As a rhetorician, he would be careful to choose the topics which are
most likely to impress his immediate audience. There can be little
doubt that among (what he would call) the types of the Old Testament,
the scapegoat would seem to him far the most impressive. I am not
drawing too much upon your reverence for the man who was 'more than a
prophet,' if I ask you to believe that he may have had reasons, almost
as good, for his course. Some of these we may see more clearly
hereafter; one of them, I think, we may divine now. The disciples whom
John was addressing had heard his call to repentance, had received his
baptism of repentance. They had the sense of a sin close to
themselves, _in_ themselves. To men who have this awakened
consciousness, sin presents itself as a present burden; as such, the
most ignorant, the most simple, feel it and speak of it. We often
fancy that the conscience of poor men only responds to palpable
pictures of future torments. Multitudes of religious tracts and books,
Romish and Protestant, are composed upon this calculation; they are
written _for_ the people. There is one English religious book written
_by_ a man of the people, by one who had endured all possible
anticipations of future misery himself, the habits of whose school
would have led him to press them as the most powerful motives upon
others. The genius of the book has been confessed of late years by
scholars; its power has been felt by peasants in this land, and in
all lands into the language of which it has been translated, almost
since it issued from the writer's gaol. To what is the _Pilgrims
Progress_ indebted for this influence? Certainly to the strength with
which the feeling of evil, as an actual load too heavy to be borne, is
brought home to its readers. It is the man groaning with the burden
upon his back, whom rich and poor sympathise with, whom each
recognises as of his own kindred, who is suffering something which is
incommunicable, and yet which every other man is suffering from, or
has suffered from, or should suffer from. So it is with the tinkers
and ploughmen of England, when they are aroused out of their sensual
sleep; so it was with the fishermen and publicans who were gathered
about the Jordan. They knew they had a burden, an actual burden, upon
them. John's baptism had given them a pledge and witness that it might
be taken from them. Already it seemed to be lightened; sometimes they
could think they were free from it. How could they be delivered from
it altogether? To confess themselves to God was an infinite relief;
they rose up happier men. But did the confession really ascend to God?
Was it possible in deed and truth to approach Him? Was there nothing
to intercept the communion? Was there any one who could interpret them
to Him, and Him to them? Was there any one who knew what they were
feeling? Was there any one who could bear the burden that was crushing
them, not into an uninhabited land, but into the very presence of God?
For was not this burden, after all, a sense of separation from a Being
to whom they ought to be united, apart from whom they could not live?
Had not the light which had come from Him into their hearts brought
this discovery with it? The scapegoat contained, no doubt, a deep
lesson to those who pondered it well; but it was not _this_ lesson--it
was not one which those could take in who were feeling sin as an
inward torment pressing upon their hearts. The Paschal _Lamb_ spoke of
a deliverance from bondage; it spoke of a deliverance as coming from
God; it spoke of an offering to God. The thoughts which the name
suggested might not be distinct; they might be hard to reconcile with
each other. But the cravings which it met, though importunate, were
also apparently contradictory. It awakened hopes; the satisfaction of
them might come hereafter.
But if John had merely spoken of an animal, let it have what
associations with Jewish or with human feeling it might--let it be the
aptest symbol in the world--the impression upon disciples who had been
stirred in the inmost depths of their souls as his had been, would
have been a very faint one. It was because he pointed to an actual
Man, and said of Him, '_Behold the Lamb of God_,' that he spoke with
power. Those who were suffering from a burden might desire to cast it
upon God, might doubt if any one but He could sustain it. But who
could understand their grief, who could feel its pressure, except a
Man? All their sympathies and wishes pointed to a Man. Yet hitherto
John had discoursed of a Light and of a Word. To that message their
hearts had replied. It was that which had effected all the change
within them. Was he now altering the tone of his preaching? Was he
beginning to tell them of some one of whom they had not heard before?
