'And as Jesus passed forth from thence, He saw a man,
named Matthew, sitting at the receipt of custom: and
He saith unto him, Follow Me. And he arose, and
followed Him. 10. And it came to pass, as Jesus sat at
meat in the house, behold, many publicans and sinners
came and sat down with Him and His disciples. 11. And
when the Pharisees saw it, they said unto His disciples,
Why eateth your Master with publicans and sinners?
12. But when Jesus heard that, He said unto them, They
that be whole need not a physician, but they that are
sick. 13. But go ye and learn what that meaneth, I will
have mercy, and not sacrifice: for I am not come to
call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. 14. Then
came to Him the disciples of John, saying, Why do we
and the Pharisees fast oft, but Thy disciples fast not?
15. And Jesus said unto them, Can the children of the
bridechamber mourn, as long as the bridegroom is with
them? but the days will come, when the bridegroom shall
be taken from them, and then shall they fast. 16. No
man putteth a piece of new cloth unto an old garment,
for that which is put in to fill it up taketh from the
garment, and the rent is made worse. 17. Neither do men
put new wine into old bottles: else the bottles break,
and the wine runneth out, and the bottles perish: but
they put new wine into new bottles, and both are
preserved.'--MATT. ix. 9-17.
All three evangelists connect the call of Matthew immediately with the
cure of the paralytic, and follow it with an account of Christ's answers
to sundry cavils from Pharisees and John's disciples. No doubt, the
spectacle of this new Teacher taking a publican into His circle of
disciples, and, not content with such an outrage on all proper patriotic
feeling, following it up with scandalous companionship with the sort
of people that a publican could get to accept his hospitality, sharpened
hatred and made suspicion prick its ears. Mark and Luke call the
publican Levi, he calls himself Matthew, the former being probably his
name before his discipleship, the latter, that by which he was known
thereafter. Possibly Jesus gave it him, as in the cases of Simon, and
perhaps Bartholomew. But, however acquired, it superseded the old one,
as the fact that it appears in the lists of the apostles in both the
other evangelists and in Acts, shows. Its use here may be a trace of
a touching desire to make sure that readers, who only knew him as
Matthew, should understand who this publican was. It is like the little
likenesses of themselves, in some corner of a background, that early
painters used to slip into a picture of Madonna and angels. There was
no vanity in the wish, for he says nothing about his sacrifices,
leaving it to Luke to tell that 'he left all,' but he _does_
crave that his brethren, who read, should know that it was he whom
Jesus honoured by His call.
The condensed narrative emphasises three things, (1) his occupation
with his ordinary business when that wonderful summons thrilled his
soul; (2) the curt authoritative command, and (3) the swift obedience.
As to the first, Capernaum was on a great trade route, and the
custom-house officers there would have their hands full. This one was
busy at his work, hateful and shameful as it was in Jewish eyes, and
into that sordid atmosphere, like a flash of light into a mephitic
cavern full of unclean creatures, came the transcendent mercy of
Jesus' summons. There is no region of life so foul, so mean, so
despicable in men's eyes, but that the quickening Voice will enter
there. We do not need to be in temples or about sacred tasks in order
to hear it. It summons us in, and sometimes from, our daily work. Well
for those who know whose Voice it is, and do not mistake it for some
Eli's!
No doubt this was not the first of Matthew's knowledge of Jesus.
Living in Capernaum, he would have had many opportunities of hearing
Him or of Him, and his heart and conscience may have been stirred.
