JESUS' CONDITIONS OF FRIENDSHIP.
But if himself he come to thee, and stand
* * *
And reach to thee himself the Holy Cup,
* * *
Pallid and royal, saying, "Drink with me,"
Wilt thou refuse? Nay, not for paradise!
The pale brow will compel thee, the pure hands
Will minister unto thee; thou shalt take
Of that communion through the solemn depths
Of the dark waters of thine agony,
With heart that praises him, that yearns to him
The closer through that hour.
_Ugo Bassi's Sermon._
Every thoughtful reader of the Gospels notes two seemingly opposing
characteristics of Christ's invitations,--their wideness and their
narrowness. They were broad enough to include all men; yet by their
conditions they were so narrowed down that only a few seemed able to
accept them.
The gospel was for the world. It was as broad as the love of God, and
that is absolutely without limit. God loved the world. When Jesus
went forth among men his heart was open to all. He was the patron of
no particular class. For him there were no outcasts whom he might not
touch, with whom he might not speak in public, or privately, or who
were excluded from the privileges of friendship with him. He spoke of
himself as the Son of man--not the son of a man, but the Son of man,
and therefore the brother of every man. Whoever bore the image of
humanity had a place in his heart. Wherever he found a human need it
had an instant claim on his sympathy, and he was eager to impart a
blessing. No man had fallen so low in sin that Jesus passed him by
without love and compassion. To be a man was the passport to his heart.
The invitations which Jesus gave all bear the stamp of this exceeding
broadness. "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I
will give you rest." "Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast
out." "If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink." Such
words as these were ever falling from his lips. No man or woman,
hearing these invitations, could ever say, "There is nothing there for
me." There was no hint of possible exclusion for any one. Not a word
was ever said about any particular class of persons who might
come,--the righteous, the respectable, the cultured, the unsoiled, the
well-born, the well-to-do. Jesus had no such words in his vocabulary.
Whoever labored and was heavy laden was invited. Whoever would come
should be received--would not in any wise be cast out. Whoever was
athirst was bidden to come and drink.
Some teachers are not so good as their teachings. They proclaim the
love of God for every man, and then make distinctions in their
treatment of men. Professing love for all, they gather their skirts
close about them when fallen ones pass by. But Jesus lived out all of
the love of God that he taught. It was literally true in his case,
that not one who came to him was ever cast out. He disregarded the
proprieties of righteousness which the religious teachers of his own
people had formulated and fixed. They read in the synagogue services,
"Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself," but they limited the word
neighbor until it included only the circle of the socially and
spiritually _élite_. Jesus taught that a man's neighbor is a
fellow-man in need, whoever he may be. Then, when the lost and the
outcast came to him they found the love of God indeed incarnate in him.
At one time we read that all the publicans and sinners drew near unto
him to hear him. The religious teachers of the Jews found sore fault
with him, saying, "This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them."
But he vindicated his course by telling them that he had come for the
very purpose of seeking the lost ones. On another occasion he said
that he was a physician, and that the physician's mission was not to
the whole, but to the sick. He had come not to call the righteous, but
sinners, to repentance. A poor woman who was a sinner, having heard
his gracious invitation, "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy
laden," came to his feet, at once putting his preaching to the test.
She came weeping, and, falling at his feet, wet them with her tears,
and then wiped them with her dishevelled hair and kissed them. Then
she took an alabaster box, and breaking it, poured the ointment on his
feet. It was a violation of all the proprieties to permit such a woman
to stay at his feet, making such demonstrations. If he had been a
Jewish rabbi, he would have thrust her away with execrations, as
bringing pollution in her touch. But Jesus let the woman stay and
finish her act of penitence and love, and then spoke words which
assured her of forgiveness and peace.
"She sat and wept, and with her untressed hair
Still wiped the feet she was so blest to touch;
And he wiped off the soiling of despair
From her sweet soul, because she loved so much."
This is but one of the many proofs in Jesus' life of the sincerity of
the wide invitations he gave. Continually the lost and fallen came to
him, for there was something in him that made it easy for them to come
and tell him all the burden of their sin and their yearning for a
better life. Even one whom he afterward chose as an apostle was a
publican when Jesus called him to be his disciple. He took him in
among his friends, into his own inner household; and now his name is on
one of the foundations of the heavenly city, as an apostle of the Lamb.
Thus we see how broad was the love of Christ, both in word and in act.
Toward every human life his heart yearned. He had a blessing to bestow
upon every soul. Whosoever would might be a friend of Jesus, and come
in among those who stood closest to him. Not one was shut out.
Then, there is another class of words which appear to limit these wide
invitations and this gracious love. Again and again Jesus seems to
discourage discipleship. When men would come, he bids them consider
and count the cost before they decide. One passage tells of three
aspirants for discipleship, for all of whom he seems to have made it
hard to follow him.
