There was one great characteristic in the life of Jesus which his
followers succeed in imitating less than any other, and that is a
singular sweetness and attractiveness which drew toward him even the
sinful and fallen. There are the most obvious indications in all
the narrative that Christ's virtue was not of the repellent kind
that drove sinners away from him, but that there was around him a
peculiar charm and graciousness of manner which affected the most
uncongenial characters.
We are all familiar with a style of goodness quite the reverse of
this--a goodness that is terrible to evil-doers--a goodness that is
instinctively felt to have no sympathy with the sinner. Such was the
virtue of Christ's great forerunner, John the Baptist. He commanded,
but did not charm; the attraction that drew men toward him was
that of mingled fear and curiosity, but there was no tenderness in
it. When the Scribes and Pharisees flocked to his baptism, he met
them with a thunderbolt: "O generation of vipers! who hath warned
_you_ to flee from the wrath to come?" He declined all social joys;
he would not eat or drink at men's tables; he dwelt alone in the
deserts, appearing as a _Voice_--a voice of warning and terror! His
disciples were few; he took no pains to make them more.
But even this stern and rugged nature felt the charm and sweetness
of Jesus, as something different from himself. It is very touching
to read how the peculiar demeanor of Jesus impressed this hardy old
warrior: "And looking on Jesus as he walked, he said, Behold the
Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world." The words seem
as if they might have been said with tears in the eyes. Immediately
two of his few disciples left him and followed Jesus; and he was
content. "He must increase and I must decrease," he said humbly. "He
that is from Heaven is above all."
We find that Jesus loved social life and the fellowship of men.
Though he spent the first forty days after his mission began in
the solitude of the desert, yet he returned from it the same
warm-hearted and social being as before. The first appearance that
he made was at a wedding-feast, and his very first miracle was
wrought to enhance its joy. A wedding-feast in those lands meant
more than with us. It was not merely an hour given to festivity,
but lasted from three to seven days. There were large gatherings
of relations and friends from afar; there were dances and songs,
and every form of rejoicing; and at this particular feast in Cana
it seems Jesus and his mother were present as honored and beloved
guests. His gentleness and affability led his mother to feel that
she might perhaps gain from him an aid to the inadequate provision
made for the hospitality of the occasion. His reply to her has been
deemed abrupt and severe. That it was not so understood by his
mother herself is evident from the fact that she did not accept it
as a refusal, but expected a compliance, and gave orders to prepare
for it. It was necessary when among relatives in his family circle
to express with great decision the idea that his miraculous powers
were not to be considered as in any way under the control of his
private and human affections, and that he must use them only as a
Higher Power should direct.
His presence at this wedding was significant of that divine love
which ever watches over the family, and the wine that he gave
symbolized that cheer and support which God's ever-present love and
sympathy pours through all the life of the household. We gather
incidentally from many seemingly casual statements that Jesus was
often invited to feasts in the houses of both rich and poor, and
cheerfully accepted these invitations even on the Sabbath day.
He seems to have been also especially attractive to little children;
he loved them and noticed them; and it would seem from some parts of
the Gospel narrative as if the little ones watched for his coming
and ran to his arms instinctively. Their artless, loving smiles,
their clear, candid eyes, reminded him of that world of love where
he had dwelt before he came to our earth, and he said, "Of such
is the kingdom of heaven." It was the sense that he loved little
ones that led mothers to force their way with their infants through
reproving and unsympathetic disciples; there was that about Jesus
which made every mother sure that he would love her child, and that
the very touch of his hands would bring a blessing upon it; and when
his disciples treated the effort as an intrusion it is said "Jesus
was much displeased." He did not merely accept or tolerate the
movement, but entered into it with warmth and enthusiasm; he did not
coldly lay the tips of his sacred fingers on them, but took them up
in his arms and laid his hands on them and blessed them; he embraced
them and held them to his heart as something that he would make
peculiarly his own.
It is no wonder, therefore, that Jesus was the children's favorite,
and that on his last triumphal entrance into Jerusalem the hosannas
of the children in the temple should have been so loud and so
persistent as to excite the anger of the priests and Scribes. They
called on him to silence the little voices, as if they felt sure
that he could control them by a word; but that word Jesus refused
to speak. The voices of these young birds of paradise were dear to
him, and he said indignantly, "If these were forbidden to speak the
very stones would cry out."
But still more remarkable is the fact that Jesus was attractive to a
class who as a general thing hate and flee from religious teachers.
