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  WRITINGS OF WALTER F ADENEY
  by Walter F. Adeney
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A collection of theological writings, sermons, and essays by Walter F. Adeney,
compiled for study and devotional reading.

  Chapters: 59

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS
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    1. 1. HOW TO READ THE BIBLE
    2. 1.001     Preface
    3. 1.002     Introduction
    4. 1.01     Part I.  Principles
    5. 1.02     Part II.  How to Study the Various Parts of the Bible
    6. 1.02.01     The Old Testament
    7. 1.02.01.01     The Hexateuch
    8. 1.02.01.02     The Historical Books
    9. 1.02.01.03     The Prophets
   10. 1.02.01.04     The Psalms
   11. 1.02.01.05     The Wisdom Literature
   12. 1.02.01.06     The Remaining Books
   13. 1.02.02     The New Testament
   14. 1.02.02.01     The Gospels
   15. 1.02.02.02     The Epistles
   16. 1.02.02.03     The Acts of the Apostles
   17. 1.02.02.04     The Revelation
   18. 2. Men of the Bible; Some Lesser-Known Characters
   19. 2.01.     Enoch by W. J. Townsend, D.D.
   20. 2.02.     Eldad and Medadby Alfred Rowland, D.D., Ll.B.
   21. 2.03.     Barzillai by George Milligan, D.D.
   22. 2.04.     Adonijah by Alfred Rowland, D.D., Ll.B.
   23. 2.05.     Hiramby W. J. Townsend, D.D.
   24. 2.06.     Jeroboam by Alfred Rowland, D.D., Ll.B.
   25. 2.07.     Asa by Alfred Rowland, D.D., Ll.B.
   26. 2.08.     Ahaziah by J. G. Greenhough, M.a.
   27. 2.09.     Gehazi by J. Morgan Gibbon
   28. 2.10.     Hazael by J. G. Greenhough, M.a.
   29. 2.11.     Manasseh by J. G. Greenhough, M.a.
   30. 2.12.     Amaziah by J. G. Greenhough, M.a.
   31. 2.13.     Jabez by J. G. Greenhough, M.a.
   32. 2.14.     Simeon by H. Elvet Lewis
   33. 2.15.     Pontius Pilate
   34. 2.16.     Barabbas by J. G. Greenhough, M.a.
   35. 2.17.     Joseph of Arimathea
   36. 2.18.     Philip, the Evangelist
   37. 2.19.     Ananias and Sapphiraby George Milligan, D.D.
   38. 3. WOMEN  OF THE NEW TESTAMENT
   39. 3.01.     Mary the Mother of Jesus — Blessed among Women
   40. 3.02.     Mater Dolorosa — Sorrow with Blessedness
   41. 3.03.     The Great Miracle — A Study in Theology
   42. 3.04.     The Madonna — A Study in Imagination
   43. 3.05.     Elizabeth — Motherhood and Humility
   44. 3.06.     Anna — Aged and Hopeful
   45. 3.07.     The Woman of Samaria — Thirst
   46. 3.08.     The Women who Ministered to Jesus
   47. 3.09.     The Woman who Touched the Hem op Christ's Garment
   48. 3.10.     The Woman who Washed the Feet op Jesus with HER Tears — Forgiveness and Love
   49. 3.11.     The Canaanite Woman — A Mother's Persistexce.
   50. 3.12.     The Mother of Zebedee's Children— Maternal Ambition
   51. 3.13.     The Sisters — A Family Contrast
   52. 3.14.     The Widow with Two Mites — True Giving
   53. 3.15.     Mary Magdalene — Adoration after Deliverance
   54. 3.16.     Dorcas and Phoebe — Woman's Work
   55. 3.17.     St. Paul's Woman Converts — Saved to Serve
   56. 3.18.     Priscilla — The Woman Missionary
   57. 3.19.     Women in High Places
   58. 3.20.     The Mystical Women of the Apocalypse — Woman Symbolical
   59. 3.21.     The Treatment of Woman in the New Testament —A Summary

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  CHAPTER 1: 1. HOW TO READ THE BIBLE
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HOW TO READ THE BIBLE HINTS FOR SUNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHERS AND OTHER BIBLE STUDENTS
WALTER F. ADENEY, M.A.,

Professor of New Testament Exegesis, etc., New College, London Author of " The
Theology of the New Testament " (** Theological Educator ") "The Canticles and
Lamentations," "Ezra, Nehemiah, and Esther" ("Expositor’s Bible"), etc.

NEW YORK THOMAS WHITTAKER 2 AND 3 BIBLE HOUSE 1897 Copyright, 1897, by Thomas
Whittaker. THE NEW YORK TYPE-SETTING COMPANY.

CONTENTS.

Preface 7

Introduction 9 Part I. Principles 15 Part II. How to Study the Various Parts op
the Bible.

I. The Old Testament 55 The Hexateuch 57 The Historical Books 67 The Prophets 73
The Psa 83:1-18 The Wisdom Literature 87 The Remaining Books 93 II. The New
Testament 95 The Gospels 97 The Epistles 118 The Acts of the Apostles 131 The
Revelation 132


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  CHAPTER 2: 1.001     PREFACE
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PREFACE. This little book aims at being a most elementary introduction to the
study of the Bible. To many readers much of it will appear to be a perfectly
superfluous reiteration of the most obvious truths. But it is a singular fact
that warnings that never need to be uttered, and directions that never need to
be laid down, in regard to the study of any other work in the world’s
literature, are imperatively called for to prevent the student of Scripture from
being ensnared by the most outrageous devices of misinterpretation. So perverse
have been the methods of popular exposition, and so long have they been pursued
as of unquestionable validity, that the mention of some of the simplest rules
for a right study of the Bible— rules that are accepted without question and
applied almost automatically in the case of other books— will no doubt strike
some people, who are in a way very familiar with their Bibles, as a daring
innovation. Thus it comes about that those principles which should be most
evident, and the setting out of which in words may seem to be almost an insult
to the reader’s intelligence, are in fact the very principles which most
urgently require to be insisted on,


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  CHAPTER 3: 1.002     INTRODUCTION
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HOW TO READ THE BIBLE.

INTRODUCTION. The secret of success with any study lies in the discovery and
faithful pursuit of a right method. Where this first essential is neglected
plodding industry and brilliant genius are equally doomed to failure. Though it
may be the case that “ there is no royal road to learning/’ it does not follow
that we have no better course than to plunge into a trackless wilderness and
wander aimlessly in the vast forest of truth. Some clearly marked path we must
take if we are to make any sure progress. And’ yet it would be better to be
hindered by any amount of impediments than to be bluntly and obstinately
adhering to a totally wrong method, since in that case the more progress we made
the farther we should be from the goal.

There is no study with regard to which attention to this question of method is
more imperatively called for than that which has the Bible for its
subject-matter. In the first place, it must be obvious to all of us that the
supreme importance of the facts and ideas that here come under our notice makes
it exceptionally deplorable for the student to go astray. Then, the peculiar
difficulties that beset this subject call for especial care m the handling of
it. Not only are the truths of religion which we seek in the Bible revelations
from a realm of mystery y the very form in which they are presented to us
demands close consideration. No doubt the Bible is an open book for the people,
not a cipher message of which only the learned possess the key. It is written in
the language of popular literature, not that of technical theology. Its most
essential truths are within the reach of the most simple reader. Nevertheless,
we cannot ignore the fact that its origin in antiquity amid Oriental
surroundings renders a book that teems with contemporary and local allusions
liable to be often misapprehended by modern Western minds, unless care is taken
to give due weight to these circumstances.

Unhappily, this is not all. It must be added that the natural difficulties of
Bible study have been aggravated immeasurably by the employment of the most
eccentric devices in interpretation. Processes which nobody in his senses would
dream of using in any other branch of study have been applied to Biblical
investigation with a serene confidence that admits of no questioning. The
originators of these peculiar ways of confounding Scripture, and the greatest
offenders in the use of them, were the Jewish rabbis, scholars who worked on the
assumption that, since the law was inspired by God, every word, and, as some
taught, even every obscure mark that was slavishly copied from manuscript to
manuscript, must be stored with profound, recondite meanings— as though God
could never speak simply to His children! Thus, in the mystical system of
interpretation known as the Cabbala, the letters of a word were read as initials
of other words, which were made to spell out a sentence of hidden meaning; or
the numerical value of the letters was summed up and taken to be of sacred
significance; or the order of the letters was changed so as to form quite
another word.

Such absurdities are almost inconceivable to us in the present day, and yet the
influence of them lingers in various unnatural ways of reading the Bible,
especially whenever there is read into the text anything that was not really
contained in it originally. A more philosophic kind of secondary interpretation
was developed at Alexandria about the time of Christ— conspicuously by the great
scholar Philo, who allegorized the law so as to bring it into harmony with Greek
thought, the primary historical meaning, though not denied, being regarded as
quite subordinate in importance to the secondary symbolical meaning. For
example, in commenting on the migration of Abraham, Philo says that Moses “means
by Abraham’s country the body, and by his kindred the outward senses, and by his
father’s house uttered speech’’— so that the lesson of the story points to a
renunciation of the life of the senses, and so on. This method was copied by the
Christian fathers of Alexandria, notably Origen, that prince of allegorists. In
the West, Augustine was more moderate in his treatment of Scripture, and yet
every reader of The City of God will see that he too was to some extent
entangled in the meshes of allegory. A specimen of the old use of allegory may
be seen in St. Paul’s adaptation of the narrative of Hagar (Gal 4:21-30). This
method was doubly attractive. On the one hand, it afforded a means of getting
over Old Testament difficulties, anything thought to be unworthy of God in
particular being thus explained away 5 on the other hand, by the use of this
expedient it was possible to make the text appear to render up the interpreter’s
favorite ideas. The opposite extreme is that of the bare literalist. In early
times this was seen especially among the millenarians, people who took the
predictions of the second advent in a material way by adhering to the exact
letter of prophecy; it is not without its representatives among some schools of
modern millenarians. But figurative expressions are used in all languages, and
they flourish with great luxuriance in the East. It is necessary, therefore, to
determine what expressions are to be taken literally and what metaphorically. In
the present day there are two erroneous styles of interpretation, that have
grown up in course of time till they have acquired the force of habit:

(1) The theological method. The Bible has reached us only after passing down
through nearly two thousand years of Christian experience and scholarly thought.

It cannot be denied that each of these media has contributed to the deeper and
more thorough understanding of Scripture, but neither can it be denied that the
stream has been considerably colored by the soil through which it has flowed.
Scripture being read by minds saturated with the ideas of later ages, its
language is nterpreted according to the later senses in which the words have
come to be understood. Thus the word “ damnation “ calls up before our mind’s
eye pictures of Dantesque horror, although in the Bible it simply means “
condemnation,” the particular doom of the condemned being left unnamed unless it
is described in the context.

(2) The textual method. A sentence, or even a mere fragment of a sentence,
picked out of some book of Scripture with a total disregard of its setting and
the circumstances under which it was written, is, so to speak, framed as an
absolute oracle, holding good for all time and applicable under all
circumstances. This is a method that seems to be consecrated by the custom of
preachers in discoursing on what are called “texts”; and it has this measure of
excuse, that the Bible abounds in aphorisms— in compact, self-contained
statements of truth. But the Bible does not consist of nothing but strings of
aphorisms. To treat it as though that were the case is as unreasonable as it
would be to take a cathedral to pieces and set out in a row the separate stones
with which it had been built, supposing that thus we would best interpret the
architect’s design.

What, then, is the true method for the interpretation of Scripture? In a word,
it is the historical. The Bible is a book for all time; it contains the
revelation of eternal truth; it is most profitably employed when it is applied
to the immediate needs and duties of the age, and therefore to turn it into
nothing better than a mine for archaeological research would be a piece of
disastrous pedantry. Nevertheless, this very modern application of the Bible, if
it is to be true and just; that is to say, if it is to be a genuine resorting to
the sacred book as a light and a guide, not a degradation of it into a mere tool
of our own purposes, must presuppose an honest attempt to discover its genuine
meaning; and such an attempt can only be successful when we put ourselves in the
circumstances of the authors, so as to read the book as much as possible with
the eyes of the men who were inspired to write it. This historical method is no
novelty in itself. It was developed by the celebrated Biblical school at
Antioch, in opposition to the allegorical method of the Alexandrian theologians;
and it found its most brilliant representative in Chrysostom, whose homilies are
a perfect storehouse of reasonable interpretation. It would have been well if
more recent commentators had kept closer to Chrysostom’s wholesome style of
handling Scripture. In our own day, however, the historical method is being
worked out with all the rigor of scientific accuracy. This, then, will be the
method that we will endeavor to understand as we go over the ground that will be
indicated in the following pages. For the sake of clearness, it will be well to
deal with the subject in two ways: first elucidating general principles, and
then applying those principles to the several departments of the Bible.


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  CHAPTER 4: 1.01     PART I.  PRINCIPLES
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Part I.

PRINCIPLES.

1. Be careful to work on a correct text

If we possessed the Bible in the form of Egyptian hieroglyphics cut in the
granite rock of the desert, or in the form of the Babylonian brick libraries
which have recently been exhumed, and large instalments of which are now
deposited in the British Museum, of course no question of the correctness of the
text could arise; when once the experts had deciphered the monuments we should
be certain we had what had been originally written by the inspired authors. But
the several books of Scripture were first written on skins of animals, and some
of them, perhaps, on paper (see 2Jn 1:12), perishable materials which have long
since disappeared. Since, then, in no case we can have access to the original
autographs, we are wholly dependent on copies, on copies of copies, obtained
through a succession of scribes. No doubt most of the copyists were honest men
and conscientious in the performance of their laborious tasks; yet errors
frequently crept in unawares— it could not have been otherwise; and in some
cases the too officious scribes employed their ingenuity on what they regarded
as improvements of the text. If there are disputes as to the exact reading of
many passages in the works of Shakespeare, although the great dramatist lived in
the age of printing, but three hundred years ago, and wrote in the English
language, is it at all surprising that errors should appear in books the most
recent of which are six times more ancient than Shakespeare’s works, all of them
composed in what have long since become dead languages, and all only preserved,
for at least fourteen centuries before the invention of printing, and some for a
much longer time, by the pen of the copyist? The fact becomes the less
remarkable when we consider that in the most primitive ages the sanctity of the
text was not sufficiently recognized to secure that scrupulousness in avoiding
all inaccuracies, not to mention deliberate alterations, which is requisite for
any work of literature to be transmitted intact.

We do not meet with so many variations in the Old Testament as in the New. That,
however, is not merely because the Hebrew Scriptures have been preserved with
greater care than the Christian, although the rabbis have shown their reverence
for the sacred text by cherishing it with pious devotion. It is also due to what
happened in the early ages of the Christian era, when what is called the
“Massoretic” (i.e. “traditional”) text was fixed, for from this time all
previous variations disappeared. The work of the Massoretes, as the rabbis who
undertook this determination of the text were called, was a loyal attempt to
register what they believed to be the traditional reading. Still, it is clear
that in some cases they unwittingly registered errors, and at the same time
deprived their posterity of the means of correcting them by permitting the
destruction of all various readings. Originally the Hebrew had no vowels; the
Massoretes supplied vowel points according to traditional pronunciation,
together with numerous suggested emendations, which appear in the margin of the
modern Hebrew Bible. This Bible is printed from quite late manuscripts. It may
be brought nearer to the Massoretic text by reference to older and better
manuscripts. It is difficult to go behind that text, though attempts are now
being made to do so by comparison with the Septuagint and other Greek versions.
The case is quite otherwise with the New Testament.

Among the 2000 and more known manuscripts, as far as these have been collated,
there have been found as many as 182,000 various readings. The bare statement of
this fact may strike us as very alarming, seeming to suggest that we could have
no certainty as to a genuine New Testament. A careful examination of the facts,
however, should dispel any sense of alarm. There is no question whatever about
seven eighths of the words of the New Testament, these being contained in all
the manuscripts. Questions, therefore, can only be raised concerning the
remaining one eighth. Then it is found that the vast majority of the variations
are of no serious importance, being perfectly trivial matters of spelling, the
position of words, etc. Moreover, by far the larger proportion of the various
readings are only found in one manuscript or a few inferior manuscripts, and are
at once to be set aside on the unanimous testimony of the best manuscripts. Dr.
Hort calculated that there remains only one sixtieth of the readings concerning
which there can be any real uncertainty.

Since the standard editions of the Greek Testament were edited by Erasmus and
his fellow- workers at the “revival of letters” and since our Authorized
Version, which was founded on some of these texts, was published, the means for
obtaining a correct text have immensely improved. The earlier editors did not
possess any of the best old manuscripts, such as those known as the Vatican and
the Sinaitic, both of which date from the fourth century a.d, nor a great many
others that are of valuable supplementary use in settling the text. The study of
these manuscripts, together with early translations and quotations in the
fathers, has led to the development of a complete science known as “textual
criticism.” It is only reasonable that the judgment of experts in this science
should be treated with some respect, just as the judgment of the experts in any
other science is treated. While some uncertainty still remains, we may rest
assured that the results of research and study have brought us much nearer to
what was originally written by the apostolical authors of the New Testament than
was possible to the people of the sixteenth century— in fact, that we now have
substantially restored the actual text itself. “In the variety and fullness of
evidence on which it rests,” writes Dr. Hort, “ the text of the New Testament
stands absolutely alone among ancient prose writings.”

Under these circumstances, does it not show grievous negligence for any serious
student of Scripture to continue to read and quote the Bible in the older form,
without ascertaining where it has been corrected? For though, as has been
stated, the majority of the variations are insignificant, some are very
important. For example, where the standard Hebrew Bible and the Authorized
Version read, “Thou hast multiplied the nation, and not increased the joy” (Isa
9:3), a text that seems to invite to a sermon against overpopulation, a note of
the Massoretes removes the “not” and thus evidently restores the sense which is
in harmony with the context; a corrected text removes the final verses of Mark
(all after 16:8), or, at all events, throws grave doubt on their genuineness,
and so prevents us from honestly citing verse 16 in any baptismal controversy y
the passage, about the woman taken in adultery (John 7:53; John 8:1-11), though
very likely founded on a true legend, is lacking from most ancient authorities,
and must not be reckoned as part of the Bible; the sentence, “There are three
that bear witness in heaven, the Father, the Word, and the Holy Ghost: and these
three are one ’’ (1Jn 5:7), is absent from all manuscripts written before the
fifteenth century, and therefore must not be appealed to as an argument
concerning the Trinity, since it is a manifest forgery; at Luk 13:31, instead of
“the same day” we should read “the same hour,” a correction that makes the
situation more intense; in Mat 19:17, our Lord’s question, which stands in the
Authorized Version, “Why callest thou Me good I” when correctly given as in the
best manuscripts becomes, “Why askest thou Me concerning the good?’’ Similar
illustrations abound throughout the Bible, but perhaps these few specimens even
may suffice to show how essential it is to be assured that we are working on a
genuine, correct text. The readiest way for the English student to obtain a
substantially correct text is to use the Variorum Bible, in which the
corrections, with their principal authorities, are supplied by foot-notes. The
Revised Version is based on most of the more important textual emendations, and
in this respect, as well as in the matter of translation, is much more accurate
than the Authorized Version. For more advanced study, reference must be made to
a critical Greek Testament, such as Westcott and Hort’s, or Tischendorf’s
(eighth edition), which gives the authorities. Weymouth’s Resultant Greek
Testament is valuable for comparing the texts arrived at by the chief critical
authorities and for obtaining the general result of all their opinions. Further
examination of the correctness of the text may be helped by the use of a good
critical commentary.

2. Endeavor to understand the exact meaning of the words and phrases studied.

We can make no progress unless we have first of all ascertained the plain
grammatical sense of the passage under study. The most thorough process is to go
back to the original Hebrew and Greek. Where that is out of the question, it is
important to make use of a good translation. For this reason the Revised Version
is invaluable to the English Biblical student. It is sometimes said that the
older version is more suitable for devotional purposes; but even this may be
questioned if, as cannot be doubted, it is less accurate, for surely, since God
is to be worshiped “in truth,’’ it is desirable that all ideas entering into
devotion should be as correct as possible. Here, indeed, sentiment comes in, and
the touching associations of the old book, that have been familiar to us from
our childhood and that link it with memories of those who have gone before, lend
a sacredness to every turn of expression, so that we are disconcerted at any
change in a well-known and often used phrase, the variation jarring on the
nerves like a discord in music. The noble English of the Authorized Version has
made the book, quite apart from its religious value, a classic of the first
rank, and any attempt to tamper with its language must be for the worse. This
was to be expected when the revision was undertaken. That the revisers have been
sometimes unhappy in their phrases, regarded simply from a literary standpoint,
cannot be denied. This is especially the case with the New Testament, but the
difference is principally owing to the fact that the revision of this portion of
Scripture was more thorough than that of the Old Testament. One could wish that
the two companies had called in the help of Lord Tennyson or Mr. Ruskin as a
referee for the quality of their English. But when the hardest things that the
most fastidious criticism can say have been said, the unquestionable fact
remains that we have a genuine improvement of incalculable value in the more
accurate rendering of the original.

Now, seeing that the chief use of the Bible is not its contribution to the
pleasures of literature, but a practical and spiritual service of far greater
moment, is it not a little childish to be neglecting a version that is fitted to
aid us in coming nearer to the meaning of the divine revelation, simply because
that version does not altogether agree with the taste of literary estheticism?
For example, in the Authorized Version we read, “Take no thought for your life”
(Mat 6:25), a precept that seems to encourage recklessness, although it would
not have conveyed that meaning in the sixteenth century, as the word “thought”
then had the meaning of “care”; in the Revised Version this is correctly
rendered, “Be not anxious for your life.” The “bottles” of Mat 9:17 in the
Authorized Version become “wine-skins” in the Revised Version, and thus the
parable in which the word occurs becomes intelligible. In Mat 16:25-26,
according to the Authorized Version, we read of a man saving or losing his
life,” and in the very next sentence of his saving or losing his “soul,” as
though two separate entities were referred to, although the very same word is
employed in the Greek for both passages; in the Revised Version the one word
“life” is used throughout. In the account of St. Paul’s visit to Athens (Acts
17:16-34) some of the best points of St. Luke’s very careful and exact narrative
are missed in the Authorized Version. They are not all seized in the Revised,
but the improvement is conspicuous. According to the Authorized Version, the
apostle’s spirit was “stirred in him” (Acts 17:16) at the sight of the many
idols with which the city perfectly swarmed. The Greek means irritated J stung
the Revised Version has “provoked.”

Then, both versions have the epithet “babbler”’ (Acts 17:18). The word in the
original is a very peculiar one, meaning primarily a picker-up of seeds; and in
this sense it ¥/as applied to small birds, whence it came to stand for a
ne’er-do-well, one who picks up his living anyhow; and finally, in the
university town of Athens, as Professor Ramsay has shown, it became a nickname
for a pretentious person of no real culture who set up as a scholar. The
Authorized Version has “Areopagus” in Acts 17:19 and “Mars’ hill” in Acts 17:22
for the same Greek word. The Revised Version has “Areopagus” in both cases, an
improvement not only for the sake of uniformity and as a close rendering of the
original Greek, but also because the word may not be used here for the hill at
all 5 very possibly it stands for the council, named after the hill from having
originally assembled there, which had the duty of determining, on the arrival of
any foreign professor, whether he should be permitted to lecture in the
university. The phrase “too superstitious” (Acts 17:22) in the Authorized
Version does not represent St. Paul’s meaning; and the rather milder expression
“somewhat superstitious” in the Revised Version is but a slight improvement. The
word “religious” in the margin of the Revised Version comes nearer the apostle’s
intention. He was not so foolish and ungracious as to begin his address by
scolding his audience; his speech is a model of courtesy and conciliation
throughout, molded with great tact to suit the very unusual audience before
which it was delivered. He acknowledged the religiousness of the Athenians
exhibited in the multitude of their idols. They were not really devout; he could
not call them “spiritual-minded”; but evidently they paid court to religion
—they were “somewhat religious.” In the Authorized Version St. Paul is made to
say, “As I passed by, and beheld your devotions” (Acts 17:23), an expression
suggesting the sight of people praying in public after the manner of the
Pharisees rebuked by Jesus Christ, or like the Mohammedans of our own day. But
the sparkling, witty Athenians were by no means notorious for such solemn acts
of devotion. The phrase is corrected by the Revised Version into “the objects of
your worship,’’ i.e. the idols already mentioned. It is a mistake of the
Authorized Version to represent the altar observed by St. Paul as dedicated “to
the unknown God” (Acts 17:23), as though the one true Divinity, unrevealed to
the heathen world, had been deliberately indicated by the author of the
inscription. The Greek is simply “to an unknown God,” and so it is rendered in
the Revised Version. Considering its technical meaning in later theology,
“Godhead” is not a happy word in Acts 17:29. “The divine,” as suggested in the
margin of the Revised Version, is more suitable and better represents St. Paul’s
idea in this discourse of his among philosophic pagans. Lastly, “winked at”
(Acts 17:30, A. V.) is an unworthy expression to be used for God’s treatment of
man’s failings. The Revised Version substitutes “overlooked,” a much better
rendering.

Accuracy of translation being secured, we have still to be sure that we
understand the result. There may be difficulties or obscurities in the original
text, in which case too smooth a translation would even be delusive.

Here is the opportunity for the science of exegesis. In approaching a difficult
passage, the first requisite is to clear our minds of all prejudices as to what
we may happen to wish it to mean. It is important, also, to banish from our
thoughts any associations of the words with subsequent theological speculations.
Our one aim must be to get at the natural sense of the passage, just as we
should do in dealing with any other literature than that of the Bible. It is the
business of the commentator to explain the difficulties, but too often the
commentator is not without his bias. At all events, it is not desirable to read
the Bible through another man’s spectacles. We can best feel the freshness and
force of it when we look straight at it without any media between the reader and
the sacred page. Certainly it is desirable in the first instance to wrestle with
the difficulties ourselves. When every effort to find a way through the tangled
thicket has failed, it becomes necessary to seek a guide -, and even when we
think we have solved the problem, it may still be wise to compare notes with the
results of the investigations that have been carried on by other people; for we
can scarcely venture to assume that our judgment is infallible, or that, like
Job’s comforters, we are the only wise men. With Scripture study, as well as
with practical affairs, it is sometimes found that in a multitude of counselors
there is wisdom. The solitary Bible student is apt to develop fads and
crotchets, which would be to a large extent eliminated by conference with
fellow-students in a class for common Bible study. But even then it is
reasonable to suppose he would be able to obtain invaluable assistance from a
reference to the judgment of the great scholars who have proved themselves to be
experts in Biblical exegesis. For this reason the modest Bible student cannot
afford to dispense with his commentary, though he should be careful not to
become a slave to it and should never resort to it in the ffi’st instance.

3. Bead every passage in the light of its context The common custom of handling
the Bible is not merely to treat it as a string of bead texts 3 it is to cut the
string and scatter the beads. If ever we are to escape from this absurd and
misleading abuse of Scripture, it must be by a clear recognition of literary
continuity. Serviceable as the division into chapters and verses is for purposes
of ready reference, it has lent itself to the encouragement of a fatal process
of disintegration. It may be well, therefore, to note that this twofold method
of division is not part of the original structure of the books in which it is
now found. Our verse division is not much more than three hundred years old. It
was the work of Robert Stephens, the editor of the text of the Greek Testament
on which our Authorized Version is for the most part founded, who, as his son
tells us, hastily jotted down the numbers of the verses in the margin of his
Greek Testament as an occupation to beguile the tedium of a journey from Paris
to Lyons, on the basis of a similar division of the Hebrew Bible made in the
preceding century. The convenience of this arrangement was at once recognized 5
it was adopted by the editors of the Geneva Bible and thence it passed into our
present Bibles. The chapters are older, dating from Cardinal Hugo, a schoolman
of the thirteenth century. For 1500 years the whole Bible existed without
verses, for more than 1000 years without chapters. Earlier divisions, however,
were known and used as marginal references among the church fathers, but none of
them go back to the original composition of the books of Scripture.

These were written, as we may see from the earliest extant manuscripts,
continuously, without any breaks whatever corresponding to chapter and verse
divisions.

Attention to this very elementary fact would entirely abolish many of the most
serious misapprehensions of Scripture that still flourish among us like green
baytrees. Thus Ezekiel’s vision of the Valley of Dry Bones (Eze 37:1-10) has
been taken as a prediction of the resurrection of the body, in total disregard
of the express application of it by the prophet himself, in the words that
immediately follow, to the national restoration of the Jews after the virtual
death of the nation at the Captivity. This has arisen from the habit of reading
the account of the vision by itself. If the reader would simply finish the
passage he could not fail to see the meaning of it. Or take our Lord’s
commandment, “Be not anxious for your life,” etc. (Mat 6:25), which is commonly
read by itself as a consolatory recommendation only suggested for our own
personal comfort. When we turn to the context we find that Christ is
expostulating with His hearers for the sinful worldliness of anxiety concerning
temporal affairs, since the precept is preceded by the warning, “Ye cannot serve
God and mammon” and the whole subject of worldly anxiety concludes with an
exhortation to those higher pursuits which it hinders fatally, and for the sake
of which it must be suppressed, in the words, “But seek ye first His [i.e. your
heavenly Father’s] kingdom, and His righteousness; and all these things shall be
added unto you’’ (Mat 6:33). Again, how common is it to see the text, “Come unto
Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest “ (Mat
11:28), taken as a self-contained aphorism, displayed upon chamber walls as a
cheering word for the weary, without the least recognition of the fact that it
is a mutilated fragment, a mere torso, beautiful, it is true, and heart-
winning, but still not rightly intelligible until it is reunited to its
qualifying and explanatory context! When the whole passage in which it occurs is
read, we discover that, though coming to Christ is the way to rest, rest is not
promised on the sole condition of approach, that submission and discipleship are
essential conditions; for our Lord continues, “Take My yoke upon you, and learn
of Me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light” (Mat 11:29-30). The whole passage
shows that rest is to be got by (1) coming to Christ, (2) taking on His yoke,
(3) learning of Him. It is simply a misquotation to give the first of these
conditions as though it were the only one laid down, absolutely ignoring the two
that follow.

Once more, selections from our Lord’s prophecy of the overthrow of the Jewish
state and the establishment of His kingdom are frequently torn out of their
setting and applied to the destruction of the world at the end of the ages,
notwithstanding the positive statement near the conclusion of the predictions,
“Verily I say unto you, This generation shall not pass away, till all these
things be accomplished” (Mat 24:34).

It is clear, then, that we cannot be safe in our interpretation of a sentence or
a phrase when we read it by itself. To come to a fair and reasonable
understanding of it we must “look before and after,” tracing the line of thought
that leads up to it, and seeing whether it is the end of a passage or whether it
is linked on to subsequent statements which are intended to qualify it or to
give it some special application. Read thus, with a careful regard for its
setting, many an isolated phrase may be taken up and prized as a jewel of
thought.

Nevertheless, it is a mistake to be only on the lookout for such phrases when we
read the Bible. It is important to keep our eye more on the course of the
history or argument which we are reading, for undoubtedly, while the sacred
writers drop precious thoughts by the way their main purpose is not to supply us
with these valuable hints; they are more concerned with presenting some large
picture of divine truth, in which the details take their places and so minister
to the perfect idea of the whole, but in which they are not to be studied too
minutely to permit of our grasping the main lesson while we are distracted with
the minor interests.

Scripture is like a gallery of great Turner landscapes with infinite skies, not
a collection of minute Dutch interiors.

4. Note the distinctive character and purpose of each hooJc of Scripture,

One of the disadvantages of a slavish regard for the division of the books of
the Bible into chapters is that we are continually pulling up at what might be
called artificial dikes, intercepting the broad fields of revelation, often with
little or no regard for the natural lay of the land, and sometimes in violent
contravention of its original boundaries, formal canals into which the streams
have been diverted from their primitive courses.

Occasionally, with an odd perversity, a chapter division will cut right through
a narrative or an argument.

Thus we have two accounts of the Creation, given in the first two chapters of
the Book of Genesis. One would have supposed the sensible arrangement would have
been to devote an exact chapter to each. Instead of this we find the first
account cut short at the thirty first verse of chapter 1, and resumed in the
first three verses of chapter 2, the second account beginning at the fourth
verse of this chapter. With a similar fatuity, the conclusion of our Lord’s
prediction of His return, in Mark 8:1-38, is carried over to a new section as
the first verse of chapter ix, with the further disadvantage that an entirely
false meaning is suggested for it. The words are, “And He said unto them. Verily
I say unto you. There be some here of them that stand by, which shall in no wise
taste of death, till they see the kingdom of God come with power.’’ Immediately
following a prediction of the coming of the Son of man in glory, they evidently
refer to that event» But set at the head of the next chapter and thus in close
connection with the account of the transfiguration, they are made to point to
this occurrence — a wholly wrong turn of thought. Even when, as it must be
allowed is more frequently the case, the chapter divisions do not thus violently
rend the Scriptures and wrest them to unnatural meanings, too much respect for
them will still effectually hinder an adequate appreciation of what we are
reading. It is well to leap the dikes boldly and course the land through its
length and breadth. In so doing we are not disregarding the ancient landmarks.

These petty allotments are comparatively modern innovations, and they invite to
a peddling style of study that belittles Scripture. “Cribbed, cabined, and
confined” in narrow chapters, we miss the swing and sweep of great arguments and
stately narratives. The present day habit of obtaining literary refreshment in
the fragmentary paragraphs of the lighter journals favors a similar use of
Scripture, but it is fatal to all serious study.

Out of the multitudes of conscientious Bible readers, probably only a small
minority have ever read a single book of Scripture straight through, and very
few indeed have ever done so at a sitting in the case of any but the shortest
books. The consequence is a complete failure to perceive the distinctive aims
and characters of the several books. Accordingly, when a person who may have
been quite familiar with his Bible, but only in the old way of reading it in
scraps and fragments, breaks loose from the shackles of the chapters and begins
to read the books, he finds himself in a novel world. The old words are lit up
with a new meaning now that they appear as parts of a much larger whole. In
coming, then, to study a book of Scripture, first of all its general character
must be inquired into. Is it poetry or prose? imaginative writing or
argumentative? history or prophecy or gnomic wisdom? Is it a sober narrative or
a passionate drama or a personal letter? Does it contain a code of laws, an
assortment of old sayings, a collection of lyrics? How different are these
various forms of literature! and yet they are all included within the covers of
the Bible, which we commonly regard as one book. It is impossible to ascertain
the true meaning of a passage culled from writings of these widely divergent
orders until we have considered what is the peculiar character of the book in
which it is found. To apply grammar and dictionary, for example, to the daring
imagery of the Psalms, just as we would to the narratives in the books of Kings,
would be to land ourselves in absurdities of our own careless creation. When we
read in a poem of God riding on a cherub (Psa 18:10), it would be out of reason
for us to endeavor to get at the meaning of the assertion in the way in which we
should examine the statements about the carved cherubim in Solomon’s temple. In
the next place, for the right understanding of a book we must ascertain its aim
and purpose. In this way we shall discover “the messages of the books.’’

Even a narrative may be written with a certain distinctive purpose. Thus we read
in St. John’s account of the appearances of the risen Christ, ’’ Many other
signs therefore did Jesus in the presence of the disciples, which are not
written in this book: but these are written “that ye may believe that Jesus is
the Christ, the Son of God and that believing ye may have life in His name’’
(John 20:30-31)— a statement which shows that, since the apostle did not aim at
composing an exhaustive narrative, but deliberately limited himself to a
selection of incidents which he considered adequate for establishing the
foundations of faith, it would be distinctly contrary to what he says to assume
that he has given us all the testimony to the resurrection that it was within
the range of his experience to furnish. Where books are evidently divided into
sections— as in the case of the different “burdens’’ of a prophet, it is
obviously reasonable to consider each section by itself.

5. Make a separate study of the works of each Scripture writer, and in reading
any passage consider it especially with regard to the rest of the writings of
its author. With any theory of inspiration short of the extravagant notion—
derived from the rabbis— that the “inspired penman ’’ is as blind and
involuntarily a tool as the pen he handles, some room must be found for the
human element in Scripture. While perceiving— as surely we must perceive it —
the purifying and uplifting, the enlightening and guiding, influence of the
Spirit of God, which conveys the revelation of truth, of the very word of God,
unless we wilfully close our eyes or unless we are simply infatuated with
prejudices we must also see the distinctive traits of the various writers of the
books of the Bible. On the surface of the subject we may detect the same
difference of style that we find among the authors of all other literature,
though within a somewhat narrower range of variations. Just as Sophocles differs
in style from Homer, Dante from Petrarch, Milton from Spenser, so the author of
Job differs from Jeremiah, and the author of the Chronicles from the author of
the Kings. In the New Testament each of the four evangelists has his own style.
There are certain clear-cut features characteristic of the writings of St. Paul,
of St. James, of the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews; and there is the
perfectly unique “Johannine style.” But when we have recognized this we must go
further. The style is the man. The form of language being no mere mannerism, but
the true expression of the thought that lies behind it, strong differences of
style suggest strong differences in ways of thinking. It cannot be denied that
the various writers approach their subjects from different standpoints and view
them through the media of different mental atmospheres. Isaiah and the author of
the Fifty-first Psalm have quite a different way of looking at sacrifices for
sin from that of the author of Leviticus. St. Paul, though in essential belief
and doctrine quite at one with the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews, has a
very different manner of handling the relation of the law to the Gospel. It has
been shown that there is no real contradiction between St. Paul and St. James in
their conceptions of the sphere of faith; yet how different are their ways of
treating the subject! — so different as to have given rise very easily to the
erroneous notion of a radical contradiction. The personal element being present,
it cannot be ignored without occasioning grave misapprehensions.

We have not so much to “eliminate the personal equation” as to bring all the
characteristic ideas of each writer to a focus. It is well, then, to study all
that we possess of any particular writer by itself — to read, for example, all
the epistles of St. Paul consecutively in the order of time, and to observe what
the apostle teaches on the great truths of Christianity, taken one by one in
clear distinction. This is a double process. The chronological reading of the
epistles helps us to discover the development of the teaching y the topical
study enables us to classify the principal items of it.

Both must be pursued, and each with a view to the other, if we would comprehend
the whole subject. In such a study as this, next to perceiving exactly what St.
Paul teaches, it is most important to note what he does not teach. In view of
the voluminous dogmatism of later theology— church doctors rushing in where
prophets and apostles fear to tread— the silences of Scripture are eloquent with
significance. The particular silences of each individual writer are of serious
weight in determining the limits of his teaching. On the other hand, it is to be
borne in mind, since no writer in the Bible professes to set before us the
perfect orb of truth, we must not rush to the conclusion that the segment which
any one has occasion to present to us is all he knows, much less that it is all
that exists.

When, for example, we find St. James in his one brief practical epistle silent
on most of the great ideas which fire the enthusiasm of St. Paul, we should be
illogical in concluding either that he was ignorant of such truths as redemption
by the cross of Christ and salvation by living union with Christ, or that
knowing of them he deliberately rejected them. All we can say for certain is
that he did not allude to them in this one writing. At the same time perhaps we
should add that if St. Paul were discussing similar practical themes no doubt he
would bring in more of the deeper truths to enforce his exhortations. We must be
cautious in dealing with the negative evidence of silence ] still, we must not
fail to note the silence where it exists, and, above all, we must avoid the
careless blunder of attributing to a writer in the Bible anything that we have
not found in his own works, simply on the vague ground that we believe it to be
“Scripture teaching.” The blurring of features that results from a neglect of
the characteristic differences of the writers is like one of those confused
pictures that are produced by taking photographs of several people successively
upon the same negative.

Immediately we study each author by himself we begin to perceive a crispness of
outline and a vividness of coloring that add immensely to the interest of our
reading.

Having made this separate study of the separate writers, we must not forget the
results of it when we are reading any particular portion of the Scriptures.

We are told that “’ Scripture is the best commentary on Scripture” and that we
should “interpret Scripture by Scripture “—proverbial advice which is based on a
broad foundation of good sense. There is a true unity in the Bible. The
languages— the Hebrew of the Old Testament and the Greek of the New— are best
illustrated from those books respectively. There is a certain common character
in all ancient Hebrew literature, and a certain common character in all
primitive Christian literature, and a certain Biblical character belonging to
the two. The development of one religious revelation throughout, under the
guidance of the one divine Spirit, involves an essential unity. Nevertheless,
when we come to details we must learn to interpret Isaiah by Isaiah, Paul by
Paul, John by John, if we would obtain exact and definite results. In
considering the meaning of a peculiar word or phrase, it is not enough to learn
what is the “general usage of Scripture.’’ There may be no one “general usage of
Scripture.” Grievous mistakes may be made by a mechanical application of
“reference Bibles.’’ When a certain word is hunted up in several widely
separated books of Scripture, and the scattered passages in which it is found
brought together to throw light on its meaning in the particular passage under
study, the rough-and-ready process may be most delusive, because the word may be
used with quite different relations by different writers. The trouble about St.
James’s epistle has risen chiefly out of a mistake of this sort. People bringing
to the reading of it notions about “justification” and “faith” derived from
other parts of the Bible, principally from St. Paul’s writings, first read those
alien notions into the epistle and then judge the author for what he never
meant. To understand the very special sense in which the two words are used by
St. James we must study them in his own work. When we do so we shall find that
he is writing about an entirely different justification fromthat of the Epistle
to the Romans,— St. Paul dealing with God’s forgiveness of the sinner at the
beginning of the Christian life, St. James with His approbation of the saint at
the end,— and that he is writing about an entirely different faith — indeed,
mentioning two kinds of faith: the “living” faith, of which he approves, and
which corresponds to the only faith referred to by St. Paul, and the “ dead”
faith, which is another name for a barren intellectual assent. It is absolutely
necessary to study the writer by himself in order to discover these distinctive
ideas.

6. Study each part of the Bible in connection with the period when it was
written and take into account the circumstances of its origin.

We are reminded in the Epistle to the Hebrews that God spoke to the fathers in
the prophets “by divers portions’’ and “in divers manners” (Heb 1:1). This
twofold diversity, numerical and qualitative, the plurality of the writings and
their differences of form and character, is the necessary consequence of the
fact that divine revelation was not confined to one brief moment of time. The
inspired utterances are spread over a period of about a thousand years, and by
no means equally. The divine light is concentrated now and again into foci,
brilliant epochs of revelation, separated by times when “the word of the Lord
was rare.”

Each of these epochs has its own special characteristics, and the writings
belonging to it naturally form a group by themselves. Therefore for purposes of
fruitful study it becomes necessary to sort out these groups and take the
members of each group together so that they may throw light on one another. This
is invariably acknowledged to be the correct way of studying any national
literature. What we have to see is that the Bible, or rather the Old Testament,
is the national literature of Israel. It differs from other literature in its
wonderful inspiration, but it is none the less subject to the general laws that
obtain in all other national literature. In this respect it is utterly different
from the Koran, which is the creation of one mind at one point of time. The many
minds in many ages that have wrought at the formation of the Bible have left on
it the stamp of each of their own peculiar periods. In English literature we
distinguish certain glorious ages when the tide ran strong and free— the period
of Chaucer, the Elizabethan age, the times of Queen Anne, the Victorian era.
Similarly, in the course of the literature of Israel, we have marked ages of
especial productiveness, such as the. eighth century B.C, the time of the Exile,
the age of the Return, the apostolic era.

It is desirable, therefore, to map out the whole field of Scripture in order to
see clearly where the great demarcations are to be found, and then to arrange
the several books accordingly. This should be the main course of study, a study
of epochs in their entirety. Then, if we have occasion to fix our attention on
an isolated passage of Scripture, we must attempt to assign its place in the
epoch to which it belongs. When we have succeeded in doing this we have struck
off at one blow a good half of the common misapprehensions of Scripture. These
misapprehensions are for the most part egregious anachronisms. The cure for them
is chronology. When this is observed it will appear as absurd to look for the
Christian sacraments in the law of Moses as to assign cannon to the battle of
Actium, and conversely as unreasonable to define Christian doctrines in terms of
the Levitical sacrifices as to furnish out our modern soldiers with the
chain-armor and battle-axes of the crusaders. We shall cease to read the ideas
of the later period into the writings of the earlier, and we shall no longer
cramp the meaning of the fuller revelation by endeavoring to bring it within the
forms of the earlier — what is that but to put new wine in old bottles? Let us
treasure the old wine in the old bottles for its own sake; we shall learn to
appreciate its fine flavor all the better, so long as we abstain from the
barbarity of an unnatural mixture.

7. Trace the historical development of revelation. This process of study— one of
the most important and fruitful in the whole range of Scripture subjects is
closely associated with the previous one. If the contents of the Bible fall into
a number of successive periods, it is clear that an orderly and progressive
consideration of those periods must yield better results than one that is
irregular and casual. It is a great step to have come to recognize the several
eras of revelation and to have allotted each portion of Scripture to its own
age. The miserable confusion that comes of the neglect of chronology is thus
avoided, and the grouping of all the works of a period together, aided by a
collection of any available information about that particular period, is certain
to issue in a wonderful illumination of the Scripture studied. But having
attained that object, we are prepared to take another step of equal importance,
and, arranging the periods in the natural order of time, to consider their
relation one to another, and the character and issue of the whole course of
revelation through these successive periods. This is the only way in which we
can ever hope to sum up the total teaching of the Bible, or, since the wealth
and spiritual depth of Scripture are inexhaustible, at least to map out the main
outlines of its ideas.

Working under the guidance of a good chronological arrangement of the books of
the Bible, for our present purpose we begin with what have come to be regarded
as the earliest books, and so work on through the Old Testament. Then it is
desirable to see how the old revelation was leading up to the new— how much, for
example, Jeremiah prepared the way for Christ. In the New Testament we begin
with the life and teachings of Christ, for, though the Gospels were not written
till after most of the epistles, the contents of the Gospels are concerned with
the events and teachings of the very dawn of Christianity. Passing on to the
epistles, we shall find it wise to read them in chronological order. St. Paul’s
epistles should certainly be read in this way, that we may follow the course of
the apostle’s mind and teaching.

Similarly we may trace out the course of some one particular line of teaching.
Thus it is a very valuable study, though one of peculiar difficulty, to endeavor
to see how the doctrine of God was treated in successive ages by prophets and
apostles: to trace the perception of the unity of God in advance of the simple
notion of the tribal divinity then to see how the idea of the holiness of God,
from meaning little more than an awful separateness from man, deepened its moral
content; to see the growing perception of the spirituality of God; and, lastly,
to reach the wonderful thought of the love of God as this is revealed in Christ
and explained by St. John. Another very fruitful study is that of the doctrine
of the Messiah in the Old Testament, and the more spiritual treatment of the
idea by Jesus Christ. In connection with this there is the idea of the suffering
“servant of the Lord” in Isaiah, and a few kindred thoughts in the Old
Testament, which may be traced on to the full doctrine of the cross in the New
Testament. Then the germs of the doctrine of a future life may be detected in
the Old Testament, and the whole course of the earlier ideas concerning the
state of the dead examined and traced out in their development through
successive ages, till we reach the full Christian revelation of eternal life in
Jesus Christ. The subject of Biblical ethics may well constitute a branch of
study by itself; and if so, it will call to be treated in a similar
chronological order. The negative character of most of the Decalogue, the savage
vengeance of the denunciatory psalms, the worldly wisdom of some of the maxims
in Proverbs, will all take their right places, neither to be quoted as
representing an absolute standard of conduct for all time, nor to be denounced
as inferior and in some cases immoral, but to be studied in the order of their
development, a development which only reaches its perfection in the precepts of
the Sermon on the Mount.

Note.— This study is somewhat complicated by the question of the reediting of
books, or of their original composite character.

Thus the same book may contain passages of various ages. It is scarcely possible
for any but the most advanced Biblical students to follow out these fine
critical distinctions. For a beginning we must be content to take the fairly
established results as given by the soundest critics.

8. Study the Bible in sympathy with the spirit in which it was written.

There is a profound truth in the familiar statement that a simple, pious soul
will reach the heart of Scripture, while the keenest critic who is out of touch
with its spiritual ideas must fail to understand the deepest truths of the book.
But this should not discourage a thorough critical study, for his piety will not
prevent his simplicity from landing an unenlightened person in ridiculous
errors, as the absurd notions about the Bible entertained by some very good
people show us very clearly. It should rather point to the combination of the
spiritual with the intellectual qualifications. For the practical use of the
Bible as a guide to life, undoubtedly the spiritual is the qualification of
first importance. It is scarcely less essential for a right understanding of the
book in the severe process of critical study. The student who is not conscious
within himself of the spirit that breathes through the divine ideas of Scripture
can never grasp those ideas in their fullness of meaning. This principle is not
peculiar to the study of the Bible; it applies to the study of all literature,
and in its widest bearing to the study of all truths and facts. A literary
sympathy is essential to literary appreciation. Certain kinds of literature
appeal to certain orders of mind only. It is simply impossible for a man who has
no poetry in his soul to understand the poetry that is in books; and among the
lovers of verse there are differences of temperament and culture that determine
limitations in appreciation. The growing love and veneration for Wordsworth are
still necessarily limited to the disciples who have drunk of the spirit of the
prophet of nature. Browning’s bracing verse will never appeal to any but minds
which may be compared to those constitutions that thrive on the east wind.

Pope’s Essay on Alan could only be appreciated by people who would breathe best
in the clear, thin air of the eighteenth century. Similarly it is the scientific
temper that best perceives the merits of Darwin. In philosophy there are born
Platonists; and Hegel appeals to a different order of mind from that in which
John Stuart Mill found his disciples.

We must not suppose, however, that a peculiar literary temper is needed for the
enjoyment of the Bible. That were to treat it as no longer the book of the
people, nay, to relegate it to the library of the pedant, considering what a
book it is! The Bible was written for the people, and it has not missed its aim.
Its broad, simple treatment of great themes of universal human interest is just
the prime necessity for a book of worldwide and continuous popular interest.

Where, then, does this comparison with other subjects of study come in? It
consists in the spiritual, the religious character of the book, not in its
literary form or tone. This is the most wonderful fact about it. To miss this is
to miss everything. Therefore it is but applying the general condition for the
successful pursuit of all study to the special qualities of this study to say
that, as a kindred spirit of poetry in the soul is requisite for the
understanding of Wordsworth, and a mind in harmony with Plato is necessary for
an appreciation of the great Dialogues so, not a poetic, not a philosophic, but
a religious, spirit is essential to a right comprehension of the Bible.

We may put it thus: the secret of the Bible’s greatness is the inspiration of
its authors. Then the key to the choicest treasures of the book must be the
inspiration of its readers. This idea was very clear to the Reformers, and it
was very definitely expressed by Calvin in his Institutes. When we remember what
is the chief characteristic of Scripture, we shall see how eminently reasonable
it is, how entirely in accord with the necessary conditions of all kinds of
study, that this study should only be undertaken in the mental attitude of
prayer, with a devout effort to bring our minds into harmony with the divine
thought, with a distinct seeking of the aid of the Spirit of God in our hearts
for the perception of His word in the sacred book.

What we have to see in the present day, in view of the peculiar problems that
face us and with regard to the newer way of reading the Bible, is that the two
lines of approach to the book— the intellectual and the spiritual— in no way
interfere with one another; that, on the contrary, they assist one another, and
therefore must both be followed with whole-hearted thoroughness. The conclusion
may be stated in two ways for its two aspects:

(1) The critical study of the Bible in no degree supersedes the devout study,
but even requires spirituality in order to reach its own ends.

(2) The devout study of the Bible by no means precludes the critical, but, after
helping to make this the more keen and penetrating, profits by the rich results
of research.

9. Use common intelligence in the reading of Scripture.

It seems almost an insult to the reader to offer him such a precept as this; but
unfortunately there is no precept that is more needing to be insisted on. It is
not, of course, that Bible students are unintelligent persons, but that so many
people seem to lock up their intelligence whenever they approach this one
subject of study. The mind, indeed, is at work, in some respects a little too
freely, but not the intelligence; and the results of this comparatively
unintelligent mental activity are not a little curious. They are seen in the
quaintest inventions, linked to the most unbounded assumptions —ideas as
fantastic as the fairy fancies of A Midsummer Night’s Dream wedded to a stern
dogmatism worthy of the papacy. This riot of undisciplined thinking is met with
especially in two regions— its two favorite hunt-ing-grounds. One is the region
of typology. The Old Testament is ransacked to furnish analogies for Christian
doctrine in the smallest details of its narratives, and especially in the
minutest regulations of the tabernacle worship— a procedure inherited from the
early fathers, some of whom were great offenders in this particular, they in
their turn treading in the wake of the Jewish allegorists of schools both in
Alexandria and at Jerusalem. The other is the region of eschatology, or the
doctrine of the last times, with a special reference to the second coming of
Jesus Christ. It cannot be denied that much devout thinking has been applied to
each of these subjects; and yet as a rule it has been at sea, for the want of
that simple intelligence in which some of the people who most frequently handle
them are not found wanting when engaged in any other pursuit. What is needed is
more lucidity of perception, more breadth of grasp, more calmness of judgment —
in a word, more sanity.

There is an appeal to common sense which indicates a terrible narrowness of
mind— the appeal which will admit nothing outside the range of a very limited,
mundane experience. In the Bible we are approached by a world of wonders far
above our every-day life. It is not to be supposed that a sound commercial
judgment, which may be quite adequate for settling bargains in the market, is
competent to give a final decision on questions that touch the eternal verities.
But then, a wild, undisciplined fancy is no more competent to settle them. While
all the cautions already referred to need to be borne in mind, and while it is
well to tread softly, knowing our own littleness and dimness of vision before
the light of divine truth, it is at least wise, if we use our minds at all, to
use them sensibly. The subjects brought before us are many of them far above the
plane of our every-day life. But that is no reason why we should, so to speak,
go up in a balloon to chase them. It is rather a call for the preservation of
the greatest reasonableness in the thinking that we venture to employ upon them—
not in order to rationalize them, but to preserve our own reason in our
comprehension of them. When we are tempted to adopt an interpretation of any
passage which seems to strike our imagination as fresh and interesting, or which
appears to chime in with some of our cherished notions, we should do well to ask
ourselves, in the most absolute sobriety of judgment, with a stern regard for
truth and honesty, “Is this really what the passage means?”’ and abide by the
answer even when it is not to our mind, like him who “sweareth to his own hurt,
and changeth not.” This does not mean that we are to be tied down in every case
to the barest literalism, which would often be false to the intention of the
sacred writers. It is important to discover what language is historical and what
symbolical, and to read every passage according to its actual character in these
respects. The mistake is when the historical is converted into the symbolical,
or the symbolical assumed to be historical. Here it is that the largest sanity
of judgment is called for.

There is still, however, room for the perception of analogies and what are
technically called “types.” The Epistle to the Hebrews is our great authority
for this subject; there we see how the facts of the Old Covenant are shadows of
those which belong to the New Covenant.

We have no justification for reading the full scheme of Christian doctrine into
the earlier revelation to do so would be to neglect the lessons that are taught
us by the history of revelation. The shadow does not contain the substance; it
gives us but a faint and vague suggestion of the object it represents. Moreover,
we must not press the illustration too far. In reality the object must be
present at the same time as the shadow it produces. But the Old Testament type
precedes the Christian fact. To talk of “a shadow thrown back” is a confusing
style of speech; no shadow can be thrown back in order of time. What we really
have in the type is the imperfect— and therefore in a sense the shadowy
—presence of what we have more fully and perfectly in the accomplishment by
Jesus Christ. It is interesting to trace these faint beginnings. In their very
imperfection they are evidences of the striving after a fuller realization, and
therefore to faith mute prophecies of that realization.

Lastly, a sober intelligence may apply the ancient lessons of revelation to the
circumstances and needs of to-day. After all, this is the supreme use of that
revelation to us. We do not study the Bible merely with the interest of the
curious in the antiquities of the Jews.

It is to be the lamp to our feet, the light to our path. In order that it may be
this we must first of all ascertain the meaning which is brought out by a
process of genuine historical interpretation. Then we are free to discover the
lessons of the ancient history for modern times, and the eternal truths
expressed in the ancient words, that speak to our age, as they speak to all
ages, of Him “in whom is no variableness, neither shadow cast by turning.” In
this way all the Bible leads up to Christ, and in Him becomes the revelation of
God for all time, because He is “the same yesterday, to-day, and forever”. For
Biblical study one of the various Bible helps may be found very serviceable,
such as the following: Bagster’s, the Cambridge, or the Oxford “Helps”; “The
Bible Reader’s Manual,” international teachers edition; “The Variorum Aids to
the Bible Student.” Smith’s “Dictionary of the Bible” is valuable for reference.
For the discussion of questions concerning the inspiration and other
characteristics of the Bible, see Briggs, “Biblical Study,” and “The Bible, the
Church, and the Reason”; Horton, “Inspiration and the Bible” and “Revelation and
the Bible”; Myers, “Catholic Thoughts on the Bible.”


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  CHAPTER 5: 1.02     PART II.  HOW TO STUDY THE VARIOUS PARTS OF THE BIBLE
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Part II.

HOW TO STUDY THE VARIOUS PARTS OF THE BIBLE.


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  CHAPTER 6: 1.02.01     THE OLD TESTAMENT
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I. THE OLD TESTAMENT.

Thus far we have been considering the general principles that should guide us in
all Biblical study. Now let us proceed to the special application of those
principles to the different parts of the Bible, beginning with the Old
Testament. It is evident to the most casual reader that we have here a library
of books differing among themselves very considerably— narratives, codes of law,
prophetic discourses, poems, proverbs, etc. The Jews divided their Bible into
three volumes, which they called respectively the Law, the Prophets, and the
Writings. This division roughly corresponds to a radical distinction between
three classes of literature that we meet with in the Old Testament. The
distinctions, it is found, go far deeper than the form of the books and the
style in which they are written, being traceable down to the underlying ideas.
When we study each of these great divisions by itself, searching out its
specific teaching and rigorously confining our attention to that alone, it
becomes perfectly apparent to us that there were various schools among the Jews
of Old Testament days, as there were in the days of the Pharisees, the
Sadducees, and the Essenes— differences which may be compared to those in New
Testament times between the followers of St. James and the followers of St.
Paul, or those in later ages between Lutherans and Zwinglians, between
Calvinists and Methodists. Possibly this statement may strike the reader who is
not prepared for it with a sense of dismay. We appeal to the Bible from the
wrangling of the sects, and now we are told that corresponding differences are
to be met with even there! If our court of appeal is divided within itself, how
shall we obtain a final judgment on our case?

Now, it may be as well to remember that hitherto the reference to Scripture has
not put an end to controversy, which has gone on through all these dreary
centuries in spite of it. Both Whitefield and Wesley relied on their Bibles, and
yet they quarreled. No doubt wiser methods of Biblical study than were pursued
by controversialists in the past would have resulted in a nearer approach to
unanimity of opinion as to its teachings. But there is another way of looking at
the case. These differences are not so fatal as the sects, in the narrowness of
their creeds and the bitterness of their conflicts, have supposed. Whatever may
be our opinion as to the rights of the quarrel between Calvinists and
Methodists, who will venture to say that in their great evangelistic work either
Whitefield or Wesley was false to the Gospel of Christ?

We must not make too much of the differences between the Jewish writers. At
heart they were agreed in the faith of Jehovah. What they show by their
differences is partly that the vital, spiritual truths of the Old Testament
revelation are infinitely more important than the forms in which they were
conceived by the various schools of Jews, and partly that these truths
themselves may be approached from different points of view, the aspects of which
are not altogether the same, although what is really meant in the essence of it
is much nearer identity than we might suppose from the very different ways in
which it is expressed.

Neither should we let these differences disturb our faith in the inspiration of
the several books. It is fatal to an artificial theory of inspiration. With such
facts as these before us it will be impossible to continue asserting that the
“sacred penman” was a mere amanuensis, to whom every word he wrote had been
dictated. But it does not conflict with the saner theory that the Spirit of God
opened the minds of the writers to perceive truth, and breathed through their
thoughts in the expression of it.

See Wright, “Introduction to the Old Testament” and Bennett, “The Theology of
the Old Testament” (“Theological Educator”); Driver, “Introduction to the
Literature of the Old Testament”; Ryle, “Canon of the Old Testament”; Buhl,
“Canon of the Text of the Old Testament”; Davidson, “Canon of the Bible.”


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  CHAPTER 7: 1.02.01.01     THE HEXATEUCH
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I. THE HEXATEUCH. Of all the problems that concern the authorship and history of
the books of the Old Testament, the most complicated and perplexing is that of
the Hexateuch. This name is now given to the first six books of the Old
Testament— the Pentateuch and the kindred Book of Joshua. We have not merely to
answer “Yes” or “No” to the one question, “Did Moses write the Pentateuch?” A
host of inquiries crowd upon us as soon as we begin to analyze the first volume
of the Hebrew Bible. So elaborate are the problems that bristle round the
subject that we are tempted to lose heart in our search for a path through a
forest of briers like that which guarded the sleeping beauty in her enchanted
palace. But this would be a mistake. Fine historical and literary inquiries must
be left to the experts, who alone have the necessary equipment for the
successful pursuit of them. But certain broad results have been fairly
ascertained, and with these it is our duty to make ourselves acquainted if we
would understand what we are reading. Nor have we to be altogether content with
the unsatisfactory position of simply taking on authority what has been settled
by the specialists.

Much of the subject appeals to the judgment of the general reader, and can be
judged on its own merits when once its salient features have been pointed out.

1. The 0riginals.— Whatever may be said of the date of the Hexateuch as a whole,
it is perfectly clear that the Book of Genesis must have been written long after
the events to which it refers could have occurred. Even on the old theory that
the world was created but 6000 years ago, and granting that Moses wrote the
Pentateuch, he would have been giving his accounts of the Creation and the story
of Adam and Eve between two and three thousand years after the things he
narrated took place. We have no record whatever of the way in which any
chronicles of the antiquities of the human race were preserved in primitive
times. At best, then, we should have to conclude that Moses was like a modern
historian who undertook to give an account of the Britons who lived on our
island long before the days of Julius Caesar, without, as far as we could
ascertain, possessing Caesar’s famous Commentaries or any authority from an
intermediate period that we could identify or authenticate. In point of fact, we
know that the creation of the world took place in an antiquity immeasurably
distant from us, and we know that the origin of man must be put back many
thousands of years, so that the time between the writing of Genesis, whenever it
may have been composed, —the question of its date is limited to a few hundred
years,— and the creation of the world, or even the origin of man, is vast beyond
calculation. Is it not apparent, then, that writings such as the early chapters
of Genesis cannot be put on a level with contemporary or nearly contemporary
records, like the books of Kings, as equally solid grounds of historical
knowledge? It is nothing to reply that God could have revealed these occurrences
of an immeasurable antiquity to Moses or any other inspired writer. Nobody who
believes in God can deny the possibility. But then, what evidence have we that
He did so? Genesis itself does not claim such an origin, nor does any writer of
the Bible attribute it to Genesis. It is a pure assumption to assert that
anything of the kind occurred. The late Mr. George Smith and other
Assyriologists have shown remarkable parallels between the stories in Genesis of
the Creation, the garden of Eden, the Flood, etc, and mythological writings
preserved in the brick libraries of Babylon. Such discoveries go to show that
our familiar Bible stories represent the early idea of the Semitic race on the
great question of the origin of all things. There is, however, an important
difference between the Babylonian and the Hebrew narratives. In the former we
meet with the various divinities of a polytheistic system, and the old legends
are worked up with monstrous absurdities. In Genesis all is grave, severe, and
sober, and the one and holy God is the Creator and Ruler of the universe. Here
we have the religious interest of the narratives. This is the mark of their true
inspiration, the inspiration that lifts them out of the follies and debasing
influences of heathenism, and breathes into them great ideas concerning God’s
relation to creation, and man’s sin, and God’s treatment of him in his fallen
state. These are truths of profound importance, and they are taught in the
opening chapters of Genesis with a clearness, a force, a sublimity, unapproached
in any other literature of the world. We have no excuse for turning to the early
chapters of Genesis for instruction in astronomy, geology, or the antiquities of
prehistoric man, but they are of permanent interest and authority for truths
which no science can discover.

2. The Patriarchs.— The case of the patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph
and his brothers, is very different. It is true they all lived some centuries
before the earliest date that can be assigned to the Book of Genesis, and
therefore we are compelled to read the narratives concerning them with a certain
reservation of entire assent. This is a case where it is unwise to dogmatize one
way or the other. We have to deal with a question of probability. It is very
important to recognize that there are many statements concerning which we cannot
come to absolute conclusions. The mists that hang on the horizon of history
often compel us to suspend our judgment and, while not denying that things may
have occurred just as they are recorded, to admit the possibility that the later
writings may not entirely correspond to the actual occurrences, from which they
are divided by several centimes. Still, we have here a very different case from
that of the dim antiquities of the world. We stand within the period of known
history in neighboring countries. The hieroglyphics of Egypt on the one hand,
and the brick tablets of Babylon on the other, run side by side with the history
of the Hebrew patriarchs. What light has come from the ancient monuments tends
in the direction of confirming the truth of the patriarchal history.

There is some probability that Abraham’s birthplace, Ur of the Chaldees, has
been identified at Mugheir on the Euphrates. The war with Chedorlaomer,
described in Genesis xiv, is very clearly referred to in the monuments, though
the date of it is too early for the Biblical date. It may be said that, since
but a few small points have been identified, these cannot be used to
authenticate every detail of the Biblical narrative. But it is a matter of some
importance that on the whole the discoveries tend, as far as they go, toward the
verification of that narrative. They dispel the rash assertion, which some have
ventured to make, that the stories of the patriarchs, in common with the legends
of early Rome and Greece, were nothing but astronomical myths, and they give us
some encouragement in believing that the Hebrews had preserved genuine
traditions of their ancestors. Some of us would go farther and express our
strong conviction that such firm character-drawing as we have in these
narratives, together with the revelation of a profound movement of Providence
that runs through them all, speaks for their substantial historicity.

3. Parallel Narratives.— One of the most remarkable facts to be noted in reading
the Hexateuch is the constant recurrence of parallel narratives. The same events
are recorded twice, but with variations. This fact meets us on the very opening
pages of Genesis.

We have two accounts of the Creation, two accounts of the Flood, and so on. When
these parallel narratives are compared it is found that they have certain
characteristic differences, which are preserved throughout, showing that we have
here to do with two streams, which were originally separated, but which have
been brought together by some later editor. The most obvious difference between
them is in the use of words for God. In the one narrative we meet with the name
“God” simply; in the other we read “ the Lord God,’’ i.e. in the Hebrew, Javeh,
Jehovah. Thus the first account of the Creation has “God” throughout; the second
has “the Lord God.’’ Then certain marked differences of style may be traced out.
Thus the sections with the name “God’’ only are written in a dry, severe style,
with favorite formulae, that frequently recur after the manner of a law code;
but the sections with the name “the Lord” (Jehovah) have a richer vocabulary and
are composed with more glow and color, allowing of poetic touches and
indications of sympathy with name. Father, it may be noticed that the former
sections correspond strictly to the character of the law, while the latter,
although they form an integral part of the Hexateuch, are in sympathy with the
spirit of the second volume, that of the Prophets, This shows that when we begin
to analyze the books of the Old Testament we cannot keep entirely to the
division made by the Jews in the arrangement of their canon for forming our
estimate of the distinctive characters of the several parts of the sacred
collection. The existence of these parallel narratives will account for what
might otherwise appear to be most inexplicable discrepancies between different
parts of the ancient history. The editor had two narratives before him, and in
some cases he set them down side by side, while in others he took some steps
toward combining them. In the former case he made no attempt at reconciling
them.

They were two versions of the same incident, and he thought it would interest
his readers to see them side by side. The differences which we see must have
been patent to him — some of them, at all events; yet he let them stand. It is
clear, then, that they did not trouble Him, and if they did not trouble him it
is also clear that he did not take the narrow, pedantic view of the literalists
of later times, did not suppose that exact verbal accuracy was to be looked for
in his sources, but thought it well to let his readers see for themselves the
different versions of the ancient narratives that had come down to his time.
They are valuable to us in this way; and when we go further and discover the
different tendencies of the various parts of the Hexateuch they are valuable in
throwing light on the successive stages of the history of revelation. All this
has to be recognized whatever date we assign to the final shaping of the work.

4. Deuteronomy.—The Book of Deuteronomy stands in a measure by itself as a
section of the Hexateuch.

It is a distinct version of the law, going over much of the ground that is
covered in Exodus and the intermediate books. It has a remarkable unity of
treatment from beginning to end, and is characterized by certain clearly marked
traits of its own. We cannot but be struck with its peculiar style, a
voluminousness of language, a delight in large ethical principles, a hortatory
tone— characteristics that indicate the earnest preacher rather than the cool
lawgiver. These features of what we may call the Deuteronomic style reappear in
Jeremiah and other writers, who were deeply influenced by this wonderful book.
In these respects it differs considerably from the dry legality of Leviticus.
Like the Jehovistic narratives, it has more of the prophetic temper. Then, in
treating of matters of ceremonial it does not go altogether on the same lines as
Leviticus. For example, throughout the Book of Deuteronomy the Levites are
identified with the priests; in Leviticus they form a lower order of the
ministry, only acting as attendants of the priests, and not allowed themselves
to perform the holy functions. The Book of Deuteronomy should be read in
connection with the period when it became known and when it influenced the Jews.
A number of circumstances point to the conviction that this period was the time
of Josiah’s reformation. It seems to be now fairly proved that “the book of the
law” which Hilkiah the priest found in the temple was no other than our
Deuteronomy (2Ki 22:8). The discovery of this book produced a profound effect,
which issued in the reforms carried out by Josiah; for those reforms, as
recorded in the history, are just in accordance with the precepts laid down in
Deuteronomy. When it was read it came upon the king and his people with a shock
of surprise.

They found, to their dismay, that they had been unwittingly disobeying its
precepts. This entirely agrees with what we know of the earlier history of the
kingdom. There is no indication that some of the most prominent principles of
Deuteronomy had been followed hitherto, or that there had been any feeling that
some of the things it most severely condemns were wrong. Thus it dwells on the
importance of worship at the one central shrine, and forbids that worship at the
high places which was freely practised in the days of Elijah, and even
encouraged and revived by the prophet in the famous scene at Carmel.

5. Leviticus and the Law.— Although. Deuteronomy now comes last among the books
of the Pentateuch, it seems to be fairly proved that the law, as we now have it
in Leviticus and other parts of the Pentateuch that correspond to the character
of Leviticus, is of later date. We have no indication that the elaborate system
of priests and sacrifices that is found in the perfect law was adopted by the
Jews before the Exile. We must not assume, however, that it was entirely a
creation of that period. It was then recognized as “the law of Moses,” and it is
most reasonable to suppose that it was a development of very ancient practices.
Some of the laws are evidently bequeathed from primitive times; but as we now
have them they are worked up in the system which was made known to the people by
Ezra. From the time of Ezra we have the complete Pentateuch. A little later
Joshua is added, thus making up what we now name the Hexateuch. The work comes
to us with its various strata preserved, but yet rounded off and shaped into one
work, the late date of the final editing of which should be recognized when we
study its constituent parts.

If, then, we set ourselves to the study of the Hexateuch, in view of the
complicated construction of this part of the Bible and the obscure problems of
its origin and development, it would seem that our path is beset with
difficulties. Instead of our beginning here, according to old custom, as with
the most elementary subject, the facts of the case would rather lead us to
reserve this subject for the riper powers of advanced scholarship. The moral
problems, too, which overshadow this portion of Scripture demand some
understanding of its history and construction before we can do justice to them.
When the right perspective is obtained we can see that it is in the highest
degree uncritical to judge them by any absolute standard of ethics. They must be
regarded historically. In coming to a serious examination of the Hexateuch, we
must approach it along the lines of its composite construction and historical
development. Meanwhile, until we are able to do this, it is most important to
remember that we are not in a position to pronounce any judgment either on
historical or on moral difficulties. If, therefore, we can go no further, it
will be much to have learned the wisdom of holding our judgment in suspense.
This is not only a lesson in humility; it is really a relief to the sense of
painful perplexity with which the strange things narrated, especially in Genesis
and Joshua, so often oppress the reader. It might seem that the natural
conclusion was that a very important part of the Bible was beyond the grasp of
the ordinary reader and must be left to the interpretation of the professional
scholar. But it should be recognized that a great many of the lessons of these
first books of the Old Testament are easily understood and lie outside the
region of historical and literary discussions.

See W. R. Smith, “The Old Testament in the Jewish Church’’; Wellhansen, “History
of Israel”; Kuenen, “The Hexateuch’s Cave,” “Inspiration of the Old Testament.”


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  CHAPTER 8: 1.02.01.02     THE HISTORICAL BOOKS
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II. THE HISTORICAL BOOKS. When we come to the history of Israel after the
settlement in Canaan we are approaching times the history of which is chronicled
by nearly contemporary writers. It is true the books as we now possess them
represent a later date than the events they record, but they evidently rely upon
earlier information. We have to recollect that we are dealing with narratives
that have been subjected to editing and revision. Still, in some cases we have
direct appeals to the original authorities, and as we approach the later history
of the kingdoms we find ourselves emerging into full daylight.

1. Judges.— This book contains the most obscure section of the history of Israel
after that of the Hexateuch, as it is also the most ancient. It is not easy to
say how long a time it covers. The book abounds in chronological statements, and
if we add its periods together we get a total of 410 years. But this is too long
to be brought into agreement with the 480 years stated in 1Ki 6:1 to be the time
from the Exodus to the fourth year of Solomon. Possibly some of the judges were
contemporary, ruling over different tribes at the same time. The narratives
would seem to be derived in part from tribal traditions and old ballads. For
example, the Song of Deborah (chap, v.) is one of these ballads; from it we get
a very ancient account of the defeat of Sisera, parallel to, but slightly
divergent from, the prose account, which we may probably attribute to tribal
tradition (chap. iv.). The compilation and editing of the whole book is
attributed to the later days of the kings; and not only the substance, but much
of the original form, is preserved even in the prose parts of the work. The
reader cannot but be struck with the old-world flavor of these strange stories.
This very antiquity of the elements of the Book of Judges suggests the point of
view from which its moral problems should be regarded. Some of the darkest deeds
of some of the darkest days in the history of Israel are here recorded. Nobody
would dream of condoning all these awful crimes simply on the ground that they
are reported in the Bible, nor because in most cases they were committed by
Israelites. Many of them are condemned in the book itself. Subsequently the
prophets were unsparing in lashing the vices of the “chosen people/’ never
dreaming of sparing them on account of their privileged condition. A crime is a
crime, whether committed by a Jew or a Gentile. The case is more complicated
where what we cannot but hold to be morally reprehensible appears to be treated
with approval. There is a gloating over the blood of the enemies of Israel in
this book, as in some other parts of the Old Testament, which cannot be regarded
as exemplarly Deborah exults in Jael’s treachery. Most assuredly the passions
indulged in by the Israelites in the excitement of a life-and-death struggle are
not to be transferred to the experience of Christians. In justice both to Jael
and to Deborah, who celebrates her feat so gleefully, it must be remembered that
neither had the light of Christian truth, that both, indeed, belonged to a very
rough, primitive time, a time of semibarbarism, and therefore should be judged
by the standard of their age. This, however, will not entirely settle the
matter. Even judged by the standard of that rude age, it cannot be supposed that
a gross outrage on the sacred duties of hospitality— always so jealously guarded
in the East— should have been condoned, nay, gloried in. We cannot rightly weigh
either the conduct of the treacherous murderess or the words of the fierce
prophetess until, by an effort of the historical imagination, we have placed
ourselves in their situation of a magnificent triumph following hard on a wild
terror. No book in the Bible will be more grievously abused if it is read as an
absolute revelation for all time than the Book of Judges; no book more strongly
demands the historical method for the interpretation of it.

2. Samuel and Kings.— The narratives of the early days of David, containing as
they do two apparently irreconcilable accounts of his introduction to Saul,— the
earlier, in which he is an acknowledged warrior when he is sought as a musician
for the king (1Sa 16:14-23), the second, in which the king first makes his
acquaintance as the stripling who fights Goliath (1Sa 17:12-14, 1Sa 17:55-58),—
show that we are still in an historical region of some perplexity. But the mists
are rapidly clearing, and before long we are able to follow the narratives of
the kings of Judah and Israel with little difficulty. The books of Kings were
written near the time of the Exile; but the author refers to some of his
authorities by name, mentioning the Book of the Acts of Solomon (1Ki 11:41), the
Book of the Chronicles of the Kings of Judah for the southern kingdom, naming
the latter no less than fifteen times, and the Book of the Chronicles of the
Kings of Israel for the history of the northern kingdom, citing this as many as
seventeen times. These books would probably have been contemporary annals. The
frequent reference to them may lead us to two conclusions: (1) that the
historian was careful to obtain authentic information, and (2) that his
inspiration did not authorize him to dispense with the humble task of collecting
materials to which the secular historian has resort, and therefore, it is
reasonable to suppose, did not lift him in all respects above the limitations of
his fellow-laborers in the difficult field of historical research. The line of
thought that runs through the two books of Kings is in sympathy with that of the
Book of Deuteronomy. It is in the vein of the prophets. As we consider its
character in this respect we may be prepared to recognize the true inspiration
of the books and its wonderful effects. These works are not bare annals.

They are not like such simple narratives as we meet with in “the father of
history,” Herodotus; nor are they like the philosophic history in which
political principles are traced out, as in Thucydides. The great feature of the
Hebrew history is the unique inspiration of insight into the moral and spiritual
truths that emerge throughout the course of events. The writers help us to see
God in history, because they themselves have discovered Him there. When it is
asked, “ Why should we study the story of these two little kingdoms of a remote
past? and would it not be more profitable to save the time spent upon them for
the much larger nations of Europe, nearer to our own times?” the answer will not
be easy if it is confined to the merits of what may be called the “secular”
study of history. The value of what is rightly named “sacred” history does not
lie so much in the religious nature of the events with which it is concerned as
in the religious treatment of those events, many of which are of a very ordinary
character— that is to say, in the fact that it is history written by prophets,
by men inspired with spiritual insight. This fact should guide us in the study
of the books.

Everything has been done that could be done to destroy the sacred character of
this history by treating it in the dreary way in which the history of other
nations than Israel is too commonly treated. Lists of kings, battles, dates,
etc, belonging to a not very numerous people, who lived more than 2000 years ago
at the extreme east of the Levant, cannot well excite great interest in the
minds of busy Englishmen to-day. It may be of some significance for the
researches of the antiquarian to discover that the chronology of Israel can now
be tested by an Assyrian list of dates that has come down from contemporary
ages, and that the result is a general agreement with the Old Testament dates,
though with divergences that show those dates to have been inaccurate in some
instances. But the religious value of the books does not lie in this direction.

If we would study them as parts of the Bible, that is to say, if we would study
them with a view to any of the exalted ends for which we resort to the Bible, we
must make it our business to seek for the spirit in which they were written, in
order that we may perceive the moral and spiritual lessons they were designed to
teach, and thus learn to come to understand the divine principles that apply to
public and national affairs as much in Europe to-day as they applied in
Palestine of old.

3. Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah.—These books originally formed one work. They are
almost the latest books of the Old Testament, dating from the time of the
Macedonian empire, after the conquests of Alexander the Great. Chronicles is
founded on the books of Kings. It is written in the priestly spirit. Where the
two narratives diverge we must certainly prefer the older one for an exact
report of the history. The interest of Chronicles, therefore, is not historical.
The book is valuable on account of its very differences from Kings, because in
the comparison between the two we are able to perceive very clearly what the
priestly standpoint is and how it differs from the prophetic. Ezra and Nehemiah
break up new ground, and they take their place among the most authentic
histories, relying on contemporary records, and to a large extent simply
reproducing them in the very words in which they were written.


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  CHAPTER 9: 1.02.01.03     THE PROPHETS
========================================================================

III. THE PROPHETS. No portion of the Old Testament has been more frequently
misunderstood and misapplied than that which contains the writings of the
prophets. Many passages are obscure and even misleading as they appear in the
Authorized Version, and therefore it is of imperative importance to make use of
the Revised Version; in which, happily, a number of the rough places are made
smooth. But it is not merely a question of rightly translating and construing
the sentences. The interpretation of the prophecies has been sadly astray.

1. The Evidences of Prophecy.— Too often the only object of the Christian
advocate has been to gather out of the various books of the Old Testament a
collection of isolated texts, irrespective of context, date, or contemporary
history, and to fit these together into a mosaic picture, the original design of
which was previously sketched out with a conscious reference to the narratives
and doctrines of the New Testament. Such a method is radically defective. It is
inevitable that the idea of the object in view will color the mind of the
inquirer so as to make it impossible for him to carry on a fairly impartial
investigation. We are therefore prepared to find that those commentators who
have pursued this method most unreservedly have started with the boldest
assumptions, and ended by landing themselves in the most glaring absurdities.
But even when these extremes are avoided there can be no doubt that the passion
for discovering coincidences solely as coincidences must blind our eyes to the
inherent worth of the truths concerned, just as too great attention to the rhyme
of a poem hinders us from appreciating its thoughts. This method must also lead
to a disproportionate treatment of the several prophecies, often quite reversing
their relative order of importance. Minute predictions, exact in detail like
Dutch paintings, no matter how insignificant their substance if only their forms
are clearly defined, will necessarily be preferred to the greater truths. But
now a more accurate process of exegesis is showing that some of the most famous
instances of correspondence between prediction and fulfilment are superficial
and accidental, while others are seen to be so doubtful that they must lose all
force in the controversy for which they were formerly prized as choice weapons.
In one case the coincidence is discovered to consist in a merely verbal
correspondence, based on a translation which must have been made with more
regard for New Testament history than Old Testament grammars in another the
language points so plainly to contemporary events that this reference can only
be ignored so long as we keep our eyes closed to the facts of ancient history.’’
Nevertheless, “the dissolution of the mechanical relation between the ideas of
prophecy and the facts and doctrines of Christianity is really doing good
service to the cause of Christian truth, by directing more attention to these
ideas themselves and their deeper vital union with the later revelation. If we
are led to attach less value to the agreement between superficial details, we
are called to bow before the transcendent majesty of the essential truths.”

2. History and Prophecy.—You can never come to a true understanding of these
ancient prophecies unless we apply the historical method to the study of them.
Our first requisite is to know who wrote them, when they were written, and what
were the circumstances under which they were put forth. The prophets, let us
always remember, were the preachers of their day, and the true preacher must
speak to the times. Assuredly the Hebrew prophets did so. In dealing with
political questions they took the place of the modern leaderwriter in the
newspaper, although they raised their topics high above the region of party
politics, viewing them in the light of God’s will and judging them according to
the standard of divine righteousness. It was by no means their chief aim to lift
the veil from the countenance of the dim future. They did predict, it is true,
both judgment and redemption; but their predictions for the most part related to
the immediate future, and the larger proportion of their teaching was concerned
with the present troubles, needs, sins, duties, and hopes of the people to whom
they preached. The prophet was primarily God’s messenger, the apostle of Old
Testament times. His peculiar office was to speak for God, to give God’s message
to the people; and that message more often concerned the present than the
future. The kernel of it was a revelation of eternal truth. Thus Amos leaves his
herds and his vines in the south country, and comes up to the court of the
famous King Jeroboam II. at Bethel, to denounce the corruption that abounds in
that scene of dissolute luxury, and to point to the plague of locusts and other
disasters as chastisements from the hand of God. A century later Isaiah, a great
statesman as well as a preacher of righteousness, like one of the capable abbots
and archbishops of the middle ages, guides the counsels of Hezekiah at a grave
national crisis, when Jerusalem is threatened by foreign enemies showing his
political insight in perceiving that the awful power of Assyria — now just
looming on the horizon — is far more dangerous than the neighboring
confederation of Israel and Syria, and shaping the sublime policy of isolation
with trust in the protection of Jehovah, by which alone the city could be saved.
Another century, and we have Jeremiah perceiving the approaching ruin, to which
the infatuated king and his infatuated people are blind, while false, flattering
prophets throw dust in their eyes, and then, though execrated as a traitor for
counseling the wise course of submission to the inevitable, announcing a new and
better covenant that is to take the place of the old outworn covenant, which the
Jews have dishonored by their faithlessness and which can no longer serve as the
charter of their safety. Then, in the Exile, Ezekiel beholds his visions of
providence and a reformed temple service, visions that help to bring about the
reform at the return from Babylon. Toward the end of the Captivity we come upon
a wonderful collection of inspired utterances, which has been preserved with the
prophecies of Isaiah— from the fortieth chapter onward— and which, steeped in
the atmosphere of the Exile as it is, is designed to comfort the captives with
promises of approaching deliverance. After the Return we see Haggai cheering the
toilers at the rebuilding of the temple, and a hundred years later Malachi
blaming the Jews for their negligence of the restored temple service, as well as
for other signs of declension that have crept in by his time, and warning of new
judgments yet to fall on the unfaithful people. In all these cases— and they are
but specimens— we see that the prophecy had immediate bearings on the people to
whom it was addressed, as the living message of the preacher to his age.
Therefore it can only be understood when read in this connection. In this way we
must study the prophets, if we are not to be wholly mistaken as to what they are
aiming at. But then, how can the prophecies be used for the benefit of ourselves
and our own times? Certainly not by giving to them a new and artificial meaning.
That is the vicious process by which the Bible is made to teach anything, and
therefore as a just revenge made to teach nothing, because it is converted into
a mere mirror of the reader’s prejudices. And yet we need not be content with
reading the prophecies of the Old Testament simply as studies in ancient
history. In that case the results would be meager indeed, though they might be
sober and sound. The ancient utterances are of value to us chiefly because they
contain truths for our own times —truths from which we ourselves can extract the
very juice and marrow of divine revelation. There is no inconsistency in this
position. Transitory events may illustrate eternal truths. It is the glory of
Hebrew prophecy that it rises above the petty details of external circumstances
and carries its themes up into the realm of the divine. It was just by pursuing
this lofty course that the prophets endeavored to elevate both the political and
the private life of Israel. But what they did in these respects for their own
day they did for our day also and for all time. Because they reached those
eternal truths which are above the shifting tides of time, we read them to-day
for the sake of the great lessons they contain, and find in them, fresh and
living, the very principles that are most needed to set right our life. But
then, this modern application of the ancient teachings of the Hebrew prophets is
not an excuse for ignoring their historical setting, because they can only be
understood aright as they are seen in that setting.

Like the string that holds down the kite, and yet without which it would fall to
the ground, the connection with limited historical events, which in our
impatience we may be tempted to think a hindrance, is essential to the soaring
of the prophecies into the higher regions.

“We must first know the historical meaning in order rightly to perceive the
divine truth contained in it.

3. Messianic Prophecy.— Naturally, Christians have always regarded the
prophecies that foreshadow the coming of the Messiah as the most precious
heritage they have received from the Old Testament. This was the case in the
preaching of the apostles and in the writing of the New Testament. It is
illustrated emphatically in St. Peter’s sermons reported in the Acts of the
Apostles, and in the Gospels of Matthew and John, where we have repeated
citations from the prophets, with claims of the fulfilments of their predictions
in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. But now, does it not seem
that the new historical reading of the prophecies must be robbing them of their
peculiar value as witnesses to Christ? In attempting to answer this question, it
would be well to divide the prophecies that are regarded as Messianic into two
classes: first, those that were intended from the beginning to predict the
coming of the Messiah, or at least the coming of the deliverance and blessedness
that the Jews were led to associate with the Messianic age; and, second, those
which, though written with no such reference, nevertheless contain truths of a
Messianic character.

(1) All through the history of Israel, but especially in the latter reaches of
it, there runs a golden thread of hope for some glorious future, and in Jeremiah
we have the prediction of the New Covenant— a prediction that is only fulfilled
by Christianity. Without going into an induction of passages we cannot gather up
the strength of the evidence; but it can scarcely be denied that the hope for
the Messiah that was found in Palestine and Samaria in the days of our Lord
sprang from Old Testament prophecy. Genuine Messianic prophecy was spoken to
cheer the contemporaries of the prophets, but in hope of a good time coming. It
is no exception, therefore, to the principle that the prophets were preachers to
their times.

(2) On the other hand, it must be confessed that a large proportion of the
prophecies that Christians have been in the habit of applying to Jesus Christ do
not appear to have this reference when they are taken in their historical
connection. Thus the new way of reading the Bible seems to be impoverishing it
in the matter of one of its most important elements. For example, it has been
customary to take as simply intended for Jesus Christ the famous prediction,
“Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name
Immanuel (Isa 7:14). But as we read on we find that during the infancy of the
child the ravages of war are to put a stop to agriculture, so that he will have
to subsist on pastoral products and food that is gathered from the wild country—
“Butter and honey shall he eat” (Isa 7:15). Before he has reached years of
discretion the war will be over, and the two powers that Ahaz so much dreaded,
Israel and Syria, will collapse — “The land whose two kings thou abhorrest shall
be forsaken” (Isa 7:16, R. V.). Then, though we find the fifty-third chapter of
Isaiah repeatedly applied to our Lord in the New Testament, and commonly
regarded among Christians as a prophecy of the passion, a careful perusal of the
whole composition in which it appears shows that “the servant of the Lord” of
whom the sufferings in this chapter are predicated is the pious remnant of the
Jews, or perhaps some persecuted prophet, such as Jeremiah. Are we, then, to
conclude that the Messianic application of these very famous passages, and of
others that demand a similar application to local and contemporary personages
and events, is a pure delusion? It has been customary to seek an escape from
this disappointing conclusion by means of the theory of double interpretation. A
first application to immediate circumstances is acknowledged, and then the words
are read in a secondary sense with reference to Christ. The difficulty in the
way of this theory is that there is nothing in the prophecies themselves to
indicate it; it was simply invented to restore the Messianic meaning that had
slipped out of them. What is this but the mischievous process of bringing to
Scripture an idea of our own, and then contriving a plan for inserting it into
the sacred text! This may be ingenious; it is not exegesis. But now a third
position may be taken up, one that retains the simple historical meaning of the
prophecies as their only meaning, and yet perceives the Messianic character of
them. The ideas are Messianic. If they were realized in the immediate
connection, which was all that the prophets contemplated, they still admit of
subsequent realization under other circumstances, and if those other
circumstances should prove to be more favorable, then a more perfect
realization. Now, the wonderful thing about these prophecies is that they are
not fully realized where the prophets expect their fulfilment, but are perfectly
realized by Christ. The inspired thoughts are too great for the events with
which the prophets connect them; the goodness of God is too wide for the
imagination of man, even for the inspired imagination of a prophet. One point
after another is fixed for the coming of the great hope; and though it is passed
without a satisfactory fulfilment, the disappointment, instead of yielding to
despair, only gives birth to greater promises at the next stage. One hero after
another is hailed with acclamation; now it is Hezekiah, now Cyrus, now Judas
Maccabaeus; none of them realize all the hopes that are set upon them, and the
prophecies are still lacking their perfect fulfilment, when Jesus comes and
gathers up into Himself all that was so imperfectly accomplished in the past,
thus in the truest sense fulfilling prophecy, just as He fulfilled the law, by
carrying it up to perfection and developing its latent ideas in a glory never
dreamed of by their authors.

This, then, would seem to be our right course in the study of “Messianic
prophecy,’’ with which, as with all other prophecy, we must get to know the
historical meaning of the passage, as part of a preacher’s message to his
contemporaries. From that we shall discover the essential idea. Then, turning
our thoughts to Jesus Christ, we shall see how this idea is perfectly realized
in His life and work as it had never been realized under the circumstances
contemplated by the prophet.

See J. N. Smith, “Prophets of Israel”; Riehm, ’’Messianic Prophecy”; Briggs,
“Messianic Prophecy.”


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  CHAPTER 10: 1.02.01.04     THE PSALMS
========================================================================

IV. THE PSALMS.

Among Christian readers the Psalter is the favorite and most familiar book of
the Old Testament, and naturally and rightly so; for here we touch those deep
regions of personal religion where church and sect, where creed and rite, where
race and place and time, are all lost sight of, merged in the common experience
of the human soul all the world over, when once it truly lives in the very
presence of God. In this part of the Bible, then, it might be thought, at all
events, local and temporary matters could be disregarded and the sacred words
read in their natural simplicity as always available for the devout man’s
meditation. But a little thought will teach us that even in the reading of the
Psalms we cannot afford to neglect that indispensable key to the interpretation
of Scripture, the historical method. The Psalms are the sacred lyrics of Israel.
Two important considerations spring from this fact, one touching the poetical
form, the other the historical setting, which even here is found to be present.

1. Hebrew Poetry,— In reading the Psalms we must always bear in mind the
distinctions between prose and poetry. What is called “the poetic license”
allows of expressions in the freer imaginative literature that would not be
tolerated in grave narrative or severe argumentation. This does not imply that
we are not to look for truth in poetry. The obligation of sincerity is as
imperative here as anywhere else. Indeed, it is possible by means of poetry to
reveal deeper truth and to paint it more vividly than in prose. But then, the
form of expression must be recognized. Poetry allows of a wealth of metaphor
that is not permissible in good prose, and in Oriental poetry especially there
is a daring employment of imagery which goes beyond anything we meet with in
good Western literature, the best of which is guided by the restraints observed
in the classic severity of the Greeks. Thus, as nature is supposed to rejoice at
the deliverance of Israel, it is said: The mountains skipped like rams, The
little hills like young sheep.— Psa 114:4.

We are bound to recognize this exuberance of lively metaphor in obvious
instances; but for a just interpretation of Hebrew poetry we should be on our
guard when it is not so apparent. It is here that a dull literalism plays havoc
with the fancies of the inspired writers. Verses from some highly poetic psalm
are cited side by side with grave laws in Leviticus or argumentative passages
from St. Paul’s epistles, as though all belonged to the same category and all
required the same rules of exegesis. But poetical things must be poetically
discerned. This rule, of course, applies to poetry in other parts of the Bible—
in the prophets, for instance.

2. The Imprecatory Psalms.— Just in proportion as the literature we are studying
is subjective and emotional it becomes necessary for us to take account of the
life and character and outlook of the writer. This applies with great force to
the imprecatory psalms.

Nothing is more confusing to the conscience than the idea that the horrible
utterances of these psalms must be justified, and. even appropriated by
Christians under certain circumstances, for no other reason than that they are
found within the covers of the Bible. Only evil can come from attempting to
defend such words as these:

O daughter of Babylon, that art to be destroyed; Happy shall he be, that
rewardeth thee As thou hast served us. Happy shall he be, that taketh and
dasheth thy little ones Against the rock.— Psa 137:8-9.

It is horrible to think that the crusaders under Godfrey deBouillon— Christians
as they thought themselves — performed this very barbarity on the children of
the Saracens after the siege of Jerusalem. Read absolutely, and taken to be part
of the sacred oracles, the imprecatory psalms attribute to God as the divine
Author of the Bible sentiments that are quite contrary to His character. If we
met them anywhere else than in the Bible, what could we say but that they were
wild, wicked words? Are they to be justified simply because they are found in
the Bible? To say “Yes” would be to admit a most dangerous doctrine. It is not
the function of inspiration to make wrong right. The honest thing is to say that
these words should never have been written. And yet we may do a cruel injustice
to the psalmist if we, with our Christian light, and living in ease and calm
security, sit in judgment on a Jew of the old times, driven frantic with his
people’s wrongs, and condemn him by our own standard of right and wrong. The
dreadful words show how the milk of human kindness may be turned to gall in a
patriot/s heart, wi’ung by the sight of the outrages done to his oppressed
nation. When we study the whole situation a fuller comprehension of it may lead
us to pause before we pass too severe a sentence on the offender; his offense
was but in words, while that of the people he hated so intensely consisted of
the very deeds that he was wishing to come upon them and their children. So much
may be said in mitigation of the horror of this language; but even after all
allowance has been made that can be made from the historical standpoint, a dark
shadow rests on these psalms. It must be a most improper thing to repeat them in
Christian worship. Let us be thankful that they are quite rare exceptions to the
general tenor of the Psalter. Taking the Psalms as a whole, we may well be
amazed and awed at the elevation of soul that marks them as among the choicest
fruits of inspiration. In studying any particular psalm it is desirable to begin
by inquiring when it was written. The titles of the psalms are very misleading,
and not to be relied upon, for they are late additions to the Psalter; therefore
the date of any given psalm can only be fixed by its contents. For example, some
psalms evidently refer to the Captivity and must be dated about the same time.

Those written in praise of the law, such as the one hundred and nineteenth, must
come after Ezra’s publication of the Pentateuch. When we have obtained all the
light that is to be got in this way we shall feel the more strongly that it is
the unique merit of the Hebrew Psalter to be the expression of the language of
devotion for all ages.

See Lowth, “The Sacred Poetry of the Hebrews”; Perowne, ’’The Book of Psalms”,
Cheyne, “The Book of Psalms.”


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  CHAPTER 11: 1.02.01.05     THE WISDOM LITERATURE
========================================================================

V. THE WISDOM LITERATURE. A distinct class of literature, to which the name
Chokhmah or “Wisdom,” was given, appears toward the end of Old Testament times.
It embodies for the most part a gnomic wisdom, a practical and proverbial form
of thought. In studying it we have to recognize that it is aided by a certain
inspiration, but an inspiration of an inferior order compared with that which
fires the enthusiasm of a prophet or that which breathes its sweetest music into
the song of a psalmist. It is here, therefore, especially that we have to
acknowledge that there are differences of degree and differences of kind to be
observed in the inspiration of various parts of the Bible. This is another
reason for not quoting “texts” indifferently from various parts of Scripture, as
though they were all of equal value. It is not reasonable to set a phrase from
Proverbs or Ecclesiastes against one from Isaiah or St. John, as though they
were of equal authority. The “ wisdom literature “ is characterized by
shrewdness rather than by depth of spiritual insight; it is ethical rather than
religious, and its ethics are often of the prudential order and rarely rise to
the rank of the highest principles of conduct. This literature is represented in
the Old Testament by three books— Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Job. The finest works
of Jewish. literature outside the canon— the Book of Wisdom and Ecclesiasticus—
also come into the same category.

1. Proverhs.— The Book of Proverbs is a collection of wise sayings from various
sources. How many of them actually have come down from Solomon it is impossible
to say. The book itself testifies to a collection made by “the men of Hezekiah”
(Pro 25:1), and it closes with two appendices from other sources. The Words of
Agur (xxx.) and The Words of King Lemuel (xxxi.). As we know so little of the
origin of these aphorisms, they must be taken on their own merits; but this is
just what is always expected in the case of a proverb. It may be said that the
proverb differs from the law essentially in the source of its authority. The law
depends on the authority of the lawgiver, the proverb on its own inherent
reasonableness. We must see the proverb, perceive its inherent truth and
rightness, if it is to exercise any authority over us. The Book of Proverbs has
been censured for what has been regarded as its want of elevation in tone. It
walks very soberly on the solid earth; its pages are rarely freshened by the
breezes from the everlasting hills that spread life and joy over other books of
the Bible. Nay, some of its maxims seem to be positively narrow, worldly,
selfish. They have the odor of the market rather than the perfume of the
sanctuary. Thus mere self -regarding prudence seems to dictate repeated warnings
against suretyship, such, for example, as this: My son, if thou art become
surety for thy neighbor, If thou hast stricken thy hands for a stranger, Thou
art snared with the words of thy mouth. Thou art taken with the words of thy
mouth. — Pro 6:1-2. But now, it cannot be denied that the prudence commended in
various ways in the Proverbs is in accordance with the dictates of common sense,
and it may be questioned whether on the whole a quixotic disregard of the maxims
of common sense does not produce more misery than happiness in the world, and
that even among the thriftless people who are indiscriminately assisted, often
only to their own ultimate ruin. This question, however, may be left to be
discussed by the social economists. When we take the Book of Proverbs as a whole
we must admit that it makes for a sound morality. Its advice is in sharp
contrast to the sinister principles that seem to regulate the life of men of the
world. Were they applied to business affairs to-day they would bring about a
perfect revolution, a true cleansing of the “Augean stables.” Here everything is
absolutely upright, perfectly straightforward, conceived in strict integrity,
scouting all lies and trickery. Is it nothing that we have laid down in this
book the rules of a clean, true, honest life? Take, for example, the proverb:

Better is the poor that walketh in his integrity Than he that is perverse in his
lips and is a fool.— Pro 19:1. Or this: A good name is rather to be chosen than
great riches, And loving favor rather than silver and gold.— Pro 22:1. Not a few
of the proverbs rise to much higher regions; for example, the words quoted by
St. Paul in his Epistle to the Rom 12:19-20, which read more like the teachings
of Jesus Christ than an extract from such a book as the Proverbs:

If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; And if he be thirsty, give him
water to drink, For thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, And the Lord
shall reward thee. — Pro 25:21-22.