As he sat in his 'tolbooth,' feeling contempt and hatred poured on
him, he, no doubt, had had longings to get nearer to the One whose
voice was gentle, and His looks, love. So the call would come to him
as the fulfilment of a dim hope, and it would be a joyful surprise
to know that Jesus wished to have him for a disciple as much as he
wished to have Jesus for a Teacher. The ring of fire and hate within
which he had been imprisoned was broken, and there was One who cared
to have him, and who would not shrink from his touch. In the light
of that assurance, the call became, not a summons to give anything
up, but an invitation to receive a better possession than all with
which he was called to part. And if we saw things as they are, would
it not always be so to us? 'Follow Me' does mean, Forsake earth and
self, but it means still more: Take what is more than all. It parts
from these because it unites to Jesus. Therefore it means gain, not
deprivation. And it condenses all rules for life into one, for to
follow Him is the sum of all duty, and yields the perfect pattern of
conduct and character, while it is also the secret of all blessedness,
and the talisman that assures a man of continual progress. They who
follow are near, and will reach, Him. Of course, if His servants
follow Him, it stands to reason that one day, 'where I am there shall
also My servants be.' So in that command lie a sufficient guide for
earth, and a sure guarantee for heaven.
'And he arose and followed Him.' That is the only thing that we are
told of Matthew. We hear no more of him, except that he made a feast
in his house on the occasion. No doubt he did his work as an apostle,
but oblivion has swallowed up all that. A happy fate to be known to all
the world for all time, only by this one thing, that he unconditionally,
immediately and joyfully obeyed Christ's call! He might have said: 'How
can I leave my work? I must make up my accounts, hand over my papers,
do a hundred things in order to wind up matters, and I must postpone
following till then.' But he sprang up at once. He would have abundant
opportunities to settle all details afterwards, but if he let this
opportunity of taking his place as a disciple pass, he might never
have another. There are some things that are best done gradually and
slowly, but obedience to Christ's call is not one of them. Prompt
obedience is the only safety. The psalmist knew the danger of delay
when he said: 'I made haste and delayed not, but made haste to keep Thy
commandments.'
Matthew does not tell us that _he_ made the feast, but Luke
does. It was the natural expression of his thankfulness and joy for
the new bond. His knowledge was small, but his love was great. How
could he honour Jesus enough? But he was a pariah in Capernaum, and
the only guests he could assemble were, like himself, outcasts from
'respectable society.' In popular estimation all publicans were
regarded without any more ado as 'sinners,' but probably that
designation is here applied to disreputable folks of various kinds
and degrees of shadiness, who gravitated to Matthew and his class,
because, like him, they were repulsed by every one else. Even
outcasts hunger for society, and manage to get a community of their
own, in which they find some glow of comradeship, and some defence
from hatred and contempt. Even lepers herd together and have their
own rules of intercourse.
But what a scandal in the eyes not only of Pharisees, but of all the
proper people in Capernaum, Jesus' going to such a gathering of
disreputables would be, we may estimate if we remember that they did
not know His reason, but thought that He went because He liked the
atmosphere and the company. 'Like draws to like' was the conclusion
suggested, in the absence of His own explanation. The Pharisee
conceived that his duty in regard to publicans and sinners was to keep
as far from them as he could, and his strait-laced self-righteousness
had never dreamed of going to them with an open heart, and trying to
win them to a better life. Many so-called followers of Jesus still
take that attitude. They gather up their skirts round them daintily,
and never think that it would be liker their Lord to sweep away the
mud than to pick their steps through it, caring mainly to keep their
own shoes clean.
The feast was probably spread in some courtyard or open space, to
which, as is the Eastern custom, uninvited spectators could have
access. It is quite in accordance with the usage of the times and
land that the Pharisees should have been onlookers, and should have
been able to talk to the disciples. No doubt their colloquy became
animated, and perhaps loud, so that it could easily attract Christ's
attention. He answered for Himself, and the tone of His reply is
friendly and explanatory, as if He recognised that the questioners
genuinely wished to know 'why' He was sitting in such company.
It discloses His motive, and thereby sweeps away all insinuations
that He consorted with sinners because their company was congenial.
