Christianity, as it exists to-day, is in the main a misrepresentation
and a misinterpretation of Christ; not consciously indeed--if it were
so the remedy would be easy; but unconsciously, which makes the remedy
difficult. One need not stop to define Christianity, for there is only
one sincere meaning to the word; it implies a _kind of life whose
spirit and method reproduce as accurately as possible the spirit and
the method of the life of Jesus_. It would seem that if this
interpretation of the term be correct there could be no difficulty in
adjusting even unconscious misinterpretation of Christ to the true
facts of the case: but here we are met by that perversity of vision
which springs not from ignorance, but from thoughtlessness, and is in
its nature much more obdurate than the worst perversity of ignorance.
Ignorance can be enlightened; thoughtlessness, being usually associated
with vanity, recognizes no need of enlightenment.
The life of Jesus, freshly introduced to a mind wholly ignorant of its
existence may be trusted to convey its own impression; but the
thoughtless mind will be either too proud, or too shallow, or too
confident, to be sensitive to right impressions. Thus the trouble with
most people who call themselves Christians is not to educate them into
right conceptions of the life of Christ, but to destroy the growth of
wrong impressions. "Surely," they will say, "we know all about the
life of Christ. We have read the biographies of Jesus ever since the
days of infancy. We have heard the life of Jesus expounded through
long years by multitudes of teachers. We have a church which claims to
have extracted from the life of Jesus a whole code of laws for life and
conduct; is not this enough?" But what if the teachers themselves have
never found the true secret of Jesus? What if they have but repeated
the error of the Pharisees in elaborating a code of laws in which the
vital spirit of the truth they would impart is lost? And does not the
whole history of man's mind teach us that one simple truth known at
first-hand is worth more to us, and is of greater influence on our
conduct, than all the second-hand instruction we may receive from the
most competent of teachers? It is just this first-hand thought which
we most need. We need to see for ourselves what Jesus was, and not
through the eyes of another, whatever his authority.
Suppose that we should read the Gospels in this spirit, with an
entirely unbiassed and receptive mind, capable of first-hand
impressions, what would be the probable character of these impressions?
The clearest and deepest of all, I think, would be that the Jesus
therein depicted lived His life on principles so novel that we are able
to discover no life entirely like His in the best lives round about us.
We should probably be struck first of all by certain outward
dissimilarities. Thus He was not only poor, but He did not resent
poverty--He beatified it. The things for which men naturally, and, as
we think, laudably strive, such as a settled position in society and
the consideration of others, He did not think worth seeking at all. He
made no use of His abilities for private ends, which has been the
common principle of social life since society began. He asked nothing
of the world, being apparently convinced that nothing which the world
could give Him was worth having. Strangest thing of all in one who
must have been conscious of His own genius, and of the value of His
teachings to mankind, He made not the least effort to perpetuate these
teachings. He wrote no book, provided no biographer, did none of those
things which the humblest man of genius does to ensure that distant
generations shall comprehend and appreciate his character and message.
He was content to speak His deepest truths to casual listeners. He
spent all His wealth of intellect upon inferior persons, fishermen and
the like, who did not comprehend one tithe of what He said. He was the
friend of all who chose to seek His friendship. He discriminated so
little that He even admitted a Judas to His intimacy, and allowed women
tainted with dishonour and impurity to offer Him public tokens of
affection. In all these things He differed absolutely from any other
man who ever lived beneath the public eye. In all these things He
still stands alone; for who, among the saintliest men we know, has not
some innocent pride in his ability, or some preference in friendship,
or some instinctive compliance with social usage, or some worldly hopes
and honourable aims which he shares in common with the mass of men?
But these outward dissimilarities of conduct disclose a dissimilarity
of soul. Men live for something; for what did Jesus live? And the
answer that leaps upon us like a great light from every page of the
Gospels is plain; He lived for love. If He did not care for praise or
honour; if He regarded even the preservation of His teachings with a
divine carelessness, it was because He had a nobler end in view, the
love of men. He could not live without love, and His supreme aim was
to make Himself loved. And yet it was less a conscious aim, than the
natural working out of His own character. Fishermen by the sea saw Him
but once; instantly they left their boats and followed Him. A man
sitting at the receipt of custom, a hard man we should suppose, little
likely to be swayed by sudden emotions, also sees Him once, and finds
his occupation gone. A beautiful courtesan, beholding Him pass by,
breaks from her lovers, and follows Him into an alien house, where she
bathes His feet with tears and wipes them with the hairs of her head.
Mature women without a word spoken or a plea made, minister to Him of
their substance, and count their lives His. When He sleeps wearied out
upon a rude fishing-boat, there is a pillow for His head, placed there
by some unknown adorer. The men He makes apostles, all but one, count
His smile over-payment for the loss of home, of wife, of children.
Countless throngs of ordinary men and women forget their hunger, and
are content to camp in desert places only to listen to the music of His
voice. Wild and outlawed men, criminals and lepers and madmen, become
as little children at His word, and all the wrongs and bruises
inflicted on them by a cruel world are healed beneath His kindly
glance. Does it matter greatly what He taught? This is how He lived.
He lived in such a way that men saw that love was the only thing worth
living for, that life had meaning only as it had love. And this is the
imperishable tradition of Jesus:
This is His divinity,
This His universal plea,
Here is One that loveth thee.
What then is a true Christianity but the accurate reproduction of this
spirit of love, the creation of loving and lovable men and women, who
attract and uplift all around them by the subtle fascination of the
love that animates them? What is a Christian Church but a
confraternity of such men and women? What is a Christian society, but
a society permeated by this spirit, and bringing all the affairs of
life to its test? And what place have social superiorities and
inferiorities; pride, scorn, or coldness; harsh theologies, breeding
harsh tempers and infinite disputes; the egoism that wounds the humble,
the strength that disregards the weak, the vanity that hurts the
simple, in any company of men and women who dare to wear the name of
such a Founder? It was as a Bridegroom Christ came, anointed with all
the perfumes of a dedicated love, and until the last bitter hour of His
rejection, He moved with such lyric joyousness across the earth, that
life became festive in His presence. It is as a Bride the church
exists on earth, and if no festive smiles are awakened by its presence,
and no gracious unsealing of the founts of love in human hearts, then
is it not Christ's Church, for He has passed elsewhere with another
company to the marriage-feast, and His Church stands without, before a
barred and darkened door.