Lastly, in its exaltation of wisdom as the supreme requisite of life the book is
continually lifting its readers above base thinking and base living— most
strikingly so in the great utterance: The fear of the Lord is the beginning of
knowledge.— Pro 1:7.

2. Ecclesiastes.— This book has little, if any, of the exaltation of tone that
emerges so often from among the prudential maxims of the Proverbs. Perhaps no
book of the Bible is more unsuitable to be used as a collection of “texts” to be
quoted as absolute truths of revelation. The very form of the work forbids this
treatment. There is a continuous thread of thought running through it, and we
cannot understand the several parts except we read them in the light of the
whole. One after another the leading pursuits of life are tried, but always with
the same result, that each is discovered to be delusive and disappointing. In
every case the verdict is, “Vanity of vanities; all is vanity.” No matter where
we turn, to the life of pleasure, to the pursuit of knowledge, to the greed of
wealth, to a smug moderation— it is always the same tale, disillusion and
disappointment. Nothing can be more melancholy. The book is steeped in
pessimism. A new turn is taken in the last two verses, and since we here find a
wholesome antidote to all that precedes, some have thought that the pessimism of
the body of the book was simply intended to lead up to this noble conclusion, so
that, as with the lesson of the parable of the Pearl of Great Price, or the
experience St. Augustine narrates in his Confessions, the bitterness of the
earlier dissatisfaction is seen to be swallowed up and wiped out in the final
attainment. But it is probable that these last verses were added to Ecclesiastes
by a later hand, and are not to be reckoned as an integral part of the work. If
so, the book as it came from its author is pessimistic from beginning to end.
Then it can only be read as a study of one mournful phase of life. Taken in this
way it has a certain warning value.

3. Job.— This great poem magnificent in its language and noble in many of its
ideas, belongs essentially to the “wisdom literature” because it is a sort of
theodicy, “justifying the ways of God to man.” It is cast in the form of a
drama— not, indeed, that it was intended to be acted; the theater was unknown to
the Jew of ancient times, and there is very little action in the poem; but it is
in the form of dialogue with a background of events.

Now this needs to be recognized in studying the book or any portion of it. We
cannot take its various phrases by themselves; we must note in each case who the
speaker is and what position he is intended to represent. Thus we have not only
to take account of the real personality of the writer, as in the case of other
books of the Bible; we have also to consider the imaginary personality of each
of the characters in the drama. It would be very absurd to take the cruel
falsehoods of Iago for the sober opinions of Shakespeare, or the cynical
suggestions of Mephistopheles as representing the personal convictions of
Goethe; and it would be no less absurd to quote harsh phrases from the speeches
of Eliphaz the Temanite, B Idad the Shuhite, or Zophar the Naamathite, as simply
so many “texts of Scripture,” to be received on authority as parts of “God’s
word.” When we reach Elihu we seem to perceive that the author has more sympathy
with the language of this new character— a character which some believe to have
been added by a later writer. Though he is conceited and pretentious, the clever
young man gives utterance to some truly great thoughts, which commend
them-selves to us on their own merits. Still, while free from the prejudices
that entangle the three miserable “comforters,” Elihu also comes under
condemnation at last, and Job, too, is rebuked for his presumption and
impatience. Therefore the only part of the book that can be taken as setting
forth absolute truth is that in which God is represented as speaking, and even
there the language is adjusted to the whole situation and can only be fau4y
appreciated when that situation is first considered. The Revised Version is a
great help in the study of the Book of Job. But even with the best translation
in our hands we are troubled at times with the obscurities of this very
difficult book. Still, if it be read right through and the distinction between
the several speakers carefully observed, so that each speech falls into its
proper place, we must be struck with the grandeur of the whole poem, one of the
finest poems in the world’s literature. Read in this way, too, the book cannot
fail- to suggest thoughts of profound significance on the terrible problem of
evil and the profound mystery of providence.


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  CHAPTER 12: 1.02.01.06     THE REMAINING BOOKS
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VI. THE REMAINING BOOKS.

Three books still call for passing notice on account of something peculiar in
the treatment they require.

These are the Song of Songs, Daniel, and Esther.

1. The Song of Songs.— This book has received the most fantastic treatment,
first at the hands of the Jews, and then from Christians. The Jews have read it
as an allegory of the history of Israel. From the time of Origen— who set the
unfortunate example for succeeding commentators— Christian writers have seen in
it a parable of the relations of Christ and His people. This entirely groundless
interpretation is supported by the chapter headings in our English Bibles, which
uninstructed readers naturally assume to be correct and perhaps accept as part
of the genuine Scriptures. When we have courage to abandon the vicious habit of
reading our own thoughts into the Bible and take this book up without prejudice,
we must acknowledge that from first to last it drops no hint that it is to be
interpreted in a “spiritual “ way. Nor have we any justification in the New
Testament for so regarding it; it is not so much as referred to in the New
Testament. The only interpretation that comes honestly out of the text is that
which sees in it a celebration of human love. It is either a collection of
marriage songs found among the people of Galilee, or an epithalamium in
celebration of a king’s wedding, or, as seems more probable, a drama in which a
noble-hearted maiden resists all temptations to enter the royal harem and proves
herself faithful to her shepherd lover. Thus it is a protest in favor of simple
manners and an encomium of loyal love.

2. Daniel.— The peculiarity about this book is that it is now proved to have
been written some 400 years after the times to which it refers. While we may
believe that Daniel was a real person and that the book is founded on traditions
of his life, it cannot be read as history. Still, it is most valuable for the
grand lessons it sets forth on the martyr’s faithfulness and on God’s care for
His servants in their hour of greatest danger.

3. Esther.— This, too, is not history, though it may be founded on a true
tradition. It is a sort of historical novel, and it is not without value for the
light it throws on the condition of the Jews during the later part of the
Persian period. While the Jews have prized it as the pledge of their triumph
over their oppressors, and sometimes made an unholy use of it in feeding the
spirit of revenge. Christians have seen in the book, which never once names the
name of God, a picture of providence implying in every line of it that God is
protecting His people. For commentaries on the various books of the Old
Testament, see Cassell’s “Commentary for Schools,” “The Cambridge Bible,” and
’’The Expositor’s Bible.”


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  CHAPTER 13: 1.02.02     THE NEW TESTAMENT
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II. THE NEW TESTAMENT.

Misapprehensions about the Old Testament are unfortunate, but misapprehensions
about the New Testament may be little less than disastrous. The earlier
revelation is of value as a preparation for Christian truth; the later
revelation is itself the setting forth of that truth. Happily, this more
important study is not beset with the same difficulties that hamper the student
of the Old Testament. The most common mistakes made in reading the Hebrew
Scriptures arise from the habit of importing into them a Christian meaning.

Occupying the Christian standpoint, we are inclined to view everything there
from, so that we cannot let the ancient writings speak for themselves. But when
we reach the New Testament we find ourselves at home; here the Christian view is
natural and right, and Christian ideas of the very essence of the subject.

Even in itself, quite apart from the personal equation that has to do with the
reader’s position, the problem of the New Testament is free from some of the
most vexatious questions that cluster round the Old. We know where we start;
there is no longer any question of origins in a distant antiquity; we are now in
the daylight of a well-known historical period. All the books of the New
Testament were written within a short space of time, probably all within about
fifty years. The authors of most of them are known, and the circumstances of
their origin are in most cases not difficult to discover.

Nevertheless, the New Testament has its difficulties, some of them of a very
puzzling nature; and here, too, perverse methods of reading have brought in
confusion where it need never have occurred. It becomes necessary, therefore, to
see that we are following right methods in the study of these most precious
writings of the fundamental charter of Christianity.

See Marcus Dods, ’Introduction to the New Testament,” and Adeney, ’’The Theology
of the New Testament” (“Theological Educator “); McClymont, “The New Testament
and its Writers”; Salmon, “Introduction to the New Testament”; Weiss, “Manual of
Introduction to the New Testament.”


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  CHAPTER 14: 1.02.02.01     THE GOSPELS
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I. THE GOSPELS. The unique interest of the Gospels to us is that they witness of
Jesus Christ, and therefore in our reading of these books our first aim must be
to learn all they teach about our Lord and Saviour. This gives to the study of
the Gospels a supreme value above that of any other study in the world, placing
it foremost even among Biblical topics. Whatever other parts of the Bible we may
select for favorite reading, or whatever other parts we may let fall into
comparative neglect, we cannot give too much attention to these four accounts of
the life and teaching of Jesus Christ. This, then, is the first thing to be
observed in regard to the study of the Gospels: it must have the place of
preeminence among Biblical studies.

1. The Portraiture of Christ.— The Gospels are not so much biographies of our
Lord as portraits. The evangelists did not aim at giving full, connected
narratives, but rather at preserving important incidents and characteristic
scenes, by means of which they might encourage faith. Reading them with due
regard to the intention they follow, we have to see how they make Jesus Christ
known to us. A caution that has been felt necessary with other Biblical studies
is here of paramount importance. It is most important to free our minds from all
preconceptions and simply look at the four portraits by themselves, so that they
may tell their own story. The misleading course, one that is terribly common, is
to read the Gospels through our own notion of what Jesus must have been, with
the result, seen in all similar cases, that we miss the point of what we are
reading. During nearly 2000 years Christian theology has been busy framing ideas
of the nature of Him who has come to be regarded as “the second person of the
Trinity. “Accordingly, we have a theological Christ, remote and abstract,
difficult to understand, still more difficult to trust and love. On the other
hand, popular preaching and popular hymns have combined to make familiar to the
people of our age a rather feeble picture, tender and gracious and winsome, but
lacking the power and dignity of the true Christ. It will be an immense gain if
we can turn from the abstract “second person” of the creeds and the romantic
Jesus of popular ideas to the real Christ of the Gospels. We need a self-denying
ordinance if we are to do this. For the time being we must forget our theology
we must put the hymns and the sermons and the popular religious books on the
shelf we must set ourselves down to read the Gospels with open minds, that they
may tell their own tale. It is astonishing what a revelation this will be to
some of us — little less than the discovery of a new Christ! The Gospels are
like palimpsests; the ancient writing has been written over by generations of
well-meaning doctors of the church. What they have done is very well in its way;
only it is a thousand pities that it stands where it is. This must be scraped
off; we must clear away all theological comments, all accompanying ideas that do
not legitimately spring out of the story, so that it shall lie open before us,
for the first time truly legible, while we begin to read the Gospels just to
learn what they have to tell us about Jesus Christ. Then we shall see the
mingled grandeur and gentleness, the wonderful depth and the singular
simplicity, the grace and the strength, the mercy that attracts sinners, the
sincerity that scathes hypocrites, the majesty that awes all who are not blind
to the glory revealed in the story of those wonderful years of the earthly
ministry of Jesus.

2. The Four Accounts.— In the four Gospels we possess four distinct accounts of
Jesus Christ. They are not altogether independent of one another. Probably both
Matthew and Luke are largely based on Mark, and probably all three of the
earlier Gospels were known to John. Still, each writer has his own principle of
selection, each combines information of his own with what he borrows from the
common stock, and each has his own way of regarding the subject he is writing
upon. Thus we get diversity in the midst of unity. A “harmony” of the Gospels is
an attempt to arrange the several contributions of the four evangelists so that
they shall all fall into their right places in a common story. This presents
some difficulties; that it does so is apparent from the fact that the schemes of
different students by no means agree together. Now, the temptation of the
harmonist is to smooth away all differences between the accounts he has set
himself to bring into line. But a strict regard for truth should put us on our
guard against all such processes. Of course it is only reasonable and right to
explain difficulties where they admit of explanation, and where they do not at
once appear to admit of explanation it is wise to be slow in pronouncing the
divergences to be hopelessly irreconcilable. In some cases, if we knew more, it
is very likely we should see a way of bringing together what now seem to us to
be very divergent accounts. Still, it is not to be denied that there are some
differences that cannot be reconciled. When we come across these we are bound to
recognize them.

Nothing but harm can come of the attempt to smother them with a cloud of vague
phraseology. For example, Matthew gives his narrative of the birth of Jesus at
Bethlehem without a hint that Mary and Joseph had come from Nazareth (Mat 2:1),
and later on introduces Nazareth as though it were first thought of as a refuge
from the jealousy of Archelaus (Mat 2:23); but Luke shows how Mary and Joseph
were residents of Nazareth (Luk 1:26-27), who were only on a visit to Bethlehem
on the occasion of the census when Jesus was born (Luk 2:1-5), and who returned
to their own city in due course (Luk 2:39). Matthew gives the Sermon on the
Mount as actually on the mountain (v. 1); Luke’s account points to a plain (Luk
6:17), and his version of the words spoken by Jesus varies from that of the
first Gospel. According to Mark, Jesus met and cured Bartimaeus as He was going
out of Jericho (Mark 10:46); according to Luke, it was as He was entering the
city (Luk 18:35); according to Matthew, there were two blind men cured, the
occasion being the same as in Mark, on the departure from Jericho (Mat
20:29-30). After the resurrection, according to Matthew, the principal
appearances of Jesus to His disciples took place in Galilee, whither He had told
them to go expecting to meet Him J according to Luke, they were in Jerusalem.

Now, it is possible in some of these cases, as well as with some others,— for
these are but a few specimens out of many,— to effect a reconciliation. Thus the
Sermon on the Mount may have been on a small level place in one of the hollows
of the mount, or Jesus may have repeated it with some variations, so that in one
evangelist we may have the first delivery of it and in the other evangelist the
second. But this is not possible in every case. It has been suggested that Jesus
may have cured one blind man on His entrance to Jericho and another on His
departure. But the circumstances of the Jericho miracle are so peculiar, and yet
are so nearly identical in each account, that we cannot take refuge in this
simple explanation. In each report we have the first public confession of
Christ, apart from the confessions of the demoniacs at an earlier period; and
other peculiar details also agree. If we met the three accounts in three
newspapers we should not hesitate for a moment to accept them as slightly
variant narratives reporting the same incident. It is only a peculiar theory of
inspiration that could ever tempt us to do otherwise in the case of the Gospels.
But this twisting of the plain meaning of the sense of Scripture is really most
fatal to faith in the sacred record, and it cannot be right if it is not true.
We dare not sacrifice truth for what we regard as “safe,” and in the long run an
honest, straightforward recognition of these differences is the safest course.

It is the nervous attempt to explain away the differences that magnifies their
importance and so makes stumbling-blocks of them. If they were calmly recognized
as in no way disturbing, their comparative insignificance would soon be
perceived. When we have admitted their existence to the full we have by no means
endangered the narrative, much less have we in the least degree confused the
portrait of Christ which it was the design of the evangelists to supply. The
questions whether the family of Jesus came from Nazareth, whether the great
sermon was preached on the top of a mountain or on a plain, whether there were
two blind men cured at Jericho and whether the miracle took place at the
entrance to the city or at the departure, whether Jesus was seen by His
disciples in Galilee after the resurrection, or in Jerusalem, or both —these are
all of very secondary importance. However we reply to them, the fundamental
facts of the narratives referred to remain: Jesus was born. He left us the
wonderful teachings of the famous sermon. He cured the blind. He rose from the
dead, and was seen by His disciples. It is the same with divergences on other
points. They do not in any way undermine the foundations of the faith or even
remove important elements from the story of Jesus. Then is it not most
reasonable to admit their presence without the slightest reserve and to proceed
to sum up the mass of sure information that remains unshaken in spite of these
sources of uncertainty concerning minor points?

3. The Synoptics,— The first three Gospels are commonly called “the synoptics”
because they take a common view of the life-story of Jesus Christ. As we have
just seen, they do not entirely agree; still, they have so much in common that
they naturally go together. It is well, therefore, to study them together.
Matthew has come to be the favorite Gospel, the one most read and best known.
Familiar quotations of incidents or sayings are in the words of this Gospel in
preference to either of the others, even when they are found in all three. So
common is this practice that some impoverishment of the evangelical records has
resulted, and we really do not gain the full advantage of the varieties of
narration. It would be a clear gain, therefore, if the less systematic Bible
readers would leave Matthew for a time and turn their attention to Mark or Luke.

Each Gospel has its own special advantages to offer the student. Mark is best
for the narratives, and that on two grounds. (1) Mark is the earliest Gospel. As
the others are largely founded on it, we are nearer the source when we read this
Gospel. Where they differ, other things being equal, it is natural and
reasonable to prefer the primitive account. (2) Mark is most graphic. The
narratives in the second Gospel are usually the most full and explicit. St. Mark
has a love for detail and an eye for color; or, if we are not to attribute the
interesting character of his Gospel entirely to the writer, St. Mark’s close
contact with St. Peter has enabled him to convey some of the vivid impressions
that the incidents he narrates made upon an eyewitness.

Matthew and Luke have the advantage over Mark of preserving more of the
teachings of Jesus, but with a difference. In Luke these teachings are more
often given in connection with the incidents out of which they arose. These
incidents often throw light on the meaning of the words spoken by our Lord. The
occurrence of the teachings in what we may call their original setting points to
the probability that St. Luke has preserved them in their original form. This
fact may lead us to give a certain preference to Luke over Matthew. On the other
hand, Matthew has reported the teachings of Jesus with the greatest fullness.
This, then, gives a certain advantage to Matthew.

Putting these facts together,— Mark’s graphic accounts of the facts, Luke’s
association of the teaching with the incidents, Matthew’s copious rendering of
the sayings of Jesus,— we can see how fortunate it is that we have the three
parallel accounts, and how desirable it is that we should give due attention to
each instead of attaching ourselves too exclusively to any one favorite. This
applies to the common matter in the three Gospels. But each Gospel has its own
special contributions to offer. Luke has one large section in particular
peculiar to himself —that which includes the parable of the Prodigal Son.
Lastly, as each writer has his own aims and manifests to some extent his own
sympathies, each gives a specific form and tone to his narrative.

Mark is objective, dealing with facts, but he evidently delights in setting
forth the glorious power of Jesus, whom at the outset he acknowledges to be the
Son of God (1:1). In particular he shows Christ’s mastery over the powers of
evil in the cure of demoniacs. Luke delights to dwell on the tenderness of the
Healer, the compassion of the Saviour, the all-comprehensiveness of the
Redeemer. Matthew has his Jewish readers in mind, as he points to the fulfilment
of prophecy. With him the prophet character of Jesus as the great Teacher is
especially precious. Thus each has his own aspect of the Gospel to bring before
us, and each must be studied if we are to obtain a full view of the whole
subject.

4. The Fourth Gospel.— li is evident even to the most superficial reader that
the Gospel according to St. John stands by itself. For the most part it covers
different ground from that of the synoptics, narrating incidents that occur at
Jerusalem, while they almost confine themselves to the Galilean ministry. The
form of the language and the spirit pervading the Gospel are also peculiar and
characteristic. In the historical portions the Gospel is interesting for its
minuteness of detail, its careful notes of time and place, its very dramatic
portraiture. Let it be compared with the synoptics where they cover the same
ground, as is occasionally, though rarely, the case, and these features of the
fourth Gospel will be at once apparent. Take, for instance, the narrative of the
feeding of the multitude with the loaves and fishes, and the superior fullness
and dramatic vividness of John will be seen in contrast with the other Gospel
accounts of the same incident. In its discourses this Gospel has other very
remarkable traits. It was once thought by some to give so different a version of
the teachings of Jesus from that of the synoptics that the two could not
possibly be reconciled. But a more careful and critical examination of the book
has led to a much more general acceptation of the conviction that, in its ideas
and in the essence of the teaching of Jesus it records, this Gospel is not at
variance with the earlier accounts. In the form of language, however, it
certainly does stand by itself, and this quite as much in the discourses as in
the narratives. Indeed, the same peculiar style that characterizes the
narratives is found in the discourses. This is exactly the style of St. John’s
three epistles. It is found in the speeches of Christ y it is found in the
speeches of John the Baptist; it is found in the comments by the evangelist. For
example, in John 3:10-21 we cannot well determine where the words of Jesus end
and where the comment of the evangelist comes in; the style is just the same in
both parts. Then, in verses 27-36 we have an equal difficulty in determining
where John the Baptist’s words end and where the evangelist’s begin; here, too,
the style is just the same as that of the earlier passage. If we turn to 1Jn
5:11, 12, we come upon similar thoughts expressed in similar language. There is
but one reasonable explanation of phenomena such as these.

We must conclude that St. John has given his reminiscences of Jesus and the
Baptist in his own words. No doubt he preserves much of the original language as
well as the essential thought, for we often meet in the fourth Gospel with those
piercing words that proclaim themselves none other than the utterances of One
who “spake as never man spake.’’ But the whole is viewed through the mind and
experience of the apostle who best knew the heart and soul of Jesus. The
teachings of Jesus that he thus conveys to us are the most profound and
precious. We go to the fourth Gospel for an introduction to the inner shrine of
the glorious revelation in Christ.

5. The Teachings of Jesus,— These characteristics of the fourth Gospel lead us
on to a consideration of the teachings of our Lord in themselves. As in coming
to the study of the Gospels we have to remind ourselves that we are dealing with
the most important part of the Bible, so now, in considering the Gospel accounts
of the teachings of Jesus, we must acknowledge that we are sitting at the feet
of the supreme Teacher. The fact, of course, is admitted at once by every
Christian. But what should be the inevitable inference from it is commonly
neglected with singular fatuity. Surely, with such a Teacher, the very least we
should do is not to interrupt Him. Yet until recently it was rare to meet with a
candid examination of the teachings of Jesus by themselves. They have usually
been mingled with other Biblical statements, as though all were on a level, and
then they have been read in the light— it would be more accurate to say the
darkness— of subsequent ecclesiastical theology. Thus it has been very difficult
to know what Jesus Christ actually taught. But now we must learn to avoid this
lamentable confusion. Not only must all later theology be laid aside for the
time being, even the apostolic teaching must be postponed, while we ask plainly,
What did Jesus say? Our theology is for the most part based on the writings of
St. Paul. When we come to consider those writings it will be seen that serious
attention is due to them as affording the deepest and richest exposition of the
apostolic teaching. The church suffered grievously for centuries, owing to her
neglect of these great epistles of the inspired apostle. But it has been too
much the custom to come to the Gospels with a mind saturated with Pauline ideas
and only to read them through the mind of St. Paul. This is the mistake we must
now learn to avoid. To many the study of the actual teachings of Jesus, with a
rigorous exclusion of all other elements, comes as a perfect revelation. It is
astonishing that it should be so. But the mischievous habits of Biblical study
that prevailed in the past are to be held responsible for the singular fact that
some people in the nineteenth century seem to have made a new discovery for
themselves in coming to know what Jesus taught.

Having reached what we believe to be the actual “truth as it is in Jesus” we are
prepared to look at other truth as that also comes before us in the Christian
revelation. In regard to this matter there are two considerations that need
attention. First, we have no reason to assume that there is no Christian truth
besides that which we have here. Jesus laid the foundation for His kingdom. He
left it for His apostles to raise the walls and build the crowning pinnacles.
Even their work was His work, for He was with them, and the Spirit He gave them
was their inspiration. Still, this apostolic work was subsequent to the earthly
life of our Lord, and could not have been included in the ministry that preceded
His death and resurrection— the two events on which the chief ideas of St.
Paul’s Gospel depend. Second, in considering subsequent teaching we must value
it according to its agreement with this fundamental teaching of Jesus. Every
writer must be explained in accordance with his own position and ideas. But the
standard of judgment for the appreciation of all Christian teachers must be the
ideas of the supreme Teacher. Thus the utterances of Christ in the Gospels
occupy quite a place by themselves. As in the case of the earliest stage of the
Biblical revelation, they must not be mixed up with the ideas that come in at
subsequent stages. But then, though other ideas are to be admitted later, this
must never be, as with the Old Testament revelation to supersede the earlier
ideas. In the case of the New Testament the early ideas are the supreme ideas,
because they are the ideas of Jesus Christ. These can never be superseded.
Whatever comes afterward, through the apostles, must be accepted as supplement
and comment, very valuable and a genuine part of the Christian revelation, but
still second in importance to the direct teaching of the Lord Jesus Christ
Himself.

6. The Order of the Teaching.— It is well, as far as possible, to study the
teaching of Jesus in the order in which it came from Him. This chronological
arrangement we have found to be desirable in other cases.

Thus we are able to trace the development of ideas. Our Lord’s ministry was so
very short that we must not expect to find in it the same moving on of thought
that is usual with teachings which cover a longer space of time; and we cannot
always be sure of the right chronological order, since the evangelists do not
all keep to the same order. Some advance in teaching, however, we may discover.
At first Jesus simply took up the Baptist’s message, announcing the advent of
the kingdom and calling to repentance. Then He declared that the kingdom had
come. From these general declarations in His preaching He proceeded to teaching,
in which He described the nature of the kingdom and the laws and principles that
belong to it. In all the earlier teaching He said very little about Himself.

Gradually He made Himself more known. At first He was not recognized by the
people, or even directly confessed by His disciples, as the Messiah. The crisis
at Caesarea is signalized by St. Peter’s confession on behalf of his brother
disciples as well as for himself.

Still the great truth is not declared to the people. The Messiahship is first
publicly acknowledged by Bartimasus, and a little later Jesus makes His
triumphant entry into Jerusalem, thus permitting His followers to hail Him as
the Christ, a truth which He personally admits to the high priest at His trial.
The occasion of St. Peter’s great confession is seized by Jesus to make an
important announcement. Up till then He had said nothing about His death. From
this time He began to speak of it and to prepare His disciples for the
approaching horror (Mark 8:31). From this time, also, He began to impress on His
disciples the doctrine of the Christian cross, of the necessity of renunciation
of self and the bearing of the cross by all who would come after Him (Mark
8:34).

We do not meet with such distinct marks of the development of the teaching of
Jesus in the fourth Gospel. There it appears as though the full truth of the
nature and mission of Jesus as the Son of God and the Christ had been declared
quite early— one of the indications that St. John gives us the teachings of
Jesus in the form of his own later reflections. Still, the difference from the
synoptics in this respect is not so glaring as it has been represented. The
early declarations of the Messiahship are not in public. Jesus admits to the
woman of Samaria that He is the Christ (John 4:26), but this is in a private
conversation, and though He is publicly acknowledged a little later it is by
Samaritans (John 4:42). Mark records an early acknowledgment by demoniacs; John
records a similar acknowledgment by Samaritans. With John, also, as with the
synoptics, Jesus makes no references to His death in the earlier part of His
career. It is in John that a crisis is marked, where Jesus gives the hard
teaching about eating His flesh and drinking His blood, which the evangelist
tells us is followed by the falling off of many of His disciples (vi, 66). Thus
even in this Gospel we have some hints of the progress of teaching through
successive stages. We shall best understand the teaching of Jesus if we endeavor
to trace it out in this order of development.

7. Specific Ideas,— There is yet another way in which it is desirable to study
our Lord’s teaching. This is to trace out His lessons on separate truths. Thus
we can gather up all He says on the being and character of God— His teaching on
the spirituality of God, on the Fatherhood of God. With regard to this greatest
of all subjects, we must recognize how much of the deepest teaching of Jesus
comes to us in His own person and life. He who has seen Jesus has seen the
Father; therefore a study of the character of Jesus will lead to some
understanding of His revelation of God. Then, we can study the teaching of Jesus
on His own divine and human natures, and on His mission as this is set forth in
His discourses and as it is illustrated and confirmed in His life. Similarly, we
can inquire what He teaches on the doctrine of redemption. It is important to
know exactly what Jesus said about the significance of His death and the ransom
He was to pay for the deliverance of men and women. The teaching of Jesus on the
kingdom of God is a distinct branch of study of very great importance, as
showing both the inwardness of this kingdom and yet its essentially social
character. The ethics of the Sermon on the Mount and of teachings of Jesus even
more powerful in example than in words, the warnings of future judgment, the
institution of the Lord’s Supper, and other topics, all invite separate,
discriminating study.

8. The Parables.—So much of the teaching of Jesus is given in the form of
parable that it becomes somewhat important for us to have a clear conception of
the nature of this charming creation and of the right way to interpret it. A
parable is always a word-picture in which truth is represented in the form of
visible events; but sometimes this is of the most direct kind, without any
secondary meaning. For example, the parable of the Good Samaritan is a story of
what might have actually happened, and it teaches its lesson by way of direct
illustration. The first part of the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus is much
of the same character, and though it is not all to be taken as representing what
occurs in the form set forth, still it gives an imaginary conversation in the
realm of the dead, with no secondary meaning. But most of the parables are not
of this nature. Most of them describe supposed occurrences in the external world
to symbolize what takes place in another sphere. They have a literal meaning,
but this is only to suggest an analogous process in mental or spiritual regions.
Thus the story of the Prodigal Son holds together by itself as a perfect picture
of a possible occurrence in the human world; but it is given to suggest another
picture just like it, but depicting the relations between God and man. In
interpreting these parables two important principles should be borne in mind.

(1) The parable contains an argument from analogy.

It is more than an illustration. There is a close logical connection between the
story and its lesson. It contains an appeal to known events as a proof that the
unknown must be of a certain character, because they are essentially alike. We
see something happening in the visible world. It has a parallel in what is
happening in the spiritual world. Therefore the latter movement may be expected
to take a course similar to the former. “We are always making religion
unnatural; Jesus shows how natural it is. We expect unreasonable things in
religion; Jesus reminds us of what is reasonable in our present experience, and
argues that the same should be looked for in the realm of which as yet we know
less. Thus He repeatedly begins a parable by an appeal to nature or custom or
reason.

’’What man of you, having a hundred sheep,” would not do such and such things?
“What woman, having ten pieces of silver, if she lose one piece,” etc. It is as
much as to say, “You would not expect a certain unnatural or unreasonable thing
to take place in the world of common experience; then why do you look for it in
the other realm? ’’ It is of the essence of a parable, therefore, that it should
be natural and reasonable. Most of our Lord’s parables narrate occurrences that
may actually have happened, some, perhaps, such as the parable of the Sower,
things actually taking place under the very eyes of the speaker and His
audience.

“Behold, a sower went forth to sow”; such a man might have been seen at work on
the plain of Gennesaret, with the very varieties of soil that Jesus describes in
the parable. Teaching such as this is vivid, realistic, coming straight home to
the listener.

It is true the spiritual world is not entirely analogous to the world in which
we live; it is higher and better. This, however, only gives the more force to
the argument of the parables. It makes the reasoning a fortiori. If certain
results are got amid the imperfections of earth, much more may we look for them
in the perfection of heaven. This mode of argument is seen in the parable of the
Unjust Judge. If even such a man will be induced to give attention to a poor
woman’s complaint on the ground of her persistent pleading, how much more shall
the just Judge and Father of us all attend to His children’s cries!

(2) The parable is designed to teach one primary lesson. This is part of the
difference between the parable and the allegory. The latter is longer and more
elaborate; in its sinuous course it throws out a wealth of illustrations
picturing a variety of ideas. The briefer parable is usually directed to one
specific end. Accordingly, the key to its interpretation will be found in the
discovery of this leading aim. It is generally a mistake to endeavor to derive a
number of different lessons from any of our Lord’s parables. We should be
prepared to allow that many features are added merely to give color to the whole
picture or to fill in the background, in order that the main lesson may be
thrown up in relief. For example, in the story of the Prodigal Son we have no
ground for supposing that the “best robe”’ represents the “imputed righteousness
of Christ,” any more than that the “fatted calf” represents some other element
of the evangelical “plan of salvation.”

It is there, in all probability, simply in order to heighten the effect of the
description of the joyousness of the welcome home. In the parable of the
Wedding-Feast, on the other hand, so much prominence is given to the absence of
a wedding-garment that it is evidently to be taken as a significant part of the
subject. Sometimes the parable itself will reveal its own salient points and
thus lead us to see what specific purpose it is intended to serve at other times
we can discover this from the context, the previous conversation by leading up
to it showing what the parable is intended to teach.

9. The Aphorisms.— Next to the parable the aphorism is the most frequent form in
which our Lord presents His teaching to us. He would concentrate His ideas in
short, pregnant sentences. The Beatitudes afford a familiar example of this kind
of teaching. Like the parables, these proverbial utterances arrest attention and
hold well to the memory. Like the parables, too, they tend to stimulate thought,
and they require thought in order to be properly understood. They are
essentially seed-thoughts. Evidently it was not the object of Jesus Christ to
force His teaching upon unwilling listeners, or even to put it within the reach
of the careless and indifferent. It is not well for us to receive truth without
any effort on our own part. The truth which is of value to us is that which
grows up for us in silent meditation, often but slowly and painfully. We must
take some trouble with the great seed thoughts of Christ. They need pains for
the right understanding of them, and they are worth effort and patience.

Some of these aphoristic sayings are very puzzling at the first hearing of them.
“If any man cometh unto Me, and hateth not his own father, and mother, and wife,
and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot
be My disciple.” That is a hard saying; so is this: “If ye have faith as a grain
of mustard-seed, ye would say unto this sycamine-tree, Be thou rooted up, and be
thou planted in the sea y and it would have obeyed you.” In reading such sayings
we must allow for the freedom of the Oriental style, which is not bound down to
the dull level of our Western prose. But this will not explain everything. It
seems to have been the custom of Jesus Christ to state in an extreme way what He
found it very hard to get people to appreciate in the least degree, in order
that they might be forced to look at it, knowing that His hearers would always
lag behind the truth in its due proportion.

“We must not suppose that because these and the like sayings of our Lord are
difficult, and call for much thought in the understanding of them, they must be
reserved for very intellectual people. The common people heard Him gladly; and
He thanked God that the greatest mysteries were hidden from the wise and prudent
and revealed to babes. Sympathy with the spirit of Christ is the secret of
understanding His teaching. But this sympathy must induce a careful, thoughtful
study of His words if their true meaning is to be discovered; and it will do so
where it is genuine and deep.

10. The Conversations,— Much of the teaching of Christ was conveyed in
conversation rather than in set discourse. Jesus did not only preach sermons; He
talked with people, answering questions and putting questions of His own to
those who approached Him. This is very apparent in the earlier part of John, but
also to some extent in the later part of that Gospel, although it is supposed to
consist’ more of long discourses than the other Gospels. Accordingly, we must
have the whole situation before us, in order that we may understand the
conversational teachings of Jesus. For this reason we cannot do justice to those
teachings by merely studying extracts of the words spoken by our Lord. In losing
the dramatic scene we may miss the point of these words. The teaching of Jesus
in the interview with Nicodemus or at Jacobus well can only be appreciated when
we have the whole scene in view.

Similarly, the controversies with scribes and Pharisees and Sadducees bring out
important ideas in our Lord’s teaching, which can only be seen aright as they
appear in the dialogue. For this reason we must always study the teachings of
Jesus in connection with the Gospel history, in spite of the fact that the
truths He taught are eternal in their nature and as applicable to ourselves
to-day as they were to the men and women of the first century. For commentaries
on the Gospels, see “The Cambridge Bible”; Casseirs “Commentary for Schools”;
Gould, “St. Mark”; Westcott, “St. John”; Godet, Meyer, Lange, Morison. See also
Bruce, “The Miracles,” “The Training of the Twelve,” and “The Kingdom of God “;
Horton, Weiss, on “The Teaching of Jesus.”


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  CHAPTER 15: 1.02.02.02     THE EPISTLES
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II. THE EPISTLES.

Evidently, since, as we have seen, it is important to take note of the
circumstances under which the books we have already had under consideration were
written, the same rule must apply with added force to the epistles. By their
very form these writings declare themselves to be of a specific personal and
local character.

They are letters. A letter implies a sender and a receiver; and we cannot do
justice to it until we take into account the circumstances under which it was
despatched. In a true letter the personality of the writer is always in
evidence. The biographer recognizes this fact by collecting his hero’s
correspondence, and in some cases contenting himself with doing little more than
adding a connective commentary. The man reveals himself in his correspondence.
Thus we know St. Paul as we know no other character of apostolic times, because
we have so many of his letters. Then, though there are such things as circular
letters,— the Epistle to the Ephesians may be of this nature, — every genuine
letter is drawn up with a distinct recognition of the sort of persons it is
addressed to and the writer’s relations to them. The letter that would be very
suitable to send to one correspondent would be very unsuitable for another.
Similarly, the special circumstances under which each letter was written and its
specific object must characterize it throughout. From these facts we may deduce
certain important conclusions as to the right way of studying the epistles.

1. The Writer.— The first step is to collect all necessary information as to the
writer of the epistle we are about to make a subject of study. In the case of
the Pauline epistles we have two sources of information, the Acts of the
Apostles and the epistles themselves.

Professor Ramsay has recently vindicated the account of the travels and labors
of the apostle in St. Luke’s narrative. Where the epistles can be fitted into
their places in the narrative, it is very helpful to read that narrative for the
light it throws on them. Then, as we possess so many of St. Paul’s epistles, we
can use them to throw light on one another. It is well to make a study of all
these epistles together, in order that we may learn the whole of the recorded
teaching of the writer, and also that we may come to know the man himself. After
doing so, when we read any one of St. Paul’s epistles we can throw the light of
our knowledge of the apostle and his teaching upon it. At all events, it is
absolutely imperative that we should consider whose epistle we are reading, and
not fling all our studies into confusion by taking no account of the question
whether what we are reading comes from St. Paul or St. James or St. John. Such
personal documents as letters must be closely associated with their writers.
When we turn from St. Paul to St. James we find ourselves in an entirely
different atmosphere. For St. James’s epistle we need to collect all the
information that is procurable about the leader of the Jewish Christians at
Jerusalem.

So, again, when we turn to the three short epistles of St. John it is quite
clear that we have to do with a peculiar class of literature. These epistles
should be read together and also in close connection with the fourth Gospel;
they will shed light on the Gospel, and it in turn will help to explain them.
Therefore let the Johannine writings be allotted a separate reading by
themselves. It is study of this kind that makes it certain that the Epistle to
the Hebrews could not have been written by St. Paul. The style and character of
it are quite different from what we meet in the Pauline epistles. In this case,
unfortunately, we cannot obtain light from the personality of the author; he is
wholly unknown to us. 1 Peter may be well illustrated from our knowledge of the
apostle in the Gospels and the Acts; the genuineness of 2 Peter is very
doubtful. Of St. Jude we know but little, and his epistle is not important.

2. The Readers.— In the study of a correspondence, next to some knowledge of the
writer, it is most important to be acquainted with the people to whom he is
addressing himself. Any information that can be procured concerning the
Galatian, the Corinthian, or the Roman Christians will be of the greatest
service when we come to read the letters addressed to these communities. The
relations of the apostle to his readers are also important factors. We must
distinguish between his own converts, such as the Galatians and the Corinthians,
and Christians who had been won by the labors of others and whom he had not so
much as seen, such as the Romans. The direct personal treatment is natural with
the former; in the case of the latter a certain restraint and a studious
courtesy are natural to so true a gentleman as the apostle. Accordingly, we meet
with these very distinctions of style and treatment in the different letters.
The Galatians the apostle rates soundly for their fickleness, and the
Corinthians he rebukes for their grave faults, but to the Romans, perfect
strangers except by repute, he is very polite and not so personal. This Epistle
to the Romans is less of a letter and more like a set treatise than any other of
St. Paul’s writings, and the absence of personal connection with the readers
explains the peculiarity of it in this respect.

St. Paul’s epistles were addressed to churches consisting for the most part of
converts from heathenism; St. James writes his letter for Jews. The Epistle to
the Hebrews, as its title declares, is also composed for Jews.

These facts must be remembered in reading the works.

It is especially important in the case of the Epistle to the Hebrews, because
the whole argument of the writer is closely related to the nationality of his
readers; it is an argumentum adhomines. The Jewish Christians are consoled for
the loss of their old privileges occasioned by their expulsion from the
synagogue. They are shown that they have the reality of those privileges still,
and, more than this, that even in respect to the very privileges they are better
off than their brethren of the old religion; they have in a larger and richer
and more solid way all that the Jews have in but an imperfect and shadowy form.
Step by step, the argument of the epistle demonstrates this great truth with
reference to one after the other of the ancient privileges of Israel. This will
account for the form of the epistle, as well as for its essential thought. We
may say for certain that the argument would not have been thrown into this form
if it had not been addressed to Jews. From which position we may draw two
conclusions: (1) To understand the epistle we must try to enter into the Jewish
mind and read it from a Hebrew Christian standpoint. Its allusions presuppose an
intimate knowledge of the Old Testament. We must read it with the Old Testament
before us. (2) We need not take its expressions quite absolutely as the very
best for setting forth Christian truth. Best for the Jew, they may not always be
best for the Christian. The truths themselves are of immense value to us, but we
may feel free to recast them into a Gentile form. The epistle teems with
allusions to the priestly system and to the arrangements of the tabernacle. It
is almost exclusively from the Epistle to the Hebrews that these ideas have
passed into Christian theology. Certainly they afford striking illustrations of
Christian truth, especially in regard to the mystery of atonement. But we should
remember that they are illustrations, and that they were first put forward for
the benefit of Jews who clung to their old Levitical system. This fact should
make us hesitate before asserting that they must keep the exact form and retain
the same prominence for Christians of all ages. The fact of the atonement, if a
fact at all, must ever be of transcendent importance; but the sacrificial
imagery of the Epistle to the Hebrews need not bind the minds of Gentile
Christians to one particular mode of regarding it.

3. Chronological Position. — In the next place, we must arrange these epistles
in order of time. It is well to read them all through chronologically. By this
means alone is it possible to trace the development of the writer’s teaching.
Then let each epistle be taken up with a distinct recognition of its place in
relation to the other epistles. While light may be found in the whole collection
of the works of the same author, it is only reasonable to expect that those
writings that are contemporary will best illustrate one another. For this reason
it is desirable to take the epistles in the separate groups in which they
appear. There are four of these groups of Pauline epistles: (1) The two epistles
to the Thessalonians. (2) The four great epistles— to the Galatians, the Romans,
the Corinthians. These belong to the period of conflict with the Judaizing
teachers who were undoing much of the apostle’s work. Here the specific theology
of St. Paul is most vigorously developed. (3) The epistles of the captivity,
calmer and more meditative works. (4) The pastoral epistles to Timothy and
Titus, the personal character of which is obvious, and which must be read as
related to a late period in the apostolic age.

4. Circumstances.— Having cleared the ground by means of these preliminary
studies, we are in a position to direct more attention to the special
characteristics of the particular epistle we have selected for study.

Now, we must take into account the circumstances under which it was written.
These fall into two classes— the circumstances of the writer, and the
circumstances of his readers.

(1) The circumstances of the writer. The chronological arrangement will have
helped us to see at what point in the life-story of the apostle the epistle
comes in, and the epistle itself will go further to show the condition in which
he is placed and his state of mind at the time of writing.

(2) The circumstances of the readers. These we may learn to some extent from
extraneous sources, such as the Acts of the Apostles. But for the most part we
must derive our information from the epistle itself. In writing to the
Galatians, for instance, St. Paul lets us see the peculiar danger in which the
church is placed from an invasion of the teachers of the Jerusalem party; his
letter to the Corinthian church paints the corruptions of that community in
lurid colors; and, in fact, all the epistles are well adjusted to the
circumstances of the people to whom they are addressed, and therefore they all
call for a careful consideration of those circumstances before they can be
rightly comprehended.

5. The Occasion.— This is closely connected with the preceding topic. Most of
the New Testament epistles, certainly most of St. Paul’s epistles, were called
forth by some special emergency. They are as far as possible from being abstract
treatises. It is doubtful if many of them would have been written at all if it
had not been that the peculiar condition of affairs had in each case called for
some action on the part of the writer. The Thessalonians are distressed at the
death of some of their number before the return of their Lord, and fear that
these deceased brethren may miss the joy of the parousia; the Corinthians have
written to the apostle with specific questions, to which he replies seriatim;
the Galatians are in imminent danger, and must be warned at once; the
Philippians have sent gifts to the apostle, and his heart is moved to
acknowledge them in the most affectionate terms; Onesimns, the fugitive slave,
bears back with him the beautiful little letter to Philemon as a plea for
pardon; the Epistle to the Hebrews seems to be called forth by the troubles that
have fallen on the Jewish Christians, to whom it is addressed, from the
persecution by their fellow- Jews. Similarly, in nearly every case we can detect
something definite in the condition of the people to whom an epistle is sent,
that accounts for the writing of it. It is evident that one key to a right
understanding of the epistle will be found in the discovery of this fact.

6. The Purpose.— In every case the writer has some object that he wishes to be
attained. When we can discover this we are on the road for following his
argument. It is through missing the author’s purpose, often because no attempt
has been made to look for it, that there is so much misapprehension of the
contents of an epistle. The purpose naturally grows out of the occasion. Still,
it is not a mere echo. Thought and individuality of mind are exercised in
meeting the peculiar requirements of each case. Therefore, when we have seized
the occasion we have yet to inquire for the exact aim of the writer. Sometimes
this is of a more or less complicated nature. The author may have more than one
object in view. Thus in his First Epistle to the Corinthians St. Paul has to
correct several distinct faults, which he deals with separately, and then to
answer several questions that have been put to him by his correspondents; and
St. John, in his first epistle, while wishing to help and uplift his readers
generally, has the definite further object of safeguarding them against
erroneous and false teaching that denied the incarnation.

7. The Course of Thought— In studying an epistle it is most desirable to read it
right through. The selection of a chapter or a few verses here and there may
leave the reader in complete ignorance of the drift of the writer’s thought, and
even lead to grave misapprehensions of the fragments studied. Each epistle
should be regarded as a whole. It has a certain unity. True, it may be more
discursive than a set treatise. The Epistle to the Hebrews comes nearer to the
form of an essay carefully planned out from beginning to end, and built up as an
harmonious structure throughout; and next to this the Epistle to the Romans is
conceived and worked out on a definite plan. A letter- writer has the privilege
of wandering on from one subject to another; the most charming letters are those
which take the form of an easy, unpremeditated conversation. St. Paul’s epistles
often betray this character. The apostle will suddenly go off at a tangent on
the chance suggestion of a single phrase. He will insert a long parenthesis, and
not return to his subject till the readers have almost forgotten where he
started. In some cases he will neglect to take up the broken thread. But these
indications of a natural, unconventional style must not prevent us from seeing
that none of the epistles are wholly disjointed. If the course -of thought is
not always perfectly methodical, still it is possible to follow the movement of
the writer’s mind, and we must do this if we are to understand him.

It is well to have paper and pencil by our side in reading an epistle, and to
note down its several topics as we go along, at the same time observing how
naturally they flow one into another, as the mind of the writer moves along in a
free and natural flow of thought.

Then, having discovered the principal landmarks, we can proceed with more ease
to make an abstract of the whole epistle. It is much better to make it for
ourselves than to use an abstract that we have found in some commentary, because
half the good advantage is to be derived from the actual process of constructing
it. When we have our own abstract before us we are in a position to take a
bird’s-eye view of the epistle. It is wonderful what a revelation this will be
to us if we have been accustomed hitherto to read the epistle only by chapter
and verse. In some cases— preeminently with the Epistle to the Romans— there is
a continuous argument running on, and it is absolutely necessary to grasp this
as a whole if we would attain to anything like a true understanding of it.

8. Specific Ideas.— After we have traced out the line of argument or the course
of the more discursive thought that runs through the epistle we are studying,
there is yet another way of treating it. We can now proceed to gather up its
specific ideas. If the former process was analytic, this may be called
synthetic.

Here we are inquiring, What does the writer teach in this epistle? We want to
set out clearly the whole of his doctrine contained in the particular document
under consideration. We must bring nothing to it in the form of foreign ideas.
Our business must be to ask, What do we learn from this one book? Supposing this
were the only book of the Bible that had reached us, what would the revelation
amount to? This inquiry involves a negative as well as a positive answer. There
are certain truths taught elsewhere which do not happen to be taught here. Let
us recognize the fact frankly; let us see the limitations of the epistle as well
as its valuable contributions to the sum of our knowledge of divine truth. In
this way we shall discover that different epistles are valuable for conveying to
us different truths. For example, we go to Galatians and Romans for St. Paul’s
fullest teachings of the way of forgiveness; to Corinthians for practical
lessons on church life, for the doctrine of the resurrection, etc.; to Ephesians
for teaching on the relation of Christ to His church; to Colossians for the
glory of Christ; to Philip plans for the joy of personal union with Christ; to
the pastoral epistles for the duties of the ministerial office— not, of course,
exclusively, but still using each epistle for its specific teaching. In this way
we are prepared to take a step further.

Having got the exact teaching of one epistle, all we can see of its contents,
with a distinct recognition of its limitations, of what it does not say, we are
prepared to compare it with other epistles, especially with those which. come
nearest to it in time or those which treat of the same topics. Here our
chronological arrangement of the epistles is of immense value. By this means we
can trace the progress of revelation. As we proceed we shall see how one idea
after another first emerges and then becomes more and more distinct.

Thus the epistles to the Thessalonians do not elaborate any of the deeper
doctrines of St. Paul’s theology; these doctrines are worked out in the four
great epistles. The epistles of the captivity carry us on further into regions
of more intense spiritual experience. In these last epistles, too, and also in
the pastoral epistles, the writer is combating errors that threaten to corrupt
the truths of revelation, and those truths are emphasized in contrast with the
errors.

Lastly, this gathering up of the exact ideas contained within the epistles is
invaluable in enabling us to compare one writer with another. From all the
epistles of St. Paul we come to know the distinctive Pauline theology. This we
must keep quite by itself for a right comprehension of it, separate from the
teachings of other parts of the Bible, not because the essential harmony of all
Scripture, as of all truth, is to be denied, but because each facet of truth
should be looked at by itself if we would not be confused by a blurred image of
the whole. Thus we discover St. James’s theology to be very elementary, and his
teachings chiefly of a practical character. It is St. Paul, we find, who
elaborates the doctrine of redemption. In this he is closely followed by St.
Peter, but St. John has his own peculiar way of regarding Christian truth in
antithesis to error as light over against darkness, and with a warm sympathy for
its relations to life and love. For commentaries on the epistles, see Cassell’s
“Commentary for Schools”; “The Cambridge Bible”; Meyer and Godet on most of the
epistles; Sanday and Headlam, Vaughan, Liddon, on “Romans”; Edwards, Ellicott,
Stanley, on “Corinthians”; Lightfoot on ’’Galatians,” “Philippians,”
“Colossians,” “Philemon”; Macpherson, Ellicott, on “Ephesians”; Jowett,
Ellicott, on “ Thessalonians “; Ellicott on “The Pastoral Epistles”; Westcott,
Vanghan, Delitzsch, on “Hebrews”; Mayor on “James”; Westcott on “The Epistles of
St. John.” See also Sabatier, "The Apostle Paul.”


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  CHAPTER 16: 1.02.02.03     THE ACTS OF THE APOSTLES
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III. THE ACTS OF THE APOSTLES. This book stands by itself, without rival or
parallel, as a history of the early church, or, more particularly, an account
first of St. Peter and then of St. Paul. In form it might be compared with the
Book of Nehemiah, since it is written partly in the third person and partly in
the first. Composed by St. Luke, the book is like a supplementary volume to the
third Gospel. Its historical form suggests the desirability of collecting all
available information on the condition of the world at the time to which it
relates. The stage is the Roman empire in the first century, and some knowledge
of the history of the empire and its provinces will help to explain the
narrative. This is to a large extent an account of missionary travels, and
therefore a map with explanatory notes will enable us to trace them out the more
clearly. Where St. Paul’s epistles cover the same ground these will throw light
on the narrative, as that in turn illumines the epistles. “We must compare the
two accounts of the apostle’s visits to Jerusalem— that in the Acts and that in
the Epistle to the Galatians. As we set the other epistles in their places in
the history they will come in at point after point to illustrate it. Where it is
difficult to reconcile the two sources of information it is only reasonable to
give the preference to the epistles, as coming direct from the hand of the chief
person in the history.

See “Commentary for Schools”; ’’The Cambridge Bible’’; Hackett, ’’ Commentary on
Acts ’’; Conybeare and Howson, “ Life and Epistles of St. Paul ’’; Ramsay, “
Pan! the Roman Citizen/’ etc.


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  CHAPTER 17: 1.02.02.04     THE REVELATION
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IV. THE REVELATION.

Here we have to deal with that book of the Bible which more than any other has
been the victim of a perfect riot of fanciful interpretation. Its very obscurity
has sheltered the indulgence of innumerable vagaries. The extravagant assertions
of so many writers on the Apocalypse, and the absolute contradictions that
prevail among the several schools of interpreters, warn us that some sober
method of exegesis is absolutely necessary if ever we are to hope for a correct
view of the book. In the first place, it is well to compare the Revelation with
other works of the same nature. There are apocalyptic passages in the teachings
of Christ (e.g, Mark xiii.) and in the writings of St. Paul (e.g, 1Th 4:13-18;
2Th 2:1-10). Apocalypses appeared among the Jews just about the time when our
book was written, and earlier. The most famous of these is the Book of Enoch,
referred to by St. Jude (verse 14). A common style pervades this apocalyptic
literature. In the next place, it is well to trace the imagery of the Revelation
to its sources as far as this can be done.

Much of it is derived from Ezekiel and Daniel, and therefore these Old Testament
books should be consulted for any explanations they may give of phrases and
images which can be traced back to them. The apocalyptic scheme always promises
the coming of God to set right the disordered state of the world at a crisis
involving terror and ruin for evil-doers, but triumph and blessedness for the
people of God.

Further, the Apocalypse, being of the nature of prophecy, will partake of what
we have noticed to be its characteristics. We have seen that prophecy is
primarily designed for the instruction of contemporaries, and that the allusions
which have so commonly been supposed to point to a far-distant future can often
be explained with reference to what is occurring in the days of the prophet,
though with a revelation of great truths which admit of further realization, and
the best of which are only perfectly realized in the advent and work of Jesus.
The presumption is, therefore, that this prophecy is of an analogous nature. It
is violently improbable that in this one book of the Bible, quite contrary to
the principles that govern the many books of prophecy that precede it, we have
an elaborate map of many centuries of future history, containing the rise of
Mohammedanism, the corruptions of the papacy, the career of Napoleon, the
advance of Russia. All that we know of the principles on which the Scriptures
are inspired should lead us to question the probability of such an unparalleled
production. Again it must be asserted, this is not a case of denying the power
of God to make such a revelation. Of course it is perfectly possible to
omnipotence. The simple fact is that we have no reason for believing that God
ever does act in this way. It becomes our duty, therefore, to inquire whether
the book can be interpreted of the times when it was written before we accept
the wild theory that St. John was inspired to relate to Christians of the first
century, in what to them must have been perfectly unintelligible language, the
events that were to occur in succeeding centuries, apparently for no other
reason than that the people who were to live in those later times might amuse
themselves with an endless puzzle, to which every fresh inquirer was to furnish
a fresh solution.

If a sober exegesis compels us to refer the historical allusion of the
Apocalypse to the age when it was written we are not therefore to suppose that
it loses all value for later times. The key to some of its more mysterious
passages may be lost, but the wonderful spiritual truths that flash out again
and again are gems of inspiration. The letters to the seven churches are
pregnant with messages to many churches; the songs of the redeemed— possibly the
earliest hymns of the church-— supply inspired anthems for our psalmody today)
the beautiful picture of the heavenly Jerusalem is the cheering promise of a
perfected state of society, when the reign of Christ shall be completely
established, for here, as in all the greatest prophecies, the crowning
realization is still of the future.

See “The Cambridge Bible”; “Commentary for Schools”; Milligan, “The Apocalypse”;
Russell, “The Parousia.” Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process, Neutralizing
agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: May 2005

Preservation Technologies A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park
Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724) 779-21 It


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 18: 2. MEN OF THE BIBLE; SOME LESSER-KNOWN CHARACTERS
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Men of the Bible; Some Lesser-Known Characters by George Milligan, D.D.

J. G. Greenhough, M.a.

Alfred Rowland, D.D., Ll.B.

Principal Walter F. Adeney, D.D.

J. Morgan Gibbon.

H. Elvet Lewis.

Principal D. Rowlands, B.a.

W. J. Townsend, D.D.

1904

Contents 1. Enoch by W. J. Townsend, D.D.

2. Eldad and Medadby Alfred Rowland, D.D., Ll.B.

3. Barzillai by George Milligan, D.D.

4. Adonijah by Alfred Rowland, D.D., Ll.B.

5. Hiramby W. J. Townsend, D.D.

6. Jeroboam by Alfred Rowland, D.D., Ll.B.

7. Asaby Alfred Rowland, D.D., Ll.B.

8. Ahaziah by J. G. Greenhough, M.a.

9. Gehazi by J. Morgan Gibbon 10. Hazael by J. G. Greenhough, M.a.

11. Manasseh by J. G. Greenhough, M.a.

12. Amaziah by J. G. Greenhough, M.a.

13. Jabez by J. G. Greenhough, M.a.

14. Simeon by H. Elvet Lewis 15. Pontius Pilate by Principal Walter F. Adeney,
D.D.

16. Barabbas by J. G. Greenhough, M.a.

17. Joseph of Arimathea by Alfred Rowland, D.D., Ll.B.

18. Philip, the Evangelist by George Milligan, D.D.

19. Ananias and Sapphiraby George Milligan, D.D.


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  CHAPTER 19: 2.01.     ENOCH BY W. J. TOWNSEND, D.D.
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ENOCH, THE DEATHLESS BY REV. W. J. TOWNSEND, D.D.

Enoch was the bright particular star of the patriarchal epoch. His record is
short, but eloquent. It is crowded into a few words, but every word, when placed
under examination, expands indefinitely. Every virtue may be read into them;
every eulogium possible to a human character shines from them. He was a devout
man, a fearless preacher of righteousness, an intimate friend of God, and the
only man of his dispensation who did not see death. He sheds a lustre on the
antediluvian age, and he shines still as an example to all generations of steady
and lofty piety.

It is difficult to realise the exact environment of the early patriarchs. Human
society was then in its making. There were giants in those days, both physically
and intellectually. They lived long, and unfolded a vigorous manhood, by which
civilisation was developed in every direction. Some of them, also, were tenderly
responsive to supernatural influences, and thus rose to a spiritual stature
which enables them to bulk largely in sacred history. The guiding lines of
Enoch’s biography are clear though few. “_He walked with God_”; “_he pleased
God_”; “_he was translated that he should not see death_.” These are the
pregnant remnants of his history, from which we may construct a character and
career of striking eminence.

I.

“He walked with God.”

Therefore he knew God. The articles of his creed were not many, but he was fixed
on this foundation-truth of all religion. Further than this, he knew God as
taking a living interest in His creatures, as one who could be approached by
them in prayer and communion, and who was sympathetically responsive to their
needs. He somehow knew God, also, as being righteous and holy, and he must have
had a rudimentary idea of the Christ, as it unfolded itself in the great promise
of a deliverer from evil made to our first parents in Paradise. However scanty
in number were the articles of his creed, they were not scanty in results.

They produced a great life and a great name. The results were that “he walked
with God.” Walking is the habitual exercise of a man’s life. A man runs
sometimes. Under great strain, or the demand of special circumstances, he runs,
but finds that exhaustion follows; or if he runs too frequently, total collapse
is the inevitable consequence. Two of the most eminent ministers of our times
recently died owing to overstrain and over-exertion. But we have some now living
who have done signal service for the Church during a ministry of fifty years,
and who are still hale and having a green old age. To walk at a steady pace,
fulfilling life’s responsibilities and the demands of duty, is to fulfil the
will of God and serve our generation. This rule refers to man’s religious and
spiritual life. To walk onward and upward in the highest things is to grow in
excellence and grace. As man is a social being, he must walk with someone in
life. Perpetual solitude dries up the springs of existence, and true manhood is
shrivelled up. Solitary confinement is the saddest and cruellest punishment that
can be inflicted by man on his fellow. The prisoner in the Bastille, when his
reason reeled through prolonged silence and loneliness, was saved from mental
collapse by the friendship of a rat; and a similar story is told of an English
prisoner, who, under similar circumstances, found solace in the company of a
pigeon. Man craves for fellowship and friendship. Happiest is he who has the
noblest companion. God alone fills the deep craving of the heart for a congenial
and helpful presence, and Enoch “_walked with God_.” The words imply regular,
unbroken, well-sustained communion with Him. With a sublime and lofty aspiration
Enoch had risen above shadows, idols, and pretences, and with simple, manly
faith had grasped the unseen substance and reality, the personal God, the Father
of us all. This “_walking with God_” may be fairly inferred to have been carried
out in all the affairs of life. The statement has no exceptions in it.

Other saints have their failings and sins recorded with an admirable candour,
but we are left to conclude that this was a saint of pure life and character. In
tending his flocks and herds, in carrying out the barter of the markets in the
early world, in commanding his children and ordering his household, in preaching
righteousness and foretelling judgment, the great law of his life was here,
“_walking with God_.” When such unbroken intercourse with God is maintained, all
duty and labour have a new meaning, and are suffused with a new glory. Every
occupation or profession becomes a transparency by which divine truth and purity
are translated to the world. No man is then a menial or a slave, but a free man,
living in love and by love. He becomes an evangel, who, by words of holiness and
deeds of sacrifice, adorns the doctrine of God and Christ in all things. Nothing
is common, nothing is unclean; all life is sanctified and beautiful; the man is
a temple consecrated by and for God alone. In such habitual fellowship there is
constant growth in familiarity and intimacy. God becomes known more and more in
the tenderness and considerateness of His love. He unfolds Himself to the soul
of His friend in such love-compelling charm as that the believer is constrained
to ever-growing reverence, gratitude, and devotion. The man is transfigured. His
thoughts, motives, desires, actions, are all inspired by the Divine Mind and
framed after a Divine Pattern. The limitations of human nature are relaxed, and
the man expands into newness of life; he soars into heavenly places; he is
charged with holy influences. “The trivial round, the common task,” become
_media_ to him, by which he can interpret and make known to all, the beauty of
holiness as revealed to him by communion with God.

It is a significant fact in the history of Enoch, that his piety shone brightest
amid family surroundings. He was not an ascetic or an anchorite. He was a
husband and a father. It is said that he “_walked with God after the birth of
Methusaleh_.” With what measure of fervour he served God before the coming of a
child into his house, we are not told; but we are told that after that event
“_he walked with God three hundred years_.” Possibly he had not manifested
special piety before. His children gathered round him, for we are told that
after Methusaleh, he had “sons and daughters.” But the blessing of children in
no wise slackened his course of piety. Not infrequently, family cares and
business responsibilities draw men’s thoughts and desires from God; and many who
in youth were ardent in religious exercises and unfailing in spiritual duties,
in middle life and old age are found to be merely formalists in worship, and
paralysed for useful work in the Church. The fine gold has become dim, through
the fretting cares or the surging excitements of life. It is awful when such is
the case, when the promise and interest of youth settles into impotence and
rigidity, when the type which once had the die of thought fresh upon it is worn
flat by overuse, or when the shell, once the home of life and bright with
ocean’s spray, lies with faded colour and emptied hollowness. This is
melancholy, indeed, and many such wrecks of religious life are around us. But
with Enoch, the increase of life’s cares brought an access of fresh devotion.
New gifts of Providence roused new feelings of gratitude, and he grappled
himself the closer in attachment to the Giver of enlarged blessing. This is as
it should be. Every gift of God should be a call to renewed praise and prayer,
to a more perfect and joyous service. This record of Enoch’s piety teaches that
the highest spirituality of nature is not found in avoiding the duties and cares
of life, or in seeking a cloistered and solitary existence. The piety of monkery
is not the crown of living. It is neither an experience of healthy joy nor of
abundant fruitfulness. The healthful influences of Christianity are immeasurably
more beautiful when manifested in the joys of family and home life, or in the
discharge of honest trade and commerce, than in the introspective gloom of the
recluse, or the ceremonial round of the ascetic. It is remarkable that the
record states that Enoch’s walk with God lasted “_three hundred years after the
birth of Methusaleh_.”

There was no break in his spiritual course; it was continuous growth and
progress until the light of eventide deepened into the glory of heaven.

II.

“He pleased God.” This is to win the highest prize of life. Not only because God
is highest and noblest of beings, but also because His pleasure presupposes
great moral and spiritual qualities, and unfolds itself in blessings of untold
preciousness both in this life and that which is to come. The pleasure of the
Lord is graduated to the intrinsic beauty or value possessed by the object which
draws it out. It was manifested when the great creation stood in finished order
before Him, and He pronounced it “only good.” But of a higher kind is that
pleasure said to be taken by Him in His only-begotten Son, in His people, and in
His Church. Over these He rejoices with singing, as He rests in His love. Of
such pleasure Enoch was the recipient, and it was bestowed upon him in a most
signal and unique manner. Two especial qualities are indispensable to those with
whom God is pleased. One is faith--”_Without faith it is impossible to please
God_” (Heb 11:6). The other is uprightness--”_I know also, my God, that Thou
hast pleasure in uprightness_” (1Ch 29:17). The former grace is the superlative
and distinguishing feature of the people of God. It is indeed the foundation
quality on which all others rest, and from which they spring. It is the broad
separating act which marks the difference between the saint and the sinner.
Without it man is in opposition to God. The Divine displeasure rests upon him,
because absence of faith means want of confidence and want of sympathy. The
unbeliever distrusts God, and has no fellow-feeling with Him or His ways.

There is no more offensive feeling that can be shown by one being towards
another than distrust. It irritates our sensibility; it arrays in opposition all
the resentment of our nature. It is the parent of gloom, dissatisfaction,
pessimism, and rebellion. It writes discontent on the brow, and bitterness on
the heart. It is the fruitful parent of all ill in human nature. But faith
pleases God. It draws the human and Divine into loving association. It leads the
human to look to the Divine for counsel, to lean upon Him for help, to refer all
things to His decision, to wait on Him for guidance in every step and enterprise
in life. The faith of the patriarchs seems to have been characterised by entire
simplicity and childlikeness. As manifested by Enoch, Noah, and Abraham, all of
whom had the pleasure of the Lord resting on them in a pre-eminent degree, there
was no stumbling or hesitancy. Some of them had their faith severely tried, but
it came forth from the test victorious, as “gold tried in the fire.” Therefore,
if the command of God was hard, faith led to obedience; if the mystery of life
was deep, faith drew them close to the Father; if the sense of sin and guilt was
strong, faith never failed, but led them to look for the promised Redeemer, and
they rejoiced to see His day and were glad.

Faith is said to be difficult to exercise in this day of bustle, excitement, and
pressure. The differences between this day and Enoch’s day are merely accidental
and not essential. There were the same inducements and temptations to evil then
as now. There were scoffers and cavillers then as now. The doubting spirit in
our first parents and in Cain was felt in all; but there was also the strong and
manly faith which resisted the sin of doubt, which looked from the seen to the
unseen, from the temporal to the eternal, from sin and folly to God, and which
established itself firmly on His promise of unchangeable love. Therefore Enoch
“pleased God.” Faith presupposes reverence, love, obedience, and man never pays
a higher tribute to another than to trust him implicitly and for all in all.
Such faith God accepts and delights in. Such faith builds a noble character and
a lofty life.

III.

“He was translated that he should not see death.” That was the crowning evidence
and token of the Divine pleasure. Death is the wages of sin, the harbinger of
retribution, the seal of man’s humiliation and defeat. The fear of death is a
bondage under which the race of man lies, save only where Christian faith and
hope alleviate the terror and inspire a superhuman courage before which all fear
is banished. The extraordinary nature of Enoch’s piety could not be demonstrated
by any fact so imperative as this, “_He was translated_.”

There are three complete men in heaven. Man is threefold in his nature. He is
body, soul, and spirit. He is not complete without his bodily organisation. The
work of faith is not perfect, nor is the work of sin undone until at the
Resurrection trump man shall stand complete in his threefold being. But of that
completeness there are three specimens in heaven; Enoch from the patriarchal
epoch; Elijah from the Jewish dispensation; and Christ from the Christian. The
translation of Elijah was a marvellously dramatic episode. It was witnessed by
Elisha and the sons of the prophets--and a heavenly equipage, lambent with
supernal glow, carried him in triumph out of sight. But as to Enoch there was no
such scenic display. “_He was not found, for God took him_.” It was a quiet but
beautifully fitting end. Moonlight rising into sunlight, the sweet calm light of
a starlit sky becoming flushed with the auroral tints of a brilliant morning.

Translation means promotion, and also expansion.

It is _promotion_ in honour, in office, in privilege. The bishop is translated
from Rochester to Winchester and thence to Canterbury, because he has pleased
his party and his sovereign. It is a sign that he has won promotion by devoted
service. Christ says to his follower, “_Occupy till I come_”; and after a due
period of labour well discharged, he says, “_Come up higher_.” The rule of the
Divine Kingdom is, “_faithful in that which is least_,” then, “_ruler over that
which is much_.” Translation to Enoch meant the elevation to higher duties and
enjoyments without the wearing agonies of disease, the sharpness of death, or
the darkness of the grave.

It meant also _expansion_. In the passing from a lower to a higher condition, we
cannot now realise the quick change which would pass over the material framework
of the patriarch, but that it would be etherialised so as to be “_a heavenly
body_” marvellously endowed with new powers of sense, of insight and locomotion,
fit to be the instrument of a soul fully redeemed from the consequences of sin,
we cannot doubt; and for thousands of generations has that soul sunned itself in
the brightest fellowships and employments of the highest heaven.


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  CHAPTER 20: 2.02.     ELDAD AND MEDADBY ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D., LL.B.
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ELDAD AND MEDAD BY REV. ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D, LL.B.

Num 11:24-30.

Nothing is known of these two men beyond the incident recorded in the Book of
Numbers; but this is so remarkable and significant, that it well repays careful
study. The Israelites had been once more displaying suspicion and ingratitude.

Turning with loathing from the manna, they whimpered, like spoilt children, for
the fish and flesh they had enjoyed in Egypt, and murmured against God and
against Moses. The patience of their leader, under this new provocation,
completely broke down, so that he went so far as to accuse God Himself of being
a hard taskmaster, who had laid too much upon him. With infinite forbearance,
allowance was made for the manner in which Divine counsel and help had been
asked for, and the promise was graciously fulfilled, “_Cast thy burden upon the
Lord, and He shall sustain thee. He will never suffer the righteous to be
moved_.” God dealt with his servant as a father at his best will deal with his
child who runs to him, hurt and bruised, in a passion of tears. Instead of
beginning with an angry rebuke, help and relief are first given, and then in a
few calm words the needed counsel is proffered. It was in a spirit of patient
love that God appointed elders from among the people to help his over-wrought
servant and share his heavy burden.

Moses was, no doubt, justified in saying, “_I am not able to bear all this
people alone, because it is too heavy for me_.” Indeed it was well for him, as
it is for us all, to feel the need there is for human sympathy and Divine aid.
Self-contained, self-reliant men are not the highest type of humanity, and they
are sometimes for their own good visited by anxieties and responsibilities which
compel them to cry, “_Lord help me_.” Thus was it with Moses. Indeed, our Lord
Himself shared that experience, when for our sakes He became man. He chose
comrades who were a blessing to Himself, although He was a far greater blessing
to them. He took them with Him when he went forth to confront the crises of His
life--on the Mount of Transfiguration, and in the Garden of Gethsemane, where
His sorrow was intensified by their failure to watch with Him. He had three
specially intimate friends. He called twelve to be apostles, and sent forth
seventy as missioners--an arrangement in which we see the New Testament
counterpart of the choosing of these seventy-two elders, to rule and judge the
Israelites, and thus share the responsibility of Moses. The account given us of
their appointment is singularly interesting.

Six men out of each of the twelve tribes were summoned to the Tabernacle,
solemnly set apart and filled with the Spirit--but two of the men--Eldad and
Medad--were absent “_They were of them written to_” is the exact phrase--and the
fact that they received a written summons denotes a higher and more general
culture among that ancient people than is generally imagined to have existed.
Yet it is what might be reasonably expected, for they had come out of Egypt, the
most civilised power then in the world, a country where the usual writing
materials were exclusively made. Though the Israelites had been only slaves
there, they would doubtless be familiar with the art of writing, for the men of
that race have never yet lagged behind any people among whom they have lived.

Seventy of the men thus summoned came together promptly, and were ranged in a
semicircle before the Tabernacle. Then, in the sight of all the people, the
cloud descended, wrapped them all in impenetrable mist, as a sign that the
chosen men were being mysteriously baptised with the Spirit, and when again they
emerged they began to prophesy.

It was the ancient counterpart of the day of Pentecost, when the disciples met,
and the Spirit came upon them as a mighty, rushing wind, and they began to speak
with other tongues, as men chosen and inspired by God. In Num 11:25, it is said
that “_the Lord took of the spirit that was upon Moses, and gave it unto the
seventy elders_.” Some conclude from this statement that, as a punishment for
his intemperate prayer, the wisdom of Moses was thus lessened, while others were
enriched at his expense. But wisdom, and all gifts similar to it, are not
diminished by distribution. If we impart information, we do not lessen our own
store of knowledge. If we give of our love lavishly, yet affection is not
lessened by such outpouring. The spread of fire over what is inflammable
increases its intensity. Though we light a thousand candles from one which
burned alone at first, it still burns brightly as before. So is it with the
Spirit of whose fulness we all receive. No Christian man is poorer because his
brother is enriched with grace, nor was Moses. “_There is that scattereth, and
yet increaseth_.”

It is time that we turned to the two men, Eldad and Medad, who, although
summoned with their brethren, did not come to the assembly at the Tabernacle.
They may have been absent from their tents when the papyrus letter was
delivered, and would not be quickly found in the vast camp. Be this as it may,
what followed is evidence that they did not wilfully disobey the summons, and
that their absence was not due to any bad motive. For some reason unknown to us
they failed to put in an appearance at the critical time, when others of the
elect were receiving the mysterious but efficient grace of the Spirit. Yet, at
one and the same moment, they also were inspired while walking together, as they
probably were doing, in some far-off part of the camp. To the amazement of the
people, and doubtless to their own amazement too, they suddenly began to
prophesy, and crowds of listeners quickly gathered round them, as on Pentecost
they ran together to hear the inspired apostles. This unique experience was
given by God, and received by the people as convincing evidence that Eldad and
Medad were divinely appointed, and divinely qualified, equally with their
brethren nearer the Tabernacle. It is true that Joshua exhibited some jealousy
and suspicion, and would have silenced them because the blessing had not come
through Moses; but the great law-giver, with characteristic insight and
generosity, would not heed the request--”_My lord Moses, forbid them_.” Calmly,
yet decisively, the answer rang out, “_Enviest thou for my sake? Would God that
all the Lord’s people were prophets, and that the Lord would put His spirit upon
them_!” In the experience of these two men there is imbedded valuable and
permanent truth. We regard it as an evidence, the more remarkable because given
under a ceremonial regime, that God did not intend to institute any order of men
outside the limits of which there was to be no liberty of prophesying and no
fitness for it. Nor is there any exclusively sacred place, be it tabernacle,
temple, synagogue, or church, where alone such gifts can be conferred. We
believe that outside all sacred places, outside the churches of our own faith
and order, and of any other churches, there are men, and women too, equally
called of God with those within such limits, and the evidence that they are so
called lies in the fact that in them also the Spirit of God is resting, and
through them the Spirit of God is working. This lesson, which still needs to be
enforced in our own day, is perhaps best deduced from an incident so early and
so simple as this.

Just as we may learn more of the way in which an engine really works from a
simple model--say of George Stephenson’s--than from one of the complicated
machines of the present day, so we may gain the more instruction from this
incident, because of its very simple character, while its antiquity keeps it out
of the confusion caused by modern controversies.

Eldad and Medad were men called of God to undertake holy service for the good of
His people. In their case the call was manifestly inward rather than outward.
Though truly chosen, they were not in the Tabernacle, nor were they wrapped in
the cloud, and they received no ordination from the laying on of hands by Moses
and Aaron. The evidence of their call lay in their fitness for the work, and
their fitness was due to the gift of the Spirit. Yet all this occurred under a
dispensation which was far more strict in ceremonial law than that under which
we live.

What does it teach? It surely confirms our belief that the word of God is not
bound. The exposition and enforcement of Divine truth is not to be confined to
those who have received priestly ordination by some outward rite. No man
therefore has the right to forbid any preacher from exercising his functions on
the ground that his orders are not regular, or because he has not been
recognised by an Episcopate, a Presbytery, a Conference, or a Union. To put the
same truth in hortatory form, I would say to any one who has knowledge of Divine
truth, who has experienced the graces of the Holy Spirit, and who has the gift
of utterance: You are called upon, by the fact of possessing these
qualifications, to serve God as opportunity comes. You ought not to be silent on
the claims of Christ, nor should you refrain from leading others in prayer,
while on every other topic you are fluency itself. “_Neglect not the gift that
is in thee_,” whether it came by laying on of hands, or in some other way. Every
true convert should sometimes feel as the prophet Jeremiah felt, when he said,
“_The word of the Lord was within me as a burning fire shut up in my bones. I
was weary with forbearing and could not stay_.” The work assigned too often
exclusively to the minister is really the work of the Church.

Happily, speech is not the only mode in which men can serve God. It is clear
from the Hebrew narrative that Eldad and Medad, like their brethren at the door
of the Tabernacle, did not receive an abiding gift of prophecy, but a transient
sign which seemed adequate to convince the people that they had been chosen and
inspired. Unfortunately, the Authorised Version gives us a phrase which is the
exact opposite of the meaning of the Hebrew phrase in the twenty-fifth verse,
rendering it thus, “_They prophesied, and did not cease_.” The Revised Version
sets this right in the phrase, “_They prophesied, but they did so no more_.” In
other words, the singular manifestation of power soon passed away.

It was not a permanent possession. This is in harmony with the experience of the
early Christian Church. The miraculous power given to the apostles, as evidence
of their Divine commission, was not always at their disposal. The gift of
tongues bestowed on them, and on others, soon ceased; for it was intended to
show the supernatural origin of Christianity until written evidence was
available, and then it was withdrawn. The Holy Spirit still remained in the
Church, and was revealed in a diversity of operations. His presence was proved
by the changed characters of converts more effectually than by abnormal
gifts--and similarly the religious ecstasy of Eldad and Medad and their comrades
was soon exchanged for their abiding spirit of wisdom and justice.

Christians who at one time spoke for Christ are not always to blame if they
speak publicly no more. They may have withdrawn from Sunday School teaching, for
example, but only to serve God in another form. Their matured experience may be
quite as valuable as their once fervent zeal. The river which near its source
noisily rushes over the pebbles, is not lessened in value when, full and deep,
it silently glides onward to the sea.

Happily, there are diversities of operations, though they are all under the
inspiration of the Holy Spirit; and if we are faithful to our special calling,
we may hope to receive our Lord’s “_Well done_,” just as did these seventy-two
men, who sustained and aided Moses, though they left no record of their steady,
useful work. Indeed, there are those who in actual service can do very little,
whose gracious and benign influence is the best proof of true inspiration. Such
was he of whom Cowper sings:

“When one that holds communion with the skies Has filled his urn where those
pure waters rise, And once more mingles with us meaner things, ’Tis even as if
an angel shook his wings; Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, That tells
us whence his treasures are supplied.”

God calls us to Himself before He calls us to His service. The same Divine
Spirit who qualifies for religious work, creates men anew. Of every one so
created, it may be said he was “_born of the Spirit_.” In this, also, neither
place nor circumstance is essential. Eldad and Medad were both away from the
Tabernacle, somewhere in the unconsecrated camp; yet they received the same
blessing which their brethren were enjoying at the door of the Tabernacle. And
we rejoice that some who are now outside a place of worship--outside this or
that denomination--outside Christendom, do receive the Spirit who transforms
them into the likeness of Christ. In confirmation of this, we recall the fact
that our Lord spoke more often in houses, and fields, and boats, and streets,
than in the Temple. And the apostles who were called to follow Him were engaged
at the time of their calling in their ordinary occupations, at the toll-office
or in the fishing-boat. Saul was converted on the road to Damascus, the jailor
of Philippi in prison, Lydia by the river side.

All this reminds us that though our power may be limited by time and place,
God’s power is not; though our work is contracted, His is broad. The Holy Spirit
is no more confined to a place than the wind is, which bloweth as it listeth
over land and sea, over desert and garden.

It is a comfort to remember this when we grieve over some prodigal, who has gone
beyond the reach of religious observances; who never attends worship, or reads
the Bible. We may hope about him, believe in him, and pray for him still,
because the Spirit of God can reach him as He reached Eldad and Medad, “_who
went not up to the Tabernacle_.” The old promise is not exhausted yet: “_I will
pour out of My Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall
prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream
dreams_.”

It is this divine afflatus, this outpouring of the Spirit, which is the great
need of the age we live in. The Church seems to be lying listless as a sailing
ship, due to leave harbour, but still waiting for a breeze. Her masts are firm,
the canvas ready to be stretched, and her equipment complete. The helmsman
stands impatient at the wheel, and all the sailors are alert, but not a ripple
runs along the vessel’s side. She waits, and must wait, for a heavenly breeze to
fill her sails, and till it comes she cannot stir. Like that ship the Church is
wanting impulse, and we ought to be waiting for it, and praying for it. The
power we need can only come from heaven, the breath of God must be our real
moving force, and we should be wiser, stronger, and more hopeful if we entered
into the meaning of the old, oft-repeated verse:

“At anchor laid, remote from home, Toiling, I cry, ’sweet Spirit, come,’

Celestial breeze no longer stay, But swell my sails, and speed my way.”


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  CHAPTER 21: 2.03.     BARZILLAI BY GEORGE MILLIGAN, D.D.
========================================================================

BARZILLAI BY REV. GEORGE MILLIGAN, M.A, D.D.

“There is nothing,” says Socrates to Cephalus in the _Republic_, “I like better
than conversing with aged men. For I regard them as travellers who have gone a
journey which I too may have to go, and of whom it is right to learn the
character of the way, whether it is rugged or difficult, or smooth and easy” (p.
328 E.).

It is to such an aged traveller that we are introduced in the person of
Barzillai the Gileadite. And though he is one of the lesser-known characters of
Scripture--and we might perhaps never have heard of him at all had it not been
for his connection with King David--on the few occasions on which he does appear
he acts with an independence and disinterestedness which are very striking. The
first of these occasions is at Mahanaim, in his own country of Gilead. In the
strong fortress there David and his companions had taken refuge after the
disastrous revolt of Absalom. Owing to their hurried flight, the fugitives were
wanting in almost all the necessaries of life, and they could hardly fail also
to have been a little apprehensive of the kind of welcome the Gileadites would
extend to them. But if so, their fears were soon set at rest. Three of the
richest and most influential men in the district at once came to their aid.
Shobi the son of Nahash, and Machir the son of Ammiel, and Barzillai the
Gileadite of Rogelim, brought beds, and cups, and wheat, and barley, and honey,
and butter, and sheep--all, in fact, that was needed--for David, and for the
people that were with him: for they said, “_The people is hungry, and weary, and
thirsty, in the wilderness_” (2Sa 17:29). In so acting, the first of these,
Shobi, may have been trying to atone for his brother’s insulting conduct when
David had sent messengers to comfort him on his father’s death (2Sa 10:1-5); [1]
and Machir as the friend of Mephibosheth (2Sa 9:4), was naturally grateful for
the king’s kindness to the lame prince. But, as regards Barzillai, we know of no
such reasons for his conduct, and his generosity may, therefore, be traced to
the natural impulses of a kind and generous heart. In any case, this
unlooked-for sympathy and friendship had an arousing and encouraging effect upon
the king. He no longer despaired of his fortunes, black though at the moment
they looked, but, marshalling his forces under three captains, prepared for war
with his rebellious son; with the result that in the forest of Ephraim Absalom’s
army was wholly defeated, and the young prince himself treacherously slain. With
the death of its leader, the rebellion against David may be said to have ended;
but to the sorrow-stricken father victory at such a price seemed an almost
greater calamity than defeat would have been. And it needed the strong, almost
harsh, remonstrances of Joab to rouse him from his grief, and lead him to think
of his duty to his people. At length, however, the homeward journey began, the
king following the same route by which so shortly before he had fled, until he
came to the banks of the Jordan, where a ferry-boat was in readiness to take him
and his household across (2Sa 19:18). Before, however, he crossed, several
interesting interviews took place. Shimei, who had cursed so shamelessly on the
day of misfortune, was forgiven, and received the promise of protection;
Mephibosheth was restored to the king’s favour, and his old place at the king’s
table; and, what specially concerns us at present, David had his final parting
with Barzillai. The loyal chieftain, notwithstanding his eighty years, had come
all the way from his upland farm to bid farewell to his king, and see him safely
over Jordan. And as David remarked the old man’s devotion, and remembered his
former favours, the wish seized him to attach him still more closely to his
person. “_Come thou over with me_,” he said, “_and I will feed thee with me in
Jerusalem_” (2Sa 19:33). It was from one point of view a dazzling offer.
Barzillai had seen enough of David to know that what the king said he meant, and
that if he chose to go with him, honour and position awaited him at the court.
But he would not be moved. His grey hairs, if nothing else, stood in the way.

“_How long have I to live_,” he answered, “_that I should go up with the king
unto Jerusalem_?” (verse 34). I am too old, that is, for such a life as would
there be expected of me. And, after all, why should conduct such as mine meet
with so great a reward? No! let me go a little way over Jordan with the king,
and then “_Let thy servant, I pray thee, turn back again, that I may die in mine
own city, and be buried by the grave of my father and of my mother_.” “_But_,”
he hastened to add, as if anxious to show that he appreciated to the full the
king’s generous offer, and saw the advantages it presented to those who were
able to enjoy them, “_behold thy servant Chimham_,” my son, “_let him go over
with my lord the king; and do to him what shall seem good unto thee_” (2Sa
19:37). With a plea so expressed, David could not but acquiesce: “_The king
kissed Barzillai, and blessed him; and he returned unto his own place... and
Chimham went on with him_” (2Sa 19:39-40), to become famous as the founder of a
caravanserai, or halting-place for pilgrims on the road between Jerusalem and
Bethlehem, which for at least four centuries continued to bear his name (Jer
41:17) and which may even, it has been conjectured, have been the same which, at
the time of the Christian era “furnished shelter for two travellers with their
infant child, when ’there was no room in the inn.’“ [2]

Round Barzillai’s own name no such associations have gathered. After his parting
with David we do not hear of him again, if we except a passing reference in
David’s dying instructions to Solomon, to “_shew kindness unto the sons of
Barzillai the Gileadite_” (1Ki 2:7), and the mention, as late as the return from
Babylon, of a family of priests who traced their descent to a marriage with the
Gileadite’s daughter, and prided themselves on the distinctive title of “_the
children of Barzillai_” (Ezr 2:61). But in the absence of anything to the
contrary, we may be allowed to conjecture that, full of years and experience,
surrounded by all the love which his useful, helpful life had called forth,
Barzillai died in peace among his own people, and was buried, as he had himself
desired, by his parents’ grave.

Such, then, is the story of Barzillai’s life, so far as the Bible reveals it to
us. It is, as I have already said, as an old man that he is principally brought
before us, and in thinking of his character further, it may be well to do so
from this point of view, and see what he has to teach us regarding a true old
age. Four points at least stand out clearly from the Bible narrative.

I.

_Barzillai was evidently by nature a warm-hearted, sunshing old man, himself
happy and making others happy_.

David himself was such a man before the great sin which brought a trouble and a
sorrow into his life that he was never again able wholly to surmount. And it may
have been the sight of his own lost gaiety and lightness of spirit in the aged
Gileadite that first drew out his heart to him.

It may be said, perhaps, that it was easy for Barzillai to be cheerful. The sun
had shone on him very brightly: the good things of life had fallen very freely
to his share. He was, according to the Bible record, “_a very great man_” (2Sa
19:32), evidently a most successful farmer, rich in flocks and herds, looked up
and respected in the district in which he lived. But after all, is it the
universal, or even the general, experience that wealth and power are associated
with simple cheerfulness and happiness? Could anything, for example, have
exceeded the bitterness and the boorishness of the other rich flockmaster whom
David’s youths, with Eastern frankness, had asked, “_Give, we pray thee,
whatsoever cometh to thine hand unto thy servants, and to thy son David_” “_Who
is David? and who is the son of Jesse_?” burst out Nabal in a fury. “_Shall I
then take my bread, and my water... and give it unto men whom I know not whence
they be_?” (1Sa 25:8, 1Sa 25:10-11). And even if that be an extreme instance, it
will not be denied that outward blessings in themselves, and considered only by
themselves, are apt to have a hardening rather than a softening effect. It says
much, therefore, for Barzillai, that amidst his great possessions, he still kept
the free, open, happy disposition of youth.

II.

_That he did so, is due amongst other reasons to the fact that he was a generous
man_. His unsolicited assistance of David clearly proves this, while the very
length of the catalogue of articles with which he and his friends supplied the
fugitive’s needs, proves that when he gave, he did so in no stinted fashion, but
freely and liberally.

It is an excellent example for all who are feeling themselves burdened by the
possessions and the opportunities with which God has enriched them. Let them
remember that they hold them only in trust, and in helping to bear others’
burdens, they will actually, strange to say, lighten their own.

“’Tis worth a wise man’s best of life, ’Tis worth a thousand years of strife, If
thou canst lessen but by one, The countless ills beneath the sun.”

While, on the other hand, can there be a sadder thought for the man whose
earthly course is nearly run, than the thought that there will be none to rise
up after him and call him blessed, but that he will die, as he has lived,
unhonoured, unwept?

If that, then, is not to be our fate, we cannot use too diligently every
opportunity of well-doing which God has placed within our reach; we cannot live
too earnestly, not for ourselves only, but for others, that from the seeds which
we sow now, there may spring up hereafter a rich and abundant harvest.

III.

_Barzillai was contented_. Not many men in his position would have refused the
king’s offer. It seems rather to be one of the penalties of wealth and
greatness, that their owners cannot rest satisfied with what they have, but are
always desiring more. But Barzillai felt, and felt rightly, that in his
circumstances, the place in which he had been brought up--”_his own place_”--was
the best place for him. He was a home-loving old man, and the simple interests
and pleasures of his daily life had more attraction for him than the excitements
and rivalries of the court.

I do not, of course, mean to say that either here or elsewhere in Scripture, a
wise and healthy ambition is discouraged. It is natural to wish to get on, if
only for the sake of a wider sphere of usefulness; but let us see to it that we
avoid that restless longing for change, simply for the sake of change, that
coveting of positions for which we are not suited, and which, if gratified, can
end only in disappointment.

“It is a great thing,” said one to an ancient philosopher, “to possess what one
wishes.” “It is a greater blessing still,” was the reply, “not to desire what
one does not possess.” And surely, in what we do possess, in the beauties of
nature with which we are here surrounded, in the love of home and wife and
children, in the intercourse with friends and acquaintance, we have much to make
us contented, much, very much, to be thankful for. “To watch the corn grow, or
the blossoms set; to draw hard breath over ploughshare or spade; to read, to
think, to love, to pray,”--these, says John Ruskin, “are the things that make
men happy.” And these are things that, in some measure at least, are within the
reach of us all.

IV.

_There remains still a fourth and a last element in Barzillai’s honoured, life
and happy old age--his attitude towards God_.

Though we are never distinctly told so, we cannot doubt that he was a religious
man. And as it was in gratitude to God for all that He had done to him, that he
first showed kindness to God’s anointed, so it was in the same humble and
trusting spirit that he accepted old age, and all that it involved when it came.
That is by no means always the case. Are there not some, who, as they look
forward to the time of old age, if God should ever permit them to see it, do so
with a certain amount of dread? They think only of what they will be called upon
to abandon--the duties they must give up, the pleasures, so dear to them now,
they must forego. But to Barzillai, the presence of such disabilities brought,
as we have seen, no disquieting thoughts. He could relinquish, without a sigh,
what he was no longer fitted to enjoy. He desired nothing but to end his days
peacefully in his appointed lot. Enough for him that the God who had been with
him all his life long was with him still.

Happy old man! Who does not long for an old age, if he is ever to see old age,
such as his? But, if so, it must be sought in the same way.

Every man’s old age is just what his own past has made it. If, in his days of
health and vigour, he has lived an idle, careless, selfish life, he must not
wonder if his closing years are querulous, and bitter, and lonely. But if, on
the other hand, he has devoted himself to good and doing good, if he has made
the will of God his rule and guide amidst all the difficulties and perplexities
of his daily lot, then in that will he will find peace. God wilt not forget his
“_work and labour of love_” (Heb 6:10): and in him the old promise will be once
more fulfilled--”_Even to your old age I am He; and even to hoar hairs will I
carry you: I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry and will deliver
you_” (Isa 46:4).

[1]In view, however, of the difficulty of reconciling the two passages, and of
the fact that Shobi is not mentioned elsewhere, it has been conjectured that for
“Shobi the son of Nahash” in 2Sa 17:27, we should read simply “Nahash,” see
Hastings’ _Dict. of the Bible_, art.

“Shobi.”

[2]Stanley, _History of the Jewish Church_, ii, p. 154.


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  CHAPTER 22: 2.04.     ADONIJAH BY ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D., LL.B.
========================================================================

ADONIJAH BY REV. ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D, LL.B.

It is notorious that the sons of devout men sometimes prove a curse to their
parents, and bring dishonour on the cause of God. When Eve rejoiced over her
first-born, she little suspected that passions were sleeping within him which
would impel him to slay his own brother; and the experience of the first mother
has been repeated, though in different forms, in all lands and in all ages.
Isaac’s heart was rent by the deceit of Jacob, and by the self-will of Esau.
Jacob lived to see his own sin repeated in his sons, and he who deceived his
father when he was old and blind, suffered for years an agony of grief because
he had been falsely told that Joseph, his favourite son, was dead.

Probably few men have known domestic sorrows, so many and so great, as those
which befell David. He shared, in all its bitterness, the misery of a parent who
sees his best hopes disappointed, and who is racked with anxiety as to what his
wayward boy will do next, sometimes wishing that before such dishonour had
befallen him his son had been laid to rest under the daisies, in the time of
infant innocence. David’s eldest son, Amnon, after committing a terrible crime,
was assassinated by his brother Absalom. In his turn, Absalom, the fairest of
the family, rebelled against his own father, and was killed by Joab, as he hung
in the oak. Chiliah, or Daniel, died we know not how, and then Adonijah, the
fourth son, the eldest of those surviving, followed in Absalom’s footsteps.

Adonijah’s sin appears at first sight so unnatural that, in justice to him as
well as for our own instruction, we should try to discover the sources whence
this stream of evil flowed which was so bitter and so desolating in its results.
This is not an easy task, because the full details of his life are not recorded.
There are, however, no less than three evil influences hinted at in these words:
“_His father had not displeased him at any time, in saying, Why hast thou done
so? and he also was a very goodly man, and his mother bare him after Absalom_”
(1Ki 1:6). Taking them in reverse order: _Heritage_, _Adulation_, and _Lack of
Discipline_, were three sources of moral peril, and these would tend to the ruin
of any man. Let us think of each of these, for they are not extinct by any
means.

We know very little of Haggith, but she was probably a dancing girl who made her
way to the front by her ambition and beauty. From her and from his father we may
assume that Adonijah inherited a tendency to ambition and self-conceit such as
Absalom inherited from the union of David with Bathsheba. It is one of the laws
of life that “like produces like,” Evidence of this constantly appears in the
lower animals, in the speed of the racehorse, in the scent of the hound, and so
forth. This asserts itself in men also. We often notice what we call a “family
likeness.” Tricks of manner, and various mental qualities such as heroism,
statesmanship, mathematical or artistic talent, descend from parents to
children, and sometimes reappear for generations in the same family. This cannot
be due to example alone, because the phenomena is almost as frequent when the
parents die during the child’s infancy. Similarly, moral tendencies are
transmitted, and the Bible gives us many examples of the fact. The luxury-loving
Isaac, who must have his savoury food, just as his son, Esau, who would sell his
birthright for a mess of pottage, Rebekah, who, like her brother Laban is shrewd
and cunning, sees her tendency repeated in her son Jacob, who needed a life of
discipline and prayer to set him free from it. In more senses than one “the evil
which men do lives after them.” A drunkard’s son, for example, is often
conscious of an inbred craving which is a veritable disease, so that he is
heavily weighted as he starts out on the race of life. This solemn and
suggestive fact that the future well-being of children depends largely on the
character of parents, should give emphasis to the adjuration in the wedding
service--marriage, therefore, is to be honourable in all, and ought not to be
engaged in rashly, “thoughtlessly, or lightly, but advisedly, reverently, and in
the fear of God.” The law of moral heritage makes parental responsibility a
solemn trust, while, in so far as it affects those who inherit bad or good
tendencies, we are sure that the Judge of all the earth will do right. But it
must never be forgotten that even a bad disposition need never become a dominant
habit. It is something to be resisted and conquered, and, it may be, by the
grace of Him who is faithful, and will not suffer any of us to be tempted above
what we are able to bear. Our tendencies are Divine calls to us to recognise and
guard certain weak places in the citadel of character, for it is against these
that our enemy directs his most persistent and vigorous attacks.

Unhappily, Adonijah’s natural bias was made the more dangerous by the atmosphere
of the court, where flatterers naturally abounded--for “_he was a very goodly
man_,” physically a repetition of Absalom, the Adonis of his time. We may also
fairly surmise that his parents were guilty of partiality and indulgence in
their treatment of him, for David would love him the more as one who revived the
memory of his favourite Absalom, the idol of the people, distinguished for his
noble mien and princely bearing. Courtiers, soldiers, and people all flattered
Adonijah, and Joab, the greatest captain of his age, next only to the king, was
his partisan, the more so because he neither forgot nor forgave David’s
reproaches after the death of Absalom. Even Abiathar, who represented the
younger and more ambitious branch of the priesthood, joined in the general
adulation, until Adonijah, intoxicated by vanity, set up his own court in
rivalry to that of his father, and when he moved abroad was accompanied by a
stately retinue of chariots and horsemen, and fifty foot attendants gorgeously
apparelled. No doubt every position in life has its own peculiar temptations.
The ill-favoured lad, who is the butt at school and the scapegoat at home, is in
serious danger of becoming bitter and revengeful, and of growing crooked in
character, like a plant in a dark vault, which will have no beauty because it
enjoys no sunshine. But, on the other hand, physical beauty, which attracts
attention and wins admiration, especially if it is associated with brilliant
conversational gifts, and great charm of manner, has befooled both men and women
into sin and misery. Many a girl has been entrapped into an unhappy marriage;
and many a lad, moved by a vaunting ambition which overleaped itself, has fallen
never to rise: like Icarus, when his waxen wings melted in the sun.

There must have been sad laxity of discipline in the home of David. It is said
of Adonijah that “_his father had not displeased him at any time in saying, Why
hast thou done so_?” In other words, Adonijah had never been checked and rebuked
as he ought to have been, and this foolish indulgence was as fatal to him as it
had been to the sons of Eli. There are still such homes as David’s, although
their inmates do well to draw down the veil of secrecy over them with loyal
hands, and never blazon abroad the grief and anxiety which rend their hearts. In
one home a fair, bright girl mars the beauty of her early womanhood by a
flippant disregard of her mother’s wishes, and by an exaltation of her own
pleasure-loving disposition as the one law of her life. In another, a mere
child, hasty and uncontrolled in temper, is the dread of the whole household,
and at last becomes its tyrant, because every wish is gratified rather than that
a scene should be provoked. In yet another a grown-up son is callous about his
mother’s anxiety and his father’s counsels; and gladly ignores his home
associations as he drifts away upon the sea of vice, and there becomes a
miserable wreck. With each of these it might have been otherwise. If authority
had been asserted, and steadily maintained, before bad habits were formed; if
firm resolution on the part of the parents had taken the place of indulgent
laxity, if, instead of being left to chance, character had been moulded during
the time when it was plastic--these might, with God’s blessing, have grown up to
be wise, pure-hearted, courageous followers of Christ--who would not only have
sweetened the atmosphere of home, but would have done something to purify and
illumine society, as the salt and the light of the world. The sin of which
Adonijah was guilty, whose sources we have tried to discover, was the assumption
of unlawful authority and state, which involved rebellion against his own
father.

