V * DEC 11 1911 V.2. STUDIES OF THE PORTRAIT OF CHRIST STUDIES OF THE PORTRAIT OF CHRIST BY THE REV. GEORGE MATHESON M.A., D.D., F.R.S.E., FORMERLY MINISTER OF THE PARISH OF ST. BERNARD'S EDINBURGH \ /Tt^V GF P:'?,'.v,t7 ;* DcCiilQli VOLUME II ^ go there. Instead of moving south, He advances northward. He extends His sojourn in Phoenicia. He wanders along the shores of the Mediterranean ; He looks towards the Isles of the Gentiles. In His return journey THE PROGRESS TOWARDS JERUSALEM 45 He lingers in the north parts of Gah'lec — the heathen parts of Galilee. He crosses the ridges of Hcnnon. He visits the most obscure and neglected villages. He comes to Caesarea Philippi — the most un-Jewish town in Palestine, the borderland between the Israelite and the heathen. This is a remarkable journey — unique in the life of Jesus. How shall we explain it at the stage where we have placed it ? How shall we reconcile it with the fact that the leading thought in the mind of Jesus was a resolve to go to Jerusalem ? I answer : The progress I am tracing is not a geographical progress. It is a progress of mental preparation. Geography has nothing to do with it. Jerusalem was for Jesus the seat of death ; that was its only significance. To prepare for Jerusalem was to prepare for death. Every step of mental reconciliation was a step of progress. It mattered not where the feet of Jesus should travel ; the one question was, Where was His mz'nd going? We must measure his progress to Jerusalem by no physical standard. Many a man draws 46 THE PROGRESS mentally near his home by the very act of going away from it. The question is not where Jesus went in the flesh, but where He went in the spirit. We want to know whether the thought of approaching death can be traced in the selection of those scenes through which He passed. It is not alone when walking in the graveyard that a man can show his con- sciousness of the valley of the shadow. Jesus was not on the physical road to Jerusalem ; but was He on the mental road? Had He taken up His cross into His heart! Had His mind become daily permeated with the thought of that great catastrophe which lay before Him ? Then we shall expect to find, and we shall find, the evidence of that permeation — not in approximating milestones, not in ever increasing nearness to the cemetery, but in thoughts which regulate His choice of localities far away. Is there, then, any connection between Christ's preparation of the soul for death and His contemporaneous intercourse with places wholly or partially heathen? I think TOWARDS JERUSALEM 47 there is. Why did He penetrate so far into Phcenicia? Why did He walk by the waves of the Mediterranean and look towards the Isles of the Gentiles? Because He had said to Himself, ' 1 want to think, not of men, but of Man — Man universal, Man cosmopolitan.' And why had He said this? Because He had been confronted by the most universal, the most cosmopolitan thing in the world — death. For the first time in life He stands face to face with the prospect of a perfect union with humanity. As we have stood in the great gallery we have seen Him step by step descend Paul's ladder of humiliations. We have seen Him ' empty' His own will into the will of the Father; but this was not a union with man. We have seen Him take ' a servant's form ' ; but the form need not be the reality. We have seen Him take the human * likeness ' ; but a likeness may exist without identity. Then we saw Him come lower still ; He was ' found in fashion as a man ' — deserted by the crowd as unworthy of reverence ; but that was not a step of union. We beheld Him descend 48 THE PROGRESS still further — 'He humbled Himself*; He abandoned His first ideal, gave up the dream of His youth. But even here the strong Messianic nature might seem to distance His experience from mine. The same calamity need not make the same cross ; Jesus might lose His life's dream like me, but, unlike me, Jesus had the support of a Divine will. In none of these steps do we find the perfect union with man as man. But we have seen another and a deeper step uncovered. It is not yet taken ; but it looms in to-morrow's sky. If we would understand the walk by the blue waters of the Mediterranean, if we would understand the lingering amid the heathen parts of Galilee, we must ponder the significance for Jesus of this one remaining step — the obedience unto death. In the first volume of this book I said, by anticipation, that in the contemplation of death Jesus for the first time entered into union with universal Man. He went below the differences of Jew and Gentile, Greek and Barbarian. He touched the common ground for the meeting TOWARDS JERUSALEM 49 of all humanity. That this was His own view is certain ; we have His testimony for it. He declares that by His death He will 'draw all men ' unto Him. The words are strongly antithetical. They suggest a contrast between His influence in life and His influence in death. In life, spite of the crowds that thronged Him, He was still but the Son of David. The swaddling bands of Bethlehem were yet around Him ; He was a Jew with a message to the Jew. But death was to be for Him a bursting of the bands of Bethlehem. The troubles of His life might be Judaic troubles. They might be connected, they were more or less con- nected, with solicitude for His native land. But when He bowed His soul to the thought of death, His interest ceased to be national ; it became cosmopolitan. He experienced a sympathy which made the world His country. Death is not the only thing universal to man, but it is that universal thing which most unites the world. Pain does not always unite ; every man thinks his own kind of pain the worst. Joy does not always unite ; the possession VOL. II. D 50 THE PROGRESS which gladdens you may bring with it no joy to 7ne. But death does unite. Death is not only a universal thing ; it is a combining thing. The sense of its mystery makes a fellowship. When Jesus felt He was approaching the city of the dead, He felt He was drawing nearer to universal Man than He had ever been per- mitted to do in the cities of Galilee. Is it any wonder that the mental eye of Jesus at this time was riveted on the Isles of the Gentiles ! His progress to Jerusalem meant really a progress towards universal Man, for it was a progress towards the great uniter, Death. Is it any wonder that at such a time His thoughts should have transcended nationality, that the branches of the tree should have run over the wall ! And now it is, I take it, that there rises in the breast of Jesus that great idea which, at Caesarea