_THE CRISIS IN GALILEE._
MATT. xiv.-xvi. 12.
The lives of John and of Jesus, lived so far apart, and with so little
intercommunication, have yet been interwoven in a remarkable way, the
connection only appearing at the most critical times in the life of
our Lord. This interweaving, strikingly anticipated in the incidents
of the nativity as recorded by St. Luke, appears, not only at the time
of our Saviour's baptism and first introduction to His Messianic work,
but again at the beginning of His Galilean ministry, which dates from
the time when John was cast into prison, and once again as the stern
prophet of the desert finishes his course; for his martyrdom
precipitates a crisis, to which events for some time have been tending.
The period of crisis, embracing the facts recorded in the two chapters
following and in part of the sixteenth, is marked by events of
thrilling interest. The shadow of the cross falls so very darkly now
upon the Saviour's path, that we may look for some more striking
effects of light and shade,--Rembrandt-like touches, if with reverence
we may so put it,--in the Evangelist's picture. Many impressive
contrasts will arrest our attention as we proceed to touch briefly on
the story of the time.
I.--THE BANQUET OF HEROD AND THE FEAST OF CHRIST (xiv. 1-21).
"Among them that are born of woman there hath not risen a greater than
John the Baptist." Such was the Saviour's testimony to His forerunner
in the hour of his weakness; and the sequel fully justified it. The
answer which came to John's inquiry brought him no outward relief. His
prison bolts were as firmly fastened as before, Herod was as
inexorable, the prospect before Him as dark as ever; but he had the
assurance that Jesus was the Christ, and that His blessed work of
healing the sick and preaching the gospel to the poor was going on;
and that was enough for him. So he was quite content to languish on,
resting in the Lord and waiting patiently for Him. We learn from St.
Mark that Herod was in the habit of sending for him at times,
evidently interested in the strange man, probably to some extent
fascinated by him, and possibly not without some lingering hope that
there might be some way of reconciling the preacher of righteousness
and securing the blessing of so well-accredited a messenger of Heaven.
There is little doubt that at these times the way was open for John to
be restored to liberty, if only he had been willing to lower his
testimony against Herod's sin, or consent to say no more about it; but
no such thought ever crossed his noble soul. He had said, "It is not
lawful for thee to have her;" and not even in the hour of deepest
depression and darkest doubt did he for a moment relax the rigour of
his requirements as a preacher of righteousness.
As he had lived, so he died. We shall not dwell on the details of the
revolting story. It is quite realistic enough in the simple recital
of the Evangelist. One cannot help recalling in this connection four
hideous pictures of Salome with the head of John the Baptist recently
displayed, all on the line, in the _Salon_ at Paris. Of what possible
use are such representations? To what sort of taste do they minister?
There was no picture of John looking with flashing eyes at the guilty
monarch as he said, "It is not lawful for thee to have her." That is
the scene which is worthy of remembrance: let it abide in the memory
and heart; let the tragic end serve only as a dark background to make
the central figure luminous, "a burning and a shining light."
The time of Herod's merciful visitation is over. So long as he kept
the Baptist safe (Mark vi. 19, 20) from the machinations of Herodias,
he retained one link with better things. The stern prisoner was to him
like a second conscience; and so long as he was there within easy
reach, and Herod continued from time to time to see him and hear what
he had to say, there remained some hope of repentance and reformation.
Had he only yielded to the promptings of his better nature, and obeyed
the prophet, the way of the Lord would have been prepared, the
preacher of righteousness would have been followed by the Prince of
Peace; and the gospel of Jesus, with all its unspeakable blessing,
would have had free course in his court and throughout his realm. But
the sacrifice of the prophet to the cruelty of Herodias and the folly
and wickedness of his vow put an end to such prospects; and the fame
of Christ's deeds of mercy, when at last it reached his ears, instead
of stirring in him a living hope, aroused the demon of a guilty
conscience, which could not rid itself of the superstitious fear that
it was John the Baptist risen from the dead. Thus passed away for
ever the great opportunity of Herod Antipas.