Ambition is not always wrong. It is a common inspiration often nerving men to
attempt daring and noble deeds. Desire for distinction, with capacity for it,
may often be regarded as the voice of God summoning to high effort. The world
would soon be stagnant without ambition. The scholar working for a prize, the
writer or speaker resolving to make a name, the man of business pressing onward
past the indolent and the ne’er-do-weel, are not to be condemned, so long as
they seek lawful objects by lawful means. Those who strenuously and hopefully
fulfil the duties of their present sphere will be called higher, either in this
world or the next, for God means us to rise by our fidelity where we are, and
not by discontent with what we are. Ambition may have conscience in it, and this
will reveal itself in the steady and minute performance of small duties. Any who
are content, with tireless hand, to make crooked things straight and rough
places plain, will ultimately see glory revealed. But if ambition is not ruled
by righteousness, if it is not modified by love and consideration for others, it
becomes a sin, and will prove to be the herald of disobedience and death, for it
is such ambition which has cursed the world by tyrannies and bloodshed, and
dragged down angels from realms of light. This was the ambition which let
Adonijah exalt himself, and say, “I will be _king_.”

It may be said that his conduct was natural enough, although it was too
precipitate, because he would legitimately succeed his father in due course, as
his eldest surviving son. But this was not so. The law of primogeniture was not
law for Israel. The invisible King expressly reserved to Himself the right of
appointing the ruler of His people, as is evident from Deu 17:14-15. The
government was theocratic, not monarchical nor democratic. David himself had
been chosen and anointed in preference to Jonathan, Saul’s son, and Solomon,
David’s younger son, had already been designated as his successor through the
prophet Nathan, partly because he was best fitted to become the man of peace who
should erect Jehovah’s temple, and partly as a sign to David that his sin with
Bathsheba was forgiven. It was not as the “leader of a court cabal,” but as a
prophet inspired by Jehovah, that Nathan had made this solemn appointment.
Adonijah knew this perfectly well; he acknowledged it to Bathsheba in the
fifteenth verse of the second chapter, and therefore, when he declared, “_I_
will be king,” he was deliberately and knowingly setting his will against God’s,
and this was a sin. The divine choice often differs from the human, for “_the
Lord seeth not as man seeth_.” In his reply to the sons of Zebedee, Jesus
declared that God is not swayed by favouritism, nor moved by arbitrary impulse,
but assigns to each his position according to his fitness. This should give us
contentment with our lot, and should emphasise the precept, “_Seekest thou great
things for thyself; seek them not_.”

Though it is natural enough to wish for escape from the fret of poverty, or the
weariness of pain, and to win for ourselves wealth or prominence, we must be on
our guard against the indulgence of defiant self-will, like that of him who
said, “I _will_ be king.”

Adonijah’s motive in aspiring to the throne was not that he might the better
care for the welfare of others, but that he might selfishly enjoy wealth and
honour. He cared much for outward show, while he failed to cultivate inward
worth, preparing for himself chariots, horsemen, and a retinue of servants, but
never displaying a love of justice or ability in statesmanship. And such little
motives as his never make greatness.

Adonijah was not the last to be attracted by glitter and tinsel, and to live for
earthly things which perish in the using. The candidate who cares much for
honour and nothing for learning, the professional man who will sacrifice
reputation to win a fortune, and all who wrong others in order to better
themselves, only gain what is transient and unsatisfying. It would be well for
all to learn the lesson (not least he for whom the ceremony is primarily
intended), which is symbolically taught when a Pope is crowned. The Master of
the Ceremonies takes a lighted taper in one hand, and in the other a reed with a
handful of flax fastened to it. The flax flares up for a moment, and then the
flame dies away into thin, almost imperceptible, ashes, which fall at the
Pontiff’s feet, as the choir chant the refrain “Pater sanctus, sic transit
gloria mundi.” No earthly honour is worth having except it is the result or the
reward of character. Even in Pagan Rome the Temple of Honour could only be
reached through the Temple of Virtue. And over the gateway of the greatest of
all kingdoms in which Christ Jesus is supreme, this motto is inscribed
indelibly--”_He that humbleth himself shall be exalted, and he that exalteth
himself shall be abased_.”

How often such ambition is accompanied by disregard of the rights of others!
What did Adonijah care for his father’s dignity, or his brother’s claims? David
was still on the throne, and Solomon’s right to succeed him had been
authoritatively proclaimed, and yet, with inbred selfishness, this ambitious
prince declared, “_I_ will be king!” The lawfulness of any ambition may often be
tested by the amount of selfishness which inheres in it. If desire for
distinction, or wealth, leads one to crush a competitor to the wall without
ruth, or to refuse all help to others in a struggle where every man seems to
fight for his own hand, its lawfulness may well be questioned. Our Lord taught
us to love even our enemies, and surely competitors have a still stronger claim
on our consideration, and certainly all who belong to a church which is based on
sacrifice, and symbolised by a cross, should even in such matters deny
themselves, and seek every man his neighbour’s good.

All sin is the worse when it is committed, as Adonijah’s was, in defiance of
warning. He deliberately repeated his brother’s offence.

Yet he knew the tragic story of his death, and how his brilliant life had been
ended by violence in a wood, where he perished without a friend; and he must
often have seen his father brooding alone over the trouble thus caused, as if he
was still whispering to himself: “_O Absalom, my son, would God I had died for
thee! O Absalom, my son, my son_!” Yet the very sin of Absalom which had been so
terribly punished, Adonijah boldly committed.

History is crowded with examples of ambitious men who died in disappointment and
despair,--Alexander, who conquered a world, and then wept because there were no
more worlds to conquer, perished in a scene of debauchery, after setting fire to
the city. Hannibal, who filled three bushel measures with the gold rings of
fallen knights, at last, by poison self-administered, died unwept in a foreign
land. Caesar, who had practically the whole world at his feet, was stabbed to
the heart by so-called friends, even Brutus being among them. Napoleon, the
scourge and conqueror of Europe, died, a heart-broken exile, in St Helena.
Indeed, it is written in letters of blood on the pages of history, “_The
expectation of the wicked shall perish_.”

Happily, angels’ voices are calling us to higher things. Conscience whispers to
us of duty and love. Christ Himself, from the Cross, which was the
stepping-stone to His throne, still cries to every one who will listen, “_Follow
me_.” The false must be displaced by the true--the world by the Christ--the
usurper by the Divinely-appointed King. It was thus that Adonijah’s scheme was
defeated. Bathsheba, Solomon’s mother, and Nathan, the prophet, hurried in to
tell David of Adonijah’s revolt against his authority, and that at his
coronation-festival, then begun, even Joab, the commander-in-chief, and
Abiathar, the priest, were present. Then David’s old decision and promptitude
reasserted themselves once more. At his command, Solomon, his designated
successor, was seated on the King’s own mule, and rode in state to Gihon, where
Zadok anointed him in Jehovah’s name; and when the trumpet was blown all the
people said, “_God save King Solomon_!”

It was the crowning of the new king which proved the dethronement of the false;
and this fact enshrines a principle divine and permanent.

False doctrine is overcome, not by abuse, but by the proclamation of the true.
Evil, whether enthroned in the heart or in the world, is conquered by greater
good. The strong man armed, only keeps his goods in peace, until One stronger
than he comes to bind him and cast him out. Christ conquers the devil, be he
where he may. “_For this purpose the Son of God was manifested that He might
destroy the works of the devil_.” In the progress of Solomon, as he rode on his
mule to Jerusalem, amid the acclamations of the people, we see the Old Testament
counterpart to the New Testament narrative, which tells how Christ Jesus entered
Jerusalem as its king, while the people met Him with welcomes, and with palms,
and children sang His praises. And in both is a symbol of His advent to every
heart, and, if He be but welcomed as rightful king, He will take to Himself His
power, and reign.


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  CHAPTER 23: 2.05.     HIRAMBY W. J. TOWNSEND, D.D.
========================================================================

HIRAM, THE INSPIRED ARTIFICER BY REV. W. J. TOWNSEND, D.D. The Temple of Solomon
was the crown of art in the old world. There were temples on a larger scale, and
of more massive construction, but the enormous masses of masonry of the oldest
nations were not comparable with the artistic grace, the luxurious adornments,
and the harmonious proportions of this glorious House of God. David had laid up
money and material for the great work, but he was not permitted to carry it out.

He was a man of war, and blood-stained hands were not to build the temple of
peace and righteousness. Solomon was the providential man for such an
undertaking. He had large ideas, a keen sense of beauty, generous instincts, a
religious nature, a literary training, and a highly cultivated mind. He was in
peaceful alliance with surrounding nations, many of whom would be drawn into
requisition for the suitable materials.

They had to supply the cedar wood, iron, copper, brass, tin, gold, silver, and
the rich fabrics which have made proverbial the sumptuous and beautiful raiment
and decorations of those times, with the rarest marbles that the quarries of
Lebanon and Bezetha could contribute. So with the thousands of busy builders and
artificers,

“Like some tall palm, the graceful fabric grew,” until it stood complete on
Mount Moriah, an inspiration to the people, a continual benediction to the
nation, and the envy of many a covetous conqueror. The name of one man only has
been handed down the ages as having specially signalised himself in the
decoration of the temple. Solomon must procure the best of human talent and
genius for the perfection of the work he meditated. Therefore he not only made a
treaty with Hiram, King of Tyre, for supplies of material, but of workmen, and
chief of these, one whose artistic productions were to be the best adornments of
the House of God for succeeding centuries. He was a tried veteran in decorative
work, an expert in almost every kind of art, and fit to be placed in the
position of chief superintendent of so superb a building. The King of Tyre sent
to Solomon a testimony which was eloquent in his praise: “_I have sent a cunning
man endued with understanding...the son of a woman of the daughters of Dan, his
father was a man of Tyre, skilful to work in gold, and in silver, in brass, in
iron, in stone, and in timber, in purple, in blue, and in fine linen, and in
crimson; also to grave any manner of graving, and to find out every device_”
(2Ch 2:13-14). Another record says: “_He was filled with wisdom, and
understanding, and cunning to work all works in brass_” (1Ki 7:14).

It is a significant fact in the history that Hiram, this expert artificer,
bearing the same name as his king, should have had an Israelitish mother, and a
Gentile father who had also been a worker in metal. Thus he got his artistic
taste and training from the father, his religious knowledge and sympathy from
the mother. Religious feeling and sympathy he certainly had, as his magnificent
work in the temple fully demonstrated.

Hiram constructed of bright, burnished brass, an immense laver, called “a molten
sea,” to be used for the ablutions of the priests. It was capable of containing
from fifteen to twenty thousand gallons of water, and the ornamentation was
elaborate exceedingly. Under the brim were two rows of balls or bosses,
encircling the laver. Twelve oxen, three looking in four different directions,
supported it, and the brim was wrought like the brim of a cup with flowers of
lilies. Beyond this, there were ten lavers, smaller in size, for the washing of
such things as were offered in sacrifice. These were carefully decorated with
lions, oxen, and cherubim on the borders of the ledges. They stood upon bases,
measuring 6 feet by 4 1/2 feet, ornamented carefully on each side with garlands
hanging in festoons, literally, “garlands, pensile work.” Each base had brasen
wheels attached, with brasen axletrees, and brackets which stretched from the
four upper corners of the bases to the outward rim of the laver. All the
furnishings were also made by Hiram, such as pots, basons, shovels; probably
also the golden altar, and table, with the seven-branched lamp stands, of which
there were ten, of beautiful construction and ornamentation. But the most
glorious work of Hiram was the construction of the two majestic brasen pillars,
called Jachin and Boaz, They were stately in height, the shaft of each measuring
27 feet, a base of 12 feet, and two capitals of 13 1/2 feet, thus the whole
height of each pillar being 52 1/2 feet. The decoration was equally graceful and
elaborate, especially upon the capitals. The lower capitals had a fine network
over the whole, and chain-work hanging in festoons outside.

There were also pomegranates wrought upon them. The upper capitals, forming a
cornice to the whole pillar, were ornamented with lily-work. At Persepolis there
still stands a pillar, the cornice of which is carved with three rows of lily
leaves. These pillars were esteemed the most important ornaments in the
magnificent temple, the erection of which was the best feature of Solomon’s
reign. They were of such prominent importance that a name was affixed to each of
them. One was called “Jachin,” which means, “he will establish,” the other was
called “Boaz,” which means “in strength.” The ideas involved are stability and
strength. Possibly the Psalmist had these pillars in his mind when he wrote,
“_Strength and beauty are in His sanctuary_” (Psa 96:6); strength first, then
beauty; strength as the foundation of divine work, then beauty, graceful finish,
and ornament.

Hiram was an inspired artist and artificer. He was “_filled with wisdom and
understanding, and cunning to work_.” We are told the same as to the great
decorative workers of the Tabernacle, concerning whom the Lord said: “_See, I
have called by name Bezalel, the son of Uri, the son of Hur of the tribe of
Judah: and I have filled him with the spirit of God, in wisdom, in
understanding, and in knowledge, and in all manner of workmanship, to devise
cunning works, to work in gold, and in silver, and in brass, and in cutting of
stones for setting, and in carving of wood, to work in all manner of
workmanship_” (Exo 31:2-5). So also it is written of Aholiab, Ahisamach, and
other Tabernacle workers.

It is instructive to find that in Scripture, genius as displayed in literary
insight and facility, in ingenuity and inventiveness as to the various arts, and
even in the conception of instruments of husbandry, is attributed to Divine
inspiration. It may not be the same order of inspiration by which “_men spake
from God, being moved by the Holy Ghost_”; “_Searching what time or manner of
time the spirit of Christ which was in them did point unto when it testified
beforehand the sufferings of Christ and the glories that should follow them_”
(2Pe 1:21; 1Pe 1:11); but the fact is clear, whether it was inspiration of a
different nature or in a different degree, that on men of special gifts in
various departments and of the highest order, wisdom and understanding are a
direct gift of the Holy Spirit. This truth was acknowledged in earliest times,
and skilled experts in art or handicraft were reckoned to be under the
inspiration of God. Among the heathen this belief lingered long. The ancient
poets invoked the aid of their deities when entering on some great composition,
and the devout earnestness of some recorded prayers is remarkable. There should
be a line of demarcation drawn in this connection between a man of talent and a
man of genius. Talent may be a matter of cultivation and perseverance. A man of
ordinary intelligence may, by determined resolution, push his way to power in
many directions, and the one talent may become ten talents. But genius is not
mere cleverness, however well directed and carefully developed. Genius is
creative and inventive; it has insight, it has imagination, it “bodies forth the
forms of things unknown,” and “gives to airy nothings a local habitation and a
name.” Isaiah speaks of the inspiration of the inventor of the agricultural
instrument: “_His God doth instruct him aright, and doth teach him... This also
cometh from the Lord of hosts, which is wonderful in counsel and excellent in
wisdom_” (Isa 28:26-29). When man required in the old time direct teaching of
great religious truths and realities, God inspired prophets and seers, but the
world required also to be educated, regulated, civilised. Therefore poets,
painters, _litterateurs_, artists, and artificers were called for, by deep needs
of humanity. God answered the need by giving the marvellous gift in various
forms and degrees to men who had understanding of their times, and who by
special insight were able to give impulses to progress in every direction. This
truth is powerfully stated by a German metaphysician:--”Nothing calls us more
powerfully to adore the living God than the appearance and embodiment of genius
upon the earth. Whatever in the ordinary course of things we may choose to
attribute to the mechanical process of cause and effect, the highest
manifestations of intellect can be called forth only by the express will of the
original Mind, independent of second causes. Genius descends upon us from the
clouds precisely where we least look for it. Events may be calculated,
predicted--spirits never; no earthly oracle announces the appearance of genius:
the unfathomable will of the Creator suddenly calls to it--Be!” [1] The Apostle
Paul says concerning the Christ, “_IN HIM were all things created_” (Col 1:16).
Everything in the universe became objective, because they were first subjective
in Christ, the second Person in the adorable Trinity. All things were made from
forms and types which were in Himself before they were impressed on Creation.
The infinite glories of sky, and air, and sea, the beauties of the tree, the
flower, the bird, and all forms of life, the fleeting and recurring grandeurs
that paint the seasons and the years, are all but revelations of the boundless
resources and the ineffable beauties and qualities of the mind of Christ, our
Master and Teacher. Our craving of genius, and its never-dying ambition, is to
come ever nearer to the perfection of the Infinite Artist and Architect. The
inspiration which filled the soul of Bezalel or Hiram may not be so elevated or
elevating as that which enabled Isaiah to soar to the throne of the Eternal in
speechless rapture, or which enabled Michael Angelo to represent in form and
colour his vast conceptions of the beautiful and sublime; but it was as real,
and in some aspects as serviceable in suggestion and realisation, as these. “God
fulfils Himself in many ways.” As the Divine Spirit plays on the minds of
special men, one is turned to music, another to painting, another to sculpture,
another to architecture, another to mechanics, and another to a smith’s
imaginings; but it is still the same Spirit that worketh in all and through all,
and each may be perfected instruments by which He accomplishes His wise and
gracious purposes in the uplift of men.

What a living force among men is the true poet, the man who can take words and
weave them into forms of perfect rhythm, rhyme, and measure, and then fill them
with thoughts so suggestive and burning, as that they become for ever a force in
the hearts of men, thrilling the souls of men and women with lofty ideals,
prompting them to noble deeds, nerving them to patience in suffering and courage
in battle. What may not the artist accomplish by throwing on the canvas
landscapes or seascapes, like Turner, Scripture scenes, like Raphael, or heroic
deeds, like Millais? Do these things not speak to the heart through the eye
effectually? And what refining influences may not be silently absorbed into the
nature by the artificer, who works in metals, or in pottery, in glass, or in
wood, producing shapes of graceful contour, and decoration of delicate beauty,
so that the articles of the household or the warehouse may be an education to
the mind, and become to it patterns of things in the heavens. The command to
Moses on the Mount was, concerning all the furniture of the Tabernacle, which
Bezalel and Aholiab had to construct was, “_See that thou make all things
according to the pattern showed to thee in the mount_” (Heb 8:5). The beautiful
things were in the mind of God first, and then had to be produced by the
inspiration of the artist, in the house of prayer by the wisdom and deftness
imparted by the Spirit.

It is possible, we sorrow to think, to misuse the Divine gift of artistic
inspiration. The poet may devote his genius to animalism, like Byron, or to
teach immoral license, like Swinburne; the painter may crowd his canvas with
degrading ideas and vulgar representations, and the artificer may be ingenious
in the production of forms of ugliness and degrading grotesqueness. Such
desecration of great endowments is alike displeasing to God and ruinous to the
man. Of such it may be said: “_He feedeth on ashes: a deceived heart hath turned
him aside, that he cannot deliver his soul, nor say, Is there not a lie in my
right hand_?” (Isa 44:20).

Thank God, that we may say truly that generally the superlatives might have been
found sitting at the feet of Jesus. The heavy, dull masses of meaningless
masonry which belonged to Egypt or Assyria, flowered into the pure, delicate,
ideality of the Greek builders, and this again developed into the warm,
spiritual, suggestive style of Christianity which has covered Christendom with
consecrated buildings like the cathedrals of Cologne or Chartres. The art of
twenty centuries has been proclaiming the Christ as perfect in beauty, in grace
and refinement, as He is perfect in love and in sacrifice. The music of the
past, in all its highest reaches from Gregory to Mendelssohn, celebrates His
grand redemption. The most gifted poets, from Dante, pealing his threefold
anthem from the topmost peak of Parnassus, to Shakespeare, with “his woodnotes
wild”; from Milton, with his “sevenfold chorus of hallelujahs and harping
symphonies,” to Tennyson, with his “happy bells,” which “Ring in the valiant man
and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand,” but chief of all which

“Ring in the Christ that is to be,” are resonant with loyalty and devotion to
Him. Thus, all voices and all gifts, as they come from Christ, and are claimed
by Christ, should be used for Him and Him alone. The lofty reach of genius is
called to glorify Him, and the humblest gift of the peasant in the cottage, or
the workman in the mill, or the little child at the mother’s knee, are all due
to Christ, to be devoted to Him, and also to be appreciated and rewarded by Him.

[1]Gustav Schwab, quoted by Ullmann, in _The Worship of Genius_.


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  CHAPTER 24: 2.06.     JEROBOAM BY ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D., LL.B.
========================================================================

JEROBOAM BY REV. ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D, LL.B.

“Jeroboam, who did sin, and who made Israel to sin.”--1Ki 14:16.

Jeroboam’s character is worthy of serious study, not only because it influenced
the desting of God’s ancient people, but because it suggests lessons of the
utmost value to His people still. He may be fairly regarded as a type of those
who are successful men of the world. He was not an example of piety, for he had
none--nor of lofty principle, for he was an opportunist who made expediency the
law of his life throughout.

Yet he was permitted to win all that he could have hoped for, and reached the
very zenith of his ambition, though he went down to the grave at last, defeated
and dishonoured, with this as his record--he was the man “_who made Israel to
sin_.”

Such a life as his throws a flood of light on our possibilities and perils,
showing unscrupulous men both what they may possibly win, and what they will
certainly lose.

Jeroboam appears to have been a man of lowly origin. Of his father Nebat, whose
name is so often linked with his own, we know nothing, although an old Jewish
tradition, preserved by Jerome, identifies him with Shimei, who was the first to
insult David in his flight, and the first of all the house of Joseph to
congratulate him on his return. All we know with certainty is that he belonged
to the powerful tribe of Ephraim, which was always jealous of the supremacy of
Judah, and therefore hated David, Solomon, and Rehoboam. It was this feeling of
which Jeroboam skilfully availed himself when he split the kingdom of David in
twain. In the Book of Kings, this remarkable man first appears as an ordinary
workman, or possibly as a foreman of the masons who were engaged in building
Fort Millo, one of the chief defences of the citadel of Zion, guarding its
weakest point, and making it almost impregnable. Under the system of forced
labour then in vogue, the workmen would be inclined to shirk their toil, and
among them Jeroboam stood out in conspicuous contrast, by reason of his
eagerness and industry. Solomon the king, who always had a keen eye for
capacity, saw the young man that he was industrious, and after making some
inquiries about him, raised him to the remunerative post of superintendent of
the tribute payable by the tribe of Ephraim. It was, no doubt, a difficult
office to fill, for the tribe was restive and powerful, but it would be very
profitable, because the system on which taxes were collected, as is still usual
in Eastern countries, gave immense opportunities for enrichment to an
unscrupulous man. We may be sure, therefore, that Jeroboam quickly became
wealthy. At the same time he won influence with the tribe, by expressing secret
sympathy with his fellow-tribesmen, and he stealthily fostered their discontent
until the opportunity came for asserting himself as a more successful Wat Tyler,
in the kingdom which by that time Solomon had left to his foolish son, Rehoboam.
Little did Solomon imagine that when he advanced Jeroboam he was preparing the
instrument of his son’s ruin, and that this Ephraimite would prove to be like
the viper Aesop tells of, which a kind-hearted man took in from the cold, but
which when roused by warmth from its torpor, killed its benefactor.

I

1. In looking for the elements which contributed to Jeroboam’s rapidly-won
success, we must certainly credit him with remarkable natural ability. No one
can read his biography carefully without noticing his shrewdness in seeing his
chance when it came, and his boldness and promptitude in seizing it. He
possessed such self-control that he kept his plans absolutely to himself until
the critical moment, and then he made a daring dash for power, and won it. And
these characteristics of his were gifts from God, as Ahijah the prophet
emphatically declared.

We are far too timid in the maintenance of our professed belief that physical
and mental gifts are divine in their origin. Mediaeval theology, which was
largely tinged by Pagan philosophy, sometimes went so far as to attribute
exceptional beauty, or talent, to evil powers; and we are apt to trace them to a
merely human source. But keen perception, sound judgment, a retentive memory, a
vigorous imagination, and, not least, good common-sense, are among the talents
entrusted to us by God Himself, who will by-and-bye take account of His
servants. This is regarded by many as an old-fashioned and effete theory. They
assume that the doctrine of evolution has conclusively shown that no man is a
new creation, but is a necessary product of preceding lives; that his lineaments
and talents may be traced to parentage, that the brilliance of the Cecils and
the solid sense of the Cavendishes, for example, are simply a matter of
heritage. But even admitting this to be largely true, it does not invalidate the
statement that our gifts are of God--He is the Father of all the “families” of
the earth, as well as of individuals. He does not rule over one year only, but
over all the generations. Time and change, of which we make much, are nothing to
Him. The theory of evolution, therefore, merely extends our conceptions of the
range of His power and forethought. Whether a child presents a striking contrast
to his parents, or whether he seems to be a re-incarnation of their talents, it
is equally true that all things are of God, and that for Him and by Him all
things consist. Natural abilities are Divine trusts.

There is startling unevenness in the distribution of these gifts. Not only do
two families differ widely in their talents and possessions, but children of the
same parents are often strangely unlike, physically and mentally. One is
radiantly beautiful, and another has no charm in appearance or in manners. One
is physically vigorous, and another is frail as a hothouse flower. One is so
quick that lessons are no trouble at all, and another wearily plods over them
till ready to give up in despair. Evidences of this unevenness of distribution
meet us everywhere. One man will make a fortune where another would not suspect
a chance. One remains a third-rate salesman all his days, and would spend even
his holidays in looking into shop windows, for his soul does not rise beyond
them; while his comrade is brimful of talent, and the world will ring at last
with his name and fame. We say “it is in them”; but what is in them is of God,
and these very differences between men are intended by Him to elicit mutual
consideration and mutual helpfulness; for we are members one of another, and the
deficiencies of one are to be supplemented by the superabundance of another.

2. The most brilliant gifts are of no great value apart from personal diligence,
such as distinguished Jeroboam.

He did thoroughly the work which lay to his hand, whether as mason,
tax-collector, or king. Such diligence often rectifies the balance between two
men of unequal ability. The plodding tortoise still beats the hare, who believes
herself to be so swift that she can afford time to sleep. Any one who looks back
on his classmates will see that the cleverest have not proved the most
successful, but that the prizes of life have usually gone to those who
diligently developed to the utmost what they had. Scripture is crowded with
examples of this. Jacob laboured night and day, and therefore he prospered, even
under Laban, unjust and exacting though Laban was. Joseph won his way to the
front, though an exile and a slave, for he made himself indispensable in prison,
and in the kingdom. “_Seest thou a man diligent in business? he shall stand
before kings, he shall not stand before mean men_.” And because this is a Divine
law, it prevails in higher spheres also. If a Christian uses, in the service of
his heavenly Master, the gifts he possesses, faith in God, knowledge of truth,
power in prayer, persuasive speech--his five talents will become ten, or his two
will gain other two. “_To him that hath, to him shall be given, and he shall
have abundance_.”

3. It may be said that talent and diligence combined do not always win success,
and so far as this world is concerned, it is true. Possibly Jeroboam would never
have come to the front if Solomon had not happened to notice him. But if we read
the interviews which Ahijah the prophet had with Jeroboam, and with his mother,
we shall learn to recognise the control of God in this also.

If God over-rules anything he must over-rule everything, because what appears to
be the most trivial incident, often has the most far-reaching results on human
character and destiny. Trifles are often turning-points in one’s history. A
casual word spoken in our favour may bring about the introduction which leads to
a happy marriage, or to a prosperous business career. It may not have been known
to us at the time, nor thought of again by the friend who spoke about us, but
back of his friendly utterance God was. In life we are not infrequently like a
passenger on board ship, who chats to those about him, but pays no regard to the
wheel, or to the seaman who controls it, still less to the officer who gives the
man his instructions; and yet the turning of that wheel, in this direction or in
that, involves safety, or wreck. God keeps control--unseen--over the lives of
men, and it was more than a lucky chance which led Solomon to notice the smart,
stalwart worker at Millo, and raise him to a higher post. The wise king showed
his wisdom in rewarding as he did, fidelity and diligence. It is because this is
often not done in offices and warehouses that there is so little mutual goodwill
between servants and masters. An employer will often treat his people as mere
“hands,” who are to sell his goods and do his bidding, but directly work is
slack, he will turn them adrift without scruple or ruth; or if they remain for
years in his service, will give no increase of wage or salary proportioned to
capacity and diligence. A Christian employer, at least, should follow a more
excellent way, and advance a diligent servant, not because he cannot be done
without, or because it is for the good of the firm to retain his services, but
because his promotion is right and richly deserved. It would be a woful thing if
God treated us exactly as we treat our fellows. But whatever the immediate
result, fidelity and industry are called for from us all. Our Lord Himself said,
“_It is My meat and My drink to do the will of My Father in heaven_,” and this
He felt to be as true of His work at the carpenter’s bench as in the precincts
of the Temple. Whether in the business, or in the household, or in the Church,
the King is ever watching His servants, and of His grace will raise every
faithful one to higher service and larger possibilities. “_The Father, who seeth
in secret, shall reward thee openly_,” and His reward will come not only in
loftier position but in ennobled character--

“Toil is no thorny crown of pain, Bound round man’s brow for sin; True souls
from it all strength may gain, High manliness may win.

“O God, who workest hitherto, Working in all we see, Fain would we be, and hear,
and do, As best it pleaseth Thee.”

II.

Jeroboam’s defects in character, and indeed his actual sins, were many and
great.

1. His ingratitude to his benefactor was a disgrace to him.

He fostered and used, as far as he dared, the discontent which smouldered in the
tribe of Ephraim, as the result partly of jealousy of Judah, and partly of
restiveness under extravagant expenditure and increasing taxation, and this
treachery went on until he was expelled the country by Solomon, and driven out
as an exile into Egypt, where, however, he still carried out his ambitious
schemes, till his chance came under Rehoboam.

Many a man kicks away the ladder by which he rose to fortune. He likes to divest
himself of the past wherein he needed help, for it was a time of humiliation,
and by cutting off association with former friends, would fain lead people to
believe that his success was entirely due to his own cleverness. Even his own
parents are sometimes neglected and ignored, and these, to whom he owed his
life, who cared for him in his helpless infancy and wayward youth, are left
unhelped. “_Cursed is the man who setteth light by his father or mother_.” But
though we naturally cry “shame” upon such an one, it is possible that we
ourselves are acting an unfilial part towards our Heavenly Father. And the more
He prospers us the greater is the danger of our forgetting Him, who crowns us
with loving-kindness and tender mercies.

2. Jeroboam’s sin against Solomon was as nothing compared with his sin against
God. From the first he seems to have been an irreligious man. He regarded
religion as a kind of restraint on the lower orders, and therefore useful in
government. Priests and prophets constituted, in his opinion, the vanguard of
the police, and they should, therefore, be supported and encouraged by the
State. As to the form religion assumed, he was not particular. In Egypt he had
become accustomed to the ritual of Apis and Mnevis, which was by no means so
gross and demoralising as the idolatry of the Canaanites, and he evidently could
not see why the worship of Jehovah could not be carried on by those who believed
in Him through the use of emblems, and, if need be, of idols. Therefore he set
about the establishment of the cult of Apis, and “_made two calves of gold, and
set the one in Bethel and the other put he in Daniel .” This was the sin for
which he was condemned again and again with almost wearisome iteration.

He was by no means a fanatical idolater, and this act of his was simply the
dictate of his worldly policy. He was engaged in the establishment of the
separate kingdom of Israel, which for many a long year was to exist side by side
with the kingdom of Judah. But this policy of separation would be impossible so
long as there was the old spirit of unity in the nation. And this unity was
expressed and fostered most of all by the existence of the Temple in Jerusalem,
the common centre to which all the tribes resorted, and from which all
government emanated.

If this continued so to be, it was evident that the nation would sooner or later
reassert its unity. The men of Ephraim were just now exasperated by the taxation
imposed by Solomon, and increased by Rehoboam, and they still resented the
precedence and supremacy of the rival tribe of Judah; but this feeling might
prove transient, it might be some day dissipated by the statesmanship of a wiser
king, and then the separated kingdom would die out, and all God’s people would
appear as one. To prevent this was Jeroboam’s aim in the erection of the golden
calves.

It was a policy which would naturally appeal to the jealous people, who were
told that they ought not to be dependent for their means of worship on Judah,
nor send up their tribute for the support of the Temple in Jerusalem. And they
would welcome a scheme which brought worship within easier range, and saved the
cost of leaving business and undertaking a wearisome journey in order to keep
the feasts. Thus, without deliberate choice, they swiftly glided down into
idolatry and national ruin.

Jeroboam thus led the people to a violation of one of the fundamental laws in
the Decalogue. For if the first command was not disobeyed by all the people, the
second was, and these laws are still obligatory, nor can they be broken with
impunity. With fatal facility those who worshipped Jeroboam’s golden calf became
identified with the heathen, and the kingdom thus set upon a false foundation
was at last utterly destroyed. And as surely as the tide flows in upon the
shore, so surely will the laws of God bring retribution on all who are
impenitent. To every man the choice is proffered between the false and the true
ideal of life. On the one side the tempter points to wealth and position, which
may often be won, as Jeroboam won it, by unscrupulousness; and on the other side
stands the Son of God, who, though rejected and crucified, was nevertheless the
Victor over sin, and who now from His heavenly throne exclaims, “_To him that
overcometh will I grant to sit with Me in My throne, even as I also overcame,
and am set down with My Father in His throne_.”


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  CHAPTER 25: 2.07.     ASA BY ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D., LL.B.
========================================================================

ASA BY REV. ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D, LL.B.

1Ki 15:8-24; 2 CHRON. 14-16.

Asa was the third king who reigned over the separated kingdoms of Judah. His
father was Ahijah, of whom it is sternly said, “_He walked in all the sins of
his father, Rehoboam, which he had done before him_.” A worse bringing-up than
Asa’s could scarcely be imagined. As a child, and as a lad, he was grievously
tempted by his father’s example, and by the influence of an idolatrous court,
which was crowded by flatterers and panderers. The leading spirit of the
court-circle was Maachah, “_the King’s mother_,” as she is called--the Sultana
Valide. She was a woman of strong character, and held a high official position.
She was the grand-daughter of Absalom, and was notorious for her fanatical
idolatry. In short, she was the evil genius of the kingdom, like the Chinese
Queen-mother of our own times, although, happily, Asa possessed a force of
character which the young Emperor of China seems to lack. It is certainly
noteworthy, that, with so much against the cultivation of a religious life,
“_Asa did that which was right in the eyes of the Lord, as did David his
father_.” Sometimes on a heap of corruption, which we are glad to hurry past
with abhorrence, God plants a beautiful and fragrant flower, as if in defiance
of man’s neglect; and thus Asa appeared in the family, and in the court of
Ahijah, his father--a God-fearing, single-minded lad, with a will of his own. As
there was hope for him, there is hope for all. Whatever a man’s parentage and
circumstances may be, he is not forced into sin, and has no right to say, “_We
are delivered to do all these abominations_.”

Amid all his difficulties and discouragements, if he is earnestly seeking to
serve God, and looking to Him for help and hope, he may triumph over the most
adverse circumstances, and prove himself to be a true citizen of heaven. If he
waits in prayer on God, as Joseph did in Egypt, Daniel in Babylon, and Asa in
Ahijah’s court, he will not only be endued with piety, but with an independent
spirit, and a resolute will, which will make him a power for good in the very
sphere where he seemed likely to be crushed by the powers of evil. It is not in
vain that the apostle gave the exhortation, “_Be not overcome of evil, but
overcome evil with good_.” Asa was a noble example of obedience to that command.

It is clear from the narrative, in the First Book of Kings, that Asa was rich in
noble qualities, such as manly resoluteness, political sagacity, and
administrative vigour. But special prominence is given in the Bible (as one
might expect) to his religious sincerity, for it is emphatically said--”_Asa’s
heart was perfect with the Lord all his days_.” This does not mean that he was
sinless, that he had reached moral perfection, but that he had completely, with
whole-heartedness, given himself over to the will of God, to be and to do what
He ordained. The proof of this was seen in the reformation Asa daringly
attempted. This is the record of it--”_He took away the sodomites out of the
land, and removed all the idols that his father had made. And also Maachah his
mother, even her he removed from being queen, because she had made an idol in a
grove; and Asa destroyed her idol, and burnt it by the brook Kidron_.”

Things must have gone badly in the kingdom before he ascended the throne.
Although it was only about twenty years since the death of Solomon, irreligion
and vice had corrupted the nation. The truth is that evil spreads faster than
good in this world, which is evidence that it has fallen. We have embodied this
truth in a familiar proverb--”Ill weeds grow apace.” If we neglect a garden, we
are soon confronted with weeds, not with flowers. Valuable fruit-trees grow
slowly, but a poisonous fungus will spring up in a night.

Evidence of this often appears in national affairs. A few months of war will
suffice to desolate many homes, to destroy fertile fields, and to burn down
prosperous villages, but it is long before that waste can be repaired,
confidence restored, and prosperity and goodwill re-established. The devil will
carry fire and sword through the world with the swiftness of a whirlwind, but
Jesus Christ patiently waits and weeps over an irresponsive people, as he says,
“_Ye will not come to Me that ye might have life_.” The same contrast in the
progress of good and evil appears in our own experience. If we yield to evil,
and indulge sinful passions, we move so swiftly downward that it is hard to
stop,--like an Alpine climber on a snow-slope, who, having once slipped, in a
few minutes’ rush loses all that he has gained by toilsome climbing, and becomes
less able to make new effort because of his wounds and bruises. Among our Lord’s
disciples, we see Judas swiftly rushing on self-destruction, whereas Peter and
John received years of discipline, before they were fully prepared to fulfil
their mission. No doubt, in such cases evil may have been, making slow and
stealthy advance under the surface, though the result appears with startling
suddenness, just as gas will escape without noise, and creep into every corner
of the room; but when a light comes in, death and destruction come in a flash.
Evil is an explosion, good is a growth. This perhaps accounts for the facts that
evil had quickly grown strong in the kingdom; while, on the other hand, Asa’s
attempt at reformation was incomplete and transient. He seems, however, to have
done what he could, and that is more than can be said of many. If he had been a
timid, half-hearted man he might have been content to worship Jehovah in his
private room, and thus rebuke, by his example, any idolaters who happened to
hear of it But his was no policy of _laissez-faire_. He felt that the evils
encouraged by the father ought to be put down by the son, and this he did with a
strong hand, wherever he could reach it.

Unhappily, there is a sad dearth of such reforming zeal in the Church, and in
the world. Even among those who in private lament prevailing evils there is a
singular contentment and tolerance even of those which might be at once removed.
This is grievously common in large centres of population, where each individual
feels insignificant among such vast multitudes, and loses the sense of
individual responsibility in the vastness of the crowd which surrounds him. How
many professing Christians, for example, deplore drunkenness and impurity, while
they shrink from any kind of open protest, and will not even trouble themselves
to vote for representatives who will fight these evils; and if a preacher boldly
denounces such iniquities they will even beg him to leave questions of that kind
alone, and to confine himself to doctrinal exposition. We are all too apt to
forget that truth and righteousness, sobriety and holiness, are of God; and that
the mission of Jesus Christ was to establish these, and to put away sin, even by
the sacrifice of Himself. The religion He exemplified was not to be ranged on
the shelves of a library, but to prove itself a living force in politics, in
business, and at home. What was His own doctrine?

“_Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of
heaven, but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven_.” Evils
outside the Church, then, are to be combated, and not tolerated, by all true
Christians--even though in the result they are maligned as renegades to their
party, or jeered at as Pharisees or Puritans. The late Tom Hughes was quite
right half a century ago, when he thus described to the lads before him the lot
of a would-be reformer.

“If the angel Gabriel were to come down from heaven, and head a successful rise
against the most abominable and unrighteous vested interests which this poor old
world groans under, he would most certainly lose his character for many years,
probably for centuries, not only with upholders of the said vested interest, but
with the respectable mass of the people he has delivered. They wouldn’t ask him
to dinner, or let their names appear with his in the papers; they would be
careful how they spoke of him in the palaver, or at their clubs.

What can we expect, then, when we have only poor gallant, blundering men like
Garibaldi and Mazzini, and righteous causes which do not triumph in their hands;
men who have holes enough in their armour, God knows, easy to be hit by
respectabilities sitting in their lounge-chairs, and having large balances at
their bankers. But you are brave, gallant boys, who have no balances or bankers,
and hate easy-chairs. You only want to have your heads set straight to take the
right side; so bear in mind that majorities, especially respectable ones, are
nine times out of ten in the wrong, and that if you see a man or boy striving
earnestly on the weaker side, however wrong-headed or blundering he may be, you
are not to go and join the cry against him.

If you cannot join him, and help him, and make him wiser, at any rate remember
that he has found something in the world which he will fight and suffer
for--which is just what you have got to do for yourselves--and so think and
speak of him tenderly.”

Those manly words are worth quoting in full, and they will fitly set forth the
service young Asa rendered to his kingdom, and to the world at large.

I.

It may be well to analyse a little more closely the reformation this
right-hearted king attempted. He diminished opportunities for sin. The traffic
in vice, by which many were making profit, he put down with a strong hand. And
there are hotbeds of vice to be found in our own land, where strong appeal is
made to the lusts of the flesh, and where intoxicating drink incites men to
yield to passions which need restraint. Indeed, even in our streets moral perils
assail the young and innocent, which no Christian nation ought to tolerate. We
often meet the assertion that we cannot make people moral by Acts of Parliament;
but if dens of infamy, which it is perilous to enter, are swept away, if
gin-palaces and public-houses which flood the land with ruin are diminished in
number, and in their hours of trade, it would certainly lessen the evils we
deplore. Vested interests fight against such a change, and many on the side of
sobriety and righteousness shrink from the contest, so that we need the
inspiration which God gave to Asa, if we are to win the victory. This kingly
reformer not only lessened opportunities for vice, but certain evil influences
in his kingdom he brushed aside with a strong hand. Maachah, the king’s mother,
was a potent influence on the side of idolatry. It seemed at first impossible to
touch her. The king was indebted to her. She was aged, and age merits respect,
and, therefore, some would argue that she might be tolerated for the few years
she yet had to live. But these pleas did not avail her, for the issues involved
were too serious for the nation, and for the kingdom of God. And because “_Asa’s
heart was perfect_,” completely devoted to Jehovah’s cause, he “_removed her
from being queen_,” and publicly burnt the idol she had put up.

Leaders in evil are sometimes found among the leaders of the world.

Clever, unscrupulous men succeed in winning power through their want of
principle, and even of scruple. Distinguished writers, gifted with brilliant
style, or poetic power, exercise widespread influence for evil. Young people of
singularly attractive personality win to themselves a large following, and use
it for the worst ends. Many a golden image, or beautiful object of adoration,
still stands on the high places of the world; and even if we cannot pull them
down, as Asa did, at least we can say to the evil one, who set them up, “_Be it
known unto thee that we will not serve thy gods nor worship the golden image
which thou hast set up_.” The history of Asa should inspire us to a renewal of
war against the evils which Jesus Christ died to put away. Victory will not come
without conflict. In respect to anxiety we are to be quiescent as the lilies,
which neither toil nor spin, but in respect of moral evil, within or without, we
must be vigilant and strenuous.

“Lilies have no sin Leading them astray, No false heart within That would them
bewray, Nought to tempt them in An evil way; And if canker come and blight,
Nought will ever put them right.

“But good and ill, I know, Are in my being blent, And good or ill may flow From
mine environment; And yet the ill, laid low, May better the event; Careless
lilies, happy ye! But careless life were death to me.”

II. The courage of Asa had as its root confidence in God, and this is shown more
fully in the narrative which appears in the Second Book of Chronicles than in
the First Book of Kings. His reforming work--carried out with ruthless
vigour--naturally raised up adversaries on every side. In the court itself
Maachah and her party were implacable. Outside it the idolatrous priests, and
all their hangers-on, whose vested interests were abolished, were plotting and
scheming against the king. But Asa was imperturbable, because he had found God
to be his refuge and strength. The man who really fears God finds the fear of
his fellows thereby cast out. To Jehovah, therefore, the brave king brought all
his difficulties. This was beautifully exemplified when he found himself
confronted with an overwhelming force of Ethiopians, for then “_Asa cried unto
the Lord his God, and said, Lord, it is nothing with Thee to help, whether with
many, or with them that have no power: help us, O Lord our God; for we rest on
Thee, and in Thy name we go against this multitude. O Lord, Thou art our God;
let not man prevail against Thee_.” Prayer was the secret of his strength, and
in it we also may find all the help we need in meeting our discouragements--the
ignorance which tries our patience, the indifference to God which nothing seems
to stir, the vice which holds its victim as an octopus, the sin which is as
subtle as it is strong. Against them all we have no power, and may well pray as
Asa did. “Lord, help us.” Then He will fulfil the promise, “_When the enemy
comes in like a flood, the spirit of the Lord will lift up a standard against
him_.”

III.

After his great deliverance Asa renewed his consecration. The need for its
renewal shows that in character and conduct he was far from being all that he
ought to have been. He was not “_perfect_” in that sense. His earnestness cooled
down. Through his carelessness the “_high places_” were re-erected. He seems to
have been content that the “_groves_,” with their grosser forms of idolatry,
were gone, and that other forms might be tolerated, just as some, who have
conquered their vices, are morally ruined by what the world calls little sins.
But, in spite of these failings, the judgment of God, who is ever slow to anger
and of great mercy, was that Asa’s heart was “_perfect_”--sound, whole, and
sincere, though not sinless.

How happy it is that God judges not as man judges, that He can unerringly read
the heart, and graciously accepts even the imperfect and blundering service
which we sincerely offer to Him. Jehu accurately executed Jehovah’s fiat,
whereas Asa’s obedience seemed imperfect; yet the latter was commended, and the
former condemned, because Asa, unlike Jehu, was right in heart. Therefore we may
be encouraged still to do our little part in God’s service, in spite of the
failures and imperfections of the past, if only we can say, “_Lord, Thou knowest
all things, Thou knowest that I love Thee_.”


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  CHAPTER 26: 2.08.     AHAZIAH BY J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.
========================================================================

AHAZIAH BY REV. J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

“And the destruction of Ahaziah was of God, by coming to Joram; for, when he was
come, he went out with Jehoram against Jehu the son of Nimshi, whom the Lord had
anointed to cut off the house of Ahab.”--2Ch 22:7.

We rarely read this part of the Bible. And I do not wonder at it. For those
particular chapters are undoubtedly dreary and monotonous. They contain the
names of a number of incompetent and worthless kings who did nothing that was
worth writing about, and who were singularly alike, so that when you have heard
the story of one of them you know pretty well the story of all. It is the good
lives that furnish attractive reading, because there is so much individuality
and variety in them, so many pictorial lights and shadows. A novel in which all
the characters are mean, would be read by nobody. The blackness needs to be
relieved by something good, for darkness is always monotonous.

Bad men show a dreary sameness in their thoughts and doings, their rise and
fall. The godly are like nature illumined by the sunlight, manifold and
infinite; the wicked are like nature when the darkness covers it, uniform and
dismal. Nearly all that is said in the Bible about these bad kings, is that they
walked in the ways of Ahab or Jeroboam or some other wicked person, that they
closely imitated the doings of their model. The Bible does not waste space in
describing them more accurately. One or two specimens do for all. But certain
things are said about Ahaziah which afford room for reflection, and may,
perhaps, be useful to us if we take them in a right way. And first let me give
you a lesson in genealogy. These lessons are often very wearisome. Let two men
get on talking about who was the cousin, father, grandfather, great-grandmother,
and what not of such a person, and you begin at once to wish that you were out
of it, or that you could quietly go to sleep until they settle the question; and
yet it is not so unimportant as it seems. When a man writes a biography he deems
it his duty to go back three or four generations, and tell you what sort of
fathers and mothers and grandmothers and even great-grandsires his hero had. It
is very wearisome, but it is very necessary. The story is not complete without
that--for breed and ancestry go quite as far with men as with cattle, and often
further.

Ahaziah’s descent was right on one side, but it was very mean on the other. He
had David’s blood in his veins, and Jehoshaphat’s, and mingled with that, the
venom of heathenism. His mother was Athaliah, and Athaliah was the daughter of
Jezebel, and Jezebel was a licentious heathen princess whom Ahab on an evil day
had made his wife.

There is nothing in the Bible more tragical and more infamous than the story of
this woman Jezebel, and the part which she took in shaping the desting of the
Jewish nation. She was a Syro-Phenician princess, whose father ruled over the
powerful and wealthy cities of Tyre and Sidon.

Ahab was caught by her beauty, and by the attractive political alliance of which
she was the pledge. Some think that the forty-fifth Psalm had reference to her,
which speaks of the daughter of Tyre coming with gold of Ophir, splendidly
arrayed, and bringing a handsome dowry with her.

Ahab thought he was marrying wealth and dignity, and providing for the greatness
of his house, and, as often happens in such marriages, he forgot to ask for a
certificate of character, forgot to ask what sort of mother he was providing for
his children. She came with all her meretricious splendour covering one of the
most fiendish natures that ever wore a woman’s form. She developed, if she did
not bring with her, all imaginable vices--her vindictive passion revelled in
blood; her religion was the filthiest licentiousness; her beauty became the
painted face of a common harlot. Her figure stands forth in the Bible as the
very worst exemplification of the dark possibilities of human nature. Tennyson
says men do not mount as high as the best of women--but they scarce can sink as
low as the worst. For men at most differ as heaven and earth; but women, worst
and best, as heaven and hell. And this woman became, alas, the mother of kings;
and all who went forth from her inherited her nature, and forgot nothing of her
training. For several generations the taint of her evil influence was felt
throughout the whole court life of Israel, and the licentious abominations which
she had introduced infected the whole national life.

Ahab married for money and position, and this was what came of it. Her influence
extended also to the southern kingdom of Judah. Jehoram, King of Judah, must
needs marry Ahab’s daughter, Athaliah, who was the exact counterpart of her
mother, Jezebel. Another wedding in which morals and religion were sacrificed on
the altar of gain--for by means of it a small kingdom was to be cemented in
alliance with a greater, and another rich dowry to be secured. And the same
dreary results followed--a court corrupted with all manner of impurity, sons and
daughters initiated into all the mysteries of wickedness, demoralisation
spreading all around. In this atmosphere Ahaziah was trained. His mother’s name,
says the record briefly, was Athaliah, the daughter of Omri, that is, the direct
daughter of Jezebel. He also walked in the ways of the house of Ahab, for his
mother was his counsellor to do wickedly--wherefore he did evil in the sight of
the Lord, for they were his counsellors after the death of his father to his
destruction. What else could result in a home of which Athaliah was the head, in
which the main training and influence were supplied by one of Jezebel’s brood.
The significant feature in all these Chronicles is the immense influence of
women in shaping the lives and characters of kings. The men seem to have little
to do with it; the women are almost supreme. Sons do not take after their
fathers but after their mothers. Again and again we read of a good king who had
a wicked father--Josiah, Hezekiah, and others. They shake off their evil
inheritance; they refuse to follow in their fathers’ steps; they destroy
idolatry, and endeavour to redeem Israel from its iniquity. But whenever this is
the case you do not look far without discovering the cause. A good mother has
been at work--woman’s gracious influence has counteracted against the pernicious
example of the father. And, on the other hand, we have a long list of vile and
idolatrous kings, whose fathers were either comparatively worthy, or full of
downright godliness, and then, invariably, there is some evil-minded royal
consort at the back of it.

Whenever we can get into the secrets of court life, we find that the character
of the wife determines the moral weight and form of the royal children. It is
her training that shapes the men. How could it be otherwise indeed? What time
had those kings to spend on home matters, what with their fighting, judging,
governing, and attending to all the affairs of empire? How could they do a
father’s work and watch the training of the future kings? It was left to the
mothers, and unhappy they who had mothers like Ahaziah’s. And is not this an
everlasting story, true to-day as it was in those old days? It is the mother’s
hand mainly that shapes men for good or evil. Women more than men make the
atmosphere of home--the atmosphere which young lives breathe, and breathing
never lose. The wise woman buildeth her house--the foolish plucketh it down with
her hands. What time does a father spend in disciplining the moral and spiritual
nature of his children? That has to be done in the hours when he is toiling in
the warehouse, or resting wearily after the labours of the day, or surely it is
not done at all. From a mother the child receives all its early religious
thoughts. By her the Bible stories are taught, and through her lips the good
book comes to be loved. None can do it except her. It is her eyes that watch
every moral movement in the young life--every sign of change--every incipient
error--every beginning of good and evil habit. No eyes can detect these things
as quickly and as surely as hers. And if she is too careless to discover them,
they will go unobserved and unchecked. Unhappy is the mother who gives to
society, or to friendship, or to pleasure the time which she owes to her sons
and daughters, for she will have to reap in vain regrets the penalty of her
neglect. How rarely do good and true women and men go forth from a home in which
a mother has been too busy with the giddy affairs of the pleasurable world to
teach and pray with her children. Still more rarely do permanently evil and
incorrigible lives go forth from a home in which a noble and religious mother
has made it the chief business of her life to mould and train her children in
paths of pure thought and reverent purpose. There is no religious work which a
woman can do that equals this in importance, and none which secures such sure
and blessed results. That, then, is the main thought suggested by these
chapters--the measureless influence of women in forming lives for evil or for
good.

Then comes the only other thing that we are told about this Ahaziah--that he was
killed because he happened to be found in evil company. He lived badly because
he followed the counsels of his mother, we read, and he died suddenly and
tragically because he endeavoured to be on very friendly terms with his mother’s
relatives.

He was King of Judah, and Judah with all its sins still worshipped God and was
comparatively free from idolatry. But Israel, over which Jehoram, his mother’s
brother ruled, was given up to all the abominations of heathenism. Its court was
a horrible sink of iniquity, and God’s judgment had gone forth against it and
all its doings.

Ahaziah must needs join hands and pledge friendship with his relatives, and for
that purpose visited them--probably he did not intend to do more. It was just to
look at the doings of this court, and have a taste of its pleasures, and then
come back again. But once there he was led on from step to step--found Jehoram’s
company very attractive, entered into his plans, went out with him to battle,
took part, no doubt, in the worship of his gods, and then while the two were
going hand and glove together, the long-deferred judgment of God fell on
Jezebel’s house. The soldier raised up by God for that purpose swooped down upon
the wicked king and his favourites with resistless force, making no distinction;
and Ahaziah, being one of the band, shared in the general destruction. The
destruction of Ahaziah, says the Book, was of God, by coming to Jehoram. By his
coquetting with evil he was made to pay the last penalty. So runs the story, and
it seems far removed from everything that concerns our lives--yet not so
far--things of a similar kind are happening every day. Men who tread the ways of
sinners, who enter into any sort of fellowship with them, often find themselves
involved very strangely and suddenly in their shame and their punishment. You
cannot go into ways of evil men, or visit any forbidden scenes, or lend your
countenance in any way to their doings, even though you have no further
intention than just to look on, but there is ever hanging over you the sword of
detection. The policeman appears, or God’s light is let down upon the scene, and
you are discovered as having part in it, and your name is stained and your
character gone, and your life marked with a perpetual stigma of disgrace. When
God’s Judgment comes on sin it always involves some who are just hovering on the
edge of it, as well as those who are in the thick of it. You ought not to be
there.

Remember Ahaziah. And there are some evil natures and some evil things which a
man cannot touch in even the slightest degree without being led on from step to
step, as Ahaziah was, until he was in the thick of Jehoram’s iniquity. A young
woman cannot enter a gin-palace and drink her glass at the counter--as I see
scores do any night--without gradually going further and losing all the modesty
and grace of womanhood. A young man cannot touch gambling in any of its forms
without almost inevitably being drawn under its fascinations, as one who is
slowly involved in a wily serpent’s coils. An English bishop thinks and has said
that a little betting is allowable, that if you only indulge moderately in it,
you may do it with impunity. He might as well have said that if you only steal
coppers the law will smile upon you, but if you steal gold you will come in for
its stripes. He might as well have said, “If you only put your little finger in
this fire it will not hurt you, but if you thrust your whole hand in, it will
burn.” There can be no moderation in a thing which is essentially and in all its
principles based on dishonesty and corruption, and evil excitement and evil
greed. I am profoundly sorry that such a thing has been said by one whose word
has so much authority and influence. It will be taken by thousands as an
encouragement to do what they are only too prone and eager to do. Who shall
curse what a father in Christ has condescended to bless? We need rather to have
all Christian hands and voices raised in passionate and tearful denunciation of
that which is doing more than anything else to demoralise our youth and eat away
the very morals of the nation. We need to warn against it and denounce it in
whatever form and degree it is practised, and to say, “Touch not, taste not,
handle not the accursed thing.”

We must keep away altogether from the men who delight in evil paths, and from
the things, the very touch of which defiles. Go not in their way, pass not by
it. “If sinners entice thee, consent thou not.”

Learn the lesson of Ahaziah’s life, and how his fall came because he consorted
with wickeder men than himself, and was anxious to see their doings.


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 27: 2.09.     GEHAZI BY J. MORGAN GIBBON
========================================================================

GEHAZI BY REV. J. MORGAN GIBBON

“The leprosy therefore of Naaman shall cleave unto thee, and unto thy seed for
ever. And he went out from his presence a leper as white as snow.”--2Ki 5:27.

Elisha and Gehazi were master and man. They were more. They were almost father
and son. Elisha calls him “_my heart_,” just as Paul calls Onesimus his heart.
Yet they parted so.--”_He went out from his presence a leper_.” The punishment
was terrible. Was it deserved? Had the master a right to pass this sentence?
“_The leprosy of Naaman_”--yes! but had Gehazi caught nothing from Elisha?

Most commentators fall on Gehazi with one accord. He is pilloried as a liar. He
is branded as a thief. He is bracketed with Achan, and coupled with Judas. They
flatter the master, they are hard on the man. But this is surely a very false
reading of facts. By clothing the prophet in spotless white, and tarring Gehazi
a deep black all over, we violate the truth of things and miss the lesson of the
story, which, like the sword-flames at Eden’s gate, turn many ways. To take but
one out of its numerous suggestions, we have here a story for servants of all
sorts, and for masters and mistresses too, of all kinds. The section is rich in
domestic interiors. Servants have always formed important members of the
household, and often their service has risen to be a beautiful and holy
ministry.

We see here, for example, a great Eastern lady, Naaman’s wife, and her little
Jewish maid, whom the fortunes of war had swept from her home “in the land of
Israel.” In the division of the spoil, this human mite had fallen to Naaman’s
share, and drifted into his lady’s service. The slave-child has evidently
reached the woman, perhaps the hungering mother’s heart, in her mistress; and
the sorrow of the woman, for alas! she is a leper’s wife, has touched the
servant’s heart. The burning sense of the wrong to herself is cooled and
quenched by the pity she feels for her master; and the expedition that brought
health to Naaman, and unspeakable joy to Naaman’s wife, was the outcome of a
word she spoke. She knew of Elisha, she said what she knew, and great things
came of it.

She did this, not as a slave of Naaman’s wife, but as a free human soul, and
servant of God. No tyranny could extort this service. No wealth could pay for
this golden secret. Sometimes a character appears but once in the course of a
great drama. The man or woman, comes on the stage to deliver one message, and
then disappears. But that one brief word has its place in the playwright’s
scheme, and its effect on the action of the piece. This child was sent to Syria
to utter one speech, to speak one name, and because she spoke her little speech,
kindly and clearly, things went better with ever so many people.

“A fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work,” but let there be more than money in
the wage, and more than labour in the service. Let no one, in being a servant,
cease to be a free human soul. Do you serve in Syria? Is your lot cast among
those that know not the Prophet? Well, but _you_ are from the land of Israel;
speak your speech, tell out the Prophet’s name. Be more than servant, more than
clerk, more than a “hand,” an apprentice, a journeyman; be a soul, an influence,
a link with higher things, a reminder of God, a minister of Christ.

Naaman, too, was happy in _his_ servants. He was a Bismarckian, peppery man.
Accustomed to command, he expected miracles to be done to order, and prophets to
toe the line. And because he did not like Elisha’s manner nor his prescription,
he was on the point of returning to Syria in a rage. But he had servants that
knew him through and through. They knew what note to sound, and they saved him
from himself. The expedition had been suggested by a servant who generously paid
good for evil. It was saved from defeat by servants who did for kindness what no
contract could have specified and no wage could cover.

They also were souls who knew at times that man was created for spiritual
service. But Elisha, too, though doubtless poor, had his servant, and an
efficient, tactful servant he was. A very good book might be written on “poor
men’s servants.” For they have had of the very best. The whole world knows
Boswell, and with all his faults it loves him still, for he was loyal to a royal
soul. Well, most great men have had their Boswells. When all is known it will be
found that the men of the five talents have owed much of their success and more
of their happiness to the fidelity and love of men of the one talent.

How well Gehazi served Elisha! How nobly the servant comes out in that exquisite
story of the Lady of Shunem. How jealous he is of his master’s honour! How dear
he was to Elisha’s soul, “my heart! my other self!” And yet, he did this thing.
He lied, he cheated, he obtained goods by false pretences, he lowered the
prophet in Naaman’s sight; and after all his years of noble service, his master
smote him with his curse, and he went out of his presence a leper! But was
Naaman’s the only leprosy that infected Gehazi? Had Elisha any share in his
fall? After all, it is a sorry business to heal a stranger and send forth one’s
own friend in this fashion.

Nothing can exonerate Gehazi. His lie remains a lie, say what you will. But our
business is not to apportion blame, but to try to find out how such things came
to be, in order to guard against them in our own homes. If a servant leaves your
employ poorer in character than when she came to you, if a youth leaves your
business harder, colder, weaker in will, further from God than when you received
him from home, it is a clear case for inquiry. It is our duty to see that young
people are not exposed to moral infection in our homes. In the matter of
physical infection, two facts are familiar to us all. The first is, that
mischief enters the system by means of a germ; and the second is, that the
action of the germ depends very much on the condition of health in which it
finds a man. If the man is healthy, he is often proof against the arrow that
fleeth by day, and the pestilence that walketh in darkness. But if the body is
already enfeebled, the germs find half their work done for them beforehand.

Well now, these natural laws are valid in the spiritual world. The rules of
moral hygiene are summed up in our Lord’s prayer, “_Lead us not into
temptation_,” that is to say, do not breathe the germ-laden air, and in St
Paul’s precept, “_Be strong in the Lord_,” cultivate general spiritual health,
safety lies in strength. Good health is the best prophylactic. There is no
precaution so effective as being well.

Now what have we in this narrative? When the prophet permitted Naaman to bow in
the temple of Rimmon he did very right, say the chorus of commentators. But the
common-sense of mankind has taken a different view. Bowing in the temple of
Rimmon has become a byword and a reproach. It signifies something which men feel
is not quite right.

It was, in fact, an indulgence. Still, perhaps it was wise not to force the
new-born convert. Perhaps it did Naaman no harm. Possibly it did Elisha’s soul
no injury to be so far complaisant towards idolatry. But surely there was a germ
of evil in the thing, and this germ found a nidus, found a nest in Gehazi’s
soul, in which to hatch its evil brood. It lighted on Gehazi at the
psychological moment. He had seen the gorgeous equipage. He had gazed on the
ingots of gold and the great bars of silver. He had fingered the silks and
brocades.

Elisha had waved them away. To him they were as child’s trinkets. But he had
other resources than Gehazi, and when the cavalcade drew off, leaving nothing of
its treasures behind, his longing grew into a fever of desire. It was so mad of
the master to let _all_ that gold and silver go, and he so poor! Gehazi had to
bear the brunt of the poverty, and tax his five wits to make ends meet. And to
think that a gold mine had come to their very door and they had refused to let
it in! But it is too late now--and yet why should it be too late? The company
moves slowly. One could easily catch up with it. But what to say?

Pilgrims sometimes knock at Elisha’s door. Sons of the prophets from the college
on Mount Ephraim often come to see the master. There were two last week, or was
it the week before? Without doubt we shall have others soon, for they like to
talk to the master. They are miserably poor like ourselves, but they have good
appetites. Naaman would be delighted to leave something for them. He would feel
easier in his mind. It would be a kindness to let him give something. True, we
have none of them in the house at this moment. But we have had and we shall
have. If I say we have them _now_--well, that will only be making a little bow
in the temple of Rimmon. Naaman means to do that. Master allows him to do it. We
must not be _too_ strict. “_As the Lord liveth I will run after him and take
somewhat of him_!” Elisha was hurt, shamed, and angry. The sin was great and
terrible. Yet, perhaps, had Gehazi met Elijah this would not have happened. Had
Elisha sounded the great Elijah-note, “if the Lord is God, follow Him, but if
Rimmon, then follow him,” perhaps the germ of temptation would not have found
Gehazi even quite such an easy prey,

Mind, I am not whitewashing him or mitigating his crime. I am trying to get at
the forces that conspired to make him what he was, and among these I have no
doubt at all that his master’s complaisant permission of compromise was a very
potent force. Of course he was wrong, of course there is no logical connection
between what the master allowed in the Syrian general and the great lie Gehazi
told. And yet there was a sort of ghastly logic in this poor wretch’s procedure.
There are many commandments. But duty is one thing, and if you weaken a man’s
sense of duty by breaking one commandment yourself, you must not be surprised if
you find him breaking another commandment later on.

Gehazi was cured of the leprosy of Naaman. The prophet’s angry word was not
countersigned on high, and one hopes that he also shook off by God’s assisting
grace the ill-effects of Elisha’s complacency. For the greater danger lay in
_that_. And does it not still lie there? Our young people, our children, our
servants that minister to our comfort, our assistants and clerks that multiply
our personal activities and help to build up our fortunes, is there no danger to
their spiritual life in being exposed as they are to the spiritual influences
which we give off every hour? They see the cavalcades of wealth, they gaze at
the ingots of gold and the great white silver bars; they look with longing eyes
at the silks with colours that come and go like the iris on the dove’s neck. The
luxuries of meat and drink appeal to them. The temptation to live for these
things assaults them. And what help does Gehazi get from Elisha to-day? What
help do young men in offices and shops get from masters and heads of
departments?

What help do servants in London homes get from the daily examples of mistresses?
What are the inferences drawn in the kitchen from things heard and seen in the
dining or drawing-room? and what in the nursery? Does a young man who sees to
the very core of your business say to himself, “The master’s profession of
religion is hypocrisy--_all_religion is hypocrisy?” Then may God help him, for
he is smitten with the leprosy of Elisha; and may God help you, for it is a
sorry business to evangelise Asiatics and send your own servants forth from your
presence lepers white as snow.

Let every master and mistress pray, “_Search me, O God, and know my heart: try
me, and know my thoughts: and see if there is any way of wickedness in me, and
lead me in the way everlasting_.”


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 28: 2.10.     HAZAEL BY J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.
========================================================================

HAZAEL BY REV. J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

“But what, is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing?”--2Ki 8:13.

Hazael was the chief minister and prime favourite of Benhadad, the Syrian king.
He had been raised from a humble lot and promoted to that high post by the
partiality of his sovereign, who had doubtless discerned his exceptional
abilities, and certainly placed implicit trust in him. Just now the king was
dangerously ill, and Hazael had been sent to inquire of the prophet of Israel as
to the probable issue of the sickness. He put the question with seeming anxiety:
“Will my master recover?” He spoke as if that was his dearest wish; perhaps he
did wish it. But there were evidently other thoughts half-formed, lurking and
hiding themselves in the background. Suppose the king should die and leave the
throne vacant, what then? May there not be a chance for me? Elisha read these
hidden thoughts, and looked the man in the face long and steadfastly, until the
face turned crimson and the head was lowered with shame. And then the prophet
said, “Thy master need not die of the sickness; nevertheless, he will die, and I
see you filling a throne won by murder, and I have a picture before me of the
terrible things which you will do to my dear land of Israel.” And as this vision
passed before the prophet’s eyes, he wept. Then Hazael gave the answer which
stands at the head of this paper.

It is open to two interpretations. The Authorised Version gives one and the
Revised Version the other. According to the first, it is an indignant denial; he
recoils with horror from the picture of perfidy, cruelty, and enormous
criminality which the prophet has sketched for him. I am not capable of such a
thing, he says; “_Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing_?”
According to the other reading it is not the crime that he revolts from, but the
kingship and the greatness that he refuses to believe in. It seems so improbable
and all but impossible that he, a man of obscure birth, should climb to such
eminence. He exclaims against it as a piece of incredulous and extravagant
imagination. “_What is thy servant, which is but a dog, that he should do this
great thing_?”

Now, I doubt not that both readings may be allowed. For certainly both thoughts
were in the speaker’s mind. He did not believe at that moment that he could ever
be brought to commit such infamous deeds, and he did not believe that he could
ever attain such high ambitions and power.

There was a dark moral depth predicted for him to which he was sure he would
never fall, and there was a certain grandeur and elevation to which he was
confident he would never rise. To both things he said, “It is impossible,” and
yet the impossible came to pass.

Now I would have you observe that this is one of the prominent lessons of the
Bible; on many a page does it bring out an unexpected development like this.
Again and again it is the unlikely that happens in the lives which figure on its
pages. They rise or they fall in a way that no one looked for, and which they,
least of all, anticipated themselves. We seem to hear them saying with Hazael,
“Impossible,” and then, before we get far, the thing is done. Impossible, we
say, that king Saul should ever descend so low as to deal in witches; or that
Solomon, the wise, God-fearing youth, should give himself up to the sway of
lustful passions and idolatries. Yet that comes to pass.

Impossible, we say, that the cunning, lying Jacob should ever develop into a man
of prayer; and the outcast beggar, Jephthah, ever grow into a hero-patriot and
king. Yet we see it. In the Bible stories greatness always comes to those who
have neither marked themselves out for it, nor deemed themselves fit for it;
and, on the contrary, its most infamous deeds are done, and its most shameful
lives lived, by those who have given promise of fairer things, and who in their
early manhood would have scouted the possibility of descending so low. The men
whom it describes have no suspicion, to begin with, of the great power for good
that is in them, or the equally great possibilities of evil. Tell the shepherd
youth, David, that he has in him the making of a king and an immortal poet, and
he will think you are poking fun at him. Tell him that he will one day fall into
the crimes of adultery and murder, and make all Israel blush for him, and he
will be indignant enough to strike you to the ground. Speak to the fisherman,
Peter, of the commanding influence which awaits him in some coming kingdom of
God, and he will think you are beside yourself: and then tell him that he will
one day deny and curse his sworn Master and kindest Friend, and he will ask you,
Do you think I am a dog or a devil that I should do this? Impossible! And yet
the thing comes off.

Why do the sacred writers give us so many stories of this kind? Surely it is
because we need both the warning and encouragement. It is to prove to us that on
one side of our nature we are greater than we think, and on the other side
weaker and lower than we believe. It is to inspire the diffident with courage,
and the despairing with hope, while it pulls up the forward, the careless, and
the over-confident with the wholesome and humbling word, “_Let him that thinketh
he standeth, take heed lest he fall_.” These men of the Bible were strangely
mixed. They were conspicuous instances of the contradictions and surprises which
are in us all. For that is the point: the thing comes home to us.

Believe me, we are all a riddle to ourselves. Each man is to himself, and each
woman too, the greatest of all mysteries save the one greater mystery, God. None
of us know of what elements he is composed, and how strangely the good and evil
mix and mingle and clash and strive in each day’s doings, and through the whole
of life. They who believe that the saint is all saint, and the sinner all
sinner, are blindly and pitiably ignorant of human nature. God has made no man
without putting some little bit of the Divine image in him. The worst has some
lingering trace or ruin of it. And the best is not so entirely the temple of the
Holy Ghost that no fouler spirits ever obtain entrance there. You may say that
you do not believe in a devil. Well, that may be; but there is something like a
devil in all of us at certain times, and I would rather believe that it comes
from the outside than that it is born and bred and originates within. At any
rate, there are in all of us the strange oppositions, the darkness and the light
overlapping each other, the evil and the good ever contending, like Esau and
Jacob, in the birth hour. The awful and the blessed possibilities are there, and
which shall get the uppermost depends first on God, and then upon ourselves.

I.

Remember first, then, that we have all a lower side.

There is in us what I may call a lurking, crouching, slumbering devil, which
needs constant watching and holding down with the strong hand of self-mastery
and prayer. “Praying always with all prayer, and watching thereunto,” says the
apostle. In every one of us there is the possibility of falling, however high we
stand and however near God we walk. Bunyan says, in his immortal story, “Then I
saw in my dream that by the very gate of heaven there was a way that led down to
hell.” No man, however ripe in goodness, however firmly rooted and grounded in
faith, love, and Christian qualities, ever gets beyond the need of vigilant
sentinel work--watching himself. He must always be buffeting himself, and
keeping under his body, as Paul did, lest he himself should be a castaway. Let
him grow careless, presumptuous, neglectful of prayer, and all the old tempers
and passions slowly steal in, and bit by bit obtain the mastery, and the
Christian disgraces his profession, and the saint becomes a sinner again. Every
Christian knows this. He knows the evil powers that are in him.

It is the man who has never fought with his temptation, never prayed, who
especially needs to be reminded of it; young men and women who have been well
brought up, who have kept themselves moderately straight so far, and who are
full of good resolutions. I hear them say, “Oh I am strong enough. I am not such
a fool as to throw myself away in the stupid game of the prodigal, in
drunkenness, and gambling, and unclean living. I can hold myself in. I can go
just as far as I please. I can indulge to a certain extent, and pull myself up
just at the moment I please; and as for prayer and seeking God’s help, thank my
stars I can clear a safe course without all that. I shall not overstep the line
you may depend upon it.” “_Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this_?” And I
answer, yes--there is quite enough of the dog in you, or of the devil, if you
like the word better, to do this and to do worse things--if you play with the
dog and let it loose, and let it have a free run now and then. In my time I have
heard scores of young men talk in this way. I have heard them laugh scornfully
when danger was mentioned to them, and I have seen a few of them fortunate
enough to grow up to manhood with a fairly unspotted character; a few, but not
many--the greater part have gone wrong, and some deplorably wrong.

There is hardly one of us can keep that dog fastened up and chained down always,
unless we rely upon a stronger power than our own. It gets loose at times with
the best of us--it runs wild and plays dreadful havoc with those who are not the
best; there is always in you the baser self--always the dry torches of evil
passions which a spark may kindle--always the moral weaknesses and lusts,
half-sleeping, which some stronger blast of temptation may awaken and bring out;
and if you wish to escape the evil and hold fast to the good, you will commit
your way unto the Lord, and put on the Christian armour, and strengthen
yourselves by prayer. Do not presume too much--better men than you have fallen
every day. God only can save you from yourselves.

II.

It is just as needful to remember the other side--the side of better
possibilities.

Some of you are tempted to say at times with Hazael, “_Thy servant is but a dog;
how can he do these great things_?” You are disposed to underrate your gifts,
your opportunities, your happy chances in life--in a word, your possibilities.
You despair of finding any opening; you are sure that you will never hear a call
to come up higher; you think your lives must always be ill-paid drudgery, with
no promotion. It is sad to work with a conviction of that kind. You never work
well if there is nothing to look forward to, and it is cowardly to give way to a
conviction of that kind. Perhaps you are not specially clever--no, but there are
better things than cleverness in the world, and things which have more to do
with life’s real successes.

If you have in you some power of plodding, to do steady work, doing it always
honestly; if you have perseverance, self-control, a sense of duty, a
determination to do always the thing that is right, all will be well--these are
the qualities which lift a man up to the best places, and one of those places is
being prepared for you if you are worthy to fill it. You say, perhaps, “I can
never be a good man. I can never be a Christian. I am not made for these high
things; it is not in me.” I answer, “It is in you, or if it be not in you now,
God will put it in you if you diligently ask Him.”

Nay, truly, there are the germs of goodness in every one of us. Thy servant is
something more than a dog, though he calls himself that, and nothing else. There
is something of the religious emotion in you, and that means there is something
of the Divine. You have dreams at times of a beautiful life, you have longings
for it, sometimes you even set out to reach it--and these are all touches of
God. They all prove that the Holy Ghost sometimes pays at least a passing visit
to your hearts.

You do not know what God can make of you until you trust and try Him.

There are greater things by far in you than you have guessed. Have confidence in
Him, and He will bring them out. I can see a man of God in you, a pillar in the
Church, an honour to the town. I can see a Christian mother in you, a
half-sainted woman full of good works, bringing children up to noble lives. It
is there in many of you, if you do not despise and neglect the gift that is in
you, but use it and cultivate it prayerfully, and let God bring it to
perfection.


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 29: 2.11.     MANASSEH BY J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.
========================================================================

MANASSEH BY REV. J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

“Manasseh was twelve years old when he began to reign, and he reigned fifty and
five years in Jerusalem.”-- 2Ch 33:1.

Fifty and five years--he wore the crown a longer time than any other of the
house of David. Of all the kings that reigned in Jerusalem, this man’s reign
filled the largest space; yet he is the one king of Judah about whom we are told
least. In the modern city of Venice there is a hall which is adorned with the
portraits of all the doges or kings who ruled that city in the days of its
splendour--all except one--one who made himself infamous by evil deeds. Where
his portrait ought to be, there is a black blank space which says nothing, yet
speaks volumes; which says to every visitor, Do not think of him, let him be
forgotten. In some such way Manasseh is disposed of by the sacred writers. They
hurry over the fifty-five years; they crowd them into half a chapter, as if they
were ashamed to dwell upon them, as if they wanted the memory of them and of the
man to be forgotten. And that was the feeling of all the Jews. Century after
century, and even to the present time, Jews have held the man’s name in
abhorrence. Do not speak of him, they say. He was the curse of our nation. He
denied our faith. He slew our prophets. He brought Jerusalem to ruin.

Yet, strange to say, the man so hated and cursed was once a nation’s hope and
joy. When his father, Hezekiah, lay sick unto death, his greatest grief and the
profoundest sorrow of his people was caused by the thought that he was dying
childless. They prayed for his recovery mainly on that ground. He recovered, and
married, and a child was born, and the glad father called him Manasseh, which
means, God hath made me forget--forget my sickness and my sorrow; and all over
the land the ringing of bells was heard and shouts of rejoicing, and the prophet
Isaiah sang of the child’s birth in those triumphant words which we have often
heard since in another connection, “_Unto us a son is born, unto us a child is
given_”; and they thought that all would go well now that there was an heir to
the throne, and they prayed that he might be sturdy and strong, and get over all
the ailments of childhood. They hoped more from the child than they did from
God. Their prayers were granted. God gave them their desire, and the result was
such as to make us doubtful whether we are always wise in pressing such prayers.

We are never sure that it will be good for us, or good for our darling child,
that its life should be spared and prolonged in some time of crisis. Often the
early death which we dread may be far less cruel than the evil which waits
beyond. Better to leave these things in God’s hands, and say that will be best
for all which seems right to Thee. A whole nation prayed for the birth and
preservation of this son. That same nation came to curse the day on which he was
born.

Strange that a father like Hezekiah had a child like this. Hezekiah was, I
think, the best of the Jewish kings, wise and brave, gentle and strong, full of
reverence and faith, pre-eminently a man who walked with God and strengthened
himself by prayer, and fought as earnest and true a battle for religion and
righteousness as we have recorded in the Old Testament. How came it that the son
was in all respects his opposite? Did an evil mother shape him, or what? We
cannot tell.

These are among the saddest mysteries of human life. The law that a child’s
training and environment determine the character of the man, often fails most
deplorably. The wisest man may have a most foolish son; the godliest home may
send forth a reprobate; the child of many prayers may live a life of shame. When
a young man goes wrong, it is often both unjust and cruel to lay it on the home
training, and to say that there has been neglect or want of discipline, or want
of right example there. It is adding another burden to hearts already weighted
with intolerable grief. For the most part, children will follow their parents in
what is good, and those nursed in prayer will grow up praying men. But there are
hideous exceptions, and sometimes the most Christlike people have this cross to
bear; and it is the most heart-crushing of all to see children turning aside
from all that they have held dear, and by the whole course of their lives
mocking the religious ideals and hopes which were cherished for them. God save
all you fathers and mothers from this calamity, and God save all our young
people from crushing tender hopes in this cruel way.

Manasseh’s life was spent in undoing what his father had done. It seemed to be
his great ambition to overturn and destroy the sacred edifice which his father’s
hands, with untiring prayer and devotion, had raised. Hezekiah had taught his
people to trust in God, and in reliance on His help to sustain a noble
independence separate from heathen alliances. Manasseh hastened to join hands
with Babylon, and make his nation the vassal of a great heathen empire. Hezekiah
had swept the land clean of idols. Manasseh filled every grove and hillside with
these vain images again. Hezekiah had restored the Temple worship and the Mosaic
ritual, and the moral law, and laboured to establish a reign of sobriety,
purity, justice, and order. Manasseh outraged all the moralities, and delighted
in introducing everywhere the licentious abominations of the neighbouring
peoples. Hezekiah had cultivated and encouraged prophecy, and gathered about him
great and noble souls like Isaiah and Habakkuk. Manasseh drove them from his
presence, and finally slew them.

There were new lights in those days, as there are now. Men who sneered at all
the old thoughts and ways, who swept Moses aside with disdain, and thought that
David’s psalms were poor and feeble things, and that the old-fashioned religion
was narrow and provincial, and that the stories of victories won by faith and
miracles wrought by prayer were worn-out fictions. They said that if the nation
would prosper, it must turn its back on all this stuff, and follow new methods,
and profess a new religion. Let them make the great empire, Babylon, their
model, with its advanced civilisation, and science, and literature, and vast
stores of wealth, with its worship, too, of the sun, and stars, and fire, its
religion full of jollity and license, which contrasted so happily with the sober
and severe worship of Jehovah, and did not trouble men with unwelcome moral
precepts. See how great that empire had become, and how stationary and
unprogressive was their own little kingdom, because it clung to the old ways.
That was what the new party said. Away with the old-fashioned thoughts and the
old-fashioned trusts and beliefs and worship. We are wiser than our
simple-minded fathers. We know a few things more than these narrow-minded and
crazy prophets. We will have all things new. And Manasseh, being a young man and
as foolish as he was young, drank in greedily their counsels and made himself
their leader. For it is ever the temptation of young life to think lightly of
their father’s wisdom, and to despise what they call the narrow religious
beliefs, and the careful moral scruples of the old, and to fancy that they know
all things so much better than those who have gone before. They want to try
experiments of their own with life, and shake off the shackles of old moral laws
and religious creeds, and be free to do and think as they please, and put the
Bible away on the shelf, and shove prayer aside as a sort of worn-out heirloom,
and have a merrier and better time than the old folks knew. That was the course
which Manasseh took, just as headstrong and irreverent youths take it now.

Then followed that time which the Jewish people never speak of without shame--a
hideous reign of idolatry, and immorality, and injustice; an awful period of
persecution for the few righteous and God-fearing people who were left when the
prophets had been sought out and slain.

Isaiah sawn asunder, Habakkuk stoned to death, the faithful driven into dens and
caves of earth. It is of this time that we read in the Epistle to the Hebrews,
in that graphic account of the martyred faithful: “_They were stoned, they were
sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain with the sword: they wandered about in
sheepskins and goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, tormented: of whom the
world was not worthy_” (Heb 11:37-38). A few years of this sufficed to pull down
the whole fabric of religion which Hezekiah had so painfully and patiently
raised. For it is so easy to destroy; so easy for folly and irreverence to pull
down what wisdom and goodness have taken years in building; so easy for a
vicious and irreligious son to bring shame and ruin upon the house which a godly
father and mother have spent a lifetime in rearing with honour; so easy, by a
few rash acts, to destroy the character and reputation which the prayers and
training of years have sought to establish. It is the easiest thing in the world
to undo and overturn; there is no cleverness and courage required for
destroying, the cleverness and courage are called for in building it up.

Manasseh succeeded to his heart’s content. People followed him greedily, except
the steadfast few. And presently the prophets were all gone, and the worship of
the true God was nowhere practised except in secret, and the sacred names were
no more mentioned, and the land gave itself up to all the foul rites and the
shameful indulgences of the heathen world, And then God’s retribution came
swiftly. Where the rotting carcase was, there the eagles gathered together.
These same Babylonians whose ways the renegade Jews had so much admired and
imitated, swept down upon them with the talons of a vulture, with cruelty that
spared neither tender woman nor innocent child, and Jerusalem was burned with
fire, and Manasseh carried off in chains and flung into a foreign prison to muse
in solitude over the end of his projects, and to find out there that the old
ways had been the best.

There we are told that he repented, that he was stricken with shame because of
all the evil that he had done, and turned with prayer and humility to the God
whom he had defied. And we are told that God was merciful and heard his
entreaties, and accepted his repentance, and brought him back after sorrowful
years of imprisonment to his land and throne. This is the part of the story
which most people emphasise.

That, they say, is the main lesson of the story--Manasseh’s repentance, and how
God accepted the rebellious sinner at the last and forgave him all his
iniquities--and they draw from that the conclusion that it is never too late to
turn to God, and that all the dark doings of a man’s life are swept clean away,
if at any time the heart repents and believes. But this is not the part of the
story which the sacred writers dwell upon. In the Book of Kings, where there is
another version of Manasseh’s doings, no mention is made whatever of the
repentance, and here it is only briefly recorded, and in a somewhat sorrowful
tone.

He came back humbled and forgiven, indeed, but not in a happy state of mind. He
came back to a ruined kingdom; to a sinful and demoralised and destitute people;
to see everywhere the sorrow, and the evil and the misery and shame which his
doings had caused; to be reminded continually that his life had been a great
wicked and foolish blunder, and that there was no undoing the mischief which he
had done. For the sake of his repentance he was spared a little longer, but
there could be little joy in the remaining years of a life like that.

I think that that is the experience of most men who turn away in their youth
from the example and precepts of godly fathers, who reject the truths which make
life sober and strong, who betake themselves to thoughts of infidelity and ways
of sin, and fancy that they can live life happily without God and prayer. There
comes a time when they are made to feel that their life has been a mistake, that
it would have been far better for them to have stuck to the old ways, that those
believing fathers whom they laughed at were right after all; perhaps they repent
and go back to God at last, and He accepts them; but whether repentant or not,
they always carry with them an awful burden.

Shame is upon them for the evil they have done, shame for the life that has been
spent to so little purpose, regret and humbling that they cannot undo the blind
and guilty past. Repentance at the best is a poor business when it comes in the
evening hours of life. Better then than never; but better far to have gone with
God from the beginning.

That, I think, is the lesson which the wise man will find in the story of the
evil king.


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 30: 2.12.     AMAZIAH BY J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.
========================================================================

AMAZIAH BY REV. J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

“And Amaziah said to the man of God, But what shall we do for the hundred
talents which I have given to the army of Israel? And the man of God answered,
The Lord is able to give thee much more than this.”-- 2Ch 25:9.

Amaziah, King of Judah, belonged to that numerous class of men who wish to stand
well with both worlds. He was what we call in religious matters half-and-half.
He wanted to secure the favour and protection of God without losing much or
anything of the ungodly helps and advantages. One hardly knows whether to
describe him as a bad sort of good man, or a better sort of bad man. He was like
those gentlemen in the _Pilgrim’s Progress_ whom Bunyan names Mr
Facing-both-ways and Mr Pliable. It depended very much on the company he was in,
whether he showed a religious face or assumed the other character.

We have an illustration of this doubleness in the incident recorded here. He was
preparing to go to war against the neighbouring nation of the Edomites, or
probably he had learned that they were about to make war on him. For these
neighbours, like some others you know, were always ready to pick a quarrel.
Edomite and Jew were never long without a scrimmage or a battle. Amaziah, with
this business on hand, took count of his forces, found that he had three hundred
thousand soldiers; big enough battalions if they had only had a leader with a
big heart. David had scattered those Edomites with an army not one-twentieth
part the size of that. But Amaziah was not a David. He must needs have more men.
He sent, therefore, to the king of Israel to hire another hundred thousand, and
paid him down an enormous sum of money for the loan. Now these men of Israel and
their king had fallen away from God, and become heathen people, worshippers of
Baal, foul and immoral as the Edomites themselves. But Amaziah thought that was
of no consequence so long as he could increase his fighting force. The money was
paid, and the hundred thousand hirelings came. And then suddenly appeared
another man whom he had not sent for, one of those prophets or preachers whom
kings and other people find very troublesome at times, who upset all the nice
arrangements, and stop the business which promises so well, with an unwelcome
“_Thus saith the Lord_”; prophets who do not know how to flatter, who cannot be
bought for a hundred talents, or for any price, and who say what God has given
them to say whether the great folk like it or not. This man came uninvited, and
told the king that he must pack off these mercenaries to their own country
again, for God was not with them, and God would not be with him if he joined
hands with idolaters and paid them to fight his battles.

It was an awkward position. Amaziah knew that what the prophet said was true,
and he believed, moreover, that if God should turn against him, that business
with the Edomites was likely to end badly for him.

But, on the other hand, to send that goodly array of fighting men away and lose
all that gold into the bargain, was both galling to his pride and a ridiculous
waste of treasure. He knew well what was the right thing to do, but to do it at
such a sacrifice, that was the difficulty.

He was in a strait betwixt two, wriggling and hesitating, and at last he cries
in his bewilderment, “_What shall we do for the hundred talents which I have
given to the army of Israel_?” And the man of God answers, “_Never mind the
money, let that go; far better forfeit that than lose God’s help. The Lord is
able to do for thee much more than the hundred talents are worth_.” And now, out
of this old story, we learn some lessons for this and every day.

I. Our difficulties in the way of serving and obeying God are often self-made.

They are always more or less self-made. This man pleads his own wrong act as a
reason why he should not do right now. He himself has raised the obstacle which
now stands in the way of obedience. He ought not to have sought the help of an
idolatrous king. He ought not to have bargained for these hirelings, he ought
not to have paid the money.

God had not put the difficulty in his way; his own foolish and wicked action had
created it. And people are constantly talking as this man talked, declaring that
there are hindrances and immense difficulties which prevent them from doing what
is right, prevent them from doing what they know to be the will of God. They
talk as if God was somehow responsible for those hindrances, when, in fact,
their own wrong-doing has caused them. For instance, some of you know perfectly
well that you ought to be Christians, avowed Christians, that you ought to take
the Lord’s side in the great battle of life; you know that you ought to be His
servants, followers, and soldiers; you know that that is your duty, you cannot
help knowing it and admitting it, unless you reject the Bible altogether, and
deny the whole Gospel of Jesus Christ. You have known from childhood that Christ
has claims upon you, and that to live the Christian life is your solemn
obligation. It is more than probable that you told your mother, your teachers,
and yourselves long ago, and perhaps many a time over, that you fully intended
to give your lives and hearts to Christ’s service. But you have not done it yet,
and the reason is that there are certain self-made difficulties which hold you
back. God has not put them in the way--you have built them up yourselves. I hear
young men and women say, in the very tone of this perplexed king. But what shall
we do for the hundred talents? If we take up religion, how shall we bear the
loss which it involves? How are we to get on without those pleasures,
self-indulgences, and dearly-loved habits which Christ’s service would cut us
off from? How are we to abandon those very pleasant, but not very inspiring and
pure, companionships, with and among which we spend most of our leisure time?

How are we to resign all our free and easy and thoughtless ways, our loose talk,
our vain and sinful imaginations?

These are your difficulties, are they? But who made them for you?

Heaven did not send them. I am not sure, even, that the devil was the author of
them. You made every one of them yourselves. It was your own weak yielding that
formed those habits so dear to you. It was because you preferred your own way to
God’s that you took to pleasures and self-indulgences which were wrong in His
sight. It was your own choice that sought out and formed friendships and
companionships of the ungodly sort. If you have any joys, delights, and
associations which Christ would compel you to resign, they are only such as you
ought never to have entered upon. They are self-made difficulties which ought
never to have been made; and now, with curious inconsistency, you are urging
them as reasons why you cannot serve God. You are using the sinful things which
you have done in the past as an excuse for not doing the right and noble thing
now.

There are hundreds of people who, if they could begin again, would join the
ranks of the religious--at least they think they would, and perhaps say it. If
we could just start with a clean sheet, we would be Christians, we would walk in
the noble and faithful way. But then, you see, we cannot undo the years that
have been lived in the other way.

We have committed ourselves to the irreligious side. We have made all who know
us understand that we do not care about religious things. We have talked about
them carelessly, perhaps contemptuously, as if we put no value upon them at all.
We have made a reputation of that sort, and now it stands in the way. We cannot
go back of all our old professions; the inconsistency would be manifest. No one
expects it of us. No one would believe if we did it. There you have the
self-made difficulties again. Because you did wrong all those years, you must
needs go on doing wrong. Because you talked and acted in an unbelieving way, you
must not now change into the higher and prayerful way. Because you have robbed
God and your own souls so long, there is nothing for you but to continue
repeating the offence. Yet these, when you name them, are so absurd, that one
could almost laugh at them. The conviction that you have hitherto been on the
wrong side is the one thing that ought to force you now to the right side. Why
should you perpetuate blunders, follies, and misdoings? Why should the evil past
chain you? Let the dead bury its dead--forget the things which are behind. You
have paid the hundred talents to the wrong master. Why should you go on paying
because you have done it once? Let God’s mercy cover and forgive that. And now
pay your vows and give your lives to Him henceforth.

II.

We are held back from the right thing by the fear of the loss which it will
involve.

We say with poor, frightened Amaziah, But what about the hundred talents? They
will be clean gone if I obey the voice of God. The hundred talents take many
forms, but the principle is always the same.

We shall lose a little in the way of business, if we make up our minds to be
scrupulously honest, and to speak the simple truth. We shall forfeit a little of
our present popularity, if we take the course which conscience dictates. We
shall have to forego and neglect certain things, and suffer loss, if we
undertake Christian work. We shall have to give up many an easy hour, many a
light and frivolous hour, many an open and secret sin, sweeter to us than honey,
if we confess the Lord Christ, and take up the burden of discipleship. The
hundred talents block the way, and rather than let them go, we let God go, and
sacrifice all the sanctities, and all the precious and immortal things. And this
answer comes to all of us--the answer which the prophet gave to the hesitating
king as he stood balancing the hundred talents against the duty of the hour:
“_The Lord is able to give thee much more than this_.” Better to win thy great
battle and lose the talents, than keep the money and lose thyself and everything
in the impending struggle. God is not so poor that He cannot pay His servants as
ample wages as they ever get from other masters. It is not the same kind of pay,
but it is always, in the long-run, larger and better. No man ever does the right
thing at God’s command, without receiving eventually sufficient wages for
it--joy even in this life. Whatever immediate losses he may incur, there will be
more than compensating gains. The man who lives an upright, conscientious, pure
and kindly life, wronging no one, showing justice and mercy to all, is always
the happier man; richer in all his thoughts and emotions, richer in friendships
and affections, richer in peace of mind, in abiding satisfactions, richer in
hopes. He has within him a well-spring of joy which never ceases to flow.
Righteousness is not a losing business: it has the best part in this life, and
in that which is to come.

Whatever you resign at Christ’s call: whatever His service costs you in the way
of sacrifice: however much you must give up in the shape of pleasure, ease, and
agreeable habits--there will be more given to you in return. When Christ asked
the disciples to leave all things and follow Him, He said nothing about the
rewards--not just then. He told them to take up their cross and come after Him;
that was all. He spoke often to them about the pains they would have to endure,
the scorn they would meet with, the tribulation they would have to pass through.
When he called the last of the apostles, Paul, He even said, and it was the only
promise He gave, “_I will show him how great things he must suffer for My name’s
sake_” (Acts 9:16). No talk of rewards and gains at first. He knew the men. He
knew their eagerness to do what was right and to obey the voice of God. Men who
have the right spirit, men with some fire of enthusiasm, do not need crowns held
before them to draw them into the true and noble way. They are almost glad to
think that crosses and self-sacrifices await them in that way. Christ spoke no
words at the beginning about gains and rewards. Come, because I want you, and
God asks you, and it is your duty: but afterwards, when they had obeyed His
call, He talked to them often about the gains. They had begun to understand them
then. There is no man who hath left anything for My sake, who shall not receive
a hundredfold in this present time, and in the world to come, life everlasting.
And we all learn in a measure what that means, when we have faithfully served
Christ for a little time. You talk about the sacrifices and losses of the
Christian life. Yes, but no man is fit to be called a Christian who has not
found in Christ ten or twenty times as much joy as he has lost. If there were no
hereafter, no future crowns at all, it would be a terrible disappointment, but
even, apart from that, the present life of every one who believes in Christ and
does Christ’s work, and loves as Christ loved, is richer, fuller, wider, and
happier in almost every way than the life which knows Him not. What about the
hundred talents? you say, and I answer with the prophet, “_The Lord is able to
give thee much more than this_.”


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 31: 2.13.     JABEZ BY J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.
========================================================================

JABEZ BY REV. J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

“And Jabez was more honourable than his brethren.”-- 1Ch 4:9. This is a curious
fragment of biography, half-hidden in a dreary mass of wholly uninteresting
names. We cannot conjecture how it got there.

It seems to have no connection either with what comes before or what follows. It
is like a sweet little poem in the midst of a dry, genealogical chart; or like a
real, living face with the flush of warm colour in it, speaking amid endless
rows of mummies or waxwork effigies.

It is indeed the short, incomplete story of a life with neither beginning nor
end. We are not told who his father was, or who his mother was, or what tribe or
family he belonged to. Not a word about origin, descent, pedigree. And there
seems to be a purpose in this. For the sacred writer at this point is doing
nothing else but tracing pedigrees. These four chapters are to us the most
useless in the Bible: names, nothing but long-forgotten names. Names of
everybody’s father, grandfather, great-grandfather, back to a remote antiquity.
I question whether there are many Bible readers who have ever laboured through
the list. Yet these family trees, as we may call them, were very precious to the
Jews. They thought as much of long descent as my lord Noodle does now. It
swelled them immeasurably in self-importance if they could trace their lineage
back in unbroken line to one of the twelve patriarchs, or to one of those who
came out of Egypt. And the historian ministers to this prejudice or vanity by
diligently recording the whole dry catalogue, and then, as if weary of the
business, or, perhaps, with just a touch of scorn, he introduces this one name
as something worth talking about.

Here was a god-made nobleman, whose heraldry need not be written on earth,
because it is more surely written in heaven. All the rest were their fathers’
sons, and that was about all. This man did not need a pedigree: he won a name
and reputation for himself without the help of a distinguished ancestry. By
prayerfulness, and energy, and courage, he fought his way from obscurity to
honour. And when that happens, when a man has fought the fight with adverse
circumstances and overcome them, when he has made his mark in the world by sheer
force of work and character, no one cares to grope through musty fusty
parchments in search of his progenitors. What does it matter! God has given him
a certificate of noble birth; that was surely what the historian meant, “_Jabez
was more honourable than his brethren_.”

Now there are two or three touches in this little story worth noticing.

God sends us some of our best joys in the guise of sorrows.

I.

He came into the world without a welcome.

I venture to say, and I thank God for it, that there is hardly one of my readers
of whom that can be said. No matter into what home you were born, there was a
welcome awaiting you on the part of one at least. It may be that no one else was
particularly glad, that every one else looked upon you as one too many; but your
mother at least met you with a sweet kiss which plainly said, thank God for this
gift. Here, however, there was not even that; this child was received with
misgivings and fears, and awoke no joy in the mother’s breast. She called his
name Jabez, which means sorrowful, because she had borne him in sorrow. Of
course, we do not know what lies behind that, but it was something of a
heart-burning or heart-breaking kind; either the father was dead, or the home
was in a state of terrible poverty and distress, or the child was a child of
shame; you can only guess, and all your queries will probably be wide of the
mark. But the mother looked mournfully upon him, and wished he had not come, and
could not believe that a life which commenced so untowardly would ever be
anything better than a burden to her, and a misfortune and misery to himself.
She expressed her fears and forebodings in the name which she gave him--Jabez,
the child of sorrow. And while she was gloomily predicting his future with the
black colours of her despondency, God was writing the child’s story in golden
lines which would have set her heart leaping for joy could she have read them.
This despised one was to win for himself a noble name, and build up the house in
honour, and become his mother’s pride, and make her young again in hope and
gladness.

