Xii. The Evening Of The Denial
PETER: FISHERMAN, DISCIPLE, APOSTLE
I. INTRODUCTORY
Matt. 3:1–12; Mark 1:1–8; John 1:35–42
“Where is the lore the Baptist taught,
The soul unswerving and the fearless tongue?
The much enduring wisdom, sought
By lonely prayer the haunted rocks among?
Who counts it gain
His light should wane
So the whole world to Jesus throng?”
Keble.
The contrast between the method of the Divine Worker and the human is specially apparent in the earliest stages. Man, with considerable confidence in his own powers of initiation and fulfilment, cries: “Go to, let us build a tower the top of which shall reach to heaven, so that we be not scattered abroad.” God begins in secret, and works curiously in the lowest parts of the earth. He calls an individual from the crowd, trains him long and patiently, and finally makes him His partner, the centre of a new unit, the channel through which He pours Himself forth upon the world. Man’s method, more often than not, ends in a Babel of confusion; whilst God’s, invariably, is consummated in the city of the Living God, the Jerusalem which descends from above.
The majority of those who, from time to time, have been called to this holy service, have been selected from among the foolish, weak, and despised ranks of the human family, that the excellency of the power might be of God, and not of man. There have been thousands of noble exceptions; but, as a rule, not many wise, or great, or noble according to this world’s estimate, have been called. The hole of the pit that has yielded God His materials has been of common clay, and the rock whence His stones have been hewn of very ordinary grain.
It is not surprising, therefore, to learn that the leader of the apostolic band was drawn from the ranks of very ordinary people, and that the story of his life opens in the obscure village of Bethsaida, at the north-west corner of the Lake of Galilee. The unadorned and simple homes of its fishermen were in striking contrast to the marble palaces of the neighbouring proud city of Capernaum, which were erected by the large incursion of Roman residents, who were attracted to the locality by its equable climate and luxuriant natural beauty The shore was lined with costly palaces and imposing public offices; the roads were filled with splendid equipages; and luxurious gondolas flashed to and fro upon the lake
I. The Coming of the Son of Zacharias.—The native population probably held aloof from the manners and habits of the conquerors, though quite ready to take advantage of their wealthy patronage and custom. Under their breath they spoke together of the great days of Judas Maccabæus and of Judas of Galilee, before whom even the mighty Roman legions had on more than one occasion been compelled to give way. To these echoes of the memorable past were added a strange anticipation and hope, which stirred in the breast of many, that the hour was near when the invader would be driven beyond the waters of the Great Sea, and the kingdom would be once more restored to Israel. Some said that the weeks of Daniel’s vision had nearly expired. Some told that the aged Simeon before his death bore witness to having held the Lord’s Messiah in his arms. Some spoke of visions of angel-choirs, and said that portents and voices had been steadfastly borne witness to by creditable witnesses. “The people were in expectation and all men mused in their hearts.”
All suddenly the land was startled and shaken with the rumour that God had visited His people. A company of pilgrims, crossing the Jordan by the fords of Jericho, had been arrested by a strange figure, gaunt and sinewy, the child of desert solitudes, who had accosted them with the cry: “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.” When released from the spell and able to proceed to Jerusalem, they could talk of nothing else. That strange figure, half Bedawin and half prophetic! That voice which rang with trumpet-note! That evident vision of the Unseen and Eternal, which illumined his face with unearthly glory! That he had no lodging but a cave! That his food consisted of locusts dipped in water and baked on the hot coals, with wild honey to make them palatable! Without wife or child! These things gripped the national imagination and thrilled the air, already charged with electricity. “The people that sat in darkness saw a great light,” and on those that sat in the shadow of death, dawn arose.
The tidings spread everywhere, as by a mysterious telepathy. They reached the mountain-villages of the Lebanon to the north and the sheepfolds of Bethlehem and Hebron to the south. They were discussed by priests in the intervals between the Temple-services, and by Rulers in their council-chambers; by businessmen, as they transacted in the markets, and by traders, as they sat behind their stalls in the bazaars. Holy women, waiting at the wells for the drawing of water, spake often one to another, whilst the Lord hearkened and heard and wrote thereof in His Book of Remembrance. The little children were told to reverence the name of John, the son of Zacharias, whose parents had passed through such strange experiences at his birth.
Then the whole country rose en masse. It was the Sabbatic year, when the ploughmen and the vinedressers ceased from toil. Men had plenty of leisure to leave their homes and fields, their vineyards and orchards. Through a land carpeted with flowers and exhaling fragrance, the confluent streams of people poured down the Jordan Valley in eager crowds. “There went out to him Jerusalem and all Judæa, and all the region round about Jordan.” Multitudes were baptized in the Jordan—confessing their sins; among whom we may surely include the brothers Andrew and Peter, and their life-long companions, James and John.
II. The Baptist’s Influence on Peter.—Peter was married, but marriage among the Orientals takes place early. He was, therefore, still in the prime of his manhood. Strong, vehement, impulsive and self-assertive, he could by no means be accounted a saint. Would he so easily have taken to swearing, when the maid accosted him in the hall of Caiaphas, unless he had been addicted to the habit in early life? He was doubtless attentive to the duties and formalities of his religion, attended the Temple-feasts, paid his dues, and was morally respectable. He was satisfied that he was a not unworthy son of Abraham We are reminded of those words with which Paul described his earlier life as a son of the synagogue—“I was alive without the law once.”
From his youth he was an ardent patriot. Like all his friends and companions, he was prepared to sacrifice everything he possessed to see David’s race once more on David’s throne. When, therefore, he and the others heard the tidings of the Baptist’s appearance, they hailed them as heralding the new era. Might not this be the first phase of the kingdom which the God of Heaven was setting up, and which would never be destroyed, and whose sovereignty would not be left to another people, but it would break all other kingdoms in pieces, and stand for ever?
His friends shared these convictions and hopes. Taking with them a frail canvas tent to serve as a shelter, and a bag of coins for the supply of their simple needs, Peter, his brother, and their friends bade good-bye to home and craft and “went forth to see.” They crossed the Jordan by the fords of Bethabara and joined the crowds who were streaming down the Jordan Valley to the scene of the Baptist’s ministry.
It must have seemed the prelude to the Day of Judgment when the Baptist, selecting a ledge of rock for his pulpit, stood forth to address the awestruck throng, gathered from all the land to listen. Clearly enough, as our Lord suggested, he was no reed shaken by the wind of popular favour. He was neither courtier nor sycophant. He spoke what he knew and testified what he had seen. There had never arisen a greater than John amid all the myriads of the human family. He penetrated the hollow pretensions of Pharisee and Scribe; compared them to the rock-vipers; threatened them with the woodsman’s axe, the smelter’s furnace, and the harvester’s fan. In his stern outlook there was short shrift for the sinner that refused to repent. He had faith that God would yet transform the stones of the desert into sons of Abraham. Truly he was a light that burned as well as shone!
Beneath such preaching, Peter must have been deeply moved. It raked his soul. Beneath those words sin revived and he died. He felt then, as he confessed afterwards, that he was “a sinful man.” Frequently, as in after years, he would go out alone and weep bitterly, and when on the Day of Pentecost he saw that vast crowd of Jews pricked to the heart and crying out “What must we do?” he knew exactly the agony of their remorse. Probably he was baptized by the Baptist, confessing his sins. He had thus been born of water, as afterwards he was to be born of the Holy Spirit.
III. Peter’s First Interview with the Lord.—When Jesus was baptized he may have been present, but as yet his senses were not anointed to behold the open heaven or discern the descending dove. Or he may have been paying a brief visit to attend to necessary affairs of home and business. Certainly he was out of the way, when, on two successive days, the Baptist designated the Saviour as the Lamb of God. But he was back again in the Jordan Valley on the morning following the day of his brother’s memorable interview with the One whose shoe-latchet the Baptist confessed himself unworthy to unloose.
Andrew and John had spent some hours in His holy company. They had been welcomed to His dwelling, had listened with rapt attention while He spake of heavenly things, had perhaps listened to His recital of the salient features of the Temptation from which He had just emerged, and had been told of His chosen method for winning back the kingdom by patient sufferings rather than armed force. As they listened their hearts had burned within them. They knew, with absolute conviction, that they had found the Messiah; and rejoiced with a joy exceeding all their experience.
Leaving Christ’s presence, they said each to the other “We must tell Simon of all this, so soon as we can find him”; and, as was befitting, Andrew found him first and brought him to Jesus, saying, “We have found the Messiah.” Brought him, as though it was necessary to overcome some hesitation. The young colt is difficult to catch, as if it realizes all that the first lassoing may involve.
Peter was immensely impressed by that interview. This Teacher was so complete a contrast to his earlier master John. Perhaps the hardy fisherman may have been less attracted to Him than to the sinewy son of the desert. He may not have been immediately susceptible to the grace and truth, and gentleness and purity, the humility and selflessness of the Lamb of God. But if this was his first impression, it was instantly succeeded by one of awe and wonder, as those searching eyes looked into the depths of his nature, and Jesus said, “Thou shalt be called Cephas” (the Aramean equivalent for the Greek Peter).
This is our Lord’s method of making saints. He speaks of things that are not as though they were. When the heart is broken and contrite, as was the case with Peter, He speaks words of encouragement and cheer. He imputes righteousness where there is but the smallest germ of faith. He addresses us, not as though we had attained or were already perfect, but as following on. He awakens our expectancy by indicating possibilities of which we never supposed ourselves to be capable. Over the grave of our hope, He speaks words of Resurrection and Life.
“Ah,” said Peter to himself, at the close of that interview, “He little realizes how fickle and wayward I am; now hot with impulse, then cold as the snows of Lebanon. And yet if He thought me capable of becoming rock, and evidently He does think so, why should I not, with His help, resolve to attain and apprehend that for which I have been apprehended?”
Thus our Saviour deals with us still. He tells us what we can become by the proper development of our temperament and the exercise of Divine grace; and as He speaks He imparts all needed help. We become possessed with the Divine ideal, and laid hold of by Divine strength; and thus the weakest become as David and David as the Angel of the Lord, the reed becomes a pillar in the Temple, the stone becomes a rock, and the chief of sinners the mightiest of saints.
It is said that Michael Angelo saw in the blocks of marble, which others had refused, the forms which his genius would call into being; so in very unlikely souls our Lord descries qualities of unusual strength and beauty, which He sets Himself to elicit; and His first act often is to reveal the fair hidden image and to impute it. He saw Peter in Simon, Israel in Jacob, Paul in Saul—and told them so!
II. EARLY DAYS IN THE MASTER’S COLLEGE
John 1:43, 3:30; Matt. 4:23–25
“What Thou hast given to me, Lord, here I bring Thee,
Odour and light, and the magic of gold.
Feet which must follow Thee, lips which must sing Thee,
Limbs which must ache for Thee ere they grow old.”
C. Kingsley.
The wonder of that first interview with the Lord must have almost dazed the mind of Simon, the son of John. The Baptist’s ministry had already stirred his soul to the depths, but this fresh and gracious Personality, so full of grace and truth, had revealed possibilities for his manhood which had never occurred to him. It seemed incredible that he should ever become known as the Rock-man. If angel voices had called to him from out of heaven, or the bushes had begun to burn with fire, he could hardly have been more astonished. That he could become a Man of Rock!
Yet a childless Abram had become Abraham, the father of a countless multitude; and Jacob, the subtle supplanter, had become Israel the prince; and Gideon, the least in his father’s house, had delivered Israel from the Midianites. But the incongruity of his nature with that name seemed an unbridged chasm. When a similar promise was made to his great ancestor, he fell on his face and laughed; but notwithstanding, a child’s laughter was heard in his tent and a child’s hand was thrust into his aged grasp. Nothing was impossible with God. Already Peter’s heart had opened to Christ’s knock, never to close to Him again. His soul had turned to Him with passionate devotion. Let those who remember how it was with them when they first met Christ bear witness if there is aught of exaggeration in this statement. They who have once really seen His face can never rest content till they have apprehended that for which He has apprehended them.
Walks and Talks.—Whatever may have been the fisherman’s reverie, he was soon made aware that Jesus was minded to go forth into Galilee, and he resolved to accompany Him. The distance to Cana from Bethabara was some thirty miles, and the little group would start on their way in the beauty of early morning. Apparently they had hardly left the scene of the Baptist’s ministry, when they encountered Philip, and the fact that it is expressly recorded that he was a native of Bethsaida, “the city of Andrew and Peter,” suggests that the two brethren had something to do with the Master’s discovery of him and his immediate response.
This first journey in such company was the beginning of many similar experiences, until that further day when He would lead them out as far as Bethany and be parted from their sight. But it left an ineffaceable impression; for as these newly-found disciples walked with Him, and heard Him open the Scriptures, their hearts burned within them, and emotions were aroused too tumultuous for words.
When they came within sight of the little village of Cana, the white houses of which, embowered with verdure, beckoned to them as they climbed the slope from the rich Esdraelon plain, Philip seems to have hastened forward to announce his discovery to a devout friend of his—Nathanael. Apparently he found him pondering the story of the ladder that Jacob saw, when he slept and dreamed. The guileless Israelite little thought that the ladder was to be literally reared again on his lawn, that the angel-ministry was actually in operation, and that he might begin to climb the scale of ascent which would presently land him in the Divine Presence-Chamber.
Probably our Lord and His disciples remained as guests in his home, and Peter was introduced to a new friend destined to be knit with him in a life-long companionship. But it was at the marriage-feast to which they were all invited on the following day that he drank in the deepest lessons of the Master to Whom he had given his allegiance.
At first he must have been greatly startled. Until he had come under the influence of the Baptist, his highest ideal of religion had been the Curator of the Synagogue, the Pharisee with his phylacteries, and the Priests who officiated in the Temple; but their inconsistencies had only enhanced the commanding splendour of the holiness of John. Even Herod had been compelled to confess that he was “a just man and an holy.” Peter and the rest were impressed and enamoured with a type of holiness that seemed so taken up with God as to be independent of the ordinary accessories of human life. John’s rigid asceticism, that he seemed to have no need of a woman’s love or a little child’s caress, that he was absorbed in face-to-face fellowship with God, that he was absolutely fearless and unyielding—these qualities enthralled their loyalty and respect. “Ah,” they remarked to each other, at the close of one of his most terrific utterances, “he speaks like Elijah or Malachi might have done; but, after all, the man is even greater than his words.” When, therefore, John introduced them to Jesus, as being incomparably greater than himself, they expected the same type of holiness, in its awful, lonely splendour.
The Marriage Feast of Cana.—But Jesus led them to a village festival, where a group of simple peasants, principally drawn from the vineyards that terraced the adjoining hills, were celebrating a wedding. He sat there among young and old, the life of the party; His face beaming with joy, His words adding to the pleasure of the company, His presence welcomed by the children and greeted by the young lads and girls. This was an altogether new and unexpected type of holiness. Peter and the rest watched it closely, as they reclined with Jesus at the feast. What would the Baptist have done? Would he approve? Certainly this was not the religion of the Synagogue or the Temple! But as they came more and more under the spell of their wonderful Friend and Teacher, they became more profoundly convinced that this was the religion that the world was waiting for. They could not all imitate the asceticism of the Baptist in the weird loneliness of the desert Peter, at least, was already married. But they could all follow in the steps of their new Master in the sweet amenities of the home.
And Peter learnt many things beside. That though the Lord addressed His mother with perfect respect, He was under direction from a higher source. That only a hint of need was necessary—He would know exactly how to meet it. That those who were called to co-operate with Him must always give Him brimfull obedience. That what His servants drew as water would blush beneath His word into the wine of the Sacrament. That He would always lead from good to better, from better to better still. These were wonderful discoveries; and it was a happy group that left Cana when the feast was over. Jesus, and His mother, and His brethren, and His disciples went down to Capernaum. Apparently they settled that their home should be there; but as the Jews’ Passover was at hand, they could not then remain many days. What a story the brothers had to tell to their father, and Peter to his wife and her mother! Bethsaida also listened, discussed the strange novelty of their transformation, and wondered greatly.
