01.14. Chapter 3. The Children of the Bride-chamber
Chapter 3.
The Children of the Bride-chamber Or, Christ’s Apology for the Joy of His Disciples.
Then come to Him the disciples of John, saying, Why do we and the Pharisees fast oft,[1] but Thy disciples fast not? And Jesus said unto them, Can the children of the bride-chamber mourn, as long as the Bridegroom is with them? but days will come when the Bridegroom shall be taken from them, and then shall they fast.[2] And no one putteth a piece of unfulled cloth[3] unto an old garment, for that which filleth up[4] taketh from the garment, and a worse rent takes placed.[5] Neither do they put new wine into old skins; else[6] the skins burst, and the wine is shed, and the skins perish; but they put new wine into new skins, and both are preserved.—Mat 9:14-17. (Luk 5:33-39; Mark 2:18-22.) [1]
[2] Luke adds
[3]
[4]
[5]
[6]
It is not usual with writers on the parables to include among the number the three suggestive comparisons or illustrations contained in this remarkable section of the Gospel History. But without disputing the right of others to act otherwise, we have no hesitation in giving them a place in our studies on the Parabolic Teaching of Christ. For, if not fully developed parables, these similitudes are at least parable-germs; a fact recognised by one of the Evangelists, who applies the terra parable to the second and third of the three, the new patch on the worn-out garment, and the new wine in the old skins. And what is lacking in the artistic finish of these parable-germs is fully compensated for by their number, which is a significant hint of the importance of the subject to which they refer. Once more Jesus is put on His defence with reference to departure from the custom of the time by Himself and His disciples, and this time as usual His apology assumes the parabolic form; only in this case He does not, as in His apology for loving the sinful, seek so much to play the part of a consummate artist in the construction of exquisitely finished parables, but rather that of the suggestive original thinker, throwing out in rapid succession fruitful ideas which might be worked out by the hearers themselves. The change in the style was suited to a change in the circumstances; for the new interrogants do not seem to have been, as in the former case, captious, disaffected fault-finders, but rather men honestly perplexed by a surprising diversity in the religious-habits of the disciples of Jesus as compared with those of the Pharisees, and of John’s disciples. What was called for in the former case was an effort to make a moral and emotional impression, and hence the artistic beauty and the pathos of the parables last considered: what is needed in the present case, on the other hand, is instruction in the form of hints at the true cause of the conduct animadverted on, and at the principles applicable to such a matter as the practice of fasting. And the instruction given is admirably adapted to its purpose. No hints could be more suggestive or stimulative of thought, more pregnant with deep meanings far-reaching in their application, more illustrative of the originality of the speaker, and more surely indicative that a great outstanding characteristic of the kingdom, a cardinal feature of the new movement heralded by the Man who was such a puzzle to His contemporaries, was pointed at. We should be very sorry indeed not to have a good excuse for including in our scheme these three parable-germs—the children of the bride-chamber, the new patch on the worn garment, and the new wine in the old skins. Of these parable-germs any one might have been selected to be the title of this chapter; but after due consideration we have deemed the first worthiest of the honour, not merely because it is the first, but specially because it gives us the deepest glimpse into the heart of the subject. For while the second and third simply illustrate the general principle that incongruous things ought not to be combined, that is, in the particular case in hand, that fasting should not be forced upon men whose mood it did not meet, the first tells us precisely what was the mood of the disciples of Jesus which made fasting an uncongenial practice, reveals to us the latent spiritual characteristic of the Jesus-circle, which accounted for this superficial divergence from religious custom. And what then was that mood and characteristic? It