(Luk_13:22; Joh 10:22-42)

About two months had passed since Jesus had left Jerusalem after the Feast of Tabernacles. Although we must not commit ourselves to such calculations, we may here mention the computation which identities the first day of the Feast of Tabernacles of that year with Thursday the 23rd September; the last, ‘the Great Day of the Feast,’ with Wednesday the 29th; the Octave of the Feast with the 30th September; and the Sabbath when the man born blind was healed with the 2nd of October. In that case, ‘the Feast of the Dedication of the Temple,’ which commenced on the 25th day of Chislev, and lasted eight days, would have begun on Wednesday the 1st, and closed on Wednesday the 8th December. But, possibly, it may have been a week or two later. At that Feast, or about two months after He had quitted the City, we find Christ once more in Jerusalem and in the Temple. His journey thither seems indicated in the Third Gospel (Luk_13:22), and is at least implied in the opening words with which John prefaces his narrative of what happened on that occasion. 

As we think of it, there seems special fitness – presently to be pointed out – in Christ’s spending what we regard as the last anniversary season of His Birth in the Temple at that Feast. It was not of Biblical origin, but had been instituted by Judas Maccabaeus in 164 b.c., when the Temple, which had been desecrated by Antiochus Epiphanes, was once more purified, and re-dedicated to the Service of Jehovah. Accordingly, it was designated as ‘the Dedication of the Altar.’ Josephus calls it ‘The Lights,’ from one of the principal observances at the Feast, though he speaks in hesitating language of the origin of the festival as connected with this observance – probably because, while he knew, he was ashamed to avow, and yet afraid to deny his belief in the Jewish legend connected with it. The Jews called it ḥanukah, ‘dedication’ or ‘consecration’) and, in much the same sense, Enkainia in the Greek of the LXX.,  and in the New Testament. During the eight days of the Feast the series of Ps known as the halel  was chanted in the Temple, the people responding as at the Feast of Tabernacles. Other rites resembled those of the latter Feast. Thus, originally, the people appeared with palm-branches. This, however, does not seem to have been afterwards observed, while another rite, not mentioned in the Book of Maccabees – that of illuminating the Temple and private houses – became characteristic of the Feast. Thus, the two festivals, which indeed are put in juxtaposition in 2 Macc. 10:6, seem to have been both externally and internally connected. The Feast of the ‘Dedication’ or of ‘Lights,’ derived from that of Tabernacles its duration of eight days, the chanting of the halel, and the practice of carrying palm-branches. On the other hand, the rite of the Temple-illumination may have passed from the Feast of the ‘Dedication’ into the observances of that of ‘Tabernacles.’ Tradition had it, that, when the Temple-Services were restored by Judas Maccabaeus, the oil was found to have been desecrated. Only one flagon was discovered of that which was pure, sealed with the very signet of the High-Priest. The supply proved just sufficient to feed for one day the Sacred Candlestick, but by a miracle the flagon was continually replenished during eight days, till a fresh supply could be brought from Thekoah. In memory of this, it was ordered the following year, that the Temple be illuminated for eight days on the anniversary of its ‘Dedication.’ The Schools of Hillel and Shammai differed in regard to this, as on most other observances. The former would have begun the first night with the smallest number of lights, and increased it every night till on the eighth it was eight times as large as on the first. The School of Shammai, on the other hand, would have begun with the largest number, and diminished, till on the last night it amounted to an eighth of the first. Each party had its own – not very satisfactory – reasons for its distinctive practice, and its own adherents. But the ‘Lights’ in honour of the Feast were lit not only in the Temple, but in every home. One would have sufficed for the whole household on the first evening, but pious householders lit a light for every inmate of the home, so that, if ten burned on the first, there would be eighty on the last night of the Festival. According to the Talmud, the light might be placed at the entrance to the house or room, or, according to circumstances, in the window, or even on the table. According to modern practice the light is placed at the left on entering a room (the Mezuzah is on the right). Certain benedictions are spoken on lighting these lights, all work is stayed, and the festive time spent in merriment. The first night is specially kept in memory of Judith, who is supposed then to have slain Holofernes, and cheese is freely partaken of as the food of which, according to legend, she gave him so largely, to incite him to thirst and drunkenness. Lastly, during this Festival, all fasting and public mourning were prohibited, though some minor acts of private mourning were allowed.

More interesting, perhaps, than this description of the outward observances is the meaning of this Festival and its connection with the Feast of Tabernacles, to both of which reference has already been made. Like the Feast of Tabernacles, it commemorated a Divine Victory, which again gave to Israel their good land, after they had once more undergone sorrows like those of the wilderness; it was another harvest-feast, and pointed forward to yet another ingathering. As the once extinguished light was relit in the Temple – and, according to Scriptural imagery, might that not mean the Light of Israel, the Lamp of David? – it grew day by day in brightness, till it shone quite out into the heathen darkness, that once had threatened to quench it. That He Who purified the Temple, was its True Light, and brought the Great Deliverance, should (as hinted) have spent the last anniversary season of His Birth at that Feast in the Sanctuary, shining into their darkness, seems most fitting, especially as we remember the Jewish legend, according to which the making of the Tabernacle had been completed on the 25th Chislev, although it was not set up till the 1st of Nisan (the Paschal month).

Thoughts of the meaning of this Feast, and of what was associated with it, will be helpful as we listen to the words which Jesus spake to the people in ‘Solomon’s Porch.’ There is a pictorialness in the description of the circumstances, which marks the eyewitness. It is winter, and Christ is walking in the covered Porch, in front of the Beautiful Gate, which formed the principal entrance into the ‘Court of the Women.’ As he walks up and down, the people are literally barring His Way; – ‘came round about’ Him. From the whole circumstances we cannot doubt, that the question which they put: ‘How long holdest Thou us in suspense?’ had not in it an element of truthfulness or genuine inquiry. Their desire, that He should tell them ‘plainly’ if He were the Christ, had no other motive than that of grounding on it an accusation. The more clearly we perceive this, the more wonderful appears the forbearance of Christ and the wisdom of His answer. Briefly he puts aside their hypocrisy. What need is there of fresh speech? He told them before, and they ‘believe not.’ From words He appeals to the mute but indisputable witness of deeds: the works which He wrought in His Father’s Name. Their non-belief in presence of these facts was due to their not being of His Sheep. As he had said unto them before, it was characteristic of His Sheep (as generally of every flock in regard to its own shepherd) to hear – recognise, listen to – His Voice and follow Him. We mark in the words of Christ, a triplet of double parallelisms concerning the Sheep and the Shepherd, in ascending climax, as follows: – 

My sheep hear My Voice, And I know them,   

And they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life:   

And they shall never perish. And no one shall snatch them out of My Hand.  

A similar fourfold parallelism with descending and ascending climax, but of an antithetic character, has been noticed in Christ’s former Discourse in the Temple (Joh_10:13-15) – 

The hireling I   

Is an hireling, Am the good Shepherd,   

Careth not for the sheep. Know the sheep,   

Fleeth Lay down My Life.  

Richer or more comforting assurance than that recorded above could not have been given. But something special has here to be marked. The two first parallelisms always link the promise of Christ to the attitude of the sheep; not, perhaps, conditionally, for the relation is such as not to admit conditionalness, either in the form of ‘because – therefore,’ or even of ‘if – then,’ but as a matter of sequence and of fact. But in the third parallelism there is no reference to anything on the part of the sheep; it is all promise, and the second clause only explains and intensifies what is expressed in the first. If it indicates attack of the fiercest kind and by the strongest and most cunning of enemies, be they men or devils, it also marks the watchfulness and absolute superiority of Him Who hath them, as it were, in His Hand – perhaps a Hebraism for ‘power’ – and hence their absolute safety. And, as if to carry twofold assurance of it, He reminds His hearers that His Work being ‘the Father’s Commandment,’ it is really the Father’s Work, given to Christ to do, and no one could snatch them out of the Father’s Hand. It is a poor cavil, to try to limit these assurances by seeking to grasp and to comprehend them in the hollow of our human logic. Do they convey what is commonly called ‘the doctrine of perseverance?’ Nay! but they teach us, not about our faith but about His faithfulness, and convey to us assurance concerning Him rather than ourselves; and this is the only aspect in which ‘the doctrine of perseverance’ is either safe, true, or Scriptural.

But one logical sequence is unavoidable. Rightly understood, it is not only the last and highest announcement, but it contains and implies everything else. If the Work of Christ is really that of the Father, and His Working also that of the Father, then it follows that He ‘and the Father are One’ (‘one’ is in the neuter). This identity of work (and purpose) implies the identity of Nature (Essence); that of working, the identity of power. And so, evidently, the Jews understood it, when they again took up stones with the intention of stoning Him – no doubt, because He expressed, in yet more plain terms, what they regarded as His blasphemy. Once more the Lord appealed from His Words, which were doubted, to His Works, which were indubitable. And so He does to all time. His Divine Mission is evidence of His Divinity. And if His Divine Mission be doubted, He appeals to the ‘many excellent works’ (καλὰ ἔργα) which He hath ‘showed from the Father,’ any one of which might, and, in the case of not a few, had, served as evidence of His Mission. And when the Jews ignored, as so many in our days, this line of evidence, and insisted that He had been guilty of blasphemy, since, being a man, He had made Himself God, the Lord replied in a manner that calls for our special attention. From the peculiarly Hebraistic mode of designating a quotation from the Psalms as ‘written in the Law,’ we gather that we have here a literal transcript of the very words of our Lord. But what we specially wish, is, emphatically, to disclaim any interpretation of them, which would seem to imply that Christ had wished to evade their inference: that He claimed to be One with the Father – and to convey to them, that nothing more had been meant than what might lawfully be applied to an ordinary man. Such certainly is not the case. He had claimed to be One with the Father in work and working: from which, of course, the necessary inference was, that He was also One with Him in Nature and Power. Let us see whether the claim was strange. In Psa_82:6 the titles ‘God’ (Elohim) and ‘Sons of the Highest’ (benē Elyon) had been given to Judges as the Representatives and Vicegerents of God, wielding His delegated authority, since to them had come His Word of authorisation. But here was authority not transmitted by ‘the word,’ but personal and direct consecration, and personal and direct Mission on the part of God. The comparison made was not with prophets, because they only told the word and message from God, but with Judges, who, as such, did the very act of God. If those who, in so acting, had received an indirect commission, were ‘gods,’ the very representatives of God, could it be blasphemy when He claimed to be the Son of God, Who had received, not authority through a word transmitted through long centuries, but direct personal command to do the Father’s Work; had been directly and personally consecrated to it by the Father, and directly and personally sent by Him, not to say, but to do, the work of the Father? Was it not rather the true and necessary inference from these premisses?

All would, of course, depend on this, whether Christ really did the works of the Father. That was the test; and, as we instinctively perceive, both rationally and truly. But if He did the works of His Father, then let them believe, if not the words yet the works, and thus would they arrive at the knowledge, ‘and understand’ – distinguishing here the act from the state – that ‘in Me is the Father, and I in the Father.’ In other words, recognizing the Work as that of the Father, they would come to understand that the father worked in Him, and that the root of His Work was in the Father.

The stones, that had been taken up, were not thrown, for the words of Christ rendered impossible the charge of explicit blasphemy which alone would, according to Rabbinic law, have warranted such summary vengeance. But ‘they sought again to seize Him,’ so as to drag Him before their tribunal. His time, however, had not yet come, ‘and He went forth out of their hand’ – how, we know not.

Once more the Jordan rolled between Him and His bitter persecutors. Far north, over against Galilee, in the place of John’s early labours, probably close to where Jesus Himself had been baptized, was the scene of His last labours. And those, who so well remembered both the Baptist and the testimony which he had there borne to the Christ, recalled it all as they listened to His Words and saw His Works. As they crowded around Him, both the difference and the accord between John and Jesus carried conviction to their minds. The Baptist had done ‘no sign,’ such as those which Jesus wrought: but all things which John had spoken of Him, they felt it, were true. And, undisturbed by the cavils of Pharisees and Scribes, many of these simple-minded, true-hearted men, far away from Jerusalem, believed on Him. To adapt a saying of Bengel: they were the posthumous children of the Baptist. Thus did he, being dead, yet speak. And so will all that is sown for Christ, though it lie buried and forgotten of men, spring up and ripen, as in one day, to the deep, grateful, and external joy of them who had laboured in faith and gone to rest in hope.

(Luk_10:25-37; Luk_11:5-13)

The period between Christ’s return from the ‘Feast of the Dedication’ and His last entry into Jerusalem, may be arranged into two parts, divided by the brief visit to Bethany for the purpose of raising Lazarus from the dead. Even if it were possible, with any certainty, chronologically to arrange the events of each of these periods, the variety and briefness of what is recorded would prevent our closely following them in this narrative. Accordingly, we prefer grouping them together as the Parables of that period, its Discourses, and its Events. And the record of the raising of Lazarus may serve as a landmark between our Summary of the Parables and that of the Discourses and Events which preceded the Lord’s final appearance in Jerusalem.

These last words help us to understand the necessary difference between the Parables of this and of the preceding and the following periods. The Parables of this period look back upon the past, and forward into the future. Those spoken by the Lake of Galilee were purely symbolical. They presented unseen heavenly realities under emblems which required to be translated into earthly language. It was quite easy to do so, if you possessed the key to the heavenly mysteries; otherwise, they were dark and mysterious. So to speak, they were easily read from above downwards. Viewed from below upwards, only most dim and strangely intertwining outlines could be perceived. It is quite otherwise with the second series of Parables. They could, as they were intended, be understood by all. They required no translation. They were not symbolical but typical, using the word ‘type,’ not in the sense of involving a predictive element, but as indicating an example, or, perhaps, more correctly, an exemplification. Accordingly, the Parables of this series are also intensely practical. Lastly, their prevailing character is not descriptive, but hortatory; and they bring the Gospel, in the sense of glad tidings to the lost, most closely and touchingly to the hearts of all who hear them. They are signs in words, as the miracles are signs in works, of what Christ has come to do and to teach. Most of them bear this character openly; and even those which do not but seem more like warning, have still an undertone of love, as if Divine compassion lingered in tender pity over that which threatened, but might yet be averted.

Of the Parables of the third series it will for the present suffice to say, that they are neither symbolical nor typical, but their prevailing characteristic is prophetic. As befits their historical place in the teaching of Christ, they point to the near future. They are the fast falling, lengthening shadows cast by the events which are near at hand.

The Parables of the second (or Peraean) series, which are typical and hortatory, and ‘Evangelical’ in character, are thirteen in number, and, with the exception of the last, are either peculiar to, or else most fully recorded in, the Gospel by Luke.

1. The Parable of the Good Samaritan. – This Parable is connected with a question, addressed to Jesus by a ‘lawyer’ – not one of the Jerusalem Scribes or Teachers, but probably an expert in Jewish Canon Law, who possibly made it more or less a profession in that district, though perhaps not for gain. Accordingly, there is a marked absence of that rancour and malice which charaterised his colleagues of Judaea. In a previous chapter it has been shown, that this narrative probably stands in its proper place in the Gospel of Luke. We have also suggested, that the words of this lawyer referred, or else that himself belonged, to that small party among the Rabbinists who, at least in theory, attached greater value to good works than to study. At any rate, there is no occasion to impute directly evil motives to him. Knowing the habits of his class, we do not wonder that he put his question to ‘tempt’ – test, try – the great Rabbi of Nazareth. There are many similar instances in Rabbinic writings of meetings between great Teachers, when each tried to involve the other in dialectic difficulties and subtle disputations. Indeed, this was part of Rabbinism, and led to that painful and fatal trifling with truth, when everything became matter of dialectic subtlety, and nothing was really sacred. What we require to keep in view is, that to this lawyer the question which he propounded was only one of theoretic, not of practical interest, nor matter of deep personal concern, as it was to the rich young ruler, who, not long afterwards, addressed a similar inquiry to the Lord.

We seem to witness the opening of a regular Rabbinic contest, as we listen to this speculative problem: ‘Teacher, what having done shall I inherit eternal life?’ At the foundation lay the notion, that eternal life was the reward of merit, of works: the only question was, what these works were to be. The idea of guilt had not entered his mind; he had no conception of sin within. It was the old Judaism of self-righteousness speaking without disguise: that which was the ultimate ground of the rejecting and crucifying of the Christ. There certainly was a way in which a man might inherit eternal life, not indeed as having absolute claim to it, but (as the Schoolmen might have said: de congruo) in consequence of God’s Covenant on Sinai. And so our Lord, using the common Rabbinic expression ‘what readest thou?’ (מאי קראת), pointed him to the Scriptures of the Old Testament.

The reply of the ‘lawyer’ is remarkable, not only on its own account, but as substantially, and even literally, that given on two other occasions by the Lord Himself. The question therefore naturally arises, whence did this lawyer, who certainly had not spiritual insight, derive his reply? As regarded the duty of absolute love to God, indicated by the quotation of Deu_6:5, there could, of course, be no hesitation in the mind of a Jew. The primary obligation of this is frequently referred to, and, indeed, taken for granted, in Rabbinic teaching. The repetition of this command, which in the Talmud receives the most elaborate and strange interpretation, formed part of the daily prayers. When Jesus referred the lawyer to the Scriptures, he could scarcely fail to quote this first paramount obligation. Similarly, he spoke as a Rabbinic lawyer, when he referred in the next place to love to our neighbour, as enjoined in Lev_19:18. Rabbinism is never weary of quoting as one of the characteristic sayings of its greatest teacher, Hillel (who, of course, lived before this time), that he had summed up the Law, in briefest compass, in these words: ‘What is hateful to thee, that do not to another. This is the whole Law; the, rest is only its explanation.’ Similarly Rabbi Akiba taught, that Lev_19:18 was the principal rule, we might almost say, the chief summary of the Law (כלל גדול בתורה). Still, the two principles just mentioned are not enunciated in conjunction by Rabbinism, nor seriously propounded as either containing the whole Law or as securing heaven. They are also, as we shall presently see, subjected to grave modifications. One of these, as regards the negative form in which Hillel put it, while Christ put it positively,  has been previously noticed. The existence of such Rabbinic modifications, and the circumstances already mentioned, that on two other occasions the answer of Christ Himself to a similar inquiry was precisely that of this lawyer, suggests the inference, that this question may have been occasioned by some teaching of Christ, to which they had just listened, and that the reply of the lawyer may have been prompted by what Jesus had preached concerning the Law.

If it be asked, why Christ seemed to give His assent to the lawyer’s answer, as if it really pointed to the right solution of the great question, we reply: No other answer could have been given him. On the ground of works – if that had been tenable – this was the way to heaven. To understand any other answer, would have required a sense of sin; and this could not be imported by reasoning: it must be experienced. It is the preaching of the Law which awakens in the mind a sense of sin. Besides, if not morally, yet mentally, the difficulty of this ‘way’ would soon suggest itself to a Jew. Such, at least, is one aspect of the counter-question with which ‘the lawyer’ now sought to retort on Jesus.

Whatever complexity of motives there may have been – for we know nothing of the circumstances, and there may have been that in the conduct or heart of the lawyer which was specially touched by what had just passed – there can be no doubt as to the main object of his question: ‘But who is my neighbour?’ He wished ‘to justify himself,’ in the sense of vindicating his original question, and showing that it was not quite so easily settled as the answer of Jesus seemed to imply. And here it was that Christ could in a ‘Parable’ show how far orthodox Judaism was from even a true understanding, much more from such perfect observance of this Law as would gain heaven. Thus might He bring even this man to feel his shortcomings and sins, and awaken in him a sense of his great need. This, of course, would be the negative aspect of this Parable; the positive is to all time and to all men.

That question: ‘Who is my neighbour?’ has ever been at the same time the outcome of Judaism (as distinguished from the religion of the Old Testament), and also its curse. On this point it is duty to speak plainly, even in face of the wicked persecutions to which the Jews have been exposed on account of it. Whatever modern Judaism may say to the contrary, there is a foundation of truth in the ancient heathen charge against the Jews of odium generis humani (hatred of mankind). God had separated Israel unto Himself by purification and renovation – and this is the original meaning of the word ‘holy’ and ‘sanctify’ in the Hebrew (קדש). They separated themselves in self-righteousness and pride – and that is the original meaning of the word ‘Pharisee’ and ‘Pharisaism’(פרוש). In so saying no blame is cast on individuals; it is the system which is at fault. This question: ‘Who is my neighbour?’ frequently engages Rabbinism. The answer to it is only too clear. If a hypercriticism were to interpret away the passage which directs that idolators are not to be delivered when in imminent danger, while heretics and apostates are even to be led into it, the painful discussion on the meaning of Exo_23:5 would place it beyond question. The sum of it is, that, except to avert hostility, a burden is only to be unloaded, if the beast that lieth under it belongeth to an Israelite, not if it belong to a Gentile; and so the expression, ‘the ass of him that hateth thee,’ must be understood of a Jewish, and not of a Gentile enemy (שונא ישראל ולא שונא אייה).

It is needless to follow the subject further. But more complete rebuke of Judaistic narrowness, as well as more full, generous, and spiritual world-teaching than that of Christ’s Parable could not be imagined. The scenery and colouring are purely local. And here we should remember, that, while admitting the lawfulness of the widest application of details for homiletical purposes, we must take care not to press them in a strictly exegetical interpretation.

Some one coming from the Holy City, the Metropolis of Judaism, is pursuing the solitary desert-road, those twenty-one miles to Jericho, a district notoriously insecure, when he ‘fell among robbers, who, having both stripped and inflicted on him strokes, went away leaving him just as he was, half dead.’ This is the first scene. The second opens with an expression which, theologically, as well as exegetically, is of the greatest interest. The word rendered ‘by chance’ (συγκυρία) occurs only in this place, for Scripture commonly views matters in relation to agents rather than to results. As already noted, the real meaning of the word is ‘concurrence,’ much like the corresponding Hebrew term (מקרה). And better definition could not be given, not, indeed, of ‘Providence,’ which is a heathen abstraction for which the Bible has no equivalent, but for the concrete reality of God’s providing. He provides through a concurrence of circumstances, all in themselves natural and in the succession of ordinary causation (and this distinguishes it from the miracle), but the concurring of which is directed and overruled by Him. And this helps us to put aside those coarse tests of the reality of prayer and of the direct rule of God, which men sometimes propose. Such stately ships ride not in such shallow waters.

It was by such a ‘concurrence,’ that, first a priest, then a Levite, came down that road, when each, successively, ‘when he saw him, passed by over against (him).’ It was the principle of questioning, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ which led both priest and Levite to such heartless conduct. Who knew what this wounded man was, and how he came to lie there: and were they called upon, in ignorance of this, to take all the trouble, perhaps incur the risk of life, which care of him would involve? Thus Judaism (in the persons of its chief representatives) had, by its exclusive attention to the letter, come to destroy the spirit of the Law. Happily, there came yet another that way, not only a stranger, but one despised, a semi-heathen Samaritan. He asked not who the man was, but what was his need. Whatever the wounded Jew might have felt towards him, the Samaritan proved a true ‘neighbour.’ ‘He came towards him, and beholding him, he was moved with compassion.’ His resolution was soon taken. He first bound up his wounds, and then, taking from his travelling provision wine and oil, made of them, what was regarded as the common dressing for wounds. Next, having ‘set’ (lifted) him on his own beast, he walked by his side, and brought him to one of those houses of rest and entertainment, whose designation (πανδοχεῖον) has passed into Rabbinic language (פונדקא). These khans, or hostelries, by the side of unfrequented roads, afforded free lodgment to the traveller. But generally they also offered entertainment, in which case, of course, the host, commonly a non-Israelite, charged for the victuals supplied to man or beast, or for the care taken. In the present instance the Samaritan seems himself to have tended the wounded man all that evening. But even thus his care did not end. The next morning, before continuing his journey, he gave to the host two dinars – about one shilling and threepence of our money, the amount of a labourer’s wages for two days, – as it were, two days’ wages for his care of him, with this provision, that if any further expense were incurred, either because the wounded man was not sufficiently recovered to travel, or else because something more had been supplied to him, the Good Samaritan would pay it when he next came that way.

So far the Parable: its lesson ‘the lawyer’ is made himself to enunciate. ‘Which of these three seems to thee to have become neighbour of him that fell among the robbers?’ Though unwilling to take the hated name of Samaritan on his lips, especially as the meaning of the Parable and its anti-Rabbinic bearing were so evident, the ‘lawyer’ was obliged to reply, ‘He that showed mercy on him,’ when the Saviour finally answered, ‘Go, and do thou likewise.’

Some further lessons may be drawn. The Parable implies not a mere enlargement of the Jewish ideas, but a complete change of them. It is truly a Gospel-Parable, for the whole old relationship of mere duty is changed into one of love. Thus, matters are placed on an entirely different basis from that of Judaism. The question now is not ‘Who is my neighbour?’ but ‘Whose neighbour am I?’ The Gospel answers the question of duty by pointing us to love. Wouldst thou know who is thy neighbour? Become a neighbour to all by the utmost service thou canst do them in their need. And so the Gospel would not only abolish man’s enmity, but bridge over man’s separation. Thus is the Parable truly Christian, and, more than this, points up to Him Who, in our great need, became Neighbour to us, even at the cost of all He had. And from Him, as well as by His Word, are we to learn our lesson of love.

