BIBLE THOUGHTS & THEMES
by Horatius Bonar (1808—1889)
The gospel of MATTHEW
Jesus the Seed of the Woman
"Mary, of whom was born Jesus, who is called Christ."
Matthew 1:16
"Mary was the mother of Jesus, who is called the
Messiah." Matthew 1:16
This is the great event or fact in earth's history; out
of which are unfolded the eternal issues of this globe and its inhabitants.
This is the little fountain out of which the greatest of rivers flows.
Reading this verse in connection with the whole chapter,
we mark such truths as the following:
1. Jesus is the Christ. In Jesus of Nazareth, the Son
of the carpenter, himself a carpenter (Mark 6:3), we see the Christ of God.
His name is Jesus, Jehovah the Savior (or Joshua), because He saves
his people from their sins; and also Christ or Messiah, because He is the
anointed One, filled with the Spirit, without measure. The expression,
"called Christ," like the words, "you say," means that He is what He is
called: "the Christ of God," the Messiah promised to the Fathers.
2. He has a human ancestry. Here we have "the book of
the generation of Jesus Christ." His whole ancestry is as thoroughly human
as ours can be. Every link of the chain is human; not angelic, not
miraculous. It is a long chain, sometimes almost broken or worn through; but
thus all the more thoroughly human. He is the seed of the woman; the man
Christ Jesus. He is very man, out of the loins of Abraham, and of the
substance of the Virgin; son of Mary and son of Adam.
3. He has a Jewish ancestry. He is of the seed of
Abraham. Salvation was to be of the Jews, and He is a Jew; it was in the
seed of Abraham that all nations were to be blessed, and He is a son of
Abraham. He took not the nature of angels, but He took the seed of Abraham.
Such was God's purpose, and such was the fulfillment of it in Jesus the
Christ. The Savior of the world was to be a Jew, The King of kings now
sitting on the throne of heaven is a Jew.
4. He has a Gentile ancestry. That is to say, there
are Gentiles among his forefathers, such as Rahab the Canaanite, and Ruth
the Moabite, and Bathsheba the Hittite. Though, strictly speaking, his
ancestry was Jewish, yet Gentiles mingled with it, to show that all nations
were interested in Him, and in his work. Far off and near are connected with
this Jesus, who is called Christ. Salvation begins at Jerusalem, but does
not end there. "God so loved the world that He gave his Son." In
Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek, barbarian, Scythian, bond nor free,
but Christ is all and in all.
5. He has a royal ancestry. He is son of David and
Solomon, the last of a long line of kings. He is the root and offspring of
David; the rod from the stem of Jesse, the branch from his roots. All that
is regal in a human pedigree is here. In one sense this is but a small
thing; yet it was befitting Him who is King of kings to be thus honored, and
to have his divine prerogatives symbolized by his human.
6. He has a lowly ancestry. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob
are not great or mighty men; they are but shepherds, dwelling in tents. So
was David a shepherd boy, taken from among the flocks. So was Joseph, and so
was Mary—poor in this world; a carpenter and his wife. There is a singular
mixture of the high and low, of the rich and poor. For He is the Savior of
rich and poor. His gospel is equally for both.
7. He has a holy ancestry. The line through which He
comes is the Church, the election of God, the believing men of Israel. In
his pedigree, we have Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Boaz, Jesse, David, Solomon,
Asa, Hezekiah, Josiah. Thus God has honored Him; thus He has honored these
holy men; thus He has put honor upon holiness. He is the Holy One; and He
comes of holy men and women.
8. He has an imperfect ancestry. In two ways is this
the case. (1.) Even these holy men from whom he sprang were very imperfect,
as we see in the sins of David and Solomon; (2.) Among his ancestors are
many open sinners and idolaters, kings of Judah such as Rehoboam, Ahaz, and
Jehoiakin, &c., of whom it is said that they did evil in the sight of the
Lord. Yes; his genealogy is a very mixed one; but all the more on that
account indicative of that which He had come to do, and of those whom He had
come to save—the ungodly, the chief of sinners, the lost, the unrighteous.
9. He has a mortal ancestry. These all died. Their
connection with him did not make them immortal. Whether shepherds, or
patriarchs, or kings, or carpenters, they were mortal. For out of the mortal
was to come the immortal; life out of death; the everlasting One out of
those whose life is a vapor; the resurrection and the life out of those who
were dust and who returned to dust. Thus He is linked with our sin, though
He is sinless; with our curse, though He is the blessed One.
10. He has an immortal ancestry. This is only alluded
to here (in his names Jesus and Christ), not expressly stated. But as
Matthew brings out the human and the mortal, so does John the immortal and
the divine. He is the only begotten of the Father, the eternally begotten.
Thus the "pedigree of the Lord of the hill," as Bunyan calls it, is eternal.
It was "the Word" who was made flesh.
Thus is Jesus in all respects fitted for his mighty work
of redeeming. He is very man and very God. He is the seed of the woman, the
seed of Abraham, the seed of David, the son of Mary, yet God over all,
blessed forever. Thus He can bear our sins; He can sympathize with our
sorrows; He can fight our battles; He can love as a man, a fellow man, bone
of our bone, and flesh of our flesh.
Jesus the Troubler of Jerusalem
"When Herod the king had heard these things, he was
troubled, and all Jerusalem with him."—Matthew 2:3.
So quietly had the Son of God stolen into our world, that
his arrival was unknown in Jerusalem until these wise men came from the
East. Either the Shepherds had not told their tale of the heavenly vision,
or they had been unheeded, perhaps ridiculed as fanatics. As the morning
star rises without noise; as the seed shoots up and the flower opens in
silence; so was it with the Christ, the rose of Sharon, the bright and
morning star. No thunder woke up the hills of Palestine; no trumpet-peal
went through its cities; no herald went before him, nor royal salute greeted
him.
His mother, and the few of her circle who believed in
"the child that was born," made no proclamation of the heavenly wonder; they
received all in silent happy faith, and pondered the things in their heart,
leaving it to God to bring them forth in his own time and way. They did not
get excited; it was too great a thing to excite, and they were too calm and
child-like in their faith to be fluttered, or agitated, or elated. They
allowed these great things that had happened in their family circle to take
their course, assured of their truth and magnitude, and therefore confident
that they would before long grow until they could not be hidden, but must
inevitably make themselves known. Such is the confidence which faith has in
the great things of God! A man who has got hold of something which is great
and true, need not be afraid but that it will spread. Let him hold it fast.
These wise men come with a tale, and a vision, and a
miracle. They are not of Israel, though more ready of faith than Israel.
They are not from Nazareth, or Bethlehem, or any part of Palestine. Their
testimony is independent of Israel's; it is a Gentile testimony; from the
land of Israel's enemies. They are recognized as "wise men,"—magi, Chaldeans,
perhaps; or men from the land of Balaam or Job. Men of the East, the seat of
all human science; the wise and far-seeing East; the thoughtful and
star-gazing East. They come, not with an uncertainty, or an opinion, or a
fable, or a vision of the night, but with actual and personal eyesight—"We
have seen"! Yes, it is with "we have seen" that they come—a word like that
of John's, "We beheld his glory,"—"That which our eyes have seen." They come
to Jerusalem! They come seeking Jerusalem's King; as if Jerusalem were to
them the center of hope; as if there were nothing in their own land like
what they expected to find in Jerusalem; no king worthy of the name, or to
whom they could pay homage, but the King of Jerusalem! This is Gentile
faith, fixing its eye upon the star of Jacob.
But Jerusalem has not heard of Him, and is amazed; no,
her king does not know where He is to be born until he has consulted the
scribes. The visit and errand of these Eastern Gentiles take Israel by
surprise. Nor are they roused to take any interest in the matter, save, as
we shall see, that of being troubled. He was in the world, yet the world
knew Him not; would not recognize Him when pointed out! He came unto his
own, and his own received him not!
This is strange. Had the like happened elsewhere—in
Babylon, or Rome, or Egypt—it would not have surprised us. Or had these been
"troubled," it would have been natural enough. But it is Jerusalem! She is
troubled! No, it is "all Jerusalem." Troubled at the news of her King's
arrival! Not excited, or agitated, but "troubled." Had it been said,
"rejoiced," we could have understood it, but "troubled,"—how strange!
Let us inquire into Jerusalem's trouble and its causes.
The simple visible cause was the statement of the wise men that one had been
born King of the Jews. And how this could trouble Jerusalem is not easy to
see. For—
1. It contained nothing alarming. It was but of a
babe that the wise men spoke; only the birth of a babe—no more. They did not
come to tell that some Eastern King had espoused the cause of this babe, and
was on his way, with an army, to secure a throne for him. Their question
simply pertained to a babe whom they desired to worship. It was a religious
act entirely that they had come to perform. The name they gave the babe,
"King of the Jews," might trouble Herod; but surely there was nothing to
alarm Jerusalem. Herod was a tyrant—a foreign tyrant, moreover—only
indirectly a Jew; he might be troubled; but it ought not to have awakened
fear in any Jew, especially in any citizen of the royal city.
2. It was good news. A king born to Jerusalem; this
was a good report, even had it afterwards turned out untrue. The people
might have said, it is too good news to be true; but the very mention of it
ought to have called forth gladness, not trouble.
3. It was just what they were expecting. Messiah,
King of Israel, Redeemer of the nation, son of David, heir of David's
throne, He was the great national hope; a hope that had been cherished age
after age, and had not died out; no, was now more cherished than ever
because of present oppression, and because the time foretold was fast
running out. Now wise men came from the far East telling them they had seen
the star of their new-born King; now the Gentile came to say that he had
heard of the glorious birth. Should they be troubled? Should they not
rejoice? Should they not say like Jacob, "I have waited for your salvation,"
or like Simeon, "Now let your servant depart in peace, for my eyes have seen
your salvation." But the announcement that their hope is realized, their
great national expectation fulfilled, occasions only trouble!
How is this? Why are they troubled? Some might be
troubled because the tidings had come upon them in this strange and unlooked
for way; others might be so because they did not know what such tidings
foreboded. But the chief trouble, and that of the greatest number, would
arise from the consciousness of their not being prepared. The tidings would
go through Jerusalem—poor and rich, Priest, Levite, citizen, Scribe and
Pharisee—the Messiah has come; and then this would awaken within the
immediate question, am I ready for his coming? For every Jew had, more or
less, an idea of Messiah, according to the prophets; so that carnal as many
of their notions were, they yet knew He was coming on an errand against
evil—on a righteous mission—and they could not help asking, in such a case,
am I ready for Him? They knew He was to be great, glorious, just—could they
then meet Him face to face?
Ah, yes, they are troubled, because they are not ready!
The news went to their consciences. They might desire his advent on some
accounts, but the thoughts of it troubled them because of others. He was to
be the messenger of a holy God. He was to be himself a holy one. He was
coming to do holy things and speak holy words. This could not but alarm
them. Hateful as was the Roman yoke and Herod's tyranny, these were better
to them than the scepter of a holy king.
The news of his coming searched them. It awoke within
them thoughts and fears that had lain dormant. They expected Messiah, they
wished him to come; but there were so many things connected with his
character and reign that made his presence undesirable, that they could not
hear of his arrival and not be troubled.
A man's conscience is sometimes more enlightened and
better instructed than his mind; and when an appeal is made to it by some
solemnizing piece of news, it immediately responds. Some sudden stroke of
God's hand upon a man, or his family, or his nation, hits his conscience
with special force; and conscience asserts her supremacy. As when the
Sareptan widow's son was taken from her, immediately her conscience
responded with, "O man of God are you come to call my sin to remembrance,
and to slay my son?" A holy man of God enters a worldly man's house, or the
house of an inconsistent Christian, and immediately the man is uneasy. His
conscience is disturbed. He is troubled as was Jerusalem when the tidings
came, He is come!