The disciples of John withdrew in sorrow, but not in despair. They had
evidently caught the spirit of their master; for as soon as they had
reverently and lovingly taken up the mortal remains and buried them,
they came and told Jesus.
It must have been a terrible blow to Him,--perhaps even more than it
was to them, for they had Him to go to, while He had none on earth to
take counsel with: He must carry the heavy burden of responsibility
all alone; for even the most advanced of the Twelve could not enter
into any of His thoughts and purposes; and certainly not one of them,
we might indeed say not all of them together, had at this time
anything like the strength and steadfastness of the great man who had
just been taken away. We learn from the other accounts that at the
same time the Twelve returned from their first missionary journey; so
that the question would immediately come up, What was to be done? It
was a critical time. Should they stir up the people to avenge the
death of their prophet? This would have been after the manner of men,
but not according to the counsel of God. Long ago the Saviour had set
aside, as quite apart from His way of working, all appeals to force;
His kingdom must be a kingdom of the truth, and on the truth He will
rely, with nothing else to trust to than the power of patient love. So
He takes His disciples away to the other side of the lake, outside the
jurisdiction of Herod, with the thoughtful invitation: "Come ye
yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest awhile."
What are the prospects of the kingdom now? Sin and righteousness have
long been at strife in the court of Galilee; now sin has conquered
and has the field. The great preacher of righteousness is dead; and
the Christ, to Whom he bore such faithful witness, has gone to the
desert. Again the sad prophecy is fulfilled: "He is despised and
rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief." That
little boat crossing from the populous shores of Gennesaret to the
desert land on the other side--what does it mean? Defeat? A lost
cause? Is this the end of the mission in Galilee, begun to the music
of that majestic prophecy which spoke of it as daybreak on the hills
and shores of Naphtali and Zebulun, Gennesaret and Jordan? Is this the
outcome of two mighty movements so full of promise and hope? Did not
all Jerusalem and Judæa go after John, confessing their sins and
accepting his baptism? And has not all Galilee thronged after Jesus,
bringing their sick to be healed, and listening, at least with outward
respect and often expressed astonishment, to His words of truth and
hope? Now John is dead, and Jesus is crossing with His own disciples
and those of John in a boat--one boat enough to hold them all--to
mourn together in a desert place apart. Suppose we had been sitting on
the shore that day, and had watched it getting ever smaller as it
crossed the sea, what should we have thought of the prospects? Should
we have found it easy to believe in Christ that day? Verily "the
kingdom of God cometh not with observation."
* * * * *
The multitudes will not believe on Him; yet they will not let Him
rest. They have rejected the kingdom; but they would fain get as much
as they can of those earthly blessings which have been scattered so
freely as its signs. So the people, noticing the direction the boat
has taken, throng after Him, running on foot round the northern shore.
When Jesus sees them, sad and weary as He is, He cannot turn away. He
knows too well that it is with no pure and lofty devotion that they
follow Him; but He cannot see a multitude of people without having His
heart moved with a great longing to bless them. So He "went forth, and
healed their sick."
He continued His loving work, lavishing His sympathy on those who had
no sympathy with Him, till evening fell, and the disciples suggested
that it was time to send the people away, especially as they were
beginning to suffer from want of food. "But Jesus said unto them, They
need not depart: give ye them to eat. And they say unto Him, We have
here but five loaves, and two fishes. He said, Bring them hither to
Me."
