John the Baptist
by F. B. Meyer · English · Gutenberg #25904 · 367,010 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: John the Baptist
Author: F. B. Meyer
Release date: June 26, 2008 [eBook #25904]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/25904
Credits: E-text prepared by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN THE BAPTIST ***
E-text prepared by Al Haines
Transcriber's note:
In the original book, each right-hand page had its own header.
In this e-book, each chapter's headers have been collected into
an introductory paragraph immediately following that chapter's
introductory poem. (The left-hand pages' header was the
chapter's title.)
JOHN THE BAPTIST
by
F. B. MEYER, B.A.
Author of
Paul: A Servant of Jesus Christ
The Prophet of Hope
Saved and Kept
etc., etc
London: Morgan and Scott
Office of The Christian
12, Paternoster Buildings, E.C.
And may be Ordered of any Bookseller
1911
By Rev. F. B. MEYER, B.A.
THE "BIOGRAPHICAL" SERIES.
ABRAHAM: Or, The Obedience of Faith.
ISRAEL: A Prince with God.
JOSEPH: Beloved--Hated--Exalted.
MOSES: The Servant of God.
JOSHUA: And the Land of Promise.
DAVID: Shepherd, Psalmist, King.
ELIJAH: And the Secret of his Power.
JEREMIAH: Priest and Prophet.
JOHN THE BAPTIST.
PAUL: A Servant of Jesus Christ.
Preface.
The life and character of John the Baptist have always had a great
fascination for me; and I am thankful to have been permitted to write
this book. But I am more thankful for the hours of absorbing interest
spent in the study of his portraiture as given in the Gospels. I know
of nothing that makes so pleasant a respite from the pressure of life's
fret and strain, as to bathe mind and spirit in the translucent waters
of Scripture biography.
As the clasp between the Old Testament and the New--the close of the
one and the beginning of the other; as among the greatest of those born
of women; as the porter who opened the door to the True Shepherd; as
the fearless rebuker of royal and shameless sin--the Baptist must ever
compel the homage and admiration of mankind.
In many respects, such a life cannot be repeated. But the spirit of
humility and courage; of devotion to God, and uncompromising loyalty to
truth, which was so conspicuous in him, may animate us. We, also, may
be filled with the spirit and power of Elijah, as he was; and may
point, with lip and life, to the Saviour of the world, crying, "Behold
the Lamb of God."
Contents
I. THE INTEREST OF HIS BIOGRAPHY
II. THE HOUSE OF ZACHARIAS
III. HIS SCHOOLS AND SCHOOLMASTERS
IV. THE PROPHET OF THE HIGHEST
V. THE FIRST MINISTRY OF THE BAPTIST
VI. BAPTISM UNTO REPENTANCE
VII. THE MANIFESTATION OF THE MESSIAH
VIII. NOT THAT LIGHT, BUT A WITNESS
IX. "HE MUST INCREASE, BUT I MUST DECREASE"
X. THE KING'S COURTS
XI. "ART THOU HE?"
XII. "NONE GREATER THAN JOHN THE BAPTIST, YET..."
XIII. A BURNING AND SHINING LIGHT
XIV. SET AT LIBERTY
XV. THE GRAVE OF JOHN, AND ANOTHER GRAVE
XVI. YET SPEAKING
XVII. THE SPIRIT AND POWER OF ELIAS
JOHN THE BAPTIST.
I.
The Interest of his Biography.
"John, than which man a sadder or a greater
Not till this day has been of woman born;
John, like some iron peak by the Creator
Fired with the red glow of the rushing morn.
"This, when the sun shall rise and overcome it,
Stands in his shining, desolate and bare;
Yet not the less the inexorable summit
Flamed him his signal to the happier air."
F. W. H. MYERS.
John and Jesus--Contemporary History--Anticipation of the Advent.
The morning star, shining amid the brightening glow of dawn, is the
fittest emblem that Nature can supply of the herald who proclaimed the
rising of the Sun of Righteousness--answering across the gulf of three
hundred years to his brother prophet, Malachi, who had foretold that
Sunrise and the healing in His wings.
Every sign attests the unique and singular glory of the Baptist. Not
that his career was signalized by the blaze of prodigy and wonder, like
the multiplication of the widow's meal or the descent of the fire of
heaven to consume the altar and the wood; for it is expressly said that
"John did no miracle." Not that he owed anything to the adventitious
circumstances of wealth and rank; for he was not a place-loving
courtier, "clothed in soft raiment or found in kings' courts." Not
that he was a master of a superb eloquence like that of Isaiah or
Ezekiel; for he was content to be only "a cry"--short, thrilling,
piercing through the darkness, ringing over the desert plains. Yet,
his Master said of him that "among them that are born of women there
hath not risen a greater than John the Baptist"; and in six brief
months, as one has noticed, the young prophet of the wilderness had
become the centre to which all the land went forth. We see Pharisees
and Sadducees, soldiers and publicans, enthralled by his ministry; the
Sanhedrim forced to investigate his claims; the petty potentates of
Palestine caused to tremble on their thrones; while he has left a name
and an influence that will never cease out of the world.
But there is a further feature which arrests us in the life and
ministry of the Baptist. He was ordained to be "the clasp" of two
covenants. In him Judaism reached its highest embodiment, and the Old
Testament found its noblest exponent. It is significant, therefore,
that through his lips the law and the prophets should announce their
transitional purpose, and that he who caught up the torch of Hebrew
prophecy with a grasp and spirit unrivalled by any before him, should
have it in his power and in his heart to say: "The object of all
prophecy, the purpose of the Mosaic law, the end of all sacrifices, the
desire of all nations, is at hand." And forthwith turning to the True
Shepherd, who stood at the door waiting to be admitted, to Him the
porter opened, bowing low as He passed, and crying: "This is He of whom
Moses in the law and the prophets did write, Jesus of Nazareth, who was
for to come."
Few studies can bring out to clearer demonstration the superlative
glory of Christ than a thoughtful consideration of the story of the
forerunner. They were born at the same time; were surrounded from
their birth by similar circumstances; drank in from their earliest days
the same patriotic aspirations, the same sacred traditions, the same
glowing hopes. But the parallel soon stops. John the Baptist is
certainly a grand embodiment of the noblest characteristics of the
Jewish people. We see in him a conspicuous example of what could be
developed out of eight hundred years of Divine revelation and
discipline. But Jesus is the Son of Man: there is a width, a breadth,
a universality about Him which cannot be accounted for save on the
hypothesis which John himself declared, that "He who cometh from above
is above all."
In each case, life was strenuous and short--an epoch being inaugurated,
in the one case in about six months, in the other some three years. In
each case, at first, there was abounding enthusiasm, bursting forth
around their persons as they announced the Kingdom of God, like the
flowers which carpet their own fair land after the rains; but side by
side the unconcealed hatred of the religious world of their time. In
each case, the brief sunny hours of service were soon succeeded by the
rolling up of the thunderous clouds, and these by the murderous tempest
of deadly hatred, even unto death: "Their dead bodies lay in the street
of the great city, which spiritually is called Sodom and Egypt." In
each case, there was a little handful of detached disciples, who
bitterly mourned their master's death, and took up the desecrated
corpse to lay it in the tomb; whilst they that dwelt in the earth
rejoiced and made merry, and sent gifts to one another, because they
had been tormented by their words (Rev. xi. 10).
But there the parallel ends. The life purpose of the one culminated in
his death; with the other, it only began. In the case of John, death
was a martyrdom, which shines brilliantly amid the murky darkness of
his time; in the case of Jesus, death was a sacrifice which put away
the sin of the world. For John there was no immediate resurrection,
save that which all good men have of their words and influence; but his
Master saw no corruption--it was not possible for Him to be holden by
it--and in his resurrection He commenced to wield his wide and mighty
supremacy over human hearts and wills. When the axe of Herod's
executioner had done its deadly work in the dungeons of Machaerus, the
bond which knit the disciples of John was severed also, and they were
absorbed in the followers of Christ; but when the Roman soldiers
thought their work was done, and the cry "It is finished!" had escaped
the parched lips of the dying Lord, his disciples held together in the
upper room, and continued there for more than forty days, until the
descent of the Holy Spirit formed them into the strongest organization
that this world has ever beheld.
John's influence on the world has diminished as men have receded
further from his age; but Jesus is King of the ages. He creates, He
fashions, He leads them forth; He is with us always, to the end of the
age. We have not to go back through the centuries to find Him in the
cradle or in Mary's arms, in the fishing-boat or on the mountain, on
the cross or in the grave; He is _here_ beside us, with us, in us, "all
the days." John, then, was "a burning and shining torch," lifted for a
moment aloft in the murky air; but Jesus was THAT LIGHT. As the
star-light, which fails to illumine the page of your book or the
dial-plate of your watch, is to the sunlight, as the courier is to the
sovereign, as the streamlet is to the ocean--such was John as compared
with Him whose shoe-latchet he felt himself unworthy to stoop down and
unloose. Greatest born of women he might be; "sent from God" he was:
but One came after him who bore upon his front the designation of his
Divine origin and mission, behind whom the gates of the past closed as
when a king has passed through, and at whose girdle hang the keys of
the doors and gates of the Ages.
To read the calm idyllic pages of the Gospels, apart from some
knowledge of contemporary history, is to miss one of their deepest
lessons--that such piety and beneficence were set in the midst of a
most tumultuous and perilous age. Those times were by no means
favourable to the cultivation of the deepest life. The flock of God
had long left the green pastures and still waters of outward peace, and
were passing through the valley of death-shadow, every step of the path
being infested by the enemies of their peace. The wolf, indeed, was
coming. The national life was already being rent by those throes of
agony which betokened the passing away of an age, and reached their
climax in the Fall of Jerusalem, of which Jesus said there had been
nothing, and would be nothing, like it in the history of the world.
Herod was on the throne--crafty, cruel, sensual, imperious, and
magnificent. The gorgeous Temple which bore his name was the scene of
priestly service and sacramental rites. The great national feasts of
the Passover, of Tabernacles, and of Pentecost, were celebrated with
solemn pomp, and attracted vast crowds from all the world. In every
part of the land synagogues were maintained with punctilious care, and
crowds of scribes were perpetually engaged in a microscopic study of
the law, and in the instruction of the people. In revenue, and popular
attention, and apparent devoutness, that period had not been excelled
in the most palmy days of Solomon or Hezekiah. But beneath this
decorous surface the rankest, foulest, most desperate corruption throve.
To the aged couple in the hill-country of Judaea, as to Mary and Joseph
at Nazareth, must have come tidings of the murder of Aristobulus, of
the cruel death of Mariamne and her sons, and of the aged Hyrcanus.
They must have groaned beneath the grinding oppression by which Herod
extorted from the poorer classes the immense revenues which he
squandered on his palaces and fortresses and on the creation of new
cities. That he was introducing everywhere Gentile customs and games;
that he had dared to place the Roman eagle on the main entrance of the
Temple; that he had pillaged David's tomb; that he had set aside the
great council of their nation, and blinded the saintly Jochanan; that
the religious leaders, men like Caiaphas and Annas, were quite willing
to wink at the crimes of the secular power, so long as their prestige
and emoluments were secured; that the national independence for which
Judas and his brothers had striven, during the Maccabean wars, was fast
being laid at the feet of Rome, which was only too willing to take
advantage of the chaos which followed immediately upon Herod's hideous
death--such tidings must have come, in successive shocks of anguish, to
those true hearts who were waiting for the redemption of Israel, with
all the more eagerness as it seemed so long delayed, so urgently
needed. Still, they made their yearly journeys to Jerusalem, and
participated in the great convocations, which, in outward splendour,
eclipsed memories of the past; but they realized that the glory had
departed, and that the mere husk of externalism could not long resist
the incoming tides of militarism, of the love of display, and the
corrupting taint of the worst aspects of Roman civilization. When the
feasts were over, these pious hearts turned back to their homes among
the hills, tearing themselves from the last glimpse of the beautiful
city, with the cry, "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem!"
The darkest hour precedes the dawn, and it was just at this point that
Old Testament predictions must have been so eagerly scanned by those
that watched and waited. That the Messiah was nigh, they could not
doubt. The term of years foretold by Daniel had nearly expired. The
sceptre had departed from Judah, and the lawgiver from between his
feet. Even the Gentile world was penetrated with the expectation of a
King. Sybils in their ancient writings, hermits in their secret cells,
Magi studying the dazzling glories of the eastern heavens, had come to
the conclusion that He was at hand who would bring again the Golden Age.
And so those loyal and loving souls that often spake together, while
the Lord hearkened and heard, must have felt that as the advent of the
Lord whom they sought was nigh, that of his messenger must be nearer
still. They started at every footfall. They listened for every voice.
They scanned the expression of every face. "Behold, he shall come,"
rang in their hearts like a peal of silver bells. At any moment might
a voice be heard crying, "Cast up, cast up the highway; gather out the
stones; lift up an ensign for the peoples. Say ye to the daughter of
Sion, Behold, thy salvation cometh." Those anticipations were realized
in the birth of John the Baptist.
II.
The House of Zacharias.
(LUKE I.)
"There are in this loud stunning tide
Of human care and crime,
With whom the melodies abide
Of the everlasting chime;
Who carry music in their heart
Through dusky lane and wrangling mart
Plying their daily task with busier feet,
Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat."
KEBLE.
Early History of the Baptist--God's Hidden Ones--The Hill Country of
Judea--A Childless Home--The Forerunner Announced.
To the evangelist Luke we are indebted for details of those antecedent
circumstances that ushered John the Baptist into the world. He tells
us that he had "traced the course of all things accurately from the
first." And in those final words, "from the first," he suggests that
he had deliberately sought to examine into those striking events from
which, as from a wide-spreading root, the great growth of Christianity
had originated. Who of us has not sometimes followed the roots of some
newly-discovered plant deep into the black mould, intent on pursuing
them to their furthest extremity, and extricating them from the
clinging earth without injuring one delicate radicle? So this good
physician, accustomed by his training to accurate research and
experiment, went back to scenes and events anterior to any which his
brother Evangelists recorded. He compensated for the authority of an
eye-witness by the thoroughness and care of his investigation.
What were the sources from which the third Evangelist drew his
information? We cannot be sure, but may hazard a suggestion, which is
supported by the archaic simplicity, the indescribable grace, the
almost idyllic beauty of his two opening chapters. Critics have
repeatedly drawn attention to their unique character, and insisted that
they are due to some other hand than that which has given us the rest
of the story of "the Son of Man." And why should we not attribute them
to "the Mother" herself? It has been truly said that mothers are the
natural historians of their children's early days--never tired of
observing them, they never tire of recounting their prodigies; and, in
an especial manner, Mary had kept all things, pondering in her heart
those wonderful circumstances which had left so indelible an impression
on her life. She who, in her over-welling joy, uttered "the
Magnificat," was surely capable, even judging from a literary and human
standpoint, of the language in which the story is told; and the facts
themselves would only stand out the clearer in her closing years, as
many another memory faded from her mind. The granite remains when the
floods have swept away the light soil that filled the interstices of
the rocks.
It were a theme worthy of a great artist to depict! Mary's face,
furrowed by deep lines of anguish, yet glowing with sacred fire and
holy memory. Luke, sitting at his manuscript, now letting her tell her
story without interruption, and again interpolating an inquiry, the
words growing on the page; while, nearer than each to either, making no
tremor in the hot summer air as He comes, casting no shadow in the
brilliant eastern light--He of whom they speak and write steals in to
stand beside them, bringing all things to their remembrance by the Holy
Spirit's agency, even as He had told them.
The story of John the Baptist was so clearly part of that of Jesus,
that Mary could hardly recall the one without the other. And, besides,
Elisabeth, as the angel said, was her kinswoman--perhaps her cousin--to
whom she naturally turned in the hour of her maidenly astonishment and
rapture. Though much younger, Mary was united to her relative by a
close and tender tie, and it was only natural that what had happened to
Elisabeth should have impressed her almost as deeply as her own
memorable experiences. So it is possible that from the lips of the
mother of our Lord we obtain these details of the House of Zacharias.
I. THE QUIET IN THE LAND.--God has always had his hidden ones; and,
while the world has been rent by faction and war, ravaged by fire and
sword, and drenched with the blood of her sons, these have heard his
call to enter their chamber, and shut themselves in until the storm had
spent its fury. It was so during the days of Ahab, when the eye of
omniscience beheld at least seven thousand who had not bowed the knee
to Baal. It was so in the awful days of the Civil War, when Puritan
and Royalist faced each other at Naseby and Marston Moor, and the land
seemed swept in a blinding storm. Groups of ardent souls gathered to
spend their time in worship and acts of mercy--like those at Little
Gidding, in Huntingdonshire, under the direction of Mr. Nicholas
Ferrar. It was so when the thirty years' war desolated Germany, and
"the quiet in the land" withdrew themselves from the agitated scene of
human affairs to wait on God, embalming their hearts in hymns and poems
which exhale a perfume as from crushed flowers.
It was eminently so in the days of which we write. Darkness covered
the earth, and gross darkness the peoples. Herod's infamous cruelties,
craft, and bloodshed were at their height. The country questioned with
fear what new direction his crimes might take. The priesthood was
obsequious to his whim; the bonds of society seemed dissolved. Theudas
and Judas of Galilee, mentioned by Gamaliel, were but specimens of the
bandit leaders who broke into revolt and harried the country districts
for the maintenance of their followers. Greed, peculation, and lawless
violence, had ample and undisputed opportunity to despoil the national
glory and corrupt the heart of the national life.
Is it to be wondered that the godly remnant would meet in little groups
and secluded hiding-places to comfort themselves in God? We are told,
for instance, that Anna spake of the Babe, whom she had probably
embraced in her aged trembling arms, "to all them that were looking for
the redemption of Jerusalem" (Luke ii. 38, R.V.). What would we not
give to know something more of the members of this sacred society,
which preserved the loftiest traditions, and embodied in their lives
some of the finest traits of the religion of their forefathers! The
gloom of their times only led them more eagerly to con the predictions
of their Hebrew prophets, and desire their accomplishment. Full often
they would climb the heights and look out over the desert wastes to
descry the advent of the Mighty One, coming from Edom, with his
garments stained with the blood of Israel's foes. When they met, the
burden of conversation, which flowed under vine or fig-tree, by the
wayside or in humble homes, would be of their cherished hope. And as
they beheld the hapless condition of their fatherland, the land of
Abraham, the city of David, the cry must often have been extorted; "How
long, O Lord, holy and true, will it be ere He shall come whose right
it is who shall sit on the throne of his father David, and of whose
kingdom there shall be no end? Come forth out of thy royal chambers, O
Prince of all the kings of the earth! Put on the visible robes of thy
imperial majesty; take up that unlimited sceptre which thy Almighty
Father hath bequeathed Thee; for now the voice of thy bride calls Thee,
and all creatures sigh to be renewed." So our great Milton prayed in
more recent days.
We are not drawing on our imagination in describing these true-hearted
watchers for the rising of the Day-star. They are fully indicated in
the Gospel story. There was Simeon, righteous and devout, unto whom it
had been revealed by the Holy Spirit that he should not see death
before he had seen the Lord's Christ; and Anna, the prophetess, who
departed not from the temple, worshipping with fastings and
supplications night and day; and the guileless Nathanael, an Israelite
indeed, who had perhaps already commenced to sit at the foot of the
ladder which bound his fig-tree to the highest heaven; and the peasant
maiden Mary, the descendant of a noble house, though with fallen
fortunes, who, like some vestal virgin, clad in snowy white, watched
through the dark hours beside the flickering flame; and last, but not
least, Zacharias and his wife Elisabeth, "who were both righteous
before God, walking in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord
blameless."
For us, too, the times are dark. It is as though the shadows were
being thrown far across the fields, and the light were becoming dim.
Let the children of God draw together, to encourage each other in their
holy faith, and to speak of their great hopes; for He who appeared once
to put away sin by the sacrifice of Himself shall appear a second time
without sin unto salvation. We are, as the French version puts it,
_burgesses of the skies_, "whence we wait for a Saviour, the Lord Jesus
Christ, who shall fashion anew the body of our humiliation, that it may
be conformed to the body of his glory, according to the working whereby
He is able even to subject all things unto Himself."