Growing Influence of the Master.—Though probably the Master and His disciples travelled with their own families to the Feast, they met again in the precincts of the Holy City. Peter and the rest beheld with wonder their gentle and lowly Master cleanse the Temple courts as though girded with the power of an Elijah. They witnessed the signs that convinced men like Nicodemus that God was with Him. They watched the rising wrath of the Jewish magnates as they challenged the Nazarene’s authority over the holy places. They pondered His affirmation that He would build the Temple in three days, though not until He was risen from the dead did they understand that cryptic utterance. Since Peter, in his subsequent address in the house of Cornelius, expressly states that God preached peace by Jesus Christ throughout all Judæa, we may fairly infer that he at least accompanied the Master in that first great itinerary, through the very regions where Æneas, Tabitha, and Simon the Tanner, in after years, greeted him again. Probably, also, in that journey Peter and his friends had their last interview with their earliest teacher, who reminded them that he had never expected to be other than the Bridegroom’s friend. “Do not grieve for me,” he said in effect, as they visited him and remarked the diminished numbers that came for his baptism: “I am more than content. My joy is fulfilled. I am of the earth, earthly, and I speak of the earth; He has come from heaven and is above all.”
Nine months were spent thus. Perhaps Peter paid occasional brief visits home; but he returned to assist the Master in the baptism of those who confessed and forsook their sins; “for Jesus Himself baptized not, but His disciples.” Then, to avoid the increasing suspicion of the Pharisees, the Lord and His disciples returned through Sychar and Samaria to Cana, where apparently the party broke up. He returned to Nazareth, whilst they made for their several homes. This was probably necessitated by the gathering storm, that broke first on the head of the Baptist, whom Herod cast into the dark dungeons of the grim Castle of Machærus across the Jordan.
For a further period of nine months our Lord seems to have been unattended. He probably was in constant touch with His disciples and friends, but they were not openly associated with Him. He was quietly preparing them for the great future which awaited them, but was as yet veiled from their view. Finally, when the fate of the Baptist was sealed, and no advantage could be gained by further delay, the Master went forth alone, throughout all Galilee, “teaching in their synagogues, and preaching the Gospel of the Kingdom, and healing all manner of sickness and all manner of disease among the people; and His fame went throughout all Syria, and there followed Him great multitudes of people from Galilee, and from Decapolis, and from Jerusalem, and from Judæa, and from beyond Jordan.”
Peter was aware of this mighty movement, and found it irksome to stay with his boats and nets. He dreamt of Christ by night, and watched for His coming by day. Presently the morning broke, and the Master came along the shore. That day changed the entire current of his career, and the seed sown patiently through months of quiet intercourse began to yield fruit, first the blade.… So take us unto Thy college and teach us, gracious Lord, we humbly beseech Thee.
III. THE SETTLEMENT AS TO THE SUPREME CONTROL
Mark 1:14–20; Luke 5:1–11
“The livelong night we’ve toiled in vain,
But at Thy gracious word,
I will let down the net again:—
Do Thou Thy will, O Lord.”
Keble.
Nine busy months had passed. Single-handed, our Lord had been conducting His mission throughout Galilee, with an ever-increasing popularity. His speed was quickened by the tidings that the Baptist had been “delivered up.” Time after time, as He returned to His home at Capernaum, where His friends and disciples seem now to have settled, He devoted Himself to their further instruction in the great principles on which His life was based, and to their preparation for the decisive moment when He should bid them leave all, rise up, and follow Him. That decisive moment came thus:
The Scene.—It was the early morning of an autumn day. The grey waters of the lake were beginning to laugh back to the sun, slowly rising from behind the eastern hills. The deep azure of the sky, the exquisite foliage of the oleanders, the autumn-tints on the trees and shrubs that came down almost to the water’s brink, the changing lights on the hills, the white glistening snows of the mighty Hermon, which, though far distant, seemed to dominate the landscape to the north, the sob of the brimming water, combined to make a worthy setting for the supreme event in the lives of the four fishermen who were destined to influence all after-history.
They had been friends from boyhood. They were partners in their fisher’s craft. They were ardent disciples and friends of Him who was moving the whole country. His life, deeds, and words were always on their lips, as they floated together over the fishing-grounds, while the stars kept vigil overhead. Probably they had been speaking of Him, as they drew to shore, after a night of fruitless toil. “Would they be seeing Him soon?”
They had disembarked, were rinsing out their seine-nets, and spreading them on the shore to dry, when they became aware of the approach of a vast crowd, which were thronging and pressing upon the person of their beloved Teacher and Friend. In a moment they had forgotten their weariness and disappointment, their hunger, and the call of their homes, and were on the alert to welcome Him. He made straight for Peter’s boat and asked that it might be moored within one of the rock-lined inlets that indented the shore. There He sat and spoke to His congregation, many seated on the blocks of basalt, others standing, but all rapt and wondering at the gracious words that proceeded from His lips.
It may have been Peter’s lot to steady the boat by oar or boat-hook, or if it were securely fastened, to sit in the bottom of the boat, his eyes fastened on the Master’s face, drinking in each word. Never man spake like this man. He taught as one that had authority, and not as the scribes. To Peter and the rest, as they afterwards confessed, these were the words of Eternal life; and deep chords in their hearts must have vibrated, when in after days they heard in the Master’s memorable High Priestly prayer: “The words which Thou hast given to me, I have given them, and they have received them, and have known of a truth that I came forth from Thee.”
The Inexorable Command.—When our Lord is about to fashion a vessel unto honour, meet for His use, whether it be of gold and silver, or of wood and earth, He has to establish His absolute authority and right to command. There can be no parleying or argument, no hesitancy or holding back. Spirit, soul, and body must be absolutely submitted to Him, at whatever cost. The disciple must leave all and follow Him. Just as He was prepared to suffer obediently even unto death, so He requires of those whom He takes into the sacred circle of inward companionship that they should arm themselves with the same mind, so that they should no longer live the rest of their time to the will of the flesh, but to the will of God.
Probably Peter and the others knew this generally. They could hardly have been with Him so long without realizing the force of the significant words uttered by Mary to the servants at Cana: “Whatsoever He saith unto you, do it.” They were prepared to give Him their loyal allegiance in the realms of morals and duty; but it was altogether startling and unexpected when, invading their own sphere, He assumed their own prerogative, and said to Peter: “Put out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.” For a moment we may dare to assume that Peter’s obedience faltered; and he expressed his hesitation in the reply: “Master, we have toiled all the night, and taken nothing.”
Peter had fished these waters from boyhood. There was nothing in the craft with which he was not familiar. The habits of the fish; the hours and spots most suitable for taking them; the effect of climatic conditions: in all he was proficient. He would have hotly resented any interference on the part of other fishermen of his acquaintance; and now, he found himself suddenly confronted with a bidding which was contradicted by his experience, by the universal maxims and practice of generations, and by the bitter failure of the preceding night, which had left him jaded, weary, and out of heart.
He would be prepared to obey the slightest precept that came from the Master’s lips; but how could one who had spent his days in the carpenters’ workshop of a mountain village be competent to take command of a boat and direct the casting of a net! Was he to renounce himself in this also? The morning was no time for fishing; the glare of light revealed the meshes of the nets, and the fish were to be found, not in the deep, but the shallower part of the lake. The whole of the fisherfolk that might see his boat putting out at such an hour, laden with nets, and evidently prepared for fishing, would laugh and count him crazy. Is it not thus with all who have been greatly used by Christ? There is no escaping the test. At a certain moment in our experience, often long after we have become disciples, the Master comes on board the ship of our life and assumes supreme control. For a moment or an hour there may be question and hesitation. We have been wont to make our own plans, follow our own chart, take our own course, and be masters in our own craft; shall we—may we, dare we—hand over the entire command to Christ? To what point may He not steer us! On what venture may He not engage us! At what inhospitable part of the shore may He not land us! Happy are we if, after such a moment of hesitation we reply: “Nevertheless, at Thy command I will put out even to the deep, and let down the nets for a draught.” This at least is certain beyond doubt, that you can never reckon on Christ’s co-partnership and blessing unless you are prepared to sail under His orders, and, like the angels, fulfil His commandments, hearkening unto the voice of His word.
It has been thus all down the ages. While the ears of the majority have been filled with the hubbub of the street and the babble of the crowd; while the children of this world have been playing in the market-places and crying to their fellows; while even the seekers after truth have been overawed by the earthquake or the strong and mighty wind, rending the mountains, the quick ear of the disciple has detected the thrilling undertones of the still small voice, as Elijah once in Horeb’s cave.
Sometimes others can interpret that voice better than we. “Eli perceived that the Lord had called the child.”
Sometimes it pierces to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, of the joints and marrow; as when God bade the patriarch to offer the son of his love on Mount Moriah.
Sometimes it demands of us, as of the young man, that we should sell all that we have, and come and follow to the Cross.
But whenever it speaks, it may be detected by its constant reiteration of one note, like the sounding of a bell by the tide far out from shore. It is never “Yea and nay,” but always “Yea.” It often speaks in the teeth of ordinary experience and convention, and asks us to leave the beach, which we have been hugging too long. It generally offers the acid test to our faith and exposes us to the ridicule of our associates. But it is endorsed in the depths of our soul by an answering assent. It is corroborated by circumstances. God’s providence bears witness to the inner voice. To disobey is to become a castaway. To yield obedience is to enter on a vast and lasting inheritance.
Christ must be Master. Rabbi must give place to Lord. His will must rule, though it seems to contradict the dearest traditions of the soul. There cannot be two captains in the boat, if it is to make a successful voyage and return at last laden to the water’s edge with fish. To-day and now, let that question be decided! He has a place and a use for you, but you must surrender yourself to His disposal. Refuse to be bound by customs, circumstances, or the conventions of the shore. Make Christ Captain, whilst you take to the oars! At His bidding, launch out into the deep, and remember that yonder, across the waters, is the coast-line of Eternity, where in the morning-dawn the Fire and Provision of Divine Preparation await the obedient soul, and the unbroken net shall be dragged to shore, “full of great fishes, one hundred and fifty and three.”
“Sacrifice and offering Thou wouldst not: mine ears hast Thou opened: and I was not rebellious, neither turned I away back. Lo, I come to do Thy will, O my God; yea, Thy Law is within my heart, so I know that I shall not be ashamed.”
Obedience Leads to the Deep.—Directly the Lord takes control, He steers towards the Deep. We no longer coast along the shallows, but begin to do business in great waters. “They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in deep waters, these see the works of the Lord and His wonders in the deep.” The Deep of the Eternal Council-Chamber, where we were chosen in Christ before the world began. The Deep of the Eternal Love, which loved us when we were yet sinners. The Deep of Fellowship and Unity with God, like that between the Father and the Son. The Deep workings of Providence which underlie all human history. The Deep Bliss of Eternity into which our restless souls will enter. The Spirit searcheth all things, even the deep things of God, and He will reveal them unto those that love Him.
But here we are specially concerned with the Deep of Divine Partnership. To Peter’s surprise the boat, propelled by oar or sail, had passed over many well-known fishing grounds, and had kept its course to the midst of the lake, before our Lord bade them let down the nets. Immediately all hands were set to work, and the necessary preparations were hardly completed, when it was evident that they had netted a great shoal of fish. So much so that the nets were strained to breaking-point. The beads of perspiration were thick on his forehead, and his muscles stood out as whipcord, as Peter strove to cope with his spoils. His boat was lurching dangerously, and he made urgent signals for his partners, who apparently had put out in expectation that something of this kind would take place. And they came and filled both the boats, so that the gunwales were almost level with the water. Then Peter realized for the first time what partnership with Christ means, and how absolute obedience on our part secures absolute co-operation on His. Whilst the fishers were letting down their nets the Master had been issuing His mandate to the shoals of fish, which found themselves compelled by an irresistible impulse to make for the fishing-nets awaiting them. Was it not predicted in the eighth Psalm that this Son of Man should have dominion “over the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the Deep”?
What a lesson is here for us all! We know only too well what it is to toil through long dark seasons and take nothing. Again and again we have returned to shore with only a minnow or two. But directly we enter into fellowship, or partnership, with the Son of God, to which indeed we have been called, we discover that all we have to do is to have washed and mended nets, to trust the Master to indicate the grounds where the fish lie, and to believe that He will do all the rest. We may reckon absolutely on that co-operation of God. The Apostle says emphatically: “God is faithful, by Whom ye have been called into partnership with His Son.”
On the Day of Pentecost Peter again let down his net, this time into the vast excited crowds, and again the Lord repeated the miracle of the Galilean lake, and filled his net with three thousand souls. In the house of Cornelius his net had hardly touched the water, when the shoal filled the net. “As I began to speak … the Holy Spirit fell.” Surely on each occasion the Apostle must have looked into the face of Jesus with a happy smile, and said: “Ah! Lord, here is the Lake of Galilee over again.”
This experience might be ours, on similar conditions. If it is not so, let us inquire for the reason. It lies, not with the Master, but with ourselves, our obedience, or our nets. If our nets are our addresses, sermons, or methods, we must make and mend them by careful study and earnest prayer. The meshes must be so closely articulated that no fish shall get through them. No pains should be spared so to present the Gospel as that our hearers may be without excuse. No vague and flimsy presentation of eternal truth is permissible. Mend your old nets, or make new ones.
Be sure also that they are clean. Wash out the sand-grit or weed that may have accumulated. Especially eliminate self. There must be nothing to attract your hearers from your message to yourself; and when you have done all, dare to believe that, though your Lord is now seated at the right hand of God, He is still working with His servants and confirming their word by the power of the Holy Ghost.
IV. A FISHER OF MEN
Luke 5:8–11
“I know not what I am, but only know
I have had glimpses tongue may never speak;
No more I balance human joy and woe,
But think of my transgressions and am weak.
Buchanan.
The Master’s purpose for His disciples is disclosed in the words recorded by Matthew and Mark, and which were probably addressed to them on the shore, when they had again beached their boats: “Come ye after Me, and I will make you to become fishers of men.” We can combine this form of the summons with that specially addressed to the impulsive, vehement, warm-hearted son of Jonas, and which is recorded in Luke 5. It should be noticed that here, as generally in the Gospels, our Lord addresses him by the more intimate name of Simon, as though Peter were reserved till, through the months of discipline which awaited him, he was fitted to take the foremost place among his fellow-apostles.
The summons came whilst they were engaged in their usual occupation. David was summoned from the sheepfold to shepherd the chosen race. Paul was called from making the goat’s-hair tents to teach the Church the ephemeral character of the things that are seen, in view of the House not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. The eternal springs were revealed to the woman as she rested her pitcher on the embrasure of Jacob’s well. It was quite befitting, therefore, that our Lord should explain to his fisher friend the momentous and glorious ministry that awaited him, through the calling in which he had been engaged from boyhood, and which had so many points of resemblance with the work of winning souls. The one difference being brought out in the Greek word translated catch, and which should be expanded to read, as in 2 Tim. 2:26, “Thou shalt catch, in order to keep alive.”
In every subsequent era sincere and earnest souls have lingered wistfully over these words, longing to extract from them the precious secret of successful soul-winning. More than two hundred years ago Thomas Boston, a young Scots Minister, made this record in his diary: “Reading in secret, my heart was touched with these words, Thou shalt catch men. My soul cried out for their accomplishing in me, and I was very desirous to know how I might follow Christ, so as to be a fisher of men; and for my own instruction I addressed myself to the consideration of that point.”
It would be tedious to enumerate the various suggestions that have been made on the line of Boston’s treatise, which was entitled, ‘A Soliloquy on the Art of Man fishing.” Many a godly minister with a perfectly-appointed Church, and surrounded by a devoted people—the boat, the company, and the fishing-tackle being all of the best—has watched, almost enviously, the success of some simple evangelist, who, apart from all adventitious aid, has lifted netfuls of fish from the great depths of human life into his creel. One expert fisherman says: “Keep yourself out of sight.” Another urges that the bait and method must be carefully adapted to the habits of the fish. Yet a third insists on patience. What success is gained by scourging the water! All are good, but the study of this narrative may bring us still further into the heart of the matter and the mind of our Lord.
I. Successful Soul-winning is generally based on a Deep Consciousness of Personal Sinnership.—Many instances present themselves from the biographies of the saints. But two will suffice. The untiring and extraordinary labours of the great Apostle of the Gentiles laid the foundations of the Gentile Church, but as he reviews the past and considers his natural condition, he does not hesitate to speak of himself as the chief of sinners and the least of saints. We faint not, he says, because the grace of God displayed its exceeding riches in our redemption. “We all once lived in the lusts of our flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, even as the rest.” John Bunyan’s review of his condition, as it stood revealed in the light of God, is typical of many others, who shine as stars in the firmament of successful soul-winning. He says: “I was more loathsome in mine own eyes than was a toad; and I thought I was so in God’s eyes also. I could have changed my heart with anyone. I thought none but the devil himself could equal me for inward wickedness and pollution of mind. I was both a burden and a terror to myself. How gladly would I have been anything but myself.”
