for a
rapidly failing cause.
* * * * *
1. Observe, first, the spirit in which our Lord meets the repeated
attacks of which the record is given in this chapter. There are four
in close succession. The first is the charge of Sabbath-breaking made
against the disciples, because they rubbed a few ears of corn in their
hands as they passed through the fields on the Sabbath day; and
following it, the entangling question put to the Master in the
synagogue. Then there is the accusation founded on the healing of the
blind and dumb demoniac: "This man doth not cast out devils, but by
Beelzebub the prince of the devils" (ver. 24). The third attack is the
hypocritical application, "Master, we would see a sign from Thee"
(ver. 38), the word "Master" being evidently used in mockery, and the
request for "a sign" a scornful way of suggesting that all the signs
He was giving were worth nothing. These three attacks were made by the
Pharisees, and were most irritating and vexatious, each in its own
way. The first was annoying on account of its pettiness, the second
because of its bitter malice, while the third was a studied insult;
and yet, galling as these repeated attacks must have been, we may well
suppose that the keenest wound of all to the gentle spirit of the Son
of man would be the last, inflicted by the members of His own family,
who seemed at this time as unsympathetic and unbelieving as the
Pharisees themselves; for the untimely interruption recorded at the
close of the chapter was intended, as we learn from the account in the
second gospel, to put Him under restraint as a madman. This last
interruption, in which even His mother joined, must have been gall and
wormwood to that tender heart.
Now "consider Him that endured such contradiction of sinners against
Himself" (Heb. xii. 3). How does He bear Himself through these storms
of calumny and insult? He bears Himself so that out of this dark
chapter of His history there comes to us one of the loveliest
portraits of Him to be found anywhere. It had been sketched by one of
the old masters as an ideal portrait, and is now at last matched in
real life: "Behold My servant, Whom I have chosen; My Beloved, in Whom
My soul is well pleased: I will put My spirit upon Him, and He shall
show judgment to the Gentiles. He shall not strive, nor cry; neither
shall any man hear His voice in the streets. A bruised reed shall He
not break, and smoking flax shall He not quench, till He send forth
judgment unto victory. And in His name shall the Gentiles trust" (vv.
18-21). What gentleness and tenderness, yet what strength and
majesty!--for, though "He strives not," nor lifts up His voice in
angry altercation, while He will not break the bruised reed, nor
quench the smoking flax, He will nevertheless declare judgment, and
secure victory, and make His name such a power in the earth, that the
Gentiles shall hope in Him and the world go after Him. We can fancy
the glow on the Evangelist's face as he pauses in the midst of the sad
record of these cruel assaults, to look at, and show to us, that
lovely portrait of the Son of man. And is it not all the lovelier that
it shines out from such a background? Does it not give new
significance to the tender words which linger in our ears from the
chapter of discouragement before: "Learn of Me; for I am meek and
lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls"?
* * * * *
2. It would have been a great thing if our Lord had only borne in
dignified silence these repeated provocations; but He is too good and
kind to leave these misguided people to their own devices without an
effort to enlighten their dark minds and arouse their sleeping
consciences. How patiently He reasons with them! We may glance at each
attack in succession as an illustration of this.
On the charge of Sabbath-breaking He endeavours to set them right by
citing appropriate scriptures (vv. 3, 4); appealing to the law itself
(ver. 5); furnishing them with a great principle laid down by one of
the prophets, the key of the whole position (ver. 7); and concludes by
an illustrative act, accompanied by a simple and telling argument,
which appeals to the universal conscience and heart (vv. 9-13). Again,
how patiently He answers the malicious charge of collusion with Satan,
showing them in the clearest manner, and with amazing power, how far
they are astray, and what a dangerous path they are treading (vv.
25-37). So, too, in meeting the third attack: though He cannot but
sternly rebuke the hypocritical application for "a sign," He yet does
it in such a way as to prepare for them in due time, when perhaps they
may be ready to appreciate it, a new sign--His death and
resurrection--overcoming the difficulty arising from the fact that He
could not yet speak of it in plain terms (for it was at a later period
than this that He began to speak plainly of it even to His disciples)
by veiling it under the figure of "the sign of the prophet Jonas": a
way of putting it which had the advantage of being memorable, and at
the same time enigmatical enough to veil its meaning till the event
should lighten it all up, and bring out its deep suggestiveness; and
while thus preparing them for the new sign when it should come, He
warns them against that evil state of mind and heart which threatened
to render even it of no avail (vv. 38-45). And then, with what
marvellous readiness does He use the painful interruption with which
the chapter ends for the teaching of truth of the highest and purest
and tenderest quality! What patience, what long-suffering, what
meekness of wisdom, what faithfulness, what strength and tenderness!