Philippi, breaks forth into speech. You will observe, He is not yet reconciled to death ; it is only a surrender of will. But there comes to Him a thought which, without being a reconciliation, serves as a counterpoise. He TOWARDS JERUSALEM 51 will rise again. I have said that His human path was revealed to Him backwards. First He saw the completed kingdom ; then He saw the Ascension — the expediency of His departure. Now there gleams forth the pro- spect of His return from death. Death itself is not yet revealed, not the glory of it. But there comes to Him a conviction that He will vanquish death, will rise above it, will come forth from its folds into newness of life. How does this bear upon the point we are now considering? If the thought of death brought Him nearer to the Gentiles, what would the thought of resurrection do ? I answer, it would bring Him nearer still. Death, after all, could only burst the bands of the old country ; the rising from death could give Him a new country, a country accessible to all the world. To rise from the city of the dead was to make a new Bethlehem, a second Christmas Day. Galilee could no longer say, ' He is mine ' ; Jerusalem could no longer say, ' He is mine ' ; no single nation could here- after say, * He is mine,' He would have risen 52 THE PROGRESS above principalities and powers, above every name that is named by way of national distinction. Men would no longer say, * He was born in Bethlehem '; they would say, * He was born on Easter Morning, from the common soil of humanity ; He belongs to the city of the dead ; we can all claim Him.' Men would no longer say, ' He is the Son of David ' ; they would say, * He is the second Adam, the Son of God.' Men would no longer say, ' He is of the tribe of Judah'; they would say, 'To Him all the tribes of earth go up ; all families of the earth can boast affinity with His Name.' Is this view fanciful? It is, at all events, not my fancifulness. The view was ventilated nineteen centuries ago by the earliest spectator in the gallery — the man Paul. He stands in front of the Portrait ; he gazes intently on the Face; then he takes out his notebook and writes down, 'Jesus is the Son of David according to the flesh ; but He is powerfully declared to be the Son of God by the resur- rection from the dead.' What does he mean ? TOWARDS JERUSALEM 53 That Christ had two birthdays — the one local, the other universal — the one in the city of Bethlehem, the other in the city of the dead — the one from the line of David, the other from the bosom of Mother Earth — the one ushering the life into a narrow environment, the other setting His feet in a large room. I wish now to direct your attention to a cir- cumstance which, before I studied these things, seemed to me very strange. I have spoken of the seemingly incongruous Gentile localities through which Jesus passed on His road to Calvary ; I have shown that their incongruity- is not real. I must now point to something apparently more incongruous than any Gentil- ism, because it lies in the mind of Jesus Him- self. Let me briefly narrate the circumstances. Jesus has come to Ca^sarea Philippi. He is accompanied only by the original little band — the primitive league of pity. They have clung to Him through good report and through evil. From them He can have no secrets; He tells them of the impending catastrophe. They receive the news as a son would receive 54 THE PROGRESS the tidings of a father's disgrace. They are indignant, remonstrant ; they refuse to let Him travel towards the city of death. It is not the pain of wounded love they feel — Jesus has told them He will rise again. It is the pain of wounded pride — the indignation that their Messiah should stoop to conquer. Jesus does not receive their remonstrance as a tribute of affection. He turns to their ring- leader and says — not to him, but to the enemy He sees prompting him — ' Get thee behind me, Satan ! ' To the eye of Jesus Peter is only an agent ; the real actor in the scene is His old tempter in the desert, who wished Him at the beginning to exchange the cross for the crown. Amongst ordinary men nothing helps a cause like opposition. Jesus required no such stimulus. Yet the spectacle of worldly pride here exhibited was well fitted to fan the flame. It did fan the flame. He breaks forth into strong enthusiasm, not about His death, but about His rising. ' I tell you,' He cries, ' that my empire will not be retarded by this in- TOWARDS JERUSALEM 55 evi'table cross. There are some standing here who will not taste of death till they see that empire. There are some here who will live to see the day when the faith in me and the love of me shall have become a vital force in the world — a force which must be counted on, reckoned with — a force which will demand the attention even of Roman power.' ^ Now, should we not expect that with such enthusiasm in His heart Jesus would have hurried to the crucial spot? Should we not think that His immediate impulse would be to direct His outward steps toward the city of Jerusalem? Was it so? On the contrary, He waits, passive. It is the most protracted passive attitude of His recorded life. The historian has nothing to tell. Eight days Jesus lingers at Caesarea Philippi — eight days of seeming inaction, of apparent waste. Jerusalem is waiting for Him, Gethsemane is waiting for Him, Calvary is waiting for Him ; still He lingers. Then the eight days are ^ You will observe, however, that this did not solve the question of accepted expiation. S6 THE PROGRESS ended ; the new week has opened. Surely this will be the Passion Week ! Surely now He will arise and take His journey ! He does ; but whither ? To Jerusalem ? No, to Mount Hermon. All the week He has been medi- tating this journey, not the Jerusalem journey. From the league of pity He selects but three — Peter, James, John ; and with these He ascends the mountain. Why? Is He flying from death after all? Has He listened to the advice of the disciple who said, ' Be it far from Thee, Lord'? Is He not preparing for the valley ! why scale the height ? Is He not training for a burden of heaviness ! why climb where the air is light? Is He not making ready for the meeting with universal Man ! why ascend into the mountain solitude? That is the question which in the following chapter I propose to answer. TV /[■ EANTIME, Son of Man, I thank Thee -'-^-*- for the revelation of delay. I thank Thee for the revelation that the delay of a hope TOWARDS JERUSALEM 57 is no proof that it is not dear to Thee. Often I cry for Thy presence at Jerusalem, and instead