There the effect of the sign upon the multitude is given in words
which we have not elsewhere. '_Then those men, when they had seen the
miracle which Jesus did, said, This is of a truth that Prophet which
should come into the world. When Jesus therefore perceived that they
would come and take Him by force to make him a king, He departed again
into a mountain Himself alone._' Two names are brought together which
are quite distinct, but which have mingled with each other in all the
world's history. 'He is a _Prophet_; God has sent Him.' That is the
natural feeling of a crowd which has been conscious of a wonderful
power exerted on its own behalf. Then comes another:--'How shall _we_
exalt this Prophet? How shall we show our sense of His might, and our
gratitude for His benefits? Let us make Him our _King_. None is so
worthy to reign over us. He may not be willing to put Himself at our
head; why should not we take the matter into our own hands?' It was no
new thing. Many a champion had arisen before in Galilee to rid the
people of their oppressors. Each had come in the name of God. The
desert was the ordinary scene of their exploits. Was it not the very
place for an insurrection in favour of this Galilæan Prophet to begin?
If some compulsion were used, the mysterious power which had fed them
would, of course, be ready to support His own claims.
Unless we remember this wild excitement among men who had been hungry
and who had eaten, and the voice of command with which He sent them
away to their houses--the kingly might coming forth in His resolution
that _they_ should not make Him a king--we can scarcely enter into the
stillness and awfulness of that night-scene which is brought before us
in the following verses:--'_And when even was now come, the disciples
went down unto the sea, and entered into a ship, and went over the sea
toward Capernaum. And it was now dark, and Jesus was not come to them.
And the sea arose by reason of a great wind that blew. So when they
had rowed about five-and-twenty or thirty furlongs, they see Jesus
walking on the sea, and drawing nigh unto the ship: and they were
afraid. But He saith unto them, It is I; be not afraid. Then they
willingly received Him into the ship: and immediately the ship was at
the land whither they went._'
I believe the conscience of men has received the right impression from
this story. It has come to them in dark oppressive hours as the
witness of a Presence that had been with them, though they knew it
not,--of a calm power in which they might trust. This might not be
their notion of a miracle. If they had been asked to define its nature
and its purpose, they would carefully limit it to the time in which
Jesus dwelt on earth; they would say it was a departure from the laws
of nature to attest His divine mission. They would explain away the
faith they had expressed unawares; they would say they had only been
making a moral or personal improvement of the incident. No, brethren,
it is not so. They discovered the true meaning of the sign at first.
The other is the cold intellectual _mis_interpretation of it. They
feel in their hearts that it is _not_ a violation of the laws of
nature, for the Son of Man to prove that the elements are not man's
masters. They feel that when He raised up His disciples' hearts to
trust in Him, He was teaching poor, weak, ignorant men the true law of
_their_ being, and thereby teaching them to reverence and not to
despise the laws which He had imposed on the winds and on the waves.
They feel that the whole beautiful narrative is not an argumentative
assertion of a divine mission which can confute disputants, but the
practical manifestation of a divine kinghood to meet the cravings and
necessities of human beings. What does a debater care for '_It is I;
be not afraid_?' What else does a man tossed about in a tempest care
for? The words were not spoken to Scribes and Pharisees, and were not
heard by them. They were spoken to fishermen out in a boat at night;
and by such they have been heard ever since.
