The Liberality of the First Ministry
I have said that when Jesus told His disciples not to go into the way of the Gentiles, He was influenced by no feeling of narrowness, I come now to the crowning proof of this; it occurs at the close of the very chapter where the seeming restrictions are tabulated. Jesus lays down His terms of admission into the first Christian Church. These terms are, to my mind, the most remarkable ever uttered to any guild, Christian or secular. Their remarkableness lies in their liberality. I do not mean that they prescribe no creed. How could they do otherwise than prescribe no creed? There was as yet no Christian creed to prescribe. The life of the Master had not been fully unfolded; His death was still unrevealed. Any
terms of subscription must necessarily be practical. But it is the practical terms that astonish us — they are so wide, so fearless, Religions are apt to be narrow at their source, and to broaden as they flow. Christianity is nowhere so broad as at the fountain, nowhere so intensely liberal as in the very place where it seems to exclude the Gentiles. There are three rules for admission to Church-membership here laid down by the Master Himself. They are the earliest ever inscribed on the portals of a Christian temple; yet they ought to be the marvel of all the centuries. No religion has ever approached their liberality; no later Church has thrown the gates so widely open. Let us stand for a moment in the dawn. Let us read in its light these three inscriptions. We shall see how broad they are, how free, how fearless; and we shall not forget that they are written by the very hand of Jesus.
They run thus: First, if any one appreciates an inspired man, let him be counted himself inspired; ‘He that receiveth a prophet in the name of a prophet ’ — on the ground of his dezng a prophet — ‘shall receive a prophet’s reward.’ Second, if any one desires to be good, let him get the credit of being good even though his deeds lag behind; ‘ He that receiveth a righteous man in the mame of a righteous man’ — on the ground of his deg a righteous man — ‘shall receive a righteous man’s reward. Third, if any one performs a genuine act of charity, even though it may not be done directly in the name of Christ, it shall be esteemed a Christian act; ‘Whosoever will give a cup of cold water only in the name of a dtsczple’ — only on the ground that he is a fellow-sufferer in God’s school of discipline — ‘ verily I say unto you, he shall in no wise lose his reward,’
These are the three golden rules for the earliest Christian fellowship, Let us look at them one by one. First, ‘He that receiveth a prophet in the name of a prophet shall receive a prophet’s reward.’ Mark the qualifying clause ‘in the mame of a prophet.’ It means ‘because he zs a prophet.’ It is quite possible to receive a prophet on other grounds than that It is possible, for example, to buy a
250 THE LIBERALITY Or
picture, and yet not to buy it in the name of art, There are four grounds on which a man may buy a picture. He may buy it from covetousness; he may say, ‘A time is coming when this will sell at far more.’ He may buy it from pity; he may say, ‘I know this artist has a hard struggle.’ He may buy it from pride; he may say, ‘I should like to have the reputation of having a real Turner.’ Or he may buy it from admiration; he may say, ‘ This is beautiful!’ Only the last of these motives is a purchase ‘in the name of art.’ Jesus says that no motive but the last would prove the possession of a spirit kindred to the artist. All other reasons for buying are reasons outside the work; admiration is itself participation. Let us apply this to the great Picture we are studying — the Portrait of Christ. I find in the gospel narrative the same four motives for purchase. I see the mother of the sons of Zebedee forecasting the future price it will bring — the ‘right hand in the kingdom.’ I see the Roman governor, Pilate, ready to give a helping patronage from sheer pity, mixed with contempt for the artist’s power. I see Nicodemus coming into the gallery when the Picture is in its first and popular days, and, as he observes how low it is hung, eager to be its possessor. And then I see a bidder of another kind; it is Peter Bar-Jona. He comes into the gallery when, in the eyes of men, the glory of the Picture has departed, and it is hung very high. Yet, spite of its obscurity, the eye of Peter sees it, and, singling it out from all beside, he cries, ‘Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God!’
Now, this last was the only artist of the group. Jesus says to him, ‘Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-Jona, for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee.’ He had received the Portrait on its merits as a portrait. All the others before and after were influenced by considerations of flesh and blood; they were swayed by outside motives, Peter was attracted by the Portrait alone — not by what it would bring, not by the pride of having it, but by the intrinsic beauty of the Picture; he received the prophet in the name of the prophet. Therefore, Jesus says, he is himself worthy to be enrolled among the members of the Royal Academy. Appreciation was the proof of inspiration. He might never paint a stroke of his own, never acquire even a smattering of the art; but he had seen the King in His beauty, and therefore he had proved himself to be partaker of that beauty. ‘We shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is’ is the grand reasoning of an early Christian writer. It is incontrovertible reasoning. Like natures alone can recognise each other, and if we have seen the spiritual beauty we must ourselves be spiritually fair.