of coming Thou ascendest the slopes of Hermon. I say at these times, 'What is the profit of my prayers? surely the former days were better than these ! ' Help me in such moments to stand in the great gallery ! Help me to feel that I am only repeating the experience of former days — of Gospel days ! Help me to see how beautiful is the thought that the delay comes from Thee — not from accident, not from chance, not from outward opposition ! If I know it comes from Thee, I feel as if I need ask no more. Thy retardation must itself be a wing. I have heard the prophet say, ' How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings ! ' But Thy feet would be beautiful to me even though they were standing still. I should feel the still- ness to be a part of the message — a waiting for the ripeness of the message. Only tell me that the stillness comes from Thee! The rolling of Thy chariot-wheels is glorious ; but the pausing of Thy chariot- wheels is also 58 THE PROGRESS TOWARDS JERUSALEM glorious. All Thy pauses are musical pauses ; they are part of the symphony. I can say of Thee in the ascent of Hermon, ' How- beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of Him that suspendeth good tidings I ' CHAPTER V. ON THE MOUNT At the close of the last meditation in the gallery I was asking myself a question. It was an artistic question — a study in the pro- portion of colour. I was asking why Jesus, at the very moment when He was preparing His eye for the grey, should have bent His face toward the gold, I was inquiring why, at the very time of His highest enthusiasm for a cause which involved suffering, He should have sought on the heights of Hermon to experience an opposite feeling. And the answer I give is this : It is because the true preparation for suffering is not prO' phetic enthusiasm but present comfort. Pro- phetic enthusiasm may be conquered by present calamity — swept down by the torrent of the hour. Nothing can bear suffering but 60 6o ON THE MOUNT an actual joy ; nothing can support sorrow but a present comfort. The only preparation for tears is a ripple of gladness realised, not merely foreseen. I have no hesitation in saying that Jesus went up to the mount in order to make ready for the valley. There is a remarkable statement by the writer to the Hebrews, ' We see Jesus crowned with glory and honour for the suffering of death.' I should have expected him to say, 'We see Jesus suffering death to be crowned with glory and honour.' But the men who had a front view of the gallery saw differently. They saw that in a deep sense the crown must ever precede the cross. They saw that the secret of successful endurance is not the dogged supporting of pain, not the sense of martyrdom, not even the devotion to a cause, but that it is the sight either of a rising, or of a lingering, brightness. All acquiescence in sorrow, all resignation in sorrow, nay, all fortitude in sorrow, rests on something opposed to the sorrow. A shipwrecked mariner may be kept afloat by the very waters which ON THE MOUNT 6i threaten to drown him ; but a heart over- whelmed by the waters of affliction is not kept afloat by these. As a psalmist of Israel says, it must have a rock rising above the waters. I shall have more than one occasion to refer to this principle in my remaining studies of the great gallery ; it runs consistently and persistently through the later life of Jesus. Here on Mount Hermon we have perhaps its earliest illustration. Jesus has gone up to the Mount to drink of His favourite spring — communion with the Father. He has gone up to get a draught of the sparkling fountain ere He goes down to endure the heat in the valley. He feels that His sacrifice must be preceded by a mental stimulus, a bracing of the heart. He feels that He wants a crown before the cross, a glory before the gloom. Like an ancient poet of His land He desires to sing, * I will not fear though the earth be removed ' ; but like that ancient poet, He would first walk up the banks of that beautiful river, ' the streams whereof make glad the city of God.' 62 ON THE MOUNT Jesus, then, stands right below the vaulted sky and communes face to face with the Father. He has withdrawn Himself a stonecast even from the three favoured disciples ; He has yielded His soul to prayer. And as He stands there, as we stand there, we have a strange spectacle — a radiance all from within. There is no increase of light in the gallery. There is no added sunbeam pouring through the panes. There is nothing from without to augment the attraction of the Portrait. Yet its aspect to-day is different from that of yesterday ; there is a diminution of care on the brow. We are left in no doubt that the cause is inward — * As He prayed^ the fashion of His countenance was altered,' Here, as ever, His glory is from within. Nature did nothing for Him, ancestry did nothing for Him, miracle did nothing for Him, the pressing of the crowd did nothing for Him ; the power that transfigured the world was the beauty of His own soul. I would not have you think that this was to Jesus a moment of cloudless joy. Remember, it was the cloud that took Him up to the ON THE MOUNT 63 Mount. He went because He felt heavy in spirit. Moreover, the sombreness of His spirit coloured the scene. By whatever name you may call this episode — dream, vision, trance, history — one thing at least is clear — Jesus carried all through it the thought of His earthly burden. Jerusalem was His earthly burden — the dark spot in His future, the dark spot in the future of His three companions. They had all carried up Jerusalem in their hearts ; no wonder it swam before their eyes ! Men speak of the New Jerusalem coming down from heaven ; here was the Old Jerusalem coming up from earth ! Neither Jesus nor His disciples had left their weight behind. They all had the same dream because they all had the same waking consciousness — the thing to be accomplished at Jerusalem. That is the gloom of the picture ; what is its glory? What is that which transfigures the face of Jesus? Why is Jerusalem's shadow, itself eclipsed for a time in light ? Is it that Jesus has at last been reconciled to that feature of death which repelled Him ? If you say so, 64 ON THE MOUNT you make the future agony of the Garden simply meaningless. I cannot too strongly reiterate my opinion that the revelation of Christ's mission to His own soul was made to Him backwards. I have tried to trace the steps of that revelation. Jesus was now being led towards the final step — death. He was ready to take it with resignation, but not yet with equanimity. I do