Yes; Christ came not to send peace, but a sword; and it
was the flash of this sword that troubled Jerusalem. There is something in
Christ that troubles—alarms. We know that it shall be so when He comes the
second time. They shall look on him and mourn; all kindreds of the earth
shall wail because of Him. But his first advent has something about it to
trouble, too. It is not all peace. Even apart from the glory, and terror,
and judgment of his second, there is something in the announcement of his
first that startles the man and rouses the conscience. The very grace that
is in it is of an awfully solemnizing kind; and no man can hear of that
grace without feeling that there is something in it from which he must of
necessity shrink, unless he is prepared to surrender himself unreservedly
and believingly to Him whose grace it is.
He comes as an infant, yet He comes as a King. He comes,
offering rest, and forgiveness, and life; yet He, at the same time, makes a
claim upon us which none will accept save he whose heart has been touched by
the Holy Spirit. He speaks to us in grace, he looks at us in grace; yet in
doing so He presents us with a cross which we must bear, with a yoke which
we must take on. He announces himself as Jesus the Savior, yet, in doing so,
He lets us know that He is as a Savior from sin, a deliverer from this
present evil world. Therefore it is that He is not always welcomed; no, so
often rejected. Therefore it is that his presence in love and lowliness
troubles the sons of men. They are disarmed—perhaps attracted, by that love
and lowliness; but the demands which these make upon their whole being and
life, their allegiance, their obedience, their affection, are such as they
will not submit to. So they are troubled, and bid Him depart out of their
coasts.
The wise men were not "troubled." They were eager and
earnest in pursuit of Israel's King. They saw his star in the East, and they
made haste to seek Him out. They saw nothing to alarm them, for they were
prepared at once to own Him for what He was revealed to be no, to worship
Him. And being thus minded, what had they to fear? "Fear not; I know that
you seek Jesus." Being prepared to take Him, at any cost, they had nothing
to shrink from. For it is only they who are not disposed to admit his entire
claims that can be troubled at the announcement of his advent—either his
first or his second. Take Him for what He is; take Him for what He contains
and offers; take Him for what the Father testifies of Him—take Him entire,
and you have nothing to fear.
It seems strange to say, and yet it is true, that Christ
comes to trouble us—"Be troubled you careless ones." Woe to those who have
never been troubled by Him; into whose hearts or consciences He has never
looked with his solemn eye, as in that day when He troubled Jerusalem.
Elijah of old was counted the troubler of Israel, so is Christ the troubler
of the world.
He will not let men alone. He is ever and anon announcing
himself, coming into the midst of them, now here and now there, and
troubling them. He came to Corinth, and it was troubled. He came to
Thessalonica, to Philippi, to Derbe, to Lystra, and they were "troubled." He
did not come with fire, or sword, or sweeping judgment, yet they were
"troubled." Wherever He comes, He troubles. He came to Germany in the 16th
century, to Switzerland, to Scotland, to England, and they were troubled. He
comes to a town, a city, a village, or a family, and they are "troubled." He
comes to a soul lying asleep or dead, and it is "troubled."
What is at the bottom of all the persecutions of various
ages? It is Christ troubling the world. If He would let it alone, it would
let Him alone. What means the outcry, and alarm, and misrepresentation, and
anger, in days of revival? It is Christ troubling the world. What means the
resistance to a fully preached gospel? It is Christ troubling the world. A
fettered gospel, a circuitous gospel, a conditional gospel—a gospel that
does not truly represent Christ—troubles no man; for in such cases it is
another Christ that is announced, and not the Christ, the King of the Jews,
that troubled Jerusalem. But a large, free, happy, unconditional gospel,
that fully represents Jesus and his grace, Jesus and his completeness, does
trouble men. It troubles all to whom it comes, in some measure. Some it
troubles and then converts; some it only troubles. But its announcement
does, more or less, for all who hear it, what it did for Jerusalem in the
days of Herod—it troubles.
The world's only hope is to be "troubled" by Christ. If
He lets it alone, all is over. Christ's errand just now is to trouble men—to
awaken them—to call them to repentance. And the more fully He is preached,
the more are men troubled. Has a preached Christ ever troubled you? Has the
thought of his coming near you troubled you more? And have you found that
the only quieter of such alarms is receiving Him as King and Savior?
But Christ troubles the churches. As He did to Jerusalem,
so does He often to his churches. He troubled Ephesus with, "You have left
your first love." He troubled Sardis with, "You have a name that you live,
and are dead." He troubled Laodicea with, "You are neither cold nor hot." So
does He oftentimes trouble his backsliding churches. He speaks, He comes, He
acts; and they are alarmed. They feel they are not ready to meet Him. They
are troubled.
Yet all this troubling is in love. He sounds his trumpet
to awake the sleepers. He comes to us in grace as he came to Jerusalem. Why
should we be troubled? We need not, if we be willing to receive Him and to
worship Him. He does not wish to terrify or to repel. His desire is to
attract: to get entrance for Himself into our hearts. Of course, if the
world is there, and you are unwilling to part with it, his coming will
trouble you, his knock will alarm you. If your idols refuse to be displaced,
if another king reigns within and is resolved to keep his throne, the coming
of Messiah must be the cause of unmingled trouble. It cannot be otherwise;
for He demands your whole person complete and without reserve. But if,
through grace, you are weary of your present occupants, and would sincerely
be dispossessed of the world and Satan, then here is the Christ, the Son of
God—He needs to come into your city, your house, your heart. Give Him free
welcome and glad entrance. Let Him come in and sup with you. Let his grace
constrain you to willing obedience. He is your Lord, worship Him.
The Christ has come! The angels announced Him, the
shepherds sought Him, the wise men worshiped Him. Unto us a child is born! O
glad tidings of great joy! Tidings not meant to terrify or overwhelm, but to
gladden and to comfort.
And we can add to this, the Christ has died! No,
He has risen! Ah! this is not sorrow, this is joy. It is the silver trumpet
sounding out love—the love of God; not the iron trumpet, breathing vengeance
in its blast. O men of earth, sons of Adam, hear the proclamation. Seek his
face and live. Deal with Him in simple trust; He waits to deal with you in
free and boundless love.
The Desert Voice
"And now also the axe is laid unto the root of the trees:
therefore every tree which brings not forth good fruit is hewn down, and
cast into the fire."—Matthew 3:10.
This is the voice of one crying in the wilderness; the
voice of a second Elijah; the man of the desert; the burning and shining
light; the forerunner of Messiah; the prophet of warning. He spoke to
Israel; he speaks to us.
It is the voice of warning; a trumpet voice; prelude to
the last trumpet; herald of coming wrath and woe. It spoke first to Israel;
it speaks to the church; it speaks to Christendom; it speaks to the world;
it speaks to each of us.
I. The axe. This is judgment; destruction. The axe is
not for planting, or pruning, or dressing, or propping, or protecting, but
for cutting down. It is spoken of as used for trees (Deuteronomy 20:19); for
the carved work of the temple (Psalm 64:6); for towers (Ezekiel 26:9); for a
whole forest (Jeremiah 66:22, 23); for a battle-axe (Jeremiah 51.20). In all
cases for overthrow, utter overthrow. The axe against Israel was the Roman
host, and many such axes has God wielded, age after age. Every judgment is
an axe; pestilence is God's axe; famine God's axe; adversity God's axe. At
Christ's second coming will be the uplifting of the axe against antichrist,
against Christendom, against every false church. There is a great difference
between the axe and the pruning knife. Yet some of God's judgments are both
in one. An axe to the ungodly; a pruning knife to the saint. It is God's
axe, not man's; its edge is sharp; it is heavy; it will do its work well.
II. The forest. He is speaking, not of a tree, but
trees; a forest. He is likening Israel to a forest. It may be an olive-wood
or a palm-wood, the oaks of Bashan or the cedars of Lebanon. Israel is the
forest, God's forest, planted by God, on God's own hills and valleys. So
also is the church; and each member is a tree in that forest. On that forest
God has his eye; from its trees God comes seeking fruit. From the forest of
Lebanon trees were once cut down for the temple; but this is for
destruction, not for building nor ornament.
III. The warning. The axe lies at the root of these
trees. He who placed it there placed it for a warning. He saw his trees not
prospering, not growing, not bearing fruit, and He resolved to proceed
against them. He cannot tolerate fruitlessness, for which there is no
excuse. But He is patient; so He contents himself simply with laying down
the axe, leaving it to speak its own lesson, to tell its own tale, a tale of
coming judgment, which yet may be averted by fruitfulness. It is laid down
and left to die; not cast down, as if hastily or at random. It is laid down
at the root, for it is not against leaves or branches, but against the root
that the vengeance is to be directed.
IV. The execution. The axe lies idle for a time, its
sharp edge glittering in the sun. But it is to be lifted up. The forest is
to be cut down, not stripped as by the hurricane, nor blasted as by
lightning, but cut down at the very root; laid upon the ground; no longer
its waving branches and leaves making a goodly show, but "cut down,"
separated from that soil out of which it was extracting no fruitfulness.
"Cut it down" is the command! Why does it pretend to be a fruitful tree with
its leaves and branches? Cut it down; why does it thus impose upon the eye?
why cumbers it the ground?
V. The doom. Cast into the fire. Not left to wither,
but cast out to be consumed. It cumbered the ground when living; it must not
do so when dead. Let it be burned! Nothing for it but the fire. Its end is
to be burned. And the fire is everlasting; it shall not be quenched; and yet
the tree shall never be consumed. Awful doom. Never quenched, never
consumed! It's smoke rising up forever and ever. No possibility of
restoration! No hope for this tree (as in that of which Job speaks, 14:7);
no water to make it bud again. Nothing but the ever-consuming fire.
VI. The cause. Unfruitfulness in good. Not extreme
wickedness, but simple unfruitfulness in good! How searching this
announcement. O you that count on going to heaven because you have done no
harm, look here. If you have done no good, borne no good fruit, that is
enough! And the sentence is as sweeping as it is searching, for it is
"every tree that brings not forth good fruit." No exception, no sparing,
"They shall not escape." This, then, is the process that is now going on;
this is the nature of the present dispensation. If it were to be depicted by
emblem, it would be an axe lying at the root of a tree!
Christ, at his first coming, laid the axe there; at his
second coming He will lift it up and smite! The axe was laid down when
Israel least thought of such a thing; when they were boasting of privilege,
and calling themselves children of Abraham; so it shall be lifted up to
smite, when men are saying "peace and safety;" boasting of progress and
reform, and deliverance from the 'bigotry of narrow-minded men'.
Now is the age of trial, of probation. Israel's forest
was found barren, and was cut down. Now Christendom is on its trial. Shall
it be cut down? It has been long spared. Is it fruitful? You, O man, are on
your trial! What is to be the issue when the Lord comes?
Jesus in Season and out of Season
"And Jesus went about 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."—Matthew 4:23.
It is Christ himself that comes before us here; Christ in
his life and doings here below; Christ as the God-man, the sent of God, the
revealer of the Father; Christ as the sinner's friend and helper. By looking
at Him as He was on earth, we learn what He is now in heaven; our faith gets
a soil in which to root it self; a foundation on which to rest. We see Him
on earth full of grace and truth; in heaven the same; just such an one as a
sinner can approach, and trust, and love; just such an one as possesses all
that a sinner needs. Mark these three things here (1.) Jesus the teacher;
(2.) Jesus the preacher; (3.) Jesus the healer.
