An Oriental Wedding, and the first miracle. Jairus. "Little
Maid, Arise." The Light of the World. The Poet of the Lord.
Do we know what a Miracle is?
The blood of John probably strengthened the Master's spirit, for His
immortal deeds now all at once became open and public. The day of his
"miracles" had come.
Very soon now He was asked to a little wedding at the village of Cana.
His mother also was there, and some of His brothers and sisters, and
His disciples. It was to be a more joyful event than the awful thing
He had heard of in the hills by the Dead Sea. The most famous marriage
in all history was being celebrated. The Master's first miracle is to
be witnessed. It is twilight of a delicious summer evening in Galilee.
As was the custom among the Orientals, the bride has been carried in
state to the groom's home. It is a bright and hilarious affair. All
the youths in the village are on horseback riding in the gay
procession. There is music of drums and flutes, and song, and all the
little street is ablaze with torches. In front of all, the bridesmaids
come, laughing, and singing, and carrying flaming lamps. The bride,
garlanded with roses, and covered with flowing veil that envelops her
from head to foot, blushes at her own loveliness. Who that happy girl
might be whose marriage story was to live a thousand years we will
never know. Could she, as in a dream, have read the future, how
extreme her happiness would have been. After two thousand years how
glad we would be only to know her happy name. It is after dark; the
stars are out on blue Galilee now. The scene has changed. The invited
guests are now in the home of the happy groom. The governor of the
feast, or the master of toasts, sits at the head of the banquet table.
At a modest place near the center of the table sits the Nazarene
carpenter. He is loved in Cana, as everywhere in Galilee, for His
gentle kindness to the poor. The story of what happened to this
carpenter at the Jordan river has not reached Galilee--the greatness
of the guest at their side is as yet unknown. But there is one present
who knows mighty things. For thirty years Mary, the mother, has kept
the secret told her by the Angel of the Annunciation. It is ten
o'clock--the feast is almost over--the singing, the dancing, and the
joyousness go on. Suddenly the girls waiting on the banqueters see the
wine is done. What shall they do? One of them by accident, perhaps,
mentions it to Mary. Suddenly her mind is filled with an ambitious, a
glorious, thought. She glances toward the middle of the table where
sits her son. The secret of thirty years is burning in her heart. As
she, too, is waiting on the table, she walks to where her son is
sitting and softly, confidently whispers, "They have no wine." His
time has come. In a few words He tells her to have the girls fill all
the six water jars close by with water--and Mary bids them do as He
has said. "Then," said the Master, "bear it to the governor of the
feast." And when the man at the head of the table tasted it, behold
the water had been turned to wine. It was the first miracle of the
Master's life. Now He was consecrated indeed. His disciples saw what
He had done, and for the first time fully believed on Him, and the
fame of that great deed spread to many people.
He is no longer the simple village carpenter, He is now the Christ,
and in a few days around and about the beautiful blue lake of Galilee,
close by, He will be carrying the glad tidings to all the world.
It was soon after one of these meetings by the waters of Galilee that
He performed another of the most beautiful and striking miracles of
His life. Jairus, a rich man and a high elder in the Jewish church,
came to Him at a feast given by Matthew and begged Him to come and
heal his little daughter who was sick. If only He will lay His hands
on her, she will be well. There was a little delay, for people crowded
all about the Master as He started on the roadside, to hear him talk,
and praying to be healed. One poor sick woman secretly touched just
the hem of His garment, her mighty faith telling her that even this
little act could make her whole. Jesus turned to her, and simply said,
"Daughter, go; thy faith hath saved thee."
The delay is awful for the agonized father, who knows not one moment
is to be lost. Suddenly comes a messenger flying to him to tell him it
is already too late--don't worry the Master--the little girl is dead.
Instantly Jesus turned to the broken-hearted one and in deep
compassion told him to have no fear--only believe. In a few minutes
they are at the rabbi's home. The hired mourners and the flute
players, as is the custom, are already there. They laughed at Him when
He told them the little girl was not dead, but sleeping. Turning the
crowd away, He took the little cold hand in His, and sweetly said,
"Little maid, arise," and she arose and went about the house
rejoicing. The miracle made a tremendous sensation, and multitudes
were touched by it.
Now His home will be Capernaum, almost at the head of the dear lake.
The little carpenter shop in the narrow street at Nazareth is closed
forever; Joseph, the father, has passed away, and sleeps with the sons
of David; Mary, the mother, lives in the town of Cana, where she first
came from; the young carpenter with the soft speech, the tender eyes,
the golden hair, and the radiance on His face goes up, and down
through Galilee--and they call Him "The Light of the World."
