The Cosmopolitan Consciousness of Jesus

Jesus rested overnight at Bethany — probably in that hallowed home where He had received the anointing. In the morning, instead of returning to His retreat, He proceeded towards Jerusalem. And as He drew near Jerusalem there awaited Him a surprise. It was close upon the time of the Passover, and the metropolis was being filled from all quarters. But it seemed as if the Passover itself had become of secondary interest. Instead of saying, ‘The Feast is drawing near, men said, ‘Jesus is drawing near.’ As the report of His proximity spread it was felt that He would come to the Passover. The expectation created a ferment. Crowds began to gather and grow as the hours advanced. At last, when He appeared, the excitement rose to fever heat. He was surrounded by an enthusiastic multitude, mad with admiration. Behind, before, on either side, a mighty crowd surged and waved and undulated, shouting, applauding, rejoicing. Each vied with the other in his expression of loyalty. Some cried ‘Hosannah! ‘; some apostrophised Him as the coming King; some cut down the neighbouring palm branches to make a carpet for His feet; some went further still, and spread their garments in the way that He might walk on them. Perhaps never since the building of the Second Temple had so many hearts in Israel felt such a thrill of joy.

I have said it took Jesus by surprise. By this I mean to indicate that He did not plan the demonstration. If I had only the first three gospels to guide me I should think that He did’, for these place in the foreground His preparing to ride into Jerusalem in an attitude of majesty. But St. John corrects the impression, and shows that the riding was suggested by the enthusiasm, not the enthusiasm by the riding. What reason had Jesus to anticipate such a reception — to prepare for it beforehand! The last time He had met that multitude it had been actuated by equal enthusiasm — but on the other side; they who now shouted ‘Hosannah! ’ had a few weeks before cried, Stone him! ‘When Jesus had on that occasion withdrawn from Jerusalem He had withdrawn from a storm and on account of that storm. He was afraid for His disciples — afraid lest the few remaining flowers which He could still present to His Father might be withered. Even after the Lazarus episode He had not gone back to Jerusalem; He had resumed His life of seclusion. His present breaking with that life had not been through the anticipation of any triumphal entry; it had been simply to attend a social gathering which had the nature of a thanksgiving. When He was anointed at Bethany what He felt was not triumph; it was rather a support against sinking. The thought of His burial was still uppermost. It had not occurred to Him to view the Lazarus episode as the Jewish multitude viewed it — in the light of a trophy. What one does for the glory of the Father is never looked upon as a source of fame. I have no hesitation in saying that when Jesus on this occasion went up to Jerusalem He had no intention of entering the city in any other way than that of a private individual. The plaudits of the crowd surprised Him.

‘But,’ you say, ‘Jesus yielded to these plaudits; He allowed Himself to be carried down with the stream; does not that seem an incongruous attitude under the imminent shadow of death?’ Incongruous? Is it incongruous under the shadow of death to dream of a kingdom that will embrace all nations? Have we not said that things are widest in the valley? Have we not seen that the nearer we come to the foot of the ladder the nearer we draw to those wants which are common to all men? If so, then the faith in a cosmopolitan kingdom should be deepest under the shadow of death.

VOL. II, N
194 THE COSMOPOLITAN

Remember, Christ’s was a cosmopolitan kingdom. His was not the hope of a national sovereignty; it was the hope of a sovereignty which should destroy the distinction of nations in the brotherhood of all men. What time could be more appropriate for the proclamation of such a kingdom than the presence of that shadow which eventually covers all!

But there was also a historical appropriateness in this yielding of Jesus to the hour of theocratic triumph. Remember, He had just come from the vicinity of the Jewish wilderness — the old wilderness of His temptations. Did He recall these temptations — the order of them, the truth that lay beneath them? Let us try to recall them. You remember how three panoramic views passed in turn before Him. The tempter said successively, ‘Be a prophet,” Be a king,” Be a priest.’ He said, first, ‘Be a prophet; manifest your glory by heading a democratic movement for the better sustenance of the people;1 make the stones

1 The ’ prophet ’ among the Jews represented the democratic movement.

bread, He said, secondly, ‘Be a king; manifest your glory by a temporal dominion; rule among the nations.’ He said, thirdly, * Be a priest; manifest your glory by an act of sacrifice; cast yourself down from the pinnacle of the temple.’

