Preparation for a Missionary Crusade

The revelation in the upper room of Capernaum was essential as a preliminary training to the league of pity. Before its members could preach Christ they must know what Christ was atstinctively. They must know, not merely what He held in common with other masters, but what He professed in separation from other masters. So far, they had made a step in advance; but other steps were to come. Indeed, I am quite convinced that the true secret of the development of the gospel marrative is to be found in the education of this humanitarian band. Jesus was ere long to send them forth upon their journey of beneficence. Every previous stage therefore must be an educational stage, something

preparatory to the coming way. We have seen that the sympathy of the band began where all sympathy begins — in the home circle, that where they emerged from the home circle was in cases of mystery and wonder. The aim of Jesus was to universalise these sympathies — to extend them by degrees from the circle of the family into the circle of the world. The greater part of the process could only be completed in the actual course of missionary work; but something must be done before starting — something to widen the natural narrowness of the heart. It must be done both by word and by deed, both by exhortation and by experience. The word comes first. There is little to arrest us between the upper room at Capernaum and the sermon on the hill — that hill which witnessed His address to the world. As the scene changes from the one to the other we feel as if Jesus had at last cleared His path, and were ready to begin His march as the captain of that great army which was to be made perfect, through suffering, for bringing many sons unto glory.

I have said that the sermon on the mount was an address to the world. And so it was; it was ‘the multitude’ that Jesus had before Him. But it is stated with great significance that He only began to address the multitude when the disciples came. We often speak at people when we are not specially speaking fo them. We make a statement which applies to all; but we wish it to be overheard by some. Jesus on this memorable hill was speaking to the world; but He was speaking a¢ the disciples. He wished His sermon to be an instruction to all, but a model to ¢#em. The sermon on the mount is beyond all things a missionary address, It is the inaugural charge to the league of pity. As yet the members of that league have had no charge; they have been waiting for their commission, waiting under the Master’s eye. But now the solemn crisis is coming. The hour dawns when they are to go forth alone, to represent zo the world and zm the world the presence of the Christ. They cannot go unfurnished; they must receive some guidance for the way. They have had a glimpse of the claims of Jesus; they must get a glimpse of the claims of humanity. Therefore it is that this sermon is beyond all others a humanitarian sermon. The disciples have heard Christ’s ideal of the Father; they are to hear His ideal of the brother — His sense of what man ought to be, of what he was made to be, of what he w7// be when the converting power has been perfected.

Is there any keynote to this sermon on the mount? Is it a mere collection of fragments culled from the various fields where the voice of Jesus dropped them? No. Fragmentary as it seems, I am convinced that from beginning to end there runs one air through the countless variations. What is this air, this thought which remains changeless amid the manifold? It can be expressed in one word — self-forgetfulness. This is the burden of all the song, the moral of all the music. However the tune may seem to deviate, it comes back to this refrain, Let us listen to it for a moment. Standing in the great gallery and keeping our eye on the Portrait, let us direct our ear toward the mount of revelation. Let us see whether the Countenance blends with the music, whether the thought expressed in the face of Jesus is harmonious with the echoes which are descending from the hill.

The opening word of Jesus is the opening word of Israel’s Psalms — ‘blessed.’ The goal of the New Testament is, like that of the Old, the beatific glory of Man. Very striking and startling are the heights of glory which Jesus claims for human possibility. The kingdom of heaven, the inheritance of the earth, the satisfaction of the spirit, the vision of God, the reputation of being called the children of God, the privilege of illuminating the world — these are among the summits at which the human soul is permitted to aim. But how is it to gain them? In the same way as, according to Paul, the Son of Man reaches His own glory — by the act of self-burial. Familiarity with the Christian faith has made the thought a truism; to the empire of the first century it was a wild paradox. The Roman said, ‘The lofty mind shall receive the kingdom’; Jesus said, ‘No; it is the poor in spirit.’ The Roman said, ‘The men of force shall inherit the earth’; Jesus said, ‘No; it is the meek.’ The Roman said, ‘It is the war-makers who shall be called the sons of God’; Jesus said, ‘No; it is the peace-makers.’ On the hill where /Jesus stood the palm of victory is reserved for the self-forgetting

But Jesus proceeds: ‘Do not identify self-forgetfulness with self-restraint. You cannot shine by merely repressing your own darkness; you must catch another’s light. If you want to stand beautiful upon the hill of God, it is not enough that you suppress your self-love; you must love another. Holiness is not merely the restraint of old passions; it is the advent of a new passion — what you will learn to call the Lord’s Passion. It will not make you lovely if you simply abstain from self-glory; you must seek the glory of another object, of a higher object. You will only forget your self when you “glorify your Father.”’