He removes that suspicion at once. The old sentence recurs again, but
with a variation: '_This is He of whom I said, After me cometh a_ MAN
_which is preferred before me; for He was before me_.' He goes on:
'_And I knew Him not_.' This assurance jars with some of the
thoughts which pictures that are dear to us have awakened in our
minds. We can hardly separate the infant Christ from the infant
Baptist. We feel as if the reverence expressed in the words, '_His
shoe's latchet I am not worthy to stoop down and unloose_,' had begun
in the earliest years of their sojourn upon earth, and had been
maturing ever since. I rather fancy we weaken the effect which we
might derive from the artist's symbols, by endeavouring to give them
an historical value to which they can certainly make no pretension. It
is not that these pictorial traditions are based upon passages in the
other Evangelists, and that they are only at variance with St. John.
St. Luke speaks of Jesus as being taken by His parents into Galilee
after His circumcision. He speaks of John being in the deserts until
the day of his showing to Israel. St. Matthew interposes the flight
into Egypt between our Lord's nativity and His dwelling at Nazareth.
Both surely favour, rather than contradict, the strictest
interpretation of the saying, '_I knew Him not_.' I do not say that we
are absolutely obliged to adopt that strictest interpretation. But we
are, I conceive, obliged to conclude that no external acquaintance or
relationship had the least effect upon John's knowledge of Jesus, in
that character in which He was revealed to him at His baptism. The
Apostle is evidently very anxious to impress us with _this_
conviction. Few as are the words of his old Master which he reports,
these are emphatically repeated. It belongs, I think, to the very
design of this Gospel, to show us that John came to testify, first, of
the Light of the world, then of that Light as manifested. '_That He
should be manifested to Israel_,' he says in the next verse,
'_therefore am I come baptizing with water_.' That He might be
revealed as what He is; that through His flesh the glory as of the
only-begotten of the Father might shine forth; that the inward eye of
men might be purged to behold Him in His true character and in His
true relation to them,--this has been the end of my preaching, and of
the outward rite that accompanied it.
'_And John bare record, saying, I saw the Spirit descending from
heaven like a dove, and it abode upon Him. And I knew Him not: but He
that sent me to baptize with water, the same said unto me, Upon whom
thou shalt see the Spirit descending, and remaining on Him, the same
is He which baptizeth with the Holy Ghost. And I saw, and bare record
that this is the Son of God._' That there should be an outward sign
visible to the eye, a Dove lighting upon the head of a Man,--that
there should be a Voice speaking to Him,--this is a great scandal to
many readers and critics in our day. 'Are not these,' they say, 'the
ordinary tokens of mythical narratives? Are they not what always
awaken our suspicion in the records of the Old World or of the Middle
Ages?' Yes, brethren, in the Old World and in the Middle Ages, men
alike felt the need of outward signs to testify of inward realities.
They felt it because they _were_ men, separated from each other by
place, by customs, by language, by religion,--but alike in being men;
alike in their conviction that there must be an outward world which
they could see, and an inward world which they could not see. It is
equally true that in the Old World and in the Middle Ages, the
sensible thing was confounded with the spiritual, the sign was
substituted for the thing signified; and that hence arose all kinds of
superstition and idolatry. It is true, also, that in those days and in
later days--in _these_ days most especially--people create for
themselves a middle world, neither sensible nor spiritual, in which
there are no signs, because there is nothing to be signified; in which
there are only forms and abstractions of the intellect, some of which
are distinguished as religious forms, some as ethical or
philosophical, pleasant to the vanity of those who have need of
nothing, and can keep themselves alive by talking and disputing, but
vague, unreal, utterly tormenting to men who are seeking a home and a
father. St. John does not dwell in this limbo of vanity. He is _like_
the writers of legends, in so far as he assumes that there are signs,
and that there are realities which correspond to the signs. He tells
us that when God was about to reveal the greatest of all realities to
the spirits of men, He vouchsafed a sign of it which was discernible
by the eye. He is _unlike_ the writers of those legends, in so far
forth as they rested in signs, or forgot in the signs that which they
denoted. The Dove is to him the sign of a Spirit, which would enable
Him in whom it dwelt without measure, to rule his own senses and the
world of sense. The Voice was a witness that a Man who had flesh and
blood was really and actually the Son of God.