I. Jesus the Teacher. He is the great giver of
instruction to the sons of men; for He is the word and the wisdom; He is the
lesson as well as the teacher. "Who teaches like Him" who
says, "Learn of me." They who come to Him He calls "disciples,"—men who
enter his school, and come to Him for instruction. As such He receives them
and deals with them; for He has "compassion on the ignorant." Not in one
thing, but in all things does He teach. He teaches the inner man, for He has
access to the spirits of men. He speaks to ear, and heart, and conscience.
There is no teaching like his for completeness, for efficacy, and for the
molding of the whole man. He speaks, and we hear. We speak, and He hears. He
comes to us; we go to Him. And in this blessed interchange between the
scholar and the Master, the great work of enlightenment, renovation,
expansion, and consolation takes place. Of all teachers, He is the wisest
and most learned, as well as the most patient, loving, and painstaking. He
opens our ears to hear, and our eyes to see. As He did in Galilee in the
days of his flesh, so does He now over all the earth, though at the Father's
right hand.
II. Jesus the Preacher. That is, He is the herald,
the proclaimer of news from God. He is specially noted here as the herald of
one thing, that is, "the gospel of the kingdom,"—the good news about the
kingdom. What had He to proclaim in this respect?
(1.) That there was a kingdom. Not merely a state of
blessedness or safety; not merely pardon and salvation; but a kingdom; with
all its royalty, and glory, and grandeur. "There is a kingdom" is his
message.
(2.) That the gate of this kingdom is open. Once
closed, now thrown wide open; once fenced with the flaming sword, now
unguarded and unfenced.
(3.) That this gate has been thrown open by God. It
has not been man that has accomplished it: God has done it, with his own
hand and power—and all in love.
(4.) That God has thrown it open in righteousness. It
has not been forced open, nor merely opened because of importunity or
pity—but righteously. Righteousness closed it, righteousness has opened it.
Righteous entrance for unrighteous men! This was his message; this is ours.
(5.) That the entrance is free. No payment of any
kind. The poorest, neediest, unfittest, most unqualified may enter at once.
It is for such! Not for the good, but for the bad!
(6.) That it is near. The kingdom of God has come
near unto you, was his message. Its gate is at our gate. There is but a step
from the one to the other.
These were glad tidings! And they came from Him who knew
them well; who knew the kingdom; who had a right to speak of it; for He was
its King. He has come to earth seeking to fill that kingdom of his; to
obtain kings for it; fellow-kings along with himself. This is our
proclamation still. A kingdom! A kingdom! Heavenly, holy, glorious, blessed!
An open gate! Messengers sent out to entreat and compel men to come in! Oh
enter in! Oh become kings; heirs of a throne!
III. Jesus the healer. He has come to a hospital, a
city of the plague, a world where all are sick and dying; both in soul and
body. Heavenly skill is his; no, divine. Medicine is his; love to the sick
is in his heart, and the balm of Gilead in his hand. He healed "all manner
of sickness, and all manner of disease among the people." He did so in
fulfillment of his divine errand. He did so to manifest his divine fullness
and skill. He did so to show his power and willingness to heal worse
diseases. He did so to attract and invite the spiritually sick—the blind,
the deaf, the lame, the leprous, the palsied—all that are sick, whatever the
nature of their disease. He is the great healer still! And we come to Him
for health. He is the tree of life, both in leaf and fruit. He beckons us to
his shade and healing. Will you be made whole? is his question to each. He
needs to be made use of by us. He entreats as a favor that we employ Him as
our physician, and that we apply for his medicines. We need not specify
them—indeed, we cannot—He knows what they are, as He knows what our sickness
is. There is not one sick soul here that He is unwilling to heal. Oh,
apply—apply at once!
His Sun
"He makes his sun to rise."—Matthew 5:45.
Here is the true link between God and "nature" (as men
call it), and between us and nature. Here is the divine claim to
proprietorship, to lordship over "nature." All things are God's. No created
thing is the proprietor of itself or of any other created thing. There is
but one proprietor, one universal proprietor, one to whom all things belong
in a way in which they cannot belong to any other, one whose proprietorship
cannot be dissolved or sold; for it is an everlasting proprietorship
resulting from the great truth that God is God, and that no creature is or
can be God. He who says, "All souls are mine" (Ezekiel 18:4), says also, All
things are mine. Creatures are divine property. Hence the shepherd comes
seeking his own lost property (Luke 15:4); the woman searches for her lost
property (Luke 15:8). Heaven and earth are God's property; the Sun is "his
sun"; far more his than ours. For,
(1.) He made it. May He not then claim it as his own?
Is not creatorship the basis of the truest proprietorship? Yes, He made the
sun. Is it not then his? Is not every ray of it—morn, and noon, and eve—all
his?
(2.) He kindled it. It would appear that it was not
lighted up, or at least for our earth, until the fourth day. Then He who
made it, kindled it, and charged it to shine for us. Is it not his sun? He
commanded it to shine, and it shone.
(3.) He keeps it burning. It is not allowed to burn
low or to go out. He supplies it with all that is needful, and says to it,
Burn on, burn on. He leads it up each morning, and over the arch of noon,
and down into the west. All this rising and setting, this daily shining and
shading, this coming and departing, are his. It is his sun emphatically.
Were it not for Him it would go out in obscure darkness.
(4.) He makes it do his work. It has done his work in
ages past; it has shone in past generations, and is shining still. The same
sun that shone on Adam, and Noah, and Abraham, and Paul—no, and on Jesus the
Christ of God—shines on us, doing its work for us. Yes; the same sun in
Europe as in Asia, in Palestine as in Scotland!
Let us see how it does God's work; how it has been
doing this, and is doing so still. In this work we notice, mercy, miracle,
type, judgment.
I. Mercy. Yes; God set his sun in the heaven for
mercy; He makes it to arise on the evil and the good, to speak of his free
love, and lead men to repentance.
(1.) It enlightens. What a world without the light of
the sun. Herein is love.
(2.) It heals. There is health in the sunbeam as well
as in the fresh air. The sun's rays are healing. Light is medicine.
(3.) It gladdens. Sunshine is joy. It gladdens all
earth, poor and rich. It diffuses joy over hill and dale; in the hut and the
palace.
(4.) It fructifies. It makes all living things to
grow and bring forth fruit. No sunshine, no life; no growth, no fruit. For
man and beast, for herb and tree, for flower and leaf, sunshine brings
growth and fruitfulness. Such is God's love in sunshine. Ah, yes, it is his
sun! It does his work.
II. Miracle. It has been associated with miracle in
past ages. We call to mind Joshua, Egypt, Hezekiah, the
Crucifixion-darkness. God has used it for miracle; for the display of his
power. He kindles or quenches, He sends it on its course, or arrests it, or
makes it turn backward, all according to his pleasure. That sun is to us the
memorial of the mighty power of God—his miracle-working hand. By it, and in
it, He does wonders (Psalms 19:4, 6). Praise Him then O sun and moon, praise
Him all you stars of light (Psalms 148:3).
III. Type. God has made use of his sun and its light
for types in many ways. It is the type of the inner light; of Him who is the
light of the world, of the Sun of righteousness. It does God's work in
serving as a type for such things as these. Let it thus do his work to us,
and for us each day that it shines. Type of the true light, the light of
heaven, the light of the soul, the light of Christ, how glorious are you, O
Sun!
IV. Judgment. It spoke of judgment to Egypt when for
three days it was blotted out. It spoke of judgment to Judea and to earth,
when for three hours it was shrouded, when Jesus was dying. But it specially
is connected with judgment in the book of Revelation. It became black as
sackcloth of hair (6:1-2); the third part was smitten (8:1-2); the fourth
angel's vial was poured out on the sun, and it had power to scorch men with
fire (16:8); an angel stood in the sun to summon all beasts and fowls to the
great banquet of slaughtered kings and captains. These are some of the ways
in which God has connected his sun with judgment.
Yes, it is his sun. Jesus has taught us the expression;
let us not lose it. That little word means much.
It is his sun; then is it also ours; ours because his;
made by him for us.
His sun; then it speaks to us of Him. It is a bright and
golden link between Him and us.
His sun; then let us enjoy it as such; for it shines not
by chance or by mere laws of nature. He who made it bids us enjoy it.
His sun; then let us learn his love; his love even in its
radiance, much more in that light of which it is the type.
His sun; then let us love as He loves, and shine as He
shines. Let us love the unthankful and the evil, doing good to all; and
liking to bless and gladden all.
His sun; then it is Himself whom we behold; it is He who
shines. We say, "it rains," as if chance or nothing were the author of the
rain. So we speak too of sunlight; forgetting that it is God himself that is
shining in every ray.
Human Leprosy and its Divine Cure
"When he was come down from the mountain, great
multitudes followed him. And, behold, there came a leper, and worshiped him,
saying, Lord, if you will, you can make me clean. And Jesus put forth his
hand, and touched him, saying, I will, be clean. And immediately his leprosy
was cleansed."—Matthew 8:1-3.
The Lord ends speaking and begins working; He comes down
from the pulpit and enters the hospital. Such is his whole life: words and
deeds intermingled; words of health and deeds of health. His lips breathe
fragrance, and in his hand is the balm of Gilead.
Crowds follow him; but it is with one only that we have
here to do. Let us mark, (1.) the leper; (2.) his healer.
I. The leper. He is one of the vast multitude; but
there is a difference between him and them. They flock to and follow Jesus;
but not as men full of needs; only to see and hear some new or curious
things. But there is one exception—the leper; one whose whole head was sick
and heart faint; one who not merely needs Christ, but knows that he needs
Him.
(1.) He comes. All are needy in some way or other; he
only so feels his need as to step out from the crowd and draw more closely
to the Lord. It is his need, his disease that prompts and brings him. So is
it still. Crowds following Jesus, only a few dealing personally with him.
Yet what else will do?
(2.) He worships. He kneels before the Lord. What he
has heard has given him high thoughts of Christ. Surely He is the Son of
God, the Christ of God. It is with high thoughts of Him that we must come;
poor thoughts of ourselves.
(3.) He pleads. He has something to say, and he says
it briefly and well. It is with no labored or set speech that he comes. He
tells his need, and utters his thoughts of Christ: "Lord, if you will, you
can make me clean." He knows that He can; and he casts himself upon his
sovereign will for the exercise of this power in his case. The "if" is not
so much an expression of doubt as to his willingness as an appeal to his
will. It is not unbelief but faith that speaks the "if." He needs to be made
clean, and He casts himself on Christ for this. He is the hyssop, the water,
the blood, the ashes, the priest, the physician, all in one. Thus we still
come, doubting neither the willingness nor the power, yet casting ourselves
on the will of the Lord; not presuming to dictate, yet appealing to his
sovereign grace. As the needy, the sick, the unclean, we come; for the whole
need not a physician, but those who are sick.
II. The Healer. He is Jesus of Nazareth; the
physician of Gilead, with the balm in his hand; He who tells us, "The whole
need not a physician, but those who are sick"; who asks, "Will you be made
whole?" He carries with him all the health and the skill of heaven. He was
known as such when here; He is known as such still. The healer of the world!
(1.) He put forth his hand. He does not shrink from
nearness to the leper; he is not afraid of infection. He invites approach;
and in token of his sympathy and kindness, He puts forth his hand. That hand
now wields the golden scepter; it is the nail-pierced hand; and it is still
put forth. It contains as much of health, and power, and blessing, as when
he was here.
(2.) He touched him. Not nearness merely, but touch;
the one might indicate the willingness, the other brings the cure itself. It
is contact with the Healer that we need; nothing short of this! We touch
him, He touches us! This is all. A touch draws out the heavenly electricity,
and pervades us with its divine energy.
(3.) He spoke. Voice and hand go together. "I will,
be clean." He lets him know that the will in him is no obstacle. The leper
suspected that the sovereignty might be a barrier. Jesus removes the fear.