And Jesus had said to Himself: ‘I will do none of these things with such a motive. Not for my own glory will I be either prophet, king, or priest; but I will be each in turn for the glory of my Father.’ Hitherto He had been mainly the prophet — the redresser of the people’s wrongs. His Galilean ministry had been chiefly democratic — for the good of the toiling masses; He had been feeding the multitude with bread in the wilderness. In one sense it was a local ministry, for the wrongs of that multitude were wrongs indigenous to a particular soil. But, as the Son of Man descended into the vale, the local had given place to the cosmopolitan; the vision of the universal king had gradually been superseding that of the Galilean prophet. And now as He stood under the shadow of death there floated before His gaze the shadow of His coming Empire — an Empire which, like death, should enfold within its embrace all ranks and conditions of men. It was this which made Him yield to the solicitation of the hour of triumph. It was this which impelled Him to ride majestically into Jerusalem. It was this which induced Him to refuse the request of the Pharisees, ‘Master, rebuke Thy disciples! ‘He wanted them to see Him in a new relation, in a wider relation. He wanted them to associate the cosmopolitan sweep of His kingdom rather with this hour than with any other, to behold in the fact of the cross the promise and power of the crown.

Now, it is a very remarkable circumstance that from this time forward the words of Jesus become the words of a cosmopolitan sovereign. They get a new ring — a ring of world-empire. That tone abides with them on to the end; even the hour of sacrifice does not change it. Nowhere does Jesus address so wide an audience as in this time of seeming limitation; nowhere does He aim so high as when on the steps of the cross. It is no longer the Pharisees and the Sadducees that are the theme of His contemplation; it is the united nations of the world. Jerusalem has dwindled into a point; Judea has contracted into a single room in the house of the Father. Before the eye of Jesus there flashes a new vision of judgment — the judgment of nations. He sees the kingdoms of the world divided as the sheep and the goats are divided, some are on the right hand, others on the left. And the principle which is to decide their position is the amount of their charity. The humanitarian nations are to be in front, in the van — those who fed the hungry, healed the sick, reformed the prisoner. The non-humanitarian nations are to be in the rear — those who oppressed the poor and had nothing for the criminal but a chain. That is what I understand Him to mean when He cries, ‘Now is the judgment of this world ’ — the judgment that does not need to wait for another world. Has not the verdict been confirmed by secular history? Are not the humanitarian nations the progressive nations? do they not sit at the right hand of power? Are not the non-humanitarian nations the backward nations? are they not left behind in the march of Man? Truly there was human wisdom in this Divine vision!

It was because in Jerusalem Jesus saw the want of this universal humanity that as He drew near He wept over it. Twice, only twice, do I read of the tears of Jesus — at the grave of Bethany and at the entrance to Jerusalem. Both were cosmopolitan weepings. In each case the cause of mourning was the same — because Man had not realised his full human destiny. At the grave of Bethany He wept because the human soul had failed to apprehend its immortality; at the gates of Jerusalem He wept because the human soul had failed to reach the idea of perfect brotherhood. This idea of perfect brotherhood was the thing which Jerusalem required for her peace, and for want of which she was stranded. She had missed her destiny among the nations by thinking too much of her nationality.

And was it not this same moral which Jesus meant to point when in the streets of that Jerusalem He met, the next day, with a deputation from another land? It was a band of Greeks who had come up to the Passover and who desired to see Jesus. In one sense the Greek was like the Jew — he was self-contained. The Greek valued his culture on the same ground that the Jew valued his religion, because it distinguished him from other men. Therefore to him also Jesus pointed the moral of self-forgetfulness, ‘Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone.’ It is as if He had said: ‘If you want to be a great nation, diffuse your light. Do not seek to keep your privileges to yourself. Throw them over the wall; spread them broadcast. You are, after all, only a section of a larger life — humanity. Whatever you have, you hold in trust for the race. Be true to your stewardship; be true to your universal mission. You will stand at the right hand among the nations when you realise that your culture is for the service of Man.’