St. John tells us this in the next paragraph. If we attach the modern
notion to miracles, we shall, of course, conclude that so singular a
witness of the Messiahship of Jesus must at once have been declared to
those who were hesitating about it, and half ready to believe it. The
occasion for announcing it was given. '_The day following, when the
people which stood on the other side of the sea saw that there was
none other boat there, save that one whereinto His disciples were
entered, and that Jesus went not with His disciples into the boat, but
that His disciples were gone away alone; (howbeit there came other
boats from Tiberias nigh unto the place where they did eat bread,
after that the Lord had given thanks): when the people therefore saw
that Jesus was not there, neither His disciples, they also took
shipping, and came to Capernaum, seeking for Jesus. And when they had
found Him on the other side of the sea, they said unto Him_, _Rabbi,
when camest Thou hither?_' Here were the excitement and astonishment
all ready. These people had said the day before,--'_This is of a truth
that prophet which should come into the world_.' What strength would
that conviction gain, if they heard that He did not cross the lake as
other men crossed it! He says nothing of this. '_Jesus answered them
and said, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Ye seek me not because ye
saw signs, but because ye did eat of the loaves, and were filled._'
They did seek Him because they had seen _miracles_ or _wonders_; for
it was a wonder that they had eaten and been filled; it was one which
might be repeated. But they did not seek Him because they saw _signs_.
The signs had not told them who He was; they had not come because they
wanted Him, but because they wanted something which He could give
them. He did not then announce any other sign of His power; it could
have done them no good. But He proceeded to draw out the signification
of the first sign; to show them what there was in it beyond the
satisfaction of their immediate hunger.
Here, even more than in the case of the woman at the well, we may
wonder at the deep mysteries which He revealed to what we should call
ignorant sensual people. That they were a crowd of such people, St.
John tells us plainly. And yet to what Jerusalem doctors had He spoken
of a Bread of Life--of a bread of which a man might eat and not die?
But let us begin where He begins. Each sentence, each clause, even
each word, that He addressed to this rabble at Capernaum, is meant for
the ears and hearts of the wisest among us. '_Labour not for the meat
which perisheth, but for that meat which endureth unto everlasting
life, which the Son of Man shall give unto you: for Him hath God the
Father sealed._'
To the woman of Sychar He spoke of water, for she had come to draw
water. To these Galilæans He spoke of bread, for they had been eating
of the loaves. Neither to one nor the other would He speak of the
spiritual gift without speaking of the sensible gift,--without making
them feel that that also was from God. He addresses the people of
Capernaum as men working for their food ordinarily, though for once
they had received it without working for it: and He bids them believe
that there is another nobler work which is appointed for them,--a
work, however, which does not prevent the fruit of it from being a
gift. They were earning, by the sweat of their brow, a food which
sustained their lives from day to day,--God endowing them with both
the power to toil and the reward of toil. They might toil for a bread
that would sustain another different kind of life in them,--a life not
of hours and instants, but eternal. This bread, He says, the Son of
Man will give. After what I said last Sunday of His use of this
title,--of His assertion that the Son of Man must be the judge of men,
must be the life-giver to men,--I have no need to dwell upon it here.
I would only lead you to notice how exactly this application of it
accords with that in the dialogue at Jerusalem, and yet how suitable
it is to the Galilæans whom He is teaching. In both cases we find men
brought directly into contact with One who knows them, who reads their
hearts, who is the source and the standard of all that is human in
them. In both, this Son of Man leads them to a Father from whom He has
proceeded, from whose life His is derived, who has given Him His
authority, whose will He has come to do. The words, we saw, were most
provoking to the Pharisees of the holy city. Their inhumanity made it
impossible for them to enter into the revelation of a Son of Man;
their sense of distance from God, and their conception of Him as a
mere Lawgiver, made the name of Father monstrous and incredible. With
these ignorant labourers it was otherwise. A Son of Man,--a King who
was yet a Brother,--they secretly longed for; half their wild acts
were done in the struggle to find such a one. The thought of God was
more terrible;--oftentimes they would have wished to hide themselves
from Him under any hills and mountains; oftentimes they might have
been glad to be told that there was no such Being. But there was that
in them which owned Him as the Giver of all that they had; as worthy
of the trust which their fathers put in Him; as associated with the
graves of their parents and the faces of their children. To hear Him
called a Father,--however little they might understand in what sense
He could be a Father,--to hear that there was One whom He had sealed
as a giver of Life to men,--this answered to some of the dreams which
they had dreamed in their happiest hours: to some of the necessities
which had been awakened within them in their saddest hours.