not think He took it with equanimity till the close of the Garden scene. Meantime He must progress towards it. How is He to progress towards it? By keeping it in view ? No, by keeping other things in view. It is not by the shadow of a calamity that I am led to approach the calamity; it is by light outside of it. If you want to understand the comfort of the Trans- figuration, you must put yourself in the place of Jesus where He then stood ; you must stand on the Mount with Him. If you do so, I think you will come to a definite conclusion — a conclusion which will clear the present, without obscuring the future, narrative. I am looking at the picture entirely from an artistic ON THE MOUNT 65 standpoint ; I am considering merely why it was painted here and not elsewhere. Yet in this limited inquiry lies the root of the whole revelation ; and I shall not deem it an alto- gether thankless task to determine the artistic position of this memorable scene, I hold, then, that the aim of the Trans- figuration scene was to eclipse for Jesus the darkness of death by throwing in front of it a light which was really behind it. That light was the hope of resurrection. If you study the picture you will come to the conclusion that all its tints and colourings are designed to obscure the place of the sepulchre. And first of all I would direct attention to the fact that this is essentially a picture of the meeting of heaven and earth. It is one of those rare days in which the hills seem to touch the sky. Three forms stand on each side of the heavenly gate ; and as we look closely there is a strange parallel between them. Within the gate, on the heavenly side, there are three figures — Moses, Elias, and Jesus — the man of law, the prophet of fire, and the Voice of the VOL. II. E 66 ON THE MOUNT Spirit. Outside the gate, on the earthly side, are also three figures — Peter, James, and John. These latter three seem to be made after the pattern of the three heavenly forms. Peter is the lawgiver — the man whose authority is to bind and to loose. James is the prophet of fire — the Elijah of the primitive band. John, in his ultimate development, is the man of the Spirit — the man whose watchword is ' love.' Such a poising of earth and heaven is not accidental. It must have come from an idea in the mind of the artist. And what is that idea ? It is what the poet calls ' the bridal of the earth and sky.' It is an attempt to depict on the canvas a meeting-point for the two worlds. Every difference is for the time ignored. Change is ignored, decay is ignored frailty is ignored. The tread of death is drowned in the sound of marriage bells. But look again. I am deeply impressed with the fact that every feature of this picture is selected with a view to centre the eye of Jesus on something apart from death. From the great army of the departed, who are those ON THE MOUNT 67 chosen to be the objects of His vision ? • There talked with Him two men which were Moses and EHas, who appeared in glory.' Why select these from the host of those who had passed from earth ? Moses was certainly a repre- sentative man. But so far as earthly work is concerned, I doubt if Elijah was. He was in no sense the representative of the prophets strictly so called. He had left no writing ; he had bequeathed no pregnant saying ; he had achieved no definite result. Measured by national influence Isaiah was a far greater man, David was a far greater man. If the artistic design had been to get representative men to meet Jesus, I should have selected not two but three. I should have brought Abraham to represent the age of the patriarchs. I should have allowed Moses, as here, to re- present the age of law. I should have called forth the man who was traditionally deemed the sweet singer of Israel — David, the minstrel and the king — to represent at once the line of the prophets and the line of the sovereigns. Why is it not so in the picture? The answer 68 ON THE MOUNT is very simple. It is because the aim of the artist here is not to paint representative men. That is not here the principle of selection. What is that principle, then ? You will find it at once if you ask one question. Is there any point at which Moses and Elias resemble each other ? In all points but one they are ««like. Moses is meek ; Elias is fiery. Moses is victorious ; Elias is baffled. Moses is a moralist ; Elias is a physical wonder-worker. But there is a point in which they are at one — both are separated from the association with death. These two men in the tradition of their country were both dissociated from death. Moses was without a sepulchre ; Elias was without a shroud. The one disappeared from human sight on the heights of Pisgah; the other appeared to human sight ascending in a chariot of fire. The one left the impression of an eye undimmed and a natural strength unabated ; the other became associated with the glories of the sunshine. Now, why are these the men chosen for the occasion? Because the occasion required these ON THE MOUNT 69 distinctively. The vision to be presented to Jesus was a vision of resurrection, not of death. Death, meantime, was to be kept in the back- ground ; its time was coming, but it was not yet. The eye of Jesus was to be held aloft. When a sailor is ascending the mast, his chance lies in looking up ; if he looks down, he will totter. Jesus had begun to climb His cross ; He was preparing for Jerusalem. But to climb successfully it was essential that He should look up, not down. His eye must be filled with beauty ere He gazes on the spectacle of gloom. The Transfiguration was the strain of music which accompanied and sustained the march to death. But look once more. What is the subject of the converse between these heavenly visitors and Jesus? It is expressed in our authorised version by the words : * They spake of the decease which He was to accomplish at Jerusalem.' But the word in the original is not 'decease'; it is 'exodus.' Why do we render it 'decease'? It is because we have imputed to the men of that time our modern 70 ON THE MOUNT view of immortality — the idea that death is an exodus, or transition, of the soul. Such a view was not then entertained ; it came from Jesus Himself, and it came from Him at a later hour. No man of the Transfiguration hour would ever have dreamed of calling death an exodus ; no man would have written, ' They spake of His exodus ' when he meant to say, ' They spake of His decease.' When they spake of His exodus it is clear they were noi speaking of His decease. They were passing dj/ His decease ; they were covering the sepulchre