But this attitude of spirit, which dwells in the unseen and eternal,
which counts on the indwelling of the Son of God by faith, and which
ponders deeply over the sins and sorrows of the world around, is the
temper of mind out of which the greatest deeds are wrought for the
cause of God on the earth. The Marys who sit at Christ's feet arise to
anoint Him for his burying. Take, for instance, the Moravian Church,
born and cradled amid the pietism of which Spener of Berlin and Franke
of Halle were the acknowledged leaders; and it has given to the world a
far larger number of missionaries in proportion to its membership than
any church of the age. Or take the followers of George Fox, who have
maintained through unparalleled suffering their testimony for
spirituality of worship; and it is undeniable that some of the greatest
reforms which have characterised the century recently closed have found
their foremost advocates and apologists from their somewhat meagre
ranks. Those who wait on God renew their strength. The world ignores
them, scorning to reckon their tears and toils amid its renovating
energies; but they refuse to abate their endeavours and sacrifices on
its behalf. They repay its neglect by more assiduous exertions, its
ingratitude by more exhausting sacrifices; content if, from out their
ranks, there presently steps one who, like John the Baptist, opens a
new chapter in the history of the race, and accelerates the advent of
the Christ.
II. THE PARENTAGE OF THE FORERUNNER.--As the traveller emerges from
the dreary wilderness that lies between Sinai and the southern frontier
of Palestine--a scorching desert, in which Elijah was glad to find
shelter from the sword-like rays in the shade of the retem shrub--he
sees before him a long line of hills, which is the beginning of "the
hill country of Judaea" (Luke i. 39). In contrast with the sand wastes
which he has traversed, the valleys seem to laugh and sing. Greener
and yet greener grow the pasture lands, till he can understand how
Nabal and other sheep-masters were able to find maintenance for vast
flocks of sheep. Here and there are the crumbled ruins which mark the
site of ancient towns and villages tenanted now by the jackal or the
wandering Arab. Amongst these, a modern traveller has identified the
site of Juttah, the village home of the priest Zacharias and his wife
Elisabeth.
To judge by their names, we may infer that their parents years before
had been godly people. _Zacharias_ meant _God's remembrance_; as
though he were to be a perpetual reminder to his fellows of what God
had promised, and to God of what they were expecting from his hand.
_Elisabeth_ meant _God's oath_; as though her people were perpetually
appealing to those covenant promises in which, since He could swear by
no greater, God had sworn by Himself, that He would never leave nor
forsake, and that when the sceptre departed from Judah and the
law-giver from between his feet, Shiloh should come.
Zacharias was a priest, "of the course of Abijah," and twice a year he
journeyed to Jerusalem to fulfil his office, for a week of six days and
two Sabbaths. There were, Josephus tells us, somewhat more than 20,000
priests settled in Judaea at this time; and very many of them were like
those whom Malachi denounced as degrading and depreciating the Temple
services. The general character of the priesthood was deeply tainted
by the corruption of the times, and as a class they were blind leaders
of the blind. Not a few, however, were evidently deeply religious men,
for we find that "a great number of the priests," after the
crucifixion, believed on Christ and joined his followers. In this
class we must therefore place Zacharias, who, with his wife, herself of
the daughters of Aaron, is described as being "righteous before God."
The phrases are evidently selected with care. Many are righteous
before men; but they were righteous _before God_. Their daily life and
walk were regulated by a careful observance of the ordinances of the
ceremonial and the commandments of the moral law. It is evident, from
the apt and plentiful quotations from Scripture with which the song of
Zacharias is replete, that the Scriptures were deeply pondered and
reverenced in that highland home; and we have the angel's testimony to
the prayers that ascended day and night. In all these things they were
blameless--not faultless, as judged by God's infinite standard of
rectitude, but blameless--because they lived up to the fullest limit of
their knowledge of the will of God. They were blameless and harmless,
the children of God, without blemish, in the midst of a crooked and
perverse generation, among whom they were seen as lights in the world,
holding forth amid neighbours and friends the Word of Truth.
But they lived under the shadow of a great sorrow. "They had no child,
because Elisabeth was barren, and they both were now well stricken in
years." When the good priest put off his official dress of white
linen, and returned to his mountain home, there was no childish voice
to welcome him. It seemed almost certain that their family would soon
die out and be forgotten; that no child would close their eyes in
death; and that by no link whatsoever could they be connected with the
Messiah, to be the progenitor of whom was the cherished longing of each
Hebrew parent.
"They had no child!" They would, therefore, count themselves under the
frown of God; and the mother especially felt that a reproach lay on
her. What a clue to the anguish of the soul is furnished by her own
reflection, when she recognised the glad divine interposition on her
behalf, and cried, "Thus hath the Lord done unto me in the days wherein
He looked upon me, to take away _my reproach among men_" (Luke i. 25).
But had it not been for this sorrow they might never have been
qualified to receive the first tidings of the near approach of the
Messiah. _Sorrow_ opens our eyes, and bids us see visions within the
vail, which cannot be described by those who have not wept. _Sorrow_
leads us up the steep mountain of vision, and opens the panorama which
lies beyond the view of those who dare not attempt the craggy steep.
_Sorrow_ prepares us to see angels standing beside the altar of incense
at the hour of prayer, and to hear words that mortal lips may not utter
until they are fulfilled. _Sorrow_ leads us to open our house to those
who carry a great anguish in their hearts, who come to us needing
shelter and comfort; to discover finally that we have entertained an
angel unawares, and that in some trembling maiden, threatened by
divorce from her espoused, we have welcomed the mother of the Lord
(ver. 43). Shrink not from sorrow. It endures but for the brief
eastern night; joy cometh in the morning, to remain. It may be caused
by long waiting and apparently fruitless prayer. Beneath its pressure
heart and flesh may faint. All natural hope may have become dead, and
the soul be plunged in hopeless despair. "Yet the Lord will command
his loving-kindness in the morning;" and it will be seen that the dull
autumn sowings of tears and loneliness and pain were the necessary
preliminary for that heavenly messenger who, standing "on the right
side of the altar of incense," shall assure us that our prayer is heard.
III. THE ANGEL'S ANNOUNCEMENT.--One memorable autumn, when the land
was full of the grape-harvest, Zacharias left his home, in the cradle
of the hills, some three thousand feet above the Mediterranean, for his
priestly service. Reaching the temple he would lodge in the cloisters,
and spend his days in the innermost court, which none might enter save
priests in their sacred garments. Among the various priestly duties,
none was held in such high esteem as the offering of incense, which was
presented morning and evening, on a special golden altar, in the Holy
Place at the time of prayer. "The whole multitude of the people were
praying without at the time of incense." So honourable was this office
that it was fixed by lot, and none was allowed to perform it twice.
Only once in a priest's life was he permitted to sprinkle the incense
on the burning coals, which an assistant had already brought from the
altar of burnt-sacrifice, and spread on the altar of incense before the
vail.
The silver trumpets had sounded. The smoke of the evening sacrifice
was ascending. The worshippers that thronged the different courts,
rising tier on tier, were engaged in silent prayer. The assistant
priest had retired; and Zacharias, for the first and only time in his
life, stood alone in the holy shrine, while the incense which he had
strewn on the glowing embers arose in fragrant clouds, enveloping and
veiling the objects around, whilst it symbolized the ascent of prayers
and intercessions not only from his own heart, but from the hearts of
his people, into the presence of God. "And their prayer came up to his
holy habitation, even unto heaven."
What a litany of prayer poured from his heart! For Israel, that the
chosen people should be delivered from their low estate; for the cause
of religion, that it might be revived; for the crowds without, that God
would hear the prayers they were offering toward his holy sanctuary,
and, perhaps, for Elisabeth and himself, that, if possible, God would
hear their prayer, and, if not, that He would grant them to bear
patiently their heavy sorrow.
"And there appeared unto him an angel of the Lord standing on the right
side of the altar of incense." Mark how circumstantial the narrative
is. There could be no mistake. He stood--and he stood on the right
side. It was Gabriel who stands in the presence of God, who had been
sent to speak to him, and declare the good tidings that his prayer was
heard; that his wife should bear a son, who should be called John, that
the child should be welcomed with joy, should be a Nazarite from his
birth, should be filled with the Holy Spirit from his birth, should
inherit the spirit and power of Elias, and should go before the face of
Christ to prepare his way, by turning the hearts of the fathers to the
children, and the disobedient to walk in the wisdom of the just.
He tarried long in the temple, and what wonder! The people would have
ceased to marvel at the long suspense, could they have known the cause
of the delay. Presently he came out; but when he essayed to pronounce
the customary blessing his lips were dumb. He made signs as he reached
forth his hands in the attitude of benediction; but that day no
blessing fell on their upturned faces. He continued making signs unto
them and remained dumb. Dumb, because he questioned the likelihood of
so good and gracious an answer. Dumb, because he believed not the
archangel's words. Dumb, that he might learn in silence and solitude
the full purposes of God, to set them presently to song. Dumb, that
the tidings might not spread as yet. Dumb, as the representative of
that wonderful system, which for so long had spoken to mankind with
comparatively little result, but was now to be superseded by the Word
of God.
With the light of that glory on his face, and those sweet notes of
"Fear not" ringing in his heart, Zacharias continued to fulfil the
duties of his ministration, and, when his work was fulfilled, departed
unto his house. But that day was long remembered by the people,
prelude as it was to the time when their blessings would no longer come
from Ebal or Gerizim, but from Calvary; and when the great High Priest
would utter from heaven the ancient words:
The Lord bless thee and keep thee.
The Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee.
The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.
III.
His Schools and Schoolmasters.
(LUKE 1.)
"Oh to have watched thee through the vineyards wander,
Pluck the ripe ears, and into evening roam!--
Followed, and known that in the twilight yonder
Legions of angels shone about thy home!"
F. W. H. MYERS.
Home-Life--Preparing for his Life-Work--The Vow of Separation--A Child of
the Desert
Zacharias and Elisabeth had probably almost ceased to pray for a child,
or to urge the matter. It seemed useless to pray further. There had
been no heaven-sent sign to assure them that there was any likelihood of
their prayer being answered, and nature seemed to utter a final No; when
suddenly the angel of God broke into the commonplace of their life, like
a meteorite into the unrippled water of a mountain-sheltered lake,
bringing the assurance that there was no need for fear, and the
announcement that their prayer was heard. It must have been like hearing
news that a ship, long overdue and almost despaired of, has suddenly made
harbour.
It is not impossible that prayers that we have ceased to pray, and are in
despair about, will yet return to us with the words, _Thy supplication is
heard_, endorsed on them in our Father's handwriting. Not infrequently
dividends are paid on investments which we have given up as valueless.
Fruit that mellows longest in the sun is ripest. Such things may
transcend altogether our philosophy of prayer; but we are prepared for
this, since God is accustomed to do exceeding abundantly above all that
we ask or think.
On his arrival in his home, the aged priest, by means of the
writing-table afterwards referred to, informed his wife, who apparently
had not accompanied him, of all that had happened, even to the name which
the child was to bear, She, at least, seems to have found no difficulty
in accepting the divine assurance, and during her five months of
seclusion she nursed great and mighty thoughts in her heart, in the
belief and prayer that her child would become all that his name is
supposed to signify, _the gift of Jehovah_. It was Elisabeth also who
recognised in Mary the mother of her Lord, greeted her as blessed among
women, and assured her that there would be for her a fulfilment of the
things which had been promised her.
Month succeeded month, but Zacharias neither heard nor spoke. His
friends had to make signs to him, for unbelief has the effect of shutting
man out of the enjoyment of life, and hindering his usefulness. How
different this time of waiting from the blessedness it brought to his
wife's young relative, who believed the heavenly messenger. He was
evidently a good man, and well versed in the history of his people. His
soul, as we learn from his song, was full of noble pride in the great and
glorious past. He could believe that when Abraham and Sarah were past
age, a child was born to _them_, who filled their tent with his merry
prattle and laughter; but he could not believe that such a blessing could
fall to his lot. And is not that the point where our faith staggers
still? We can believe in the wonder-working power of God on the distant
horizon of the past, or on the equally distant horizon of the future; but
that He should have a definite and particular care for _our_ life, that
_our_ prayers should touch Him, that He should give us the desire of our
heart--this staggers us, and we feel it is too good to be true.
During the whole period that the stricken but expectant priest spent in
his living tomb, shut off from communication with the outer world, his
spirit was becoming charged with holy emotion, that waited for the first
opportunity of expression. Such an opportunity came at length. His
lowly dwelling was one day crowded with an eager and enthusiastic throng
of relatives and friends. They had gathered to congratulate the aged
pair, to perform the initial rite of Judaism, and to name the infant boy
that lay in his mother's arms. Ah, what joy was hers when they came to
"magnify the Lord's mercy towards her, and to rejoice with her"! As the
people passed in and out, there was a new glow in the brilliant eastern
sunlight, a new glory on the familiar hills.
In their perplexity at the mother's insistence that the babe's name
should be John--none of his kindred being known by that name--they
appealed to his father, who with trembling hand inscribed on the wax of
the writing tablet the verdict, "His name is John." So soon as he had
broken the iron fetter of unbelief in thus acknowledging the fulfilment
of the angel's words, "his mouth was opened immediately, and his tongue
loosed, and he spake, blessing God. And fear came on all that dwelt
round about them." All these sayings quickly became the staple theme of
conversation throughout all the hill-country of Judaea; and wherever they
came, they excited the profoundest expectation. People laid them up in
their hearts, saying, "What, then, shall this child be?"
"And the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit." "And the hand of the
Lord was with him."
There were several remarkable formative influences operating on this
young life.
I. THE SCHOOL OF HOME.--_His father was a priest_. John's earliest
memories would register the frequent absence of his father in the
fulfilment of his course; and, on his return, with what eagerness would
the boy drink in a recital of all that had transpired in the Holy City!
We can imagine how the three would sit together beneath their trellised
vine, in the soft light of the fading sunset, and talk of Zion, their
chief joy. No wonder that in after days, as he looked on Jesus as He
walked, he pointed to Him and said, "Behold the Lamb of God"; for, from
the earliest, his young mind had been saturated with thoughts of
sacrifice.
When old enough his parents would take him with them to one of the great
festivals, where, amid the thronging crowds, his boyish eyes opened for
the first time upon the stately Temple, the order and vestments of the
priests, the solemn pomp of the Levitical ceremonial. The young heart
dilated and expanded with wonder and pride; but how little he realized
that his ministry would be the first step to its entire subversal.
He would be also taught carefully in the _Holy Scriptures_. Like the
young Timothy, he would know them from early childhood. The song of
Zacharias reveals a vivid and realistic familiarity with the prophecies
and phraseology of the Scriptures; and as the happy parents recited them
to his infant mind, they would stay to emphasize them with impressive
personal references. What would we not have given to hear Zacharias
quote Isaiah xl. or Malachi iii., and turn to the lad at his knee,
saying--"These words refer to thee".--
"Yea, and thou, child, shalt be called the Prophet of the Most High; for
thou shalt go before the face of the Lord to prepare his ways."
Would not the aged priest speak to his son in thoughts and words like
those with which his song is so replete; might he not speak to him in
some such way as this: "My boy, God has fulfilled his holy covenant, the
oath which He sware unto Abraham, our father; because of the tender mercy
of our God, the Dayspring from on high has visited us, to shine upon them
that sit in darkness, and to guide our feet into the way of peace." Then
he would proceed to tell him the marvellous story of his Kinsman's birth
in Bethlehem, and of his growing grace in Nazareth. "Blessed be the
Lord, the God of Israel," the old man said; "for He hath visited and
redeemed his people, and hath raised up a horn of salvation for us in the
house of his servant David, as He spake by the mouth of his holy
prophets, which have been since the world began." Next the father would
tell as much of the story of Herod's crimes, and of his oppressive rule,
as the lad could understand; and explain how there would soon be
"salvation from their enemies, and from the hand of all that hated them."
And his young soul would be thrilled by the hopes which were bursting in
the bud, and so near breaking into flower.
Sometimes when they were abroad together in the early dawn, and saw the
first peep of day, the father would say: "John, do you see that light
breaking over the hills? What that day-spring is to the world, Jesus,
thy cousin at Nazareth, will be to the darkness of sin." Then, turning
to the morning star, shining in the path of the dawn, and paling as they
gazed, he would say: "See thy destiny, my son: I am an old man, and shall
not live to see thee in thy meridian strength; but thou shalt shine for
only a brief space, and then decrease, whilst He shall increase from the
faint flush of day-spring to the perfect day." And might not the child
reply, with a flash of intelligent appreciation?--"Yes, father, I
understand; but I shall be satisfied if only I have prepared the way of
the Lord."
_There were also the associations of the surrounding country_. The story
of Abraham would often be recited in the proximity of Machpelah's sacred
cave. The career of David could not be unfamiliar to a youth who was
within easy reach of the haunts of the shepherd-psalmist. And the story
of the Maccabees would stir his soul, as his parents recounted the
exploits of Judas and his brethren, in which the ancient Hebrew faith and
prowess had revived in one last glorious outburst.
How ineffaceable are the impressions of the Home! What the father is
when he comes back at night from his toils, and what the mother is all
day; what may be the staple of conversation in the home: whether the
father is willing to be the companion of his child, answering his
questions, and superintending the gradual unfolding of his mind; how
often the Bible is opened and explained; how the weekly rest-day is
spent; the attitude of the home towards strong drink in every shape and
form, and all else that might injure the young life, as gas does
plants--all these are vital to the right nurture and direction of boys
and girls who can only wax strong in spirit when all early influences
combine in the same direction.
II. THERE WAS THE SCHOOL OF HIS NAZARITE-VOW.--The angel, who announced
his birth, foretold that he should drink neither wine nor strong drink
from his birth, but that he should be filled with the Holy Spirit.
"John," said our Lord, "came neither eating nor drinking." This
abstinence from all stimulants was a distinct sign of the Nazarite,
together with the unshorn locks, and the care with which he abstained
from contact with death. In some cases, the vow of the Nazarite might be
taken for a time, or, as in the case of Samson, Samuel, and John, it
might be for life. But, whether for shorter or longer, the Nazarite held
himself as peculiarly given up to the service of God, pliant to the least
indication of his will, quick to catch the smallest whisper of his voice,
and mighty in his strength.
"Mother, why do I wear my hair so long? You never cut it, as the mothers
of other boys do."
"No, my son," was the proud and glad reply; "you must never cut it as
long as you live: _you are a Nazarite_."
"Mother, why may I not taste the grapes? The boys say they are so nice
and sweet. May I not, next vintage?"
"No, never," his mother would reply; "you must never touch the fruit of
the vine: _you are a Nazarite_."
If, as they walked along the public way, they saw a bone left by some
hungry dog, or a little bird fallen to the earth to die, and the boy
would approach to touch either, the mother would call him back to her
side, saying, "Thou must never touch a dead thing. If thy father were to
die, or I, beside thee, thou must not move us from the spot, but call for
help. Remember always that thou art separated unto God; his vows are
upon thee, and thou must let nothing, either in symbol or reality, steal
away his power from thy young heart and life."
The effect of this would be excellent. It would give a direction and
purpose to the lad's thoughts and anticipations. He realized that he was
set apart for a great mission in life. The brook heard the call of the
sea. Besides which, he would acquire self-restraint, self-mastery.
What is it to be "strong in spirit"? The man who carries everything
before him with the impetuous rush of his nature, before whose outbursts
men tremble, and who insists in all things on asserting his wild,
masterful will--is he the strong man? Nay! most evidently he must be
classed among the weaklings. The strength of a man is in proportion to
the feelings which he curbs and subdues, and not which subdue him. The
man who receives a flagrant insult, and answers quietly; the man who
bears a hopeless daily trial, and remains silent; the man who with strong
passions remains chaste, or with a quick sense of injustice can refrain
himself and remain calm--these are strong men; and John waxed strong,
because, from the earliest dawn of thought, he was taught the necessity
of refusing things which in themselves might have been permissible, but
for him were impossible.
On each of us rests the vow of separation by right of our union with the
Son of God, who was holy, harmless, undefiled, and separate from sinners.
Remember how He went without the camp, bearing our reproach; how they
cast Him forth to the death of the cross; and how He awaits us on the
Easter side of death--and surely we can find no pleasure in the world
where He found no place. His death has made a lasting break between his
followers and the rest of men. They are crucified to the world, and the
world to them. Let us not taste of the intoxicating joys in which the
children of the present age indulge; let us allow no Delilah passion to
pass her scissors over our locks; and let us be very careful not to
receive contamination; to have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of
darkness, but to come out and be separate, not touching the unclean thing.