Every line of the likeness drawn by the inspired hand of the old
master is more than justified (vv. 46-50).
* * * * *
3. Observe, further, that in all His dealings with His bitterest foes
He never in the least degree lowers His dignity, but rather asserts it
in the boldest and strongest terms. It may be questioned, indeed, if
there is any chapter in all the history in which this is more marked.
This, again, may be illustrated from all the four occasions.
In the argument on the Sabbath question hear Him as He draws Himself
up, in presence of His accusers, and says: "In this place is One
greater than the temple" (ver. 6); and again: "The Son of man is Lord
even of the Sabbath day" (ver. 8). Must there not have been something
heavenly-majestic in His look and bearing when words like these were
allowed to pass unchallenged by such men? This consciousness of
dignity appears no less in the argument by which the second charge is
met. In proof of this we may point to verses 28 and 30; and the same
impression is produced by the solemnly repeated "I say unto you" (vv.
31, 36), in each case introducing one of those declarations of
judgment to which reference is made in the passage quoted from the
prophet (vv. 18, 20). Quite as conspicuous is the same feature in the
third remonstrance, in which He asserts His superiority to the great
ones of the old covenant in language which acquires, from the
connection in which it occurs, a strength far beyond the mere terms
employed: "Behold, a greater than Jonas, ... behold, a greater than
Solomon, is here" (vv. 41, 42). And in the last of the four sad
encounters the same lofty consciousness of peerless dignity is
manifest. Son of Mary is He? brother of James and Joses? See Him lift
His eyes to heaven, and speak of "_My_ Father," and look down the
ages, and out to the uttermost bounds of earth, and say, "Whosoever
shall do the will of My Father which is in heaven, the same is My
brother, and sister, and mother" (ver. 50).
* * * * *
4. We have seen how kindly and patiently the Saviour deals with these
cavillers, so as to give them every opportunity of seeing their folly
and wickedness and the beauty and excellence of the truth they are
resisting. But He does much more than this. He speaks not only so as
to meet their objections, and give them the opportunity of being set
right, but so as to provide instruction, warning and encouragement for
all succeeding ages. To show in any satisfactory way how this is done
would require separate treatment for each of the four instances; but
it may be possible in a very brief way to suggest it.
* * * * *
The first attack gave Him the opportunity of speaking on the Sabbath
law. As we have seen, He began to treat the subject from the strictly
Jewish standpoint, using the example of David and the ritual of the
Temple to correct the misapprehensions and misrepresentations of those
with whom in the first instance He had to do. But He does not leave it
as a mere Jewish question; He broadens His view, and shows that the
day of rest is for humanity at large--not, however, as a burden, but
as a blessing, the principle which underlies it being "mercy, and not
sacrifice." Thus, out of this conflict there has come to us the Magna
Charta of the people's Sabbath, the full text of which is given in the
corresponding passage of the second gospel: "The Sabbath was made for
man, and not man for the Sabbath: therefore the Son of man is Lord
also of the Sabbath." Here we have, on the one hand, the vindication
of our rights against those who would deprive us of the day of rest,
as if the privilege had been intended only for the Jews, and was
abolished when the dispensation closed; and, on the other, the
assertion of our liberty against those who, by their petty regulations
and restrictions, would make God's precious gift a burden instead of a
blessing. And how wisely and beautifully does He confirm to us our
privileges by following the charter with an argument, which, though
coming still under the head of the great principle ("Mercy, and not
sacrifice"), is no mere repetition, but illustrates the wider aspect
just unfolded, by its freedom from Jewish colour, and its appeal to
the conscience and heart of mankind at large: "What man shall there be
among you, that shall have one sheep, and if it fall into a pit on the
Sabbath day, will he not lay hold on it, and lift it out? How much,
then, is a man better than a sheep?" (vv. 11, 12).
