03. His First Meeting With Christ.
HIS FIRST MEETING WITH CHRIST.
Contact with Christ was not the beginning of the religious experience of St. John. He had been caught in another religious movement before he was connected with that of which Christ was the centre. He was a disciple of the Baptist before becoming a disciple of Christ. At the close of many barren generations, during which prophecy had been dumb and spiritual death had brooded over the land, suddenly, in the valley of the Jordan, a voice was raised in which the authentic thunder of inspiration was clearly discernible: and simultaneously the Wind of God began to move and murmur in every part of the land. Noteworthy it is how any voice or movement in which the Divine actually announces itself stirs the sleeping instincts of humanity; for man is made for God, and, however dead his religious nature may appear to be, it is only slumbering: let the right summons be heard and it will respond. The rumor of the Baptist’s preaching quickly spread from Dan to Beersheba; and in susceptible souls it awakened curiosity and longing. It drew the shepherd from the hill, the husbandman from the vineyard, the fisherman from his boats, and even the rabbi from his books. Its influence was especially potent over young men; and in the crowds which soon thronged the banks of the river where John baptized were the brightest and most promising spirits of the nation.
Among these was St. John, attracted southward from his occupation on the Sea of Galilee. And he was not only one of the Baptist’s hearers but one of his disciples. The first time we see him he is closely attached to the Baptist’s person: “John stood, and two of his disciples,” one of whom was Andrew and the other John. This shows that the movement had had free course in his spirit: he had taken in the Baptist’s message, submitted to the baptismal rite, and, instead of at once returning home, remained to profit by his instruction.
Two things this experience must have done for the future apostle. The Baptist’s preaching consisted of two principal parts: first, the message of repentance, and, secondly, the announcement that the kingdom of God was at hand.
St. John, then, had repented. The sense of guilt had been awakened in him, and he had felt the pain and shame of being self-condemned and God-condemned. What the particular sins may have been which had marred his early life and now rose up to trouble his conscience we cannot tell. It is easy to conceive the profanity and recklessness on which St. Peter, in the same circumstances, had to look back; but one would suppose that the boyhood and youth of St. John had been singularly free from anything gross or regrettable. The sense of sin is not, however, proportionate to the magnitude of guilt. While the worst sinners are often utterly insensible to their own spiritual deformity, the whitest souls are sensitively aware of their own shortcomings. There is no human life, either in youth or age, so perfect but that, when enlightened by the Spirit of God, it will see itself to be altogether as an unclean thing. This experience exerted on St. John a lifelong influence. He became the apostle of love, and it is to him more than anyone else that the world owes the doctrine that God is love; but, unlike some teachers, who, starting from this position, have represented God as so loving that He overlooks the guilt of erring human beings, St. John combines the doctrine of love with the profoundest and even sternest views in regard to the sinfulness of humanity and the need of penitence and atonement. Shallow views in theology are generally due to slight personal experience of repentance. But St. John went through the school of the Baptist to the school of Christ; and the deepest Christian spirits have followed the same pathway. The other element in the Baptist’s message was no less influential. He proclaimed that the kingdom of God was at hand. This was the revival of the hope which had stirred the godly and the patriotic in Israel for hundreds of years—the hope of the reign of God in the land and in the world, which meant at the same time the reign of righteousness and peace. This lifted St. John and the other disciples of the Baptist out of themselves, to take an interest in the weal of their country and the welfare of humanity. To a youthful mind nothing is so good as the awakening of unselfish enthusiasm. Childhood is ensheathed in an unconscious and natural selfishness; manhood is too often the prey of deliberate selfishness; but in youth everyone who is at all divinely-souled feels stirrings of the desire to live for others and to make the world better. Too often, indeed, these emotions are short-lived: having nothing substantial to feed upon they die away, and selfishness supervenes. But St. John obtained from the Baptist faith in a cause fitted not only to feed enthusiasm but to increase it; for the kingdom of God is an object on which unselfish passion can expend all its resources; and it outlives every individual supporter.
These two experiences go well together and supplement each other. Repentance alone makes the spirit morbid, and, if indulged too exclusively, may degenerate into a form of selfishness. Enthusiasm for the kingdom of God, on the other hand, if unconnected with repentance is apt to become visionary and vainglorious: many are willing to reform the world who need first to be reformed themselves. The true order is that of John’s experience: to begin within, with reconciliation to God, and then, with a spirit of union with him, to go forth to the regeneration of humanity.
VI.
How long John was a disciple of the Baptist we cannot tell. But at last he was ripe for further development.