One man came to him, and with glib and easy profession said, "I will
follow thee whithersoever thou goest." This seemed all that could have
been asked. No man could do more. Yet Jesus discouraged this ardent
scribe. He saw that he did not know what he was saying, that he had
not counted the cost, and that his devotion would fail in the face of
the hardship and self-denial which discipleship would involve. So he
answered, "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests;
but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head." That is, he
painted a picture of his own poverty and homelessness, as if to say,
"That is what it will mean for you to follow me; are you ready for it?"
Then Jesus turned to another, and said to him, "Follow me." But this
man asked time. "Lord, suffer me first to go and bury my father."
This seemed a reasonable request. Filial duties stand high in all
inspired teaching. Yet Jesus said, "No; leave the dead to bury their
own dead; but go thou and publish abroad the kingdom of God."
Discipleship seems severe in its demands if even a sacred duty of love
to a father must be foregone that the man might go instantly to his
work as a missionary.
There was a third case. Another man, overhearing what had been said,
proposed also to become a disciple--but not yet. "I will follow thee;
but first suffer me to bid farewell to them that are at my house."
That, too, appeared only a fit thing to do; but again the answer seems
stern and severe. "No man, having put his hand to the plough, and
looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God." Even the privilege of
running home to say "Good-by" must be denied to him who follows Jesus.
These incidents show, not that Jesus would make it hard and costly for
men to be his disciples, but that discipleship must be unconditional,
whatever the cost, and that even the holiest duties of human love must
be made secondary to the work of Christ's kingdom. Another marked
instance of like teaching was in the case of the young ruler who wanted
to know the way of life. We try to make it easy for inquirers to begin
to follow Christ, but Jesus set a hard task for this rich young man.
He must give up all his wealth, and come empty-handed with the new
Master. Why did he so discourage this earnest seeker? He saw into his
heart, and perceived that he could not be a true disciple unless he
first won a victory over himself. The issue was his money or
Jesus--which? The way was made so hard that for that day, at least,
the young man turned away, clutching his money, leaving Jesus.
Really, a like test was made in every discipleship. Those who followed
him left all, and went empty-handed with him. They were required to
give up father and mother, and wife and children, and lands, and to
take up their cross and follow him.
Why were the broad invitations of the heart of Jesus so narrowed in
their practical application? The answer is very simple. Jesus was the
revealing of God--God manifest in the flesh. He had come into this
world not merely to heal a few sick people, to bring back joy to a few
darkened homes by the restoring of their dead, to formulate a system of
moral and ethical teachings, to start a wave of kindliness and a
ministry of mercy and love; he had come to save a lost world, to lift
men up out of sinfulness into holiness.
There was only one way to do this,--men must be brought back into
loyalty to God. Jesus astonishes us by the tremendous claims and
demands he makes. He says that men must come unto him if they would
find rest; that they must believe on him if they would have everlasting
life; that they must love him more than any human friend; that they
must obey him with absolute, unquestioning obedience; that they must
follow him as the supreme and only guide of their life, committing all
their present and eternal interests into his hands. In a word, he puts
himself deliberately into the place of God, demanding for himself all
that God demands, and then promising to those who accept him all the
blessings that God promises to his children.
This was the way Jesus sought to save men. As the human revealing of
God, coming down close to humanity, and thus bringing God within their
reach, he said, "Believe on me, love me, trust me, and follow me, and I
will lift you up to eternal blessedness." While the invitation was
universal, the blessings it offered could be given only to those who
would truly receive Christ as the Son of God. If Jesus seemed to
demand hard things of those who would follow him, it was because in no
other way could men be saved. No slight and easy bond would bind them
to him, and only by their attachment to him could they be led into the
kingdom of God. If he sometimes seemed to discourage discipleship, it
was that no one might be deceived as to the meaning of the new life to
which Jesus was inviting men. He would have no followers who did not
first count the cost, and know whether they were ready to go with him.
Men could be lifted up into a heavenly life only by a friendship with
Jesus which would prove stronger than all other ties.
Religion, therefore, is a passion for Christ. "I have only one
passion," said Zinzendorf, "and that is he." Love for Christ is the
power that during these nineteen centuries has been transforming the
world. Law could never have done it, though enforced by the most awful
majesty. The most perfect moral code, though proclaimed with supreme
authority, would never have changed darkness to light, cruelty to
humaneness, rudeness to gentleness. What is it that gives the gospel
its resistless power? It is the Person at the heart of it. Men are
not called to a religion, to a creed, to a code of ethics, to an
ecclesiastical system,--they are called to love and follow a Person.
But what is it in Jesus that so draws men, that wins their allegiance
away from every other master, that makes them ready to leave all for
his sake, and to follow him through peril and sacrifice, even to death?