Those who have had deep experiences of the exceeding sinfulness of sin are the better qualified to be tender and pitiful to such as are sold under sin, are heaping up for themselves agonies of remorse against the day of their awakening, are causing infinite sorrow to the Saviour, and are missing the great purposes for which they were created. “Alas, poor souls!” they cry, “such were some of us.” The ring-leaders in the devil’s army make great soldiers for Christ. Their knowledge of Satan’s stratagems and wiles is invaluable. Reclaimed poachers are notoriously the best gamekeepers. The sinner knows the bitterness of the wages of sin, as an unfallen angel or an innocent child cannot. Men like Augustine or Bunyan have learnt by experience the subterfuges and evasions of conscience, the horror of remorse, the yearning for help. They are familiar with the holes where the fish lie, and the best methods of reaching them. They have infinite patience, as the Lord had patience with them. They bear gently with the erring, and with those who resent their approach, because they themselves have been compassed with infirmity. We are sometimes tempted to say with Augustine, O beata culpa (Oh, blessed fault!), because the knowledge of our own sinful hearts gives us the clue to all other hearts oppressed by temptation. We need not be surprised, therefore, at this preparatory revelation of himself given to Peter.
He and the rest had known the Lord for at least eighteen months, but were unaware of His true majesty and glory. For them He was the carpenter of Nazareth, the holy man, the marvellous teacher and wonder-worker. That He was, like the Baptist, a chosen servant of God and the herald of a new era was their common conclusion. Beyond this their minds had not travelled. They regarded Jesus as of the same flesh and blood with themselves, felt glad to be honoured with His friendship, and were pleased in return to share with Him their slender stores or humble homes. It never occurred to them that they were in daily touch with the Lamb that was slain before the worlds were made, or that for their redemption He had emptied Himself, made Himself of no reputation, and assumed the form of a servant.
Then most suddenly and unexpectedly this shaft of His essential being struck into their ordinary common-place, and left a trail of supernatural glory. For a moment Peter was dazzled, almost blinded. He could hardly see for the splendour of that light; but as he felt the tug and pull of the bursting net, threatening to break beneath its sudden burden, he realized in a moment that his Teacher and Friend must have put forth a power which no mortal could wield. God was in the place, and he had not known it. How dreadful was that place! It was none other than the house of God and the gate of heaven; and at once the nakedness and sinfulness of his own heart were laid bare, and he cried: “I am a sinful man, O Lord.” Note the significant exchange! When the boat left the shore it was Master, now, as this revelation has broken on him, it is Lord. Immediately on this Jesus said: “From henceforth thou shalt catch men.”
There is a striking analogy between Peter’s experience and Job’s. The suffering patriarch had persistently and successfully maintained his integrity. “Till I die I will not remove mine integrity from me. My righteousness will I hold fast. I will not let it go. My heart shall not reproach me as long as I live.” Then into his life God let fall visions of the Creation. He recited instance after instance of His almighty power, wisdom and skill. As Peter’s eyes were unveiled that he might behold Christ’s wonders in the deep, so were Job’s; and he exclaimed, as the divine glory shone upon his soul, “I have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth Thee, wherefore I abhor myself and repent in dust and ashes.”
Oh agony of wavering thought
When sinners first so near are brought.
“It is my Maker!—dare I stay?
My Saviour!—dare I turn away?”
Whenever, therefore, this experience befalls, it may be deemed as preparatory to new success in soul-winning. Expect to hear the Lord answer your confession of lowly sinnership with a new summons to take your boat and net for a draught. And this experience does and will befall, not once or twice, but many times, as we approach nearer to the Alpine snows of our Lord’s unsullied Holiness. The whole progress of the divine life within the soul is characterized by confessions. We are always being led to detect the presence of sin and evil in depths and motions, which once seemed comparatively harmless and innocent. The true soul is always counting its righteousnesses as filthy rags, and confessing that it has not yet attained nor is by any means perfect. The only confession that befits us is that we are following after to apprehend that for which we were apprehended of Christ Jesus. The higher the flight of the soaring eagle the deeper its reflection in the mountain-lake. Do not be afraid to know yourself beneath the Spirit’s teaching, it is all preparatory to a new departure in “man-catching.”
II. Failure and Sin do not necessarily exclude from the Divine Partnership in Soul-winning.—“Depart from me,” cried the conscience-stricken disciple. It was as though he said: “I will bring Thee, Lord, to the spot where I took Thee on board this morning; and when I have landed Thee, Thou must go Thy way and I mine. I shall ever love Thee and think of Thee as I float under these skies by day and night, but I am not fit to keep Thee company.” And under his breath he may have whispered to himself: “But I know not how I shall live without Thee. To whom can I turn? Thou only hast the words of eternal life.”
We can almost see him, when the well of the boat was heaped high with the slippery silver cargo, clambering across from prow and stern on his bare feet, falling at Jesus’ knees as He sat near the tiller, clasping them, and faltering forth these words with the heaving sobs of a strong man torn with conflicting emotions.
It was as though our King Alfred, when wandering in Sherwood Forest, disguised, lost to his followers, and uncertain as to the path, had been found and befriended by a kindly woodsman, who had regarded him as an equal, shared with him his bed and board without detecting his royal dignity, and finally had conveyed him to his brave retainers. How startled he would be to see their deferential respect! Suddenly he would awake to the vast chasm intervening between himself and his ward, and approaching with many apologies for his familiarity, would deferentially propose to say good-bye and farewell for ever. “Our paths, sire, must of course diverge from this point! You to your throne, I to my cottage!”
“Nay,” said our Lord in effect, “that need not be. When sin is repented of, abhorred, and confessed, it need not debar from My presence or service. I can do with sinful men, who are conscious of their sinnership. No sin is too inveterate but that I can cope with it, too foul but that I can cleanse. Stay with Me, I will cleanse, heal, and save thee, and make thee the instrument of saving thousands of sinners like thyself.”
It is impossible to exaggerate the comfort that these words afford to those who would fain serve Christ, though conscious of their profound unworthiness. “I am not worthy to bear the message of salvation to others, because I am such a sinful man! How canst Thou employ me, who hast hosts of unfallen angels at Thy command? How darest Thou identify Thyself and Thy holy cause with me? No, it cannot be! I love Thee, but an ever-widening river must divide us as we walk on either bank. I shall break my heart that I have failed Thee so, but I cannot lift up my face, or regain my forfeited place. Let me stand in the outer circle and see Thee now and again. I cannot ask for more, for Thou knowest, and I know, and every lost spirit knows, that I am a sinful man.”
But Jesus has only one reply: “Fear not, from henceforth thou shalt catch men.” “Fear not! I am the Daysman that stands as thy surety. I have blotted out thy transgressions as a cloud, and will no more remember thy sins. I have loved thee with an everlasting love, though I foresaw all this and more also. Depart from Me! It is unthinkable. Thou art dearer to Me than all the stars in their galaxies. I have obtained from the Father that thou shouldst be with Me where I am. After thou hast had thy Pentecost, and fulfilled thy ministry and finished thy course, thou shalt be accounted worthy to stand in My Presence-chamber, that thou mayest behold My glory, and thou shalt share it.”
“Lord, it is too much; let me kiss Thy feet!”
III. Soul-winning, to be successful, must be the Absorbing Purpose of Our Lives.—It cannot be one interest among many. The Apostle said truly, “One thing I do.” “They left all and followed Him.” We can imagine that after this moving exchange of words Peter returned to his place to think over the marvel of the life that now opened before him. And whilst he mused, the fire burned. What else was worth living for? Surely he must obey this mandate. “Come ye after me!” “Hither, follow!”
May we indulge our imagination here? The boat responds to sail or oar, and makes for the shore. A friendly fisherman informs his wife that the well-known boat will soon be “in.” His food has been waiting for him since early dawn. She had prepared a breakfast for which he did not come. She hastens to the shore and stands there with her welcome, all the gladder because she descries its burden. Her husband leaps into the shallow water and lifts Jesus from boat to beach. He then approaches her wistfully, and with an unwonted tenderness that startles her, “Can you spare me for a little?” he inquires. “The Master has asked me to go with Him. He says that I am not to fear, and that He will provide for us. He has promised to teach me how to fish for men. I will come back as soon as I have learned my lesson and He has done with me. In the meanwhile I must be free to serve Him. Can you spare me?”
And she replies: “Husband, go with Him. Mother and I will make shift somehow till you get back. Stay with Him as long as He needs you. Mother and I were saying only this morning that you have been a different man since you knew Him.”
She came to believe also, and travelled everywhere with her husband, helping him, as Paul bears witness (1 Cor. 9:5). We cannot suppose that Peter at once entered into the Master’s passion for the souls of men. That was acquired afterwards. In the first instance he was content to follow Him, to listen to His words, to become His companion and helper. But it could not have been long before he and his companions began to be imbued with the same passion, until it became the master-motive of their existence.
So it will be with ourselves. As we walk with Christ, by the constant aid of the Holy Spirit, we shall be conformed to His image. His thoughts and yearnings will be transmitted to us by a Divine sympathy. We shall long to see Him honoured, loved, and exalted. We shall desire that He shall see of the travail of His soul and be satisfied. We shall become identified with His interests, and with no backward look on ourselves. The Holy Spirit will blow these sparks into a flame, and our life will be spent as that of Peter, who by his love for Christ was qualified to feed His sheep and lambs.
Let us ask that we may become partners with Christ in His great passion for men. Let us bring ourselves to this great magnet till we are magnetized. Oh to be a living flame for Jesus Christ, so that the uttermost love of woman may be:—
Faint to the flame with which our breast is burning,
Less than the love wherewith we ache for souls!
V. PRIMER LESSONS
Mark 1:21–39
“Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear!
Each sufferer says his say, his end of the weal and woe;
But God has a few of us whom He whispers in the ear;
The rest may reason and welcome; ’tis we musicians know!”
Browning.
The Ephesian Church was reminded by the Apostle of having been taught by the Lord Himself, “as the truth is in Jesus.” It is therefore of extreme interest to study the earliest lessons with which our Lord commenced to prepare Peter and his friends for their life-work. Everyone who desires to be a soul-winner should sit in this lowest form in the Master’s school.
The First Lesson was that Association with Himself would inevitably involve them in Spiritual Warfare.—It befell thus. On what was not improbably the first Sabbath after their final resolve to identify themselves with Jesus, the little group of fishermen, whose action was widely discussed all round the lake, giving them a considerable amount of notoriety, accompanied Him to the usual synagogue service. When the customary exercises were concluded, their Leader and Friend was invited to address the congregation, and as He proceeded in words of spirit and life to unfold the mysteries of the kingdom, the sharp contrast between His address and the dull deliverances of the Scribes to which they were accustomed struck them with astonishment. The contrast was as marked as between the sparkle of a waterfall and the stagnant water of a pit. “He taught them as one that had authority.” Their hearts and consciences answered back with an echoing response.
The hush of the enthralled assembly was suddenly broken by the cry of a man’s voice. It seemed as though a captive and unwilling soul was made the organ of an alien and compelling spirit. “Let us alone,” was the demand. “What have we to do with Thee, Jesus of Nazareth? I know Thee who Thou art.” This unclean spirit, or demon, may have tenanted that man’s body and mind for years, unsuspected by his most intimate associates. But the near presence of the Divine Holiness, though curtained by the unrent veil of His flesh, extorted an involuntary but irresistible outcry. An inflamed eye may cause no special torture so long as it is screened from daylight, but expose it to a ray of meridian sunshine, and the anguish is too great to be endured. Ah! what will the unclean soul do when suddenly confronted in the other world by a glory before which unfallen seraphim veil their faces with their wings!
The disturbance caused by that wailing cry from the abyss must have been very startling. The man may, up to that moment, have been regarded as a respectable member of society. No one suspected the duality of his nature; but Peter must have suddenly realized that the type of character, for which his Master stood, dominated as it was by the Spirit of God, and essentially holy, must discover, arouse, and call into hostility the whole kingdom of evil spirits, which Christ afterwards described as the gates of hell, or Hades. The warfare for which he had enlisted was not against flesh and blood, but against the wicked spirits that rule the darkness of this world.
It was an infinite relief to know that his Lord was equal to the emergency. When He bade the unclean spirit to hold his peace and come out of this tormented nature, it could do no other than obey, though he convulsed his victim with malignant rage and cried again with a loud unearthly voice. The disciples shared in the general amazement, but they saw clearly—and our Lord was thankful that they realized—the necessity of a new apparatus of spiritual equipment. The weapons of their warfare would have to be spiritual, not carnal, or they would not be mighty enough to pull down these strongholds or emancipate the captives who all their life-time had been subject to bondage.
The scene in that synagogue gave Peter food for profound thought. He realized, as when a lightning flash illumines a midnight landscape, that there was a vast underworld of evil spirits—some of them probably fallen angels, and some wandering stars for whom is reserved the blackness of darkness for ever. He realized also that these would be violently perturbed, if any attempt were made to rescue their victims; that they had had some previous experience of the Lord in a state of existence known only to them and Him; that they were constrained to bear witness to His superlative Holiness; that they knew it must destroy them when the hour was struck by the clock of destiny; that, however much they strove against it, they could not resist His power; and that their one delight was to deceive and torture men.
It was not difficult for Peter to understand the effect produced on them by the Lord’s Purity. He also had cried, only a few hours before, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord.” But all his fear had passed, since he had yielded his will to obey and submitted to Christ’s undisputed authority. The destruction which the demon feared in the disciple’s case had wrought only for the destruction of the power of sin. The presence of Jesus for him and his brethren now meant joy unspeakable and full of glory. Thus he was being prepared to hear the Master say: “Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out demons.… Behold I give you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall by any means hurt you.”
The Second Lesson was the need for Gentleness in Ministry.—Peter was strong, forceful, vehement. His voice would be loud, his tread heavy. His touch was not gentle enough for straightening bruised reeds. A considerable amount of training would have to be expended on him before he could commend, as he does in his epistles, compassion, pitifulness, and courtesy. It was necessary for him to taste that the Lord was gracious and to become clothed with that meek and quiet spirit, which is of great price (1 Pet. 2:3; 3:4, 8). The first lesson in this art was given in his own home.
After the amazing scene witnessed in the synagogue the Lord accepted the invitation of Peter and Andrew to come to the home, which they occupied in common, for rest and refreshment. James and John were included in the invitation. Probably some suggestion of this had been made previously, and the women of the household had been busily occupied in preparing. However, when the guests reached the door of the fishermen’s home Peter’s wife was on the outlook, and taking him aside hurriedly whispered that her mother was down with “a great fever.” She was lying on a couch in the inner chamber, with a dangerously high temperature. It may have been induced by her excitement to do all honour to their Guest. To outward appearance it was an unfortunate incident to occur on such a day! But untoward incidents, in the hand of Christ, become radiant memories.
“They told Him of her.” Luke says that “they besought Him for her.” But next to the marvel of her immediate recovery, so that she was able to take her part in ministering, they wondered at the tender gentleness with which the Master touched her hand, took her by the hand, and, as Peter subsequently dictated to Mark, raised her up. How little he realized that in after years he would do the same for a lame man on the Temple steps, and for the beloved Dorcas at Joppa.
The world needs tenderness as well as strength. Probably strength is never perfected until it is tender. The danger of modern philanthropy is that it does everything by rule and measure, in precise and strict adherence to a prescribed code, leaving no time or energy for the spontaneous workings of Christly tenderness. It is needed to touch the bleared eye of the blind, the seared flesh of the leper, and the feverish hand of a fever-stricken mother. Lives are blighted, homes are wrecked, and bright young hopes withered, for want of tenderness. But the child’s hymn addressed to Jesus as the tender shepherd is exact in its epithet. He takes the lambs in His arms and carries them in His bosom, and gently leads those that are with young. Rockmen must combine tenderness and strength.