The miracle which follows is of very special significance. Many things
point to this. (1) It is the one miracle which all the four
Evangelists record. (2) It occurs at a critical time in our Lord's
history. There has been discouragement after discouragement, repulse
after repulse, despite and rejection by the leaders, obstinate
unbelief and impenitence on the part of the people, the good seed
finding almost everywhere hard or shallow or thorny soil, with little
or no promise of the longed-for harvest. And now a crowning disaster
has come in the death of John. Can we wonder that Christ received the
tidings of it as a premonition of His own? Can we wonder that
henceforth He should give less attention to public preaching, and more
to the training of the little band of faithful disciples who must be
prepared for days of darkness coming on apace--prepared for the cross,
manifestly now the only way to the crown? (3) There is the
significant remark (John vi. 4) that "the Passover was nigh." This was
the last Passover but one of our Saviour's life. The next was to be
marked by the sacrifice of Himself as "the Lamb of God that taketh
away the sin of the world." Another year, and He will have fulfilled
His course, as John has fulfilled His. Was it not, then, most natural
that His mind should be full, not only of thoughts of the approaching
Passover, but also of what the next one must bring. This is no mere
conjecture; for it plainly appears in the long and most suggestive
discourse St. John reports as following immediately upon the miracle
and designed for its application.
The feeding of the five thousand is indeed a sign of the kingdom, like
those grouped together in the earlier part of the Gospel (viii., ix).
It showed the compassion of the Lord upon the hungry multitude, and
His readiness to supply their wants. It showed the Lordship of Christ
over nature, and served as a representation in miniature of what the
God of nature is doing every year, when, by agencies as far beyond our
ken as those by which His Son multiplied the loaves that day, He
transmutes the handful of seed-corn into the rich harvests of grain
which feed the multitudes of men. It taught also, by implication, that
the same God Who feeds the bodies of men with the rich abundance of
the year is able and willing to satisfy all their spiritual wants. But
there is something more than all this, as we might gather from the
very way it is told: "And He commanded the multitude to sit down on
the grass, and took the five loaves, ... and looking up to heaven, He
blessed, and brake, and gave the loaves to the disciples, and the
disciples to the multitude." Can we read these words without thinking
of what our Saviour did just a year later, when He took bread and
blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples and said,
"Take, eat, this is My body" (xxvi. 26)? He is not, indeed,
instituting the Supper now; but it is very plain that the same
thoughts are in His mind as when, a year later, He did so. And what
might be inferred from the recital of what He did becomes still more
evident when we are told what afterwards He said--especially such
utterances as these: "I am the bread of life;" "The bread which I will
give you is My flesh, which I will give for the life of the world;"
"Verily I say unto you, Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man, and
drink His blood, ye have no life in you."
We have, then, here, not a sign of the kingdom only, but a parable of
life eternal, life to be bestowed in no other way than by the death to
be accomplished at Jerusalem at the next passover, life for thousands,
life ministered through the disciples to the multitudes, and not
diminished in the ministering, but growing and multiplying in their
hands, so that after all are fed there remain "twelve baskets
full,"--far more than at the first: a beautiful hint of the abundance
that will remain for the Gentile nations of the earth. That passover
parable comes out of the anguish of the great Redeemer's heart.
Already, as He breaks that bread and gives it to the people, He is
enduring the cross and despising the shame of it, for the joy set
before Him of giving the bread of life to a hungry world.
* * * * *
One can scarcely fail at this point to contrast the feast in honour of
Herod's birthday with the feast which symbolised the Saviour's death.
"When a convenient day was come, Herod on his birthday made a supper
to his lords, high captains, and chief estates of Galilee; and----"
the rest is well known,--the feasting, mirth and revelry, ending in
the dark tragedy, followed by the remorse of a guilty conscience, the
gnawing of the worm that dieth not, the burning of the fire that is
not quenched. Then think of that other feast on the green grass in the
pure air of the fresh and breezy hillside--the hungry multitudes, the
homely fare, the few barley loaves and the two small fishes; yet by
the blessing of the Lord Jesus there was provided a repast far more
enjoyable to these keen appetites than all the delicacies of the
banquet to the lords of Galilee--a feast pointing indeed to a death,
but a death which was to bring life and peace and joy to thousands,
with abundance over for all who will receive it. The one is the feast
to which the world invites; the other is the feast which Christ
provides for all who are willing to "labour not for the meat that
perisheth, but for that which endureth unto eternal life."