What fools we are when we set ourselves to forecast the future of our children!
They rarely develop on the lines we draw for them; the most promising of them
sometimes flatter us in the bud and blossom, and mock us in the fruit. Where we
hope most there comes most heartache, our favourites are made our burdens, our
pride is humbled by a harvest of sorrow. And where we have bestowed most
tenderness we get most ingratitude--the child of many gifts, the joy of the
household, the flower of the flock, turns out the nightmare of our lives, the
one unhappy failure which costs us endless tears. And perhaps it is partly our
own fault, because we have pampered, flattered, and indulged them too much. Ah!
and just as often the reverse is true--the child whom in our hearts we called
Jabez; the slow, dull child so hard to teach, so unresponsive, or perhaps so
wilful and obstinate that we never thought or spoke of him save with secret
fears and misgivings--the child who was always to be a burden and a cross to us,
develops by-and-by in beautiful and unexpected ways, grows into moral strength
and religious grace, becomes honourable in the sight of all men, and saves our
old age from going down with sorrow to the grave. The golden harvest of our
lives grows not where we look for it, but often in the neglected places where
God bids it grow. Where our pride built its palace of content we find emptiness
and shame, and that which we almost cursed God for sending us becomes our crown
of rejoicing. She called his name Jabez, my sorrow, and lo! he became her very
consolation, most honourable of all.

II.

Faith wins the battle of life against many odds.

Yes! this is indeed a romance of faith--faith overcoming the world. This child
or youth starts out with all things against him. He is likely to grow up into an
Ishmaelite if he grows up at all. He starts with an ill-starred name--a name
that spells misfortune. He starts without his mother’s blessing and without a
glimmer of hope to cheer him; no father to give him a helping hand by the
way--without endowment, fortune, family, or friends. What chance can there be in
the race for one so heavily handicapped? Failure is written on his brow by the
hand that nursed him. Failure is written on all his circumstances. It will be a
desperate struggle all through. There will be none of the prizes of life for
him. If he gets a bare living wage, it is as much as he may expect. That is what
he has before him, apparently! Well, for one thing, he puts on courage, and
starts on his way singing _Nil desperandum_. And then, knowing well that he has
few or no human friends, he falls back on the Father of the fatherless and the
Helper of those who have no other help. He relies on faith instead of fortune.
He will make prayer his main weapon, and the light of the Lord his guide, and
duty his pole star. He will pursue a straight course, avoiding evil, trying to
feel the hand of God upon him, and the watchful eyes of God over him. And he
will make a brave fight of it day by day, doing his best, and leave a higher
power to determine what shall follow. That is what we read between the lines of
this story. Nay, that is all expressed.

“_He called on the God of Israel_.” He committed his life to the ordering of the
Almighty. And the Almighty promoted him. He became more honourable than his
brethren.

They are poor creatures who complain that the battle is lost before it is even
begun, who groan that the chances of life are all against them before they have
made one brave venture and endeavour; and they are vain and self-deceiving men
who fancy that the victory will be easy because somebody has given them a good
start, and they have the backing of family, social position, wealth, and mental
gifts. If some of you think because your fathers stand high, because your
education has been well looked after, because there are unlimited money and
plenty of friends to push you on--if you think that because of these things you
can dispense with the fear of God, and the daily obligations of duty, and make
pleasure and self-indulgence your main ends, and do without honest, persevering,
self-denying toil, you will be miserably disappointed. God has some hard things
to say to you before you get far on in years. It does not matter how promising
one’s beginnings, if there is no steady, conscientious brave self-discipline,
and endeavour.

Life is always a failure and a disgraceful thing with a downward course, if
there is no serious purpose in it and no great thoughts. And if you are ever
tempted to say, as many do, that there is no hope for a life which commences
heavily weighted; that all the chances go to those who are clever, and richly
endowed; that if a youth begins with no money to back him and no friends to push
him into promotion, he must remain chained down to that low condition to the
end--then I point you to this little bit of biography. I could take you round a
certain town and point you to a hundred men who have repeated that bit of
biography in their own lives, and I tell you that even now the chances are
plentiful: waiting at the feet of those who tread life’s way, a brave heart
within and God overhead, and that no one need despair, however unpromising his
start, who makes God his guide, and prayer his inspiration, and duty his chosen
companion, and shuns evil, and pursues that which is good. Faith and loyalty to
conscience and a courageous temper are still the weapons which conquer in the
fight. Jabez, the child of sorrow and misfortune, became more honourable than
all his brethren.

III. And now I commend this prayer to all of you--the prayer which this youth
offered when he went out carrying his unhonoured name and empty hand into the
rough places of the world. It is a beautiful prayer. It is on the whole a wise
prayer. There are better and more Christian prayers in the gospels and epistles;
but in the Old Testament there are few prayers more worthy of imitation than
this.

He asked that “_God might bless him indeed_,” that is, above every human
blessing and favour, that he might, by his life and conduct, deserve it He asked
what we may all safely and humbly ask of God, provided that we give a large and
not a low meaning. He asked that “_God would enlarge his coast_.” If that meant
broad estates, you had better drop it out of your prayer. But if it means to
have your life enlarged, your sympathies and interests widened out, your
influence and your power of service increased, it is such a prayer as Christ
might have taught you. Never forget to offer it. He asked that “_the hand of God
might be with him_”; that every day he might feel the leadings and take no step
which was not a step approved by God. And he asked that the watchful and
restraining power of the Almighty would “_keep him from evil_.”

You will do well to offer that prayer at the beginning. You will do well to
offer it every day to the end. It is a prayer that will keep; you will find it
fresh each morning. And every day will be a better day which is thus commenced,
and every life will grow honourable in the sight of men, and beautiful in the
sight of God, which develops in the spirit of it.


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  CHAPTER 32: 2.14.     SIMEON BY H. ELVET LEWIS
========================================================================

SIMEON BY REV. H. ELVET LEWIS The Temple shows to better advantage at the
beginning of the Gospel history than at its close. As we follow our Lord through
the events of the last week, we meet no winsome faces within its precincts.
Annas is there, and Caiaphas; Pharisees too, blinded with envy; but there is no
Zacharias seen there, no Simeon, no doctors of the law even, such as gathered
around the Boy of twelve. If any successors of these still frequented the
sanctuary, they are lost in the deep shadow cast by a nation’s crime. Perhaps we
may consider those whom we meet on the threshold of our Lord’s life as the last
of an old regime of prophetic souls, the last watchers passing out of sight as
the twilight of a coming doom thickened and settled on the Holy City. But there
he stands, the gracious, winsome old man, whom death is not permitted to touch
till the Star of Bethlehem has risen. “_It was revealed unto him by the Holy
Ghost that he should not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Christ_!” He is
like a dweller of the spiritual world, who only returns to visit earthly ways.
For him the veil, though not as yet rent, has worn thin, and he is more familiar
with the voices from beyond it than with the voices of earth. The priest, the
Levite, the Rabbi, pass him like shadows: the Holy Ghost is his living companion
and teacher. Browning’s Rabbi ben Ezra might well have borrowed his song from
the lips of this aged saint:

“Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the
first was made, Our times are in His hand Who saith, ’A whole I planned, Youth
shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!’“

Consider his CHARACTER: “_the same man was just and devout_.” Inward and outward
are in equipoise; he does not make frequent prayers atone for equally frequent
lapses in duty. He looks upon men in the light which has risen upon him through
looking upon God. He brought with him, from the Throne of Grace, the tranquil
beams which helped him to perceive what he owed to his fellow-men. He was so
subdued to charity, that his one expectation was the consolation of Israel. He
was no prophet of doom; perhaps he was even blind to the moral deterioration,
the blight of ideals, growing more wasteful, every day, of the nation’s best
life. To him, Israel was still more in need of consolation than chastisement.
Alas! for these gentle-souled patriots, whose hopes rise from their own heart’s
goodness, and not from their nation’s worth! So obscure, so devout: while the
great ones sin, they pray; while the popular priests lead in worldliness, they
retire into God’s hiding-places to intercede. They have private paths into God’s
Paradise: they do not always see the cherubim with flaming sword. God often
calls them home before the stormy dawn of the evil day. So they live and die,
waiting for the consolation.

Consider, again, his HOLY FELLOWSHIP: “_the Holy Ghost was upon him_.” His heart
became the ark of the Heavenly Dove, wandering over the grey waters; and to him
was the olive leaf brought. He looked past the face of the Rabbi and the priest,
not contemptuously, but wistfully, wondering why he must: he looked past them,
and beheld in the dawning shadow a diviner Face. He heard secrets which would be
foolishness to others, even to frequenters of the Temple and to robed priests.
He thought of death peacefully; but that other Face always came, faintly but
immutably, between him and the Last Shadow. The Lord’s Christ first, death
after. What gracious ways God has of treating some of these simply-trusting
children of His! How graciously He orders the course of spiritual wants for
them! “_And the evening and the morning_” are--each day.

“_And he came by the Spirit into the Temple_.” He required no ecclesiastical
calendar, no book of the hours. This obscure denizen of the sanctuary had a dial
in his own soul, and the silent shadow on the figures came from no visible sun.
Be sure that there are men and women still, just, and fearing God, who
anticipate the days of heaven, and almost win their dawning. How often must
Simeon have come, waiting, and yet how fresh was his hope each time! He fed on
God’s disappointments; the unfulfilled was his hidden manna.

Consider his ONE GREAT DAY. An obscure worshipper suddenly becomes the richest,
most honoured man in all the world: in his arms he holds God’s Incarnate Son.
Yesterday was a day of earth, tomorrow also may well be a day of earth: but
this, a day of heaven! Alas! but only to him. To others this, too, is a very day
of earth. Did some officiating priest watch the little group of peasant parents
showing their first-born to an obscure worshipper? And did he look, without a
stain of contempt upon his vision? And yet Jerusalem, Alexandria, Rome, had no
such gift and prize as the arms of that humble dreamer held. Who would not have
taken his place, had they known! It is well to be reckoned God’s intimate, lest
we miss the Child.

“The sages frowned, their beards they shook, For pride their heart beguiled;
They said, each looking on his book, ’We want no child.’“ But Simeon had dwelt
nearer God than they--nearest God of all that came to the Temple that day. And
so God trusted him with His Best.

Then, once more, consider his PROPHETIC PRAYER. He was now ready to depart. He
had arrived at the house where the chamber of peace looks towards the sunrising:
why should he return to the warfare again? He was unfitted for earth, by the
face of that Child: he would go where such a vision would not be marred by
earthly airs! “_For mine eyes have seen Thy salvation, which Thou hast prepared
before the face of all people: a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of
Thy people Israel_.” The sentinel has been long on duty: now the watch is done,
“_now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace_.” And as he passes from his
well-kept post, his heart’s charity overflows, and Gentile and Jew are covered
with his blessing: the Gentile even coming first, as though, perhaps, he
perceived that “the salvation of the Jews could only be realised after the
enlightenment of the heathen, and by this means”--Godet suggests. To the
darkened souls of the pagan world--light: to the humiliated Jewish
people--glory. Israel had seen and lost many a glory: it had seen the glory of
conquest, of wealth, of wisdom, of ritual, of righteousness: but in the little
Child was the sum and essential radiancy of all glory that had been, the earnest
of all glory that was to be. Eternally, Christ is “_the hope of glory_.”

Consider also his PERFECT CANDOUR. He looked in the Child’s face, he looked in
the mother’s face, with all the tenderness and love that made it half divine;
and then this disciple of the Spirit, strangely moved from his wonted calm,
described truth purely as he saw it. He scanned the future, heard the sound of
many a fall, caught the hiss and cry of uneasy consciences against the “sign”;
he saw the gleam of the sword, and the wounded mother’s heart; he saw the
revelations of good and of evil which the child would surely effect. One might
not unnaturally conclude that these presentiments were of the day--of that very
hour.

He had hitherto walked and dwelt in the light of consolation; he had dreamed his
tranquil dream “_beside still waters_.” But in this moment of contact with God,
he was made strong to see the darkness which is never absent from the azure of
truth--”a deep, but dazzling darkness.” So to young Samuel came the sorrowful
vision of the fall of the house of Eli; so to the old prophet-saint now
glittered the gleaming arrows of truth. But neither scorn nor wrathful eloquence
moves him, in view of what he saw: he simply accepts this burden of the Lord,
and bears it, without murmuring or exulting. He sees the “_fall and rising again
of many in Israel_”; it is God’s will: let His will be done! “_A sword shall
pierce through thy own soul also_”: bow, mother-heart, to the purposes of God’s
heart of love! “_In peace_” this servant of the Lord still stands; “_in peace_”
he departs. Blessed are they whom darkling truths may grieve, but not distract;
whom stormy revelations beat upon, but cannot shake. They live in the house
founded upon a rock.

What presentiment of his nation’s doom came to him in that moment of clearer
insight, of more candid intercourse with truth? “_The thoughts of many
hearts_”--”the uneasy working of the understanding in the service of a bad
heart”:--how much was revealed, how much was mercifully concealed? We cannot
tell; but strength was given him to bear the gleam of the vision, and still
wait. “_O rest in the Lord; wait patiently for Him_.” He saw the Child go out of
the Temple; and if, for a moment, a breath as of a chill wind smote his soul, he
retired into the deeper consolations of God, where the sun smites not by day,
nor the moon by night. If it was his last visit to the Temple, he had seen what
would have made it worth his while to have gone there every day for seventy
years or more. And let it not be forgotten that God still gives His Child to
those who humbly, faithfully wait for the consolation of Israel.

Such a picture as that of Simeon gives piety its divinest charm. It is not
simply that men have wished to be in his place; but--what is far better and far
more practical--they have wished to be in his spirit.

He draws them towards him, and after him. He stands in a glorious company of
winsome souls, who not only lead to heaven, but attract men on the way.

“They are, indeed, our Pillar-fires Seen as we go; They are that City’s shining
spires, We travel to, A sword-like gleam Kept man for sin First out; this beam
Will guide him in.”


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 33: 2.15.     PONTIUS PILATE
========================================================================

PONTIUS PILATE BY REV. PRINCIPAL WALTER F. ADENEY, D.D. In spite of the fact
that he condemned Jesus to death, the Gospels present us a more favourable
portrait of Pontius Pilate than that which we derive from secular historians.
Josephus relates incidents that reveal him as the most insolent and provoking of
governors. For instance, the Jewish historian ascribes to him a gratuitous
insult, the story of which shows its perpetrator to have been as weak as he was
offensive. It was customary for Roman armies to carry an image of the emperor on
their standards; but previous governors of Judaea had relaxed this rule when
entering Jerusalem, in deference to the strong objection of the Jews to admit
“the likeness of anything.”

Nevertheless Pilate ordered the usual images to be introduced at night. When
they were discovered, the citizens protested vehemently. Pilate had the crowd
that he had admitted to his presence surrounded with soldiers, and threatened
them with instant death. But they threw themselves on the ground, protesting
that they would submit to this fate rather than that the wisdom of their laws
should be transgressed. The governor had not reckoned on this. He was only
“bluffing,” and now he had to climb down, and the images were removed. On
another occasion, described by the same historian, Pilate had seized the sacred
money at the Temple and employed it in building an aqueduct, a piece of
utilitarian profanity which enraged the Jews to such an extent that a vast crowd
gathered, clamouring against Pilate and insisting on the stoppage of the works.
Then the governor sent soldiers among the people, disguised in the garb of
civilians, who at a given signal drew their clubs and attacked them more
savagely than Pilate had intended, killing and wounding a great number. Although
Josephus does not mention the incident recorded by St Luke (xiii. 1), in which
Pilate mingled the blood of some Galilean pilgrims with their sacrifices, this
is entirely in accordance with his brutality of conduct in the events the
historian records. Philo goes further, giving a story told by Agrippa, according
to which Pilate hung gilt shields in the palace of Herod at Jerusalem, but was
compelled to take them down as the result of an appeal to Tiberius Caesar, and
adding that Agrippa described Pilate as “inflexible, merciless, and obstinate.”
He says that Pilate dreaded lest the Jews should go on an embassy to the
emperor, impeaching him for “his corruptions, his acts of insolence, his rapine,
and his habit of insulting people; his cruelty, and his continual murders of
people untried and uncondemned, and his never-ending, gratuitous, and most
grievous inhumanity.” Josephus is not trustworthy, always writing “with a
motive,” and Philo must be considered prejudiced, since he saw too much of the
worst side of the Roman treatment of Jews; and the wholly unfavourable verdict
of these two writers should be qualified by what we read in the New Testament
concerning the subject of them. The interesting point is that we have to go to
the Christian documents for the more calm and just estimate of the man who
crucified Christ. This fact should deepen our sense of the fairness of the
evangelists. They evince nothing of that bitterness of resentment which the
Jews, quite naturally, as the world judges, cherished towards their oppressors.
They were the followers of One who had taught them to love their enemies, and
who, when in mortal agony, prayed to God to forgive the men who had inflicted
it. But further, the early Christians discriminated between the Jewish
authorities, who planned and purposed the death of Christ and really compassed
it, and Pilate, who was but a weak instrument in the hands of these men. The
fact that the evangelists so clearly mark this distinction is a sign that they
are in close touch with the events, and that they faithfully record what they
know to have taken place. In a word, it is clear that we have a more just and
accurate portrait of Pilate in our Gospels than the representations of him by
Josephus and Philo, who are thus seen to be less trustworthy historians than the
New Testament writers. The word “Pilate” as a proper name has been variously
explained. Some have derived it from the Latin _pileatus_, meaning one who wore
the _pileus_, the cap of a freed slave, and so have regarded the Roman governor
by whom Jesus was tried as a man who had been raised from the ranks of slavery.
The worst condemnation of slavery is, that it degrades the characters of its
victims, developing the servile vices of cowardice, meanness, and cruelty--all
of which vices are manifest in Pilate’s character. But such a promotion as this
theory implies would be most improbable. A more likely explanation connects the
name with _pilum_, a javelin. The earlier name Pontius suggests the family of
the Pontii, of Samnite origin, well-known in Roman history. It was customary to
confine such an office as that which Pilate held to knights, men of the
equestrian order. Nevertheless, it was not a very dignified office. It is
described indefinitely in the Gospels as that of a “governor.” But Pilate is
designated more distinctly by Tacitus and Josephus as _procurator_ of Judaea.
This official served under the Legate of Syria. His proper duty was simply to
collect the taxes of the district over which he was appointed. Thus he would be
likely to come into contact with the chief local collectors, such as Zaccheus;
and in this way he may have heard, and that not unfavourably, of One who was
known as the “Friend of publicans and sinners.” But in the turbulent
districts--such as Judaea and Egypt--the procurators were entrusted with almost
unlimited powers, subject to an appeal to Caesar on the part of Roman citizens.
Soldiers were sometimes needed for the forcible collection of taxes, and the
disturbed condition of these parts demanded an official in residence who could
act at once and on the spot. The punishment of turbulence was with the rigour of
martial law, which really means no law at all, but only the will of the man in
charge of the army. A subordinate official lifted to a position of almost
irresponsible power--such was Pilate. We can well understand how a man with no
moral backbone would succumb to its temptations.

Pilate was a much smaller man than Gallic the proconsul at Corinth, and that
other proconsul at Cyprus, Sergius Paulus, whom St Paul won over to Christian
faith. But his pettiness in the eyes of Roman society would lead him to magnify
his importance in the little world he was trying to rule like a king, though
often with consequences humiliating to himself.

Pilate’s headquarters were at Caesarea, by the sea coast, the Roman capital of
Palestine; but he came up to Jerusalem with a troop of soldiers at the Passover,
to prevent any disturbance among the vast hosts of pilgrims then gathered
together in the city, just as Turkish soldiers now mount guard at the Church of
the Holy Sepulchre during the Easter celebrations, to prevent the Christians
from quarrelling and fighting. That is how it was he happened to be present when
Jesus was arrested and brought up for trial. In this fact also we may see why
the Jewish authorities felt it necessary to hand their Prisoner over to the
Roman governor; although, a few years later, they were able themselves to
execute the death sentence on Stephen in the Jewish mode, by stoning, and still
later to do the same with James, the Lord’s brother.

All four Gospels refer to the trial of Jesus before Pontius Pilate; but the
fullest information is to be obtained from the third and fourth.

St Luke throughout both his works seizes every suitable opportunity for setting
out the scene of his story on the large stage of the world’s history, and he is
especially interested in showing it in relation to the imperial government.
Thus, while Matthew only connects the time of the birth of Jesus with the reign
of Herod, a Jewish note of time, Luke also associates it with Caesar Augustus
and the chronology of Rome; and later, while Matthew does not say when John the
Baptist began his work, but notes the imprisonment of John as the occasion of
the commencement of our Lord’s public ministry, Luke carefully records that it
was “in the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, _Pontius Pilate
being governor of Judaea_” (Luk 3:1), that John the Baptist began preaching and
baptizing. It is this same evangelist only who refers to Pilate’s savage
slaughter of the Galileans at Jerusalem. The author of the Fourth Gospel does
not mention Pilate before the time of our Lord’s trial, but he gives us a much
fuller account of that trial than any of his companion evangelists. Next to
John, our fullest account is in Luke. On these two authorities therefore we must
mainly rely. But John’s is not only the most ample and fully detailed narrative;
it also furnishes us with by far the most vivid and convincing portrait of the
Roman governor. This is one of the numerous cases of life-like character-drawing
with which the Fourth Gospel abounds. Nicodemus, the woman of Samaria, Thomas,
Judas, Mary Magdalene, and now Pilate, are all known to history from St John’s
portraits of them. Should not this significant fact lead us to attach great
weight to his portrait of Jesus Christ, which soars above the Christ-pictures of
the synoptics in the most exalted Divine glory?

Jesus had been tried soon after His arrest before Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin,
the supreme council of the Jews, and there He had been condemned to death, not
on the charge for which He had been arrested--threatening to destroy the
Temple--for the evidence against Him had broken down, but for blasphemy during
the course of His trial, when adjured by the high priest to declare whether He
was the Christ. But the presence of Pilate prevented the council from executing
their sentence (as doubtless they would have done if he had been away at
Caesarea), in defiance of the law, which was entrusted to a weak and capricious
governor. Accordingly they brought their Prisoner to the procurator’s
residence--probably Herod’s palace, a magnificent building with two marble
wings, containing large rooms sumptuously furnished, and spacious porticos
surrounded by gardens and enclosed in a lofty wall with towers, situated in the
western district of the city, and approached by a bridge across the Tyropaean
valley. The facts that a later governor, Gestius Florus, resided here, and that
Pilate lived in Herod’s palace at Caesarea when in that city, and that he hung
the shields about which there was so much trouble in the Jerusalem palace, make
this view more probable than the traditional idea that the trial of Jesus took
place in the Castle of Antonio, the imperial barracks, close to the Temple. The
Jews objected to enter this fine palace, because as a Gentile residence it was
defiled, and therefore defiling, and they wished to be “clean” for the feast
they were to eat in the evening. Pilate humoured them, and had his conferences
with them outside the building. Seeing their object and observing their temper,
he must have discovered at once their miserable hypocrisy. These were the men
who affected to be the leaders of the one pure faith on earth, a faith which
looked with scorn on the “idolatry” of the cultured Roman. He must have regarded
them with immense contempt. If his tone is cynical, it is but a match for the
unmitigated cynicism of their conduct.

Pilate inquires as to the crime with which the Prisoner is charged. At first,
the Jews do not give an explicit reply, only stating that they have already
found Him guilty. Pilate catches at that. His weakness, so pitiably apparent
throughout the whole proceedings, appears at this early stage. Desiring to shirk
the responsibility of deciding the case--he would use the first apparent
loophole of escape. Since the Jews have taken this case in hand, let them carry
it through, dealing with it according to their law. They are not to be caught by
that flattering suggestion. They know that they have not the power of life and
death. Pilate would not let them kill Jesus. His proposal, which on the surface
looks like the granting of a privilege, amounts to this, that they may exercise
ecclesiastical discipline, excommunicate their Prisoner, or perhaps fling Him
into jail, possibly scourge Him. But the worst of these punishments will not
satisfy their determined hatred, or rid them of the haunting fear inspiring it,
that Jesus will undermine their influence with the people. Nothing less than His
death will put an end to that danger; so they thought, although the event proved
that it was this very death of Christ that was to lead to the victory of
Christianity over Judaism. This, however, even His own disciples could not
foresee, much less could it enter into the minds of His enemies among the Jews.

Thwarted in his first attempt to escape, and compelled to try this difficult
case, Pilate enters the palace where Jesus is kept under arrest, and questions
Him. He has been informed that Jesus claims to be the king of the Jews. Is that
so? Is the charge but a piece of malicious slander? If it is, there is an end of
the matter. Pilate is not going to lend himself to humour the whim of those
hateful Jews, whom he affects to despise while in his heart he is mortally
afraid of them. There is nothing of the bearing of the violent insurgent in this
calm peasant who stands before him. Surely this is some stupid mistake, or there
is more Jewish malice in it than Pilate can fathom. But the Roman magistrate
soon discovers that he is dealing with no ordinary man. Jesus takes his measure
in a moment. Pilate is a feeble creature, with no character, insincere,
dishonest. He must be made to feel his littleness. We can imagine how our Lord
would fix on him a penetrating gaze before which the shallow nature of the man
would become apparent, as He asked whether this cross-examination was genuine,
or whether Pilate was prompted to it; whether, as we should say, it was “a
put-up affair”--”_Sayest thou this of thyself, or did others say it concerning
Me_?” Picture the situation--the great marble palace, the representative of
Imperial Rome clad in the purple robe of office, and seated in his chair on the
dais, the surrounding officials and bodyguard; and then the peasant from
Galilee, alone, unattended, undefended, come straight from insult and mockery in
another court, and that after a night of mental agony. Observe how completely
the relative position of judge and Prisoner are reversed, at least, to the eyes
of the onlooker. Jesus calmly questions Pilate, calmly tells him of the limit of
his power, and calmly claims the kinship for himself--there of all places--in
the Roman governor’s residence, speaking to this governor himself, knowing that
it must seal His own fate. The two powers are now face to face--the world-power
of Rome, outwardly so imposing, but at this moment shrinking to insignificance,
looking so vulgar, so mean, so sordid, so unreal, so essentially weak, in the
person of the paltry governor; and the heavenly power, the power of truth and
goodness, the Kingdom of God represented by the provincial Prisoner whose
inherent dignity of Presence is seen to be all the more sublime for the
contrast. And Pilate? How does he view this? He is manifestly disconcerted, but
he tries to hide his awkwardness under a mask of Roman scorn. “_Am I a Jew_?” he
exclaims, in a tone of measureless contempt. It is like the contempt of Agrippa
when, in response to St Paul’s enthusiastic appeal and close home-thrust, he
cried, “_With but little persuasion thou wouldest fain make me a Christian_!”
Pilate reminds Jesus that He has been given up by His own people. Jews might be
expected to stand by a fellow-Jew under the Roman tyranny. How comes it to pass
that the Jewish people have brought a man of their own race to the foreign
tribunal, prosecuting Him before this alien power, seeking His death from the
hated Imperial government? What can He have done to bring about so unusual a
situation? Pilate is perplexed; and the answer of Jesus does not clarify the
magistrate’s ideas. It seems only more mystifying. Jesus describes His kingdom,
so different from any institution bearing the name that Pilate has ever heard
of. It is not of the order of things in this world. If it were, of course
Christ’s servants would fight, as do the servants of the claimants of earthly
thrones. But they do not resort to violence. The kingdom and its methods of
government are both unearthly. Pilate is interested, perhaps amused, with what
now seem to him the fancies of a fanatical dreamer. He pursues the inquiry, we
may suppose, with a smile on his lips, “_Art thou a king, then_?” he asked.

There is no ambiguity in his Prisoner’s reply. He is a king. This strange
kingdom, not resting on any basis of earthly power, dispensing with fighting,
with all that an army suggests, with force, is the very opposite to Pilate’s
idea of a state. Rome was materialistic to the core. Her rule rested on brute
force. The Empire, the _Imperium_, was the dominion of the _Imperator_, that is
to say, of the commander-in-chief of the army. It was a military despotism.

Nominally the government was still republican, and the older and more peaceable
provinces were administered by proconsuls, whose appointment rested with the
senate, or was supposed by a legal fiction to rest with that body. But the newer
and more troublesome provinces were governed as conquered territory directly by
the emperor as the head of the army.

Now Judaea came in this latter division. Pontius Pilate and his superior, the
Legate of Syria, were both directly responsible to Tiberius Caesar. Pilate was
Caesar’s officer under military direction.

Military methods characterised the procurator’s rule. To a man placed as Pilate,
the notion of a ruler independent of fighting supporters, and that in territory
held down by force of arms, was simply absurd. Our Lord’s further explanation
seems to Pilate still more out of keeping with the notion of royalty. Jesus says
He was born to be a king in order that He might bear witness to the truth. A
king--truth--what have these two words in common, the one referring to the most
real region, the other to the most ideal? To Pilate, the conjunction is
absolutely incongruous. “_What is truth_?” he asks, as he turns away, too
contemptuous to wait for an answer. This famous utterance has been quoted as a
text for the anxious inquirer, and preachers have gravely set themselves to
answer it. Jesus did nothing of the kind. Evidently it was not a serious
inquiry. Pilate flung off the very idea of truth--a mere abstraction, nothing to
a practical Roman. Still, though he was not seeking any answer to his question,
by the very tone of it he suggested that he did not possess that gem which those
who hold it prize above all things. “The Scepticism of Pilate” is the title of
one of Robertson’s greatest sermons. The preacher traces it to four sources:
indecision; falseness to his own convictions; the taint of the worldly temper of
his day; and that priestly bigotry which forbids inquiry, and makes doubt a
crime.

Pilate is the typical sceptic, who is worlds removed from the “honest” doubter.
Serious doubt, which is pained and anxious in the search of truth, is in essence
belief, for it believes in the value of truth, if only truth can be discovered;
but typical scepticism not only does not credit what the believer takes for
truth, but despises it as not worth seeking. That is the fatal doubt, a doubt
that eats into the soul as a moral canker.

Nevertheless, although what is of supreme value to Jesus is reckoned by Pilate
as of no importance whatever, the cross-examination has satisfied the magistrate
of the innocence of his Prisoner. His duty, then, is plain. He should acquit the
innocent man. But he dare not do so immediately. That howling mob of Jews and
those odious priests and Sadducees of the council are determined on the death of
their victim.

Pilate has made himself well hated by the roughness of his government.

Nothing would please the Jews and their leaders better than to have some chance
of impeaching him before his jealous master at Rome, on the charge of leniency
to treason. Pilate quails before the terrible possibility. In face of it he
simply dares not pronounce a verdict of acquittal. Yet he means to do all he can
to effect the escape of his Prisoner. His inbred instinct for justice prompts
him to this; for the Romans cherished reverence for law, and even so corrupt a
ruler as Pilate was not independent of the atmosphere of his race. Then it would
be a bitter humiliation to let his judgment be overruled by those contemptible
Jews. He would be heartily glad to confound and disappoint them. More than this,
he had begun to feel some awakening interest in his remarkable Prisoner. He had
come to the conclusion that Jesus was a harmless dreamer; but he had felt some
faint shadow of the spell of the wonderful Personality. If only it could be
managed with safety to himself, he would be glad to have Jesus set free.

Accordingly we now see Pilate resorting to a series of devices in order to
escape from his vexatious dilemma. From this point his conduct opens out to us a
curious study in psychological phenomena. The ingenuity of Pilate in resorting
to one expedient after another, is very striking. Evidently he has keen wits,
and he uses them with some agility. But it is all in vain. He is pushed from
each of the positions he takes up by the same stubborn, relentless pressure
which he invariably finds to be irresistible. The explanation is, that though he
has intellect, he lacks will-power. On the other side there is not much need for
intelligence, but there is the most obstinate will. The Jews possess a clear
notion of what they want, and a set determination to have their way. In such a
contest there is no doubt which side will win. When will is bitter against
intellect, it is the latter that succumbs. The determined will forces itself
through all opposition that rests only on intelligence, reasoning, contrivance.

Intellect does not count for nothing; allied to a strong will, as in Calvin,
Cromwell, Napoleon, it helps to effect gigantic results. But in the sphere of
action, it is will-power that tells in immediate results. Even here, reason may
conquer stupid obstinacy in the long-run. But you must give it time; and you
must have honesty of character. Neither condition was present in this case of
Pilate. He had to decide promptly; and his moral nature was unsound. Such a man
under such circumstances will never find his most cunning devices a match for
the set determination of his opponents. So Pilate, feebly protesting, helplessly
scheming, is pushed back step by step; and ultimately he concedes everything
demanded of him, and the final issue is more humiliating to himself and more
cruel to the innocent Prisoner whom he is trying to shield, than it would have
been if he had yielded at the beginning. The real victim of this tragedy in the
palace is not Jesus, it is the soul of Pilate. We seem to see a weak man being
thrust down a steep place, resisting and catching at the shrubs and rocks that
he passes, but torn from his grasp of them and finally flung over the precipice.

Pilate’s first device was to send Jesus to Herod Antipas, who happened to be at
Jerusalem at the time. It was a compliment to the frivolous “king of Galilee” to
remit a Galilean prisoner to his judgment, and Pilate would gladly rid himself
of the awkward case by this ingenious device. But it was useless, for the simple
reason that Herod had no power of life and death in Jerusalem, and Pilate soon
had his Prisoner on his hands again. Next he clutched at the custom of releasing
a prisoner during the feast. Here was a chance for letting off Jesus without
declaring Him innocent. But this suggestion was hopeless. If the Jews were set
on effecting the death of Jesus, they would not give up their right to choose
their prisoners to be released, and take at the dictation of Pilate the very man
they wanted to have done to death.

They clamoured for an insurgent, Barabbas, a man caught red-handed in the very
crime for which these hypocrites professed in their new-fledged loyalty to
Caesar to be anxious to have Jesus executed. The cynicism of their choice is
palpable. By daring to make it, they show in what contempt they hold Pilate. The
governor loses ground considerably by this false move. Then he tries to throw
the blame of the murder of Jesus, which he sees he cannot prevent, on the Jews.
A new motive urges him to escape from the responsibility of committing a
judicial murder. His wife had sent a private message warning him to “_have
nothing to do with that righteous man_.” She had been much disturbed by a dream
about him. Romans were slaves to omens and auguries, and the most materialistic
of them felt some awe of dreams, although they had lost faith in real religion.
Your confirmed sceptic is often slavishly superstitious in the secret of his
soul. It is a way the spiritual has of avenging itself on the man who openly
flouts it. Boldly flung out of the window, it creeps back into the cellar and
vexes the soul with petty tricks played on the subterranean consciousness. The
man who expels his good angel is haunted by imps and elves. He who will not
believe in God and despises truth succumbs to the message of a dream.

More anxious now than ever to escape responsibility, Pilate calls for water and
publicly washes his hands, telling the Jews that the innocent blood will be on
their heads. They accept the awful responsibility.

What do they care for the weak Roman’s scruples? He is doing their will, and of
course no hand-washing can cleanse his conscience from the stain of guilty
compliance.

Yet one thing more Pilate will do. He will scourge Jesus. Perhaps that may
satisfy these savage Jews. For scourging was a savage punishment. The whip was
loaded with lead and sharp fish-bones, and at every stroke the flesh was cut.
Men often died under this severe treatment. Pilate had it inflicted on Jesus,
knowing Him to be innocent; but hoping that, if He survived, no more might be
required.

It was an abominable compromise. If Jesus were innocent--and Pilate knew He was
innocent--He should have been set free unscathed, with apologies for a mistaken
arrest. If he were guilty, of course he ought to receive the death-penalty for
the crime of treason. Justice could allow of no middle course. But Pilate is not
thinking of Justice. He only wants to escape the onus of killing an innocent
man. Then he has Jesus brought forth, bleeding, in agony, His lacerated flesh
exposed to the view of that heartless multitude. “_Behold the man_,” says
Pilate.

“Look at your victim; is not this enough?” If Pilate thought his appeal _ad
misericordiam_ would touch those hardened sinners of the Sanhedrin, he was
strangely mistaken. The sight of their victim in His agony only maddens them.
They are like hounds who had tasted blood.

Like hounds, they “give tongue,” and yell for His death. Pilate can resist no
longer. He has played his last card, and it has been taken.

Thoroughly humiliated and quite helpless, he gives sentence, and so in spite of
the governor’s desperate efforts to escape the stigma of his awful crime, it
goes down to all the ages that Jesus was “crucified under Pontius Pilate.”


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  CHAPTER 34: 2.16.     BARABBAS BY J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.
========================================================================

BARABBAS BY REV. J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

“And they cried out all at once, saying, Away with this man, and release unto us
Barabbas.”--ST Luk 23:18.

You have heard a crowd of people cry out all at once. It is always impressive,
it is sometimes very terrible, occasionally it is sublime.

It begins in a way that no one can explain. Somebody in the crowd utters a name,
or ejaculates a brief sentence. What happens? Often nothing at all. Men are not
in the mood for it; it drops unnoticed, or provokes a jeer or two and is then
forgotten. But sometimes the word falls like a spark on a mass of dry
tinder--ten thousand hearts have been prepared for it--swift as a flash of
lightning a sympathetic current passes through the whole throng--ten thousand
lips take up the cry. They are all carried away by contagion, magnetism, or
madness, and a shout goes up enough to rend the sky. When some great and noble
sentiment has laid hold of them, the shout of a people is one of the grandest
things on earth; when it is some awful prejudice, unreasoning hatred, or
cowardly terror that sways them, the shout is the most inhuman and hellish thing
on earth; and that was the character of the shout that was raised here. The
world has never forgotten that cry, and never will. To the very last the world
will wonder how it should have come to be raised, and will condemn and pity the
crowd of people who gave themselves up to it, for they were making a hero of the
vilest stuff, and clamouring for the murder of the world’s one Divine man. There
never was a more brutal and insane shout than that; never again can there be a
choice so fatal and so suicidal as the choice they made: “_Away with this man,
and release unto us Barabbas_.”

If the thing had not happened, we should say it was impossible. It seems
well-nigh incredible that human eyes and human hearts could be so blind. A story
of this kind is food for the bitterest cynic. He who has the most utter contempt
for the race to which he belongs might find here almost a justification of his
scorn. Oh what a satire upon human nature, that a whole city full of people,
men, women, mothers and daughters, had come to this pass that they could not
discern which was the nobler of these two--nay, thought that Barabbas was more
deserving of their honour. One the very flower and crown of humanity, the
express image of God; and the other a gaol bird, a notorious criminal, whose
hands had been dyed red, and whose heart had been hardened by the shedding of
blood. Well might those pitiful lips say, “_Father forgive them, for they know
not what they do_.”

Why did they do it? Why did they raise their voices for Barabbas? The main
answer is that men make their heroes as the heathen make gods, after their own
image. There is no doubt that Barabbas was more to the taste of this people,
more according to their heart, than Christ; or at least they thought he was; not
quite their ideal man, perhaps, but certainly nearer to their ideal than the
Christ whom they rejected. It may be that they had had no particular love for
him until just now, possibly they had hardly thought of him at all; but now it
was a question between this man and Jesus, and Jesus they did not want at any
price. And their very hatred of the one made the other look beautiful.

Barabbas is our man, they said, and the more they said it the more they believed
it; and each time the name was repeated it sounded sweeter, until they were all
shouting it, nine-tenths of them because the others shouted it, and until they
really made themselves believe that in this man they had got a veritable hero
and hardly less than a god. That is always what happens in such cases, the
greater part begin shouting for no particular reason because a few others have
led the way, and they end by believing that the man whom they are acclaiming is
almost divine; yet it is certain that they elected this man on the whole because
of the two he had more points in common with them, this poor despicable and very
unheroic thing was the person whom they delighted to honour because they
themselves were very unheroic and somewhat despicable. We cannot see the
greatness of a truly great man unless there is just a bit of greatness in
ourselves; Christ was too big and too divine to be seen and measured by their
small and vulgar eyes. Barabbas was about their size, and they raised their
voices for him.

We have had Carlyle’s words quoted to us a thousand times about heroes and
hero-worship--how it is part of human nature to go after heroes and make
them--how the world has always been given up to this worship, and always will
be. We all revere and follow great men, or those whom we deem great, which is
not quite the same thing. And it is a beautiful feature in human nature if it is
wisely directed, if we can only set our hearts on the true heroes and follow
them. It is not beautiful at all when we make our gods of clay, and shout
ourselves hoarse in exalting to the skies creatures as undivine and quite as
small as we are.

Heroes are sometimes easily made to-day, and martyrs too. Modern martyrdom of
the popular sort is about the least costly thing going.

It calls for no tears and blood, it can be gained on very easy terms.

You have only to break a law which you do not like, or your conscience does not
approve, and to be brought up for it with an admiring crowd accompanying you,
and to have a fine imposed, which is paid for, perhaps, by popular
subscription--and lo, you are a martyr. I am not calling in question the thing
itself. It may be both right and Christian to refuse obedience to a law on
extreme occasions; but to call this martyrdom is extravagant and almost
humorous.

It was not so in the olden time when the real martyrs were made. No, those
martyrs were not delicately handled, but stripped and stoned to pieces, and
burned, and there were no crowds to greet them with bravoes and caresses, but
furious mobs clamouring for their blood. We have changed all that indeed, thank
God: but they were heroes and martyrs indeed, and it sounds to me somewhat like
a desecration of the word to apply it to men and even women who are good,
probably brave in a way, but who win their crown of glory very cheaply indeed.
If we are to have heroes, let us make sure that they possess some heroic stuff.

There is a vast amount of hero-worship to-day which reminds us too much of that
shout for Barabbas. We are glorifying the wrong people; at least, most of us
are. It is one of the deplorable weaknesses of the times, or if you like it
better, it is one of the fashions or crazes to which human nature at times gives
itself up. The heroes of the crowd, of the great mass of people, are not the
good men, not the men of light and leading, not the men who are morally great or
even intellectually great, not the men who are the strength and salt of a
nation, but the men who minister to its pleasures, and lead the way in sports.
No one can have any doubt of that. No one can have any doubt about the sort of
persons whom the vast majority of young people, and some older people too,
delight to honour. With some it is the star of the music hall or opera. With a
great many more it is the winner of a race, or the champion player in a
successful football team, or the most effective bowler, or the highest scorer in
cricket. The crowd goes mad about these heroes. There is no throne high enough
to place them on.

Money and favours are lavished at their feet, and all the newspapers are full of
their glorious triumphs.

Mark I am not speaking against athletic sports. I like to see a well and
honestly played game, and I would join in the clapping when a man makes a clever
stroke. What I object to is the crazy and almost delirious worship which is
given to these champions of the sporting world. It is the excess of the thing
that proves a diseased state of mind. There is more fuss made over some youth
who scores a few hundreds on the cricket-field, than there would be over a man
who had saved six hundred lives. In hundreds of journals his portrait appears,
and his doings are chronicled as if he had wrought some deliverance for the
nation. Poor lad, it is not his fault that he has sprung up suddenly into fame,
it is the fault of the people who love to have these things so. It is because
men have gone pleasure-mad and sport-mad, and in their madness cannot see the
difference between a clever athlete and a mental or moral giant. We prove what
our own tastes are, we prove the quality of our own hearts and minds, we prove
our own debasement, when we exalt physical strength above excellence of
character, when we make our heroes out of muscle instead of soul, when we
worship those who serve our pleasure more than those who set us examples of
noble things, and lead the way in them. It is only another rendering of the old
shout, “_Away with this man, and release unto us Barabbas_.” Not so wicked, of
course, but equally foolish and unworthy. Who are your heroes? That is the
question. Or in other words, What sort of men do you admire most? Answer that,
and I know at once what sort of men and women you are. If you are worshippers of
pleasure, the champions of the pleasure-world will be your idols and kings. If
you are rooted and grounded in the love of lucre, the successful millionaire is
the man that you will fawn upon or worship from afar.

If your main delight is in intellectual things, the great thinkers and writers
will be the men to whom you look up with reverence. And if you are good men,
with a passionate love for goodness, and a constant striving to be better than
you are, there are none whom you will admire with all your hearts except the
good, except the best, and those who are leading in the way of goodness. In a
land which is truly Christian, the only heroes will be those who most resemble
Christ. If we are truly Christians, and Christian thoughts have taken full
possession of our hearts, we shall recognise no heroes save those who serve as
Christ served, who live in a measure as Christ lived, who deny themselves for
others, and spend their strength for the benefit of their fellow-men as the
Master did. These are the true heroes, and all the others are more or less cheap
imitations of them, or false substitutes for them. These are the true heroes, I
say. The men and women who risk their lives to save other lives. The men who use
their strength and ability, not for pay, but for the good and the advancement of
their fellow-men, to save men from their sins, and to lessen the sum of human
ill. The brave men and women who venture all things to serve some great and
righteous cause, and to speed on the Kingdom of Christ and righteousness in the
world.

We have no right to count any as heroes unless they have courage, patience,
self-denial, great love for their fellow-men, and strength which they cheerfully
employ for something greater than themselves. The men, in fact, who have
something of Christ in them; these are the only heroes whom God writes down in
His book of life, and they are the only heroes whom we shall exalt in our hearts
if we are followers of the crucified One. In a Christian land, the beginning and
end of all true and healthy hero-worship, is to set Christ first and above
everything else and every one else in our affections. We shall measure all other
men truly if we have first of all taken the true measure of Him. Love Him with
all your hearts, say of Him, “Thou art the chief among ten thousand, and the
altogether lovely,” and you will never give much of your hearts again to the
things and the men who are morally not worth loving. You will never be carried
away again into the worship of that which is false, common, or cheap. A man who
sees _all_ beauty, and the perfect beauty in Christ, will never say that there
is much beauty anywhere else, except where there is something that resembles
Christ.

We have to make our choice to-day, as those men made it long ago. It is not
quite the same choice. It is not Barabbas against Christ, but it is the poor,
coarse, common, frivolous things of the world against Christ. It is the earthly
against the heavenly; it is pleasure and sin against the service of the Man who
was crucified: it is the love of self, and things baser than ourselves, against
the love of Him who died for us. And everything depends upon that choice. To
make Him your King is to become kingly yourselves, and to be crowned at last
with the true glory and honour. But it is a terrible thing to say, “_Away with
this man, and release unto us Barabbas_.”


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  CHAPTER 35: 2.17.     JOSEPH OF ARIMATHEA
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JOSEPH OF ARIMATHEA BY REV. ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D.. LL.B.

“Joseph of Arimathea, an honourable counsellor, which also waited for the
kingdom of God.”-- Mark 15:43. The crucifixion of our Lord produced strange and
startling effects in moral experience, as well as in the physical world. The
veil of the Temple was rent from top to bottom as if a hand from heaven had torn
it, in order to teach men that the ancient ritual was done with.

Darkness covered the earth, suggesting to thoughtful minds the guilt of the
world and the mystery of the sacrifice which atoned for it.

Concurrently with these physical phenomena were spiritual experiences. The Roman
centurion who, in command of four soldiers, had the duty of seeing the sentence
of the law duly executed, was so profoundly moved by what he saw of the Divine
Sufferer and by His dying cry, that he exclaimed, “_Truly this was the Son of
God_,” and thus he became the first of the great multitude out of all nations
who give honour to the Lamb that has been slain. The women, too, who were
sometimes despised for weakness and timidity, proved themselves in this crisis
to be heroines. And Joseph of Arimathea, who up to this moment of shame and
apparent defeat had been content to remain a secret disciple of our Lord, now
boldly avowed his love and loyalty. The “_even_” had come, the second evening of
the Jews, and the last streak of golden light was beginning to fade from the
western sky.

Three lifeless bodies were still hanging on the crosses at Golgotha, but
according to Jewish custom they were about to be taken down, and flung into a
dishonourable grave, when Joseph “_went in boldly to Pilate, and begged the body
of Jesus_,” caring for our Lord in death as another Joseph had cared for him in
infancy. This man is described as an “_honourable counsellor_,” which doubtless
means a member of the Sanhedrim. He is also spoken of as “_a good man and a
just_,” which could not have been said of many of his fellow-counsellors. On
this occasion his action was sufficiently important in its relation to prophecy,
and in its bearing as evidence of the reality of the burial and of the
resurrection of our Lord, to be mentioned in each of the Four Gospels. Yet
neither by this nor by social influence, nor by brilliant gifts (if he possessed
them), did he become prominent in the early Church. Probably he was a man of
practical sagacity and ready resource, rather than of great spiritual force. He
could not stand on the same level with Simon Peter, the fisherman, whose honour
it was so to hold the key of the Kingdom as to open the door of it to the
Gentiles; nor did he ever attain influence comparable to that of Paul, who shook
the citadel of paganism to its foundations, and planted amid its fallen defences
the seed of the Kingdom, even the word of God. Joseph must be regarded as a
common soldier, rather than as a general in Christ’s army; but when the officers
had fallen, or deserted their Leader, he bravely stepped to the front and proved
himself a hero. Perhaps all the more on this account some study of his character
and conduct may encourage those who are not prominent in the Church to cultivate
his fidelity, promptitude, and courage.

If we piece together the few fragments of his biography which are scattered
through the Four Gospels, we shall gain a fuller and more accurate conception of
the man.

I.

It is clear that Joseph had already protested against the wrong done to our Lord
by the Sanhedrim, though he had been powerless to prevent it. In this protest no
doubt Nicodemus would have sided with him, but he was probably absent, for
Joseph seems to have stood alone in his refusal to condemn the prophet of
Nazareth. This was not easy. He would be urged to vote with his
fellow-counsellors on the ground that their ecclesiastical authority, which had
been defied, must be maintained, and that loyalty to the Sanhedrim demanded that
all members of it should sink their private opinions in its defence. To hold out
against an otherwise unanimous council would be the more difficult if Joseph had
but recently attained the honour of membership, and this is probable, for the
allusion to his “_new grave_” seems to imply that he had not long resided in
Jerusalem. It was difficult, and possibly dangerous, to assert his independence;
but he did so by vote, if not by voice, for he “_had not consented to the
counsel and deed of them_.”

Right-minded men are not infrequently placed in a similar position. A policy may
be initiated which they disapprove, and yet their protest against it may wreck
the party and even displace the government, so that they naturally hesitate
between party loyalty and enlightened conscience. Others who are engaged in
business, or in professional affairs, have sometimes to confront doubtful
practices which, though sanctioned by custom, unquestionably tend to the
lowering of the moral tone of the nation. Their own financial interests, their
fear of casting a slur on some known to them, who, though guilty of such
practices are in other respects honourable men, and their dread of posing before
the world as over-scrupulous, pharisaic men, who are righteous over-much--all
urge them to keep quiet, especially as such a custom cannot be put down by one
man. Yet is not conscience to be supreme, even under such conditions? The
cultivation of the required moral heroism, which is sadly lacking in all
sections of society, must begin in youth; and in this, elder brothers and
sisters as well as parents and teachers of all grades have serious
responsibility.

Occasionally the moral atmosphere of a whole school becomes corrupt, and
practices spring up which can only be put down by some right-minded lad or girl
running the risk of unpopularity and social ostracism, yet it is under such
conditions that God’s heroes are bred; and books like _Tom Brown’s Schooldays_
have done much to foster the development of the heroic temper. The truth is,
that, wherever we are, in this world where evil widely prevails, fidelity to
conscience must occasionally inspire what seems an unavailing protest against
the practice of the majority. But we must see to it on such occasions that a
real principle is at stake, and that we are not moved by mere desire for
self-assertion, nor by pride and obstinacy. If, however, we are consciously free
from these, and bravely protest against a wrong we cannot prevent, we may at
least look for the approval of Him who carried His protest against evil up to
the point of death, even the death of the Cross. In thus taking up our stand
against what we believe to be wrong, we may be, imperceptibly to ourselves,
emboldening others, who are secretly waiting for some such lead.

II.

If Joseph required bravery on the council, he needed it still more when he went
into the presence of Pilate to beg the body of Jesus. The Roman procurator was a
man to be dreaded by any Jew, and was just now in a suspicious and angry mood.
But Joseph not only braved a repulse from him. He knew he would have to confront
the far more bitter hostility of the priests. Theirs was a relentless hate,
before which Peter had fallen, and Pilate himself had quailed. Yet this man
Joseph, brought up though he had been in circumstances of ease, went in boldly
to Pilate and deliberately ran the risk of their savage hatred, which would not
only bring about as he believed his expulsion from office, but in all
probability cruel martyrdom. It was a bold step; but no sooner did he take it
than another rich man was by his side--Nicodemus by name--who also himself was
one of Christ’s disciples, though secretly, for fear of the Jews. The act of
Joseph had more far-reaching consequences on the conduct of others than he
expected.

Most heroic actions are richer in results than is expected by those who dare to
do them; though the immediate effects may seem disappointing.

Elijah learnt to his amazement that although all the people on Carmel had not
been converted, more than seven thousand faithful men had been emboldened by his
conduct. And when John plucked up courage to go right in to the palace of the
high priest, Peter, who till then had followed Jesus afar off, went in also. The
truth is, that we all have influence beyond the limits of what we can see or
estimate--parents over children, employers over their young people, mistresses
over servants; for what we are these are encouraged to be, whether for good or
for evil. Indeed, even a child who fearlessly speaks the truth, a servant who
does her work thoroughly and cheerfully, an obscure lad who in a small situation
is faithful to honour and truth, will effect far more than is imagined. Others
who are unperceived are emboldened, and range themselves on the side of
righteousness.

Joseph discovered, as many have done since, that when he steadfastly set his
face towards duty he succeeded far better then he expected. When he went into
the palace of Pilate he foresaw that he might be asked to pay an enormous
ransom, for that would be only customary; or possibly his request might be
scornfully refused by the procurator, who was angry with himself and with the
Jews. But, doubtless to his amazement, no such thing happened. Without delay, or
bartering or abuse, Pilate at once gave him leave.

History is crowded with similar incidents. How helpless and hopeless the
Israelites were when they found themselves face to face with the waters of the
Red Sea, while the army of Egypt was rapidly overtaking them; yet they soon
discovered that their danger was to prove their means of deliverance; for the
waters which barred their progress to liberty soon overwhelmed their enemies. In
other spheres of experience such deliverances have come, and will continue to
come, to trustful souls:

“Dark and wide the sea appears, Every soul is full of fears, Yet the word is
’onward still, ’Onward move and do His will; And the great deep shall discover
God’s highway to take thee over.”

Peter had a similar experience when in prison. He arose and followed the angel,
and safely passed through the first and the second ward; but the great iron gate
seemed an insuperable barrier, yet that opened to them of its own accord, and he
stepped through it into liberty. Thus it was with the women who as they walked,
while it was yet dark, towards the grave of their Lord, thought of one
difficulty which seemed insurmountable, and asked one another, “_Who shall roll
us away the stone at the door of the sepulchre_?” Still on they went, with faith
and courage, and when they reached their imagined difficulty they found that it
had vanished; for they saw that the stone was rolled away. A similar experience
is constantly met with. It is shared by a young man who is expected to undertake
some doubtful transaction, but from conscientious scruple hesitates. He fears
what the result of a refusal may be, but resolves to risk it; perhaps to find
that the order is not pressed, or that some new incident opens up for him a way
of escape.

True, God does not always deliver a conscientious man from the special danger
before him, but in the forum of conscience, and before the judgment-seat of
Christ, he will be righted. Be the result what it may, we must be true to
conscience, which, however, is but another form of saying, we must be true to
God; and instead of peering into the future, and picturing to ourselves all
possible evil results, we must learn to take the next obvious step in the
pathway of duty, trusting that God will make the next step clear, possible, and
safe. When a tourist is climbing a difficult mountain, his guide sometimes
rounds a corner, or climbs up to a higher level, and for a time is lost to
sight, having left his charge behind him; and he, unaccustomed to such an
expedition, dares not look down, and fears to stir another step, till feeling
the rope taut between himself and the guide, and hearing his cheery voice, he
ventures forward, to find that the danger was not so great as he imagined. Thus
made bolder by each difficulty surmounted, he begins to feel the exhilaration of
a mountain climb, which braces the nerves more than anything besides. If we are
really anxious to be in God’s appointed way, and boldly take it when it is made
clear, we may be sure that He will answer the prayer, “_Hold up my goings in Thy
paths, that my footsteps slip not_.”

III.

There are crises in the experience of every one when the whole future is
determined; and such a crisis came to Joseph of Arimathea.

He had been for some time a disciple of Jesus, but had never avowed the fact.
But after standing on Calvary and seeing the death of his Lord, sorrow, shame,
and indignation so stirred him, that at once he went in boldly unto Pilate. It
was the turning-point in his history, when obedience to God-given impulse
decided his whole destiny. The spiritual influences which play upon our souls
are not even in their flow. There are times when one is strangely moved,
although in outward environment there is little to account for it. The sermon
listened to may be illiterate, the hymn sung may be destitute of poetic beauty,
the friendly word may be spoken by a social inferior--yet one of these sometimes
suffices as the channel of divine power, which shakes the soul to its very
depths. We have known the unexpected avowal of love to Christ on the part of one
obscure scholar set all in the class thinking on the subject of personal
responsibility to God, and to His Church. And sometimes the sorrow of leaving
home for the first time, or the death of a dearly-loved friend, has sufficed to
arouse the question, “_What must I do to be saved_?” We must beware of allowing
such opportunities for decisive action to slip away unimproved. When a vessel
has grounded at the harbour-bar, she must wait till the tide lifts her, or she
will not reach a safe anchorage; but when the tide does flow in, no sane man
will let the chance go by, lest a storm should rise and wreck her within reach
of home.

It is noteworthy that Joseph was moved to decision and confession by the
crucifixion of the Lord; for this might have been expected to seal his lips. It
would seem to have been easier to follow the great Teacher when listening crowds
gathered round Him, and multitudes were being healed of whatsoever diseases they
had, than to acknowledge loyalty to Him when He was crucified as a malefactor.
Yet it was from the Cross that this man went into the Church. The light came to
him when darkness seemed deepest. It was in the presence of the crucified
Saviour, of whom even the Roman centurion said, “_Truly this was the Son of
God_,” that Joseph learned to say, “Because thou hast died for me, I will
henceforth live for Thee.” This was one of the earliest triumphs of the Cross,
in which Paul gloried, and of Him who died thereon--dying for us all, that we
who live should not henceforth live unto ourselves but unto Him. In the presence
of that memorable scene we are called on for more than admiration or adoration,
even for a passionate devotion to Him who gave Himself up for us all.

It may be that some of His professed followers may again fail Him, and that
others will step in to do the service which He requires. In the hour of darkness
all His recognised disciples forsook him and fled; and when the tragedy on
Golgotha was over, it was not Peter, and James, and John, and Andrew, who
rendered Him the last service, but holy, humble women, and Joseph and Nicodemus,
who up till then had not been reckoned as disciples at all. There are times in
the history of the Church when our Lord seems “_crucified afresh, and put to an
open shame_,” while His so-called disciples remain silent and hidden.
Superstition and sin still join hands to put the Christ to death, to bury Him,
and seal His sepulchre. But secret disciples are meanwhile avowing themselves;
coming from the east, and the west, from the north, and from the south, to fill
up the vacant places, to do the needed services, and to rejoice in a risen and
glorified Lord. Better by far the doing of a simple act of love to the Saviour
who died for us--such as Joseph did--than loud professions of loyalty, or
accurate knowledge of creeds. Hear once more the solemn words of Jesus: “_Not
every one that saith unto Me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of
heaven; but he that doeth the will of My Father which is in heaven_.”

“And that voice still soundeth on From the centuries that are gone To the
centuries that shall be! From all vain pomps and shows, from the pride that
overflows, From all the narrow rules and subtleties of Schools, And the craft of
tongue and pen, Bewildered in its search, bewildered with the cry, ’Lo here, lo
there, the Church!’ poor, sad Humanity Through all the dust and heat turns back
with bleeding feet By the weary road it came Unto the simple thought by the
Great Master taught, And that remaineth still, ’Not he that repeateth the Name
But he that doeth the Will.’“


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  CHAPTER 36: 2.18.     PHILIP, THE EVANGELIST
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PHILIP, THE EVANGELIST BY REV. GEORGE MILLIGAN, M.A, D.D.

Philip the Evangelist must be carefully distinguished from Philip the Apostle.
And though it is little that we are told regarding him in Scripture, that little
is very significant. He first comes before us as one of the seven chosen by the
early Church at Jerusalem to take charge of the daily ministration of charity to
the poor widows (Acts 6:1 ff.). And when this work is hindered by the outbreak
of persecution following on the death of Stephen, we find him at once departing
to enter on active missionary work elsewhere (Acts 8:4 ff.). The fact that he
should have selected Samaria as the scene of these new labours, is in itself a
proof that he was able to rise above the ordinary Jewish prejudices of his time.
And this same liberal spirit is further exemplified by the incident in
connection with which he will always be principally remembered. In obedience to
a Divine summons, Philip had betaken himself to the way that goeth down from
Jerusalem to Gaza. And if at first he may have wondered why he should have been
called upon to leave his rapidly progressing work in Samaria for a desert road,
he was not for long left in doubt as to what was required of him. For as he
walked along he was overtaken by an Ethiopian stranger returning in his chariot
from Jerusalem. This man, who was the chamberlain or treasurer of Candace, Queen
of the Ethiopians, had heard somehow in his distant home, of the Jewish
religion, and had undertaken this long journey to make further inquiries
regarding it. We are not told how he had been impressed; very possibly the
actual fruits that he witnessed were very different from what he had expected.
But one treasure at least he had found, a Greek copy of the prophecies of
Isaiah, and this he was eagerly searching on his return journey, to see if he
could find further light there. One passage specially arrested his attention,
the touching passage in which the prophet draws out his great portraiture of the
Man of Sorrows. But, then, how reconcile the thought of this Messiah, suffering,
wounded, dying, with the great King and Conqueror whom the Jews at Jerusalem had
been expecting! Could it be that he had anything to do with our Jesus of
Nazareth, of whom he had also heard, and whom, because of the Messianic claims
He had put forward, the Jewish leaders had crucified on a cross? Oh, for some
one to help him! Help was nearer than he thought. Prompted by the Spirit, Philip
ran forward to the chariot; and no sooner had he learned the royal chamberlain’s
difficulties than he “_opened his mouth, and beginning from this scripture,
preached unto him Jesus_” (Acts 8:35).

We are not told on what particulars Philip dwelt; but, doubtless, starting from
the prophetic description of the Man of Sorrows, “_despised and rejected of
men_,” he would show how that description held true of the earthly life of
Jesus. And then he would go on to show the meaning and bearing of these
sufferings. They arose from no fault on the part of Jesus; but, “_He was wounded
for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities_.” And yet that was
not the end. The life which had thus ended in shame had begun again in glory:
the cross had led on to the crown. And as thus he unfolded the first great
principles of the Christian faith, Philip would press home on the eunuch’s
awakened conscience that they had a vital meaning for him. “_Repent_,” can we
not imagine him pleading as Peter had pleaded before, “_and be baptised... in
the name of Jesus Christ unto the remission of your sins; and ye shall receive
the gift of the Holy Ghost_” (Acts 2:38). The eunuch’s heart was touched, and he
asked that he might be baptized. Satisfied that he was in earnest, Philip agreed
to his request. And when they came to a certain water, “_they both went down
into the water, both Philip and the eunuch; and he baptized him_.” Thus “the
Ethiopian changed his skin,” and “_went on his way rejoicing_” to his distant
home, to declare in his turn to his countrymen the tidings of great joy.

There are many points of view from which we might regard this beautiful
incident, but it is with it in its bearing on the person and character of Philip
that we are alone at present concerned. And in considering it further in this
light, it may be well to confine ourselves to noticing in what way it gained for
Philip his distinctive title of “_the Evangelist_,” and consequently what it has
to teach us still regarding all evangelistic and missionary work.

I. The Evangelist. With regard to the evangelist himself, one truth stands out
clearly from the whole narrative, his work is _given_ to him to do. He is first
and foremost a missionary, one sent.

It is a pity, perhaps, that in our ordinary speech, we have come to limit the
name “missionary” so much to the man who carries the gospel abroad. No doubt he
is a missionary in the highest sense of the word; but still the fundamental idea
in every minister or evangelist’s position is the idea of one sent--sent for a
particular purpose, with a particular message to proclaim wherever God may place
him. He has no power, no authority of his own. All that he has comes from Him
whose servant he is, and whose truth he has to announce.

You remember--to appeal at once to the highest example--how ever-present this
thought of His mission was to the mind of our Lord and Master. His meat, so He
told His disciples, was to do the will of Him that sent Him (John 4:34). The
word which He spake was not His own, but the Father’s who sent Him (John 14:24).
And so when the time came for His sending forth His disciples to carry on His
work, it was as “Apostles,” those sent, that the work was entrusted to them; and
in the same spirit He prayed for them in His great intercessory prayer, “_As
Thou didst send Me into the world, even so sent I them into the world_” (John
17:18).

If we keep this view of the evangelist as the missionary, ever before us, there
is one fact regarding his position we can never lose sight of. He has no new
truth of his own to declare, no new theories of his own to frame. The message
which he has to deliver is not his own, but God’s; and it must be his constant
endeavour to learn that message for himself, and then, as God’s servant, to
announce it to others. Men may receive his message. If they do not, he dare not
substitute any other.

II. His Message. In what does the evangelist’s message consist? “_Philip_,” we
are told, “_preached unto him_ JESUS.” And what that included we have already
seen. It was the story of the life, and the death, and the resurrection of Jesus
of Nazareth, a new story then, an old story now, but still “the old, old story”
for us. The duty of the Christian teacher must be first of all to proclaim
Christ and His salvation, to announce the glad tidings of mercy and of love to
sinful men. This is not, of course, to say that every address or sermon is to be
occupied with the objective facts of Christ’s life and death. Such teaching
would soon become monotonous and wearisome, and fail in the very purpose it set
before it. Nor have men only to be awakened to the truth, they must be built up
in it. And the practical question for us all is to learn how to apply and carry
out in our daily lives, the truths we have received, how to make our conduct
correspond to our creed. That opens up an endless field for the evangelist’s
work: that introduces us to lectures on Home Missions and Foreign Missions, to
the story of noble lives; to all, in fact, that is likely to deepen and to
quicken our moral nature. But still this remains as the fundamental object of
the whole evangel, to preach Jesus, to bring those to Him who know Him not, to
strengthen and to comfort those who do.

When, then, men call upon the Christian teacher to leave the objective facts of
the gospel alone, and to occupy himself with the philosophic and social
questions of the day, they are calling upon him to surrender his special
function and duty. He must indeed endeavour so to present the truth so as to
meet the peculiar wants of his own time. The form in which the gospel was
presented in one age may not be the best form of presenting it in another. At
one time it may be necessary to emphasise one aspect of the truth, at another,
another. But underneath all its changing forms and aspects, _the_ truth remains
unchanged; and it is that which must be taught. And after all, has not the
simple gospel message ever proved itself the one message that can touch the
hearts and meet the wants of men? What was it, for example, in the preaching of
Savonarola that so mightily moved Florence, the elegant, refined, wicked, pagan
Florence of the fifteenth century? He himself tells us that it was the preaching
of Scripture truth. When he discoursed in a philosophical manner, the ignorant
and the learned were alike inattentive: but “the word” mightily delighted the
minds of men, and showed its divine power in the reformation of their lives. Or,
to take another instance from nearer home. Archdeacon Wilson describes somewhere
the experience of the promoters of a certain evening-class, which they had
instituted for the benefit of some of the more ignorant and degraded inhabitants
of Bristol. All that they could think of they did for the benefit of the men who
gathered to it. They read to them; they sang to them: they taught them to read
and write. Yet, in course of time, interest flagged. Every expedient failed, and
they were on the point of abandoning the work in despair, when it occurred to
them to apply to the men themselves. “What would you like us to tell you about
next?” they asked. “Could you tell us something about Jesus Christ?” answered
one of the men. That was the one thing needful, the one abiding satisfaction for
their deepest needs. And so ever. It may be strange, but it is true, that it is
“_the Man of Sorrows_” who has won the love of men; it is the Saviour who has
been lifted up on high out of the earth, who has drawn all men to Himself.
Christ: Christ crucified: Christ risen: that is the message which every
Christian evangelist has to declare.

III. His Message of Glad Tidings. And is not that good news? “_Beginning from
that same scripture, Philip preached the GLAD TIDINGS of Jesus_.”

Philip made the eunuch’s previous knowledge the starting-point of all that he
had to say, and, as he went on, showed how there was in his message the answer
to all his doubts and the solution of all his difficulties. And the gospel has
still the same meaning for us. It has a message for the man struggling with the
battle of life, in the example of One who has fought that fight before, who
knows its every trial and sorrow, and who has come gloriously through them all.
It has a message for the sinner, brooding anxiously over his guilty past,
conscious only of his own defilement and unworthiness in the sight of an
all-holy God, as it assures him of mercy and free forgiveness, of sin blotted
out in the blood of Christ. It has a message for the trembling believer,
compassed about with temptations and doubts, as it tells of One who can still be
“_touched with the feeling of our infirmities_,” and who, because “_He Himself
hath suffered being tempted_,” is “_able to succour them that are tempted_.” And
it has a message for the mourner sorrowing over the loss of near and dear ones,
for it points to Him who is “_the Resurrection and the Life_” of His people, and
gives promise of the “_Father’s house_” with its many mansions, where He is
preparing a place for His children. And yet great and glorious though that
message is, where there are not a hearing ear, an understanding heart, and a
willing mind, even a St Philip or a St Paul may preach in vain. But where, on
the other hand, these are present, then God may use even the humblest and
feeblest of His servants to speak some word, to utter some warning, which may be
worth to us more than all we have in the world besides. God grant that it may be
so with us, and that by the power of the Holy Ghost the word preached may be
welcomed, “not as the word of men, but, as it is in truth, the word of God,
which also worketh in you that believe” (1Th 2:13).


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  CHAPTER 37: 2.19.     ANANIAS AND SAPPHIRABY GEORGE MILLIGAN, D.D.
========================================================================

ANANIAS AND SAPPHIRA BY REV. GEORGE MILLIGAN, M.A, D.D.

One of the most striking features of the early Christian Church was what we have
come to know as Christian Communism, or as the historian describes it in Acts
4:32 : “_And the multitude of them that believed were of one heart and soul: and
not one of them said that aught of the things which he possessed was his own;
but they had all things common_.” It is a bright and a pleasing picture that is
thus presented. Nor is it difficult to understand how such a spirit should arise
amongst men whose hearts were full to overflowing with the new Christian graces
of brotherhood and peace. For we must not imagine that there was anything
compulsory about this communism. It was entirely voluntary, and was due to the
eager desire on the part of the wealthier members of the Church to do all that
they could for their poorer brethren. In this particular alone, we can at once
see how widely it differed from what is generally known as communism or
socialism in the present day. The spirit of much at any rate of our present-day
socialism--so the distinction has been cleverly drawn--is, “What is thine, is
mine”: but the spirit of those early believers was rather, “What is mine, is
thine.” At the same time, we can readily understand that in a large and mixed
community like the early Church, all members would not think exactly alike, and
that while many, we may believe most, would cheerfully obey this unwritten law
of love, and share and share alike, others would give in to it--if they did give
in, for, let me again emphasise, there was no compulsion upon any--more
grudgingly and hesitatingly. Of these two classes the writer of the Book of Acts
presents us with individual examples--of the former class, in the case of
Joseph, or Barnabas, a wealthy Cypriot, who “_having a field, sold it, and
brought the money, and laid it at the apostles’ feet_” (Acts 4:37)--of the
latter, in the case of Ananias with Sapphira his wife, whose melancholy story is
now before us. That story is very familiar, and is often regarded simply as an
instance of the sinfulness of lying. And that undoubtedly it is; but it warns us
also against other equally dangerous and insidious errors, as a little
consideration will, I think, show. For what were Ananias’s motives in acting as
he did? If we can discover them, we shall have the key to the whole story. And
here, it seems to me, they must, in the first instance at any rate, have been of
a sufficiently _generous_ character. Ananias had seen what was going on around
him, and he had determined that he must not be behindhand in this ministry of
love. But--and now we get a little deeper into his character--_ambition_ to
stand well with his fellow-members evidently mingled with the pure spirit of
charity, though we do not need to suppose that there was as yet any conscious
intention to deceive. Acting, then, on these somewhat mixed motives of charity
and ambition, Ananias determined to sell a possession, some farm or other which
he had, and hand over the money to the apostles.

He probably meant at first to hand over the whole price, but with the money in
his hand, the demon of avarice entered into his heart. And he “_kept back part
of the price, his wife also being privy to it, and brought a certain part, and
laid it at the apostles’ feet. But Peter said, Ananias, why hath Satan filled
thy heart to lie to the Holy Ghost, and to keep back part of the price of the
land? Whiles it remained, did it not remain thine own? and after it was sold,
was it not in thy power? How is it that thou hast conceived this thing in thy
heart? thou hast not lied unto men, but unto God_” (Acts 5:2-4). The sin of
Ananias, then, lay in this, that he gave a certain sum _as if it were the
whole_. There was no necessity for his giving either the whole or the part. Had
he hung back, when others were selling their possessions, he would have been
pronounced _ungenerous_ in comparison with them. Had he brought a part, making
no mistake about it that it was only a part, when they were giving all, then he
would have been not _so generous_. But when he brought a part as if it were the
whole, he added to his former selfishness and avarice _deceit and hypocrisy_. If
he did not in so many words tell a lie, he did what was equally heinous, he
_acted_ a lie.

It is only when we thus clearly realise the enormity of Ananias’s sin, that we
can understand the reason of the dreadful doom that followed.

“_And Ananias, hearing these words, fell down, and gave up the ghost_”(Acts
5:5). The judgment came not from men, but from God. As it was in God’s
sight--the sight of the living and heart-searching God--that the sin had been
committed: so it was by the direct “visitation of God” that it was now punished.
Nor was the awful lesson yet over. Three hours had scarcely elapsed since the
young men had carried forth her husband, and buried him, when Sapphira, “_not
knowing what was done, came in_.” “_And Peter answered unto her_”--answered her
look of amazement as she regarded the awe-struck faces of those present--”_Tell
me, whether ye sold the land for so much_?” “_Yea, for so much_,” she replied,
adhering to the unholy compact into which, with Ananias, she had entered, and
adding deceit in speech to his deceit in act. “_But Peter said unto her, How is
it that ye have agreed together to tempt the Spirit of the Lord? behold, the
feet of them which have buried thy husband are at the door, and they shall carry
thee out_” (Acts 5:8-9).

It was the first intimation the unhappy woman had received of Ananias’s death:
and to the shame of her own consciousness of guilt, must have been added the
feeling that she had a certain responsibility in what had befallen him. A word
of remonstrance on her part might, at the beginning, have prevented the crime:
it was too late now. “_And she fell down immediately at his feet, and gave up
the ghost: and the young men came in and found her dead, and they carried her
out and buried her by her husband_” (Acts 5:10). And as the sacred historian
again impressively adds, showing how deep was the effect produced: “_And great
fear came upon the whole church, and upon all that heard these things_” (Acts
5:11).

Such is the story. Who does not feel its sadness? All before had been so
peaceful and happy. The early believers had presented such a beautiful spectacle
of brotherly unity and love. And now, all too soon, the enemy had been at work,
sowing tares among the wheat. In the very particular in which the Church most
deserved praise--the enthusiasm of its members’ charity--sin had appeared. And
thus early had the young Church of Christ learned that truth, which it has been
the work of nineteen centuries to emphasise, that her true danger comes not so
much from without as from within, and that then only is she disgraced, when she
disgraces herself. For what may we learn from this tragic incident?

I.

We learn the sanctity, the holiness, which Christ looks for in His Church. The
Church of Christ is holy: it consists of those who have separated themselves
from the world and its defilements, and who have set themselves apart--body,
soul, and spirit--for Christ’s service. That, I say, is the Church’s ideal. But
we know, alas! only too well, how far short the Church on earth falls of
that--how much worldliness, and vanity, and ambition--yes, and even grosser
sins--mingle with our holy things. But we must keep God’s ideal ever before us,
that ideal which assures us that God, by His Spirit, actually dwells in His
Church, dwells in the heart of each individual believer. Only when we remember
that, can we see how great was Ananias’s sin. “_He lied to the Holy Ghost: he
lied not unto men, but unto God_.” As by God’s Spirit his heart had been
enlightened and opened to the knowledge of the truth: so now against that Spirit
he had deliberately sinned.

Such a sin could not pass unpunished. Had that been allowed, the false
impression would have got abroad that God was easy and tolerant of sin.

Rather it was necessary “that men should be taught once for all, by sudden death
treading swiftly on the heels of detected sin, that the gospel, which discovers
God’s boundless mercy, has not wiped out the sterner attributes of the Judge.”
[1]

II.

We learn the reality of the power of Satan. On this point, Peter’s question is
very suggestive--”_Why has Satan filled thine heart to lie to the Holy Ghost_?”

There is a constant tendency in those days, which are so impatient of all that
is supersensible and wonderful, to try and get rid of the personality of the
devil, and to tone down the question of man’s salvation to a struggle between
two opposing principles within the heart, instead of regarding it, as the Bible
teaches us to regard it, as an actual contest for the soul of man between real
persons--the Spirit of God from above, the Spirit of evil from beneath. The
heart of man is as it were a little city or fortress on the borderland between
two nations at war with each other, and which is liable to be captured by
whichever at that point proves itself the strongest. But at the same time with
this great difference, that every man has the power of deciding into whose hands
he is to fall. His will is free, and he is personally accountable for whom he
may choose as master.

For, notice how, in the case before us, St Peter, while tracing the fall of
Ananias to the agency of Satan, yet prefixes his question with a _why_: “_Why
hath Satan jilted thine heart_?” There had been a time when resistance was still
possible. Ananias might have rejected the suggestion of the tempter: he was not
bound to yield: but he had yielded. And very suggestive of why he had fallen so
low, is that other word “_filled_.” It brings before us the quiet, gradual
manner in which evil takes possession of the heart of man. We have seen already
that it was so in the case of Ananias. _Ambition_ to stand well in the sight of
others was his first step: to ambition was afterwards added _avarice_: and then
ambition and avarice combined led to _deceit and hypocrisy_. Or, as bringing out
the same truth of the gradual progression of sin, notice how Ananias apparently
first _thought_ over the sin in his own heart: then _spoke_ of it to his wife,
and agreed with her that it could be done: and then how together they _carried
it out_. Thought, speech, action: how often are these the successive links by
which a man is led on from one degree of sin to another? The lesson is surely to
resist at the very outset: so much depends upon the first step. We must not give
place to even the first thought of evil: nor listen to the tempter’s whisper,
whisper he ever so softly. How many, as they look back upon a downward career,
can trace its beginning to some idle or vain thought, or to some hasty or
careless word!

III.

We learn that a divided service is not possible.

“_No man_!” said our Lord Himself, “_can serve two masters: ye cannot serve God
and mammon_.” Not that we are not tempted sometimes to try it. What commoner sin
is there amongst professing Christians than the attempt to make the best of both
worlds--to lay hold of this world with the one hand, while we give it up with
the other--to seem other than we are? But surely with this old story from the
Book of Acts to warn us, we must see how vain all such divided efforts are. We
may deceive ourselves or others for a while; but the deception cannot last, and
in some hour of searching or of trial our true characters will be laid bare. Let
us see to it, then, that we may take this awful example home as a very real and
practical warning to ourselves--that we not only “_hate and abhor lying_,” but
put away from us whatsoever “_maketh a lie_”! and that the prayer continually on
our lips and in our hearts is, “From the crafts and assaults of the devil...
from pride, vain-glory, and hypocrisy, good Lord, deliver us.”

[1]Dr Oswald Dykes.


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  CHAPTER 38: 3. WOMEN  OF THE NEW TESTAMENT
========================================================================

WOMEN OF THE NEW TESTAMENT BY WALTER F. ADENEY, M.A. professor of New Testment
Exegesis New College, london author of " how to read the bible," "the theology
of the new testament,’’ etc

Hontron

SERVICE PATON 5 HENRIETTA STREET

COVENT GARDEN

1899

CONTENTS CHAPTER I Mary the Mother of Jesus — Blessed among Women A Retiring
Nature — Unearthly Scenes — The Human Aspect of the Annunciation — Rossetti’s
Picture — The Visit to Elizabeth— The Magnificat— The Wonderful Babe— Mary
pondering — The Purification — The Presentation — The Sword 1-13 CHAPTER II
Mater Dolorosa — Sorrow with Blessedness The Lost Child — An Unintentional
Rebuke — A Separation — At Cana — A Rebuff — An Anxious Mother — A Second Rebuff
— The Sentimental Admirer — The Darkest Hour — A Gleam of Light — Fading out of
View . . . 14-28 CHAPTER III The Great Miracle — A Study in Theology A Human
Mother — The Miracle of Miracles — The Further Miracle of the Virgin Birth — A
Fatal Confusion — The Testimony of Two Gospels — Objections — Apocryphal Gospels
— Jewish Legends — Patristic Evidence — Ebionite Teaching — Docetism — The
Syriac Variation . . 29-42 CHAPTER IV The Madonna — A Study in Imagination

Perpetual Virginity — History of the Dogma — The Glorification of Virginity —
The Immaculate Conception — The Assumption — Virgin Worship—" The Mother of God
" — Christian Art — Divine Pity ..... 43-56 CHAPTER V Elizabeth — Motherhood and
Humility A High-born Woman — The Instinct of Motherhood — The Child of Old Age—
The Visit— The Welcome— A Wonder of Humility— Mutual Confidences — Naming the
Child — His Future 57-70 CHAPTER VI Anna — Aged and Hopeful Her long Vigils —
The Life of Devotion — Energy of Prayer — The Melancholy of Old Age— Youthful
Old Age— A Quickening Hope — Vitalising Prayer — The Recognition - of the
Christ— The National Hope .... 71-84 CHAPTER VII The "Woman of Samaria — Thirst
At the Well— The Request — Living Water— A Vivacious Mind — The Awakening— A
Soul’s Unrest— The Thirst for Excitement — Conscience — The Type of the
Inconstant — The Prophet — A Strange Evangelist 85-09 CHAPTER VIII The Women who
Ministered to Jesus — Active Devotion

Peter’s Wife’s Mother — Inopportune Illness — The First Woman Healed — The
Service of Gratitude — The Women who Ministered with their Substance — The
Wealthier Status of Women Disciples — The Court Lady . . . 100-113 CHAPTER IX
The Woman who Touched the Hem of Christ’s Garment — Shy Faith The Explanation of
an Unusual Approach — The Child and the Woman — Desperate Need — Faith and
Superstition — Healing Contact — Involuntary Power — Jesus Asking for
Information — A Theological Blunder— Shyness Conquered by Gratitude— Confessing
Christ — Faith Commended— The Legend of St. Veronica 114-127 CHAPTER X The Woman
who Washed the Feet of Jesus with Her Tears — Forgiveness and Love The Scene at
an Eastern Feast— A Natural Judgment — A New Idea — Sin not to be Denied —
Forgiveness Forbids Recrimination — A Passion of Devotion — A Revelation of
Character — Love the Fruit of Forgiveness — Emotion must have Expression 128-140
CHAPTER XI The Canaanite Woman — A Mother’s Persistence

Jesus in Retirement — A Primitive Passion — Christ Confessed by a Heathen— A
Piteous Appeal Disregarded— The Reason— Hopeful Silence— A Harsh Proverb— The
Unreported Smile— Delightful Repartee— Faith Rewarded 141-153 CHAPTER XII The
Mother of Zebedee’s Children — Material Ambition

Salome, Mary’s Sister — Her Early Days — The Fisherman’s Wife — Among the
Ministering Women — Her Daring Request — Maternal Ambition — Her Faith in Her
Nephew — In Sight of the Cross — A Spartan Mother — FamUy Selfishness — The
Earlier Position of the Two Sons — The Great Mistake — A Consolation 151-167
CHAPTER XIII The Sisters — A Contrast The Bethany Household — 1. A Family
Difference — Natural Irritation — The Active and the Contemplative Lives —
Expostulation — Reply — Plain Living and High Thinking — 2. At the Grave — An
Earthquake Revelation — Unaccountable Delay — Jesus at Bethany — Sublime Faith —
3. The Anointing — The Accusation— The Defence 168-1S3 CHAPTER XIV The Widow
with Two Mites — True Giving The Minor Incidents of the Gospel— Jesus at the
Temple — The Widow — The Gift Valued by the Sacrifice — Penury. Rescued from
Sordidness 184-194 CHAPTER XV Mary Magdalene — Adoration after Deliverance A
Double Confusion — Vindication of the Magdalene’s Character — Her Terrible
Affliction — The Phenomena of Possession — The Dogmatism of Science — Among the
Attendant Women — At the Cross — The Entombment — The Empty Tomb— The Vision of
Angels — The Gardener — Noli me tangere 195-208 CHAPTER XVI Dorcas and Phoebe —
Woman’s Work

Women in the Apostolic Churches — 1. Dorcas — Christian Charities — Active
Service — The Old-fashioned Work with the Needle— "Dorcas" Societies — 2.
Phoebe—The Deaconess— The Patroness 209-220 CHAPTER XVII St. Paul’s Woman
Converts — Saved to Serve The Prominent Position of Women — 1. Lydia — The
First- Known Christian in Europe— Her Open Mind — 2. The Pythoness — Her
Affliction — The Cure — Its Results — 3. Damans — The Athenian Audience — Rare
Exceptions — 4. The Ephesian Women — Their Varied Works— 5. The Women at
Philippi — An Exhortation to Harmony . . 221-235 CHAPTER XVIII Priscilla — The
Woman Missionary

Roman Legends and Inscriptions — The Early History of Priscilla — The’ Teacher
of Apollos — Woman’s Larger Ministry — The Woman Missionary — The Missionary’s
Wife 236-246 CHAPTER XIX Women in High Places — Shame of Womanhood A Dark
Background — 1. Herodias— Her Scandalous Career — 2, Salome — The Dance and the
Murder — 3. Bernice — A Royal Visit— 4. Drusula — The Four Dissolute Queens — 5.
Pilate’s Wife — Her Warning Dream . , . 24G-254 CHAPTER XX The Mystical Women of
the Apocalypse — Woman Symbolical

Weird Symbols — 1, The Woman Jezebel — A Corrupting Influence— 2. The Locusts of
the Pit — Womanly Grace with Cruel Terror — 3. The Woman Clothed with the Sun —
The Jewish Church and Her Messiah — 4. The Scarlet Woman — Imperial Kome — 5.
The Lamb’s Bride — The Christian Church and her Lord 255-263 CHAPTER XXI The
Treatment of Woman in the New Testament — A Summary The New Testament Picture-
Gallery — Jewish Freedom for Women — The Christian Advance — Christ’s Teaching
on the Gentler Virtues — Our Lord’s Treatment of Women — A Doubtful Passage —
Philip’s Daughters — Women Preachers— St. Paul’s Treatment of Women . . 264-276

PREFACE

ALTHOUGH this volume appears in the series “^ which contains Dr. Morton’s
beautiful studies of the women of the Old Testament, 1 desire to state that it
is not my aim to attempt a sequel to that delightful work. Fortunately any such
ambitious design is precluded by the entire change of situation and atmosphere
which comes in with the dawning of the Christian era. Those old-world stories of
patriarchal times, familiar to us from our childhood, yet ever fresh and
abounding in vivid details, demand a dramatic treatment and a picturesque
setting. It is fortunate when they fall to the pen of a writer whose imaginative
skill is adequate to the task of setting them out in their variegated hues. When
we pass on to the New Testament we find that although women still play an
important part in the history, the scenes among which they move, and the style
of narrative in which these are described, are of an entirely different
character. For the most part we have but the most meagre hints concerning the
characters and doings of the women of the gospel and apostolic times. We have to
grope our way among hints and allusions. On the other hand, what we miss through
this deficiency of information may be amply compensated for by the fact that we
are to pursue our inquiries concerning people most of whom came into direct
relations with Jesus Christ — saw His face, heard His voice, felt His healing
touch. What would not any of us give to possess a tithe of their experience? A
halo of companionship with the Saviour encircles most of these women of the New
Testament; and nearly all the others stand in the light of the afterglow that
lingers throughout the apostolic period. To myself this is the fascination of
the subject. I wish I could help my readers to share in it.

W. F. A.


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  CHAPTER 39: 3.01.     MARY THE MOTHER OF JESUS — BLESSED AMONG WOMEN
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CHAPTER I Mary the Mother of Jesus — Blessed among Women WHEN we escape from the
weary labyrinth of legend that the fancy of centuries has woven round the name
of Mary, and resolutely confine our attention to those traits of her character
that are indicated in the gospel records, we may suffer some disappointment at
discovering how few and faint they are. Compared with the picture of Jesus that
comes to us down the ages, still vivid in its convincing realism, the New
Testament portrait of the Virgin is but a dim shadow, flitting across the page
for a moment here and there, and then fading away into total obscurity. So
marked is this contrast that we are almost tempted to suspect a deliberate
design on the part of the evangelists to reduce the mother to relative
insignificance in the presence of her Divine Son. And yet the narratives are too
artless to admit of any such subtlety. The simpler explanation is that this
slightness of texture is itself a note of genuine portraiture; for the reason
that Mary was of a retiring nature, unobtrusive, reticent, perhaps even
shrinking from observation, so that the impress of her personality was confined
to the sweet sanctities of the home circle. That she was a woman without
character, feeble and featureless, one of those limp beings who come to be
reckoned as cyphers in the world, is not for a moment to be supposed. On the
rare occasions when the curtain is lifted we catch glimpses of a character not
wanting in energy and power of initiation. Have we not all met with people who
make their individuality felt within a very limited circle, while beyond that
even their existence is scarcely noticed! The few hints that the evangelists
have permitted themselves to let fall about the mother of Jesus seem to point in
this direction.

Although all four evangelists contribute materials for our meagre knowledge of
Mary, it is St. Luke who supplies us with most of the information on which we
have to depend in endeavouring to form some idea of what she was like.

He and St. Matthew are the only evangelists who give us any account of the birth
and infancy of our Lord; and here the narrative in the third gospel is both more
full and more definite than that in the first.

It must be confessed that these scenes of the Annunciation, the Nativity, the
Infancy, beautiful as they are with a rare charm of idyllic grace, affect us
also with a sense of idyllic remoteness. They do not move in the plane of our
dull prosaic lives. It gives us a shock of incongruity to imagine the Bethlehem
shepherds among our Sussex or Dorset farm servants. We would sooner look for
them on the “Immortal Dreamer’s” Delectable Mountains than among any downs or
sheep-runs we are acquainted with. But is not this feeling only a sign of the
limitation of our imaginations and the dulness of our spirits? Who can tell what
visions and voices might be perceptible even now to keener eyes and sharper ears
than ours? It is, indeed, somewhat daring to assert that man is the only
spiritual being in the universe, or that on no occasion has he been brought into
contact with other spiritual beings. Of course this is ultimately a question of
evidence; but in the estimation of the evidence account must be taken of
religious ideas as well as of the factors that are concerned with ordinary
historical probability; for it must be remembered that the wonders here related
are in immediate connection with the coming of the Son of God for the redemption
of the world. We must not forget that these scenes do not stand by themselves as
isolated marvels suddenly cropping up in the course of ordinary events, a few
rare flowers of paradise breaking out in a desert of earthly things. If they
appear as exotics, it is to be observed that they form the border, as we might
say, of a whole garden of wonders, such as never spring up in the fields we
tread to-day. They are but the prelude to a history that abounds with superhuman
marvels.

Still, even when compared with the subsequent narrative of the life of Christ,
these scenes seem to dwell in an atmosphere even further removed from that of
our daily life. Not only to those who half suspect that a fond fancy has in some
degree clothed the poetry of the spirit with images more comprehensible to the
average man — especially in the East, where all thought assumes concrete forms —
but also to people who fully accept these accounts in their literal meaning as
statements of solid facts of history, it is difficult to sympathise with the
human interests, with the flesh and blood life, that such unearthly scenes
should still be thought to contain. In any case we need a strong effort of the
imagination to do this. But if the scenes are unearthly Mary is not unearthly;
and if we are to understand her at all we must think of her as a woman,
possessing a woman’s gifts and graces, subject to a woman’s limitations and
frailties, her natural alarms, hopes, pains, joys; a woman with the warm,
palpitating emotions of human nature stirring in her breast.

She first meets us at a time when she can scarcely have crossed the threshold of
womanhood. Marriage is early in the East; and a Jewish maiden still only
betrothed and looking forward to her wedding as an event of the future must be
very young, a girl hardly full grown. To this child, brought up in a peasant’s
home, accustomed to the little round of daily duties that is the lot of the
daughters of the poor, wholly ignorant of the great world and its ways, there
comes the most startling and overwhelming revelation. She is to be the mother of
the promised Redeemer of her people! Her first thoughts could not but be full of
bewilderment and dismay. The hope and the terror of expectant motherhood are
upon her!

Painters of various schools have given us their several interpretations of the
Annunciation, but perhaps none have seized upon the purely human aspect of the
scene so evidently as Rossetti. It may be said that the nineteenth century
pre-Raffaelite artist cannot emancipate himself from the age in which he lives,
and in spite of his archaic sympathies is still essentially modern in thought,
so that the expression of his Madonna is also distinctly modern. And yet it is
only modern in the sense that it is frankly human. Rossetti tells what the old
painters with a fine reticence concealed. To them the Divine glory of Gabriel’s
message extinguished all earthly considerations in its ineffable splendour. To
us the study of the Nazareth maiden in this crisis when she suddenly passes from
girlhood to womanhood in its most profound significance cannot but be of primary
interest. We want to know how it affected her girlish consciousness; and
Rossetti, who, if not exactly a theologian, is a poetic interpreter of human
life, clearly answers that question. Mary shrinks from the splendid angel,
almost cowers at his feet; but not because she is dazzled by the coming into her
presence of one of his lofty estate, for she fixes her eyes upon him in a
steadfast gaze.

Those dark eyes have in them the terror of the hunted deer. It is not Gabriel,
it is his overwhelming message, that smites her with alarm. Her maiden modesty
is troubled. There is nothing of the joyous gratitude of the Magnificat in the
picture. And yet is not this just such an attitude as would be natural to the
startled innocence of a peasant girl? Wonder and alarm are Mary’s most natural
feelings at the moment when the amazing truth dawns upon her. But as she gathers
assurance she bows in quiet submission. This is the evangelist’s conclusion.
Mary is the handmaid of the Lord; let it be to her as His messenger has said. As
yet there is no word of joy, no note of exultation, no sign of triumph. The
trembling girl simply accepts the tremendous fact as the will of her Lord. The
next scene to which St. Luke introduces us is of a very different character. At
the first announcement of her own desting Mary had asked how such a wonder could
be; and Gabriel had encouraged her faith by telling her of another though a
lesser wonder. A kinswoman, Elizabeth, away in the hill-country of the South,
long married and long childless, is also to be blessed by becoming a mother.
Forthwith Mary sets out to visit her kinswoman. We may be surprised that a young
maiden should be permitted to take so serious a journey, one of several days,
all the way from Galilee to the farther regions of Judaea, especially in the
interval between betrothal and marriage which oriental etiquette always requires
to be a time of the greatest seclusion. It may be remarked that St. Luke must
have known this custom at least as well as we know it — and his informant also;
and yet the statement is made unhesitatingly. Force of circumstances always
gives to women of the humbler ranks of society a freedom that is denied to their
more fashionable sisters; but apart from that fact it may be observed that the
Jews never placed their wives and daughters in the degrading and cruel position
of jealous slavery that is prevalent in Mohammedan countries. And yet we can
scarcely think of this young girl taking such a journey wholly unprotected.
Where was Joseph’s chivalry to permit such a thing? But on the other hand we are
not told that this was the case. The Evangelist never stops to amuse our
curiosity -with those picturesque iletails that the “ Special Correspondent “
lays himself out to supply. By whatever means Mary was enabled to make her
journey in safety, it is clearly St. Luke’s meaning that she undertook it of her
own initiative; and that was remarkable enough for one in her position. Here
then we come upon an early hint that the mother of our Lord was a woman of
energy and will. Other hints to the same effect will emerge as we proceed.

St. Luke’s picture of the meeting of the two expectant mothers is as remarkable
for its portraiture of the hostess as for that of her guest; but it is with the
latter that we are now concerned. The elder woman’s enthusiastic welcome stirs
the soul of the young girl and gives her courage and hope. Had she not yet
breathed her fearful secret to any trusted confidant? Had she not even told her
mother? Or was her mother not living? We know she had a sister. [1] Were the
sweet whispered confidences of maiden sisterhood impossible to her in this case,
so strange, so utterly unique? We cannot tell. That she should not be
represented as conferring with her future husband with regard to such a matter
as that which now filled her heart with fear and hope is only reasonable; and
St. Matthew tells us that Joseph got his information through other channels.[2]
It looks as though she had kept her incomprehensible secret deep buried in her
bosom till it was drawn out by her warm-hearted kinswoman. Mary, we see, is
naturally reticent; but it is just the reticent nature that hungers most keenly
for the sympathy it is so reluctant to invite; and when the sealed fountain is
broken the stream gushes out all the more freely for the fact that it has long
been pent up in a painful oppression. In response to Elizabeth’s glad and
generous words Mary breaks through all reserve. They are just what she needs to
cheer her in the loneliness of her situation, and [1] John 19:25 [2] Mat 1:18-21
her whole nature now makes a rebound from the attitude of submissive fear in
which we left her before to a state of exultant gratitude. No longer oppressed
by the terrible idea of her coming motherhood, she kindles with joy and praise
at the thought of her high privilege. It is when the mother thinks of her child
that she forgets herself, or, if still thinking of her own fate at all, forgets
her alarms and glories in the gift of a life that is to be hers to love and
cherish. But Mary’s case is not that of simple motherhood, most beautiful and
divine of human experiences though it be; for she is to be the mother of the
Christ, the Holy One of God! And this is the thought in which she now exults.
The Magnificat has come down to us as Mary’s expression of exultation in answer
to Elizabeth’s greeting. Now it has been objected that it is unreasonable to
imagine a young girl, when meeting one of her relations under the circumstances
here described, composing such a hymn as this, there and then, on the spur of
the moment. And it has been suggested that even if Mary were a poetess this
composition is out of harmony with the situation; that her lyric muse would not
have prompted a psalm of so liturgical a character, one more fitted for the
public worship of the sanctuary than for the private confidences of two women in
the home. Moreover, we are reminded, these early chapters of St. Luke abound in
hymns. The Bethlehem Angels, Zacharias the priest, Simeon the old man in the
temple, all burst into song, all utter themselves in poetry. This is not even
dramatic poetry. It is lyric, and in the case of the Magnificat, at least, not
after the type of the simple, thrush-like song that would be the vehicle of
personal feeling, but in the form of the spacious ode that might befit the
emotions of a multitude on some great public occasion. This grand poem requires
the organ rather than the lute as its fitting accompaniment. On the other hand,
it has been pointed out that the Magnificat is almost entirely constructed of
phrases culled out of the Old Testament, being moulded especially on the Song of
Hanna[1] — itself a poem appearing under very similar circumstances; and further
that Mary was just in the circumstances which would inspire the most exalted
form of poetry. We are reminded, too, that the people of the South and East are
much more ready with impromptu poetry than the more phlegmatic folk of the West.
Travellers who have lived among the Arabs tell of their almost miraculous gifts
of improvisation. This must be allowed; and it should check a rash conclusion
based only on our experience of English domestic life.

