common earthly necessities. They knew that He had sat down weary on
the well; they knew that He hungered and thirsted. He had sent them to
buy food, and they could say, '_Master, eat_,' without any doubt that
He would partake of it just as any of them did. Probably He took what
they offered Him, even while He said, '_I have meat to eat which ye
know not of_.' They had so little suspicion that He would ever work a
miracle for His own support,--they were so inwardly certain that He
would not,--that they said at once to each other, '_Hath any man
brought Him ought to eat?_' No. He had waited for their coming. The
ravens had carried no nourishment to Him; He had not commanded the
stones to become bread. There must have been a special joy, an
unwonted radiance in His face as He answered, '_My meat is to do the
will of Him that sent me, and to finish His work_.' He had that spring
of life within Him, of which He had spoken to the woman, from which
life might flow forth to her and to all. And yet He speaks of it as
not an original fountain, even in Him. There was One from whom He was
sent. The satisfaction of doing His will, of accomplishing his
purpose,--this was His food; this was the sustaining principle within
Him. St. John has taught us already, and will teach us more completely
hereafter, that the relation of the Son to a Father, with all the
trust, obedience, communion which it implies, is the subject of the
new revelation. To be doing the will of Him that sent Him, to be in
perfect sympathy with the will which is at the root of the universe,
to be fulfilling the purposes of this will,--this Christ affirms to be
meat to Him in a double sense; meat, as that which keeps up the
strength of the man--meat, as that which gratifies and satisfies his
desires.
One may feel there is great general force in such a sentiment as
this; but what is its _special_ application to the story we are
reading? Had His interview with the woman supplied Him with what could
be called meat in either of these senses? What was there to sustain
Him, what was there to delight Him, in her way of receiving His words?
The answer is given in the following passage: '_Say ye not, There are
yet four months, and then cometh the harvest? Behold, I say unto you,
Lift up your eyes and look on the fields, for they are white already
unto the harvest. And he that reapeth receiveth wages, and gathereth
fruit unto life eternal; that both he that soweth and he that reapeth
may rejoice together. And herein is that saying true, One soweth, and
another reapeth. I sent you to reap that whereon ye bestowed no
labour: other men laboured, and ye are entered into their labours._'
Many who have gathered crowds about them, who have produced a marked
impression upon those crowds, have said, and said truly, that such
success was meat and drink to them. If it did not feed their vanity,
but sustained them because it showed them they were doing God's will
and finishing His work, they may have understood something of Christ's
meaning. But the secret food He partook of certainly came from no
sudden success that followed His words. First, He met with a woman who
had in general answered Him with levity; then a few people of her own
rank came at her call. How little would such honours satisfy the
ambition of some eloquent disciple of Christ, who has the power of
influencing thousands! Could it satisfy Him who came to found a
kingdom of which there was to be no end? Yes; for in these first
sheaves He could see the certain pledges of a nation's, of a world's,
ingathering. The corn-fields which the disciples saw about them would
not be reaped for four months; yet the harvest would appear, because
the seed had been sown. These men whom He saw coming showed Him that
the other harvest was nearer still. The fields were white already for
that harvest; the disciples themselves would be reapers in it. He had
sent them, and they would receive the wages of reapers. What wages? He
had already told them that His own wages were to do the will of God,
and to finish His work. Did they want better? They would gather in
fruit,--the fruit of all His work and travail, of all God's
revelations of Himself from age to age, of all the toil of patriarchs,
kings, prophets. These had laboured,--they were entering into their
labours. They were come in at the end of a period when all things were
hastening to their consummation. They would have the reward which all
these men had longed for,--the reward of seeing God's full revelation
of Himself, of opening the spring of eternal life of which all might
drink together. The divisions of time had nothing to do with an
eternal blessing. The sower and the reaper would rejoice together. Why
might not Jacob, who had given the well, and the newest Samaritan
convert who drank of it, share in those pleasures which are at the
right hand of Him, who is, and was, and is to come?
I have only given you a hint or two which may assist you in tracing
out the sense of these great words. The Apostles did not enter into
them for many years,--not till they had begun to reap the harvest of
which He spoke, not till they had learnt that some of the wages of the
reapers were persecution and disappointment. So they understood by
degrees how unsatisfactory all promises were but those which He had
given them; how miserable a thing it was to hope for any reward but
that which had been and is His reward. I suppose we must be trained to
understand Christ's doctrine in the same school. Till we have been
under His discipline we shall have the temper of hirelings, counting
His work a hardship, expecting to be paid hereafter for consenting to
do it. Or else we shall look for instant harvests,--for mighty effects
to follow at once from the things that we speak,--for those fruits
which least manifest the calm, patient, loving will of God, and
therefore bring no true and inward satisfaction to the spirit of a
man. We must learn to see in the seed that same eternal life which is
in the perfect flower and fruit--to believe that God will bring the
one out of the other; otherwise we shall have much excitement and much
weariness, but no food which can support us, no joy which will connect
us with the ages that are past and the ages to come. That will not be
given to us till we see, in God's revelation of Himself to one sinner,
the token of His love to the world.