2. The Parable which follows in Luke’s narrative seems closely connected with that just commented upon. It is also a story of a good neighbour who gives in our need, but presents another aspect of the truth to which the Parable of the Good Samaritan had pointed. Love bends to our need: this is the objective manifestation of the Gospel. Need looks up to love, and by its cry elicits the boon which it seeks. And this is the subjective experience of the Gospel. The one underlies the story of the first Parable, the other that of the second.

Some such internal connection between the two Parables seems, indeed, indicated even by the loose manner in which this second Parable is strung to the request of some disciples to be taught what to pray. Like the Parable of the ‘Good Samaritan,’ it is typical, and its application would be the more felt, that it not only points to an exemplification, but appeals to every man’s consciousness of what himself would do in certain given circumstances. The latter are as follows. A man has a friend who, long after nightfall, unexpectedly comes to him from a journey. He has nothing in the house, yet he must provide for his need, for hospitality demands it. Accordingly, though it be so late, he goes to his friend and neighbour to ask him for three loaves, stating the case. On the other hand, the friend so asked refuses, since, at that late hour, he has retired to bed with his children, and to grant his request would imply not only inconvenience to himself, but the disturbing of the whole household. The main circumstances therefore are: Sudden, unthought-of sense of imperative need, obliging to make what seems an unseasonable and unreasonable request, which, on the face of it, offers difficulties and has no claim upon compliance. It is, therefore, not ordinary but, so to speak, extraordinary prayer, which is here alluded to.

To return to the Parable: the question (abruptly broken off from the beginning of the Parable in Luk_11:5), is what each of us would do in the circumstances just detailed. The answer is implied in what follows. It points to continued importunity, which would at last obtain what it needs. ‘I tell you, even if he will not give him, rising up, because he is his friend, yet at least on account of his importunity, he will rise up and give him as many as he needeth.’ This literal rendering will, it is hoped, remove some of the seeming difficulties of the Parable. It is a gross misunderstanding to describe it as presenting a mechanical view of prayer: as if it implied, either that God was unwilling to answer; or else, that prayer, otherwise unheard, would be answered merely for its importunity. It must be remembered, that he who is within is a friend, and that, under ordinary circumstances, he would at once have complied with the request. But, in this case, there were special difficulties, which are represented as very great; it is midnight; he has retired to bed, and with his children; the door is locked. And the lesson is, that where, for some reasons, there are, or seem, special difficulties to an answer to our prayers (it is very late, the door is no longer open, the children have already been gathered in), the importunity arising from the sense of our absolute need, and the knowledge that He is our Friend, and that He has bread, will ultimately prevail. The difficulty is not as to the giving, but as to the giving then – ‘rising up,’ and this is overcome by perseverance, so that (to return to the Parable), if he will not rise up because he is his friend, yet at least he will rise because of his importunity, and not only give him ‘three’ loaves, but, in general, ‘as many as he needeth.’

So important is the teaching of this Parable, that Christ makes detailed application of it. In the circumstances described a man would persevere with his friend, and in the end succeed. And, similarly, the Lord bids us ‘ask,’ and that earnestly and believingly; ‘seek,’ and that energetically and instantly; ‘knock,’ and that intently and loudly. Ask – He is a Friend, and we shall ‘receive;’ ‘seek,’ it is there, and we shall ‘find;’ ‘knock,’ – our need is absolute, and it shall be opened to us. But the emphasis of the Parable and its lesson are in the word ‘every one’ (πᾶς). Not only this or that, but ‘every one,’ shall so experience it. The word points to the special difficulties that may be in the way of answer to prayer – the difficulties of the ‘rising up,’ which have been previously indicated in the Parable. These are met by perseverance which indicates the reality of our need (‘ask’), the reality of our belief that the supply is there (‘seek’), and the intensity and energy of our spiritual longing (‘knock’). Such importunity applies to ‘every one,’ whoever he be, and whatever the circumstances which would seem to render his prayer specially difficult of answer. Though he feel that he has not and needs, he ‘asks;’ though he have lost – time, opportunities, mercies – he ‘seeks;’ though the door seem shut, he ‘knocks.’ Thus the Lord is helper to ‘every one;’ but, as for us, let us learn the lesson from what we ourselves would do in analogous circumstances.

Nay, more than this, God will not deceive by the appearance of what is not reality. He will even give the greatest gift. The Parabolic relation is now not that of friends, but of father and son. If the son asks for bread, will the father give what seems such, but is only a stone? If he asks for a fish, will he tender him what looks such, but is a serpent? If he seek an egg, will he hand to him what breeds a scorpion? The need, the hunger, of the child will not, in answer to its prayer, receive at the Father’s Hands, that which seems, but gives not the reality of satisfaction – rather is poison. Let us draw the inference. Such is our conduct – how much more shall our heavenly Father give His Holy Spirit to them that ask Him. That gift will not disappoint by the appearance of what is not reality; it will not deceive either by the promise of what it does not give, or by giving what would prove fatal. As we follow Christ’s teaching, we ask for the Holy Spirit; and the Holy Spirit, in leading us to Him, leads us into all truth, to all life, and to what satisfies all need.

(Luke 15)

A simple perusal of the three Parables, grouped together in the fifteenth chapter of Luke’s Gospel, will convince us of their connection. Although they treat of ‘repentance,’ we can scarcely call them ‘The Parables of Repentance;’ for, except in the last of them, the aspect of repentance is subordinate to that of restoration, which is the moral effect of repentance. They are rather peculiarly Gospel-Parables ‘of the recovery of the lost:’ in the first instance, through the unwearied labour; in the second, through the anxious care, of the owner; and in the third Parable, through the never-ceasing love of the Father.

Properly to understand these Parables, the circumstance which elicited them must be kept in view. As Jesus preached the Gospel of God’s call, not to those who had, as they imagined, prepared themselves for the Kingdom by study and good works, but as that to a door open, and a welcome free to all, ‘all the publicans and sinners were [constantly] drawing near to Him.’ It has formerly been shown, that the Jewish teaching concerning repentance was quite other than, nay, contrary to, that of Christ. Theirs was not a Gospel to the lost: they had nothing to say to sinners. They called upon them to ‘do penitence,’ and then Divine Mercy, or rather Justice, would have its reward for the penitent. Christ’s Gospel was to the lost as such. It told them of forgiveness, of what the Saviour was doing, and the Father purposed and felt for them; and that, not in the future and as reward of their penitence, but now in the immediate present. From what we know of the Pharisees, we can scarcely wonder that ‘they were murmuring at Him, saying, This man receiveth “sinners,” and eateth with them.’ Whether or not Christ had on this, as on other occasions, joined at a meal with such persons – which, of course, in the eyes of the Pharisees would have been a great aggravation to His offence – their charge was so far true, that ‘this One,’ in contrariety to the principles and practice of Rabbinism, ‘received sinners’ as such, and consorted with them. Nay, there was even more than they cleared Him with: He not only received them when they sought Him, but He sought them, so as to bring them to Him; not, indeed, that they might remain ‘sinners,’ but that, by seeking and finding them, they might be restored to the Kingdom, and there might be joy in heaven over them. And so these are truly Gospel-Parables, although presenting only some aspects of it.

Besides their subject-matter, these three Parables have some other points in common. Two things are here of chief interest. They all proceed on the view that the work of the Father and of Christ, as regards ‘the Kingdom,’ is the same; that Christ was doing the work of the Father, and that they who know Christ know the Father also. That work was the restoration of the lost; Christ had come to do it, and it was the longing of the Father to welcome the lost home again. Further, and this is only second in importance, the lost was still God’s property; and he who had wandered farthest was a child of the Father, and considered as such. And, although this may, in a wider sense, imply the general propriety of Christ in all men, and the universal Fatherhood of God, yet, remembering that this Parable was spoken to Jews, we, to whom these Parables now come, can scarcely be wrong in thinking, as we read them, with special thankfulness of our Christian privileges, as by Baptism numbered among the sheep of His Flock, the treasure of His Possession, and the children of His Home.

In other particulars there are, however, differences, all the more marked that they are so finely shaded. These concern the lost, their restoration, and its results.

1. The Parable of the Lost Sheep. – At the outset we remark that this Parable and the next, that of the Lost Drachm, are intended as an answer to the Pharisees. Hence they are addressed to them: ‘What man of you? ‘or what woman?’ just as His late rebuke to them on the subject of their Sabbath-cavils had been couched: Which of you shall have a son or an ox fallen into a well?’ Not so the last Parable, of the Lost Son, in which He passed from defence, or rather explanation, of His conduct, to its higher reason, showing that He was doing the work of the Father. Hence, while the element of comparison (with that which had not been lost) appears in most detailed form in the first Parable, it is generalised in the second, and wholly omitted in the third.

Other differences have to be marked in the Parables themselves. In the first Parable (that of the Lost Sheep) the main interest centres in the lost; in the second (that of the Lost Drachm), in the search; in the third, in the restoration. And although in the third Parable the Pharisees are not addressed, there is the highest personal application to them in the words which the Father speaks to the elder son – an application, not so much of warning, as of loving correction and entreaty, and which seems to imply, what otherwise these Parables convey, that at least these Pharisees had ‘murmured,’ not so much from bitter hostility to Christ, as from spiritual ignorance and misunderstanding.

Again, these Parables, and especially that of the Lost Sheep, are evidently connected with the preceding series, that ‘of warnings.’ The last of these showed how the poor, the blind, lame, and maimed, nay, even the wanderers on the world’s highway, were to be the guests at the heavenly Feast. And this, not only in the future, and after long and laborious preparation, but now, through the agency of the Saviour. As previously stated, Rabbinism placed acceptance at the end of repentance, and made it its wages. And this, because it knew not, nor felt the power of sin, nor yet the free grace of God. The Gospel places acceptance at the beginning of repentance, and as the free gift of God’s love. And this, because it not only knows the power of sin, but points to a Saviour, provided of God.

The Lost Sheep is only one among a hundred: not a very great loss. Yet which among us would not, even from the common motives of ownership, leave the ninety-and-nine, and go after it, all the more that it has strayed into the wilderness? And, to take these Pharisees on their own ground, should not the Christ have done likewise to the straying and almost lost sheep of His own flock? Nay, quite generally and to all time, is this not the very work of the ‘Good Shepherd,’ and may we not, each of us, thus draw from it precious comfort? As we think of it, we remember that it is natural for the foolish sheep so to wander and stray. And we think not only of those sheep which Jewish pride and superciliousness had left to go astray, but of our own natural tendency to wander. And we recall the saying of Peter, which, no doubt, looked back upon this Parable: ‘Ye were as sheep going astray; but are now returned unto the Shepherd and Bishop of your souls.’ It is not difficult in imagination to follow the Parabolic picture: how in its folly and ignorance the sheep strayed further and further, and at last was lost in solitude and among stony places; how the shepherd followed and found it, weary and footsore; and then with tender care lifted it on his shoulder, and carried it home, gladsome that he had found the lost. And not only this, but when, after long absence, he returned home with his found sheep, that now nestled close to its Saviour, he called together his friends, and bade them rejoice with him over the erst lost and now found treasure.

It needs not, and would only diminish the pathos of this exquisite Parable, were we to attempt interpreting its details. They apply wherever and to whatever they can be applied. Of these three things we think: of the lost sheep; of the Good Shepherd, seeking, finding, bearing, rejoicing and of the sympathy of all who are truly friends – like-minded with Him. These, then, are the emblems of heavenly things. In heaven – oh, how different the feeling from that of Pharisaism ‘view the flock’ as do the Pharisees, and divide them into those who need and who need not repentance, the ‘sinners’ and the ‘righteous,’ as regards man’s application of the Law – does not this Parable teach us that in heaven there shall be joy over the ‘sinner that repenteth’ more than over the ‘ninety-and-nine’ ‘righteous,’ which ‘have not need of repentance?’ And to mark the terrible contrast between the teaching of Christ and that of the Pharisees; to mark also, how directly from heaven must have been the message of Jesus, and how poor sinners must have felt it such, we put down in all its nakedness the message which Pharisaism brought to the lost. Christ said to them: ‘There is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth.’ Pharisaism said – and we quote here literally – ‘There is joy before God when those who provoke Him perish from the world.

2. In proceeding to the second Parable, that of the Lost Drachm, we must keep in mind that in the first the danger of being lost arose from the natural tendency of the sheep to wander. In the second Parable it is no longer our natural tendency to which our loss is attributable. The drachm (about 7½d. of our money) has been lost, as the woman, its owner, was using or counting her money. The loss is the more sensible, as it is one out of only ten, which constitute the owner’s property. But it is still in the house – not like the sheep that had gone astray – only covered by the dust that is continually accumulating from the work and accidents around. And so it is more and more likely to be buried under it, or swept into chinks and corners, and less and less likely to be found as time passes. But the woman lights a lamp, sweeps the house, and seeks diligently, till she has found it. And then she calleth together those around, and bids them rejoice with her over the finding of the lost part of her possessions. And so there is joy in the presence of the Angels over one sinner that repenteth. The comparison with others that need not such is now dropped, because, whereas formerly the sheep had strayed – though from the frowardness of its nature – here the money had simply been lost, fallen among the dust that accumulates – practically, was no longer money, or of use; became covered, hidden, and was in danger of being for ever out of sight, not serviceable, as it was intended to be and might have been.

We repeat, the interest of this Parable centres in the search, and the loss is caused, not by natural tendency, but by surrounding circumstances, which cover up the bright silver, hide it, and render it useless as regards its purpose, and lost to its owner.

3. If it has already appeared that the two first Parables are not merely a repetition, in different form, of the same thought, but represent two different aspects and causes of the ‘being lost’ – the essential difference between them appears even more clearly in the third Parable, that of the Lost Son. Before indicating it in detail, we may mark the similarity in form, and the contrast in spirit, of analogous Rabbinic Parables. The thoughtful reader will have noted this even in the Jewish parallel to the first Parable, where the reason of the man following the straying animal is Pharisaic fear and distrust, lest the Jewish wine which it carried should become mingled with that of the Gentiles. Perhaps, however, this is a more apt parallel, when the Midrash relates how, when Moses fed the sheep of Jethro in the wilderness, and a kid had, gone astray, he went after it, and found it drinking at a spring. As he thought it might be weary, he laid it on his shoulder and brought it back, when God said that, because he had shown pity on the sheep of a man, He would give him His own sheep, Israel, to feed.  As a parallel to the second Parable, this may be quoted as similar in form, though very different in spirit, when a Rabbi notes, that, if a man had lost a sela (drachm) or anything else of value in his house, he would light ever so many lights (מדליק כמה גרות כמה פתילות) till he had found what provides for only one hour in this world. How much more, then, should he search, as for hidden treasures, for the words of the Law, on which depends the life of this and of the world to come! And in regard to the high place which Christ assigned to the repenting sinner, we may note that, according to the leading Rabbis, the penitents would stand nearer to God than the ‘perfectly righteous’(צדיקים גמורים) since, in Isa_57:19, peace was first bidden to those who had been afar off, and then only to those near. This opinion was, however, not shared by all, and one Rabbi maintained, that, while all the prophets had only prophesied with reference to penitents (this had been the sole object of their mission), yet, as regarded the ‘perfectly righteous,’ ‘eye hath not seen, O God, beside Thee, what He hath prepared’ for them. Lastly, it may, perhaps, be noted, that the expression ‘there is joy before Him’ (היתה שמחה לפניו) is not uncommon in Jewish writings with reference to events which take place on earth.

To complete these notes, it may be added that, besides illustrations, to which reference will be made in the sequel, Rabbinic tradition supplies a parallel to at least part of the third Parable, that of the Lost Son. It tells us that, while prayer may sometimes find the gate of access closed, it is never shut against repentance, and it introduces a Parable in which a king sends a tutor after his son, who, in his wickedness, had left the palace, with this message: ‘Return, my son!’ to which the latter replied: ‘With what face can I return? I am ashamed!’ On which the father sends this message: ‘My son, is there a son who is ashamed to return to his father – and shalt thou not return to thy father? Thou shalt return.’ So, continues the Midrash, had God sent Jeremiah after Israel in the hour of their sin with the call to return, and the comforting reminder that it was to their Father.

In the Parable of ‘the Lost Son,’ the main interest centres in his restoration. It is not now to the innate tendency of his nature, nor yet to the work and dust in the house that the loss is attributable, but to the personal, free choice of the individual. He does not stray; he does not fall aside – he wilfully departs, and under aggravated circumstances. It is the younger of two sons of a father, who is equally loving to both, and kind even to his hired servants, whose home, moreover, is one not only of sufficiency, but of super-abundance and wealth. The demand which he makes for the ‘portion of property falling’ to him is founded on the Jewish Law of inheritance. Presumably, the father had only these two sons. The eldest would receive two portions, the younger the third of all movable property. The father could not have disinherited the younger son, although, if there had been several younger sons, he might have divided the property falling to them as he wished, provided he expressed only his disposition, and did not add that such or such of the children were to have a less share or none at all. On the other hand, a man might during his lifetime, dispose of all his property by gift, as he chose, to the disadvantage, or even the total loss, of the first-born, or of any other children; nay, he might give all to strangers. In such cases, as, indeed, in regard to all such dispositions, greater latitude was allowed if the donor was regarded as dangerously ill, than if he was in good health. In the latter case a legal formality of actual seizure required to be gone through. With reference to the two eventualities just mentioned – that of diminishing or taking away the portion of younger children, and the right of gift – the Talmud speaks of Testaments, which bear the name diyatiqi, as in the New Testament. These dispositions might be made either in writing or orally. But if the share of younger children was to be diminished or taken away, the disposition must be made by a person presumably near death (shekhiḇ mera). But no one in good health (bari) could diminish (except by gift) the legal portion of a younger son.

It thus appears that the younger son was, by law, fully entitled to his share of the possessions, although, of course, he had no right to claim it during the lifetime of his father. That he did so, might have been due to the feeling that, after all, he must make his own way in the world; to dislike of the order and discipline of his home; to estrangement from his elder brother; or, most likely, to a desire for liberty and enjoyment, with the latent belief that he would succeed well enough if left to himself. At any rate, his conduct, whatever his motives, was most heartless as regarded his father, and sinful as before God. Such a disposition could not prosper. The father had yielded to his demand, and, to be as free as possible from control and restraint, the younger son had gone into a far country. There the natural sequences soon appeared, and his property was wasted in riotous living. Regarding the demand for his inheritance as only a secondary trait in the Parable, designed, on the one hand, more forcibly to bring out the guilt of the son, and, on the other, the goodness, and afterwards the forgiveness, of the Father, we can scarcely doubt that by the younger son we are to understand those ‘publicans and sinners’ against whose reception by, and fellowship with, Christ the Pharisees had murmured.

The next scene in the history is misunderstood when the objection is raised, that the young man’s misery is there represented as the result of Providential circumstances rather than of his own misdoing. To begin with, he would not have been driven to such straits in the famine, if he had not wasted his substance with riotous living. Again, the main object is to show, that absolute liberty and indulgence of sinful desires and passions ended in anything but happiness. The Providence of God had an important part in this. Far more frequently are folly and sin punished in the ordinary course of Providence than by special judgments. Indeed, it is contrary to the teaching of Christ, and it would lead to an unmoral view of life, to regard such direct interpositions as necessary, or to substitute them for the ordinary government of God. Similarly, for our awakening also we are frequently indebted to what is called the Providence, but what is really the manifold working together of the grace, of God. And so we find special meaning in the occurrence of this famine. That, in his want, ‘he clave (ἐκολλήθη) to one of the citizens of that country,’ seems to indicate that the man had been unwilling to engage the dissipated young stranger, and only yielded to his desperate importunity. This also explains how he employed him in the lowest menial service, that of feeding swine. To a Jew, there was more than degradation in this, since the keeping of swine (although perhaps the ownership rather than the feeding was prohibited to Israelites under a curse.  And even in this demeaning service he was so evil entreated, that for very hunger he would fain have ‘filled his belly with the carob-pods that the swine did eat.’ But here the same harshness, which had sent him to such employment, met him on the part of all the people of that country: ‘and no man gave unto him,’ even sufficient of such food. What perhaps gives additional meaning to this description is the Jewish saying: When Israel is reduced to the carob-tree, they become repentant. 

It was this pressure of extreme want which first showed to the younger son the contrast between the country and the circumstances to which his sin had brought him, and the plentiful provision of the home he had left, and the kindness which provided bread enough and to spare for even the hired servants. There was only a step between what he said, ‘having come into himself,’ and his resolve to return, though its felt difficulty seems implied in the expression: ‘I will arise.’ Nor would he go back with the hope of being reinstated in his position as son, seeing he had already received, and wasted in sin, his portion of the patrimony. All he sought was to be made as one of the hired servants. And, alike from true feeling, and to show that this was all his pretence, he would preface his request by the confession, that he had sinned ‘against heaven’ – a frequent Hebraism for ‘against God’ – and in the sight of his father, and hence could no longer lay claim to the name of son. The provision of the son he had, as stated, already spent, the name he no longer deserved. This favour only would he seek, to be as a hired servant in his father’s house, instead of in that terrible, strange land of famine and harshness.

But the result was far other than he could have expected. When we read that, ‘while he was yet afar off, his father saw him,’ we must evidently understand it in the sense, that his father had been always on the outlook for him, an impression which is strengthened by the later command to the servants to ‘bring the calf, the fatted one,’ as if it had been specially fattened against his return. As he now saw him, ‘he was moved with compassion, and he ran, and he fell on his neck, and covered him with kisses.’ Such a reception rendered the purposed request, to be made as one of the hired servants, impossible – and its spurious insertion in the text of some, important manuscripts affords sad evidence of the want of spiritual tact and insight of early copyists. The father’s love had anticipated his confession, and rendered its self-spoken sentence of condemnation impossible. ‘Perfect love casteth out fear,’ and the hard thoughts concerning himself and his deserts on the part of the returning sinner were banished by the love of the father. And so he only made confession of his sin and wrong – not now as preface to the request to be taken in as a servant, but as the outgoing of a humbled, grateful, truly penitent heart. Him whom want had humbled, thought had brought to himself, and mingled need and hope led a suppliant servant – the love of a father, which anticipated his confession, and did not even speak the words of pardon, conquered, and so morally begat him a second time as his son. Here it deserves special notice, as marking the absolute contrast between the teaching of Christ and Rabbinism, that we have in one of the oldest Rabbinic works a Parable exactly the reverse of this, when the son of a friend is redeemed from bondage, not as a son, but to be a slave, that so obedience might be demanded of him. The inference drawn is, that the obedience of the redeemed is not that of filial love of the pardoned, but the enforcement of the claim of a master. How otherwise in the Parable and teaching of Christ!

But even so the story of love has not come to an end. They have reached the house. And now the father would not only restore the son, but convey to him the evidence of it, and he would do so before, and by the servants. The three tokens of wealth and position are to be furnished him. ‘Quickly’ the servants are to bring forth the ‘stola,’ the upper garment of the higher classes, and that ‘the first’ – the best, and this instead of the tattered, coarse raiment of the foreign swineherd. Similarly, the finger-ring for his hand, and the sandals for his unshod feet, would indicate the son of the house. And to mark this still further, the servants were not only to bring these articles, but themselves to ‘put them on’ the son, so as thereby to own his mastership. And yet further, the calf, ‘the fatted one’ for this very occasion, was to be killed, and there was to be a joyous feast, for ‘this’ his son ‘was dead, and is come to life again; was lost, and is found.’

Thus far for the reception of ‘publicans and sinners,’ and all in every time whom it may concern. Now for the other aspect of the history. While this was going on, so continues the Parable, the elder brother was still in the field. On his return home, he inquired of a servant the reason of the festivities which he heard within the house. Informed that his younger brother had come, and the calf long prepared against a feast had been killed, because his father had recovered him ‘safe and sound,’ he was angry, would not go in, and even refused the request to that effect of the father, who had come out for the purpose. The harsh words of reproach with which he set forth his own apparent wrongs could have only one meaning: his father had never rewarded him for his services. On the other hand, as soon as ‘this’ his ‘son’ – whom he will not even call his brother – had come back, notwithstanding all his disservice, he had made a feast of joy!

But in this very thing lay the error of the elder son, and – to apply it – the fatal mistake of Pharisaism. The elder son regarded all as of merit and reward, as work and return. But it is not so. We mark, first, that the same tenderness which had welcomed the returning son, now met the elder brother. He spoke to the angry man, not in the language of merited reproof, but addressed him lovingly as ‘son,’ and reasoned with him. And then, when he had shown him his wrong, he would fain recall him to better feeling by telling him of the other as his ‘brother.’ But the main point is this. There can be here no question of desert. So long as the son is in His Father’s house He gives in His great goodness to His child all that is the Father’s. But this poor lost one – still a son and a brother – he has not got any reward, only been taken back again by a Father’s love, when he had come back to Him in the deep misery of his felt need. This son, or rather, as the other should view him, this ‘brother,’ had been dead, and was come to life again; lost, and was found. And over this ‘it was meet to make merry and be glad,’ not to murmur. Such murmuring came from thoughts of work and pay – wrong in themselves, and foreign to the proper idea of Father and son; such joy, from a Father’s heart. The elder brother’s were the thoughts of a servant: of service and return; the younger brother’s was the welcome of a son in the mercy and everlasting love of a Father. And this to us, and to all time!