But while we put away all that injures our own life or the lives of
others, let us be very careful to discriminate, to draw the line where
God would have it drawn, exaggerating and extenuating nothing. It is
important to remember that while the motto of the old covenant was
Exclusion, even of innocent and natural things, that of the new is
Inclusion. Moses, under the old, forbade the Jews having horses; but
Zechariah said that in the new they might own horses, only "Holiness to
the Lord" must be engraven on the bells of their harness. Christ has
come to sanctify all life. Whether we eat, or drink, or whatever we do,
we are to do all to his glory. Disciples are not to be taken out of the
world, but kept from its evil. "Every creature of God is good, and
nothing to be refused, if it be received with thanksgiving; for it is
sanctified by the Word of God, and prayer." Natural instincts are not to
be crushed, but transfigured.
This is the great contrast between the Baptist and the Son of Man. The
Nazarite would have felt it a sin against the law of his vocation and
office to touch anything pertaining to the vine. Christ began his signs
by changing water into wine, though of an innocuous kind, for the
peasants' wedding at Cana of Galilee. John would have lost all sanctity
had he touched the bodies of the dead, or the flesh of a leper. Christ
would touch a bier, pass his hands over the seared flesh of the leper,
and stand sympathetically beside the grave of his friend. Thus we catch
a glimpse of our Lord's meaning when He affirms that, though John was the
greatest of women born, yet the least in the Kingdom of heaven is greater
than he.
III. THERE WAS THE SCHOOL OF THE DESERT.--"The child was in the deserts
till the day of his showing unto Israel." Probably Zacharias, and
Elisabeth also, died when John was quite young. But the boy had grown
into adolescence, was able to care for himself, and "the hand of the Lord
was with him."
Beneath the guidance and impulse of that hand he tore himself from the
little home where he had first seen the tender light of day, and spent
happy years, to go forth from the ordinary haunts of men, perhaps hardly
knowing whither. There was a wild restlessness in his soul. A young
man, pleading the other day with his father to be allowed to emigrate to
the West, urged that whereas there are _inches_ here there are _acres_
there; and something of this kind may have been in the heart of John. He
desired to free himself from the conventionalities and restraints of the
society amid which he had been brought up, that he might develop after
his own fashion, with no laws but those he received from heaven.
Fatherless, motherless, brotherless, sisterless--a lone man, he passed
forth into the great and terrible wilderness of Judaea, which is so
desolate that the Jews called it the abomination of desolation.
Travellers who have passed over and through it say that it is destitute
of all animal life, save a chance vulture or fox. For the most part, it
is a waste of sand, swept by wild winds. When Jesus was there some two
or three years after, He found nothing to eat; the stones around mocked
his hunger; and there was no company save that of the wild beasts.
In this great and terrible wilderness, John supported himself by eating
locusts--the literal insect, which is still greatly esteemed by the
natives--and wild honey, which abounded in the crevices of the rocks;
while for clothing he was content with a coat of coarse camel's hair,
such as the Arab women make still; and a girdle of skin about his loins.
A cave, like that in which David and his men often found refuge, sufficed
him for a home, and the water of the streams that hurried to the Dead
Sea, for his beverage.
Can we wonder that under such a regimen he grew strong? We become weak
by continual contact with our fellows. We sink to their level, we
accommodate ourselves to their fashions and whims; we limit the natural
developments of character on God's plan; we take on the colour of the
bottom on which we lie. But in loneliness and solitude, wherein we meet
God, we become strong. God's strong men are rarely clothed in soft
raiment, or found in kings' courts. Obadiah, who stood in awe of Ahab,
was a very different man from Elijah, who was of the inhabitants of
Gilead, and stood before the Lord.
Yes, and there is a source of strength beside. He who is filled and
taught, as John was, by the Spirit, is strengthened by might in the inner
man. All things are possible to him that believes. Simon Bar-Jona
becomes Peter when he touches the Christ. The youths faint and are
weary, and the young men utterly fall; but they that wait on the Lord
renew their strength: they who know God are strong and do exploits.
IV.
The Prophet of the Highest.
(LUKE I.)
"Ye hermits blest, ye holy maids,
The nearest heaven on earth,
Who talk with God in shadowy glades,
Free from rude care and mirth;
To whom some viewless Teacher brings
The secret love of rural things,
The moral of each fleeting cloud and gale,
The whispers from above, that haunt the twilight vale."
KEBLE.
Formative Influences--A Historical Parallel--The Burning of the
Vanities--"Sent from God"
"Thou, child, shalt be called the Prophet of the Most High"--thus
Zacharias addressed his infant son, as he lay in the midst of that
group of wondering neighbours and friends. What a thrill of ecstasy
quivered in the words! A long period, computed at four hundred years,
had passed since the last great Hebrew prophet had uttered the words of
the Highest. Reaching back from him to the days of Moses had been a
long line of prophets, who had passed down the lighted torch from hand
to hand. And the fourteen generations, during which the prophetic
office had been discontinued, had gone wearily. But now hope revived,
as the angel-voice proclaimed the advent of a prophet. Our Lord
corroborated his words when, in after days, He said that John had been
a prophet, and something more. "But what went ye out to see?" He
asked. "A prophet? Yea, I say unto you, and much more than a prophet."
The Hebrew word that stands for _prophet_ is said to be derived from a
root signifying "to boil or bubble over," and suggests a fountain
bursting from the heart of the man into which God had poured it. It is
a mistake to confine the word to the prediction of coming events; for
so employed it would hardly be applicable to men like Moses, Samuel,
and Elijah, in the Old Testament, or John the Baptist and the apostle
Paul, in the New, who were certainly prophets in the deepest
significance of that term. Prophecy means the forth-telling of the
Divine message. The prophet is borne along by the stream of Divine
indwelling and inflowing, whether he utters the truth for the moment or
anticipates the future. "God spake _in_ the prophets" (Hebrews i. 1,
R.V.). And when they were conscious of his mighty moving and stirring
within, woe to them if they did not utter it in burning words, fresh
minted from the heart.
With Malachi, the succession that had continued unbroken from the very
foundation of the Jewish commonwealth had terminated. Pious Israelites
might have found befitting expression for that lament in the words, "We
see not our signs: there is no more any prophet" (Psa. lxxiv. 9).
But as the voice of Old Testament prophecy ceased, with its last breath
it foretold that it would be followed, in the after time, by a new and
glorious revival of the noblest traditions of the prophetic office.
"Behold," so God spake by Malachi, "I will send you Elijah the prophet
before the great and terrible day of the Lord come. And he shall turn
the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children
to their fathers; lest I come and smite the earth with a curse" (Mal.
iv. 5, 6).
I. THE FORMATIVE INFLUENCES BY WHICH THE BAPTIST'S PROPHETIC NATURE
WAS MOULDED.--Amongst these we must place in the foremost rank _the
Prophecies_, which had given a forecast of his career. From his
childhood and upwards they had been reiterated in his ear by his
parents, who would never weary of reciting them.
How often he would ponder the reference to himself in the great
Messianic prediction--"Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your
God.... The voice of one that crieth, Prepare ye the way of the Lord;
make straight in the desert a highway for our God...." There was no
doubt as to the relevance of those words to himself (Luke i. 76; Matt.
iii. 3). And it must have unconsciously wrought mightily in the
influence it wielded over his character and ministry.
There was, also, that striking anticipation by Malachi which we have
already quoted, and which directly suggested Elijah as his model. Had
not Gabriel himself alluded to it, when he foretold that the predicted
child would go before the Messiah, in the spirit and power of Elijah
(Luke i. 17)? And again his statement was confirmed by our Lord in
after days (Matt. xi. 14).
Thus the great figure of Elijah was ever before the mind of the growing
youth, as his model and inspiration. He found himself perpetually
asking, How did Elijah act, and what would he do here and now? And
there is little doubt that his choice of the lonely wilderness, of the
rough mantle of camel's hair, of the abrupt and arousing form of
address, was suggested by that village of Thisbe in the land of Gilead,
and those personal characteristics which were so familiar in the
Prophet of Fire.
But the mind of the Forerunner must also have been greatly exercised by
_the lawlessness and crime_ which involved all classes of his
countrymen in a common condemnation. The death of Herod, occurring
when John was yet a child, dependent on the care of the good Elisabeth,
had led to disturbances which afforded an excuse for the Roman
occupation of Jerusalem. The sceptre had departed from Judah, and the
lawgiver from between his feet. The high priesthood was a mere forfeit
in the deals of Idumaean tetrarchs and Roman governors. The publicans
were notorious for their exactions, their covetousness, their cheating
and oppression of the people. Soldiers filled the country with
violence, extortion, and discontent. The priests were hirelings; the
Pharisees were hypocrites; the ruling classes had set aside their
primitive simplicity and purity, and were given up to the
voluptuousness and licence of the Empire. "Brood of vipers" was
apparently not too strong a phrase to use of the foremost religious
leaders of the day--at least, when used, its relevance passed without
challenge.
Tidings of the evil that was overflowing the land like a deluge of ink
were constantly coming to the ears of this eager soul, filling it with
horror and dismay; and to this must be traced much of the austerity
which arrested the attention of his contemporaries. The idea which
lies beneath the fasting and privation of so many of God's servants,
has been that of an overwhelming sorrow, which has taken away all taste
for the pleasures and comforts of life. And this was the thought by
which John was penetrated. On the one hand, there was his deep and
agonizing conviction of the sin of Israel; and on the other, the belief
that the Messiah must be nigh, even at the doors. Thus the pressure of
the burden increased on him till he was forced to give utterance to the
cry it extorted from his soul: "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at
hand."
But in addition to these we must add _the vision of God_, which must
have been specially vouchsafed to him whilst he sojourned in those
lonely wilds. He spoke once of Him "who sent him to baptize."
Evidently he had become accustomed to detect his presence and hear his
voice. Those still small accents which had fallen on the ear of his
great prototype had thrilled his soul. He, too, had seen the Lord high
and lifted up, had heard the chant of the seraphim, and had felt the
live coal touch his lips, as it had been caught from the altar by the
seraph's tongs.
This has ever been characteristic of the true prophet. He has been a
seer. He has spoken, because he has beheld with his eyes, looked upon,
and handled, the very Word of God. The Divine Prophet, speaking for
all that had preceded Him, said: "We speak that which we know, and
testify that we have seen."
In this we may have some share. It is permitted to us also to see; to
climb the Mount of Vision, and look on the glory of God in the face of
Jesus Christ; to have revealed to us things that eye hath not seen, nor
ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived. Let us remember that we are
to be God's _witnesses_ in the Jerusalem of the home, the Judaea of our
immediate neighbours, and to the uttermost parts of the earth of our
profession or daily calling. God demands not advocates, but witnesses;
and we must see for ourselves, before we can bear witness to others,
the glory of that light still flushing our faces, and the accent of
conviction minted in our speech.
These are the three signs of a prophet: vision, a deep conviction of
sin and impending judgment, and the gushing forth of moving and
eloquent speech; and each of these was apparent, in an exalted and
extreme degree, in John the son of Zacharias.
II. AN ILLUSTRATIVE AND REMARKABLE PARALLEL.--As John came in the
spirit and power of Elijah, so, four hundred years ago, in the lovely
city of Florence, a man was sent from God to testify against the sins
of his age, who in many particulars so exactly corresponds with our
Lord's forerunner that the one strongly recalls the other, and it may
help us to bring the circumstances of the Baptist's ministry within a
measurable distance of ourselves if we briefly compare them with the
career of Girolamo Savonarola. It must, of course, be always borne in
mind that the great Florentine could lay no claim to the peculiar and
unique position and power of the Baptist. But, in many respects, there
is a remarkable parallel and similarity between them, which will help
us to translate the old Hebrew conceptions into our modern life.
The physician's household at Ferrara, into which Savonarola was born on
September 21, 1452, was probably no more distinguished amid other
families of the town than that of Zacharias and Elisabeth in the hill
country of Judaea.
And as we read of the invincible love of truth which characterized the
keen and intelligent lad, we are forcibly reminded of the Baptist,
whose whole life was an eloquent protest on behalf of reality. In one
of his greatest sermons Savonarola declared that he had always striven
after truth with all his might, and maintained a constant war against
falsehood. "The more trouble"--they are his own words--"I bestowed
upon my quest, the greater became my longing, so that for it I was
prepared to abandon life itself. When I was but a boy, I had such
thoughts; and from that time, the desire and longing after this good
has gone on increasing to the present day."
We cannot read of Savonarola's saintly life, over which even the breath
of calumny has never cast a stain--of his depriving himself of every
indulgence, content with the hardest couch and roughest clothing, and
just enough of the plainest food to support life--without remembering
the camel's cloth, the locusts and wild honey of the Baptist.
If John's lot was cast on evil days, when religion suffered most in the
house of her friends, so was it with Savonarola. The fourteenth and
fifteenth centuries witnessed the increasing corruption and
licentiousness of popes and clergy. The offices of cardinal and bishop
were put up to auction, and sold to the highest bidder. The bishop
extorted money from the priests, and these robbed the people. The
grossest immorality was prevalent in all ranks of the Church, and
without concealment. Even the monasteries and convents were often dens
of vice. "Italy," said Machiavelli, "has lost all piety and all
religion. We have to thank the Church and the priests for our
abandoned wickedness."
As John beheld the fire and fan of impending judgment, so the burden of
Savonarola's preaching was that the Church was about to be chastised,
and afterwards renewed. So powerful was this impression on the
preacher's mind that it can best be described in his own words as a
vision. He tells us that on one occasion the heavens seemed to open
before him, and there appeared a representation of the calamities that
were coming on the Church; on another, he saw, in the middle of the
sky, a hand bearing a sword, on which words of doom were written. He
described himself as one who looked into the invisible world.
The herald of Jesus possessed a marvellous eloquence, beneath which the
whole land was moved; and so it was with Savonarola. During the eight
years that he preached in the cathedral, it was thronged with vast
crowds; and as he pleaded for purity of life and simplicity of manners,
"women threw aside jewels and finery, libertines were transformed into
sober citizens, bankers and tradesmen restored their ill-gotten gains."
In Lent, 1497, took place what is known as the Burning of the Vanities.
Bands of children were sent forth to collect from all parts of the
city, indecent books and pictures, carnival masks and costumes, cards,
dice, and all such things. A pile was erected, sixty feet in height,
and fired amid the sound of trumpets and pealing bells.
What Herod was to John the Baptist, the Pope and the magnificent
Lorenzo di Medici were to Savonarola. The latter seems to have felt a
strange fascination towards the eloquent preacher, tried to attach him
to his court, was frequent in his attendance at San Marco, and gave
largely to his offertories. To use the words of the New Testament, he
feared him, "knowing that he was a righteous man, and a holy" (Mark vi.
20). But Savonarola took care to avoid any sign of compliance or
compromise; declined to pay homage to Lorenzo for promotion to high
ecclesiastical functions; returned his gold from the offertories; and
when they ran to tell him that Lorenzo was walking in the convent
garden, answered, "If he has not asked for me, do not disturb his
meditations or mine."
Like John, Savonarola was unceasing in his denunciation of the
hypocritical religion which satisfied itself with outward observances.
"I tell you," he said, "that the Lord willeth not that ye fast on such
a day or at such an hour; but willeth that ye avoid sin all the days of
your life. Observe how they go about--seeking indulgences and pardons,
ringing bells, decking altars, dressing churches. God heedeth not your
ceremonies."
John's exhortation to "Behold the Lamb of God" finds an echo in the
noble utterance of this illumined soul, who, be it remembered,
anticipated Luther's Reformation by a hundred years. "If all the
ecclesiastical hierarchy be corrupt, the believer must turn to Christ,
who is the primary cause, and say: 'Thou art my Priest and my
Confessor.'"
The fate of martyrdom that befell John was awarded also to Savonarola.
Through the impetuosity of his followers, he was involved in a
challenge to ordeal by fire. But by the manoeuvres of his foes, the
expectations of the populace in this direction were disappointed, and
their anger aroused. "To San Marco!" shouted their leaders. To San
Marco they went, fired the buildings, burst open the doors, fought
their way into the cloisters and church, dragged Savonarola from his
devotions, and thrust him into a loathsome dungeon. After languishing
there, amid every indignity and torture, for some weeks, on May 23,
1498, he was led forth to die. The bishop, whose duty it was to
pronounce his degradation, stumbled at the formula declaring--"I
separate thee from the Church, militant and triumphant." "From the
militant thou mayest, but from the triumphant thou canst not," was the
martyr's calm reply. He met his end with unflinching fortitude. He
was strangled, his remains hung in chains, burned, and the ashes flung
into the river. When the commissioners of the Pope arrived at his
trial, they brought with them express orders that he was to die, "even
though he were a _second John the Baptist_." It is thus that the
apostate Church has always dealt with her noblest sons. But Truth,
struck to the ground, revives. Hers are the eternal years. Within a
few years, Luther was nailing his theses at the door of the church at
Wittenberg, and the Reformation was on its way.
There is a legend, which at least contains a true suggestion, that when
Savonarola was on his way to Florence from Genoa, as a young man, his
strength failed him as he was crossing the Apennines, but that a
mysterious stranger appeared to him, restored his courage, led him to a
hospice, compelled him to take food, and afterwards accompanied him to
his destination; but on reaching the San Gallo gate he vanished, with
the words, _Remember to do that for which God hath sent thee!_
The story recalls forcibly the words with which the evangelist John
introduces his notice of the Forerunner--"There was a man sent from
God, whose name was John." Men are always coming, sent from God,
specially adapted to their age, and entrusted with the message which
the times demand. See to it that thou too realize thy divine mission;
for Jesus said, "As the Father hath sent Me, even so send I you."
Every true life is a mission from God.
And when we read the words of the apostle Paul about John "fulfilling
his course," we may well ask for grace that we may fill up to the brim
the measure of our opportunities, that we may realize to the full God's
meaning and intention in creating us: and so our lives shall mate with
the Divine Ideal, like sublime words with some heavenly strain, each
completing the other.
V.
The First Ministry of the Baptist.
(LUKE III.)
"Hark, what a sound, and too divine for hearing,
Stirs on the earth and trembles in the air!
Is it the thunder of the Lord's appearing?
Is it the music of his people's prayer?
"Surely He cometh, and a thousand voices
Shout to the saints, and to the deaf and dumb;
Surely He cometh, and the earth rejoices,
Glad in his coming who hath sworn, I come."
F. W. H. MYERS.
The Preaching of Repentance--His Power as a Preacher--His
Message--Warning of Impending Judgment--The Wages of Sin
Thirty years had left their mark on the Forerunner. The aged priest
and his wife Elisabeth had been carried to their grave by other hands
than those of the young Nazarite. The story of his miraculous birth,
and the expectations it had aroused, had almost died out of the memory
of the countryside. For many years John had been living in the caves
that indent the limestone rocks of the desolate wilderness which
extends from Hebron to the western shores of the Dead Sea. By the use
of the scantiest fare, and roughest garb, he had brought his body under
complete mastery. From nature, from the inspired page, and from direct
fellowship with God, he had received revelations which are only
vouchsafed to those who can stand the strain of discipline in the
school of solitude and privation. He had carefully pondered also the
signs of the times, of which he received information from the Bedouin
and others with whom he came in contact. Blended with all other
thoughts, John's heart was filled with the advent of Him, so near akin
to himself, who, to his certain knowledge, was growing up, a few months
his junior, in an obscure highland home, but who was speedily to be
manifested to Israel.
At last the moment arrived for him to utter the mighty burden that
pressed upon him; and "in the fifteenth year of Tiberius Caesar,
Pontius Pilate being governor of Judaea, Herod the tetrarch of Galilee,
Annas and Caiaphas the high priests, the word of God came unto John,
the son of Zacharias, in the wilderness." It may have befallen thus.
One day, as a caravan of pilgrims was slowly climbing the mountain
gorges threaded by the road between Jerusalem and Jericho, or halted
for a moment in the noontide heat, they were startled by the appearance
of a gaunt and sinewy man, with flowing raven locks, and a voice which
must have been as sonorous and penetrating as a clarion, who cried,
"Repent! the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand."
It was as though a spark had fallen on dry tinder. The tidings spread
with wonderful rapidity that in the wilderness of Judaea one was to be
met who recalled the memory of the great prophets, and whose burning
eloquence was of the same order as of Isaiah or Ezekiel. Instantly
people began to flock to him from all sides. "There went out to him
Jerusalem, and all Judaea, and all the region round about Jordan." The
neighbourhood suddenly became black with hurrying crowds--as Klondike,
when the news of the discovery of gold began to spread. From lip to
lip the tidings sped of a great leader and preacher, who had suddenly
appeared.