The whole doctrine concerning the rewards for obedience, which has
been the subject of so many wearisome folios by philosophers and
divines, is contained, I think, in these eight verses, and may be
drawn out of them for daily use by any who think that the Apostle has
a higher wisdom than can be found in his commentators, or in their own
speculations. The remainder of the chapter contains, in a form as
simple and as available, the solution of another problem which has
exercised the wits of schoolmen and the hearts of wayfarers. Who has
not been tormented with questions and answers about the nature,
conditions, kinds, of belief,--about the force of testimony which
produces it,--about the organ which exercises it,--about the security
or the insecurity of the person who has it or who wants it? On all
these points St. John gives us no dissertations. But he tells us a
short story about certain Samaritans, and then another rather longer
story about a certain Galilæan, which I think may supply the place of
many dissertations.
The first is contained in these verses: '_And many of the Samaritans
of that city believed on Him for the saying of the woman, which
testified, He told me all that ever I did. So when the Samaritans were
come unto Him, they besought Him that He would tarry with them: and He
abode there two days. And many more believed because of His own word,
and said unto the woman, Now we believe, not because of thy saying,
for we have heard Him ourselves, and know that this is indeed the
Christ, the Saviour of the world._'
Suppose this was translated into school phraseology about implicit and
explicit faith,--suppose each of these terms was laboriously
explained,--all the different opinions of Fathers, Mediæval Doctors,
Reforming Doctors, Modern Doctors respecting each compared, weighed,
adjusted,--how much learning we should possess! how much the Apostle's
doctrine would expand in our hands,--how much we should expand in our
own estimation! But supposing we had actually to find out what belief
is in our own case, to trace the history of its progress, how thankful
we should be to any one who would translate back the learned language
into the language of the Gospel, who would let us hear what these
Samaritans--vulgar people of our own flesh and blood--said about their
belief and its growth!
The first stage of it we have considered already. What the woman told
them had a great effect upon their minds, because she spake of what
she knew, and not of what she did not know. If she had said, 'He
explained the prophecies to me,'--who would have cared? What judge was
she of the prophecies, and what judges would they be? If she had said,
'He wrought a miracle in my sight,'--there had been enchanters enough
among them, who had imposed upon much wiser people than she was. Her
fellow-citizens, if they were not very curious, would not have
deserted their common business for such an announcement as that. But,
'_He told me all that ever I did_;' then she spoke from her
experience. Whether she were wise or silly, a good woman or a bad,
that was worth listening to; there were signs of truth about that.
They came and heard Him themselves. And then He told each of them what
_he_ had done, showed him to himself, made him feel that he was in the
presence of a Light. The Light entered into the separate hearts, and
showed them their dark passages. And yet it was a common Light; it
gave them a sense of fellowship they had never had before; it gave
them a sense of being men, which they had never had before. And,
moreover, it was a Light which scattered confusions, ignorances,
falsehoods, that had been dwelling undisturbed within them, or that
had only been disturbed by what they felt must have been a ray of this
same Light. _And_ therefore, without asking the opinion of any wise
man whatsoever, these bold peasants said out frankly and broadly, '_We
have heard Him ourselves, and_ know _that this is indeed the Christ,
the Saviour of the world_.'
I cannot tell whether this faith of the Samaritans is what one class
of modern divines would call _saving_ faith. I should imagine not. For
these poor men said they knew Jesus to be the Saviour of the _world_;
and it seems to be put forward as the characteristic of saving faith,
that men should believe a Saviour for themselves who is not a Saviour
for the world. And, certainly, their belief had not that groundwork
which another class of divines tells us is the only one upon which the
claims of a Christ can rest. He had done no sign or wonder before
them; He had only discoursed with them. On this topic, that other
story to which I alluded may possibly throw some light.
It is introduced by the words, '_Now after two days He departed
thence, and went into Galilee_.' He was going into Galilee before. A
strange reason is given for His spending so short a time among the
people who had met Him so cordially. '_For Jesus Himself testified,
that a prophet hath no honour in his own country._' He did not count
it good to stay where He had honour. The Galilæans were His kinsfolk
and neighbours, bound to Him by human, and therefore by divine, ties.
