Things Perishing And Things Stable.
“And as He went forth out of the temple, one of His disciples
saith unto Him, Master, behold, what manner of stones and what
manner of buildings! And Jesus said unto him, Seest thou these
great buildings? there shall not be left here one stone upon
another, which shall not be thrown down. And as He sat on the
Mount of Olives over against the temple, Peter and James and John
and Andrew asked Him privately, Tell us, when shall these things
be? and what _shall be_ the sign when these things are all about
to be accomplished? And Jesus began to say unto them, Take heed
that no man lead you astray. Many shall come in My name, saying, I
am _He;_ and shall lead many astray. And when ye shall hear of
wars and rumours of wars, be not troubled: _these things_ must
needs come to pass: but the end is not yet.”—MARK xiii. 1-7
(R.V.).
Nothing is more impressive than to stand before one of the great buildings
of the world, and mark how the toil of man has rivalled the stability of
nature, and his thought its grandeur. It stands up like a crag, and the
wind whistles through its pinnacles as in a grove, and the rooks float and
soar about its towers as they do among the granite peaks. Face to face
with one of these mighty structures, man feels his own pettiness,
shivering in the wind, or seeking a shadow from the sun, and thinking how
even this breeze may blight or this heat fever him, and how at the longest
he shall have crumbled into dust for ages, and his name, and possibly his
race, have perished, while this same pile shall stretch the same long
shadow across the plain.
No wonder that the great masters of nations have all delighted in
building, for thus they saw their power, and the immortality for which
they hoped, made solid, embodied and substantial, and it almost seemed as
if they had blended their memory with the enduring fabric of the world.
Such a building, solid, and vast, and splendid, white with marble, and
blazing with gold, was the temple which Jesus now forsook. A little
afterwards, we read that its Roman conqueror, whose race were the great
builders of the world, in spite of the rules of war, and the certainty
that the Jews would never remain quietly in subjection while it stood,
“was reluctant to burn down so vast a work as this, since this would be a
mischief to the Romans themselves, as it would be an ornament to their
government while it lasted.”
No wonder, then, that one of the disciples, who had seen Jesus weep for
its approaching ruin, and who now followed His steps as He left it
desolate, lingered, and spoke as if in longing and appeal, “Master, see
what manner of stones, and what manner of buildings.”
But to the eyes of Jesus all was evanescent as a bubble, doomed and about
to perish: “Seest thou these great buildings, there shall not be left here
one stone upon another that shall not be thrown down.”
The words were appropriate to His solemn mood, for He had just denounced
its guilt and flung its splendour from Him, calling it no longer “My
house,” nor “My Father’s house,” but saying, “Your house is left unto you
desolate.” Little could all the solid strength of the very foundations of
the world itself avail against the thunderbolt of God. Moreover, it was a
time when He felt most keenly the consecration, the approaching surrender
of His own life. In such an hour no splendours distract the penetrating
vision; all the world is brief and frail and hollow to the man who has
consciously given himself to God. It was the fitting moment at which to
utter such a prophecy.
But, as He sat on the opposite slope, and gazed back upon the towers that
were to fall, His three favoured disciples and Andrew came to ask Him
privately when should these things be, and what would be the sign of their
approach.
It is the common assertion of all unbelievers that the prophecy which
followed has been composed since what passes for its fulfilment. When
Jesus was murdered, and a terrible fate befel the guilty city, what more
natural than to connect the two events? And how easily would a legend
spring up that the sufferer foretold the penalty? But there is an obvious
and complete reply. The prediction is too mysterious, its outlines are too
obscure; and the ruin of Jerusalem is too inexplicably complicated with
the final visitation of the whole earth, to be the issue of any vindictive
imagination working with the history in view.
We are sometimes tempted to complain of this obscurity. But in truth it is
wholesome and designed. We need not ask whether the original discourse was
thus ambiguous, or they are right who suppose that a veil has since been
drawn between us and a portion of the answer given by Jesus to His
disciples. We know as much as it is meant that we should know. And this at
least is plain, that any process of conscious or unconscious invention,
working backwards after Jerusalem fell, would have given us far more
explicit predictions than we possess. And, moreover, that what we lose in
gratification of our curiosity, we gain in personal warning to walk warily
and vigilantly.
Jesus did not answer the question, When shall these things be? But He
declared, to men who wondered at the overthrow of their splendid temple,
that all earthly splendours must perish. And He revealed to them where
true permanence may be discovered. These are two of the central thoughts
of the discourse, and they are worthy of much more attention from its
students than they commonly receive, being overlooked in the universal
eagerness “to know the times and the seasons.” They come to the surface in
the distinct words, “Heaven and earth shall pass away, but My words shall
not pass away.”