It is the immortal glory of the Baptist that he was fully conscious of the preparatory and subordinate nature of his own mission. His was only a herald’s voice announcing the approach of the King. Others attempted to make him a rival of the Messiah; but “he confessed, and denied not, but confessed, I am not the Christ,” and added, “He must increase, but I must decrease.” Never, however, was this attitude so difficult as when he had to transfer his own disciples to Christ. To have in his company one like St. John must have been an unspeakable satisfaction; but, as he stood with St. John and St. Andrew, he pointed to Jesus passing by and said, “Behold the Lamb of God,” thus releasing them from further adherence to himself.
It is generally taken for granted that, of the two elements in the Baptist’s message, the second — the coming of the kingdom of God—was at first the one most prominent in the minds of the followers of Jesus: they are supposed to have been drawn to him chiefly by Messianic hopes: but these words appear to indicate that the reverse was the case, and that the first part of John’s message—the experience of repentance— was that in which they were chiefly absorbed.
It is, indeed, a question what precisely the Baptist meant by designating Jesus as “the Lamb of God.” A choice passage in an exquisite book derives the name from the imagery of the twenty-third Psalm—that lay of perfect peace—“the most complete picture of happiness that ever was or can be drawn. It represents that state of mind for which all alike sigh, and the want of which makes life a failure to most; it represents that heaven which is everywhere if we could but enter it, and yet almost nowhere because so few of us can. The two or three who win it may be called victors in life’s conflict; to them belongs the regnum et diadema tutum. They may pass obscure lives in humble dwellings, or, like Fra Angelico, in a narrow monastic cell, but they are vexed by no flap of unclean wings about the ceiling. From some such humble dwelling Christ came to receive the prophet’s baptism. The Baptist was no lamb of God. He was a wrestler with life; one to whom peace of mind does not come easily, but only after a long struggle. He was among the dogs rather than among the lambs of the Shepherd. He recognized the superiority of Him whose confidence had never been disturbed, whose steadfast peace no agitations of life had ever ruffled. He did obeisance to the royalty of inward happiness.” These beautiful words undoubtedly express a truth and afford a genuine glimpse of Jesus and the Baptist on this occasion; but they leave out the words—“who taketh away the sin of the world.”
Others have gone back for the derivation of the Baptist’s phrase to the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, especially to the words, “He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and, as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth.” This would demonstrate that John had grasped the idea of a suffering Messiah. The opposition which he had met with himself and his observation of the temper of the people, and especially of the ruling classes, had convinced him that the Messiah, instead of being welcomed with open arms, would be opposed and persecuted; thus the sin of the world would concentrate itself on Him, and He would have to endure the consequences. But more than this must surely be in the name. Whether or not, as others suppose, the Baptist had in his mind the paschal lamb or other lambs of sacrifice, when we remember to whom he was speaking—to his own disciples, who had undergone in his school the discipline of repentance — we cannot but conclude that by the Lamb taking away the sin of the world he intended to point Christ out as one who could deal more effectively with sin than he had been able to do. His own work was preliminary: he aroused the conscience, but he could not satisfy it. What, then, was the next step? What virtue was to be looked for in the Fulfiller who was to come after John? While it would be unhistorical to attribute to the Baptist a developed doctrine of atonement, it is equally to miss the point of the situation not to recognize that the prime recommendation of the Messiah to those whom John was addressing was that he should be the Saviour from sin.
VII.
Encouraged by their master, and attracted by the appearance of Christ, the two disciples of the Baptist followed the departing figure of Jesus. Hearing their footsteps behind him, he turned and asked, “What seek ye?” This is the first saying of our Lord recorded by St. John; and some have found in it deep meanings—as if it were an invitation to all to seek from him whatever they desired, and he would satisfy them. But we will content ourselves with something simpler — its consideration and kindness. The two seekers were shy, and afraid to introduce themselves; those at their stage of experience often are. A very little will sometimes turn aside an inquiring spirit. But Jesus met them half-way and put them at their ease. They replied by asking him where he dwelt, evidently intimating that they intended sometime to pay him a visit. But he invited them to an interview at once, saying, “Come and see.” This also teaches a lesson: seekers ought to be dealt with without delay, because their impressions are apt to evaporate. Many have intended to visit Christ, putting off, however, till tomorrow; but some form of distraction has come in, and the intention has never been carried into effect. So Jesus took the young men with him to the lodging in which he was staying, and they abode with him that day. St. John tells us the very hour of the clock when this happened: “it was the tenth hour,” which some take to mean ten in the forenoon, others four o’clock in the afternoon. At all events Jesus afforded them a prolonged interview, lasting for hours. The scene, the hour, the duration of their stay, the very looks on the face of Jesus, had all remained in the apostle’s memory. Most days in anyone’s life are forgotten: they sink out of sight and are indistinguishable from multitudes like them. But some days are ever memorable: we can recollect the very hour of the day when each thing took place, the very tones in which words were uttered, the very gestures with which acts were accompanied. Which days are thus imprinted on the memory? None more than those on which we have made acquaintances and formed connections by which our subsequent life has been powerfully influenced. And among such surely the first acquaintance with Christ may well be a marked date. In one sense, indeed, to remember this is impossible; for our acquaintance with him goes back beyond our earliest memory. But it is one thing to hear about Christ from others, and another actually to come in contact with him and speak with him face to face. With many, at least, this is a subsequent experience, occurring within the period of conscious memory; and, if such an incident is remembered at all, it is likely to be a vivid and a treasured recollection.