* * * * *
The second attack gave Him the opportunity of bringing out with great
distinctness and vividness the witness of the Spirit of God to His
work as Saviour of mankind. These Pharisees regarded His miracles as
mere displays of power, apart altogether from the spirit of purity,
mercy and grace so manifest in them all. It was only this narrowness
of view that made it possible for them to imagine that the Spirit of
evil, to whom of course no one could deny a certain measure of mere
power, was behind them. How completely He answers their blasphemous
suggestion by showing that the works He did, judged, not by the mere
power they displayed, but by their whole spirit and tendency, were at
the very opposite pole from the works of Satan, we plainly see; but
the point now is the permanent value of His reasoning. At first sight
it may seem to be quite out of date. Whoever dreams now of disposing
of the works of Christ by attributing them to Satan? Let us not be
over-hasty, however, in concluding that old objections are out of
date. If we look closely at those regarded as the newest, we may find
that they are but old ones in a new dress. What of the position taken
by some intelligent men in our day, who candidly admit the power of
Christianity to elevate and sanctify men, and yet set it down as
false?
As an illustration of this, we cannot do better than refer to a recent
production[11] of the Agnostic School, in which there is the most
emphatic testimony to the blessed power of Christianity in particular
instances, followed by these most candid and generous words: "What
needs admitting, or rather proclaiming, by agnostics who would be
just, is that the Christian doctrine has the power of elevating and
developing saintliness, which has had no equal in any other creed or
philosophy." Yet the book in which that sentence occurs assumes
throughout that this doctrine, which has had no equal in producing
saintliness--a quality which in another place is described as "so
lofty, so pure, so attractive, that it ravishes men's souls"--is
untrue! Is, then, the argument of our Lord out of date? and is it too
late to ask the old question, "Can Satan cast out Satan?"
It does not always follow, of course, that that which is good in its
effects in particular cases, is thereby proved to be true. Truth and
falsehood are to be determined fundamentally on other grounds than
those of proved utility--this applies alike to truth and duty; there
is an absolute truth and falsehood quite irrespective of utility, and
there is an absolute right and wrong quite irrespective of
utility,--but though we cannot in particular cases prove that to be
true which appears to be beneficial, yet we cannot but believe that in
the end, the true, the good, and the beautiful will be found to
coincide; and we maintain that, seeing the effects of genuine
Christianity on human character have been tested for nearly two
thousand years, and have been found to "make for righteousness,"
nobility, purity, all that is good and gracious, high and holy, it is
too late in the day to set it down to the father of lies. We may be
mistaken in our passing judgments, may be misled into accepting as
eternally true and right some measure or doctrine which has not yet
had time to develop its real nature and character, which may produce
good results at first, and then by degrees develop other results of
quite a contrary kind--take the history of Monasticism as a case in
point; but when there has been ample time and opportunity for testing
the fruits of a system, as there has been in the case of Christianity;
when we observe that the gospel of Christ has had these wonderful
effects through eighteen successive centuries among all ranks and
classes, nations and races of men--it ought surely to require
something stronger than Agnosticism (which at the worst can only say,
"I do not know") to make us believe the outrageously improbable
supposition that it is false, and therefore presumably of the kingdom
of lies and of unclean things. There have been too many devils cast
out of human hearts to make it at all doubtful that in very deed "the
kingdom of God has come" among us (ver. 28). There has been too much
spoiling of "the strong man's goods" to make it at all doubtful that
"a stronger than he" has mastered him and is spoiling his house. "The
Son of God was manifested, that He might destroy the works of the
devil" (1 John iii. 8); and wherever He has been admitted into human
hearts He has done it, setting up His kingdom of "righteousness and
peace and joy in the Holy Ghost." The argument is as fresh to-day as
the day it was propounded; and it has now all the added strength of
centuries of confirmation.
The third attack gave our Lord the opportunity of laying bare the root
of unbelief, and setting forth the important truth that, when the
heart is estranged from God, mere signs are unavailing. The signs He
had given in abundance should have been enough, especially when the
only way of evading their force the ingenuity of scepticism could
devise had been closed by the powerful argument just delivered.