Now, if we are to think of this great prophecy as a lurid reflection
thrown back by later superstition on the storm-clouds of the nation’s
fall, how shall we account for its solemn and pensive mood, utterly free
from vindictiveness, entirely suited to Jesus as we think of Him, when
leaving for ever the dishonoured shrine, and moving forward, as His
meditations would surely do, beyond the occasion which evoked them? Not
such is the manner of resentful controversialists, eagerly tracing
imaginary judgments. They are narrow, and sharp, and sour.
1. The fall of Jerusalem blended itself, in the thought of Jesus, with the
catastrophe which awaits all that appears to be great and stable. Nation
shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, so that, although
armies set their bodies in the gap for these, and heroes shed their blood
like water, yet they are divided among themselves and cannot stand. This
prediction, we must remember, was made when the iron yoke of Rome imposed
quiet upon as much of the world as a Galilean was likely to take into
account, and, therefore, was by no means so easy as it may now appear to
us.
Nature itself should be convulsed. Earthquakes should rend the earth,
blight and famine should disturb the regular course of seed-time and
harvest. And these perturbations should be the working out of a stern law,
and the sure token of sorer woes to come, the beginning of pangs which
should usher in another dispensation, the birth-agony of a new time. A
little later, and the sun should be darkened, and the moon should withdraw
her light, and the stars should “be falling” from heaven, and the powers
that are in the heavens should be darkened. Lastly, the course of history
should close, and the affairs of earth should come to an end, when the
elect should be gathered together to the glorified Son of Man.
2. It was in sight of the ruin of all these things that He dared to add,
My word shall not pass away.
Heresy should assail it, for many should come in the name of Christ,
saying, I am He, and should lead many astray. Fierce persecutions should
try His followers, and they should be led to judgment and delivered up.
The worse afflictions of the heart would wring them, for brother should
deliver up brother to death, and the father his child, and children should
rise up against parents and cause them to be put to death. But all should
be too little to quench the immortality bestowed upon His elect. In their
sore need, the Holy Ghost should speak in them: when they were caused to
be put to death, he that endureth to the end, the same shall be saved.
Now these words were treasured up as the utterances of One Who had just
foretold His own approaching murder, and Who died accordingly amid
circumstances full of horror and shame. Yet His followers rejoiced to
think that when the sun grew dark, and the stars were falling, He should
be seen in the clouds coming with great glory.
It is the reversal of human judgment: the announcement that all is stable
which appears unsubstantial, and all which appears solid is about to melt
like snow.
And yet the world itself has since grown old enough to know that
convictions are stronger than empires, and truths than armed hosts. And
this is the King of Truth. He was born and came into the world to bear
witness to the truth, and every one that is of the truth heareth His
voice. He is the Truth become vital, the Word which was with God in the
beginning.
The Impending Judgment.
“For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against
kingdom; there shall be earthquakes in divers places; there shall
be famines: these things are the beginning of travail. But take ye
heed to yourselves: for they shall deliver you up to councils; and
in synagogues shall ye be beaten; and before governors and kings
shall ye stand for My sake, for a testimony unto them. And the
gospel must first be preached unto all the nations. And when they
lead you _to judgment_, and deliver you up, be not anxious
beforehand what ye shall speak: but whatsoever shall be given you
in that hour, that speak ye: for it is not ye that speak, but the
Holy Ghost. And brother shall deliver up brother to death, and the
father his child; and children shall rise up against parents, and
cause them to be put to death. And ye shall be hated of all men
for My name’s sake; but he that endureth to the end, the same
shall be saved. But when ye see the abomination of desolation
standing where he ought not (let him that readeth understand),
then let them that are in Judæa flee unto the mountains: and let
him that is on the housetop not go down, nor enter in, to take
anything out of his house: and let him that is in the field not
return back to take his cloke.”—MARK xiii. 8-16 (R.V.).
When we perceive that one central thought in our Lord’s discourse about
the last things is the contrast between material things which are
fleeting, and spiritual realities which abide, a question naturally
arises, which ought not to be overlooked. Was the prediction itself
anything more than a result of profound spiritual insight? Are we certain
that prophecy in general was more than keenness of vision? There are
flourishing empires now which perhaps a keen politician, and certainly a
firm believer in retributive justice governing the world, must consider to
be doomed. And one who felt the transitory nature of earthly resources
might expect a time when the docks of London will resemble the lagoons of
Venice, and the State which now predominates in Europe shall become
partaker of the decrepitude Spain. But no such presage is a prophecy in
the Christian sense. Even when suggested by religion, it does not claim
any greater certainty than that of sagacious inference.