(Luke 16)

Although widely differing in their object and teaching, the last group of Parables spoken during this part of Christ’s Ministry are, at least outwardly, connected by a leading thought. The word by which we would string them together is Righteousness. There are three Parables of the Unrighteous: the Unrighteous Steward, the Unrighteous Owner, and the Unrighteous Dispenser, or Judge. And these are followed by two other Parables of the Self-righteous: Self-righteousness in its Ignorance, and its dangers as regards oneself; and Self-righteousness in its Harshness, and its dangers as regards others. But when this outward connection has been marked, we have gone the utmost length. Much more close is the internal connection between some of them.

We note it, first and chiefly, between the two first Parables. Recorded in the same chapter, and in the same connection, they were addressed to the same audience. True, the Parable of the Unjust Steward was primarily spoken ‘to His disciples,’ that of Dives and Lazarus to the Pharisees. But then the audience of Christ at that time consisted of disciples and Pharisees. And these two classes in the audience stood in peculiar relation to each other, which is exactly met in these two Parables, so that the one may be said to have sprung out of the other. For, the ‘disciples,’ to whom the first Parable was addressed, were not primarily the Apostles, but those ‘publicans and sinners’ whom Jesus had received, to the great displeasure of the Pharisees. Them He would teach concerning the mamon of unrighteousness. And, when the Pharisees sneered at this teaching, He would turn it against them, and show that, beneath the self-justification, which made them forget that now the Kingdom of God was opened to all, and imagine that they were the sole vindicators of a Law which in their everyday practice they notoriously broke, there lay as deep sin and as great alienation from God as that of the sinners whom they despised. Theirs might not be the mamon of, yet it might be that for unrighteousness; and, while they sneered at the idea of such men making of their mamon friends that would receive them into everlasting tabernacles, themselves would experience that in the end a terrible readjustment before God would follow on their neglect of using for God, and their employment only for self of such mamon as was theirs, coupled as it was with harsh and proud neglect of what they regarded as wretched, sore-covered Lazarus, who lay forsaken and starving at their very doors.

It will have been observed, that we lay once more special stress on the historical connection and the primary meaning of the Parables. We would read them in the light of the circumstances in which they were spoken – as addressed to a certain class of hearers, and as referring to what had just passed. The historical application once ascertained, the general lessons may afterwards be applied to the widest range. This historical view will help us to understand the introduction, connection, and meaning, of the two Parables which have been described as the most difficult: those of the Unjust Steward, and of Dives and Lazarus.

At the outset we must recall, that they were addressed to two different classes in the same audience. In both the subject is Unrighteousness. In the first, which is addressed to the recently converted publicans and sinners, it is the Unrighteous Steward, making unrighteous use of what had been committed to his administration by his Master; in the second Parable, which is addressed to the self-justifying, sneering Pharisees, it is the Unrighteous Possessor, who uses only for himself and for time what he has, while he leaves Lazarus, who, in his view, is wretched and sore-covered, to starve or perish, unheeded, at his very door. In agreement with its object, and as suited to the part of the audience addressed, the first Parable points a lesson, while the second furnishes a warning. In the first Parable we are told, what the sinner when converted should learn from his previous life of sin; in the second, what the self-deceiving, proud Pharisee should learn as regarded the life which to him seemed so fair, but was in reality so empty of God and of love. It follows – and this is of greatest importance, especially in the interpretation of the first Parable – that we must not expect to find spiritual equivalents for each of the persons or incidents introduced. In each case, the Parable itself forms only an illustration of the lessons, spoken or implied, which Christ would convey to the one and the other class in His audience.

I. The Parable of the Unjust Steward. – In accordance with the canon of interpretation just laid down, we distinguish – 1. The illustrative Parable. 2. Its moral. 3. Its application in the combination of the moral with some of the features of the Parable.

1. The illustrative Parable. This may be said to converge to the point brought out in the concluding verse: the prudence which characterises the dealings of the children of this world in regard to their own generation – or, to translate the Jewish forms of expression into our own phraseology, the wisdom with which those who care not for the world to come choose the means most effectual for attaining their worldly objects. It is this prudence by which their aims are so effectually secured, and it alone, which is set before ‘the children of light,’ as that by which to learn. And the lesson is the more practical, that those primarily addressed had hitherto been among these men of the world. Let them learn from the serpent its wisdom, and from the dove its harmlessness; from the children of this world, their prudence as regarded their generation, while, as children of the new light, they must remember the higher aim for which that prudence was to be employed. Thus would that mamon which is ‘of unrighteousness,’ and which certainly ‘faileth,’ become to us treasure in the world to come – welcome us there, and, so far from ‘failing,’ prove permanent – welcome us in everlasting tabernacles. Thus, also, shall we have made, friends of the ‘Mamon of unrighteousness,’ and that, which from its nature must fail, become eternal gain – or, to translate it into Talmudic phraseology, it will be of the things of which a man enjoys the interest in this world, while the capital remains for the world to come.

It cannot now be difficult to understand the Parable. Its object is simply to show, in the most striking manner, the prudence of a worldly man, who is unrestrained by any other consideration than that of attaining his end. At the same time, with singular wisdom, the illustration is so chosen as that its matter (materia), ‘the mamon of unrighteousness,’ may serve to point a life-lesson to those newly converted publicans and sinners, who had formerly sacrificed all for the sake, or in the enjoyment of, that mamon. All else, such as the question, who is the master and who the steward, and such like, we dismiss, since the Parable is only intended as an illustration of the lesson to be afterwards taught.

The connection between this Parable and what the Lord had previously said concerning returning sinners, to which our remarks have already pointed, is further evidenced by the use of the term ‘wasting’ (διασκορπίζων), in the charge against the steward, just as the prodigal son had ‘wasted’ (διεσκόρπισε) his substance. Only, in the present instance, the property had been entrusted to his administration. As regards the owner, his designation as ‘rich’ seems intended to mark how large was the property committed to the steward. The ‘steward’ was not, as in Luk_12:42-46, a slave, but one employed for the administration of the rich man’s affairs, subject to notice of dismissal. He was accused – the term implying malevolence, but not necessarily a false charge – not of fraud, but of wasting, probably by riotous living and carelessness, his master’s goods. And his master seems to have convinced himself that the charge was true, since he at once gives him notice of dismissal. The latter is absolute, and not made dependent on the ‘account of his stewardship,’ which is only asked as, of course, necessary, when he gives up his office. Nor does the steward either deny the charge or plead any extenuation. His great concern rather is, during the time still left of his stewardship, before he gives up his accounts, to provide for his future support. The only alternative before him in the future is that of manual labour or mendicancy. But for the former he has not strength; from the latter he is restrained by shame.

Then it is that his ‘prudence’ suggests a device by which, after his dismissal, he may, without begging, be received into the houses of those whom he has made friends. It must be borne in mind, that he is still steward, and, as such, has full power of disposing of his master’s affairs. When, therefore, he sends for one after another of his master’s debtors, and tells each to alter the sum in the bond, he does not suggest to them forgery or fraud, but, in remitting part of the debt – whether it had been incurred as rent in kind, or as the price of produce purchased – he acts, although unrighteously, yet strictly within his rights. Thus, neither the steward nor the debtors could be charged with criminality, and the master must have been struck with the cleverness of a man who had thus secured a future provision by making friends, so long as he had the means of so doing (ere his mamon of unrighteousness failed).

A few archeological notices may help the interpretation of details. From the context it seems more likely, that the ‘bonds,’ or rather ‘writings,’ of these debtors were written acknowledgments of debt, than, as some have supposed that they were, leases of farms. The debts over which the steward variously disposed, according as he wished to gain more or less favour, were considerable. In the first case they are stated at ‘a hundred baṯ of oil,’ in the second as ‘a hundred Cor of wheat.’ In regard to these quantities we have the preliminary difficulty, that three kinds of measurement were in use in Palestine – that of the ‘Wilderness,’ or, the original Mosaic; that of ‘Jerusalem,’ which was more than a fifth larger; and that of Sepphoris, probably the common Galilean measurement, which, in turn, was more than a fifth larger than the Jerusalem measure. To be more precise, one Galilean was equal to 1½ ‘Wilderness’ measures. Assuming the measurement to have been the Galilean, one baṯ  would have been equal to an Attic Metretes, or about 39 litres. On the other hand, the so-called ‘Wilderness measurement’ would correspond with the Roman measures, and, in that case, the ‘baṯ’ would be the same as the Amp̱ora, or amount to a little less than 26 litres. The latter is the measurement adopted by Josephus.  In the Parable, the first debtor was owing 100 of these ‘Bath,’ or, according to the Galilean measurement, about 3,900 litres of oil. As regards the value of a Bath of oil, little information can be derived from the statements of Josephus, since he only mentions prices under exceptional circumstances, either in particularly plentiful years, or else at a time of war and siege. In the former, an Amphora, or 26 litres, of oil seems to have fetched about 9d.; but it must be added, that, even in such a year, this represents a rare stroke of business, since the oil was immediately afterwards re-sold for eight times the amount, and this – 3s. for half an Amphora of about 13 litres – would probably represent an exceptionally high war-price. The fair price for it would probably have been 9d. For the Mishnah informs us, that the ordinary ‘earthenware casks’ (the geraḇ) held each 2 Seah, or 48 Log, or about 26 litres. Again, according to a notice in the Talmud, 100 such ‘casks,’ or, 200 Seah, were sold for 10 (presumably gold) dinars, or 250 silver dinars, equal to about 7l. 10s. of our money. And as the baṯ (= 3 Seah) held a third more than one of those ‘casks,’ or geraḇin, the value of the 100 Bath of oil would probably amount to about 101. of our money, and the remission of the steward, of course, to 51.

The second debtor owed ‘a hundred Cor of wheat’ – that is, in dry measure, ten times the amount of the oil of the first debtor, since the Cor was ten Ep̱ah or baṯ, the Ep̱ah three seah, the seah six qaḇ, and the qaḇ four log. This must be borne in mind, since the dry and the fluid measures were precisely the same; and here, also, their threefold computation (the ‘Wilderness,’ the ‘Jerusalem,’ and the ‘Galilean’) obtained. As regards the value of wheat, we learn that, on an average, four Seah of seed were expected to produce one Cor – that is, seven and a half times their amount; and that a field 1,500 cubits long and 50 wide was expected to grow a Cor. The average price of a Cor of wheat, bought uncut, amounted to about 25 dinars, or 15s. Striking an average between the lowest prices mentioned and the highest, we infer that the price of 3 Seah or an Ephah would be from two shillings to half-a-crown, and accordingly of a Cor (or 10 Ephah) from 20 to 25 shillings (probably this is rather more than it would cost). On this computation the hundred Cor would represent a debt of from 100l. to 125l., and the remission of the steward (of 20 Cor), a sum of from 20l. to 25l. Comparatively small as these sums may seem, they are in reality large, remembering the value of money in Palestine, which, on a low computation, would be five times as great as in our own country. These two debtors are only mentioned as instances, and so the unjust steward would easily secure for himself friends by the ‘Mamon of unrighteousness,’ the term mamon, we may note, being derived from the Syriac and Rabbinic word of the same kind (מָמוֹן from מון equals מני, and מנה, to apportion).

Another point on which acquaintance with the history and habits of those times throws light is, how the debtors could so easily alter the sum mentioned in their respective bonds. For, the text implies that this, and not the writing of a new bond, is intended; since in that case the old one would have been destroyed, and not given back for alteration. It would be impossible, within the present limits, to enter fully on the interesting subject of writing, writing-materials, and written documents among the ancient Jews. Suffice it to give here the briefest notices.

The materials on which the Jews wrote were of the most divers kind: leaves, as of olives, palms, the carob, etc.; the rind of the pomegranate, the shell of walnuts, etc.; the prepared skins of animals (leather and parchment); and the product of the papyrus, used long before the time of Alexander the Great for the manufacture of paper, and known in Talmudic writings by the same name, as papir  or Apipeir, but more frequently by that of nayyar – probably from the stripes (nirin) of the plant of which it was made. But what interests us more, as we remember the ‘tablet’ (πινακίδιον) on which Zacharias wrote the name of the future Baptist, is the circumstance that it bears not only the same name, pinaqes or pinqesa, but that it seems to have been of such common use in Palestine. It consisted of thin pieces of wood (the luaḥ) fastened or strung together. The Mishnah enumerates three kinds of them: those where the wood was covered with papyrus, those where it was covered with wax, and those where the wood was left plain to be written on with ink. The latter was of different kinds. Black ink was prepared of soot (the deyo), or of vegetable or mineral substances. Gum Arabic and Egyptian (qumos and quma) and vitriol (qanqanṯos) seem also to have been used in writing. It is curious to read of writing in colours and with red ink or siqra, and even of a kind of sympathetic ink, made from the bark of the ash, and brought out by a mixture of vitriol and gum. We also read of a gold-ink, as that in which the copy of the Law was written which, according to the legend, the High-Priest had sent to Ptolemy Philadelphus for the purpose of being translated into Greek by the LXX. But the Talmud prohibits copies of the Law in gold letters, or more probably such in which the Divine Name was written in gold letters.  In writing, a pen, qolemos, made of reed (qaneh ) was used, and the reference in an Apostolic Epistle to writing ‘with ink and pen’ (διὰ μέλανος καὶ καλάμου) finds even its verbal counterpart in the Midrash, which speaks of milanin and qolemin (ink and pens). Indeed, the public ‘writer’ – a trade very common in the East – went about with a qolemos, or reed-pen, behind his ear, as a badge of his employment.  With the reed-pen we ought to mention its necessary accompaniments: the penknife, the inkstand (which, when double, for black and red ink, was sometimes made of earthenware, qalamarim ), and the ruler – it being regarded by the stricter set as unlawful to write any words of Holy Writ on any unlined material, no doubt to ensure correct writing and reading. 

In all this we have not referred to the practice of writing on leather specially prepared with salt and flour, nor to the qelap̱, or parchment in the stricter sense. For we are here chiefly interested in the common mode of writing, that on the pinaqes, or ‘tablet,’ and especially on that covered with wax. Indeed, a little vessel holding wax was generally attached to it (pinaqes sheyesh bo beṯ qibul shaavah ). On such a tablet they wrote, of course, not with a reed-pen, but with a stylus, generally of iron. This instrument consisted of two parts, which might be detached from each other: the hard pointed ‘writer’ (koṯeḇ), and the ‘blotter’ (moḥeq) which was flat and thick for smoothing out letters and words which had been written or rather graven in the wax. There can be no question that acknowledgments of debt, and other transactions, were ordinarily written down on such wax-covered tablets; for not only is direct reference made to it, but there are special provisions in regard to documents where there are such erasures, or rather effacements: such as, that they require to be noted in the document, under what conditions and how the witnesses are in such cases to affix their signatures, just as there are particular injunctions how witnesses who could not write are to affix their mark.

 But although we have thus ascertained that ‘the bonds’ in the Parable must have been written on wax – or else, possibly, on parchment – where the moḥeq, or blotter, could easily efface the numbers, we have also evidence that they were not, as so often, written on ‘tablets’ (the pinaques). For, the Greek term, by which these ‘bonds’ or ‘writings’ are designated in the Parable (γράμματα ), is the same as is sometimes used in Rabbinic writings (geramation) for an acknowledgement of debt;  the Hebraised Greek word corresponding to the more commonly used (Syriac) term shitre (shetar), which also primarily denotes ‘writings,’ and is used specifically for such acknowledgments.  Of these there were two kinds. The most formal shetar was not signed by the debtor at all, but only by the witnesses, who were to write their names (or marks) immediately (not more than two lines) below the text of the document, to prevent fraud. Otherwise, the document would not possess legal validity. Generally, it was further attested by the Sanhedrin of three, who signed in such manner as not to leave even one line vacant. Such a document contained the names of creditor and debtor, the amount owing, and the date, together with a clause attaching the property of the debtor. In fact, it was a kind of mortgage; all sale of property being, as with us, subject to such a mortgage, which bore the name Aḥarayuṯ (probably, ‘guarantee’). When the debt was paid, the legal obligation was simply returned to the debtor; if paid in part, either a new bond was written, or a receipt given, which was called shoḇer  or teḇara, because it ‘broke’ the debt.

But in many respects different were those bonds which were acknowledgments of debt for purchases made, such as we suppose those to have been which are mentioned in the Parable. In such cases it was not uncommon to dispense altogether with witnesses, and the document was signed by the debtor himself. In bonds of this kind, the creditor had not the benefit of a mortgage in case of sale. We have expressed our belief that the Parable refers to such documents, and we are confirmed in this by the circumstance that they not only bear a different name from the more formal bonds (the shitre), but one which is perhaps the most exact rendering of the Greek term (כתב ידו, a ‘writing of hand,’ ‘note of hand’). For completeness’ sake we add, in regard to the farming of land, that two kinds of leases were in use. Under the first, called shetar Arisuṯ, the lessee (Aris = ozpog) received a certain portion of the produce. He might be a lessee for life, for a specified number of years, or even a hereditary tiller of the ground; or he might sub-let it to another person. Under the second kind of lease, the farmer – or meqabel – entered into a contract for payment either in kind, when he undertook to pay a stipulated and unvarying amount of produce, in which case he was called a ḥokher ḥakhur or ḥakhira), or else a certain annual rental in money, when he was called a sokher.

2. From this somewhat lengthened digression, we return to notice the moral of the Parable. It is put in these words: ‘Make to yourselves friends out of [by means of] the mamon of unrighteousness, that, when it shall fail, they may receive you into everlasting tabernacles.’ From what has been previously stated, the meaning of these words offers little serious difficulty. We must again recall the circumstance, that they were primarily addressed to converted publicans and sinners, to whom the expression ‘Mamon of unrighteousness’ – of which there are close analogies, and even an exact transcript in the Targum – would have an obvious meaning. Among us, also, there are not a few who may feel its aptness as they look back on the past, while to all it carries a much needed warning. Again, the addition of the definite article leaves no doubt, that ‘the everlasting tabernacles’ mean the well-known heavenly home; in which sense the term ‘tabernacle’ is, indeed, already used in the Old Testament.  But as a whole we regard it (as previously hinted) as an adaptation to the Parable of the well-known Rabbinic saying, that there were certain graces of which a man enjoyed the benefit here, while the capital, so to speak, remained for the next world. And if a more literal interpretation were demanded, we cannot but feel the duty incumbent on those converted publicans, nay, in a sense, on us all, to seek to make for ourselves of the mamon – be it of money, of knowledge, of strength, or opportunities, which to many has, and to all may so easily, become that ‘of unrighteousness’ – such lasting and spiritual application: gain such friends by means of it, that, ‘when it fails,’ as fail it must when we die, all may not be lost, but rather meet us in heaven. Thus would each deed done for God with this mamon become a friend to greet us as we enter the eternal world.

3. The suitableness both of the Parable and of its application to the audience of Christ appears from its similarity to what occurs in Jewish writings. Thus, the reasoning that the Law could not have been given to the nations of the world, since they have not observed the seven Noachic commandments (which Rabbinism supposes to have been given to the Gentiles), is illustrated by a Parable in which a king is represented as having employed two administrators (Apiterop̱in); one over the gold and silver, and the other over the straw. The latter rendered himself suspected, and – continues the Parable – when he complained that he had not been set over the gold and silver, they said unto him: Thou fool, if then hast rendered thyself suspected in regard to the straw, shall they commit to thee the treasure of gold and silver? And we almost seem to hear the very words of Christ: ‘He that is faithful in that which is least, is faithful also in much,’ in this of the Midrash: ‘The Holy One, blessed be His Name, does not give great things to a man until he has been tried in a small matter;’ which is illustrated by the history of Moses and of David, who were both called to rule from the faithful guiding of sheep.

Considering that the Jewish mind would be familiar with such modes of illustration, there could have been no misunderstanding of the words of Christ. These converted publicans might think – and so may some of us – that theirs was a very narrow sphere of service, one of little importance; or else, like the Pharisees, and like so many others among us, that faithful administration of the things of this world (‘the mamon of unrighteousness’) had no bearing on the possession of the true riches in the next world. In answer to the first difficulty, Christ points out that the principle of service is the same, whether applied to much or to little; that the one was, indeed, meet preparation for, and, in truth, the test of the other. ‘He that is faithful’ – or, to paraphrase the word (πιστός), he that has proved himself, is accredited (answering to נאמן) – ‘in the least, is also faithful [accredited] in much; and who in the least is unjust is also in much unjust.’ Therefore, if a man failed in faithful service of God in his worldly matters – in the language of the Parable, if he were not faithful in the mamon of unrighteousness – could he look for the true mamon, or riches of the world to come? Would not his unfaithfulness in the lower stewardship imply unfitness for the higher? And – still in the language of the Parable – if they had not proved faithful in mere stewardship, ‘in that which was another’s,’ could it be expected that they would be exalted from stewardship to proprietorship? And the ultimate application of all was this, that dividedness was impossible in the service of God. It is impossible for the disciple to make separation between spiritual matters and worldly, and to attempt serving God in the one and mamon in the other. There is absolutely no such distinction to the disciple, and our common usage of the words secular and spiritual is derived from a terrible misunderstanding and mistake. To the secular, nothing is spiritual; and to the spiritual, nothing is secular: No servant can serve two Masters; ye cannot serve God and mamon.

II. The Parable of Dives and Lazarus. – Although primarily spoken to the Pharisees, and not to the disciples, yet, as will presently appear, it was spoken for the disciples. The words of Christ had touched more than one sore spot in the hearts of the Pharisees. This consecration of all to God as the necessary condition of high spiritual service, and then of higher spiritual standing – as it were ‘ownership’ – such as they claimed, was a very hard saying. It touched their covetousness. They would have been quite ready to hear, nay, they believed that the ‘true’ treasure had been committed to their trust. But that its condition was, that they should prove themselves God-devoted in ‘the unrighteous mamon,’ faithful in the employment of it in that for which it was entrusted to their stewardship, this was not to be borne. Nor yet, that such prospects should be held out to publicans and sinners, while they were withheld from those who were the custodians of the Law and of the Prophets. But were they faithful to the Law? And as to their claim of being the ‘owners,’ the Parable of the Rich Owner and of his bearing would exhibit how unfaithful they were in ‘much’ as well as in ‘little,’ in what they claimed as owners as well as in their stewardship – and this, on their own showing of their relations to publicans and sinners: the Lazarus who lay at their doors.

Thus viewed, the verses which introduce the second Parable (that of Dives and Lazarus) will appear, not ‘detached sayings,’ as some commentators would have us believe, but most closely connected with the Parable to which they form the Preface. Only, here especially, must we remember, that we have only Notes of Christ’s Discourse, made years before by one who had heard it, and containing the barest outline – as it were, the stepping-stones – of the argument as it proceeded. Let us try to follow it. As the Pharisees heard what Christ said, their covetousness was touched. It is said, moreover, that they derided Him – literally, ‘turned up their noses at Him.’ The mocking gestures, with which they pointed to His publican-disciples, would be accompanied by mocking words in which they would extol and favourably compare their own claims and standing with that of those new disciples of Christ. Not only to refute but to confute, to convict, and, if possible, to convince them, was the object of Christ’s Discourse and Parable. One by one their pleas were taken up and shown to be utterly untenable. They were persons who by outward righteousness and pretences sought to appear just before men, but God knew their hearts; and that which was exalted among men, their Pharisaic standing and standing aloof, was abomination before Him. These two points form the main subject of the Parable. Its first object was to show the great difference between the ‘before men’ and the ‘before God;’ between Dives as he appears to men in this world, and as he is before God and will be in the next world. Again, the second main object of the Parable was to illustrate that their Pharisaic standing and standing aloof – the bearing of Dives in reference to a Lazarus – which was the glory of Pharisaism before men, was an abomination before God. Yet a third object of the Parable was in reference to their covetousness, the selfish use which they made of their possessions – their mamon. But a selfish was an unrighteous use; and, as such, would meet with sorer retribution than in the case of an unfaithful steward.

But we leave for the present the comparative analysis of the Parable to return to the introductory words of Christ. Having shown that the claims of the Pharisees and their standing aloof from poor sinners were an abomination before God, Christ combats these grounds of their bearing, that they were the custodians and observers of the Law and of the Prophets, while those poor sinners had no claims upon the Kingdom of God. Yes – but the Law and the Prophets had their terminus ad quem in John the Baptist, who ‘brought the good tidings of the Kingdom of God.’ Since then ‘every one’ had to enter it by personal resolution and ‘force.’ Yes – it was true that the Law could not fail in one tittle of it. But, notoriously and in everyday life, the Pharisees, who thus spoke of the Law and appealed to it, were the constant and open breakers of it. Witness here their teaching and practice concerning divorce, which really involved a breach of the seventh commandment.