from His sight. The picture of Jerusalem, as I have said, figured in the front of heaven ; but the burden of Jerusalem was /r^xwjfigured. Instead of the sacrifice there appeared the accomplish- ment of the sacrifice — its finishing, its result. In the place of death stood resurrection — it was this that was called the exodus. And why was it called the exodus? Because it was to lead the children of Israel across a second Red Sea. At present their very reverence for Jesus was a line dividing them from other lands; the Birth at Bethlehem narrowed them ON THE MOUNT 71 But the New Birth from the city of the dead would connect them with every soil. It would be to the followers of the true Messiah a second national exodus. It would lead them forth from the captivity of proud isolation into a union with every country and kindred and people and tongue. It would break the bond- age of a false patriotism by breaking the line of David. It would enable the Gentile and the Jew to claim a common origin for their Lord — an origin which was dependent on no land and which was fostered by no lineage. The exodus of which Moses and Elias spake was a stage of liberal culture that was to sup- plant them both. /'~\ CHRIST of love, repeat Thy experience ^-^ in me\ Often am I called to a Jeru- salem of pain. I dare not ask in advance to see the meaning of that Jerusalem ; but I dare ask in advance to be strengthened for it. I dare ask, I do ask, to be taken up beforehand to the mount with Thee. There is none I 7a ON THE MOUNT desire to be with on the mount but Thee. I would have no longw a tabernacle for Moses and Elias there. Thou hast gone beyond them\ Thou hast left them far behind. To whose experience shall I look but to Thine on my way to Jerusalem ? Thy mount is higher than that of Moses, higher than that of Elias. Moses escaped the sepulchre ; Elias escaped the shroud ; Thou hast escaped neither — Thou hast conquered both. There is no preparatory joy like joy on account of Thee. I shall seek no lesser mount when I am going to my cross. I shall pass Moses by, Elias by, Peter and James and John by. I shall have nothing but a draught of the highest joy in preparation for my pain. Meet me with the spray of the fountain! Meet me with the light of the dayspring ! Meet me with the song of the bird ! Meet me, above all, with the voice of Thy love ! Let me hear of the exodus before I enter Jerusalem ; I shall bear every cross when I have stood on the mount with Thee I CHAPTER VI THE EFFECT OF THE MOUNT ON THE PLAIN Raphael has a magnificent picture of the contrast between the scene on the Transfigura- tion Mount and an almost contemporaneous scene which was occurring on the plain. He suggests that while the top of the mountain was bathed in light its base was exhibiting a spectacle of darkness — the spasmodic con- vulsions of an insane epileptic. And yet, the poising of these two scenes in contrast con- veys an impression which is not the impression I derive from the great gallery. In looking at the scene as represented by Raphael we are apt to emphasise the separation of the two experiences. It is like the feeling we have in seeing a Parisian funeral — death in the midst of gaiety. But that is not the 73 74 THE EFFECT OF meaning of the two scenes as they appear in my gallery. To me they suggest, not the separa- tion between the mount and the plain, but the necessity of the mount to the plain. Let me briefly indicate my reading of this matter. Jesus, you will remember, only took three disciples to the mount ; He left the rest behind. He probably left them behind for their own good — to let them try themselves alone. They had soon occasion for the test. On the day after the departure of Jesus, a man followed by a crowd comes to Caesarea Philippi, bringing to the disciples his little boy, who was afflicted in the manner indicated. The disciples were nothing loth to try their healing power. They had the fit of empire on them — that same spirit of imperialism which had made them object to the cross of Jesus. They were evidently actuated by no sense of humanity, but by the sense of personal pride. Had it been a purely physical case, the motive would have been of less con- sequence — although even in physical nursing, a sympathetic hand counts for something. THE MOUNT ON THE PLAIN 75 But in a case like this, involving mental irrita- tion on the part of the patient, the want of compassion was a deadly blank. The disciples failed. I can imagine the laugh of derision at their failure. It need not have been limited to the Pharisees. Many even of the half-Christianised multitude must have had a certain satisfaction in seeing the discomfiture of men who, though no better than themselves in birth, had yet been put so far above them. In the midst of the laughter Jesus passed by. He was on His return from the sight of the crown. The Italian painter might suggest that the sight of the cross fell on Him incongruously. I believe the entire design of the narrative is to demonstrate the contrary — to show that the crown of Jesus was preparatory to His cross. The key to the whole scene lies, I think, in the question of the disciples after they had seen Jesus succeed where they had failed, 'Why could not we cast out the demon?' They had obeyed all the prescribed rules of the hospital ; they had done everything which 76 THE EFFECT OF Jesus had done ; yet Jesus had healed where they had been baffled. They as'ked, and we ask with them, ' What was the element in Him which was here wanting to them ? ' And the answer must be, ' That vision of glory which He had seen on the Mount.' Remember what that vision was. It was the foresight of a second exodus — the going forth of a prejudiced little band to meet in sympathy with universal Man. In one word, it was the vision of humanitarianism. Was that no preparation for the scene on the plain ! In looking on a spectacle of human degradation, can there be anything more stimulating than a previous vision of human possibilities ! Jestis had seen these new possibilities for man. He had seen in anticipa- tion the exodus of narrow souls. He had seen the emancipation of shallow hearts from the bondage of their own limits. He had seen the prospect of a small life being enlarged, of a poor nature being enriched — of a son of Israel becoming a citizen of the world. Did not such a transformation give hope for all trans- THE MOUNT ON THE PLAIN 77 formations ! Was it not greater than would be that of the poor lunatic before Him into the peace of a sound mind ! Had not His eye foreseen the exodus of His own disciples from bondage