It was precisely for the opposite reason, because He was so unlike
them. He came among these sinners as a physician; and who wonders at
_his_ being beside the sick? He does not spend his days by
their bedsides because he likes the atmosphere, but because it is
his business to make them well. Now, in that comparison, Jesus
pronounces no opinion on the correctness of the Pharisees' estimate
of themselves as 'righteous,' or of publicans as sinners, but simply
takes them on their own ground. But He does make a great claim for
Himself, and speaks out of His consciousness of power to heal men's
worst disease, sin. It is a tremendous assertion to make of oneself,
and its greatness is enhanced by the quiet way in which it is stated
as a thought familiar to Himself. What right had He to pose as the
physician for humanity, and how can such a claim be reconciled with
His being 'meek and lowly in heart'? If He Himself was one of the
sick and needed healing, how can He be the healer of the rest? If
being a sinful man, as we all are, He made such a claim, what becomes
of the reverence which is paid to Him as a great religious Teacher,
and where has His 'sweet reasonableness' vanished?
Jesus passes from explanation of His personal relation to the
publicans to adduce the broad principle which should shape the
Pharisees' relation to them, as it had shaped His. Hosea had said
long ago that God delighted more in 'mercy' than in 'sacrifice.'
Kindly helpfulness to men is better worship than exact performance
of any ritual. Sacrifice propitiates God, but mercy imitates Him,
and imitation is the perfection of divine service. Jesus here speaks
as all the prophets had spoken, and smites with a deadly stroke the
mechanical formalism which in every age stiffens religion into
ceremonies and neglects love towards God, expressed in mercy to men.
He lays bare the secret of His own life, and He thereby lays on His
followers the obligation of making it the moving impulse of theirs.
The great general truth is followed, as it has been preceded, by a
plain statement of Jesus' own conception of His mission in the
world. 'I came,' says He, hinting at the fact that He was before He
was born, and that His Incarnation was His voluntary act. True, He
was sent, and we speak of His mission, but also He 'came,' and we
speak of His advent. 'To repentance' is omitted by the best editors
as being brought over from Luke, where it is genuine. But it is a
correct gloss on the simple word 'call,' though 'repentance' is but
a small part of that to which He summons. He calls us to repent; He
calls us to Himself; He calls us to self-surrender; He calls us to
Eternal Life; He calls us to a better feast than Matthew had spread.
But we must recognise that we are sinners, or we shall never realise
that His invitation is for us, nor ever feel that we need a physician,
and have in Him, and in Him alone, the Physician whom we need.
The Pharisees objected to Jesus' feasting, and could scarcely in the
same breath find fault with Him for not fasting, but they put
forward some of John's disciples to bring that fresh objection.
Common hatred is a strong cement, and often holds opposites together
for a while. It was bad for John's followers that they should be
willing to say, 'We and the Pharisees.' They had travelled far from
the days when their master had called the same class a 'generation
of vipers'! Their keen desire to uphold the honour of their teacher,
whose light they saw paling before the younger Jesus, made them
hostile to Him, and, as is usually the case, the followers were more
partisan than the leader. Religious antagonism sometimes stoops to
very strange alliances. The two questions brought together in this
context are noticeably alike, and noticeably different. Both ask for
the reason of conduct which they do not go the length of impugning.
They seem to be desirous of enlightenment, they are really eager to
condemn. Both avoid seeming to call in question the acts of the
persons addressed, for the Pharisees interrogate the _disciples_ as
to the reason for _Jesus'_ conduct, while John's disciples ask
from _Jesus_ the reason of His disciples' conduct. In both, mock
respectfulness covers lively hatred.
Our Lord's first answer is as profound as it is beautiful, and
veils, while it reveals, a lofty claim for Himself and a solemn
foresight of His death, and lays down a great and fruitful principle
as to the relations between spiritual moods and outward acts of
religion. His speaking of Himself as 'the Bridegroom' would recall
to some of His questioners, and that with a touch of shame, John's
nobly humble acceptance of the subordinate place of the bridegroom's
friend and elevation of Jesus to that of the bridegroom. But it was
not merely a rebuking quotation from John's witness, but the
expression of His own unclouded and continual consciousness of what
He was to humanity, and of what humanity could find in Him, as well
as a sovereign appropriating to Himself of many prophetic strains.