He seems finally to have taken his stand not far from the rose-clad
oasis of Jericho, on the banks of the Jordan; and men of every tribe,
class, and profession, gathered thither, listening eagerly, or
interrupting him with loud cries for help. The population of the
metropolis, familiar with the Temple services, and accustomed to the
splendour of the palace; fishermen from the Lake of Gennesaret, dusky
sons of Ishmael from the desert of Gilead; the proud Pharisee; the
detested publican, who had fattened on the sorrows and burdens of the
people--were there, together with crowds of ordinary people that could
find no resting-place in the schools or systems of religious thought of
which Jerusalem was the centre.
1. MANY CAUSES ACCOUNTED FOR JOHN'S IMMENSE POPULARITY.--_The office
of the prophet was almost obsolete_. Several centuries, as we have
seen, had passed since the last great prophet had finished his
testimony. The oldest man living at that time could not remember
having seen a man who had ever spoken to a prophet. It seemed as
unlikely, to adopt the phrase of another, that another prophet should
arise in that formal, materialistic age, as that another cathedral
should be added to the splendid remains of Gothic glory which tell us
of those bygone days when there were giants in the land.
Moreover, _John gave such abundant evidence of sincerity--of reality_.
His independence of anything that this world could give made men feel
that whatever he said was inspired by his direct contact with things as
they literally are. It was certain that his severe and lonely life had
rent the vail, and given him the knowledge of facts and realities,
which were as yet hidden from ordinary men, though waiting, soon to be
revealed; and it was equally certain that his words were a faithful and
adequate presentation of what he saw. He spoke what he knew, and
testified what he had seen. His accent of conviction was unmistakable.
When men see the professed prophet of the Unseen and Eternal as keen
after his own interests as any worldling, shrewd at a bargain,
captivated by show, obsequious to the titled and wealthy; when they
discover the man who predicts the dissolution of all things carefully
investing the proceeds of the books in which he publishes his
predictions--they are apt to reduce to a minimum their faith in his
words. But there was no trace of this in the Baptist, and therefore
the people went forth to him.
_Above all, he appealed to their moral convictions, and, indeed,
expressed them_. The people knew that they were not as they should be.
For a long time this consciousness had been gaining ground; and now
they flocked around the man who revealed themselves to themselves, and
indicated with unfaltering decision the course of action they should
adopt. How marvellous is the fascination which he exerts over men who
will speak to their inner-most souls! This has always been the source
of power to the great orators of the Romish Church--men like Massillon,
for instance--and to refuse to use this method of approach is to forego
one of the mightiest weapons in the repertory of Christian appeal. If
we deal only with the intellect or imagination, the novelist or
essayist may successfully compete with us. It is in his direct appeal
to the heart and conscience, that the servant of God exerts his supreme
and unrivalled power. Though a man may shrink from the preaching of
repentance, yet, if it tell the truth about himself, he will be
irresistibly attracted to hear the voice that harrows his soul. John
rebuked Herod for many things; but still the royal offender sent for
him again and again, and heard him gladly.
It is expressly said that John saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming
to his baptism (Matt. iii. 7). Their advent appears to have caused him
some surprise. "Ye offspring of vipers, who warned you to flee from
the wrath to come?" The strong epithet he used of them suggests that
they came as critics, because they were unwilling to surrender the
leadership of the religious life of Israel, and were anxious to keep in
touch with the new movement, until they could sap its vitality, or
divert its force into the channels of their own influence.
But it is quite likely that in many cases there were deeper reasons.
_The Pharisees_ were the ritualists and formalists of their day, who
would wrangle about the breadth of a phylactery, and decide to an inch
how far a man might walk on the Sabbath day; but the mere externals of
religion will never permanently satisfy the soul made in the likeness
of God. Ultimately it will turn from them with a great nausea and an
insatiable desire for the living God. As for _the Sadducees_, they
were the materialists of their time. The reaction of superstition, it
has been said, is to infidelity; and the reaction from Pharisaism was
to Sadduceeism. Disgusted and outraged by the trifling of the
literalists of Scripture interpretation, the Sadducee denied that there
was an eternal world and a spiritual state, and asserted that "there is
no resurrection, neither angel, nor spirit." But mere negation can
never satisfy. The heart still moans out its sorrow under the darkness
of agnosticism, as the ocean sighing under a starless midnight.
Nature's instincts are more cogent than reason. It was hardly to be
wondered at, then, that these two great classes were largely
represented in the crowds that gathered on the banks of the Jordan.
II. LET US BRIEFLY ENUMERATE THE MAIN BURDEN OF THE BAPTIST'S
PREACHING.--(1) "_The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand_." To a Jew that
phrase meant the re-establishment of the Theocracy, and a return to
those great days in the history of his people when God Himself was
Lawgiver and King. Had not Daniel predicted that in the days of the
last of the great empires, prefigured in Nebuchadnezzar's dream, the
God of heaven would set up a kingdom which should never be
destroyed--which should break in pieces all other kingdoms and stand
for ever? Had he not foreseen a time when One like unto a son of man
should come to the Ancient of Days to receive a dominion which should
not pass away, and a kingdom which should not be destroyed? Had he not
foretold that the greatness of the kingdoms under the whole heaven
should be given to the saints of the Most High? Surely, then, all
these anticipations were on the eve of fulfilment. The long-expected
Messiah was at hand; and here was the forerunner described by Isaiah,
the prophet, saying:--
"The voice of one crying in the wilderness,
Make ye ready the way of the Lord,
Make his paths straight."
But some misgiving must have passed over the minds of his hearers when
they heard the young prophet's description of the conditions and
accompaniments of that long-looked-for reign. Instead of dilating on
the material glory of the Messianic period, far surpassing the
magnificent splendour of Solomon, he insisted on the fulfilment of
certain necessary preliminary requirements, which lifted the whole
conception of the anticipated reign to a new level, in which the inward
and spiritual took precedence of the outward and material. It was the
old lesson, which in every age requires repetition, that unless a man
is born again, and from above, he cannot see the kingdom of God.
Be sure of this, that no outward circumstances, however propitious and
favourable, can bring about true blessedness. We might be put into the
midst of heaven itself, and be poor, and miserable, and blind, and
naked, unless the heart were in loving union with the Lamb, who is in
the midst of the throne. He is the light of that city, his countenance
doth lighten it--from his throne the river of its pleasure flows, his
service is its delightful business; and to be out of fellowship with
Him would make us out of harmony with its joy. Life must be centred in
Christ if it is to be concentric with all the circles of heaven's
bliss. We can never be at rest or happy whilst we expect to find our
fresh springs in outward circumstances. It is only when we are right
with God that we are blest and at rest. Righteousness is blessedness.
Where the King is enthroned within the heart, the soul is in the
kingdom, which is righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost;
nay, perhaps more accurately, that kingdom is in the soul. And when
all hearts are yielded to the King; when all gates lift up their heads,
and all everlasting doors are unfolded for his entrance--then the curse
which has so long brooded over the world shall be done away. The whole
creation groaneth and travaileth for the manifestation of the sons of
God: but when they are revealed in all their beauty, then judgment
shall dwell in the wilderness, and righteousness shall abide in the
fruitful field, and the work of righteousness shall be peace, and the
effect of righteousness quietness and confidence for ever; and the
mirage shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water
(Isa. xxxii. 15, 16; xxxv. 7, R.V.).
(2) Alongside the proclamation of the kingdom was the uncompromising
insistence on "_the wrath to come_." John saw that the Advent of the
King would bring inevitable suffering to those who were living in
self-indulgence and sin.
There would be careful discrimination. He who was coming would
carefully discern between the righteous and the wicked; between those
who served God and those who served Him not: and the preacher enforced
his words by an image familiar to orientals. When the wheat is reaped,
it is bound in sheaves and carted to the threshing-floor, which is
generally a circular spot of hard ground from fifty to one hundred feet
in diameter. On this the wheat is threshed from the chaff by manual
labour, but the two lie intermingled till the evening, when the grain
is caught up in broad shovels or fans, and thrown against the evening
breeze, as it passes swiftly over the fevered land; thus the light
chaff is borne away, while the wheat falls heavily to the earth.
Likewise, cried the Baptist, there shall be a very careful process of
discrimination, before the unquenchable fires are lighted; so that none
but chaff shall be consigned to the flames--a prediction which was
faithfully fulfilled. At first Christ drew all men to Himself; but, as
his ministry proceeded, He revealed their quality. A few were
permanently attracted to Him; the majority were as definitely repelled.
There was no middle class. Men were either for or against Him. The
sheep on this side; the goats on that. The five wise virgins, and the
five foolish. Those who entered the strait gate, and those who flocked
down the broad way that leadeth to destruction. So it has been in
every age. Jesus Christ is the touchstone of trial. Our attitude
towards Him reveals the true quality of the soul.
There would also be a period of probation. "The axe laid to the root
of the trees" is familiar enough to those who know anything of
forestry. The woodman barks some tree which seems to him to be
occupying space capable of being put to better use. There is no undue
haste. It is only after severe and searching scrutiny that the word
goes forth: "Cut it down; why cumbereth it the ground?" But when once
that word is spoken, there is no appeal. The Jewish people had become
sadly unfruitful; but a definite period was to intervene--three years
of Christ's ministry and thirty years beside--before the threatened
judgment befell. All this while the axe lay ready for its final
stroke; but only when all hope of reformation was abandoned was it
driven home, and the nation crashed to its doom.
Perhaps this may be the case with one of my readers. You have been
planted on a favourable site, and have drunk in the dews and rain and
sunshine of God's providence; but what fruit have you yielded in
return? How have you repaid the heavenly Husbandman? May He not be
considering whether any result will accrue from prolonging your
opportunities for bearing fruit? He has looked for grapes, and lo, you
have brought forth only wild grapes; He may well consider the
advisability of removing you from the stewardship, which you have used
for your own emolument, and not for his glory.
For all such there must be "wrath to come." After there has been
searching scrutiny and investigation, and every reasonable chance has
been given for amendment, and still the soul is impenitent and
disobedient, there must be "a certain fearful looking for of judgment
and fiery indignation which shall devour the adversaries."
The fire of John's preaching had its primary fulfilment, probably, in
the awful disasters which befell the Jewish people, culminating in the
siege and fall of Jerusalem. We know how marvellously the little
handful of believers which had been gathered out by the preaching of
Christ and his disciples were accounted worthy to escape all those
things that came to pass, and to stand before the Son of Man. But the
unbelieving mass of the Jewish people were discovered to be worthless
chaff and unfruitful trees, and assigned to those terrible fires which
have left a scar on Palestine to this day.
But there was a deeper meaning. The wrath of God avenges itself, not
on nations but on individual sinners. "He that believeth not the Son
shall not see life, but the wrath of God abideth on him." The penalty
of sin is inevitable. The wages of sin is death. The land which
beareth thorns and thistles, after having drunk of the rain which
cometh often upon it, is rejected and nigh unto a curse, its end is to
be burned; under the first covenant, every transgression and
disobedience received a just recompense of reward; the man that set at
nought Moses' law died without compassion, on the word of two or three
witnesses--of how much sorer punishment shall he be judged worthy who
hath trodden under foot the Son of God, and hath counted the blood of
the covenant a common thing, and hath done despite to the Spirit of
grace!
Even if we grant, as of course we must, that many of the expressions
referring to the ultimate fate of the ungodly are symbolical, yet it
must be granted also, that they have counterparts in the realm of soul
and spirit, which are as terrible to endure, as the nature of the soul
is more highly organized than that of the body. Fire to the body is
easy to bear in comparison with certain forms of suffering to which the
heart and soul are sometimes exposed even in this life. Have we not
sometimes said, "If physical suffering were concerned, we could bear
it; but oh, this pain which is gnawing at the heart--this awful inward
agony, which burns like fire!" And if we are capable of suffering so
acutely from remorse and shame, from ingratitude and misrepresentation,
in this life where there are so many distractions and temporary
alleviations, what may not be the possibility of pain in that other
life, where there is no screen, no covering, no alleviation, no cup of
water to slake the thirst! Believe me, when Jesus said, "These shall
go away into eternal punishment," He contemplated a retribution so
terrible, that it were good for the sufferers if they had never been
born.
All the great preachers have seen and faithfully borne witness to the
fearful results of sin, as they take effect in this life and the next.
These threw Brainerd into a dripping sweat, whilst praying on a cool
day for his Indians in the woods; these drew John Welsh from his bed,
at all hours of the night, to plead for his people; these inspired
Baxter to write his _Call to the Unconverted_; these drew Henry Martyn
from his fellowship at Cambridge to the burning plains of India; these
forced tears from Whitefield as he preached to the crowding thousands;
these burn in the memorable sermon by Jonathan Edwards on "Sinners in
the hands of an angry God." The notable revival which broke out at
Kirk o' Shotts was due, under God, to Livingston congratulating the
people that drops of rain alone were falling, and not the fire of
Divine wrath. The sermons of Ralph Erskine, of McCheyne and W. C.
Burns, of Brownlow Northland Reginald Radcliffe, in the last
generation, were characterized by the same appeals. Though, on the
other hand, because God is not confined to any one method, the
preaching of the late D. L. Moody was specially steeped in the love of
God. It is for want of a vision of the inevitable fate of the godless
and disobedient, that much of our present-day preaching is so powerless
and ephemeral. You cannot get crops out of the land merely by summer
showers and sunshine; there must be the subsoil ploughing, the
pulverizing frost, the wild March wind. And only when we modern
preachers have seen sin as God sees it, and begin to apply the divine
standard to the human conscience; only when our eagerness and yearning
well over into our eyes and broken tones, only when we know the terror
of the Lord, and begin to persuade men as though we would pluck them
out of the fire, by our strenuous expostulation and entreaties--shall
we see the effects that followed the preaching of the Baptist when
soldiers, publicans, Pharisees, and scribes, crowded around him,
saying, "What shall we do?"
All John's preaching, therefore, led up to the demand for repentance.
The word which was oftenest on his lips was "Repent ye!" It was not
enough to plead direct descent from Abraham, or outward conformity with
the Levitical and Temple rites. God could raise up children to Abraham
from the stones of the river bank. There must be the renunciation of
sin, the definite turning to God, the bringing forth of fruit meet for
an amended life. In no other way could the people be prepared for the
coming of the Lord.
VI.
Baptism unto Repentance
(MARK I. 4.)
"The last and greatest herald of heaven's King,
Girt with rough skins, hies to the desert wild;
Among that savage brood the woods doth bring,
Which he more harmless found than man, and mild.
"His food was locusts and what there doth spring,
With honey that from virgin hives distill'd,
Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing
Made him appear, long since from earth exiled."
W. DRUMMOND, of Hawthornden.
Repentance: its Nature--Repentance: how Produced--Repentance: its
Evidences--Repentance: its Results--John's Baptism: from Heaven
At the time of which we are speaking, an extraordinary sect, known as
the Essenes, was scattered throughout Palestine, but had its special
home in the oasis of Engedi; and with the adherents of this community
John must have been in frequent association. They were the recluses or
hermits of their age.
The aim of the Essenes was moral and ceremonial purity. They sought
after an ideal of holiness, which they thought could not be realized in
this world; and therefore, leaving villages and towns, they betook
themselves to the dens and caves of the earth, and gave themselves to
continence, abstinence, fastings, and prayers, supporting themselves by
some slight labours on the land. Those who have investigated their
interesting history tell us that the cardinal point with them was faith
in the inspired Word of God. By meditation, prayer, and mortification,
frequent ablutions, and strict attention to the laws of ceremonial
purity, they hoped to reach the highest stage of communion with God.
They agreed with the Pharisees in their extraordinary regard for the
Sabbath. Their daily meal was of the simplest kind, and partaken of in
their house of religious assembly. After bathing, with prayer and
exhortation they went, with veiled faces, to their dining-room, as to a
holy temple. They abstained from oaths, despised riches, manifested
the greatest abhorrence of war and slavery, faced torture and death
with the utmost bravery, refused the indulgence of pleasure.
It is clear that John was not a member of this holy community, which
differed widely from the Pharisaism and Sadduceeism of the time. The
Essenes wore white robes, emblematic of the purity they sought; whilst
he was content with his coat of camel's hair and leathern girdle. They
seasoned their bread with hyssop, and he with honey. They dwelt in
brotherhoods and societies; while he stood alone from the earliest days
of his career. But it cannot be doubted that he was in deep accord
with much of the doctrine and practice of this sect.
John the Baptist, however, cannot be accounted for by any of the
pre-existing conditions of his time. He stood alone in his God-given
might. That he was conscious of this appears from his own declaration
when he said, "He that sent me to baptize in water, He said unto me."
And that Christ wished to convey the same impression is clear from his
question to the Pharisees: "The baptism of John, was it from heaven or
from men?" Moreover, the distinct assertion of the Spirit of God,
through the fourth Evangelist, informs us: "There came a man, sent from
God, whose name was John, the same came for witness, that all might
believe through him." "The Word of God came unto John, the son of
Zacharias, in the wilderness. And he came."
I. THE SUMMONS TO REPENT.--John has a ministry with all men. In other
words, he represents a phase of teaching and influence through which we
must needs pass if we are properly to discover and appreciate the grace
of Christ. With us, too, a preparatory work has to be done. There are
mountains and hills of pride and self-will that have to be levelled;
crooked and devious ways that have to be straightened; ruggednesses
that have to be smoothed--before we can fully behold the glory of God
in the face of Jesus Christ. In proportion to the thoroughness and
permanence of our repentance will be our glad realization of the
fulness and glory of the Lamb of God.
But we must guard ourselves here, lest it be supposed that repentance
is a species of good work which must be performed in order that we may
merit the grace of Christ. It must be made equally clear, that
repentance must not be viewed apart from faith in the Saviour, which is
an integral part of it. It is also certain that, though "God
commandeth all men everywhere to repent," yet Jesus is exalted "to give
repentance and the remission of sins."
Repentance, according to the literal rendering of the Greek word, is "a
change of mind." Perhaps we should rather say, it is a change in the
attitude of the will. The unrepentant soul chooses its own way and
will, regardless of the law of God. "The mind of the flesh is enmity
against God, for it is not subject to the law of God, neither, indeed,
can it be; and they that are in the flesh cannot please God." But in
repentance the soul changes its attitude. It no longer refuses the
yoke of God's will, like a restive heifer, but yields to it, or is
willing to yield. There is a compunction, a sense of the hollowness of
all created things, a relenting, a wistful yearning after the true
life, and ultimately a turning from darkness to light, and from the
power of Satan unto God. The habits may rebel; the inclinations and
emotions may shrink back; the consciousness of peace and joy may yet be
far away--but the will has made its secret decision, and has begun to
turn to God: as, in the revolution of the earth, the place where we
live reaches its furthest point from the sunlight, passes it, and
begins slowly to return towards its warm smiles and embrace.
It cannot be too strongly emphasized that repentance is an act of the
_will_. In its beginning there may be no sense of gladness or
reconciliation with God: but just the consciousness that certain ways
of life are wrong, mistaken, hurtful, and grieving to God; and the
desire, which becomes the determination, to turn from them, to seek Him
who formed the mountains and created the wind, that maketh the morning
darkness and treadeth upon the high places of the earth.
Repentance may be accounted as the other side of faith. They are the
two sides of the same coin: the two aspects of the same act. If the
act of the soul which brings it into right relation with God is
described as a turning round, to go in the reverse direction to that in
which it had been travelling, then _repentance_ stands for its desire
and choice to turn from sin, and _faith_ for its desire and choice to
turn to God. We must be willing to turn from sin and our own
righteousness--that is _repentance_; we must be willing to be saved by
God, in his own way, and must come to Him for that purpose--that is
_faith_.
We need to turn from our own righteousnesses as well as from our sins.
Augustine spoke of his efforts after righteousness as splendid sins;
and Paul distinctly disavows all those attempts to stand right with God
which he made before he saw the face of the risen Christ looking out
from heaven upon his conscience-stricken spirit. You must turn away
from your own efforts to save yourself. These are, in the words of the
prophet, but "filthy rags." Nothing, apart from the Saviour and his
work, can avail the soul, which must meet the scrutiny of eternal
justice and purity.
Repentance is produced sometimes and specially by the presentation of
the claims of Christ. We suddenly awake to realize what He is, how He
loves, how much we are missing, the gross ingratitude with which we
respond to his agony and bloody sweat, his cross and suffering, the
beauty of his character, the strength of his claims.