Is it his wonderful teaching? "No man ever spake like this man." Is
it his power as revealed in his miracles? Is it his sinlessness? The
most malignant scrutiny could find no fault in him. Is it the perfect
beauty of his character? Not one nor all of these will account for the
wonderful attraction of Jesus. Love is the secret. He came into the
world to reveal the love of God--he was the love of God in human flesh.
His life was all love. In a most wonderful way during all his life did
he reveal love. Men saw it in his face, and felt it in his touch, and
heard it in his voice. This was the great fact which his disciples
felt in his life. His friendship was unlike any friendship they had
ever seen before, or even dreamed of. It was this that drew them to
him, and made them love him so deeply, so tenderly. Nothing but love
will kindle love. Power will not do it. Holiness will not do it.
Gifts will not do it--men will take your gifts, and then repay you with
hatred. But love begets love; heart responds to heart. Jesus loved.
But the love he revealed in his life, in his tender friendship, was not
the supremest manifesting of his love. He crowned it all by giving his
life. "I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd giveth his life for
the sheep." This was the most wonderful exhibition of love the world
had ever seen. Now and then some one had been willing to die for a
choice and prized friend; but Jesus died for a world of enemies. It
was not for the beloved disciple and for the brave Peter that he gave
his life,--then we might have understood it,--but it was for the race
of sinful men that he poured out his most precious blood,--the blood of
eternal redemption. It is this marvellous love in Jesus which attracts
men to him. His life, and especially his cross, declares to every one:
"God loves you. The Son of God gave himself for you." Jesus himself
explained the wonderful secret in his words: "I, if I be lifted up from
the earth, will draw all men unto me." It is on his cross that his
marvellous power is most surpassingly revealed. The secret of the
attraction of the cross is love. "He loved me, and he gave himself for
me."
Thus we find hints of what Jesus is as a friend--what he was to his
first disciples, what he is to-day. His is perfect friendship. The
best and richest human friendships are only little fragments of the
perfect ideal. Even these we prize as the dearest things on earth.
They are more precious than rarest gems. We would lose all other
things rather than give up our friends. They bring to us deep joys,
sweet comforts, holy inspirations. Life without friendship would be
empty and lonely. Love is indeed the greatest thing. Nothing else in
all the world will fill and satisfy the heart. Even earth's
friendships are priceless. Yet the best and truest of them are only
fragments of the perfect friendship. They bring us only little cupfuls
of blessing. Their gentleness is marred by human infirmity, and
sometimes turns to harshness. Their helpfulness at best is impulsive
and uncertain, and ofttimes is inopportune and ill-timed.
But the friendship of Jesus is perfect. Its touch is always gentle and
full of healing. Its helpfulness is always wise. Its tenderness is
like the warmth of a heavenly summer, brooding over the life which
accepts it. All the love of God pours forth in the friendship of
Jesus. To be his beloved is to be held in the clasp of the everlasting
arms. "I and my Father are one," said Jesus; his friendship,
therefore, is the friendship of the Father. Those who accept it in
truth find their lives flooded with a wealth of blessing.
Creeds have their place in the Christian life; their articles are the
great framework of truth about which the fabric rises and from which it
receives its strength. Worship is important, if it is vitalized by
faith and the Holy Spirit. Rites have their sacred value as the
channels through which divine grace is communicated. But that which is
vital in all spiritual life is the friendship of Jesus, coming to us in
whatever form it may. To know the love of Christ which passeth
knowledge is living religion. Creeds and services and rites and
sacraments bring blessing to us only as they interpret to us this love,
and draw us into closer personal relations with Christ.
"Behold him now where he comes!
Not the Christ of our subtile creeds,
But the light of our hearts, of our homes,
Of our hopes, our prayers, our needs,
The brother of want and blame,
The lover of women and men."
The friendship of Jesus takes our poor earthly lives, and lifts them up
out of the dust into beauty and blessedness. It changes everything for
us. It makes us children of God in a real and living sense. It brings
us into fellowship with all that is holy and true. It kindles in us a
friendship for Christ, turning all the tides of our life into new and
holy channels. It thus transforms us into the likeness of our Friend,
whose we are, and whom we serve.
Thus Jesus is saving the world by renewing men's lives. He is setting
up the kingdom of heaven on the earth. His subjects are won, not by
force of arms, not by a display of Sinaitic terrors, but by the force
of love. Men are taught that God loves them; they see that love first
in the life of Jesus, then on his cross, where he died as the Lamb of
God, bearing the sin of the world. Under the mighty sway of that love
they yield their hearts to heaven's King. Thus love's conquests are
going on. The friendship of Jesus is changing earth's sin and evil
into heaven's holiness and beauty.