The publicans and sinners, the disreputable and godless classes,
felt themselves strangely drawn to him. If we remember how intensely
bitter was the Jewish sense of degradation in being under Roman
taxation, and how hardly and cruelly the office of collecting that
tribute was often exercised, we may well think that only Jews who
cared little for the opinions of their countrymen, and had little
character to lose, would undertake it. We know there are in all our
cities desperate and perishing classes inhabiting regions where it
would be hardly safe for a reputable person to walk. Yet in regions
like these the pure apparition of Jesus of Nazareth walked serene,
and all hearts were drawn to him.
What was the charm about him, that he whose rule of morality was
stricter than that of Scribes or Pharisees yet attracted and drew
after him the most abandoned classes? They saw that he loved them.
Yes, he really loved them. The infinite love of God looked through
his eyes, breathed in his voice, and shed a persuasive charm through
all his words. To the intellectual and cultured men of the better
classes his word was, "Ye must be born again;" but to these poor
wanderers he said, "Ye may be born again. All is not lost. Purity,
love, a higher life, are all for you,"--and he said it with such
energy, such vital warmth of sympathy, that they believed him.
They crowded round him and he welcomed them; they invited him to
their houses and he went; he sat with them at table; he held their
little ones in his arms; he gave himself to them. When the Scribes
and Pharisees murmured at this intimacy, he answered, "The whole
need not the Physician, but those that are sick; I came not to call
the righteous, but sinners." His most beautiful parables, of the
lost sheep, the lost coin, and the Prodigal Son, were all poured
out of the fullness of his heart for them--and what a heart! What
news indeed, to these lost ones, to be told that their Father cared
for them the more because they were lost; that he went after them
because they wandered; and that all around the pure throne of God
were pitying eyes watching for their return, and strong hands of
welcome stretched out to aid them back. No wonder that the poor lost
woman of the street had such a courage and hope awakened in her that
she pressed through the sneering throng, and under the very eyes of
Scribe and Pharisee found her refuge and rest at the gracious feet
of such a Master. No wonder that Matthew the publican rose up at
once from the receipt of custom and left all to follow that Jesus,
who had taught him that he too might be a son of God.
And we read of one Zaccheus, a poor worldly little man, who had
lived a hard, sharp, extortionate life, and perhaps was supposed to
have nothing good in him; but even he felt a singular internal stir
and longing for something higher, awakened by this preacher, and
when he heard that Jesus of Nazareth was passing he ran and climbed
a tree that he might look on him as he passed. But the gracious
Stranger paused under the tree, and a sweet, cheerful voice said,
"Zaccheus, make haste and come down, for to-day I must dine at thy
house." Trembling, scarce able to believe his good fortune, we are
told he came down and received Jesus joyfully. Immediately, as
flowers burst out under spring sunshine, awoke the virtues in that
heart: "Lord, half my goods I give to the poor, and if I have taken
anything by false accusation I restore fourfold." This shows that
the influence of Jesus was no mere sentimental attraction, but a
vital, spiritual force, corresponding to what was said of him: "As
many as received him to them gave he power to become sons of God."
It is a mistake to suppose that wicked people are happy in
wickedness. Wrong-doing is often a sorrowful chain and burden,
and those who bear it are often despairingly conscious of their
degradation.
Jesus carried with him the power not only to heal the body but to
cure the soul, to give the vigor of a new spiritual life, the joy
of a sense of recovered purity. He was not merely able to say, "Thy
sins be forgiven thee," but also, "Go in peace;" and the peace was
real and permanent.
Another reason for the attractiveness of Jesus was the value he
set on human affections. The great ones of the earth often carry
an atmosphere about them that withers the heart with a sense of
insignificance. Every soul longs to be something to the object of
its regard, and the thought, "My love is nothing to him," is a
chilling one. But Christ asked for love--valued it. No matter how
poor, how lowly, how sinful in time past, the love of a repentant
soul he accepted as a priceless treasure. He set the loving sinner
above the cold-hearted Pharisee. He asked not only for love, but for
intimacy--he asked for the whole heart; and there are many desolate
ones in this cheerless earth to whom it is a new life to know that a
godlike Being cares for their love.
The great external sufferings of Christ and the prophetic prediction
that he should be a "man of sorrows" have been dwelt upon so much
that we sometimes forget the many passages in the New Testament
which show that the spiritual atmosphere of Christ was one of joy.