Then Jesus shows the weak points of the old restraint — of the ancient law. Its weakness was the fact that it was restraint. It was not self-forgetfulness; it was self-imprisonment;, it kept from doing wrong by shutting the door. Jesus says: ‘I am come to open the door, to set the prisoner free. But do not think I am therefore come to abolish the work of the law. I am come to make that work more complete. Fear can check the infliction of pain; love can do that and more — it can strew the path of pain with flowers. Fear can tie the hands from evil; love can wing the heart to good. Fear can say, “Thou shalt not”; love can soar beyond the prohibition and exclaim, “Thou shalt.”’

Jesus proceeds: ‘There are two ways in which a man may be outwardly good — by remembering himself, and by forgetting himself. He may draw his treasures from the bank of earth, or he may draw his treasures from the bank of heaven. On the one hand, his goodness may be the result of self-consciousness. He may do high things for a low motive — the wish to be seen. He may use the means of grace for a selfish end — cast his pearls to the swine, give that which is holy to the dogs.

He may give alms to be thought charitable. He may fast to be deemed pious, He may pray in order that he may prosper. Such a man will value his almsgiving because it is a penance, his fast because it is a misery, his prayer because it is long and full of repetitions. But J show you an opposite way to the same goal. I show you an almsgiving which is a privilege and not a pain — the self-forgetfulness of love. I show you a fast which forgets its own hunger — the preoccupation of love. I show you a prayer which postpones its own wants through the want of others pressing on its heart — the unselfishness of love. And the value of this almsgiving, of this fasting, of this prayer will be not its penance but its joy, not its hardness but its ease, not its gloom but its glory.’

Upon the subject of prayer Jesus lingers longest. No wonder! The root of a man is not his deed but his wish. That which makes his wish is not the what but the why — not the thing he asks, but his motive for asking it.

Jesus prescribes no form of prayer; He prescribes a manner of prayer. He says: ‘The glory of your wish is not its length but its limit — its submission to self-sacrifice. Ask nothing that shall unhallow God’s name, nothing that shall retard God’s kingdom, nothing that shall run counter to God’s will. Let all your prayers be for three — yourself, your world, and your Father. Never forget to limit your own desire by the desire of the other two. Remember your Father’s glory; remember your brother’s need. When you pray, say “Our Father.” When you come to the altar to offer your petition, and when you there remember that your brother has a wish counter to your own, leave your petition unoffered until you have found a place for Azm. When you ask the sustenance of life, say “Give us our daily bread.” Do not pray unqualifiedly for rain because your own district has been dry; perhaps your brother’s district has had too much rain. Ask your Father so to regulate the world that in due season bread shall come to all.’

I have said that Jesus prescribes no form of prayer. Indirectly, He tells us the reason for this. He says that the same form of prayer or fast or almsgiving might come either from love or selfishness. The same spiritual house may be built either on the rock or on the sand. To Him the foundation is everything, the superstructure quite subordinate. Two men may present an edifice made from the same materials; Jesus will examine neither building. He will ask, not ‘Of what is this made?’ but ‘On what does this repose?’ He fears nothing so much as ‘false prophets ’ — outward virtues springing from selfish motives. He fears such virtues not only because they deceive the world but because they deceive their possessor; they keep him from seeing the beam that is in his own eye. His words are in effect: ‘You may say “Hallowed be Thy name” when you want only the temporal blessing which God in the Old Testament promised to the pious; then are you seeking merely what the Gentiles seek — what you shall eat and what you shall drink and wherewithal you shall be clothed; your prayer is a secular prayer. Or, you may say, ‘Feed me and clothe me that I may live to hallow Thy name, that I may be able to help others to win their daily bread’; then are you seeking God in His kingdom, His power, and His glory; your prayer is a voice of the Spirit.’

ARVELLOUS to me are these words of Thine, O Jesus — marvellous even at the

end of so many days. Even yet they come to me from the height, from the mountain summit. I seem to understand the meaning of the words, ‘When He was set His disciples came unto Him.’ When I hear Thee speak I think of Thee as seated, not standing. I am impressed above all things with Thy calm repose. Thou wert on the summit of a second Sinai. Around Thee were greater smoke and flame, greater thunderings and lightnings than assailed the first law-giver. Men’s hearts were in a ferment; human faith was shattered; earthly hopes were dead. But there was no ferment

in Thee, no tossing of the spirit, no trace of the storm. Thy vision of glory was without perspective. It was not foresight but sight, not a glimpse of the future but a revelation of the hour. ‘Blessed ave the poor in spirit; theirs zs the kingdom of heaven.’ It was not a world to come; it was here now — behind the smoke and flame, behind the thunderings and lightnings. There have been those who have conquered by /fazth; not such wert Thou. Thou hadst no need of faith. Thine was a mountain view, a Pisgah view. Others believed in Zhee; but Thou wert not a believer; Thou wert aseer. There was no messenger between Thee and Thy Father. Thine was not trust but experience. Thou wert breathing the perfumes of Paradise. Thou wert hearing the songs of the choir invisible. Thou wert beholding the unveiled face of the Father. Thou wert receiving the tidings fresh from the Promised Land. No wonder Thy wards have never grown old!