was. Joy. Jesus and His disciples were a wedding party; He the bridegroom, they the sons of the bride-chamber, the bridegroom’s friends who with Him conducted the bride to her new home, and there spent a happy week in unrestrained festivity. For all this is implied in the question, Can the children of the bride-chamber mourn? The question is an implicit assertion, the case put is the actual case, here as in all the parables. Such then being the relations and circumstances of the parties, of course mourning, and therefore by the law of congruity fasting, is out of the question. Joy, mirth, rules the hour, and the appropriate behaviour is not fasting, but dancing and song. But whence this joy, whence in other words the relations alleged to subsist between the Galilean Master and his companions? The question throws us back on the characteristics of the kingdom as preached by Jesus. There is joy in the Jesus-circle because the kingdom is a kingdom of GRACE, a kingdom the announcement of whose advent is good news, the very gospel, and whose presence is the summum bonum, signifying God a Father, and men His sons. This idea of the kingdom, the one ever presented by Jesus, was the true source of the behaviour of His disciples, and the radical cause of the difference between their behaviour and that of John’s disciples. The difference ran up ultimately into this: the diverse conceptions of the kingdom as preached by Jesus and John respectively. The diversity of their conceptions may be very simply formulated. The kingdom as preached by Jesus was good news. As preached by John it was awful news. In the mouth of the one it meant God regarding men as a Father ready to bestow upon them His grace, yea, willing to receive graciously, as still His children, though erring, the most depraved of men returning to Him in penitence. In the mouth of the other it meant God coming in the majesty of His justice, to execute judgment; Messiah coming with fan in hand to sift wheat from chaff, and with axe to hew down unfruitful trees. No wonder that the followers of the two preachers differed widely in their way of life, the disciples of the one resembling a wedding party making the welkin ring with laughter and song, the disciples of the other resembling a band of pilgrims trudging with rueful look and weary foot to the shrine of a saint to do penance for their sins. No wonder that the disciples of Jesus were a puzzle and a scandal to the disciples of the Baptist; for it is not easy to understand or sympathise with conduct springing out of a radically different spirit to that which animates oneself. No wonder, finally, that Jesus himself was a mystery to the Baptist as he lay brooding in melancholy fashion in the prison of Machærus; for in His hand was no axe or fan, in His mouth no words of terror, in His heart no severity, but only gentleness and pity dictating deeds of kindness and messages of mercy. In all Christ’s teachings can be found no more decisive indication of the gracious character of the kingdom than just this parable of the Children of the Bridechamber. But we must not suppose that the joyous mood of His disciples sprang directly out of a clear conception on their part of the nature of the kingdom. A kingdom is a very complex phenomenon, and the kingdom which Jesus preached was as yet but very imperfectly understood by those who followed Him. Their conscious thoughts about it were crude and mistaken, and what knowledge of its true nature they had was of an instinctive, unconscious, and implicit character. They knew the kingdom through Jesus the King; not through His words, but through the spirit that was in Him, and that revealed itself in His whole bearing. They knew it as voyagers know the near neighbourhood of an unseen land, by the sweet odour borne thence on the breeze. They discerned the perfume of the oil of gladness emanating from their Master, and hence divined the nature of the, kingdom which He came to found. And the gladness which was in Him passed into them by sympathy. Being in His company they were infected with His spirit, and acted as they saw Him act. Their neglect of fasting was imitative in its origin, not based on reflection. They acted from impulse, not from principle. They did what they did they knew not why, and on being found fault with they would not know what to answer. Men constantly in Christ’s company might be expected at length to understand the