But these were vague, half-realized thoughts. The word 'labour,' or
'work,' was familiar to them. Jesus meant, they thought, that God
would not give them anything which they did not earn. '_What shall we
do_,' said one, who was the spokesman of the rest, '_that we may work
the works of God_?' As often happens, the language was accurate beyond
the conscious intention of the person who used it. He desired to know
what work they should work _for_ God, whereas it was really a work
_of_ God that was demanded. '_Jesus answered, This is the work of God,
that ye believe on Him whom He hath sent._' God was working upon
them; He was calling them to trust their King and their Friend; to
give up their hearts to the Lord of their hearts--to Him who could
alone quicken them to any good and fruitful work.
Of course, they understood by the expression, '_Him whom He hath
sent_,' that Jesus was claiming to be Messiah,--the sent from Heaven.
'_They said therefore unto Him, What sign shewest Thou then, that we
may see, and believe Thee? What dost Thou work? Our fathers did eat
manna in the desert; as it is written, He gave them bread from heaven
to eat._'
Jesus had fed them in the desert when they were fainting. That was a
strange and great act, no doubt, worthy of a Prophet, perhaps of a
King. But the manna had actually dropped from heaven out of the
clouds. If He came from Heaven, would He have merely taken the bread
in His hands and blessed it? Would there not have been a sign like
that which showed Moses to be indeed the messenger of God? Would there
be no appearance in the sky? It was the question of people whose minds
were perplexed about Heaven, and who, happily, had not found out
seemly phrases in which to veil their perplexity. A material heaven--a
heaven of sky and clouds--was what they saw and confessed. They had a
dim vision of something beyond this. Their hearts yearned for a Heaven
as calm as that upon which their eyes gazed; as full of light, as
productive of life, but yet altogether different from that. What it
was, where it was, they could not tell. Do you think we should have
helped them if we had talked to them about an intellectual Heaven or a
subjective Heaven? Do you think such nonsense can be of much help to
ourselves?
'_Then Jesus said unto them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Moses
gave you not that bread from heaven; but my Father giveth you the true
bread from heaven. For the bread of God is He which cometh down from
heaven, and giveth life unto the world._' They had a feeling that, in
some way, the manna was a gift from above. They had an equally strong
feeling that, in some way or other, it came to them from Moses. The
impressions were confused; yet each was right in itself. The records
in the Book of Exodus encouraged each. Those records taught them to
regard the water which started from the rock, when it was struck by
the rod, as bestowed by an unseen Giver. If the manna was found upon
the trees, that book would teach them that it was just as much a gift
as if it fell from the clouds. Our Lord brings this sense out of the
old story. '_Moses_,' He said, '_gave you not that bread from
heaven_.' And then He pronounces the higher Name--the new Name, the
Name which He had come to reveal--'_My Father_.' It was He who gave
_that_ bread in the wilderness, and it was He who was giving them,
then and there, '_the true bread from heaven_.' What that Bread is, He
goes on to explain. It is a _Person_ whom they want to connect Heaven
with earth,--themselves with God. The glory they gave to Moses showed
they needed a Man to bring God nearer to them. Their eagerness to
assert that the manna came from Heaven, showed that this was not
enough for them--there must be a direct connexion between them and the
higher world into which Moses ascended; their food must denote it. The
name of Father told them that it was even so. That Name turned the
material heaven into a spiritual Heaven, more real than the material
heaven--a Heaven from which the best good could come, not to lawgivers
or prophets, but to hungry Galilæans; for they could not really enter
into that name of Father without acknowledging a Son who came to them
as their Brother. They could not receive Him in these characters
without believing that He had come to bring life--common life and the
highest life--not to a few select men, but to the world.
'_Then said they unto Him, Lord, evermore give us this bread._' The
parallel words to this, in the dialogue with the woman of Samaria,
were spoken, I thought, with the levity which characterised her till
she discovered that Jesus knew all things that ever she did. I do not
perceive a similar levity in these words. The people may have taken in
very little of His meaning; but I think they were serious and awed.