And when we reach that marvellous discourse of Jesus reported in St. Matthew xxiv., wherein He casts a prophetic eye over the page of unwritten history, what do we find? I do not ask you to expound that passage; I do not offer you any exposition of it; I leave that to the commentators. But, whatever be the reading of the mystery, one thing at least is clear — and that is the central thing. Jesus meant to say that there would never be peace among the nations of the world until the sign of the Son of Man appeared in heaven. There would be no rest until then. Until then the sun would be darkened and the moon would refuse her light and the stars would fall from the sky and the powers of the firmament would be shaken. There would be wars and rumours of war; there would be famine and pestilence and earthquake in many lands. But when the sign of the Son of Man should arise in heaven there would be a great calm; a voice would say to the nations, ‘Peace, be still!’

What was this sign of the Son of Man in heaven? It was the cross in high places — the spirit of unselfishness among the great nations. Heaven is the prophetic symbol for majesty; the ‘sign of Christ’ is the cross of sacrifice. To see Christ’s sign in heaven was to behold humanitarianism in the centres of power. That vision had never yet been seen — not in Judea, not in Babylon, not in Egypt, not in Syria, not in Rome. In no land, however free, had Man yet been recognised as man. Nowhere had the corn of wheat fallen into the ground and died. Nowhere had a nation realised that its pride was a thing to be crucified. Nowhere had an empire wakened to the conviction that it was a servant for the common weal. And Jesus said that without such a waking there could be nothing but national tribulations — nothing but darkenings of the sun, nothing but rumours of the storm. There was needed by each citizen a cosmopolitan consciousness — the sign of the Son of Man.

Let me resume the narrative. Jesus by His triumphal entry into Jerusalem played into the hands of His enemies. He gave what Caiaphas waited for — a pretext for arrest.

That pretext could only be found in an insult to Rome. Hitherto nothing had been done by Jesus which could have been construed as anti-Roman; it had been all anti-Jewish. But now Caiaphas might cry, ‘The Lord hath delivered him into our hands! ‘Was not this triumphal entry all that was wanted to serve the purpose of the Sanhedrin! Had they not now a definite ground for arresting Jesus in the interest of the empire! Could they not make this incident tell against him in the eyes of Rome! Why not represent this as an act of revolution! Had he not headed a tumultuous band uttering treasonable cries — cries that impugned the supremacy of Caesar! Had he not shaken the allegiance of the people to imperial authority! Had he not exhibited a spectacle which on that undisciplined rabble must have the effect of inciting to rebellion! Surely the legal pretext had at last been found for laying their hands on the Galilean!

Yes, the pretext — but not the opportunity. How could they arrest Him without that

Roman interposition which they did not want? He was for the moment surrounded by the multitude; they were hot for Him, they would fight for Him. True, it was only for the moment; their fervour would pass away. But so would the legal opportunity; Rome would not be influenced by a danger in the past It was an awkward situation. They were saved by an act of treachery in the camp of Jesus — an act perpetrated by a member of that first league of pity which had hitherto clung to Him through every change of fortune. I will not tarnish the picture of the multitude’s enthusiasm by introducing the miscreant here.

OTILL make Thine entrance into our cities, O Lord! Our cities need Thee yet. There is much in our Jerusalems that might well draw Thy tears. Every good citizen cries for ‘Him that cometh in the name of the Lord.’ The members of our crafts and guilds are not adequate to their work until they see Thee in the gate. Our young men are unworthy of their youth until they see Thee in the gate. Our women fall beneath their sex until they see Thee in the gate. Our mothers have no ideal for their children until they see TJiee in the gate. Our children have no glory in their picture-book until they see Thee in the gate. Stand in the gate, O Christ! Stand till the crowds gather; stand till the toilers gaze; stand till through our streets we make for Thee a way! Our cities shall flourish like the palm-tree when the branches of the palm shall be strewn for Thee.