rationale of the conduct impugned, but to such insight they had not yet attained. In the foregoing remarks we have implied that the spirit or mood of Jesus was characteristically one of joy. To some this may seem a very questionable position. Was not Jesus the man of sorrow and sadness rather than the man of gladness? He was a man of sorrow; there was ever in Him a deep sadness, of whose presence we have a significant index in the words, "there will come days when the bridegroom shall be taken from them," which are an ominous hint of a tragic experience awaiting Him in the future that cast its shadow on His spirit now; how deep a shadow we may judge from the repeated mention of the days of mourning, in the version of the saying given by the other Evangelists. But this deep habitual sadness notwithstanding, the spirit of Jesus was emphatically joyful, and His face radiant with the oil of gladness. There was a sunny brightness in His temper as well as an undertone of melancholy. And the springs of His gladness were twofold. First there was the joy inseparable from a religion which has its source in fresh intuitions of truth and rests not on the mere traditions of men, the joy of perfect freedom combined with absolute devotion to God, a joy of which they know nothing whose souls are imprisoned in a complicated system of conventional religious observances such as those practised by the Pharisees, or even by the Baptist’s disciples. What a dull, dreary, sombre existence is that of the tradition-enslaved soul, doomed to perform the daily routine of fasting and praying and almsgiving, which composes the dead carcase of works technically holy! But how inexpressibly sweet the joy of "religion new given," consisting in "a revival of intuitive and fresh perceptions."[1] It is the joy of the lark soaring to heaven’s gate, and singing in the bright sunshine and warm air of summer. It is a joy given to men in certain ages to know in exceptional measure (happy they who live then), and to none more than to Jesus and His disciples. The sign of its presence is the term new applied by implication in our parables to the religious movement with which Jesus and His disciples were identified. Jesus in effect calls His cause a new garment and a new vintage. He does this, moreover, not as one apologising for His existence, but rather as one asserting His own importance. He not merely concedes, he triumphantly proclaims the novelty of His religion. What was a fault in the eyes of others was a virtue in His view. And here we have to note the affinity between Christ’s spirit and that of Paul, who gloried in the novelty of the Christian religion as a merit, inasmuch as it was but the fulfilment of the prophetic oracle which proclaimed God to be the Maker of new things.[2]. Of the same mind also was the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews, whose whole argument is a vindication of the rights of the new as opposed to the prescriptive rights of the decadent old, which he regarded as cancelled and antiquated by the bare uttering of the word ’new’ in the prophetic oracle of the new covenant.[3] This joy in the new is indeed characteristic of the whole New Testament, and it is a standing characteristic of the genuinely evangelic spirit in all ages.
[1] ’Literature and Dogma,’ p. 91.
[2] 2Co 5:16 : cf. Isa 43:18-19
[3] Heb 8:13.
Besides this joy of fresh religious intuition, Jesus also knew the not less intense joy of love. His passion for saving the lost brought Him wondrous gladness, as well as deep sadness. It was meat to Him to create a spring of new spiritual life in the heart of any human being, even though it were but a publican or a Samaritan woman. He drank deeply of this joy of redeeming love at the feast in Matthew’s house with publicans for fellow-guests, the occasion on which our parables were spoken. "In the midst of this feast of publicans the heart of Jesus is overflowing with joy; it is one of the hours when His earthly life seems to His feeling like a marriage day."[1] Generous natures can appreciate this joy of doing good; Paul showed that he appreciated it when in his catalogue of the fruits of the Spirit he placed joy next to love.[2] It was a true instinct which guided him in the collocation, for where the spirit of beneficence is, there inevitably will be the spirit of gladness. Christ could not be full of grace without being also full of joy.
[1] Godet in loco.