These being such never-to-be-forgotten hours of St. John’s experience, we naturally expect to learn from him what was the subject of conversation, and what Jesus said. In this, however, we are entirely disappointed,not a word of detail being given. This is the more surprising because St. John’s gospel is distinguished for the frequency with which it narrates private interviews with Jesus. What can be the explanation? It has been suggested that John had forgotten; but this is in a high degree unlikely. A better explanation may be gathered from the other incidents of this remarkable day.
It would appear that the method taken by our Lord to impress himself upon those who were introduced to him at this stage was to make them feel that he had a superhuman insight into their thoughts and their character. Thus he met Simon with the announcement that he was in future to bear the name of Peter. And he met Nathanael with such full information about himself that he who had at first incredulously asked, “Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?” burst out with, “Rabbi, thou art the Son of God, thou art the King of Israel!” Now may we not suppose that to St. John also at this time Jesus gave proof of his supernatural knowledge of his history and his inmost thoughts, communicating perhaps some sweet secret as to his future relation to himself and his kingdom? Such a communication a deep, reticent nature like St. John’s might feel to be too sacred for reporting. Scripture seems to give ample encouragement to make religious experiences public when there is an inner impulse to do so; but the impulse not to disclose everything is equally sacred. Some experiences would be profaned by being described; the soul has things of its own with which no stranger intermeddles. Nothing is more valuable to our fellowmen than the communication of genuine religious experience if we are free to tell it; but every soul of any depth and intensity has many secrets which it neither could nor would disclose. And of this nature may have been the first confidence vouchsafed to St. John.
VIII.
Something sealed the lips of the evangelist from telling what took place at this interview; but if we had any doubt as to whether or not the communication was one of supreme importance, or whether the hearts of the two hearers burned within them as they listened to Jesus for the first time, we should be convinced by observing how they acted when they issued from the house. Both hastened away to make their experience known; evidently because they were full of what had happened.
It is only, indeed, in a peculiar way that we learn this about St. John. The narrative says of St. Andrew, “He first findeth his own brother Simon,” and tells him. But why “first”? This implies that the other young man also found his own brother and did the same. It is an extreme instance of the reticence and modesty with which in his Gospel St. John refers to himself and his relatives. He never mentions his brother or his mother by name. In the present passage he describes himself only as “another disciple,” though there is no doubt to whom he refers. In estimating the character of St. John this reserve should be noticed as a prominent characteristic; and it harmonizes well with the other qualities of his exquisite nature.
Both, then, separating at the door of Jesus’ lodging, hastened away to tell; and each went to his own brother. The latter circumstance is surely a touching and instructive trait. The instinct to bear testimony to religious experience is a natural one; but it does not always lead those who are inspired with it to their own homes. Indeed, the very last persons to whom some would think of speaking on religious topics are their own relatives. It is easier to speak in public, for strangers do not know how far our conduct may be in agreement with our words. To our relatives this is accurately known; but just on this account is it safe and wholesome to begin with them: it is a far stronger pledge to consistency. Besides, it is the dictate of nature; if we have any blessed discovery to reveal, surely those first deserve the benefit of it who are our own flesh and blood.
Andrew and John had a blessed discovery to make known. The word with which they broke in upon their astonished brothers was, “We have found.” The same word was used by Philip to Nathanael; and Archbishop Trench has called this the Eureka chapter.
What had they found? “We have found Him of whom Moses, in the law, and the prophets did write”— they had found the fulfilment of the law and of the prophets: of the law, whose unfulfilled commandments had been searching their awakened consciences; of the prophets, whose unfulfilled predictions had inflamed their patriotic hopes. So they expressed the discovery in the language of their time and in accordance with their own experience. But it can be expressed in many forms. There is something which all men need; and consciously or unconsciously all are seeking it. Many know they have not found it; many more are unhappy they know not why, but this is the reason. Some think they have found it, but the discovery turns out to be a deception. Men toil and moil for it; they hasten over seas; they search continent after continent; they tear out the bowels of the earth. What is it? What is it that can make life a success, that can fill the heart, that can afford to desire at once both satisfaction and stimulation, that can supply life with an aim, that can guarantee unending progress, that can fill the immeasurable spaces of eternity? Is there any object which can do all this for man? Andrew and John came out from their interview with Jesus crying, “We have found;” St. John wrote this down at the close of a great and happy life in token that he still believed it; and since then millions upon millions have set to their seal that it is true.