Nevertheless these considerations do not entirely dispose of what has been said
against the notion that we have here just the very words that a shorthand
reporter would have been able to take down in bis note-book had he been present
at the meeting of the two kinswomen. We know that ancient historians, even when
most anxious to give a true impression of what actually occurred, permit
themselves great freedom in rendering the speeches of the leading characters of
their narratives, and indeed do so in order the more clearly to bring out what
they conceive to be the true thoughts of these people. If, then, any readers of
St. Luke should seem driven to the conclusion that the Evangelist employs hymns
composed more deliberately to express the thoughts and feelings of the people
whom he is describing in this early part of. his gospel, he should not be
thought the less intent upon a serious historical recital. It is to be observed
that we have no indications of this method when we come to the sayings of Jesus,
where the fidelity of the disciple to his Master is always preserved. In any
case, it should be admitted, that although the Magnificat gradually glides into
utterances of a general character that do not seem to have any immediate bearing
on its occasion, the spirit and temper of it finely agree [1] 1Sa 2:1-10 with
what we may well believe to have been the feelings of. Mary when meeting
Elizabeth. It is to be noticed that there is nothing here that might not have
been in the mind of a Jewess before the time of Christ. There is not the
faintest reflection of New Testament thought; as has been already said, the poem
is entirely moulded on the Old Testament. Plainly it is not the work of a
Christian.

Certainly St. Luke did not compose it. His style is of good Greek; this poem is
intensely Hebraistic. So far it fits into the time in the history where it
occurs. Then, it may be remarked, the Scriptures on which it is based are for
the most part Psalms, next to the Law the most familiar portions of the Jewish
Bible, as they are also the most devotional Further, the prevailing tone of the
poem is one of joyous, exultant gratitude. This perfectly expresses the new mood
into which Mary has now passed, the gladness and thankfulness she experiences in
contemplating the unspeakable privilege God has placed upon her. At the same
time there is a full confession of lowliness. Here we reach the central point
round which the whole movement revolves.

God has looked on the low estate of His handmaiden. The thought indeed takes a
general form. The proud are scattered, princes dethroned, the rich sent empty
away; while they of low degree are exalted, the hungry filled, and His servant
Israel helped by God. The conclusion would seem to suit Esther in her triumph
over Hanan, the enemy of her people, more fitly than Mary at her meeting with
her kinswoman Elizabeth. This, however, is the climax in which the dominant
theme is worked out to its grand conclusion. It starts from Mary’s position. For
it is indeed wonderful that an honour, which any princess in the king’s court
might covet beyond all things, has fallen to the lot of this lowly maid from a
Galilean peasant’s cottage. The well-known incidents connected with the birth
and infancy of Jesus that are narrated in the first and third gospels do not
throw much light on the character of His mother, though as we muse on them to
our imagination there rises the picture of a gentle, loving woman, devoted to
her wonderful Babe, awed before the dawning mystery of His nature. With St. Luke
as our guide we follow Mary and her patient, loyal husband from their highland
home in the north to the royal city of David. Although both the genealogies
appear to give the descent of Joseph, there is good reason to believe that he
had followed the custom of his people, and married in his own tribe of Judah.
The unhesitating way in which the two evangelists who assert the virgin birth of
our Lord also treat Him as the Son of David shows that they both held his mother
to have been of the royal lineage. If there had been any doubt about this, we
may be sure the question would have been raised by the Jews as soon as the
miraculous conception was declared, whenever this may have been, since the
denial of it would have been fatal to the Messianic claim. At Bethlehem, in the
home of her ancestors, the crowded khan affords no room for one who, by right of
descent, should have been in the usurper Herod’s palace at Jerusalem; and it is
necessary for her, in the supreme hour of her need, to take shelter among the
stalls of the cattle.

It is not unreasonable to give credence to the picturesque tradition that this
was a cave, for the statement is found as early as Justin Martyr (about a.d.
150), [1] and it seems to have been in the Gospel acceding to the Hebrews,’[2]
an apocrypha], but still a very ancient book, unfortunately now lost. Caves
abound in the limestone hills of Judaea, and in the present day we may see them
used for the stabling of animals, and even as parts of houses that are built
against them. Probably the young mother would have more quiet and seclusion in
such a retreat than would have been possible among the rough travellers,
hucksters and others, who thronged the arcades of the comfortless inn.

Here the first terrible experience of motherhood came upon Mary, and then
doubtless at the birth of her firstborn that moment of sudden revulsion from
agony to unspeakable gladness which the true mother reckons to be more than
compensation for all she has endured. The wonderful Babe lay in the manger, as
helpless as any other babe; and St. Luke is careful to tell us that His mother
bound Him in those tight bandages that Eastern people use to this day, with the
belief that they support the feeble infant frame, and which certainly add to its
look of helplessness and dependence. That the Christ should be thus dependent on
Mary was a unique privilege for this one woman. And yet does not His teaching
suggest that every mother who ministers loving care to her infant, with 1
thoughts of the Bethlehem Babe, and with the tenderness and reverence she would
have shown to Him, is really ministering to Jesus Himself?

While in Bethlehem Mary receives the visit of the Shepherds; and at this point
St. Luke flashes a rare ray of light on her inner life. He tells us that “ Mary
kept all these things, pondering them in her heart.” [1] As He makes a similar
remark a second time, at the finding of Jesus in the Temple,[2] it is clearly
intended to be significant. It seems to hint that Mary’s carefully treasured
memories were the original sources of these narratives, and that they are to be
relied on because she had guarded them well, and thought much over them. At the
same time it suggests an explanation for the fact that they were not divulged
early enough to find a place in the primitive accounts of the life of Christ,
St. Mark’s in particular.

Mary appears in both these scenes as of a deeply meditative nature, remembering,
thinking. And yet what fond mother does not treasure up every incident
concerning the infancy of her child? Things that may seem trivial to the outside
world are to her charged with the deepest meaning, prophetic of the most
astounding future. We smile at the

[1] Luk 2:19. [2] Luk 2:51 illusion. Yet there is more truth in it than in our
worldly moods we will allow,’ for there is a Christ in every little child, and
“Heaven lies about us in our infancy.“

Alas, that the child’s own wilful conduct when he comes to years of choice too
often dispels the mother’s dream! But this mournful desting of fond motherhood
was not to be Mary’s. By a strange way of thinking that we can scarcely follow,
the experience of motherhood, which St. Paul has described as the mystical means
for the saving of woman,[1] and which we have come to regard as something like
her coronation, was held by the Jews to unfit her for the Holy Presence; so that
one who had recently become a mother was required to offer a sacrifice of
ceremonial purification. Some have thought that when St. Paul writes of
childbearing as the means by which woman is saved, he is referring specifically
to the birth of Jesus. Be that as it may, since Christ has come into the world
the formal conceptions of Old Testament ritual are abolished; and the
significance of the revolution as it touches woman is seen in the fact that with
the Christian a Thanksgiving in public worship takes the place of the Jewish
ceremony of Purification. But Mary is a Jewess under the law, and she must
observe the customs of her people. In his account of the visit to the temple,
St. Luke drops a hint of the poverty of the Nazareth household. The law required
the offering of a lamb by a mother on the occasion of the birth of her child;
[2] but if she could not afford that she might bring two turtle-doves or two
young pigeons.[3] St. Luke shows that Mary had to take advantage of this
concession and content herself with a poor woman’s offering. The Purification of
the mother was followed by the Presentation of the child. Then it was that the
aged Simeon took the infant Christ in his arms. That must [1] 1Ti 2:15. [2] Lev
12:6. [3] Lev 12:8 have been a joy to the mother, especially since the touching
words of the Nunc Dimittis, expressing the old man’s joy and gratitude, suggest
that his prophetic insight came to the aid of Mary’s faith. But to her he added
a word of starting and ominous meaning. After predicting the revolutionary
effect of the coming of this child to Israel, as an occasion of falling and of
rising up for many, he warned her that a sword would pierce her own soul. It is
not the common word for sword that is here employed by St. Luke, but one that
was used originally for the long Thracian pike, and when applied to a sword at
all it indicated a weapon of an exceptionally large make. A terrible thrust is
suggested by the selection of this unusual word. The ingenuity of interpreters
in all ages has been exercised in endeavouring to discover the significance of
this enigmatic expression of Simeon’s. Thus, by the early Fathers it was
referred to the pang of unbelief that they supposed to have pierced the heart of
Mary at the sight of her Son’s death. Recent commentators have generally
explained it with reference to her agony endured while witnessing the sufferings
of Jesus on the cross. This is a more natural interpretation; and yet perhaps it
would be wiser not to limit the words to any such definite occasion. We have no
reason to suppose that Simeon had a distinct prevision of the crucifixion.
Knowing the degraded state of the nation, and perceiving that this Infant in the
temple was to be the long expected Deliverer, the inspired man saw what none of
the disciples would permit themselves to see, even after living long in the
companionship of their Lord, that the true redemption could only come in a way
that would mean agony to the mother of the Redeemer.


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  CHAPTER 40: 3.02.     MATER DOLOROSA — SORROW WITH BLESSEDNESS
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CHAPTER II Mater Dolorosa — Sorrow with Blessedness

SIMEON holding the infant Christ in his arms had turned to the glad mother, and
startled her by declaring, in the inspiration of a sudden prophetic insight,
that through this child there would come to her anguish such as could only be
compared to the thrust of a great sword or rude Thracian pike. Amazed as she
must have been at the totally unexpected announcement of so doleful a destiny,
Mary had many foreshadowings of it in subsequent years before the horror pierced
her in its extreme cruelty. Following the few hints that are dropped by the
evangelists, themselves intent on quite another subject, we discover that every
time Mary appears in the history of Iter Son it is to receive some thrust of
pain. The one scene from the boyhood of Jesus that has been preserved for us by
a single evangelist affords an instance of this distress in its mildest form. It
will become more and more acute as we proceed. There was a perfectly natural
occasion of anxiety for Mary and Joseph in the discovery, at the end of the
first day’s journey on the road down from Jerusalem, that their child was not as
they had supposed among their friends in the troop of returning pilgrims. Still
He was twelve years of age, and a score of trivial chances might have occasioned
the separation.

Very likely maternal anxiety would be unreasonably swift to imagine some serious
disaster; that would be only natural, only what any mother might have felt under
similar circumstances. No doubt the weariness of a long and fruitless search
among the crowded streets and bazaars of the noisy city must have deepened the
sense of a vague foreboding that something very terrible had happened, and with
it a keen feeling of self-reproach for not having looked more carefully for the
child before leaving. This too we must regard as in no way unique, except indeed
in so far as the charge of One of whom Mary know at least in some degree the
nature and desting must have given rise to an exceptional sense of
responsibility. It is not here that we come upon Mary’s peculiar and
characteristic distress. That appears at the interview between mother and Son
when He is found among the temple rabbis.

Mary addresses her Boy with some irritation of manner. Had He forgotten His
parents? Would He not have imagined that they must have been anxious about Him
during this long and unaccountable separation? Her feeling is perfectly
explicable, most natural. The position of affairs did seem to be very provoking.
Distressed, wearied, hot and flustered, after hours of vain searching, Mary
suddenly coming upon Jesus finds Him in no corresponding alarm at being lost,
apparently not even aware that He has been missed, certainly quite oblivious of
the trouble His absence has occasioned. How could He have acted in this way. He
who of all children had been the example of submission to parents? Yes, it was
natural that for the moment the poor mother should feel some annoyance. And yet
her Son’s striking answer must have conveyed to her a rebuke. We cannot suppose
that Jesus intended anything of the-kind. He was far too dutiful a son to be
found taking upon Him the part of Mentor to His mother. We should do a gi-eat
wrong to our idea of the Perfect Child if we credited Him with conduct which in
any other boy of twelve years would be justly designated priggish. Most
assuredly He spoke in absolute simplicity — “ Did you not know that I must be in
My Father’s house? “ He had not imagined that they would search the whole city
before looking for Him in the temple. He had assumed that if they had wanted Him
this was the first place where they would have looked for Him, because it was
the most natural thing iu the world that He should be there. What more likely
place is there in which to find a child than his father’s house? But if this was
all that He meant — an utterance of pure surprise expressed in the absolute
simplicity of innocent childhood — to Mary it must have been pregnant with
painful significance. His Father’s house! Then He was conscious of a higher
claim than that of His mother. He was drawn to duties and occupations that would
carry Him into regions far beyond the little circle of homely interests to which
apparently hitherto all His life had been confined. Was she to lose Him in a
much more real and permanent way than she had supposed while Ho had been only a
day or two out of her sight? At that innocent saying of His, spoken in the
simplicity of childhood, Mary felt the first chill approach of the terrible
sword which was to pierce her to the heart in the later years. Here was
something for her to ponder over; and at this point St. Luke repeats his
significant statement, that “ Mary kept all these sayings in her heart.” [1] Yet
he is careful to tell us that Jesus still remained “subject to His parents.” The
next occasion on which Mary appears is only mentioned in the fourth gospel; but
there the narrative is given with a fulness of detail that proclaims the
eyewitness. This is the narrative of the marriage at Cana in Galilee. From the
way in which St. John introduces Mary in the first instance, and then adds that
“Jesus also was bidden, and His disciples,” [2] it would appear that His mother
may have been present as a near relative of the bridegroom to assist in the
arrangements of the feast. The absence of any reference to Joseph, now and
henceforth, leads us to the inference that he must have died before this time.
Mary, then, is a widow. She has [1] Luk 2:51 [2] John 2:1, John 2:2 suffered the
loss of a kind and considerate husband. What that meant to her only they who
have felt the awful wrench of the separation, and faced the blankness of the
long dreary years that follow, can understand; and they will understand it so
perfectly that no comments are needed to make it more clear.

It has been suggested that possibly Mary had removed to Cana after the death of
her husband, or when her Son had gone away to join the disciples of John by the
Jordan. This would account for her being at the wedding. If Cana of Galilee was
the place now known as Kefr Kenna — and the identification is generally admitted
to be probable — Mary would only have to go some six or seven miles over the
hill to the north-east of Nazareth to reach the spot where the houses of this
little town are pleasantly grouped on the slope in terraces, one above another.
In any case she might well be known in so near a place, and have friends there.

Mary’s appeal to Jesus when she heard of the wine running short is an indication
of the relation that had grown up between her and her Son. It shows that she had
learnt to look to Him in times of perplexity. Since she had lost her husband,
her Firstborn was now her natural support and comfort. Instinctively the habit
of the home life asserts itself. Her wise, strong Son has often helped her in
moments of anxiety; surely He will find some way out of the present difficulty
in which her friends are placed. That she actually anticipated a miracle is
hardly to be supposed. The apocryphal stories of wonders wrought in His
childhood, some of them grotesque, some repulsive, are evidently false; and St.
John expressly tells us that this miracle at Cana was the first He wrought. What
we are to imagine is rather that Mary appealed indefinitely to her Son, without
the least idea as to what He might do, simply confiding in the wisdom and
kindness of which He must have given evidence on many occasions during their
quiet life at Nazareth. The answer Mary received from Jesus cannot but strike us
at a superficial reading of it as inaccountably harsh. But his language would
not have made this impression on a contemporary. The address, “Woman,” which
would be unpardonably offensive if used by a son in speaking to his mother in
England to-day, was not considered in any way ungracious or inappropriate among
the Jews. Jesus used the same word in His affectionate farewell on the cross
while committing His mother to the charge of St. John, at a moment when none but
the tenderest feelings could have been in his heart.(John 19:26) Then the words,
“ What have I to do with thee?” have a tone of rudeness to us which is entirely
absent in the original, the Aramaic in which Jesus would haves spoken. The
phrase is a Hebrew idiom, difficult to translate into English. Jephthah uses it
in his message to the king of the Ammonites, (Jdg 11:12) David in speaking to
the sons of Zeruiah,(2Sa 19:22) the Sidonian woman in addressing Elijah,(1Ki
17:18) Elisha to the king of Israel,(2Ki 3:13) demoniacs addressing Jesus.(Mat
8:29; Mark 1:24) Plainly it was quite a familiar form of speech adopted in a
great variety of circumstances. And yet when all has been said that can be said
to mitigate the severity of these words, they convey a painful impression. Jesus
clearly implies, though with no unkindness of manner, that He cannot permit His
course to be directed by any influence short of the Divine — not even His
mother’s. His times are in His Father’s hands. No interference from any, even
the nearest and dearest human authority, can be admitted. Think what that must
have meant to Mary. She was losing her Son. It is one of the difficulties of
parents to discover that the authority they are accustomed to exert over their
children cannot be maintained indefinitely; that there must come a time when the
children claim liberty, and justly claim it; that the son or daughter who has
attained to adult age is right in taking up the responsibilities of an
individual conscience, and gently declining any interference with the law of
that august ruler within. But in the case before us the shock was the stronger
for the perfect obedience which Jesus had shown in His boyhood, and which may
have been unconsciously taken advantage of in later years by Mary for the undue
assertion of her will. And then this was a very marked step towards a region of
independence which must be His alone, and whither she could not follow Him even
in thought. That must have been a moment of painful forebodings for Mary when
she heard her Son’s unexpected words. It is not to be forgotten that His action
met her anxiety and allayed it more effectually than she could have hoped. Still
she would have been more than a woman if she had accepted this as an adequate
compensation for the loss of her old authority. When we return to the account
given in the earlier gospels the next scene in which Mary appears is at
Capernaum, where she appears to be living now, perhaps with Jesus, but also with
her younger sons, while her daughters are still at Nazareth (Mark 6:3), probably
married and in homes of their own. Jesus is now in the thick of His most
continuous and exhausting work. So great is the strain on Him — pressed on all
sides by an eager, selfish crowd, the sick continually appealing to Him for the
help of His healing, His disciples needing careful training, the multitude
hanging on His utteiunces in great assemblies gathered by the sea-shore, the
Scribes and Pharisees ever on the watch to catch Him in His words — He has no
leisure for retirement, no time for rest, not even an opportunity for taking
food during the long, busy day.

We can well imagine how an anxious mother must have regarded such a mode of
life. It was cruel. The strongest could not stand it. Something must be done to
save Him from the people, to save Him too from Himself. He is at the call of all
who need Him. He has no thought of Himself. Then His friends must interfere. But
the crowd is so great it is impossible for any of His relatives to come near
Him. The anxiety must be very intense which leads to the extreme course that is
now adopted. A message is passed through, handed on from one to another, till at
last it reaches the Speaker, interrupting Him in one of His entrancing
discourses. It says that His mother and His brothers who are waiting on the
fringe of the crowd, want Him. The people would suppose that some urgent reason
had prompted them to interfere in this very abrupt way. Had this been the case
we cannot suppose that He would have refused to comply with the wish of those
who in the way of nature would have the first claim on Him. If He would permit a
discourse to be interrupted by the intrusion of a sick man let down through the
roof, as we know He did on one memorable occasion, He could not have refused a
similar appeal from His own family. But He must have known very well that it was
simply for His own sake that the message had been passed up to Him. We may
suppose that before this His mother had had conversations with Him on the
subject of the risks He was running. That dread of His over-working Himself is a
touch of nature which every mother will understand; but behind it was the darker
fear of danger from His antagonists, now embittered by jealousy at His immense
popularity.

Just in proportion to the tenderness of the maternal solicitude that had
prompted the act of interference, must have been the shock of pain that Mary
received on hearing how Jesus received it with the question, *’ Who is My
mother? and who are My brethren? “ and then the added answer as He stretched out
His hand towards His disciples and declared, “ Behold My mother and My brethren.
For whosoever shall do the will of My Father which is in heaven, he is My
brother and sister and mother.” Mat 12:48-50 We rejoice in these words as at
once a proof of His large humanity and an indication of His absolute devotion to
the will of God. Wherever that will is done there are those whom He will own as
nearest akin to Himself. A most gracious admission! But what must the great
utterance have meant to Mary? She would not have been a woman if she could have
learnt without keen distress that other women were placed on a level with
herself as mothers to her Son. We may be sure that it was painful to Jesus to
have to speak thus. Only the high claims of His mission could have induced Him
to say what He knew must hurt His mother. This was part of the great sacrifice
He had to make. We are in danger of being entangled in the subtle snares of a
family selfishness, a selfishness that is all the more enslaving for the fact
that it shelters itself under the name of love. But while Jesus escaped from a
temptation which must have been exceptionally urgent to His intensely
sympathetic nature, certainly at a great cost to Himself, one would think that
in Mary the perception that her motherhood was thus to be reduced to ashes on
the altar, a burnt-offering of supreme devotion to the will of God for the
benefit of all who do that will, would have roused a feeling of resentment as at
a cruel wrong, an outrage on the rights of nature. She may have attained to so
strong a faith in her Son that even this severe strain, the most severe it had
yet received, did not shake it. Faith may have remained; but joy must have fled,
giving place to pain — destined henceforth to be her inseparable companion. A
confirmation of this position is to be found on the very next occasion when we
encounter any allusion to Mary, Luk 11:27-28 that where a woman in the crowd,
unable to restrain her admiration, bursts out into an exclamation of
congratulations for the mother of such a Son. Dear soul! Had she been denied the
privilege of motherhood herself, and so led to envy them in one to whom they had
come with exceptional honour 1 or had she once possessed a son who had since
been snatched from her by the hand of death 1 or, far worse than that, had she
suffered the awful agony of seeing her son grow up utterly unworthy of the ocean
of love she had lavished upon him 1 We know nothing of her circumstances; we are
supplied with no details with which to fix her identity, St. Luke only describes
her as “ a certain woman out of the multitude.” Yet she was a real woman; it was
a woman’s heart that uttered itself apparently in an unpremeditated exclamation,
though, as has been pointed out, in words that echoed a rabbinical saying.[1]
Still, she little dreamed what she was saying. Evidently she had not the
faintest suspicion of Mary’s peculiarly painful experience. How often would envy
be turned to pity if we knew the secrets of those towards whom it is directed!
In spirit and scope the words with which Jesus answered this singular
interruption are closely allied to what He had said on the previous occasion — “
Yea, rather, blessed are they that hear the word of God and keep it.” Again the
area of privilege is extended; again the disciples of Jesus are all embraced in
the great circle; again it is obedience that is especially accentuated. It has
been suggested that Jesus disapproved of the sentimental tone of the woman’s
remark. He disliked the descent into mere emotionalism. The rapture of feeling
was not what He desired to encourage. He turned to the healthier regions of
truth and service. Discipleship and obedience are the roads to true blessedness.
But this could not but tend further to separate Mary from her Son, if a report
of it reached her. The news of the incident must have been accompanied by
another thrust of the sword in her side.

Thus right through His public ministry, and indeed even in some degree before
this, from His boyhood, though then He had lived in the subjection of dutiful
obedience to His parents, Mary suffered from repeated shocks of pain at her
Son’s treatment of her. In some respects this is always so. The pains of
maternity do not end with birth; they only begin there. Nor is it only the
thoughtless or unworthy child who causes distress to his parent. The example of
Jesus shows how the best of children, even by reason of their very sense of the
paramount claims of duty, may be compelled to inflict suffering on those who
love them most intensely. Such is the irony of life. It may well be considered
that so cruel a condition of existence is an indication of mal-adjustment, the
derangement caused by some great wrong, but the wrong may be neither in the
child nor in the parent. It was the sin of the world that made Jesus “ a Man of
sorrows and acquainted with grief”; and it was what that sin necessitated in His
mission that was stabbing the heart of Mary. The Son’s sorrow is reflected on
the mother. Because He is the Man of Sorrows she must be the Mother of Sorrows.
This is the more clearly apparent at the end. Mary’s was the agonising privilege
of being the mother of the Crucified. The mocking and insults that were flung at
Him struck her. The cruel scourging that fell on his flesh smote her heart. The
nails that were driven through His hands and feet also passed through the very
nerves and fibres of her soul. His fearful weariness and exhaustion, His thirst,
His agony, were the tortures she endured in her bruised and bleeding motherhood.
Not a word of all this is recorded in the gospels. Painters have tried to set it
before us in pictures of the pale face and sinking form, as Mary stands
supported by the friendly arm of John, or falls fainting among her women
friends. Their work is wholly of the imagination. The evangelists are intent on
other matters. Three of them make no mention of Mary in this last dread scene.
It is John only who tells us that the mother of Jesus was in the little group of
friends who had ventured near the cross, and he drops no hint of any word or
action on the part of Mary. But the bare fact that Mary was present at the
crucifixion is not without significance. It is not every woman who would have
found it possible to be there. The story of the cross has been handled so much
as a topic of cold abstract theology, while any real experience of what it means
is so very remote from the world in which we live that the actual horror of it
does not affect us in any degree proportionate to the facts of what must have
taken place. A man nailed to the beams, hung up in the blazing sun, dragged,
strained, longing to shift his posture in an agony of cramp, yet unable to do
so, and his slightest movement sending a fresh thrill of torture through his
body; then a burning thirst, a throbbing head, the weight of which on the weary
neck grows intolerable; and all this to continue — since no vital organ has been
touched — till the relief of death only supervenes from sheer exhaustion, when
long-enduring nature can hold out no longer. We shrink with horror from the
contemplation of the ghastly spectacle.

Now, this was witnessed by Mary, if not to the very end, still in the agony of
its tortures. And the Sufferer was her Son. Could any sword pierce the soul as
hers was pierced now? Nor was even this the sum of her sorrows. We know that to
Jesus the greatest suffering was not the bodily torment He endured. The dark and
dreadful burden of the world’s sin was upon Him. It is scarcely probable that
Mary entered far into this dread mystery, even if she knew anything about it.
But her motherly heart must have been quick to discern that a great and terrible
grief of soul was breaking the heart of her Son. If she could not at all
comprehend what this was, the burden of the unknown secret must have been all
the more intolerable to her. But one thing she could see, and that must have
been a strange, sad perplexity to her. Her Son was dying, dying in His youth,
apparently before He had accomplished His great mission; dying because rejected
by His people, the people He had come to redeem. “Was this all that the great
hopes she had cherished concerning Him had come to? Was this to be the end of
her fond dreams? And were they only dreams, dreams such as any foolish young
mother might have entertained in those quiet, happy hours when she was watching
the babe at her breast? Had she not received strange premonitions? Were those
scenes of her youth no better than the fancies of hysterical girlhood? Was there
no ground for the gratitude of the Magnificat? Was Simeon’s prophecy no more
than the maundering of an old man in his dotage? And that wonderful career of
her Son with its brilliant opening in the rapid gathering of so many followers,
was it but a hollow delusion of no real significance 1 How rapidly the
popularity had died away! For long He had been deserted by all but a very few.
Then her hopes had revived at that happy scene when He rode in rustic triumph
among the Hosannas of the people as they strewed His path with greenery and even
flung down their garments for Him to ride over? And now had it come to this —
this shame and horror and ruin of all her hopes 1 What was the meaning of the
prophecies that went before and the promises of His later career if this was to
be the awful end of all — this lurid sunset of the day that had dawned in
celestial radiance?

Questions such as these may well be imagined to have coursed through the
distracted mind of His mother as she stood at the foot of the cross where Jesus
hung dying. This was the worst sword-thrust of all. It is of this moment that
Mrs. Browning writes: —

“Mother full of lamentation, Near that cross she wept her passion, Whereon hung
her child and Lord.

Through her spirit, worn and wailing, Tortured by the stroke and failing.

Passed and pierced the prophet’s sword.” And yet a gleam of light falls on the
page in this darkest passage. St. John only introduces Mary here for the sake of
that one point of relief in the dreadful story. Jesus is not so absorbed in the
endurance of His own sufferings as to forget the needs of His mother. Provision
must be made for her now that He will be no longer at her side. The fact that
Jesus has to meet this necessity is suggestive in several ways. It shows that
she has been accustomed to look to Him for protection. Evidently she has no home
of her own at this time. What was probable before is now quite certain; Mary is
a widow. But at an earlier period she appeared with the brothers of Jesus. Mat
12:47 How is it that they are not now able to take charge of her? Dr. Lightfoot
took this incident in John as a decisive proof that the “ brethren of the Lord “
could not be Mary’s children, and must therefore be either children of Joseph by
a former marriage, or children of a sister of Mary, and only cousins to
Jesus.[1] But this does not entirely explain the situation, because in the
earlier incident they are closely associated with Mary, and now she is alone and
needing some one to care for her. May it be that the unbelief of the brothers
had led to a division in the family circle; they forsaking Jesus, while His
mother still clung to Him? If that were the case we could understand how in this
moment of extreme tension it would have been difficult for Mary to find any
consolation among them.

Whatever may have been the precise cause, Mary is now left quite desolate. With
the considerateness of a true Son, in spite of what He had said before
apparently pointing in another direction, Jesus now commits His mother to the
charge of the beloved disciple, who can be no other than John— “Woman, behold
thy son! “ — “ Behold thy mother!”

“In the wild heart of that eclipse These words came from His wasted lips.”[1]

If we are to take his language in its strict sense, John acted immediately on
this command of his Master and removed Mary from the unendurable spectacle of
her Son’s death, so that she was spared the agony of witnessing the very last
scene. “ And from that hour,” says John, “ the disciple took her unto his own
home.” At this point we begin to lose sight of Mary. The four evangelists give
us various lists of the women who went to the tomb of Jesus; but none of them
include the name of His mother. She had been with some of these women at the
cross, for John says, “There were standing by the cross of Jesus His mother, and
His mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene.” [3] All these
women are met with again at the grave, except Mary the mother of Jesus. She was
now apart from the women friends who had stood by her during the crucifixion,
the evangelist would suggest, in retirement in St. John’s house. We can readily
imagine that she had no heart for those dreary ministries to the dead which,
singularly attractive to some natures, are just as painful to others. But what
is more remarkable is that we have no hint that Jesus ever appeared to His
mother after His resurrection. None of the evangelists mention His being seen by
any members of His family, though from St. Paul we learn that He appeared to
James. It is commonly assumed that when He appeared to “above five hundred
brethren at once,”* Mary would have been of the company, and there is a
reasonable probability that this would have been the case. Still, even if we
make the most of that, the mother of Jesus only comes in as one of five hundred,
while to His intimate disciples He appears in private, and that on several
occasions. We have but a few small scraps of information about the appearances
of the risen Christ; and of course we cannot tell but that He may have visited
His mother for the comfort she must have so sadly needed, though no mention is
made of the fact. Here we must leave the matter, with this certain conclusion
that at all events Mary was not regarded by the evangelists as a very prominent
personage in the church.

We have but one more glimpse of Mary. In those early days before the coming of
the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, but after their last sight of their Liord when He
had ascended from the Mount of Olives, the apostles were in the habit of meeting
together in the upper chamber where He had taken the last supper with them; and
with the apostles were certain women, among whom was Mary the mother of Jesus
with His brethren. This is most significant. The family is now united; and it is
in closest association with the eleven. At this point Mary fades entirely out of
view. One tradition relates that true to his trust, St. John remained in
Jerusalem watching over her till her death, and did not go to Ephesus till after
that event — a likely enough conjecture.

Another less probable tradition carries her with the apostle to Asia. These
traditions are too late to be of any historical value whatever. Mary’s part was
wholly concerned with the obscure early life of her Son. Nothing can be more
clear than that she stood in no kind of relation to His later public mission,
that she was in no way concerned with His supreme work in the redemption of the
world. His loneliness in that work is reflected in her sorrow. Because she is
the mother of the Christ she cannot but be the Mater Dolorosa.


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  CHAPTER 41: 3.03.     THE GREAT MIRACLE — A STUDY IN THEOLOGY
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CHAPTER III The Great Miracle — A Study in Theology THE supreme if not the sole
interest with which wo are drawn to a character so simple and a life so obscure
as the character and life of Mary is found in the fact that she was the mother
of our Lord. The uniqueness of His being makes her relationship to Him unique.
Of all things in the world the most beautiful and Divine is motherhood; but here
we have a glory of motherhood entirely without parallel in history. Mary’s
honour is incomparable with the honour of the mother of a man of highest genius
and most transcendent goodness; because the holy Being to whom she gave birth
was more than man, was the only begotten Son of God.

Every one of the writers of the New Testament bears witness to the Divinity of
Christ; or if it be thought that the two brief references to Him in the epistle
of St. James (Jas 1:1; Jas 2:2) are too meagre to express that idea, still they
are not inconsistent with it, and indeed they are entirely in accord with what
is certainly the unanimous testimony of all the other writers. This truth has
been accepted by the great body of Christians from the time of the apostles down
to our own day. To many of us it is the only possible explanation of the life
and work of Jesus as they appear in the gospel records. At the same time most of
the New Testament writers, believing, as all of them do, in the full and perfect
humanity of Jesus, also recognise that He came into the world by birth from a
human mother. While this is clearly narrated by two of the evangelists — St.
Matthew and St. Luke — it is also implied by the others, both St. Mark and St.
John making mention of the mother of Jesus. St. Paul also distinctly writes of
Him as having been “born of a woman.” [1] The docetic notion that the Christ was
a Heavenly Being who simply appeared on earth in a phantom form finds no
lodgment in the New Testament.

When, however, we bring these two facts into juxtaposition, when we consider the
birth of Jesus in the light of His Divinity, we are face to face with the most
stupendous miracle the mind of man can conceive of. The miracle of miracles is
the Incarnation. If we believe this we need not stumble at other miracles in
Scripture; for they are all of less magnitude. Besides, if the very being of
Jesus involves a miracle of such a character as this, is it surprising that His
deeds should be miraculous? On the other hand, if we cannot accept this
fundamental miracle, it is of little moment whether we believe the gospel
statements about any other miracles, and quite superfluous to endeavour to prove
the reality of them, for in that case the value has entirely disappeared. This
is the great miracle that constitutes the foundation rock of the Christian faith
— a woman gave birth to the Son of God!

Now, it is a further position to assert that with this miracle of the
Incarnation and the birth of Christ from a woman, in Divine as well as human
nature, there is associated the miracle of the virginity of the mother. This may
be regarded as an additional miracle. We could not have assumed d, priori that
it would have been present. It comes into the history on the testimony of two of
the evangelists; and this testimony is most explicit, St. Matthew and St. Luke
leaving us no room for doubting what their meaning is. They both deny that
Joseph was the father of Jesus; they both assert that Mai-y Avas a virgin when
she bore her Son. But it cannot be ignored that in the present day many people
find difficulty in accepting these statements. It is pointed out that, beyond
the two gospels referred to, we have no word concerning them, that all the rest
of the New Testament is silent on the subject. Neither St. Mark nor St. John
have anything to say about it; St. Paul never alludes to it; it is absent from
the utterances and writings of St. James, from the two epistles ascribed to St.
Peter, from the epistle to the Hebrews, from the Apocalypse, and from St. John’s
three epistles as well as his gospel, already referred to. Moreover, the
accounts in the first and third gospels vary considerably, and therefore it has
been concluded that they are not derived from the Logia, a document that is
supposed to have contributed the greater part of the common matter in Lidce and
Matthew which is not to be found in Mark. Thus, neither of the primitive
witnesses, Mark and the Logia, contains any reference to the virgin birth.

It must be admitted that the evidence concerning the mode of the birth of Jesus
is much less full than the evidence for the Divinity of His nature — which, as
we have seen, is overwhelming, and practically universal. Now, the first
consideration to be noted here is that these two must be kept distinct.
Disastrous consequences to Christian faith are threatened by the reckless and
irrational habit of confounding them together that has been allowed in some
writers and speakers. The matter of infinite importance to us is the Divinity of
Christ. If that is lost to faith, everything is lost. Surely, then, it is a
great advantage to be able to point to the evidence for it in all the rich and
manifold forms in which this evidence is accumulated; and it is little less than
fatal folly to mix it up with the question of the virgin birth, profoundly
interesting as that is on its own account. The direct result of such a misguided
policy is to open the door for doubts as to the vastly more important truth.

Let us recollect that those New Testament teachers who betray no knowledge of
the miracle of the virgin birth are unhesitating in their faith in the Divinity
of Christ. Nothing can be more evident than the inference that they at least did
not need to be first assured as to the mode of His entrance into the world
before they would yield the submission of intellect and heart to His highest
claims. To them the reasons for believing in Christ and accepting His
Incarnation were wholly independent of His birth mystery. Whatever that might
be, their thought of Him would be the same, and nothing that might be revealed
concerning it in later years could in any way affect their faith. The case of
their immediate converts must have been similar, because these people were won
to belief in Jesus Christ and His claims without hearing one word about the
nature of His birth. It was enough for them that He was the Lord’s Christ, both
Divine and human. Why should not their faith be ours? And yet there are people
who persistently confuse these two very distinct questions, declaring that the
Incarnation and the virgin birth must stand or fall together, and boldly
asserting that if they lost belief in the latter they would give up faith in the
former.

It is said that the virgin birth alone preserves the possibility of the Divinity
of Christ; that He could not be the Son of God if this had not been His earthly
origin. But is it not rash and hazardous to venture on any positive assertions
as to what could, or what could not, occur in the realm of the superhuman? If
the Incarnation is itself a tremendous miracle, how can any man say what may be
its conditions, or within what limits it may be possible? All things are
possible with God. Reasoning of this sort implies the half-hearted faith that
tries to eke out its feeble energy by leaning on little props of rationalism. If
God works so great a miracle as to send His Son into the world in a human life,
we may be sure He can work it in whatever way He pleases; it is not for us to
say how it might or might not be done.

Then it has been supposed that the virgin birth is the one security for the
sinlessness of Jesus, that if He had not come into the world precisely in this
way He must have been born with the taint of hereditary evil. The same answer
serves for this assumption. It professes to define the limits within which God
may be permitted to work a miracle. How do we know what are the conditions that
make sinlessness possible? But more may be added here. In any case Jesus had a
human parentage, if only a maternal parentage, since Mary was human. Then why
should not Jesus inherit sin from her 1 If we only thought of natural
consequences this would seem to be inevitable, for nobody in the present day
could agree with St. Augustine’s gross conception of the mode in which sin is
transmitted from parent to child. If we are to enter into the physiology of the
question, we must recognise the fact that, on the whole, while daughters tend to
inherit the characteristics of their fathers, sons are more inclined to derive
hereditary traits from the mother’s side. Hence it might be argued that in the
birth of a son it was the mother who should be dispensed with rather than the
father, or else that Mary’s child should have been born as a woman. It is only
necessary to state these conjectures to show how unworthy they are of the great
and solemn subject with which they are brought into connection. We trifle with
the profound mystery when we bring our petty physiological rules and examples
into any relation with it whatever. Therefore the argument that would rest the
freedom from original sin on considerations of this order must be dismissed at
once as quite unsuitable, and not to be thought of for a moment in such a
connection. The field being thus clear of irrelevant ideas, we can keep the two
truths distinct, and take each on its own merits. The great miracle is that of
the Incarnation. It stands alone, superb, sublime, unapproachable, hushing and
awing our speculations, subduing and winning our faith, flooding our lives with
the love of a Saviour who is at once our Lord and our Brother. But the secondary
miracle has an interest of its own. We are now free to examine it calmly as it
comes to us in the record of history. It is not an article of faith in the sense
that faith depends on it; for, as we have seen, the faith of most of the early
Christians had nothing to do with it. But it is a subject of interest, as any
fact touching the life of Jesus must be; and it is of especial interest to us
here for the light it throws on the experience of Mary.

Approaching the subject then with a certain degree of mental detachment —
without a shadow of that feverish anxiety of the drowning man clutching at a
straw that appears to be the unhappy mental attitude of perturbed minds when
this is assumed to be a question of life and death to the faith — are we yet to
give way before the clamour of criticism, and set the narrative of the
miraculous mode of the birth of Jesus by the side of the stories of Buddha and
Cyrus, of Romulus and Augustus, as an indication of the marvels with which a
fond tradition delights to encircle the cradles of the great?

Let us now proceed to consider whether there are any facts tending to forbid
that conclusion. In the first place, it is no small thing that we have the
testimony of the first and third gospels. There is good reason to believe that
Matthew was written before the destruction of Jerusalem, that is to say before
the year 70. If the author did not obtain his information directly from the lips
of Mary, he must have been in close contact with those who moved in her circle.
His work therefore contains well-nigh contemporary evidence. We have no time for
the formation of a myth. Legends of shadowy character demand more scope for
their development. It is coming to be widely recognised that the third gospel
was written a little after the overthrow of Jerusalem; but although this opinion
gives it a somewhat later date than Matthew, it still belongs to the same cycle
of literature. Moreover, in his preface St. Luke describes how carefully he
searched for evidence from first-hand witnesses. That preface, evidently honest,
is a strong guarantee of historical accuracy. It is not easy to believe that the
man who wrote it was the victim of idle fancies that had sprung up almost in his
own lifetime. He who doubts the miracle of the virgin birth has two stubborn
witnesses to face, and the more closely they are examined the more difficult
will it be to set aside their testimony.

It has been objected that the narratives are very distinct in several points.
That may be admitted; but it only strengthens the case, for it proves that they
are independent. Evidently neither evangelist had seen the work of the other.
Yet they are agreed on this fact concerning the birth of Jesus. Two independent
streams of testimony here coincide, though they have come from different
sources. They are mutually confirmatory of one another; and the more so from the
very fact that there are divergencies with regard to accessories.

But, further, it is objected, the two genealogies give the line of Joseph. How
can they show the Davidic origin of Jesus if He is not Joseph’s son? It might be
replied that quite apart from this question some commentators have taken one at
least of the lists to refer to Mary. But if, as most now believe, they both
belong to Joseph, that fact must have been known to the two evangelists; and
certainly in direct statement they do ascribe them to the husband. But these are
the very writers who narrate the virgin birth — the only New Testament writers
who do so. Then they must have faced the obvious inconclusiveness of their
position — either intending simply to assert the legal rights of Jesus derived
through His putative father, or assuming that Joseph followed Jewish custom in
marrying in his own tribe and family connection. At all events they must have
been aware of the objection. If we had met the statement about the virgin birth
in one document, and the genealogy of Joseph in another, critics would naturally
have pounced on the latter as a disproof of the former. The case is very
different where the two apparently conflicting statements lie side by side in
the same works. A strong confirmation of the truth of the narratives of the
birth of our Lord in Matthew and Luke may be found in a comparison of these
narratives with the apocryphal gospels of the infancy, fantastic, and in some
instances irreverent productions altogether unworthy of the subject.

Here the facts are recorded with a dignity and a reserve of manner entirely
lacking in those puerile productions, which represent just what might be
expected of the unfettered imagination of primitive Christendom. If our gospel
accounts are to be traced to the same origin, how comes it that the character of
them is entirely different? The sobriety of treatment throughout, and the solemn
grandeur of the Bethlehem scenes as they lie before us on the pages of the New
Testament, speak for their own veracity.

Further, it is to be observed that while the miracle of the virgin birth is not
narrated anywhere else in the New Testament it is never denied. Among all the
allusions to Jesus and His human life there is not one that in any way conflicts
with the mystery of His origin as that is revealed by two of the evangelists. Is
not that a singular fact if the narratives of the nativity are to be reckoned as
the products of superstitious imagination 1 Joseph, it is true, is referred to
as the father of Jesus; but that is the case more emphatically and frequently in
Matthew and Luke than anywhere else in the New Testament — again the verbal
discrepancy appearing in the very documents that record the virgin birth!
Evidently, therefore, the narrators of that mystery see no difficulty in
employing the convenient popular language according to which Joseph and Mary
were described as the parents of Jesus.

Quite recently attempts have been made to explain away the gospel narratives of
the nativity by reference to curious Jewish legends about the Messiah. It is not
at all certain how ancient these legends may be, the Talmud in which some of
them are found not having been written till long after the time of Christ, so
that, although doubtless it contains the traditional lore of many centuries of
Judaism, we cannot tell to what extent Christian notions may have been
unconsciously admitted. Whether that be the case or not here, the instances that
have been cited are only parallel in character to those found in the apocryphal
gospels for triviality, grotesqueness, and coarseness.

Stories that could not be quoted on a decent page would never have been the
seed-bed of the simple, lofty, beautiful narratives in Matthew and Luke. When we
pass beyond the period of the New Testament we are confronted with a singular
unanimity of opinion in the great body of the Christian Church. It is impossible
to say how early the phrase in the Apostles’- Creed, “Born of the Virgin Mary,”
became a recognised part of the confession of faith. It is now known that the
creed did not originate with the apostles themselves. Still there is reason to
believe that the great central truths which it contains were those held to be
most important by the primitive Church. We may suspect tradition, and we may
point out how readily it accretes error; but there are memories so reverently
cherished that we may be sure they are not of yesterday, and there is a time so
ancient and so near to the events that we must accord to its traditions more or
less of the character of history. In fact there is a point where tradition and
history meet, where the one merges into the other.

Now, this is virtually the case with the clause in the Apostles’ Creed cited
above. The ideas it contains are in early Church writers who were either
themselves in direct communication with men of the Apostolic time, or who at
least could reach back to that time by means of but a single connecting link.
Thus Ignatius, stating what reads very like a confession of faith, describes
“the one and only Physician,” as “ of flesh and of spirit, generate and
ingenerate, God in man, true Life in death, Son of Mary and Son of God, first
passible and then impassible, Jesus Christ our Lord.” [1] The phrase “ Son of
Mary and Son of God “recalls in particular St. Luke’s way of describing the
birth of Jesus, where the angel promises Mary that her Child shall be “the Son
of the Most High,”[2] and “the Son of God.”[3] Read in the light of the third
gospel, the phrase in Ignatius certainly appears to suggest that Jesus had but
one human parent, and even apart from this comparison the language seems to
point to the same conclusion. Now Ignatius was a disciple of the Apostle John,
to whose charge Jesus had committed His mother. He was therefore in closest
touch with the Apostolic tradition, and his testimony on so personal a matter as
this is certainly more than the record of a vague floating tradition, more than
the repetition of a mere baseless legend.

Justin Martyr is of peculiar interest to us in this connection, for while he
wrote a little later than Ignatius, in the middle of the second century, he was
a native of Samaria, and he had much intercourse with Jews and knew the Jewish
Christians. This Father appeals repeatedly to the Old Testament for predictions
of the. virgin birth. Thus, in his First Apology,[4] he discusses the
application of the prediction in Isa 7:14, “ Behold, a virgin shall conceive,”
&c, to the birth of Jesus Christ, having alluded to this a little earlier,
writing, “In these books, then, of the prophets we found Jesus our Christ
foretold as coming, bom of a virgin”. Again he writes, “ But why, through the
power of the Word, according to the will of God the Father and Lord of all, he
was born of a virgin as a man... an intelligent man will be able to comprehend
from what has been already so largely said.” In his Dialogue with Trypho he
argues against the Jewish interpretation of the passage from Isaiah.[2] We are
not here concerned with his argument — the logic may be faulty; nor is he to be
appealed to on the grounds of patristic authority. The simple fact is that he is
a witness to a very ancient general belief among the primitive Christians.

It is needless to point to the unanimous belief of later fathers, because with
them we pass beyond the limits of testimony — even traditional testimony, and
find ourselves in the region of settled faith. This chorus of unanimity is only
broken by some who reject the chief positions held by the main body of the
Christian Church. No early Christian believer in the Incarnation is to be found
among those who deny the virgin birth. Logically tenable as such a position
might be if there were reasons for taking it up, in point of fact it never was
taken up. But the denial of the Incarnation did not spring out of doubts as to
the virgin birth. It was always the other way. First the Catholic view of the
nature of Christ was rejected; and then as a consequence the accounts of His
birth found in Matthew and Luke were set aside. The denial was found in two
opposite directions. The first case that appears is that of Cerinthus, an
Egyptian Jew contemporary with St. John, who asserted that the Christ descended
on the man Jesus at His baptism and left Him at His crucifixion. That is to say,
he denied the Incarnation. According to his teaching Jesus was simply a man on
whom the Divine Christ rested for a time. The Ebionites were Jewish Christians
who also denied the Incarnation; but their position was like what we call
Unitarian. Very different is the position of Marcion who came to Rome from
Pontus, in the reign of Hadrian, on a great reforming mission to revive interest
in the teachings of St. Paul, The only gospel he accepted was Luke, which he
mutilated, cutting out the narratives of the infancy of our Lord. This, however,
he did on doctrinal, not on critical grounds. Now, ho too denied the
Incarnation, but by denying the humanity of Christ, who, as he taught, suddenly
appeared in the Capernaum synagogue, under the form of a man, yet not wearing a
real human body. With Marcion the humanity of our Lord was but a phantom
appearance. Of course, docetism so pronounced as this was forced to repudiate
the narratives of the birth of Jesus; not, however, on account of any
peculiarities in them, but simply because it denied the birth of Jesus from a
human mother in any way. Cerinthus, therefore, and Marcion cannot be cited as
witnesses against the narratives in Matthew and Lulce. It is perfectly clear
that they were not troubled by doubts on historical grounds; they simply brought
their idea of the facts into line with their theory. In the Syrian palimpsest of
the gospels which was discovered by Mrs. Lewis at the monastery of St. Catherine
on Mount Sinai there are some curious various readings relating to the birth of
Jesus. Mat 1:16 — “ Joseph, the husband to whom was betrothed Mary the Virgin,
begat Jesus, who is called the Christ; “ and Mat 1:25, referring to Joseph,
reads — “ And she bare him a son.” Singularly enough these startling variations
in the text are found side by side with the full narrative of the virgin birth
as that appears in our Matthew. They only make the Syriac manuscript
inconsistent with itself; and therefore there can be no doubt that they do not
represent the original text on which the version was founded or even the
original form of the Syi’iac version, though the question of their origin is
very obscure. For this reason they cannot be allowed to throw any serious doubt
on the narrative as that appears in our generally accepted texts.

It is hardly necessary to point out that the rejection of the Christian teaching
concerning the birth of Jesus by the Jews is no evidence whatever against the
truth of that teaching. In his great work, Against Celsus,^ Origen refers to the
calumny that had introduced a man called “ Panthera “ as the father of Jesus.
This very name is a proof that the calumny had no historical basis, for it is
evidently a play on the Greek word for “virgin“ — Parthenos.

Then it may be pointed out that although certain speculative ideas of
Alexandrian or Rabbinical thought might be supposed to favour the notion of
birth from a virgin, the trend of Jewish thought generally, and especially that
of the popular Messianic ideas in which the early Christians had been brought
up, was quite in another direction. The prophecy from Isaiah quoted by St.
Matthew is used as a favourite argument by the fathers. There is a growing
conviction on the part of criticism that in the original Hebrew that passage
cannot be certainly applied to a virgin birth, the word translated “virgin”
meaning “young woman.” Still the Greek of the Septuagint is Parthenos —the usual
term for “virgin “; and it was the Greek version that the Christians mostly
used. But to suppose that this word gave rise to the narratives is to hang them
on a very slender thread. On the other side we must place the fact that the Jews
held marriage in the highest honour. Yet these narratives are found in the most
Jewish parts of the Kew Testament, There, of all places, it would be least
likely for the time-honoured expectation that the Messiah would be born in due
course of natural Jewish parentage to be set aside.

Probably all these considerations will count for very little with most people
who are reluctant to accept the gospel narratives of the Nativity, because their
real objection is found in the miraculous character of those narratives, and of
course if it is enough to say, “ miracles do not happen,” these narratives must
go the way of the myths of the credulous. But, as we saw at the commencement,
the miracle of the virgin birth only comes before us as an adjunct and appendage
of the most stupendous of all miracles. If it stood by itself we might be shy of
it. When it is associated with the Incarnation — and it has no place apart from
that marvel and mystery — to object to it simply as a miracle, and yet to
believe in the Incarnation, is to take up a very inconsistent position. For this
reason we cannot help the case by attempting to drag in biological analogies of
parthenogenesis. The feeble rationalism that this method of arguing illustrates
simply disgusts the men of science whom it aims at conciliating. Let it be
frankly admitted that no freak of nature could account for this thing; if it
could be so accounted for its significance to religion would forthwith cease.
The sole value of the wonderful birth rises from the fact that it is the manner
in which the Son of God came into the world when taking upon Himself human
flesh, and the credibility of the narratives of the Nativity rests on the
assurance that they describe the Advent of One whose existence from His birth to
His resurrection was throughout a perpetual miracle.


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  CHAPTER 42: 3.04.     THE MADONNA — A STUDY IN IMAGINATION
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CHAPTER IV The Madonna — A Study in Imagination FROM Mary of Nazareth, wife of
Joseph the carpenter, concerning whom history has little to tell us that would
exalt her in character and nature above the wives of other Galilean peasants —
although by the great grace of God on her was conferred the immeasurable honour
of beinsr chosen as the mother of the Christ — to the Blessed Virgin of Roman
Catholic tradition, the Madonna of art and poetry and fond devotion, is a long
journey over which imagination moves by leaps and bounds. The process of the
evolution of the Madonna, in regions of curiously mingled piety and
superstition, devotion and fraud, extends over the whole course of the history
of Christendom, only reaching a climax at the Vatican Council in the year 1870,
where for the first time the immaculate conception of the Virgin was officially
affirmed by the Church as an essential dogma of the faith. No sooner are the
rays of criticism allowed to play on this monstrous growth than it begins to
melt away like a house of snow under a summer sun. And yet, except for purely
controversial purposes, the negations of ultra-Protestantism, logically valid as
they may be, land us in dreary and uninteresting results. There is a more
fruitful way of studying the subject than treating it simply as a chapter in the
humiliating history of human error; this is to endeavour to understand it, to
search for its significance, to trace out its causes, to recognise the blind
instinct, the dumb passion, the yearning heart-hunger of which the cult of the
Virgin is tho pathetically perverted expression.

What is the meaning oi the great idea of the Madonna as a phase of human
thought, as a revelation of the heart of man? In tracing out the popular E,oman
Catholic notions concerning the mother of Jesus we shall have to take account of
the Perpetual Virginity — the Immaculate Conception — the Assumption, virtual
Apotheosis, and consequent worship of the Virgin Mary.

I. The Perpetual Virginity. Not only devout Roman Catholics but also many
thoughtful Protestants have firmly believed in the perpetual virginity of the
mother of Jesus. Thus, for example, the doctrine was stated in the strongest
possible way by Jeremy Taylor; and in the present day some among xis shrink from
the thought that there were other children in the home at Nazareth besides the
holy child Jesus who called Mary “ Mother.” But anybody who came to the gospel
narratives with a mind entirely unprejudiced would certainly conclude that such
children existed — that Mary and Joseph lived together as husband and wife, and
that in due course a family of children was born to them. The language of St.
Matthew about the. interval before the birth of Jesus distinctly implies that
after that event Joseph took Mary as his wife, living with her in the state of
holy matrimony; ^ in describing Jesus as her *’ first-born son,” St. Luke
implies that younger sons followed; the evangelists’ plain statement that His
mother and His brethren were inquiring for Him is more naturally understood with
reference to actual brothers than concerning some cousins accompanying their
aunt, or even half-brothers; and the questions of His feUow-townsmen — “ Is nob
this the carpenter, the son of I Mat 1:25 Mary, and brother of James, and Joses,
and Judas, and Simon? and are not His sisters with us?^ — point to the same
obvious conclusion. Moreover, there is not a word in the whole of the New
Testament that in any way conflicts with the simple and natural reading of these
passages, unless we can adduce the paragraph in John which tells us that Jesus
committed His mother to the charge of the beloved disciple, an action which Dr.
Lightfoot considered fatal to the idea that she had children of her own, but
which we have seen admits of a satisfactory explanation in harmony with that
hypothesis.

Neither do we meet, among the earlier Church Fathers, with any hint of a denial
that “ the brethren of the Lord” were rightly so described. On the contrary,
Tertullian, writing about the end of the second century, distinctly asserts that
they were actual brothers of Jesus, arguing against Marcion in favour of the
real humanity of our Lord on the ground of this relationship.^ He has, no idea
of the perpetual virginity of Mary; for he considers her to have been the mother
of a family, which is the more remarkable seeing that he is strongly ascetic in
tendency of thought. By about this time, however, the notion is being
formulated; for Origen, writing a few years later, accepts it, and the
authorities to which he appeals are two apocryphal works dating from the middle
of the second century. One of these is the so-called “Gospel of Peter,” the
conclusion of which, a recently discovered fragment, is sufficient to betray its
docetic character — it had been condemned by Serapion, in the second century, as
unsound in faith. The other is a book we possess, the Prutevanfielium of James,
which ascribes the “ brethren “ to Joseph by a previous wife, but contains also
worthless legends such as that of the miraculous birth of Mary.

Thus as far as we can trace the idea back, it seems to have risen in a morass of
utterly unreliable literature. During the course of the third century it comes
to be generally accepted, not however without question, for as late as St.
Jerome in the fourth century, we find that Father vehemently protesting against
the opinion of Helvidius that the “ brethren “ were Mary’s children. Helvidius’s
opinion is crushed down by the weighty prejudices which have now made the
question a matter of doctrine, and no longer one of purely historical fact. From
this time it would be regarded as distinctly unorthodox to doubt the perpetual
virginity of Mary; which is equivalent to saying, that, freedom of thought on
the subject having been banished, later patristic statements regarding it cease
to have any value. When we consider the circumstances under which the belief in
this dogma grew up we cannot have any difficulty in accounting for it. It may be
traced to two sources. The first is a commendable feeling of reverence for Jesus
Christ. It came to be thought unseemly that any second birth should be allowed
from the mother of the Son of God.

Unfortunately, however, such an imaginative paring of the facts of. history to
suit our ideas of what is right and fitting has often been proved faulty. Here,
again, we meet with the presumptuousness that assumes the Divine action to be
moulded on the lines of our notions of propriety. How can we deny that Jesus
might be best fitted for His work as the Son of Man by being brought up in the
discipline of a home where He was surrounded by brothers and sisters? But a
second factor of a less commendable character must be admitted to have played a
large part in the evolution of this idea. The glorification of virginity was
growing more prominent just in proportion as the Church was receding further
from the primitive apostolic model. The unspeakable vices under the corroding
influence of which the Eoman Empire seemed to be simply rotting to death, called
for extreme measures, and to the best men and women of these dark and dreadful
ages the only hope of purity seemed to lie in asceticism, or at all events this
opposite extreme seemed to offer the ideal of highest sanctity. Thus, though
marriage was permitted, it was only as a condescension to human weakness; and
virginity was exalted as more honourable and holy.

Now, nothing would have been more abhorrent to the temperament that was bred in
the morbid atmosphere of asceticism than the supposition that the mother of
Jesus Christ could ever have been other than a virgin. That she might have been
an honourable matron with her children about her — to us the most noble type of
womanhood —would have seemed a lowering of her supreme position such as no
devout mind could admit.

Then the effect reacts on the cause; and the perpetual virginity of Mary becomes
the pattern for women who aspire to live the holiest life, as she becomes the
type and ideal of saintly womanhood.

II. The Immaculate Conception. The idea that the Virgin Mary was herself born
without sin was of later growth. Certainly it is not contained in the New
Testament; neither have we a hint of it in the writings of the primitive
Fathers. Tertullian even speaks of Mary as guilty of unbelief; ^ and Origen
interprets the sword that was to pierce her as the unbelief which caused her to
stumble.- As late as the end of the fourth century, St. Chrysostom speaks of the
“excessive vanity,” the “ foolish arrogance,” and the “ vain-glory,” which led
her to insist on speaking with Jesus when He was surrounded by the crowd.^ But
about this time ideas of a different character are appearing. Augustine said
that he agreed with Pelagius in excepting Mary from actual sin — though not in
also excepting her from original sin.^ Pelagius, Augustine’s great opponent, had
gone further, declaring Mary to be free from all sin. In course of time, this
Pelagian doctrine made way in the Church; but it was not till the year 1870 that
it was authoritatively declared by an CEcumenical Council that Mary was free
from any taint of original sin.

We may see two influences leading to this result. First,there was the growing
tendency to do honour to Mary in all respects. But over and above that, there
was the notion that it was only fitting ^ for the holy Christ to be born of a,
sinless parent. Augustine says that it was “ for the honour of the Lord “ that
Mary was born without sin. It was the general belief of the Church that the sin
of Adam was transmitted from parent to child. But the Christ must be excluded
from this evil inheritance; and to that end it was deemed fitting that the evil
taint should be kept away fromHis mother. Of course this is only to throw the
miracle a step further back; it is to make that take place in the birth of Mary
which could equally well be believed as happening for the first time at the
birth of Jesus. And then if there be a difficulty in the case of the sinless
proceeding from the sinful, that difficulty is not lessened, it is even
aggravated, for it is not pretended that Mary was a Divine Being at her birth;
she had no inherent Divinity of nature, such as her Son possessed to shield her
from the transmission of her parents’ sin. Moreover, unless we are to affirm a
miraculous birth for Mary, the supposed effects of this in the case of her Son
cannot be ascribed to her. Mary had an earthly human father as well as a mother.
Hence the tendency to encircle the birth of Mary with marvels, and that, too,
becomes in some way a miracle. The same process of thought must inevitably lead
to a unique conception of the nature and character of the Virgin’s mother.
Accordingly, the traditional St. Ann, motlier of the Virgin, receives an
exceptional amount of honour from devout admirers. In Palestine holy sites
associated with St. Ann and churches dedicated to her name, are as numerous and
as much revered as those connected with the name of the Virgin. But we cannot
stop here. St. Ann should be of immaculate birth. Then what of her mother? The
process calls for indefinite expansion backwards. We seem to want a race wholly
distinct from the race of Adam and Eve to suit the demands of rigorous logic.

If, however, that could be allowed, the incarnation would disappear, for Jesus
Christ could no longer be regarded as sharing in our nature. This is the
rediictio adabsurdum of the whole process.

III. The Assumption and Worship of the Virgin. The first steps towards the
ascription of superhuman characteristics to the Virgin Mary can be traced back
to early days. Irenceus in the second century describes her as the “ Advocate of
the Virgin Eve.” ^ Mary is in a way the counterpart of Eve — the mother of all
living. All sorts of fantastic fables and wonders cluster about the story of
Mary in the apocryphal gospels of the third and fourth centuries, and it is to
these books that we must look for the source of the grosser conceptions of
Virgin worship. The process may be illustrated by the development of Christian
art. In the most ancient monuments, the sarcophagi, the paintings in the
catacombs, and even the seventh century mosaics, Mary appears simply as a veiled
female figure with no indications of Divine glory. Later we come to the
coronation of the Virgin by her Son. In Mediaeval mosaics she is seen sitting on
the same throne with Jesus Christ. Artists have set forth the glory of the scene
when the Virgin was carried at her death up into heaven, there to receive Divine
glory. But in the fourth century, when the notion first appeared in the Church,
it was condemned by the Pope, Gelasius. We do not find this conception accepted
by a recognised writer within the Church before Gregory of Tours in the sixth
century. From his time it began to be regarded as right and necessary.

Prayers to the Virgin are met with earlier — in Ephraim the Syrian and Gregory
Nazianzen, the latter relating of Justina that she besought the Virgin Mary to
protect her when she was threatened with marriage. Then by slow degrees the
worship of the Virgin blossoms out and takes full possession of the Church. Then
there is given her the highest form of adoration above the veneration attached
to saints and angels, though still to be formally distinguished from the worship
of God; and numerous churches and altars come to be dedicated to her name.

Henceforth she becomes virtually a goddess not only in the popular estimation,
but even in the usages of the Church.

Only a few years ago, when the Pope issued an Encyclical to the English
Catholics urging them to pray for the conversion of this country, he directed
the petition to be to the Virgin, and from the beginning to the end of his
carefully-expressed document there was not a single word about prayer to any
Higher Being. It is the intercession of the Virgin that is sought by the devout
Catholic; and yet practically the constant habit of thus beseeching her aid must
amount to worship and place her on the throne of God to the imagination of the
worshipper. The exaltation of the statue of Maiy even above that of her Son is a
sign of this. The vast process of apotheosis by which a woman is deified to the
faith and imagination of a large part of Christendom must be attributed to a
variety of influences both Christian and pagan. It is not without significance
that the cult was most rapidly advanced during the period of the great
Christological controvei-sies of the fifth century. In particular the Nestorian
controversy evidently issued in this result. Nestorius, the Patriarch of
Constantinople, was accused of making too sharp a division between the two
natures in Christ, of so separating the human from the Divine that our Lord
would be regarded almost as two persons, the Son of Mary and the Son of God.
While Nestorius was unable to assert that Mary was more than the mother of the
man Jesus, his opponents vehemently maintained that she was the Mother of God.
Thus the title Theotohos — “ Mother of God” — became the watchword of orthodoxy.
So fierce was the passion of opposition to Nestorius that fanatical monks would
have torn the heretic to pieces as they exclaimed, with a rude jest — “He
divides; let him be divided.”

Thus, we see, the new title which gave so much honour to Mary was not invented
for her sake at all; it was only brought in to make more clear what was the
orthodox conception of the nature of Christ. He was so completely one person in
the blending of His two natures, human and divine, that what could be affirmed
of either could be affirmed of Him in His full being. Mary must be the Mother of
God, because she is the mother of Jesus who is God. But though the argument was
thus immediately concerned with the most abstract questions of Christology it
could not rest in those remote regions. Inevitably it led to a new and more
exalted idea of the nature and rank of the woman of whom so stupendous an
assertion was made.

Thei’e is another side to this stoi*y. The leading opponent of Nestorius was
Cyril, the patriarch of the rival see of Alexandria. For centuries there was
bitter jealousy between the popes who occupied the chairs of these two great
oriental patriarchates, with the result that what one cherished most ai’dently
was generally denounced as heresy with equal ardour by the other. So Cyril was
the great champion of the Theotohos doctrine against the denial of it by
Nestorius. From the time of the decree of the Council of Ephesus which condemned
Nestorius, Christian art seized on the idea that had been presented to it by the
orthodox decision, and devoted itself to representing the Virgin and Child. This
group became the symbol of the Theotokos doctrine. And now there comes in a very
significant coincidence. In her Legends of the Madonna, Mrs. Jameson observes: “
It is worth remarking that Cyril, who was so influential in fixing the orthodox
group, had passed the greater part of his life in Egypt, and must have been
familiar with the Egyptian type of Isis nursing Horus.^ Whether the patriarch
was unconsciously influenced by the pagan symbol or not, we cannot compare the
Egyptian picture which Mrs. Jameson has transferred to her pages with the
Christian Madonna and Child without being struck by their startling resemblance.
Even if the old pagan idea had no direct effect on Christian theology, there is
every indication of its having given the pattern for Christian art. But when art
is enlisted in the service of religion for the decoration of churches, it exerts
a profound influence over the popular conceptions of truth through its appeal to
imagination. No doubt it has in turn shaped and moulded the ideas of the
worshipper concerning the Mother of God.

Then side by side with this exaltation of the Virgin came the increasing desire
to seek her intercession; and this was furthered by other influences. The
Christological controversies had many mischievous results; but none were more
baleful than those that touched the love and trust of sorrowing sinful men and
women for their Divine Saviour. In these contentions of the theologians the
personality of Christ seemed to be dissolved by the very process that aimed at
defining it. The Jesus of the gospels was fading out of sight, and in place of
that gracious image a metaphysical abstraction in the form of the Christ of the
creeds was taking its place. Just in proportion as the Church attained to an
explanation of Christ it lost sight of that in Him which would most surely win
her love. How could people come with their sins and sorrows, their needs and
cares, their hopes and fears to One who was being more and more resolved into a
cold metaphysical abstraction?

What the hearts of men and women yearned for was close human sympathy, touching
and healing compassion. In place of that they were offered a formula of
theology. This was the stone presented to the children who cried for bread. Is
it wonderful that they turned elsewhere for comfort. And when the Christ was
regarded in a less metaphysical way, when His personality was affirmed and set
forth with some emphasis, still this was not the personality of Jesus of
Nazareth, the brother man who had hungered in the desert, and slept wearied in
the Galilean fishing-boat. Still He was the Second Person in the mysterious
Trinity, and the Divine Sovereign now exalted to glory, and some day to come in
majesty for the judgment of the world. These are all Scriptural ideas, it will
be said; but they are ideas which, taken by themselves, and permitted to oust
the more winning human traits of the nature and character of our Lord,
practically destroy the Incarnation and deprive the sinner of his Saviour.
Cyril, with a mistaken notion of doing the more honour to Christ, explains away
every indication of human limitations even in the life on earth, treating them
as only apparent, in a docetic way, with the result that in his writings Jesus
does not really appear as a man at all. He is presented as God disguising
Himself to our eyes under the appearance of humanity, with a human body indeed,
but with His mind so transformed that it can be regarded as in no true sense
human. But the hearts of men and women craved for a human Saviour. Hence the
eagerness with which they turned to the intercession of the saints, who had
fought the same battles that their struggling brothers and sisters were now
engaged in. The saints could understand human temptation and human sorrow. To
them then the appeal was made. Chief among the saints was the Blessed Yirgin.

Disappointed of the help they should have found in her Son because theology had
removed him from the region of compassion, they turned to the pity of the
glorified Woman. It might be thought that the exaltation of Mary would remove
her also out of the reach of human sympathy, and indeed she too seemed to be in
danger of fading away into the glory of pure divinity, dim with excess of
radiance. But there was one thing that averted that fate. While the attribute of
Divine vengeance was lodged in the Christ, it was never assigned to His mother.
She was the embodiment of Divine grace, and of this without limit or qualifying
influence. Herein is the fascination of the worship of the Virgin. Mary is
regarded as infinitely compassionate, as overflowing with pity. People dreaded
the wrath of the Son; they took refuge in the pity of the mother. Prayer to the
Virgin is prayer that she will intercede with her angry Son on behalf of poor
sinners who dare not approach Him more directly.

Now, we can understand how in those dark days that came on the world in the
break up of the Roman Empire, amid the miseries that swept over Europe as wave
after wave of barbarian invaders poured down from the northern forests and
spread across the fair fields of the south, breaking hearts and despairing souls
craved above all things some great and comforting compassion. They could not
find this in the metaphysical Christ of the creeds; they thought they discerned
only its opposite, Divine vengeance, in the exalted Christ who might be already
the Judge standing at the door, about to come with flaming clouds to burn up the
chaff in unquenchable fire. But Mary afforded the very Divine pity for which
they thirsted.

Besides, these were the times when the new notion of chivalry was dawning on th6
world, with a promise of gentler manners and nobler aims; and it was of the very
essence of chivalry to reverence woman. Chivalry was always a dream. The days of
chivalry only exist in the realms of romance and poetry. Yet as a dream it is an
ideal. Never realised, it was still believed in. Was it not most natural that
when such an idea was taking possession of the imagination of the secular world,
the religious world should also have its chivalry 1 Though denied th&
exhilarating joys of joust and tournament, though deprived of the intoxication
others found in the flashing eyes of fair ladies come to rain influence among
rival combatants, priests and monks could cherish their holy chivalry in
devotion to a woman, the thought of whom was as an inspiration. The passion of
loyalty which Frances Ridley Havergal reveals in her hymns to Christ her King,
pious churchmen of the middle ages displayed towards Mary their queen.

Though she was a queen, it was never forgotten that she was a mother; and her
motherhood was appealed to for comfort and protection. Weary souls crept like
tired children home to their mother to bo soothed and pacified, forgetting that
One had said, “ Come unto Me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will
give you rest.” In this strange oblivion to the most touching message of the
gospel lies the pathos of the worship of the Virgin. To the pi’otestant mind
this phase of Mariolatry must appear sentimental; it betrays the morbid spirit
which always seems to threaten Catholic piety when the more robust virtues are
neglected. The separation of compassion from justice, assigning the one as the
exclusive attribute of the mother, and leaving the other for the Son, must
always have an unwholesome effect, especially where it leads to a passionate
devotion to the gentler grace, with a cowardly attempt to escape from any
contact with the sterner quality. In a healthy religion, which is neither
stoically hard nor weakly sentimental, justice and mercy must both have a place
harmonised and mutually satisfied. The source and nature of this adoration of
the Virgin point to its cure. It is useless to denounce it with brutal violence
as sheer idolatry. To the thoughtful Catholic such a denunciation is unfair; to
the ignorant Catholic it is cruel, for you would rob him by this process of his
hope and trust and comfort without any compensation. It is much better to
recover the true conception of Christ in His human brotherhood, to show that all
the Catholic looks for in Mary may be found in Jesus, to bring out the rich
compassion of the Saviour as that is revealed in the gospel story, and as it
must be still moving His heart with pity for His sinful, sorrow-stricken
brethren, since He is “the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.” And if even
this is not enough, if the tired children of men must cravo for some motherhood
in their religion, is it nothing to be able to reflect that the essence of this
may be found in God? Theodore Parker set the fashion of calling God our Mother
as well as our Father, and for a time his language was imitated by some
preachers. But people felt it was fantastic, and the uuscriptural term soon fell
out of use.

Yet there was a true idea behind it. Thus in Isaiah God says, “Can a woman
forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her
womb f yea, these may be forgot, yet will not I forget thee. Behold I have
graven thee upon the palms of my hands,” ^ and again, “As one whom his mother
comforteth, so will I comfort you.” ^ A psalmist sees ixi God’s love a refuge
that will outlast all human parental affection, exclaiming, “ For my father and
mother have forsaken me, but the Lord will take me up.” ^ This is all in the Old
Testament, where it is said we have the sterner views of God. In His revelation
of the Divine Fatherhood, Jesus brings the parental relation of God before us
with a new emphasis.

Then should not God revealed to us in Christ, truly discerned and trusted,
satisfy us with all the tenderness and compassion for which starved souls have
turned to the comforting motherhood of Mary?


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  CHAPTER 43: 3.05.     ELIZABETH — MOTHERHOOD AND HUMILITY
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CHAPTER V Elizabeth — Motherhood and Humility THE charm of the character of
Elizabeth is that while she was called to be the mother of the foremost man of
his day, the most powerful reformer, and greatest of prophets, she had the grace
to allow that her son was destined to take a second place, himself but the
forerunner of a greater One, in whose rising glory his fame was to fade and
vanish. We admire the humility of John, who could say of Jesus, “ He must
increase, but I must decrease; “ but even more remarkable is the humility of his
mother who could acquiesce in such a desting for her son from the first, and
still bow before the higher desting of Him whom a jealous woman would have
regarded as the supplanter of her child. If it is difficult for a man to be
humble on his own behalf, surely it is ten times more difficult for a mother to
be humble in her expectations for her son. This was Elizabeth’s duty, and she
yielded to it without a shadow of complaint. We should like to know more than
has been told us of such a woman; and the information that has reached us is
worth the most careful study that we may extract from it as far as possible the
secret of her lovely humility.

Elizabeth was a high-born lady, and she was married to a member of the Jewish
nobility. St. Luke is careful to note these facts, calling attention to her
pedigree as well as to the rank of her husband. Blood was highly esteemed among
the Jews, even more highly than it is among our English county families, where a
ducal house that is but of yesterday is less honoured than a plain untitled
family of ancient lineage. The priests were the aristocracy of Israel, and the
bluest blood of all was that in the line of Aaron. Of this, the noblest family
in Israel, Elizabeth was a daughter. It has been mistakenly assumed that
Zachai’ias was the high -priest of his time, an inference drawn from the
supposition that it was in the Holy of Holies on the great day of Atonement that
he beheld his vision. But while this is an error, simply as a priest he was of
noblo rank. Therefore the union of the two might be called a marriage in high
life. Let this be remembered when we are considering the rare humility of
Elizabeth’s conduct.

Though high in rank these two yet lacked the richest joy and greatest honour
with which God favours a home. The merry laughter of children was not heard in
their house. It is clear from what she said later that though Elizabeth may have
borne the deprivation with quiet submission to the will of God her heart was
desolate and empty, vainly hungering for motherhood. It is often said that
Jewish women longed for children in the hope that they might give birth to the
Messiah. Was this the only source of their craving 1 Have no mothers of other
races, who have not had this motive, experienced the same deep hunger 1 Surely
the cry for the privilege of maternity is an instinctive utterance of woman’s
nature. An artificial civilisation may suppress it; indolence, ambition, worldly
interests may crush it down; in some cases the consciousness of a lofty mission
may fill the place of it — a Boadicea taking her nation for her family, a Joan
d’Arc consecrating her life to the saving of her people, a St. Catherine or a
St. Teresa wedded to the service of her Lord, and treating those to whom she
ministers as her children, may find in such vocations full vent for the emotions
of motherly hearts. It cannot be denied that many a woman in less conspicuous
places, as missionary abroad or helper of the needy at home, has so taken the
people for whom she has laboured into her heart that she has been a true mother
to them; and unselfish sisters have, risen to the same noble devotion in the
home, and have had their reward in the peace that is given to those who forget
themselves. And yet it remains true that the instinct of motherhood is one of
the deepest facts of nature; when it is not supplanted by other interests, and
the lonely woman sits in the silent home, while her husband is away fully
occupied in affairs, she would be unnatural if she did not feel the desolation
of childlessness.

Even men, to whom parentage is not so profoundly absorbing a fact as it is to
women, know what this desolation means. The most exquisitely pathetic of Charles
Lamb’s essays is his reverie on “Dream Children,” wherein he describes how it
seemed as though his little ones crept about him one evening, how they looked
and behaved while he told them tales of the old days, and how they grew fainter
to his view, seeming to say, “ Wo are nothing; less than nothing, and dreams. We
are only what might have been, and must wait upon the tedious shores of Lethe
millions of ages before we have existence and a name.” But at length a great joy
came to this childless house, and it woke up to a new life like the enchanted
palace. The priest and his wife were well settled in years; the dream of a
family had died down to a melancholy regret; others might have the wealth of
home blessedness — sweet daughters, noble sons. Cleai’ly, it seemed, such was
not to be their happy lot. And then after all hope had been abandoned the wonder
appeared. In these later years of their wedded life a son was born. A wonderful
revelation preceded that joyful event; but this was for the father, and
Elizabeth could only understand it as far as he, with the sign of his dumbness
upon him, could make it known to her. It presaged a great future for the unborn
child. The birth of John is only less wonderful than the birth of Jesus. That it
was distinctly a miracle perhaps we should not say; but who now will have the
hardihood to assert exactly what a miracle is? Nothing is more difficult than to
define the borderland between the natural and the supernatural. In the Bible the
two are not sharply distingiiished; but this is on the very opposite grounds
from the arid rationalism that minimised the Divine, with the conviction that
everything is of God — what we call the natural as well as what we call the
supernatural. Still, it had often been remarked in the history of Israel that
children of promise came by a wonderful birth. In particular some of the most
favoured of men were the late-born sons of parents who had long been childless.
This was first seen in the story of the great founder of the Hebrew race.

Abraham’s faith, that faith which was expressly declared to be reckoned to him
for righteousness, was his trust in God’s promise that he and Sarah should have
a child in their old age, a promise so amazing that when his wife heard of it
she laughed, though whether from unbelief or joy we are not told; Manoah, too,
and his wife were likewise favoured in late age by the gift of a son, the mighty
Samson, who was destined to be the deliverer of his people; and Hanna, who wept
in the temple distressed at the mockery of her childlessness by her cruel rival,
was rewarded for her prayers by becoming the mother of Samuel, in whom as a seer
the rare vision of God was restored to Israel. In all these cases the lateness
of the birth emphasised the fact that the children so marvellously ushered into
the world were sent by God to serve some great purpose in His wise counsels. It
was to be so with Elizabeth’s son, who, as Zacharias had learnt in his vision at
the altar, was the promised forerunner destined to come in the spirit and power
of Elijah “to make ready for the Lord a people prepared for Him.”

It is impossible to say how far Elizabeth, brought up in the faith of her
fathers, could see into the mystery of this promise. She and her husband were
faithful Jews assiduously observing the customs of their people; and better than
that, they had that inner righteousness which is pleasing to God — devout,
upright people of blameless reputation. The best people usually come from worthy
parentage. When we read the lives of good men we nearly always discover that
they were the sons of good mothers. A man’s biography, to be complete, must
begin at his mother. In those days of wondering expectation, when the wife was
drawing near to the verge of motherhood, Elizabeth received a visit from her
young kinswoman who lived in a remote country town far north in Galilee. We do
not know how nearly they were related, nor how intimate they may have been
previous to this occasion. It would seem from St. Luke’s narrative that the new
revelations of their mutual destinies, which had suddenly surprised them both,
rather than the association of former days, now brought them together. In the
awe and wonder of her overwhelming secret, the tremulous young maiden, so
unexpectedly called to the highest desting ever dreamed of by a woman, but in a
manner most perplexing and trying to faith, seeks the older relative that she
may pour out her heart’s confidences. Such confidences would be very sacred; but
they touched matters of profound interest to the world at large, and therefore
the outer aspect of them has been preserved for us by the evangelist and clad in
idyllic grace. We are now concerned with this as it is viewed from the
standpoint of Elizabeth. And here it is that her rare grace of humility is
displayed all unconsciously to itself, as humility always must be displayed if
it is genuine.

Consider the disparity of their positions. Mary, it is true, was of royal
lineage; but her family had fallen into humble circumstances. We have heard of
descendants of the Plantagenets in England among the poorer classes of society.
High as is the common reckoning of pedigree, so long as there arc the means for
adequately supporting its dignity, when once it has fallen on evil days the
world is quick to forget it. Mary’s royal rank might be admitted in a
heraldist’s office; it would not count for much in that most worldly of spheres,
*’ Society.” But Elizabeth and her husband, while both of aristocratic lineage,
were also practically and visibly of the higher classes, for Zacharias was in
office as a priest, with his recognised functions at the temple. Thus the
peasant girl was visiting a kinswoman in a very different social position from
herself. And they may not have been very nearly related. It is a mistake to use
the word “cousin” as was done by King James’s translators; the revisers are more
correct in their substitution of the more generic title “ kinswoman.” The fact
that the two women were probably of different tribes suggests a collateral
relationship, more or less remote, through marriage. Under these circumstances
IMary might have been expected to have approached Elizabeth with the painful
humility of a “ poor relation,” and Elizabeth might have been tempted to receive
her in that graciously patronising style that seems to sit so easily on some
ladies of the aristocracy — the more so since the priest’s wife was the elder
woman.

Such being the relative positions of the two, let us see how they meet.
Elizabeth welcomes her visitor with a cry of joy. Her salutation is a glad
benediction. From her own strange consciousness she at once recognises Mary’s
far superior privilege. It is Elizabeth, the elder woman, the highborn lady, the
wife of a church dignitary, who calls aloud from a full heart to her lowly
kinswoman, betrothed to a carpenter, “ Blessed art thou among women! “ Here is
rare humility, self-forgetting and ungrudging. Elizabeth does not merely take
the second place, she is perfectly enthusiastic over the young peasant girl’s
immeasurably higher honour.

There is even a more remarkable fact. When next Elizabeth thinks of herself, it
is to wonder at the honour that is put upon her in the fact that Mary has come
to visit her. “ And whence is this to??te,” she exclaims, “ that the mother of
my Lord should come unto me 1 “Could humility be more beautifully perfect than
that? It is a rare sight and beautiful thus to see a lady of high breeding and
rank giving honour to a young cottage maiden. But in this most exquisite
utterance of the older woman’s humility we have the explanation of the
astonishing readiness with which she takes the second place for herself, so far
below that of her young kinswoman. Mary is to be the mother of her Lord. Of
course if that is admitted there can be no longer any possibility of Elizabeth
thinking of maintaining her own higher rank in the presence of Mary. All earthly
honours, privileges, dignities, sink into insignificance and shrink out of view
as childish baubles before the Divine glory of the long-expected Christ now
about to dawn. But the wonder is that Elizabeth grasped that amazing truth; for
this shows that she had not been dazzled by her own singular privilege. That
unexpected joy of her own had not spoilt her. She had not magnified it till it
filled her heaven from horizon to zenith. She was wise enough to keep it in its
right place, and to perceive that by its very nature her privilege must be
inferior to another’s. But how rare is this perception! The perfection of
Elizabeth’s humility is not her willingness to admit a certain superiority in
privilege for her young relative; many a good woman would have the grace to do
as much if she saw good reason. It lies in her complete acknowledgment of the
infinitely higher nature and honour of the Child who was to be given to Mary
above her own child. This is where the difficulty for a mother’s humility comes
in; and this is where the fine example of Aaron’s noble descendant commands the
admiration of all the ages.

It was her faith that led this good woman to take up her attitude of humility;
but it was her humility that made her faith possible. The two graces interact,
as they always will. Neither is possible without the other. Humility without
faith is in danger of losing its character as a Christian virtue, and falling
into the condition of mere poverty of spirit or the craven fear that cowers
before a bolder self-assertion on the part of another. That is a feeble and
contemptible attitude of mind, sometimes confounded with humility, with the
consequence that dishonour is done the genuine grace, so that to thoughtless
observers this too appears to have an air of feebleness. Faith comes in to the
aid of humility by opening up the vision of indubitably higher claims than any
we can make the least pretension to, claims before which it would be simply
ridiculous to set up our own in rivalry, and to yield to which therefore can be
no mark of weakness, but only an acknowledgment of what is right and reasonable.
He who believes in Christ with some adequate perception of the claims of his
Lord can never dream of making a great demand on his own account. He finds
himself deep down in the valley of humiliation when face to face with the Divine
glory of the Holy One. This is a lesson in humility that every Christian is
called on to leam. But Elizabeth’s lesson was more difficult; for she had to
apply it to her unborn son. Yet her joyous acknowledgment that Mary’s child was
to be none other than her Lord gave her at. once the unhesitating consciousness
that the son who had been promised to her with accompaniments of Divine wonders
enough to turn the head of a less devout woman must assume quite a secondary
place. On the other hand these graces so interact that faith is only possible
where there is room for the free growth of the lowly flower of humility. We are
constantly forced to recognise that the supreme hindrance to faith, the fatal
barrier to its progress, indeed, even the deadly poison in the atmosphere
infected with which it is certain to sicken and die, is pride. They who have
Elizabeth’s beautiful disposition are the most fitted to receive not visits
only, but the abiding presence not of the mother, but of the Lord, the glorious
Christ, Himself. To come down to Elizabeth’s self-effacing lowliness is the way
to receive her Lord into our hearts. The faith that shines so conspicuously in
her own character Elizabeth recognises in her young kinswoman.

She blesses Mary for believing; for Mary had accepted the amazing promise that
had been made to her, and when Elizabeth saw this she gladly acknowledged the
grace as a ground of heartfelt congratulation. We meet with so much blindness to
unobtrusive goodness, and so much churlish unwillingness to allow its merits
even when they are perceived, so much more readiness to take up the role of the
adverse critic and play the part of censor discovering the mote in our brother’s
eye, that when we come upon such a scene as this, with its cheerful, ungrudging
recognition of gifts and graces, it is like finding an Elim with its wells and
palm groves in the desert of worldly cynicism. It would be pleasant to linger
over the spectacle of these two saintly women of the olden time in the sweet
sanctity of their mutual confidences during those three months before Mary
returned to her highland home, and Elizabeth was left to brood over the wonders
of the future; but little is left with which to enlarge the picture to our
imagination. Elizabeth had given her kinswoman a sort of prophetic assurance
that her faith should not be disappointed. And Mary had obtained one object of
her visit, an evidence of her faith. Each could tell what would confirm the
other’s confidence. This is just the way in which faith is best strengthened. A
dull spiritual tone is too often the consequence of needless reticence and lack
of confidence among truly Christian people. The enthusiasm that so richly
endowed the early church with life and gladness was largely maintained by the
warm spirit of brotherhood; for this made the communion of saints a real fact,
not a mere clause in a creed, the very meaning and application of which has
become unintelligible to the majority of people. It was Elizabeth’s noble
salutation that roused Mary to the utterance of the Magnificat Perhaps if it had
not been for the older woman’s words we should never have had this magnificent
outburst of song.

Some think our Revisers might have printed the words of Elizabeth in metrical
form as they have those of her kinswoman, for there is a lilt of poetry in them
also.

Then we should have read the two utterances as strophe and antistrophe. Again we
might be led to ask the more curiously whether we have here the actual words of
two women who, in the moment of high exaltation, were both inspired to converse
in poetry and address one another in odes, or whether St. Luke may have given us
the fruit of a later treatment of the scene in hymns of the eai-ly church. But
the point of importance is that his narrative is a lifelike delineation of the
whole situation. The mutual inspiration of the two women, their common
exaltation of holy emotion, the encouragement of one another’s faith and hope
are brought before us in lifelike characters so as to exhibit their very
distinct natures.

Thus it is a noteworthy fact that while Elizabeth loses herself in a wondering
admiration of the unspeakably greater privilege that has been conferred on the
younger woman, Mary has no return of graceful language to offer to her hostess,
to whom not the least allusion is made in the Magnificai. In justice to Mary it
may be said that throughout this hymn is of a more general character, and is
less directly adjusted to the circumstances of the moment than the words of
Elizabeth that precede it. Still, if it is at all dramatically fitted to the
circumstances in which it appears, undoubtedly it reveals a difference of mental
attituda May the explanation be that Mary was still very young? In youth we are
all too self-centi”ed. As a rule delicate considerateness for the feelings of
others is a choice acquisition that only comes with years, if it coines at all.
We must not be hard on the young, and as yet undisciplined, maiden, if in the
joy and wonder of the supreme’ privilege that had been given to her she did not
quite sufficiently appreciate the beautiful self-suppression of her elder
kinswoman, or acknowledge with becoming grace the singularly noble spirit in
which her higher claims had been at once conceded; for we may be sure that
Elizabeth would have been the last person to have made any complaint on that
score. That she would have perceived it we cannot doubt, for she was a woman,
and one endowed with finest, rarest perceptions, and her much longer experience
had sharpened her faculties and widened her vision. But then if she did not push
aside the thought at once as beneath her notice, in a large-minded charity of
soul, she would only have smiled quietly to herself, just a little amused at the
childish limitation of the mind of the peasant girl, who she would see quite
clearly was perfectly unconscious of any deficiency in this matter, and had not
the faintest intention of behaving with rudeness or superciliousness. The
Magnificat itself is enough to exonerate her from any such accusation, for it
springs out of amazed humility and rises to exultation just in proportion as
Mary acknowledges herself to be a poor maiden, to whose low estate God has
stooped in most wonderful condescension.

Perhaps we might add another consideration. After all, there is something in
breeding. When manners take the place of morals and politeness does service for
charity the hypocrisy of the situation is insufferable, and then the honest
boorishness of a sound heart would be vastly preferable to this thin veneer laid
on a nature that is essentially selfish and cynical. Yet in their place the
courtly manners that lead one trained in them to be alwavs considerate of the
feelings of others are worth acquiring; for they certainly avoid giving that
needless pain which thoughtless people are constantly inflicting with dull
indiflFerence to the fact. We will not blame Mary; but we will permit ourselves
to admire the finer grace of Elizabeth’s manner.

It may be thought that any considerations of manners are beneath notice when we
are face to face with the sublime topics that the interview between Mary and
Elizabeth introduce to our attention. No thought of courtier or peasant, fine
lady or cottage maiden, can affect the tremendous truth that the one was to be
the mother of the great forerunner, and the other the mother of the Christ.

These are the great facts of the story; to ignore them in pursuit of trivial
hints or quite minor matters would show a miserable lack of the sense of
proportion, and drag down the narrative from its exalted position as the gospel
history. And yet in their place manners are not to be ignored, for when they are
genuine expressions of feeling they are in some degree indicative of character.
And since we are now fixing our eyes on one of these women, and that as regards
her desting by far the less important of the two, it is something to see how
finely the grace of her humility sits upon her in the presence of the young
peasant girl.

Yividly as Elizabeth is presented to our view in the one scene when Mary enters
her house we soon loss sight of her, and we cannot even conjecture her future.
Just once more she appears at the birth of her son. This is a time of great
rejoicing among her friends and kinswomen. In most homes the advent of an infant
produces some such pleasant commotion, but evidently St. Luke would have us see
that there was an exceptionally jubilant celebration of the long-delayed event
in the priest’s house.

Elizabeth had been so sadly disappointed in the hopes a married woman cherishes
by nature, that the surprising fulfilment of them after they had been quite
abandoned was all the more an occasion for warm congratulations. But the story
bears witness further to the high regard in which Elizabeth was held. The
friends who come to congratulate her on this happy occasion are unfeignedly
delighted at the blessing that has come to her. This is no cold, formal visit of
state. An opportunity having come for honouring a woman who has won adiiiiration
and affection by her true goodness and the unaffected beauty of her character,
it is seized with avidity and the very most is made of it.

Elizabeth has a part of no little interest at the ceremony in which a name is
given to her child. It was supposed that he would be called after his father.
What better name could be found for him than the honoured one born by the
priest, a name famous in the annals of history in both priestly and prophetic
connections? Surely then this boy should be another Zacharias, and if the wonder
of his birth is a presage of a great future, he will do further honour to a name
already honourable. “ Not so,” says his mother, “his name shall be John.” He
shall be called “ God’s favour.” There is no family reason for choosing such a
name. Yet Elizabeth is not to be overborne by the expostulations of her friends.
This is not an idle fancy of hers. Evidently her husband has made her know that
the new name must be adopted; and his interference now settles the matter. This
child of their later years turned out to be no fond home bird. As soon as he
could escape from the necessary restraints of youth he sought the wilderness and
lived the hard life of the recluse. We have not a word about Elizabeth in these
later years. If she were still living she would have a mother’s natural pride in
the fame of her son when all the country was roused by the great reformer’s
preaching. Did she, now quite an aged woman, find her way down to the Jordan and
stand among the excited crowds whom he moved so deeply with his prophetic words?
If that were the case, and if she lived on to the final tragedy, and news was
brought to her of the banquet in the gloomy castle of Machaerus and its sequel —
that ghastly scene which added its crowning horror to the neighbourhood of the
Dead Sea — she too like her young kinswoman must have become a Mater Dolorosa.
It is not always a happy fate for a woman to find herself the mother of a great
man.


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  CHAPTER 44: 3.06.     ANNA — AGED AND HOPEFUL
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CHAPTER VI Anna — Aged and Hopeful

ANNA was an exceedingly aged woman. According to the lowest reckoning, that of
our Authorised Version, she was eighty-four years old, a great age with us
to-day, though so much has been done of late to lighten the weight of years by
adding to their comforts, and in ancient times, which were not favoured with
these comforts, a more remarkable length of life to have attained to. But there
is good reason to think that the Revisers have more correctly rendered St.
Luke’s meaning in connecting the eighty-four years simply with Anna’s widowhood
—reading, “ and she had been a widow for fourscore and four years.” Previous to
this she had lived seven years with her husband; supposing she was, according to
Jewish custom, about fourteen years old when she was married, we have another
twenty-one years to add, making her age, when she appears in the gospel history,
no less than a hundred and five years. That would be a phenomenal age at any
time.

Longevity, interesting as it is to the curious, and appealing as it does to
sympathy and respectful treatment on the part of all of us, still requires some
corresponding venerableness of character to justify its claims. The old age of
Anna is doubly venerable because it crowns a life of devotion. All these
eighty-four years of her widowhood she had spent in the temple; not indeed
actually making it her abode, for that would never have been permitted to a
woman, but still spending all possible time there — going up to it night and
day. We cannot quite compare her with those vestal virgins of her own time who
watched in the temple of Jupiter at Rome, or with the Christian women of later
ages who devoted themselves to the religious life in convents; for Anna had been
married.

She had taken a matron’s share in the duties of life, though but for a few years
in a far-off past that must have seemed to her in these later days like a dream
of another world. It was her widowhood that drove her to this life of devotion
in the temple. The early loss of her husband was as the taking of the light of
her eyes from her, so that thenceforth / the fair world had no longer any charm.
Spring might \ bloom; but it was not for her whose winter had come upon her in
the May time of her life. And autumn might ripen its fruits; but the joys of the
vintage festivals wex-e not for one whose home had been made desolate for ever.
Other Jewish women, widowed young, married again. Such was not Anna’s way. For
her the world had no more promise.

— Sorrow had claimed her as his bride. And yet she did not sink in despair. She
did not die of grief. Few meet that fate, though many have sought it. The reason
for this is not, as cynical persons tell us, that sorrow is more easily
forgotten than mourners imagine; it is rather that there is more capacity for
enduring pain in human nature than any can believe until they have been put to
the test. But Anna found a great^antidote to sorrow in the surrender of her life
to prayer; and’ in prayer she found health and peace. Through the long years of
her widowhood — themselves constituting more than an average lifetime — she
spent her whole time in prayers and fastings and vigils, till custom became
second nature to her, and her life absolutely without change, quite abnormally
uneventful, flowed on like a calm river slowly winding among green meadows,
every new turn a repetition of its predecessors, the memory of the cataract near
its source receding further and further into the distant past.

Stirring events happened in the world outside during the course of these many
years of Anna’s vigils in the temple.

There was terrible war between the Asmonean brothers, Aristobulus and Hircanus,
bringing a flood of misery over the land; and through all this eventful time
Anna watched and prayed in the temple. The Roman legions came and camped on the
hills round Jerusalem, and Pompey their general actually violated the sanctity
of the holy place, penetrating into the innermost part of the temple; still she
watched and prayed. Herod attained to the throne and his course was marked with
war and murder and hateful crime; but Anna was still faithful to her post
through all these days of blood and misery. She had spent half a lifetime in the
temple when he began his wicked reign; and now that his long rule was over, its
lurid hoiTOrs at length come to an end, Anna was still there, surviving all.

One who could thus live through such scenes of change, without allowing any
change to enter into her habits, would seem to be no longer a denizen of our
noisy, restless world.

Already, before its time, her life appears to have attained to some foretaste of
the peace of that other world into which most can only enter through the dark
gateway of death. To some it may seem that this is by no means the ideal life.
In our day the old controversy on the rival merits of the contemplative and the
active life has been decisively settled in favour of the latter. The modern
English saint is not Anna in the temple; she is the deaconess on her round of
visits, the capable parish nurse, or the lady member of the Board of Guardians.
It may be asserted that Anna was to blame for entirely devoting her life to
worship in a w^orld where there are always so many calls for serving God by
work; but we do not know enough of her and her circumstances to be able to pass
any judgment with regard to this matter. And even if it should be granted that
she was too much of a quietist in those early days when she might be supposed to
be strong and active, this could not be said of her in the later time when we
first make her acquaintance, for then she is of an age at which all would allow
her to be exonerated from any further responsibility for the work of life. This
is a privilege of age, one in which the peculiar peace that of rigiit seems to
belong to it resides. To be free to stand aside and see the busy rush of life as
it sweeps past, no longer responsible for anything in it, must bring relief from
the strain and a rare sense of calmness. Such was Anna’s privilege now by right
of her years. But the strange thing is that she did not avail herself of it, for
she was keenly interested in a now event. Moreover, when she might well have
rested entirely in her home she still kept up her long-continued habit,
ascending the steps to the temple every day and spending all her time in worship
in the sacred courts on into the night. That does not look like indolence. On
the contrary, in one so very aged it indicates remarkable activity and energy.

Then is it possible to believe that she who displayed so much spirit in extreme
old age had spent a life of indolence? The fact is, a life of devotion, if it is
real and sincere, must be one of excepti onal energ y. There is nothing so
exhausting as true prayer, especially if it be prayer of intercession for
others. Such a profoundly spiritual act calls for strenuous effort in
abstracting the thoughts from passing events, suppressing the rising fancies
that perpetually invade the sanctuary of the mind, sympathising with the wants
and troubles of the people whose cases are to be brought before God, above all
realising His presence and trusting everything to Him with complete siirrender,
and yet with a full, intelligent appreciation of what is involved in so doing.
Few of us can spend much time in such pi-ayer as that; a life so occupied must
be one of continuous spiritual exertion. Of course much apparent devotion may be
free from any such exertion, may even be quite idle. People who are acquainted
with monasticism from the inside tell us that the dull, unspiritual, vegetative
existence that is satisfied with a round of formal devotions is only too common
among monks, so that the cloister does not minister so much to real devotion as
the spectator from the outside might suppose. But the few verses that are all
the sources we possess for any information about Anna are enough to show that
she had not fallen into this miserable condition of soulless worship. She may
have watched with interest the elaborate ceremonial of the temple-worship — the
smoking sacrifices, the priests swinging their censers, the choirs of Levites
clianting the liturgy or reciting the psalms of the Sweet Singer of Israel. But
the language of our evangelist rather implies that her chief occupation was with
her private prayers, for which the ample space and the quiet seclusion of the
temple precincts, its courts and its porticoes, afforded her the best
opportunities. This was the use of the temple which Jesus defended when as He
drove out the traffickers He reminded the people of the ancient prophecy, “ My
house shall be called a house of prayer.”