[2] Gal 5:22. "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy," etc. In a faint degree the disciples were partakers of their Master’s joy in both aspects. They knew a little, as yet only a little, of the joy of fresh religious intuition, and of the liberty thence accruing; a little also of the joy of saving the lost. But they had a joy of their own distinct from that of Jesus, the joy, not of giving, but of receiving grace, the joy of faith in the love of a Divine Father to the sinful and unworthy. And in proportion as they experienced this joy would they also experience the species of joy first described, the joy of religious liberty. Faith in God’s grace has for its natural issue and consummation that exultant, triumphant joy which was so marked a feature in Paul’s religious consciousness, and which finds such impassioned expression in his great controversial epistles—the joy of the spirit of sonship which dares to call God, Father;[1] the joy of hope which can take an optimistic view of life, and believe that all things work together for good;[2] the joy which can exult even in tribulation, because it only tends to develop patience and test character, and so to confirm hope;[3] the joy last, but not least, of liberty from law,[4] of happy riddance from that stern tyrannical husband, to be united in blessed wedlock to the soul’s true husband, Jesus Christ.[5] There are many in our time who gravely doubt whether the companions of Jesus ever attained to the perfect Christian joy of the Pauline theology, deeming it rather highly probable that to the end the original apostles, the eleven, continued to do the very thing their Master had treated as an absurdity; to combine, that is, incongruous elements in their religious faith and practice, law and grace, works and faith, the old worn-out garment of Judaism with the new garment of evangelic righteousness; the old skins of Jewish religious custom with the new wine of a gospel of mercy which God meant to be preached to every creature under heaven. If this were indeed the case, then we can only say that the eleven made little use of their opportunities during the time "they had been with Jesus." For it cannot reasonably be doubted that Pauline antinomianism, to use the word in an uninvidious sense, was the natural outcome of Christ’s own teaching, and that in accustoming His disciples to disregard existing Jewish religious custom in certain particulars he was educating them for the ultimate abandonment of the whole system as superseded by, and incongruous with, the new order of things brought in with the era of grace.
[2] Rom 8:28.
[3] Rom 5:3.
[4] Gal 4:5.
[5] Rom 7:1-4. The idea in this passage is essentially the same as in the parable of the children of the bride-chamber. These children of the bride-chamber are from another point of view also the bride, as the Baptist himself hinted when he said, "He that hath the bride is the bridegroom; but the friend of the bridegroom, which standeth and heareth him, rejoiceth greatly because of the bridegroom’s voice" (John 3:29). Olshausen remarks on it as somewhat surprising, that in the passage before us the disciples are merely the
Passing from this let us observe the reasons by which the law of congruity is enforced in these parables. The chief reason is the incompatibility of the new with the old, leading inevitably to rupture and waste. But it is interesting to note that besides this Luke mentions another, in connection with the first of the two parables; viz. the want of correspondence or keeping between the new and the old. Besides the rending which takes place in connection with the patching of an old garment by a piece from a new one, there is the further objection to the proceeding that the new piece will not agree or harmonise with the old.[1] It is an offence against aesthetics, objectionable on the score of taste, even if no serious result were to follow from the inharmonious combination. The garment so patched will present a grotesque aspect to be avoided by all means. This recognition of æsthetical considerations as having their own place in religion (for we may legitimately transfer this feature of the parable to the spiritual sphere) is well deserving notice, though in comparison with the more serious consequences resulting from disregard of the law of congruity, it be but of subordinate moment. It is a word in favour of the beautiful from the author of our faith. And it is further to be noted, that the parable of the new patch, as given in Luke, conveys to us an important hint as to the true source of beauty and harmony in religion. A religious cultus will only then exhibit a fair aspect and harmonious proportions when it is all of a piece, generated from one principle, the embodiment of one spirit, not an eclectic patchwork of beliefs and practices borrowed from various sources. This is but to say that religion is only then seen in its native comeliness when it is the religion of the spirit. Then it possesses the incomparable attractions of naturalness, spontaneity, free unfettered movement, doing whatever the spirit prompts, and doing it gracefully and heartily. How repulsive by comparison a religion of mechanical habits, of which no account can be given except that they are sanctioned by tradition and custom; and not less, let us add, a religion of merely negative affected spirituality, whose mechanicalism consists in avoiding everything savouring of taste as sensuous, mistaking barbarism for purity. It is an error of the same kind in worship, as that in religious life which makes the new nature consist in being unnatural.