_There_ was the token that He was to labour among them. More respect
He might find elsewhere,--that was not what He came into the world to
look for. His followers often judge differently about this matter. It
may be that here, as elsewhere, we should act more safely if we
thought that He had left us an example that we should walk in His
footsteps.
'_Then when He was come into Galilee, the Galilæans received Him,
having seen all the things that He did at Jerusalem at the feast: for
they also went unto the feast._' They had, then, what we are wont to
regard as the right foundation of faith; they had the outward
evidence, while the Samaritans were only receiving Him on the
testimony of their consciences. '_So Jesus came again into Cana of
Galilee, where He made the water wine. And there was a certain
nobleman_,'--(a person, probably, belonging to the household of Herod
Antipas,)--'_whose son was sick at Capernaum. When he heard that Jesus
was come out of Judea into Galilee, he went unto Him, and besought Him
that He would come down, and heal his son. Then said Jesus unto him,
Except ye see signs and wonders, ye will not believe._' Apparently His
judgment of these two kinds of belief was different from ours. That
which we think weak and groundless, caused Him inward joy. It was meat
upon which He could sustain Himself; it showed Him that the Samaritan
fields were white already to the harvest. On the contrary, that stable
belief, which rested upon signs and wonders, gave Him little pleasure;
rather it called forth a rebuke. The nobleman did not answer the
rebuke: '_He saith unto Him, Sir, come down ere my child die_.' This
was not the response of a man's conscience to one who had discovered
his evil. It was not the kind of trust of the Samaritan woman or the
Samaritan man; but it was good honest trust, nevertheless. If the
nobleman had been hitherto a mere observer of signs, he was now
something more. He was a parent seeking help for his boy. He was a man
who, in the sight and under the pressure of death, turns to One who
can give life. Jesus at once confesses the change which His own
discipline has wrought in him. '_He saith unto him, Go thy way; thy
son liveth. And the man believed the word that Jesus had spoken unto
him, and he went his way._'
Two steps we have traced in the history of his mind. A third remains.
'_As he was now going down, his servants met him, and told him,
saying, Thy son liveth. Then enquired he of them the time when he
began to amend. And they said unto him, Yesterday at the seventh hour
the fever left him. So the father knew that it was at the same hour
in the which Jesus said unto him, Thy son liveth: and himself
believed, and his whole house._'
Here we have, no doubt, the account of a sign, and of its effect upon
the persons toward whom it was exhibited. St. John himself connects it
with the sign in Cana of Galilee. He appears to wish that we should
regard both as specimens of Galilæan signs in distinction from
Jerusalem signs. We may, therefore, apply here the principles which we
discovered with reference to the marriage-feast. There it seemed that
the lesson which was taught belonged to all marriage-feasts,--to all
the outward signs of life and joy,--to those mysterious powers by
which, in any country or in any age, physical transformations are
effected. In this one instance Jesus was revealed as giving the
blessing which seals the marriage-vow, wherever it is made,--as
everywhere the Inspirer of gladness,--as ruling all the energies of
nature. The circumstances in the Capernaum story are much changed; it
touches more nearly on the funeral than on the bridal. But in one, as
much as in the other, Christ is revealed as the Word of Life. In one,
as much as in the other, human relationships are beautified and
hallowed by Christ; the relation of the husband there, of the father
here. One, as much as the other, applies to England as well as to
Galilee. And what was said there of the faith that followed the sign,
is even more strikingly developed here. '_He manifested forth His
glory, and His disciples_'--those who had already confessed Him to be
the Christ upon another ground--'_believed in Him_.' It was a
discovery to them of His inward power. It deepened a conviction that
had been imparted to them already. The Capernaum nobleman had already
believed in Christ, with the belief of one who wants help, and thinks
he has found the person who is able and willing to bestow it. The
sign unfolds that faith, and makes it more profound. The man becomes
not more a seeker of marvels, but less. He desires no longer, casual,
flitting exercises of power; he bows to power as inward, continual,
moral. He is always in the presence of Him who spoke the word at the
seventh hour. At every moment, he and his son and all his household
are receiving fresh life from Him. To know Him, to be in fellowship
with Him, to be doing His will--which is the will of Him who sent Him:
this he finds to be eternal life.
DISCOURSE XI.
THE POOL OF BETHESDA.
[Lincoln's Inn, 3d Sunday after Easter, April 13, 1856.]
ST. JOHN V. 16-18.
_And therefore did the Jews persecute Jesus, because He had
done these things on the sabbath-day. But Jesus answered
them, My Father worketh hitherto, and I work. Therefore the
Jews sought the more to kill Him, because He had not only
broken the sabbath, but said also that God was his Father,
making Himself equal with God._
The scene changes again at the opening of this chapter. '_After these
things there was a feast of the Jews; and Jesus went up to
Jerusalem._' What feast it was, the harmonists may settle; as St. John
has not told us, I am content to dwell upon the fact, which he
evidently thought of great importance, that Jesus did go up to the
feasts, and that His acts had a special reference to the state of mind
which He found among the inhabitants of the capital; above all, among
its religious teachers.