There are people to whom the church is just a religious theatre, its services
sought after and indulged in for the stimulus they supply to a certain kind of
delicious emotion; people who luxuriate in ritual or revel in sermons; people to
whom mission services are fascinating luxuries, resorted to only for the
excitement they produce, in some cases positively dangerous luxuries that really
act as intoxicants, and must be taken in constantly increasing doses to satisfy
the morbid craving too much indulgence in them has created. The unwholesome
excitement which the Roman lady sought in the gladiatorial show, the religious
devotee, if she is “evangelical,” looks for in the revival meeting; if “
ritualistic,” in the ceremonial which can never be “ high “ enough to satisfy
her. All this is as far from the strenuous intercessions of an Anna supplicating
God on bebalf of her people, as dram-drinking from mountain climbing. When we
take a right view of Anna’s prayers we are compelled to renounce the idea that
she was neglecting her duty. Was it nothing to her people that this holy woman
was pleading with God to send them redemption — for her action in the scene,
where for a moment she appears in the gospel story, suggests that this was the
great object of her assiduous prayers? If God hears and answers prayer, could
such prayer as Anna’s remain without fruit? Is it too much to suggest that
Gabriel’s visit to Mary was God’s response to Anna’s prayer? She had been
praying for more than an average lifetime when this happened, and Jesus was born
at “ the fulness of the time.” Can we think of anything more suited to bring the
time of preparation to ripeness than such persistent prayer as this of Anna’s —
nearly a centui-y of prayer — still persevering, though all the time the earth
was as iron and the heavens were as brass, and not so much as a cloud as small
as a man’s hand was to be seen presaging the coming flood of blessing? Such
prayer of faith could not count for nothing with the great Watcher of souls. But
if the coming of the Christ was in any way the answer to Anna’s prayer, who
shall say that she spent all her days in the temple for nothing 1 Besides, with
his love for pedigrees, St. Luke is careful to tell us that Anna was of the
tribe of Asher, a curious fact to have preserved, for this was one of the l ost
ten tr ibes. Probably her prayers were specially devoted to the rescue of the
most hopelessly lost sheep of the House of Israel. Then, herself of Northern
extraction, perhaps sprung from a family that had remained in the land through
all the changes of its history, she would be especially ready to welcome the
news that the Christ had come in a family of Galilee.

Moreover, Anna was a prophetess. Her prayers had opened her eyes to things the
prayerless never see; and her long vigils in close communion with the other
world had made her eloquent. At a time of life when people would look for
nothing better than the garrulity of age, she had realised more than the ideal
Milton cherished when he wrote in II Penseroso of meditating, "Till old
experience doth attain To something like prophetic strain, “

It is not said that, like Simeon, Anna had received any revelation for herself
concerning the coming of the expected Christ. But doubtless the old saint had
communicated his message to his aged companion in devotion, and she had received
it in faith, so that it became the theme of her prophesying. This brings us to
another most remarkable trait in the character of Anna. She lived in hope. Aged
as she was she still cultivated the healthy habit of looking to the future. “
Hope deferred “ had not made her “ heart sick.” In spite of all the miseries of
the times through which she had lived, and notwithstanding the long delay of
God’s answer to her prayer, she was one who clung to the noble faith that “ The
best is yet to be.”

Such an attitude of mind transforms the whole character of old age. In his
famous picture of all the world as a stage, the melancholy Jaques so describes
the concluding scenes as to rob them of all dignity and leave nothing but a
spectacle of unmitigated wretchedness, actually devoting two of the seven ages
of man to decrepitude and decay, the sixth giving us “ the lean and slipper’d
pantaloon,” while the “ Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful
history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion.”

We must not forget that Shakespeare expresses this melancholy view of life
through the lips of a youth who poses artificially as a sentimental pessimist.
And yet it is not far from the conventional ideas accepted in former times. A
purely worldly conception can scarcely be much brighter, for there is no denying
that age is a time of increasing infirmity, the prospect of which can scarcely
be in itself very cheerful. Paganism has little with which to relieve the
deepening gloom of this descent into the valley. The pathos of Cicero’s eloquent
work, De Senedute, lies in the fact that while the writer tries to suggest what
consolations he can find, the total impression he leaves on the mind of the
reader is not reassuring. Even in the Old Testament Scriptures, although long
life is thei-e reckoned a sign of God’s favour, and almost the greatest of
blessings, the condition of the aged man is painted in gloomy colours; a
Psalmist exclaims —“ The days of our years are threescore years and ten. Or even
by reason of strength fourscore years; Yet is their pride but labour and sorrow;
For it is soon gone, and we fly away; “ and the “ Preacher “ describes the
miserable time when “ the grasshopper shall be a burden.” - But now when we come
to old age such as that of Simeon cherishing his revelation that he was not to
die till he had seen the Lord’s Christ, and Anna, who was old already while men
and women now reckoned of good age were still in the prime of life, also buoyed
up with hope, we find ourselves in an entirely different atmosphere. The
melancholy of age has vanished, giving place to a cheerful serenity.

We are none of us older than our hearts. However great the number of years by
which the duration of a life is reckoned, and even however real its increase of
bodily infirmities may be, wherever the heart is young and hopeful, old age is
really unknown. This is the essential difference between youth and age; youth
looks forward, age backward. It has been said that when a man in going up hill
stops every few yards to look back, that is a sure sign that he is already old.
He who lives in the past is old, though his hair may not have turned grey. On
the other hand, a wrinkled countenance, a stooping back, a shuffling gait, will
not prove age if the life within is young, with interest in the future; nor will
dates and figures settle the question. Bodies must needs fail with time and be
laid aside like worn-out garments. But men and women are more than the clothes
they put on in the morning of life to put off in the evening. Souls are not
limited by the chronological boundaries that circumscribe the existence of
bodies. As, alas, we may find souls blind and deaf, decrepit and quite worn out,
in bodies that can be reckoned still young, so we may find youthful souls in old
bodies — young tenants in old houses. Now there is nothing that keeps the life
in a man so fresh as the happy faculty of taking a keen interest in the present
concerns of the world, unless it be the rarer faculty of anticipating the
future, looking forward to it and believing in it, “ forgetting those things
that are behind, and stretching forward to the things which are before.”

There is another aspect of this relation between age and hope. Anna’s attitude
of mind towards the future may in some way account for the extraordinary length
of her life. When hope vanishes out of a life the spring of energy disappears,
and it forthwith droops and fades. It is difficult to imagine that such a
dreary, listless existence could be protracted a long way beyond the normal
limits. Sorrow came to Anna early; and the subsequent course of her life may
suggest that it never really left her. But sorrow had not brought despair. She
did not abandon hope; she transferred it to other and larger objects than those
which had come within the limits of her happier youthful experience. With no
more room for hope concerning her own personal enjoyment she lived for the
greater part of her days in the pursuit of a grand hope for her people in the
redemption that God was about to bring about, thus “ Ever by a mighty hope,
Pressing on and bearing up.” This vivifying influence of hope in Anna, defying
and keeping back the natural oncoming of age and decay, was supported by another
quickening influence. The way in which Anna spent her years was in itself a
source of vigour. It was prophesied of old that, “ Even the youths shall faint
and be~weary, and the young men shall utterly fall; but they that wait upon the
Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they
shall run, and not be weary; they shall walk, and not faint. “^ Did ever any put
this promise to the test as Anna was now doing — for the space of eighty-four
years assiduously waiting on the Lord 1 If there was truth in the ancient
oracle, assuredly one who lived as she was living must have discovered it. And
here is the sequel. Her strength was renewed beyond all ordinary e::perience.
Spending her days close to the very fountain of Divine life, even her natural
life was gifted with a most wonderful vigour. Perhaps this must not be pressed
too far. Unhappily there is to be seen in the world that most odious of
spectacles, godless old age, going down to the grave weighted with years but not
with honours; and on the other hand there are many youthful saints among the
blessed dead. We are all subject to physical limits which the spirit cannot
transcend. Nevertheless it remains true that within these limits the spiritual
has power over the material. No doubt the prophecy refers chiefly to spiritual
strength; but for all that may be urged to the contrary, it still remains
reasonable to conclude that such a life as that of Anna’s, passed in constant
communion with God, reached deep wells of energy unknown to those who live only
on the surface and for the moment. Thus she realised the promise to her
ancestor. It was to Asher the Patriarch gave the blessing, “ As thy days, so
shall thy strength be.”

Such then was the aged Anna as she appeared for a moment in the course of the
gospel story. This was when Joseph and Mary had brought up the infant Jesus to
present Him in the temple. Simeon first saw the child and took Him in his arms,
blessing God that the promise of the revelation he had cherished in his bosom
was at length fulfilled. Now he is ready for his Nunc dimittis.

What more is there for him to live fori No redemption is yet effected. The
Redeemer is but a helpless babe in His mother’s arms. Any work that He might
accomplish must still wait for years. But it is enough for the old man’s faith
that the Christ is born. The rest will follow. At that moment Anna comes in to
her daily prayer.

There is nothing to indicate that she expects this visit to differ in any
material respects from any other of her visits to the house of prayer, now
amounting to more than thirty thousand. One of the fatal consequences of
long-continued custom is that it comes to regard itself as a sort of fate which
must go on for ever as it has been from time immemorial. Anna’s remarkable
spirit of hopefulness saved her from sinking into this lethargy of habit.

Still it is not to be supposed that she had any exceptional expectation when yet
once again her aged feet mounted the temple steps and trod the pavement of the
sacred enclosure. So much the greater must have been her joy in discovering that
at last her long cherished, undying hope was to be realised.

Now we may naturally ask. How was it that these two old people at once
recognised the child Jesus as the Christ of prophecy? The fanciful legends that
encircle His infancy with startling wonders must be dismissed as the fruits of
superstitious imagination. There was no golden nimbus about His bead to
distinguish Him from other infants, whom other mothers before Mary had brought
up to present at the temple. What hosts of these Anna must have seen, generation
after generation, till the daughters and the granddaughters and the
great-granddaughters of those who had been brought in her earlier days came up
with their children for a like recognition of God’s claim upon them! In all
these troops of infants, thousands upon thousands of them, no Christ had been
discovered. Why then should the northern peasant’s child be at once accepted as
the expected One? To every mother her own child has its unique charm; but Anna
was too old to be deceived by any fond illusion a young woman might entertain on
that account. It is not likely that even her vast experience, gathered from so
many years’ observation of the mothers who came from to time to present their
babes in the temple, would enable her to discern anything in the external
semblance of Mary’s child. Possibly Mary told both Simeon and Anna about the
mysteries that accompanied His birth. Sacred as those mysteries were, and
usually hidden in her breast only to be pondered by the awed mother in the
secret of her own thoughts, she might see in these two aged souls, that scarcely
seemed to belong to this world, fit confidants for her great. secret. And yet it
is scarcely likely. And even if she did tell them everything, there is still the
question to be asked —How was it that they believed her at once?

Perhaps we should rather conclude that to both of these watchers in the temple,
or it may be to Simeon alone, to whom a revelation had been given previously,
there came an inward assurance, not to be denied, that here was the fulfilment
of the glorious promise. That is the more likely since St. Luke expressly states
that Simeon “ came in the spirit into the temple.” Thus he was prepared to see
what a man who was not in his inspired mood would have failed to discern. Then
Anna was a prophetess; but still she may have gained her assurance from her
fellow- worshipper, for it is lemarkable tha,t in both cases the specific Divine
privilege is referred to Simeon. He it was to whom the promise was made; and now
he it is who is “ in the spirit,” and thus, perhaps, is enabled to recognise the
infant Christ. Neither of these things is affirmed of Anna.

He is the seer; to him comes the revelation. Her part is prayer and giving
thanks. If then she was equally assured and steadfast, hers we must allow was
the greater faith, and therefore the greater blessedness Jesus promised to “
them that have not seen and yet have believed.”

However the assurance had been attained, and with regard to this matter we are
left entirely to conjecture, the interesting fact remains, that both Simeon and
Anna did receive the infant Jesus as the promised Christ. Here then is the
answer to Anna’s prayers. Her first impulse is to give thanks. Like Simeon, she
is satisfied, though as yet no visible steps have been taken for the redemption
of Israel. The Redeemer has come; then the rest must follow. Contrary to his
custom on other occasions, St. Luke has not given us a hymn expressive of Anna’s
praises. Did she raise her aged voice in song in the sacred courts of the
temple? However that may have been, we may be well assured it was no meagre
half-hearted expression of praise to God that burst from her lips. In proportion
to the long perseverance of her prayers, continued without intermission from
youth to extreme old age, must have been the glad outburst of her gratitude when
she perceived at this late end of her life that God had heard and answered them.

Anna did not keep this great discovery to herself. She went about spreading the
news, though within a limited circle. No idle gossip, we may be sure, or she
would not spend her life as she was doing in the seclusion of devotion, Anna
would be listened to with attention. As a prophetess she must be believed to
have had the gift of speech in an exceptional degree. It seems not at all
improbable that her devotions had been varied by the exercise of prophecy in the
teaching and encouraging of her fellow-worshippers. The people to whom Anna
conveyed this glad news are significantly described by St. Luke as those “that
were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.” Among such no doubt both Anna and
Simeon should be classed. This was a group of devout souls united in their
common hope of the Divine deliverance of their city. There is something more in
their hope than the vague Messianic expectation which was in the minds of many
at this time. Even that was ignored by the worldly Sadducees, as well as by the
multitude of careless folk who always constitute so large a portion of society.
But some were devoting themselves to their national hope with eager interest.
The literature of this time, which has been recently brought to light, supplies
striking testimony to the fact. The Apocalypse of Barjich — the Book of Enoch —
the Boole of the Secrets of Enoch — as well as the Psalms of Solomon, a century
or more earlier — these works are all of them alive with the great hope.
Possibly Anna and her friends were students of this literature. And yet it would
be a mistake to suppose they were wholly its disciples, for a deeper note is
sounded in our story than we often hear in the apocalyptic utterances. Those
works indulge too freely in materialistic pictures of the grand future of the
Jews. The devout Anna and others who sympathised with her, would surely have
read a more profound and spiritual meaning into the word “ Redemption,” and it
is likely their thoughts were fed more satisfactorily from the great teachings
of the Prophets. Thus they were the continuation of the ancient “remnant,”
perpetuating the faith of the Patriarchs, the devotion of the Psalmists, the
lofty spiritual thoughts of the Prophets — a living link between what was best
in the old covenant and the new — the early seed-bed for converts to the Gospel
— the first-fruits of the Kingdom of Heaven.


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  CHAPTER 45: 3.07.     THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA — THIRST
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CHAPTER VII The Woman of Samaria — Thirst

TT was the sultry noon of the Syrian day. The descent from the heights of
Ephraim into the vale of Shechem was like entering an oven. The sun, now nearly
overhead, allowed of no shadow from hill or rock, while it poured out the rays
of an intolerable heat on the parched and baking ground. This was scarcely a
time when people who considered their personal convenience would choose to be
abroad in such a place. It would have been much more pleasant to take a siesta
in a darkened chamber of one of the white houses that gleamed so brightly up
against the slope of Mount Ebal on the farther side of the valley, or, if in
hope of catching an afternoon breeze a little later, beneath the green shade of
its vinoclad verandah. Yet the solitary traveller seated himself out in the open
on the stone slab of the famous well, bearing the name of the patriarch Jacob,
in token of its traditional origin. His friends had left Him while they crossed
the valley to the town of Sychar to buy food. He was too tired to accompany
them; besides, that was needless, as they were to return for the mid-day meal by
the well. So He sat there, waiting for them, just as He was, with no opportunity
of bathing His feet or changing His clothing, after the manner of travellers in
a hot country when they arrive at their destination.

He was thirsty, and He watched for the chance of some one coming to draw water,
that he might ask her for some.

It was not a very likely chance, for women choose the cool hours of morning or
evening for their daily task; and then, as there were springs close to the town,
it was hardly to be expected that anybody would pass them in order to obtain
water from the more remote well, out in the middle of the valley. It was
therefore a little surprising to see a woman coming down the deserted road, her
pitcher on her head, evidently making for the well. Was it that she was
dissatisfied with the nearer springs, and fancied that what she could get from
this deeper source was cooler and sweeter? Her words a little later imply that
she had a high opinion of the well, for she resented the suggestion that any
other water could be better than what she was accustomed to fetch thence. Or was
it that, with her shady reputation, she shrank from meeting her neighbours at
the fountains they frequented, such an occasion corresponding in the East to the
afternoon-tea among English ladies, as a centre of social gossip. For the same
sad reason she may have deliberately avoided the hours at which other women
would be in the streets, choosing the time when they were most deserted to creep
out unobserved.

It somewhat startled her to see a man seated alone by the well, where at this
time of the day at all events she might expect to be left to herself. She was
more startled when He addressed her, begging the favour of a drink of water, for
His dress showed Him to be a Jew. Now Jews would not object to buy and sell with
Samaritans; they would trade with anybody to their own profit. At this very time
the disciples had gone into the town to purchase provisions from the
inhabitants, who, of course, were Samaritans. Shylock says, “ I will buy with
you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following, but I will
not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you.” The “ dealings “ which the
Jews refused to have with the Samaritans were rather those that indicated
friendly intercoui’se. It would offend their pride to ask the smallest favour of
these despised people. We may be amazed at the power of a prejudice that would
restrain a thirsty man from asking for a drop of water from a member of a race
that his people had tabooed. But unhappily hatred will make people deny
themselves almost as much as love; and when it is not personal, when it is
racial, it can disguise its ugly features, by claiming the sacrifice as a duty,
to deny which is mean and selfish. The tables are now turned, and the Jews are
subject to a similar treatment in many parts of Christendom, the hidejihetz
being cultivated as a sort of religion.

Thus the simple request that Jesus made to this woman was at once a revelation
of His freedom from the narrow prejudices of His people. With people of an
independent turn of mind the request for a favour sometimes meets with a more
gracious reception than the offer of one. By asking her for some water, simple
as His want was, Jesus threw Himself on this Samaritan woman’s kindness. It is
likely she would have received some proposal for her own benefit with some
suspicion. But now the humble approach of the Stranger disarms hers, and she is
a little prepared for further communications. His next remark was one of
profound significance, plunging at once into the heart of the most vital
questions.

Yet it was enigmatic, and though apparently it rose out of the immediate
situation of the two at the well, and did not strike the woman as irrelevant, it
was not easy for her to see the drift of it. He was telling her about some gift
of God; how if only she knew it she would come to Him for it; for then the
circumstances would be reversed, and she would ask Him for drink. What could He
be talking about? Jesus could not mean that He would give her water from- this
well, in an act of courtesy like that of Moses when he assisted the daughters of
Jethro in watering their flocks; for the well was deep — it has been ascertained
that it Avent down at least seventy feet, and it needed a long rope. The grooves
in the slab at the top worn by the ropes by which the water-pots were drawn up
may be seen in the present day. Jesus had no rope, and no bucket. How then could
He give her water? Besides He had mentioned “living water,” a phrase which
commonly stood for a spring, or a flowing stream, in distinction from the
stagnant water of a tank. Now it is a curious fact, ascertained by the Palestine
Exploration Fund, that Jacob’s well, which can now be identified without the
least doubt, does not tap any spring, and therefore must be regarded as only a
very deep tank, a receptacle for surface water from rains and floods. This is
even suggested by its local name among the Samaritans, Beer Jacub — not Ain,
which means a well of spring water, but Beer, which stands for a tank to hold
rain-water. Thus the words of Jesus would seem on the surface of them to be a
reflection on the well and indirectly on the patriarch who was credited with
having dug it. And this His hearer resented — faithful to her ancestor if not to
her husband.

It is not at all fair to complain of the foolishness of the woman in taking the
words of Jesus literally. We know Him and His manner of speech, and we read this
narrative in the gospel of St. John, where many more of His figurative
utterances are recorded. But to this woman from Sychar He was just a stranger, a
Jew travelling through the country, who was asking her for water. It is likely
enough that anybody similarly situated would make the same mistake. How rare is
it to meet with a person so constantly in communion with the spiritual world
that his conversation naturally turns that way without the slightest effort! For
most people it requires a complete wrench of the mind when immersed in the
affairs of everyday life to suddenly turn their thoughts to the unseen and
eternal. Most of us under the same circumstances would have taken the words of
Jesus as literally as this woman took them.

Still the words of Jesus had not been wholly thrown away on the Samaritan woman.
They had roused her curiosity, and that was decidedly a point gained. The
greatest barrier to the entrance of spiritual truth is sheer indifference. Like
the earthworks that resist the bombardment of heavy artillery more effectually
than granite walls, indifference buries and smothers the attack of ideas which
would be strong enough to break through a very firm opposition. The wonder of
this woman is now roused as to who the Stranger might be. There is just a little
touch of scorn in her language as she asks Him whether He is greater than her
father Jacob. Here she was back at the common ancestry of Jew and Samaritan,
with a passing reminder that her people too had a claim on the patriarch in whom
the Jews, with the narrowness of their pride, claimed exclusive ownership.
Indeed, in this vale of Shechem the Samaritans seem to have had a prior claim.

Living on the very spot where Jacob had dwelt, they were the descendants to whom
he had left that local inheritance, as she takes care to suggest to the Jew
stranger, by speaking of “ our father Jacob which gave us the well.” But while
there is this tone of contempt in the woman’s question, there is a louder note
of surprise. He can be no ordinary man who speaks thus. His pretensions are
preposterous, and yet in their very extravagance they excite a keen curiosity in
the listener. This is a first step, the dawn of a new interest in one whose life
had been a monotonous succession of disappointments. Although as yet we have had
no opportunity of seeing any distance into the woman’s character, her answer
prepares us to discover as the conversation proceeds that we have here brought
before us the picture of a quick and vivacious mind. At the next stage, however,
we meet with disappointment. Jesus proceeds to explain His words about the
living water which He is prepared to give the woman if only she will ask Him for
it. His water is quite different from that she is drawing up from the well,
because it gives permanent satisfaction; and besides it is not to be found in
any external well — it is in a well witbin; and in springing up it issues in
eternal life. Words such as these carry us far beneath the surface of life into
profound mysteries, where truths of infinite value are contained, like precious
gems in deep mines. Even if they were not at all comprehended, it would be
impossible to listen to them attentively without perceiving that their drift was
away from material things, that a literal interpretation of them was quite out
of the question. How then could the woman be so obtuse as to ask for this water
that she might be saved the trouble of coming out all the way to Jacob’s well to
draw? It has been pointed out that St. John is continually showing up the
density of Christ’s hearers and the perverse literalism of their interpretation
of His most spiritual utterances. In the fourth gospel the people generally
misunderstand Jesus and take His words in a lower sense than He intends.
Nicodemus, for example, persists in applying His teaching about the new birth to
natural birth. But if even “ the Teacher of Israel “ could prove himself so dull
and incapable of perceiving the spiritual meaning of the words of Jesus, we must
not be hard on this Samaritan woman when we find her making a similar mistake.
Still, though her stupidity may be not unpardonable, there was that in her reply
that we cannot entirely excuse. The tone of it reveals petulance or flippancy. A
well within indeed! By all means she will have this if the Stranger can give her
such a boon; for it is a very tiresome thing to have to toil out there in the
plain for eveiy drop of water. But surely it is nonsense to suppose anything of
the kind to be possible. We do not live in fairy-land. The good genii are not so
accommodating as to offer their services in these dull days. We find ourselves
in a very prosaic world — especially when by our own gross conduct we have
robbed it of all its poetry. But this petulance, or this flippancy, is only on
the surface. Even when giving vent to it with the jauntiest air, the woman
cannot entirely conceal her deeper feelings. A superficial pretence at frivolity
is often only the flimsy veil people draw over restless emotions of a more
serious nature. Jesus had promised a water that would effectually quench thirst.
His hearer chose to take the offer quite literally; perhaps she did not at first
detect the least gleam of any deeper meaning in it. Still the very mention of
the word “thirst” was arresting. There is a certain awakening in the opening
words of the woman’s reply —“Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not;” though
it is disappointing to see how she falls off in the concluding phrase about
being saved the trouble of coming to Jacob’s well. Perhaps that is just a bit of
her provoking perverseness. She will not let it be seen that her heart is at all
moved, though in spite of herself the respectful title she now uses for the
first time is almost a hint that some impi’cssion is made. If only we could
forget that unfortunate touch of flippancy at the end, we should certainly infer
that some serious desire was aroused in this poor blighted soul. When we take
the sentence in its entirety the effect is rather bewildering. What does the
woman really mean 1 Most likely she scarcely knows herself. Her language is in
confusion, because her thought is confused.

Still though her words are hasty and unreasonable, and therefore not to be
pressed very far, the mood they reveal in her begins to open our eyes. The
language of Jesus does so more effectually. If she did not know what she was
saying, or how to take His remarks, He was quite clear in His purpose, and the
offer He made her showed His perception of her real need. With that keen vision
of His, penetrating all disguises and reading the deepest secrets of the heart,
Jesus at once detected the sad unrest that was troubling the woman in spite of
her flighty manners. Those foolish manners were but further proofs, if such were
needed, that the soul within was not at peace. Her life, so wild and wayward, so
scandalously lawless, so recklessly defiant of all social restraints, was not to
be treated as the absolutely abandoned career of one who loved sin and
deliberately chose it for its own sake. All this disgraceful conduct, bad as it
was in the sight of God and man, must be regarded as the despairing refuge of a
weary, disappointed soul. So at first Jesus said no word about her sin; He went
straight for what jay behind Jt, the trouble of a soul that had not found its
rest.

It was not easy for the woman to comprehend Christ’s meaning. He had brought a
key to unlock a chamber that had long been closed and sealed, and was now almost
forgotten. He was beginning to sound a chord that had been silent to her for
years. As she listened, strange dim memories began to stir in hidden depths of
her being where they had lain for many a long day unheeded. She could not deny
that her soul was athirst; thougli this was the very truth she would never admit
to herself while she was hurrying on from one excitement to another, never
satisfied, never at peace, but never pausing to think. How dared she think? If
one bade her do so she might well reply, “ That way madness lies.” She was one
of those feverish souls who drown thought in excitement. But for this excitement
she must have continuous change. A monotonous life, even though it started in a
way that was to her mind, would soon pall and grow stale and unbearable.
Novelties, new excitements, fresh adventures, these unwholesome experiences had
become the very necessities of her being. She was like the victim of
intoxication, who cannot endure the flat intervals when the cup is laid aside,
and must be taking stronger and yet stronger doses of the poison that is eating
his life away, simply as he thinks to keep himself alive. Morality is scorned,
respectability flung to the winds, common decency trampled in the mire, and the
soul hui’led down into folly and vice, from no original love of evil for its own
sake, and not at all because it is thought to be desirable to abandon one’s self
freely to a scandalous course of sin. The explanation is that having gone wrong
once, and not possessing strength and courage to turn round and begin again a
better life in the humility of contrition, the soiled soul now sees no
alternative but to plunge deeper and deeper in the dark gulf of iniquity, with
the vain hope that since conscience can never be pacified, it may be drowned.
This is the secret of many a headlong career of wickedness. The voice of
conscience is unendurable; therefore the troublesome mentor must be stifled,
must be murdered. But conscience dies hard. It is not at all easy to commit the
unpardonable sin. The Divine in the soul may be reduced to a mere spark and yet
it will not be quickly quenched. There is so much of the image of God in all of
us that the descent to the purely brutal or the absolutely diabolical is further
than we imagine. Herein lies the hope for the redemption of the most abandoned.

Now, it is at once a sign of our Lord’s tact in dealing with souls, and an
indication of the great kindness of His heart, that He did not approach this
woman through her guilt, that He approached her through her need; for He had
come not to condemn, but to save.

Then the awakening of need is followed by the awakening of conscience. Jesus
makes a very simple suggestion. Will she go and fetch her husband? It is like a
rapierthrust piercing her to the quick. There is a man who passes as her
husband. It would be very easy to call him.

What would the Stranger know? But she cannot do it.

Half an hour ago this would have been the simplest thing in the world. It would
have seemed quite comic to pose as a highly respectable matron before this grave
Stranger. But not now. Already this woman is coming to a new way of looking at
things. In spite of all her efforts at suppression conscience is awake. She dare
not dissemble. All her old effrontery quails before the penetrating gaze of the
Stranger. There is no holding on to a lie before those clear calm eyes. “I have
no husband,” she falters. It is a simple enough statement. But it is not spoken
in virginal innocency. The colour rushes to her cheeks, her eyes drop to the
ground, she turns away her face, her voice is low and hesitating. Innocent
words, but stained crimson with the tones of guilt. The very plain words with
which Jesus meets this honest avowal tear the last rag of pretence from off her
character.

She has had five husbands; then he whom she now has cannot be a husband. It was
a terrible exposure — the ugly story of her life spread out before her as with a
sudden flash of light. Five! Hideous arithmetic! She had scarcely paused to work
the sum. But it was correct, she knew. And the revelation had come to her from
the lips of this strange Jew. How had He discovered her secret? Or if it were no
secret in her town, stUl how could He, a mere passing visitor, know it so
exactly?

Attempts have been made to explain away these words of Jesus on the suggestion
that they are allegorical, and refer to five religions successively adopted by
the Samaritans.

Such fantastic devices of hypercriticism only declare the absolute blindness of
their too ingenious inventors to the intense realism of the narrative. There is
no story in the Bible that speaks for its own veracity by every feature of it
with more certainty than St. John’s account of the woman of Samaria. If this is
not history we have no history in the New Testament. Appalling as is the
dissoluteness of morals that is here made manifest, it is not beyond what we are
forced to believe even of provincial life in the corrupt Roman Empire of the
first century.

Historians concur with satirists in describing the ominous slackening of the
marriage tie and the everyday occurrence of divorce at Home. The mordant pen of
Tacitus and the lashing wit of Juvenal bear out Seneca’s grave statement that
there Were “ women who reckoned the years by the number of their husbands.” No
doubt things were at their worst nearest to the court; but the poison was
spreading through the provinces. The New Testament is not without evidence of
the existence of this fatal solvent of society among the Jews. Jesus severely
rebuked the rabbis for their oflBcial recognition of the now common freedom of
divorce. But if such was the case in the land of Israel, is it at all surprising
that the same breakdown of the first principles of orderly morality should be
found among the laxer people of Samaria

Nevertheless, possible as such conduct as that of the woman of Samaria was in
these corrupt times, we may I’easonably suppose that for a dweller in a remote
country town, far away from the dissolute fashionable world, to behave in this
manner was exceptionally scandalous. It is therefore the more remarkable that
Jesus not only did not shrink from entering into conversation with her, but
lavished on this one auditor some of the choicest of His utterances. We may be
too fearful of the risk of casting our pearls before swine. It is a fatal defect
for any speaker to despise his hearers. Every audience, however small — though
it consist of but a single person, however low — though it be gathered from the
gutter, since it is human, has a right to the very best that is in a man. That
best may vary in form, and of course it should be adjusted to the listener’s
capacities. But the example of Jesus teaches us that no truth is in itself too
good for pi-esentation to the most unworthy character, if only it can be
effectually presented. Those that have fallen lowest need all the more for that
very fact the lifting power of what is highest. To the Samaritan woman the first
thing of note was the amazing discernment of this Stranger. It might have been
well if, for the moment, she had thought more of what He had said than of the
mere marvel of His being able to say it. Here is her unfortunate inffi’mity. She
can never stay long enough at one point to appreciate it and make the right use
of what it suggests. She is quickwitted in a way, though seemingly so dense in
the perception of metaphor and allusion. She seizes a point in a moment, and for
that moment it interests her; but the next moment a fresh turn in the
conversation carries her right away to some entirely different topic. This
unfortunate habit may be the result of her restless, changeable life. Or shall
we say that the temptation to that unhappy life sprang from her want of fixity
in general 1 She is the type of the inconstant, and her inconstancy is seen in
lesser passages of life as well as in its great movements and their vital
crises.

Such an unhappy habit of mind renders it not at all easy for us to weigh and
measure the character of which it is a trait. It is changeable as a chameleon,
passing from grave to gay with the abruptness of an April day.

You cannot tell when it is serious. The demure sentence may be only a cloak for
some frivolous fancy; but then the light phrase may veil the sudden flash of an
earnest thought. Thus while this woman lives on the graphic page of the
evangelist as though she were with us to-day, we are quite unable to tell how
deeply her soul was moved in her conversation with Jesus by the well. He had
made some impression; of that we may be sure. A startled consciousness of guilt
and a vague soul thirst were roused in her as they had not been roused for
years, but whether only in an impressionable moment to be soon smothered by a
crowd of fresh interests and excitements we have no means of saying. The unhappy
versatility of this woman’s mind is illustrated by the next turn of the
conversation. The sudden revelation of His knowledge of her whole life story by
the unknown Jew startles her greatly, as well it may. For the moment she thiuks
no more of herself, her thirst and her guilt. She perceives that the Speaker is
no ordinary man. He must be a prophet to read secrets in this way.

Then here is her opportunity. He shall settle the longstanding controversy
between Jew and Samaritan as to which is the right hill for the worship of God.
Is it Gerizim? or is it Moriah? The Samaritans had their temple on the one hill,
the Jews theirs on the other. The question would seem to be suitable for the
occasion, for they were met almost under the shadow of the Samaritan sacred hill
— “ this mountain,” says the woman, looking up at it and pointing to its steep
slopes. So stubborn was the controversy to which she thus suddenly refers that
it has been preserved down to our own day, and at the present time the traveller
through Palestine may see the remnant of the Samaritan sect at Nablous still
sacrificing their Pasch.il lamb on this same sacred height. The woman had often
heard of the Jewish heresy; but she was shrewd enough to suspect that the truth
was not necessarily with her people. An emancipated woman as regards social
custom and morals, she was prepared for a little daring freedom in theology, and
quite open to conviction from the new light. Besides, this was a chance of
another new sensation. It would be quite delicious to have a change from the old
humdrum ways of her fathers authorised by a genuine prophet. At all events it
would be something to get that tiresome controversy settled once for aU. In the
case of such an erratic personage, ready to fly off at a tangent after some new
interest every other minute, it is impossible to say how far she might be in
earnest.

Perhaps she did not care a straw for the question, only raising it as a
convenient method of turning the convei’sation which was becoming much too
personal to please her. And yet the great and ever memorable answer of Jesus
suggests that she did honestly seek light on a vexatious difficulty. In that
case we must reckon her one who, though indifferent to practical morals, is
interested in theological orthodoxy, one who, while outraging the first
principles of right conduct, is anxious to be correct in the ritual of religion.
That is a type of character not altogether unknown in Christian times. One would
have thought that Jesus would have been indignant at such an attitude of mind,
in the manner of Isaiah when he denounced the scrupulous observance of New Moons
and Sabbaths and the trampling of the holy courts of the temple by men whose
lives were vile.^ But He chose another method of reply, giving to this woman of
all people the most sublime truth about spiritual worship that has ever been
uttered. He must have seen that there was a hope of rescuing her by the
presentation to her of the very choicest of His teachings. Whether she rose to
her privilege we cannot say. It would seem that His great words went over her
head and only perplexed hei”. With a little shrug of disappointment she resigns
herself to the conclusion that, since her new prophet could not settle the
question, she must wait for the coming of the Christ. To her amazement the
stranger calmly declares that He is the Christ! and she believes Him. Then He
has won her faith in some real way.

It is something in her favour that she immediately ran back to the town, leaving
her pitcher at the well, forgetful of the very errand that had brought her
there, in a characteristic absorption with a new idea. She effected a great work
in bringing her neighbours to Jesus, and it is to her credit that she did not
stay to think the report with which she roused them involved a subject by no
means to her credit. Still we leave her with some misgivings when we see, of all
the wonderful things Jesus has said to her, what most impresses her is still the
marvel of His knowledga It is not “ Come and receive from One who will quench
your thirst with the water of life; “ — not “ Come and listen to One who will
teach you the greatest truth about God and His worship; “ — but just “ Come see
a man which told me all things which ever I did.”

Yet there is the added inference, “Is not this the Christ 1”

She was convinced of that great truth, and she was the means of bringing her
fellow-townspeople to hear Him for themselves. Seldom has the world seen a more
unpromising evangelist, and seldom has it met with a more successful one. Truly
the treasure is in earthen vessels; but the excellency of the power is not of
man but of God. And after all, is not the best that any evangelist can do just
what this woman accomplished so successfully — not to make any great impression
on bis own account, nor to reckon on any weight in his own merits, but simply to
show the way to Christ, from whom alone all truth and life can be received?


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  CHAPTER 46: 3.08.     THE WOMEN WHO MINISTERED TO JESUS
========================================================================

CHAPTER VIII The Women who Ministered to Jesus —

Active Devotion THE freedom enjoyed by women among the Jews, in contrast to the
degradation and miserable servitude that is their lot in most Eastern countries,
evident throughout Bible history, is most conspicuous in the gospel narratives.
This is not only the case with the poor among whom our Lord generally lived —
for whom necessity breaks many of the bands of social restraint. Ladies of
wealth and position are found in the group of His most constant followers, and
it was by means of their gifts that His temporal wants were supplied. No scandal
appears to have been raised on this account as on the ground that Jesus ate and
drank with publicans and sinners; and therefore it is reasonable to conclude
that it was not regarded as unseemly or unusual, and the liberty thus manifested
must be set down to Jewish custom, not to the innovations of Christianity. But
the spirit of the new era introduced by Jesus Christ elevated and enlarged this
custom. Not the least of the blessings of the gospel consists in its bringing
justice to womanhood. In Christ’s action and teaching there is nothing but what
agrees with the social, moral, and religious equality of man and woman. Our
Lord’s relations with the women who attended Him are distinct from His relations
with the men disciples in one very remarkable particular. He ministered to the
men; but the women ministered to Him. In their case Jesus consented to receive
gifts and service. Thus theirs was the higher honour among His followers. The
first instance of the ministry of woman after Jesus had commenced His public
work is of the simplest kind, and it affords a glimpse into the happy relations
in which He lived with humble folk.^ He had been teaching in the synagogue at
Capernaum on a Sabbath day, and there He had healed a demoniac. Then St. Peter
took Him to his own home, where it was discovered that the fisherman’s wife’s
mother, who apparently had been left in charge of the house, had been taken with
a fever, no doubt just such a malarious attack as would be common in the hot,
steaming valley by the shores of Genesaret. No mention is made of the daughter,
St. Peter’s wife. Possibly she had been at the synagogue service. It may be,
however, that she was no longer living. If that should be the case it would not
help the argument for a celibate priesthood in the Christian Church; because we
learn from St. Paul that some years later St. Peter had a wife who was in the
habit of accompanying him on his travels.^ If, therefore, the apostle was a
widower when Jesus went to his house, he must have married a second time later
in his life, a still more glaring offence in the eyes of the Hildebrand school
than that of having retained the wife of his youth. Take it how you will, there
is no escape from the plain inference that rises out of the New Testament
statements and points to the fact that the apostle to whom the Church of Rome
looks up as its head and founder was a married man.

Clement of Alexandria, writing at the end of the second century, says that
Peter’s wife helped him in ministering to women — as the missionary’s wife so
often becomes thus a second missionary. He also states that Peter had children.’

It would seem then that the older woman was an energetic person who actively
concerned herself with her daughter’s household affairs. We may even venture on
the conjecture that anxiety to do her very best for her Guest, and the labour
thus incurred in the heat of the day, helped to bring on the fever. For a woman,
perhaps somewhat advanced in life and readily fatigued, to be working with
unusual assiduity at mid-day in that hot, damp climate, was likely enough to
bring her into a condition especially liable to succumb to the local malaria.

If this were the case how doubly distressed she must have been when laid aside
at such an inopportune moment.

What woman of an active disposition, intent on hospitality, but wovdd have
considered the untimely collapse as most “aggravating”? Thus the circumstances
of her illness would tend to increase the severity of its symptoms. St. Luke,
with the exactness of a physician, tells us that it was a “ great fever “ from
which she was sufiFering,^ perhaps alluding to the technical division of fevers
into two classes, the “ great “ and the “ slight,” which he had learnt from his
text-book, Galen. Apart from any conjectures as to the source of the fever, we
may be sure that such a person as this woman seems to be, on the evidence of her
conduct directly after she was healed, must have been greatly vexed with herself
for falling ill just when she would like to have been at her very best to do
honour to the Prophet to whom her son-in-law had devoted his life.

Like most active people she would probably suppose that nobody else could take
her place. What was to become of the meal she had been preparing? And what would
Peter say? Was it not provoking? And so the poor woman lies and frets herself
into a worse fever. For lie she must.

It is perfectly impossible to fight against one of these fierce attacks of
malaria. The collapse is total. In an hour it flings the strongest person into
the most helpless condition, perhaps into raging delirium. This woman had to
learn the hardest lesson set for the energetic, that “ They also serve who only
stand and wait.” Not even standing, hut helplessly prostrate, she was to be the
means of helping the work of Christ most wonderfully.

It is something to discover that we cannot only follow Christ as His servants,
offering Him the homage of our hearts and the sacrifice of our work. Primarily
He is not the Master; He is the Saviour. Would we be always serving? May not
this mean a little unconscious pride?

We must be brought low into a state of absolute helplessness, where, while we
can do nothing for Christ, we may discover that Christ can do everything for us.
When the family party returned from the synagog\ie they discovered the untoward
event, the illness of the good woman who had been left in charge of the house.
In our oldest account we simply read that they told Jesus of it, apparently with
an apologetic purpose to account for the sufferer’s absence, and to explain the
unfortunate delay it must have occasioned in the preparation of the evening
meal, and from this narrative it would appear that our Lord’s action in healing
the woman was entirely of His own initiative. St. Luke, however, says that they
besought Him to help them in their trouble. That they definitely expected a
miracle thus early in His ministry is not very probable, though the cure of the
demoniac in the synagogue just before may have raised some vague hopes that He
might do something. It is St. Luke again who tells us that Jesus rebuked the
fever as though it were an evil spirit. This is according to that evangelist’s
style. The action of Jesus is narrated more simply in St. Mark’s more primitive
account, as also it is in St. Matthew’s, where we read that Jesus took the woman
by the hand and raised her up. But all accounts are agreed in making it clear
that the fever left her, and that the cure was both immediate and complete. This
is Christ’s first miracle of healing disease. It is very characteristic in its
simple majestyThere is no agony of invocation, no evidence of great strain or
effort, but a consciousness of absolute mnstery, a serene assurance that what is
desired will be accomplished, that is to say, perfect faith on Christ’s side.
Yet we must not suppose that a miracle cost Him nothing. It cost Him much in
sympathy, for we often read of the motive behind one that “He was moved with
compassion.” It also cost Him not a little in the exercise of will power. That
“I will “ of His of which we read on one occasion ^ meant an expenditure of
energy. He was giving Himself in His cures and bearing the infirmities of the
sufferers as His own burden. Some such sacrifice we may believe He made on this
first occasion, at the cure of Peter’s wife’s mother.

He gave Himself, in profound sympathy and the exercise of strong will power, for
the healing of her. And the result was a perfect cure.

Then the evangelists add the interesting touch from which we glean all we really
know about the chai’acter of this woman. She rose and ministered to Jesus and
His friends. This is often commented on as a proof of the completeness of the
cure. And of course it is that. Fever is a peculiarly exhausting condition; and
when it is over it leaves the patient in a state of utter prostration, the
pulse, which had been bounding at a fierce pace, sometimes sinking dangerously
low, the heart being much enfeebled by the strain that has been put upon it. For
a woman just recovered from a severe attack of malarial fever to get up in a
moment and go about her household duties as though nothing had happened was
simply marvellous.

Yery likely this is why the evangelists record the fact.

Nevertheless for us, in our study of its subject, it has also other suggestions.
Some people would have claimed the privileges of the invalid. Convalescence may
be a very pleasant time when everybody is expected to be considerate, and all
sorts of nice little favours may be exacted. Have we not known the sentimental
convalescent, not altogether exempt from selfishness, and perhaps a trifle
hypocritical —for whom it will not do to seem to be getting well too fast?

Such a person may become not a little trying to the patience of friends who were
willing to give the most assiduous nursing quite ungrudgingly in the crisis of
real danger.

Peter’s wife’s mother indulges in no such nonsense. A plain, practical,
matter-of-fact woman, she feels well enough to work. Then why should not she set
to at once without any ado? Hers is the sort of service we may rest assured
Jesus Christ most delights in. She would not dream of attempting to compose a
second Magnificat — a hymn in the praise of her Healer — and yet next to His
mother miffht not she have resrarded herself as the most honoured of all women,
for as yet she was the only woman on whom He had exercised His marvellous powers
of healing? We would not look for poetry from the fisherman’s mother-in-law,
except in so far as her willing service under such circumstances as these is
itself a poem. To do the commonplace thing because it is obviously desirable
that it should be done, and because one is of a simple and honest heart, when
abundant excuses might be found for avoiding it and posing as a person of some
importance, is itself a mark of true nobility of character. Thus there may be
sublimity in the commonplace, while the seizing of any excuse to escape from it
is a sign of pettiness and essential vulgarity of mind.

Then it is to be considered that Peter’s wife’s mother had fresh motives for
serving Christ, which she had not known before her illness. She had received in
her own experience a marvellous revelation of His power. But better than that,
to her at least, was the thought that she had received from Him a mark of
greatest kindness.

She had thought of Him as her Guest before; now He is her Friend, her Helper,
and in some sense, the full meaning of which she will learn later, her Saviour.
Therefore henceforth any service she can render Him will be intelligent with
some knowledge of His worth, and doubly affectionate in gratitude for His
goodness. This is the secret of true Christian service. It is the service of
gratitude. And just in proportion as the grace received from Christ is
recognised will be the warmth of the desire to render some token of devotion to
Him. This is why it is a mistake to insist absolutely on the duty of Christian
service. We can never serve aright until our enthusiasm is kindled by the
supremo motive for service.

Evangelical teaching is no distraction from Christian work; it is its strongest
inspiration. But the converse of all this is equally true. There is nothing but
the most odious ingratitude in seeking the highest favours from Christ, and
forgetting to avail ourselves of any opportunities for rendering service to Him.
In the case of this woman we have the normal process, the typical example, in
its simplest form — deliverance by Christ immediately followed by service to
Christ.

One more point may be noted in regard to the special circumstance of the
incident. St. Peter had just given up his fishing, left his boats and his nets,
to devote himself to the exclusive service of the new Teacher. Now if there was
one person who might very naturally have blamed him for doing so, that person
was his wife’s mother. His wife might have borne it out of love and dutiful
submission, and in a gracious spirit of self-suppression, but for the mother to
see her daughter subjected to the treatment such conduct must involve — was it
not a little trying], Now, if ever, was there an excuse for a mother-in-law to
interfere with a man’s arrangements and show some asperity of protest. What
folly! What madness! Nay, what culpable disregard for family claims! This man
had taken her daughter into his charge; then what right had he to break up his
home on some plea of religious fanaticism 1 In point of fact, it does not appear
that Peter’s wife was brought to want through her husband’s action at this time.
But could her mother foresee a safe way out of the difficulty which apparently
stared the household in the face when the head of it suddenly announced his
intention to give up what had been hitherto their means of livelihood?

If such very natural thoughts had been in her mind, and Jesus had perceived
them, He may have felt the more compassion for her considering that her maternal
anxiety might have helped to bring on the fever. But now that she is cured she
can look at the case in a different light. Having a new ground for faith in the
new Teacher, she is prepared to face the future with a more cheerful
countenance. And here we part company with her. She comes but once on to the
page of history, there to serve a double purpose — first to be the means of
showing forth the goodness and glory of Christ in this quiet homely scene at the
fisherman’s cottage, and then to be the example for all time for the service of
gratitude!

Hers was the simplest ministry, woman’s commonest task; yet since it was just
the work that lay to her hand, it was all that could be expected from her.
Happily this is a form of service in which many can follow her cheerful example.
The fisherman’s hut has vanished; Capernaum is a wilderness; these simple folk
are of the olden time, far back in the past; it is not for us to hear the tread
of the footstep of Jesus on our threshold; He does not appear seated at our
table and breaking bread in our midst. Yet the grateful task of Peter’s wife’s
mother is open to be taken up by any lowly woman to-day, for has not the Master
said, “Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye did
it unto Me?” The other cases in connection with which we read of women
ministering to Jesus are of a different character.

St. Luke tells us that in addition to the Twelve, Jesus was accompanied on His
travels by certain “ women which had been healed of evil spii-its and
infirmities, Mary that was called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone
out, and Joanna the wife of Chuza, Herod’s steward, and Susanna, and many
others, which ministered unto Him of their substance.” ^ Towards the end of his
gospel St. Mark also refers to certain women “ who when He was in Galilee
followed Him, and ministered unto Him,” distinguishing these from others who
were simply disciples — “ the many other women which came up with Him unto
Jerusalem.”

St. Matthew also in the same connection refers to “ many women... which had
followed Jesus from Galilee, ministering unto Him.”^ Taken together, these three
passages imply that Jesus was especially cared for by a number of women, that it
was women who provided for the temporal wants both of Himself and of His
apostles.

Here then we see a considerable number of persons of means contributing to the
common fund out of which the simple wants of Jesus and His disciples were
supplied.

We leam from Jerome that it was customary for Jewish women to contribute to the
support of rabbis.* Our Lord had no fixed place of abode; plainly Ho was feeling
the pain of homelessness when He said to one who was overhasty in oflPering to
follow Him wherever He went, “The foxes have holes and the birds of the heaven
have nests; but the Son of Man hath not where to lay His head.” We know that He
often spent the night out among the mountains. Still there is no reason to think
that He ever sufifered from actual want. He had no sure income; but He who
taught His disciples not to be anxious for the morrow had no such anxiety,
knowing His Father would provide. And yet it is a mark of His humiliation that
His livelihood was obtained in the precarious way of contributions to a common
bag. But He was not above accepting such ofiferings. It was reasonable and right
that they should be made. He gave infinitely more than the wealthiest of His
disciples could ever return to Him.

Jesus made no charge for His cures. His healing was free, and so was His
teaching. Even the thank-offerings of devout disciples were never conceived of
in the sordid spirit of barter. If such had been the case He would not have
taken them. They were just gifts of love, expressions of devotion. At the same
time they had a practical character. They were of a different order from Mary’s
costly ointment. That represented the poetry of devotion; these offerings, its
prose; and devotion must have its prosaic side. It is the disregard of this that
often makes religion an unreal thing of empty sentiment. People must learn to
consider practical necessities even in their most sacred relations with Jesus
Christ.

Moreover, this was in accordance with Jewish custom.

Self-respecting rabbis made no charge to their pupils.

Later, in the Alexandrian School, Clement and Origen would not have any fees for
attendance at their lectures. To make a charge was looked upon as a sign of the
charlatanry of a sophist. And yet, of course, the teacher was provided for — he
trusted himself to freewill offerings. And here we see Jesus dependent on the
same source of income. But now the point of interest before us is that this
support all came from women. We might have supposed a rich disciple, such as
Joseph of Arimathea, would not have reserved his generosity for costly oblations
at the tomb of the Lord whom He secretly believed in. Zacchseus was probably a
wealthy publican; but he only met Jesus a week or so before the end of His life
on earth.

Besides, he may have shrunk from offering Him any of his doubtfully acquired
riches. At all events, the fact remains that we have no recorded instance of any
gift being made to our Lord and His disciples by a man. The travelling community
appears to have been wholly dependent on the sifts of women.

It is not easy to explain this fact. Was it that the claims of Christ were
recognised by women more thoroughly than by men? That is scarcely a position
which can be maintained with any security. The twelve whom Jesus appointed to
carry on His work after His own ministry on earth was over were all men. We
never find women taking a leadiug part in the affairs of the apostolic church as
must have been the case if the claims of Christ had been chiefly admitted by
women, if in fact primitive Chi-istianity had been primarily a woman’s movement.
We cannot imagine any rivalry between the devotion of John and Mary of Bethany,
of Peter and Mary Magdalene.

We must look in another direction for the explanation of the singular fact that
Jesus and His apostles were supported by women. This may be found perhaps in the
different social position of the majority of the male disciples from that of, at
all events, some of His women disciples. We know that the influence of Jesus was
felt for the most part among the humbler sections of society.

Most revivals of religion come up from these despised ranks. There were a few,
but only a few, of the middle and upper classes in the following of the
Carpenter Prophet. But of these few it would seem most were women. That is to
say, when the cause of Christ made any way at all in these less familiar regions
it was chiefly among the wealthy women.

Now, this is what we know to have been the case with the proselytising progress
of Judaism in the pagan aristocracy of Rome. We learn from the satirists that
there were ladies of rank in the imperial city who “Sabbatised” in imitation of
the Jewish custom. It is possible to regard this as but a passing phase of
fashion adopted by people in search of something new. But we must be on our
guard against taking the satirists’ view of every fact they allude to. It is
quite likely that there was an earnest seeking after a religion that should be
better than the dead formalism of the pagan worship on the part of some of these
Roman grand dames. In Nero’s time even the Empress Poppaea was said to have
become a Jewess.

Nearly all the ladies of position at Damascus had gone over to Judaism. If that
feeling prevailed among pagan women so as to lead them to what was for them the
more spiritual faith of Israel, may we not imagine that a corresponding feeling
was found among Jewish women of rank, who knew only too well how little real sap
was left in the dry wood of the old tree of their fathers’ faith I These women
would be ready to turn to some new and more promising teaching. The interesting
point, then, that seems to emerge here is not that among the Jews generally
women were more ready to accept the claims of Jesus than men, but that in the
wealthier circles of the Jews it was the women who were most open to the new
gospel.

Then, like the Countess of Huntingdon in the eighteenth century, these ladies
used their property for the promotion of the cause that had won their faith and
devotion. When we come to consider the position of these ministering women more
in detail, we have the interesting fact that all of them had been suffering from
grievous complaints till they had been set free by the wonderful healing grace
of Jesus. Even if wealthy in some cases, yet they were all most miserable in the
state in which He had first met them. Earthly riches could not buy them health,
and could do but little to relieve the misery of their condition. They might
well have envied any peasant woman whom they had seen tripping blithely to the
well. But now a wonder never hoped for is theirs, — they have been cured! And
the consequence is a lifelong devotion to their Deliverer. The most interesting
of these women is Mary Magdalene.

She is so interesting that it would not suffice merely to glance at her near the
end of a chapter. We must reserve the study of this remarkable person for
another occasion, when she again appears on the page of the gospel story.

Next we have Joanna. She was the wife of Herod’s steward, a man named Chusa. We
have no reason to suppose that her husband was united with her in the new faith.
His name is given because of his position; possibly he was well known as one in
an important public office.

Now the question rises, How could a person in such a position as this of
Joanna’s have come under the influence of Jesus? As she is mentioned among the
sufferers whom He had cured, we may suppose that it was her dire necessity that
drove this court lady to seek help from the peasant Prophet. Her husband’s royal
master was desirous of the amusement of seeing Jesus perform a miracle; it would
have been better than the smartest conjuring trick with which the jugglers
entertained the dissolute monarch in the idle hours after dinner. Herod was
doomed to be disappointed in his trivial wish. But the thing denied to the king
was done for his servant’s wife; for hers was a real need. Possibly it was the
knowledge of this fact that whetted Herod’s curiosity. We can easily understand
why Joanna should have sought the assistance of the great Healer. Perhaps like
Jeroboam’s wife, she consulted this new Prophet in disguise; perhaps like
Nicodemus, she came to Him at night. But whether the first approach was open or
secret, after being healed Joanna does not attempt to hide her faith. She gives
her offerings for the support of Jesus and His disciples. And she goes further.
She joins the sort of sisterhood which travels in the company of the disciples.

It seems strange that a married woman should have left her home duties for this
service. Perhaps her husband was dead; but it is not said she was a widow. It
may be the Herod named here was Antipas, the man who had some curiosity to see
Jesus, and the office of his steward would be that of managing the royal
household affairs, and perhaps also the king’s estates. he had cast her out; but
of that we have no hint. The whole situation was abnormal. We know too little to
understand it fully. Behind all lies the great truth that the claims of Christ
are paramount, even above the claims of home. Of Susanna nothing more is known
than that she was one of the ministering sisterhood. We have not even the names
of the other women; we can honour the humility that permitted them to be
obscure.


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  CHAPTER 47: 3.09.     THE WOMAN WHO TOUCHED THE HEM OP CHRIST'S GARMENT
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CHAPTER IX The Woman who Touched the Hem op Christ’s Garment THE stolen miracle
stamps the character of the woman who snatched it in clear, sharp outline. She
who most desired to be hidden has become one of the best known personages of
Scripture. The very act that was prompted by her shrinking modesty has set her
in the forefront of the gospel story, before the eyes of all the ages. And yet
it has done so in a fashion which even this timorous woman could not deprecate.
It is not a painful exposure such as she dreaded that we have here, but a
delightful revelation, first of faith on her part, then of gentle kindness on
the side of her Lord, great spiritual facts which swamp all minor
considerations. One who is the happy centre of a triumph of faith and a work of
grace cannot but be supremely interesting in these respects. With these higher
interests in view let us take up the story of the woman whose cure was so unique
in its method and circumstances. The incident that introduces her comes in as an
interlude in the story of the raising of Jairus’s daughter. It was while Jesus
was on His way to the ruler of the synagogue’s house, in Capernaum, that the
suffering woman crept up behind Him in the crowd and furtively drew from Him her
cure. This is worth noting, because it may supply one factor in the explanation
of her unusual mode of seeking help. Jesus was on an errand literally of life
and death, and the house to which He was going was that of a leading citizen. To
attempt to detain Him at such a time would be most inopportune. A shy and
shrinking woman would not dare to do such a thing. And yet finding herself near
Him in the crowd this woman had her opportunity, if only she could avail herself
of it adroitly so as not to make a fuss and hinder the course of the Healer on
His way to save the child. The child and the woman thus brought together by
accident into the same narrative also come into comparison through a curious
coincidence. Jairus’s daughter was twelve years old; this woman had been
suffering from her complaint for twelve years. Thus the sufferer had been
afflicted during the whole lifetime of the child. How different had been their
conditions! Probably Jairus’s little daughter had been healthy and happy till
seized by the fatal illness that had roused her parents’ alarm. Which then is
most to be pitied, the young, bright life suddenly snapped off in the opening
bud? or the sad, weary life with its many years of suffering still extended? All
the concern of the multitude was with the great man’s daughter. But we cannot
assert that to Jesus the calamity at the ruler’s house, with the pomp and
publicity given to the mourning for it, was a matter of more compassionate
interest than the chronic distress of this obscure woman. At all events we may
rest assured that the obscure are as near to the heart of Jesus as people whose
station commands the commiseration of a whole city when they are in trouble.
Nay, may we not suppose that He has a special sympathy for His hidden disciples
just because His is the only sympathy they receive? The sufferer had much to
plead in excuse for making some effort to obtain help from the great Healer,
even though the occasion did appear to be most inappropriate; for her need was
desperate. This was just a last resource.

During those many weary years of her sufferings she had tried all possible
expedients for relief, and they had proved totally ineffectual. She had spent
all she had, all her livelihood, in physicians’ fees; and yet, though this had
reduced her to penury, she was none the better. St. Mark even says she had “
suffered much of many physicians,” with the result that instead of improving she
“rather grew worse;” and we can well believe it when we consider the absurd
remedies for her complaint that were recommended by Jewish authorities. St. Luke
discreetly omits a statement so discreditable to his profession; but even he is
compelled to allow that the patient had derived no benefit from the long and
costly course of medical treatment she had undergone. The wonder is that after
such an experience of continuous disappointment she did not abandon all hope. At
best one would only look for some last council of despair. And yet it is under
these most unpromising circumstances that a rare faith manifests itself. A lower
motive, however, must sometimes be allowed in cases such as this. As a drowning
man is said to clutch at a straw, an incurable patient is tempted to turn at
last to any proposed remedy, however unlikely it may be, and however little
authenticated. The vendors of quack medicines trade on this tendency. Those
numerous advertisements that appear in almost every newspaper and magazine, and
even disfigure the country prospects by the side of the railways, are not
without a certain pathetic significance.

They could not flourish as they do if they were not supported by an enormous
constituency; they bear witness to the existence among us of a vast number of
people who, despairing of recognised scientific methods of cure, are ready to
fall a prey to the latest pretender to the healer’s art. From this point of view
it might be argued that the victim of the physician’s failure in the narrative
before us was not better than one of those unhappy people, abundant enough in
our own day, who are always ready to try some Mark 5:26. new remedy, its very
novelty being its one recommendation. But no; she had one saving merit — true
faith in Christ.

However vague the ideas in the mind of the woman whose case is now before us may
have been — and probably they were not a little confused — she had enough faith
to come to Jesus for healing. Clear thinking is not necessary to salvation, nor
is it essential for any lesser help that may be had from Christ. But this woman
has been accused of worse than imperfect intelligence; she has been blamed for
superstition in believing that there was magical eiScacy in the mere garment of
Christ. If that were all, if there were nothing more in her mind, it must be
added that Jesus confirmed her superstition, in permitting the cure and
commending her faith. But there is another way of looking at her conduct. She
believed that the very least contact with Jesus would suffice for her cure. It
was not that the garment in itself was supposed by her to contain a mysterious
virtue of healing, like the bones and other relics of saints which are treated
as charms by ignorant people in some countries. Her desire was to come near to
Christ in the crowd. She was assured that the very least contact would suffice;
but it must be contact, more or less immediate. If, therefore, the communication
could only be through the fringe of His cloak, since it would still be a certain
contact, to her faith that would serve the desired

It would be grossly unjust to a great and honourable profession to use this
incident in order to throw contempt on the medical men of our own day because of
the wretched failure of their predecessors in bygone ages. There is really no
ground of comparison. The modern doctor has little but his name in common with
the so-calletl “physician “ of antiquity. As a science, medicine is quite new.
Nothing is more striking than the contrast between the contemptuous way in
which, till recently, the “leech” was treated in literature and the acknowledged
position of the cultured man of science who represents the healing art to-day.
Even Dickens seemed to think all doctors were quacks. A man who wrote now on
this subject in the style of our great humorist would only be displaying his own
ignorance and bad taste. It may be said that as God t;ave gifts of healing to
the first century in the form of miracles, so He has given gifts of healing to
the nineteenth century by means of scientific knowledge and th’y application of
it to disease. This is always the one essential of faith — contact with Jesus
Christ.

Still it may be said she was superstitious in laying so much stress on the mere
act of physical contact. Are we so sure of that? Jesus usually touched to heal,
though under exceptional circumstances He only spoke a word, and in some rare
cases even cured at a distance. Can we affirm that the actual physical contact
with His body, and perhaps through this with His personality, may not have been
a Divinely ordered method of healing? The whole subject is so profoundly
mysterious that any dogmatic assertions about it are out of place. Certainly the
evangelists write as though they held that the healing virtue did flow out
through contact.

We are more within the region of normal experience when we endeavour to account
for the fact that this suffering woman was satisfied with the minimum of
contact. We may set it down in part to her humility. Why should she claim more,
if this was enough? Or, as has been already suggested, she may have been careful
not to hinder the hurried journey of the Healer to the bedside of the ruler’s
dying child. Any more formal appeal for help would have occasioned some delay.
Possibly in the throng, which, as we learn from St. Peter’s remark, was pressing
about Jesus on every side,^ she could not get nearer; though by stooping she
could just succeed in reaching the tassel at one of the corners of His cloak as
He swept past. The whole narrative, however, suggests a further reason.

She desired to remain hidden. She would steal the miracle unobserved. Perhaps,
as has been often suggested, knowing that contact with a person in her condition
rendered any one ceremonially unclean, she would not venture to ask for the
healing touch openly and thus subject the Healer to inconvenience. Besides, it
is quite likely that the distressing nature of her complaint would make a Luk
8:45. modest woman shrink from observation and dread a public reference to it.
Any or all of these reasons may furnish an explanation of her conduct. And then
came the great wonder. She felt in a moment that her distressing complaint was
healed. The misery of twelve years’ duration had come to an end. It was a sudden
cure; it was also a perfect cure; and the joy of it was that she knew this
immediately. Theologians have disputed whether a like consciousness accompanies
Christ’s cure of the soul. Is deliverance from the disease of sin equally a
matter of glad assurance springing from interior experience? One would think
that if the disease were felt as acutely as a physical ailment is felt this
would be the case. And accordingly it is with men like Augustine and Luther and
Bunyan who have first experienced the keenest sense of sin that the glad rebound
to life and liberty in Christ is most consciously perceived. The strange part of
the story begins at the next stage. When Jesus felt the hand of this poor
trembling woman on His cloak He asked who it was that had touched Him.

St. Peter, always ready to speak to the occasion, and sometimes not unwilling to
correct his Master, expresses his astonishment at hearing such a question. Who
had touched Jesus 1 Any number of people had touched Him; the crowd was pressing
round Him. There can be no doubt of what two at least of the evangelists
understood to be the experience of Christ at this moment. St. Mark makes the
assertion in his own words, how Jesus had perceived that power had gone out of
Him St. Luke gives the statement in the words of Jesus replying to His too
officious disciple — “Some one did touch Me: for I perceived that power had gone
forth from Me” — this part of the incident is not referred to in Mattheio. The
plain meaning of these expressions is that the power had flowed out
involuntarily. We may think this very improbable.

If so we must admit that the evangelists had misapprehended the facts. But it
cannot be reasonably denied that the statement they both give — the one in his
own words, the other as coming from Jesus — implies as much. It is commonly
asserted that Jesus, on feeling the touch of the poor, suffering woman, and
knowing in His Divine consciousness that this was an appeal for help, at once
responded, healing her of His own will and by a conscious exertion of energy.
This brings the miracle into line with other and more normal cases of healing in
our Lord’s ministry; and it removes the notion of something like magic — a cure
by means of occult powers apart from spiritual means. There is some probability
that this is the right explanation of what occurred. It is most reasonable to
conclude that the exercise of will which we see in the miracles of Christ
generally and the conscious appeal to the Spirit of God as the power by which
the great deeds were done would be essential to the working of every miracle; so
that we must entirely separate these wonders from everything approaching the
nature of magic. On the other hand, it is only fair to give some weight to the
view taken of this occurrence by the two evangelists. Are we quite sure that
they were mistaken? Again we must caution ourselves against any dogmatism in
regard to the mysterious realm of the miraculous, a realm that is so remote from
our everyday experience. Dare we say as a certainty that there may not have been
a directly healing virtue in the pei-son of Jesus, which might under rare
circumstances have flowed out apart from His own deliberate intention? It seems
superstitious to imagine the existence of anything of the kind; but superstition
is often only a name for belief in what transcends our normal experience.
Perhaps it would be wisest for us to allow at least the possibility of some such
explanation of this perfectly unique occurrence. The way in which Jesus acted on
perceiving the woman’s touch and the consequent cure gives rise to further
questions. He asked who had touched Him, and looked round about to discover the
person. This simple statement, like that which precedes, has been the occasion
of considerable verbal quibbling. The language of the evangelists, especially
that of St. Mark, plainly suggests that Jesus did not know who had thus crept up
behind Him and stolen a miracle. In the second gospel we read that Jesus “
turned Him about in the crowd and said, Who touched My garments? “ ^; and,
again, a little later, “ And He looked round about to see her that had done this
thing.”- It has been said that this was only done to make the woman reveal
herself and confess her cure before the people, Jesus all the while knowing who
and where she was. That is not the plain suggestion of the text. Why should we
resort to an ingenious device to make out an explanation? The chief reason for
doing so has been an unwillingness to admit that there could be any small detail
of events of which Jesus was not aware even during the time of His earthly life
with its human limitations. This is contrary to what we see in other instances;
on other occasions He asked for information. The reasonable supposition is that
when He did so it was because He wanted it — that, for example, if He asked
where Lazarus was laid it was because He was seeking information as to the place
of the tomb; or if He inquired of the father of a lunatic boy, “ How long time
is it since this hath come unto him? “ it was to learn what He did not know
about the child. The denial of any reality in such questions which we meet with
iu the teaching of Cyril of Alexandria and those modern writers who adopt his
views tends to the denial of any reality in the human nature of Christ; it
converts the honest gospel records into fallacious documents dealing with
appearances that disguise the true facts. In the present instance there are
elements that render the unreal treatment of Christ’s question and of His
inquiring attitude exceptionally difficult to accept. In any view of the case it
looks very hard for the poor -woman to be forced into publicity. Her trouble was
of so peculiarly painful a character that she would naturally shrink from
notice; and everybody with right feeling would respect the instinctive reserve
of a woman in this condition. Now if Jesus spoke quite simply and naturally when
He asked who had touched Him there would have been no unkindness in His making
the inquiry, because He would not have known the peculiar reason for the
sufferer’s manner of seeking her cure. But if He had known who she was and all
about her from the first, and only looked round and spoke as He did to compel
her to declare herself, it is difficult to discover here the presence of that
tender considerateness which always characterised His actions. Thus in the
attempt to preserve the omniscience of Christ the theologian who tampers with
the natural meaning of the narrative casts a shadow on His goodness. And it is a
curious fact, often observable in the school of Cyril and with others who deny
any limitation to our Lord’s powers and faculties as a man on earth, that these
people are much more anxious about His physical powers and intellectual
faculties than they are about His moral character. In contending for the
absolute and perfect manifestation of the former they continually raise the most
serious difficulties with regard to the latter. And yet it is the character of
our Lord for which we should be most jealous.

Anything that seems for one moment to cast the slightest reflection on that must
be resented by His devout followers as a libel and an outrage. Why then labour
so earnestly to prove His omniscience in regard to the merest trifles of earthly
life when in so many cases this tends to make His conduct appear in an ambiguous
light? All difficulty vanishes immediately we are prepared to admit quite
frankly the plain sense of the narrative as that appears in the gospels. Jesus
had not the slightest intention of wounding the modesty of a shrinking, timorous
woman. In the most natural way, being conscious of the appeal for help, and
perceiving that the healing grace had been given, He wished to see and know the
person who had obtained this benefit from Him. That was all. When she heard the
question the woman could not keep her secret. It occurred to her that she might
have been doing something terribly wrong in obtaining her great blessing from
the Healer in this strange way she had invented for herself. The very success of
her experiment must have impressed her with the magnitude of her daring.

Therefore at the inquiry of Jesus she at once responds, trembling with fear, and
casts herself at her Saviour’s feet.

There, with her face buried in the dust, she tells Him the whole story. It would
be enough if she only spoke of her cure. But a new feeling has come into her
heart. Till now she had been only thinking of herself, the wretched condition
she was in, the doleful failure of all attempts at a remedy, the desperation of
her need as she made this one new venture of faith. And when she felt herself
cured she still remained self-contained, now in ecstasy at the happy change that
had come over her. In this mood of immense relief and extreme delight she was
ready to creep away and enjoy the great boon by herself without uttering a word
of acknowledgment to the Healer from whom she had derived 60 great a benefit. We
must not entirely blame her if this was her mental condition. Long continued,
hopeless suffering tends to make the victim of it self-contained, if not
somewhat selfish. It is perfectly true that the school of pain is a discipline
of sympathy, that one of the greatest advantages of suffering is that it teaches
the sufferer to sympathise with others in a like condition. But this works for
the most part as an after result, coming in when there is time for reflection in
the calm days that follow deliverance. A great trouble while it lasts
necessarily quickens the personal consciousness. It is diificult not to think
much about oneself while enduring pain, because nothing is so celf-centred as
pain. And then a sudden relief is for the moment equally self-centred, involving
a new, intense, personal consciousness.

Nevertheless, while this is natural, it is not desirable.

Happily the woman who has just received so delightful a proof of the healing
grace of Christ is quick to see the mistake of keeping the fact a secret.
Immediately her thoughts turn to the source of her newly recovered health she
rises superior to all personal considerations, her own condition before the
staring crowd forgotten in the overwhelming presence of her Saviour.

Many people have found it difficult to make a public confession of Christ, and
have even excused themselves on the plea of modesty and natural reticence. It is
possible to make a mistake as to what is required in this duty of confession. We
are not required to publish our inmost thoughts to the world, to “hang our
hearts on our sleeves for daws to peck at.” There is a right and proper modesty
in religion. There are sacred confidences between the soul and its Saviour that
are meant for no third person. We may rub the bloom off the tender growth of
early piety in rudely forcing it into pubhc observation. That there is a danger
of something of the kind happening under novel forms of rehgious worship now
being cultivated among young people is a matter of serious concern to thoughtful
observei’S. Now it is to be noticed that the poor woman whom Jesus had called
out from the crowd made her confession direct to our Lord Himself. She did not
stand up and make a speech to the crowd. Possibly her trembling words were
uttered in faint and whispering tones. It is only to Jesus Christ that we are to
be expected to make the full confession of the life’s secrets. But there is
another branch of the duty of Christian confession. The act of the healed woman
was visible to all, and the little scene when she came up and cast herself at
the feet of Jesus must have attracted general observation. That was only right;
she would have been wrong in trying to escape it. Though we are not called on to
make a public exposure of our inner experience, we are required to make a public
confession of the fact that Christ has graciously heard our appeal and come to
our relief. That is to say, though not under any obligation to confess our
emotional experiences, we are called upon to confess Christ. Now there is
nothing that so much hinders this simple confession as self-consciousness. So
long as a person turns his thoughts in upon himself, or only looks away to note
what other people are thinking of him, he may be a prey to nervous tremors, his
tongue refusing to utter a word, his whole nature revolting against the idea of
speaking of his own relations to Christ. But just in proportion as the thought
of his Saviour’s goodness is uppermost in his mind the self-conscious shyness
will be forgotten, and the duty of a direct acknowledgment of his Saviour will
become a glad necessity. In response to the trembling woman’s confession Jesus
gave her a reassuring word, addressing her by a title we do not meet with on His
lips at any other time. He called her “Daughter.” There was great tact and
delicacy of feeling in the choice of this word under the peculiar circumstances
of the case. It would go a long way to soothe the distressed modesty of the poor
woman. She must have been almost as old as Jesus, very likely she was older. Yet
for the moment He assumed a fatherly attitude towai’ds her — the best of all
attitudes with which to comfort her.

If He discovered that He had unwittingly hurt her feelings in seeking her out.
He made ample amends by this most considerate way of treating her as soon as she
had made herself known to Him. A finer instance of that perfect sympathy which
sees a situation at a glance, and enters into it perfectly, cannot be imagined.
The simplicity of the expedient would mark it as an act of genius, and we might
venture to speak of the inspired genius of sympathy, if it were not that the
moral character of the incident lifted it to a higher plane.

Lastly, Jesus commends the faith of the woman whom He addresses so graciously.
He recognises that she has true faith. She must not forget that it was her faith
and not the touch by itself that had led to the cure. With this recognition He
dismisses her in the conventional language of an oriental farewell, but with
more than its conventional meaning. May all be well with her indeed and her cure
complete!

Tradition has been busy adding to the fame of this woman who so much desired to
remain in obscurity. We meet with her as Bernice in apocryphal works such as
Acts of Pilate and the Gospel of Nicodenitis, where she appears as a witness for
Christ at His trial. She is the St. Veronica of church legend. Eusebius cites a
local tradition from Banias (Csesarea Philippi) which claimed her as a native of
that city. He says her house was shown in his own day. Near the gates, on a
stone pedestal, was the bronze image of a woman kneeling, with her hands
stretched out before her like one entreating, while opposite to this was a
second statue in bronze, representing a man standing erect, clad in a mantle,
and stretching out his hand to the woman. At his feet was a certain strange
plant rising as high as the hem of the brazen garment, which represented an
antidote for all diseases. This statue, Eusebius tells us, was locally taken to
be intended for Christ.^ Sozomen adds that the Emperor Julian removed the statue
of Christ, substituting one of himself, which was afterwards destroyed by
lightning. But it is now acknowledged that although the statues may have existed
as described, there is no authority for the legendary Christian associations
connected with them.

Gibbon adopted a suggestion that the male figure stood either for the Emperor
Vespasian, or for the philosopher Apollonius, who had gone about with a great
fame of healing by miracle, while the female figure might represent some city or
province, or perhaps the Queen Bernice.

Later legends describe St. Veronica as a princess of Edessa. Relying on them,
the Roman Catholic writer Baronius treats her as a rich woman of high birth. All
these later accretions are absolutely without historical value. We are left with
our picture of the woman who touched the hem of Christ’s garment as it is drawn
by the evangelists — her distress, her happy expedient, her cure by the healing
power of Christ. Surely that is enough to teach us its own lessons without the
meretricious adornments of legend to add the fictitious and vulgar importance of
rank.


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  CHAPTER 48: 3.10.     THE WOMAN WHO WASHED THE FEET OP JESUS WITH HER TEARS — FORGIVENESS AND LOVE
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CHAPTER X The Woman who Washed the Feet op Jesus with HER Tears — Forgiveness
and Love IN the time of Christ access to a large Eastern house would seem to
have been as free as it is in our own day. Through the open doorway into the
central courtyard strangers could enter uninvited and unchallenged, at all
events on an occasion of hospitality; and the guests, reclining on couches at
the table in a sort of raised alcove, would be within reach of anybody who chose
to approach them. In this way it would be quite easy for the woman who, as St.
Luke tells us, was seeking to do honour to Jesus, to effect her purpose.
Mingling with the servants as they came and went in their attendance on the
company, she would be able to step up behind His seat almost unnoticed; while
our Lord, resting His elbow on the table, according to custom, and leaning
lengthways, would be just in the attitude to permit her to bend over His feet,
now divested of the sandals only worn for travelling.

It was not to weep at His feet that this woman came. Her purpose was to anoint
them. But she could not control her feelings. Oblivious of the publicity of the
place, heedless of the unsympathetic surroundings, overwhelmed with a flood of
mingled emotions, she burst into tears; then, to the disgust of propriety, she
loosed her hair to wipe the sacred feet on which her tears had fallen; and after
that she kissed them again and again. It all came from a full heart — it was
spontaneous, unpremeditated, washing the feet of Jesus irresistible. You cannot
analyse a woman’s tears. And it was the presence of Christ that opened the
long-sealed fountain. The terrible past still haunts this woman as a dark and
dreadful memory, and the nearness of Jesus brings the horror of it into her mind
with redoubled intensity. We never discover how far we have fallen till we come
into the presence of Christ. Then for the first time we really fulfil the old
Greek philosopher’s advice and come to know ourselves. Even the pardoned soul
must experience a pang of agony at such an appalling revelation. It is true that
no one deals so tenderly with the sinner as his Saviour. But that only makes him
deal the more hardly with himself.

After sin has been forgiven by God and Christ and even by his fellow-men, the
last person to forgive it will be the penitent. He always finds it hard to
forgive himself. And there is an irreparable past, although there may be no
unpardonable past. The restored soul is not just the same as the innocent soul.
The Paradise regained differs from the Paradise that was lost in this essential
point, that ignorance of the forbidden fruit never returns.

All this would make redemption itself a disappointing boon if there were not
another side to the case. But there is another side. The penitent can only weep
tears of sorrow, and very bitter tears they are. But this woman is more than a
penitent; she has met a Saviour, and there has come to her a gospel that has
transformed the whole outlook of her life, banishing despair, and lighting up
the horizon with a new, undreamed-of hope. And now it is the joy of this glad
discovery in a heart that had been seared and crushed and where no true
happiness had been known for many a day that brings her to the feet of Jesus.
She is there not to lament the past, but to give expression to her gratitude for
a new Hfe. She weeps; but it is His goodness rather than her own shame that
starts her teara The significance of this behaviour was quite unintelligible to
the strict religious man at whose house such an unusual scene was witnessed; and
so was the way in which Jesus received it, Do not let us be unjust to him. The
Pharisee does not offend against the first principles of hospitality so far as
to say or do anything overtly antagonistic to Christ. We have no repetition here
of the charge that Jesus is the Friend of publicans and sinners. The host is
politely silent. He only thinks, and his thought is a natural one under the
circumstances. Jesus is accepting the effusive homage of this woman. Then the
Man of Nazareth cannot be a prophet! If He were He would know what sort of a
person it was who had the impertinence to be actually holding^ His feet. Thus
the Pharisee argued with himself, and from his own standpoint very naturally.
Apparently he had asked Jesus to his house in some curiosity, with a real desire
to know a man who was so much talked about. That rare phenomenon, a Pharisee
with an open mind, he would exercise his own judgment and draw his own
conclusions. But this one incident is quite enough to determine what they must
be. Possibly he was a little disappointed, for with some courage, at a risk of
being charged with latitudinarianism, he had patronised the rustic prophet. A
prophet indeed! and he cannot read the character of this notoriously abandoned
person We may grant that this hasty verdict was inevitable. And yet, oh, the
blindness of it! In His reply to Simon’s unuttered comment Jesus showed that He
was not unaware of the character borne by the weeping woman; He also showed that
He could read His host’s secret thoughts. This was a double refutation of the
man’s hasty superficial judgment, a twofold evidence of the possession of
prophetic gifts. But there was much more in Christ’s insight. As the word in the
Greek means more than tmiching, and it indicates a continuous grasp. regards the
woman He did not merely perceive as by a sort of second-sight a character that
was only too well known to her neighbours. He saw something else in her and in
the whole situation which was quite new, and to a recognition of which neither
His host, nor the strict set to Avhich the man belonged, nor the people
generally, had at all approached. The rude assumption of the Pharisee was
erroneous. If Jesus were a prophet He would know that this woman was a sinner.
Would He? What would Simon say to the totally unexpected position that for the
very reason that He was a prophet and more than a prophet He could declare that
to be a false judgment?

Since she had passed through a new birth into a new life, it was not only
ungracious, it was distinctly unjust to cast up any old charges against her.
From these charges she had been freed by the grace of forgiveness.

Even if the woman at His feet had been still one of the multitude of lost sheep
whom He had come to seek and to save He would not have shared the Pharisee’s
treatment of her. He knew full well the abominable hypocrisy of it; He knew how
often men whose private lives were far more vile than the lives of the miserable
victims of their ostentatious zeal for purity were foremost in the condemnation
of the outcasts. And then in His treatment of the fallen His one object was to
restore them. He said expressly that He had not come to condemn; He had come to
save.

Condemning other people for their sins was the pet diversion of the professors
of piety in His day. The occupation has not been unknown in subsequent ages. It
was wholly averse to the mind of Christ; and yet none could have loathed all sin
with a deeper horror than the holy Jesus. In the present case, however, we are
not watching Christ’s treatment of a sinner. Tho peculiar interest of the
narrative comes from the fact that we meet tho character in question at a later
period of her career. And the point at issue is that while Jesus knows this and
acts accordingly His host has no glimmer of perception of it. The fact is
brought out distinctly by the use of the Greek perfect. Jesus does not pronounce
absolution on the penitent, there and then declaring her to be free from the
guilt of her past, in an immediate act of forgiveness. He states that her sin
has been forgiven. Then the right course is to recognise the fact frankly. The
way of the Pharisee is the way of the world. It is to disbelieve in forgiveness,
or at least to disbelieve in its fruits. The Pharisee is as cynical as the man
of the world, and inevitably so, seeing that his religion is no better than
canonised worldliness — an external, superficial conventionality. So long as
this is the position assumed it will be impossible to understand either the
action of the woman who stood at the feet of Jesus or the view He took of it.
But now, enhghtened by His revelation of the truth, we are able to see both the
meaning of her conduct and the way in which Christ received it. In the first
place, there is no reason to minimise the evil of the past. Since oimon is
coarse-minded enough to call attention to them, the shame and sorrow of the
facts are not to be denied. This weeping woman had been a sinner, and her sins
were many. So much is to be admitted, to the satisfaction of the censor. That
terrible word “ many,” covering as it does an awful tale of depravity, points to
a long course of vice. This is not an instance of one unhappy lapse from virtue
attaching an undying stigma to the character for life. And yet how often is it
the case that the sin which began with the weakness of trusting a traitor has
been visited by such harsh condemnation from a world of Pharisees as to induce
the recklessness of despair, and then that has led on to a subsequent career of
ever-deepening guilt. A heavy charge must be brought home to the man who took
the first step in driving a young soul down the road to perdition. Still it is
the road to perdition.

“We must not let a righteous indignation against the monstrous social iniquity
that spares the tempter and tramples his victim in the mire blind us to the
truth that her dreadful course is also one of real guilt. The greater blame lies
at the door of the tempter — that is still to be insisted on. So many cruel
forces combine to impel the woman who has made one slip down the headlong way to
ruin that we must regard the result with profound compassion. But this is not
all It is ruin, the most unspeakably awful ruin of a soul. That is the tragedy
of it. A woman is lowered in moral and spiritual nature, almost below
recognition as belonging to the ranks of womanhood at all, when she has come to
make a trade of vice. And then in turn she becomes the temptress; and ignorant
youth has to be warned that the entrance to her house is the gate of death.
Nothing that Jesus has taught in opposition to the harsh, cruel judgment of the
Pharisee at all affects the stern admonitions of the Book of Proverbs on this
subject. Can it be said that the abandoned person who lays her traps and resorts
to cunning enticements to catch her prey is other than a sinner 1 And this one
sin does not stand alone, like a single blot on a white sheet of paper. ISTo sin
is solitary. Sins ever go in troops, great sins accompanied by a train of
attendant minor faults, or small sins opening the door to wickedness of Satanic
magnitude. The course of vice is mai’ked by falsehood, dishonesty, cruelty — a
black host beyond reckoning. This is not a subject on which to expatiate in the
story of a wretched woman, because she is so wretched, first foully wronged by
another and then plunged into hopeless misery. Still, since a foolish,
superficial, sentimental treatment of the matter has sprung up in our day — it
needs to be said for the vindication of womanly purity, the most precious
preservative of social well-being, that the loss of it is sin — the word must be
written without reservation — and the source of a multitude of sins. But having
said this in order that there may be no mistake as to the right estimate of the
facts of the past we may hasten away to other regions, and we must do so if we
would follow our Lord in His treatment of repented and pardoned sin. The sins
which are many are all forgiven.

There is no rebate, no reservation, no casting up of the past against the
offender in any way whatever, A halfhearted faith in forgiveness will not go so
far as that. The worldly, pharisaic habit is to be perpetually harping on the
old charge of guilt. The wound is not allowed to heal. It must be repeatedly
abrased. Even if in some confused way it is perceived that the sin is forgiven,
still the person to whom it belonged is reckoned to have lost caste for life, as
if there could be any such thing as the forgiveness of sin without the
forgiveness of the sinner, or as if there could be any real forgiveness of the
sinner without full restoration. The difficulty is to believe in the great
Pauline idea of justification — Pauline, that is to say, in the full exposition
of it, though it is in truth an idea that the apostle had derived from his
Maste.y just the expansion of Christ’s teaching about full and complete
forgiveness. In the parable of the Pharisee and the publican the latter goes
down to his house “ justified.” The forgiveness puts the man in the place of a
righteous man; from thenceforth he is regarded as righteous and receives from
God the mead of righteousness. Then no slur remains on the character of. a
person who has been truly forgiven. It was a most daring act on the part of
Jesus to receive such homage as was here given to Him by a woman of ill repute,
and that in a Pharisee’s house, of all places. Perhaps this was the most
courageous position He ever took up. Many a man who would not like to be
regarded as a moral coward would have shrunk from it, deeming it very
inexpedient and liable to shocking misunderstandings. As usual Jesus now acts as
with sublime indifference to convention, with a perfectly daring independence.
Here is the Divine ideal of chivalry; for what a noble defence He has for the
friendless woman!

He does not shock the spectators’ prejudices in sheer recklessness. He has a
deliberate purpose in shocking them.

They are unjiist and untrue. By His action He is setting the model for a higher
principle of judgment than they have dreamed of — the grand, inspiring
principle, that when the past has been forgiven it must not be brought up as any
disadvantage to the person who has received this perfect gift of the grace of
God.

Further, while Christ’s teaching about the reality of forgiveness explains His
own position and the view He takes of the homage offered to Him, at the same
time it explains the fervour of the woman’s devotion. In itself her action was
not so startling as a similar thing would be among us.

It would be impossible according to Western manners, but it was quite usual
among the Jews for an admiring pupil to kiss the feet of a great teacher. A
caricature of the old Eastern custom is preserved in the Roman Catholic rite of
kissing the pope’s foot. What has now become ridiculous in the eyes of
Protestants was rravely allowed by Orientals of Christ’s time as a fitting sis^n
of reverence. Therefore it was not the woman’s act, which to us seems so
strange, that offended Simon, but only the well-known character of the person
who performed it, and this was all that the Pharisee complained of.

What, however, is remarkable in the present case is the passion which converted
a beautiful kind of homage into a perfect outpouring of heart and soul. This is
no formal sign of devotion; nor is it like the dignified, graceful act of the
lady of Bethany who anointed the head of her Guest with costly spikenard,
filling her house with the luxurious fragrance — a deed of affection and true
devotion, but calm and self-possessed. A greater contrast cannot be imagined
than that between Mary’s stately service and the outcast woman’s enthusiastic
outburst of emotion. And yet when we consider the case in its essential
features, the wonder is not that such an incident appears once for all in the
story of Jesus, but that it is a solitary one. The motive being the joy and
gratitude of forgiveness, the strange thing is that this is not more frequently
seen in some outward demonstration, since the gift of forgiveness is so freely
bestowed. But it would seem, while the decency of thanksgiving may be commonly
observed, real gratitude as an emotion at all commensurate with the unspeakably
great boon of forgiveness is exceedingly rare. The indifferent behaviour of our
Lord’s host serves well as a background on which the penitent’s love and
adoration are shown in their power and beauty. Simon had made but a shabby host.
He had neglected the common customs of hospitality, either from cool
indifference or in sheer insolence. If the latter was his motive his offence was
gross and odious. He had been under no obligation to invite the peasant Prophet
to his house. But when he put himself out of the way to do so of his own free
choice he was bound to behave with decent friendliness and take some pains to
see to his Guest’s “omfort. His manners show that he treated Jesus as quite an
inferior kind of guest.

Even with that idea in his mind his rudeness was unpardonable, for then he
should have been all the more solicitous.

He had given no kiss of welcome; had provided no water for the washing of his
Guest’s tired and travel-worn feet; had not followed custom in having a simple
fragrant oil poured on His hair. Did Simon think Jesus would not notice these
little details? If so, he must have been startled and not a little ashamed at
the discovery that this quiet simple man had observed everything. Jesus is not
oblivious of small negligences, not, of course, because He thirsts for attention
— did He not once say that “ the Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but
to minister”? — but simply because they are signs of something deeper, proofs of
an utter lack of real interest in Him. How different is this woman, washing His
feet with her very tears, wiping them with the hairs of her head, kissing them,
and anointing them, not with oil, but with the more precious ointment. But more
important than the mere contrast of action is the revelation of character and
motive that is thus brought out. That is the key to the whole position. The
parable of the two debtors makes this quite clear. It is reasonable to suppose
that the one who was forgiven most will love most. Was the woman’s sin great?
And is it now all forgiven? Then this forgiveness is equally great; and the love
that springs from it will be also great. Some confusion has come in here through
a very common misunderstanding of our Lord’s language. Jesus says, “ Wherefore I
say unto thee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but
to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little.” This is commonly read, in
accordance with what may be regarded as its obvious meaning, so as to teach that
the penitent was forgiven on account of her love, the greatness of her pardon
arising from the greatness of her love. But there are several reasons for
holding that this cannot be our Lord’s meaning. In the first place He is
accounting for and explaining the woman’s effusiveness of emotion. But the
sentence thus rendered supplies no explanation of it, and carries our thoughts
off to another point.

Then it is out of harmony with the concluding clause which distinctly sets forth
the smallness of forgiveness as the reason for the smallness of love — the
reverse relation of the two things. If the common view were correct the final
clause should run, “For to him who loveth little, little will be forgiven.” The
close similarity in form compels us to give a balanced contrast of meaning to
these two clauses as in a case of Hebrew parallelism. Besides, the reminder of
Simon’s action points in the direction suggested by the final clause. It was
because the Pharisee had no Luk 7:47. strong sense of the fact of being forgiven
by Christ that he had no warmth of devotion to Christ.

Lastly, in dismissing the woman Jesus says, “ Thy faith hath saved thee,”— “thy
faith,” not “thy love.” No doubt the two work together, but it is important to
keep the ideas distinct. To expect love to Christ before the experience of
forgiveness is to expect an impossibility. The motive for love is not there. A
great mistake is made when young people are approached with the question as to
whether they love Christ, in a way implying that this is the first step to the
Christian life. When Jesus saw the fisherman by the lake at the beginning of His
intercourse with him He did not ask the question, “ Simon, son of John, lovest
thou Me?” That question came at the very last. His first word was simply,
“Follow Me.” We do not begin with love, we grow to love. The first step is
faith. This is orthodox Protestant theology; it is also truth experienced in
life; and it is what the incident before us would suggest. But then we do not
find it quite easy to understand our Lord’s language in the first part of the
utterance just quoted. The only interpretation that is agreeable to the drift of
His teaching throughout must be that which understands Him to be giving, not the
reason for the forgiveness of the penitent, but the reason for His own statement
that her sin had been forgiven. It is because she loves much that Jesus makes
the assertion that her sins are forgiven. In other words, the woman’s love is
the sign of her forgiveness, since it is its fruit.

Thus we are brought round again to the main idea, the great truth that crowns
the whole incident with light and hope — love the fruit of forgiveness. Where
there is a deep sense of forgiveness there will be a great awakening of love.
This is the secret of love to Christ revealed not only in the incident of the
woman at Simon’s feast, but in many another story of redeemed souls. It is seen
in St. Paul’s enthusiasm for the Christ who had set him free from the double
bondage of the flesh and the law — in the passion of Augustine’s Confessions
that throb and palpitate with a fervour not all to be accounted for by the heat
of an African temperament — in the beauty of Dante’s Paradise, that rapture of
the heavenly Rose, only attained after witnessing the awful sights of the
Inferno and the piteous scenes of the Purgatory — in Luther’s glad devotion to
Christ following his immense sense of relief at the discovery of the perfectly
free forgiveness of God’s justification by faith — in the story of Bunyan’s
Grace Abounding, that story which tells of a soul passing through agonies of
guilt and shame to come at last to rejoice in the exceeding goodness of Christ
its Saviour.

It is always so. Light estimates of sin leave us with cold feelings towards
Christ. But where the deepest horror of guilt has been first awakened and then
the great wonder of forgiveness has followed, the natural result is the outburst
of a passionate love to the Redeemer whose grace has wrought the transformation
of Gehenna into Paradise.

Thus this woman’s action, at which Simon the Pharisee affected to be so
scandalised, is explained and justified. For we may go yet one step further.
Real love must express itself. At all events that is but a poor and feeble
affection which can live on without making some sign of its existence. Oriental
methods must be left for the East. But some method even the phlegmatic Saxon
must and will have for bringing out his love and devotion to Christ if any such
passion is glowing in his breast. Our Lord’s final words show that an expression
of love is not unwelcome to Him, even though it take a form at which those who
do not understand what it implies are shocked. There ia danger lest devotion
should be smothered by propriety.

We have come to erect into the first place of honour in the Church the very
worthy but still secondary apostolic precept, “ Let all things be done decently
and in order.”

Too often this is interpreted as meaning little more than decent burial, the
burial of passion and enthusiasm. Thus the typical air of devotion tends to
approach the correct manners of an undertaker. We have lost the freedom of
emotion. The danger is that we should lose the emotion itself.

Finally, this woman whom Jesus had understood so well and justified so
graciously, is sent home with a message of peace. As she departs, once again she
is assured that her sins are forgiven. It is the great fact in her life, never
to be forgotten, also never to be doubted. We meet with no other case in the
gospel story in which Jesus gives this assurance so repeatedly or so
emphatically. Comforting words of farewell are much needed, because in our hard
world the penitent has a cruel time of it. God’s forgiveness is given, but not
her fellow-sinner’s. The most difficult task for this woman will be to win any
faith from womankind. She will have to stand quite alone in a chill atmosphere
of social contempt. Still she is forgiven. That is her pearl of great price, and
as she dries her tears and goes out from the Pharisee’s house, it is with God’s
bow of hope in her sky. Dark as may be the world around her, her heart can be
radiant with the joy of her Lord.


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  CHAPTER 49: 3.11.     THE CANAANITE WOMAN — A MOTHER'S PERSISTEXCE.
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CHAPTER XI The Canaanite Woman — A Mother’s Persistexce. THE incident of the
Canaanite woman stands by itself without parallel in the gospel story. The time,
the place, the nationality of the woman, her conduct, and the treatment she
receives, are all unique. Jesus was now an exile from the familiar scenes of His
labour among His fellow-countrymen of Galilee, opposed by the leading
authorities, rejected by the great body of the people, deserted by the bulk of
His old followers, with only a dwindling remnant still attached to Him, the tide
of popularity having entirely ebbed away. It was positively dangerous for Him to
be discovered on Jewish territory. He had no fear for Himself, and the time was
not far distant when He was to set His face steadfastly to go up to Jerusalem,
knowing that it was to meet His death there; but the training of the men who
were to carry on His work was not yet complete, and therefore His “time” was
“not yet come.”

Accordingly He was now in retirement with these faithful few at the remote
north-west corner of Palestine, or perhaps actually over the border and in
heathen territory.

We may so read the account in Mark as to understand that He walked through the
streets’ of the ancient city of Tyre, where He found a house in which to rest,
hoping that He might remain there unknown. But that was not possible, for the
fame of the great Healer had penetrated even to this distant city.

Thus it came about that a native of these parts hearing Mat 15:21-28; Mark
7:24-30. of His presence in her neighbourhood daringly seized lier opportunity,
heathen as she was, and came to Him — St. Mark says, into the very house —
beseeching His help for her afflicted daughter. In Mattlieto she is described as
“a Canaanite woman;” in Mark as “a Greek, a SyroPhcenician by race.”
“Phoenician” is just the Greek equivalent for “Canaanite.” The old Phoenicia of
Tyre and Sidon being now a part of the large Roman province of Syria, it came to
be called “ Syro-Phoenicia “ to distinguish it from the Phoenicia of North
Africa, Carthage and its neighbourhood — the Punicus of the Romans, which is but
a Latinising of the same name. The woman was therefore strictly speaking not a
Greek at all. She is simply called a Greek in a general sense, as one who was
not a Jew, and who belonged to the outlying district which had all been
comprehended in the Macedonian Empire, and into which the Greek language and
civilisation had been introduced. The careful exactness with which St. Mark
describes the racial relations of this woman shows us how much importance he
attaches to them. He makes it clear beyond all possibility of dispute that she
is no Jewess. She is not only a Gentile; she is of the stock of Canaan — the
people whom the Israelites had set themselves to exterminate like vermin — of
the race of the Baal-worshippers in the days of the kings. This is to prepare us
for the singular reception she receives from Jesus. That it does not quite
prepare us for it, however, must be fairly admitted. The story is one of some
perplexity even after every conceivable explanation has been given. A mother’s
undying love is the motive that sends the Canaanite woman on her daring quest.
It is this that summons up her strength for the attempt, sustains her obstinate
persistency in spite of discouraging rebuffs, and inspires her at the ciitical
moment with a most delightful repartee, as humble as it is clever. She is the
mother fighting for her child, and in her motherhood it appears that all racial
and even all religious differences must be lost sight of. Here we are at one of
the great primitive passions of human nature. The mother is at heart the same,
whether she bo the Jewish Rizpah guarding her seven sons’ corpses from the
vultures, or the Greek Niobe weeping for her murdered children, Hagar, the
outcast slave in the desert, despairing for her son’s life, or Jeroboam’s queen
secretly seeking counsel and help from the prophet of Jehovah in her desperate
need while the young heir to the throne of Israel lies dying in the palace at
Tirzah. History and legend give us replicas without number of a mother’s
devotion, heroism, self-sacrifice. It is always the same story in spirit and
character, though with every possible variety of incident, the nearest to the
Divine of all earthly events.

Prompted by the indomitable urgency of a mother’s heart the Canaanite woman
enters the presence of the Jew stranger, and casting herself at His feet cries,
“ Have pity on me. Lord, Son of David, for my daughter is terribly afflicted
with a demon possession.” It is her daughter that she is pleading for, and yet
in the first place she unwittingly begs for compassion on herself; for the
child’s affliction is the mother’s agony, and it is her own distress that is
visible to Christ as she lies prostrate before Him. But the strangest thing
about her words is that she addresses Jesus as the Jewish Messiah. He is the “
Son of David.”

We know that the Messianic idea had spread in a vague way far over the East; it
must have been known in Tyre. But this woman has actually come to the faith in
Jesus as the fulfilment of that idea, a faith that has not yet found expression
even among our Lord’s intimate companions, for the time is earlier than St.
Peter’s great confession. It is clear that the belief was in the air as a sort
of surmise.