Capernaum, with its houses of white marble, reflected in the blue
waters of Galilee, was, in the Master's day, like Nazareth, one of the
delightful spots of Palestine. All was fresh, green, and restful; and
round about the land was called "The Garden of Abundance." And there
too is the little plain so filled with green fields and flowers and
running brooks that men likened it to "A pure emerald." It was in this
little land of loveliness, surrounded by all that was enchanting in
nature, that Jesus was to begin His public teaching. No wonder that He
found in beautiful nature a thousand indices to the majesty and
goodness of the Creator. No wonder that His language was the language
of poetry, and His similitudes the reflection of the fields and the
flowers. He was in the land of idealism--of fancy--and He himself was
the poet of the Lord. "Consider the lilies of the field, how they
grow." "If they do these things in the green tree, what shall be done
in the dry?" "'Tis your Father's good pleasure to give you the
kingdom." "Come unto me, and I will give you rest." "We have piped to
you, and ye have not danced."
The whole race of men there are idealists. There was not a better
place than this Galilee in all the world for Christ to be born in.
This is the spot of all the world for a new religion. These Galilean
peasants are not reasoners, they are simply believers. They are the
children of faith. Sad enough it is that the centuries of time, and
the hands of war, changed all the beautiful scene. Even the climate
lost its loveliness--there is almost nothing left that is lovely in
dear Galilee any more save its enchanting lake. All else is desolate
now. The marble houses of Capernaum are now adobe huts, roofed in
straw; the fields are bare and yellow; the trees are dead these
thousand years. Nothing is green there any more. How changed from the
perfect loveliness of that other time, when the Savior of mankind,
amid the roses of Palestine, and the lilies by the sea, walked and
talked and healed the poor.
It was as a healer of the body, not less than as a healer of the soul,
that the miraculous carpenter now walked from village to village all
over Galilee, followed sometimes by a handful of disciples, sometimes
by a multitude of men, women, and children, though occasionally by
hooting enemies. But what wonderful things He did--and how many poor
He helped! The occasional miracles described in the Testament are
probably not even a fraction of what He did. Why, the evangelist John
says, he does not suppose the world would hold the books telling of
all of them. Of course, this is momentary hyperbole. The people of
the East often exaggerate in telling of what they saw. They are the
greatest tellers of beautiful stories in the world. But were these
things miracles? The world goes on asking this question. Do we know
what a miracle is? "A miracle is an impossibility," say the wise men
of science. "No law of nature yet was ever set aside." Let us not
forget, however, that the Galilean never claimed to set absolute law
aside. By supreme faith in the Almighty, in Himself, He helped the
law, instead of setting it aside.
A people, superstitious and ignorant of every scientific law, wondered
to see Him do what He did. At that hour of His consecration, in the
Jordan river, Providence gave Him a new birth; and in that birth, a
strength to overcome men's minds--a strength to awaken dormant action
in their bodies. Even the poor sick man He met at the roadside should
be getting well, not dying--Nature intended it so--but pain and
misfortune have cost him every resolution. The Christ came by, the
sunlight of His face, the blessing of His words fall upon him, and he
smiles. "Help yourself," says the Master, "you can do it--only think
so. Do you believe me?" "Yes," cries the weary one, "I believe, help
thou my unbelief." The Master smiles and takes him by the hand.
Instantly the encouraged mind acts on the half withered form. His
blood starts, his nerves thrill,--the miracle is done.
No, we do not understand--not quite--neither do we understand how a
drop of rain revives a blade of grass, nor how a night's dew wakens
the roses to an untold beauty. Genius is born. The astronomer opens
his book and without an effort understands the stars. The gift of
stirring thoughts, of lifting human souls, is born. No being in the
world had such anointing from above, such Godsent powers, as He who is
just back from the Jordan. He believed in Himself, and that was half
the battle--the other half had to be fought by the soul asking aid.
One must believe. No faith, no miracle, is a principle. Not once did
an unbeliever receive help from the Master. It was impossible.
Impossible then as now. The strong faith of two beings is needed to
produce a wonder. Only two or three times in His history did Jesus
perform a miracle without some human being's faith--and those two or
three wonders lack a perfect confirmation. It is not in question here
whether God, who made every law of nature, could not suspend them
every one if He wanted to. He would not be God, all powerful, if He
could not. It is unimportant to us whether the Galilean did wonders by
His supreme faith, His control over men's minds (a control given Him
there at the Jordan river), or whether His Father in Heaven reached
forth a hand each time and helped Him.
The peasants of Palestine knew little of any fixed law of nature. They
did not ask as to that. Simply the doing of the unusual was enough for
them. They demanded wonders--and healing of the sick by a word, or a
touch of the hand, was a great wonder,--a miracle. He who could
simply influence mind was the Master. The Galilean was born anointed
with the power. He knew it--and only asked others to believe. The
people of that day asked for wonders. Mere assertions of truth were
not enough. "Give us a clap of thunder, or shake the earth, if You
would have us believe in You. Suddenly cure these sick, and we will
know Your power." He did it, not for a show, but out of pity. And the
healing made adorers for the truths He taught them. One thing is sure,
He never doubted His own beliefs, His God-given powers. In the
solitude of the desert He had reached definite conclusions. All His
assertions were positive. If He said things in parables, it was
because His hearers had no understanding of plain truth. We talk to
children that way when we tell them stories. His wonders, or miracles,
were for the same purpose.