What depth of love, what mysterious blending of spirit, what adoring,
lowly obedience, what perfection of protecting care, what rapture of
possession, what rest of heart in trust, what dower of riches are
dimly shadowed in that wonderful emblem, will never be known till
the hour of the marriage-supper of the Lamb, when 'His bride hath
made herself ready.' But across the light there flits a shadow. It
is but for a moment, and it meant little to the hearers, but it meant
much to Him. For He could not look forward to winning His bride
without seeing the grim Cross, and even athwart the brightness of
the days of companionship with His humble friends, came the darkness
on His soul, though not on theirs, of the violent end when He 'shall
be taken from them.' The hint fell apparently on deaf ears, but it
witnesses to the continual presence in the mind of Jesus of His
sufferings and death. The certainty that He must die was not forced
on Him by the failure of His efforts as His career unfolded itself.
It was no disappointment of bright earlier hopes, as is the case
with many a disillusionised reformer, who thought at the outset
that he had only to speak and all men would listen. It was the
clearly discerned goal from the first. 'The Son of Man came ... to
give His life a ransom.'
But our Lord here lays down a broad principle, which, if applied as it
was meant to be, would lift a heavy burden of outward observance off
the Christian consciousness. Fast when you are sad; feast when you are
glad. Let the disposition, the mood, the moment's circumstance, mould
your action. There is no virtue or sanctity in observances which do not
correspond to the inner self. What a charter of liberty is proclaimed
in these quiet words! What mountains of ceremonial unreality, oppressive
to the spirit, are cast into the sea by them! How different Christendom
would have been and would be to-day, if Christians had learned the
lesson of these words!
The two condensed parables or extended metaphors, which follow the
vindication of the disciples, carry the matter further, and lay down
a principle which is intended to cover not only the question in
hand, their non-observance of Jewish regulations as to fasting, but
the whole subject of the relations of the new word, which Jesus felt
that He brought, to the old system. The same consciousness of His
unique mission which prompted His use of the term 'bridegroom,'
shines through the two metaphors of the new cloth and the new wine.
He knows that He is about to bring a new garb to men, and to give
them new wine to drink, and He knows that what He brings is no mere
patch on a worn-out system, but a new fermenting force, which
demands fresh vehicles and modes of expression. The two metaphors
take up different aspects of one thought. To try to mend an old coat
with a bit of unshrunk cloth would only make a worse dissolution of
continuity, for as soon as a shower fell on it the patch would
shrink, and, in shrinking, pull the thin pieces of the old garment
adjoining it to itself. Judaism was already 'rent' and worn too thin
to be capable of repair. The only thing to be done was 'as a
vesture' to 'fold it up' and shape a new garment out of new cloth.
What was true as to the supremely new thing which He brought into
the world remains true, in less eminent degree, of the less acute
differences between the Old and the New, within Christianity itself.
There do come times when its externals become antiquated, worn thin
and torn, and when patching is useless. Christian men, like others,
constitutionally incline to conservatism or to progress, and the one
temperament needs to be warned against obstinately preserving old
clothes, and the other against eagerly insisting that they are past
mending.
But a patch and a worn garment do not wholly describe the relations
of the old and the new. Freshly made wine, still fermenting, and
old, stiff wine-skins which have lost their elasticity suggest
further thoughts. Now we have to do with containing vessel _versus_
contents, with a fermenting force _versus_ stiffened forms. To put
that into these will destroy both. For example, if the struggle of
the Judaisers in the early Church had succeeded, and Christianity
had become a Jewish sect, it would have dwindled to nothing, as the
Jewish-minded Christians did. The wine must have bottles. Every
great spiritual renovating force must embody itself in institutions.
Spiritual emotions must express themselves in acts of worship,
spiritual convictions must speak in a creed. But the containing
vessel must be congruous with, and still more, it must be created by,
the contained force, as there are creatures who frame their shells
to fit the convolutions of their bodies, and build them up from their
own substance. Forms are good, as long as they can stretch if need be;
when they are too stiff to expand, they restrict rather than contain
the wine, and if short-sighted obstinacy insists on keeping _it_ in
_them_, there will be a great spill and loss of much that is
precious.