John the Baptist has still more to declare concerning signs, and that
which they signify. He had baptized with _water_. The water had spoken
in language clearer than any which can be put into letters, of
cleansing, of purification. Those who had received it had come to it
because they were sure that they needed the blessing of which it
testified. They had come because they believed, more or less clearly,
that God had ordained the rite, and that He alone could bestow the
blessing. But the preaching of repentance for the remission of sins
had made them aware that the evil was in a region which the water
could not reach. Had it, then, been all a delusion? Was this rite, new
at least for Jews, a mere phantasy, less powerful even than the rite
of circumcision which had not prevented them from being treacherous to
each other, and from blaspheming the name of God? Was the stern
speaker of truth a mere mocker, trifling with the consciences which he
had himself aroused? If his baptism was from himself, he was. If it
was bearing witness of One who had come to men in past days, and given
them power to become sons of God, the baptism was good because it was
His sign and instrument. But the sign of what? Surely the sign of some
process that was taking place in the spirits of men. And if so, would
not that process be declared whensoever He was declared? Would not the
baptism thenceforth be the assurance that a power adequate to the
purification of that which was defiled, to the restoration of that
which was decayed--adequate to the renewal of the whole man--was
bestowed by Him who had in all times given those who received Him
power to become sons of God? '_Upon whom thou shalt see the Spirit
descending, the same is He which shall baptize with the Holy Ghost._'
'_Again, the next day after, John stood, and two of his disciples, and
looking upon Jesus as He walked, he said, Behold the Lamb of God._'
The words, '_which taketh away the sin of the world_,' are not
repeated, at least not in the best manuscripts. They had been spoken
once. Now the Lamb of God had been connected with a new and higher
name. John had borne record that this was the _Son_ of God. All the
dignity and wonder of the former title were attached to Him still.
There was an awe about _this_ which must have made the disciples
wonder, but yet which attracted them. '_They heard him speak, and
they followed Jesus._' The story of their intercourse is most simple.
There is no mysterious concealment; there are no surprising incidents.
'_Jesus turned, and saw them following, and saith unto them, What seek
ye? They said unto Him, Rabbi, (which is, being interpreted, Master,)
where dwellest Thou? He saith unto them, Come and see. They came and
saw where He dwelt, and abode with Him that day; for it was about the
tenth hour._' What is there in such a record to detain us for an
instant? Only _this_, brethren; it is the beginning of the history of
Christendom, of the whole new world. This meeting of these two
men--one of whose names we do not know, the other whom we do know to
have been a Galilæan fisherman--with Jesus of Nazareth is the first
step in a movement which has in some way or other changed the life,
polity, relations of mankind. If it is so, we may consider with
ourselves, in some quiet hour, _why_ it is so? Perhaps we may find
some other explanation than that which St. John gives--that the Man to
whom these disciples came was the Light of men, and that He proved, by
contact with those who had least light of their own, that He was
_their_ Light. Or perhaps we may find that interpretation, on the
whole, the best: and then we shall not seek further, but lay that to
heart.
The three next verses bring us a step further in the history; they are
still of the same character. '_One of the two which heard John speak,
and followed him, was Andrew, Simon Peter's brother. He first findeth
his own brother Simon, and saith unto him, We have found the Messias,
which is, being interpreted, the Christ. And he brought him to Jesus.
And when Jesus beheld him, He said, Thou art Simon, the son of Jona:
thou shalt be called Cephas, which is by interpretation, A stone._'
We found how hard it was for the Pharisees to make out a conception of
the Christ, though they pored continually over the Scriptures, and had
a series of interpreters to assist in divining the sense of them. And
here this unlettered fisherman--unlettered probably in the strictest
sense--boldly tells his brother that he has found the Christ. He is
sure that he has. He can bid him come and see whether it is a mistake.
'What fanatical confidence!' every scribe would have exclaimed--nay,
did exclaim--as soon as he learnt what these fishermen were believing.