No. My will is not the hindrance. You will not; not I will
not. This was never found to be an obstacle when Jesus was here; nor is it
so now. To each coming one his language is still, "I will, be clean." Our
will is the hindrance, not his.
(a) It is the voice of love. He pities the leper,
and hastens to let him know this. He has compassion on him, and does not
keep him in suspense. He has no pleasure in delays.
(b) It is the voice of authority. It reminds us of
Genesis 1:2, 3. He speaks as one who knew that he could cure. Not
hesitatingly. Nor are the words a prayer, but a command. He speaks, and it
is done.
(c) It is the voice of power. He has the power to
carry his authority into effect. He speaks, and it is done. He said once,
"Let there be light, and there was light" He speaks now, "Be whole," and the
leprosy is cleansed. Thus love, authority, and power are all conjoined. It
is the voice of Omnipotence.
He is the same Christ still; with the same love, and
authority, and power. He is still the Healer, and the worst of diseases fly
from his touch and voice. Let us go to Him with all that afflicts us. He can
and He will heal us of all.
It is hard to persuade men that this is really the case;
that the Son of God has to do with lepers still; that he is the physician
for the worst of diseases; and that as He asks no reward for the cure, so He
asks no preparation nor qualification in the diseased one. With our whole
leprosy we come; He takes our case in hand; He touches and heals. There is
no case of evil too hard for Him; no human leprosy too incurable for His
skill; no human leper so repulsive as to make Him shrink back. Jordan did
not flee from the touch of the Syrian leper, but bade him welcome when he
came to its waters; so Jesus turns not away from the most loathsome specimen
of diseased humanity that ever presented itself to His gaze or touch.
He needs to heal! Will you not, O man, give Him the
opportunity which He seeks of healing you? Your whole head may be sick, and
your whole heart faint. But what of that? Is He not able to heal to the
uttermost? Be persuaded to present yourself to Him, just as you are. Give
this divine Healer your simple confidence. Take Him for what He is, and He
will take you for what you are. Thus shall you meet in love; you to be
healed, and He to heal; you to have the joy of being healed, and He to have
the joy of healing you, and to announce to heaven, in the presence of the
angels of God, that another leper has been healed!
Man's Dislike and Dread of Christ
"And, behold, the whole city came out to meet Jesus; and
when they saw him, they besought him that he would depart out of their
coasts."—Matthew 8:34.
"The entire town came out to meet Jesus, but they begged
him to go away and leave them alone." Matthew 8:34
I scarcely know a verse of Scripture where there is such
a melancholy contrast between the beginning and the close. The first part is
so hopeful, the second so disastrous. The first seems to lift us to heaven,
the second to cast us down to hell. The whole city flocks to Jesus; but its
multitudes have scarcely reached him when they ask Him to leave their
coasts; not their city merely, but their region; as if the farther off the
better. They do not turn their back on Him, but worse: they ask Him to turn
his back on them. Yet the scene was not an uncommon one in our Lord's
history. It was much the same as in the synagogue of Nazareth; and in
Capernaum after the miracle of the loaves (John 6:24-66); and afterwards at
Jerusalem when one day they shouted "hosanna," the next, "crucify." Alas,
that it should be still the same in our own day! Let us mark—
I. The coming. "The whole city came out to meet
Jesus." Not some—not the city—but the whole city! It was a universal
movement; and a most interesting one. A whole city flocking out to meet
Jesus! Surely this would make angels glad. It was one of the most marvelous
and blessed sights that had been seen. Ah, how seldom had such a thing been
seen, or is seen now! They had heard that He had done a miracle, that He had
cast out devils, and they flocked to Him. The report of those who kept the
swine had moved the city! A swineherd's tale had made all the city turn out
to meet Him! O wondrous spectacle!
II. The seeing. It would appear that Jesus was on his
way to their city— so they soon met Him—saw Him—heard Him. They did not
remain afar off, but came near. So that their feelings towards Him, and
treatment of Him, were not founded on mere report. They heard what others
had to say; but they also saw for themselves. And it is this seeing that so
aggravates their guilt. What they did and said, they said and did in the
full knowledge of what He was.
III. The refusing. They besought Him to depart out of
their coasts. An awful request, in many ways. They had sick among them, did
they not want them to be healed? They had others, perhaps, possessed with
devils, did they not want them to be delivered? The sick beseeching the
physician not to visit them! The famished city entreating the benevolent
storekeeper not to bring them bread! The thirsty traveler filling up with
dirt, the one well in the desert! The shipwrecked sailor's requesting the
lifeboat to keep away from them! Was there ever a request so sad, so fatal?
Why was this? There was something in Jesus that drew them; but there was
more that they disliked. What they heard about the devils and the swine made
them afraid. If He came, He would drive out their herds of swine; He would
not spare their sins. They would like Him as the physician of the body, but
not of the soul. His company seemed dangerous and terrible. The destruction
of that herd of swine was his doing, no doubt; and He who could send the
devils into the swine could send them into themselves. It was dreadful to be
near one who had such power over spirits. So they besought Him to depart.
And it would appear that He departed. He took ship immediately, and sailed
to the other side; and as they saw Him departing, and the white sail
vanishing out of sight, they would be relieved as by the retreat of some
fearful enemy. The departure of the Son of God was matter of mutual
congratulation to these Gadarenes! The scene is a fearful one; the lessons
most impressive. Their "depart from us" is a foreboding of his "depart from
me" (Matthew 15:41)
(1.) How near salvation they were. It was on its way
to them. It would soon have entered their gates. They were going to meet it,
and it was coming to meet them. How blessed! Was salvation ever nearer! It
seemed now as if nothing could hinder their being blest. Yet it passed away;
and they were the cause. They would not have it. Thus near is salvation to
us every hour; yet we put it away. "I would," and "you would not" are still
the words of solemn truth. No, they themselves at first seemed bent on
having it; a whole city bent on being saved—rushing in one multitude to the
Savior! But it turned out to not be the kind of salvation which they wanted;
and He not the kind of Savior they cared for. So they would have none of
Him! Thus we neglect the great salvation though so near, and despise the
Savior though coming to meet us; no, standing at our side!
(2.) How they wronged the Savior. "They were taken
with great fear" (Luke 8:37). What had He done to alarm them or to create
distrust? He had healed their sick, cast out devils, restored the lunatic to
his right mind; ought these to have raised hard thoughts of Him? Especially,
should not the sight of Him have proved attractive? Yet it was when they saw
Him that they besought Him to depart. Or was the destruction of their swine
enough to outweigh these miracles of mercy? Yes; He smote their
covetousness, and reproved them for their unlawful gains. And this they
could not bear. But how grievously did they wrong Him in this, putting false
constructions on His works of mercy and of righteousness. They wronged his
love, his interest in their welfare, his desire to break the power of hell
among them. Do we not thus wrong Him constantly? Is not all unbelief a
wronging of Christ, a repetition of the sin of the Gadarenes, and with less
excuse than theirs?
(3.) How they wronged themselves. When beseeching Him
to depart out of their coasts, they were sending away their one friend and
physician, quenching their one light. The word "pleaded" implies that he was
bent on remaining; and they desisted not in their entreaties until they had
constrained Him to depart. O awful importunity of sin and unbelief! And is
not this still the attitude of unbelief? Does it not say, Depart from me? Is
not its meaning just—O Jesus I beseech you do not convert me; do not save
me, do not cast out Satan—let me alone—what have I to do with you or you
with me? And Jesus yields at length. He sails away; and with Him all heaven;
with Him salvation, and life, and joy.
The Rest and the Rest-Giver
"Come unto me, all you that labor and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest."—Matthew 11:28.
I. The Speaker here is the Son of God. It is not man
speaking to man and sympathizing with man, but it is God himself coming up
to us and uttering his divine compassion. He sees our case. He knows exactly
what we need. He is able to bless us to the full. It is not helpless love
giving vent to kind but unavailing sympathy; it is the love, the pity, the
tenderness of Omnipotence. It is heaven that is pouring out its
compassionate yearnings over earth, and stretching down to it the helping
hand of power. It is the great Creator drawing near to his alienated but
sorrowful creature, and presenting him with rest. After the great work of
Creation God "rested"; he invites his weary creatures to share his rest.
Rest in me and rest with me is his gracious message. It takes omnipotence
to give rest to the weary sinner.
II. The people spoken to are the inhabitants of
Galilee. That region was reputed the worst in the land; yet it was to those
who the Son of God spoke. The crowd that he was speaking to was composed of
the inhabitants of Chorazin, Bethsaida, and Capernaum—the worst in Galilee.
They were compared with Tyre and Sidon, Sodom and Gomorrah, and declared
worse than these by our Lord himself. They had more advantages than others.
They were the cities wherein most of his mighty works were done. They were
the least deserving of favor of all the inhabitants of the land; the most
deserving of wrath.
III. The character under which they are spoken to is
that of toiling, burdened ones. "All you that labor and are heavy laden."
They were sinners; but that was not all; they were sinners "toiling" and
"borne down with heavy burdens." The word "labor" is frequently used to
denote the toiling process itself (Luke 5:5), or the result of it in
weariness, as when it is said, "Jesus being wearied with his journey," sat
down, thus wearied, to rest by the well (John 4:6). The "burdens" are such
as those with which the Pharisees loaded their followers (Luke 11:46). It is
no particular kind of labor or burden that is meant here; but any labor, any
burden whatever. It may be worldly toil, and vexation, and disappointment;
it may be the wretchedness, and weariness, and soreness of spirit which sin
brings after it; it may be the feeling of those who are asking, Who will
show us any good? what does it matter? It is human wretchedness and
weariness from whatever cause—human thirst, human hunger, the emptiness of
an aching heart that would sincerely be happy, but knows not how or where to
find happiness. They who are spoken to are spending their money for that
which is not bread, and their labor for that which satisfies not. The words
then are very wide, wide as the wide earth. They are broad and full. They
are unconditional and universal. They mean every one. They take in every
weary son of Adam. The question is not, "Is your labor of the right kind?"
or, "is your weariness a true and spiritual weariness?" but, "are you a
weary sinner?" And who is not? Though indeed some are more weary than
others.
But now let us mark the substance of the Lord's
invitation, as thus given out to the worst and most weary of the sons of
men. That which is promised here is rest. This rest is for the weary. This
rest is a gift. This gift is from Christ. This gift is obtained by going to
this Christ.
(1.) Here is rest. It is what God calls rest; and
therefore must be truly such. It is what man needs; and without which he
must drag on a weary sorrowful life. You need rest, O man! Here it is for
you. Never did you need it more than in this restless, noisy, bustling,
pleasure-loving age. Do not reject it. Rest for the weary! This is our
message.
(2.) This rest is a gift. It cannot be bought with
money, nor found by search, nor obtained by travel. It is a gift. Free rest!
This is our gospel. Rest to all who need it. Rest to any one who will take
it. O free gift of rest, how are you despised by the sons of men! They are
weary, and would buy rest at any price; but they will not take it free!
(3.) This rest is Christ's gift. "I will give
you rest." I will refresh you. I will be as the dew unto Israel, refreshing
and reviving, after the heat of the day. From the hand of Christ alone it
comes. He brought it with him from heaven, and he gives it to us. It is
blood-bought rest. It is love-given rest. Jesus stands with this precious
blessing in his hand; or rather He goes up to every weary child of Adam and
offers him rest—his own rest—the rest of the Father and the Son.
(4.) This rest is for the weary. Simply for those who
need it! For all Christ's gifts are suitable. I am the resting-place, He
says; weary sinner, sit down here; sit down, just because you are weary. As
the thirsty man drinks because he is thirsty, and the hungry eats because he
is hungry, so the weary rest, because they are weary! How near is rest to
us! How simple is God's way of giving it!