Second, ‘ He that receiveth a righteous man in the name of a righteous man shall receive a righteous man’s reward.’ Jesus says that if we love righteousness in another while yet our own life has given no outward sign of reformation, we shall be regarded as having already begun the life of righteousness. This is the germ of the doctrine afterwards called justification by faith, It says: ‘When you are looking for the reform of a bad man, the first thing you should look for is not a change of action but a change of ideal. The measure of the man is not what he does but what he thinks, not what he is but what he would like to be. The first-fruits of his Promised Land are sent in advance as they were to the Israelites; but they come not in deeds but in aspirings. Take his estimate, not by the movement of his hand, but by the direction of his eye. That is the measure of him; that is the prophecy of him; that is the hope for him.’
This is no religious dogma. We can feel the influence of the principle on our daily lives; we reason upon it, we act upon it. You are, let us say, a district visitor in a very depraved locality. You go into one of its dens of iniquity and meet a company of illlooking men. You begin to address them; you tell the story of Jesus. As you proceed, there are various interruptions. Some laugh; some hoot; some cavil; some say, ‘It is easy for royal heads to bear suffering.’ But there is one man who arrests you. He is as miserable in appearance as the rest. His life has evidently been quite as bad; the signs of waste are equally apparent. But the effect of your story is on /zm very different. As you begin to unfold the picture of moral heroism he utters exclamations of wonder. As you proceed, there come flashes of the eye — perhaps a furtive tear. As the tale of voluntary humiliation deepens, his mutterings become audible: ‘That is a man, ‘That is a man I believe in,’ ‘That is a man I could trust’; ‘If I had my life to live over again, I should wish to be like that. What is your feeling under these circumstances? Is it not that this poor creature has already crossed the line that divides sin from glory, that he has already touched the confines of the kingdom of God? With hand and foot still on the earthly soil, with the grave-clothes still hanging about him, with the elements of corruption yet adhering to his garments, we feel that the man has even now made the transition from death into life. The dress of Lazarus may be indistinguishable from the dress of the dead; none the less the grave has been opened and Lazarus has come forth. Jesus offers to such a man a passport into the Holy City.
Third, ‘Whosoever shall give a cup of cold water only in the name of a dzsczple’ — only on the ground that the sufferer is a fellow-pupil in the school of God — ‘his act of charity shall be deemed a Christian deed; he shall in no wise lose his reward,’ I have paraphrased the passage thus to express its spirit. The whole stress lies in the phrase ‘only in the name of a disciple’; and the key will be found in the foregoing words, ‘he that receiveth you receiveth me. Jesus has so identified His interest with the cause of suffering humanity that He regards the humanitarian as equivalent to the evangelical. There is a class of men in this world who do not feel themselves qualified for the communion of Christ’s upper room. They are good men, true men, men ready at all times to express their love and loyalty to Jesus; but they do not see their way to climb so high. To such Jesus offers in the meantime a Jower room. He offers a communion which requires no climbing — rather, stooping. He offers to spread a table for which one quality alone shall be required — the power of charity. He promises to let each man pass the cup to his brother on the simple ground that his brother is in need. There will be no inquiry as to whether he is Jew or Gentile, Pharisee or Sadducee, apostle or layman. The only question will be, is he hungry, is he thirsty, is he cold, is he weary — is he bearing the wants of man?
That is Christ’s promise. We shall see in the next chapter how He kept it. It is highly significant that the first ministrant incident which follows the promulgation of this third golden rule is the breaking of bread in the desert. I do not think /esus designed the sequence; His sympathy moved on no mechanical lines. The promise involved in the third golden rule was not so much for any special time as for the groping Christians of all time. Yet this table in the wilderness rests in no accidental spot; it is spread in the design of the Father, and it is spread precisely at the hour when its comfort would be most apparent. It breaks upon the eye just when here fade from the ear the last echoes of these words of Jesus which proclaimed to the missionary band His recognition of human charity as a Christian grace,
EANTIME, my brother, the words, ere
they fade, have a message for you. Mayhap you call yourself an agnostic. You are afraid of the sacrament of the upper room; it is too high for you; you cannot attain unto it. Be it so. God has spread for you a preliminary table — a table not in the upper room but in the earthly valley. The Master comes down from the mountain to meet you, to be on a level with you. He surrounds you with human needs — with children whose lips are parched with the thirst of the desert. He puts a cup of cold water into your hand and says, ‘ Pass it round’ Will you be the bearer of this sacrament for Him to-day? Leave the upper
room till to-morrow; to-morrow will take R thought for the things of itself. But will you bear this special cup to-day — this cup of human charity? There is nothing mystical about it, nothing superhuman. It is made of earthenware; it is fashioned to meet the wants of the common hour. But if you will bear this cup, Jesus says it will, meantime, be counted to you for a sacrament. For you, the upper room is not yet furnished; but the desert is. See! the multitude is gathering; the heat is oppressive; the day is wearing on. The presence of the Master is unseen, but the famished crowd is visible. Will you, while the Master is behind the veil, put the famished crowd in His place? Then shall the voice of Jesus say ‘He hath done it unto mz.’