At other times repentance is wrought by the preaching of John the
Baptist. Then we hear of the axe laid at the root of the trees, and
the unquenchable fire for the consuming of the chaff: and the heart
trembles. Then we are led to the brink of the precipice, and compelled
to see the point at which the primrose-path we are travelling ends in
the fatal abyss. Then our faith in our hereditary position and
privilege is shattered by the iconoclasm of the preacher; and we are
levelled to the position of stones which are lapped by the Jordan, but
are insensible to its touch. It is at such a time as this that the
soul sees the entire fabric of its vain confidences and hopes crumbling
like a cloud-palace, and turns from it all--as Mary from the sepulchre,
where her hopes lay entombed, to find Jesus standing with the
resurrection glory on his face and radiant love in his eyes.
For purposes of clear thinking it is well to discriminate in our use of
the words Repentance and Penitence, using the former of the first act
of the will, when, energized and quickened by the Spirit of God, it
turns from dead works to serve the living and true God; and the latter,
of the emotions which are powerfully wrought upon, as the years pass,
by the Spirit's presentation of all the pain and grief which our sin
has caused, and is causing, to our blessed Lord. We repent once, but
are penitents always. We repent in the will; we are penitent in the
heart. We repent, and believe the Gospel; we believe the Gospel of the
Son of Man, and as we look on Him, whom our sins have pierced, we
mourn. We repent when we obey his call to come unto Him and live; we
are penitent as we stand behind Him weeping, and begin to wash his feet
with our tears, and to wipe them with the hair of our head.
If John the Baptist has never wrought his work in you, be sure to open
your heart to his piercing voice. Let him fulfil his ministry. See
that you do not reject the counsel of God, as it proceeds from his
lips; but expose your soul to its searching scrutiny, and allow it to
have free and uninterrupted course. He comes to prepare the way of the
Lord, and to make through the desert of our nature a highway for our
God. Of course, if, from the earliest you have been under the nurture
of pious parents, and your young heart turned to God in the early dawn
of consciousness, you will not pass through these experiences as those
must who have spent years in the service of Satan. For these there is
but one word--Repent! They must, in a moment of time, take up an
entirely different attitude to God and holiness, to Christ and his
salvation.
II. THE SIGNS AND SYMPTOMS OF REPENTANCE.--(1) _Confession_. "They
were baptized of him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins." What
this precisely means it is not possible to say in detail; but it is not
improbable that beneath the strong pressure of inward remorse and
bitterness of spirit, men of notoriously bad life, as well as those who
had never abandoned themselves to the mad currents of temptation, but
were none the less conscious of heart and hidden sins, stood up,
"confessing and declaring their deeds," as in a memorable scene long
afterwards (Acts xix. 17-20).
The formalist confessed that the whited sepulchre of his religious
observances had concealed a mass of putrefaction. The sceptic
confessed that his refusal of religion was largely due to his hatred of
the demands of God's holy law. The multitudes confessed that they had
been selfish and sensual, shutting up their compassions, and refusing
clothing and food to the needy. The publican confessed that he had
extorted by false accusation and oppression more than his due. The
soldier confessed that his profession had often served as the cloak for
terrorizing the poor and vamping up worthless accusations. The
notoriously evil liver confessed that he had lain in wait for blood,
and destroyed the innocent and helpless for gain or hate. The air was
laden with the cries and sighs of the stricken multitudes, who beheld
their sin for the first time in the light of eternity and of its
inevitable doom. The lurid flames of "the wrath to come" cast their
searching light on practices which, in the comparative twilight of
ignorance and neglect, had passed without special notice.
Upon that river's brink, men not only confessed to God, but probably
also to one another. Life-long feuds were reconciled; old quarrels
were settled; frank words of apology and forgiveness were exchanged;
hands grasped hands for the first time after years of alienation and
strife.
Confession is an essential sign of a genuine repentance, and without it
forgiveness is impossible. "He that covereth his transgressions shall
not prosper; but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall obtain
mercy." "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us
our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." So long as we
keep silence, our bones wax old through our inward anguish; we are
burnt by the fire of slow fever; we toss restlessly, though on a couch
of down. But on confession there is immediate relief. "I said, I will
confess my transgressions unto the Lord, and Thou forgavest me the
iniquity of my sin."
Confess your sin to God, O troubled soul, from whom the vision of
Christ is veiled. It is more than likely that some undetected or
unconfessed sin is shutting out the rays of the true sun. Excuse
nothing, extenuate nothing, omit nothing. Do not speak of mistakes of
judgment, but of lapses of heart and will. Do not be content with a
general confession; be particular and specific. Drag each evil thing
forth before God's judgment bar; let the secrets be exposed, and the
dark, sad story told. Begin at the beginning, and go steadily through.
Only be very careful to leave no trace of your experiences for human
eyes or ears. To tell this story to another will rob it of its value
to yourself and its acceptableness to God. It is enough for God to
know it; and to tell Him all is to receive at once his assurance of
forgiveness, for the sake of Him who loved us and gave Himself a
propitiation for our sins; and not for ours only, but for those of the
whole world. Directly the confession leaves our heart, nay, whilst it
is in process, the Divine voice is heard assuring us that our sins,
which are many, are put away as far as the east is from the west, and
cast into the depths of the sea.
But such confession should not be made to God alone, when sins are in
question which have injured and alienated others. If our brother has
aught against us, we must find him out, while our gift is left
unpresented at the altar, and first be reconciled to him. We must
write the letter, or speak the word; we must make honourable reparation
and amends; we must not be behind the sinners under the old law, who
were bidden to add a fifth part to the loss their brother had sustained
through their wrong-doing, when they made it good. The only sin we are
justified in confessing to our brother man is that we have committed
against him. All else must be told in the ear of Jesus, that great
High Priest, whose confessional is always open, and whose pure ear can
receive our dark and sad stories without taint or soil.
(2) _Fruit worthy of Repentance_. "Bring forth, therefore, fruit
worthy of repentance," said John, with some indignation, as he saw many
of the Pharisees and Sadducees coming to his baptism. He insisted that
practical and vital religion was not a rule, but a life; not outward
ritual, but a principle; not works, but fruit: and he demanded that the
genuineness of repentance should be attested by appropriate fruit. "Do
men gather grapes of thorns, and figs of thistles?"
Probably that demand of the Baptist accounted for the alteration in his
life of which Zaccheus made confession to Christ, when He became his
guest. The rich publican lived at Jericho, near which John was
baptizing, and he was probably amongst the publicans who were attracted
to his ministry. How well we can imagine the comments that would be
passed on his presence, as each nudged his neighbour and whispered.
"Is not that Zaccheus?" said one. "What is he doing here?" said
another. "It is about time _he_ came to himself," muttered a third.
"I wish the Baptist could do something for him," said a fourth.
And something touched that hardened heart. A great hope and a great
resolve sprang up in it. He may have joined in the confessions of
which we have spoken, but he did more. On his arrival at Jericho he
was a new man. He gave the half of his goods to feed the poor; and if
he had wrongfully exacted aught of any man, he restored four-fold. His
servant was often seen in the lowest and poorest parts of the old city,
hunting up cases of urgent distress, and bestowing anonymous alms, and
many a poor man was delighted to find a considerable sum of money
thrust into his hands, with a scrap of paper signed by the rich
tax-gatherer, saying, "I took so much from you, years ago, to which I
had no claim; kindly find it enclosed, with fourfold as amends."
Should any ask him the reason for it all, he would answer, "Ah, I have
been down to the Jordan and heard the Baptist; I believe the Kingdom is
coming, and the King is at hand; and I want to make ready for Him, so
that, when He comes, He may be able to abide at my house."
You will never get right with God till you are right with man. It is
not enough to confess wrong-doing; you must be prepared to make amends
so far as lies in your power. Sin is not a light thing, and it must be
dealt with, root and branch.
(3) _The baptism of repentance_. "They were baptized ... confessing
their sins." The cleansing property of water has given it a religious
significance from most remote antiquity Men have conceived of sin as a
foul stain upon the heart, and have couched their petitions for its
removal in words derived from its use: "Purge me with hyssop, and I
shall be clean. Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow." They have
longed to feel that as the body was delivered from pollution, so the
soul was freed from stain. In some cases this thought has assumed a
gross and material form; and men have attributed to the water of
certain rivers, such as the Ganges, the Nile, the Abana, the mysterious
power of cleansing away sin.
There was no trace of this, however, in John's teaching. It was not
baptism _unto remission_, but _unto repentance_. It was the expression
and symbol of the soul's desire and intention, so far as it knew, to
confess and renounce its sins, as the necessary condition of obtaining
the Divine forgiveness.
It is not necessary to discuss the much-vexed question of the source
from which the Baptist derived his baptism--some say it was from the
habits of the Essenes, or the practice of the Rabbis, who subjected to
this rite all proselytes to Judaism from the Gentile world. It is
enough for us to remember that he was _sent_ to baptize; that the idea
of his baptism was "from heaven"; and that in his hands the rite
assumed altogether novel and important functions. It meant death and
burial as far as the past was concerned; and resurrection to a new and
better future. Forgetting and dying to the things that were behind,
the soul was urged to realize the meaning of this symbolic act, and to
press on and up to better things before; assured as it did so that God
had accepted its confession and choice, and was waiting to receive it
graciously and love it freely.
It is easy to see how all this appealed to the people, and specially
touched the hearts of young men. At that time, by the blue waters of
the Lake of Galilee, there was a handful of ardent youths, deeply
stirred by the currents of thought around them, who resented the Roman
sway, and were on the tip-toe of expectation for the coming Kingdom.
How they spoke together, as they floated at night in their fisherman's
yawl over the dark waters of the Lake of Galilee, about God's ancient
covenant, and the advent of the Messiah, and the corruptions of their
beloved Temple service! And when, one day, tidings reached them of
this strange new preacher, they left all and streamed with all the
world beside to the Jordan valley, and stood fascinated by the spell of
his words.
One by one, or all together, they made themselves known to him, and
became his loyal friends and disciples. We are familiar with the names
of one or two of them, who afterwards left their earlier master to
follow Christ; but of the rest we know nothing, save that he taught
them to fast and pray, and that they clung to their great teacher,
until they bore his headless body to the grave. After his death they
joined themselves with Him whom they had once regarded with some
suspicion as his rival and supplanter.
How much this meant to John! He had never had a friend; and to have
the allegiance and love of these noble, ingenuous youths must have been
very grateful to his soul. But from them all he repeatedly turned his
gaze, as though he were looking for some one who must presently emerge
from the crowd; and the sound of whose voice would give him the deepest
and richest fulfilment of his joy, because it would be the voice of the
Bridegroom Himself.
VII.
The Manifestation of the Messiah
(JOHN I. 31.)
"Before me, as in darkening glass,
Some glorious outlines pass,
Of love, and truth, and holiness, and power--
I own them thine, O Christ,
And bless Thee in this hour."
F. R. HAVERGAL.
The Herald's Proclamation--The Meeting of John and Jesus--Christ's
Baptism--"It Becometh Us."--"My Beloved Son."
John's life, at this period, was an extraordinary one. By day he
preached to the teeming crowds, or baptized them; by night he would
sleep in some slight booth, or darksome cave. But the conviction grew
always stronger in his soul, that the Messiah was near to come; and
this conviction became a revelation. The Holy Spirit who filled him,
taught him. He began to see the outlines of his Person and work. As
he thought upon Him, beneath the gracious teaching of Him who had sent
him to baptize (John i. 33), the dim characteristics of his glorious
personality glimmered out on the sensitive plate of his inner
consciousness, and he could even describe Him to others, as well as
delineate Him for himself.
He conceived of the coming King, as we have seen, as the Woodman,
laying his axe at the root of the trees; as the Husbandman, fan in hand
to winnow the threshing-floor; as the Baptist, prepared to plunge all
faithful souls in his cleansing fires; as the Ancient of Days, who,
though coming after him in order of time, must be preferred before him
in order of precedence, because He was before him in the eternal glory
of his Being (John i. 15-30).
It was this vision of the Sun before the sunrise, as he viewed it from
the high peak of his own noble character, that induced in the herald
his conspicuous and beautiful humility. He insisted that he was not
worthy to perform the most menial service for Him whose advent he
announced. "I am content," he said in effect, "to be a voice, raised
for a moment to proclaim the King, and soon dying on the desert air,
whilst the person of the crier is unnoticed and unsought for; but I may
not presume to unloose the latchet of his shoes.... There cometh after
me He that is mightier than I, the latchet of whose shoes I am not
worthy to stoop down and unloose."
John was not only humble in his self-estimate, but also in his modest
appreciation of the results of his work. It was only transient and
preparatory. It was given him to do; but it would soon be done. His
course was a short one, and it would soon be fulfilled (Acts xiii. 25).
His simple mission was to bid the people to believe on Him who should
come after him (xix. 4.) He was the morning star ushering in the day,
but destined to fade in the glory of ruddy dawn, flooding the eastern
sky.
But our impression of the sublime humility of this great soul will
become deeper, as we consider that marvellous scene in which he first
recognised the divine mission and claims of his Kinsman, Jesus of
Nazareth. Consider the meeting between the Sun and the star, and take
it as indicating an experience which must always supervene on the
cleansed and holy soul, which desires and prepares for it.
I. OUR LORD'S ADVENT TO THE JORDAN BANK.--For thirty years the Son of
Man had been about his Father's business in the ordinary routine of a
village carpenter's life. He had found scope enough there for his
marvellously rich and deep nature; reminding us of the philosopher's
garden, which, though only a dingy court in a crowded city, reached
through to the other side of the world on the one hand, and up to the
heaven of God on the other. Often He must have felt the strong
attraction of the great world of men, which He loved; and the wild
winds, as they careered over his village home, must have often borne to
Him the wail of broken hearts, asking Him to hasten to their relief.
On his ear must have struck the voices of Jairuses pleading for their
only daughters; of sisters interceding for their Lazaruses; of halt and
lame and blind entreating that He would come and heal them. But He
waited still, his eye on the dial-plate of the clock, till the time was
fulfilled which had been fixed in the Eternal Council Chamber.
As soon, however, as the rumours of the Baptist's ministry reached Him,
and He knew that the porter had taken up his position at the door of
the sheepfold, ready to admit the true Shepherd (John x. 3), He could
hesitate no longer. The Shechinah cloud was gathering up its fleecy
folds, and poising itself above Him, and moving slowly towards the
scene of the Baptist's ministry; and He had no alternative but to
follow. He must tear Himself away from Nazareth, home, and mother, and
take the road which would end at Calvary. "Then cometh Jesus from
Galilee to the Jordan unto John, to be baptized of him."
Tradition locates the scene of John's baptism as near Jericho, where
the water is shallow and the river opens out into large lagoons. But
some, inferring that Nazareth was within a day's journey of this
notable spot, place it nearer the southern end of the Lake of Galilee.
It may have been in the late afternoon when Jesus arrived. An
expression made use of by the evangelist Luke might seem to suggest
that all the people had been baptized for that day at least (Luke iii.
21); so that perhaps the crowds had dispersed, and the great prophet
was alone with one or two of those young disciples of whom we have
spoken. Or, Jesus may have arrived when the Jordan banks were alive
with the eager multitudes. But, in either case, a sudden and
remarkable change passed over the Baptist's face as he beheld his
Kinsman standing there.
Picture that remarkable scene. The arrowy stream, rushing down from
the Lake of Galilee to the Dead Sea; the rugged banks; the shadowy
forests; the erect, sinewy form of the Baptist; and Jesus of Nazareth,
as depicted by the olden traditions, with auburn hair, searching blue
eye, strong, sweet face, and all the beauty of his young manhood. At
the sight of Him, note how the high look on the Baptist's face lowers;
how his figure stoops in involuntary obeisance; how the voice that was
wont to ring out its messages in accents of uncompromising decision
falters and trembles!
John said, "I knew Him not" (John i. 31); but this need not be
interpreted as indicating that he had no acquaintance whatever with his
blameless relative. Such may have been the case, of course, since
John's life had been spent apart from the haunts of men. It is more
natural to suppose that the cousins had often met, as boys and
afterwards. But the Baptist had never realized that Jesus was the
Messiah whose advent he was sent to announce. He had not recognised
his high descent and claims. It had never occurred to him that this
simple village Carpenter, so closely related to himself, whose course
of life was apparently so absolutely ordinary and commonplace, could be
He of whom Moses in the Law and the Prophets did write. In this sense
John could truly say, "I knew Him not."
But John knew enough of Him to be aware of his guileless, blameless
life. The story of his tender love for Mary; of his devotion to the
interests of his brothers and sisters; of his undefiled purity, of his
long vigils on the mountains till the morning called Him back to his
toils; of his deep acquaintance with Scripture; of his speech about the
Father--had reached the Baptist's ears. He had come to entertain the
profoundest respect amounting to veneration for his Kinsman; and, as He
presented Himself for baptism, John felt that there was a whole heaven
of difference between Him and all others. These publicans and sinners,
these Pharisees and scribes, these soldiers and common people--had
every need to repent, confess, and be forgiven; but there was surely no
such need for Him, who had been always, and by general acknowledgment,
"holy, harmless, undefiled, and separate from sinners." "I have need,"
said he, "to be baptized of Thee, and comest Thou to me?" (Matt. iii.
14).
There may have been, besides, an indescribable presentiment that stole
over that lofty nature--like that knowledge of good men and bad which
is often given to noble women. He knew men; his eagle eye had searched
their hearts, as he had heard them confess their sins; and at a glance
he could tell what was in them. A connoisseur of souls was he. Among
all the pearls that had passed through his hands--some goodly ones
among them--none had seemed so rare and pure as this; it was a pearl of
great price, for which a man might be prepared to part with all he
possessed, if only to obtain it. There was an indefinable majesty, a
moral glory, a tender grace, an ineffable attractiveness in this Man,
which was immediately appreciated by the greatest of woman-born,
because of his own intrinsic nobility and greatness of soul. It needed
a Baptist to recognise the Christ. He who had never quailed before
monarch or people, directly he came in contact with Christ, cast the
crown of his manhood at his feet, and shrank away. The eagle that had
soared unhindered in mid-heaven seemed transfixed by a sudden dart, and
fell suddenly, with a strange, low cry, at the feet of its Creator. "I
have need to be baptized of Thee, and comest Thou to me?"
II. THE SIGNIFICANCE OF CHRIST'S BAPTISM.--"Suffer it to be so now:
for thus it becometh us to fulfil all righteousness"--with such words
our Lord overruled the objections of his loyal and faithful Forerunner.
This is the first recorded utterance of Christ, after a silence of more
than twenty years; the first also of his public ministry: it demands
our passing notice. He does not say, "I have need to be baptized of
thee"; nor does He say, "Thou hast no need to be baptized of Me." He
does not stay to explain why the greater should be baptized by the
less: or why a rite which confessed sin was required for one who was
absolutely sinless. It is enough to appeal to the Baptist as his
associate in a joint necessary act, becoming to them both as part of
the Divine procedure, and therefore claiming their common obedience.
"Thus it becometh us (you and me) to fulfil all righteousness."
In his baptism, our Lord acknowledged the divine authority of the
Forerunner. As the last and greatest of the prophets, who was to close
the Old Testament era, for "the law and the prophets prophesied until
John"; as the representative of Elijah the prophet, before the great
and notable day of the Lord could come; as the porter of the Jewish
fold--John occupied a unique position, and it was out of deference to
his appointment by the Father, and as an acknowledgment of his office,
that Jesus sought baptism at his hands.
John's baptism, moreover, was the inauguration of the Kingdom of
Heaven. In it the material made way for the spiritual. The old
system, which gave special privileges to the children of Abraham, was
in the act of passing away, confessing that God could raise up children
to Abraham from the stones at the water's edge; and demanding that
those who would enter the Kingdom must be born from above, of water and
of the Spirit. It was the outward and visible sign that Judaism was
unavailing for the deepest needs of the spirit of man, and that a new
and more spiritual system was about to take its place, and Christ said,
in effect, "I, too, though King, obey the law of the Kingdom, and bow
my head, that, by the same sign as the smallest of my subjects, I may
pass forward to my throne."
There was probably a deeper reason still. That Jordan water, flowing
downwards to the Dead Sea, was symbolical. In the purity of its
origin, amid the snows of Hermon, and in the beauty of its earlier
course, it was an emblem of man's original constitution, when the
Creator made him in His own image and pronounced him very good; but in
these sullied and troubled waters hurrying on to the Sea of
Death--waters in which thousands of sinners had confessed their sins,
with tears and sighs--how apt an emblem was there of the history of our
race, contaminated by the evil that is in the world through lust, and
meriting the wages of sin--death! With that race, in its sin and
degradation, our Lord now formally identified Himself. His baptism was
his formal identification with our fallen and sinful race, though He
knew no sin for Himself, and could challenge the minutest inspection of
his enemies: "Which of you convinceth Me of sin?"