The Third Lesson was a Glimpse into the Anguish of the World.—It had for long lain heavy on the Master’s heart, and was a constant incentive to the forth-putting of the saving strength of His right hand. Nothing less could sustain His disciples, and especially Peter, in all future trials and disappointments. It was therefore arranged that the fronts should be taken off the households of this one city, that their compassion might be moved by the vision of the anguish of a single community, although in fair and prosperous surroundings. All that were diseased and possessed, together with their agonized friends, were gathered at sunset in the humble street where Peter lived. He could not have believed that so vast a mass of misery and pain was concealed so near his home; but it was easier to pass from that heart-breaking spectacle to plumb the fathomless anguish of the world. The veil, which never intercepts the view from God, but which is drawn before our eyes lest life should be insupportable, was lifted for a few hours on that Sabbath evening whilst the stars came out one by one to watch sadly in heaven’s vault.
The world is not all bad and sorrowful. Love, health, family life, children’s laughter, the sweetness of living, must be valued at their true worth; but behind doors and windows there is a heavy makeweight of pain; and we need to know it, that, as with our Lord, so with His servants, we may sigh, as we look up, and say Ephphatha.
In the days of Esther none might enter the Persian court clothed in sackcloth. That is where kings go wrong. They refuse to recognize the sorrow and suffering which breed discontent and revolt. They insist that their papers shall be censored, and that all allusions to the sombre aspects of life shall be obliterated. No over-blown petals on their lawns, no dead birds in the woods, no lepers on the streets through which their chariot passes. “Sing songs,” they cry, “clash cymbals, on with the dance, let mirth be unrestrained, give us unending pleasures, unsated amusement.” So they have spoken, but foot by foot their throne has been compelled to give place to the ever-encroaching tide.
Not thus was it with the Lord. Whether it was a single leper or a crowd, He was always moved with compassion in the presence of human need. When Jesus beheld the multitudes, we are told, He was moved with compassion, because they fainted and were scattered abroad. We must needs learn this lesson, if we would win souls. The first, second, and third prerequisite for life-work, such as angels did for Lot and his family at the gates of Sodom, is to be filled with the merciful compassion that filled their hearts. The broken heart breaks and heals hearts!
The greatest of soul winners in any age avowed that he travailed in birth for his converts, and was willing to be accursed from Christ for his kinsmen according to the flesh. A speculum of ice may focus sunrays to a burning point, but cold hearts are not used of God to win lost souls. He preaches best who loves most. The height of the Nile on the Nilometer indicates the extent of the flood over the arid plains of Egypt and the subsequent abundance or failure of the harvest. If we are content to labour without conversions, we need not expect any. But if our soul breaketh with longing, or we can cry with Rebekah, “Give me children or I die,” the answer will not tarry long. Blessed are they that hunger and thirst, for they shall be satisfied. Give us Thy tears, O Christ, as we behold the city! “Oh that mine eyes were fountains of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people!”
The Fourth Lesson was as to the Source of Power.—In the early morning the household sought for their beloved and honoured guest, but the chamber was empty. In vain they searched the house. Where was He? The inquiry and search become general. “All men seek for Thee!” Perhaps a fisherman, who had returned at dawn from a night’s fishing, informed them that he had met Him on the path that led to the silent hills above the town. Further up the slope a shepherd, who was preparing to lead his flock to the upland pastures, would indicate the sheltered dimple of the hillside, where the awe-struck search-party beheld the Master’s kneeling or prostrate form. He had risen a great while before day and departed into a solitary place, where He prayed.
He could cast out demons and heal a crowd of sick folk, but (speaking after the manner of men) he was conscious of the expenditure of spiritual force. “He perceived that virtue had gone out of Him.” His human nature required to be re-charged. Better leave some of the city-woe unredressed than forfeit that recharging. Peter and his fellow disciples were destined to witness that spectacle many a time afterwards, until one day, when he ceased praying, one of them said: “Lord, teach us to pray.”
Peter never forgot his Master’s prayer habit, and he clearly determined to follow in those blessed footsteps. Pentecost came to him and the rest because they continued with one accord in prayer and supplication. The Sanhedrin was powerless to hurt because the whole company lifted up their voice to God with one accord. Prayer opened his way from his prison cell on the eve of execution. The vision of the Gentile world, cleansed and sanctified, was given as he prayed on the roof of the tanner’s house.
Brethren, let us pray. Sisters, get on the mountain-top and hold us up by your prayers, as we go down into the valley to fight. John Wesley tells his preachers that their prime business is to win souls, and that only through unwearied labour and perseverance can they be free from the blood of all men, and he ends thus: “Why are we not more holy? Why do we not live for eternity and walk with God all the day long? Do we rise at four or five in the morning to be alone with God? Do we recommend and observe the five o’clock hour for prayer at the close of the day? Let us fulfil our ministry.”
VI. THE SECOND PRIMER
Luke 4:1–13: John 6:1–21; Matthew 14:22–23
“He might have built a palace at a word,
Who sometimes had not where to lay His head,
Time was, that He who nourished crowds with bread,
Would not one meal unto Himself afford.
Oh, self-denying love, which felt alone
For needs of others—never for it’s own!”
Trench.
God’s Power in Nature awaits the use of any who will be wise and humble enough to study and obey the necessary conditions of its operation. The difference between the civilized and the savage races is largely that the former have learnt to avail themselves of the primal forces that hide in the flowing current, the wind, steam, electricity, or finally the ether; whilst the latter rely entirely on their agile or muscular limbs. Machinery is simply the cunning contrivance with which we endeavour to obey natural laws, with the inevitable result that the force behind them shall do our bidding. And there is no respect of persons. Whatever he may be, rich or poor, simple or learned, high-born or low-born, the son of a pauper or a monarch, he who desires Nature’s co-operation can secure it, if he is prepared to pay the price of obedience to her inexorable conditions.
This is equally true of the operation of the Divine Spirit. He is prepared to co-operate with any who will faithfully fulfil His conditions. The poor, the weak, the despised, the nobodies of this world, can command and enjoy the greatest manifestations of the Divine energy equally with the cultured and refined. A turbine may drive a small sawmill or a big factory of spindles. Indeed, the simple and child-like dispositions can often make most of God, because they are most lowly and helpless in their self-estimate. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they are rich in faith, and heirs of the Kingdom.
It is therefore very necessary, not only for Apostles, but for us all, to learn the conditions on which spiritual power operates; and these are clearly set forth in the threefold temptation through which our Lord passed at the opening of His ministry. Let us adopt the order of the Third Gospel.
1. We must refuse to employ Divine Power for selfish uses. Then we may be trusted with it on behalf of others, and God will see to our needs.
2. True Rulership is won, not by conflict or force of arms, but by service, sacrifice, and suffering unto death.
3. Divine Power is granted, never for purposes of vainglory or ostentation, but for the help and blessing of others.
The statement of these three principles may vary, but their essence is as invariable as Newton’s law of motion. That Peter, the man of vehement force and energy, should become aware of them was especially needful, because in after-days he was to give witness with great spiritual power to the coming and glory of his Master and Lord. By an evident pre-arrangement of Divine Providence they were all compressed into experiences narrated by all the Evangelists, but especially in John 6.
I. Trusteeship for Others depends on the Denial of Self.—At the given time and place, which had probably been prearranged, the Apostles gathered back to the Master, to tell Him what things they had done and taught. They needed an opportunity to discuss their recent experiences, to get guidance on their difficulties, and to share their joys. Almost immediately on their gathering back to Him the news reached them that John the Baptist—known, honoured, and loved by them all—had been treacherously murdered by the royal command in the dungeons of the Castle of Machærus, on the edge of the eastern desert. These rumours were confirmed by the arrival of his disciples, who had evidently feared the worst, had requested, not without peril to themselves, for the custody of the beloved remains, had buried them, and now had come to tell Jesus It was clear that the tide of opposition was rising against the new movement. Wisdom suggested a temporary retirement from the public eye, and grief required seclusion in order to recover from the hurricane of desolation. It had quickly darkened the entire outlook, which had seemed so promising. “And He said unto them, Come ye yourselves apart into a desert (i.e., an uninhabited) place and rest awhile: for there were many coming and going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat.”
Entering the boat, they directed its course to the north-east corner of the lake, where the shore sloped up from the beach to a grassy plain of considerable expanse, and this in turn climbed to a noble forest of oaks. In the spacious amplitude of that sequestered spot were many glades and glens, where tired brains and sad hearts could be recuperated. The people, however, had noticed the course taken by the boat, and, hastening in a vast concourse round the head of the lake, presented an audience which appealed to Christ as the spectacle of a harried flock of sheep would appeal to the heart of a true shepherd.
Immediately our Lord subordinated all other considerations to the necessity of meeting the infinite need of more than ten thousand people. “He was moved with compassion, and healed their sick.” … “He began to teach them many things.” But the most astounding experience of any was that which closed the day. With five barley-loaves and two small fishes, which Peter’s brother, Andrew, had discovered in the wallet of a small boy—who with great pride and love had surrendered them, and whose faith perhaps afforded our Lord the human element which He always required—Jesus fed the whole vast crowd. “They did all eat, and were filled, and they took up twelve baskets full of the fragments and of the fishes.”
Peter and the rest of the Apostles must have been fairly staggered by that experience. They could never forget it. Often, in after-days, when their simple story and appeal were used for the conversion of thousands, they would revert to this counterpart in the physical and material sphere. At the moment, however, they were confronted by the extraordinary contrast between their Master’s poverty and His prodigal hospitality. He had told them that they were to take nothing for their journey, save a staff only. What was the good of a wallet, when there was no bread to put in it? They had also heard, probably from His own lips, the story of His forty days’ fast, when He was tempted to use His power as the Beloved Son to turn the stones of the desert into bread. But evidently all the time He had the power of producing bread. Why had He not used it for His own need? Why had He not given them banquet upon banquet? Why did He sometimes in the early morning search a fig-tree on the road-side for a chance fig?
It seemed a strange paradox, but the paradox contained at its heart a vital truth. God will trust no one with His power who will use it for his own satisfaction and indulgence. We are tested in the wilderness by lonely hours, by long abstinence from the things that others crave and enjoy; and only when we have satisfactorily passed the test does God allow us to make full use of that power for the salvation and enrichment of others. This is the reason for the wilderness experience, which baffles and perplexes us. Is God angry with us? No! Has He forgotten to be gracious? No! Has He in anger shut up His tender mercies? No! Why, then, this desert? He is testing thee before He entrusts thee with the plenitude of His power. Meanwhile angels shall minister to thee at the end of thy forty days.
II. Rulership depends on Self-giving.—After the meal the crowd seems to have been swept by a sudden impulse to make Jesus their leader in a determined revolt against their Roman oppressors. Here was a greater than Judas Maccabæus! The movement would be eagerly fostered by Judas of Kerioth and by Simon the Zealot. They had been waiting for this hour, and hoped to force Christ’s hand. But He would have none of it. He had already fought this question out in the wilderness, when the devil had offered Him the kingdoms of this world and the glory of them. In that offer, as our Lord indicated in His interview with Pilate, there was an implication that force would be needed: “If My Kingdom were of this world, then would My servants fight.” He swerved not by a hairbreadth of deviation from that great position. He knew only too well that the kingdoms of this world could never become His by force of arms, but at the price of agony and bloody sweat, of the Cross and Passion, and of the Death on Calvary.
He therefore first constrained His disciples to get into the boat, and put forth from the shore, whilst He sent away the people, with an authority that they could not dispute. Then, retiring to the mountain solitudes, He (speaking after the manner of men) resolved that on the following day He would adopt a style of speech which would effectually shatter any further proposal of a carnal and worldly kingdom.
We shall have a further opportunity of considering this deliberate change in His policy; it is enough here to note how exactly the Master carried out the original programme formed as the Son of man on the threshold of his public career. What significance this lesson has for us all! It is not by the power of the secular arm, not by might nor by power, not by chariots and horsemen, not by the warrior host, the clash of steel, the victory of the battle or the forum, that the Church is to win her victory; but by service such as the Moravians gave to lepers; by sufferings like those of the martyrs in every age, not least in our own; by the sacrifice of tears and blood—the filling up of that which is behind of the sufferings of Christ—thus, and only thus, does the Kingdom come and is the Father’s will done.
III. Divine Power must never be used for Purposes of Vainglory or Display.—“God will not give His glory to another.” “That no flesh should glory in His presence.” It is supposed by some that our Lord had appointed His disciples to meet Him at some well-known part of the coast, and that this made them toil so hard at the oar when presently the storm hurled itself down upon the lake. It may have been so, but it is not material to our present purpose. It is enough that He saw them toiling in rowing, and about the fourth watch of the night—i.e., as the grey dawn began to spread through the stormy scene—“He cometh unto them, walking upon the sea.” He used the water as the pavement of His approach. So often the storms that threaten us are permitted that we may learn to appreciate more truly the wonderful resources of His nature. When we take a course which His finger has clearly indicated the difficulties we encounter do not prove that we are wrong, but only that He has some fresh revelation to make of Himself. We can absolutely trust out Lord to take all the risks involved in our literal obedience to His will. “Storms are the triumph of His art.”
But Peter was animated by the spirit of adventure. It was not in him to remain quietly seated with all the others in the boat till the Lord entered it. They might be satisfied with that quiescent welcome, but he felt that such an occasion called for some special departure on his part, a startling manifestation of love and faith, a conspicuous deed of splendid courage. There was a touch of vainglory and ostentation about it, of which he may have been unaware, though the Master descried it. When therefore Peter asked to be commanded to come to Him on the water, our Lord simply invited him to step out. He stepped forth, but his faith was imperfect, and he began to sink.
In the Lord’s grave hour of temptation it had been suggested to Him that He should cast Himself down from the Temple portico to the depths of the valley, treading the air as Peter now attempted to tread the water. The Tempter had added the suggestion that angels would bear Him up in their hands, so that He should alight majestically and unhurt in the valley beneath. He had refused to act on the suggestion, because His Father had not so bidden Him. But there was another moment afterwards when He received from the Father the commandment to lay down His life, to breathe His soul forth in death, and descend the dark valley of shadow. As soon as He knew this to be His unmistakable duty, there was no symptom of hesitation; He became obedient to death, even the death of the Cross. And the everlasting arms of the Father bore Him down in His descent, that thence He might ascend far above all heavens.
There might come times in after-life when in like manner the clear command would come to Peter to step out of the boat of ordinary experience on to the storm-waves of persecution and martyrdom, but that hour had not yet come. He was not ripe for it then, nor afterwards when he rehearsed the same action with the same result in the hall of Caiaphas. His motives, which were now full of vainglory and self-confidence, must become purified and clear. Then it would not be needful to await the command to step out, because his duty would be unmistakable.
He began to sink. Though a good swimmer, he did not attempt to swim, but cried for help. Immediately the Lord’s hand was stretched forth, and caught him, and they went together to the boat. No rebuke fell from those wise and gentle lips, except the question: “Wherefore didst thou doubt?” Obviously, one reason for his failure was that he watched the turbulence of the elements rather than the face and presence of his Lord. But there was a deeper reason for the failure. His faith was imperfect. There was a flaw in it. The slightest ingredient of self-hood invalidates faith’s action, as Hawker’s courageous effort to cross the Atlantic was spoilt by the collection of grains of silt in his filter. If you cannot avail yourself of God’s promises, which are Yea and Amen in Christ, be absolutely sure that in some way the step you are making, and which you think to be good and right, is likely to fail, because, almost unconsciously, the element of pride, vainglory, boastfulness, or selfness is deteriorating your soul-life Get rid of it by the incessant reference to the Cross. Mortify your soul-life, with its weak affections and strong desires. Say, with no bated breath, what our Lord said under similar suggestions: “Get thee hence, Satan; thou savourest the things of men, not those of God.”
Thus Peter learnt the third lesson of his Second Primer; and it was with the undying impression of that hour that he wrote in after-days the notable advice: “Humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you.”
“Cleanse, O Lord, we beseech Thee, the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of Thy Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love Thee, and worthily magnify Thy Holy Name!”
“I have but Thee, my Father! let Thy Spirit
Be with me still to comfort and uphold;
No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I want,
Nor street of shining gold.”
“Suffice it if—my good and ill unreckoned,
And both forgiven through Thy abounding grace—
I find myself by hands familiar beckoned
Unto my fitting place.”
Whittier.
VII. TO WHOM, IF NOT TO CHRIST?
John 6:22–71
“I watch them drift—the youthful aspirations;
Shores, landmarks, beacons drift alike!