Some accepted it, others had different explanations to offer for the amazing
career of the Prophet of Nazareth. But this heathen woman catches at the great
title that she has somehow heard attached to the name of Jesus and
unhesitatingly offers it Him. His treatment of her shows that He recognised more
in it than the language of empty flattery or the parrot-like repetition of a
casual appellation.

She had some sort of notion of what the phrase meant, and her use of it was one
sign of true faith. She had heard enough of Jesus by repute to begin to have
faith in Him. And yet how little there had been as yet on which to feed her
faith! At first this was spurred on by the mother’s love, a love that prompted
her to make a very daring venture of faith on what could be but yet very slender
grounds of knowledge.

Hitherto the cry for help has never come to the ears of Jesus in vain. Now for
the first time in His life He turns a deaf ear to the piteous appeal. This
surprises us. We should never have imagined anything of the kind. The very
improbability of the narrative, standing as it does entirely by itself, speaks
for its veracity. Nobody would have invented such a story as this; nobody could
have invented it. Yet how are we to account for it 1 In the first place, notice
that hard as the conduct of Jesus might seem to us if we were not well assured
that there must be some way of explaining it in consistency with the invariable
kindness of His heart, to His disciples it seemed even too easy and lenient. For
they took upon them to suggest that He should send the importunate woman away.
Then He was not giving any indication that her presence was annoying to Him. A
strict Jew would have resented the intrusion of a heathen woman. It would not
have been at all remarkable in the eyes of His nation if Jesus had scornfully
repulsed this Canaanite mother for daring to seek His aid. Jesus was doing
nothing of the kind, and His patient silence called from the disciples some
remonstrance. It can scarcely be doubted that the woman availed herself of it as
an encouragement to press her plea for pity all the more urgently. At least she
has an opportunity for obtaining a full hearing, and that is more than she had
any right to expect when she set out from her home with the delibei’ate
intention of violating a very strict social convention.

Nevertheless all this does not satisfy us. To people who know the character of
Jesus Christ, Jewish conventions count for nothing in explaining His actions.
Why then did He hesitate in the present case? He gives us His own answer. There
is no excuse for not accepting it or for making any attempt to explain it out of
its natural meaning.

He was only sent to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. His earthly mission
was solely to the Jews. All His ministry had been carried on within the confines
of the land of Israel. With His boundless human sympathies this limitation must
have been a positive pain to Him. The Son of Mun, would He not have entered with
joy into the prosecution of a world-wide mission such as that to which His
servant Paul was afterwards called? But He knew it was His Father’s will that He
should labour in the more limited sphere, among the people who were most
prejudiced against His choicest teaching, and yet where after all He could best
find and train the men who were to build on the foundation He was laying. It was
in the eternal counsels of God that the salvation of the world should spring
from Israel, and that not arbitrarily, but because in this way it could be best
eflfected. Had Jesus thrown Himself into a great mission to the heathen world
two direct conquences of a most disastrous kind would have followed. First, He
would have lost His last foothold among the Jews; and second, His activity would
have been dissipated, scattered over a boundless sea. It was necessary that it
should be concentrated in order that it might live and work.

Besides, His great mission was not for miracle-working. That only came in by the
way, because while He was conscious of possessing the power His heart was moved
with compassion to exercise it for the benefit of the sufferers who came across
His path. Had He gone through the world as a Healer of all who came to Him He
would have been known only, or at least chiefly, as a great Thaumaturgist. He
could not have been the Saviour of the world if He had not been first the Christ
of Israel.

There are few things more galling to a man of energy than the sound of the
command “Halt”; but still more trying is it to one of endless compassion to hear
that unwelcome word when he sees before him opening opportunities of gracious
helpfulness. How difficult it must have been for the British marines from the
fleet on guard in Cretan waters to resist the temptation to strike a blow for
the relief of the Greeks! But obedience comes even before mercy. We may be sure
then that Jesus would have felt keen pain in remaining silent under the piteous
appeals of this mother on behalf of her afflicted child. If she was hurt by His
apparent coldness, He must have been hurt much more in feeling compelled to give
her so unusual a reception.

Nevertheless His subsequent yielding shows that He did not interpret the
limitation of His ministry in an absolute way. After all there might be
exceptions. The law of God is not a formal rule only to be read in the
strictness of the letter. He speaks to the intelligence of His servants, and
expects every case to be considered on its own merit& Our Lord’s silence may
indicate that He was debating this new question in His own mind. Never before
had He been placed in such a dilemma — His heart drawing one way, His mission
another. Still there might be some exceptional excuse for an exceptional action.

Perhaps He was waiting for that to appear. His silence gave the woman an
opportunity to further reveal her character. Or shall we say that He was silent
for very compunction of heart? He did not yet see His way to yield to her
request; yet He could not bring Himself to say her nay. That was a word He had
never yet spoken, never could speak, to any humble trustful applicant for His
mercy. The position is not a little peculiar — the Canaanite woman persistently
urging her plea, Jesus receiving it in unbroken silence! At length the disciples
interfere to end what seems to them to be an awkward situation. They venture to
urge Him to send this importunate heathen person away. As if He could not have
done that of His own accord had He so willed! Yet it is to be remarked that
unlike the cases of Bartimseus whose unseemly shouts the disciples themselves
rebuked, or of the women who brought their children to Jesus for His blessing at
an inconvenient moment, breaking into an interesting discussion of casuistry,
and were repelled by the disciples with some irritation, in the present instance
they did not venture to interfere directly and themselves order the woman to go.
Even they must have perceived that it would be a strange thing for Jesus to
resist an appeal for help, though this might for once come from a heathen. His
disciples’ words of remonstrance call forth a strange speech from Jesus. He
seems to be taking refuge in a cruel Jewish proverb. It is not fitting to take
the children’s bread and fling it to dogs. Various attempts have been made to
mitigate the apparent harshness of these words, so amazing as falling from the
lips of the gentle and merciful Jesus. Thus it has been pointed out that the
Greek term is a diminutive, meaning little dogs, and so suggestive of the young
dogs that might be treated with more considerateness than the full-grown
animals. But on the other hand it has to be observed that in this later
provincial Greek it was very usual to employ diminutives for no particular
reason. Then it has been said that Jesus did not mean those surly, half-savage
brutes that prowl about Eastern cities in search of offal — the scavengers of
the streets, making night hideous with their yells, but little pet dogs that the
children play with as they run under their table. But it is extremely doubtful
whether any dogs were treated in this way in Syria — though the woman is clever
enough to apply the saying to dogs that are privately owned and admitted to the
house. Besides, it is not Jesus, but the Canaanite woman who first refers to the
dogs under the table. And look at it how we may, the fact remains that Jews were
accustomed to call their heathen neighbours by the offensive nickname of “dogs,”
and for Jesus to employ the word at all in addressing a heathen woman could not
but suggest to her the Jews’ contempt for her people.

We must look in another direction for the explanation of the seeming
contradiction between this strange utterance of Christ’s and all that we know of
His kind and considerate character. Of one thing we may be sure, even if no
satisfactory explanation be forthcoming, Jesus never could be really harsh to
any troubled soul. You would sooner find gloom in a sunbeam than unkindness in
word or look of Christ, Anger He could show against hypocrisy and cruelty and
injustice, an anger that blazed out at times with fierce indignation; but
harshness towards a humble, pleading application it was not in Him to exhibit.

We must remember that in the bareness of theu’ narratives the evangelists do not
give us any of those nuances that soften the lines of more dainty literature.
They have no idea of supplying us with those details which we look for in the
model raconteur. We might almost compare these gospel narratives to the severe
statuary of the more ancient period of Greek art before Phidias had arisen to
breathe into it the subtle spirit of human life. They are perfectly honest and
truthful, and thus we are safe in their hands from any of that romancing by
means of which some historians succeed in giving to their narratives the charm
of a novel. This is their great merit. But the price we have to pay for it is
the loss of those thousand and one delicate touches that we are accustomed to
find in modern writing. The evangelists say nothing of the tone of the voice,
the look of the eye, the manner and expression of the speaker when he gives
utterance to the sayings they content themselves with ascribing to him in the
simplest possible way. They never tell us when Jesus smiled. But a smile is
often more significant than a sentence. There may be a world of meaning in a
look. Once, as an exception to this rigorous suppression of detail, we are told
that Jesus turned and looked at Peter, and ever after painters have despaired of
rendering that look, feeling that it meant volumes to the heart-broken man who
received it. We know very well that the very same words may convey totally
different impressions according as they are spoken in jest or in earnest, in
tones of irony or of serious conviction, with gentle or angry expression, a
smile or a frown.

What if Jesus quoted this Jewish proverb in a hesitating tone, citing a
well-known saying as though He meant, “You know they say you must not take the
children’s bread and cast it to dogs. What do you make of that 1 “Suppose He
spoke with a smile on His lips and a kindly light in His eye. In that case the
whole meaning of the phrase would be changed. Since concerning all such very
important factors of the case we are left entirely in the dark, with nothing but
our own conjectures to guide us, is it not only just to allow that some
explanation might be forthcoming if only we could cross-examine an observant
witness of the scene. And now this keen-witted woman sees her chance. The vei’y
words which to the dull hearer would seem to shut the dungeon door on hope, open
to her quick mind the way for a fresh plea. Can we suppose that Jesus had not
seen at a glance what sort of a person He was dealing with 1 These nimble minds
reveal their nature at once to a less penetrating gaze than that of One who was
always accustomed to read the thoughts of the people with whom He was
conversing. Had she been of a more sluggish ternperament He might not have
addressed her as He did.

It is not everybody to whom a remark of pleasant irony can be safely made. Jesus
saw that here was a case in which He could use this dangerous style without any
risk of being misapprehended; or at all events He discerned the courage and
persistency of a woman who would not be put off by a phrase which she had wit
enough to turn against the speaker. So seizing her opportunity the suppliant
actually makes the words that seem to be a cruel rebuff the very excuse for
pressing her demand. She discovers a little chink in the wall that Jesus has
built round His grace, through which she can creep in and obtain her morsel.
Even the very dogs may eat of the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.
What delightful repartee! How apt!

How exactly to the point! And how timely! What clever things we could all say if
only we had time to hunt them out! Only the happy thought comes too late. That
new point of hers is delicious — “ their master’s table.” Thus she quietly
suggests a sort of claim, though one confessedly inferior to the children’s
right. She will not account herself a stranger. The children’s father is at
least her master, and even she has a place in the family, though the very
humblest, only that of a watch-dog. There is fine intelligence in this fresh
device of hers. But a child’s fate is at stake, and the very most must be made
of the opportunity that has come once for all. Happy woman that she has the gift
to use it! May we not even call her wit an inspiration mercifully given her for
the saving of her child?

It has been said that in this one case Jesus was outwitted in argument by a
woman, and that He graciously acknowledged His defeat by yielding to the woman’s
clever plea. It may be so; but that He could not have kept up the contest of
words had He chosen is not to be supposed. Was He ever worsted in argument when
He put forth His strength? Jacob contends with the “ Traveller unknown “only so
long as his mysterious Antagonist permits; at a touch the Patriarch’s sinew
shrinks. Jesus had no desire to get the better of this suppliant in her
argument. Nobody could have been more delighted at her clever reply than He was.
It is not only that the sparkle of intellect is always welcome, but the spirit
of the answer means so much.

Nothing is more dangerous than the faculty of smartness in repartee. Too often
it wounds when no unkindness is intended; and it is especially difficult when
the speaker is addressing a superior. But the remarkable thing about this
woman’s answer to Christ’s seemingly repellant speech is, that while it is
adequate for her purpose there is not a grain of impertinence in it; that she
contrives to retain her humility even when turning our Lord’s words against His
own case. There lies the perfection of her wit and the charm of it. She does not
attempt to deny the correctness of the harsh Jewijh proverb. A woman of duller
mind or less delicate feelings would have tried to push her attack on these
lines, and then she would have proved herself to be but ordinary. It is by
admitting to the full, or at least tacitly acquiescing in, the painful words she
has just heard that she is able to erect a new plea on the very ground they
furnish her. Thus while her method reveals the fine perfection of her wit, at
the same time it shows the true modesty of her spirit. Nothing can be more
humble than this plea for the crumbs that the very dogs are not hindered from
taking. If only we could see it we should admit that self-assertion is always
the greatest possible barrier to the reception of the grace of Christ. The lower
we place ourselves before Him the stronger is our plea. Our abject need is our
one claim. Before God our sole ground of hope is the mendicant’s destitution. A
further charm in this plea for the crumbs is that with all its humility it does
not admit of any lessening of the boon sought after. There is no haggling about
it. Tho suppliant does not say, “If I have asked for too great a thing, give me
some smaller favour, more suitable to my position.” There is just one thing she
wants, and a great thing it is, this healing of her afflicted daughter — to her
mother’s heart more desirable than any other conceivable favour. This is all she
has come to beg; and nothing but this will satisfy her now. Yet she ventures to
class it with the crumbs that fall from the children’s feast in comparison with
the wealth of bounties it is the power of Jesus to bestow. Thus the very
expression of her mingled ingenuity and modesty is a sign of her amazing faith.
Even this great favour that she is daring to seek will be largely exceeded by
what Jesus will be doing for His own people.

Immeasurably valuable as it is, she believes that it must be but as a crumb to
the royal feast that the Christ is spreading for the children of the kingdom.
Here is a delicate ascription of praise, too delicate and at the same time too
genuine to be called a compliment. To describe the great boon as but a crumb
from Christ’s table is to imply that the bounty of that table must be something
inconceivably magnificent, and the power and generosity of Him who is providing
for it incomparably glorious. It needs to be recognised that the timorous spirit
which shrinks from asking great things of Christ is not thereby commending its
own humility. A more modest temper would be that of the Queen of Sheba, amazed
that the half had not been told i|er. A greater than Solomon is here, and just
in proportion as His ^eatness is acknowledged, we shall perceive that nothing is
too wonderful for Him to perform. There is logic in the familiar refrain —“ Thou
art coming to a king; Large petitions with thee bring.”

We need not be astonished that Jesus yielded at once to this perfect plea of the
suppliant at His feet. He had no pride to lead Him to resent the appearance of
being worsted by a heathen woman, and no unreasonable obstinacy urging Him never
to change an attitude He had once taken up.

It must have been a rare pleasure in those times of depression amid failing
hearts for Him to discover the faith that revealed itself in the Canaanite
woman’s apt reply. He could deny her nothing now. Had she not proved herself to
be in heart a true daughter of Abraham by discovering a double portion of
Abraham’s faith? Astonished and delighted He exclaims, “ woman, great is thy
faith: be it done unto thee even as thou wilt.” She is to have just what she
sought, her daughter healed from that very hour.


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  CHAPTER 50: 3.12.     THE MOTHER OF ZEBEDEE'S CHILDREN— MATERNAL AMBITION
========================================================================

CHAPTER XII The Mother of Zebedee’s Children— Maternal Ambition THE curious
periphrasis with which Zebedee’s wife is described in Matthew on two occasions
without being named, although her name is given in Mark and Jdhn, suggests that
her eminent place in the gospel storyis assigned to her chiefly on account of
her motherhood.

It was no small thing to be the mother of two apostles, and these of the inner
group, both members of the trio of Christ’s most intimate friends, one of them
even being known as “the disciple whom Jesus loved.” Hers was second only to the
quite unique privilege of Mary, the mother of Jesus. What greater blessedness
could any woman aspire to than that her son should be a St. John?

We cannot believe that the mother on whom this rare favour was conferred shone
only in its reflected radiance. That might be all she would pride herself upon.
And yet there is something in heredity. When reading, the biographies of men of
mark, one is repeatedly struck with the fact that in the majority of instances
they came of remarkable mothers. Monica is not solely noteworthy because she is
the mother of Augustine. It is only just to say that Augustine became the
greatest of the Fathers because Monica was his mother.

Most probably “ the mother of Zebedee’s children “ was favoured with another
relationship of singular interest. By comparing Matthew and Mark we learn that
her name was Salome. In Mattheio we read concerning the witnesses of the
crucifixion: “ And many women were there beholding from afar, which had followed
Jesus from Galilee, ministering unto Him: among whom was Mary Magdalene, and
Mary the mother of James and Joses, and the mother of Zebedee’s children.”^ In
Mark the corresponding statement runs: “And there were also women beholding from
afar: among whom were also Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the less
and of Joses, and Salome; who, when He was in Galilee, followed Him, and
ministered unto Him “ — where Salome takes the place of “the mother of Zebedee’s
children.” Now turn to John, In the fourth evangelist’s account of the women at
the crucifixion we read: “ But there were standing by the cross of Jesus His
mother, and His mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene.”
Here Christ’s mother’s sister seems to take the place of Salome. Another way of
rendering it is to understand the phrase as in apposition with what follows —
i.e. “ Mary the wife of Clopas” — so that this Mary is regarded as the sister of
the mother of Jesus, But if so there would be two sisters each having the name
“Mary,” a most improbable thing.

Besides, in this passage of the fourth gospel the names seem to arrange
themselves in two groups, each consisting of a pair connected with “ and “ —
first “ His mother and His mother’s sister “; then “Mary the wife of Clopas and
Mary Magdalene.” The balance and symmetry are broken if “Mary the wife of
Clopas” is detached from the second clause and joined to the “ mother’s sister.”
In some of the early versions of the gospels — the Syriac, the Persian, and the
Ethiopic — there is a conjunction between the second and the third titles,
plainly indicating that they stand for different persons.

It has been objected that Jesus would not commit Mary to the charge of John with
the phrase, “Behold thy mother,” if John’s actual mother were standing by at the
time. On the other hand, if John were His cousin, and nephew to Blary, it would
be the more natural that this disciple should take her to his home. Perhaps we
should not regard the identification as absolutely certain. Still the
indications point to a high degree of probability.

Here, then, we have the strong probability of a second point of great interest
in connection with “ the mother of Zebedee’s children.” Salome was sister to the
Virgin Mary and aunt to Jesus. These two sisters were rare women, highly
favoured, though in very different degrees. Our thoughts go back to their early
days. We try to picture them in the home of their childhood at Nazareth. From
what stock had they sprung? Tradition has encircled the parentage of the Virgin
with a haj^o of_sanctity, and in legends of the church her father and mother,
known as Joachim and Anna, appear as saintly characters of rare excellence.
These legends are not of any real historical value. Yet we may safely conclude
that it was no ordinary home that produced two such daughters as jNIary and
Salome.

Then, it is natural to ask, where was Salome at the time of the wonders that
accompanied the birth of Jesus 1 She may have been already married and away from
Nazareth. In that case we should expect St. James, and perhaps St. John also, to
be older than Jesus. That is not very probable. St. John is always represented
in Christian art as a very young man in the time of Christ. Again we must beware
of attaching too much weight to unauthoritative tradition. StiU the solid
historical evidence that he lived on till the end of the first century of the
Christian era renders it very improbable that he could be older than Jesus. It
is more likely, therefore, that Salome was a younger sister of Mary. If so she
was a daughter at home at the time of the Annunciation. Was she near enough to
Maiy in age for any sisterly confidences to be whispered between them at this
most perplexing crisis? The journey of Mary to visit her kinswoman in the south
country rather points to the conclusion that the Virgin had kept her secret to
herself up till that time. But before long the younger sister must have known at
least something of what was occurring in Bethlehem and at Nazareth; and it is
not at all improbable that the two families met on several occasions during
those silent years of the boyhood of Jesus and His humble work in the
carpenter’s shop.

Meanwhile Salome becomes the fisherman’s wife at Bethsaida. She is not mentioned
on the occasion when her two sons receive their call. The evangelists direct our
attention to the fact that they left their father to follow Jesus, without
making any mention of their mother. But subsequently she is found among the
women who also followed the new Teacher and ministered to Him. We are left in
the dark as to many points that we should like to be able to clear up. Did
Salome accompany her sons from the first 1 Or was it that the home seemed empty
without them, and the mother bii’d deserted her nest because it had lost its
attraction to her when the young had flown? So was it her mother’s love that
first brought Salome into the circle of the influence of Jesus, where, however,
before long she came to feel the spell of His Divine personality, and thus was
led to become on her own account one of His most devoted disciples 1 If so the
case is the reverse to that of Augustine and Monica. It is not that the mother
leads her sons to Jesus Christ; but that more or less indirectly the sons bring
their mother into discipleship. Then, we are driven to ask, what had become of
the father? The Scriptures drop no hint of his ever having cast in his lot with
the new movement. It is not so easy for a man in middle life to change the whole
course of his habits, Jesus was a young man, and the majority of His disciples
appear to have been young men. For the most part the Kingdom of Heaven came as
an inheritance of the young. It was the startling new light of a new age; and
the elder men, with their rooted prejudices and their set, stiffened habits,
were slow to adopt it. So Zebedee, we must fear, was untouched by the teaching
that was making so gieat a stir by the shores of his familiar lake.

Now if Zebedee was not a believer he must have thought he had a grievance. First
his sons leave him; then his wife follows. The home is completely broken up. Was
not this hard for the head of the family? It is often said that he had his hired
servants, a fact showing that he was not in needy circumstances, and would not
be left in the lurch as far as his fishing business was concerned. But hired
servants are a poor compensation for the loss of wife and sons.

Again we must suspend our judgment for the reason that we are most imperfectly
acquainted with the facts.

It may be that Zebedee had died in the interval between the call of the two
brothers and their mother’s flight from the home. If so she may have thought
that since there was nothing more for her to live for in Bethsaida she would
join her sons and devote herself to the cause with which they were identified.
It is really uncharitable to entertain the idea, but it must be allowed as a
bare possibility for the exoneration of Salome from blame in leaving her home,
that Zebedee had behaved badly to his family, or at least had taken the going of
his sons so ill that while his wife, mother-like, sided with the young men,
there was a family quarrel, and Salome was driven to the extremity of going with
her sons. It is idle to dwell on such possibilities. They are only worth naming
to indicate how very ignorant we are as to the facts of the case, and therefore
how impossible it is for us to form any judgment on them.

This, however, may be said quite apart from all such speculations. The coming of
Jesus broke up old familyties while it introduced the new brotherhood of the
Kingdom of Heaven. He gave full warning that it must be so.

While in the end there is no firmer foundation for the famil}’ life than a
common loyalty to Jesus Christ among the members of the household, it must not
be forgotten that the claims of Christ are paramount. At times they cannot but
traverse the lines of natural relationship. Then the closestties must not be
permitted to interfere with them.

Following Jesus in the company of the women who were ministering to Him by the
supply of the necessaries of life for Himself and His disciples, Salome must
have heard much of His teaching. Thus she was led to the conclusion that He was
the Christ. Certainly she had gained that great conviction before she came to
Him towards the end of His ministry with her daring request.

It is from Matthew alone that we learn of the action of the “mother of Zebedee’s
children” on this occasion. There is another account of the incident in Mark,
where we read that James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came to Jesus asking for
the favour on their own account, and no mention is there made of their mother.-
Therefore it must be allowed that at all events they had a share in the
ambition. This is also apparent in Matthew, since even in that gospel the mother
is accompanied by her sons when she begs the favour from Jesus, These sons were
not children, and their presence carried with it their own share in the
responsibility for what Salome said. But we are now concerned with the mother
whose leading part in the incident is clearly brought out in Mattheio. On the
face of it the request has an appearance of most unseemly greed. The mother
approaches Jesus with her sons. She bows at His feet and tells Him that she has
come to ask a certain thing of Him. It would almost seem that she wishes Him to
grant her request before it is named. Jesus could not agree to so preposterous a
demand. Kindness itself, He could not neglect the principies of wisdom. ISTo
prayer can be answered simply on demand. The saying that faith is a blank cheque
on the bank of heaven is as false as it is irreverent.

Then Salome finds courage to express the desire of her heart. It is nothing less
than that Jesus should command these her two sons whom she brings with her to
sit, “ the one on His right hand, the other on His left hand in His kingdom.” No
mother’s ambition could soar higher than that. Salome was careful to approach
Jesus at a time when He was not suiTounded by the twelve. Yet the object of her
errand leaked out probably through her own irrepressible maternal vanity.
Naturally they were indignant. But now let us look at the case all round. At the
first blush of it the crudity of the ambition is amazing. It is so naive, so
deliciously unconscious of its extravagance, so rarely blind to all other
considerations than the yearnings of a mother’s heart. But if this is all we see
in the action of Salome we shall be guilty of great injustice to her. That her
request was somewhat foolish is clear from the light thrown on it by the grave
words of Jesus in His reply.

She did not know what it involved; neither did she recognise the grounds on
which such a future as she foreshadowed for her sons must be determined. So much
we must grant, and the perception of it must have been not a little
disconcerting to the fond mother.

Still there is more in her request than an expression of inordinate maternal
ambition. In the first place, as we have already seen, her action is an evidence
of her unhesitating faith. She had received the tremendous truth that this
peasant Prophet, her own nephew apparently, was the prophesied and long-expected
Redeemer of Israel. His own brethren had not yet arrived at this stage; it
wanted the resurrection to remove their doubts. But here is a relative who knows
all about His early surroundings, and is not at all disconcerted by their
homeliness. Her faith in Him is quite definite and settled. The favour she begs
for her sons is based on the assumption that He will certainly enter into His
kingdom.

Instead of under-estimating His authority she does what nobody else is ever
recorded as having done, what we should have thought impossible, if we had not
learnt it from the lips of Jesus Himself; she actually over-estimates it,
ascribing to Him a function which He repudiates as the exclusive right of His
Father. When we consider Christ’s circumstances at the time and Salome’s
relationship with Him, must we not allow that this serene assurance of His lofty
desting is perfectly sublime. But further the conversation which had immediately
preceded this incident brings out the faith of “ the mother of Zebedee’s
children” in the strongest possible relief.

Jesus had just been predicting His rejection by the Jews, the outrageous
treatment He was to receive at their hands, the s’ourging and crucifixion, and
the resurrection that was to follow. He had foretold His death on one or two
earlier occasions, with increasing fulness of detail as He drew nearer to the
event. But this is the first occasion on which He named the awful word
“crucify.” Now immediately following on this terrible announcement comes
Salome’s daring request. “Then,” says the evangelist, “ then came to Him the
mother of Zebedee’s children, &c.”

It would seem that His very words about the approaching events at Jerusalem had
stirred her up to seek the favour.

It was as they were on the road to Jerusalem that Jesus made this more full
statement concerning His destiny, and He prefaced it with the words, “Behold, we
are going up to Jerusalem,” that is to say, He made it clear that the very
journey He was then pursuing was to lead to the end of which He was speaking.
Yet even this does not disconcert the confident woman’s faith. She is not
dismayed at the sudden vision of the cross. We cannot imagine the ghastliness of
the vision that word “crucify” would conjure up in the cruel days of Roman
brutality, the pale horror of the future it would represent. It was more
frightful than if one were to speak calmly to-day about having to put his head
through the hangman’s noose. And yet with that horror just presented to her
imagination, the very first thing Salome does is to proffer a request for her
sons’ share in the kingly distribution of honours by this Man who is about to be
tortured and dragged to a felon’s death. How shall we account for so remarkable
a juxtaposition of incongruous ideas? Was it that Salome absolutely refused to
accept the dreadful prophecy, in her request assuming the impossibility of any
such thing taking place t Possibly, and yet our Lord’s answer takes no note of
any apparent rejection of His words. It is more probable that she accepted them.

Then how are we to take her request in the light of the depressing information
she had just received? May we suppose that she hung it on the last statement,
the prediction of the resurrection? If so her faith had taken a higher flight
than that of any other disciple, or at least higher than the faith of any but
her two sons who accompanied her in the request. Perhaps it would be safer to
conclude that Salome had no such definite conception. It was enough for her that
Jesus was undoubtedly the Christ.

Therefore He must have His kingdom. What He had just said contained much that
was very unlike Messianic glory.

She could not reconcile these things. But she was willing to leave them
unreconciled, as beyond her comprehension.

She knew that nothing could upset the kingly desting of y the Christ. That is
faith triumphant, a light in the cloud \ above the blackest storm.

There is yet another idea that may be brought in from the singular conjunction
of Christ’s prediction and Salome’s request. If she attached any meaning to His
words, if she did not thrust them back as absolutely unbelievable, they must
have entered in some dim way into her conception of the Messianic glory and the
road to it. Jesus pointed out that her sons did not know what they were asking.
Salome could not know what her request involved. No one could imagine the
bitterness of the cup He was to drink, or the severity of the baptism with which
He was to be consecrated. Yet the mother and her sons must have seen that some
dread ordeal was before Him, and their subsequent words show that the two young
men were willing to share its unseen possibilities. As all three seem to have
been of one mind in the request, the mother as well as the sons must have been
willing that some hard and painful road should be travelled in reaching the
coveted honour. To persevere with the request in face of such a prospect
required more than faith; it demanded courage, a rare and heroic courage. There
is something of the S part an mot her_in SalQme. Honour she covets for her sons;
but not merely the gilded favour of a court, rather such honour as the general
distributes to the survivors of his faithful staff who gather round him with the
blood of the battle upon them. She is like the Roman matron whose proudest hour
is when she sends forth her sons to die for their country, although hers is the
hope of a larger faith, since she is well assured that in some way totally
incomprehensible to her the ultimate issue will be the glory of a kingdom.

Nevertheless, when all this is said, there remains the unpleasant selfishness of
this request. It is selfish on the part of the brothers; and it is now also in
some degree selfish on the part of the mother! Family selfishness is a most
subtle weakness. When we meet with it in connection with a more remote
relationship we condemn it unhesitatingly, branding it with the ugly name “
nepotism.”

It is not so easy to detect the evil of it under the guise of that most
unselfish of all passions, a mother’s love. And yet while truly unselfish as
regards her own individual affairs, a mother is really in a sense selfish in
making undue demands for her own children. But even here we may do injustice to
Salome. She was not asking for her sons any favour which might be considered
unreasonable in comparison with the claims of the other disciples. Already they
were more than of the twelve; they were of the inner group of three. Besides, in
the fourth gospel St. John is described as the beloved disciple, and as the one
who leaned on the bosom of Jesus.

We must not think of this as only an attitude of affection. When reclining at a
feast, leaning on his left elbow, anybody might be described as in the bosom of
the person on whose right hand he was placed. This was St. John’s usual position
in relation to his Lord. He always sat on the right hand of Jesus. And now,
which disciple occupied the other post of honour, the left side of the Lord 1
The scene at the mention of the traitor during the last supper makes it apparent
that it was not St. Peter, for that disciple had to beckon to St. John to ask
Jesus who the traitor was. But it is most likely that it would have been one of
the three. We are led then to the conclusion that in all probability St. James
sat on the left of Jesus, so that while John leaned on the bosom of Jesus, Jesus
leaned on the bosom of James. That is to say, the two brothers already occupied
the very positions which Salome was asking for them. Her request comes to this,
that the places they have held on earth in the time of their Master’s
humiliation may be continued to them in the coming kingdom when He is glorified.
Will the fishermen friends be owned still as the King’s most choice companions?
And among the disciples, may they still retain their peculiar privilege.

St. Peter was the nearest rival. His impulsive nature often led him to assume a
foremost place; and on some occasions Jesus had seemed to allow it him,
describing him in his faith and confession as the rock on which He would build
His church, and perhaps alluding to him as the doorkeeper who was called on to
be especially watchful in a position of trust. ^ • Salome might have feared that
her quieter, less assuming sons would be thrust aside at last in favour of the
more pushing comrade and his brother Andrew. These four were the first-made
disciples. Salome knew Andrew and Simon well; they had been partners with her
sons in their trade. Possibly there had been an old rivalry between the two
pairs of brothers. Or if this had not been the case it was not unnatural that
the mother of one pair should feel a little jealous of the honour she thought
due to her own sons falling to the other two young fishermen. This all looks
very small and quite unworthy of the lofty aims of apostles. But Jesus had
occasion to rebuke the miserable disputes of His disciples as to who was to be
greatest among them.”

Jesus made it clear that Salome was making a foolish request. In the first place
she did not know what she was asking. She had no idea of the real nature of the
petition she was urging so decidedly; neither did she in the least perceive what
would be involved in granting it. It is not wise for parental ambition to be too
definite. The future shrouds strange possibilities. It is safest to leave them
with God. In the second place, Jesus distinctly declared that it was not His
part to grant such a favour. This distribution of final honours was entirely in
the hands of His Father. As a matter of fact the slow unrolling of events
declared a result of which Salome could not have dreamed. The star that was
destined to shine most brightly in the kingdom of heaven was still below the
hoi-izon. How far was this fond mother from imagining that there was then at
Jerusalem a young Jew of good family and rabbinic culture devoting himself
intensely to the practice of pharisaic piety, who was destined before many years
to be the foremost leader in the cause of Christ? And yet to us Mark 13:34. Mark
9:1-50 who look back on those far-off times in the light of subsequent history,
it would seem that the man whom God, in the mystery of His counsels, had chosen
to sit on the right hand of the Christ, was neither James nor John, nor any one
of the twelve, but the persecutor Saul. Nor does even the second place in the
kingdom seem to have been assigned to either of the sons of Zebedee; for great
as is the glory of being the first apostolic martyr that fell to the lot of St.
James, and venerable as was the position of St. John in his old age at Ephesus,
history marks as more prominent leaders of the church, first, St. Peter, the
spokesman at Pentecost and before the council, and then that other James — “ the
Lord’s brother,” who at this time was no apostle, and not even a believer. It
appears then that the mother’s wish was not granted.

Still, it may be argued, she came very near to having her desire satisfied. Her
elder son was the first apostle to win the martyr’s crown. Where was his mother
when James was chosen by Herod as the most dangerous Galilean? She had heard her
sons’ courageous acceptance of companionship with their Master in His
sufferings. Did she think of this when James was drinking the cup of persecution
and receiving the baptism of blood 1 It was thus that her first-born went to his
seat of honour. Her second son, John, had the glory of writing the gospel of
richest inspiration and deepest spiritual insight, of being in fact the author
of the greatest book in all literature.

Surely these were honours enough to satisfy a mother’s ambition. And yet neither
of them was what Salome contemplated when she came to Jesus with her bold
request. From the first of them she must have shrunk with the agony of nature’s
protest. This was too much like the desting of her sister, the Mother of
Sorrows, when, as Simeon had prophesied, the sword pierced her soul.

It is by a natural instinct that a mother wishes the best for her chillren; it
is with a beautiful infirmity that she beheves in them as worthy of the best.
Alas! disillusion and disappointment too often follow these fond dreams, and
therein is the deep pathos of that most Divine thing on earth, a mother’s love.
And yet because it is Divine in its likeness to the yearning love of God —
though that can never be deceived, being linked to the all-seeing wisdom of God
— this love is an inspiration for the most earnest endeavours after a life that
shall not overwhelm it in shame and despair. Such love must prompt the children
who have learnt to appreciate it to strive to prevent the disillusion from being
too complete and the disappointment too bitter. Nor can we believe that a
Salome’s prayer, shortsighted and imperfect as it was, was wholly in vain. The
old bishop whom Monica consulted in her anxiety about Augustine was right when
he comforted her with the assurance, “ Go thy ways, and God bless thee, for it
is not possible that the son of these tears should perish.”


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  CHAPTER 51: 3.13.     THE SISTERS — A FAMILY CONTRAST
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CHAPTER XIII The Sisters — A Family Contrast

WE meet with that most interesting of all New Testament households, the Bethany
family, on three occasions in the course of the gospel history. Twice the
sisters are brought together on the scene; in the third case the younger only
appears. This statement goes on the assumption that the Mary and Martha of St.
Luke are the same two sisters whom St. John brings before us in his account of
the raising of Lazarus; it also rests on that evangelist’s identification of the
woman anointing Jesus with the costly spikenard, whose name is not given in the
two synoptic accounts of the incident — Mattheic and Mark — with Mary of
Bethany. The connection of the three incidents with the same family is not so
absolutely certain as is commonly supposed; at least there have been careful
readers to whom it has appeared more than doubtful. St. Luke, it may be
observed, only gives us the earlier incident — that in which Mary sits at the
feet of Jesus while Martha is cumbered with much serving, an incident which we
meet with in his gospel alone — this evangelist neither mentioning the raising
of Lazarus, which is not referred to in any of the synoptics, nor giving the
anointing in the last week at Jerusalem which the other two synoptics record. In
introducing his story he does not fix the locality at Bethany; he simply says
that “ as they went on their way “ Jesus “ entered into a certain village,” not
naming the place, apparently for the reason that he does not know where it is.
But since he inserts the incident in the course of his account of a tour in
Galilee, the impression left on the mind of an unprejudiced reader would
naturally be that the unknown village was situated somewhere in that district.
Hence harmonists have suggested that the family had been living at the earlier
period in Galilee and had subsequently moved to the neighbourhood of Jerusalem,
while, on the other hand, there have not been wanting critics who have pounced
on the seeming discrepancy as an evidence of the untrustworthiness of the fourth
gospel, the author of which, they have suggested, has arbitrarily transported
Mary and Martha from the north county to Bethany. But surely it is enough to
suppose that St. Luke inserts his incident where it occurs in his gospel with
its vague indication of locality because there was nothing in the source from
which he derived it to determine where it occurred. It may be remarked that
immediately before this he gives the parable of the Good Samaritan, the scene of
which is laid in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, and which therefore would be
most appropriately spoken by our Lord in that locality. May it be that both of
these two paragraphs come from some fragmentary notes of one of Christ’s visits
to Jerusalem which failed to state the locality to which they belonged?

There is not only the fact of the names being the same, and Martha is by no
means so common a name as Mary. The distinctive traits of character which come
out with startling vividness in the third gospel are repeatedly suggested by
more delicate hints in the fourth, raising the probability practically to a
certainty that we have the same pair of sisters introduced to us in each case.
This should appear as we proceed with a brief study of the three incidents.

I. The Family Difference?St. Luke represents Martha as a hospitable woman who
receives Jesus into her house, implying that she is the proprietress. But, by
comparing the accounts of the anointing in Matthew and Mark with that in John
which connects it with Mary of Bethany, we are led to the conclusion that this
earlier incident probably occurred in what the first two evangelists call “the
house of Simon the leper,” ^ and hence to the supposition that Simon was either
the father of the two sisters, or more probably Martha’s husband. Yet Martha
appears here as the head of the household taking upon her to invite the honoured
Guest. Either she was a widow or hers was a more mournful fate, the fate of a
woman tied for life to a leper. She might have obtained a divorce now that the
domesticties were relaxed under the Roman dominion; but it was not permissible
under the Jewish law for a wife to divorce herself, though the husband enjoyed a
large liberty in this matter, and it is probable that Martha would have been
both too scrupulous and too kind-hearted to avail herself of the laxity of the
manners of her day. Of course Simon would have been required to separate himself
from all the homes of healthy people. If he were still living, and these were
the circumstances of the case, surely we must admire the brave woman who did not
sink down in despair under the burden of her terrible trouble. Her energy and
eagerness to do the best she could with the means of hospitality left in her
hands are the more commendable, seeing that she had an ample excuse for shutting
herself up in selfish grief. True, it may be said that was not at all the sort
of life which would attract a woman of Martha’s active temperament. Still it is
to her credit that she would not make her own great trouble an excuse for
selfish indifference to the claims of others. And then, if this surmise is
correct, may we not make some allowance for Martha’s irritability? She had
passed through a most distressing experience, perhaps she was weighted with a
grievous burden. Is it surprising that her nerves were not the most placid? This
brave, warm-hearted, hospitable woman, hearing Mat 26:6; Mark 14:3; John 12:1.
that Jesus the Prophet, of whom so much was rumoured, was passing through her
village, invited Him to her house.

Possibly it was His first introduction to the Bethany household, a household
which was to become His favourite refuge during subsequent visits to Jerusalem.
St. Luke does not say whether the twelve accompanied their Master. This was
usually the case; and if it were done in the present instance, the providing for
thirteen men would involve no Little domestic labour. Still it may be, as the
words of the evangelist seem to imply, that Jesus went alone on this occasion,
to be the sole recipient of Martha’s hospitality. In any case the feast was
entirely in honour of Him, and the hostess’s anxiety was solely on His account —
this His words of remonstrance imply. The evangelist sets the simple scene very
vividly before our eyes — the energetic woman busying about in the preparation
of the meal, hot, flustered, worried — her sister Mary sitting all the while in
calm unconcern for the preparations that are going on, absorbed in listening to
the words that fall from the lips of the great Teacher. Nobody can be surprised
that Martha is vexed. It is not as though she would not enjoy the rare privilege
of sitting at the feet of Jesus which her sister monopolises while the elder
woman feels the duties of hospitality compel her to be less agreeably employed.
Does Mary think she prefers to be at this vexatious drudgery, and so miss the
hearing of the words of gold that fall from the lips of Jesus — a grievous
mistake? But she must do her duty to her Guest.

If Mary would but help her now, after the meal was over they could sit down
together and listen to the glorious talk that she, mistress of the house as she
is, must now necessarily miss. It does look a hard case for Martha,

There is no more significant illustration of the change of views with regard to
the comparative merits of the active and the contemplative lives that has come
over the church in modem times than the fact that, while formerly people felt no
diflBculty in admitting that Mary had chosen the better part, and even in going
beyond Jesus and doing what He refrained from doing, directly blaming Martha for
her hospitable toil, in the present day everybody champions Martha, and some are
prepared to be not a little severe on Mary, accusing her of inconsiderate
selfishness.

We must be on our guard, however, against ignoring the judgment of Christ on the
family difference. It seems clear that poor Martha had lost her temper. Instead
of quietly calling Mary to her assistance she complained to her Guest of her
sister’s conduct, actually seeking His interference to secure the aid that was
not forthcoming voluntarily. That was not very seemly. And Martha’s distress
rose out of her great eagerness to honour Jesus to the utmost, with the very
best of her hospitality. Meanwhile possibly some things had gone awry in the
kitchen department. At all events she was dreadfully put about.

It is rather hard that her hasty utterance has been chronicled against her for
all time. --Still the two facts remain — Jesus gently rebuked Martha; Jesus
warmly defended Mary. No doubt in part He was prompted to act thus by a feeling
of chivalry, for He was placed by Martha’s unwisdom in a position that would
have been very difficult for any one who did not possess at once consummate tact
and the insight of perfect sympathy. Jesus defended Mary because she was
attacked by Martha in their common home, and that in the presence of a Stranger.
Had the case been reversed, had Mary complained of Martha, it is likely He would
have had a word of rebuke for the quietist, and a cheery sentence in honour of
the busy hostess.

We must go further, however. Jesus did more than pour oil on the troubled water.
Had this been His sole aim He might have found more effective means; for unless
_3Iartha had been of the generous disposition with which we may venture to
credit her she might have resented the manner of her Guest as unfair and unkind.
It was nothin of the sort; but then it was more than a mere defence of the
younger sister.

Jesus first expostulates with Martha. He does it in a kindly way, perhaps with a
smile, but also with a little touch of regret. Why make all this trouble? He
really does not need it. When we follow the text of the oldest and best
authorities the sentence of Jesus becomes, “Martha, Martha, thou art anxious and
troubled about many things, but few things are needful, or one.” The “few”
things would be in contrast with the “many” things with which, as St. Luke tells
us, Martha was -trflLubJed. Jesus thinks that Martha is preparing a needlessly
sumptuous meal, one much more elaborate than necessary, especially considering
the cost of it to the hostess in trouble and temper. Then the few things would
be a few dishes. Jesus really does not care to see a great display of viands got
together in honour of Himself. Much less would suffice; nay, a single dish would
be enough. That was all He had been accustomed to at the frugal table in the
carpenter’s cottage at Nazareth. He has no inclination to be the object of
lavish hospitality. Had He not said on another occasion, “ My meat is to do the
will of Him that sent Me, and to accomplish His work”12 and had He not warned
His disciples not to toil for the meat that perisheth? It was another thing when
the labour was lovingly bestowed by generous hands for the sake of honouring
Ham. Still this was not the sort of honour He cared for, and He certainly could
not accept it at the cost of a spoilt temper and a family quarrel. Wordsworth’s
ideal of “ plain living and high thinking “ is much nearer to the mind of Jesus.
We may learn this lesson for the benefit of our own personal manners; but it is
not so easy to apply to hospitality. To one of Martha’s disposition it would be
very difficult.

’ This is the reading of the two oldest MSS, the Vatican and the Sinaitic, as
well as of some others of value. It is supported by two ancient Egyptian
versions; and it is found in Origen, i.e, as early as the beginning of the third
century. - John 4:34.

What Jesus said of Mary implies that the younger sister had understood Him
better than His well-meaning hostess.

“ Mary has chosen the good part “ — not the “ better “; there is no direct
comparison to excite jealousy. Looked at by itself, without invidious contrasts,
Mary’s choice is good. Still, of course, the mental comparison is inevitable.

, Fussy hospitality is but a weariness to One whose life is wholly concerned
with the Kingdom of Heaven. Sympathy with His ideas is more refreshing to the
soul of Jesus than sumptuous fare at the table. Mary, of whom Tennyson writes —“
Her eyes are homes of silent prayer,”has a soul so rare, so choice, that she
should be forgiven even some negligence of what might naturally be regarded as
her domestic duty, even some want of perception of practical difficulties close
at hand. She is so absorbed in the great truths she is drinking in from the
discourse of the Teacher that she does not perceive her sister’s trouble. The
clatter of the dishes falls imheeded on her ears. She does not even see poor
Martha as the good housewife hurries to and fro working herself into a perfect
fever.

She is simply blind to the angry glances that are darted on her. She is in
another world. Perhaps this her rapture is untimely; perhaps she ought to be
more awake to what is going on around her; perhaps she is blameworthy in these
matters. Still it is not to be denied that of all things Jesus delights in, none
are better than humble discipleship. Service He looks for; His people are not to
be quietists. But service must follow discipleship, not precede it; otherwise it
will go in mistaken lines, wasting itself on efforts which, though well meaning,
are yet unwise. Therefore the situation is not adequately expressed in the lines
that would combine the excellences of the two characters as —

“ A Mary in the house of God, A Martha in her own.”

It is true there are the more suitable times and scenes for contemplation, and
others best fitted for action; but every home should be a house of God, and all
service inspired with Mary’s submissive discipleship, and freed from Martha’s
needless turmoil.

II. At the Grave

We must not press too far the proverb that bids us learn the direction of a
current from a straw. It is only true of a surface current, and even with regard
to that we may be misled by an eddy or a backwater. Superficial signs do not
always reveal the flow of the strong river in its hidden depths. Introduced to a
house for an hour we catch a glimpse of the play of character among the members
of the family, very marked divergencies possibly appearing. But it would be
dangerous to conclude from this hasty, casual observation that we had been
permitted to penetrate to the secret of the home. It may be, probably it is, the
case that the true character of the family is quite other than what these
trifles of the moment reveal so obviously. We may live with a person for years
without really knowing him, until perhaps at some unexpected turn a crisis
arrives, stirring him to the depths, and then to our surprise there are revealed
strange proofs of unsuspected heroism or cowardice, selfishness or nobility of
soul. The earthquake rends a great cleft in the character, laying open to the
day strata never previously seen.

Such an earthquake occurred in the quiet household at Bethany in the illness and
death of a beloved brother and its marvellous sequel. Then the first thing that
we notice is that the two sisters, who seemed to be so totally divergent in
temperament, wide apart as the poles, in St. Luke’s simple anecdote about a
momentary family difference, are really at heart quite united in their deeper
thoughts as in twin minds, the echo one of the other.

It is clear too from this revelation by the grave-side that the Bethany
household — consisting in the two sisters with their brother Lazarus — was knit
together by the closestties of affection, so that we must think of that earlier
incident as quite exceptional, or at all events as transitory and superficial, a
mere passing cloud obscuring for but a moment the brightness of the home. But
now a real breach of another kind has appeared. Death has broken up the trio,
snatching away the beloved brother; a lad, we may suppose him, over whom the
sisters had watched with maternal care after the death of their mother.

When, alarmed at the course of his illness, they had sent to Jesus, their appeal
had been exceptionally touching. They thought their brother to be a special
object of the Master’s affection. This loved youth was sick. Surely it was
enough for Jesus to know the fact to hasten to the bedside. They sent in faith,
in perfect confidence. Here they were united. However different their ways of
showing their regard when Jesus had been in their home on the previous occasion,
they were now both devoted to Christ; He was for both the refuge in trouble;
both believed that He could help in the hour of supreme need. Great then must
have been their common surprise at His delay.

Surely He must have regarded such a message as they had sent Him with the
deepest concern. To love it would seem imperative. Tliey could not imagine that
any other concerns would be preferred by Him as more important.

Thus grief tends to a certain narrowness, and love may be narrow too in its very
intensity. For there were other concerns of which the sisters in their absorbing
anxiety did not dream, and yet which Jesus considered important enough to detain
Him. Not thinking for a moment of the possibility of anything of the kind, the
sisters are bitterly disappointed at His quite unaccountable delay. Hour after
hour passes. Ample time has now elapsed for the messenger to carry the summons
and for Jesus to come in response to it. Yet there is no sign of His approach.
And Lazarus grows worse and yet worse. How severe a strain this is upon them! Is
Mary calm now? Is Martha flustered? In these terrible houi-s there is no
difference between them. As they watch their brother sinking, and the great
horror approaches, they talk together in hushed voices. If only the Master would
come even now it might not be too late 1 Had He not wrought wonderful cures on
hopeless patients? Oh! what can be keeping Him at such a time 1 And so it goes
on to the end. Jesus does not come; and Lazarus dies. The climate requires
speedy burial and the body is quickly laid in its tomb. And now all the ceremony
of Eastern mourning is carried on in the house, doubtless with hired
flute-players and loud wailing; and friends come out from Jerusalem to take
part; for the family seems to be well known to a large circle, and of some
social importance. In the midst of this, to us, most unseemly tumult, Jesus
draws near to Bethany. He could hear the music and the wailing long before He
reached the village, and He would know what it meant. Their grief and anxiety
had been so absorbing, that the sisters had not stayed to reflect how highly
dangerous it was for Jesus to appear in public at this time anywhere in the
neighbourhood of Jerusalem. He was like an outlaw with a price set on His head.
So knowing that many of His enemies must be in that large company of mourners,
since His time had not yet come, Jesus prudently remained in the outskirts,
sending to Martha a private message announcing His arrivaL We read that Martha
went to meet Him, while Mary sat still in the house. The difference of action
has been pointed out as a sign of vital differences of character. Martha rises
and goes forth; Mary sits in doors — the one sister prompt and energetic, the
other sedentary and inactive. But this is not a fair criticism. It is clear that
the message was only brought to Martha. We may wonder that she did not at once
tell her sister. It would seem that the coming of Jesus put all other thoughts
out of her mind. But as soon as she had returned home she sought out Mary and
told her secretly that the Master had come, and was calling for her. Plainly,
Mary did not know it before. How then can we found any inference as to her
character on the fact that she did not go out as promptly as her sister had gone
1 The message had been delivered to Martha as the head of the house, and to her
alone. But now, no sooner does Mary know of the arrival of Jesus than she gets
up at once and goes out to Him. “She arose quickly,”^ we read. In the Sinai
Syriac Manuscript this sentence becomes, “And when Mary heard she sprang up and
went to Him eagerly.” The same eager, emotional character is revealed in the
moment of meeting her Lord; and here no doubt we may observe a diflference of
temperament between the two sisters. Mary falls at the feet of Jesus; nothing of
the kind is recorded of the more matter-of-fact Martha. But when it came to
uttering what was in their hearts the two used almost precisely identical words,
revealing how intimately they had talked the matter over, and how completely
they were of one mind with regard to it. If only Jesus had been there Lazarus
would not have died. Of that they were perfectly assured, so clear was their
faith. Now He had come — but it was too late!

It is Martha who receives the great words from Jesus about the resurrection. She
takes His promise that Lazarus shall rise again with dreary acquiescence,
supposing it to be a conventional consolation referring to the orthodox Jewish
doctrine of a general resurrection at the end of the world. There is little
comfort for her in that. It is true enough. She knows it already. Has she not
been taught it from her childhood? But that mysterious event is very remote. If
only Jesus had been in time she would have had her brother restored to her in
this life, a very different thing. Then Jesus proceeds to His own profound
teaching about the resurrection.

Resurrection is by no means to be regarded as a matter of course, certain to be
enjoyed by all Jews. The true resurrection is in Christ. He is its source. They
who would share it must have faith in Him. Can Martha receive this? Yes, for she
believes in Christ. Her faith is implicit. The words of Jesus are too great and
wonderful to be fully taken in at once, and it may not be easy to accept what is
perceived in them on its own account. But Martha has full faith in Christ, and
on that ground she does not hesitate to assent to what He says. She believes
that Jesus is no other than the Christ, the Son of God, the Great One expected
by her people. Such a clear confession as this, uttered under circumstances of
the greatest depression, at once places the speaker in the very front rank of
the disciples of Jesus. It may be set side by side with St. Peter’s historic
confession at Caesarea Philippi. The wonder of it is that this glorious outburst
of faith was possible at the very time when the inexplicable conduct of Jesus
was the occasion of the keenest disappointment. That is what marks Martha’s
faith as sublime. It would not have been at all surprising if a faith which
under ordinary circumstances was serene and settled should have been disturbed
and overclouded at such a moment as this. Had it been so we could have pardoned
the distressed sister, setting down to her love for her brother and the intense
grief of a loss which she thought Jesus might have prevented, some temporary
lack of confidence in the Master who had tried her so severely. There is nothing
of the kind. The earthly scene is gloomy as the grave; but not a shadow passes
over her heavens. Faith rises triumphant, and in spite of an amazing
disappointment perceives with clear vision and declares with unfaltering voice
the supreme truth that He who was the very occasion of the disappointment was
the Christ of God. Could more be expected of any Christian? A little later, at
the tomb, Martha hesitates to permit a command of Jesus to be executed. It would
not be wise to roll away the stone. Lazarus has been dead too long. The dreadful
discovery must not be made. Here we see her practical, sensible way of regarding
affairs, interfering from a mundane standpoint with the submission of faith to
which all things are possible. We may suppose that no such considerations would
have disturbed Mary’s rapt attention, which was wholly concentrated on her
Master. But this again is rather a question of temperament than one of
character.

III. The Anointing The third incident is recorded in two of the synoptics
—Matthew and Mark — as well as in St. John’s gospel; but it is only the latter
book that connects it with the family of Martha and Mary. In the synoptics we
read that it was in Bethany, but at the house of Simon the leper, and there it
is only narrated anonymously, the adoring disciple who comes with the costly
ointment and anoints the head of Jesus being simply described as “a woman.”
Still the close similarity of the details makes it quite unquestionable that the
same occurrence is refeiTed to in all three cases.

We have seen already that the synoptic description of the house where the
anointing occurred as belonging to “Simon the leper” may be accounted for on the
supposition that Simon was either the father of Lazarus and his sisters or
Martha’s husband, and either deceased by the time of the gospel narrative, or
removed because of his terrible affliction. From the fuller account in the
fourth gospel we gather that the feast at which the anointing occurred was given
especially in honour of Jesus, and the significant mention of the presence of
Lazarus plainly suggests that the occasion was the joy and gratitude of the
sisters at the restoration of their brother from the grave. Both the sisters now
do honour to the Saviour from death — each in her own characteristic way. The
resemblance to St. Luke’s earlier narrative is most significant, not close
enough to be a mere imitation, yet so near as to bring out the very same traits
of character. We find Martha again serving, and Mary once more showing her
devotion to Jesus in a less practical yet most personal way. But on this
occasion Martha does not make the mistake of complaining of her sister to Jesus.

She has learnt her lesson. Mary brings very costly ointment of so rich a
fragrance that the whole house is filled with the delicious scent when she
breaks her alabaster vessel and pours the contents over the head of the Guest.

Judas calculates that it must have cost as much as three hundred denarii. If a
denarius were equal to a day’s wages in purchasing power this would be about
enough to keep a family for a twelvemonth. It would be half as much again as the
amount the disciples had thought would be required to provide food for the five
thousand whom Jesus had commanded them to feed in the wilderness.* Is it then
astonishing that, as we gather from the synoptic accounts, others besides Judas
thought Mary’s action extravagant? For people who have been brought up in
straitened circumstances, accustomed from childhood to the most frugal fare, and
taught to look at every penny before they spend it, it is very difi&cult to
estimate fairly the freer use of money by persons in easy circumstances. So for
the second time Mary’s intense devotion to Jesus brings blame upon her.

She is accused of wastefulness. But it is not a little rude in guests thus to
criticise one of the ladies of the house; and once again Jesus defends Mary. We
may say in this second place, as on the former occasion, that the first motive
which prompted Him was His chivalry.

If He had been consulted beforehand our Lord might have taken a different view
of the anointing. Which would He prefer, that three hundred denarii should be
spent on a luxury for Himself, or that it should be used for supplying bread to
the hungry? Who can doubt what His answer would have been? who can suppose that
He who never 1 Mark 6:37. once sought comfort, or pleasvire, or honour for
Himself would have chosen the luxury of a costly anointing in preference to the
feeding of a starving family 1 But He had not been consulted, and now the deed
was done, and the warm-hearted woman who had made this offering was being
attacked for her extravagance. He could not do anything but defend her. Mary had
not made any calculation in comparative economics. She was not a member of a
Charity Organisation Society. When we admit that it would have been to her
credit if she had been, still the fact remains that she did not calculate, that
she did not stay to consider whether some other way of spending this particular
sum of money might not go further in promoting the greatest happiness of the
greatest number. She acted simply out of a passion of grateful devotion to Jesus
Christ, which kept all other thoughts out of her mind. Grant, if you will, that
she was extravagant. Still could Jesus permit her to be blamed for what after
all was but the extravagance of love 1 Love cannot but be extravagant. This was
the language of emotion. When emotion stays to calculate it ceases to be
emotion. You cannot audit the accounts of love. Set them out in a banker’s
ledger, and the passion that inspires them vanishes.

Therefore Jesus defended Mary from a most rude and unjust attack. The honour she
was doing to Him was unsought; but being offered it could not be rejected. And
our Lord did more than simply defend Mary. He gave a new and unexpected turn to
her action. The anointing was to be for His burial. Did Mary intend this solemn
meaning to be attached to it 1 Thomas had recognised that a journey to Jerusalem
could now only be undertaken with extreme risk;i but in the agony of their
anxiety the sisters had not stayed to reflect on any such consequence of their
Master’s coming at their request. Afterwards, however, they must have awakened
to the extremity of the danger into which they had plunged Him. And now He was ^
John 11:16.again with them the thought of this peril could not be absent.
Moreover, He had given His disciples distinct warnings of the approaching end.
It is quite likely therefore that the apprehension of a near parting made this
sensitive woman the more eager to render the utmost possible honour to her Lord
during the short time that she still might have Him with her.

Nevertheless, it maybe said, while Jesus could not but deal gently with Mary
considering the motive of her action, it was a mistake, for the poor would
suffer loss by this piece of extravagance. Would they t Are we so sure that Mary
had taken the money for the purchase of the ointment out of a charity purse, the
contents of which were strictly limited 1 Would her needy neighbours be any
worse off for the fact that she was warmly devoted to Christ? Is not devotion to
Christ the strongest motive for kindness to our fellow-creatures t It will be a
hard day for the poor when they are left to the tender mercies of calculators of
the Judas order. It is in the Marys that they have ever found their best
friends. Besides, so long as there is a particle of extravagance left in the
matter of private expenditure, so long as there is any allowance for luxury, any
disbursement beyond what is required for the barest necessaries of life, there
will be room for escape from a hard economy in religious gifts without trenching
on the portion of the poor. Mr. Ruskin sets this idea before us in a famous
passage which cannot be quoted too often: — “I say this, emphatically, that the
tenth part of the expense which is sacrificed in domestic vanities, if not
absolutely and meaninglessly lost in domestic discomforts and incumbrances,
would, if collectively offered and wisely employed, build a marble church for
every town in England; such a church as it would be a joy and a blessing even to
pass near in our daily ways and walks, and as it would bring the light into the
eyes to see from afar, lifting its fair height above the purple crowd of humble
roofs.”


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  CHAPTER 52: 3.14.     THE WIDOW WITH TWO MITES — TRUE GIVING
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CHAPTER XIV The Widow with Two Mites — True Giving

T)ART of the charm of the gospels is in the delightful simplicity with which
incidents that the historian of the grand style would treat as too trivial for
notice have come to be preserved in these sacred records side by side with
events of vast and world-wide importance. The family difference at Bethany is
one of these; the scene of the widow giving her two mites is another. We cannot
compare them with the Transfiguration, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection. And
yet they fall quite naturally into their places in the same narrative that
records those marvellous events. They even stand out with equal clearness, set
before us in as bright a light, like the flowers at the foot of old
Pre-Raffaelite pictures, which are as carefully drawn and as full of colour and
light as the faces of the saints and angels in the centre of the canvas. But the
curious point is that these minor incidents, thus standing in the most prominent
position for all the world to see, do not appear trivial or out of place. It
might be said that everything Jesus touched turned to gold, or at least that the
smallest thing He took notice of revealed under His gaze a hitherto unsuspected
wealth of meaning.

Things ai’e gxeat or small according to the character of the eye that regards
them. While Wordswoi-th writes of Peter Bell—“ A primrose by the river’s brim A
yellow primrose was to him, And it was nothing more;” the poet could say of
himself —“ Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness,
its joys, and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that
do often lie too deep for tears.”

These minor gospel incidents are not unique in themselves until Christ has
something to do with them. Then they suddenly leap into intense significance.
Many a family has seen a sisterly difference like that which for a moment
disturbed the affectionate relationship of Mary and Martha; it is not to be
supposed that the one widow whom Jesus saw casting her mites into the treasury
at the temple was the only person who ever manifested so much generosity in the
midst of poverty. But our Lord came into some relation with both incidents, with
the first actively, with the second only in making His comment. In both cases
His connection with the simple events fills them with significance. The smallest
plot of land, the cottager’s garden, has one relation with infinity — its
outlook to the sky. Wherever Jesus went He opened that outlook even into the
most cramped scenes.

He was at the temple, seated in the court of the women. A succession of critics
had been plying Him with questions.

First there had come a group in unwonted partnership, like Greeks and Trojans
joining arms against a common victim, certain of the Pharisees united with the
party of Herod. Both venomous as a brood of vipers, they had contrived a subtle
attempt to draw Jesus into the utterance of a sentence that the Roman magistrate
would reckon treasonable, with the alternative of rejecting His country’s cause
and renouncing the Messianic hope. Next had come a party of the rival Sadducees
with a question in casuistry that mocked at the resurrection. These had been
followed by one of the scribes with a more serious question concerning the first
commandment of all. Jesus had worsted His foes one after the other as soon as
they had presented their cases, with replies characterised by dialectic skill as
well as spiritual insight. The last of His questioners had taken himself off.
For the moment He was in peace. But the strain of these successive contests must
have left Him weary and exhausted.

He was sitting thus with His eyes closed or perhaps His head bent forward on one
of His hands, when somebody came by whom He knew instinctively to be more after
His mind. Looking up He saw a poor widow approaching one of the thirteen great
treasure-chests with their trumpetshaped mouths — sufficient to receive all the
gifts of the great multitude of worshippers who thronged the temple in times of
high festival. She was a widow and in the extremity of poverty. How did Jesus
know this 1 Perhaps her widowhood was apparent in her dress, and it would not be
difficult to see that she was one of the poor. But the knowledge of Jesus goes
beyond these general, more obvious facts. He who had seen Nathaniel under the
fig-tree, and told the woman of Samaria the sad story of her life, and read the
dark secret of the heart of Judas, and discerned the mental processes of His
disputing antagonists on several occasions, had powers of discovering the
thoughts and intents of the heart quite beyond our comprehension. And yet in the
present instance it is legitimate to surmise that this widow may have been an
obscure disciple whom Jesus had met before, perhaps on more than one occasion.
There must have been many of these humble followers with whom He was acquainted,
although they have never found their way into immortality by appearing in the
brief pages of the four gospels. As He watched Jesus saw a number of wealthy
persons casting in large amounts, now holding them ostentatiously in their hands
and now dropping them significantly with the ring of heavy coins. He perceived
the irony of the situation, how diametrically opposite the truth was from the
appearance. To the casual observer these were the great contributors, and the
gift of the poor woman was scarcely worth the having. While to her it meant a
real sacrifice, it brought no appreciable increase to the treasury.

Then in point of fact was it not wasted? That anybody would be brutal enough to
sneer at her for coming with such a minute ofifering is scarcely to be imagined
if her presumably obvious poverty were observed. Some would pity her for what
they would consider to be her needless punctiliousness in bringing an offering
at all from her extreme poverty, seeing that she could only give what was
practically worthless. Such would be the world’s view of the case. Such is too
often the Church’s view of similar cases, although care may be taken to keep up
the stereotyped form — “ The smallest contributions thankfully received.” In the
eyes of our Lord the case is exactly reversed. The widow’s two mites are more
than the shekels and talents of the wealthy. Paradoxical as this would be to the
people brought up in the externalism of the Pharisees religion, for us who are
familiar with the principles of Christ’s teaching it is perfectly intelligible.
The root of Christian ethics is inwardness of motive. ’ With Christ the value of
an action is determined by its aim. -What I do is good in so far as I intend
good; and it has worth in proportion to the moral effort it requires in my own
soul.

Therefore a small action may have a high value if it is the outcome of a great
purpose, or if it involves a great sacrifice. All value is relative. Things are
dear or cheap according to the standard with which we compare them, With our
Lord the standard is internal. That “personal equation “ which we so often
forget to make, or over which we blunder so sadly, is all important in the true
judgment of conduct, and with Jesus Christ as the Judge it cannot but be
accurately worked.

— That the widow gave more than all the rest simply means that what she gave was
more of a sacrifice to her, that judged by her means of giving it was a larger
proportion. It was her all, her living. Nobody else had given his whole
property, nobody else had sacrificed what was needed for his livelihoood. These
rich donors had given out of their superfluity; the widow out of her deficiency.
Their gifts, large as they were, absolutely involved no serious sacrifice; but
her little gift was a real sacrifice, seeing that she had not enough to live on,
and yet, though she was short to begin with, she still contrived to set aside
something for the service of God.

Therefore a common modern application of the phrase, “the widow’s mite,” is
quite inappropriate. The notion that a small gift under any circumstances may be
gracefully apologised for by the giver calling it his “mite,” ignores the chief
point in the story of this widow at the temple. It was not because she gave a
very small sum that she was commended, but because she gave her all, although in
her particular case that happened to amount to no more than two farthings. He
who would claim this woman’s place of honour must do her generous deed, must
give his all.

We shall not improve on the lessons of this story by any extravagant treatment
of it. Thus it has been said that the widow was the more generous in giving as
many as two mites, when she could have reduced her offering by half, dropping
one of the coins in the treasury and retaining the other for her own use. But it
was not allowable for anybody to give less than two mites.-^The fact is, she
gave the very least that it was lawful for her to give.

Then it is not reasonable to go beyond our Lord’s words, and represent this
woman’s gift as the greatest possible gift in the estimation of Jesus, or the
greatest gift that has ever been given. He says nothing of the kind. It is a
common mistake to translate everything in the Bible into superlatives; to paint
every good man as an angel, every bad man as a fiend: to make out everv action
to be either absolutely sublime or absolutely vile. Nothing more tends to make
the Bible appear to be an unreal book. lu the present instance it is to be
observed that our Lord uses the comparative mood — not the superlative; or if it
be said that “more than all” is virtually superlative, still it must be
remembered that the “all” does not comprehend- the universe. Comparing the widow
with the rich contributors whom He watched bringing their ostentatious gifts,
Jesus declared that she had exceeded them all.

There was nobody else on this occasion who was giving his whole property, all he
possessed. But it is not to be denied that greater sacrifices might be made or
have been made. The two mites would purchase but a single meal, and that of the
most meagre character. If, therefore, the woman had spent them in this way, in a
few hours she would have been in as needy a condition as she was after casting
the coins into the treasury. But if a man of fortuna.^ave all he possessed he
would cripple his means for life. This woman was poor and almost destitute when
she came to the temple, and her parting with these two small coins could not in
any way aflfect her future condition in the world. ~ But if a person in
comfortable circumstances gave up the whole of his property, he would have to
change his position in society and come down to the lowest. Of course that must
mean a much greater sacrifice. Many of those who had lands and other possessions
and sold them all, bringing the whole produce to the common fund that the
apostles opened in the primitive church at Jerusalem, must have made a
considerably greater sacrifice than was made by this widow, “““^”hen St. Francis
in his youth, with all the prospects of wealth before him, stripped himself of
everything even to his very clothes, which he flung back to his angry father,
his sacrifice must have been greater than that of the widow. Nor is there
anything in this assertion contrary to the words of Jesus, or the lesson He was
teaching. Of all the rich men who were casting into I the treasury at that time
there was not one who made an offering the real worth of which was equal to what
this woman gave. That is the exact case. That is all that Jesus said.

Hence we are led to another branch of our Lord’s teaching. In the most emphatic
terms He deplored the difficulty of rich men coming into the kingdom of heaven.
It was easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle. The sacrifice for
Christ is so much harder where there is so much more to be given up. The
converse must also be true. When the i-ich man does make the sacrifice, the
value of his self-surrender is proportionately greater. But when all this is
said, and the case is viewed in its right proportions, the lessons it contains
are sufficiently impressive.

Perhaps the first of them is not so much to draw admiration for the one giver
commended as to bring shame to the many whose gifts she had exceeded in so
simple a way.

After all, she had not done so very much, at the most sacrificing her next meal.
But they had done still less. Not one of them would go without his dinner
because of the gift he was bringing for the temple-service. Probably the giver
of the largest amount would go home to a very sumptuous meal. Not for one moment
would he dream of lessening the lavish fare of his table by a single dish in
order that he might be able to give the more to the service of God. It was very
easy to surpass the whole of these rich givers; and that the widow had done with
her mites. This is a lesson of shame and humiliation. And it is a lesson that
the servants of Christ are slow to learn. ^=»^lmost every charitable society in
Christendom sets the names of its munificent donors in places of honour, while
the smaller givers must be content to remain in obscurity, an obscurity,
however, of which the worthy among them will not complain.

Nothing can be more foreign to our Lord’s teaciimg in this incident than the
prevalent custom of printing the lists of contributors to any good object in the
order of the amounts given, beginning with the thousands and the hundreds, and
coming down to the tens and the units. The widow never appears in these lists.
Her mites are ignominiously lumped together with other people’s mites in an odd
figure, under the title “ smaller sums.” The great donor is made a patron of the
fund, a life-governor of the institution. The widow with her mites must be
content to be ignored.

This, we are told, is politic. Perhaps so; but will anybody say it is
Christlike? Very likely it is found to be the easiest method of raising the
large sums that are required. But this only is another way of saying that the
whole question of religious finance rests on a low basis.

If the mind of Christ dwelt in the givers no such worldly devices would need to
be thought of. Probably in the case of most of these funds the person who really
deserves most honour as having made the largest sacrifice is neither the great
man whose name appears at the top for the largest amount, but who has given out
of his superfluity; nor the obscure man whose name is relegated to the bottom
for the smallest gift, and who may perhaps be doing less than he ought; but the
humble person whose name is buried in the middle of the column, who has made
some serious effort in order to bring his gift up to the utmost that he has been
able to make it. No gift counts for anything if it does not require sacrifice.
That is the essential point. And where the sacrifice is greatest there the gift
is greatest. But now let us return to the woman whose deed of generosity, slight
as it appeared in itself, attracted so marked attention from our Lord. We are to
beware of unreasonable extravagance. Still her conduct called forth the
admiration of Jesus. It was the one act in all that scene of lavish giving that
He cared for at all. It was beautiful. It did involve a sacrifice. But she who
made this sacrifice could cast herself on the goodness of God for whom she
brought the gift. Any mercenary motive resting on the belief that God would
surely provide at least as much even in money as she gave would have spoilt the
gift. *She must give with the brave consciousness that the consequence might be
the necessity for her to go hungry.

She could not be sure that it would be the will of God to spare her suffering.
But if she had faith she would know that even that must be well when it was His
will. At all events she would leave all to Him.

Meanwhile it is her joy to take her part in the temple offerings. She could
easily have found an excuse in her extreme penury. She might have been deterred
from very shame of giving so little. A cold, commonsense calculation might have
suggested that her minute contribution among so many large amounts was of no
practical use.

None of these thoughts deter her. She will do her best.

-The effect of such giving to the woman herself must have been very happy. At
once it lifted her out of the sordidness of poverty. One of the worst effects of
extreme penury is the engrossing attention it seems to demand to the mere
scraping together of the barest subsistence. This must have a narrowing effect
on the mind. In His parable of the Sower, Jesus Christ points to the cares of
life as well as the deceitfulness of riches as hindering the growth of the good
seed. So in His lesson on the birds and the lilies He warns His disciples not to
be anxious for the morrow in order that they may be free to seek first the
kingdom of God and His righteousness. But how is it possible not to be anxious
for the morrow when a man is at his wits’ end to know where to-morrow’s dinner
is to be got? K it is most hard for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of
heaven, next to his difficulty must be that of a very poor man. Both have this
in common, that they are in danger of their attention being chained to the
things of earth, the one in the idolatry of wealth, the other in the anxiety of
poverty.

It has been said that there is a certain freedom in precariousness, that if you
can never provide for more than a day or so in advance, you have no occasion for
looking forward beyond such a short period. This may be the case with a
happy-go-lucky person who has cast care to the winds as too uncomfortable a
companion. But there are men who do not find it easy to take life in this jaunty
fashion. For such it must be a serious strain to be always living from hand to
mouth, always on the verge of starvation, never reasonably assured of
to-morrow’s livelihood; and it is piteous to see that according to Mr. Charles
Booth’s statistics one-tenth of the population of London exists habitually in
this miserable condition. But now when a person in the sadly crowded class of
the extremely poor actually summons courage to make a gift, to take her share in
supporting the work of religion, she is indulging in a real luxury. It is only
to a noble soul that a gift offered under such circumstances would be a delight.
But only a noble soul can be imagined as making such an ofiering. When the widow
has the spirit to do this deed she at once rises out of the gloomy monotony of
her penury, set free from the hard bondage of care, lifted into the cheerful
atmosphere of generosity, saved therefore from the most dreary consequence of
poverty, its sordid living. In this respect the widow at the temple becomes a
cheering example for poor people of generous dispositions, whose peculiar trial
it is that when they would so gladly assist the cause of Christ — support much
needed schemes for the betterment of mankind, or share in the work of extending
missionary work — they think it is impossible for them to do so. Their narrow
means are barely sufficient for the support of their own families; what margin
can they have for giving ’\ Still harder is the lot of one who like this widow
is apparently left alone in the world, and yet has not sufficient for the supply
of her own wants.

She has not even the satisfaction of feeling that her struggle with poverty is
for the support of a family that is dependent on her. It is wholly for herself.
But now we have the encouragement of Christ for the very poor.

It may be that the opportunity can rarely come to them. But when it does come it
is exceedingly precious to such as have the mind of Christ..Jf people who
despair of doing anything because they cannot do much would emulate the
courageous widow with her mites, many a dingy life would be lit up with a new
and exalting interest, and many a good cause would be lifted into a purer and
more Christlike atmosphere.


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  CHAPTER 53: 3.15.     MARY MAGDALENE — ADORATION AFTER DELIVERANCE
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CHAPTER XV Mary Magdalene — Adoration after Deliverance NO character of history
has been more grievously misrepresented by legend than that of Mary Magdalene.

Traditionally treated as the typical penitent weeping for her sins, the Magdalen
has given her name to institutions for the recovery of her lost sisters with
whose shame there is no reason whatever for associating her character. The
unhappy misrepresentation has arisen from a double confusion. First, the “woman
that was a sinner” who anointed the feet of Jesus in the Galilean Pharisee’s
house is unwarrantably identified with Mary of Bethany; then the two are equally
without reason identified with the Mary out of whom Jesus cast seven devils.
Each of these stages is reached by a leap of imagination, not by a step on the
solid ground of argument. In the first place we have the identification of the
’’woman that was a sinner” with Mary of Bethany. No doubt there is a certain
similarity in the accounts of the anointing ascribed to these two women. They
both bring ointment in an alabaster cruse; in both cases the name of the
proprietor of the house where the anointing takes place is Simon. On both
occasions the anointment is poured upon Jesus; in both cases the spectao. ts
object to the act of homage. But these are all very superficial resemblances.
Alabaster was commonly used in the making of small vessels. Anointing was quite
customary — Simon was deficient in hospitality because he neglected it, and the
preference of ointment to oil in both cases would simply indicate the more
sumptuous rendering of the service. Simon was one of the commonest names among
the Jews in the time of Christ. As many as twelve Simons are mentioned in the
New Testament. On the other hand the points of diflFerence are many and serious.
Luke’s anointing by the “woman that was a sinner” is placed in Galilee some time
before the end of our Lord’s ministry; Simon is present as host and he is
described as a Pharisee; while the name of the woman who brings the ointment is
not given, she is described as “ a sinner “; she weeps over the feet of Jesus
and wipes them with her hair; it is His feet that she anoints; the complaint is
made by the host, and the ground of it is the character of the person from whom
Jesus receives this attention; our Lord’s reply treats of the forgiveness of
sins and its consequences, which He illustrates in a parable.

Now look at the very different circumstances in the other case. It is at
Bethany, in the last week of our Lord’s ministry; the name of the woman is given
as Mary, no word is said against her character, and she is identified as the
sister of Martha who is serving at the feast, so that she has a right to be
present; the Simon to whom the house belongs is a leper, and there is no hint
that he is at the feast; the ointment is described as exceptionally precious;
Mary pours her ointment over the head of Jesus, i.e. according to the synoptic
account — John has “feet”; the complaint is made by the disciples, or one of
them; the ground of it is the waste of the money spent in the costly ointment;
in defending His friend Jesus- meets this complaint by accepting the offering as
for His burial. With so many and so great divergencies to face, the only way in
which we could accept the identification of the two accounts of the anointing
would be to follow Schleiermacher in his critical treatment of Luke and allow
that the narratives differ, because St. Luke’s is inaccurate. But if that be the
case his authority falls to the ground, and we have no reason to apply what he
says about the character of the woman in his narrative to Mary of Bethany. A
much simpler explanation of the divergencies is to admit that they refer to
different events. In the second place there is the identification of Mary of
Bethany with the Magdalen. The first step in this identification is the
assumption that the two anointings were but one, rr at least were both performed
by the same person.

Thus the name Mary comes to be transferred to the “woman that was a sinner.” The
Magdalen is also named Mary; she had experienced a great deliverance — for out
of her there had been cast seven devils, and in consequence she had become one
of the most enthusiastic disciples of Jesus. The first step goes with the
separation of the anointings.

We have no reason to conclude that the penitent was named Mary. Demoniacal
possession as it appears in the Gospels is marked by the symptoms of brain and
nervous diseases, insanity and epilepsy, and these only. It is always kept
distinct from what we may regard as the diabolical possession of a soul that is
abandoned to moral evil. This double misunderstanding was not known in the early
church. It crept in with St. Ambrose in the fourth century, found some favour
with St. Augustine, and was fully proclaimed by Pope Gregory two hundred years
later. On the authority of Gregory it came to be universally accepted, and
thenceforth it was taken for gi-anted throughout the middle I ^es. Thus it was
adopted by the great schools of art that grew up in this period; and then in
turn the painters further popularised it. A late and quite unhistorical legend
sends the Bethany household to sea in a rotten boat at the hands of cruel
persecutors. They are miraculously preserved and land near Lfarseilles, where
Martha makes many converts and works many miracles, while her sister Mary
Magdalene retires to a cave near Aries and spends the remainder of her days in
penitence.

It is but one stage further in this region of baseless inr vention to go with
the Talmudists who identify Mary the mother of Jesus with the Magdalen, by a
strange perversion of the surname, though derived from a possible interpretation
of it, giving out that she was a woman hairdresser. From these wild and foolish
stories let us turn to the true Mary Magdalene of the Gospels. There is some
doubt as to the meaning of her surname. One explanation of it is to derive it
from the Hebrew Gadal, which means to plait, so as to get the meaning
“hair-plaiter.” Hence wo have “Miriam with the braided locks.” Even this is
dis.’^orted into a sign of female vanity, and as pointing to a person of light
character. In Christian art the Magdalen appears with long hair — no doubt with
a reference to the incident in Simon the Pharisee’s house. But a more probable
explanation of the name is that which derives it from the town of Magdala on the
west shore of the sea of Galilee, a few miles south of the plain of Gennesareth.
Thus she is Mary of Magdala.

There is reason to suppose that Mary Magdalene was in less humble circumstances
than most of our Lord’s disciples. Not only is she one of those who maintain the
common purse which meets the wants of Jesus and the twelve, but she assumes a
certain prominence in the narrati ’g especially towards the end, indicating a
place of distinction among the ministering women.

If this surmise is correct, then the contrast between her outward rank and her
terrible affliction must have been peculiarly painful. She is introduced by St.
Luke, the physician, as “Mary that was called Magdalene, from whom seven demons
had gone out.” ^ Her case must have been one of peculiar severity. A similar
aggravation of possession is described in the parable of the man who is like a
house swept and garnished and empty till the demon who has been dispossessed
returns with seven companions worse than himself,^ and in the narrative of the
fierce demoniac among the tombs of Gadara who names himself “ Legion,” after the
idea of his multitudinous possession, 1 Luk 8:2. Mat 12:43-45.

Whatever this fearful calamity might be, these cases must be reckoned as among
its most severe manifestations. Such was the mournful condition of Mary
Magdalene. A large part of the healing work of Christ and His apostles was
directed to the deliverance of persons who were said to be possessed by demons.
Evidently a great number were held to be suffering from this affliction in the
time of our Lord. Nor was this class of sufferers confined to that t)eriod.
References to them are common in early church history, in Jewish legends and
Talmudic writings, and also in pagan literature, though not so frequently as
among Christian and Jewish authors. From this widespread evidence it would
appear that the centuries about the time of the rise of Christianity were
oppressed with a vast terror of demoniacal possession. No greater service could
be rendered to society in those days than to cast out demons. The early church
had a special order of exorcists entirely devoted to that function.

Now it would be easy to assert that all this is nothing but a monstrous
superstition. It has been pointed out that there is little or nothing in the
phenomena of possession that does not occur in well-known brain and nerve
diseases, with perhaps the addition of hypnotism and thought-transference, in a
few cases. That may be said to be the modern medical view of the accounts that
have come down to us. If we admit it we do not deny the misery of the afflicted
persons who certainly thought themf”«^lve3 to be possessed, and we must still
perceive the greatness of the works of healing performed by Jesus Christ and by
His disciples on the strength of His name. For the sufferers were cured. Mary
Magdalene was delivered, whatever may be the scientific account of her
affliction, and the greatness of the deliverance redounded to the glory of the
Deliverer.

Further, it is not at all unreasonable to allow that Jesus would have effected
these cures on the Unes of the prevalent belief. This would be the best way of
approaching the sufferers, since they were firmly convinced that they were
actually inhabited and controlled by evil spirits with a personality distinct
from their own. Besides, it was not the mission of Jesus Christ to anticipate
the pathological discoveries of the nineteenth century any more than it was His
mission to reveal the truths of modern astronomy and geology. He moved in the
atmosphere of His time.

If He had not done so He could not have been the Son of Man for His own age as
well as for the future. He could not have been understood, and He would have
been regarded as quite out of sympathy with His contemporaries. Whatever may be
our modern notions about the symptoms which were formerly regarded as signs of
demoniacal possession, the only possibility in the time of Christ was that they
should be spoken of and treated according to the universal belief about them.

Still let us beware of dogmatism. The dogmatism of religion is outworn; what we
are now subject to is the dogmatism of science. The latest results of science
are pressed upon us as absolute verities. But consider this very significant
fact. No work of science that is ten years old is held to be valid. Science is
perpetually superseding science. Then how can we believe that the latest of its
wave-marks will not be washed out by a still higher tide, as was the case with
all preceding ones? The advance of science is simply magnificent, but it is
advance in a line the end of which we do not yet see, and meanwhile, like the
mythological Saturn, science is perpetually devouring ibi own children. Can we
be so sure that there is no dark spiritual secret behind the phenomena which our
medical men now ascribe to nerve and brain disorders. The whole subject is
exceedingly obscure, as the doctors themselves admit. Perhaps we shall be told
some day that later discoveries are bringing us back to beliefs which a crude
half-science had abandoned too hastily. This is not a subject for scorn and
arrogance. The mystery of it is too great. And now, however we may account for
the terrible trouble with which Mary Magdalene had been afflicted, when she-
first appears in the gospel story she is in her right mind and found among the
most devoted women who give their property and much of their time for the
service of Jesus Christ. She travels with the little band of ministering women.
And all the while the memory of that dark and dreadful past is with her — not as
a cloud and a terror — she is too completely emancipated — but rather as an
inspiration of never-failing gratitude. And yet we must not think of Mary as
simply indulging in emotionalism. With her deep feelings she is also a woman of
action. First she joins the band of ministering women. Possibly of ampler means
than the majority of them, she becomes the chief support of the travelling
company. The other women gather round her as a person of some position, and the
fascination of her character does more to secure her a prominent place among
them than her mere superiority in social position. But common devotion to Jesus
unites the sisterhood as one family, from Joanna the court lady to Salome the
fisherman’s wife; and if the Magdalen has wealth that some do not possess, she
does not dream of joining herself especially to Joanna, patronising the humbler
women. It is a united band of loyal disciples. In the company of these attendant
women Mary Magdalene travels up to Jerusalem on that last dread journey, which,
Jpsus had told them, was to His death. She is of the group of those who stand
afar off watching the crucifixion. In every list of these women given by the
synoptic evangelists her name comes first.^ It would seem, therefore, Mat 27:56;
Mark 15:40; Luk 23:55 compared with 24:10. In John, however, the mother of Jesus
stands first and the Magdalen last (John 19:25) that here also Mary Magdalene
may have taken the lead among the women. Perhaps it was her devotion that
encouraged the others to be present at the execution, though womanly instinct
would naturally shrink from the appalling spectacle. A fearful fascination draws
the Magdalen to the fatal spot, and she brings her companions with her. There is
nothing to be done. But if their presence were perceived by the sufferer it
would afford that solace of sympathy for which His soul had more than once
craved in vain. We cannot quite bring the various accounts into agreement on
this point. The Synoptics place the women “ afar off “; St. John at the foot of
the cross. His mother must have been close at hand when Jesus committed her to
the charge of the beloved disciple.

We shall never be able to settle some of these minor details. But of course it
in quite possible that both accounts are correct; that the women were first at a
distance, and then as the darkness gathered and the agony grew more intense,
crept up closer till they actually found themselves among the soldiers near the
foot of the cross.

It is not the custom of the evangelists to describe the feelings of the various
personages of their narratives, and in this case, as usual, they content
themselves with a bare recital of the facts, leaving all else to conjecture.
That those six hours of mortal agony on the cross must have rent the soul of a
woman of Mary’s excitable nature goes without saying. One consequence that might
have been feared did not ensue. We might have supposed that so severe a strain
would have occasioned a return of Mary’s dreadful malady; it was enough to have
unhinged the reason of a person who had not passed through her sad experience.
But nothing of the kind occurred. The cure had been perfectly effective, and its
results were permanent and capable of withstanding the greatest shock. So Mary
was able to watch the last moments and hear the awful cry with which the spirit
of her Lord took its flight, and remain herself.

After this she took her share with the other women in preparing the spices for
the entombment. With her companions in grief she rested through that most
mournful Sabbath the world has ever known, the Sabbath that knew only a dead
Christ. For Mary the tension of waiting in the depths of despair must have been
exceptionably trying.

Yet she lived through this also, and still retained her reason. At length the
dreary Sabbath has dragged out its course, the following night is over — the
most eventful night in the history of the world, though as yet nobody knows of
its great event. And now at length it is possible to set out for the tomb with
the spices that are to be used in the last ministry of love. Here again we meet
with some difficulty in fitting together the several accounts of the
evangelists. Was the sun already risen when the women reached the tomb, as St.
Mark asserts? ^ Or was it still dark, as St. John says 1^ Or do the synoptic
accounts and that of the fourth gospel refer to different events? They are very
different in their further details. In the Synoptics Mary Magdalene comes with
the other women; in the fourth gospel she is alone.

St. John’s account is very full and explicit, and it is with this that we have
to do now. Possibly, as has been suggested, though the women set out together,
the Magdalen in her eagerness outran the other women, reaching the garden while
it was still dark, and having then her own private sight of the empty tomb;
after which she may have gone back another way in search of Peter and John, so
that she was not met by the women whom she had left on the road earlier. Thus
when they came to the tomb, later in the morning after the sun was up, they were
still in ignorance of what had happened, and amazed at discovering that the
stone had been rolled away. Then after their departure Mary may have returned
with the two disciples. This seems to be the simplest reconciliation of the
divergent accounts, though it must be admitted that it does not entirely clear
up the difficulties. The Synoptics drop no hint as to the division of the party;
but then they may not have known of it. St. John gives us no idea that Mary was
accompanied by other women when ghe set out from the city; but then while he
knew these earlier gospels, his sole purpose was to supply his own special
information.

We cannot understand how the women would have been so long on the road, that
though Mary was able to reach the tomb while it was yet dark, they did not
arrive till after sunrise. Some of them may have gone for more spices on the
way; and wo must remember that the dawn and twilight in more southern latitudes
are shorter than with us. Still we need not concern ourselves with these small
details. We can allow of the discrepancies and yet retain all that is essential
to the narrative; and it is wiser to do so than to throw the whole into a haze
of uncertainty by straining at forced explanations. Our business now is to
follow the course of Mary Magdalene. It is St. John, as we have seen, who gives
us the account of her adventure. First she was distressed at finding the tomb
empty. In regard to that important fact, it is to be remarked in passing, all
the four evangelists are unanimous. Mary at once concludes that somebody must
have rifled the tomb and stolen her Lord’s body. Who the body-snatcher might be
she cannot guess, nor can she have any notion as to the motive for this
sacrilege.

It might have been the work of some peculiarly malignant enemy bent on
distressing the Galileans, by depriving them of the comfort of performing the
last offices for the dead.

Mary cannot stay to think now. The news is too momentous to be kept a secret;
and the startled woman runs back at once to tell the two principal disciples. It
would seem that she had to look them up in separate places, the language of the
evangelist suggesting that she went first to St. Peter and then to “ the other
disciple.” ^ To both her message was the same: “ They have taken away the Lord
out of the tomb, and we know not where they have laid Him.” That word “ we “
rather than *’ I “ may imply that after all Mary had been accompanied by the
other women at this first visit to the tomb. Else why did she use the plural
pronoun 1 But we cannot clear up this point.

Mary’s news was alarming, and the two disciples ran off at once to ascertain the
facts for themselves. She also returned, and after the two had visited the tomb
and gone away, awed and perplexed at what they had seen, Mary still stood there
weeping. She could not tear herself away.

Bewildered, distressed, despairing, there was nothing for her to do but weep;
there was nowhere for her to go, for no place had any comfort. The barbarism of
this supposed outrage would be most terrible; but it is not that so much as the
fact of the loss of the body that most troubles Mary.

Presently, still weeping, Mary stoops and looks into the tomb. Is it just
possible that she has been mistaken before in the darkness, and that the dear
body is still peaceably resting on its last bed, that cold, hard bed of rock?
She is amazed at the sight of what she had not discovered in the shock of
disappointment that came to her on the occasion of her first visit. Then she had
only observed the one supreme fact that Jesus was not in the tomb. Now she sees
two angels in white, one sitting at the head, the other at the foot of the
grave. The statement that they are in white seems to imply that visions of
angels did not generally assume this guise; and most descriptions of angel
visits given in the Bible suggest that the appearance was very like that of men
in their ordinary attire. But this is exceptional. And yet Mary does not seem to
be very much startled. She does not behave in the least like the other women
when they saw the young man sitting in the tomb, and fled in terror. She is too
dazed to be capable of further astonishment, too overwhelmed with sorrow to have
anything worse to fear. The angels are comforters. They ask her why sho weeps.
It is because her Lord has been taken away, and she knows not where they have
laid Him, Then she turns. Did she hear a sound? Or was she moved by that vague,
undefinable sense that somebody is near, although as yet no sign of His presence
has been given? There is some one; and as soon as she sees Him He speaks to her,
repeating the angels’ question — Why is she weeping? and then adding the further
question, Whom is she seeking?

We cannot tell why Mary did not at once see that it was Jesus who was speaking
to her. And yet her want of perception is not so very mysterious. She was not in
the mood to notice anybody through the veil of her tears. When the soul is
absorbed with its own internal feeling of sorrow the faculties of observation
are not very keen. And Jesus alive was the very last person Mary expected to see
when she was engaged in the search for His dead body. She took the Speaker for
the gardener, the most likely person to be found in this private enclosure so
early in the day. When Jesus was crucified He was stripped of His clothes, the
Romans allowing no clothing to the victim of the cross except the loin-cloth —
the suhligatulum. But this was all that labourers wore at their work in the hot
climate of Palestine. If Jesus had appeared just as He would have been after
leaving the burial bandages behind in the tomb, He would have looked like a man
prepared for his work. But this was very different from His appearance with
tunic and cloak as Mary had been accustomed to see Him in the old days. It was
quite natural, therefore, that in her present distracted condition of mind, not
looking up to the face of the Speaker, Mary should take Him for the gardener
whom in outward appearance He resembled.

Mary catches at a sudden suggestion. Perhaps it was this gardener who had
removed the body.. If so would he tell her where he had conveyed it, that she
might go and fetch it away 1 It is amazing that an imaginative French critic
should have contrived to found on this simple remark a theory that Mary actually
had carried the body of Jesus in her own arms out of the tomb in order to
occasion the belief that He had risen. As if it could have been possible for a
woman to perform such a feat. And then how could she have disposed of the corpse
1 This strange attempt to resolve the foundation of the Christian belief in the
resurrection into a piece of fraud perpetrated by a hysterical woman is only
worth mentioning to illustrate the difficulty of explaining the narratives of
that event on any other hypothesis than the simple one that it really did occur.
Of course Mary could talk of fetching the body if she meant having it conveyed.
But we must not weigh the words of passionate grief too exactly. A word is
enough to open her eyes. “ Mary! “ It is her own name in the old tone. With a
flash of consciousness she suddenly perceives the amazing truth. “My Master! “
she answers, and is about to fling herself on Him in the enthusiasm of her joy.

“Touch Me not,” He says, “for I am not yet ascended unto the Father “ — a
strange repulse that has given rise to not a few fantastic conjectures, as that
Jesus still felt the pain of His wounds, or that the process of transformation
from the natural body to the spiritual not yet being completed He shrank from
contact in the transitional condition. A simple explanation is to translate the
Greek liaptou that we have rendered “touch” by the English word “hold.”

There is no occasion for holding Jesus in order not to lose Him, because the
ascension is not yet. But though this meaning of the word is met with frequently
in literature it is not common in the New Testament. Indeed it cannot be proved
to have ever occurred there. Another interpretation is, “Do not cling to Me; but
go and tell the good news of My resurrection to the others.” This is suggested
by the conclusion of our Lord’s words, in which He lays the command on Mary. But
it is open to the same objection — namely, that it requires a meaning of the
Greek word that is doubtfully if ever found in the New Testament. Following the
common New Testament meaning we must retain the idea of Noli me tangere. How
this is to be understood we cannot quite say. Perhaps out of the many offered
explanations the best is that which points to the most intimate fellowship with
Christ as only possible after the resurrection. In the wild excitement of her
joy at the recovery of her Lord this passionate woman would embrace Him as she
had never dared to do during His earthly life. He draws aside. Not yet. But when
He is ascended, when He has passed into the spiritual world, when He is
completely with His Father, then the most absolutely unfettered communion will
be possible. Thus His ascension, instead of being a departure, is really a
drawing near to His people. It is a passing into that unseen but spiritual world
where the closest contact is always possible. With this assurance Mary must be
content, and live in hope as she goes forth with the joyous news she is
commissioned to carry to the disciples whom her Lord now calls His brethren.


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  CHAPTER 54: 3.16.     DORCAS AND PHOEBE — WOMAN'S WORK
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CHAPTER XVI Dorcas and Phoebe — Woman’s Work WOMAN’S work in the Church is no
novelty invented by this ingenious, innovating nineteenth century.

It has been seen in various forms during all ages of Christendom, and it may be
traced back to noble precedents in New Testament times. Nearly every woman among
the early disciples mentioned in the Gospels, the Acts, and the Epistles is
associated with some form of Christian service. The primitive churches were
hives of industry, and the work carried on in them was largely of such a
character that women could take a prominent place in it. For tho most part this
consisted in acts of charity done for the benefit of poor and suffering members
of the community.

We saw in the case of those who supplied the material wants of our Lord and the
twelve that several women of means had been won to the faith. The same fact is
apparent in Apostolic times. Dorcas and Phcebe, though not in any way associated
together — the one was a Jewess of Palestine in the sphere of St. Peter’s
ministry, the other a European Greek lady known to St. Paul — were both of them
in circumstances that afforded opportunities for wide influence, and they both
used their influence in aiding their fellow-Christians.

1. Dorcas. — The name “ Dorcas,” “^ so familiar to us through those very useful
societies in our modem churches which bear it to-day, is only the Greek
translation of the Aramaic “ Tabitha,” which was the actual name of the woman
disciple at Joppa, whose story is narrated in the Acts of the Apostles. The
Septuagint translates the Hebrew equivalent wherever it occurs in the Old
Testament as a common noun meaning “ gazelle “ by the same Greek word. Still
Dorcas is the familiar name to us of the Western Church, and with that name the
story must always be associated.

It was at Joppa, the modern Jaffa, the port for Jerusalem, where Hiram’s cedar
for the temple, felled in the forest of Lebanon up in the north, and floated
down the coast of the Levant from Tyre, had been landed in the days of Solomon;
and where the disobedient prophet Jonah had taken ship for Tarshish. A Christian
community had been formed in this busy seaport, no doubt after the pattern of
the mother church at Jerusalem. In both places St. James’s ideal of “ pure
religion and undefiled before our God and Father “was aimed at, viz, “ to visit
the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted
from the world.” 1 Mary the mother of Mark seems to have been a sort of
patroness of the Church at Jerusalem. At all events, the brethren used to meet
for prayer at her house.’- Dorcas appears to have been a woman of good social
position at Joppa; but her service was rendered in the old-fashioned forms of
almsgiving and the work of her needle. She is the type of the homeliest,
simplest, and yet most directly practical form of woman’s work.

We should do injustice to womankind in general, and to the women of the old
Jewish Church in particular, if we took it for granted that the charities which
blossomed in the life of such a saint as Dorcas were entirely new flowers of
grace quite unknown to the world before the time of Christianity. The woman’s
heart must often have prompted the doing of kind deeds to the needy. We may be
permitted to suppose that the model housewife Penelope, spinning among her women
while her husband Ulysses on his travels, would find some garment to spare for
the poor swineherd’s widow. Almsgiving, we know, was about the principal duty of
the pious Jew in the time of our Lord.

It takes a prominent place as a manifestation of righteousness in the so-called
“ Psalms of Solomon,” a Pharisaic work of the times just before the advent of
Christianity. In His directions about almsgiving, with their warning against
display, Jesus assumes that the service will be rendered, and describes the
ostentatious manner of the Pharisees in performing it.’ The Jews of our own day
are very careful to provide for their own poor, and the munificence of wealthy
Jews for the benefit of the people generally, including the Gentile population,
is one of the conspicuous facts in connection with our modern chai-ities. The
churches at Jerusalem and Joppa consisted wholly of Jews; and their Judaism as
well as their Christianity would prompt to almsgiving.