Was He baptized because He needed to repent, or to confess his sins?
Nay, verily! He was as pure as the bosom of God, from which He came;
as pure as the fire that shone above them in the orb of day; as pure as
the snows on Mount Hermon, rearing itself like a vision of clouds on
the horizon: but He needed to be made sin, that we might be made the
righteousness of God in Him. When the paschal lamb had been chosen by
the head of a Jewish household, it was customary to take it, three days
before it would be offered, to the priest, to have it sealed with the
Temple seal; so our Lord, three years before his death, must be set
apart and sealed by the direct act of the Holy Spirit, through the
mediation of John the Baptist. "Him hath God the Father sealed."
"It becometh us"--I like that word, _becometh_. If the Divine Lord
thought so much about what was becoming, surely we may. It should
not be a question with us, merely as to what may be forbidden or
harmful, what may or may not be practised and permitted by our
fellow-Christians, or even whether there are distinct prohibitions in
the Bible that bar the way--but if a certain course is becoming. "Need
I pass through that rite?" _It is becoming_. "Need I perform that
lowly act?" _It is becoming_. "Need I renounce my liberty of action in
that respect?" _It would be very becoming_. And whenever some
hesitant soul, timid and nervous to the last degree, dares to step out,
and do what it believes to be the right thing because it is becoming,
Jesus comes to it, enlinks his arm, and says, "Thou art not alone in
this. Thou and I stand together here. It becomes us to fill up to its
full measure all righteousness." Ah, soul, thou shalt never step forth
on a difficult and untrodden path without hearing his footfall behind
thee, and becoming aware that in every act of righteousness Christ
identifies Himself, saying, "Thus it becometh _us_ to fulfil all
righteousness."
A friend suggests that the Lord Jesus was here referring to the sublime
prophecy of Daniel ix. 24. That He might make an end of sin and bring
in everlasting righteousness, it was essential that the Lamb of God
should confess the sins of the people as his own (see Psa. lxix. 5).
This was his first step on his journey to the Cross, every step of
which was in fulfilment of all righteousness, in order that He might
bring in everlasting righteousness.
"Then he suffered Him." Some things we have to _do_ for Christ, and
some to _bear_ for Him. Active virtues are great; but the passive ones
are rarer and cost more, especially for strong natures like the
Baptist's. But, in all our human life, there is nothing more
attractive than when a strong man yields to another, accepts a deeper
interpretation of duty than he had perceived, and is prepared to set
aside his strong convictions of propriety before the tender pleadings
of a still, soft voice. Yield to Christ, dear heart. Suffer Him to
have his way. Take his yoke, and be meek and lowly of heart--so shalt
thou find rest.
III. THE DESIGNATION OF THE MESSIAH.--It is not to be supposed that
the designation of Jesus as the Christ was given to any but John. It
was apparently a private sign given to him, as the Forerunner and
Herald, through which he might be authoritatively informed as to the
identity of the Messiah. To say nothing of the impossibility of
ordinary and unanointed eyes beholding the descent of the Holy Spirit,
John's own statements seem to point clearly in this direction. He
says, "I knew Him not" (_i.e._, as Son of God), "but He that sent me to
baptize with water, He said unto me, 'Upon whomsoever thou shalt see
the Spirit descending, and abiding upon Him, the same is He that
baptizeth with the Holy Spirit.' And I have seen, and have borne
witness that this is the Son of God" (John i. 32-34). The same thought
appears from putting a perfectly legitimate construction on the words
of the first evangelist: "Lo, the heavens were opened unto him"
(_i.e._, the Baptist), "and he saw the Spirit of God descending as a
dove, and coming upon Him" (Matt. iii. 16).
What a theophany was here! As the Man of Nazareth emerged from the
water, the sign for which John had been eagerly waiting and looking was
granted. He had believed he would see it, but had never thought to see
it granted to one so near akin to himself. We never expect the great
God to come to us! And the exclamation, Lo, indicates his startled
surprise. He saw far away into the blue vault, which had opened into
depth after depth of golden glory. The vail was rent to admit of the
coming forth of the Divine Spirit, who seemed to descend in visible
shape--as a dove might, with gentle, fluttering motion--and to alight
on the head of the Holy One, who stood there fresh from his baptism.
The stress of the narrator, as he told the story afterwards, was that
the Spirit not only came, but _abode_. Here was the miracle of
miracles, that He should be willing to _abide_ in any human temple, who
for so many ages had wandered restlessly over the deluge of human sin,
seeking a resting-place, but finding none. Here, at least, was an ark
into which this second Noah might pull in the fluttering dove, unable
to feed, like the raven, on corruption and death.
The voice of God from heaven proclaimed that Jesus of Nazareth was his
beloved Son, in whom He was well pleased; and the Baptist could have no
further doubt that the Desire of all Nations, the Lord whom his people
sought, the Messenger of the Covenant, had suddenly come to his temple
to act as a refiner's fire and as fullers' soap. "John bare witness,
saying, I have beheld the Spirit descending as a dove out of heaven;
and it abode upon Him." "John beareth witness of Him and crieth" (John
i. 15, 32).
How much that designation meant to Christ! It was his Pentecost, his
consecration and dedication to his life-work; from thenceforth, in a
new and special sense, the Spirit of the Lord was upon Him, and He was
anointed to preach. But it was still more to the Baptist. He knew
that his mission was nearly fulfilled, that his office was ended. He
had opened the gate to the true Shepherd, and must now soon consign to
Him all charge of the flock. Jesus must increase, while he decreased.
He that was from heaven was above all; as for himself, he was of the
earth, and spake of the earth. The Sun had risen, and the day-star
began to wane.
VIII.
Not that Light, but a Witness.
(John I. 8.)
"Nothing resting in its own completeness
Can have worth or beauty; but alone
Because it leads and tends to farther sweetness,
Fuller, higher, deeper than its own.
"Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning,
Gracious though it be, of her blue hours;
But is hidden in her tender leaning
To the summer's richer wealth of flowers."
A. A. PROCTOR.
Resentment of the Sanhedrim--The Baptist's Credentials--Spiritual
Vision--"Behold the Lamb of God"--The Baptism of the Spirit
The baptism and revelation of Christ had a marvellous effect on the
ministry of the Forerunner. Previous to that memorable day, the burden
of his teaching had been in the direction of repentance and confession
of sin. But afterwards, the whole force of his testimony was towards
the person and glory of the Shepherd of Israel. He understood that for
the remainder of his brief ministry, which perhaps did not greatly
exceed six months, he must bend all his strength to announcing to the
people the prerogatives and claims of Him who stood amongst them,
though they knew Him not. "There came a man, sent from God, whose name
was John. The same came for witness, that he might bear witness of the
Light, that all might believe through him. He was not the Light, but
came that he might bear witness of the Light."
Our subject, therefore, naturally divides itself into two divisions:
John's admissions about himself, and his testimony to the Lord. And it
is interesting to notice that they were given on three successive days,
as appears from the twofold use of the phrase, "On the morrow." "On
the morrow" (_i.e._, after he had met and answered the deputation from
the Sanhedrim), "he seeth Jesus coming unto him..." (i. 29). "Again,
on the morrow John was standing, and two of his disciples..." (35).
These events took place at Bethany, or Bethabara, on the eastern bank
of the Jordan. The river there is one hundred feet in width, and,
except in flood, some five to seven feet deep. It lies in a tropical
valley, the verdure of which is in striking contrast to the desolation
which reigns around.
I. THE BAPTIST'S ADMISSIONS ABOUT HIMSELF.--When the fourth Evangelist
uses the word _Jews_, he invariably means the Sanhedrim. John had
become so famous, and his influence so commanding, that he could not be
ignored by the religious leaders of the time. In their hearts they
derided him, and desired to do with him "whatsoever they listed." His
preaching of repentance, and his unmeasured denunciation of themselves
as a brood of vipers, were not to be borne. But they forbore to meet
him in the open field, and resolved to send a deputation, which might
extract some admission from his lips that would furnish them with
ground for subsequent action. "The Jews sent unto him from Jerusalem
priests and Levites to ask him, 'Who art thou?' ... 'Why baptizest
thou?'" The first question was universally interesting; the second
specially so to the Pharisee party, who were the high ritualists of
their day, and who were reluctant that a new rite, which they had not
sanctioned, should be added to the Jewish ecclesiastical system.
It is a striking scene. The rushing river; the tropical gorge; the
dense crowds of people standing thick together; the Baptist in his
sinewy strength and uncouth attire, surrounded by the little group of
disciples; while through the throng a deputation of grey-beards, the
representatives of a decadent religion, makes its difficult way--these
are the principal features of a memorable incident.
There was a profound silence, and men craned their necks and strained
their ears to see and hear everything, as the deputation challenged the
prophet with the inquiry, "Who art thou?" There was a great silence.
Men were prepared to believe anything of the eloquent young preacher.
"The people were in expectation, and all men reasoned in their hearts
concerning John, whether haply he were the Christ" (Luke iii. 15). If
he had given the least encouragement to their dreams and hopes, they
would have unfurled again the tattered banner of the Maccabees; and
beneath his leadership would have swept, like a wild hurricane, against
the Roman occupation, gaining, perhaps, a momentary success, which
afterwards would have been wiped out in blood. "And he confessed, and
denied not; and he confessed, I am not the Christ."
If a murmur of voices burst out in anger, disappointment, and chagrin,
as this answer spread from lip to lip, it was immediately hushed by the
second inquiry propounded, "What then? Art thou Elijah?" (alluding to
the prediction of Malachi iv. 5). If they had worded their question
rather differently, and put it thus, "Hast thou come in the power of
Elias?" John must have acknowledged that it was so; but if they meant
to inquire if he were literally Elijah returned again to this world, he
had no alternative but to say, decisively and laconically, "I am not."
There was a third arrow in their quiver, since the other two had missed
the mark: and amid the deepening attention of the listening multitudes,
and in allusion to Moses' prediction that God would raise up a Prophet
like to himself (Deut. xviii. 15; Acts iii. 22; vii. 37), they said,
"Art thou the Prophet?" and he answered, "No."
The deputation was nonplussed. They had exhausted their repertory of
questions. Their mission threatened to become abortive, unless they
could extract some positive admission. They must put a leading
question; and their spokesman, for the fourth time, challenged the
strange being, whom they found it so hard to label and place on any
shelf of their ecclesiastical museum. "They said therefore unto him,
'Who art thou?--that we may give an answer to them that sent us.' What
sayest thou of thyself?" "He said, 'I am the voice of one crying in
the wilderness, Make straight the way of the Lord, as said Isaiah the
prophet.'"
How infinitely noble! How characteristic of strength! A weak man
would have launched himself on the flowing tide of enthusiasm, and
allowed himself to be swept away by its impetuous rush. What a
mingling of strength and humility! When men suggested that he was the
Christ, he insisted that he was only a voice--the voice of the herald,
whom men hardly notice, because they strain their eyes in the direction
from which he has come, to behold the King Himself. When they
complimented him on his teaching, he told them that He who would winnow
the wheat from the chaff was yet to appear. And when they crowded to
his baptism, he reiterated that it was only the baptism of negation,
_of water_, but the Christ would baptize with the Holy Ghost and with
fire.
Why was this? Ah, he knew his limitations! He was the greatest-born
of woman, yet he knew that his bosom was not broad enough, nor his
heart tender enough, to justify him in bidding all weary and
heavy-laden ones to come to him for rest; he could not say that he and
God were one, and include himself with the Deity, in the majestic
pronoun, we; he never dared to ask men to believe in himself as they
believed in the Father: but there came after him One who dared to say
all these things; and this is the inevitable conclusion, that either
Jesus was inferior to John in all that goes to make a strong and noble
character, or that Jesus was all that John said He was, "The Son of
God, and King of Israel." There is no third suggestion possible. We
must either estimate Jesus as immeasurably inferior, or incomparably
superior, to the strong, sane, Spirit-filled prophet, who never wearied
in declaring the impassable chasm that yawned between them.
Such humility always accompanies a true vision of Christ. If we view
it from the low ground, the mountain may appear to reach into the sky;
but when we reach the mountain-top, we are immediately aware of the
infinite distance between the highest snow-peak and the nearest star.
To the crowds John may have seemed to fulfil all the essential
conditions of the prophetic portraiture of the Messiah; but _he_ stood
on the mountain, and knew how infinitely the Christ stood above him.
This is apparent in his reply to the final inquiry of the Sanhedrim,
"And they asked him, and said unto him, 'Why, then, baptizest thou, if
thou art not the Christ, neither Elijah, neither the Prophet?'" And
John said in effect, "I baptize because I was sent to baptize, and I
know very well that my work in this respect is temporary and transient;
but what matters that? In the midst of you standeth One whom ye know
not, even He that cometh after me, the latchet of whose shoe I am not
worthy to unloose. The Christ is come. Have not I seen Him, standing
amid your crowds, yea, descending these very banks?"
The people must have turned one to another, as he spoke. What! Had
the Messiah come! It could hardly be. There had been no prodigies in
earth or sky worthy of his advent. How could He be amongst them, and
they unaware! But it was even so, and it is so still. The Christ is
in us, and with us still. There may be no transcendent symptoms of his
blessed presence, as He stands in the little groups of two and three
gathered in his name; but the eye of faith detects Him. Where others
see only the bare cliffs of Patmos, or the mines with their gangs of
convicts, the anointed gaze beholds a face brighter than the sun, the
purged ear catches the accents of a voice like the murmur of waters on
the still night air. Remember how He said, "He that loveth Me shall be
loved of my Father; and I will love him, and will manifest Myself to
him." As the Holy Spirit revealed Him to John, so He will reveal Him
to us, if only, like John, we will be content with nothing less, and
wait expectant with the heart on the outlook for the manifestation of
the Son of God; for so He promised, saying, "He shall take of mine, and
shall declare it unto you." And when the child of faith speaks thus,
with the accent of conviction, of what he has seen, and tasted, and
handled, of the Word of life, it is not strange that the children of
this world, whose eyes are blinded, begin to question and deride. What
is there to be seen that they cannot see? What heard that they cannot
detect? Ah, "the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of
God, for they are foolishness unto him, neither can he know them,
because they are spiritually discerned." "There standeth One among
you," said the Baptist, "whom ye know not."
II. THE BAPTIST'S WITNESS TO THE LORD.--Six weeks passed by from that
memorable vision of the opened heaven and the descending Spirit, and
John had eagerly scanned every comer to the river-bank to see again
that divinely beautiful face. But in vain: for Jesus was in the
wilderness, being tempted of the devil, for forty days and nights, the
companion of wild beasts, and exposed to a very hurricane of temptation.
At the end of the six weeks, the interview with the deputation from the
Sanhedrim took place, which we have already described; and on the day
after, when his confession of inferiority was still fresh in the minds
of his hearers, when some were criticising and others pitying, when
symptoms that the autumn of his influence had set in were in the air,
his eye flashed, his face lit up, and he cried, saying: "This is He of
whom I said, 'After me cometh a man who is become before me, for He was
before me.' Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the
world."
Did all eyes turn towards the Christ? Was there a ripple of interest
and expectancy through the crowd? Did any realize the unearthly beauty
and spiritual power of his presence? We know not. Scripture is
silent, only telling us that on the following day, when, with two
disciples, he looked on Jesus as He walked, and repeated his
affirmation, "Behold the Lamb of God," those two disciples followed
Him, never to return to their old master--who knew it must be so, and
was content to decrease if only _He_ might increase.
Let us notice the successive revelations which were made to John, and
through him to Israel, who, you remember, held him, as they had every
warrant for doing, to be in the deepest sense a prophet of the Lord.
This conviction has been definitely endorsed by succeeding ages, which
have classed him as one of the six greatest men that ever left their
mark on the world.
(1) _He rightly conceived of Christ's pre-existence_. "He was before
me" (John i. 30). The phrase resembles Christ's own words, when He
said: "Before Abraham was, I am." In John's case it developed soon
after into another and kindred expression: "He that cometh from above,
is above all" (John iii. 31). With such words the Baptist taught his
disciples. He insisted that Jesus of Nazareth had an existence
anterior to Nazareth, and previous to his birth of the village maiden.
He recognised that his goings had been of old, even from everlasting,
that He was the mighty God, the Father of the Ages, and the Prince of
Peace. As for himself, he was of the earth, and of the earth he spoke;
as for this One, He came from above, and was above all. It is not
surprising, therefore, that one of his disciples, catching his Master's
spirit, wrote: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with
God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God.
All things were made by Him."
(2) _He rightly apprehended the sacrificial aspect of Christ's work_.
"Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world." Was
it that his priestly lineage gave Him a special right to coin and use
this appellation? It was, without doubt, breathed into his heart by
the Holy Spirit; but his whole previous training, as the son of a
priest, fitted him to receive and transmit it. An attempt has been
made to limit the meaning of these words to the personal character of
Jesus, his purity, and gentleness; but, to the Jews who listened, the
latter part of his exclamation could have but one significance. They
would at once connect with his words, those of the Law, the Prophets,
and the Psalms. "The goat shall bear upon him all their iniquities
unto a solitary land." "He bare the sin of many." "He is led as a
lamb to the slaughter."
From the slopes of Mount Moriah, a young voice has expressed the
longing of the ages, "Behold the fire and the wood; but where is the
lamb?" This has been the cry of the human heart in all generations.
From the days of Abel men have brought the firstlings of their flocks,
laying them on the altar, and consuming them with fire; but there was
always a sense of failure and insufficiency. Through the ages, and in
every clime, priest after priest offered the lamb upon the altar, but
by the very fact of continual repetition, bore witness to the
insufficiency of its propitiation. "Every priest, indeed," is the
comment of inspiration, "standeth day by day ministering and offering
oftentimes the same sacrifices, the which can never take away sins."
Must not the hearts of hundreds of saintly priests have been filled
with the same inquiry, Where is the lamb? As the prophets understood
more clearly the nature of God's dealing with man--as, for instance,
Micah saw that even the offering of the first-born could never atone
for the sin of the soul--may we not suppose that from their lips also
the same inquiry was elicited, Where is the lamb? Nature cannot answer
that cry. She is fascinating, especially when she dimples with the
smile of spring, and unveils her face in summer to receive the caresses
of the sun. But with all her beauty and fascination she cannot answer
the entreaty of the conscience that the penalty of sin may be removed,
its power broken, so that man may walk with God with a fearless heart.
Animals at the best are only symbols of the complete solution to the
ever-recurring problem of human sin: thus from all the ages goes forth
the cry, Where is the lamb? Then from his heaven God sends forth his
Son to be the sufficient answer to the universal appeal: and the
heaven-sent messenger, from his rocky pulpit, as he sees Jesus coming
to him, cries, "Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of
the world."
Dear soul, thou mayest venture on Him. He is God's Lamb; on Him the
sin of our race has been laid, and He stood before God with the
accumulated load--"made sin"; the iniquity of us all was laid upon Him;
wounded for our transgressions; bruised for our iniquities; chastised
for our peace; stricken for our transgression; bearing the sin of many.
As the first Adam brought sin on the race, the second Adam has put it
away by the sacrifice of Himself. Men are lost now, not because of
Adam's sin, nor because they were born into a race of sinners, but for
the sin which they presumptuously and wilfully commit, or because by
unbelief they contract themselves out of the benefits of Christ's
death. The servant who had been forgiven by his king, but took his
brother by the throat, brought back upon himself the full penalty from
which the royal warrant had freed him; and if any one of us cling to
sin, rejecting and trampling under foot the Saviour's work on our
behalf, we cancel so far all those benefits of our Saviour's passion
which otherwise would accrue, and bring back upon ourselves the
penalties from which He would fain have delivered us.
(3) _He understood the baptism of the Holy Spirit_. "The same is He
that baptizeth with the Holy Spirit." As Son of God, our Saviour from
all eternity was one with the Holy Spirit in the mystery of the blessed
Trinity; but as "the one Man," He received in his human nature the
fulness of the Divine Spirit. It pleased the Father that in Him should
all the fulness of the Godhead dwell, that He might be able to
communicate Him to all the sons of men who were united to Him by a
living faith. Thus it fell that He was able to assure his disciples
that if they waited in Jerusalem for the promise of the Father, as John
baptized with water, they should be baptized with the Holy Spirit (Acts
i. 4, 5).