Yet overhead the boundless arch of heaven
Still fades to night, still blazes into day.
But Christ! my Christ! Thou wilt not drift away!”
Kingsley (altd.).
When at last the crowds had dispersed, our Lord crossed the greensward to the edge of the mountains, and began the ascent. His pulse quickened its beat, as ours does when we climb. The wild creatures darted from His path, not knowing Him. The sun descended to the western wave, and all the land was hushed and still, until the gathering storm reverberated through the funnels of the mountains and hurled itself on the lake. Did not that storm portend an even greater one, which, on the following day, was to break on the little band, who even then were fighting their way through the angry water?
A crisis was upon Him. He was becoming surrounded by a mixed crowd, who only desired to live on His bounty, and thought to exploit Him to gratify their wild passions for independence and revenge. He must clearly undeceive them, else they would wreck His great purpose of redemption, and make Him the tool of a political party. Immediate steps must be taken to arrest this movement. Not a day could be lost. On the morrow He would make such statements of the spiritual nature of His Kingdom as would effectually quench these incendiary sparks. Therefore, in fellowship with His Father, He gathered strength to disabuse His followers of their earth-bound views. His mission was not to give meat and drink, but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost. He knew quite well how much it would cost, but there was no alternative.
The following morning, on the farther side, witnessed a renewal of the excitement of the preceding evening, so our Lord withdrew into the comparative seclusion of the synagogue, and delivered that marvellous discourse of John 6, which, were it not for the further disclosures of Calvary, would be the high water-mark of the New Testament. And it changed the whole tenour of his career.
We are conscious of the added interest which characterizes the report of a speech, when successive parentheses record its reception by the audience. So in the Evangelist’s narrative we can detect the effect which our Lord’s deeply spiritual words had on the crowded audience. In verse 41 they murmured at Him. In verse 52 they strove among themselves. In verse 60 many, even His disciples, confessed aloud that His sayings were hard and difficult to be borne. In verse 66 many of those who had vowed their allegiance renounced Him, and quietly withdrew. “They walked no more with Him.” By ones and twos, and then by groups, the crowd thinned away. First in order, the hot-headed politicians; then those who hoped for another meal; then the good-hearted but narrow-minded people who were shocked at His demand that they should eat His flesh and drink His blood, which, even if it were taken spiritually, arrogated for the speaker the claims of Deity. Finally, the synagogue was entirely emptied, except for the little group of aghast Apostles who had been the sorrowful witnesses of the shattering of the Master’s popularity and of the fabric of their private ambitions. It was then that He looked round on them and put the pathetic question, “Will ye also go away?” which drew from Peter the unhesitating reply: “Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of Eternal Life, and we have believed and know that Thou art the Holy One of God.”
I. The Urgency of the Question.—To whom shall we go? The question presses on us, as on Peter. He knew something of the ritualism of the Pharisee and the dogmatic negations of the Sadducee, of the wild mythologies of the Greeks, and the crass materialism of the Romans. Perhaps some slight knowledge of the mystic speculations of the Orient had floated in on the shores of the lake with the merchandise of India or China. But what comfort and help did any one of these various systems, traditions, or philosophies, yield to a world or a soul weary to the point of exhaustion and sick with sin? Peter knew that the soul of man must go somewhere. It must needs go outside itself for living water and satisfying bread. There had awoke within his soul cravings for the eternal, the infinite, and the divine. He had known nothing of these in earlier days, which seemed so far away, before the voice of the Baptist had rung out its clarion appeal and startled his slumbering soul. But since he had awoke to the realities of the spiritual world, all former sources of inspiration and instruction had failed to satisfy. He was henceforth conscious of an inward cry like that of the Psalmist: “My heart and my flesh cry out for the living God.” That cry, as Peter knew by profound inner experience, could be answered only by his Lord. To whom else could he go?
To whom shall we go at this time of world-weariness? Men have tried every system of human government, every phase of human philosophy, every form of religious cult. Like a restless sleeper, they have tossed restlessly on their beds and beneath their coverlets; but the one is shorter than a man can stretch himself on it, and the other narrower than a man can wrap himself in it. “Many there be which say, who will show us any good?’ Suicide is said to be on the increase. Immorality and the laxity of the marriage tie suggest the wane of love, and hope, and faith. The clouds of revolution and searching trial are hurrying up the sky. Ancient landmarks are being swallowed by the advancing tides of change. This is the predicted hour of trial—“the hour which is to come upon the whole inhabited world, to try them that dwell upon the earth.” To whom shall we go?
To whom shall we go when our souls have suddenly awoke to the majesty of the Eternal Presences, which are hidden by the glare of pleasure, but emerge in hours of loneliness, change, sorrow, and loss?
To whom shall we go when in the light of the great white throne we suddenly find that snow-water can never cleanse hearts and consciences, on which sin has laid its defiling hand?
To whom shall we go when one by one the lights which we have trusted die out in the sky, and neither sun nor stars shine for many days, and no small tempest lies upon the distraught soul, which hears the breakers dashing on an unknown shore?
To whom shall we go in the loneliness of age, in the pains of mortal sickness, in the hour of death, in the day of account, amid the splendour of a holiness which angels cannot face, and a purity before which the heavens are not clean?
Peter had every warrant for his inquiry. It expresses the agonized cry of the human, when the divine and eternal have broken in upon its insensate stupor.
II. The Alternatives to Christ.—Let us understand clearly what we want. We want Life, Eternal Life, the pulse and throb within our systems of something beyond emotion, affection, intellect, or reason, and which shall be to our spirit what physical life is in our daily experience. “ ’Tis life, of which our souls are scant.”
Jesus awakens mysterious longings in our souls. We cry and fret, as a child that awakes suddenly in an empty room and weeps. Plato said that these were reminiscences of a former life, when the soul was perfect in a perfect heaven. Wordsworth would say that they are glimpses of that immortal sea which brought us hither. We are indifferent to their origin; we only know that we turn from the vanities of the world’s satisfaction, as beasts from tainted wells.
Shall we go to the sceptic? He will deride our demands, as the phantasies of disordered minds. It is as though one were to assure a hungry man that the sense of hunger was an absurd mistake.
Shall we go to the ritualist? He will offer us rites, which, though fragrant with all that satisfies our sense of beauty or gratifies our reverence for the past, are inadequate to quench the soul’s passion for the living God and allay the fever of remorse.
Shall we go to the great religions of the East? Has Confucius, or Buddha, or Mohammed, or the ancient Vedas, a medicine for the soul, that has seen in Christ the Holy One of God, and in whom the Spirit of Christ has started infinite desires for assured forgiveness, for acceptance with God, for the white robes of purity, and the talisman of victory over inbred corruption?
Try every door! Each opens on despair; on the sea moaning at the foot of the cliffs. You hear its ceaseless chafing, you can just descry the foam of the remorseless breakers. But it is night.
There is no satisfaction but in Christ. “The depth saith, It is not in me; and the sea saith, It is not with me. It cannot be gotten for gold, neither shall silver be weighed for the price thereof. If is hid from the eyes of all living and kept close from the fowls of the air.” But Jesus said: “I thank Thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that Thou didst hide these things from the wise and understanding, and didst reveal them unto babes. Yea, Father, for so it was well-pleasing in Thy sight.”
III. The Imperishable Supremacy of Jesus.—His teaching—or “words,” as Peter put it—are diametrically opposed to the bent of human nature. They were opposed to the Jewish exclusiveness on the one hand, and the Gentile culture on the other. But He never sought to gain adherents by lowering His claims. He made no concessions to the passions or prejudices of His hearers. Though His human nature craved for sympathy and faith, He stood as a rock in unwavering steadfastness to His great ideals. What has been the result? This, as Napoleon precisely stated it: “Whilst great empires created by human genius have sunk in ruins, millions have died for Christ, and millions would gladly die again.” And what are the grounds of His imperishable supremacy?
Though All-Holy, He satisfactorily deals with the grave question of sin. Sin is a terrible reality to the awakened soul. It drives the fakir to horrible self-torture. It has covered the earth in every age with altars and priests. It has extorted from the saintliest books of bitter confession. It has been the energizing cause of religious movements that have moved the world. Men have ridiculed its introspections and expressions as “the mumps and measles of the soul.” They have sought to ignore and stifle it. They have suggested palliatives. Jesus alone has put sin away, has satisfied the sense of justice and the plea for mercy, and has supplied from His Blood and Righteousness the one all-satisfying answer to the inquiry, “Can God forgive me righteously.”
Though Man in His Incarnation, He communicates and is the Bread of God. Bread furnishes to our digestions the influences which the corn-plant has absorbed from sun and earth, from the kisses of the summer and the dews of the dawn, from the mysterious actinic rays of light and the silent brooding of the night. Similarly, our Lord brings to us the wealth of the Eternal and Infinite God in such a manner that His words of life, and the living presence of the Spirit in our hearts, convey to our receptive natures that Eternal Life which was with the Father before all worlds, and was manifested to Peter and the rest, and through them to the world. We know that bread nourishes us. It is a daily experience. No amount of argument or chemical demonstration could make us more sure than we are by habitual practice. So with our Lord. We know and are sure, because we have handled, tasted, and felt.
Though there is mystery in His words which repels the superficial, that very mystery is an additional reason for our faith. They go away because they do not understand. But we are attracted because, though we do not understand, we find that there is a fitness in the mystery of our own profound experience being met by an equal mystery in Him. A Christ whom we could absolutely fathom, measure, diagnose, weigh, and analyze, would be no Christ for us. We are sensible of desires for joy unspeakable, peace that passeth understanding, and love that passeth knowledge; and we find Him always before us. Deep calls unto deep. The deep of our nature finds a response in the deep of His. He satisfies. He does better for us than we can ask or think. For brass He brings gold, and for iron silver, and for wood brass, and for stones iron. He is always leading to fresh fountains of water of life. Eye hath not seen nor heart conceived what He has in store for those that love. Oh, my heart, with thy heights and depths, and insatiable longings, thou hast found more than thy match in Jesus! To whom else canst thou go?
For private prayer, it is an admirable custom to pass in thought through the spiritual counterpart of the Tabernacle or Temple of old. To renew our consecration at the Altar, to wash in the Laver, to light again our love at the burning Lamps, to offer our intercessions at the golden altar of incense—all is good; but we must see to it that we eat of “the bread of God” on the Table of Incarnation before we enter with boldness into the Holiest of All through the Blood of Jesus.
VIII. “I GIVE UNTO THEE THE KEYS.”
Matt. 16:13–20
“A poor man served by thee shall make thee rich;
A sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong;
Thou shalt be served thyself by every sense
Of service which thou renderest.”
E. B. Browning.
For two years and a half our Lord had lived amongst His Apostles. Making Himself of no reputation, He had given them no certain clue to His dignity. The Prince had never thrown aside his incognito. It was not for Him to blazon forth his attributes, but to live a life, the like of which had never before been seen by human eyes. To quote the words of His evangelist and friend, who more than any other penetrated beneath the Lord’s grace and truth to their hidden fountain—“The life was manifested, and we have seen it.”
Only six months of education remained before He was taken from them—a period during which His teaching must become much more intensive; and as a preliminary it was necessary to ascertain what conclusions they had arrived at, as the result of their observations and experiences. If, notwithstanding His reticence, they had discovered His intrinsic glory, “the glory of the Only-Begotten of the Father,” it would serve as the common platform from which to ascend to higher revelations. But if, on the contrary, the god of this world had succeeded in blinding their eyes to His glory as the image of God, it would be clear that they could not serve the high purpose of His calling, and that He must go elsewhere for the heralds of His Gospel and the foundation stones of His Church.
In order to secure the necessary privacy for this all-important inquiry, our Lord journeyed to the extreme edge of the northern frontier of Palestine, where Mount Hermon, the chief Alp of the Lebanon range, lifts its mighty mass beyond the snow-line, screening off the northern blasts, and cooling the air, so that the dews of Hermon descended on the mountains of Zion. The Jordan issues from one of the cliffs near the ancient town of Banias, known at that time as Cæsarea Philippi—a conjunction of the names of the Emperor and the local ruling kinglet. There the little band found lodgings, and we can imagine the blessed intercourse which ensued on the verdant slopes of the foot-hills, or in the glens and glades of the ancient cedar-forests. These were the worthy setting of the memorable conversation, which more than any of our Lord’s discourses has affected the life of Christendom.
I. The Master’s Searching Question.—“Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?” The answers were various. It was universally acknowledged that He was no ordinary man. People felt that a Divine fire was burning beneath the pure porcelain of His nature. But their views were as various as the speakers. Some, with Herod at their head, expressed the belief—not without a shudder—that the Baptist had risen from his lonely grave beside the Castle of Machærus. Others said that Elijah, whom Malachi had taught them to expect, had come to them in the “day of the Lord.” Others traced a resemblance between Jesus and one of the old prophets. Probably our Lord was not specially disappointed or surprised by these replies. It was of small importance what conclusions had been arrived at in the Court of Public Opinion. He knew what was in man; and these inquiries were only intended to lead up to the second and all-important question: “But whom say ye that I am?”
Speaking after the manner of men, his heart must have stood still for the reply. And it came instantly, emphatically, and decisively from the lips of Peter, always the spokesman for the rest: “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.” This was a great advance on the earlier confession of John 6, as it appears in the Revised Version. In a most significant manner it combined the hope of the Jew for the Anointed One, with the recognition of the unique and essential nature of our Lord, as the Only-begotten of the Eternal God. It filled the heart of Jesus with ecstasy. The bluff fisherman had been taught the secret of the mystery which in other ages had not been made known unto the sons of men, as it was now to be revealed to the holy Apostles and Prophets by the Spirit. “Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-Jona (son of Jonas or John), for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but My Father which is in heaven.”
These words sometimes make us wistful. Oh for these flashes of spiritual intuition! Oh for this insight into the Divine mysteries! Oh to know even as we are known! Hush, soul! “The secret of the Lord is still with them that fear Him.” The Spirit of the Father still speaks in human hearts in gentle whispers, as once in Horeb’s cave. “It is written in the Prophets, And they shall be all taught of God.” Every man therefore that cometh unto Christ hath heard and hath learned of the Father. Even we may receive, not the spirit of this world, but the Spirit which is of God, that we may know “the deep things of God.”
II. The Foundation of the Church.—Then for the first time our Lord spoke of His Church. Notice the strong possessive pronoun My. As yet the Church—one, undivided, and hidden—existed only in the councils of eternity. The future tense, “I will build,” makes it clear that as Eve was builded out of Adam whilst he slept, so the Church was presently to be built from the death-wound and the sepulchre entombment of Emmanuel. And it was destined to be His bride, His body, His fulfilment, through which He could manifest the complete glory of His nature. My Church! From eternity Christ loved her. By His blood He redeemed her. Through His Spirit and by His Word He is cleansing her; and one day He will present her to Himself a glorious Church, “having neither spot, nor wrinkle, nor any such thing.” As the good steward, Eliezer, brought Isaac’s bride from a far country, so the Holy Spirit is completing the Church in these last days, and preparing her to be for ever with the Lord.
The Church is the special object of hatred to the dark underworld of fallen spirits, whom our Lord refers to as “the gates of Hades.” Hades is the nether unseen world, the abode of the wicked spirits that rule the darkness of this world, under the leadership of “the Prince of the power of the air,” who rules in the hearts of the disobedient. The gate, in Oriental thought and speech, was the place for council, judgment, the connivance of stratagems and the mustering of hostile forces. Our Lord clearly anticipated the long and weary conflict that would be inaugurated against His Church. “And the dragon was wroth with the woman, and went to make war with the remnant of her seed, which keep the commandments of God, and have the testimony of Jesus Christ.” Yes, and the Church can only overcome “by the blood of the Lamb,” and by “the word of her testimony.” Her children love not their lives unto the death!