into freedom, from narrowness into universalism, from bigotry into catholicity! Surely the sight of such a wide transition on the Mount nvight well inspire confidence for the liberation of one soul on the plain ! I do not agree, then, that the scene at the top of Hermon is the antithesis to the scene at the foot of it. I think the vision on the summit was the preparation for the spectacle at the base, and for all such spectacles. So far from deadening the tendency of Jesus to stoop, I would almost be disposed to say that it accelerated this tendency. At all events, from the day of the mountain view, His footsteps are quickened down the hill of humiliation. Singularly enough, all the exhibitions of pride come from those who had not been on the mountain, who had been left behind on the plain. I believe, as I have said, that they were left behind 78 THE EFFECT OF in order to teach them humility, to let them try themselves alone. They were doubtless the most self-conscious of the company — the subordinate members of a company usually are. Their very surprise at their own failure to heal the lunatic boy indicated a boundless conceit, which would have been amusing if it had not been sad. Moreover, the special election on the part of Jesus had fanned the flame. Three of their brethren had been set on a pinnacle, had been taken up by the Master to the enjoyment of a peculiar privi- lege. The selection was made for the ad- vantage of those left behind — Divine, unlike natural, selection always is. But the men left behind could not see beyond the hour — could see nothing but the preference. The Trans- figuration, for those who had not seen it, was the birth in the apostolic band of the green-eyed monster, jealousy. Who were Peter, James, and John, that they should be thus privileged ! Had they done any more than the others ! Was the kingdom of God, after all, to be simply a revival of the kingdom THE MOUNT ON THE PLAIN 79 of Caesar! Why should these three precede the rest ! Were they not all as good men as they ! Had not all shared equally the fortunes of their Lord ! Had they not accepted His kingdom on the ground that it was to be free from the subordination of the weak to the strong ! Why create a subordination on the very threshold of the new evangel ! So talked they one to another all along the road to Capernaum. It was the first exhibi- tion of professional jealousy ever witnessed by the Church of God. It was at the same time the earliest protest against the admission into the kingdom of Christ of the doctrine of election. The Transfiguration was the birth- day of apostolic rivalry. That Jesus should make a selection from the twelve seemed an unjust thing. That three should be taken to the Mount and nine left grinding at the mill, that three should bask in the glory and nine be kept working in the field — this was something which had falsified their ideal of spiritual equality and Christian brotherhood ! They had been quite willing that the twelve should So THE EFFECT OF have been selected out of the milh'on ; but it was intolerable that the three should have been privileged above the nine ! What they did not see was that in both cases the favour was intended for those left behind — that the twelve had been selected for the sake of the million, the three for the sake of the nine. Jesus was determined they should know this ; and when they reached Capernaum He poured forth one of the most remarkable discourses He had uttered since the delivery of the Sermon on the Mount. It occupies nearly the entire space of Matthew xviii. ; but to my mind its nucleus lies in the single statement, that the guardian angels in heaven of little children on earth always behold the face of the heavenly Father. The idea evidently is that these guardian angels get their beatific vision in order to make them stoop. Their exaltation has not the effect of making them look up, but of making them look down. They have been elevated to the height in order that they may bend not merely to the plain but to the valley — to the utmost verge of THE MOUNT ON THE PLAIN 8i human impotence — to the helplessness of a child. Let me again try reverently to para- phrase the thought of Jesus. 'You think that three of your number have received a special privilege. From a selfish point of view, from your point of view, they have not. They have been elected not to a privilege but to a burden. They have been taken up to the mount, not that they may rise above you, but that they may bend below you. Some one is needed to come lower than you have come. You have been lifting your eyes too high. You have been considering that your mission lies with the strong and mighty — with those who can help the advance of the kingdom. I tell you it lies with the child-life of humanity — with those who can give nothing and must receive all. To go down to man in his emptiness, in his unre- munerativeness, is a burdensome thing. I have elected three of you to bear that burden — to help you towards your true mission. I have brought them up to a height where they could behold the face of the Father. I have VOL. II. F 82 THE EFFECT OF done so because the guardian angels of little children are there. It is because they always behold the face of the Father that they are always able to succour little children ; they can stoop low because they see so much glory. This is my hope for your three brethren. I want them to be humble, more humble than you are now. I want them to get a capacity for bending to things below them, and to become to you, to all men, examples of that capacity. Therefore I have set them on the height, bathed them in the glory ; there is nothing which impels to the cross like the sight of the crown.' And now, impelled by that same Trans- figuration Light, Jesus Himself hnrnes towards the cross. At last He takes the long-pro- jected outward journey — the journey towards Jerusalem. Jerusalem looked less repulsive since He had seen it on the Mount ; the sepulchre had been hid by the stream of the exodus. Driven by the glory of the Light, He departs from Capernaum almost immedi- ately after entering it. He quits the scenes THE MOUNT ON THE PLAIN 83 which He loved the best — the scenes of Galilee. Again it might be written, ' He must needs go through Samaria.' The Light on the top of Hermon was driving Him towards Jerusalem by the shortest way possible. Samaria was the shortest way possible ; He must go by Samaria. But Samaria has no well for Him on this occasion ; her well is dry. She could tolerate one bringing a privilege from Judea to Galilee, but not one bringing