Thus, when bearing in mind that, as previously stated, we have here only the ‘heads,’ or rather the ‘stepping stones,’ of Christ’s argument – from notes by a hearer at the time, which were afterwards given to Luke – we clearly perceive, how closely connected are the seemingly disjointed sentences which preface the Parable, and how aptly they introduce it. The Parable itself is strictly of the Pharisees and their relation to the ‘publicans and sinners’ whom they despised, and to whose stewardship they opposed thoughts of their own proprietorship. With infinite wisdom and depth the Parable tells in two directions: in regard to their selfish use of the literal riches – their covetousness – and in regard to their selfish use of the figurative riches: their Pharisaic righteousness, which left poor Lazarus at their door to the dogs and to famine, not bestowing on him aught from their supposed rich festive banquets.

On the other hand, it will be necessary in the interpretation of this Parable to keep in mind, that its Parabolic details must not be exploited, nor doctrines of any kind derived from them, either as to the character of the other world, the question of the duration of future punishments, or the possible moral improvement of those in gehinom. All such things are foreign to the Parable, which is only intended as a type, or exemplification and illustration, of what is intended to be taught. And, if proof were required, it would surely be enough to remind ourselves, that this Parable is addressed to the Pharisees, to whom Christ would scarcely have communicated details about the other world, on which He was so reticent in His teaching to the disciples. The Parable naturally falls into three parts.

1. Dives and Lazarus before and after death, or the contrast between ‘before men’ and ‘before God;’ the unrighteous use of riches – literal and figurative; and the relations of the Pharisaic Dives to the publican Lazarus, as before men and as before God: the ‘exalted among men’ an ‘abomination before God.’ And the application of the Parable is here the more telling, that alms were so highly esteemed among the Pharisees, and that the typical Pharisee is thus set before them as, on their own showing the typical sinner.

The Parable opens by presenting to us ‘a rich man clothed in purple and byssus, joyously faring every day in splendour.’ All here is in character. His dress is described as the finest and most costly, for byssus and purple were the most expensive materials, only inferior to silk, which, if genuine and unmixed – for at least three kinds of silk are mentioned in ancient Jewish writings – was worth its weight in gold. Both byssus – of which it is not yet quite certain, whether it was of hemp or cotton – and purple were indeed manufactured in Palestine, but the best byssus (at least at that time)came from Egypt and India. The white garments of the High-Priest on the Day of Atonement were made of it. To pass over exaggerated accounts of its costliness, the High-Priest’s dress of Pelusian linen for the morning service of the Day of Atonement was said to have cost about 36l.; that of Indian linen for the evening of the same day about 24l. Of course, this stuff would, if of home-manufacture, whether made in Galilee or in Judaea, be much cheaper. As regarded purple, which was obtained from the coasts of Tyre, wool of violet-purple was sold about that period by weight at the rate of about 3l. the Roman pound, though it would, of course, considerably vary in price.

Quite in accordance with this luxuriousness – unfortunately not uncommon among the very high-placed Jews, since the Talmud (though, no doubt, exaggeratedly) speaks of the dress of a corrupt High-Priest as having cost upwards of 300l. – was the feasting every day, the description of which conveys the impression of company, merriment, and splendour. All this is, of course, intended to set forth the selfish use which this man made of his wealth, and to point the contrast of his bearing towards Lazarus. Here also every detail is meant to mark the pitiableness of the case, as it stood out before Dives. The very name – not often mentioned in any other real, and never in any other Parabolic story – tells it: Lazarus, laazar, a common abbreviation of Elazar, as it were, ‘God help him!’ Then we read that he ‘was cast’ (ἐβέβλητο) at his gateway, as if to mark that the bearers were glad to throw down their unwelcome burden. Laid there, he was in full view of the Pharisee as he went out or came in, or sat in his courtyard. And as he looked at him, he was covered with a loathsome disease; as he heard him, he uttered a piteous request to be filled with what fell from the rich man’s table. Yet nothing was done to help his bodily misery, and, as the word ‘desiring’ (ἐπιθυμῶν) implies, his longing for the ‘crumbs’ remained unsatisfied. So selfish in the use of his wealth was Dives, so wretched Lazarus in his view; so self-satisfied and unpitying was the Pharisee, so miserable in his sight and so needy the publican and sinner. ‘Yea, even the dogs came and licked his sores’ – for it is not to be understood as an alleviation, but as an aggravation of his ills, that he was left to the dogs, which in Scripture are always represented as unclean animals.

So it was before men. But how was it before God? There the relation was reversed. The beggar died – no more of him here. But the Angels ‘carried him away into Abraham’s bosom.’ Leaving aside for the present the Jewish teaching concerning the ‘after death,’ we are struck with the sublime simplicity of the figurative language used by Christ, as compared with the wild and sensuous fancies of later Rabbinic teaching on the subject. It is, indeed, true, that we must not look in this Parabolic language for Christ’s teaching about the ‘after death.’ On the other hand, while He would say nothing that was essentially divergent from, at least, the purest views entertained on the subject at that time – since otherwise the object of the Parabolic illustration would have been lost – yet, whatever He did say must, when stripped of its Parabolic details, be consonant with fact. Thus, the carrying up of the soul of the righteous by Angels is certainly in accordance with Jewish teaching, though stripped of all legendary details, such as about the number and the greetings of the Angels. But it is also fully in accordance with Christian thought of the ministry of Angels. Again, as regards the expression ‘Abraham’s bosom,’ it occurs, although not frequently, in Jewish writings.  On the other hand, the appeal to Abraham as our father is so frequent, his presence and merits are so constantly invoked; notably, he is so expressly designated as he who receives (מקבל) the penitent into Paradise, that we can see how congruous especially to the higher Jewish teaching, which dealt not in coarsely sensuous descriptions of gan Eden, or Paradise, the phrase ‘Abraham’s bosom’ must have been. Nor surely can it be necessary to vindicate the accord with Christian thinking of a figurative expression, that likens us to children lying lovingly in the bosom of Abraham as our spiritual father.

2. Dives and Lazarus after death: The ‘great contrast’ fully realised, and how to enter into the Kingdom. – Here also the main interest centres in Dives. He also has died and been buried. Thus ends all his exaltedness before men. The next scene is in Hades or sheol the place of the disembodied spirits before the final Judgment. It consists of two divisions: the one of consolation, with all the faithful gathered unto Abraham as their father; the other of fiery torment. Thus far in accordance with the general teaching of the New Testament. As regards the details, they evidently represent the views current at the time among the Jews. According to them, the Garden of Eden and the Tree of Life were the abode of the blessed. Nay, in common belief, the words of Gen_2:10 : ‘a river went out of Eden to water the garden,’ indicated that this Eden was distinct from, and superior to, the garden in which Adam had been originally placed. With reference to it, we read that the righteous in gan Eden see the wicked in gehinom, and rejoice; and, similarly, that the wicked in gehinom see the righteous sitting beatified in gan Eden, and their souls are troubled. Still more marked is the parallelism in a legend told about two wicked companions, of whom one had died impenitent, while the other on seeing it had repented. After death, the impenitent in Gehinnom saw the happiness of his former companion, and murmured. When told that the difference of their fate was due to the other’s penitence, he wished to have space assigned for it, but was informed that this life (the eve of the Sabbath) was the time for making provision for the next (the Sabbath). Again, it is consonant with what were the views of the Jews, that conversations could be held between dead persons, of which several legendary instances are given in the Talmud.  The torment, especially of thirst, of the wicked, is repeatedly mentioned in Jewish writings. Thus, in one place, the fable of Tantalus is apparently repeated. The righteous is seen beside delicious springs, and the wicked with his tongue parched at the brink of a river, the waves of which are constantly receding from him. But there is this very marked and characteristic contrast, that in the Jewish legend the beatified is a Pharisee, while the sinner tormented with thirst is a Publican! Above all, and as marking the vast difference between Jewish ideas and Christ’s teaching, we notice that there is no analogy in Rabbinic writings to the statement in the Parable, that there is a wide and impassable gulf between Paradise and Gehenna.

To return to the Parable. When we read that Dives in torments lifted up his eyes,’ it was, no doubt, for help, or, at least, alleviation. Then he first perceived and recognised the reversed relationship. The text emphatically repeats here: ‘And he, – literally, this one (καὶ αὐτος), as if now, for the first time, he realised, but only to misunderstand and misapply it, how easily superabundance might minister relief to extreme need – ‘calling (viz., upon = invoking) said: “Father Abraham, have mercy upon me, and send Lazarus.”’ The invocation of Abraham, as having the power, and of Abraham as ‘Father,’ was natural on the part of a Jew. And our Lord does not here express what really was, but only introduces Jews as speaking in accordance with the popular notions. Accordingly, it does not necessarily imply on the part of Dives either glorification of carnal descent (gloriatio carnis, as Bengel has it), nor a latent idea that he might still dispose of Lazarus. A Jew would have appealed to ‘Father Abraham’ under such or like circumstances, and many analogous statements might be quoted in proof. But all the more telling is it, that the rich Pharisee should behold in the bosom of Abraham, whose child he specially claimed to be, what, in his sight, had been poor Lazarus, covered with moral sores, and, religiously speaking, thrown down outside his gate – not only not admitted to the fellowship of his religious banquet, but not even to be fed by the crumbs that fell from his table, and to be left to the dogs. And it was the climax of the contrast that he should now have to invoke, an that in vain, his ministry, seeking it at the hands of Abraham. And here we also recall the previous Parable about making, ere it fail, friends by means of the mamon of unrighteousness, that they may welcome us in the everlasting tabernacles.

It should be remembered that Dives now limits his request to the humblest dimensions, asking only that Lazarus might be sent to dip the tip of his finger in the cooling liquid, and thus give him even the smallest relief. To this Abraham replies, though in a tone of pity: ‘Child,’ yet decidedly – showing him, first, the rightness of the present position of things; and, secondly, the impossibility of any alteration, such as he had asked. Dives had, in his lifetime, received his good things; that had been his things, he had chosen them as his part, and used them for self, without communicating of them. And Lazarus had received evil things. Now Lazarus was comforted, and Dives in torment. It was the right order – not that Lazarus was comforted because in this world he had suffered, nor yet that Dives was in torment because in this world he had had riches. But Lazarus received there the comfort which had been refused to him on earth, and the man who had made this world his good, and obtained there his portion, of which he had refused even the crumbs to the most needy, now received the meet reward of his unpitying, unloving, selfish life. But, besides all this, which in itself was right and proper, Dives had asked what was impossible: no intercourse could be held between Paradise and Gehenna, and on this account a great and impassable chasm existed between the two, so that, even if they would, they could not, pass from heaven to hell, nor yet from hell to those in bliss. And, although doctrinal statements should not be drawn from Parabolic illustrations, we would suggest that, at least so far as this Parable goes, it seems to preclude the hope of a gradual change or transition after a life lost in the service of sin and self.

3. Application of the Parable, showing how the Law and the Prophets cannot fail, and how we must now press into the Kingdom. It seems a strange misconception on the part of some commentators, that the next request of Dives indicates a commencing change of mind on his part. To begin with, this part of the Parable is only intended to illustrate the need, and the sole means of conversion to God – the appeal to the Law and the Prophets being the more apt that the Pharisees made their boast of them, and the refusal of any special miraculous interposition the more emphatic, that the Pharisees had been asking for ‘a sign from heaven.’ Besides, it would require more than ordinary charity to discover a moral change in the desire that his brothers might – not be converted, but not come to that place of torment!

Dismissing, therefore, this idea, we now find Dives pleading that Lazarus might be sent to his five brothers, who, as we infer, were of the same disposition and life as himself had been, to ‘testify unto them’ – the word implying more than ordinary, even earnest, testimony. Presumably, what he so earnestly asked to be attested was, that he, Dives, was in torment; and the expected effect, not of the testimony but of the mission of Lazarus, whom they are supposed to have known, was, that these, his brothers, might not come to the same place. At the same time, the request seems to imply an attempt at self-justification, as if, during his life, he had not had sufficient warning. Accordingly, the reply of Abraham is no longer couched in a tone of pity, but implies stern rebuke of Dives. They need no witness-bearer: they have Moses and the Prophets, let them hear them. If testimony be needed, theirs has been given, and it is sufficient – a reply this, which would specially appeal to the Pharisees. And when Dives, now, perhaps, as much bent on self-justification as on the message to his brothers, remonstrates that, although they had not received such testimony, yet ‘if one come to them from the dead,’ they would repent, the final, and, as, alas! history has shown since the Resurrection of Christ, the true answer is, that ‘if they hear not [give not hearing to] Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be influenced [moved: their intellects to believe, their wills to repent], if one rose from the dead.’

And here the Parable, and the warning to the Pharisees, abruptly break off. When next we hear the Master’s voice, it is in loving application to the disciples of some of the lessons which were implied in what He had spoken to the Pharisees.

(Luk_18:1-14; Mat_18:23-35)

If we were to seek confirmation of the suggestion that these last and the two preceding Parables are grouped together under a common viewpoint, such as that of Righteousness, the character and position of the Parables now to be examined would supply it. For, while the Parable of the Unjust Judge evidently bears close affinity to those that had preceded – especially to that of him who persisted in his request for bread – it evidently refers not, as the other, to man’s present need, but to the Second Coming of Christ. The prayer, the perseverance, the delay, and the ultimate answer of which it speaks, are all connected with it. Indeed, it follows on what had passed on this subject immediately before – first, between the Pharisees and Christ, and then between Christ and the disciples.

Again, we must bear in mind that between the Parable of Dives and Lazarus and that of the Unjust Judge, not, indeed, a great interval of time, but most momentous events, had intervened. These were: the visit of Jesus to Bethany, the raising of Lazarus, the Jerusalem council against Christ, the flight to Ephraim, a brief stay and preaching there, and the commencement of His last journey to Jerusalem. During this last slow journey from the borders of Galilee to Jerusalem, we suppose the Discourses and the Parable about the Coming of the Son of Man to have been spoken. And although such utterances will be best considered in connection with Christ’s later and full Discourses about ‘The Last Things,’ we readily perceive, even at this stage, how, when He set His Face towards Jerusalem, there to be offered up, thoughts and words concerning the ‘End’ may have entered into all His teaching, and so have given occasion for the questions of the Pharisees and disciples, and for the answers of Christ, alike by Discourse and in Parable.

The most common and specious, but also the most serious mistake in reference to the Parable of ‘the Unjust Judge,’ is to regard it as implying that, just as the poor widow insisted in her petition and was righted because of her insistence, so the disciples should persist in prayer and would be heard because of their insistence. But this is an entirely false interpretation. When treating of the Parable of the Unrighteous Steward, we disclaimed all merely mechanical ideas of prayer, as if God heard us for our many repetitions. This error must here also be carefully avoided. The inference from the Parable is not, that the Church will be ultimately vindicated because she perseveres in prayer, but that she so perseveres, because God will surely right her cause: it is not, that insistence in prayer is the cause of its answer, but that the certainty of that which is asked for should lead to continuance in prayer, even when all around seems to forbid the hope of answer. This is the lesson to be learned from a comparison of the Unjust Judge with the Just and Holy God in His dealings with His own. If the widow persevered, knowing that, although no other consideration, human or Divine, would influence the Unjust Judge, yet her insistence would secure its object, how much more should we ‘not faint,’ but continue in prayer, who are appealing to God, Who has His people and His cause at heart, even though He delay, remembering also that even this is for their sakes who pray. And this is fully expressed in the introductory words. ‘He spake also a Parable to them with reference to the need be (πρὸς τὸ δεῖν) of their always praying and not fainting.’

The remarks just made will remove what otherwise might seem another serious difficulty. If it be asked, how the conduct of the Unjust Judge could serve as illustration of what might be expected from God, we answer, that the lesson in the Parable is not from the similarity but from the contrast between the Unrighteous human and the Righteous Divine Judge. ‘Hear what the Unrighteous Judge saith. But God [mark the emphatic position of the word], shall He not indeed [οὐ μή] vindicate [the injuries of, do judgment for] His elect…?’ In truth, this mode of argument is perhaps the most common in Jewish Parables, and occurs on almost every page of ancient Rabbinic commentaries. It is called the qal vaḥomer, ‘light and heavy,’ and answers to our reasoning a fortiori or de minore ad majus (from the less to the greater). According to the Rabbis, ten instances of such reasoning occur in the Old Testament itself. Generally, such reasoning is introduced by the words qal vaḥomer: often it is prefaced by Al aḥaṯ kamah vekamah, ‘against one how much and how much,’ that is, ‘how much more.’ Thus, it is argued that, ‘if a King of flesh and blood’ did so and so, shall not the King of Kings, etc.; or, if the sinner received such and such, shall not the righteous, etc.? In the present Parable the reasoning would be: ‘If the Judge of Unrighteousness’ said that he would vindicate, shall not the Judge of all Righteousness do judgment on behalf of His Elect? In fact, we have all exact Rabbinic parallel to the thought underlying, and the lesson derived from this Parable. When describing, how at the preaching of Jonah Nineveh repented and cried to God, His answer to the loud persistent cry of the people is thus explained: ‘The bold (he who is unabashed) conquers even a wicked person [to grant him his request], how much more the All-Good of the world!’

The Parable opens by laying down as a general principle the necessity and duty of the Disciples always to pray – the precise meaning being defined by the opposite, or limited clause: ‘not to faint,’ that is, not ‘to become weary.’ The word ‘always’ must not be understood in respect of time, as if it meant continuously, but at all times, in the sense of under all circumstances, however apparently adverse, when it might seem as if an answer could not come, and we would therefore be in danger of ‘fainting’ or becoming weary. This rule applies here primarily to that ‘weariness’ which might lead to the cessation of prayer for the Coming of the Lord, or of expectancy of it, daring the long period when it seems as if He delayed His return, nay, as if increasingly there were no likelihood of it. But it may also be applied to all similar circumstances, when prayer seems so long unanswered that weariness in praying threatens to overtake us. Thus, it is argued, even in Jewish writings, that a man should never be deterred from, nor cease praying, the illustration by qal vaḥomer being from the case of Moses, who knew that it was decreed he should not enter the land, and yet continued praying about it.

The Parable introduces to us a Judge in a city, and a widow. Except where a case was voluntarily submitted for arbitration rather than judgment, or judicial advice was sought of a sage, one man could not have formed a Jewish tribunal. Besides, his mode of speaking and acting is inconsistent with such a hypothesis. He must therefore have been one of the Judges, or municipal authorities, appointed by Herod or the Romans – perhaps a Jew, but not a Jewish Judge. Possibly, he may have been a police-magistrate, or one who had some function of that kind delegated to him. We know that, at least in Jerusalem, there were two stipendiary magistrates (dayyanē gezeroṯ ), whose duty it was to see to the observance of all police-regulations and the prevention of crime. Unlike the regular Judges, who attended only on certain days and hours, and were unpaid, these magistrates were, so to speak, always on duty, and hence unable to engage in any other occupation. It was probably for this reason that they were paid out of the Temple-Treasury, and received so large a salary as 225l., or, if needful, even more. On account of this, perhaps also for their unjust exactions, Jewish wit designated them, by a play on the words, as dayyaney gezeloṯ – Robber-Judges, instead of their real title of dayyaney gezeroṯ (Judges of Prohibitions, or else of Punishments). It may have been that there were such Jewish magistrates in other places also. Josephus speaks of local magistracies.  At any rate there were in every locality police-officials, who watched over order and law. The Talmud speaks in very depreciatory terms of these ‘village-Judges’ (dayyaney demegista), in opposition to the town tribunals (bē davar), and accuses them of ignorance, arbitrariness, and covetousness, so that for a dish of meat they would pervert justice. Frequent instances are also mentioned of gross injustice and bribery in regard to the non-Jewish Judges in Palestine.

It is to such a Judge that the Parable refers – one who was consciously, openly, and avowedly inaccessible to the highest motive, the fear of God, and not even restrained by the lower consideration of regard for public opinion. It is an extreme case, intended to illustrate the exceeding unlikelihood of justice being done. For the same purpose, the party seeking justice at his hands is described as a poor, unprotected widow. But we must also bear in mind, in the interpretation of this Parable, that the Church, whom she represents, is also widowed in the absence of her Lord. To return – this widow ‘came’ to the Unjust Judge (the imperfect tense in the original indicating repeated, even continuous coming), with the urgent demand to be vindicated of her adversary, that is, that the Judge should make legal inquiry, and by a decision set her right as against him at whose hands she was suffering wrong. For reasons of his own he would not; and this continued for a while. At last, not from any higher principle, nor even from regard for public opinion – both of which, indeed, as he avowed to himself, had no weight with him – he complied with her request, as the text (literally translated) has it: ‘Yet at any rate because this widow troubleth me, I will do justice for her, lest, in the end, coming she bruise me – do personal violence to me, attack me bodily. Then follows the grand inference from it: If the ‘Judge of Unrighteousness’ speak thus, shall not the Judge of all Righteousness – God – do judgment, vindicate [by His Coming to judgment and so setting right the wrong done to His Church] ‘His Elect, which cry to Him day and night, although He suffer long on account of them ‘delay His final interposition of judgment and mercy, and that, not as the Unjust Judge, but for their own sakes, in order that the number of the Elect may all be gathered in, and they fully prepared?

Difficult as the rendering of this last clause admittedly is, our interpretation of it seems confirmed by the final application of this Parable. Taking the previous verse along with it, we would have this double Parallelism: ‘But God, shall He not vindicate [do judgment on behalf of] His Elect?’ ‘I tell you, that He will do judgment on behalf of them shortly’ – this word being chosen rather than ‘speedily’ (as in the A. and R.V.), because the latter might convey the idea of a sudden interposition, such as is not implied in the expression. This would be the first Parallelism; the second this: ‘Although He suffer long [delay His final interposition] on account of them’ (Luk_18:7), to which the second clause of Luk_18:8 would correspond, as offering the explanation and vindication: ‘But the Son of Man, when He have come, shall He find the faith upon the earth?’ It is a terribly sad question, as put by Him Who is the Christ: After all this long-suffering delay, shall He find the faith upon the earth – intellectual belief on the part of one class, and on the part of the Church the faith of the heart which trusts in, longs, and prays, because it expects and looks for His Coming, all undisturbed by the prevailing unbelief around, only quickened by it to more intensity of prayer! Shall He find it? Let the history of the Church, nay, each man’s heart, make answer!

2. The Parable of the Pharisee and the Publican, which follows, is only internally connected with that of ‘the Unjust Judge.’ It is a not unrighteousness, but of self-righteousness – and this, both in its positive and negative aspects: as trust in one’s own state, and as contempt of others. Again, it has also this connection with the previous Parable, that, whereas that of the Unrighteous Judge pointed to continuance, this to humility in prayer.

The introductory clause shows that it has no connection in point of time with what had preceded, although the interval between the two may, of course, have been very short. Probably, something had taken place, which is not recorded, to occasion this Parable, which, if not directly addressed to the Pharisees, is to such as are of Pharisaic spirit. It brings before us two men going up to the Temple – whether ‘at the hour of prayer,’ or otherwise, is not stated. Remembering that, with the exception of the Ps for the day and the interval for a certain proscribed prayer, the service in the Temple was entirely sacrificial, we are thankful for such glimpses, which show that, both in the time of public service, and still more at other times, the Temple was made the place of private prayer. On the present occasion the two men, who went together to the entrance of the Temple, represented the two religious extremes in Jewish society. To the entrance of the Temple, but no farther, did the Pharisee and the Publican go together. Within the sacred enclosure – before God, where man should least have made it, began their separation. ‘The Pharisee put himself by himself, and prayed thus: O God, I thank Thee that I am not as the rest of men – extortioners, unjust, adulterers – nor also as this Publican [there].’ Never, perhaps, were words of thanksgiving spoken in less thankfulness than these. For, thankfulness implies the acknowledgment of a gift; hence, a sense of not having had ourselves what we have received; in other words, then, a sense of our personal need, or humility. But the very first act of this Pharisee had been to separate himself from all the other worshippers, and notably from the Publican, whom, as his words show, he had noticed, and looked down upon. His thanksgiving referred not to what he had received, but to the sins of others by which they were separated from him, and to his own meritorious deeds by which he was separated from them. Thus, his words expressed what his attitude indicated; and both were the expression, not of thankfulness, but of boastfulness. It was the same as their bearing at the feast and in public places; the same as their contempt and condemnation of ‘the rest of men,’ and especially ‘the publicans;’ the same that even their designation – ‘Pharisees,’ ‘Separated ones,’ implied. The ‘rest of men’ might be either the Gentiles, or, more probably, the common unlearned people, the Am haAreṣ, whom they accused or suspected of every possible sin, according to their fundamental principle: ‘The unlearned cannot be pious.’ And, in their sense of that term, they were right – and in this lies the condemnation of their righteousness. And, most painful though it be, remembering the downright earnestness and zeal of these men, it must be added that, as we read the Liturgy of the Synagogue, we come ever and again upon such and similar thanksgiving – that they are ‘not as the rest of men.’