[1]
Turning now to the principal reason for observing the law of congruity, viz. the damage and loss caused by the breach of it, we find here also a peculiarity in Luke’s narrative, in so far as the first of the two parables is concerned; this, viz., that the injury is done not, as in Matthew and Mark, to the old garment, but to the new one. In the first two Gospels the evil to be shunned is the rending of the old patched garment by the contraction of the new piece of unfulled cloth under the influence of moisture. In Luke, on the other hand, the evil is the spoiling of a new garment,[1] from which a piece has been cut out. This seems a somewhat unnatural turn of thought, for the procedure pointed at, that of patching an old coat by a piece cut out of a new one, seems too absurd for any human being in his senses to think of. And when we endeavour to apply the idea to the spiritual situation we find ourselves somewhat at a loss in which direction to turn. Is Jesus justifying Himself for not playing the part of a patcher as described in the parable, or is He representing John as playing that part; and in either case what is signified by the spoiling of the new garment? If cur Lord stated the case as represented in Luke’s narrative we must put upon His words some such sense as the following:—It is a folly to combine the new doctrine of the kingdom with old customs associated with a religion of an entirely different spirit. The necessary effect of such a course must be to do fatal injury to the new doctrine, by obscuring its true nature and weakening its influence. We certainly can imagine Jesus saying this in reference to John’s disciples, for the deprecated line of action was just that which they pursued. They believed in the kingdom preached by their Master, and so far were on the side of the new movement; but they combined this belief with Judaistic or Pharisaic practice, with the result that their faith in the kingdom was practically neutralised, or extinguished as a light put under a bushel. And we can also conceive Jesus saying the same thing concerning Himself to the effect of justifying Himself for not pursuing the policy indicated; though not without qualification, for while He disregarded Pharisaic practice in such matters as fasting and ceremonial washing, He did certainly accommodate Himself to many existing usages, which were destined to fall into desuetude when the spirit of the new religion had had time to create for itself a fitting garment of habits.[2]
[1] The piece used as a patch is taken from a new garment,
[2] Godet understands the parable as referring to Christ, that is, as containing a repudiation on Christ’s part of the rôle of a patcher. Hofmann, on the other hand, thinks the reference is to the Baptist, so that the parable contains a description of what John and his disciples did. They did what Jesus declined to do; spoiled the new religion by using it to patch up, or reform, a worn-out religion.
We are inclined to think that while the thought to which Luke gives prominence in the first parable may have been glanced at, it was not the one emphasised by the speaker, but rather that brought out in the version of Matthew and Mark, viz. the tearing asunder of the new from the old after the patching process has been accomplished.[1] In this form the first parable sympathises best with the second, for then it becomes apparent that the mischief wrought in both cases is due to the forces latent in the new. Rending in the one case is produced by the contraction of the new cloth, in the other by the fermentation of the new wine. And the great truth in the spiritual sphere thus pointed out is, that the attempt to force old beliefs and customs on a new religious movement must ever be disastrous either to the old or to the new, probably to both, in consequence of the vital force of the new life, which will never rest till it has rid itself of bondage to foreign elements with which it has no affinity.
[1] So Olshausen, who thinks that in Luke’s narrative our Lord’s words have undergone modification, with a view to assimilate the two parables by making Christianity in each the chief thing: the new garment and the new wine. Godet takes strongly and even enthusiastically the opposite view. In the natural sphere men take the disruptive forces latent in the new into account, and so avoid the risks run by disregard of the law of congruity. No man putteth a piece of unfulled cloth on an old garment, or new wine into worn-out skins. Such prudence is so much a matter of course, that but for the sake of the spiritual application of the parables, it had been wholly unnecessary to point out the consequences of neglect. But, alas! in the spiritual sphere the exceptional man is he who has the wisdom to act on the law of congruity. The admirers of the old will insist on forcing the new wine into old bottles, regardless of the thousandfold illustrations supplied by history of the danger and folly of so doing. How is it that a prudence which is so common in natural life is so rare in religion? It arises from failure to recognise in new religious phenomena a new wine of the kingdom. Once recognise the presence of a new wine, and the sense to know what to do with it may be expected to follow; just as, once recognise that Christ is a Physician and a Shepherd, and you