The term _baptism_, as applied to the Holy Spirit, had better be
confined to those marvellous manifestations of spiritual power which
are recorded in Acts ii., viii., x., xix., whilst the word _filling_
should be used of those experiences of the indwelling and anointing of
the Divine Spirit which are within the reach of us all. Still, we may
all adopt the words of the Baptist, and tell our living Head that we
have need to be baptized of Him--need to be plunged into the fiery
baptism; need to be searched by the stinging flame; need to be cleansed
from dross and impurity; need to be caught in the transfiguring,
heaven-leaping energy of the Holy Spirit, borne upon his bosom into the
rare atmosphere where the seven lamps burn always before the throne of
God. The blood of the Lamb and the fire of the Holy Spirit are thus
inextricably united.
(4) _He beheld the mystery of the Holy Trinity_. For the first time
this was made manifest to man. On the one hand there was the Father
speaking from heaven; on the other the Spirit descending as a dove--and
between them was the Son of Man who was proclaimed to be the Son of
God, the beloved Son. Surely John might say that flesh and blood had
not revealed these things, but they had been made known to him by a
divine revelation.
The doctrine of the Holy Trinity is a profound mystery, hidden from the
intellect, but revealed to the humble and reverent heart; hidden from
the wise and prudent, and revealed to babes. Welcome Jesus Christ as
John did; and, as to John, so the whole wonder of the Godhead will be
made known to thy heart. Thou wilt hear the Father bearing witness to
his Son; thou wilt see how clearly the Son reveals the Father, and
achieves redemption; thou shalt know what it is to stand beneath the
open heaven and behold and participate in the Divine anointing. Of
what good is it to reason about the Trinity if thou hast no spiritual
appetite for the gifts of the Trinity? But if this is thine, and thou
openest thine heart, thou wilt receive the gift and understand the
doctrine.
(5) _He appreciated the Divine Sonship of Christ_. "I have seen and
have borne witness that this is the Son of God." This witness counts
for much. John knew men, knew himself, knew Christ. He would not have
said so much unless he had been profoundly convinced; and he would not
have been profoundly convinced unless irrefragable evidence had been
presented to him. What though, when on the following day he repeats
his exclamation, his whole congregation leaves him to follow the Man of
Nazareth to his home? The heart of the Forerunner is satisfied, for he
has heard the Bridegroom's voice. The Son of God has come, and has
given him an understanding that he might know Him that is true.
IX.
"We must increase, but I must decrease."
(JOHN III. 30.)
"Where is the lore the Baptist taught,
The soul unswerving and the fearless tongue?
The much-enduring wisdom, sought
By lonely prayer the haunted rocks among?
Who counts it gain
His light would wane,
So the whole world to Jesus throng?"
KEBLE.
The Moral Greatness of the Baptist--Thoughts on Envy--Christian
Consecration--The Baptist's Creed--The Voice of the Beloved
From the Jordan Valley our Lord returned to Galilee and Nazareth. The
marriage feast of Cana, his return to Jerusalem, the cleansing of the
Temple, and the interview with Nicodemus, followed in rapid succession.
And when the crowds of Passover pilgrims were dispersing homewards, He
also left the city with his disciples, and began a missionary tour
throughout the land of Judaea.
This tour is not much dwelt upon in Scripture. We only catch a glimpse
of it here in the 22nd verse, and again in the address of the apostle
Peter to Cornelius, where he speaks of Christ preaching good tidings of
peace throughout all Judaea (Acts x. 36, 37). How long it lasted we
cannot tell; but it must have occupied some months, for He tarried from
time to time at different points.
It is not likely that our Lord unfolded his Messianic character, or
taught with the same clearness as in after days. For the most part, He
would adopt the cry of the Baptist. Of the commencement of his
ministry it is recorded: "Jesus came, ... preaching the Gospel of God,
and saying, 'The time is fulfilled, and the Kingdom of God is at hand:
repent ye, and believe in the Gospel'" (Mark i. 14, 15). But his deeds
declared his royalty.
Wherever He went He was welcomed with vast enthusiasm. The scenes
which had occurred a few months before to inaugurate the Baptist's
ministry were re-enacted. The progress of the heaven-sent Teacher
(John iii. 2) was accompanied by immense throngs of people, who,
wearied with the tiresome exactions of Pharisee and scribe, turned with
eagerness to the humanness and holiness of the True Shepherd. It is
said that cattle, sick and harried with the voyage across the Atlantic,
will show signs of revival as they sniff the first land breezes laden
with the breath of the clover fields.
During all this time the Baptist was continuing his preparatory work in
the Jordan Valley, though now driven by persecution to leave the
western bank for Aenon and Salim on the eastern side, where a handful
of followers still clung to him. "John was not yet cast into prison,"
but the shadow of his impending fate was already gathering over him;
and so he was baptizing in Aenon, near to Salim, where the Jordan
sweeps out into broad sheets of water, eminently suitable for his
purpose. Thither they came and were baptized. The morning star
lingers in the same heavens with the sun, whom it has announced; but
its lustre has paled, and its glories are shorn.
It would appear from the R.V. (ver. 25) that a Jew, probably an
emissary of the Sanhedrim, brought tidings to that little circle of
true-hearted disciples of the work that Jesus was doing in Judaea, and
drew them into a discussion as to the comparative value of the two
baptisms. It was acknowledged that Jesus did not, with his own hands,
perform the rite of baptism, probably for reasons afterwards cited by
his great apostle (iv. 2; compare 1 Cor. i. 14-17): but it would be
administered by his disciples, at his direction, and with his
countenance, and therefore it could be reported to the Baptist by his
disciples, who came to him with eyes flashing with indignation, and
faces heated with the excitement of the discussion: "Rabbi, He that was
with thee beyond Jordan, to whom thou hast borne witness, the same
baptizeth, and all men come to Him" (ver. 26).
It was as though they said, "Master, is it not too bad? See how thy
generous testimony has been requited! In the day of thy glory thou
wert too profuse in thy acknowledgments, too prodigal in thy
testimonials. Now this new Teacher has taken a leaf out of thy
programme; He too is preaching, baptizing, and gathering a school of
disciples." But there was no tinder in that noble breast which these
jealous sparks could kindle. Nothing but love dwelt there. He had
been plunged into the baptism of a holy love, which had burnt out the
selfishness and jealousy, which were as natural to him as to us all.
It was as when a spark falls into an ocean and is instantly
extinguished. Thus his reply will ever rank among the greatest
utterances of mortal man. The Lord said that of those born of woman
none was greater than John; and, if by nothing else, by these words his
moral stature and superlative excellence were vindicated. He seemed
great when his voice rang like a clarion through Palestine, attracting
and thrilling the mighty throngs; great, when he dared to tell Herod
that it was unlawful for him to have his brother's wife, uttering words
which those palace walls must have been startled to hear; great, when
he baptized Him for whom the world was waiting, and who was declared to
be the Son of God with power; but he never seemed so great as when he
refused to enter into those acrimonious altercations and discussions,
and said simply, "A man can receive nothing, except it be given him
from heaven."
I. JOHN COUNTED INFLUENCE AND POSITION AS DIVINE GIFTS.--What
startling differences obtain among men--Peter and John, Calvin and
Melancthon, John Knox and Samuel Rutherford, Kingsley and Keble! Each
of these has left his imprint on human history; each so needful to do
his own special work, but each so diverse from all others. We are
sometimes tempted to attribute their special powers and success to
their circumstances, their times, their parents and teachers; but there
is a deeper and more satisfactory explanation. Adopting the words of
the Forerunner, we may say--They had nothing that they had not received
from heaven, by the direct appointment and decree of God.
It was thus that the Baptist reasoned: "Whatever success and blessing I
had are due to the appointment of Him who sent me to preach his Gospel
and announce the advent of his Son. Every man has his work and sphere
appointed him of God. If this new Teacher meet with such success, we
have no right to be jealous of Him, lest we sin against God, who has
made Him what He is. And if we have not the same crowds as once, let
us be content to take this, too, as the appointment of Heaven, glad to
do whatever is assigned to us, and to leave all results with God."
This is a golden sentence, indeed!--"A man can receive nothing, except
it be given him from heaven." Hast thou great success in thy
life-work? Do crowds gather around thy steps and throng thy
audience-chamber? Do not attribute them to thyself. They are all the
gifts of God's grace. He raiseth up one and setteth down another.
Thou hast nothing that thou hast not received; and if thou hast
received it, see to it that thou exercise perpetually the faculty of
receptiveness, so that thou mayest receive more and more, grace on
grace. The river in its flow should hollow out the channel-bed through
which it flows. Be thankful, but never vain. He who gave may take.
Great talents bestowed imply great responsibility in the day of
reckoning. Be not high-minded, but fear. Much success can only be
enjoyed without injury to the inner life by being considered as the
dear gift of Christ, to be used for Him.
Hast thou but one talent, and little success?--yet this is as God has
willed it. He might have given more had He willed it so; be thankful
that He has given any. Use what thou hast. The five barley loaves and
two small fishes will so increase, as they are distributed, that they
will supply the want of thousands. Do not dare to envy one more
successful and used than thyself, lest thou be convicted of murmuring
against the appointment of thy Lord. Here, too, is the cure of
jealousy, which more than anything else blights the soul of the servant
of God. To an older minister, who has passed the zenith of his
popularity and power, it is often a severe trial to see younger men
stepping into positions which he once held and has been compelled to
renounce. He is mightily tempted to disparage their power, and condemn
them by faint praise; or, if he praise, to add one biting comment which
undoes the generosity and frankness of the eulogium. Why should this
younger man, who was not born when his own ministry was at full tide,
now carry all before him, while the waves are quietly withdrawing from
the margin of seaweed they once cast up! Thoughts like these corrode
and canker the soul; and there is no arrest to them, unless, by a
definite effort of the Spirit-energised will, the soul turns to God
with the words: "A man can receive nothing, except it be given him from
heaven. I had my glad hours of meridian glory, and have still the
mellow light of a summer sunset. It was God's gift to me, as rest is
now; and I will rejoice that He raises up others to do his work. I
will rejoice that the Kingdom is coming, that Christ is satisfied, that
men are being saved; this shall be my joy, and it shall be fulfilled."
How much misery, heart-burning, and disappointment would be saved if,
at the beginning of life, each of us inquired seriously what that
special work in the world might be to which he was called, and for
which he is fitted. Then, instead of being poor imitations, we might
be good originals. Instead of spending our time in going off on side
issues, we might bend all our strength to the main purpose of our
existence. God has meant each of us for something; incarnating in us
one of his own great thoughts, and equipping us with all material that
is necessary for its realization. We may probably discover its meaning
by the peculiarities of our mental endowments or the advice of friends;
by the necessity of our circumstances or the prompting of the Holy
Spirit. Otherwise we must be content to go on making each day
according to the pattern shown us--not as a whole, but in detail--sure
that some day each bit and scrap, each vail and hanging, will find its
place, and the tabernacle of our life stand complete.
Every name is historic in God's estimate. The obscurest among us has
his place in the Divine plan, his lesson to learn, his work to do. The
century opening before us can no more dispense with us than an
orchestra with the piccolo. A pawn on God's chessboard may take a
knight, or give check to a king. "We are his workmanship, created in
Christ Jesus unto good works which God has before prepared (R.V.), that
we should walk in them" (Eph. ii. 10).
II. JOHN CAUGHT SIGHT OF A FULLER AND RICHER IDEAL THAN HIS
OWN.--Tidings had, without doubt, been brought to him of our Lord's
first miracle in Cana of Galilee. We know that it had made a great
impression on the little group of ardent souls, who had been called to
share the village festivities with their newly-found Master; and we
know that some of them were still deeply attached to their old friend
and leader. From these he would learn the full details of that
remarkable inauguration of this long-expected ministry. How startled
he must have been at the first hearing! He had announced the
Husbandman with his fan to thoroughly winnow his floor; the Baptist
with his fire; the Lamb of God, holy, harmless, and separate from
sinners. But the Messiah opens his ministry among men by mingling with
the simple villagers in their wedding joy, and actually ministers to
their innocent mirth, as He turns the water into wine! The Son of Man
has come "eating and drinking"! What a contrast was here to the
austerity of the desert, the coarse raiment, the hard fare! "John the
Baptist came neither eating nor drinking." Could this be He? And yet
there was no doubt that the heaven had been opened above Him, that the
Dove had descended, and that God's voice had declared Him to be the
"Beloved Son." But what a contrast to all that he had looked for!
Further reflection, however, on that incident, in which Jesus
manifested forth his glory, and the cleansing of the Temple which
immediately followed, must have convinced the Baptist that this
conception of holiness was the true one. His own type could never be
universal or popular. It was not to be expected that the mass of men
could be spared from the ordinary demands of daily life to spend their
days in the wilderness as he had done; and it would not have been for
their well-being, or that of the world, if his practice had become the
rule. It would have been a practical admission that ordinary life was
common and unclean; and that there was no possibility of infusing it
with the high principles of the Kingdom of Heaven. Consecration to God
would have become synonymous with the exclusion of wife and child, of
home and business, of music and poetry, from the soul of the saint;
whereas its true conception demands that nothing which God has created
can be accounted common or unclean, but all may be included within the
encircling precincts of the Redeemer's Kingdom. The motto of Christian
consecration is, therefore, given in that remarkable assertion of the
apostle; "Every creature of God is good, and nothing is to be rejected,
if it be received with thanksgiving: for it is sanctified through the
Word of God and prayer" (1 Tim. iv. 4, 5).
John saw, beneath the illuminating ray of the Holy Spirit, that this
was the Divine Ideal; that the Redeemer could not contradict the
Creator; that the Kingdom was consistent with the home; and the
presence of the King with the caress of woman and the laughter of the
child, and the innocent mirth of the village feast. This he saw, and
cried in effect: "That village scene is the key to the Messiah's
ministry to Israel. He is not only Guest at a bridegroom's table, but
the Bridegroom Himself. He has come to woo and win the chosen race.
Of old they were called Hephzibah and Beulah; and now those ancient
words come back to mind with newly-minted meaning, with the scent of
spring. Our land, long bereaved and desolate, is to be married. Joy,
joy to her! The Bridegroom is here. He that hath the bride is the
Bridegroom. As for me, I am the Bridegroom's friend, sent to negotiate
the match, privileged to know and bring together the two parties in the
blessed nuptials--blessed with the unspeakable gladness of hearing the
Bridegroom's manly speech. Do you tell me that He is preaching, and
that all come to Him? That is what I have wanted most of all. This my
joy, therefore, is fulfilled. 'He must increase, but I must decrease.'"
III. JOHN HAD ENLARGED PERCEPTION OF THE TRUE NATURE OF CHRIST.--It
has been questioned whether the paragraph which follows (John iii.
31-36) was spoken by the Baptist, or is the comment of the Evangelist.
With many eminent commentators, I incline strongly to the former view.
The phraseology employed in this paragraph is closely similar to the
words addressed by Christ to Nicodemus, and often used by Himself, as
in John v.; and they may well have filtered through to the Baptist, by
the lips of Andrew, Peter, and John, who would often retail to their
venerated earliest teacher what they heard from Jesus.
Consider, then, the Baptist's creed at this point of his career. He
_believed_ in the heavenly origin and divinity of the Son of Man--that
He was from heaven and above all. He _believed_ in the unique and
divine source of his teaching--that He did not communicate what He had
learnt at second-hand, but stood forth as one speaking what He knows,
and testifying what He has seen--"For He whom God has sent, speaketh
the words of God." He _believed_ in his copious enduement with the
Holy Spirit. Knowing that human teachers, at the best, could only
receive the Spirit in a limited degree, he recognised that when God
anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit there was no limit, no
measuring metre, no stint. It was copious, rich, unmeasured--so much
so that it ran down from his head, as Hermon's dews descend to the
lonely heights of Zion. He _believed_ in his near relationship to God,
using the well-known Jewish phrase of sonship to describe his
possession of the Divine nature in a unique sense, and recalling the
utterance of the hour of baptism, to give weight to his assurance that
the Father loved Him as Son. Lastly, He _believed_ in the mediatorial
function of the Man of Nazareth--that the Father had already given all
things into his hand; and that the day was coming when He would sit on
the throne of David, yea, on the mediatorial throne itself, King of
kings, and Lord of lords, the keys of Death and Hades, of the realms of
invisible existence and spiritual power, hanging at his girdle.
To that creed the Baptist added a testimony, which has been the means
of light and blessing to myriads. Being dead, he yet has spoken
through the ages, assuring us that to believe on Jesus is to have, as a
present fact, eternal life, the life which fills the Being of God and
defies time and change. Faith is the act by which we open our heart to
receive the gift of God; as earth bares her breast to sun and rain, and
as the good wife flings wide her doors and windows to let in the spring
sunshine and the summer air. Ah, reader, I would that thou hadst this
faith! The open heart towards Christ! The yielded will! Thou needst
only will to have Him, and He has already entered, though thou canst
not detect his footfall, or the chime of the bells around his garment's
hem. And to shut thy heart against Him not only excludes the life
which might be thine, but incurs the wrath of God.
_There are two concluding thoughts_. First: The only hope of a
decreasing self is an increasing Christ. There is too much of the
self-life in us all, chafing against God's will, refusing God's gifts,
instigating the very services we render to God, simulating humility and
meekness for the praise of men. But how can we be rid of this accursed
self-consciousness and pride? Ah! we must turn our back on our shadow,
and our face towards Christ. We must look at all things from his
standpoint, trying to realize always how they affect Him, and then
entering into his emotions. It has been said that "the woman who loves
thinks with the brain of the man she loves", and surely if we love
Christ with a constraining passion, we shall think his thoughts and
feel his joys, and no longer live unto ourselves, but unto Him.
"Love took up the Harp of Life
And smote on all its chords with might;
Smote the chord of self, that trembling,
Passed in music out of sight."
Second: we must view our relationship to Christ as the betrothal and
marriage of our soul to our Maker and Redeemer, who is also our
Husband. "Wherefore, my brethren," says the apostle, "ye also were
made dead to the law through the body of Christ; that ye should be
married to another, even to Him who was raised from the dead, that we
should bring forth fruit unto God" (Rom. vii. 4).
The Son of God is not content to love us. He cannot rest till He has
all our love in return. "He looketh in at the windows" of the soul,
"and showeth Himself through the lattice." Our Beloved speaks, and
says unto us, "Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away." And, as
our response, He waits to hear us say:
"My Beloved is mine, and I am his;
He feedeth his flock among the lilies.
Until the day break, and the shadows flee away,
Turn, my Beloved!"
X.
The King's Courts
(MARK VI.)
"The number of thine own complete,
Sum up and make an end;
Sift clean the chaff, and house the wheat;
And then, O Lord, descend.
"Descend, and solve by that descent
This mystery of life;
Where good and ill, together blent,
Wage an undying strife."
J. H. N.
Under Royal Surveillance--"It is not Lawful."--The Revenge of
Herodias--The Upbraidings of Conscience--Devotion to Truth--"A Sin unto
Death."
Our story brings us next to speak of the Baptist's relations with Herod
Antipas, son of the great Herod, a contemptible princeling who
inherited a fourth part of his father's dominions (hence known as the
Tetrarch), ruling over Galilee and part of Perea. For the most part he
lived at Tiberias, in great state, which he had imported from Rome,
where he had spent part of his early life. From an early age he had
been entrusted with despotic power, and, as the natural and inevitable
result, had become sensual, weak, capricious, and cruel.
It is of the collision between this man, whom our Lord compared to a
fox, and John the Baptist, that we have now to treat. We need only
notice here that every great character on the page of history has had
his vehement antagonist. Moses, Pharaoh; Elijah, Ahab; Jeremiah,
Jehoiakim; Paul, Nero; Savonarola, the Medici; Luther, the Emperor
Charles V.; John Knox, Queen Mary.
I. THE CAUSE OF THE COLLISION.--All the world had flocked to see and
hear John the Baptist. Every mouth was full of his eccentricities and
eloquence. Marvellous stories were being told of the effect which he
had produced on the lives of those who had come under his influence.
All this was well known to Herod. His spies were present in every
great gathering, and served the purpose of the newspaper of to-day; so
that he was well informed of all the topics that engaged the popular
mind.
For some months, also, Herod had watched the career of the preacher.
When he least expected it, he was under the surveillance of the closest
criticism. A fierce light, like that which beats about a throne, fell
strongly on his most secret actions. And the result had been perfectly
satisfactory. Herod felt that John was a true man. He observed him,
and was satisfied that he was a just man and a holy. Reasons of state
forbade the king from going in person to the Jordan Valley; but he was
extremely eager to see and hear this mighty man of God: and so, one
day, at the close of a discourse, an argument with the Pharisees, or
the administration of the rite of baptism, John found himself accosted
by one of the court chamberlains, and summoned to deliver his message
before the court. Herod "sent for him."