(5.) This rest is gotten by coming to Christ. It is
only from Him that we can get it; and there must be a direct dealing with
Him concerning it. The knowledge of Him is rest! His words are rest! His
cross is rest! All we know concerning him is rest! We try other
resting-places; let us try this. We go to others; let us go to Him. Let us
transact with Him. It is the weary that He welcomes! It is with the weary
that He delights to share his blessed rest! Go to Him for rest, O weary one!
He will not deny it.
He invites. Come unto me! Is not that enough? Do you
need further warrant? He beckons. It is as if he were stretching out his
hands—beckoning you to draw near!
He beseeches. His are earnest words, and He himself
is in earnest, thoroughly in earnest. He entreats you to take his rest; as
if rest were no rest to Him until you shared it.
He commands. The words before us are imperative. He
commands you to come. You cannot lose this rest, but by deliberately
disobeying his command! Could rest be brought nearer than this?
The Three Exchanges
"Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek
and lowly in heart; and you shall find rest unto your souls."—Matthew 11:29.
The previous verse contains the Lord's promise of rest;
free, large, immediate, universal. The present verse is added to show the
way in which He carries out that promise.
Three things are implied as producing the unrest of man:
the kind of yoke, the kind of burden, and the kind of teaching. He has had a
yoke of a most galling kind, a burden intolerably heavy, and teaching which
has made these unspeakably worse. From these three sources of weariness the
Lord proposes to deliver. Not simply by loosing the yoke, and removing the
burden, and condemning the false teaching, but by substituting others in
their place; a yoke of his own, a burden of his own, teaching or his own.
The figure of the "yoke" is taken from the agricultural
apparatus fastened round the neck and shoulders of the animals used in
plowing, which, in the east, is very cumbersome and painful, subjecting them
to great restraint, bending them down, and preventing their eating, as well
as their free motion, in any direction. Eastern harness is both clumsy and
cruel. In Leviticus 26:13 it is used for the bondage of Egypt, "I have
broken the band of your yoke, and made you to go upright." In Deuteronomy
28:48 we have reference to the Roman yoke, "He shall put a yoke of iron upon
your neck." Other allusions of this kind are frequent, and we may notice
that God, in speaking of his love to Israel, says, "I was to them as those
who take off the yoke on their jaws, and I laid food before them." In the
passage before us we may take the "yoke" as referring to the yoke of sin,
and the yoke of the Pharisees, which was more grievous to the spirit and
conscience than the yoke of Egypt, or Assyria, or Rome, was to the body or
the outward estate.
The word "burden" refers sometimes to the load upon a
"beast of burden," and sometimes to the freight of a ship, or the weight
upon the shoulders of a carrier. See Isaiah 46:1 where the innumerable idols
of Babylon are predicted as being carried off by the conqueror; "Their idols
were upon the beasts and upon the cattle; your carriages were heavy laden,
they are a burden to the weary beast." It was with heavier burdens that the
Pharisees loaded the shoulders of their followers (Matthew 23:4, Luke
11:46).
The expression, "Learn of me," may mean either "take me
for your teacher," or "take me for your copy or model." In both these senses
the teaching of the Pharisees was fitted only to produce unrest.
Such then are the three sources of a sinner's unrest. Our
Lord offers to abolish them. Yet not simply to abolish them, but to give
something in exchange, far more blessed. He has a substitute or exchange for
each of these respectively—a substitute which will not merely remove the
unrest arising from these three causes, but will give in exchange three
corresponding things fitted to impart rest at each of the points where
formerly the unrest had proceeded.
I. The exchange of yokes. "Take my yoke upon
you." As if He said I too have a yoke, but very different from that which
has hitherto galled your shoulders; here it is at your side; take it; put it
on; it is easy and pleasant: thus you shall find rest for your souls. Yokes
are for the purpose of constraining the unwilling and resisting animal to
submit to its owner's will, and do its master's work. Christ's yoke is
certainly for the purpose of fitting us for doing his will and work; but
then it does this by making us thoroughly willing, by making the service
pleasant, by removing everything that galls or wounds. It is an "easy yoke,"
so easy that it makes the work easy and delightful; we would not part with
this yoke; it is pleasant to bear, and the work is pleasant to do. We may
understand it thus. The yoke is that which He says to us or bids us do; it
is also the way in which He says this, so tender and gracious, it is the
spirit He infuses, the spirit of love and liberty. It is the yoke of
forgiveness and peace. Did not he lay this yoke upon the sinning woman when
He said, "Neither do I condemn you; go, and sin no more." Did He not lay it
on Zaccheus when He said, "Come down, for today I must abide at your house."
Did He not lay it on his disciples when first He said, Follow me, and when
afterwards He said, "As the Father have loved me, so have I loved you;
continue you in my love." It is not the yoke of bondage, or gloom, or
penance, or uncertainty, or terror, but the yoke of the "new commandment,"
which springs from his love to us, and leads us to love and serve in return.
Thus we get a new Master, we enter on a new service, with new and blessed
laws, of which the beginning and the end is love. Hear Him saying, "Take my
yoke upon you; for my yoke is easy."
II. The exchange of burdens. "My burden is
light." Your present burden is hard and heavy, it weighs you down, it makes
you faint under it; you are like Israel under the burdens of Egypt. Let me
take that off, and give you one of my own in exchange. You will find the
difference. Mine is light; it not only does not press you down, but it
raises you up, it makes you lighter and more buoyant than before. This
"burden" is his whole service or the things which he calls us to do or
suffer for Him. For in taking his yoke we do not become idlers. We work. But
all our work for Him is gladness; every new piece of work raises instead of
depressing us. Such is the power of his love shed abroad in our hearts, the
love that casts out fear, the love that passes knowledge.
III. The exchange of teaching. "Learn of me,
for I am meek and lowly in heart;" not in word or outward demeanor like the
Pharisee, but in heart. Take me for your teacher; take me for your model;
learn of one who will not be angry at your ignorance and stupidity; imitate
one who will show you what it is to be lowly. Learn of me, He says to you.
All other teaching is unrest; this is rest and peace. It is the teaching of
love; it speaks of love it offers love; it exhibits love; the love of
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The reception of this teacher and his teaching
is liberty, is rest, is deliverance, is gladness. It is this which heals the
soul, which binds up all its wounds, which dispels all its clouds.
O man, let Jesus teach you. Give up your intellect, your
heart, your whole soul to his teaching. He knows what to teach and how to
teach. His teaching is rest! Of no other teaching can this be said; all
besides this is unrest and weariness. Of this only it is not true, that
increasing knowledge increases sorrow.
Nineveh and Her Testimony
"The men of Nineveh shall rise in judgment with this
generation, and shall condemn it: because they repented at the preaching of
Jonah; and, behold, a greater than Jonah is here."—Matthew 12:41.
It is sometimes good to compare the present with the
past; to mark the likeness or contrast; the progress or the regress. We may
thus get a warning, or an encouragement, or a stimulus. Let the past speak
to the present. The day is coming when the present shall speak to the
future. Each day, each year, each age, has a voice to its successor, no, to
all its successors.
Our Lord here interprets the past. He bids it speak to
the present. He bids the present listen. He re-animates past scenes; he
gives life to the dead. Out of their graves He calls up a voice. Let us hear
their message to Israel, and their message to us.
I. Nineveh and its sin. It is of a heathen
city that He speaks. He does not overlook heathenism or heathendom. It is a
city wholly given to idolatry; immersed in pleasure; elated by its
greatness; ambitious of universal dominion; a city of palaces and temples; a
city of chariots and horses; a city of princes and warriors; a city of pomp
and splendor; a city that knows not Jehovah, that scorns his people, and
abhors his city and his land. The cup of its guilt was deep and full (Nahum
3 1-9.) Its character resembles that of our cities. Its sins are ours.
Pride, fullness of bread, love of pleasure, intoxication, covetousness,
vanity, lust, gaiety—these mark us as they did the men of Nineveh. Our sins
are multiplying. Our cup is fast filling.
II. Nineveh and its repentance. It was a
heathen city, yet it repented; a proud and lofty city, yet it repented—king
and people. It had no knowledge nor wisdom, yet it repented. Jonah was its
first prophet, yet it repented. One sermon did the work. One trumpet-blast
shook the city. It was not a word of terror, yet they repented like the
jailor at the earthquake. It was
(1) immediate repentance.
(2) It was true.
(3) It was deep.
(4.) It was universal.
(5) It was acceptable.
Was the like ever heard! Noah preached one hundred and
twenty years in vain, yet Nineveh repented in a day. Two angels went to
Sodom in vain, yet Nineveh repented under one sermon of one prophet; and
that a very feeble and inconsistent one. How marvelous that such a city
should have repented under such a prophet! How marvelous that God should
have so honored such a prophet. How sovereign He is in his dealings; how
unlike us in his counsels; how unsearchable in his ways. God speaks to us,
to our cities, to our villages, and says, Repent! Yet we repent not! With
bibles and ministers bringing before us the heavenly messages all our lives,
we repent not! O hearts of stone! Harder than the rock!
III. Nineveh and its testimony. That city has
two testimonies.
(1.) A past testimony. It speaks to us, and
says, Repent. Its sackcloth says, Repent! Its fasting says, Repent! Its cry
for mercy says, Repent! Are we better? Do we need no repentance? Has
Nineveh's repentance no voice for us?
(2.) A future testimony. Its inhabitants shall
rise against us in the day of judgment. Its testimony is not over. It spoke
to Israel; it speaks to us; and it shall yet speak to both again in the
solemn day of recompense. Nineveh will condemn Israel and us; if we repent
not verily we shall be inexcusable. In the presence of the men of Nineveh we
shall not be able to utter a word of excuse or extenuation. For we have a
greater than Jonah for our prophet—the Son of God himself. We have Moses,
and a greater than Moses; we have Elijah, and a greater than Elijah. Yes;
Jesus speaks to us; He spoke on earth; he speaks from heaven! He says,
Repent! He makes our land re-echo with, Repent! He makes our churches
resound with the same voice, Repent. He speaks down through all the ages; he
speaks now, and says to us, Repent!
The day approaches, when the men of Nineveh shall rise up
against the men of Israel, and when the men of Israel shall rise up against
the men of Scotland. That rising up shall be for condemnation! The greater
the light rejected, the greater the condemnation incurred. Men of the
nineteenth century, look back three thousand years, and see Nineveh on her
knees in sackcloth before God, broken down under one sermon of one prophet!
Is not that a sight to break you down and make you cry for mercy, while the
Lord tarries, and before the last trumpet sounds. Oh seek the Lord while He
may be found!
The Two Sowers
"But while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares
among the wheat, and went his way."—Matthew 13:25.
There are two sowers in this parable, yet but one field;
two kinds of seed, yet but one field. The one field is this world, called in
verse 41, "his kingdom;" the sowers are the Son of man and the devil; the
two seeds are the wheat and the tares. The field belongs to the Son of man;
the enemy had no part in its proprietorship; he does his mischief by stealth
and cunning; he climbs over the wall in the night while men sleep. He is the
enemy of the Son of man; and his desire is twofold, (1) to choke the good
seed, and (2) to fill the field with tares. He is the same enemy that stole
into Paradise, and wrought ruin there. The parable exhibits him as full of
(1) enmity, (2) cunning, (3) determination, (4) patience, (5) confidence.
All these we find brought out in this simple and apparently very useless
expression, "he went his way," or "left the place" Why did he thus go his
way?