will no longer wonder that He takes an interest in publicans and sinners. But the difficulty is to discern the true character of the novel in religion. One is so apt to regard it not as a new wine of the kingdom, but as a poisonous liquid, the fruit of levity, impiety, youthful vanity, restless love of change. That it objects to anything in the established beliefs and customs is sufficient evidence of its dangerous character. But even after the initial difficulty of discerning in the new the traces of a genuine wine of the kingdom has been got over, there are still hindrances to be overcome before the new wine shall receive wise treatment. Men are apt to say, Why cannot the new wine go into old skins? why should not forms of belief and worship and modes of action which suited the fathers suit the children also, and what harm can result from insisting on conformity to existing custom? This is the position usually assumed virtually or avowedly by the patrons of use and wont Conservative minds have a very inadequate idea of the vital force of belief. Their own faith having become a tame lifeless thing, they imagine tameness or pliancy to be an attribute of faith generally, and too often they do not find out their mistake till an irrepressible revolutionary outburst causes them to open their eyes in amazement. They insist on adherence to what is old till the new proves its inherent power by producing an explosion needlessly wasteful, whereby both wine and bottles are destroyed, and energies which might have wrought much unmixed good are perverted into blind powers of indiscriminate destruction. The unwisdom of the old in dealing with the new has yet another source: dislike of the unamiable repulsive elements characteristic of the latter. It may be taken for granted that there are such elements in all new movements, however noble and wholesome in the main. The existence of defects, imperfections inseparable from the initial stage of the new life, is clearly implied in both the parabolic emblems. The new piece of cloth is unfulled, not fit for wear. The new wine has to go through a process of fermentation before it be drinkable, or at least in its present state it is very inferior to the old wine in flavour. In the very striking sentence with which Luke’s report of our Lord’s words ends, this is very frankly recognised. "And no one," said Jesus, "having drunk old wine, wishes new, for he saith, the old is mild."[1] It is an observation full of kindly humour, rare charity, and deepest wisdom; a candid concession to the honest lovers of old ways, and, in effect, a modest appeal to them to exercise indulgence towards the new ways. Had Christians but entered fully into the spirit of this one saying of their Lord, what a difference it would have made in the history of the Church. Then men had known how to combine preference for the old with tolerance of the new, so as to give the new time to grow mellow in turn. But such wisdom is often sadly lacking even in good men, men of taste and culture, the reverent and devout, themselves excellent samples of the old vintage. Such not unfrequently make no allowance for youth and inexperience, but treat faults which are at worst but the escapades of noble energies not yet perfectly under the control of wisdom, as if they were unpardonable sins. Because the new wine is as yet harsh and fiery they think they do well to spill it, saying it is naught and unprofitable. How much wiser to give heed to the appeal of the new wine as uttered by the mouth cf the Eternal Vine: "We know that we are unpalatable to those accustomed to the old vintage; but bear with us, do not hate us, do not destroy us, do not cast us out. Keep us, we will mend with age, and may ultimately be as good to drink as that which is at present in use."[2]
[1] Luk 5:39, before
[2] Godet finds in this saying, recorded alone by Luke, a third parable, having for its distinctive aim to teach that the organs of the new principles must not treat those of the ancient order with harshness, but remember that it is not easy to pass from a system with which one has been identified from childhood, to an entirely different principle of life. This is certainly an important truth which was often enforced and habitually acted on by Paul, and this sentence may be used for the purpose of inculcating it on Christians, as showing how kindly their Lord treated the adherents of the old order of things. But the saying seems intended primarily to show how a plea for the toleration of the new may be combined with recognition of the merits of the old, and in this view it is better to take it as a reflection appended to the preceding parable than as a new one.
What ’sweet reasonableness’ is in that saying of Jesus concerning the old wine and the new! What rare qualities of mind and heart are exhibited in all the sayings spoken by Him on this occasion: what ready wit, what kindly humour, what gaiety of spirit, what profound yet homely originality of thought; what clear insight into the significance of His own position and vocation, what confidence in His own cause, what resolute determination to maintain His independence, and to decline all self-stultifying compromises; and yet withal what patience and tolerance towards all honest earnest men who in matters of religion cannot see with His eyes!