Still, while we make full allowance for these facts, not in any degree
attempting to minimise them in order to exalt Christianity, but rather honouring
them most ungi-udgingly, we may go on and observe how much the gospel of Jesus
Christ deepens and quickens the motive for charity. If so much kindness is seen
in the world and in Judaism, how much more should be found in the church of
which brotherly love growing out of the love of God in Christ is to be the
characteristic note! Now here we see how Christ’s rebuke to anxiety is based on
reasonable grounds. When He bids us not be anxious for the morrow, because if
God feeds the ravens and clothes the lilies with beauty, much more will He
provide for His own children, the prudent soul is tempted to exclaim, “ This is
very beautiful, but is it practical 1 “ But if we will only follow it out to its
ultimate issues, we shall see that the teaching of Jesus is not unpractical. God
provides for most of His children by giving them the means of earning their own
livelihood; for the unfortunate who have fallen out of the ranks of labour, the
needy and helpless, He provides by inspiring sympathy and love in the hearts of
their brethren. The 9th of Acts is the correlative of the 12th of Luke. The
teaching of Jesus is reasonable because the spirit of Jesus raises up a Dorcas.
In a rightly organised Christian church it is impossible for any of the members
to perish of hunger and cold. This care for the poor and suffering is the first
of Christian duties. The community that could neglect it would prove itself not
to be Christian, to be below the Jew, to be scarcely human. But the special
charm of Dorcas’s charities is in the fact that she worked for the poor with her
own hands.

She is celebrated for her “good works” as well as her “almsdeeds.” If the latter
means her gifts the former would point to her personal actions. It is something
that people in afiluent circumstances give from their abundance for the
assistance of their less fortunate brethren. In this way they escape the
terrible condition of a Dives who can pex’mit Lazarus to die at his gate while
he clothes himself in purple and fine linen and fares sumptuously every day. And
it is more to make some real sacrifice like that of the wealthier members of the
Jerusalem Church, who sold their possessions and laid the money at the apostles
feet. But the perfection of the service of love is not reached in merely giving,
however great the gift may be, and however severe a sacrifice it involves. There
is a peculiar grace in undertaking some form of active service — ^in doing as
well as giving. It is well that a Peabody should give his money for the poor of
London; it is better that a Shaftesbury should devote time angi labour to
philanthropic ends. We admire Barnabas for selling his estate; but more for
being a son of consolation. The best thing in St. Francis is not that he
stripped himself naked and gave up all his property; but the sequel to this when
he set forth on his pilgrimage through the world for the benefit of his
fellow-men. We honour the great givers; the great workers are worthy of higher
honour. Let us remember that Jesus did not content Himself with giving His
grace, that He also “ went about doing good.”

Then further it is not without significance that the service rendered by Dorcas
was in the form of the good old-fashioned work of the needle. What a picture
that is — the widows standing weeping round the bier of the dead woman, holding
up the coats and garments that she had made! These are the memorials of her
gracious spirit, the certificates of her Christian character. Epitaphs may lie,
but deeds speak truly, and theirs is a better sign of the worth of the departed
than the most adulatory sentence engraved on a tombstone. And then those deeds
of Dorcas were so simple, and the products of them so homely — an old widow’s
woollen cloak, a little orphan’s jacket. But the sight of the garments brings
tears to the eyes. It is as touching as that of the warrior’s shield and sword
laid by his side while he is being borne to the grave, or the trophies he won in
battle hung up in a temple. Simple and homely as these things are they speak
eloquently to the eye that knows how to read them — “ See this garment.

It was for a very poor woman. Yet how carefully it is sewn! What loving labour
it represents! With her own hands good Dorcas had arranged this well-adjusted
coat.

These stitches were put in by her own fingers. Examine them. How exact they are!
There was no haste about this work, no impatience in the execution of it. And it
is all a work of love for the needy.”

There is some danger lest in these more elaborately civilised days we should
lose sight of the peculiar worth of woman’s work with the needle. Much that was
once a part of feminine handicraft is now done by machinery, the spinning-jenny
taking the place of the distaflf and the oldfashioned spinning-wheel, the steam
factory and its powerlooms superseding hand-weaving, the sewing-machine in the
great clothier’s factory setting aside the use of the needle in the home. We are
proud of our scientific progress and the adaptations of invention that go with
it. No doubt this is “good for trade,” and therefore a commercial people, such
as we are, must greatly benefit by it. It would not be possible for us to exist
with our immense population crowded on these little islands without the use of
these modern improvements. Mr. Ruskin’s schemes for the encouragement of village
industries and the restoration of skilled work of hand are most delightful; but
they could never support the millions of Yorkshire and Lancashire.

Still we pay a price for our commercial prosperity.

There was a richness in the industry of the model woman in King Lemuel’s
mother’s description of her which we miss in the narrowing of industries to
factory methods —“ She layeth her hands to the distafif, And her hands hold the
spindle.

She spreadeth out her palm to the poor; Yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the
needy.

She is not afraid of the snow for her household; For all her household are
clothed with scarlet.

She maketh for herself carpets of tapestry; Her clothing is fine linen and
purple.” ^ The very act of plying the needle has a quiet and soothing influence
that must be missed in the substitution of factory work. Even the domestic
sewing-machine dispels this charm. The strain of attention, the energy expended,
the noise of the process — the whirr of wheels and rattle of treadles — all this
is very different from the calmness associated with needle-work, that most
ancient feminine employment. In deft fingers the needle runs swiftly, but how
silently I The busy sewer sits so still that the drowsy hum of the bees round
her open window sounds quite loud; she moves so little that the birds lose their
fear, and may even venture to alight on the sill. And all the while she works
she can think. There is the peculiar advantage of needle-work. The factory
“hand” must concentrate her attention on the rushing movement of the machine she
is watching. But the woman who is at work with her needle may give all requisite
attention to her task and yet have thoughts to spare for other subjects.

She has the advantage of leisure without the ennui of idleness; and if her mind
is moving “in maiden meditation fancy-free “ what lovely reveries may be hers!
or if intent on graver topics in the mood of II Penseroso, her sole companion “
the cherub Contemplation,” what an opportunity she enjoys for serious musing!
All this is impossible with the more absorbing occupations of men. And there is
another way in which the advantage goes to woman with her needle. It is possible
for her to enjoy a social hour and yet not have to lay aside all the work of
life while it lasts; for she can converse and sew at the same time. A man has no
such privilege of combining industry with sociability.

Those simple associations of ladies which bear the name of “ Dorcas “ have their
justijQ cation. It may be said that they should be superseded now that machinery
has introduced more expeditious and economical processes for providing garments
for the poor. But if the money for those garments were contributed and the
articles purchased the object of the meetings would not be attained. A wise
church will not quickly set aside any organisation that helps to maintain its
social life, and the advantage of such meetings as these may be said to be
threefold. First, they supply the wants of the needy. Second, they afford an
opportunity for deeds of kindness in actual work with the hands, a most
desirable form of assistance. Third, they develop and maintain the social life
of the community.

Here, too, is some justification for that most extravagant and positively
wasteful device for raising money in support of churches and charities — the
Bazaar. The money is given twice over, first in buying things for sale, then in
buying them back at the sale. The people who sell often see their goods
sacrificed for less than the materials cost them, not to mention the fact that
they have to submit to the uncomplimentary consideration that their time — the
many hours spent on the work — counts for no value; and the people who buy carry
off armfuls of goods they do not want wherewith to cumber their houses, for the
sake of the good cause, or perhaps to comfort the disappointed stall-keepers.
Still, a mistake as it is when regarded from the standpoint of the political
economist, the institution has this one supreme advantage — it develops the
family life of the Christian community that promotes it. And now, if some
impatient maiden trained in all the schooling of the day is tempted to despise
her needle, let her pause and ask herself whether she may not be slighting one
of her best friends. The humble task of darning which often falls to the
daughter of the house, and so gives her an opportunity for employing her needle
even in these days of machinery, need not be resented by the highly educated
young women as unworthy of her culture. It may be that just such a simple
occupation with freedom for quiet thinking is the very best thing for her
soul-lifa And meanwhile let her reflect that it is tcork, and partakes of the
dignity of all true work; and that it is seivice^ a form of ministry, and as
such the counterpart of the employment of angels,

All service ranks the same with God; If now, as formerly He trod Paradise, His
presence fills Our eaith, each only as God wills Can work — God’s puppets, best
and worst. Are we; there is no last nor first “!

It was the abundance of her kindly works that gathered the widows round the body
of Dorcas. She had won their hearts by her services, and her death had left a
great void. In their distress the Christians at Joppa sent in haste across the
plain of Sharon to St. Peter, who was then at Lydda. Obeying the summons he came
in to see the moving spectacle of the widows displaying the garments Dorcas had
made them. Then the great miracle of the raising of Dorcas follows as the
crowning honour for such a beautiful life of long service. It may be said that
it was the love she had inspired by her kind deeds that called her back to life.

2. Phonhe.— In the 16th chapter of the Epistle to the Romans, St. Paul commends
to his correspondents “ Phoebe our sister, who is a servant of the church at
Cenchrese.”

“We shall see later that there are strong reasons for detaching this chapter
from the epistle of which it appears as an integral portion in our Bibles, and
taking it for a fragment of some other epistle, addressed in all probability to
the church at Ephesus, but still written by St. PauL

Then perhaps we should say the object of it was to furnish Phoebe with an
introduction to the Ephesians, so that it was one of those “ letters of
commendation,” in use among the early Christians, to which the apostle refers on
another occasion.

Phoebe is setting forth on a journey with the full cognisance of the church of
which she is a member, and hearing their recommendation, or more exactly St.
Paul’s. It looks as though this were more than a private undertaking. It would
seem to have some connection with the churches and their work. And yet the bond
of brotherhood and sisterhood in the primitive churches is so close, that the
distinction between private and public almost disappears among them, as it does
in the delightful intimacy of family life.

Cenchrese was the port of Corinth, on the Saronic gulf, looking eastward towards
Ephesus, and therefore the place through which all the tralfic of the Achaian
capital with Asia passed to and fro. Here St. Paul once tarried for a while when
he had shorn his head according to Jewish custom, to mark the expiration of a
vow.i The saints of Achaia, to whom he addressed the Second Epistle to the
Corinthians, in conjunction with the church in the capital, would include those
of Cenchreae, and therefore Phcebe.

Phoebe is first described as “our sister.” Thus a member of the Christian
community is designated in the affectionate simplicity of primitive times. In
using the plural “our,” the apostle may be including the two or three
fellow-missionaries who accompanied him on his travels, or he may be writing in
the name of the church at Corinth with the associated branch church at
Cenchrese.

Then Phoebe is called “ a servant of the church that is at Cenchreae,” and the
word translated “servant “ is the Greek diaco?ios, from which our word “deacon”
is derived. Hence it has been inferred that Phoebe was a deaconess. On the other
hand we must not forget that the Greek word was used in a very general sense in
early times, quite apart from official relations. It does not appear as the
title of an official before the pastoral epistles — unless the case before us
may be cited for that usage earlier. And further, it is not the feminine
deaconess (diaconissa), but the masculine, which will serve for either sex, but
still which seems to imply that it does not stand for a definite feminine
office. If it must be assigned to some church function here we should conclude
that this was one open to men and women alike. But nothing of the kind was known
in the primitive church. By the time of the Pastoral Epistles the “widows” seem
to have been organised into an order. Thus St. Paul writes, “Let none be
enrolled as a widow under three-score year old,” &c.; ^ and yet the limit of age
points to eleemosynary purposes rather than to service. You would not require a
woman to be old before electing her for some work in the church. Still there
must have been women to do certain things for their own sex, such as attending
on them at their baptism. “We are too much inclined to think these services were
relegated to definitely appointed officials from the first. In the simple family
life of the early church this would not be thought of. The ministry preceded the
office; and later the office grew out of the ministry. In the primitive church
much was made of service, little of office. Methods were free and elastic;
fluidity had not yet been followed by crystallisation. Before long, we know,
there was a definite order of deaconesses in the church. This was so in Bythinia
at least, in the reign of Trajan; for Pling writes that he obtained his
information concerning the Christians by torturing “two hand-maidens” {ancillse)
whom the Christians calls “servants” (ininistree).^ Notice the technical word
diaconissa is not employed here. Later the so-called “Apostical Constitutions”
refer to the deaconess who must be “a chaste virgin. “^ Qn the other hand,
TertuUian writes of “ widows “ and “mothers” being in the order.^ All this is
much later and throws no light on the place of Phcebe in the church. But that
she did in some very marked way serve her church as a whole, and did not simply
minister in private charities like Dorcas, is plainly shown by the apostle’s
language. That is all we can say on the subject.

Further, St. Paul adds that she was a “succourer” of many, and also of himself;
and the Greek word translated “succourer” is the feminine of one that stands for
the Latin patronus, the “ patron.” Phoebe in the church was like a patron among
his clients — so familiar to us from Horace. Then she must have been a lady of
wealth and influence. Possibly the church met in her house; possibly she
supported evangelists and helped to maintain the efficiency of the church and
spread its influence. We may compare her with the Countess of Huntingdon in the
eighteenth century. The good which such a woman may do by the use of her wealth
is incalculable. But now we see that Phoebe is not content to give of her money
for the relief of poor members of her church and the support of missionary work,
including something for the maintenance of the apostle or perhaps his travelling
expenses — for he sustained himself at Corinth by his tent-making; she is about
to set forth on a journey to visit some other church, apparently in discharge of
some important mission. A courageous, energetic, gifted woman, devoted to the
service of the churches. In Phoebe then we have an entirely different type of
woman from what we saw in Dorcas. There was room for the quiet almsgiving and
the simple service of the needle. But it would be a grievous mistake to suppose
that woman’s work must be confined to one limited sphere. To say that larger and
more public service is unwomanly and unseemly is but to voice an unreasoning
prejudice. In the present day the scope of woman’s work is immensely enlarged.
On the School Board and on the Board of Guardians women not only render good
service, v ley do distinctly womanly work. There are some duties:n connection
with these oflaces which men are decidedly less fitted to discharge than women.
And when it comes to the committee and even the public meeting, while many women
will shrink from the details of business, and more from the ordeal of the
platform, it is not to be ignored that some have a real call to serve in these
prominent places which is confirmed by the manifest good they are doing there.

We must not let Dorcas and her old-fashioned ministry be overlooked among the
more conspicuous new activities of our day. But honouring Dorcas and the service
of the ancient times does not mean refusing honour to Phoebe and the larger
ministry of the new age, which is not less truly also woman’s work. These
energetic and capable Phcebes are only toD rare among us. Tliey have a right to
free opportunities for rendering their noble service.


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  CHAPTER 55: 3.17.     ST. PAUL'S WOMAN CONVERTS — SAVED TO SERVE
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CHAPTER XVII St. Paul’s Woman Converts — Saved to Serve

ST. PAUL’S directions about the position of women in the church, which we meet
with in the First Epistle to the Corinthians, taken by themselves, have led to
an unfair estimate of the apostle’s treatment of woman. The history in the Acts
of the Apostles, supplemented by allusions in the epistles, should make it
beyond question that far from undervaluing woman St. Paul rejoiced to find some
of his most enthusiastic converts and loyal supporters among the women of the
cities he visited in his travels. “VVe have no means of ascertaining what
proportion of the members of the early churches consisted of women. But we know
that the proportion among the proselytes from heathenism to the Jewish faith was
very considerable. As a rule in our own day the women worshippers in most
congregations outnumber the men. Whether this was the case in the primitive
church or not we cannot say. But at all events it is clear that women were
prominent among the first converts. It is frequently asserted that woman is more
religious than man. When we think of religion in its widest relations,
comprehending the deepest thoughts of the heart and the most far-reaching
energies of service and sacrifice, perhaps the statement cannot be easily
proved. But when it comes to receiving direct religious impressions and uniting
in the worship and fellowship of church life, most important parts of religion,
though not the whole of it, as some seem to think, it does appear that the palm
must be given to woman. At all events women are among the most important of St.
Paul’s converts.

1. Lydia of Thyatira. — Lydia has the honour of being the first known Christian
in Europe. We have no knowledge of the origin of the church at Rome. Philippi
was the city where St. Paul first planted a church in Europe, and the first
member of that church was Lydia the dyer.

She was not a European by birth. A native of the province in Asia Minor after
which she was named, which from the days of Homer ^ was famous for its trade of
dyeing, coming from the city of Thyatira, where, as we learn from inscriptions,
there was a guild of dyers, she was probably connected with some business in
that city and now represented it in the Roman colony at Philippi. There she had
her own place of business, and its household of slaves and workwomen.

Lydia was a proselyte to Judaism. In her case as in others the law had been a
schoolmaster to lead to Christ. Her zeal according to the light she had received
prepared her for further light. Her heart was already sensitive to impulses from
above before it was opened to receive the gospel. She was one of the “devout”
from among whom so many of the early Christians were drawn, one of those who,
hungering and thirsting after righteousness, received the benediction of which
Jesus spoke in attaining at length to the new righteousness that He brought into
the world.

It was at the place of prayer whither she had gone for worship that Lydia heard
the good news. When the missionaries from Asia who had been mysteriously
Summoned over to Macedonia landed at the port of N eapolis, they at once
proceeded to the city of Philippi, where on the Sabbath, according to his
custom, St. Paul with his companion travellers made his way to the Jewish place
of worship.

There was no synagogue in this city, probably because the Jews were not
numerous. In the absence of a synagogue it was customary to meet in some hall,
or even in an enclosure open to the sky, which was called a Proseuche, or place
of prayer. The apostle found one of these meetinghouses outside the gate of the
city. Perhaps it was not allowed within the city walls, or the Jews may have
chosen the site as suitable for their ablutions; for it was by the side of the
river. ^ Here, according to the free and open customs of the Jews in their
public worship, when St. Paul as a visitor signified his wish to speak, he was
courteously permitted to address the little assembly. The use of the Greek
imperfect in reference to Lydia — meaning in effect “ she was in the habit of
hearing “ him, would lead us to suppose that the apostle repeated his visits on
several Sabbaths. And all this time the pious woman was drinking in his words
with an open mind. That is her remarkable characteristic — an open mind. She was
one whose “ heart the Lord had opened.”“ ljet”us remember that in Scripture the
“ heart “ does not stand for the affections as with us, but represents the whole
inner life, m ental as well as mora l. So many of the Jews were quite
inaccessible because their minds were closed and sealed with prejudices, an
obstinate bigotry barring the gates against the advent of new ideas. This defect
is not peculiar to the Jews of Philippi. It is the common failing of mankind.
Most people are totally inaccessible to the advent of new thoughts in religion.

Some regard anything of the kind as dangerous heresy simply on the ground of its
novelty, while others who do not go quite so far turn from it with unreasoning
aversion.

Lydia was of another order of mind. She had shown this earlier by abandoning the
paganism of her fathers — perhaps some dark superstition attributed to her city
of Thyatira as of “the woman Jezebel” in the apocalypse- — and accepting the
more elevated faith of Israel. Now she is prepared to go a step further. Thus in
her openness of mind Lydia is able to be also progressive. This is the more
noteworthy, because it is a common assertion that women are more conservative in
their religious beliefs than men. It was not found to be so at Philippi.

We must not lose sight of St. Luke’s striking statement that it was “the Lord”
who had opened Lydia’s heart Even for this woman who has already ventured on one
great breach with the past, it needs the power of God to prepare the way for the
reception of the new revelation.

It must ever be so. We are all blind till He teaches us to see. But we are not
therefore to infer that the only difference between Lydia and those people who
did not receive the gospel was that she was favoured by God in a way that was
denied to them. We must still say that she was one who willingly yielded to the
new ideas, only we must add that the strength and courage to yield came from
that Divine aid which was given to her in her prayers. It is no accident that
Lydia’s heart was opened in the house of prayer, no accident that this gift was
hers when she was in the spirit of worship. A frivolous Athenian spirit may
welcome new ideas for the sake of change without the aid of any Divine grace for
receiving them; but it is to the devout that the right understanding of fresh
truth may be expected to come. The dead orthodoxy of a prayerless church is the
most fatal obstruction to the development of spiritual knowledge. Lydia’s
prayers lead to Lydia’s open heart. Thus the gates of Europe lift up that the
King of glory may come in. A century before the river flowing by the gate of
Philippi had been reddened with the blood of Rome’s last patriots, when first
Cassius and then Brutus lost the two battles that bear the name of this city.
Now this same stream has its share in the establishing of a greater realm in
Europe than the empire of Augustus. Here Lydia was baptized, St. Paul’s first
convert in Europe, as he would say, “the firstfruits of Europe.” With her they
also baptized her household — either her children, or the workers in her
business, and perhaps her domestic servants. It was understood that the
proselyte to Judaism took over his household with him. The same was sometimes
done in the case of the earlier converts to Christianity. Thus the jailor of
this same city of Philippi was baptized “ with his household.” In this way we
have a beginning of that church which from his epistle written years later when
a prisoner at Rome we leam was always one of the most loyal to St. Paul, perhaps
of all his churches the one that was the most unfailing source of joy and
comfort. Lydia took no unimportant place in this community. She was his first
member, and her house became the home of the missionaries for the remainder of
their stay in the city. This fact implies that she was a woman of means. It
shows the completeness of her adhesion to the new religion. It indicates the
generous practical character of her religion. The open heart I’eveals her
receptivity; the open house her generosity.

2. The Pythoness. — The famous prophetess at Delphi was not without humble
imitators in these times of the break - down of the old religions and the
uprising of all sorts of wild superstitions. A. lunatic girl would then serve
well for a band of strolling sorcerers who had bought her as a slave. The public
would easily be deluded into the belief that her ravings were the effects of
possession by a divinity. Passing through the streets of Philippi, St. Paul more
than once met a poor girl in this condition with her keepers out for their
performances. These men had circulated the belief that she was under the
influence of no less a divinity than the great Apollo, the very god who was
supposed to have inspired the oracle at Delphi. The Greeks would call him a
daimon. But to Jews the greatest of these daimones was a veritable demon, an
evil spirit. To them pagan inspiration was diabolical possession. The case was
peculiar in its claim to be related to an oracle, and in the use the girl’s
employers made of it. Still as regards her mental symptoms, St. Paul would
recognise the well-known signs of the fearful “ possession “ that was so common
in Palestine and apparently elsewhere also. The sight of the new missionaries
strangely affected this girl. Like the demoniac in the Capernaum synagogue who
recognised the higher nature of Jesus Christ, she called after the missionaries
declaring them to be “ servants of the most high God,” who proclaimed “a way of
salvation.” Possibly she had caught some fragments of the apostle’s message. To
her dark, bewildered mind it promised a way of deliverance; and the perception
of this fact touched the heart of Paul.

Accordingly, following the example that had come down from Jesus Christ, the
apostle exorcised the evil spirit.

Again we are face to face with the question that met us in the case of Mary
Magdalene. Whatever may be our idea as to the cause of the disorders of brain
and nerves that the ancients ascribed to possession — whether we consider them
to be purely pathological or allow room for mysterious spiritual influences — we
must admit here, as in the previous case, that in the first century of the
Christian era the only way of dealing with the facts was on the hypothesis of a
real possession. Thus, assuming the presence of the evil spirit, St. Paul
commands it to come out of the aflBicted girl.

It was something about deliverance, salvation, that this girl had discerned in
the stray words she had caught in passing the apostle and his companions. Now
the gift was hers. At the name of Christ the temble possession had left her, and
she had become tame, and quiet, and natural. But to the populace this was the
loss of her inspiration; and therefore to her masters it was the loss of their
trade. In a fury of rage these men dragged the new teachers into the forum and
charged them with causing a disturbance and teaching unlawful doctrines. Thus in
a very unusual way the cure of this poor girl brought a persecution on the
apostles. As a rule it was the Jews who instigated the persecution of the
Christian teachers, while the pagan population was indifferent, and the
government officials were more or less friendly, or at least ready to protect
peaceable men from the fury of fanaticism. The imprisonment of Paul and Silas at
Philippi, contrary to the usual course of things, was of Pagan origin.

Nothing further is narrated of the girl. Most likely her masters gave her up in
disgust when they discovered that she was no longer of any use to them. We may
imagine that she became one of the early members of that happy church at
Philippi, which we seem to know so well from the epistle directed to it. In
passing from this story it may be interesting to note that while the first of
St. Paul’s converts in Europe was a pious business woman, the second instance of
the fruit of his ministry on our continent was the deliverance of a slave girl
employed by a strolling band of sorcerers. So wide is the field swept by the
beneficence of the gospel, so varied the needs it is capable of meeting. The
most respectable and comfortable citizens find their true welfare in its message
of grace; the most miserable and oppressed slaves have here their charter of
liberty.

3. Daviaris — We sometimes hear statements about the failure of St. Paul in
Athens. This is a most unjust description of the results of the apostolic visit
to that ancient seat of learning. Surely it was no small success to have gained
over a member of the ancient court of the Areopagus, But there were other
disciples, how many we are not informed. The only one who is named in addition
to Dionysius is introduced as “a woman named Damaris.”

There is no ground for Chrysostom’s suggestion that this woman was the wife of
Dionysius. On the contrary the way in which she is introduced excludes that
idea. It has been suggested more recently that her name, probably a vulgarism
for damalis, heifer, suggests a foreign woman, perhaps one of the class of
educated Hetairai who would more probably be found in the audience than married
women, since “ it was impossible in Athenian society for a woman of respectable
position and family to have any opportunity of hearing Paul.”

There is something distinctive in the way in which Damaris and the other
Athenian converts are introduced to our notice. It is said that they “clave
unto” the apostle, “and believed.” This was just after the great speech in which
St, Paul first complimented the Athenians on their religiousness, then
eloquently described the unknown God in whom we live and move and have our
being, and lastly proceeded to expound the specific Christian truth confirmed by
the resurrection of Jesus Christ. That word “resurrection” led to a rude
interruption. Some laughed aloud at the idea. The rest seem to have had enough
for the present, though they were willing to hear this strange Jew again another
time. The assembly broke up in confusion amid mocking laughter and sharp
critical remarks. But a few had been seriously affected, and a little group of
earnest souls gathered round the apostle. This showed no small amount of
independence on their part. At Athens they were in no danger of a violent
outbreak of heathen fanaticism. In this centre of dilettante culture people were
too frivolous to care to persecute.” But the atmosphere was saturated with
ridicule; and it required some courage to stand by a preacher of what was
regarded as an ignorant superstition. But the small group of adherents did more
than attach themselves to the apostle; they believed his message, believed it in
spite of the contempt of the learned and the idle mockery of the populace. This
was indeed a triumph of the gospel — a seed of earnest faith taking root even in
frivolous Athens! Amid the many altars and statues, the ancient temples of the
gods of Hellas and the recently imported shrines of strange divinities, where
people are ready to offer incense to every god, but unable to put their faith in
any, this handful of men and women gathered about the Jew teacher has attained
to what is indeed a rarity in Athens — a living faith, and among them Damaris
has the honour of being the one woman whose faith and influence attract the
attention of the historian. The Athenian converts do not seem to have been
sufficiently numerous to have formed a church. But it is noteworthy that in his
first epistle to the Corinthians St. Paul, addressing himself to the church in
their city, adds “ with all that call upon the name of our Lord Jesus Christ in
every place, their Lord and ours”;^ and in the second epistle he addresses the
church of God which is at Corinth, with “all the saints which are in the whole
of Achaia.”

Thus in both epistles the apostle has in mind certain disciples outside the
membership of the Corinthian churchand in the second he names the province.
Damaris would be one of these saints of Achaia included in the apostolic
greeting. Early in the following century there was a church at Athens — how
established we cannot tell, a church that in the reign of Hadrian furnished two
famous apologists for the faith. These men of philosophic habit may have come in
for a tradition left by Dionysius the Areopagite about whose name a mass of
legendary fables has clustered. But Damaris is not to be forgotten. It is a
curious fact — surely not without significance — that while the other converts
are grouped together without any specification these two alone are named. The
mention of Dionysius is accounted for by his previous position in the court of
Areopagus; but as no such title belongs to Damaris, it must be for the sake of
her subsequent influence that she is singled out.

4, The Ephesian Women — The sixteenth chapter of the Epistle to the Romans
contains far more personal matter than is to be found in any other of St. Paul’s
epistles, and yet this epistle is addressed to a church that the apostle had
never visited. Rome was the metropolis of the world, and Jews were great
travellers — the corn trade from Alexandria was almost entirely in their hands.
Therefore it is likely enough that a Jew would have kinsmen of his acquaintance
in the imperial city. Moreover some of the names that occur in this chapter
correspond with names that are to be found on tombs in Rome. Still when all
allowance is made for these considerations, and any others that may be urged in
the same direction, it remains a very remarkable thing that this chapter of
exceptional personal reference should be found in an epistle to a church that
the writer had never visited. If there were but one or two names they might be
accounted for on the hypothesis that certain friends of the apostle had
travelled to Rome. It is the number of salutations, with the exact
characteristio descriptions of the persons concerned, that has raised doubts on
the subject. Accordingly many have come to the conclusion that the sixteenth
chapter of our present Epistle to the Romans is really a fragment of some other
epistle originally directed to another church. The warning in verse 17 points to
a church of which the apostle had direct knowledge, and it is not in harmony
with the treatment of the Roman church in the body of the epistle.

If we are to look elsewhere for the destination of this fragment Ephesus seems
to be the place. Prisca and Aquila who appear here were last met at Ephesus;^
and when we next meet with them they are also at Ephesus, as we shall see when
we come to consider them more particularly. Then Epaenetus is called “ the
firstfruits of Asia,” and Ephesus was the capital of the Roman province entitled
“Asia.” It would seem that we have here a commendation of Phoebe to the Church
of Ephesus. That lady came from Cenchrese, the port in the isthmus of Corinth
from which ships set sail for Ephesus.

Among the salutations which St. Paul sends to those whom we will regard as his
Ephesian friends several are directed to women. First we have Prisca, who must
be reserved for fuller consideration in the next chapter. Then we meet with a
Mary, pleasantly characterised by the addition of the phrase “who bestoweth much
labour on you.”

These salutations are all varied with discriminating reminiscences, and Mary’s
certificate is one of great honour. It was service that won the richest praise
in the apostolic churches. Rank and station went for little; wealth was of no
account except in so far as it was given to the common cause, and thus came in
as an evidence of selfsacrifice. But service was most highly prized. These
churches were alive and active. Each of them was a missionary centre, its
members zealous in spreading the good news of the kingdom; and within its
borders each was a family, the brothers and sisters bound to care for one
another. The law of Christ they were called on to fulfil was to “ bear one
another’s burdens.” Now women took their full share in this inspiriting scene of
activity.

What particular labour Mary was able to bestow in the works of mutual
helpfulness carried on at Ephesus is left to our imagination to picture —
whether it were in tending the sick, supplying the wants of the poor, caring for
the orphans, reclaiming the lapsed, training female disciples, winning new
converts — in these and other ways there was abundant opportunity for woman’s
work in the church of the apostles.

Next we have a salutation to Andronicus and Junias. But the second name could be
read “Junia,” and the grouping of the two like that of Prisca and Aquila rather
suggests that they were husband and wife. Concerning them St. Paul tells four
things. First, they were his kinsmen, that is to say, Jews. Second, they had
been fellowprisoners with him; he does not say when, and we have here an
allusion to some imprisonment not recorded in tho Acts. Third, they were “of
note among the apostles”; they were of that second order of the apostles, beyond
the twelve, the travelling missionaries, and noteworthy in it. Fourth, St. Paul
adds, “They who also have been in Christ before me.” Then these are not to be
reckoned among his converts. The title “ Apostle “ makes it probable that the
second of these names as well as the first must stand for a man. Chrysostom,
however, assumes that it represents a woman when he exclaims, “And indeed to be
apostles at all is a great thing. But to be even among these of note, just
consider what a great encomium this is! But these were of note owing to their
works, to their achievements. Oh! how great is the devotion of this woman, that
she should be even counted worthy of the appellation of apostle!” A little
further on we come on two women, Tryphsena and Tryphosa, apparently sisters.
They too are commended for labouring in the Lord — labour again the special
point commented on. But while these two sisters are simply said to have laboured
in the Lord, a higher commendation is for one whose name immediately follows —
“Persis the helovedfVfhich laboured much in the Lord.” A general favourite she
must have been, and deservedly so for her superabounding activity in the church.
But note the change of tense. The sisters “labour “; this woman “laboured.” Her
work is of the past. Either she is aged, or hindered by illhealth, or in some
other way compelled to desist. This fact may account for the apostle’s veiy
tender way of referring to her. It is hard for those who would gladly work to be
compelled to stand aside. Such people have a right to receive the utmost
consideration from their brethren. But what a new world this is for Greek men
and women! There is not a word about those natural charms that are celebrated in
the choice of Paris. Human nature is the same all the world over. Beauty is a
gift which cannot but win admiration. But here in the church it is not mere
personal attractiveness but service that comes to the front; here it is the
woman who has served much who is greatly beloved. This is no “ Dream of Fair
Women.”

It is the honour roll of self-sacrificing women. A very touching reference
follows next. “ Salute Rufus the chosen in the Lord, and his mother and mine.’“
Simon of Gyrene, who was compelled to carry the cross of Jesus, is described by
St. Mark as “the father of Alexander and Rufus “ — the reverse of the usual
Biblical method which identifies a man by a reference to his father. Alexander
and Rufus were better known than Simon, probably because they were Ghristians of
the later generation living when the gospel was written. If it is the same Rufus
to whom St. Paul here sends a salutation, the mother so touchingly described
would be the wife, perhaps now the widow, of the man who carried Christ’s cross
to Calvary. She must have heard a wonderful story from the lips of her husband!
And now her faith in the Crucified has had the effect of enriching and widening
her motherliness. She must be an elderly woman for the apostle to regard her as
his mother. She is the only woman whom he thus honours. The phrase throws a
flood of light back on those months when the apostle was busy tent-making for
part of the day while the rest of his time was occupied with discussions in the
hall he was thus enabled to hire from one Tyrannus. A motherly heart was devoted
to his welfare; motherly hands cared for his wants; motherly tenderness came to
his aid in those frequent infirmities to which he was subject. If the apostle
had at times so hard a life at Ephesus that on reflection he could call it a “
fight with wild beasts,” he had also the incomparable blessing of a woman’s care
bestowed on him as freely as on her own son. The last two women mentioned in
this long list of salutations are Julia — the name is common among slaves — and
the sister of Nereus, about whom nothing more distinctive is said. But it is
distinction enough to be named at all in such a roll of honour as this. These
two belong to a group that seems to have been a little community in itself,
residing perhaps in one quarter of the city and very much thrown together;
possibly they held small meetings of their own, for the apostle adds “ and all
the saints that are with them,” The more we consider this list the more we must
be struck with the combination of intense sympathy with keen discrimination in
the great apostle. We see the utmost kindness, the warmest appreciation, yet
expressed in terms of careful differentiation. This is not the language of
flattery. If they had not the true Christian spirit of humility the women who
received the more moderate salutations might be inclined to take offence.
Tryphsena and Tryphosa, who merely “ labour in the Lord,” might be jealous of
Persis, who is called “ the beloved” and described as having “laboured much in
the Lord,” while Julia might be still more aggrieved at hearing no reference to
her merits, and the many women who were not even named consider themselves
unwarrantably slighted. It was a daring thing for the apostle thus to
discriminate among his women friends. But he would assume the presence of a
magnanimity and a warmth of mutual love in the church that would rise above the
miserable selfishness that harbours any such ideas. It cannot be denied that
there have been churches that would have been shattered to fragments by the
receipt of such a missive as this from an idolised minister. It is to be
observed that St. Paul did not send any discriminating salutations to the
divided church at Corinth.

5. The Women at Philippi. — In the Epistle to the Philippians St. Paul does not
refer either to Lydia or to the slave girl whom he had rescued during his first
visit to the city. But in one passage he has a message for two other women —
Euodia and Syntyche, apparently having fallen out, tho apostle beseeches them
“to be of the same mind in the Lord.” ^ An erroneous legend represents these two
names as standing for a husband and his wife, and even takes the husband for the
converted jailor, thereby implying a painful sequel to the scene in the prison
after the earthquake. But both names are feminine. Then it has been suggested
that a separate assembly may have been held in the house of each of these women,
and that the object of the apostle was to preserve harmony between the two
congregations — on what grounds it is hard to guess. The simpler explanation is
that they were two members of the same community.

If these women were pained at the apostle’s reference to their mutual
diflferences it must have been pleasant for them to hear what followed. St. Paul
proceeds to request somebody here named Synzygus — possibly meaning Epaphroditus
— who he says is true to the meaning of his name as “yoke fellow” — to help
these women. He adds that they had laboured with him in the gospel. This is
their commendation. It is sometimes to be observed that the most active and
useful people are not the easiest to work with. Energy does not necessarily find
itself associated with sweetness. It is well to be furnished with the apostle’s
discriminating sympathy that could correct the faults of temper and at the same
time encourage the exercise of energy.


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  CHAPTER 56: 3.18.     PRISCILLA — THE WOMAN MISSIONARY
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CHAPTER XVIII Priscilla — The Woman Missionary

ONE of the oldest churches in Rome, situated on the Aventine hill, and giving
his title to a Roman Cardinal, bears the name of St. Prisca. The legendary “Acts
of St, Prisca”! — which are as late as the tenth century — state that the
saint’s body was brought from Ostia to the church of “St. Aquila and St. Prisca”
on the Aventine, evidently referring to this very building. De Rossi, the
archaeologist, has suggested that this church stands on the site of the house of
Priscilla and Aquila. In the year 1776 a bronze tablet was found in the garden
of the church bearing the name C. Marius Pudens Cornelianus. Now, in the
legendary “Acts of Pudens,” Priscilla is said to be his mother. It is argued
that the tablet was found in this garden because here was originally the home
where Pudens lived with his parents Aquila and Priscilla.

Further, there is also a burial-place at Rome outside the Porta Solaria, which
is called “ the cemetery of Priscilla.” That there is some justification for the
title has been shown from an examination of the inscriptions. The origin of this
cemetery has been traced to the tombs of Acilius, Glabio, and other members of
the Acilian gens; and it has been discovered that a name for ladies of the
Acilian gens is Priscilla, For example, there is an inscription which runs thus
—

M’ACILIUS V... c.v.

PRISCILLA... C

These various data taken together point to the association of the New Testament
Priscilla with Rome. But when we disentangle the legendary matter and separate
this from the authentic evidence of inscriptions, we discover that it is only
the late and unreliable tradition that definitely connects our Priscilla with
these Roman sites, while the inscriptions point to a Priscilla, or various women
bearing the name without any identification with the New Testament personage.
Still the discovery of the name is of some moment, since it is common for
particular names to run in families. Accepting these various points on their
merits, and making full allowance for the uncertainty of what is merely
legendary matter, we still have some curious evidence for the association of the
Priscilla of St, Paul’s time with Rome, and that goes to confirm what we read in
the New Testament,

Turning to our Christian Scriptures we find that there we have two sources of
information about Priscilla — the Acts of the Apostles and St. Paul’s Epistles,
and they are mutually illustrative and confirmatory the one of the other. We
first meet with Priscilla and her husband Aquila at Corinth, where they were
found by St. Paul,i and the historian traces their lives further back. Aquila
was a Jew of Pontus, a remote part of the Roman empire bordering on the Black
Sea, Another Aquila, the author of the literal translation of the Old Testament
into Greek, was also of Pontus, But there was a Pontian gens at Rome in
association with which more than one Pontius Aquila has been found.^ Accordingly
it has been suggested that our Aquila may have been a freedman associated with
that Roman house. Still, St, Luke says that he had come from Pontus, a statement
which, if correct, carries us out of relation to these Roman family names, and
leaves us to infer that the Jew instinct for travel in the course of trade had
led Aquila to leave his native region and settle down in the imperial
metropolis.

Nothing is said as to the origin of his wife; but the inference drawn from the
inscriptions would lead to the conclusion that Priscilla was a native of Rome
whom Aquila had met after coming to live in the city. Dr. Hort has suggested
that she may have been a member of the Acilian gens, in which her name is
frequently found. In that case we must think of her as a lady of aristocratic
birth. It has been noticed that a certain importance is attached to lier by the
fact that at two or three places in the New Testament she is named before her
husband.

Perhaps she was one of those women of rank and position who had become
proselytes to Judaism in these times when the conquered people were giving their
religion to their victors. On the other hand it has been pointed out as not very
probable that a lady of such connections would marry a Jew artisan. It may be
that, like so many of the early Christians at Rome who bore the names of the
principal families, Priscilla was a freedwoman of the Acilian gens.

These two were living at Rome when the tyranny of an imperial edict broke up
their home and drove them into exile. “Claudius,” says St. Luke, “had commanded
all the Jews to depart from Rome.” ^ This edict is mentioned by Suetonius, the
gossipy historian of the Caesars, who tells us that the reason for it was the
disturbances the Jews were continually making at the instigation of “ Chrestus.”
^ There is much probability in the idea that “Chrestus” is a misspelling of
“Christus” — it is met with in some pagan references to Christ; so that the
sentence contains the Latin historian’s distorted view of some troubles in the
ghetto concerning the Christ. The only troubles on that ground of which we know
anything were occasioned by the advent of the Christian gospel, when the Jews
who rejected it were ready to rise in riotous opposition against the preachers
of the unacceptable doctrine and their converts. This was the usual consequence
wherever St. Paul preached to a Jewish community. No doubt the same thing
occurred elsewhere.

Here then a faint ray of light falls on Christianity at Rome when it was still
ignored by the government or at most contemptuously handled as the last-born
turbulent child of the ghetto. Even if Aquila had been previously in good
circumstances this exile would have thrown all his affairs into confusion.
Sufferance being the badge of all their tribe, the Jews of these uncertain times
made a practice of bringing up their sons to a trade even if they did not intend
to pursue it, so that they might have something to fall back upon if they should
chance to fall into adverse circumstances. Therefore we cannot be certain that
Aquila had worked for his living at Rome in the trade of tent-making to which he
now resorted, and if his wife was of the aristocratic family it is probable that
he also was well off till as a Jew he was attacked by this imperial edict. Yet
we have no sufficient reason to think this was the case, and it is likely enough
that from the first husband and wife were both of the artisan class. The place
selected by them for residence in their exile was Corinth, chosen doubtless as
being the most important commercial city in Greece, and one in which there was a
good-sized community of Jews.

We cannot say for certain whether Aquila and Priscilla were already Christians
when they came to Corinth, or whether they were converted there under the
influence of St. Paul. One would think that if they were disciples of the
apostle some reference would be made to the fact. But we read nothing of their
conversion and baptism. This rather points to the conclusion that they were
members of that Christian community at Rome which must have been in existence at
the time, although the origin and early history of it are lost in obscui’ity.
Possibly they were subject to Jewish persecution while at Rome, in some degree
the victims of those very disturbances in the ghetto which Suetonius tells us
were the occasion for Claudius’s decree of banishment. If so, their exile was
also a deliverance. But on the other hand Aquila is introduced simply as a
“Jew,” not as a “brother.” This is not at all the usual way of mentioning a
Hebrew Christian. His connection with the edict concerning the Jews may account
for it here, even if he were a Christian. Still the absence of any allusion to
his Christianity leads to the inference that he was not yet a convert. The
evidence pointing both ways, the question must be left in uncertainty. If,
however, the pair were not Christians when they arrived at Corinth, it could not
have been long before they were won over to the faith preached by the apostle.
The narrative does not allow of the lapse of any considerable amount of time
before they appear as the intimate friends of St. Paul. The apostle found the
exiles, apparently soon after their arrival. He visited them, gave them a
welcome, and cheered them in their painful position as people about to make a
fresh start in life among strangers. Such kind behaviour would go far to incline
them to listen favourably to his message, even if they wei*e not already of his
Christian faith. The friendship quickly ripened, and St. Paul came to live in
the same house with Priscilla and her husband. The obvious reason for doing so
was that they might work together, as they were all three of the same craft. It
is to be noted here that St. Luke does not confine the tent-making to Aquila,
but writes of it as practised also by his wife — they were tent - makers. “
Priscilla would help at the loom in weaving the goat hair, or with Acts 18:3.
her needle in sewing the thick course fabric, and the three would ply their
trade together as partners. So intimate was their friendship or so convenient
their partnership, that when the apostle left Corinth for Ephesus, Priscilla and
Aquila accompanied him.^ We find them there when St. Paul writes his first
epistle to the Corinthians; and the allusion to them in that epistle shows that
there was a “church in their house.” ^ This phrase, which we meet with in other
connections, may refer only to the household, with workpeople and perhaps
servants. But more probably it points to some small gathering of Christians, a
church within the Church, either an inner circle of intimate friends, or it may
be the Christian disciples resident in one locality.

Aquila and Priscilla show themselves hospitable and active in Christian service
by having such a church in their house. When the riot in the theatre hastened
St. Paul’s departure from Ephesus, Priscilla and her husband remained behind,
still working at their business which they were getting together after their
second removal, and very probably helping to maintain the healthy life of the
Ephesian Christians during the absence of their great leader. If, as we have
seen to be probable, the 16th chapter to the Romans is a fragment of an epistle
addressed to Ephesus, that shows us Priscilla and Aquila stUl resident in the
capital of the province of Asia.^ Still later they are there when the second
epistle to Timothy is sent to that city. The three scattered references to
Priscilla and Aquila — in 1 Corinthians, Rovians xvi, and 2 Timothy — furnish
the strongest reasons for supposing that Romans xvi. was intended for Ephesus.
Thus we must regard this city as the final halting-place of the exiles.

Now in all these changes and travels Priscilla is the constant companion of her
husband. Moreover, her name is pointedly associated with his in Christian work,
and frequently it is mentioned first. We cannot attach much weight to the
proposed explanation of the latter fact on the hypothesis that, as a daughter of
a good Roman family, Priscilla was of higher social position than the Jew from
Pontus, whom in some unaccountable way she had condescended to marry. Would both
St. Paul and St. Luke put her first on such gi-ounds? In the free democracy of a
Christian Church she was but a sister among brothers and sisters. It is much
more likely that her name stands before her husband’s because she was the more
prominent in the service of the gospel. Certainly she did take an active share
in that work. The most brilliant convert to Christianity — with the solitary
exception of St. Paul — owed his enlightenment in no small degree to her skilful
teaching.

ApoUos is introduced to us as an Alexandrian Jew both learned in general culture
(and that meant much in the city from which he hailed) and mighty in the
Scriptures, who came to Ephesus while Priscilla and Aquila were there. Lending
himself to Christian influences, he was partially trained in the gospel, but he
had not received Christian baptism, and therefore had not identified himself
with the Church, when he began to argue with his Jewish brethren and preach
about Jesus in the synagogue according to his light. It would have been no easy
task to take in hand a man of Apollos’s intellectual attainments and
independence of character, and lead him on to the views more generally held
among the Christians. But Priscilla and Aquila undertook this difficult task and
succeeded in it. And here, it is to be observed, Priscilla’s name occurs first.
^ We are not merely to understand that she joined her husband in his conferences
with Apollos —which would have been remarkable in itself. The pointed way in
which her name stands first makes it clear that she took a leading part in those
conferences. “With this before us we may venture to go further and risk the
conjecture that it was really Priscilla who influenced the scholarly and gifted
Alexandrian, while her husband accompanied her in a secondary position.

Priscilla then appears in the Church of the Apostles as an evangelist. Her
influence over Apollos would incline us to think that she must have been a woman
of intellect. When intellect is given to woman what is to hinder her from
consecrating it to the service of Christ? Unhappily a narrow social prejudice
has too often compelled this precious talent to be buried. For ages it was
supposed that woman’s one sphere was the home, and in the home her function was
too much that of a family drudge. It was not supposed that she required culture,
seeing that her work was to cook her husband’s food, make his garments, keep his
house in order.

Now it will be an ill day for the world when woman comes to despise her home
duties. The home is the most sacred spot on earth, and it is the woman in the
heart of it that preserves its sanctity. But the duty of the wife to her home
need not be in every case all-absorbing, so that she has no room for any
interest beyond the four walls of the house. A woman is not a better help-meet
to her husband for scrupulously narrowing down her interests to the things in
which, as Christ teaches us, life does not consist, nor is she called to be only
his help-meet. That is a most inequitable idea of marriage which would limit the
concern of the wife to her household, while her husband is free to engage in a
variety of interests without being accused of neglecting his wife and family.
Surely it is well when a married woman — especially a gifted Priscilla — can
come with the ripeness of matronly experience added to her natural womanly
endowments, and give her services in some measure for the good of her
fellow-creatures.

After all, a woman does not cease to be a member of the great human family by
becoming the mother of one particular family. And then there are the women who
do not marry, and who are proportionately more free for public service. In the
middle ages the domestic drudge theory of woman’s duty was assiduously
inculcated in spite of the poetry of chivalry with which it was glaringly in
conflict. Then many women of brains and spirit who desired a career of intellect
or influence escaped by avoiding marriage and seeking refuge in a monastery.
There, if given to study, they found leisure and freedom for the cultivation of
their intellects, if endowed with governing power they rose to places of command
in their order. Surely that was a monstrous state of society in which women
could only find liberty while preserving their virtue by entering the walls of a
convent.

We live in larger days as regards the liberties and duties of women. It is no
small part of the missionary progress of our age that is seen in the dedication
of earnest, capable Christian women to the spread of the gospel in heathen
lands. In the East, where woman is secluded, if she is to be enlightened at all
this must be by the coming to her of her sister from the West. But then it is
only just to acknowledge that while the single women who go forth expressly
dedicated to Christian work are recognised heralds of the gospel, the wives of
missionaries are in most cases not less missionaries themselves. Priscilla was
all the more useful a teacher of Christian truth owing to the fact that she was
a married woman accompanying her husband. This it was that enabled her to bring
her influence to bear on the great convert Apollos.

Though Priscilla may be regarded as the prototype of the woman missionary, it is
not to be forgotten that she set about her work in a much more simple way than
her sister at the same task to-day. There was no missionary society in the first
century; or perhaps we should say, every true and healthy Church was then a
missionary society. Priscilla and Aquila were not commissioned by any organised
agency. They supported themselves by their tent-making. The modern missionary
has an advantage derived from the principle of the division of labour applied to
Church affairs when he is supported in the foreign field by the gifts of his
brethren who work in their secular avocations at home, because he is thus able
to give himself without distraction to the one grand task of his life. But then,
on the other hand, the success of PrisciUa and Aquila who worked for the gospel
while they also supported themselves by their trade — not to mention the wholly
exceptional case of St. Paul — shows what may be done by those who are not
called to give up their worldly business in order to devote themselves to
missionary work. It would be possible for others like these tent-makers to find
their mission brought to their very doors.

Lastly, Priscilla’s share in the mission she carried on with her husband must
not be thought of as simply parallel to his, or superseding his merely because
she was the more gifted of the two. They co-operated. Here was the charm of
their ministry. It was a truly wedded ministry. They were one in their highest
aims. What closer, sweeter, nobler union than this can be imagined 1 And it was
in the blending of their several contributions to the common end that their
success was attained. Both took part in conferences with Apollos. If the chief
influence was with Priscilla, her husband also had his share. When womanly
sympathy and quickness of perception are wedded to manly steadfastness and
perseverance we have the ideal missionary. ’No doubt there is work for celibate
missionaries in carrying on dangerous expeditions and holding difficult
outposts; but the example of Priscilla and Aquila should show that when the true
union can be found a rare power may be developed in the combined labours of the
wife with her husband.


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  CHAPTER 57: 3.19.     WOMEN IN HIGH PLACES
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CHAPTEE XIX Women in High Places A STUDY of the women of the New Testament,
however cursory, would be deficient without some reference to those of the
ruling classes whom we occasionally meet in the course of the history. Most of
them are members of the Herod family, and for a full account of their lives the
reader may be referred to the volume of the present series that is devoted to
that family,^ a work which makes it the less necessary for us to go into the
details here.

None of these women can be said to belong to the New Testament excepting in a
literary and historical way. From a religious standpoint they are of interest to
us chiefly because they furnish a dark and terrible background to the portraits
of the pure and kindly women that adorn the pages of the sacred book. We could
not have a more effective proof of the enormous contrast between Christian
character and the worldly character of the time of Christ and the apostles than
that which is supplied by comparing the Marys of the gospels, or Lydia and
Phoebe and the other saintly women of the epistles, with those disgraceful
female characters whose presence in the courts of the Herods sunk these courts
to the lowest depths of infamy. Here on Jewish soil are exact imitations of the
scandals that Suetonius narrates as going on in the palace of the Caesars at
Rome. Thus, now and again, happily but just for a moment, the dark shadow of
pagan vice falls across the page of the New Testament, and whenever it does so
it heightens the impression of the beauty and holiness of the realm where the
new-born citizens, both men and women, have learnt to walk in white robes of
holiness.

1. Herodias. — The first of these abandoned women to sully the page of Scripture
by her shameful presence there is Herodias. She was the daughter of Aristobulus,
who was son to Herod the Great. First she was married to one of her uncles, a
disinherited son of Herod the Great, also named Herod. A woman of luscious
beauty, she next threw her spell over another of her uncles, Herod Antipas, when
he was paying a visit to her husband. This Herod was the king to whom Pilate
sent Christ, and who subsequently had the Apostle James beheaded. When he
coveted Herodias he had a wife living, the daughter of Aretas, king of Arabia.
Thus both were already married.

Moreover, they Avere within the prohibited barriers of consanguinity. But in
these dissolute Roman times the halfheathen Herod family made short work of all
such obstacles to the attainment of their desires. Antipas permitted his queen
to retire to the castle of Machaerus, by the Dead Sea, whence she escaped to her
father, who thereupon made war upon his faithless son-in-law, and defeated him
in battle.

Meanwhile the bold Herodias had unblushingly deserted her husband and become the
consort of the faithless Herod.

Such was the condition of affairs when the prophet of the wilderness raised his
voice against the scandalous wickedness of this trebly illegal union. If John
the Baptist was the new Elijah, Herodias was more than equal to Jezebel in the
devilry of her revenge. The one mitigating feature in the life of Herodias is
her fidelity to Herod Antipas amid the misfortunes of his later days. When he
was dethroned and disgraced she still clung to him and shared with him his exile
to Gaul at the remote town of Lugdunum by the foot of the Pyrenees.

2. Salome.’^ — One shudders to think that such a woman had a daughter. But
knowing her origin we cannot be surprised at the degradation of the poor girl in
the dissolute court of which we read in the gospel accounts of the murder of
John the Baptist. In her flight from her first husband Herodias had brought
their daughter with her, depriving the unhappy man of his child as well as his
wife. The scene of feasting and drinking at Herod’s birthday feast which the
gospels describe is enough to indicate in what sort of a school the girl had
been brought up. Yet even there the outrage of decency was amazing when she was
allowed to lower herself, princess as she was, to the condition of a
professional dancer before a drunken party of lords and magnates. No doubt it
was in diaphanous drapery such as is represented in Pompeian frescoes, and with
the lascivious gestures that accompanied those disgraceful performances. Cruelty
commonly goes with dissoluteness.

Brought up as she had been among scenes of vice and in sight and hearing of
wickedness enough to crush and kill all the higher feelings, Salome was hardened
beforehand into readiness to obey her mother’s hideous suggestion.

Only a girl thus schooled out of all feminine sympathies could be willing to
turn the king’s drunken vow, which gave her so large a range of choice, into an
excuse for demanding a prophet’s head to be sei-ved up in mimic mockery, as
though it were to bo her own and her mother’s share of the banquet — an
unparalleled mingling of bloodthirsty vengeance with sickening jocularity. Such
a scene unsexes any woman. Lady Macbeth would shrink from it with horror.
Lucrezia Borgia could not be credited with the loathsome combination of devilry
and buffoonery. The dreadful Maenads, the serpent-headed Medusa, those
mythological monsters of cruelty, are at least tragic throughout. In the case of
the murder of John the Baptist it is the admission of vulgar comedy that adds’
the finishing touch of vileness to the scene. And yet Salome lived to be a woman
and marry, perhaps to bear children and suckle her babes. But her marriages were
true to her family history.

Iler first husband was an uncle, Philip the Tetrarch, a mild and peace-loving
man, the solitary member of the Herod family who escaped the family taint of
bloodthirsty cruelty.

Such a man was not likely long to satisfy the temper of the daughter of
Herodias. So she tried her fortunes with a pccond husband, Aristobulus, the king
of Chalcis.

3. Bemice} — Two other women of the Herodian family, also of unsavoury memory,
whom we meet with in the New Testament, are the daughters of Agrippa I, viz,
Bemice and Drusilla. The elder, Bemice, was first married to her uncle Herod,
king of Chalcis. Singularly enough, considering what family she came from,
Bernice actually remained with her husband till his death. Then she went to live
with her own brother Agrippa II, and dark suspicions were circulated as to their
relations. Subsequently Bernice was married to Ptolemon of Cilicia; but she soon
left him and returned to her brother. After this she became the mistress of
Yespasian, and then of his son Titus, This is the woman who accompanied Agrippa,
her brother as we have seen, when the king came in state to C’jEsarea to pay a
visit to Festus the Roman procurator. The scene must have been one of truly
oriental magnificence. The military officers were there to receive the visitor
with all the honours of royalty which these kinglets under the Boman Empire
delighted to obtain, and the magnates of the city were present to flatter both
Agrippa their visitor and Festus their master.

It was part of the entertainment and a compliment to the Jewish king to hand
over to him a prisoner of his own people, if only for a mock trial. Thus Festus
setting Paul before Agrippa followed the example of Pilate when that Boman
governor in the same office sent Jesus to Herod.

We know how nobly the apostle availed himself of his opportunity, how clearly he
told the astounding story of his conversion, and from this went on to set before
Agrippa the essence of his gospel message. It was a great occasion, and the
inspired apostle rising to it urged his arguments with unwonted force and
passion, finally pressing the king with direct questions, which much
disconcerted his royal conscience.

Now Bernice was present throughout this memorable scene. She heard the apostle’s
thrilling account of his conversion; she heard his declaration about Christ; she
heard him speak of the resurrection. What an utterly different world this Jew
lived in from that in which she had been brought up! What an entirely new range
of ideas he was setting before her! For a moment the golden gates were opened,
and she looked into a realm of the very existence of which she had previously
had no conception.

It was her first introduction to the spiritual world. Like Balaam, she saw the
star afar off. Faint and dim must have been her conception of it. We do not know
whether it dwelt much with her. Yet she could not easily forget so impressive a
scene. We may suppose it not unlikely that in rare quiet moments the memory of
this inspired Jew and his startling message would float back into her mind and
perhaps stir some slumbering thoughts of better things than she ever saw in her
daily life at court.

4. Drusilla} — Bernice’s younger sister, Drusilla, the second daughter of
Agrippa I, had been betrothed in her childhood to a pagan prince named Antiochus
Epiphanes; but as this man refused to become a Jew in order to obtain permission
to marry her, the compact was broken, and she was given to Azizus, the king of
Emesa, that ruler consenting to undergo circumcision as the price of his
alliance with the powerful Herod family. Idumeans by birth, and pagans in
character, the Herods were always anxious to pose as Jews. So while outraging
the moral law of Judaism they were careful to insist on the rite which was
recognised as the badge of the race and its religion. But though he won his
bride through a humiliating concession to Jewish customs the king of Emesa was
not able to retain her. The family taint was in her blood as in that of all the
daughters of this corrupt house. No sooner did Felix, the Roman procurator, set
his eyes on her than he coveted this fair queen. Josephus tells us that ho
obtained the assistance of a Cyprian sorcerer, Simon by name, to win her over,
and thus induced her to abandon Azizus and become his wife.^ This would seem to
have been a very superfluous device in the case of a woman of the notorious
family from which Drusilla had come; for it did not usually require any very
powerful spells of magic to lead the daughters of the Herods into marital
unfaithfulness.

Now it is as the wife of Felix that Drusilla meets us in the pages of the New
Testament. This is earlier than the interview with Agrippa and Bernice just
referred to. For two years Felix kept St. Paul in prison at Caesarea in the hope
that he would tire him out, and so at last force him to seek his liberation by
means of a bribe. During all this time Felix would often send for his captive
and hold conferences with him. St. Luke significantly informs us that Drusilla
the wife of Felix was a Jewess, connecting this statement with the fact that the
Roman governor “ sent for Paul, and heard him concerning the faith in Christ
Jesus.” The implied suggestion is that the nationality of the wife of Felix
prompted his interest in his prisoner. Perhaps Drusilla was drawn to the apostlo
at first only from the idle motive of curiosity. The historian does not tell us
whether she was ever present at those conferences with her husband. But if her
interest in her wonderful fellowcountryman was at the root of them, it is most
probable that she was present. We have no information as to any impression they
may have made on her. Since her dissolute husband was deeply affected by the
apostle’s trenchant words on the great moral principles of temperance and
righteousness, and alarmed to trembling at the warnings he heard of coming
judgment, it can scarcely be that they meant nothing to Drusilla. And yet no
permanent eflfect was left on Felix, and we have no ground for supposing that
his wife yielded to the truth in which she had shown some interest.

It is diflScult for us to read the stories of these four queens — Herodias and
her daughter Salome, and the two sisters Bernice and Drusilla, all of them
adulteresses, two of them guilty of foulest murder — and not set them apart from
their sex as beneath the nature of womankind. There is no reason to minimise
their crimes. We cannot compare them with the poor, miserable, outcast women
whom Jesus treated so mercifully, because those women, “sinners” as they were
called, had become penitents, and probably throughout had been crushed down by
poverty and illusage. These gay queens had no excuses to plead in defence of
their shameless careers of crime. And yet there is much in heredity, and more in
the influence of example. The royal sinners had never known a pure home life.

They had been cradled in wickedness. We regard them as monsters of sin; but we
must remember that there was something monstrous about the circumstances with
which they had been surrounded from their childhood. It would have been a
miracle if ever a virtuous woman had appeared in the family of the Herods. The
dreadful picture of the four dissolute queens may serve to show in lurid colours
the desperate need of the world at the time when Jesus came with His new method
of righteousness to supersede the old attempts at reformation which had ended in
ignominious failure. It was the fulness of the times, in part because then the
cup of iniquity was full to overflowing. The world that permitted these
daughters of the Herods to flaunt their vices in the highest places was on the
brink of utter ruin, and fast perishing of its own rottenness. Then Christ was
born, and by degrees His people became the salt of the earth, arresting this
fearful corruption, and forming the nucleus of a society of pure-minded,
clean-living men and women.

5. Pilate^s Wife — One other woman in high position claims our attention. It is
in the midst of all the excitement of the trial of Jesus. The weak governor is
nearly distracted with conflicting ideas. He is more and more persuaded of the
innocence of his prisoner. But the Jews are obstinate. The rulers are determined
to have the blood of their victim. The longer Pilate argues with them the hotter
their rage grows. He offers the choice of Jesus or Barabbas. They snatch at the
offer, but demand Barabbas.

Pilate is at his wits’ end. Then while he is sitting on his chair of judgment
before the tumultuous assembly a message is privately brought to him. It comes
from his wife, and it is urgent. He must have nothing to do with this righteous
man. She has had terrible dreams about him. Pilate has gone too far to draw
back. But the uncanny message completes his discomfiture. He cannot see his way
to acquit the prisoner in face of that howling crowd. Yet he must clear himself
of guilt in the matter, or some dreadful doom foreshadowed by that ominous dream
may fall upon him. So he formally renounces responsibility by publicly washing
his hands. The impotence of the act must not blind us to the fact that it was
all the weak man could brace himself to do in response to his wife’s message.

Nothing is really known about Pilate’s mfe beyond the incident narrated in
Mattheio. Tradition, chiefly based on the apocryphal gospel of Nicodemus, has
given her the name Claudia Procla, and represented her as a worshipper of the
God of Israel; but this has no historical value. It has been pointed out that
Augustus had revived an old law forbidding Roman statesmen and legates to take
wives with them into the provinces. But under Tiberius the prohibitory mandate
had been relaxed again, and now, while it was still preferred that the officials
in foreign parts should be celibate, they were allowed to marry, and made
responsible for their wives’ conduct. Therefore it was now quite according to
custom that Pilate’s wife should be found with her husband at Jerusalem. The
passage in Matthew that gives us all our information about Pilate’s wife shows
that she knew something of Jesus; for she calls Him “that righteous man.” She
was more than convinced of His innocence of the crime for which her husband was
trying Him. But it was a dream of the early morning that roused Pilate’s wife to
send the warninoy message to her husband. Doubtless she had heard how, late on
the previous evening, a request had come to the governor for soldiers to be sent
to arrest the Galilean Prophet. This was a dreadful piece of business for her
husband to be mixed up in. He had done some discreditable things in his official
capacity before, but never anything so out rageously unjust as the condemnation
of such a man as Jesus. The subject takes possession of her mind. She cannot
shake it off. It passes into her dreams. There it assumes those forms of horror
that crowd into a troubled imagination in the helplessness of sleep. Not once
only, but again and again, in different ways, the phantasmagoria of dreamland
force the same subject upon her attention. That grave face of the weary man with
the earnest, piercing eyes, of which she has caught a glimpse in the streets of
Jerusalem, haunts her. There is no escaping it. What a terrible reproach speaks
from those truthful eyes! And it is her husband who is to give the word that
shall condemn Him, innocent as He is; nay, more than innocent, righteous.
Condemn this righteous man to death. It is too horrible; it must not be. She
starts up from her couch before daylight, hastily summons a servant, and sends
her imperative message to the feeble creature who holds the reigns of power in
Palestine, and whom she must find it hard to honour as her lord.

It matters not how we account for this dream. We may say it was very natural
under the circumstances; or we may hold it to be a message from the world of the
unseen.

What we call natural, and what we describe as supernatural, are both equally in
the hands of God. But doubtless to Pilate, who was sceptical of all the higher
truth, as to many another Roman of his day, a dream would seem to have a deeper
significance than the greatest utterance of divine wisdom declared in the
daylight of reason.


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  CHAPTER 58: 3.20.     THE MYSTICAL WOMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE — WOMAN SYMBOLICAL
========================================================================

CHAPTER XX The Mystical Women of the Apocalypse — Woman Symbolical

AMONG the weird scenes of the Book of the Revelation. we come upon the mystical
figures of women who are represented as playing important parts in the terrible
drama. Lit up by the lurid flames of judgment, they scarcely appear as human
beings. We seem to be in the presence of vast, mythological personages like the
Graces and Furies and Maenads of classical antiquity, and quite of another order
from the wives and daughters, the mothers and sisters, of our homely world. In
some cases it may be that actual women, known to the readers of the book and
noteworthy for their prominent character and influence, are brought into the
picture in more or less symbolical guise, like Dante’s subjects from
contemporary history in his Inferno, or Michael Angelo’s portraits in his great
picture of “The Last Judgment.” In others, however, these mystical women are but
shadowy wraiths suggestive of ideas, or metaphorical types of powers and
institutions. The book was addressed to people who were familiar with the
materials from which it drew its imagery, and doubtless, therefore, quick to
interpret its dark allusions. It is a puzzle to us, because we have lost the key
of contemporaiy knowledge. At best we can but grope our way through the
labyrinths of this catacomb of buried ideas by the dim and fitful light of
conjecture.

I. The Woman JezebeU— In the Epistle to TJiyatira the angel of the Church is
warned against “the woman Jezebel,” and blamed for tolerating her. She calls
herself a prophetess, and she is found teaching Christ’s servants. But her
teaching is corrupt, encouraging immorality. A time is given her for repentance.
If she does not avail herself of it, but continues her evil practices, she will
suflFor severe punishment, and the people whom she has seduced into her
wickedness will die of pestilence.

It is not easy to see whether an actual woman is referred to here, or whether
the name is a personification of some corrupting doctrine or of some mischievous
party in the Church. Tliere is an ancient manuscript reading that gives “ thy
wife Jezebel.” If this could be adopted, and if the “ Angel of the Church “ were
taken for the bishop, then, it is suggested, Jezebel might be the bishop’s wife.
Then the passage read in bald literalism would be descriptive of a gross scene
of debauchery in the church at Thyatira, carried on under the influence of the
depraved wife of the pastor, whom her miserable husband was too weak to
restrain. But the variant reading is not considered by most reliable critics to
be sufficiently supported to claim a place in the text instead of the usual
reading; ^ and the symbolical chai-acter of the book throughout, together with
the fact that it frequently introduces angels, who in no other instances can be
taken for bishops or men at all, compels us to decline that interpretation here.

Going to the opposite extreme from this literalism, a daring view is to take
Jezebel for a personification of the Pauline doctrine which St. John is supposed
to be vehemently assailing. “Eating things sacrificed to idols” is here
associated with the lowest debauchery, as though the two practices were about
equally vicious. This could only come from a Jewish way of regarding things. It
is an echo of the decree of the Jerusalem Church on the reception of Gentiles.
St. Paul, on the other hand, saw no harm in eating food that might have been
offered in sacrifice to idols, though he advised consideration for those who
thought it an offence, and whom therefore he held to be the weaker brethren.^
Still it is outrageous to regard this passage in the Apocalypse as an attack on
Paulinism. There is not a hint of any allusion to the great Apostle of the
Gentiles.

Perhaps on the whole we should incline to the conclusion that the very definite
way in which “ the woman Jezebel” is described and the’ ascription of certain
effects to her action indicate an actual woman and not the mere personification
of a tendency or a party. If we take that view we have a representation of a
heathen prophetess teaching in Thyatira; or, inasmuch as she seduces the
Christians there, a woman teacher of some incipient gnosticism, antinomian in
its tendencies, and even leading to shameful immorality. This Jezebel may have
been to St. John what Simon Magus was to St. Peter, but with a more corrupt
influence. Like the wife of Ahab, after whom she is mystically named in the
Apocalypse, she was a centre of moral corruption. We read in the ancient Hebrew
history, “ But there was none like unto Ahab, which did sell himself to do that
which was evil in the sight of the Lord, whom Jezebel his loife stirred up.”^
Such was the heathen prophetess of Thyatira. We must not compare her with the
noble, high-minded Hypathia of Alexandria, the charm of whose eloquent lectures
in philosophy so provoked the fierce Cyril and his monks. A terribly degrading
influence goes with this second Jezebel. Her name is of evil odour. It has been
revived more than once as an epithet of opprobrium. John Knox hurled it at Queen
Mary, whose light manners, imported from the gay French court, the stem Scotch
reformer reckoned a source of corruption for his people. Woman has the gift of
influence as one of her principal endowments. When she uses it for good she may
be as Beatrice to Dante, the very centre and focus of sanctifying grace; but
when she turns it to evil ends, it is the most baleful star of man’s sad
destiny. Women whose “eyes,” as Milton says, “rain influence,” have here a spell
and a charm often more potent than the obvious authority and the power of brute
strength possessed by men. Woe to the wretched victims who have been enslaved by
it in the person of a Jezebel. Woe, too, to the dreadful Jezebel herself.
Perverted in her own nature and a corrupter of others, the milk of
human-kindness in her turned to gall, what should be womanly sweetness become a
deadly poison — such a woman out-Herods Herod in her cruelty. Theologians
discuss the direful nature of Adam’s fall; but the more fearful and fateful fall
is the fall of Eve, locusts from the pit. — In the gloomy description of the
scene following the sounding of his trumpet by the fifth angel after a star has
fallen from heaven, the angel receives a key with which he opens the bottomless
pit, when with the smoke belched forth as from a furnace there comes out also a
swarm of locusts. Infernal locusts they are, commissioned to act quite contrary
to locust nature, sparing the vegetation and torturing, but not killing, those
men who have not the seal of God on their foreheads. These fiendish locusts
sting like scorpions. The description of them suggests might and terror, but
among the warlike attributes a very singular feature is inserted — “ and they
had hair as the hair of women.” ^ Arabic poetry comparing the antennse of
natural locusts to hair has been pointed to in illustration of this passage. But
all the rest of the imagery in it goes beyond the most fanciful description of
the insects. These are supernatural locusts, and the mention of women in the
description of their hair is the more remarkable because of its contrast with
the next clause, which introduces the association of lions, “ Their hair is like
the hair of women and their teeth are like lion’s teeth.” The gentleness and
grace of womanhood, her beauty, and the softer feminine influence, come in to be
opposed by the lion’s fangs, typical of savage ferocity. A certain insinuating
charm is here suggested, and its presence immensely heightens the effect^ of the
other images, all of which imply power and terror. The one womanly feature is
intended to add to the horror. The tenderness of womanhood becomes the very
crown of the curse of sin when it is degraded into the hideous partnership.

3:2Tie icoman clothed with the sun. — Happily the images of good in the
Apocalypse are as brilliant as those of evil are repellant. One of these begins
with the last verse of the eleventh chapter, where we are introduced to the
heavenly temple, after the opening of which, followed by thunder, lightning,
hail, an earthquake, and the sound of voices, a great wonder appears in heaven.
This is the coming of a woman clothed with the sun, having the moon under her
feet and a crown of twelve stars on her head. She is persecuted by a great red
dragon, a monster with seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns on his head.
The woman’s child is destined to rule all the nations with a rod of iron. To
save him from the dragon he is caught up to the throne of God, while his mother
flees to the wilderness, to a place prepared by God. There follows a war in
heaven, the result of which is that the dragon, who it now appears is the old
serpent Satan, is flung out. Banished to these nether regions he again
persecutes the woman. But she receives two great eagle wings with which she
flees to her place in the wilderness. The serpent attempts to drown her with a
flood of water that he pours out from his mouth.

Then the earth appears as the woman’s champion, opening her mouth and swallowing
the flood.

It is far from easy to interpret the imagery of this mystery. Perhaps, as some
think, the writer here makes use of a fragment of some earlier Jewish
Apocalypse.

Whether that be so or not, it is generally agreed that the child who is destined
to be a world-wide ruler, and who is divinely delivered from the malignity of
Satan, must be the Christ, either originally the Jewish Messiah, or from the
first the Christian Messiah, Jesus. Then who is the woman 1 One interpretation
takes her for the Virgin Mary. Even if this be correct she is so greatly
idealised, and the story is so different from the actual facts of her life, that
the real personality is lost in the fantastic picture.

But. it is more in accordance with the profuse imagery of the book to take the “
woman clothed with the sun “ as altogether a symbolical figure.

Then may we regard this mystical woman as representing the Church? The
difficulty of that interpretation is that then the Church would appear as the
mother of the Christ, which is simply impossible if we are thinking of the
Christian Institution of which our Lord is in every sense the Founder. But it is
quite within the limits of reasonable supposition to take the woman for Israel,
the Israel of God, the ancient Jewish Church, from which, in a human and
historical way, it may justly be said that the Christ has come. In accepting
this view, provisionally and tentatively for lack of a better, we must regard
the Jewish Church in its ideal aspect rather than as it was actually seen in the
world; and we must limit it to the spiritual Israel, that line of the pious
remnant represented of old by the prophets, and later by the devout of the type
of Simeon and Anna. There is a real living continuity between this faithful
Israel and the Christian Church. The members of the humble, loyal Church of God
»in the olden times —such as the 7000 in the days of Elijah, who had not bowed
the knee to Baal — were continually persecuted, and that to hard straits;
nevertheless they were under the sheltering care of God, and cherished,
especially with this great providential destiny, that out of them should come
the Redeemer of Israel. Outwardly of no account, obscure in the eyes of men, the
true Israel of God has to the eye that discerns the spiritual a splendour
unsurpassed by any earthly magnificence. This persecuted woman, destined to be
the mother of the Christ, is clothed with the sun. She walks in a garment of
light, a dazzling celestial radiance shining out from her. She is indeed
exalted, and the lesser luminary may be imagined as beneath her feet. In the
visions of horror that follow the angels with the seven vials, the prophet
carried by the Spirit into the wilderness sees a woman arrayed in purple and
scarlet and decked with gold and precious stones, while on her head she wears a
fillet with her name, after the fashion of abandoned women in ancient times,
from which we loam that she is Babylon the great, and of vilest character, and
also that she is “ a mystery “ — that is to say, not, in our modern sense of the
word, an inscrutable enigma, but a symbol. Then it is not the geographical
Babylon by the Euphrates that is intended. The Scarlet Woman has seven heads and
ten horns. The seven heads represent, in the mystery, seven hills, while the ten
horns are ten rulers. This and other indications clearly point to Rome, the city
of the seven hills. The imperial and commercial splendour of this city is
gorgeously described; but at the same time the depth of her depravity is vividly
represented. Rome under the Caesars had become a pit of all the most abominable
vices. The shameless Messalina was even about this very time openly degrading
the very name of woman in the higher circles. And in the person of her ruler,
JS^ero, Rome had recently become the cruellest persecutor of the Christians.
This second Babylon, cruel to the spiritual Israel as old Babylon was cruel to
the Jews in bygone ages, drunk with the blood of the saints, is warned of coming
divine vengeance. There is no perspective in prophecy. This threat was not
fulfilled immediately. More than three centuries were allowed the Scarlet Woman
in which to fill up the cup of her iniquities, and then Alaric, the scourge of
God, swept down on the doomed city, and slaughter and pillage reduced her to a
ruin, the significance of which may be understood: by the reader of Augustin’s
City of God.

It is necessary to notice another interpretation of the mystery, as this has
long been a favourite idea in some circles of Protestant readers. The Scarlet
Woman is identified with the woman clothed with the sun. Both are the Church. In
the first case the Church is in her earlier purity and fidelity. Then she is
unfaithful, falls, becomes the abomination of Babylon in the apostate Church of
Rome under the Papacy. In favour of this view, it is pointed out how frequently
apostacy is described by the Hebrew prophets under the image of adultery.

But, on the other hand, it is to be noted that worse is said of the Scarlet
Woman, so that her still lower character of abandoned wickedness is scarcely at
all if ever ascribed to the apostate Israel in the Old Testament. Moreover it is
a fanciful stretch of imagination to suppose that the later historical
development would be contemplated by the seer of Patmos in the first century. It
is safer to keep to the simpler interpretation that sees in the Scarlet Woman
Imperial, not Papal, Rome.

5. The Lamb’s Bride} — With some sense of relief we may turn, in the last place,
from this picture of shameless wickedness to its very opposite, the vision of
the spotless bride of the Lamb. The marriage feast of the Lamb is about to be
celebrated, and while the cry goes out to summon the guests, the bride appears
arrayed in fine linen, bright and pure; and it is expressly explained that this
spotless raiment represents “the righteous acts of the saints.” ^ Under another
image the Lamb’s bride becomes the holy city, the New Jerusalem, of which there
follows the well-known glowing description. The Lamb’s bride, the holy city —
what can this be but the community of Christ’s people, united to Him as by the
close sacredties of marriage, loved by her Lord and adoring Him, sheltered by
His strong protection, gladdened by His Divine presence? From the point of view
that our present line of thought furnishes us for approaching this subject, the
significant fact ia that the Church of Christ appears as a woman. Her relation
to the Saviour is the dependent and tenderly guarded relation of the wife to the
husband; and at the same time it represents the closest possible union. It
suggests to us that there must always be something like a feminine element in
faith. The idea that is here set forth in richest imagery appears under a more
sober guise in the teaching of St. Paul, who regards the earthly marriage of
husband and wife as a mystery, as a symbol of the heavenly union of Christ and
His Church.^ Just- in proportion to the warmth of the affection that is here
suggested must be the elevation of the spirit of this mystical marriage, if it
is to preserve the reverence and lowliness that befit the behaviour of
Christians to their Lord. A free and indiscriminate appropriation of the
luscious imagery of the Song of Songs to the union of Christ and His people is
perilously near endangering those most necessary qualities of Christian
devotion. When reading St. Bernard’s works and Samuel Rutherford’s letters we
cannot but be struck with ideas and phrases that would be sickly in any but the
saintliest experience. It is safer not to go beyond the austere severity of
Scripture in treating this most sacred theme. Still keeping within the lines of
the simple phrases of the apostles we have enough to fill our hearts with an
amazing vision of Divine condescension that is there set forth in the
description of the union of Christ and His Church.


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  CHAPTER 59: 3.21.     THE TREATMENT OF WOMAN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT —A SUMMARY
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CHAPTER XXI The Treatment of Woman in the New Testament — A Summary. IN the
previous chapters we have endeavoured to collect the portraits of the women who
are sufficiently described in the New Testament for their individuality to be in
any way marked. For the most part we have had to be content with faint hints and
shadowy outlines. Still in following these indications we have been able to
detect in some cases very evident distinctions of character and temperament. It
remains for us before concluding these studies to stand back from the picture
and regard the group in its entirety in order to note the position of woman
generally in early Christian discipleship and the treatment of her by Jesus
Christ and His apostles. In the first place it is to be observed that the
freedom enjoyed by women among the Jews — so strikingly in contrast with the
slavery and degradation of women that we usually associate with Oriental manners
— which is apparent throughout the Old Testament, is not less evident in the
New. Not only do women frequently come before us in domestic scenes, preparing
the meals for the household and waiting on the guests, though not as far as we
have any indications actually sitting down to table with the men; they also have
large scope for individual enterprise. Women of position and property were able
to travel in the mixed company of the disciples, apparently without raising any
scandal on the ground that they were too much in public or too independent in
their actions. Had their conduct been very unusual the critics, who were
perpetually on the watch for some occasion of complaint against the new
movement, would have been swift to seize on the irregularity. But they do not
seem to have made any objection. Therefore we can scarcely set down this freedom
to the influence of Christianity in the emancipation of woman. Moreover, the
women that have engaged our attention have none of them stood in the first line
of active leadership. Hero are no Deborahs inspiring their Baraks, no awful
Sibyls, no mighty Amazons. Throughout the New Testament, woman, though often
highly honoured and sometimes seen in very beautiful lights, is yet second in
position and influence to man. There was no woman Christ; there were no women
apostles. None of the leaders of the Church were women. No book of the New
Testament was written by a woman. It is doubtful if any women were officials of
the churches at all, although perhaps the order of deaconess was established in
apostolic times. At all events no New Testament churches were ever presided over
by women presbyters or women bishops.

Nevertheless, after making due allowance for these broadly significant facts, we
have ample ground for seeing that the New Testament registers a distinct advance
in the position of woman. This is not to be recognised so much in the actual
position of individual women, or in the honours bestowed on any of them, as in
the new spirit and temper which Christianity introduces into society. It is a
fact of no little importance that the Incarnation was in a Man. Though Mary was
blessed above all women in becoming the mother of the Christ, she was not the
Christ, and the step from the human mother to the Divine Son is infinite. Mary
was not the Daughter of God in any degree as Jesus was the Son of God. But while
this is so, Robertson of Brighton justly pointed out that there was in Jesus
something of the woman’s nature. This is true in some measure of all men of the
finest spiritual character. It strikes us in St. Francis of Assisi; and it may
be observed in Robertson himself. These finer woman traits of character are
entirely different from the odious weakness named effeminacy, which has not a
shadow of true Avomanliness in it. Robertson won the working men of Brighton
largely by his genuine manliness of character; and he was haunted by a strange
feeling that his natural vocation was to be a soldier. Nobody can fairly study
the life of Christ and not perceive our Lord’s perfect manliness. The courage,
the energy, the robustness of moral temperament which we associate with our idea
of the true man are to be seen in our Lord’s character equally with all other
perfections. At the same time the keenness of sympathy, the tenderness of
compassion, the mingled refinement of soul and warmth of heart that we ascribe
to true womanliness are not less apparent. Woman, quite as much as man, may find
in Jesus her pattern and her ideal. Now inasmuch as Christianity is essentially
the effluence of the spirit of Jesus, the womanly side of His character is
breathed out into the world through His gospel, and womanliness receives in this
way a new prominence, a new exaltation, a new dignity.

We may see the same thing from another point of view. Our Lord’s teachings bring
to the front the finer and gentler virtues, too much ignored both by Paganism
and by Judaism. Christian ethics are markedly humane, and humaneness is allied
to what we think the womanly grace of character. The active compassion that is
introduced by the gospel as almost a new fact in the world finds its most ready
reception in the hearts of women. It is not too much to say that woman is the
natural home of pity. Then the religion of infinite pity must find a large scope
for its manifestation in the sphere of womanhood. At the same time the
gentleness and humaneness of Christianity must rebuke and check those brutal
customs of unchristian society that forbid the free and healthy development of
the womanly element in the community. Christianity is the highest civilising
influence the world has ever known, and with civilisation in its noblest moral
form woman obtains liberty and protection for the performance of her ministry to
the world. Still further, it may be remarked that since the freedom and safety
of woman is especially dependent on the maintenance of the virtue of purity,
Christ’s insistence on this virtue in the extreme form of cleanness of thought
as well as in morality of outward conduct cannot but make largely for the
elevation of woman. In these general ways it may be affirmed that the teaching
of Jesus and the influence of His life and character have a special significance
in regard to women.

Then our Lord’s direct treatment of the women who came across His path throws a
further light on woman in the New Testament. We have seen that His relation to
His own mother had peculiarly painful elements, which even the infinite
tenderness of Jesus could not smooth away. That is altogether peculiar, in no
sense typical. It is when we see Him among His women disciples that we discover
what we may regard as His normal treatment of women. His cures were administered
impartially to men and women y His public teaching was open alike to both.
Mohametanism will not allow that women have souls, or at all events its method
can only be justified on that monstrous supposition, for it makes no provision
for the religious teaching of woman. The Koran was written solely for men.
Judaism cannot be accused of this gross injustice. The Jew’s religion is not a
perpetual insult to his mother, his sister, his wife. The Hebrew Bible is a book
for women as well as men. The first teaching of children in its sacred truths
was imparted by their mothers in the home. How beautiful a picture of Jewish
family teaching is that we gather from St. Paul’s reverent mention of Timothy’s
early lessons! Jewish they were wholly, and pre-Christian; and yet with all his
antagonism to the bondage of the law the apostle could say to his disciple, **
From a babe thou hast known the sacred scriptures that are able to make thee
wise unto salvation.”^ Still there never was a woman Rabbi among the Jews. No
woman would be found among the disciples of Hillel or Gamaliel in the regular
instruction of the schools. But, excepting in the case of instruction reserved
for the Twelve, from which all other men as well as women were excluded, our
Lord’s teaching was equally open to both sexes. And full advantage of this
freedom of access to the great Teacher was taken by women. JNIary, a woman
sitting at the feet of Jesus, is the typical disciple drinking in His words.
Here it is a woman who has chosen “ the good part.” The conversation by Jacob’s
well was with a woman. There were women and children among the multitudes whom
Jesus fed in the wilderness.

Healing women of their sicknesses, preaching to women in His congregations, and
numbering women among His intimate disciples, Jesus consented to be dependent on
the gifts of women for the support of Himself and the Twelve. A group of women
accompanying Him on His travels, for the purpose of “ministering” to Him, comes
next to the apostles, and before any other male disciples. It could not but be
that women who were accorded such a position would realise somewhat of the new
elevation of womanhood and widening of women’s sphere that Jesus Christ was
bringing about. In a very special degree our Lord’s treatment of the unhappy
class of women who had fallen victims to the selfish vices of men indicates a
startlingly new departure. It was customary for religious people to trample
these miserable outcasts under foot as hopelessly lost and utterly ruined. For
Jesus to show kindness to any of them, and even permit them to approach Him and
do Him homage, was regarded as an outrageous breach of propriety. Yet, with a
courage that must have astounded His most intimate friends, our Lord maintained
His novel attitude unflinchingly. This meant many things. First, it meant
justice. The attitude of society to these sorrowful products of its own
corruption was hypocritically unfair. They were treated as vermin, while their
tempters and destroyers escaped without detection, or even, if detected, had to
endure a much less severe social reproach. The same gross injustice has
prevailed in all ages, down to our own time, and is found among us to-day, when
it is much less excusable, seeing that it is confronted by the teaching and
example of Christ. The passage that most clearly reveals our Lord’s perception
of the justice of the situation is one that cannot be claimed for certain as an
integral portion of the New Testament, that which stands in our Bibles, at the
beginning of the eighth chapter of the Gospel according to iSt. John, and tells
of the woman taken in adultery. The passage is generally admitted to contain a
tradition of probable truth, and a recent suggestion is to the effect that it
was written by St. Luke in a second edition of his gospel In the scene that is
here brought before us so vividly two momentous utterances of Christ reveal His
way of treating a woman’s ruined life. First He bids the man who is without sin
among the accusers cast the first stone. A probable variation in the rendering
of our Lord’s words gives us a terrible suggestion. This is to read, ^’the sin”
— “ He that is without the sin,” &c, the man who has preserved his own chastity;
then not one of these fierce accusers of the woman could bring his conscience to
admit his innocence in this respect!

Jesus here applies His rule about the mote and the beam — not indeed that in
this case He would have made light of the woman’s offence. But then the custom
of society in letting the man off easily and coming down with the severest
penalties on the woman was base and false and hateful in His eyes.

Next, seeing that one by one the shamefaced men had crept away in silence till
He was left alone with the woman, looking up from the ground, where He had been
writing in the dust during the scandalous recital of her story by her
coarse-minded accusers, Jesus told her He would not condemn her, and bade her go
her way and sin no more. He would not condemn; but He would not condone. That
was His position. His mission was not to judge sinnei-s, but to save them from
their sin. For condemnation there must be a full and fair trial; and then some
things would have to come out which the hasty accusers would be very unwilling
to have exposed. Where was this woman’s companion in guilt? Not a. word had been
said of him. It would be monstrous to pass sentence on the weaker offender, even
if Jesus had taken it upon Him to act as a judge at all. This cowardly
conspiracy of silence by which the guile of the man is screened, while the woman
is dragged out to shameful exposure and condemned to the lowest humiliation, is
an outrage on the first principles of justice, as well as a mean reversal of the
root idea of chivalry. Jesus would never sanction it. Under such circumstances
therefore He could not think of deepening the misery of an unjustly- treated
woman by adding a single harsh word of His own. At the same time, He gave her
warning for the future. She was free to go her way, but to sin no more. This
agrees with what we read on other occasions of our Lord’s treatment of the
unhappy victims of man’s selfish vice. It was the mistake of His enemies to
insinuate that He took a light view of the sin of a woman who had lost the pearl
of her virtue. And it is equally a mistake to-day for soft-hearted
philanthropists to infer from the example of Christ in this matter that the sin
involved is not one of real guilt on the woman’s part; though where, as most
frequently happens, the poor soul that has been dragged down to the mire is more
sinned against than sinning, the guilt of the victim is not the chief point to
be considered. Jesus, the very incarnation of holiness, must have felt an
instinctive loathing of this evil in all among whom it was found. But His work
was to cure, not to condemn. And when He met with penitence He welcomed it. Then
the past might be completely forgotten, because the penitent saved by His grace
was a new creature. We saw this in the case of the woman who had washed His feet
with her tears. Thus in relation to the fallen Jesus appears as. the merciful
Rescuer, and He leaves to His Church the legacy of His mission in this field of
work among the most pitiable of sinners.

Coming in the next place to the treatment of women by the apostles, we meet with
another series of questions. The whole situation is changed owing to the
springing up of those free social communities of Christians that came to be
called Churches. An important point to be determined now was, what position
women should have in these novel associations? Seeing that a Church was a centre
of activity, what was to be woman’s work in the Church 1 These questions are
stUl discussed among us; and it is not at all easy to see in what way the New
Testament precedent can be our guide in settling them. The principles of the
gospel must take precedence over individual instances of the application of
those principles in primitive times; because, while the principles are vital and
external, the application must be adjusted to local and temporary circumstances,
and therefore must vary as those circumstances vary. The story of the Acts of
the Apostles does not supply much that is novel in the position and work of
women. Mary the mother of Mark exercises her hospitality in having a gathering
of the Christians at Jerusalem at her house for prayer.^ The work of Dorcas, as
we have seen, was the simplest and most retiring form of woman’s ministry.’^
Later in the history, however, we come across women prophetesses in the family
of Philip the evangelist. “ This man,” says St. Luke, “had four daughters,
virgins, which did prophesy.” 2 Eusebius confuses this Philip with the apostle
of the same name, saying, “ That Philip the apostle resided in Hierapolis with
his two daughters has been already stated,” &c.; * then he goes on to say that
Papias, who was their contemporar}’, relates marvellous tales that he had
derived from them. From the brief notice in Acts it would appear that these four
daughters of Philip had devoted themselves entirely to the work of the Church,
for that reason refusing marriage. This seems to be the first instance in
Christian history of celibacy in the service of the Church, and here it cannot
be aflOrmed with certainty that so much is meant by the historian’s language.
Before long we meet with virgins forming a recognised order, but this is more
than we have any right to affirm concerning Philip’s daughters. Certainly it
would be a great anachronism to think of them as under irrevocable vows like the
nuns of later ages. We must travel many centuries before we meet with anything
of the kind. The special function of these four daughters of Philip was
prophesying. The historian does not give us any specimen of their inspired
utterances. But thinking of them after the model of what we read of elsewhere we
need not picture to ourselves the startling appearance of four weird Sibyls.
Their function would be to exhort their fellow Christians. They would be what we
in modern language call “Preachers.” Whether they preached to their own Church,
and visited various Chxirches, after the manner set forth in The Teaching of the
Ticelve Apostles, or confined their ministration to people of their own sex, we
have no means of ascertaining. That they were preaching women in some sense St.
Luke’s words plainly declare. The prophets in the early Church were not
necessarily people gifted with second sight or the faculty of foreseeing the
future. Prophesying is the regular New Testament word for inspired utterance in
the Church. In the case of Philip’s daughters we meet with young women on whom
this gift has been bestowed and who are free to exercise it. A century later in
Phrygia — the very region where Eusebius, apparently obtaining his information
from their contemporary Papias, tells us Philip’s daughters had lived — Montanus
attempting a revival of primitive Christianity, made it his chief aim to bring
back the neglected exercise of prophecy; and with him were associated two
prophetesses, Priscilla and Maximilla. Others followed, much to the scandal of
the respectable Church officials of the day. It is true there was some grotesque
extravagance in the prophesying of the Montanists. Perhaps there was some also
in that of the Christians of apostolic times. No record of it has been preserved
for us, but we must not credit all their contemporaries in the Churches with the
large wise ideas of their great leaders the apostles. At all events it is not
unreasonable to suppose that some tradition of the work of the four virgins at
Hierapolis may have encouraged Montanus in his daring innovations, or rather his
bold attempt to revive the already almost forgotten past. And now we of the
later times, may we not see in the case of Philip’s daughtei-s some precedent
for a larger woman’s ministry in our own day? If Mrs. Poyser, in Adam Bede, had
known and understood her Bible better she would not have attempted to explain
Dinah Morris’s preaching by saying that she had “a maggot in her brain “; for
she would have recognised that her niece was following the example of Philip’s
daughters. And if people who object to women speaking and taking part in public
life to-day would but prefer knowledge to prejudice, perhaps they too would be
less hasty in condemning the brave and gifted women who venture, often with
great self-sacrifice, to follow a New Testament precedent. Surely if God has
inspired the minds of women with true and wise thoughts, and endowed them with
faculties of utterance, He cannot desire them to bury their talents out of
deference to conventional notions of propriety. If a woman, sometimes almost
indecorously underclad in what is called “ evening dress,” may stand up on a
platform to sing before a mixed audience of men and women for their
entertainment without anybody objecting, is it not a little hard for her sister,
who is gravely concerned with some question of public welfare, and able to speak
to profit about it, to be blamed when she appears in public for not confining
herself to “ women’s sphere “ 1 We are the slaves of custom. When it becomes
usual for the women who are called to that work to speak in public, it will be
seen to be no more scandalous than it is at present for others to sing in
public. Meanwhile, who shall estimate our loss while these gifts of prophecy are
suppressed 1 How many Philip’s daughters may there be among us whose prophetic
fires are being smothered and quenched t If the mothers in Israel would tell us
what they have come to know of the deep things of God in their rich experience,
are there not some of us who would receive their message as a precious prophecy,
a rich revelation from heaven? But now we are confronted with St. Paul’s
well-known utterances about the place of women in the Church. These have been
most unfairly handled from two opposite points of view. Some have found in them
an absolute apostolic mandate, forbidding women to speak in public; others have
taken them as a sign of St. Paul’s fallibility, and perhaps an evidence that the
apostle was a bitter misogynist. It is true that he wrote, “Let the women keep
silence in the churches: for it is not permitted unto them to speak,” &c. But a
little earlier in the very same epistle, in which these words occur, we read
directions concerning women who prophesy — “ For every woman praying or
prophesying with her head unveiled dishonoureth her head.” 2 Are we to think
that the apostle contradicts himself in passages so closely following one on the
other in the sajiie document 1 Did he change his mind while writing? If so, how
could he allow the earlier passage to stand unerased? If not, then how could he
give dii-ections about the ’’attire of women when praying and speaking in public
just before forbidding them to speak at all in public? There must be some other
explanation.

Now it is to be noticed that in the later passage the apostle does not use the
word “prophesy,” which he employs when referring to the public utterances of
women in the Church. The women are to keep silence, because it is not permitted
them to speak. It is conversational speech that is here referred to, not the
more deliberate solemn utterance that goes under the name of prophecy. This is
brought out more clearly by the sentence following the injunction against
speaking, where the apostle proceeds to say that if the women would learn
anything they should ask their own husbands at home. This can have nothing to do
with prophesying, because it was not for the purpose of learning that anybody
prophesied. In exercising the solemn gift a man took upon him to instruct or
enlighten his brethren. Talking with a view of learning, not teaching, can only
be inquiring, disputing, objecting; and the idea seems to be some sort of
interruption of the teaching or prophesying that is going on in the Church. St.
Paul holds that it is not seemly for women thus to talk — he might almost say “
to chatter “ — in the church. If there is anything that does not commend itself
to them, let them wait till the public service is over, and then raise the point
in the privacy of the home with their husbands. We have to think of a very
primitive state of affairs for this direction to be necessary, a condition in
which nothing like our regular set services were held. All is simple and open.
There are no forms of worship. The assembly is more like a family than a solemn
meeting. Each contributes what it is given him to say for the general
edification. But while this is so, interruptions, questions, objections on the
part of some of the women, come to be too freely allowed. These must be
suppressed. To deduce from this prohibition of disorderly conversation a rule
that no woman is ever to appear as a speaker on a platform in a regular and
orderly way is to misconceive the situation and confuse things that are entirely
different. But now quite apart from this particular direction of St. Paul’s,
designed to meet a special and temporary condition in the Church at Corinth, we
must remember that the whole constitution of society has changed since the
apostolic times. A freedom that would not be wise in Syria or Greece in the days
of the Caesars might prove to be not at all inappropriate in England or America
nearly two thousand years later. At Corinth in particular, to which place these
directions were sent, the apostle might well be anxious for Christian women to
maintain some reserve. This city was famous for the cult of Aphrodite, and
maintained an establishment of a thousand priestesses devoted to the service of
the goddess with foul rites — virtually an attempt to accUmatise!the worship of
the Phoenician Astartfe.^ And then the education of woman which is quite of
recent days necessarily modifies the whole problem of the sphere of womanhood.
So long as women were to a great extent kept in a state of ignorance, they could
not be expected to discharge the functions that seem naturally to fall to the
lot of the enlightened and cultivated of the present day. That women should be
permitted to serve on School Boards and as guardians of the poor, in positions
that give scope for the employment of feminine tact and wise motherly sympathy,
seems more right and reasonable than that these offices should be entirely
reserved for men, when we consider that they involve administration of the
affairs of women and children. There is nothing in the New Testament to forbid
this. On the contrary, the spirit of the gospel should lead us to encourage it.
On the other hand, it cannot be denied that in his treatment of the mutual
relations of husbands and wives St. Paul assigns the supreme authority to the
husband,^ and he is closely followed by the first Epistle of St. Peter.- Some
will raise the question here as to how far the regulations are oriental and of
temporary service. Where there is perfect love in a true marriage no thought on
the question will trouble the harmony of wedded life. But where this is not
realised, and where brutal husbands are found playing the tyrant, the larger
principles of Christianity come in, requiring justice and kindness, and
forbidding this degraded orientalism.

Irrational and unjust restrictions on the liberty of women must be resisted in
the name of Christianity. Still the most rr)dern ideas cannot destroy nature.
The distinction of sexes must remain. Woman is not man, and as she differs from
man in nature so she must also differ in function. It is unnatural to demand
that women shall do all that men do. Let us remember that however much its scope
may be enlarged her work must be womanly. The circle of her influence may be
widened with advantage from the home to the parish, from the parish to the
nation; but still it must remain a circle of womanly service wherein the graces
of sisterhood or motherhood may flourish and shed abroad their beneficent
influence.


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Source: https://sermonindex.net/books/writings-of-walter-f-adeney/
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