Long and sore the conflict may be, but the issue is not doubtful. “They shall not prevail.” “The Lamb shall overcome, for He is Lord of lords, and King of kings, and they that are with Him are called, and chosen, and faithful.” There shall break ere long on the ear of a startled world the voice of a great multitude, which in the distance shall sound like the voice of waves breaking on the shore in a summer night, but nearer their words of victory shall be distinctly audible, as they announce—first, that the Church has emerged victorious; and, second, that the Marriage of the Lamb has come, and His Bride has made herself ready. The secret of the Church’s prevalence over her foes consists in her foundation doctrine. Shall we not rather say, her foundation fact? Not the personality of an impulsive and fallible man, who within a few moments was to incur the sharpest rebuke ever administered by those gentle lips; but the Deity of our Lord, as “the Son of the ever-living God.” The Greek phrasing of our Lord’s reply leaves no doubt as to His meaning. Two Greek words are here. Petros, Simon’s new name, signifying in Greek, as Cephas did in Syriac, a stone, or bit of rock, broken or hewn from its parent bed; and Petra, the Rock-bed itself. Our Lord carefully makes the distinction. If He had intended Peter to be the foundation of the Church, He would naturally have shaped His sentence thus: “Thou art Peter, and on thee I will build My Church.” But carefully selecting His words, He said: “Thou art Peter, a stone, a fragment of rock, who under the power of God’s Spirit hast spoken with strength and certainty; but I cannot build on thee, for the foundation of My Church I must turn from Petros to Petra, from a fragment to the great truth, which for the moment has inspired thee. The truth of My eternal relationship to the Father is the only foundation, against which the waves of demon and human hatred will break in vain. No stone shall give. No bastion shall even rock.”
III. The Gift of the Keys.—It must be carefully noted that our Lord used the same words which He addressed to Peter also to individual believers in Matt. 18:18, and again to His assembled Apostles and others who were gathered with them in the Upper Room on the evening of the Resurrection Day. See Luke 24:33, and John 20:22 and 23.
In the light afforded by these references we may extend the significance of this gift of the keys to include all who live and act in the power of the Holy Spirit. If we have received that blessed gift of the Comforter, as they did on whom the Master breathed that Easter evening, we also may wield the power of the keys. Not ours the prerogative of the Apostles, but only the humble distinction of having walked to Emmaus, first with broken and then with burning hearts; yet even such may, in the power of the Spirit, be entrusted with keys that shall open closed doors, and emancipate prisoners from their cells.
Here, for instance, is a broken-hearted penitent who thinks that her sin is too great to be forgiven, and some Christian sister takes as her key our Lord’s words to such in Luke 7 or John 8, and instantly a door is opened by which she passes into the Peace of God.
Again, there may be a man who thinks that he is guilty of the unpardonable sin, and a scribe, who is well instructed in the mysteries of the Kingdom, takes as his key the words spoken by our Lord under similar circumstances: “All sins shall be forgiven unto the sons of men”; and making a distinction between sins and the condition of absolute deadness and insensibility into which men may drift, when they have killed their conscience, so that it no more remonstrates or pleads, he opens the door into the liberty of the sons of God.
Again, there may be the case of a morbid and unhealthy conscience, which is bound by scruples and tormented by questions, and you may take as your key Col. 2, or Gal. 3 and 4, and instantly the wards of the prison lock yield, the door opens, and the captive, like Peter touched by the Angel, passes through the gate that leads out into the City of the Firstborn.
This is the secret of the quest of the blessed life. Go through the world opening prison-doors, lifting heavy burdens, giving light, and joy, and peace to the oppressed, proclaiming the Lord’s Jubilee year. Shut doors opening out on the dark waters of despair. Unlock and open those that face towards the sunrise. For this is work that angels might envy. “Receive ye the Holy Ghost.”
The Knights of Arthur’s Table rode forth into the wild wastes of the Kingdom of the Beast, intent on righting wrong, and succouring the oppressed. Never a day without its gallant deed. We, too, are dedicated to similar enterprise. Let us not hold back lest we miss the vision of the Holy Grail! We, too, possess the Sword of the Spirit and the Keys of the Kingdom! We, too, may catch a glimpse of the holy cup of sacrifice!
IX. “WITH HIM ON THE HOLY MOUNT”
Matt. 17:1–9; 2 Pet. 1:16–18
“If ever on the mount with Thee
I seem to soar in vision bright,
With thoughts of coming agony,
Stay Thou the too presumptuous flight.
Gently along the vale of tears
Lead me from Hermon’s sunbright steep,
Let me not grudge a few short years
With Thee toward Heaven to work and weep.”
Keble.
On the afternoon of the last day of our Lord’s sojourn at Cæsarea Philippi He proposed to His three chief Apostles that they should accompany Him for a season of retirement to the upper slopes of Hermon. Little realizing what awaited them, they readily consented, and accompanied Him to a scene which left an ineffaceable impression. In his last days Peter referred to it as affording the outstanding evidence of his Master’s Divine nature and mission. For him it was “the Holy Mount,” where he and the others had been eye-witnesses of Christ’s majesty, when He received from the Father honour and glory. There could be no doubt about it. They had not followed nor promulgated cunningly devised fables!
I. The Accessories of the Transfiguration.—The place was clearly Mount Hermon. The previous days had been spent at its foot. Mount Tabor, which formerly was supposed to have been the chosen spot for this sublime spectacle, was at that time (so later investigation has proved) the site of a Roman fort and garrison, which would have been totally incongruous with the mystic beauty of heavenly glory. And the vivid comparison, in Peter’s special Gospel of Mark, between the Master’s appearance and the snow, is an additional confirmation that Mount Hermon’s snow-capped heights were in his thought. Here only in Palestine is there the permanent presence of snow.
The time was almost certainly the night. Our Lord was accustomed to spend nights on the mountains, which are the natural altars of the world. The overpowering sleep that mastered the Apostles, until the Transfiguration Glory was on the point of passing, also suggests the night season. This conclusion is further corroborated by the fact, as we are expressly told, that it was “the next day” when they came down from the hill and met the excited crowd, which had been attracted by the poor demon-possessed boy and his demented parents. We need not dwell on the enhanced beauty which is shed on the entire narrative by the reflection that the background of the night afforded additional beauty and lustre to the radiant glory which enwrapt the Person and garments of the Lord.
It is noticeable that the glory passed on Him as He prayed. In the case of Moses the glory of his face was due to its absorption of the Eternal Light on which he gazed. It was a giving back of what had been received. There are diamonds which, after being held in the sparkle of the sun, will continue to coruscate long after they have been transferred to a darkened chamber. Moses had spent forty days and nights in God’s presence-chamber, and the light before which Israel shrank away was the immediate result of that memorable interview. As he beheld he was changed into the same image. But in the case of our Lord the glory which the disciples beheld—which streamed through His garments, so that His ordinary dress became shining, exceeding white as snow, so as no fuller on earth could whiten—was the raying forth from within of the glory of the Only-begotten of the Father. It is not improbable that, whenever He was alone on the mountain heights in fellowship with His Father, He laid aside His shrouding disguise, and the same phenomenon recurred, though there were no eye-witnesses to chronicle it.
In this connection let us heed the earnest beseeching admonition of the Apostle Paul, who had only heard of the Transfiguration during his memorable fortnight spent, years after, with Peter. Let us be transfigured by the renewing of our minds; then, as we present our bodies as a holy and living sacrifice to God, they also shall be transfigured—the light shall shine from within and prove what is the good and acceptable and perfect will of God.
The appearance of Moses and Elijah added greatly to the impressiveness of the spectacle. They were the representative leaders of the Hebrew Theocracy. Moses was the embodiment of the Law, Elijah of the Prophets. In both cases the circumstances of their removal from the scenes of earthly ministry had been remarkable. Moses had died on the lonely heights of Pisgah beneath God’s kiss, and was buried by His hands in an unknown grave. Elijah had gone home in a chariot of fire, sent for his convoy. But these wonders did not account for their advent, which was due to the special encouragement which they were able to afford the Redeemer at this great crisis.
Only a few days before our Lord had unfolded, with graphic minuteness, the scenes of His approaching death. Immediately Peter, speaking for the rest, had sought to dissuade Him. “Spare thyself,” he said; “this shall not be for Thee.” They were not able to understand or sympathize. Love, doubtless, and passionate devotion inspired this impulsive soul in taking on himself to rebuke his Lord. But, as on the Mount afterwards, so then, he knew not what he said. It was necessary, therefore, that redeemed humanity should furnish two of its strongest and noblest ambassadors to reinforce and strengthen our Lord, upon the human side, ere He set His face steadfastly to go up to Jerusalem to die. He was acting on the agreement of the Eternal Council-chamber, and pursuing the course marked out before the foundation of the world; but, as in the glades of Gethsemane an angel was sent to strengthen His human nature, so now Moses and Elijah were the chosen emissaries of the Eternal World, who stood on His right and left, assuring Him of the Father’s sustaining help, and of the glory which must accrue when the bitterness of death had passed.
II. The Theme of the Celestial Visitants.—“They spake of the decease which He was to accomplish at Jerusalem.” The Greek word is “exodus”—a term which struck Peter’s imagination. In after years he employed it of his own death. “I must put off this tabernacle,” he said, “even as our Lord Jesus Christ hath showed me; but I will endeavour after my exodus that you may have these things always in remembrance.”
It must have been a very startling rebuke to Peter and his companions. To them the death of the Cross seemed as unthinkable as it appeared unnecessary. Certainly He who had saved others could save Himself from such incredible shame and torture! Surely it must never take place! Neither God nor man could suffer it! Their Lord might have incurred the hatred of their religious leaders, but there need be no collision between Him and the Roman authorities, and these alone could impose death by crucifixion.
But now, to their surprise, they discovered that Heaven could speak of nothing else! It was apparently the one subject about which Moses and Elijah cared to speak. Whatever their differences in character and function, they were in absolute agreement on this all-absorbing topic. As soon as the opportunity offered of intercourse with Jesus, they fell to talking on it. It was the absorbing theme that engrossed the innumerable company of angels and the spirits of just men made perfect. The songs of the celestial harpers were set to this key-note, and the angels were bending over the mystery of a world’s redemption, as their Lord drew nearer to paying its price, not with silver and gold, but with precious blood, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot. He had been fore-ordained before the foundation of the world, but was now about to manifest the uttermost of Divine Love, in the last times of the Hebrew dispensation.
Moses would speak of the Passover Lamb, the slaying of which preceded the Exodus by which his people passed to liberty, and would assure our Lord that His death would mean emancipation and victory, when—on the shores of the sea of glass, its placid waters red with the mingled fire of the Eternal Sunrise—the ransomed hosts of the redeemed would sing the song of Moses and the Lamb.
Elijah would remind Him that the spirit of prophecy was the testimony of Jesus, and that it was written in the Prophets and the Psalms that the Christ should suffer and should enter into His Glory. He would specially quote Isa. 53, that He should see of the travail of His soul and be satisfied, and that by His knowledge He should justify untold myriads.
Moses would testify that each victim which had bled on the altars of Israel had no intrinsic virtue to put away sin; and that if He were now to fail, all their suffering would be abortive, and that the redemption which the saints were already enjoying must be revoked.
Elijah would assure Him that on the other side of the Jordan of death, the strong waters of which He would cleave as He passed, the chariot of the Ascension cloud awaited Him. He might have said: “By death Thou wilt abolish death. Thou wilt rob death of its sting and the grave of its victory. Thou wilt bring Life and Immortality to light. The waters of Jordan will be cut off for ever, and all Thy redeemed shall pass over on dry land.”
Clearly, the death of the Cross, which our Lord saw awaiting Him on the sky-line, is the theme of Eternity. At first the holy beings celebrated in ceaseless chant the story of Creation: “Worthy art Thou, our Lord and our God, to receive glory and honour and power, for Thou didst create all things.” But this was latterly exchanged for the yet more jubilant outburst: “Worthy is the Lamb.” He was the Lamb slain before the foundation of the world. The effect of His death was destined to be felt, not only on earth, but in reconciling things in the heavens. Every created thing which was in heaven and on the earth and under the earth, and on the sea, and all things that were in them, were to be affected by it, and probably brought nearer the heart of God. Because He would become obedient to the death of the Cross, every knee would bow to Him, and every tongue confess that He was Lord, to the glory of God the Father. He would obtain the Name that was above every name; would put down all rule, authority, and power; and would win the subjection of all things to Himself, preparatory to handing all to the Father, that He might be All in all! Can we wonder at the intense interest with which the great cloud of witnesses watched the Saviour, as (so to speak) He stepped into the stadium to run the last lap in the great race, to fight the last fight in the stupendous struggle? The battlements of the Holy City were crowded with awestruck crowds, until the Ascension hour called them to follow in the glad procession of the Victor. Without controversy, great is the mystery of Godliness. He was manifest in the flesh, justified in the Spirit, seen of angels, preached among the Gentiles, believed on in the world, received up into glory.
III. The Enfolding Cloud.—Peter had made a suggestion, which was as ill-considered as it was hasty. In his account of this scene, communicated through Mark, he admits that he knew not what he was saying. It was a preposterous suggestion, which at least would make the Crucifixion impossible, that our Lord should disregard the claims of a lost world, and spend His remaining years in a tabernacle on the mountain-side. According to Peter, Moses and Elijah were also to be detained from their blessed residence and ministry in the Upper Sanctuary. To think of these six living in rapturous fellowship on a high mountain-top, instead of coping with such scenes as that which awaited at the mountain-foot! Peter had much to learn and far to travel ere he could write: “Who His own self bare our sins in His own body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins, might live unto righteousness; by whose stripes ye were healed.”
Whilst he was speaking thus he and his fellow Apostles beheld a cloud descending, which enveloped the radiant vision. They feared as they saw their Master and His celestial visitants cut off from them and hidden in the brightness of that mist of glory. “Behold a bright cloud overshadowed them.” It was no ordinary cloud, but was probably the Shekinah-cloud that led the wilderness march, that filled Solomon’s Temple on its dedication, and that formed the Lord’s Ascension Chariot. From its heart the voice of the Eternal God was heard, bearing sublime witness to the Saviour as the Beloved Son, and demanding homage from all. That voice was heard by the three awe-struck Apostles, and surely their solemn attestation to this remarkable testimony is full of re-assurance and confirmation.
What might have been! As the sinless Man, the Second Adam need not have died. Had the first Adam not sinned, he would probably have passed to God, as those will who are alive and remain to the Coming of the Lord. So with Christ, the sinless Man. His mortality might have been swallowed up of life. He need not have been unclothed, but clothed upon. In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, He might have passed with Moses and Elijah, through the open door of Paradise, to become the Patron, though not the Redeemer, of our race. Such a translation might have been possible; but if, at any moment, it was presented to His mind, He thrust it away, as He did when Peter suggested it, with, “Get thee behind me, Satan, thou savourest the things of men.” For the joy that was set before Him—or instead of the joy set before Him—He turned his back on Paradise for Himself, that He might open Paradise for the dying thief and for us. And when the cloud had passed, He was left alone with his Apostles, and took the straight road to Calvary. In the words of Isaiah, He set His face like a flint, and we know that He has not been ashamed!
X. “FOR ME AND THEE”
Matt. 17:24–27
“Away despair! my gracious Lord doth hear.
Though winds and waves assault my keel,
He doth preserve it; He doth steer,
Ev’n when the boat seems most to reel.
Storms are the triumph of His art;
Well may He close His eyes, but not His heart.”
Herbert
The Master was on His way ascending to Jerusalem. Already fifty miles from Hermon had been traversed on this southward journey; and Capernaum, with Peter’s home as the rest-house, offered a convenient halting-place. But evidently its inhabitants were animated by a very different spirit from that of the earlier days of His blessed ministry. The streets were no longer crowded by sick folk waiting for His healing touch; nor was the synagogue open to His ministry. The seeds of jealousy and suspicion which the Pharisees had sown with such lavish eagerness had produced a harvest of tares. The atmosphere was laden with the blight of mistrust. Faces were averted that used to smile.
One symptom of this changed attitude presented itself almost immediately on His arrival. The collectors of the Temple tax, which was a voluntary levy on all Jews, encountered Peter with the challenge, “Doth not your Master pay the half-shekel?” This tax was of very ancient origin, dating from the days of Moses, and supplied the funds required for the maintenance of the Temple services. It was a voluntary tax, and must therefore be distinguished from the Roman taxes, which were obligatory on Jew and Gentile alike. Religious teachers, such as Rabbis, were exempted from the payment of the Temple tax by general consent; and the universal respect which was paid our Lord in the earlier days of His ministry gave Him complete immunity from any question as to His liability to pay it. But now that He had lost caste and was being hunted down by Herod and the rulers, Peter, as His representative, was accosted with a challenge which proved that the cordon of respect and reverence which had formerly surrounded Him was broken down. There may have been a further insinuation that the Lord had veered over to the Sadducee party, who were extremely lax about the whole matter.