I. He did not wish to be seen. He came by night, and
he went by night. He came while men slept, and he went before they awoke. He
did not wish it to be known that he was there. He did not care for the fame
of doing the thing; all he cared for was, that it should be done. How
different from us! We care more about the honor of doing a thing than the
work itself. How single-eyed is Satan in his evil! He does his work unknown.
He steals quietly to his work and from his work, without sound of trumpet.
Besides, he does not want to excite men's fears, or to alarm the servants of
the Master by his visible presence. That would defeat his object. Ah, it is
with an invisible devil that we have to do; mighty, but unseen; the ruler of
the darkness of this world—himself loving the darkness—dwelling and working
in it. Surely we need to watch, whether in keeping our own vineyard or that
of others.
II. He had done his work. It might be on a greater or
a larger scale, that mattered not. He had done his work. It did not require
repetition or re-sowing. The sower had done all that, as a sower, he could
do. Sowing is not a process repeated daily; it is done once; he did not come
night after night to sow and re-sow. He needed but one sowing-time; and so
he went his way.
III. He had confidence in the seed. He knew of what
kind it was, its vitality; its indestructibility. It could lie long in the
ground before it sprung. It would not fail. It was the true seed of hell. It
was sure to spring, sooner or later. So he went his way. Ah, what confidence
does this exhibit in the vigor and vitality of error. Have we like
confidence in the life and power of truth? Do we speak it as those who trust
it?
IV. He had confidence in the soil. The soil had not
been meant for error, but the curse was on it, and its fruitfulness had
become fruitfulness in evil. In a cursed soil, his seed was sure to be
nourished and grow. The seed was evil, and the soil was evil. No one knew
these things better than this enemy, this sower of the tares. It was then,
with confidence in the soil, that, having done his work, he went his way.
The soil would not fail him; it would do its work.
V. He had confidence in the atmosphere. He is the
prince of the power of the air; the ruler of the darkness of this world. It
is on the air as much as on the soil that the harvest depends. He knows the
peculiar elements with which this atmosphere is filled; how it is charged
with all that fosters evil; how it will nourish the tares, so that they
shall grow without fail, even though the wheat should die. And, accordingly,
having done his work, he goes his way; he trusts to the evil air and the
evil seed suiting each other.
VI. He had other work to do. He is not omnipresent
nor omniscient. He goes up and down in the earth, walking to and fro in it,
doing his work here and there. He does not abide in one place; he goes about
to do work elsewhere; he visits place after place in succession; he never
folds his hands nor shuts his eyes; he knows no night, and he needs no
slumber. Incessant work, all round and round the globe; in every kingdom, in
every church, in every soul. He has always something on hand; some new
error; some new departure from the faith; some new snare; some new vanity;
some new delusion to deceive, if it were possible, the very elect! Sometimes
the prince of darkness, sometimes the angel of light; always the god of this
world, the prince of the power of the air.
His first seed sown was in the ear and heart of our first
parents, and what fruit of evil has it borne, what tares has it produced!
Since that, he has been sowing constantly the tare-producing seed. So will
he continue to do until the Lord comes to bind him.
Oh, what an enemy have we to fight with! What strength,
what subtlety, what wiles, what perseverance! How he works! How he sows!
Error upon error; a little seed at first, yet producing a vast harvest of
error and sin; a race of evil-doers, evil-thinkers, evil-speakers,
perverters of the truth, enemies of God; fields of tares —so like the
wheat, that man cannot discern the difference.
Resist the devil, work against him, for we are not
ignorant of his devices.
Herod's Ball-room
"But when Herod's birthday was kept, the daughter of
Herodias danced before them, and pleased Herod."—Matthew 14:6.
This birthday ball of Herod was held, in all likelihood,
at Machaerus, a fortress beyond Jordan, not far from the Dead Sea. It was a
high and royal festival. Pomp, splendor, luxury, and lust were all gathered
there. In the midst of the song, and the glitter, and the mirth, there was
one troubled conscience, that of Herod—one trembling man, Herod. His soul
was ill at ease, though surrounded with all that the world could give to
banish care. He, Herodias, and John the Baptist, may be said to be the chief
personages brought before us in this scene. But let us take up the narrative
in another form; (1.) before the ball; (2.) during the ball; (3.) after the
ball.
I. Before the ball. The news of Christ's
miracles had overspread the land, and reached Herod. He was startled and
troubled. Who is this Jesus! Can he be John? Can John be risen? But why
these fears on the part of Herod? The answer carries us back to the time
before the ball. John had reproved Herod for his wickedness more than a year
and a half before; for Herod had taken his brother's wife, and John had
proclaimed the unlawfulness of the deed. This had roused the king's anger.
He would really liked to have slain him, and was only kept from doing so by
fear of the multitude, who reverenced John. But he imprisoned him, and kept
him in the castle of Machaerus for eighteen months. The guilt of an unlawful
marriage was on his conscience, as well as the guilt of imprisoning a holy
man. His course of sin had been begun and persevered in. He was braving out
his crimes; and like worldly men in such circumstances, he rushes into
gaiety to drown his troubles and terrors. The pleasures of the feast and the
ball-room, the song and the dance—these are welcomed to induce
forgetfulness, and "minister to a mind diseased." In how many cases do men
fly to the ball, the theater, the card-table, the tavern, the riotous party,
not simply for pleasure's sake, and to "taste life's glad moments," but to
drown care, to smother conscience, to efface convictions, to laugh away the
impressions of the last sermon, to soothe an uneasy mind, to relieve the
burden or pluck out the sting of conscious guilt! O slaughter-houses of
souls! O slaughter-houses, reeking with blood! O "lasciviousness, lusts,
excess of wine, revelings, banquetings, and abominable idolatries"; how long
shall men "run on in this excess of riot"? O lust of the flesh, lust of the
eye, and pride of life, when will you cease to intoxicate, and lead men
captive at your will? O God-forgetting gaiety! O dazzling worldliness! O
glittering halls of midnight, where "Youth and pleasure meet To chase the
glowing hours with flying feet," when, when will you cease to be resorted to
by the sons of men to "heal the hurt" of the human soul, to still its throb
and heartache, and to medicate the immedicable wound?
II. During the ball. It is a gay scene. The
lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life are there. All
that can minister to these are there. Herod is there, feeding on lust,
drinking in pleasure, stupifying conscience. The fair daughter is there, in
all the splendor of gay wantonness. And the vile mother is there, lascivious
and revengeful. And the courtiers are there, in pomp and glitter. Music and
mirth are there. The dance and the song are there. No note of gloom, no
indication of trouble. What a scene of mirth and revelry! But some are
absent—conspicuously absent, we may say. John is not there. A prison holds
him. His disciples are not there. They can but weep and lament. And Jesus is
not there, nor his disciples. They were at the marriage festival in Cana;
but this ball-room is not for them. It is not the place for a follower,
either of Jesus or of John. The beauty of "this world" is one thing, and the
beauty of "the world to come" is quite another. These scenes of royal vanity
are instructive; for they present the world in its most fascinating aspects.
All that regal state, and princely beauty, and wealth, and gold, and silver,
and gems, and tapestry, and blazing lamps can do, to make this world fair,
is in such scenes and haunts. These balls are the most seductive specimens
of pure worldliness that can be found. Surely the god of this world knows
how to enchant both ear and eye. In an assembly like this, the natural man
is at home. Here the unregenerate heart gets scope to the full. It is a
place where God is not where the cross is not; where such things as sin and
holiness must not be named. It is a hall where the knee is not bent, except
in the voluptuous waltz; where the music whose theme is the praise of Jesus
is unheard; where the book of God, and the name of God would be out of
place; where you may speak of Jupiter, or Venus, or Apollo, but not of
Jesus; where you may sing of human love, but not of the love that passes
knowledge; where you may celebrate creature-beauty, but not the beauty of
Him who is fairer than the children of men. It was during that ball that the
murder of John was plotted and consummated that a drunken, lustful king,
urged on by two women, perpetrated that foul deed. Such are the haunts of
pleasure! Such are the masquerades of time. Lust is let loose; revenge rises
up; murder rages; conscience is smothered; the floor of the ball-room is
spotted with blood; the dancers may slip their feet in it, but the dance
goes on. Such was the coarse worldliness of old days; but is the refined
worldliness of modern times less fatal to the soul? The ball is finished,
and John lies dead in prison. What a picture of gaiety! What a specimen of
ball-room revelry! And this is pleasure! This is the world's joy! "You
adulterers and adulteresses, don't you know that the friendship of the world
is enmity with God?"
III. After the ball. Of the chief actors in
this ball-room murder, nothing more is said. They pass to the judgment-seat,
there to receive sentence for lust, rage, revenge, and murder. They have
sent John before them to the presence of his Judge to receive his reward.
They have got their revenge, and they leave his body to be dealt with in any
way. His lips are silenced; that is all they care for. But his disciples
find their way into the prison; they gather round their Master's body; they
bury it in silence. They can do no more. That ball has robbed them of their
master. It has been a costly festival to them! Then they go and tell Jesus,
knowing his sympathies, and feeling that they have no one else to whom they
can unbosom themselves so confidingly. Jesus hears of the murder, and is
silent! Not a word escapes him. He had come to suffer both in himself and in
his members; so he is dumb. This is the day of silent endurance and patient
suffering. The day of recompense is coming.
O gaieties of earth! Feasts, and revelings, and
banquetings, how often have you slain both body and soul! Men call you
innocent amusements, harmless pleasures; but can you be harmless, can you be
innocent, when you steal away the soul from God, when you nurse the worst
lusts of humanity, when you smother conscience, when you shut out Jesus,
when the floors on which your votaries dance off their immortal longings,
are red with the blood of souls!
Man's Ways and God's Ways
That evening the disciples came to him and said, "This is
a desolate place, and it is getting late. Send the crowds away so they can
go to the villages and buy food for themselves."
But Jesus replied, "That isn't necessary—you feed them."
Matthew 14:15-16
The scene of this great gathering was the desert of
Bethsaida, the open and uninhabited region on the north-east of the Sea of
Galilee, and evidently close upon the sea, so that Jesus, when He fed the
multitude, did not need to create water for them, and also when He was done
feeding them, he could at once dispatch his disciples by a boat.
The time is toward evening. All the day Jesus had been
teaching and healing. The afternoon drew on; the sun was getting low; the
people were weary and hungry; some of them far from home. There was still
time enough to provide a meal for them before sending them home; for it
would be about three o'clock, but still the day was far spent.
The people in this transaction may be arranged into three
classes—the multitude, the disciples, the Lord himself.
As for the multitude, they are merely presented to
us (1) as the objects of his compassion; (2) as the objects of his bounty.
They come to hear and to be fed; to give Jesus an opportunity of showing his
love and fullness; they come not to minister, but to be ministered to, by
the Lord. As for the disciples, they were of little service here. The
Lord would have used them, but they would not be used. They show coldness,
not compassion; littleness and narrowness, not generosity. It is the Lord
himself who is shown here, in solitary and unapproachable love and pity.
But it is with the mode or manner of blessing that we
have specially to do here. It is this that brings out the grace of the Lord
Jesus Christ, and draws us to him as the great provider for our needs, the
great feeder of soul and body; and as is the Son, so is the Father; and he
that has thus seen and known the Son, has seen and known the Father.
This mode of blessing will be best seen by
contrasting the disciples with the Master, their proposal for supply with
his.
Before he does anything himself, he goes to them, for we
read in John (6:5.) that the first thing was his question to Philip, "Where
shall we buy bread that these may eat"? Thus He gives them the opportunity
of providing, before He undertakes it himself. This only draws out their
emptiness and inability to do anything in the matter; for the whole twelve
now come to Him upon the subject, and it is their proposal that meets us
first in this scene, "Send them away, that they may go and buy." It did not
occur to them to appeal to the Master and his bounty. They were slow of
heart to believe. Had it been a blind man brought for cure, they would have
done this. But the feeding of five thousand was such an enormous miracle,
that they never thought of this; and, besides, they had not yet exhausted
human help, they were not yet at an extremity, for there were villages a few
miles off. They do not apply to Him until they can do no better; He is the
last, not the first, to whom they go.