Besides this there was the crowning sign of the resurrection still to
come; yet He knew that even that would fail to satisfy--not for
reasons intellectual, but because of the spirit of the age, as He
points out in that striking and powerful parable (vv. 43-45), and
hints in the suggestive term, "an evil and adulterous generation"
(ver. 39), the word "adulterous" referring to the well-known, and at
that time thoroughly understood, language of the Old Testament,
according to which estrangement of heart from God is branded as
spiritual adultery. (See Jeremiah iii., Hosea i., ii., and many other
passages.)
Herein we see a sufficient explanation of the widespread unbelief of
the age in which we live. It is because the heart of this generation
is so far estranged from God, so wedded to the earthly and material,
so taken up with selfish aggrandisement and the multiplication of the
luxuries of life. In many cases of unbelief the individual is not so
much to blame as the spirit of the age of which he is the
representative. Observe that the Lord does not say, "Ye evil
Pharisees," but, "An evil and adulterous generation"; thus making it
evident that the spirit of scepticism was not peculiar to themselves,
but a something diffused throughout society. Hence it comes that many
men, of blameless lives--of whom it would be a breach of charity to
say that they loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds
were evil--nevertheless declare themselves unsatisfied with the signs
of the divine mission of Christ our Lord. Why is this? It is because
they are infected with the spirit of the age, engrossed with the
material, the sensible, the secular; while their hearts, "swept and
garnished" though they be, are "empty" of God: "The god of this world
hath blinded the minds of the unbelieving, that the light of the
gospel of the glory of Christ, Who is the image of God, should not
dawn upon them" (2 Cor. iv. 4, R.V.).
Such persons not only cannot recognise the signs of the kingdom of
heaven, but are in a state of heart and mind to which no sign can
possibly be given. We are indebted to the fine candour of the late Mr.
Darwin for a striking illustration of this. In his Life there is an
interesting correspondence with Professor Asa Gray, the great
botanist, who, wondering how Darwin could remain unconvinced by the
innumerable evidences of design in nature, took the liberty of asking
him if he could think of any possible proof which he would consider
sufficient. To this Mr. Darwin replied: "Your question, 'What would
convince me?' is a poser. If I saw an angel come down to teach us so,
and I was convinced, from others seeing him, that I was not mad, I
should believe." If he had left it there, it might have been pertinent
to ask him whether Christ is not just such an angel come down from
heaven to teach us, and whether a sufficient number of persons did not
see Him in the flesh, to say nothing of the multitudes who know Him in
the spirit, to convince us that we are not mad in believing it. He did
not, however, leave it there, but went on to say: "If man was made of
brass and iron, and in no way connected with any other organism which
had ever lived, I should perhaps be convinced." Nothing could be more
candid, or more in keeping with the transparent honesty of this great
man. But what an acknowledgment! Man must cease to be man, and become
a metal machine, and the universe must cease to be a harmonious whole,
before there can be evidence enough for so simple and elementary a
principle as design in the universe; and then only a "perhaps"! If all
this were done for me, "I should _perhaps_ be convinced." Is our
Lord's answer to the seekers after a sign out of date? "Verily I say
unto you, There shall no sign be given unto this generation" (Mark
viii. 12). How could there be?
* * * * *
What will He make of the distressing interruption caused by the
interference of His mother and brethren? Knowing their motives and
intentions as He did, He could not for a moment yield; and how was it
possible to deal with them without a public rebuke, from which, seeing
that His mother was involved in it, His heart would instinctively
shrink? It was a most painful position; and the more we think of it,
and try to imagine possible ways of extrication, the more we must
admire the wisdom and kindness shown in the way in which He confronted
the difficulty. He makes use of the opportunity for giving a new and
most winning view of the kingdom of heaven as a happy family, united
each to Himself, and all to the Father by the holiest bonds; thus
opening out the paradise of a perfect home to all who choose to enter
it, taking the sacred ties involved in the sweet words "brother" and
"sister" and "mother," and giving them a range, a dignity, and a
permanence they never had before.
In all this there was no word of direct censure; yet the sadly
mistaken conduct of His kindred did not pass without implied rebuke;
for the effect of His words was to make it clear that, sacred as were,
in His eyes, the ties of earth, their only hope of permanence was in
alliance with the higher ties of heaven. He has come in the loving
Father's name to gather in His wandering children; and if His mother
and brethren according to the flesh attempt to hinder Him, He cannot
listen to them for a moment, but must steel His heart against their
blind appeals, and that, not only for His works' sake, but for theirs
also. They are slow to believe; but the least likely way to bring them
to faith would be to yield to their unbelief. He will prosecute the
path of duty, though it involve the sacrifice of all that cheers and
comforts His heart; He must set His face as a flint to finish the work
His Father has given Him to do, and they will understand Him
by-and-by. There is no doubt they would go home with sore hearts that
day; but no very long time would elapse till they would all be most
grateful that their foolish, however well meant, interference had
failed of its intent.