But this was not all. From looking down upon others the Pharisee proceeded to look up to himself. Here Talmudic writings offer painful parallelisms. They are full of references to the merits of the just, to ‘the merits and righteousness of the fathers,’ or else of Israel in taking upon itself the Law. And for the sake of these merits and of that righteousness, Israel, as a nation, expects general acceptance, pardon, and temporal benefits – for, all spiritual benefits Israel as a nation, and the pious in Israel individually, possess already, nor do they need to get them from heaven, since they can and do work them out for themselves. And here the Pharisee in the Parable significantly dropped even the form of thanksgiving. The religious performances which he enumerated are those which mark the Pharisee among the Pharisees: ‘I fast twice a week, and I give tithes of all that I acquire.’ The first of these was in pursuance of the custom of some ‘more righteous than the rest,’ who, as previously explained, fasted on the second and fifth days of the week (Mondays and Thursdays). But, perhaps, we should not forget that these were also the regular market days, when the country-people came to the towns, and there were special Services in the Synagogues, and the local Sanhedrin met – so that these saints in Israel would, at the same time, attract and receive special notice for their fasts. As for the boast about giving tithes of all that he acquired – and not merely of his land, fruits, etc. – it has already been explained, that this was one of the distinctive characteristics of ‘the sect of the Pharisees.’ Their practice in this respect may be summed up in these words of the Mishnah: ‘He tithes all that he eats, all that he sells, and all that he buys, and he is not a guest with an unlearned person [Am haAreṣ, so as not possibly to partake of what may have been left untithed].’

Although it may not be necessary, yet one or two quotations will help to show how truly this picture of the Pharisee was taken from life. Thus, the following prayer of a Rabbi is recorded: ‘I thank Thee, O Lord my God, that Thou hast put my part with those who sit in the Academy, and not with those who sit at the corners [money-changers and traders]. For, I rise early and they rise early: I rise early to the words of the Law, and they to vain things. I labour and they labour: I labour and receive a reward, they labour and receive no reward. I run and they run: I run to the life of the world to come, and they to the pit of destruction.’ Even more closely parallel is this thanksgiving, which a Rabbi puts into the mouth of Israel: ‘Lord of the world, judge me not as those who dwell in the big towns [such as Rome]: among whom there is robbery, and uncleanness, and vain and false swearing.’ Lastly, as regards the boastful spirit of Rabbinism, we recall such painful sayings as those of Rabbi Simeon ben Jochai, to which reference has already been made – notably this, that if there were only two righteous men in the world, he and his son were these; and if only one, it was he!

The second picture, or scene, in the Parable sets before us the reverse state of feeling from that of the Pharisee. Only, we must bear in mind, that, as the Pharisee is not blamed for his giving of thanks, nor yet for his good-doing, real or imaginary, so the prayer of the Publican is not answered, because he was a sinner. In both cases what decides the rejection or acceptance of the prayer is, whether or not it was prayer. The Pharisee retains the righteousness which he had claimed for himself, whatever its value; and the Publican receives the righteousness which he asks: both have what they desire before God. If the Pharisee ‘stood by himself,’ apart from others, so did the Publican: ‘standing afar off,’ viz. from the Pharisee – quite far back, as became one who felt himself unworthy to mingle with God’s people. In accordance with this: ‘He would not so much as lift his eyes to heaven,’ as men generally do in prayer, ‘but smote his breast’ – as the Jews still do in the most solemn part of their confession on the Day of Atonement – ‘saying, God be merciful to me the sinner.’ The definite article is used to indicate that he felt, as if he alone were a sinner – nay, the sinner. Not only, as has been well remarked, ‘does he not think of any one else’ (de nemine alio homine cogitat), while the Pharisee had thought of every one else; but, as he had taken a position not in front of, but behind, every one else, so, in contrast to the Pharisee, who had regarded every one but himself as a sinner, the Publican regarded every one else as righteous compared with him ‘the sinner.’ And, while the Pharisee felt no need, and uttered no petition, the Publican felt only need, and uttered only petition. The one appealed to himself for justice, the other appealed to God for mercy.

More complete contrast, therefore, could not be imagined. And once more, as between the Pharisee and the Publican, the seeming and the real, that before men and before God, there is sharp contrast, and the lesson which Christ had so often pointed is again set forth, not only in regard to the feelings which the Pharisees entertained, but also to the gladsome tidings of pardon to the lost: ‘I say unto you, This man went down to his house justified above the other’ [so according to the better reading, παῤ ἐκεῖνον]. In other words, the sentence of righteousness as from God with which the Publican went home was above, far better than, the sentence of righteousness as pronounced by himself, with which the Pharisee returned. This saying casts also light on such comparisons as between ‘the righteous’ elder brother and the pardoned prodigal, or the ninety-nine that ‘need no repentance’ and the lost that was found, or, on such an utterance as this: ‘Except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the Scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. And so the Parable ends with the general principle, so often enunciated: ‘For every one that exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted. And with this general teaching of the Parable fully accords the instruction of Christ to His disciples concerning the reception of little children, which immediately follows.

3. The Parable with which this series closes – that of the Unmerciful Servant, can be treated more briefly, since the circumstances leading up to it have already been explained in chapter 3 of this Book. We are now reaching the point where the solitary narrative of Luke again merges with those of the other Evangelists. That the Parable was spoken before Christ’s final journey to Jerusalem, appears from Matthew’s Gospel. On the other hand, as we compare what in the Gospel by Luke follows on the Parable of the Pharisee and Publican with the circumstances in which the Parable of the Unmerciful Servant is introduced, we cannot fail to perceive inward connection between the narratives of the two Evangelists, confirming the conclusion, arrived at on other grounds, that the Parable of the Unmerciful Servant belongs to the Peraean series, and closes it.

Its connection with the Parable of the Pharisee and the Publican lies in this, that Pharisaic self-righteousness and contempt of others may easily lead to unforgiveness and unmercifulness, which are utterly incompatible with a sense of our own need of Divine mercy and forgiveness. And so in the Gospel of Matthew this Parable follows on the exhibition of a self-righteous, unmerciful spirit, which would reckon up how often we should forgive, forgetful of our own need of absolute and unlimited pardon at the hands of God – a spirit, moreover, of harshness, that could look down upon Christ’s ‘little ones,’ in forgetfulness of our own need perhaps of cutting off even a right hand or foot to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

In studying this Parable, we must once more remind ourselves of the general canon of the need of distinguishing between what is essential in a Parable, as directly bearing on its lessons, and what is merely introduced for the sake of the Parable itself, to give point to its main teaching. In the present instance, no sober interpreter would regard of the essence of the Parable the King’s command to sell into slavery the first debtor, together with his wife and children. It is simply a historical trait, introducing what in analogous circumstances might happen in real life, in order to point the lesson, that a man’s strict desert before God is utter, hopeless, and eternal ruin and loss. Similarly, when the promise of the debtor is thus introduced: ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay thee all,’ it can only be to complete in a natural manner the first part of the Parabolic history and to prepare for the second, in which forbearance is asked by a fellow-servant for the small debt which he owes. Lastly, in the same manner, the recall of the King’s original forgiveness of the great debtor can only be intended to bring out the utter incompatibility of such harshness towards a brother on the part of one who has been consciously forgiven by God his great debt.

Thus keeping apart the essentials of the Parable from the accidents of its narration, we have three distinct scenes, or parts, in this story. In the first, our new feelings towards our brethren are traced to our new relation towards God, as the proper spring of all our thinking, speaking, and acting. Notably, as regards forgiveness, we are to remember the Kingdom of God: ‘Therefore has the Kingdom of God become like’ – ‘therefore:’ in order that thereby we may learn the duty of absolute, not limited, forgiveness – not that of ‘seven,’ but of ‘seventy times seven.’ And now this likeness of the Kingdom of Heaven is set forth in the Parable of ‘a man, a King’ (as the Rabbis would have expressed it, ‘a king of flesh and blood’), who would ‘make his reckoning’ (συναιρειν) ‘with his servants’ – certainly not his bondservants, but probably the governors of his provinces, or those who had charge of the revenue and finances. ‘But after he had begun to reckon’ – not necessarily at the very beginning of it – ‘one was brought to him, a debtor of ten thousand talents.’ Reckoning them only as Attic talents (‘talent = 60 minas = 6,000 dinars) this would amount to the enormous sum of about two and a quarter millions sterling. No wonder, that one who during his administration had been guilty of such peculation, or else culpable negligence, should as the words ‘brought to him’ imply, have been reluctant to face the king. The Parable further implies, that the debt was admitted; and hence, in the course of ordinary judicial procedure – according to the Law of Moses, and the universal code of antiquity – that ‘servant,’ with his family and all his property, was ordered to be sold, and the returns paid into the treasury.

Of course, it is not suggested that the ‘payment’ thus made had met his debt. Even this would, if need were, confirm the view, previously expressed, that this trait belongs not to the essentials of the Parable, but to the details of the narrative. So does the promise, with which the now terrified ‘servant,’ as he cast himself at the feet of the King, supported his plea for patience: ‘I will pay thee all.’ In truth, the narrative takes no notice of this, but, on the other hand, states: ‘But, being moved with compassion, the lord of that servant released him [from the bondage decreed, and which had virtually begun with his sentence], and the debt forgave he him.’ A more accurate representation of our relation to God could not be made. We are the debtors of our heavenly King, Who has entrusted to us the administration of what is His, and which we have purloined or misused, incurring an unspeakable debt, which we can never discharge, and of which, in the course of justice, unending bondage, misery, and utter ruin would be the proper sequence. But, if in humble repentance we cast ourselves at His Feet, He is ready, in infinite compassion, not only to release us from meet punishment, but – O blessed revelation of the Gospel! – to forgive us the debt.

It is this new relationship to God which must be the foundation and the rule for our new relationship towards our fellow-servants. And this brings us to the second part, or scene in this Parable. Here the lately pardoned servant finds one of his fellow-servants, who owes him the small sum of 100 dinars, about 4l. 10s. Mark now the sharp contrast, which is so drawn as to give point to the Parable. In the first case, it was the servant brought to account, and that before the King; here it is a servant finding and that his fellow-servant; in the first case, he owed talents, in the second dinars (a six-thousandth part of them); in the first, ten thousand talents; in the second, one hundred dinars. Again, in the first case payment is only demanded, while in the second the man takes his fellow-servant by the throat – a not uncommon mode of harshness on the part of Roman creditors – and says: ‘Pay what,’ or according to the better reading, ‘if thou owest anything.’ And, lastly, although the words of the second debtor are almost the same as those in which the first debtor besought the King’s patience, yet no mercy is shown, but he is ‘cast’ [with violence] into prison, till he have paid what was due.

It can scarcely be necessary to show the incongruousness or the guilt of such conduct. But this is the object of the third part, or scene, in the Parable. Here – again for the sake of pictorialness – the other servants are introduced as exceedingly sorry, no doubt about the fate of their fellow-servant, especially in the circumstances of the case. Then they come to their lord, and ‘clearly set forth,’ or ‘explain’ (διασαφεῖν) what had happened, upon which the Unmerciful Servant is summoned, and addressed as ‘wicked servant,’ not only because he had not followed the example of his lord, but because, after having received such immense favour as the entire remission of his debt on entreating his master, to have refused to the entreaty of his fellow-servant even a brief delay in the payment of a small sum, argued want of all mercy and positive wickedness. And the words are followed by the manifestations of righteous anger. As he has done, so is it done to him – and this is the final application of the Parable. He is delivered to the ‘tormentors,’ not in the sense of being tormented by them, which would scarcely have been just, but in that of being handed over to such keepers of the prison, to whom criminals who were to be tortured were delivered, and who executed such punishment on them: in other words he is sent to the hardest and severest prison, there to remain till he should pay all that was due by him – that is, in the circumstances, for ever. And here we may again remark, without drawing any dogmatic inferences from the language of the Parable, that it seems to proceed on these two assumptions: that suffering neither expiates guilt, nor in itself amends the guilty, and that as sin has incurred a debt that can never be discharged, so the banishment, or rather the loss and misery of it, will be endless.

We pause to notice, how near Rabbinism has come to this Parable, and yet how far it is from its sublime teaching. At the outset we recall that unlimited forgiveness – or, indeed, for more than the farthest limit of three times – was not the doctrine of Rabbinism. It did, indeed, teach how freely God would forgive Israel, and it introduces a similar Parable of a debtor appealing to his creditor, and receiving the fullest and freest release of mercy, and it also draws from it the moral, that man should similarly show mercy: but it is not the mercy of forgiveness from the heart, but of forgiveness of money debts to the poor, or of various injuries, and the mercy of benevolence and beneficence to the wretched. But, however beautifully Rabbinism at times speaks on the subject, the Gospel conception of forgiveness, even as that of mercy, could only come by blessed experience or the infinitely higher forgiveness, and the incomparably greater mercy, which the pardoned sinner has received in Christ from our Father in Heaven.

But to us all there is the deepest seriousness in the warning against unmercifulness; and that, even though we remember that the case here referred to is only that of unwillingness to forgive from the heart an offending brother who actually asks for it. Yet, if not the sin, the temptation to it is very real to us all – perhaps rather unconsciously to ourselves than consciously. For, how often is our forgiveness in the heart, as well as from the heart, narrowed by limitations and burdened with conditions; and is it not of the very essence of sectarianism to condemn without mercy him who does not come up to our demands – ay, and until he shall have come up to them to the uttermost farthing?

(Luk_13:23-30; Luk_13:31-35; Luk_14:1-11; Luk_14:25-35; Luk_17:1-10)

From the Parables we now turn to such Discourses of the Lord as belong to this period of His Ministry. Their consideration may be the more brief, that throughout we find points of correspondence with previous or later portions of His teaching.

Thus, the first of these Discourses, of which we have an outline, recalls some passages in the ‘Sermon on the Mount,’  as well as what our Lord had said on the occasion of healing the servant of the centurion. But, to take the first of these parallelisms, the differences are only the more marked for the similarity of form. These prove incontestably, not only the independence of the two Evangelists in their narratives, but, along with deeper underlying unity of thought in the teaching of Christ, its different application to different circumstances and persons. Let us mark this in the Discourse as outlined by Luke, and so gain fresh evidential confirmation of the trust-worthiness of the Evangelic records.

The words of our Lord, as recorded by Luke, are not spoken, as in ‘The Sermon on the Mount,’ in connection with His teaching to His disciples, but are in reply to a question addressed to Him by some one – we call scarcely doubt, a representative of the Pharisees: ‘Lord, are they few, the saved ones [that are being saved]?’ Viewed in connection with Christ’s immediately preceding teaching about the Kingdom of God in its wide and deep spread, as the great Mustard-Tree from the tiniest seed, and as the Leaven hid, which pervaded three measures of meal, we can scarcely doubt that the word ‘saved’ bore reference, not to the eternal state of the soul, but to admission to the benefits of the Kingdom of God – the Messianic Kingdom, with its privileges and its judgments, such as the Pharisees understood it. The question, whether ‘few’ were to be saved, could not have been put from the Pharisaic point of view, if understood of personal salvation; while, on the other hand, if taken as applying to part in the near-expected Messianic Kingdom, it has its distinct parallel in the Rabbinic statement, that, as regarded the days of the Messiah (His Kingdom), it would be similar to what it had been at the entrance into the land of promise, when only two (Joshua and Caleb), out of all that generation, were allowed to have part in it. Again, it is only when understanding both the question of this Pharisee and the reply of our Lord as applying to the Kingdom of the Messiah – though each viewing ‘the Kingdom’ from his own standpoint – that we can understand the answering words of Christ in their natural and obvious sense, without either straining or adding to them a dogmatic gloss, such as could not have occurred to His hearers at the time.

Thus viewed, we can mark the characteristic differences between this Discourse and the parallels in ‘the Sermon on the Mount,’ and understand their reason. As regarded entrance into the Messianic Kingdom, this Pharisee, and those whom he represented, are told, that this Kingdom was not theirs, as a matter of course – their question as to the rest of the world being only, whether few or many would share in it – but that all must ‘struggle [agonise] to enter in through the narrow door.’ When we remember, that in ‘the Sermon on the Mount’ the call was only to ‘enter in,’ we feel that we have now reached a period, when the access to ‘the narrow door’ was obstructed by the enmity of so many, and when it needed ‘violence’ to break through, and ‘take the Kingdom’ ‘by force.’ This personal breaking through the opposing multitude, in order to enter in through the narrow door, was in opposition to the many – the Pharisees and Jews generally – who were seeking to enter in, in their own way, never doubting success, but who would discover their terrible mistake. Then, ‘when once the Master of the house is risen up,’ to welcome His guests to the banquet, and has shut to the door, while they, standing without, vainly call upon Him to open it, and He replies: ‘I know you not whence ye are,’ would they begin to remind Him of those covenant-privileges on which, as Israel after the flesh, they had relied (‘we have eaten and drunk in Thy presence, and Thou hast taught in our streets’). To this He would reply by a repetition of His former words, now seen to imply a disavowal of all mere outward privileges, as constituting a claim to the Kingdom, grounding alike His disavowal and His refusal to open on their inward contrariety to the King and His Kingdom: ‘Depart from Me, all ye workers of iniquity.’ It was a banquet to the friends of the King: the inauguration of His Kingdom. When they found the door shut, they would, indeed, knock, in the confident expectation that their claims would at once be recognised, and they admitted. And when the Master of the house did not recognise them, as they had expected, and they reminded Him of their outward connection, He only repeated the same words as before, since it was not outward but inward relationship that qualified the guests, and theirs was not friendship, but antagonism to Him. Terrible would then be their sorrow and anguish, when they would see their own patriarchs (‘we have eaten and drunk in Thy Presence’) and their own prophets (‘Thou hast taught in our streets’) within, and yet themselves were excluded from what was peculiarly theirs – while from all parts of the heathen world the welcome guests would flock to the joyous feast. And here pre-eminently would the savings hold good, in opposition to Pharisaic claims and self-righteousness: ‘There are last which shall be first, and there are first which shall be last.’

As a further characteristic difference from the parallel passage in ‘the Sermon on the Mount,’ we note, that there the reference seems not to any special privileges in connection with the Messianic Kingdom, such as the Pharisees expected, but to admission into the Kingdom of Heaven generally. In regard to the latter also the highest outward claims would be found unavailing; but the expectation of admission was grounded rather on what was done, than on mere citizenship and its privileges. And here it deserves special notice, that in Luke’s Gospel, where the claim is that of fellow-citizenship (‘eaten and drunk in Thy Presence, and Thou hast taught in our streets’), the reply is made, ‘I know you not whence ye are;’ while in ‘the Sermon on the Mount,’ where the claim is of what they had done in His Name, they are told: ‘I never knew you.’ In both cases the disavowal emphatically bears on the special plea which had been set up. With this, another slight difference may be connected, which is not brought out in the Authorised or in the Revised Version. Both in the ‘Sermon on the Mount’ and in Luke’s Gospel, they who are bidden depart are designated as ‘workers of iniquity.’ But, whereas, in Matthew’s Gospel the term (ἀνομία) really means ‘lawlessness,’ the word used in that of Luke should be rendered ‘unrighteousness’ (ἀδικία). Thus, the one class are excluded, despite the deeds which they plead, for their real contrariety to God’s Law; the other, despite the plea of citizenship and privileges, for their unrighteousness. And here we may also note, as a last difference between the two Gospels, that in the prediction of the future bliss from which they were to be excluded, the Gospel of Luke, which had reported the plea that He had ‘taught’ in their ‘streets,’ adds, as it were in answer, to the names of the Patriarchs, mention of ‘all the prophets.’

2. The next Discourse, noted by Luke, had been spoken ‘in that very day,’ as the last. It was occasioned by a pretended warning of ‘certain of the Pharisees’ to depart from Peraea, which, with Galilee, was the territory of Herod Antipas, as else the Tetrarch would kill Him. We have previously shown reason for supposing secret intrigues between the Pharisaic party and Herod, and attributing the final imprisonment of the Baptist, at least in part, to their machinations. We also remember, how the conscience of the Tetrarch connected Christ with His murdered Forerunner, and that rightly, since, at least so far as the Pharisees wrought on the fears of that intensely jealous and suspicious prince, the imprisonment of John was as much due to his announcement of the Messiah as to the enmity of Herodias. On these grounds we can easily understand that Herod should have wished to see Jesus, not merely to ratify curiosity, nor in obedience to superstitious impulses, but to convince himself, whether He was really what was said of Him, and also to get Him into his power. Probably, therefore, the danger of which these Pharisees spoke might have been real enough, and they might have special reasons for knowing of it. But their suggestion, that Jesus should depart, could only have proceeded from a ruse to get Him out of Peraea, where, evidently, His works of healing were largely attracting and influencing the people.

But if our Lord would not be deterred by the fears of His disciples from going into Judaea, feeling that each one had his appointed working day, in the light of which he was safe, and during the brief duration of which he was bound to ‘walk,’ far less would He recede before His enemies. Pointing to their secret intrigues, He bade them, if they chose, go back to ‘that fox,’ and give to his low cunning, and to all similar attempts to hinder or arrest His Ministry, what would be a decisive answer, since it unfolded what He clearly foresaw in the near future. ‘Depart’? – yes, ‘depart’ ye to tell ‘that fox,’ I have still a brief and an appointed time to work, and then ‘I am perfected,’ in the sense in which we all readily understand the expression, as applying to His Work and Mission. ‘Depart!’ ‘Yes, I must “depart,” or go My brief appointed time: I know that at the goal of it is death, yet not at the hands of Herod, but in Jerusalem, the slaughter-house of them that “teach in her streets.”’

And so, remembering that this message to Herod was spoken in the very day, perhaps the very hour that He had declared how falsely ‘the workers of wickedness’ claimed admission on account of the ‘teaching in their streets,’ and that they would be excluded from the fellowship, not only of the fathers, but of ‘all the prophets’ whom they called their own – we see peculiar meaning in the reference to Jerusalem as the place where all the prophets perished. One, Who in no way indulged in illusions, but know that He had an appointed time, during which He would work, and at the end of which He would ‘perish,’ and where He would so perish, could not be deterred either by the intrigues of the Pharisees nor by the thought of what a Herod might attempt – not do, which latter was in far other hands. But the thought of Jerusalem – of what it was, what it might have been, and what would come to it – may well have forced from the lips of Him, Who wept over it, a cry of mingled anguish, love, and warning. It may, indeed, be, that these very words, which are reported by Matthew in another, and manifestly most suitable, connection,  are here quoted by Luke, because they fully express the thought to which Christ here first gave distinct utterance. But some such words, we can scarcely doubt, He did speak even now, when pointing to His near Decease in Jerusalem.

3. The next in order of the Discourses recorded by Luke is that which prefaced the Parable of ‘the Great Supper,’ expounded in a previous chapter. The Rabbinic views on the Sabbath-Law have been so fully explained, that a very brief commentation will here suffice. It appears, that the Lord condescended to accept the invitation to a Sabbath-meal in the house ‘of one of the Rulers of the Pharisees’ – perhaps one of the Rulers of the Synagogue in which they had just worshipped, and where Christ may have taught. Without here discussing the motives for this invitation, its acceptance was certainly made use of to ‘watch Him.’ And the man with the dropsy had, no doubt, been introduced for a treacherous purpose, although it is not necessary to suppose that he himself had been privy to it. On the other hand, it is characteristic of the gracious Lord, that, with full knowledge of their purpose, He sat down with such companions, and that He did His Work of power and love unrestrained by their evil thoughts. But, even so, He must turn their wickedness also to good account. Yet we mark, that He first dismissed the man healed of the dropsy before He reproved the Pharisees. It was better so – for the sake of the guests, and for the healed man himself, whose mind quite new and blessed Sabbath-thoughts would fill, to which all controversy would be jarring.

And, after his departure, the Lord first spake to them, as was His wont, concerning their misapplication of the Sabbath-Law, to which, indeed, their own practice gave the lie. They deemed it unlawful ‘to heal’ on the Sabbath-day, though, when He read their thoughts and purposes as against Him, they would not answer His question on the point. And yet, if ‘a son, or even an ox,’ of any of them, had ‘fallen into a pit,’ they would have found some valid legal reason for pulling him out! Then, as to their Sabbath-feast, and their invitation to Him, when thereby they wished to lure Him to evil – and, indeed, their much-boasted hospitality: all was characteristic of these Pharisees – only external show, with utter absence of all real love; only self-assumption, pride, and self-righteousness, together with contempt of all who were regarded as religiously or intellectually beneath them – chiefly of ‘the unlearned’ and ‘sinners,’ those in ‘the streets and lanes’ of their city, whom they considered as ‘the poor, and the maimed, and the halt, and the blind.’ Even among themselves there was strife about ‘the first places’ – such as, perhaps, Christ had on that occasion witnessed, amidst mock professions of humility, when, perhaps, the master of the house had afterwards, in true Pharisaic fashion, proceeded to re-arrange the guests according to their supposed dignity. And even the Rabbis had given advice to the same effect as Christ’s – and of this His words may have reminded them.

But further – addressing him who had so treacherously bidden Him to this feast, Christ showed how the principle of Pharisaism consisted in self-seeking, to the necessary exclusion of all true love. Referring, for the fuller explanation of His meaning, to a previous chapter, we content ourselves here with the remark, that this self-seeking and self-righteousness appeared even in what, perhaps, they most boasted of – their hospitality. For, if in an earlier Jewish record we read the beautiful words: ‘Let thy house be open towards the street, and let the poor be the sons of thy house,’ we have, also, this later comment on them, that Job had thus had his house opened to the four quarters of the globe for the poor, and that, when his calamities befell him, he remonstrated with God on the ground of his merits in this respect, to which answer was made, that he had in this matter come very far short of the merits of Abraham. So entirely self-introspective and self-seeking did Rabbinism become, and so contrary was its outcome to the spirit of Christ, the inmost meaning of Whose Work, as well as Words, was entire self-forgetfulness and self-surrender in love.