a privilege from Galilee to Judea. The town on the direct route shuts its gates on Jesus and His league of pity ; Jesus has to journey by another way. Two members of the league are opposed to this turning aside ; they are for war, fire and sword — the method of Elijah. Who are these two members? * Peter must have been one of them,' you say. Not at all. It is the two sons of Zebedee — James and John. Why did Peter not speak ? I will hazard a conjecture. Peter was, of all men, the most opposed to the Jerusalem jOurney. I could imagine a little boy who was being taken to school for the first time 84 THE EFFECT OF experiencing a vivid pleasure when the coach broke down. I think some such pleasure was at the heart of Peter when the Samaritan town refused to let Jesus in. But perhaps the mystery to most will be, not why Peter did not speak, but why John did. Has the brush of the artist been guilty of an incongruous colour? Is not John the disciple of love ? Yes ; but there is no fire like the fire of love. It is a familiar saying that love will go through fire and water for its object. That is just what John wanted to do for Jesus. We are, in my opinion, in a great mistake about the Bible portraiture of John. We think of him as a s€^ntimentalist, a dreamer. That he certainly is not. His very love is the reverse of sentimental ; it is pre-eminently practical — it is a keeping of the commandments. John is the man of waiting ; but there is a waiting which comes not from vacillation but from its contrary — which is the result of settled determination and sure confidence. Nothing tests a man's character like his letters. We have John's letters. They THE MOUNT ON THE PLAIN 85 are all love ; but it is practical love and love fringed with fire. * If a man say, " I love God," and hateth his brother, he is a liar.' Is that the language of a sentimentalist? Could Elijah himself have spoken more strongly? You tell me that in this very scene before Samaria Jesus rebukes him for the want of love : ' You know not what spirit you are of.' Yes — in our version ; but the words are absent from all the good MSS. John did not err by want of love, but by love's intolerance. Samaria and John were both intolerant ; Samaria was intolerant from pride, John was intolerant from love. Samaria looked into the mirror, saw herself, and would brook no rival ; John gazed into the face of Jesus, saw heaven, and would brook no gates of earth. Samaria would have exterminated all those who would introduce a larger sympathy; John would have exterminated all those who would narrow the sympathy of universal love. The fire which he would have kindled was in the interest of humani- tarianism. 86 THE EFFECT OF 'nr^EACH mc, O Lord, to tolerate Samaria; it is the climax of human charity! Teach me that the siHiimer of broad-minded- ness is the power to tolerate zV/tolerance ! I boast of my breadth of sympathy ; I call myself a catholic mind; and I deem the proof of it to be that there is one thing I have no sympathy with — narrowness. Teach me that the want of this one sympathy is the absence of perfect broadness — the one step between me and heaven ! I have tolerated all doubts ; I have pardoned all agnosticisms ; I have condoned all breakings with the past ; but I have had no sympathy with those who have clung to the past. I have made no allowance for the man who insists that yester- day was better than to-day. I can accept the open gates of Galilee ; but I have no excuse for the shut gates of Samaria. I shall never reach that sympathy till I come to Thee. Thou alone art broad enough to sympathise with narrowness. Thou alone art tolerant enough to pardon wtolerance. Thou alone art large enough to recognise the claims of THE MOUNT ON THE PLAIN 87 smallness. Thou alone art high enough to bear with the errors of a little mind. When I am confronted by the shut gates of Samaria I will come to Thee\ CHAPTER VII THE UNCHASTE LIFE The Bible is the most dramatic book in the world. It introduces its characters and its scenes without preface. Perhaps it would be more correct to say that it does not introduce them at all. It does not show us a dropping of the old curtain and a lifting of the new. There is no curtain. You find yourself suddenly, unexpectedly, without prelude and without pre- paration, in the midst of new surroundings and in the centre of fresh lives. The narrative of the life of Jesus is conducted on the same principles. There is no line of demarcation between to-day and to-morrow. You are at one moment in the streets of Nazareth, and the next in the market-place of Capernaum ; and there is no record of a transition from the one to the other. The Book which most pro- THE UNCHASTE LIFE 89 fesses to be inspired of God has left the largest margin to the imagination of man. Nowhere is the principle more marked than at the stage of the life of Jesus at which we have now arrived. We found Him preparing for Jerusalem ; we left Him at the gates of Samaria in pursuance of His journey. We expect that the next stage of the narrative will be a record of His entrance into the Holy City. We deem that if the approach to Samaria is recorded, much more will be the approach to Jerusalem. But when the next scene opens, the journey is already com- pleted ; we are told that Jesus has gone up 'secretly.' We see Him walking the streets of Jerusalem as if He had been there for years. He has already taken His place as teacher, monitor, legislator. We are conscious of a seemingly abrupt change. The man who had wandered depressed under the shadows of Hermon, the man who had seemed to hide himself from the sight of the sepulchre, blazes forth in the heart of Jerusalem into the aspect of a lawgiver — not the lawgiver to an indi- 90 THE UNCHASTE LIFE vidual, not the lawgiver to a league of pity, not the lawgiver even to the Jewish nation, but a lawgiver to the race of Man. And, as we stand in the great gallery, we ask, Is this the same Portrait? Is this the same Jesus whom we saw weighted with the thought of death ? Many have answered, No. Many have said that some after-hand has touched the Portrait. Not so say I. To me the change is profoundly natural, the only thing that would have been natural. When you speak of an abrupt transition from de- pression to confidence, you forget what has intervened — the vision of the exodus. You forget that on the heights of Hermon the eye of Jesus has gazed upon the prospect of resurrection. The sepulchre itself is not a whit less repulsive ; the thing which He dreaded in the thought of death remains to Him dread- ful still ; but He has