We might wonder how it could happen that a man like Herod, who
notoriously lived in a glass house, so far as character went, should be
so willing to call in so merciless a preacher of repentance as John the
Baptist was--before whose words, flung like stones, full many a glass
house had crashed to the ground, leaving its tenant unsheltered before
the storm. But it must be remembered that most men, when they enter
the precincts of the court, are accustomed to put velvet in their
mouths; and, however vehement they may have been in denouncing the sins
of the lower classes, they change their tone when face to face with
sinners in high places. Herod, therefore, had every reason to presume
that John would obey this unwritten law; and, whilst denouncing sin in
general, would refrain from anything savouring of the direct and
personal.
Another reason probably actuated Herod. He knew that the land was
filled with the fame of the Baptist, and it seemed an easy path to
popularity, and likely to divert attention from his private sins, which
had made much scandal, to patronize the religion of the masses. At
this point he probably entertained much the same feeling toward the
desert-prophet that led Simon the Pharisee to invite Jesus to eat with
him. "Yes, let John the Baptist come. Court life is dreary and
monotonous enough. It will make a little diversion, like a breath of
fresh air on a sultry day. It is worth risking a little roughness in
his speech, and uncouthness in his manner, if only he while away an
afternoon. Besides, it will please his following, which is
considerable. Let him come, by all means."
We are reminded of a similar scene in Old Testament history, when, at
the solicitation of Jehoshaphat, Ahab sent for Micaiah. "The messenger
that went to call Micaiah spake unto him, saying, 'Behold, the words of
the prophets declare good to the king with one mouth; let thy word
therefore, I pray thee, be like one of theirs, and speak thou good.'"
One interpretation of Mark vi. 20 suggests that the Baptist's first
sermon before Herod was followed by another, and yet another. The
Baptist dealt with general subjects, urged on the King's attention some
minor reforms, which were not too personal or drastic, and won his
genuine regard. We are told that he used to hear (the _imperfect
tense_) him gladly, and "did many things." It was a relief to Herod's
mind to feel that there were many things which he could do, many wrongs
which he could set right, while the main wrong of his life was left
untouched. Ah! it is remarkable how much men will do in the direction
of amendment and reform, if only, by a tacit understanding, nothing is
said, or hinted at, which threatens the one sin in which the heart's
evil has concentrated itself. But John knew that his duty to Herod, to
truth, to public morality, demanded that he should go further, and
pierce to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, of the joints and
marrow; and therefore on one memorable occasion he accosted the royal
criminal with the crime of which men were speaking secretly everywhere,
and uttered the memorable sentence which could not be forgiven: "It is
not lawful for thee to have thy brother's wife."
We can imagine how some room in the palace, which had often been the
scene of wild riot, would be improvised as an audience chamber, filled
with seats, and crowded on each occasion of the Baptist's appearance
with a strange and brilliant throng. In the midst, the king and the
woman with whom he was living in illicit union; next them her daughter,
Salome; around them courtiers and ladies, nobles and pages, soldiers
and servants. On all sides splendid dresses, magnificent uniforms,
rare jewels, luxurious upholstery, added light and colour to the scene.
The sermon began. As was John's wont, he arraigned the sin, the
formalism, the laxity of the times; he proclaimed the advent of the
Kingdom, the presence of the King; he demanded, in the name of God,
repentance and reform. Herod was, as usual, impressed and convinced;
he assented to the preacher's propositions; already he had settled
himself into his usual posture for hearing gladly. It was as when we
watch summer-lightning playing around the horizon; we have no fear so
long as it is not forked.
Presently, however, John becomes more personal and direct than ever
before. He begins, in no measured terms, to denounce the sin of men in
high places, and holds up the dissoluteness which disgraced the court.
As he proceeds, a breathless silence falls on the crowd sitting, or
hanging around him, their dresses in curious contrast to his severe
garment of camel's hair, their nervous dread in as great contrast to
his incisive and searching eloquence. Here were the people clothed in
soft raiment, and accustomed to sumptuous fare, bending as reeds before
the gusts of wind sweeping fiercely across the marsh.
Finally, the preacher comes closer still, and pointing to the princess
who sat beside Herod, looking Herod in the face, he exclaims: "It is
not lawful for thee to have thy brother's wife."
We need not dwell on all the terrible details of that disgraceful sin.
But every circumstance which could deepen its infamy was present.
Herod's wife, the daughter of Aretas, King of Arabia, was still living;
as was Philip, the husband of Herodias. The _liaison_ commenced at
Rome, when Herod was the guest of his brother Philip, while apparently
engaged on a mission of holy devotion to the religious interests of the
Jewish nation.
The ground of John's accusation calls for a heavier emphasis than
appears in a superficial consideration of the words. He might have
said: "It is not expedient; your wife's father will rise in arms
against you, and threaten the Eastern border of your kingdom. It is
not expedient to run the risk of war, which may give Rome a further
excuse against you." He might have said: "This is an unwise step, as
it will cut you off from your own family, and leave you exposed to the
brunt of popular hate." He might have said: "It is impolitic and
incautious to risk the adverse judgment of the Emperor." But he said
none of these things. He took the matter to a higher court. He
arraigned the guilty pair before God; and, laying his axe at the root
of the tree--calling on Herod's conscience, long gagged and silent, to
take part in the impeachment--he said, in effect: "I summon you before
the bar of God, and in the pure light which streams from his holy
Oracle, your consciences being witnesses against you, you know
perfectly well that it is not right for you to be living as you are
living. 'Thou shalt not commit adultery.'"
Every hearer stood aghast. A death-like hush fell on the assembly,
which probably broke up in dismay. So paralyzed was every one that no
hand was laid on the preacher. We are expressly told that "Herod _sent
forth_ and laid hold upon John" (Mark vi. 17); from which we infer that
the fearless preacher passed out through the paralyzed and
conscience-stricken assemblage, leaving dismay, like that which befell
the roysterers in Belshazzar's court, when the hand of the Almighty
traced the mysterious characters on the palace wall in lines of fire.
The first feeling of awe and conscience-stricken remorse would,
however, soon pass off. Some would hasten to condole with Herodias;
some to sympathize with Herod. Herodias would retire to her
apartments, accompanied by her high ladies, vowing fiery vengeance on
the preacher--a very Jezebel, thirsting for the blood of another
Elijah. Throughout Herod's court there would be an effort to dismiss
the allusion as "Altogether uncalled for;" as "What might have been
expected from such a man;" as "A gross breach of manners," as "An
affront against delicacy of taste."
But Herodias would give her paramour no rest; and, perhaps one evening,
when John had retired for meditation and prayer, his disciples being
off their guard and the people absent, a handful of soldiers arrested
him, bound him, and led him off to the strong castle of Machaerus.
II. JOHN'S IMPRISONMENT AND ITS OPPORTUNITIES.--The castle of
Machaerus was known as "the diadem," or "the black tower." It lay on
the east side of the Dead Sea, almost on a line with Bethlehem. The
ruins of the castle are still to be seen, in great masses of squared
stone, on the top of a lofty hill, surrounded on three sides by
unscaleable precipices, descending to such depths that Josephus says
the eye could not reach their bottom. The fourth side is described as
only a little less terrible. Wild desolation reigned far and near. A
German traveller mentions the masses of lava, brown, red, and black,
varied with pumice-stone, distributed in huge broken masses, or rising
in perpendicular cliffs; whilst the rushing stream, far below, is
overgrown with oleanders and date-palms, willows, poplars, and tall
reeds. Here and there, thick mists of steam arise, where the hot
sulphur springs gush from the clefts of the rocks.
On this impregnable site, Dr. Geikie tells us that Herod had erected a
great wall, enclosing the summit of the hill, with towers two hundred
feet high at the corners, and in the space thus gained had built a
grand palace, with rows of columns of a single stone apiece, halls
lined with many-coloured marbles, magnificent baths, and all the
details of Roman luxury, not omitting huge cisterns, barracks, and
store-houses, with everything needed in case of a siege. From the
windows there was a magnificent view of the Dead Sea, the whole course
of the Jordan, Jerusalem, Hebron, the frowning fortress of Marsaba, and
away to the north, the wild heights of Pisgah and Abarim. Detached
from the palace was a stern and gloomy keep, with underground dungeons
still visible, hewn down into the solid rock. This was the scene of
John's imprisonment.
The Evangelist says expressly that they _bound_ the child of the
desert-wastes, with his love for dear liberty--sensitive to the touch
of the sunshine and the breeze, to the beauty that lay over the hills,
accustomed to go and come at his will--as though it were the last
indignity and affront to fetter those lithe and supple limbs, and place
them under constraint. Ah, it is little short of a sin to encage a
wild bird, beating its heart against the bars of its narrow cage, when
the sun calls it to mount up with quivering ecstasy to the gates of
day; but what a sin to bind the preacher of righteousness, and imprison
him in sunless vaults--what an agony! What a contrast between the gay
revelry that reigned yonder within the palace, and the slow torture
which the noble spirit of the Baptist was doomed to suffer through
those weary months!
Is there anything like that in your life, my reader? In many an old
castle the attention of the visitor is directed to a haunted room,
where ghosts are said to walk at night; but in how many hearts there
are dark subterranean apartments, where conscience, gagged and bound,
lies imprisoned! Outwardly there is the gaiety and mirth as of a
palace; but inwardly there is remorse, misery, unrest. In lonely hours
there is a voice which pierces the thickest walls of your assumed
indifference, and rings up into the house of your life, where the soul
seeks to close its ear in vain. It is a sad, monotonous,
heart-piercing cry which that voice repeats: "It is not lawful, not
lawful, not lawful." Whenever there is a moment of silence and
respite, you hear it--"Not lawful, not lawful." And nothing can stay
it but repentance, confession, restitution, so far as may be, and the
blood of Jesus Christ, God's Son, which cleanseth from all sin.
From time to time it would seem as though the strictness of John's
imprisonment was relaxed. His disciples were permitted to see him, and
tell him of what was happening in the world without; but stranger than
all, he was summoned to have audiences with Herod himself.
Another rendering of Mark vi. 19, 20, which is perfectly legitimate,
and is favoured by the R.V., suggests that the king was ill at ease,
and swept to and fro by very different currents.
First, he was deeply incensed. As he thought of the manner in which
the Baptist had treated him, denouncing him before his court, the fire
of anger burnt fiercely within his breast; and he had beside him a Lady
Macbeth, a beautiful fiend and temptress, who knew that while the
Baptist lived, and dared to speak as he had done, her position was not
safe. She knew Herod well enough to dread the uprising of his
conscience at the appeals of truth. And perpetually, when she saw her
chance, she whispered in Herod's ear, "The sooner you do away with that
man the better. You don't love me perfectly, as long as you permit him
to breathe. Unmannerly cur!" "Herodias set herself against him, and
desired to kill him; but she could not."
On the other side, Herod was in fear. He feared John, "knowing that he
was a righteous man and a holy." He feared the people, because they
held him for a prophet. And, beneath all, he feared God, lest he
should step in to avenge any wrong perpetrated against his servant.
Between these two influences he was "much perplexed" (Mark vi. 20,
R.V.). When he was with Herodias, he thought as she did, and left her,
almost resolved to give the fatal order; but when he was alone, the
other influence made itself felt, and he would send for John:
"I would like to see him again, chamberlain--tell the gaoler to send
the Baptist hither; let his coming to my private room be, however, kept
secret. I don't want all my court blabbing."
And the gaoler would come to the cell door, and call to his prisoner,
with a mixture of effrontery and obsequiousness, "Up, man; the king
wants you. Put on your softest speech. It will serve you better than
that rasping tongue of yours. Why cannot you leave the king and his
private affairs alone? They are no business of yours or mine."
And might not Herod attempt to induce the prophet to take back his
ruthless sentence? "Come," he might say, "you remember what you said.
If you unsay that sentence, I will set you free. I cannot, out of
respect for my consort, allow such words to remain unretracted. There,
you have your freedom in your own hands. One word of apology, and you
may go your way; and my solemn bond is yours, that you shall be kept
free from molestation."
If such an offer were made, it must have presented a strong temptation
to the emaciated captive, whose physique had already lost the
elasticity and vigour of his early manhood, and was showing signs of
his grievous privation. But he had no alternative; and, however often
the ordeal was repeated, he met the royal solicitation with the same
unwavering reply: "I have no alternative. It is not lawful for thee to
have thy brother's wife. I should betray my God, and act treacherously
to thyself, if I were to take back one word which I have spoken; and
thou knowest that it is so." And as he reasoned of righteousness,
temperance, and a judgment to come, the royal culprit trembled.
John could do no other; but it was a sublime act of devotion to God and
Truth. He had no thought for himself at all, and thought only of the
choice and destiny of that guilty pair, from which he would warn and
save them, if he might. Well might the Lord ask, in after days, if
John were a reed shaken with the wind. Rather he resembled a forest
tree, whose deeply-struck and far-spreading roots secure it against the
attack of the hurricane; or a mighty Alp, which defies the tremor of
the earthquake, and rears its head above the thunder-storms, which
break upon its slopes, to hold fellowship with the skies.
How many men are like Herod! They resemble the superficial ground, on
which the seed springs into rapid and unnatural growth; but the rock
lies close beneath the surface. Now they are swayed by the voice of
the preacher, and moved by the pleadings of conscience, allowed for one
brief moment to utter its protests and remonstrances; and then they
feel the fascination of their sin, that unholy passion, that sinful
habit, that ill-gotten gain--and are sucked back from the beach, on
which they were almost free, into the sea of ink and death.
You may be trying, my reader, to steer a middle course between John the
Baptist and Herodias. Now you resolve to get free of her guilty
charms, and break the spell that fascinates you. Merlin will
emancipate himself from Vivien, before she learn his secret, and dance
with it down the wood, leaving him dishonoured and ashamed. But,
within an hour, the Syren is again singing her dulcet notes, and
drawing the ship closer and closer to the rocks, with their black
teeth, waiting to grind it to splinters. Oh that there might come to
you the voice that spoke with such power to Augustine, and that like
him you might now and here yield yourself to it; so that when the
temptress, whatever form she may assume, approaches you with the
whisper: "I am _she_, Augustine," you may answer: "But I am not _he_!"
So John was left in prison. Month after month he languished in the
dark and stifling dungeon, wondering a little, now and again, why the
Master, if He were the Son of God, did not interpose to work his
deliverance. But of that anon.
III. HEROD'S INEVITABLE DETERIORATION.--Again and again John was
remanded to his cell. Probably twelve months passed thus. But each
time the king failed to act on the preacher's remonstrances; he became
more impervious to his appeals, more liable to the sway of passion.
Thus, when a supreme moment came, in which he was under the influence
of drink and unholy appetite, and the reign of such moral nature as
remained was greatly enfeebled, it is not to be wondered at that
Herodias had her way, and before her murderous request the last thin
fence of resistance broke down, and he gave orders that it should be as
she desired.
The story does not end here. He not only murdered John the Baptist,
but he inflicted a deadly wound on his own moral nature, from which it
never recovered, as we shall see. Ultimately he had no thought in the
presence of Christ other than to see Him work a miracle; and when his
desire was refused, set him at nought with his mighty men, mocked his
claims to be the King of Israel, did not scruple to treat Him with
indignity and violence, and so dismissed Him.
Is it wonderful that our Lord was speechless before such a man? What
else could He be? The deterioration had been so awful and complete.
For the love of God can say nothing to us, though it be prepared to die
on our behalf, so long as we refuse to repent of, and put away, our
sin. We remember some solemn words, which may be applied in all their
fearful significance to that scene: "There is a sin unto death; not
concerning this do I say that he should make request."
XI.
"Art Thou He?"
(MATTHEW XI.)
"He fought his doubts and gathered strength,
He would not make his judgment blind,
He faced the spectres of the mind
And laid them;--thus he came, at length,
"To find a stronger faith his own,
And Power was with him in the night,
Which makes the darkness and the light,
And dwells not in the light alone."
TENNYSON.
John's Misgivings--Disappointed Hopes--Signs of the Christ--The
Discipline of Patience--A New Beatitude
It is very touching to remark the tenacity with which some few of
John's disciples clung to their great leader. The majority had
dispersed: some to their homes; some to follow Jesus. Only a handful
lingered still, not alienated by the storm of hate which had broken on
their master, but drawn nearer, with the unfaltering loyalty of
unchangeable affection. They could not forget what he had been to
them--that he had first called them to the reality of living; that he
had taught them to pray; that he had led them to the Christ: and they
dare not desert him now, in the dark sad days of his imprisonment and
sorrow.
What an inestimable blessing to have friends like this, who will not
leave our side when the crowd ebbs, but draw closer as the shadows
darken over our path, and the prison damp wraps its chill mantle about
us! To be loved like that is earth's deepest bliss! These heroic
souls risked all the peril that might accrue to themselves from this
identification with their master; they did not hesitate to come to his
cell with tidings of the great outer world, and specially of what He
was doing and saying, whose life was so mysteriously bound up with his
own. "The disciples of John told him of all these things" (Luke vii.
18, R.V.).
It was to two of these choice and steadfast friends that John confided
the question which had long been forming within his soul, and forcing
itself to the front. "And John, calling unto him two of his disciples,
sent them to the Lord, saying, Art Thou He that cometh, or look we for
another?"
I. JOHN'S MISGIVINGS.--Can this be he who, but a few months ago, had
stood in his rock-hewn pulpit, in radiant certainty? The brilliant
eastern sunlight that bathed his figure, as he stood erect amid the
thronging crowds, was the emblem and symbol of the light that filled
his soul. No misgiving crossed it. He pointed to Christ with
unfaltering certitude, saying, This is He, the Lamb of God, the Son of
the Father, the Bridegroom of the soul. How great the contrast between
that and this sorrowful cry, "Art Thou He?"
Some commentators, to save his credit, have supposed that the embassy
was sent to the Lord for the sake of the disciples, that their hearts
might be opened, their faith confirmed--and that they might have a head
and leader when he was gone. But the narrative has to be greatly
strained and dragged out of its obvious course to make it cover the
necessities of such an hypothesis. It is more natural to think that
John the Baptist was for a brief spell under a cloud, involved in
doubt, tempted to let go the confidence that had brought him such
ecstatic joy when he first saw the Dove descending and abiding.
The Bible does not scruple to tell us of the failures of its noblest
children: of Abram, thinking that the Egyptians would take his life; of
Elijah, stretching himself beneath the shadow of the desert bush, and
asking that he might die; of Thomas, who had been prepared to die with
his Lord, but could not believe that He was risen. And in this the
Spirit of God has rendered us untold service, because we learn that the
material out of which He made the greatest saints was flesh and blood
like ourselves; and that it was by Divine grace, manifested very
conspicuously towards them, that they became what they were. If only
the ladder rests on the low earth, where we live and move and have our
being, there is some hope of our climbing to stand with others who have
ascended its successive rungs and reached the starry heights. Yes, let
us believe that, for some days at least, John's mind was overcast, his
faith lost its foothold, and he seemed to be falling into bottomless
depths. _He sent them to Jesus, saying, Art Thou He that should come_?
We can easily trace this lapse of faith to three sources.
(1) _Depression_. He was the child of the desert. The winds that
swept across the waste were not freer. The boundless spaces of the
Infinite had stretched above him, in vaulted immensity, when he slept
at night or wrought through the busy days; and as he found himself
cribbed, cabined, and confined in the narrow limits of his cell, his
spirits sank. He pined with the hunger of a wild thing for liberty--to
move without the clanking fetters; to drink of the fresh water of the
Jordan, to breathe the morning air; to look on the expanse of nature.
Is it hard to understand how his deprivations reacted on his mental and
spiritual organization, or that his nervous system lost its elasticity
of tone, or that the depression of his physical life cast a shadow on
his soul?
We are all so highly strung, so delicately balanced. Often the lack of
spiritual joy and peace and power in prayer is attributable to nothing
else than our confinement in the narrow limits of a tiny room; to the
foul, gaseous air we are compelled to breathe; to our inability to get
beyond the great city, with its wilderness of brick, into the country,
with its blossoms, fields, and woodland glades. In a large number of
spiritual maladies the physician is more necessary than the minister of
religion; a holiday by the seaside or on the mountains, than a
convention.
What an infinite comfort it is to be told that God knows how easily our
nature may become jangled
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