The general question is best met by pointing to such specific and detailed
prophecies, especially concerning the Messiah, as the twenty-second Psalm,
the fifty-third of Isaiah, and the ninth of Daniel.
But the prediction of the fall of Jerusalem, while we have seen that it
has none of the minuteness and sharpness of an after-thought, is also too
definite for a presentiment. The abomination which defiled the Holy Place,
and yet left one last brief opportunity for hasty flight, the persecutions
by which that catastrophe would be heralded, and the precipitating of the
crisis for the elect’s sake, were details not to be conjectured. So was
the coming of the great retribution, the beginning of His kingdom within
that generation, a limit which was foretold at least twice besides (Mark
ix. 1 and xiv. 62), with which the “henceforth” in Matthew xxvi. 64 must
be compared. And so was another circumstance which is not enough
considered: the fact that between the fall of Jerusalem and the Second
Coming, however long or short the interval, no second event of a similar
character, so universal in its effect upon Christianity, so epoch-making,
should intervene. The coming of the Son of man should be “in those days
after that tribulation.”
The intervening centuries lay out like a plain country between two
mountain tops, and did not break the vista, as the eye passed from the
judgment of the ancient Church, straight on to the judgment of the world.
Shall we say then that Jesus foretold that His coming would follow
speedily? and that He erred? Men have been very willing to bring this
charge, even in the face of His explicit assertions. “After a long time
the Lord of that servant cometh.... While the bridegroom tarried they all
slumbered and slept.... If that wicked servant shall say in his heart, My
Lord delayeth His coming.”
It is true that these expressions are not found in St Mark. But instead of
them stands a sentence so startling, so unique, that it has caused to
ill-instructed orthodoxy great searchings of heart. At least, however, the
flippant pretence that Jesus fixed an early date for His return, ought to
be silenced when we read, “Of that day or that hour knoweth no one, not
even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father.”
These words are not more surprising than that He increased in wisdom; and
marvelled at the faith of some, and the unbelief of others (Luke ii. 52;
Matt. viii. 10; Mark vi. 6). They are involved in the great assertion,
that He not only took the form of a servant, but emptied Himself (Phil.
ii. 7). But they decide the question of the genuineness of the discourse;
for when could they have been invented? And they are to be taken in
connection with others, which speak of Him not in His low estate, but as
by nature and inherently, the Word and the Wisdom of God; aware of all
that the Father doeth; and Him in Whom dwelleth all the fulness of the
Godhead bodily (John i. 1; Luke xi. 49; John v. 20; Col. ii. 9).
But these were “the days of His flesh;” and that expression is not meant
to convey that He has since laid aside His body, for He says, “A spirit
hath not flesh ... as ye see Me have” (Heb. v. 7; Luke xxiv. 39). It must
therefore express the limitations, now removed, by which He once
condescended to be trammelled. What forbids us, then, to believe that His
knowledge, like His power, was limited by a lowliness not enforced, but
for our sakes chosen; and that as He could have asked for twelve legions
of angels, yet chose to be bound and buffeted, so He could have known that
day and hour, yet submitted to ignorance, that He might be made like in
all points to His brethren? Souls there are for whom this wonderful
saying, “the Son knoweth not,” is even more affecting than the words, “The
Son of man hath not where to lay His head.”
But now the climax must be observed which made His ignorance more
astonishing than that of the angels in heaven. The recent discourse must
be remembered, which had asked His enemies to explain the fact that David
called Him Lord, and spoke of God as occupying no lonely throne. And we
must observe His emphatic expression, that His return shall be that of the
Lord of the House (ver. 35), so unlike the temper which He impressed on
every servant, and clearly teaching the Epistle to the Hebrews to speak of
His fidelity as that of a Son over His house, and to contrast it sharply
with that of the most honourable servant (iii. 6).
It is plain, however, that Jesus did not fix, and renounced the power to
fix, a speedy date for His second coming. He checked the impatience of the
early Church by insisting that none knew the time.
But He drew the closest analogy between that event and the destruction of
Jerusalem, and required a like spirit in those who looked for each.
Persecution should go before them. Signs would indicate their approach as
surely as the budding of the fig tree told of summer. And in each case the
disciples of Jesus must be ready. When the siege came, they should not
turn back from the field into the city, nor escape from the housetop by
the inner staircase. When the Son of man comes, their loins should be
girt, and their lights already burning. But if the end has been so long
delayed, and if there were signs by which its approach might be known, how
could it be the practical duty of all men, in all the ages, to expect it?