Should not most of us say the same if we spoke our minds? For what had
Andrew to convince him? He had seen none of the miracles upon which we
say the evidence of Christ's mission rests. We may be sure that he had
not heard Jesus say that He was the Christ; for He scarcely ever did
say so. And on what, then, was his faith grounded, that faith which
England has accepted for somewhat more than a thousand years? I do not
know, unless the Light of the world made him feel that He was the
Light of the world--unless the King of men made him feel that He was
his King. But I also do not know, brethren, upon what your faith and
mine is founded--on what the faith of all the men that have believed
during the last eighteen hundred years has been founded--upon what the
order and civilization of all the earth has been founded, except it be
upon that same revelation of a Light and of a King, which made Andrew
say these words to his brother Simon.
And now He who has received this name from a disciple, bestows a name
upon a disciple: '_Thou art Simon; thou shalt be called a Stone_.' The
creatures were brought to the first Adam, that he might say what was
the name of each. If this was the second Adam, He could say to any
one of His human creatures, 'That is thy name; understand by it what
is the work I have given thee to do.' Simon Peter, after many
perplexities and falls, did learn fully the meaning and force of his
new name. He declared to the Jews at Pentecost, he declared to
Cornelius the heathen, that Jesus had been proved to be both Lord and
Christ. A society of Jews and Gentiles grew up which recognised Jesus
as its Corner-stone. Lest they should fancy that he or any mere man
could be a rock or resting-place for them, he wrote an Epistle
specially to show that his Master is the Corner-stone, elect,
precious, on which men are builded together a spiritual house; that
such a spiritual house cannot be overthrown; that any spiritual house
which is built on any weaker foundation, which has any other stone or
rock, must be destroyed.
'_The day following Jesus would go forth into Galilee, and findeth
Philip, and saith unto him, Follow me. Now Philip was of Bethsaida,
the city of Andrew and Peter. Philip findeth Nathanael, and saith unto
him, We have found Him, of whom Moses in the law, and the prophets,
did write, Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph._' Philip does not go
in search of the Lamb of God, as those did who heard John speak. Jesus
is said to find him, and to speak the words, 'Follow me,' which he
obeys. The effect is the same as in the former case--only Philip is,
perhaps, a little more courageous: he speaks confidently of this as
the Person to whom all the holy men of old were pointing. He speaks so
even while he makes the offensive announcement, 'He is Jesus of
_Nazareth_, the son of Joseph.' From what place the new teacher came,
was nothing to the young disciple. He had proved Himself to him to be
the King over his heart. Whose son He was called was nothing. In the
most living sense He must be what John had called Him--the Son of God.
Hereafter doubts and questions might arise upon these points; the
Prophet's words respecting the city of David might have to be
reconciled with this apparently Galilæan origin of the new Teacher;
explanations might be given respecting His parentage. For Philip all
this was premature and unnecessary. The deepest knowledge must come
first; the other would follow when it was wanted.
The same truth forces itself upon us still more mightily in the answer
of Nathanael to his friend: '_Nathanael said to Philip, Can there any
good thing come out of Nazareth? Philip saith unto him, Come and see_.
_Jesus saw Nathanael coming to Him, and saith of him, Behold an
Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile! Nathanael saith unto Him,
Whence knowest thou me? Jesus saith unto Him, Before that Philip
called thee, when thou wast under the fig-tree, I saw thee. Nathanael
answered and saith unto Him, Rabbi, thou art the Son of God, thou art
the King of Israel._'
Nathanael, who was apparently a Galilæan, might not have the same
prejudice against Nazareth which would have been natural in an
inhabitant of Judæa. But there is another prejudice, often hinted at
by our Lord, which is quite as hard to overcome. Can a prophet appear
in _our_ neighbourhood, close to us? Must he not come upon us from
some more sacred region? The Galilæans, who were despised by others,
must have learnt to despise themselves. All their habits of mind must
have prepared them to expect that Jerusalem, or some place near it,
would be the seat and birthplace of the great King. There was,
therefore, at least as much ground for doubt and unbelief in this
man's mind as in that of any learned scribe. Nevertheless he comes,
and he is hailed a genuine Israelite, an Israelite without guile. The
first title might seem only to claim the dweller in any part of
Palestine as of the same stock, a true child of Jacob; but that which
is joined to it marks out the man himself as a wrestler with God--one
who had sought to purge his soul from deceptions--one who believed
that God desired truth in his inward parts, and would make him to know
wisdom secretly. It was a wonderful commendation; but what was the
warrant for it? Till then Nathanael supposed that his face had not
been known to the speaker; how much less his heart. _Had_ they met for
the first time? Had he never sat and kneeled beneath the fig-tree, the
favourite place of secret devotion to the pious Israelite? Had he
never wrestled for light to himself, for blessings to his country? for
the scattering of its worst enemies--which were also his
own--covetousness, pride, falsehood? for the revelation of its
promised Deliverer? '_There, before Philip called thee, I saw
thee_;--I had conversed with thee.' Nathanael heard and wondered;
there was no more debating within him about Galilee or Judæa, Nazareth
or Bethlehem. A flood of light was poured into his soul, not through
chinks and apertures in the prophetical oracles, but from the clear
heaven where God dwelt. 'Rabbi, Thou art He whom I have sought after
with cries and tears, that none but Thou hast known of. Thou hast
often been with me before. I behold Thee now. Thou art the Son of God;
thou art the King of Israel.'