seen a light beyond the sepulchre. Not yet has it dawned upon Him that death itself would be His brightest crown ; but there has broken on Him the sight of Easter Morning, and the possibility of a second THE UNCHASTE LIFE 91 worldly birth. Entering by degrees into the full revelation of His Father, He had come to a place where He could rest in hope. It did not guarantee the success of His present mission, but it opened up the prospect of a new mission. It suggested that He might begin again under fresh auspices, and that the path abandoned in tears might by a second effort be resumed in joy. Accordingly, Jesus enters Jerusalem with a new hope in His heart. It is not a hope for the renovation of His present enterprise, but for the inauguration of a second enterprise. None the less did it lend elasticity to His steps and strength to His soul. In the midst of the Feast of Tabernacles He stands in the temple as a lawgiver. In the courts of that house from which He had expelled the buyers and sellers He now appears as the legislator on a weightier matter. On the very threshold of this Jerusalem ministry we are confronted by an incident which has transfixed the attention of the world. It occurs in our version of John's gospel, though it is doubtful whether it formed 92 THE UNCHASTE LIFE an original part of that gospel. At all events, it comes from a record of the apostolic age and demands a place in any study of the Portrait of Jesus. It has been said that in the place which it occupies in John's gospel it interrupts the narrative. It does not, at all events, in- terrupt the stream of the development. I could not imagine for it any more appropriate place than that which it now holds in the life of Jesus. Whoever inserted it in its present position must have been a man of great dis- cernment and a mind of deep poetic insight. Let us stand in the gallery and examine this phase of the Picture. Jesus had for some days been teaching in the temple. He had made a powerful im- pression on all but the Pharisaic party. There were hundreds ready to receive Him as Messiah ; there were hundreds who, without going so far, were prepared to consider it an open question. His Jerusalem ministry had as yet been all verbal ; but His words had been very bold. His voice in the temple had been the counterpart of His voice in the THE UNCHASTE LIFE 93 desert. In the desert He had been speaking to the working-classes, and therefore He had appealed to man's sense of toil: 'Come unto me, ye that labour, and I will give you rest ' ; in the temple He was speaking to the intel- lectual classes, and therefore He had appealed to a different sense : ' If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink.' Like the invitation in the desert, the invitation in the temple had come with the joy of Jesus. It was not, indeed, that perfect joy He had experienced in the desert. It was rather a breaking than a lifting of the cloud — rather a sight of coming dawn than an actual sense of illumination. Yet, such as it was, it was stimulative ; and the principle was again revealed, that sympathetic enthusiasm has its ultimate source not in the grief but in the gladness of the soul. To keep alive this dayspring, to keep alive this thought of resurrection as distinct from death, Jesus goes in the evening of one of these days to the Mount of Olives ; He desires in the presence of the Mount of Olives to fan His memory of the Mount of Hermon. AH 94 THE UNCHASTE LIFE night He spends in imbibing this joy. He returns in the morning and resumes His labours in the temple. Suddenly, in the midst of His discourse, there is an interrup- tion. There is a commotion at the door, and the attention of the crowd is arrested. A party of the Pharisees enter, hurrying into the presence of Jesus the unwilling steps of an unfortunate woman. She has violated the law of female chastity. For such a violation Moses had imposed the penalty of death. That penalty had long become obsolete. But the accusers of this woman said, ' Whoever claims to be the Messiah ought to revive it.' You miss the point altogether, in my opinion, if you imagine that they only wished to involve Jesus in a question of theory.^ They wanted Him, on the strength of His Messianic claim, to condemn the woman to be stoned. They held, and I think rightly, that if Jesus should * I believe John viii. 6 to be an addition to the original narrative — the explanatory note of an early commentator. I think the original narrative does not lend itself to that explana- tion. The Pharisees seem to me to have had a genuine horror of the woman. THE UNCHASTE LIFE $$ say, ' Let her die,' public opinion was running so high in His favour that the mandate would be obeyed by the multitude. True, He would then be the enemy of Rome, to whom alone the power of inflicting death belonged. But ought not the Messiah to be independent of Rome ! If Jesus were Messiah, should He not rule from sea to sea! Should He not establish the kingdom of Israel on the top of the mountains ! Was the authority of Moses ideally inferior to that of Caesar ! Was not the law of Moses God's law ! If Moses enacted death for the breach of female chastity, was not that at the same time the enactment of Heaven ! Why should not Jesus, if He were Messiah, revive the old penalty against the morally impure ! I believe this act of the Pharisees was an honest attempt to put the pretensions of Jesus to the proof. They selected for the trial their own field — the field of morality. They said, * We have grave doubts of the claims of Jesus ; but we will give him a chance in the sphere we think the most important — the sphere of 96 THE UNCHASTE LIFE social chastity.' I have no doubt whatever that their animus against the woman was genuine. This particular kind of sin was pre- cisely the one from which a Pharisee was apt to be free. There are cases in which Satan casts out Satan ; there are men and women who are exempt from certain vices simply through the presence of other vices. A cold, phlegmatic nature would never commit the sins of Robert Burns. This does not justify Robert Burns ; but it shows that one disease may be cured by another disease. It is a matter of daily experience that the advent of a new ailment may cause an already existing ailment to subside ; there are forms of physical illness which cannot live together. There are forms of moral illness which are also mutually antagonistic. I cannot imagine that the typical Judas Iscariot could ever have been guilty of that form of sin which characterised this woman.^ The man who could carefully ^ I use the phrase 'the