Their remedy is quite characteristic, quite like man:
"send them away that they may buy." But this brings out the Lord and his
mode of meeting human needs all the more wonderfully. "They need not depart;
you give them something to eat." Such is the contrast between the disciples
and the Lord, between man and God, between the heart, the thoughts, the ways
of man, and those of God. "My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor your ways
my ways, says the Lord." Man's way of relieving man is, "Send them away that
they may buy." God's way is, "They need not depart; you give them something
to eat." And this, too, is our way of relieving ourselves; we would go and
buy, instead of at once, and on the spot, taking the blessing at the hands
of Jesus.
Let us mark then the way in which Christ relieves, in
which God deals with us, as the God of grace. The supply He gives is.
(1.) Immediate. It is given upon the spot; it comes
to us just as we are, hungry and weary. It does not keep us waiting; it does
not send us away to be fed. It is put into our hands, our lips, at once.
(2.) Free. We need no money; all is without price.
God is the great giver; we are but receivers. We are only blessed when we
learn this. God has respect simply to our needs, not to our qualifications
or our means of purchase. He does often indeed make use of others to impart
his bounty, "you give them something to eat" ; but whether directly or
through a medium, all is free. The water that flows to us through the
river's channels, is quite as free as that which descends in showers.
(3.) Suitable. He gives the very thing we need. His
eye sees our need, and He supplies it exactly. We are sure that what we get
from Him will be suitable.
(4.) Abundant. He gives liberally. His stores are
plentiful. It does not matter what the greatness of our need may be, or the
number of the needy, He has enough, and He pours out liberally. He fills us;
there is enough, and to spare.
(5.) From his own hand. Sometimes more directly than
others, but still the supply comes from himself. Take it as either from the
Father or the Son, it matters not. It is the Divine hand stretched out to
give. We get all from himself, from his fullness, from his love. It is with
Him we are to deal, and in dealing let us trust, let our transactions be
ever those of simple child-like confidence.
The Helpless One and the Helper
Matthew 14:24-31 Meanwhile, the disciples were in
trouble far away from land, for a strong wind had risen, and they were
fighting heavy waves. About three o'clock in the morning Jesus came to them,
walking on the water. When the disciples saw him, they screamed in terror,
thinking he was a spirit. But Jesus spoke to them at once. "It's all right,"
he said. "I am here! Don't be afraid." Then Peter called to him, "Lord, if
it's really you, tell me to come to you by walking on water." "All right,
come," Jesus said. So Peter went over the side of the boat and walked on the
water toward Jesus. But when he looked around at the high waves, he was
terrified and began to sink. "Save me, Lord!" he shouted. Instantly Jesus
reached out his hand and grabbed him. "You don't have much faith," Jesus
said. "Why did you doubt me?"
Faith's home is in the future; so is her heritage. At
present she has nothing but God himself to live upon—to feed upon; all else
is within the veil. It will come in due season; but meanwhile the only real
thing is God. Him she knows, she trusts, she walks with, she converses with.
But from the visible she is disengaged, and dwells in the invisible—present
and future. "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of
things not seen." Thus we live by faith.
Yet though thus living by faith, in another atmosphere,
and above the level of things seen, we cannot help being affected by matter,
and time, and motion, and change, and pain, and death, and fear, and hunger,
and thirst, and the various conditions of the body. Sometimes there is
brightness, sometimes there is dimness; sometimes we are lifted up and
expanded, sometimes we are depressed and straitened. We are too like a
revolving beacon-light, with its alternate flash and gloom. Sometimes a word
of Scripture warms and brightens wonderfully; sometimes it seems cold and
dark. Sometimes we are brave and fervent, ready to confront any danger or
trial, because of the peace within; sometimes we turn pale, and shrink from
sorrow or peril; so variable is our pulse; so uncertain our spirits; so
feeble our spiritual health; so sickly our spiritual frame. It was night
upon a stormy sea. The boat was but a fisherman's, unfit to weather wind and
wave. The night-blast was right against them. They toiled, but made little
progress.
The night wears on. Watch after watch passes by. It is
now the fourth; the last, just before the dawn; still dark. In the darkness,
a form is dimly seen, the outline of a human figure in the gloom. What is
it? Who is it? Is it from beneath or from above? Is it material or
spiritual? The disciples are in terror; Peter, no doubt, among the rest.
But it is not with the disciples that the narrative has
chiefly to do; it is with Peter—or rather with Peter and the Lord. These two
stand out before us here, inviting our attention. Or we might say, we have
first the disciples and the storm; then the disciples are lost sight of, and
we see only Peter and the Lord; then Peter disappears, and we behold no one
"save Jesus only."
I. Christ's words of cheer. He saw their terror, and
He knew its cause. The storm and the darkness had alarmed them; but more
than these, the figure in the distance. It might be a spirit from beneath
let loose upon them; it might be the prince of the power of the air—the
ruler of the world's darkness—coming to increase their danger, to accomplish
their destruction. Christ corrects their thoughts, and in so doing removes
their fears. His words of cheer are brief, but full of power. In our
translation they are ten; in the original only five. "Be of good cheer: it
is I; do not be afraid." The first of these clauses is but one word, and it
is the keynote of the passage. "Be of good cheer," or simply, "Courage"! "Do
not be cast down or troubled." Right through the darkness, and over the
storm, came this cheering word. But it was not the mere word that thus
sounded, it was the well-known voice, the tones of which they would at once
recognize. And then it was followed up with the "It is I"; which is again
followed up with "do not be afraid,"—"dismiss all your fears." The special
cheer of these words was, however, the "It is I," and without this all the
rest would have been vain. It is the announcement of his presence that was
the specially cheering thing; it would have been enough even had he not (in
his love and anxiety to relieve their fears) added, "Be of good cheer: do
not be afraid." What was the storm to Him? What was it to them, if He were
with them? What were night, and storm, and darkness, with all their perils,
if He were there? They needed no more to comfort them than "It is I." It
told them of power and love more than sufficient to meet all danger, and to
deliver from all evil.
II. Peter's response. "If it be you, bid me come to
you on the water." The other disciples were silent. Their fears were
quieted, and that sufficed. But Peter must have more. He must have the
Master with him; no, he must run to meet Him, even on the water. There does
not seem to be any use in Peter's going to meet his Master. The request was
prompted simply by affection, and a desire to be where He was. It looks very
like one of Peter's hasty utterances—"It is good to be here;"—"Shall we
smite with the sword?" But still it is faith that is working. The desire to
go was, no doubt, affection, but the feeling which overlooked all the
difficulties of the way—the impossibility of walking on the water—was faith.
So boundless was his confidence in his Master's power and love. A word, he
knew, would be enough! Oh for Peter's faith in Jesus;—even in little things;
things which seem to have no large object in view, but merely the exhibition
of affection towards him! Here is faith that could remove mountains! Faith
that can do miracles—that makes light of impossibilities! Peter saw Jesus
only; darkness and storm were nothing! There might be the desire to get out
of this sinking vessel, which had for hours been buffeting with the wind;
and the feeling that with Jesus he was safer on the bare water than in the
ship without Him. In Peter's estimation, security was only at the side of
Jesus! Anywhere, anywhere with Him; in the fiery furnace, or in the raging
sea. Is this our estimate of Jesus, and of all things, or places, or perils
in connection with Him? Safety with Him; but nowhere else, even in the
stateliest vessel or the strongest fort.
The form of Peter's request is remarkable, "bid," or
"command" me to come to you on the water; not "permit." In a case like this,
mere permission would not do. Had it been the highway or the mountainside,
permission would have been enough. But it was the sea. To venture there, he
must have a command; and in obeying that command, he could count upon
omnipotence being placed at his disposal. Jesus commands; shall not all the
elements and powers of nature unite in ministering to the fulfillment of the
command?
There is here, also, the contrast between the Peter of
yesterday and the Peter of today; fitfulness both in faith and feeling. One
day it is "Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord;" another it is
"Lord, bid me come to you." One day he forsakes his Master; another he casts
himself into the sea to get at Him, as he stood on the shore. Yet fitful as
these were, impulsive as Peter was, all his fitfulness and impulsiveness
centered in Jesus. The many currents of his wayward being—sometimes rushing
right forward, sometimes going backward, sometimes eddying round—yet all
took their motion from Jesus, and their direction from something connected
with Him. It might be difficult, at times, to analyze or understand Peter's
feelings; but various as they were in their upper or their underflow, this
was still uppermost, "Lord, you know all things, you know that I love you."
III. Christ's response to Peter. "Come"! One word; no
more. It was all that Peter needed; and he got it. The request was a bold
and a great one; but it was granted at once. It was a request made without
any previous promise or warrant; yet there was no reluctance nor delay.
Peter knew to whom he was speaking. He had seen Him do miracles for
others—strangers—why not for himself, a disciple? Thus he casts himself upon
the Master, and the Master at once responded. He honored his disciple's
confidence. How comfortably must that word "come" have sounded in the midst
of the darkness! It was so gracious; and it was so exact an answer; an
answer to an apparently useless request. The requests for healing and the
like were all for some needful purpose; and we the less wonder at the
Master's grace in granting them. But this seems so useless—the mere
utterance of warm impulse—that we are struck with the marvelous grace of the
Master, who, instead of keeping silence, or rebuking his hasty disciple,
grants his request for a miracle—a stupendous miracle—and bids him "come."
This is singular condescension, and fitted in many ways to rebuke as well as
remove our unworthy suspicions of the Lord. He who so graciously responded
to his disciple's request for a needless miracle, will not deny us when
petitioning for what is needful. With what power should the promise come to
us, "Ask, and you shall receive"; and what an illustration is this of the
text, "This is the confidence that we have in him, that if we ask anything
according to his will he hears us."
IV. Peter's venture. He came down out of the ship,
and walked on the water. I call it venture; and yet it was not venture, for
that implies hazard, whereas here there was no risk. It was rather leaving a
leaking, sinking boat to go on board a noble ship. Still to human eyes,
though not to angels', it was a venture. Frail as the vessel was, it was to
human eyes safer than the sea. Out of this vessel he lets himself down into
that raging sea, and began his walk. He was now wholly in the arms of Jesus;
nothing between him and the waves but these everlasting arms. What his
feelings were in letting go his hold of the ship we do not know; perhaps
very peculiar; but with that word "come" sounding over the waves, why should
he fear? His was the venture of faith; a faith which showed itself, not in
its power to grasp but to let go the vessel's side—the human stay. Yes, we
often speak of faith as taking hold; but here it is seen in letting go.
And is not this oftentimes the very point of the
difficulty we experience in believing? We cling to the visible, the palpable
prop—the human rope which we hold in our hand—unwilling to let go. We speak
of our inability to believe; but what is this save our tenacity in holding
on to the very things which God asks us to quit? We say that we "cannot lay
hold"; should we not rather say that we "cannot let go"? We complain that we
have no power to cling and grasp; whereas it should be that we have no will
to let go. How much power is needed to let go a rope or to drop into the
sea? Never let us forget the thought of Peter quitting the vessel and
dropping into the sea; but let us treasure it as one of the best exhibitions
of true faith. How many, though they hear the Master's voice saying, "Come,"
linger in the vessel, cling to it, look over its sides, as if resolved to
drop down, and then shrink back into it, afraid to venture from the visible
into the invisible, from that which sense and touch can feel, to that which
we know nothing of save by the bare word of God.