And then came a promise and assurance of a mightier blessing, of a
fuller revelation hereafter to him, and to multitudes unborn,
'_Because I said, I saw thee under the fig-tree, believest thou?
Thou shalt see greater things than these. And He saith unto him,
Verily, verily, I say unto you, Hereafter ye shall see heaven open,
and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man_.'
'Faithful and true Israelite! the vision to thy progenitor who first
bore that name shall be substantiated for thee, and for those who
trust in me in lonely hours, through clouds and darkness, as thou hast
done. The ladder set upon earth and reaching to heaven,--the ladder
upon which the angels of God ascended and descended,--is a ladder for
thee and for all. For the Son of Man, who joins earth to heaven, the
seen to the unseen, God and Man in one, He is with you; through Him
your spirits may arise to God,--through Him God's Spirit shall come
down upon you.'
DISCOURSE V.
THE MARRIAGE FEAST.
[Lincoln's Inn, 4th Sunday in Lent, March 2, 1856.]
JOHN II. 11.
_This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana of Galilee, and
manifested forth His glory; and His disciples believed on Him._
The word '_Miracles_,' which our translators have adopted in this
verse, gives little trouble to a reader. He thinks of some singular,
glaring effect, which makes men wonder, and which they can refer to no
known principle. That effect he calls a miracle. To produce
astonishment is the immediate object of him who works it; to convince
those who see it, and those who are told of it afterwards, that he is
not subject to ordinary laws, and has the power of setting laws aside,
is his ultimate object.
Such thoughts, I say, are suggested naturally enough by the word
Miracle. It is otherwise with the word '_Sign_' (Σημεῖον), which St.
John uses himself. That word is simpler in sound than the other, but
it gives rise to a longer and more troublesome inquiry. Outward
display, the excitement of wonder, departure from rule, have no
necessary or natural connexion with it. The name drives us to the
question, 'A sign of what?' And all these qualities--supposing they
were present in the sign--would not help us to answer the question. In
the case before us, the act of turning water into wine--in which the
miracle is supposed to consist--cannot be separated from the other
parts of the narrative: together they constitute the sign. And to find
the signification of the sign, we must have recourse to the first
chapter of the Gospel; we must ask St. John himself to tell us why he
has introduced it, and how it bears upon the subject of the history.
'_On the third day there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee; and the
mother of Jesus was there._' On the third day, no doubt, after the
events which we were speaking of last Sunday. What were those events?
A preacher who had drawn crowds by his word, who had attached to him
some devoted disciples, had spoken of One mightier than he, who was
coming after him, but had been before him. He had pointed to a certain
man. He had said of Him, '_Behold the Lamb of God, that taketh away
the sin of the world_.' He had said that he came baptizing with water,
on purpose that this person might be manifested to Israel as the Son
of God, who would baptize with the Holy Ghost. Two of those who heard
these words, we are told, followed Jesus. They invited others, saying
that they had found the Christ. One or two more Jesus Himself called
to come after Him.