4. In the fourth Discourse recorded by Luke, we pass from the parenthetic account of that Sabbath-meal in the house of the ‘Ruler of the Pharisees,’ back to where the narrative of the Pharisees’ threat about Herod and the reply of Jesus had left us. And, if proof were required of the great influence exercised by Jesus, and which, as we have suggested, led to the attempt of the Pharisees to induce Christ to leave Peraea, it would be found in the opening notice, as well as in the Discourse itself which He spoke. Christ did depart – from that place, though not yet from Peraea; but with Him ‘went great multitudes.’ And, in view of their professed adhesion, it was needful, and now more emphatically than ever, to set before them all that discipleship really involved, alike of cost and of strength – the two latter points being illustrated by brief ‘Parables’ (in the wider sense of that term). Substantially, it was only what Christ had told the Twelve, when He sent them on their first Mission. Only it was now cast in a far stronger mould, as befitted the altered circumstances, in the near prospect of Christ’s condemnation, with all that this would involve to His followers.

At the outset we mark, that we are not here told what constituted the true disciple, but what would prevent a man from becoming such. Again, it was now no longer (as in the earlier address to the Twelve), that he who loved the nearest and dearest of earthly kin more than Christ – and hence clave to such rather than to Him – was not worthy of Him; nor that he who did not take his cross and follow after Him was not worthy of the Christ. Since then the enmity had ripened, and discipleship become impossible without actual renunciation of the nearest relationship, and, more than that, of life itself. Of course, the term ‘hate’ does not imply hatred of parents or relatives, or of life, in the ordinary sense. But it points to this, that, as outward separation, consequent upon men’s antagonism to Christ, was before them in the near future, so, in the present, inward separation, a renunciation in mind and heart, preparatory to that outwardly, was absolutely necessary. And this immediate call was illustrated in twofold manner. A man who was about to begin building a tower, must count the cost of his undertaking. It was not enough that he was prepared to defray the expense of the foundations; he must look to the cost of the whole. So must they, in becoming disciples, look not on what was involved in the present following of Christ, but remember the cost of the final acknowledgment of Jesus. Again, if a king went to war, common prudence would lead him to consider whether his forces were equal to the great contest before him; else it were far better to withdraw in time, even though it involved humiliation, from what, in view of his weakness, would end in miserable defeat. So, and much more, must the intending disciple make complete inward surrender of all, deliberately counting the cost, and, in view of the coming trial, ask himself whether he had, indeed, sufficient inward strength – the force of love to Christ – to conquer. And thus discipleship, then, and, in measure, to all time, involves the necessity of complete inward surrender of everything for the love of Christ, so that if, and when, the time of outward trial comes, we may be prepared to conquer in the fight. He fights well, who has first fought and conquered within.

Or else, and here Christ breaks once more into that pithy Jewish proverb – only, oh! how aptly, applying it to His disciples – ‘Salt is good;’ ‘salt, if it have lost its savour, wherewith shall it be salted?’ We have preferred quoting the proverb in its Jewish form,  to show its popular origin. Salt in such condition was neither fit to improve the land, nor, on the other hand, to be mixed with the manure. The disciple who had lost his distinctiveness would neither benefit the land, nor was he even fit, as it were, for the dunghill, and could only be cast out. And so, let him that hath ears to hear, hear the warning!

5. We have still to consider the last Discourses of Christ before the raising of Lazarus. As being addressed to the disciples, we have to connect them with the Discourse just commented upon. In point of fact, part of these admonitions had already been spoken on a previous occasion, and that more fully, to the disciples in Galilee. Only we must again bear in mind the difference of circumstances. Here, they immediately precede the raising of Lazarus, and they form the close of Christ’s public Ministry in Peraea. Hence they come to us as Christ’s parting admonitions to His Peraean followers.

Thus viewed, they are intended to impress on the new disciples these four things: to be careful to give no offence; to be careful to take no offence; to be simple and earnest in their faith, and absolutely to trust its all-prevailing power; and yet, when they had made experience of it, not to be elated, but to remember their relation to their Master, that all was in His service, and that, after all, when everything had been done, they were but unprofitable servants. In other words, they urged upon the disciples holiness, love, faith, and service of self-surrender and humility.

Most of these points have already been considered, when explaining the similar admonitions of Christ in Galilee. The four parts of this Discourse are broken by the prayer of the Apostles, who had formerly expressed their difficulty in regard to these very requirements: ‘Add unto us faith.’ It was upon this that the Lord spake to them, for their comfort, of the absolute power of even the smallest faith, and of the service and humility of faith. The latter was couched in a Parabolic form, well calculated to impress on them those feelings which would keep them lowly. They were but servants; and, even though they had done their work, the Master expected them to serve Him, before they sat down to their own meal and rest. Yet meal and rest there would be in the end. Only, let there not be self-elation, nor weariness, nor impatience; but let the Master and His service be all in all. Surely, if ever there was emphatic protest against the fundamental idea of Pharisaism, as claiming merit and reward, it was in the closing admonition of Christ’s public Ministry in Peraea: ‘When ye shall have done all those things which are commanded you, say, We are unprofitable servants; we have done that which was our duty to do.’

And with these parting words did He most effectually and for ever separate, in heart and spirit, the Church from the Synagogue.

(Joh 11:1-54)

From listening to the teaching of Christ, we turn once more to follow His working. It will be remembered, that the visit to Bethany divides the period from the Feast of the Dedication to the last Paschal week into two parts. It also forms the prelude and preparation for the awful events of the End. For, it was on that occasion that the members of the Sanhedrin formally resolved on His Death. It now only remained to settle and carry out the plans for giving effect to their purpose.

This is one aspect of it. There is yet another and more solemn one. The raising of Lazarus marks the highest point (not in the Manifestation, but) in the ministry of our Lord; it is the climax in a history where all is miraculous – the Person, the Life, the Words, the Work. As regards Himself, we have here the fullest evidence alike of His Divinity and Humanity; as regards those who witnessed it, the highest manifestation of faith and of unbelief. Here, on this height, the two ways finally meet and part. And from this high point – not only from the resolution of the Sanhedrists, but from the raising of Lazarus – we have our first clear outlook on the Death and Resurrection of Christ, of which the raising of Lazarus was the typical prelude. From this height, also, have we an outlook upon the gathering of the Church at His empty Tomb, where the precious words spoken at the grave of Lazarus received their full meaning – till Death shall be no more. But chiefly do we now think of it as the Miracle of Miracles in the history of the Christ. He had, indeed, before this raised the dead; but it had been in far-off Galilee, and in circumstances essentially different. But now it would be one so well known as Lazarus, at the very gates of Jerusalem, in the sight of all men, and amidst surroundings which admitted not of mistake or doubt. If this Miracle be true, we instinctively feel all is true; and Spinoza was right in saying, that if he could believe the raising of Lazarus, he would tear to shreds his system, and humbly accept the creed of Christians.

But is it true? We have reached a stage in this history when such a question, always most painful, might seem almost uncalled for. For, gradually and with increasing clearness, we have learned the trustworthiness of the Evangelic records; and, as we have followed Him, the conviction has deepened into joyous assurance, that He, Who spake, lived, and wrought as none other, is in very deed the Christ of God. And yet we ask ourselves here this question again, on account of its absolute and infinite importance; because this may be regarded as the highest and decisive moment in this History; because, in truth, it is to the historical faith of the Church what the great Confession of Peter was to that of the disciples. And although such an inquiry may seem like the jarring of a discord in Heaven’s own melody, we pursue it, feeling that, in so doing, we are not discussing what is doubtful, but rather setting forth the evidence of what is certain, for the confirmation of the faith of our hearts, and, as we humbly trust, for the establishment of the faith as it is in Jesus.

At the outset, we must here once more meet, however briefly, the preliminary difficulty in regard to Miracles, of which the raising of Lazarus is, we shall not say, the greatest – for comparison is not possible on such a point – but the most notable. Undoubtedly, a Miracle runs counter, not only to our experience, but to the facts on which our experience is grounded; and can only be accounted for by a direct Divine interposition, which also runs counter to our experience, although it cannot logically be said to run counter to the facts on which that experience is grounded. Beyond this it is impossible to go, since the argument on other grounds than of experience – be it phenomenal [observation and historical information] or real [knowledge of laws and principles] – would necessitate knowledge alike of all the laws of Nature and of all the secrets of Heaven.

On the other hand (as indicated in a previous part), to argue this point only on the ground of experience (phenomenal or real), were not only reasoning á priori, but in a vicious circle. It would really amount to this: A thing has not been, because it cannot be; and it cannot be, because, so far as I know, it is not and has not been. But, to deny on such (á priori prejudgment the possibility of Miracles, ultimately involves a denial of a Living, Reigning God. For, the existence of a God implies at least the possibility, in certain circumstances it may be the rational necessity, of Miracles. And the same grounds of experience, which tell against the occurrence of a Miracle, would equally apply against belief in a God. We have as little ground in experience (of a physical kind) for the one as for the other. This is not said to deter inquiry, but for the sake of our argument. For, we confidently assert and challenge experiment of it, that disbelief in a God, or Materialism, involves infinitely more difficulties, and that at every step and in regard to all things, than the faith of the Christian.

But we instinctively feel that such a Miracle as the raising of Lazarus calls for more than merely logical formulas. Heart and mind crave for higher than questions of what may be logically possible or impossible. We want, so to speak, living evidence, and we have it. We have it, first of all, in the Person of the Incarnate God, Who not only came to abolish death, but in Whose Presence the continuance of disease and death was impossible. And we have it also in the narrative of the event itself. It were, indeed, an absurd demand to prove a Miracle, since to do so were to show that it was not a Miracle. But we may be rationally asked these three things: first, to show, that no other explanation is rationally possible than that which proceeds on the ground of its being a Miracle; secondly, to show, that such a view of it is consistent with itself and with all the details of the narrative; and, thirdly, that it is harmonious with what precedes and what follows the narrative. The second and third of these arguments will be the outcome of our later study of the history of this event; the first, that no other explanation of the narrative is rationally possible, must now be briefly attempted.

We may here dismiss, as what would not be entertained by any one familiar with historical inquiries, the idea that such a narrative could be an absolute invention, ungrounded on any fact. Again, we may put aside as repugnant to, at least English, common sense, the theory that the narrative is consistent with the idea that Lazarus was not really dead (so, the Rationalists). Nor would any one, who had the faintest sympathy with the moral standpoint of the Gospels, entertain the view of M. Renan, that it was all a ‘pious fraud’ concocted between all parties, and that, in order to convert Jerusalem by a signal miracle, Lazarus had himself dressed up as a dead body and laid in the family tomb. Scarcely more rational is M. Renan’s latest suggestion, that it was all a misunderstanding: Martha and Mary having told Jesus the wish of friends, that He should do some notable miracle to convince the Jews, and suggesting that they would believe if one rose from the dead, when He had replied, that they would not believe even if Lazarus rose from his grave – and that tradition had transformed this conversation into an actual event! Nor, finally, would English common sense readily believe (with Baur), that the whole narrative was an ideal composition to illustrate what must be regarded as the metaphysical statement: ‘I am the Resurrection and the Life.’ Among ourselves, at least, no serious refutation of these and similar views can be necessary.

Nor do the other theories advanced require lengthened discussion. The mythical explanation of Strauss is, that as the Old Testament had recorded instances of raising from the dead, so Christian tradition must needs ascribe the same to the Messiah. To this (without repeating the detailed refutation made by Renan and Baur), it is sufficient to reply: The previous history of Christ had already offered such instances, why needlessly multiply them? Besides, if it had been ‘a legend,’ such full and minute details would not have been introduced, and while the human element would have been suppressed, the miraculous would have been far more accentuated. Only one other theory on the subject requires notice: that the writer of the Fourth Gospel, or rather early tradition, had transformed the Parable of Dives and Lazarus into an actual event. In answer, it is sufficient to say: first, that (as previously shown) there is no connection between the Lazarus of the Parable and him of Bethany; secondly, that, if it had been a Parable transformed, the characters chosen would not have been real persons, and that they were such is evident from the mention of the family in different circumstances in the three Synoptic Gospels, of which the writer of the Fourth Gospel was fully aware. Lastly, as Godet remarks, whereas the Parable closes by declaring that the Jews would not believe even if one rose from the dead, the Narrative closes on this wise: ‘Many therefore of the Jews, which came to Mary and beheld that which He did, believed on Him.’

In view of these proposed explanations, we appeal to the impartial reader, whether any of them rationally accounts for the origin and existence of this history in Apostolic tradition? On the other hand, everything is clear and consistent on the supposition of the historical truth of this narrative: the minuteness of details; the vividness and pictorialness of the narrative: the characteristic manner in which Thomas, Martha, and Mary speak and act, in accordance with what we read of them in the other Gospels or in other parts of this Gospel; the Human affection of the Christ; the sublime simplicity and majesty of the manner of the Miracle; and the effects of it on friend and foe. There is, indeed, this one difficulty (not objection), that the event is not mentioned in the Synoptic Gospels. But we know too little of the plan on which the Gospels, viewed as Lives of Christ, were constructed, to allow us to draw any sufficient inference from the silence of the Synoptists, whilst we do know that the Judaean and Jerusalem Ministry of Christ, except so far as it was absolutely necessary to refer to it, lay outside the plan of the Synoptic Gospels, and formed the special subject of that by John. Lastly, we should remember, that in the then state of thought the introduction of another narrative of raising from the dead could not have seemed to them of such importance as it appears to us in the present state of controversy – more especially, since it was soon to be followed by another Resurrection, the importance and evidential value of which far overshadowed such an event as the raising of Lazarus. Their Galilean readers had the story of the raising of the widow’s son at Nain, and of Jairus’ daughter at Capernaum; and the Roman world had not only all this, but the preaching of the Resurrection, and of pardon and life in the Name of the Risen One, together with ocular demonstration of the miraculous power of those who preached it. It remained for the beloved disciple, who alone stood under the Cross, alone to stand on that height from which he had first full and intense outlook upon His Death, and the Life which sprang from it, and flowed into all the world.

We may now, undisturbed by preliminary objections, surrender ourselves to the sublimeness and solemnity of this narrative. Perhaps the more briefly we comment on it the better.

It was while in Peraea, that this message suddenly reached the Master from the well-remembered home at Bethany, ‘the village of Mary’ – who, although the younger, is for obvious reasons first mentioned in this history; – ‘and her sister Martha,’ concerning their (younger) brother Lazarus: ‘Lord, behold he whom Thou lovest is sick!’ They are apparently the very words which ‘the sisters’ bade their messenger tell. We note as an important fact to be stored in our memory, that the Lazarus, who had not even been mentioned in the only account preserved to us of a previous visit of Christ to Bethany, is described as ‘he whom Christ loved.’ What a gap of untold events between the two visits of Christ to Bethany – and what modesty should it teach us as regards inferences from the circumstance that certain events are not recorded in the Gospels! The messenger was apparently dismissed by Christ with this reply: ‘This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, in order that the Son of God may be glorified thereby.’ We must here bear in mind, that this answer was heard by such of the Apostles as were present at the time. They would naturally infer from it that Lazarus would not die, and that his restoration would glorify Christ, either as having foretold it, or prayed for it, or effected it by His Will. Yet its true meaning – even, as we now see, its literal interpretation, was, that its final upshot was not to be the death of Lazarus, but that it was to be for the glory of God, in order that Christ as the Son of God might be made manifest. And we learn, how much more full are the Words of Christ than they often appear to us; and how truly, and even literally, they may bear quite another meaning than appears to our honest misapprehension of them – a meaning which only the event, the future, will disclose.

And yet, probably at the very time when the messenger received his answer, and ere he could have brought it to the sisters, Lazarus was already dead! Nor – and this should be especially marked – did this awaken doubt in the minds of the sisters. We seem to hear the very words which at the time they said to each other when each of them afterwards repeated it to the Lord: ‘Lord, if Then hadst been here, my brother would not have died.’ They probably thought the message had reached Him too late, that Lazarus would have lived if Christ had been appealed to in time, or had been able to come – at any rate, if He had been there. Even in their keenest anguish, there was no failure of trust, no doubt, no close weighing of words on their part – only the confidence of love. Yet all this while Christ knew that Lazarus had died, and still He continued two whole days where He was, finishing His work. And yet – and this is significantly noted before anything else, alike in regard to His delay and to His after-conduct – He ‘loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus.’ Had there been no after-history, or had it not been known to us, or before it became known, it might have seemed otherwise – and in similar circumstances it often does seem otherwise to us. And again, what majestic calm, what Self-restraint of Human affections and sublime consciousness of Divine Power in this delay: it is once more Christ asleep, while the disciples are despairing, in the bark almost swamped in the storm ‘Christ is never in haste: least of all, on His errands of love. And He is never in haste, because He is always sure.

It was only after these two days that Christ broke silence as to His purposes and as to Lazarus. Though thoughts of him must have been present with the disciples, none dared ask aught, although not from misgiving, nor yet from fear. This also of faith and of confidence. At last, when His work in that part had been completed, He spoke of leaving, but even so not of going to Bethany, but into Judaea. For, in truth, His work in Bethany was not only geographically, but really, part of His work in Judaea; and He told the disciples of His purpose, just because He knew their fears and would teach them, not only for this but for every future occasion, what principle applied to them. For when, in their care and affection, they reminded the ‘Rabbi’ – and the expression here almost jars on us – that the Jews ‘were even now seeking to stone’ Him, He replied by telling them, in figurative language, that we have each our working day from God, and that while it lasts no foe can shorten it or break up our work. The day had twelve hours, and while these lasted no mishap would befall him that walked in the way [he stumbleth not, because he seeth the light of this world]. It was otherwise when the day was past and the night had come. When our God-given day has set, and with it the light been withdrawn which hitherto prevented our stumbling – then, if a man went in his own way and at his own time, might such mishap befall him, ‘because,’ figuratively as to light in the night-time, and really as to guidance and direction in the way, ‘the light is not in him.’

But this was only part of what Jesus said to His disciples in preparation for a journey that would issue in such tremendous consequences. He next spoke of Lazarus, their ‘friend,’ as ‘fallen asleep’ – in the frequent Jewish (as well as Christian) figurative sense of it, and of His going there to wake him out of sleep. The disciples would naturally connect this mention of His going to Lazarus with His proposed visit to Judaea, and, in their eagerness to keep Him from the latter, interposed that there could be no need for going to Lazarus, since sleep was, according to Jewish notions, one of the six, or, according to others, five symptoms or crises in recovery from dangerous illness. And when the Lord then plainly stated it, ‘Lazarus died,’ adding, what should have aroused their attention, that for their sakes He was glad He had not been in Bethany before the event, because now that would come which would work faith in them, and proposed to go to the dead Lazarus – even then, their whole attention was so absorbed by the certainty of danger to their loved Teacher, that Thomas had only one thought: since it was to be so, let them go and die with Jesus. So little had they understood the figurative language about the twelve hours on which God’s sun shone to light us on our way so much did they need the lesson of faith to be taught them in the raising of Lazarus!

We already know the quiet happy home of Bethany. When Jesus reached it, ‘He found’ – probably from those who met Him by the way  – that Lazarus had been already four days in the grave. According to custom, he would be buried the same day that he had died. Supposing his death to have taken place when the message for help was first delivered, while Jesus continued after that two whole days in the place where He was, this would leave about a day for His journey from Peraea to Bethany. We do not, indeed, know the exact place of His stay; but it must have been some well-known centre of activity in Peraea, since the sisters of Bethany had no difficulty in sending their messenger. At the same time we also infer that, at least at this period, some kind of communication must have existed between Christ and His more intimate disciples and friends – such as the family of Bethany – by which they were kept informed of the general plan of His Mission-journeys, and of any central station of His temporary sojourn. If Christ at that time occupied such a central station, we can the more readily understand how some of His Galilean disciples may, for a brief space, have been absent at their Galilean homes when the tidings about Lazarus arrived. Their absence may explain the prominent position taken by Thomas; perhaps, also, in part, the omission of this narrative from the Synoptic Gospels. One other point may be of interest. Supposing the journey to Bethany to have occupied a day, we would suggest the following as the order of events. The messenger of the Sisters left Bethany on the Sunday (it could not have been on the Sabbath), and reached Jesus on the Monday. Christ continued in Peraea other two days, till Wednesday, and arrived at Bethany on Thursday. On Friday the meeting of the Sanhedrists against Christ took place, while He rested in Bethany on the Friday, and, of course, on the Sabbath, and returned to Peraea and ‘Ephraim’ on the Sunday.

This may be a convenient place for adding to the account already given, in connection with the burying of the widow’s son at Nain, such further particulars of the Jewish observances and rites, as may illustrate the present history. Referring to the previous description, we resume, in imagination, our attendance at the point where Christ met the bier at Nain and again gave life to the dead. But we remember that, as we are now in Judaea, the hired mourners – both mourning-men (for there were such) and mourning-women – would follow, and not, as in Galilee, precede, the body. From the narrative we infer that the burial of Lazarus did not take place in a common burying-ground, which was never nearer a town than 50 cubits, dry and rocky places being chosen in preference. Here the graves must be at least a foot and a half apart. It was deemed a dishonour to the dead to stand on, or walk over, the turf of a grave. Roses and other flowers seem to have been planted on graves. But cemeteries, or common burying-places, appear in earliest times to have been used only for the poor, or for strangers. In Jerusalem there were also two places where executed criminals were buried. All these, it is needless to say, were outside the City. But there is abundant evidence, that every place had not its own burying-ground; and that, not unfrequently, provision had to be made for the transport of bodies. Indeed, a burying-place is not mentioned among the ten requisites for every fully-organised Jewish community. The names given, both to the graves and to the burying-place itself, are of interest. As regards the former, we mention such as ‘the house of silence;’ ‘the house of stone;’ ‘the hostelry,’ or, literally, ‘place where you spend the night;’ ‘the couch;’ ‘the resting-place;’ ‘the valley of the multitude,’ or ‘of the dead.’ The cemetery was called ‘the house of graves;’ or ‘the court of burying;’ and ‘the house of eternity.’ By a euphemism, ‘to die’ was designated as ‘going to rest’ ‘been completed;’ ‘being gathered to the world’ or ‘to the home of light;’ ‘being withdrawn,’ or ‘hidden.’ Burial without coffin seems to have continued the practice for a considerable time, and rules are given how a pit, the size of the body, was to be dug, and surrounded by a wall of loose stones to prevent the falling in of earth. When afterwards earth-burials had to be vindicated against the Parsee idea of cremation, Jewish divines more fully discussed the question of burial, and described the committal of the body to the ground as a sort of expiation. It was a curious later practice, that children who had died a few days after birth were circumcised on their graves. Children not a month old were buried without coffin or mourning, and, as some have thought, in a special place. In connection with a recent controversy it is interesting to learn that, for the sake of peace, just as the poor and sick of the Gentiles might be fed and nursed as well as those of the Jews, so their dead might be buried with those of the Jews, though not in their graves. On the other hand, a wicked person should not be buried close to a sage. Suicides were not accorded all the honours of those who had died a natural death, and the bodies of executed criminals were laid in a special place, whence the relatives might after a time remove their bones. The burial terminated by casting earth on the grave.

But, as already stated, Lazarus was, as became his station, not laid in a cemetery, but in his own private tomb in a cave – probably in a garden, the favourite place of interment. Though on terms of close friendship with Jesus, he was evidently not regarded as an apostate from the Synagogue. For, every indignity was shown at the burial of an apostate; people were even to array themselves in white festive garments to make demonstration of joy. Here, on the contrary, as we gather from the sequel, every mark of sympathy, respect, and sorrow had been shown by the people in the district and by friends in the neighbouring Jerusalem. In such case it would be regarded as a privilege to obey the Rabbinic direction of accompanying the dead, so as to show honour to the departed and kindness to the survivors. As the sisters of Bethany were ‘disciples,’ we may well believe that some of the more extravagant demonstrations of grief were, if not dispensed with, yet modified. We can scarcely believe, that the hired ‘mourners’ would alternate between extravagant praises of the dead and calls upon the attendants to lament; or that, as was their wont, they would strike on their breast, beat their hands, and dash about their feet, or break into wails and mourning songs, alone or in chorus. In all probability, however, the funeral oration would be delivered – as in the case of all distinguished persons – either in the house, or at one of the stations where the bearers changed, or at the burying-place; perhaps, if they passed it, in the Synagogue. It has previously been noted, what extravagant value was, in later times, attached to these orations, as indicating both a man’s life on earth and his place in heaven. The dead was supposed to be present, listening to the words of the speaker and watching the expression on the face of the hearers. It would serve no good purpose to reproduce fragments from these orations. Their character is sufficiently indicated by the above remarks.