'_Now there is at Jerusalem, by the sheep-market, a pool which is
called in the Hebrew tongue Bethesda, having five porches._' Jerusalem
might or might not have been compassed with Roman armies when St. John
wrote. I do not know that its independence or its capture would affect
the position of the pool or the sheep-market; they might be still
just what they had been when the Apostle knew them. Perhaps the pool
was no longer visited as in former days; perhaps the tradition of its
virtues still drew to it people from the country round. At all events,
the sight which had been before his eyes thirty or forty years before,
was not one which he would forget. It is not one which we need much
effort of imagination to bring before ourselves.
'_In these_' porches '_lay a multitude of sick folk, of blind, halt,
withered, waiting for the moving of the waters_.' If we look at the
separate figures in the picture, they belong as much to the West as to
the East--to the nineteenth century as to the first. Nor can any
frequenters of an English or German spa consider the motive which
brought together so many of different ages and with different
ailments, a strange or an obsolete one. Even the notion that at
certain times the water would possess a virtue which at other times it
would want, may be justified by modern experience, perhaps may be
explained by modern science.
But experience and science, it will be said, are both set at nought by
the announcement in the next verse: '_For an angel went down at a
certain season, and troubled the water: whosoever, therefore, first
after the troubling of the water stepped in, was made whole of
whatsoever disease he had_.' Here a reason is given for the virtues of
the pool;--not, it will be said, a medical reason; not one which can
connect the waters of this pool with those which intelligent people
frequent for qualities which are, on fair evidence, known or believed
to be in them;--but rather one which connects them with the holy wells
which in the villages of England, Wales, and Ireland, are supposed to
have received a blessing from some local saint. To find St. John
adopting or endorsing such legends, causes no pain to those who assume
him and his brother Apostles to be the propagators of superstition;
ignorant Jews, who were steeped in all the prejudices of their
countrymen, and who added to them some of their own invention. There
are some who, with a general respect for him and them, can yet give
him credit for following the traditions of his country when they were
ever so vulgar and false; excusing him on the plea that he knew
nothing of physics, and that his business was not with them. There are
men of a better and nobler stamp, who, though they do not claim for
him any acquaintance with natural science, yet are sure that he lived
to scatter delusions, not to foster them; and that he would not have
been permitted by the Spirit of truth to claim for lies the name of
Him who came to bear witness of the truth. I do not wonder that some
of these honest and earnest men should have been able to persuade
themselves that the verse I have just quoted has nothing to do with
the general narrative of the cure at Bethesda; but has crept into the
text from the gloss of some writer who understood Jewish opinions, not
the mind of St. John.
I respect the motives of these interpreters, but I think their
conclusion is a rash and a wrong one. I am convinced that the words
which they would omit are a vital part of the narrative, and that our
Lord's act loses very much of its meaning if we overlook them. I am
equally convinced that these words contradict no truth of science;
that, if taken by themselves, they do not meddle with it, and are only
supposed to meddle with it through a logical confusion, from which,
for the sake of science and of our own intellectual clearness, it is
well that we should be delivered; that, if taken in conjunction with
the whole story, they help to scatter a superstition which was very
injurious to the Jewish people, and is equally injurious to people in
this day.
What St. John affirms is, that a certain invisible angel or
minister--an intelligence, as we are wont to speak--was the instrument
of making the water of the Pool of Bethesda beneficial to the persons
who went down into it. He accounts, in this way, for its operation
being more useful at one time than another. That assertion, you say,
interferes with the doctrine that there were certain properties in the
water itself which affected the condition of human beings. How does it
interfere? You hold that the vaccine matter has in itself the property
of counteracting the virus of the small-pox. But you hold also that
the intelligence of Jenner had something to do with making this
vaccine matter available for the actual cure of patients afflicted by
the small-pox; you hold that the intelligence of different medical men
has something to do with bringing the preventive power to bear on
particular cases. You know this for a fact; but physical science tells
you nothing of the way in which the intelligence cooperates with the
natural agent. The notion that it does is an excusable fallacy; yet it
is a fallacy. _In no instance whatever can the mere study of physics
help you to determine anything respecting moral or intellectual
forces; though at every turn the study of physics compels you to the
acknowledgment of such forces._ It will save us from innumerable
confusions, if we take this proposition in the length and breadth of
it. Through neglect of it, the physician and the metaphysician are
perpetually stumbling against each other, when they might be the
greatest helpers to each other.