V. Peter's failure. He had bravely dropped into the
sea, and was walking along; but he soon began to be alarmed. The wind did
not lull; it blew as violently as ever. His fears awoke, and his faith
shook. He began to sink; and in his terror cried out, "Lord, save me." The
visible and sensible had reassumed their power; and under their evil
influence, faith gave way; the things unseen vanished; the power and
presence of Christ seemed now as nothing when compared with the power and
presence of the storm. Peter was, in fact, trying to resume his hold of the
things he had let go; he was clutching or groping after the visible. Thus
unbelief was regaining its power. His eye at first saw nothing but Jesus,
now it sees the raging billows. His ear at first heard nothing but the
Master's "Come"; now it hears the roar of the blast. It was thus that the
evil heart of unbelief was re-displaying itself; the storm was coming
between him and Christ; terror came in, and he began to sink. Jesus was for
the moment lost sight of, and Peter was in despair. The Master had granted
his request; had bid him come; and now he knew not what to do; perhaps he
repented his petition, and wished he had never left the vessel. But thus
Jesus shows His disciple his weakness, and takes this opportunity for
magnifying his own power. What is Peter now, and where, if Jesus does not
help? He is like a withered olive-leaf tossed upon the foam. Without Jesus
he sinks, he perishes. But though faith has given way, Jesus still remains;
and even in spite of unbelief he supports and saves.
VI. Christ's deliverance and rebuke. It is not, like
man, first rebuke and then deliverance; but first deliverance and then
rebuke. How like Him who came, in love, to bless the unlovable, to save the
lost, to bring near those that were afar off! How like the good Shepherd,
bent only on laying hold of his strayed one! How like Him who spoke the
parable of the prodigal son, and who in it has shown us how God receives
back the very worst of his lost ones, without upbraiding, or coldness, or
delay!
(1.) Jesus stretched forth his hand immediately.
Instantaneous deliverance! He would not have the fears of his disciple last
a moment. He supports at once. In that outstretched hand the marks of the
nails were not yet seen. These were still to come. But the love was there;
the power was there; the security was there. In our day we have the same
outstretched hand; only the prints of the nails, the marks of love are now
there. The outstretched and the pierced hand are one! To his sinking Peters
he stretches the pierced hand. To each sinking, perishing son of Adam, he
does the same. Take hold, O man, take hold!
(2.) Jesus caught him. Nothing is said of Peter's
laying hold of Jesus; it is Jesus laying hold of Peter that we have here.
Jesus caught him; whether by the hand or not, we are not told; nor does it
matter. "Jesus caught him," that is enough. How, like this to the apostle's
words, "apprehended by Christ"! What now are winds and waves? What matters
it whether the boat is at hand or not? Rage on you winds! Rise up you
waters! Darken the heavens you clouds! Jesus has caught him—Jesus holds him,
is not that sufficient? O man, sinking in the world's stormy sea, let Jesus
lay hold of you, as he is most willing to do, and all is well! For what is
all salvation but Jesus seizing hold of the sinner! "He sent from above, he
took me, he drew me out of many waters."
(3.) Jesus spoke to him. Hitherto he had heard but
his own voice, "Lord save me"; now he hears the Master's voice responding.
His own cry could not allay his fears; but the words of Jesus do this at
once. His first word is rebuke (for it is but one word in the Greek), "O you
of little faith"; or as it should simply be, "O little-faith!" This is all.
He does not dwell on this, nor continue his upbraiding. What gentleness and
tenderness are here! O little-faith! Might he not say to us, "O no-faith"?
And then he adds, "Why did you doubt?" or, "For what purpose do you doubt?"
"What is the use of your doubting?" Perhaps the words involve such questions
as these:
(1.) Where does this doubting come from?
(2.) What means this doubting?
(3.) Of what service will this doubting be?
Thus speaks Jesus still, "It is I, do not be afraid." By
his tones and words, no less than by his gestures (his stretching out of the
hand), he cheers us, he beckons us, he comforts us. Why then do we doubt?
What reason have we for so doing? Why not fling all distrust away?
Such is the attitude of Jesus to his church in her
darkest and stormiest nights. He comes to her on the water. He places
himself near. He waits to support. O church of God, accept the offered hand,
and listen to the gracious voice.
Such is his attitude towards our world. "All the day long
(and all the night long too) have I stretched out my hands." Yes; he
stretches out his hands. O sinking world do you not heed his hands and his
voice? Do you not welcome his interposition? Or will you reject Him utterly?
The Gracious Welcome
"Bring him here to me."—Matthew 17:17.
1. Whose words are these? They are Christ's own. They
are authoritative words. He commands. He has just come down from the
transfiguration hill, and what a contrast between that mountain glory and
this valley of tears and disease; but he returns to his old work of healing
and blessing, just as before. The glory has not changed Him. And so with Him
now in the midst of that glory. It has not altered his love. He is the same
Savior still; as ready to receive sinners as in the days of his flesh.
2. To whom are they spoken. To his unbelieving
disciples. Their faith was small indeed, and they are rebuked for it; they
are called a "faithless and perverse generation." Yet He does not, on their
account, repel the poor possessed lunatic, no, He makes them the instrument
of bringing the sick man near. How easily can the love and power of Jesus
break through all barriers, and find their way to the sinner through a wall
of unbelief!
3. Concerning whom are they spoken? A poor lunatic,
possessed with a devil. It is one of the worst cases that has come before
Him, "This kind goes not out but by prayer and fasting." But best or worst,
what matters it to Him who created the heavens and the earth; who is Lord of
principalities and powers; master of Satan and his angels; who has the keys
of hell and death. Others had failed; He could not fail. In this confidence
He speaks. The worst case is nothing to Him.
4. What do they teach us? Much indeed. (1.) Something
as to Christ; (2.) Something as to ourselves.
(1.) Something as to Christ— He is the
great healer; the sinner's one physician. His words are health. His touch is
health. His look is health. No, his very garments are health; for as many as
touch either Him or them are made perfectly whole. Leprosy, lunacy, fever,
blindness, death, possession by Satan, are nothing to Him. In Him all
fullness dwells; and that fullness is dispensed by love. There was much here
to quench that love, much to repel Him, but He will not be repelled, and his
love cannot be quenched, even by the waters of unbelief. He is "mighty to
save"—"able to save to the uttermost." Omnipotence is in his touch,
his look, his word. Let us do justice to his fullness and his grace, lest He
have to say of us, O faithless and perverse generation.
(2.) Something as to ourselves. He comes looking
for faith, but finds only unbelief; looking for child-like simplicity, and
He finds only perversity. Yet He invites us still. He invites us to come
ourselves, and He invites us to bring others. What He desires is personal
contact with Himself. In one sense distance is nothing to Him, but in
another it is. He needs to have us near Him. For He speaks and acts as very
man. And, besides, whatever might be His power to heal or to pardon at a
distance, He knows that nearness to Him is our blessedness. Contact with Him
is health, and life, and warmth. Creeds, doctrines, truths, words, are all
good in their way, but they are not the living Jesus, nor can they be
substitutes for Him and for His love. But into this close contact He invites
us to bring others, "Bring him here to me." He does not say, "Come," neither
does He say, "I will go to him;" He says, "Bring him." And was any "brought
one" ever sent away? Each coming one gets the blessing, and each brought one
too. In the present case this is the more remarkable, because there was
little faith (if any) in any of the parties concerned. Yet Jesus must warn
and bless, not for our sake, but for His own. In spite of sin and unbelief
and perversity He must bless!
Such is the Christ with whom we have to do, full of grace
and truth. Let us draw near; let us keep near; let us allow Him to pour out
His love on us; let us bring others to Him to be partakers of the same
overflowing love.
The Peerage of the Kingdom
About that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked,
"Which of us is greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven?" Jesus called a small
child over to him and put the child among them. Then he said, "I assure you,
unless you turn from your sins and become as little children, you will never
get into the Kingdom of Heaven. Therefore, anyone who becomes as humble as
this little child is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven.—Matthew18:1-4.
It was for a kingdom that Israel was looking; a heavenly
kingdom. In spite of many low views, they believed in "the kingdom of
heaven"; "the kingdom of God"; and in "the kingdom of Messiah," as the same
with these. Being persuaded of their Master's Messiahship, his disciples
wanted to know from him something about his kingdom. They took for granted
that it was theirs; that they were sure of entrance; and they wished him to
tell them who was to have the highest place in it. They were too sure of
getting in. Alas, how many now are not sure at all.
Let us mark (1) the question, (2) the answer. In that
question we find something right and something wrong. Let us look at it; and
then see how exactly the answer meets it.
I. The question. Who is the greatest in the kingdom?
Besides the belief in a coming kingdom, there was an appreciation of its
glories and honors. It was not wrong to wish for the kingdom; nor to desire
a high place in it. We ought to "press forward;" for if it is worth our
while to get in at all, it is as much so to get a high place; for all that
God gives is to be earnestly sought after by us; we cannot be too greedy of
these. "Covet earnestly the best gifts." This was right; but the wrong thing
was the spirit and the way in which the question was put.
(1.) It showed ignorance. They had forgotten the
words spoken to Nicodemus, "except a man be born again." They were going too
fast, and overlooking the question of entrance. They were deficient in their
knowledge of the kingdom, and of the way of entrance, and of the principles
on which honors were bestowed.
(2.) It showed pride. It was a self-sufficient
question; indicating high thoughts of themselves and of their own title to
its privileges. "We are the people."
(3.) It showed selfishness. Here was earthly ambition
working its way into heavenly things; a spirit of selfish rivalry, each one
wanting to get above his fellow—to push up to the highest seat and room.
II. The answer. It goes to the very root of the
matter; it deals first of all with the question which they were overlooking,
that is, of entrance. Thus it rebukes, it warns, it instructs; answering not
merely the one question put, but many others along with it. When man puts a
question to God, he does not see the whole bearings of it. When God answers,
he takes up all these, and does not answer a fool according to his folly,
but lovingly condescends to take up the whole case from the beginning. The
Lord here answers partly in a similitude and partly in words. He takes an
infant, and holding it up, he asks, how is this babe to get in? They
believed that babes belonged to the kingdom; He had told those who "of such
was the kingdom of heaven." Well, how did they get in? Had they said or done
any good? None. They get in as mere nothings; as those who have no good word
or deed to recommend them. Our Lord's two cases of entrance are, the thief
on the cross—a man who had done nothing but evil all his days, and an infant
who has done no good. These show us the way of entrance. Hence the passage
means not, except you become humble, teachable, meek, gentle, &c., as
infants (they are not so); but except you turn round, completely change your
mind (be converted), and humble yourselves (come down from your high
thoughts), you shall not get in at all. Not only, you shall not have a high
place—an "abundant entrance," but no entrance at all.
The way, then, of becoming great is to become little—of
being the greatest, is to become the least. This was the Master's way; he
took the lowest place, and he was exalted to the highest. He made himself of
no reputation, therefore he gets the name above every name. Before honor is
humility—stooping to the consciousness of having deserved nothing. The
Master went far beyond us here, for we truly deserved nothing, and therefore
ought to take the lowest place; he deserved everything, yet lived and acted,
as if he had deserved only sorrow, and pain, and shame, and the death of the
cross. Let us then learn,
(1.) The way of entrance. Go in as an infant, carried
in by another—without claim, merit, goodness; owing all to the free love of
God; of Him who spared not his own Son. Faith acknowledges this nothingness,
and goes in; unbelief refuses to do so, and is kept out. What keeps us in
darkness or doubt, but the desire to have some goodness either in life or
feeling to secure our entrance and recommend us to the King?
(2.) The princi