And surely the words in which our Lord answers them are very different
indeed from those which He spoke to the woman; very different, also,
from those in which He spoke afterwards to people who had none of her
frankness, and who had a crust of intellectual and spiritual pride to
break through. Before I quote His words, I will explain why I think
that they wind up one division of this chapter, and that the remainder
of it, though a continuation of the subject, introduces us to new
topics and new persons.
It is evident that the conversation commences on the border of the
Lake of Tiberias, with the people who had just crossed and found Jesus
there. But it is said in the 59th verse--'_These things said Jesus in
the synagogue, as He taught in Capernaum_.' There must be a break,
therefore, somewhere. I can have no doubt that it occurs at the 41st
verse. In it we are told that the Jews murmured at Him. The word
_Jews_ we have not met with before; the moment it occurs, the
character of the narrative changes. Instead of the simple, confused
observations of a crowd, '_which did eat of the loaves and were
filled_,' we have murmurs and reasonings of such men as were sure to
be found in the synagogues--men who represented the sentiments of the
Scribes and Pharisees of Jerusalem. They are evidently, I conceive,
discussing a strange phrase which had been reported to them as having
proceeded from the lips of the Nazarene teacher. All the controversies
which have been raised about this chapter, arise directly out of the
latter part of it. I shall not enter upon any of them to-day. We shall
be far better qualified to consider them, if we dwell for a few
moments upon that wonderful Gospel to the poor which is contained in
the reply to their half-unconscious prayer--'_Lord, evermore give us
this bread_.'
'You ask me to give it to you: it is given already. The Father has
given _Me_ to His creatures. I spoke of a Son of Man whom the Father
had sealed. _I_, that Son of Man, _am that bread of life_. But how can
such bread be eaten? _He that cometh to Me shall never hunger; and He
that believeth on Me shall never thirst._' If coming to Him was going
to Him on their feet, they had done that already; if believing on Him
was acknowledging Him as the Prophet that should come into the world,
they had already fed on Him in the sense that He intended. Yet it was
clear that their hunger was not satisfied--that it was only beginning
to be excited. He goes on--'_But I have said unto you, That ye also
have seen Me, and believe not_.' If Jesus was merely a Prophet of
Nazareth, who could be shown by visible miracles to be sent from God,
the distinction of seeing and believing is incomprehensible. Let a
sufficient amount of probative evidence be addressed to the eye, the
act of believing must follow. But if He was the Word who had in all
times been the Light of men; if those who judged by the sight of their
eyes had resisted this Light, and become idolaters; if those who
received it, received it into their hearts, and so rose to the stature
of Sons of God;--then it was certain that He would speak to another
organ than the eye, or than any of the senses; as much when He stood
before them in an actual body, and spoke with fleshly lips, as when He
was only their invisible Teacher and Reprover. It must be their faith,
not their sight, which must now, as ever, see Him and answer to Him.
They might touch Him, and yet not come to Him.
But He proceeds:--'_All that the Father giveth to Me shall come to Me;
and him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out_.' The apparent
advantage of being on earth at the time of His appearing--of being in
the streets in which He walked, of sitting with Him, of conversing
with Him--would be nothing. All these privileges might belong to those
who would reject Him, hate Him, betray Him. But all that the Father of
spirits gives to Him--all that yields to the Father's will--shall
confess Him as its true Lord; and him that so cometh, in one place or
another, in one age or another, He will not thrust away. '_For I came
down from heaven, not to do Mine own will, but the will of Him that
sent Me._' 'I have not come forth to save some choice favourites of
Mine, but to fulfil the will of Him who created the universe--of that
Father to whom I said your spirits are yielding when they turn to Me.'