When thinking of these tombs in gardens, we so naturally revert to that which for three days held the Lord of Life, that all details become deeply interesting. And it is, perhaps, better to give them here rather than afterwards to interrupt, by such inquiries, our solemn thoughts in presence of the Crucified Christ. Not only the rich, but even those moderately well-to-do, had tombs of their own, which probably were acquired and prepared long before they were needed, and treated and inherited as private and personal property. In such caves, or rock-hewn tombs, the bodies were laid, having been anointed with many spices, with myrtle, aloes, and, at a later period, also with hyssop, rose-oil, and rose-water. The body was dressed and, at a later period, wrapped, if possible, in the worn cloths in which originally a Roll of the Law had been held. The ‘tombs’ were either ‘rock-hewn’ or natural ‘caves’ or else large walled vaults, with niches along the sides. Such a ‘cave’ or ‘vault’ of 4 cubits’ (6 feet) width, 6 cubits’ (9 feet) length, and 4 cubits’ (6 feet) height, contained ‘niches’ for eight bodies – three on each of the longitudinal sides, and two at the end opposite the entrance. Each ‘niche’ was 4 cubits (6 feet) long, and had a height of seven and a width of six handbreadths. As these burying ‘niches’ were hollowed out in the walls they were called kukhin. The larger caves or vaults were 6 cubits (9 feet) wide, and 8 cubits (12 feet) long, and held thirteen bodies – four along each side-wall, three opposite to, and one on either side of the entrance. These figures apply, of course, only to what the Law required, when a vault had been contracted for. When a person constructed one for himself, the dimensions of the walls and the number of kukhin might, of course, vary. At the entrance to the vault was ‘a court’ 6 cubits (9 feet) square, to hold the bier and its bearers. Sometimes two ‘caves’ opened on this ‘court.’ But it is difficult to decide whether the second ‘cave,’ spoken of, was intended as an ossary (ossarium). Certain it is, that after a time the bones were collected and put into a box or coffin, having first been anointed with wine and oil, and being held together by wrappings of cloths. This circumstance explains the existence of the mortuary chests, or osteophagi, so frequently found in the tombs of Palestine by late explorers, who have been unable to explain their meaning. This unclearness is much to be regretted, when we read, for example, of such a ‘chest’ as found in a cave near Bethany. One of the explorers has discovered on them fragments of Hebrew inscriptions. Up to the present, only few Hebrew memorial inscriptions have been discovered in Palestine. The most interesting are those in or near Jerusalem, dating from the first century b.c. to the first a.c. There are, also, many inscriptions found on Jewish tombs out of Palestine (in Rome, and other places), written in bad Greek or Latin, containing, perhaps, a Hebrew word, and generally ending with shalom, ‘peace,’ and adorned with Jewish symbols, such as the Seven-branched Candlestick, the Ark, the festive emblems of the Feast of Tabernacles, and others. In general, the advice not to read such inscriptions, as it would affect the sight, seems to imply the common practice of having memorial inscriptions in Hebrew. They appear to have been graven either on the lid of the mortuary chest, or on the golel, or great stone ‘rolled’ at the entrance to the vault, or to the ‘court’ leading into it, or else on the inside walls of yet another erection, made over the vaults of the wealthy, and which was supposed to complete the burying-place, or qeḇer.

These small buildings surmounting the graves may have served as shelter to those who visited the tombs. They also served as monuments,’ of which we read in the Bible, in the Apocrypha, and in Josephus.  In Rabbinic writings they are frequently mentioned, chiefly by the name nep̱esh, ‘soul,’ ‘person’ – transferred in the sense of ‘monument,’ or, by the more Scriptural name of bamah, or, by the Greco-Aramaic, or the Hebrew designation for a building generally. But of gravestones with inscriptions we cannot find any record in Talmudic works. At the same time, the place where there was a vault or a grave was marked by a stone, which was kept whitened, to warn the passer-by against defilement.

We are now able fully to realise all the circumstances and surroundings in the burial and raising of Lazarus.

Jesus had come to Bethany. But in the house of mourning they knew it not. As Bethany was only about fifteen furlongs – or about two miles – from Jerusalem, many from the City, who were on terms of friendship with what was evidently a distinguished family, had come in obedience to one of the most binding Rabbinic directions – that of comforting the mourners. In the funeral procession the sexes had been separated, and the practice probably prevailed even at that time for the women to return alone from the grave. This may explain why afterwards the women went and returned alone to the Tomb of our Lord. The mourning, which began before the burial, had been shared by the friends who sat silent on the ground, or were busy preparing the mourning meal. As the company left the dead, each had taken leave of the deceased with a ‘Depart in peace!’ Then they had formed into lines, through which the mourners passed amidst expressions of sympathy, repeated (at least seven times) as the procession halted on the return to the house of mourning. Then began the mourning in the house, which really lasted thirty days, of which the first three were those of greatest, the others, during the seven days, or the special week of sorrow, of less intense mourning. But on the Sabbath as God’s holy day, all mourning was intermitted – and so ‘they rested on the Sabbath, according to the commandment.’

In that household of disciples this mourning would not have assumed such violent forms, as when we read that the women were in the habit of tearing out their hair, or of a Rabbi who publicly scourged himself. But we know how the dead would be spoken of. In death the two worlds were said to meet and kiss. And now they who had passed away beheld God. They were at rest. Such beautiful passages as Psa_112:6, Pro_10:7, Isa_11:10, last clause, and Isa_57:2, were applied to them. Nay, the holy dead should be called ‘living.’ In truth, they knew about us, and unseen still surrounded us. Nor should they ever be mentioned without adding a blessing on their memory.

In this spirit, we cannot doubt, the Jews were now ‘comforting’ the sisters. They may have repeated words like those quoted as the conclusion of such a consolatory speech: May the Lord of consolations (בעל נחמות) comfort you! Blessed be He Who comforteth the mourners!’ But they could scarcely have imagined how literally a wish like this was about to be fulfilled. For, already, the message had reached Martha, who was probably in one of the outer apartments of the house: Jesus is coming! She hastened to meet the Master. Not a word of complaint, not a murmur, nor doubt, escaped her lips – only what during those four bitter days these two sisters must have been so often saying to each other, when the luxury of solitude was allowed them, that if He had been there their brother would not have died. And even now-when it was all too late – when they had not received what they had asked of Him by their messenger, it must have been, because He had not asked it, though he had said that this sickness was not unto death; or else because he had delayed to work it till He would come. And still she held fast by it, that even now God would give Him whatsoever He asked. Or, did they mean more: were they such words of unconscious prophecy, or sight and sound of heavenly things, as sometimes come to us in our passion of grief, or else winged thoughts of faith too soon beyond our vision? They could not have been the expression of any real hope of the miracle about to take place, or Martha would not have afterwards sought to arrest Him, when He bade them roll away the stone. And yet is it not even so, that, when that comes to us which our faith had once dared to suggest, if not to hope, we feel as if it were all too great and impossible – that a very physical ‘cannot be’ separates us from it?

It was in very truth and literality that the Lord meant it, when He told Martha her brother would rise again, although she understood His Words of the Resurrection at the Last Day. In answer, Christ pointed out to her the connection between Himself and the Resurrection; and, what He spoke, that He did when He raised Lazarus from the dead. The Resurrection and the Life are not special gifts either to the Church or to humanity, but are connected with the Christ – the outcome of Himself. The Resurrection of the Just and the General Resurrection are the consequence of the relation in which the Church and humanity in general stand to the Christ. Without the Christ there would have been no Resurrection. Most literally He is the Resurrection and the Life – and this, the new teaching about the Resurrection, was the object and the meaning of the raising of Lazarus. And thus is this raising of Lazarus the outlook, also, upon His own Resurrection, Who is ‘the first-fruits from the dead.’

And though the special, then present, application, or rather manifestation of it, would be in the raising of Lazarus – yet this teaching, that accompanied it, is to ‘all believers:’ ‘He that believeth in Me, even if [though] he die, shall live and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall not die for ever’ (unto the Aeon) – where possibly we might, for commentation, mentally insert the sign of a pause ( – ) between the words ‘die’ and ‘for ever,’ or ‘unto the Aeon.’ It is only when we think of the meaning of Christ’s previous words, as implying that the Resurrection and the Life are the outcome of Himself, and come to us only through Him and in Him, that we can understand the answer of Martha to His question: ‘Believest thou this? Yea, Lord, I have believed that thou art the Christ, the Son of God [with special reference to the original message of Christ], He that cometh into the world [‘the Coming One into the world’ = the world’s promised, expected, come Saviour].

What else passed between them we can only gather from the context. It seems that the Master ‘called’ for Mary. This message Martha now hasted to deliver, although ‘secretly.’ Mary was probably sitting in the chamber of mourning, with its upset chairs and couches, and other melancholy tokens of mourning, as was the custom; surrounded by many who had come to comfort them; herself, we can scarcely doubt, silent, her thoughts far away in that world to, and of which the Master was to her ‘the Way, the Truth, and the Life.’ As she heard of His Coming and call, she rose ‘quickly,’ and the Jews followed her, under the impression that she was again going to visit, and to weep at the tomb of her brother. For, it was the practice to visit the grave, especially during the first three days. When she came to Jesus, where He still stood, outside Bethany, she was forgetful of all around. It was, as if sight of Him melted what had frozen the tide of her feelings. She could only fall at His Feet, and repeat the poor words with which she and her sister had these four weary days tried to cover the nakedness of their sorrow: poor words of consolation, and poor words of faith, which she did not, like her sister, make still poorer by adding the poverty of her hope to that of her faith – the poverty of the future to that of the past and present. To Martha that had been the maximum, to Mary it was the minimum of her faith; for the rest, it was far, far better to add nothing more, but simply to worship at His Feet.

It must have been a deeply touching scene: the outpouring of her sorrow, the absoluteness of her faith, the mute appeal of her tears. And the Jews who witnessed it were moved, as she, and wept with her. What follows is difficult to understand; still more difficult to explain: not only from the choice of language, which is peculiarly difficult, but because its difficulty springs from the yet greater difficulty of expressing what it is intended to describe. The expression, ‘groaned in spirit,’ cannot mean that Christ ‘was moved with indignation in the spirit,’ since this could not have been the consequence of witnessing the tears of Mary and what, we feel sure, was the genuine emotion of the Jews. Of the various interpretations, that commends itself most to us, which would render the expression: ‘He vehemently moved His Spirit and troubled Himself.’ One, whose insight into such questions is peculiarly deep, has reminded us that ‘the miracles of the Lord were not wrought by the simple word of power, but that in a mysterious way the element of sympathy entered into them. He took away the sufferings and diseases of men in some sense by taking them upon Himself.’ If, with this most just view of His Condescension to, and union with, humanity as its Healer, by taking upon Himself its diseases, we combine the statement formerly made about the Resurrection, as not a gift or boon but the outcome of Himself – we may, in some way, not understand, but be able to gaze into, the unfathomed depth of that Theanthropic fellow-suffering which was both vicarious and redemptive, and which, before He became the Resurrection to Lazarus, shook His whole inner Being, when, in the words of John, ‘He vehemently moved His Spirit and troubled Himself.’

And now every trait is in accord. ‘Where have ye laid him?’ So truly human – as if He, Who was about to raise the dead, needed the information where he had been laid; so truly human, also, in the underlying tenderness of the personal address, and in the absorption of the whole Theanthropic energy on the mighty burden about to be lifted and lifted away. So, also, as they bade Him come and see, were the tears that fell from Him (ἐδάκρυσεν), not like the violent lamentation (ἔκλαυσεν) that burst from Him at sight and prophetic view of doomed Jerusalem. Yet we can scarcely think that the Jews rightly interpreted it, when they ascribed it only to His love for Lazarus. But surely there was not a touch either of malevolence or of irony, only what we feel to be quite natural in the circumstances, when some of them asked it aloud: ‘Could not this One, Which opened the eyes of the blind, have wrought so that [in order] this one also should not die?’ Scarcely was it even unbelief. They had so lately witnessed in Jerusalem that Miracle, such as had ‘not been heard’ ‘since the world began;’ that it seemed difficult to understand how, seeing there was the will (in His affection for Lazarus), there was not the power – not to raise him from the dead, for that did not occur to them, but to prevent his dying. Was there, then, a barrier in death? And it was this, and not indignation, which once more caused that Theanthropic recurrence upon Himself, when again ‘He vehemently moved His Spirit.’

And now they were at the cave which was Lazarus’ tomb. He bade them roll aside the great stone which covered its entrance. Amidst the awful pause which preceded obedience, one voice only was raised. It was that of Martha. Jesus had not spoken of raising Lazarus. But what was about to be done? She could scarcely have thought that He merely wished to gaze once more upon the face of the dead. Something nameless had seized her. She dared not believe; she dared not disbelieve. Did she, perhaps, not dread a failure, but feel misgivings, when thinking of Christ as in presence of commencing corruption before these Jews – and yet, as we so often, still love Him even in unbelief? It was the common Jewish idea that corruption commenced on the fourth day, that the drop of gall, which had fallen from the sword of the Angel and caused death, was then working its effect, and that, as the face changed, the soul took its final leave from the resting-place of the body. Only one sentence Jesus spake of gentle reproof, of reminder of what He had said to her just before, and of the message He had sent when first He heard of Lazarus’ illness, but, oh so full of calm majesty and consciousness of divine strength. And now the stone was rolled away. We all feel that the fitting thing here was prayer – yet not petition, but thanksgiving that the Father ‘heard’ Him, not as regarded the raising of Lazarus, which was His Own Work, but in the ordering and arranging of all the circumstances – alike the petition and the thanksgiving having for their object them that stood by, for He knew that the Father always heard Him: that so they might believe, that the Father had sent Him. Sent of the Father – not come of Himself, not sent of Satan – and sent to do His Will!

And in doing this Will, He was the Resurrection and the Life. One loud command spoken into that silence; one loud call to that sleeper; one flash of God’s Own Light into that darkness, and the wheels of life again moved at the outgoing of The Life. And, still bound hand and foot with graveclothes [‘bands,’ takhrikhin], and his face with the napkin, Lazarus stood forth, shuddering and silent, in the cold light of earth’s day. In that multitude, now more pale and shuddering than the man bound in the graveclothes, the Only One majestically calm was He, Who before had been so deeply moved and troubled Himself, as He now bade them ‘Loose him, and let him go.’

We know no more. Holy Writ in this also proves its Divine authorship and the reality of what is here recorded. The momentarily lifted veil has again fallen over the darkness of the Most Holy Place, in which is only the Ark of His Presence and the cloudy incense of our worship. What happened afterwards – how they loosed him, what they said, what thanks, or praise, or worship, the sisters spoke, and what were Lazarus’ first words, we know not. And better so. Did Lazarus remember aught of the late past, or was not rather the rending of the grave a real rending from the past, the awakening so sudden, the transition so great, that nothing of the bright vision remained, but its impress – just as a marvellously beautiful Jewish legend has it, that before entering this world, the soul of a child has seen all of heaven and hell, of past, present, and future; but that, as the Angel strikes it on the mouth to waken it into this world, all of the other has passed from the mind? Again we say: We know not – and it is better so.

And here abruptly breaks off this narrative. Some of those who had seen it believed on Him; others hurried back to Jerusalem to tell it to the Pharisees. Then was hastily gathered a meeting of the Sanhedrists, not to judge Him, but to deliberate what was to be done. That He was really doing these miracles, there could be no question among them. Similarly, all but one or two had no doubt as to the source of these miracles. If real, they were of Satanic agency – and all the more tremendous they were, the more certainly so. But whether really of Satanic power, or merely a Satanic delusion, one thing, at least, was evident, that, if He were let alone, all men would believe on Him? And then, if He headed the Messianic movement of the Jews as a nation, alike the Jewish City and Temple, and Israel as a nation, would perish in the fight with Rome. But what was to be done? They had not the courage of, though the wish for, judicial murder, till he who was the High-Priest, Caiaphas, reminded them of the well-known Jewish adage, that it ‘is better one man should die, than the community perish.’ Yet, even so, he who spoke was the High-Priest; and for the last time, ere in speaking the sentence he spoke it for ever as against himself and the office he held, spake through him God’s Voice, not as regards the counsel of murder, but this, that His Death should be ‘for that nation’ – nay, as John adds, not only for Israel, but to gather into one fold all the now scattered children of God.

This was the last prophecy in Israel; with the sentence of death on Israel’s true High-Priest died prophecy in Israel, died Israel’s High-Priesthood. It had spoken sentence upon itself.

This was the first Friday of dark resolve. Henceforth it only needed to concert plans for carrying it out. Some one, perhaps Nicodemus, sent word of the secret meeting and resolution of the Sanhedrists. That Friday and the next Sabbath Jesus rested in Bethany, with the same majestic calm which He had shown at the grave of Lazarus. Then He withdrew, far away to the obscure bounds of Peraea and Galilee, to a city of which the very location is now unknown. And there He continued with His disciples, withdrawn from the Jews – till He would make His final entrance into Jerusalem.

(Mat_19:1, Mat_19:2; Mar_10:1; Luk_17:11; Luk_17:12-19; Mat_19:3-12; Mar_10:2-12; Mat_19:13-15; Mar_10:13-16; Luk_18:15-17)

The brief time of rest and quiet converse with His disciples in the retirement of Ephraim was past, and the Saviour of men prepared for His last journey to Jerusalem. All the three Synoptic Gospels mark this, although with varying details. From the mention of Galilee by Matthew, and by Luke of Samaria and Galilee – or more correctly, ‘between (along the frontiers of) Samaria and Galilee,’ we may conjecture that, on leaving Ephraim, Christ made a very brief detour along the northern frontier to some place at the southern border of Galilee – perhaps to meet at a certain point those who were to accompany him on his final journey to Jerusalem. This suggestion, for it is no more, is in itself not improbable, since some of Christ’s immediate followers might naturally wish to pay a brief visit to their friends in Galilee before going up to Jerusalem. And it is further confirmed by the notice of Mark, that among those who had followed Christ there were ‘many women which came up with Him unto Jerusalem.’ For, we can scarcely suppose that these ‘many women’ had gone with Him in the previous autumn from Galilee to the Feast of Tabernacles, nor that they were with Him at the Feast of the Dedication, or had during the winter followed Him through Peraea, nor yet that they had been at Bethany. All these difficulties are obviated if, as suggested, we suppose that Christ had passed from Ephraim along the border of Samaria to a place in Galilee, there to meet such of His disciples as would go up with Him to Jerusalem. The whole company would then form one of those festive bands which travelled to the Paschal Feast, nor would there be anything strange or unusual in the appearance of such a band, in this instance under the leadership of Jesus.

Another and deeply important notice, furnished by Matthew and Mark, is, that during this journey through Peraea, ‘great multitudes’ resorted to, and followed Him, and that ‘He healed’ and ‘taught them.’ This will account for the incidents and Discourses by the way, and also how, from among many deeds, the Evangelists may have selected for record what to them seemed the most important or novel, or else best accorded with the plans of their respective narratives.

Thus, to begin with, Luke alone relates the very first incident by the way, and the first Discourse. Nor is it difficult to understand the reason of this. To one who, like Matthew, had followed Christ in His Galilean Ministry, or, like Mark, had been the penman of Peter, there would be nothing so peculiar or novel in the healing of lepers as to introduce this on the overcrowded canvas of the last days. Indeed, they had both already recorded what may be designated as a typical healing of lepers. But Luke had not recorded such healing before; and the restoration of ten at the same time would seem to the ‘beloved physician’ matter, not only new in his narrative, but of the deepest importance. Besides, we have already seen, that the record of the whole of this East-Jordan Ministry is peculiar to Luke; and we can scarcely doubt that it was the result of personal inquiries made by the Evangelist on the spot, in order to supplement what might have seemed to him a gap in the Gospels of Matthew and Mark. This would explain his fulness of detail as regards incidents, and, for example, the introduction of the history of Zacchaeus, which to Mark, or rather to Peter, but especially to Matthew (himself once a publican), might appear so like that which they had so often witnessed and related, as scarcely to require special narration. On the same ground we account for the record by Luke of Christ’s Discourse predictive of the Advent of the Messianic Kingdom. This Discourse is evidently in its place at the beginning of Christ’s last journey to Jerusalem. But the other two Evangelists merge it in the account of the fuller teaching on the same subject during the last days of Christ’s sojourn on earth.

It is a further confirmation of our suggestion as to the road taken by Jesus, that of the ten lepers whom, at the outset of His journey, He met when entering into a village, one was a Samaritan. It may have been that the district was infested with leprosy; or these lepers may, on tidings of Christ’s approach, have hastily gathered there. It was, as fully explained in another place, in strict accordance with Jewish Law, that these lepers remained both outside the village and far from Him to Whom they now cried for mercy. And, without either touch or even command of healing, Christ bade them go and show themselves as healed to the priests. For this it was, as will be remembered, not necessary to repair to Jerusalem. Any priest might declare ‘unclean’ or ‘clean’ provided the applicants presented themselves singly, and not in company, for his inspection. And they went at Christ’s bidding, even before they had actually experienced the healing! So great was their faith, and, may we not almost infer, the general belief throughout the district, in the power of ‘the Master.’ And as they went, the new life coursed in their veins. Restored health began to be felt, just as it ever is, not before, nor yet after believing, but in the act of obedience of a faith that has not yet experienced the blessing.

But now the characteristic difference between these men appeared. Of the ten, equally recipients of the benefit, the nine Jews continued their way – presumably to the priests – while the one Samaritan in the number at once turned back, with a loud voice glorifying God. The whole event may not have occupied many minutes, and Jesus with his followers may still have stood on the same spot whence He bade the ten lepers go show themselves to the priests. He may have followed them with his eyes, as, but a few steps on their road of faith, health overtook them, and the grateful Samaritan, with voice of loud thanksgiving, hastened back to his Healer. No longer now did he remain afar off, but in humblest reverence fell on his face at the Feet of Him to Whom he gave thanks. This Samaritan had received more than new bodily life and health: he had found spiritual life and healing.

But why did the nine Jews not return? Assuredly, they must have had some faith when first seeking help from Christ, and still more when setting out for the priests before they had experienced the healing. But perhaps, regarding it from our own standpoint, we may overestimate the faith of these men. Bearing in mind the views of the Jews at the time, and what constant succession of miraculous cures – without a single failure – had been witnessed these years, it cannot seem strange that lepers should apply to Jesus. Nor yet perhaps did it, in the circumstances, involve very much greater faith to go to the priests at His bidding – implying, of course, that they were or would be healed. But it was far different to turn back and to fall down at His feet in lowly worship and thanksgiving. That made a man a disciple.

Many questions here suggest themselves: Did these nine Jews separate from the one Samaritan when they felt healed, common misfortune having made them companions and brethren, while the bond was snapped so soon as they felt themselves free of their common sorrow? The History of the Church and of individual Christians furnishes, alas! not a few analogous instances. Or did these nine Jews, in their legalism and obedience to the letter, go on to the priests, forgetful that, in obeying the letter, they violated the spirit of Christ’s command? Of this also there are, alas! only too many parallel cases which will occur to the mind. Or was it Jewish pride, which felt it had a right to the blessings, and attributed them, not to the mercy of Christ, but to God; or, rather, to their own relation as Israel to God? Or, what seems to us the most probable, was it simply Jewish ingratitude and neglect of the blessed opportunity now within their reach – a state of mind too characteristic of those who know not ‘the time of their visitation’ – and which led up to the neglect, rejection, and final loss of the Christ? Certain it is, that the Lord emphasised the terrible contrast in this between the children of the household and ‘this stranger.’ And here another important lesson is implied in regard to the miraculous in the Gospels. The history shows how little spiritual value or efficacy they attach to miracles, and how essentially different in this respect their tendency is from all legendary stories. The lesson conveyed in this case is, that we may expect, and even experience, miracles, without any real faith in the Christ; with belief, indeed, in His Power, but without surrender to His Rule. According to the Gospels, a man might either seek benefit from Christ, or else receive Christ through such benefit. In the one case, the benefit sought was the object, in the other, the means; in the one, it was the goal, in the other, the road to it; in the one, it gave healing, in the other, brought salvation; in the one, it ultimately led away from, in the other, it led to Christ and to discipleship. And so Christ now spake it to this Samaritan: ‘Arise, go thy way; thy faith has made thee whole.’ But to all time there are here to the Church lessons of most important distinction.

2. The Discourse concerning the Coming of the Kingdom, which is reported by Luke immediately after the healing of the ten lepers, will be more conveniently considered in connection with the fuller statement of the same truths at the close of our Lord’s Ministry. It was probably delivered a day or so after the healing of the lepers, and marks a farther stage in the Peraean journey towards Jerusalem. For, here we meet once more the Pharisees as questioners. This circumstance, as will presently appear, is of great importance, as carrying us back to the last mention of an interpellation by the Pharisees.

3. This brings us to what we regard as, in point of time, the next Discourse of Christ on this journey, recorded both by Matthew, and, in briefer form, by Mark. These Evangelists place it immediately after their notice of the commencement of this journey. For reasons previously indicated, Luke inserts the healing of the lepers and the prophetic Discourse, while the other two Evangelists omit them. On the other hand, Luke omits the Discourse here reported by Matthew and Mark, because, as we can readily see, its subject-matter would, from the standpoint of his Gospel, not appear of such supreme importance as to demand insertion in a narrative of selected events.