He brought to those that received him a sense of rest and peace and
joy. St. John speaks of him as "LIGHT." He answered those who asked
why his disciples did not fast like those of John, by an image which
showed that his very presence made life a season of festivity: "Can
the children of the bride-chamber mourn while the bridegroom is with
them?" What a beautiful picture of a possible life is given in his
teaching. God he speaks of as "your Father." All the prophets and
teachers that came before spoke of him as "the Lord." Christ called
him simply "THE FATHER," as if to intimate that Fatherhood was the
highest and most perfect expression of the great Invisible. He
said, therefore, to the toiling race of man: "Be not anxious, your
Father in Heaven will take care of you. He forgets not even a little
sparrow, and he certainly will not forget you. Go to him with all
your wants. You would not forget your children's prayers; and your
Father in Heaven is better than you. Be loving, be kind, be generous
and sweet-hearted; if men hate you, love and pray for them; and you
will be your Father's children."
See how the man Jesus, who was to his disciples the Master, Christ,
had power to comfort them in distress, and how not only his own
followers, but also those of his great forerunner, John, were
naturally drawn to confide their troubles to him.
These disciples who took up the Baptist's disfigured body after
spite and contempt and hate had done their worst on it, who paid
their last tribute of reverence and respect amid the scoffs of a
jeering world, were men--men of deep emotions and keen feelings; and
probably at that moment every capability of feeling they had was
fully aroused.
It appears from the first chapter of John, that he and others were
originally the disciples of the Baptist during the days of his
first powerful ministry, and had been by him pointed to Jesus. We
see in other places that the Apostle John had an intense power
of indignation, and was of that nature that longed to grasp the
thunderbolts when he saw injustice. It was John that wanted to bring
down fire from heaven on the village that refused to shelter Christ,
and can we doubt that his whole soul was moved with the most fiery
indignation at wrong and cruelty like this? For Christ himself had
said of the martyr thus sacrificed: "Among those that are born of
women there hath not risen a greater than John the Baptist." He had
done a great work; he had swayed the hearts of all his countrymen;
he had been the instrument of the most powerful revival of religion
known in his times. There had been a time when his name was in every
mouth; when all Jerusalem and Judæa, and beyond Jordan, thronged to
his ministry--even the Scribes and Pharisees joining the multitude.
And now what an end of so noble a man! Seized and imprisoned at the
behest of an adulterous woman whose sin he had rebuked, shut up
in prison, his ministry ended, all his power for good taken away,
and finally finishing his life under circumstances which mark more
than any other could the contempt and indifference which the great
gay world of his day had for goodness and greatness! The head of a
national benefactor, of a man who had lived for God and man wholly
and devotedly from his birth, was used as a football, made the
subject of a court jest between the courtesan and the prince.
Oh that it had pleased God to give us the particulars of that
interview when the disciples, burning, struggling under pressure of
that cruel indignity, came and told Jesus! Can we imagine with what
burning words John told of the scorn, the contempt, the barbarity
with which the greatest man of his time had been hurried to a bloody
grave? Were there not doubts--wonderings? Why did God permit it?
Why was not a miracle wrought, if need were, to save him? And what
did Jesus say to them? Oh that we knew! We would lay it up in our
hearts, to be used when in our lesser sphere we see things going in
the course of this world as if God were not heeding. Of one thing we
may be sure. Jesus made them quiet; he calmed and rested them.
And all that Jesus taught, he was. This life of sweet repose, of
unruffled peace, of loving rest in an ever-present Father, he
carried with him as he went, everywhere warming, melting, cheering;
inspiring joy in the sorrowful and hope in the despairing; giving
peace to the perplexed; and, last and best of all, in his last
hours, when he sought to cheer his sorrowful disciples in view of
his death and one of them said, "Lord, show us the Father and it
will suffice," he answered, "He that hath seen me hath seen the
Father." The Invisible Jehovah, the vast, strange, mysterious Will
that moves all worlds and controls all destinies, reveals himself to
us in the Man Jesus--the Christ.
We are told of an Old Testament prophet that sought to approach
God. First there was a mighty tempest; but the Lord was not in
the tempest. There was a devouring fire; but the Lord was not in
the fire. There was an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the
earthquake. Then there came at last a "still, small voice:" and when
the prophet heard that he wrapped his face in his mantle and bowed
himself to the earth.
The tempest, the earthquake, the fire, are the Unknown God of
Nature; the still, small voice is that of Jesus!
It is to this Teacher so lovable, this Guide so patient and so
gracious, that our Heavenly Father has committed the care and
guidance of us through this dark, uncertain life of ours. He came
to love us, to teach us, to save us; and not merely to save us, but
to save us in the kindest and gentlest way. He gives himself wholly
to us, for all that he can be to us, and in return asks us to give
ourselves wholly to him. Shall we not do it?