The course of events in later times has proved that the gentle rebuke
involved in our Lord's reception of the message from His mother was
not only necessary at the time and for her, but for the ages to come
as well. We have seen that, in each of the attacks recorded before,
our Saviour replies in such a way that His words not only meet the
objection of the moment, but continue of permanent value to meet
similar objections and gainsayings in ages to come. So is it here. It
certainly is no fault of Mary herself, whose name should ever be held
in the highest respect by all who love the Lord, that a corrupt
Church, reversing all the teaching of the Church's Head, not only
elevated the earthly relationship far above the spiritual, but in
virtue of this relationship put the mother in the place of the Son,
and taught an ignorant people to worship her and trust in her as a
mediator. But the fact that this was done, and is persisted in to this
day, shows that when our Lord set aside the mere earthly relationship
as one that must be merged in the spiritual, He was correcting not
only a pardonable error of Mary, but a most unpardonable error that
afterwards, without any encouragement whatever from her, should be
committed in her name.
After all, however, it is not the setting aside of the claims of Mary
and the lowering of the earthly relationship in comparison with the
heavenly, which is the great thing in the passage; but the Gospel of
the Family of God. We have had the Gospel of the Kingdom of God, and
glad tidings it has been indeed; but have we not here something even
better? It is much to be permitted to hail the Son of God as our King;
is it not better still to be encouraged to hail Him as a Brother, to
know that all that is sweetest and tenderest in the dear words
"brother," "sister," "mother," can be imported into our relation to
Him? How it endears the heavenly relationship, and hallows the earthly!
Again, how it rebukes all sectarianism! He "stretches out His hand
towards His disciples," and then to all the world by that word
"_whosoever_." And it is not the mere promise of salvation with which
this "whosoever" is connected. There are Christians in the present day
who can scarcely allow themselves to be sectarian enough to deny that
there is salvation out of the Church to which they happen to belong:
they are good enough to think that these people, who do not follow
with them may somehow or other be saved; but the idea of fraternising
with them! that is quite another thing. Now listen to the Saviour
Himself: "Whosoever shall do the will of My Father which is in heaven"
(no question of what Church he belongs to, or anything of that sort),
"the same is My brother, and sister, and mother." No arm's-length
recognition there; He takes all true disciples to His heart.
Observe, moreover, the emphasis on _doing_, with which we are already
familiar. In setting forth the Gospel of the Kingdom, our Lord was
careful to warn His hearers: "Not every one that saith unto Me, Lord,
Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the
will of My Father" (vii. 21); and now that He is setting forth the
Gospel of the Family the emphasis is still in the same place. It is
not "Whosoever shall connect himself with this church or that church;"
it is not "Whosoever shall be baptised, and take the sacrament;" it is
"Whosoever shall do the will of My Father in heaven." This emphasis on
doing, in connection with these endearing relations, is most
significant. There must be love among the members of the family; and
what else than love is the characteristic of the family ties? But how
is love to be shown? How are we to distinguish it from mere sentiment?
Our Saviour is careful to teach us; and never is He more careful than
in those passages where tender feeling is most prominent--as, for
example, in His parting words in the upper room, where again and again
He reminds His disciples that obedience is the only sure test of love:
"If ye love Me, keep My commandments;" "He that hath My commandments,
and keepeth them, he it is that loveth Me" (John xiv. 15, 21). For
the same reason obedience is here set forth as the only certain mark
of the true disciple: "Whosoever shall do the will of My Father which
is in heaven, the same is My brother, and sister, and mother."
[10] This is the literal translation, which means more than "give you
rest." It is not as if rest were a blessing He could bestow, as a
friend would make a present which might be retained after the giver
had gone. Rest is not so much what He gives to us as what He is to us;
and so He says, not "I will give you rest," but "I will rest you"
(_i.e._, I will _be_ your rest).
[11] "The Service of Man," by J. Cotter Morrison.