Peter said at once that his Master would certainly pay the tribute; but when he reached the home he learnt that Jesus knew all about the demand, for he was anticipated in his story by the question whether it was customary for kings to demand tribute from their sons. Surely the hasty promise that the tribute should be paid was incompatible with the confession of only a few days before—“the Son of the living God.”
This brief conversation made it clear that our Lord had noticed the change in the treatment that He might henceforth expect; but He had no intention of standing on His rights. Since no principle was involved, He would not contest the demand. What course should be adopted must be settled not in the high court of conscience, but the lower one of expediency, and by the effect which His attitude would exert on the most conservative school of His opponents. They would be certain to catch at a refusal as a fresh ground for prejudicing Him and His teaching before the people; and a fresh stumbling-block would be cast in their path. Lest, therefore, the most scrupulous conscience should be offended, He declared that He was willing to meet the demand for them both.
A profound principle is involved here, which calls for our careful heed. When questions arise in life, which do not involve principle and conscience, we should be prepared to make concessions to the conscientious scruples of those whom we may be able to influence for good. In 1 Cor. 9 the Apostle Paul acted on that principle. He insisted that he was free from many things, to which he nevertheless conformed, for the sake of maintaining his influence on some whom he desired to lead afterwards into the liberty of Christ. In Christ he was free of all, but for Christ’s sake he became the servant of all. All things, he said, were lawful to him, but not all things were expedient, because they failed to edify, and might prove a stumbling-block to others. “Give no occasion of stumbling, either to Jews, or to Gentiles, or to the Church of God; even as I pleased all men in all things, not seeking my own profit, but the profit of many, that they may be saved.”
As Christians we dare not make payments which will conflict with conscience, but where conscience is not concerned we must be ready to meet any legitimate demand made by public use and custom. Asserting our freedom, we must not give needless offence; and in this our Lord will never fail to be our partner. He is ever willing to become surety for payments made in His Name and for the sake of His Gospel.
I. Christ pays the Charges for His Penniless Disciples.—At His bidding Peter had left all to follow Him. Boats, nets, and the fish-market were forsaken. If he still kept his boat, it was only to assist his Master in His strenuous life. Months had passed since he was seen among his old fisher companions. No income, therefore, accrued from his craft for the upkeep of his home; and without doubt the Master arranged that a certain amount should be allocated from the common purse for the maintenance of that home and its inmates. Whenever you give yourself absolutely to Christ and His service, not at your whim, but by His direct invitation, you may reckon absolutely on His thoughtful provision; and even if your faith should give out, He will remain faithful, for He cannot deny Himself.
The two women—Peter’s wife and her mother—may have viewed this arrangement from the first with a certain amount of distrust, and during the absence of the whole party thirty miles to the north their faith must have been put to the test, for clearly, on Peter’s arrival home, there was not a single coin left to meet this tax. They had expended their entire store; and Peter must have been startled by the glaring contrast between the glory of the Transfiguration vision, with his proposal for three tabernacles there, and the actual exigencies of his own humble home. We, who get away to our Conventions and Retreats, must never lose sight of the loving and loyal hearts that are left behind “by the stuff.” It is not befitting that we should disport ourselves on the slopes of Hermon, unless we are thoughtful and careful for those whom we have left in the fisherman’s home.
Peter rightly felt that this burden was not for himself to carry alone. By his summons to leave all, his Master had clearly made Himself liable for such demands. There could be no doubt as to the issue, though the precise manner of deliverance was not apparent. It was an immense relief, therefore, to find himself forestalled and anticipated before he could relate his case—Christ knew of it and was prepared with a reply.
Take heart, my friend! Before you call, He will answer, and while you are yet speaking His ready help is nigh. He knows that for His sake you have renounced many things that are legitimate for others. They have not been called to your life of consecration and self-denial. For Christ’s sake you have renounced sources of income about which other Christian persons have no scruples. For the Gospel’s sake you have renounced a love that, however pure in itself, refused to go all lengths for God. For the sake of dying multitudes in the far-off lands you are breaking away from old moorings and launching out into untried scenes. Be of good cheer! Your Master is not unmindful. In some way or other He will make good. Do not hesitate to take your need to Him. He cannot fail! Every one who has left houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or children, or lands for His Name’s sake shall receive a hundred-fold.
With what awe Peter must have taken his disused fishing-line from the nail and gone forth on the lake, wondering where to cast his hook, but sure that through the depths some fish was being guided through “the path of the sea” towards him. According to its wont, the fish had caught at a glittering coin, dropped by a passenger or a child over a boatside. It had carried its unwelcome burden till able to disgorge it into Peter’s wondering hands; and then, thrown back in the water, it had gone on its way, little weening how it had served its Creator’s purpose. If not by such a miracle, yet somehow the Lord will ever meet the need of His devoted servants. None of them that trust in Him shall be desolate. He has but to open His hand, and He can satisfy the desire of them that fear Him. The tax-gatherer is ever at our door with his demand, but Jesus will be equal to every emergency.
II. Our Master links Himself to a Sinful Man.—“That take and give for Me and thee.” It should be noted that the fish yielded not two half-shekels, but one coin—the stater—which was their equivalent. The conjunction and should be noted also, as the golden link between the Saviour and His weak and fallible disciple. This surely is the wonder of Eternity—that He should call us brethren, that He should identify Himself with us before His Father and the holy angels, that He should request that we should be with Him where He is, beholding His glory and included in His eternal Kingdom. Sometimes it seems incredible, but it was determined by the counsels of God before the first seraph broke into song, and it is verified by the experience of all the Christian centuries.
I see Him exhausted but triumphant when the forty days’ temptation are concluded, when the Prince of this world has tried all his lures in vain, and He smiles radiantly, promising that I too shall tread on the lion and adder. He says, “This is for Me and thee.” I see Him in the garden glade, as He drains to the dregs the cup which the Father puts into His hands; His voice falters with the extremity of His grief, but He tells me that He has overcome not for Himself alone, but for me. He says again, “This is for Me and thee.”
I see Him dying yonder on the Cross. The iron has entered His soul. The mid-day mid-night has just passed. He cries like a conqueror, “It is finished,” and as He does so, He catches sight of me bathed in tears of anguish at its foot, and assures me that His obedience unto death was necessary to fulfil the Father’s will; but it is also for my redemption. He says yet a third time, “This is for Me and thee.”
I see Him emerging from the tomb in the dawn of the third day. He has robbed Death of its sting and the Grave of its victory. I hear His glad announcement, “I am He that liveth and was dead, and behold I am alive for evermore”; and as He passes along the garden path He assures me that in Him I also am risen. Again He says, “This is for Me and thee.”
Finally, I stand with the little group on Olivet, when He is parted from them, and a radiant chariot cloud receives Him from our sight; and as His presence fades on my mortal vision, His voice drops from above, saying, “I go to receive a Kingdom; I will ask the Father, and He shall give Me the Holy Spirit in His mighty fulness to reside for ever in My Divine human nature, and I will impart Him to thee also”; and once more He says, “This is for Me and thee.”
Thus He links Himself to a sinful man, and who shall separate what God hath joined together? Neither life nor death, things present or to come, can snap that link.
III. Christ makes Mortals His Almoners.—“Take and give for Me and thee.” He has received gifts for men, and yearns to bestow them; but for this purpose He requires almoners to distribute to the crowd, as of old His Apostles took from His hands the bread and fish, and gave to the five thousand men, together with women and children. He might have addressed these same words to them: “Take and give.”
Is not this the law of Christ’s own life? Having received of the Father the promise of the Paraclete, He shed Him forth with both hands on the waiting Church. It pleased the Father that in Him all the fulness should dwell, and of that fulness have all we received, and grace upon grace. If we may dare put it so, our Lord has received His inheritance from the Father, and has given it all away to us, as co-heirs with Himself. He has taken and given. From the storehouse of eternity He has received the First-born share, in ingots of gold, but has changed them into common coin, that we in turn may take and give. “Being enriched in everything unto all liberality, which worketh thanksgiving to God.”
The flowers are always taking from sunshine, dew, and air what they give forth in colour, fragrance, and beauty. In the carboniferous age the gigantic vegetable growths took out of the unstinting sun-power the forces that coal gives back in our hearths and furnaces. The dumb animals are ever taking from the herbage of the mountains or the grass-lands of the valleys the nutriment, which they impart to us by the sacrifice of life. Great scientists are constantly engaged in studying how to get more help from the mysterious forces which surround us. They cut cunning channels which we call machinery, and which tap the great rivers of energy as they flow through the highways of the Universe, that ordinary folk may talk through the telephone, speak down rays of light, and fill the highways with their motors. The law of all discovery is take and give.
The tragic failure of innumerable multitudes is that they have not learned to take. They pray, and pray fervently, but they have not acquired the art of taking or receiving. Our Lord said, “All things whatsoever ye pray and ask for, believe that you have taken them, you shall have them.” And the Apostle sent to the Roman Christians this emphatic message: “The gift of God by the grace of the one man has abounded to the many … and they that take the abundance of grace shall reign in life.” The Apostle does not bid us pray for the abundance of grace, but calls on us to take it. One of the great problems in the art of prayer is the delimitation of the frontiers between Importunity and Taking.
With many taking is a lost art. They pray, but fail to take. Herein is the source of bitter disappointment. We pray, agonize, and strive, but often fail to see that the cargo has already been delivered on the wharf, and is in the depôt, waiting to be claimed and fetched away. Before we can take we must be sure that we are not prompted by personal ambition, but are acting in the Name (i.e., according to the Nature) of our Lord, and are standing on the distinct warrant of a promise. When these conditions are fulfilled, we hear our Father’s voice, as we stand in His holy presence, saying: “Child, thou art ever with Me, and all that I have is thine; take, and go thy way to give.” We may not feel to have received. Ours is the reckoning of a naked faith on the unfailing faithfulness of God. We go forth to act on the assurance that we have received, that our supplies are ample and inexhaustible, that whatever demands may knock at our door, our Master will adequately meet them all.
We cannot give unless we have learned to take; and we cannot take unless we are prepared to give. If we endeavour to take with no plan or intention of giving, we shall find that our hand falls paralyzed by our side. The faithless servant who received the talent, and buried it for his own use, when needed, forfeited it.
Let us go forth to give. There are aching hearts, marred lives, dumb, outstretched, open hands on all sides. Let us be channels through which God may answer prayers, and almoners, to whom He shall be able to make all grace abound, because He knows that we shall abound to every good work. He will feed the stream from inexhaustible fountains. He will minister seed for sowing, and will provide bread for the sower. His Angels shall minister to us. All our needs will be met according to His riches in glory. Give, and it shall be given to you; good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over, shall Christ give into your bosom, for with what measure ye mete, He will measure to you again. Wherefore “Take and give.”
XI. THE SHEPHERD ON THE WATCH
Matt. 18:1–22; 19:23–30; 21:18–22
“Thou know’st our bitterness—our joys are Thine—
No stranger Thou to all our wanderings wild:
Nor could we bear to think, how every line
Of us, Thy darken’d likeness and defiled,
Stands in full sunshine of Thy piercing eye,
But that Thou call’st us Brethren: sweet repose
Is in that word—the Lord who dwells on high
Knows all, yet loves us better than He knows.”
Keble.
In His High-Priestly prayer, recorded in John 17, our Lord, speaking specially of His Apostles, said: “While I was with them in the world, I kept them in Thy Name: those that Thou gavest me I have kept, and none of them is lost, but the son of perdition.” In this allusion to His keeping we have a glimpse into the cure of souls, in which the Master was and is constantly engaged. He was no hireling. When He saw the stealthy approach of the wolf, so far from fleeing, He went before the little flock (as He called the Apostolic band) and encountered the foe. He knew that the shepherd would be smitten, and the sheep scattered; but He never desisted from warning them day and night with tears. He saw that Satan had desired to sift them as wheat and had obtained his desire, and He had specially prayed for the one whose temperament might belie him into momentary denial, but whose love He never doubted, and whose dementing agony of soul He foresaw.
We must never forget that our Lord dealt with His Apostles, not only in a group, but as individuals; not in the abstract, but the concrete; that He studied their idiosyncrasies, and administered special correction or instruction as each required. His words, therefore, as recorded by the Evangelists, had probably a special reference to encourage or repress some trait of character which He had noticed. Each of that inner circle had strong personal characteristics, which must be studied and trained, before they were prepared for the special work which awaited them, as foundation stones in the New Jerusalem.
It would appear that Judas and Peter gave Him most concern. The one because his nature was so secretive and subtle, the other because his fervid and impulsive temperament was constantly hurrying him into extreme positions, from which he needed to be extricated. At one moment he would say, “Depart from me”; at the next he would leave all to follow. Now he has won the high encomium, “Blessed art thou”; and again he is addressed as Satan. In the same breath, “Thou shalt never wash my feet,” and “not my feet only.” Within a single hour he is ready to fight for the Master, whom he passionately loved, and denies that he had ever known Him. That such an one should ultimately be taught stability of character, enabling him to lead the Church in its conflict with a world-in-arms, presented a serious problem to his Master and Friend. He never doubted the sincerity of his affection, but was sorely tried by its fitful and impulsive exhibitions.
The Case of Judas.—We may not linger over the Lord’s watch and warning in the case of Judas, but many of His sayings must have been suggested by the change which was passing over the once-promising young man from Kerioth. He perceived with bitter sorrow that the love of money was eating out his soul, and in many of His utterances must have had him in mind. “A man’s bitterest foe may arise from his own household.” “No disciple of Mine should provide gold, silver, or brass in his purse for personal use.” “A man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of things that he possesses.” “Dives lifted up his eyes, being in torments.” “The unfaithful servant was cut asunder, and his portion was appointed among the unbelievers.” “Ye cannot serve God and Mammon.” “Comrade, stop and bethink thee, ere it is too late, to what a degree of wickedness and ingratitude thou art come.” These words are applicable to us all, but they had special significance for Judas; and perhaps—speaking after the manner of men—they were elicited by the special significance of his alarming deterioration.
Similarly we may trace a personal reference to Peter’s condition of soul during the latter months of our Lord’s earthly ministry.
The Case of Peter.—There were several particulars in regard to which he needed to be specially cautioned and strengthened:—
(1) In the Struggle for Pre-eminence. Though Peter is not specially mentioned, we are not doing him a manifest injustice to suppose that he took a prominent part in the hot disputes which broke out from time to time, especially after our Lord’s award of the keys, the reference to the significance of his name, and his inclusion with two others in that memorable Transfiguration scene. The probability of this supposition is confirmed by the fact, recorded by Mark, writing at Peter’s own dictation, that when our Lord reached Capernaum, on His return from Mount Hermon, on entering “the house,” which, of course, was Peter’s, He asked them, “What was it that ye disputed among yourselves by the way?” At first they held their peace, for by the way they had disputed among themselves who should be the greatest. Then He sat down, and called them all around Him, and said: “The only way in which a man can become first in My Kingdom is by being last of all and servant of all.” Then He took a child—tradition says that it was one of Peter’s own children, who afterwards became the Bishop and Martyr Ignatius—folded the happy boy in His arms, and said: “Whosoever shall receive one of such children in My Name receiveth Me.”
The struggle for supremacy broke out again, when James and John endeavoured to secure a verdict in their favour by getting their mother to ask for the right-hand and left-hand places in the Kingdom. And on the eve of the Betrayal there was a recurrence of the same strife, which hindered every one of them from volunteering, in the absence of a servant, to wash the feet of the rest, though the ewer and towel, provided by the thoughtful courtesy of the host, were there ready to their hand.
Probably this ambition for the foremost place led Peter to insist that though all the others failed and forsook in the approaching hour of trail, certainly he might be counted on, “Although all shall be offended, yet will not I. Though I should die with Thee, yet will I not deny Thee.” And he meant every word he spoke. We have just used the word ambition; but there were softening, sweetening ingredients in his strenuous affirmations. There were present, at least, a passionate devotion, a resolve that no hurt, which he could ward off, should touch that revered body, and the inner consciousness that it would be easier and far better to die with Christ than live without Him.