'_And this is the Father's will which hath sent Me, that of all which
He hath given Me I should lose nothing out of it (ἵνα πᾶν ὃ
δέδωκέν μοι, μὴ ἀπολέσω ἐξ αὐτοῦ), but should
raise it up at the last day._' I dare not paraphrase these words. They
are too large and too deep for any conception I can form of them. The
adjective and the pronoun, you will perceive, are in the neuter, as if
the promise was to include not only humanity, but all that is related
to humanity--the body through which the spirit speaks and acts--the
whole frame of nature, which has shared man's decay and death. The
final day cannot come till all that the Father has redeemed is raised
to its proper life. But yet the neuter could not satisfy the intention
of Jesus. He was speaking to distinct persons; He must add--'_And this
is the will of Him that sent Me, that every one that seeth the Son,
and believeth on Him, may have everlasting life: and I will raise him
up at the last day._'
Thus we are brought back to the original proposition; only it has
gained immeasurably in strength and fulness. To each man in that crowd
who had eaten of the loaves and been filled, and had followed Christ
for no better reason than that,--to each man upon whom His light
shined in the days before His incarnation,--to each man who has been
born into the world since,--to each ignorant peasant of this land,--to
every miserable dweller in the streets and alleys of this city,--to
each one of us who may have been tempted by wealth, luxury, false
philosophy, false religion, to seek some food that cannot nourish us,
does He say: 'It is the will of My Father that this man should triumph
over all the enemies that are drawing him down into death, and that he
should be raised up at the last day by the might of Him who died and
rose again; that he should enter into that eternal life of
righteousness and truth, which was with the Father, and which has been
manifested to us in His only-begotten Son.'
DISCOURSE XIV.
THE TRUE LIFE OF NATIONS AND OF MAN.
[Lincoln's Inn, Sunday after Ascension (Thanksgiving-day), May 4,
1856.]
ST. JOHN VI. 62.
_What and if ye shall see the Son of man ascend up where He was
before?_
On this day the order of our Services would lead me to speak of our
Lord's Ascension. On this day the Queen commands us to give thanks for
the restoration of Peace. My text will tell you that I need not break
the order of my discourses on St. John, if I desire to speak on the
Church Festival. I believe there are lessons in the passage which
would naturally come under our notice this afternoon, that belong
equally to the National Festival. As long as we think of the Peace
without any reference to God,--we mean by Peace, the Treaty of Peace;
we question whether such and such articles in it are commensurate with
the cost and success of the war,--whether boundary lines are fairly
and wisely drawn,--whether new concessions might not have been
obtained by a longer struggle? Or perhaps we mean by Peace merely the
cessation of those hostilities by which all the nations that have
taken part in them are more or less exhausted. Or perhaps we identify
it with the material prosperity of the classes which have money,--a
prosperity that seems to some closely connected with social and
intellectual progress, if not the source of it. All these subjects
deserve our most serious consideration. I believe that a
Thanksgiving-day is to increase the earnestness with which we reflect
on them, to take away the looseness and levity of our thoughts
respecting them. But it must do this by opening to us another view of
Peace,--not as based upon treaties and conventions,--not as being
sustained by these; but as deriving its ultimate strength from the
mind and will of Him who rules the universe, its subordinate security
from our conformity to His mind and will. Such a day teaches us to
look upon Peace not merely as the end of a war, but as the normal
state of a Christian and human society; a state which is interrupted
by the lusts that war in our members,--the interruption being most
terrible when it exhibits itself in internal strifes and hatreds. Such
a day calls upon us to reflect that what, in the dialect of the
money-market, is called prosperity, is not one of those symptoms of
Peace which we are to rest in with confidence,--not one which we are
ever to contemplate without trembling. For it does not mean the growth
and vital energy of the whole body, but an unnatural swelling and
bloating of certain portions of the body. It often leads to ignoble
aims, frantic speculations, systematic fraud,--to everything that
destroys the force of a people, and makes it a silly, gambling,
slavish people. It compels wise men frequently to regard war, with all
its horrors, as an inevitable punishment; nay, even as a positive
blessing. Therefore such a day as this obliges us to seek diligently
for the springs of the moral life of societies,--for the secret of
their inward peace and coherency.