What is the meaning of bidding us to learn from the fig tree her parable,
which is the approach of summer when her branch becomes tender, and yet
asserting that we know not when the time is, that it shall come upon us as
a snare, that the Master will surely surprise us, but need not find us
unprepared, because all the Church ought to be always ready?
What does it mean, especially when we observe, beneath the surface, that
our Lord was conscious of addressing more than that generation, since He
declared to the first hearers, “What I say unto you I say unto all,
Watch?” It is a strange paradox. But yet the history of the Church
supplies abundant proof that in no age has the expectation of the Second
Advent disappeared, and the faithful have always been mocked by the
illusion, or else keen to discern the fact, that He is near, even at the
doors. It is not enough to reflect that, for each soul, dissolution has
been the preliminary advent of Him who has promised to come again and
receive us unto Himself, and the Angel of Death is indeed the Angel of the
Covenant. It must be asserted that for the universal Church, the feet of
the Lord have been always upon the threshold, and the time has been
prolonged only because the Judge _standeth_ at the door. The “birth pangs”
of which Jesus spoke have never been entirely stilled. And the march of
time has not been towards a far-off eternity, but along the margin of that
mysterious ocean, by which it must be engulfed at last, and into which,
fragment by fragment, the beach it treads is crumbling.
Now this necessity, almost avowed, for giving signs which should only make
the Church aware of her Lord’s continual nearness, without ever enabling
her to assign the date of His actual arrival, is the probable explanation
of what has been already remarked, the manner in which the judgment of
Jerusalem is made to symbolize the final judgment. But this symbolism
makes the warning spoken to that age for ever fruitful. As they were not
to linger in the guilty city, so we are to let no earthly interests arrest
our flight,—not to turn back, but promptly and resolutely to flee unto the
everlasting hills. As they should pray that their flight through the
mountains should not be in the winter, so should we beware of needing to
seek salvation in the winter of the soul, when the storms of passion and
appetite are wildest, when evil habits have made the road slippery under
foot, and sophistry and selfwill have hidden the gulfs in a treacherous
wreath of snow.
Heedfulness, a sense of surrounding peril and of the danger of the times,
is meant to inspire us while we read. The discourse opens with a caution
against heresy: “Take heed that no man deceive you.” It goes on to caution
them against the weakness of their own flesh: “Take heed to yourselves,
for they shall deliver you up.” It bids them watch, because they know not
when the time is. And the way to watchfulness is prayerfulness; so that
presently, in the Garden, when they could not watch with Him one hour,
they were bidden to watch and pray, that they enter not into temptation.
So is the expectant Church to watch and pray. Nor must her mood be one of
passive idle expectation, dreamful desire of the promised change, neglect
of duties in the interval. The progress of all art and science, and even
the culture of the ground, is said to have been arrested by the universal
persuasion that the year One Thousand should see the return of Christ. The
luxury of millennarian expectation seems even now to relieve some
consciences from the active duties of religion. But Jesus taught His
followers that on leaving His house, to sojourn in a far country, He
regarded them as His servants still, and gave them every one his work. And
it is the companion of that disciple to whom Jesus gave the keys, and to
whom especially He said, “What, couldest thou not watch with Me one hour?”
St. Mark it is who specifies the command to the porter that he should
watch. To watch is not to gaze from the roof across the distant roads. It
is to have girded loins and a kindled lamp; it is not measured by excited
expectation, but by readiness. Does it seem to us that the world is no
longer hostile, because persecution and torture are at an end? That the
need is over for a clear distinction between her and us? This very belief
may prove that we are falling asleep. Never was there an age to which
Jesus did not say Watch. Never one in which His return would be other than
a snare to all whose life is on the level of the world.
Now looking back over the whole discourse, we come to ask ourselves, What
is the spirit which it sought to breathe into His Church? Clearly it is
that of loyal expectation of the Absent One. There is in it no hint, that
because we cannot fail to be deceived without Him, therefore His
infallibility and His Vicar shall for ever be left on earth. His place is
empty until He returns. Whoever says, Lo, here is Christ, is a deceiver,
and it proves nothing that he shall deceive many. When Christ is
manifested again, it shall be as the blaze of lightning across the sky.
There is perhaps no text in this discourse which directly assails the
Papacy; but the atmosphere which pervades it is deadly alike to her
claims, and to the instincts and desires on which those claims rely.