But if our Lord’s warnings as to the peril of His Apostle were not availing, then probably nothing could so effectually have burnt out this love of pre-eminence as the denial and failure of the Betrayal night. We find no traces of the old spirit in the subsequent references to our Apostle. He takes, indeed, the foremost place in the incidents related in Acts 1 and 2 without ostentation or affectation; but in the First Council of the Church, described in Acts 15, the presidency is occupied by James, whilst Peter contributes his opinion, as one amongst the rest. Finally, in his First Epistle he exhorts the elders on the ground, not of his Apostolate, but of being himself an elder and an eyewitness of the sufferings of Christ; and, surely, it is not in entire forgetfulness of his own failure that he adds: Feed the flock of God, “not as being lords over God’s heritage, but as examples to the flock.”
(2) In Respect to Forgiveness. On one occasion, when the Lord had been giving instruction on the duty of forgiveness, Peter broke in with the inquiry, “Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him?” and further suggested that seven times was the limit, which he could not be expected to exceed. Our Lord swept away the suggestion as unthinkable. It was an old Jewish notion, which must be utterly submerged in the love that He would shed abroad on the world. Calvary and Pentecost would open sluice-gates of unlimited mercy. “Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times, but until seventy times seven.” Then, in the parable of the unforgiving servant, which followed, sin against a fellow-man was contrasted with the enormity of sin against God; and the Divine compassion, which releases and forgives debts of ten thousand talents, was described in glowing words, though the Divine Speaker said nothing of the cost in ransom blood which He would soon be paying in flowing streams from His own heart.
Our Lord knew, though Peter had no inkling of it, that an hour was near when His Apostle would find himself guilty of a ten-thousand-talent sin, compared with which the vilest affront ever received from a fellow-mortal would appear to be but as an hundred pence; and at such time he would cling to the hope suggested by this parable, as a drowning man to the rope thrown out for his rescue.
May we not imagine Peter hurrying through the streets, on which the grey dawn was breaking sadly, and making for the garden, where only three or four hours before he had slept whilst his Master was in agony. How could he have said those terrible words? That he had failed where he had vowed to be strong, and had added oaths and cursings which had not soiled his lips for many years! That the Master had heard all! And that look! What could he say, or whither go? Should he take his life? Remorse was choking his breath. Then there stole over his heart the words: “I say not unto thee, Until seven times, but until seventy times seven.” Did my Lord expect me to do so much, and will He not do the same? And did He not say that the lord of the servant was moved with compassion, released the poor debtor at his feet, and forgave a debt of ten thousand talents? Surely He must have meant me! And long after he wrote: “Love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous, not rendering evil for evil, but contrariwise blessing.… He bare our sins in His own body on the tree.… Love covereth the multitude of sins.”
(3) In the Matter of Reward. When the young man, unable to pay the price of discipleship, had turned sorrowfully away, Peter broke in on the Saviour’s disappointment with the question: “Lo! we have left all and followed Thee, what shall we have therefore?” Clearly the hope of reward was bulking largely on his vision. There would surely be a conspicuously handsome return for the sacrifices and privations that discipleship had involved, to say nothing of those to which the Master frequently alluded as imminent. But bargain-making after this fashion was clearly inadmissible in the Kingdom of Heaven, and therefore the Parable of the Labourers in the Vineyard was uttered to teach, in unforgetable imagery, that in the service of God a spirit of trust in His grace must exorcise and supersede a spirit of bargaining and barter.
The labourers had waited in the market-place from early dawn. It was through no fault of theirs that they were not on the hillside among the vines. “No man had hired them.” It was not until almost sundown that they had their chance. But when, after one brief hour of service, they came to be paid, they received a whole day’s pay for that brief spell. Their reward was reckoned not as of debt, but of grace. It was in happy mood that these short-time men made for their homes. Their women-folk had watched them standing in the market-place all through the day, and had made up their minds to pinch and scrape; but here was a day’s wage placed in their hands. Yes! What the owner of the vineyard had been heard saying to one of the grumblers, “Is thine eye evil, because I am good,” was perfectly true—he was good.
It was as if our Lord had said, in answer to Peter’s question: “It is true that thou camest early into the vineyard. Thou wert among the first. Also, thou hast borne the burden and heat of the day, and more also is to fall to thy lot; but when thou hast completed the task, thou wilt only have done thy duty, and thy reward will be according to the riches of God’s grace.”
This also in coming days may have afforded the broken-hearted Apostle some comfort, as he said to himself: “It is true that I was among the first to obey the Master’s summons, but I have forfeited all right to reward, even if once I cherished some hope of merit: I am not worthy to be called an Apostle; I take my place with the woman who was a sinner, and with Zaccheus the publican; but the Master said that the reward was not determined by service, but by grace. It is not of him that willeth or worketh, but of God that shows mercy. God be merciful to me the sinner, and in me first may the Master show forth all longsuffering.”
(4) In Regard to Faith. As they passed by one morning they saw a withered fig-tree which had been cursed with barrenness on the previous day, as a warning to the Apostles and to Israel. And Peter, calling to remembrance, saith unto Jesus, “Rabbi, behold, the fig-tree which Thou cursedst is withered away.” And Jesus, answering, saith unto them, “Have faith in God.” A better rendering of that remarkable injunction would be, Hold on to God’s Faith; or, Reckon on God’s Faithfulness.
We lay stress, and rightly so, on Faith; but there are days in human life when our faith seems about to expire, like a tiny taper in a storm of wind. We cry, “Lord, I believe, help Thou my unbelief, for my unbelief is more than my belief.” Our faith is as a grain of mustard seed, the least of all seeds, whilst our difficulties block our path like a mountain-range. Even the Saviour Himself feels bound to interpose a prayer lest our faith fail utterly. Then it is a source of infinite consolation to turn our thoughts away from our faith to God’s Faithfulness, to hold on to it, to reckon on it, and to cry: “If we believe not, He abideth faithful; He cannot deny Himself.”
In that storm-burst which broke on Peter’s soul on that fateful night, with what comfort must he have stayed himself on these precious words: “Hold on to God’s Faith; Reckon on God’s Faithfulness; Dare to believe that He abideth Faithful and is not Unrighteous to forget.” His own faith had failed, but God’s Faithfulness was like the great mountains.
XII. THE EVENING OF THE DENIAL
Matt. 26:17–20; Mark 14:12–17; Luke 22:7–16; John 13:1–20
“Nor lack I friends long-tried and near and dear,
Whose love is round me like this atmosphere,
Warm, soft, and golden. For such gifts to me
What shall I render, O my God, to Thee.”
Whittier.
The mount of Olives, during the Passover, was covered by a large number of families, gathered from all parts of the country, and from many lands. Unable to find accommodation in the overcrowded city, they provided for themselves slight booths or tents, their cattle tethered alongside, the maidens thronging to the wells with their pitchers, whilst the children played under the shadow of the ancient olive-trees or visited the Holy City with their parents in an ecstasy of enjoyment.
It would be pleasant to think that our Lord was the guest of the dear home at Bethany, where Lazarus and his sisters loved to welcome Him; but it is more than likely that, after the Supper in the house of Simon on the evening of his arrival, He deliberately held aloof, lest His friends might become entangled in the web, which was being woven about Himself. Already the chief priests were consulting to put Lazarus to death, because by reason of him many of the Jews believed on Jesus. We have often thought, also, that if He had been her guest, Martha, the careful housewife, would never have allowed Him to leave her house in the early morning without the breakfast which, in default of her, He looked for beneath the thick foliage of a wayside tree. “The foxes have holes, the birds of the air nests, but the Son of man had not where to lay His head.”
In the meanwhile the Passover was drawing nigh, and with it the treachery of Judas, the denial by Peter, and desertion on the part of them all. It is, however, with Peter’s share in the happenings of the last evening of Christ’s earthly life that we are now dealing. Jesus knew that the hour had come when He should depart out of this world to the Father. He knew also that. He had come from God and went to God; and that the Father had given all things into His hand. With this knowledge was blended an over-brimming love. “Having loved His own which were in the world, He loved them to the end”—not only of time, but of the high-water mark of love. So we have heard the murmur of the summer-ocean, too deep for sound or foam, when it has reached to the submerging and floating of the dark lines of seaweed which lay beyond the reach of ordinary tides.
It is practically certain, therefore, that He was more concerned for “His own,” and especially for Peter, than for Himself. Hence the following precautions:—
I. He provided him with a Friend.—The priceless worth of friendship was a matter of daily experience with the Lord. He made no secret of the tender intimacy which knit His soul with that of the disciple whom He loved, and who, more than any other, has interpreted to the world the secret workings of His heart. He realized, therefore, how much a Friend of the right kind would mean for Peter in his abandonment to the black current of a remorse which threatened despair.
Jesus could trust John utterly. The ultimate proof of His confidence was given when, from the Cross, He committed His mother to the filial care of His beloved friend. Thus He knew what John would be to Peter in the hour of black darkness, and therefore threw them together in His last sacred commission. We are expressly told that He sent Peter and John, saying, “Go and prepare us the Passover, that we may eat.” Thus He set His seal on their old-time friendship.
They had been boys together, sitting side by side in the Rabbi’s school, wandering in search of boyish adventure over the hills, or sharing the pleasures and perils of the fishing-fleet. Together they had grown to manhood, familiar with the hardships of the Roman occupation, with the stories passing from lip to lip of recent efforts at revolt, and with the hopes and expectations of those who were looking for the Redemption of Israel. Together they had left their homes and nets, first to give enthralled attention to the Baptist, and then to follow Jesus. Probably from the first they had been attracted to each other by an instinctive consciousness that each supplied what the other lacked. It is more than probable that each chose the other as companion when the twelve were sent out two by two.
With James, the brother of John, they had shared as partners in the miraculous draught of fishes; had stood side by side when the little daughter of Jairus awoke beneath the touch and summons of Jesus from her death-sleep. They had shared in the wonder of the Holy Mount, and had listened, on the previous night, to the Apocalyptic unveiling of the signs of the Advent and the close of the Age.
Our Lord had often noticed and rejoiced in this congenial comradeship. He knew how much it would mean for them both and for His cause when His outward presence was withdrawn. He therefore took special pains to cement and hallow it by this expression of confidence.
The result justified His fond anticipations. It was to John that Peter naturally turned, when the storm was expending its full fury on his soul. Mary of Magdala found them together on Easter morning. Together they ran to the sepulchre. Much as John loved his friend, he could not help out-running him, because of another love which had a prior claim, but he made compensation shortly afterwards by refusing to take advantage of the keener sight of his younger eyes that had discerned the Lord standing on the shore in the morning haze. In a whisper of reverent love he passed on the news to his friend, and was only glad to know, as he saw him plunge into the water and strike swiftly to the shore, that he had secured for him a moment of private fellowship and a further assurance of forgiveness from those gentle lips.
They were much together in the coming days. They went together to the Temple at the hour of prayer. Peter spoke for them both when he said to the lame man, “Look on us.” They stood side by side when arrested by the Sanhedrin, and spent a memorable night together in the prison. Together they returned to their own company, and like the diverse metals of a compensating balance, they directed the policy of the infant Church. Events separated them in after years—John to Ephesus and Peter to Babylon, but that the old love remained is evident, if the slight and tender reference which John makes to the lapse of his friend is contrasted with the explicit and circumstantial account which Peter gives in the Second Gospel.
It is not good that man should be alone, especially in hours when he remembers his sins, and is distracted with the inner warfare. The Lord anticipates such need, and before it arises provides a Jonathan for David, a John for Peter, a Timothy for Paul, a Melanchthon for Luther, a Burns for Hudson Taylor, and a Faithful or Hopeful for Christian.
II. He assured him of a Complete Cleansing.—“Clean every whit.” Not improbably Judas had planned to capture the whole party at the Paschal Feast, his plan was, however, anticipated and defeated by Christ’s arrangement—probably made beforehand with some secret disciple—that the meeting-place should only be known to the Apostles when they reached the city. The traitor was therefore compelled to postpone the final scene till nightfall, being certain that the Master would spend that night, as previously, in the garden. “Judas, also, who betrayed Him, knew the place, for Jesus ofttimes resorted thither with His disciples.” But in the meanwhile there was security for one brief hour of holy fellowship and farewell, the more especially when the traitor had withdrawn.
With desire He had desired to eat that Supper with the chosen band before He suffered. It would be for His own comfort and strength, and for theirs. He therefore committed the necessary preparations to His two devoted friends, sure that no detail would be omitted which their love or forethought could anticipate. Deeply impressed with the increasing gravity of the position, they secured the lamb, brought it early to the priest for killing, purchased the bitter herbs, Passover cakes, and skin of wine, and hastened back to prepare the humble repast. It was all that their means permitted, for Judas held the bag, and appropriated a large proportion of its contents.
The city was too preoccupied and crowded to notice the famous Teacher and His companions as they passed through the Kedron-gate and made for the appointed meeting-place. The sky was already darkening, and the earlier stars were beginning to appear. Apparently the embers of jealous rivalry were still smouldering, and burst into a flame as soon as the large upper room, where Peter and John had been at work all the afternoon, was reached. The walk had been hot and dusty, and all would have been thankful for the customary ablutions, common to every Jewish home. In this case, however, they were wanting. Ewer, basin, and towel were provided, but no servant could be spared from the household at that busy season. Would no Apostle perform this office for the rest, and specially for the Lord? Apparently none volunteered. To undertake menial duty would, in their judgment, be equivalent to signing a deed of abdication from the throne of power, which each was claiming. There was also the question of precedence at the table to be considered. Even if the couch on the Lord’s right hand were conceded to John, who should be on His left? Ought not Peter, to whom all were indebted for his efforts to prepare the feast? But Judas insisted, as treasurer, on his superior claims. The atmosphere was charged with feverish passion, and the peaceful enjoyment of the feast, on which Jesus had set such store, was seriously threatened. To arrest further discussion the Lord arose from the supper table, laid aside His outer garments, girded Himself with the towel, as any household servant might have done, poured water into the basin, and began to wash His disciples’ feet, wiping them carefully with the towel.
A sudden silence must have befallen, as He passed from one to another in this lowly ministry, until He came to Peter, who had been watching the process with shame and indignation. “Dost Thou wash my feet?” he exclaimed; “my feet shall never be washed by Thee.” How little he realized that a still more drastic cleansing must soon be administered by those gentle hands, or he could have no part with Jesus in the world-mission of Redemption! “If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with Me!” Evidently Peter caught his Master’s meaning. The outward was symbolic of the inward, the physical of the spiritual; and he replied: “Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head.”
It was as though he requested that his soul-life might there and then receive a fresh beginning, and that his entire being might be replunged into the fountain opened for sin and uncleanness. “Make sure work this time, my Lord, let me begin again, as I began at the first, with Thee in my boat!”
“No,” said Jesus in effect, “that is not necessary. He who has recently bathed does not require entire immersion, if hands or feet are befouled. It is sufficient for the soiled member to be cleansed, and the body is every whit clean. When My disciples fall into sin, there is no necessity for them to commence their religious life afresh. It is enough if the particular sin, of which they are aware, is confessed and put away. Whenever that confession is made and that cleansing sought, I will show Myself faithful and just to forgive the sin and cleanse from all unrighteousness.”
There was therefore a double significance in our Lord’s lowly act of feet-washing. He taught the royalty of service, and also that sin does not sever the regenerate soul from God. If we are overtaken with a fault, it is not required that we go back again to the wicket-gate, but that we should be restored and led back to the narrow path. The disciple is still a disciple; the child still a child. There must be confession, and there will be instant restoration. “Restore such an one in the spirit of meekness, considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted.”
Peter must have been greatly comforted by this incident, when he lay under the shadow of his great sin. He was not a castaway. He had not forfeited his part in the Book of Life or in the Holy City. There was no need for him to begin from the beginning. The Lord would wash his soiled feet, and he would be clean every whit. God’s work in his soul had received a set-back, but it had not ceased. He need not enter a second time by the door of the New Birth; but he must turn again, and from his failure learn to strengthen his brethren. There was a world of difference between the apostasy of Judas and the backsliding of Peter!
What a wealth of comfort has been ministered by this lowly act of the Saviour to those whose feet have become soiled by the dust of earth’s highways! He knew that He had come from God, was going to God, and was God; but to wash the feet of these simple men did not seem incongruous with the throne to which He went. And now that He, as the Lamb slain, is on the throne, He will turn aside from the adoration of eternity, and “stay His ear for every sigh a contrite suppliant brings.”