The subject-matter of that Discourse is, in answer to Pharisaic ‘tempting,’ an exposition of Christ’s teaching in regard to the Jewish law and practice of divorce. The introduction of this subject in the narratives of Matthew and Mark seems, to say the least, abrupt. But the difficulty is entirely removed, or, rather, changed into undesigned evidence, when we fit it into the general history. Christ had advanced farther on His journey, and now once more encountered the hostile Pharisees. It will be remembered that He had met them before in the same part of the country,  and answered their taunts and objections, among other things, by charging them with breaking in spirit that Law of which they professed to be the exponents and representatives. And this He had proved by reference to their views and teaching on the subject of divorce. This seems to have rankled in their minds. Probably they also imagined, it would be easy to show on this point a marked difference between the teaching of Jesus and that of Moses and the Rabbis, and to enlist popular feeling against Him. Accordingly, when these Pharisees again encountered Jesus, now on his journey to Judaea, they resumed the subject precisely where it had been broken off when they had last met Him, only now with the object of ‘tempting Him.’ Perhaps it may also have been in the hope that, by getting Christ to commit Himself against divorce in Peraea – the territory of Herod – they might enlist against Him, as formerly against the Baptist, the implacable hatred of Herodias.

But their main object evidently was to involve Christ in controversy with some of the Rabbinic Schools. This appears from the form in which they put the question, whether it was lawful to put away a wife ‘for every cause?’ Mark, who gives only a very condensed account, omits this clause; but in Jewish circles the whole controversy between different teachers turned upon this point. All held that divorce was lawful, the only question being as to its grounds.

We will not here enter on the unsavoury question of ‘Divorce’ among the Jews, to which the Talmud devotes a special tractate. There can, however, be no question that the practice was discouraged by many of the better Rabbis, alike in word and by their example; nor yet, that the Jewish Law took the most watchful care of the interests of the woman. In fact, if any doubt were raised as to the legal validity of the letter of divorce, the Law always pronounced against the divorce. At the same time, in popular practice, divorce must have been very frequent; while the principles underlying Jewish legislation on the subject are most objectionable. These were in turn due to a comparatively lower estimate of woman, and to an unspiritual view of the marriage-relation. Christianity has first raised woman to her proper position, not by giving her a new one, but by restoring and fully developing that assigned to her in the Old Testament. Similarly, as regards marriage, the New Testament – which would have us to be, in one sense, ‘eunuchs for the Kingdom of God,’ has also fully restored and finally developed what the Old Testament had already implied. And this is part of the lesson taught in this Discourse, both to the Pharisees and to the disciples.

To begin with, divorce (in the legal sense) was regarded as a privilege accorded only to Israel, not to the Gentiles.  On the question: what constituted lawful grounds of divorce, the Schools were divided. Taking their departure from the sole ground of divorce mentioned in Deu_24:1 : ‘a matter of shame [literally, nakedness],’ the School of Shammai applied the expression only to moral transgressions and, indeed, exclusively to unchastity. It was declared that, if a woman were as mischievous as the wife of Ahab, or [according to tradition] as the wife of Korah, it were well that her husband should not divorce her, except it be on the ground of adultery. At the same time this must not be regarded as a fixed legal principle, but rather as an opinion and good counsel for conduct. The very passages, from which the above quotations are made, also afford only too painful evidence of the laxity or views and practices current. And the Jewish Law unquestionably allowed divorce on almost any grounds; the difference being, not as to what was lawful, but on what grounds a man should set the Law in motion, and make use of the absolute liberty which it accorded him. Hence, it is a serious mistake on the part of Commentators to set the teaching of Christ on this subject by the side of that of Shammai.

But the School of Hillel proceeded on different principles. It took the words, ‘matter of shame’ in the widest possible sense, and declared it sufficient ground for divorce if a woman had spoiled her husband’s dinner.  Rabbi Akiba thought, that the words, ‘if she find no favour in his eyes,’ implied that it was sufficient if a man had found another woman more attractive than his wife. All agreed that moral blame made divorce a duty, and that in such cases a woman should not be taken back. According to the Mishnah, women could not only be divorced, but with loss of their dowry, if they transgressed against the Law of Moses or of Israel. The former is explained as implying a breach of the laws of tithing, of setting apart the first of the dough, and of purification. The latter is explained as referring to such offences as that of going in public with uncovered head, of spinning in the public streets, or entering into talk with men, to which others add, that of brawling, or of disrespectfully speaking of her husband’s parents in his presence. A troublesome, or quarrelsome wife might certainly be sent away; and ill-repute, or childlessness (during ten years) were also regarded as valid grounds of divorce.

Incomparably as these principles differ from the teaching of Christ, it must again be repeated, that no real comparison is possible between Christ and even the strictest of the Rabbis, since none of them actually prohibited divorce, except in case of adultery, nor yet laid down those high eternal principles which Jesus enunciated. But we can understand how, from the Jewish point of view, ‘tempting Him,’ they would put the question, whether it was lawful to divorce a wife ‘for every cause.’ Avoiding their cavils, the Lord appealed straight to the highest authority – God’s institution of marriage. He, Who at the beginning [from the first, originally, מרישא] had made them male and female, had in the marriage-relation ‘joined them in together,’ to the breaking of every other, even the nearest, relationship, to be ‘one flesh’ – that is, to a union which was unity. Such was the fact of God’s ordering. It followed, that they were one – and what God had willed to be one, man might not put asunder. Then followed the natural Rabbinic objection, why, in such case, Moses had commanded a bill of divorcement. Our Lord replied by pointing out that Moses had not commanded divorce, only tolerated it on account of their hardness of heart, and in such case commanded to give a bill of divorce for the protection of the wife. And this argument would appeal the more forcibly to them, that the Rabbis themselves taught that a somewhat similar concession had been made by Moses in regard to female captives of war – as the Talmud has it, ‘on account of the evil impulse.’ But such a separation, our Lord continued, had not been provided for in the original institution, which was a union to unity. Only one thing could put an end to that unity – its absolute breach. Hence, to divorce one’s wife (or husband) while this unity lasted, and to marry another, was adultery, because, as the divorce was null before God, the original marriage still subsisted – and, in that case, the Rabbinic Law would also have forbidden it. The next part of the Lord’s inference, that ‘whoso marrieth her which is put away doth commit adultery,’ is more difficult of interpretation. Generally, it is understood as implying that a woman divorced for adultery might not be married. But it has been argued, that, as the literal rendering is, ‘whose marrieth her when put away,’ it applies to the woman whose divorce had just before been prohibited, and not, as is sometimes thought, to ‘a woman divorced [under any circumstances].’ Be this as it may, the Jewish Law, which regarded marriage with a woman divorced under any circumstances as unadvisable, absolutely forbade that of the adulterer with the adulteress.

Whatever, therefore, may be pleaded, on account of ‘the hardness of heart’ in modern society, in favour of the lawfulness of relaxing Christ’s law of divorce, which confines dissolution of marriage to the one ground (of adultery), because then the unity of God’s making has been broken by sin – such a retrocession was at least not in the mind of Christ, nor can it be considered lawful, either by the Church or for individual disciples. But, that the Pharisees had rightly judged, when ‘tempting Him,’ what the popular feeling on the subject would be, appears even from what ‘His disciples’ [not necessarily the Apostles] afterwards said to Him. They waited to express their dissent till they were alone with Him ‘in the house,’ and then urged that, if it were as Christ had taught, it would be better not to marry at all. To which the Lord replied, that ‘this saying’ of the disciples, ‘it is not good to marry,’ could not be received by all men, but only by those to whom it was ‘given.’ For, there were three cases in which abstinence from marriage might lawfully be contemplated. In two of these it was, of course, natural; and, where it was not so, a man might, ‘for the Kingdom of Heaven’s sake’ – that is, in the service of God and of Christ – have all his thoughts, feelings, and impulses so engaged that others were no longer existent. For, we must here beware of a twofold misunderstanding. It is not bare abstinence from marriage, together, perhaps, with what the German Reformers called immunda continentia (unchaste continency), which is here commended, but such inward preoccupation with the Kingdom of God as would remove all other thoughts and desires. It is this which requires to be ‘given’ of God; and which ‘he that is able to receive it’ – who has the moral capacity for it – is called upon to receive. Again, it must not be imagined that this involves any command of celibacy: it only speaks of such who in the active service or the Kingdom feel, that their every thought is so engrossed in the work, that wishes and impulses to marriage are no longer existent in them. 

4. The next incident is recorded by the three Evangelists. It probably occurred in the same house where the disciples had questioned Christ about His teaching on the Divinely sacred relationship of marriage. And the account of His blessing of ‘infants’ and ‘little children’ most aptly follows on the former teaching. It is a scene of unspeakable sweetness and tenderness, where all is in character – alas, even the conduct of the ‘disciples’ as we remember their late inability to sympathise with the teaching of the Master. And it is all so utterly unlike what Jewish legend would have invented for its Messiah. We can understand how, when One Who so spake and wrought, rested in the house, Jewish mothers should have brought their ‘little children,’ and some their ‘infants,’ to Him, that He might ‘touch,’ ‘put His Hands on them, and pray.’ What power and holiness must these mothers have believed to be in His touch and prayer; what life to be in, and to come from Him; and what gentleness and tenderness must His have been, when they dared so to bring these little ones! For, how utterly contrary it was to all Jewish notions, and how incompatible with the supposed dignity of a Rabbi, appears from the rebuke of the disciples. It was an occasion and an act when, as the fuller and more pictorial account of Mark informs us, Jesus ‘was much displeased’ – the only time this strong word is used of our Lord – and said unto them: ‘Suffer the little children to come to Me, hinder them not, for of such is the Kingdom of God.’ Then He gently reminded His own disciples of their grave error, by repeating what they had apparently forgotten, that, in order to enter the Kingdom of God, it must be received as by a little child – that here there could be no question of intellectual qualification, nor of distinction due to a great Rabbi, but only of humility, receptiveness, meekness, and a simple application to, and trust in, the Christ. And so He folded these little ones in His Arms, put His Hands upon them, and blessed them, and thus for ever consecrated that child-life, which a parent’s love and faith brought to Him; blessed it also by the laying-on of His Hands – as it were, ‘ordained it,’ as we fully believe to all time, ‘strength because of His enemies.’

(Mat_19:16-22; Mar_10:17-22; Luk_18:18-23; Mat_19:23-30; Mar_10:23-31; Luk_18:24-30; Mat_20:17-19; Mar_10:32-34 : Luk_18:31-34; Mat_20:20-28; Mar_10:35-45)

As we near the goal, the wondrous story seems to grow in tenderness and pathos. It is as if all the loving condescension of the Master were to be crowded into these days; all the pressing need also, and the human weaknesses of His disciples. And with equal compassion does He look upon the difficulties of them who truly seek to come to Him, and on those which, springing from without, or even from self and sin, beset them who have already come. Let us try reverently to follow His steps, and learn of His words.

As ‘He was going forth into the way’ – we owe this trait, as one and another in the same narrative, to Mark – probably at early morn, as He left the house where He had for ever folded into His Arms and blessed the children brought to Him by believing parents – His progress was arrested. It was ‘a young man,’ ‘a ruler,’ probably of the local Synagogue, who came with all haste, ‘running,’ and with lowliest gesture [kneeling], to ask what to him, nay to us all, is the most important question. Remembering that, while we owe to Mark the most graphic touches, Matthew most fully reports the words that had been spoken, we might feel inclined to adopt that reading of them in Matthew which is not only most strongly supported, but at first sight seems to remove some of the difficulties of exposition. This reading would omit in the address of the young ruler the word ‘good’ before ‘Master, what good thing shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?’ and would make Christ’s reply read: ‘Why askest thou Me concerning the good [that which is good]? One there is Who is good.’ This would meet not only the objection, that in no recorded instance was a Jewish Rabbi addressed as ‘Good Master,’ but the obvious difficulties connected with the answer of Christ, according to the common reading: ‘Why callest thou Me good? none is good, save only One: God.’ But on the other side it must be urged, that the undoubted reading of the question and answer in Mark’s and Luke’s Gospels agrees with that of our Authorised Version, and hence that any difficulty of exposition would not be removed, only shifted, while the reply of Christ tallies far better with the words ‘Good Master,’ the strangeness of such an address from Jewish lips giving only the more reason for taking it up in the reply: ‘Why callest thou Me good? none is good save only One: God.’ Lastly, the designation of God as the only One ‘good’ agrees with one of the titles given Him in Jewish writings: ‘The Good One of the world.’   (טובו של עולם).

The actual question of the young Ruler is one which repeatedly occurs in Jewish writings, as put to a Rabbi by his disciples. Amidst the different answers given, we scarcely wonder that they also pointed to observance of the Law. And the saying of Christ seems the more adapted to the young Ruler when we recall this sentence from the Talmud: ‘There is nothing else that is good but the Law.’ But here again the similarity is only of form, not of substance. For, it will be noticed, that, in the more full account by Matthew, Christ leads the young Ruler upwards through the table of the prohibitions of deeds to the first positive command of deed, and then, by a rapid transition, to the substitution for the tenth commandment in its negative form of this wider positive and all-embracing command: ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.’ Any Jewish ‘Ruler’ but especially one so earnest, would have at once answered a challenge on the first four commandments by ‘Yes’ – and that not self-righteously, but sincerely, though of course in ignorance of their real depth. And this was not the time for lengthened discussion and instruction; only for rapid awakening, to lead up, if possible, from earnestness and a heart-drawing towards the Master to real discipleship. Best here to start from what was admitted as binding – the ten commandments – and to lead from that in them which was least likely to be broken, step by step, upwards to that which was most likely to awaken consciousness of sin.

And the young Ruler did not, as that other Pharisee, reply by trying to raise a Rabbinic disputation over the ‘Who is neighbour to me? but in the sincerity of an honest heart answered that he had kept – that is, so far as he knew them – ‘all these things from his youth.’ On this Matthew puts into his mouth the question – ‘What lack I yet?’ Even if, like the other two Evangelists, he had not reported it, we would have supplied this from what follows. There is something intensely earnest, genuine, generous, even enthusiastic, in the higher cravings of the soul in youth, when that youth has not been poisoned by the breath of the world, or stricken with the rottenness of vice. The soul longs for the true, the higher, the better, and, even if strength fails of attainment, we still watch with keen sympathy the form of the climber upwards. Much more must all this have been the case with a Jewish youth, especially in those days; one, besides, like this young Ruler, in whose case affluence of circumstances not only allowed free play, but tended to draw out and to give full scope to the finer feelings, and where wealth was joined with religiousness and the service of the Synagogue. There was not in him that pride of riches, nor the self-sufficiency which they so often engender; nor the pride of conscious moral purity and aim after righteousness before God and man; nor yet the pride of the Pharisee or of the Synagogue-Ruler. What he had seen and heard of the Christ had quickened to greatest intensity all in him that longed after God and heaven, and had brought him in this supreme moral earnestness, lowly, reverently, to the Feet of Him in Whom, as he felt, all perfectness was, and from Whom all perfectness came. He had not been first drawn to Christ, and thence to the pure, as were the publicans and sinners; but, like so many – even as Peter, when in that hour of soul-agony he said: ‘To whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life,’ – he had been drawn to the pure and the higher, and therefore to Christ. To some the way to Christ is up the Mount of Transfiguration, among the shining Beings of another world; to some it is across dark Kedron, down the deep Garden of Gethsemane with its agonies. What matters it, if it equally lead to Him, and equally bring the sense of need and experience of pardon to the seeker after the better, and the sense of need and experience of holiness to the seeker after pardon?

And Jesus saw it all: down, through that intense upward look; inwards, through that question, ‘What lack I yet?’ far deeper down than that young man had ever seen into his own heart – even into depths of weakness and need which he had never sounded, and which must be filled, if he would enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Jesus saw what he lacked; and what He saw, He showed him. For, ‘looking at him’ in his sincerity and earnestness, ‘He loved him’ – as He loves those that are His Own. One thing was needful for this young man: that he should not only become His disciple, but that, in so doing, he should ‘come and follow’ Christ. We can all perceive how, for one like this young man, such absolute and entire coming and following Christ was needful. And again, to do this, it was in the then circumstances both of this young man and of Christ necessary, that he should go and part with all that he had. And what was an outward, was also, as we perceive it, an inward necessity; and so, as ever, Providence and Grace would work together. For, indeed, to many of us some outward step is often not merely the means of but absolutely needful for, spiritual decision. To some it is the first open profession of Christ; to others, the first act of self-denial, or the first distinct ‘No’-saying; to some, it may be, it is the first prayer, or else the first act of self-consecration. Yet it seems, as if it needed not only the word of God but a stroke of some Moses’-rod to make the water gush forth from the rock. And thus would this young Ruler have been ‘perfect;’ and what he had given to the poor have become, not through merit nor by way of reward, but really ‘treasure in heaven.’

What he lacked – was earth’s poverty and heaven’s riches; a heart fully set on following Christ: and this could only come to him through willing surrender of all. And so this was to him alike the means, the test, and the need. To him it was this; to us it may be something quite other. Yet each of us has a lack – something quite deep down in our hearts, which we may never yet have known, and which we must know and give up, if we would follow Christ. And without forsaking, there can be no following. This is the law of the Kingdom – and it is such, because we are sinners, because sin is not only the loss of the good, but the possession of something else in its place.

There is something deeply pathetic in the mode in which Mark describes it: ‘he was sad’ – the word painting a dark gloom that overshadowed the face of the young man. Did he then not lack it, this one thing? We need scarcely here recall the almost extravagant language in which Rabbinism describes the miseries of poverty; we can understand his feelings without that. Such a possibility had never entered his mind: the thought of it was terribly startling. That he must come and follow Christ, then and there, and in order to do so, sell all that he had and give it away among the poor, and be poor himself; a beggar, that he might have treasure in heaven; and that this should come to him as the one thing needful from that Master in Whom he believed, from Whose lips he would learn the one thing needful, and who but a little before had been to him the All in All! It was a terrible surprise, a sentence of death to his life, and of life to his death. And that it should come from His lips, at Whose Feet he had run to kneel, and Who held for him the keys of eternal life! Rabbinism had never asked this; if it demanded almsgiving, it was in odious boastfulness; while it was declared even unlawful to give away all one’s possessions – at most, only a fifth of them might be dedicated.

And so, with clouded face he gazed down into what he lacked – within; but also gazed up in Christ on what he needed. And, although we hear no more of him, who that day went back to his rich home very poor, because ‘very sorrowful,’ we cannot but believe that he, whom Jesus loved, yet found in the poverty of earth the treasure of heaven.

Nor was this all. The deep pity of Christ for him, who had gone that day, speaks also in his warning to his disciples. But surely those are not only riches in the literal sense which make it so difficult for a man to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven – so difficult, as to amount almost to that impossibility which was expressed in the common Jewish proverb, that a man did not even in his dreams see an elephant pass through the eye of a needle. But when in their perplexity the disciples put to each other the saddened question: Who then can he saved? He pointed them onward, then upward, as well as inward, teaching them that, what was impossible of achievement by man in his own strength, God would work by His Almighty Grace.

It almost jars on our ears, and prepares us for still stranger and sadder to come, when Peter, perhaps as spokesman of the rest, seems to remind the Lord that they had forsaken all to follow Him. Matthew records also the special question which Simon added to it: ‘What shall we have therefore?’ and hence his Gospel alone makes mention of the Lord’s reply, in so far as it applied only to the Apostles. For, that reply really bore on two points: on the reward which all who left everything to follow Christ would obtain; and on the special acknowledgment awaiting the Apostles of Christ. In regard to the former we mark, that it is twofold. They who had forsaken all ‘for His sake’ ‘and the Gospel’s,’ ‘for the Kingdom of God’s sake’ – and these three expressions explain and supplement each other – would receive ‘in this time’ ‘manifold more’ of new, and better, and closer relationships of a spiritual kind for those, which they had surrendered, although, as Mark significantly adds, to prevent all possible mistakes, ‘with persecutions.’ But by the side of this stands out unclouded and bright the promise for ‘the world to come’ of ‘everlasting life.’ As regarded the Apostles personally, some mystery lies on the special promise to them. We could quite understand, that the distinction of rule to be bestowed on them might have been worded in language taken from the expectations of the time, in order to make the promise intelligible to them. But, unfortunately, we have no explanatory information to offer. The Rabbis, indeed, speak of a renovation or regeneration of the world (מחדש את עולמו) which was to take place after the 7,000 or else 5,000 years of the Messianic reign. Such a renewal of all things is not only foretold by the prophets, and dwelt upon in later Jewish writings, but frequently referred to in Rabbinic literature.  But as regards the special rule or ‘judgment’ of the Apostles, or ambassadors of the Messiah, we have not, and, of course, cannot expect any parallel in Jewish writings. That the promise of such rule and judgment to the Apostles is not peculiar to what is called the Judaic Gospel of Matthew, appears from its renewal at a later period, as recorded by Luke. Lastly, that it is in accordance with Old Testament promise, will be seen by a reference to Dan_7:9, Dan_7:10; Dan_7:14; Dan_7:27; and there are few references in the New Testament to the blessed consummation of all things in which such renewal of the world, and even the rule and judgment of the representatives of the Church, are not referred to.

However mysterious, therefore, in their details, these things seem clear, and may without undue curiosity or presumption be regarded as the teaching of our Lord: the renewal of earth; the share in His rule and judgment which He will in the future give to His saints, the special distinction which He will bestow on His Apostles, corresponding to the special gifts, privileges, and rule with which He had endowed them on earth, and to their nearness to, and their work and sacrifices for Him; and, lastly, we may add, the preservation of Israel a distinct, probably tribal, nation. As for the rest, as so much else, it is ‘behind the veil’ and, even as we see it, better for the Church that the veil has not been further lifted.

The reference to the blessed future with its rewards was followed by a Parable, recorded, as, with one exception, all of that series, only by Matthew. It will best be considered in connection with the last series of Christ’s Parable’s. But it was accompanied by what, in the circumstances, was also a most needful warning. Thoughts of the future Messianic reign, its glory, and their own part in it might have so engrossed the minds of the disciples as to make them forgetful of the terrible present, immediately before them. In such case they might not only have lapsed into that most fatal Jewish error of a Messiah-King, Who was not Saviour – the Crown without the Cross – but have even suffered shipwreck of their faith, when the storm broke on the Day of His Condemnation and Crucifixion. If ever, it was most needful in that hour of elation to remind and forewarn them of what was to be expected in the immediate future. How truly such preparation was required by the disciples, appears from the narrative itself.

There was something sadly mysterious in the words with which Christ had closed His Parable, that the last should be first and the first last  – and it had carried dark misgivings to those who heard it. And now it seemed all so strange! Yet the disciples could not have indulged in illusions. His own sayings on at least two previous occasions, however ill or partially understood, must have led them to expect at any rate grievous opposition and tribulations in Jerusalem, and their endeavour to deter Christ from going to Bethany to raise Lazarus proves, that they were well aware of the danger which threatened the Master in Judaea. Yet not only ‘was He now going up to Jerusalem,’ but there was that in His bearing which was quite unusual. As Mark writes, He was going ‘before them’ – we infer, apart and alone, as One, busy with thoughts all-engrossing, Who is setting Himself to do His great work, and goes to meet it. ‘And going before them was Jesus; and they were amazed [utterly bewildered, viz. the Apostles]; and those who were following, were afraid.’ It was then that Jesus took the Apostles apart, and in language more precise than ever before, told them how all things that were ‘written by the prophets shall be accomplished on the Son of Man’ – not merely, that all that had been written concerning the Son of Man should be accomplished, but a far deeper truth, all-comprehensive as regards the Old Testament: that all its true prophecy ran up into the sufferings of the Christ. As the three Evangelists report it, the Lord gave them full details of His Betrayal, Crucifixion, and Resurrection. And yet we may, without irreverence, doubt whether on that occasion He had really entered into all those particulars. In such case it would seem difficult to explain how, as Luke reports, ‘they understood none of these things, and the saying was hid from them, neither knew they the things which were spoken;’ and again, how afterwards the actual events and the Resurrection could have taken them so by surprise. Rather do we think, that the Evangelists report what Jesus had said in the light of after-events. He did tell them of His Betrayal by the leaders of Israel, and that into the hands of the Gentiles; of His Death and Resurrection on the third day – yet in language which they could, and actually did, misunderstand at the time, but which, when viewed in the light of what really happened, was perceived by them to have been actual prediction of those terrible days in Jerusalem and of the Resurrection-morning. At the time they may have thought that it pointed only to His rejection by Jews and Gentiles, to Sufferings and Death – and then to a Resurrection, either of His Mission or to such a reappearance of the Messiah, after His temporary disappearance, as Judaism expected.

But all this time, and with increasing fierceness, were terrible thoughts contending in the breast of Judas; and beneath the tramp of that fight was there only a thin covering of earth, to hide and keep from bursting forth the hellish fire of the master-passion within.

One other incident, more strange and sad than any that had preceded, and the Peraean stay is for ever ended. It almost seems, as if the fierce blast of temptation, the very breath of the destroyer, were already sweeping over the little flock, as if the twilight of the night of betrayal and desertion were already falling around. And now it has fallen on the two chosen disciples, James and John – ‘the sons of thunder,’ and one of them, ‘the beloved disciple!’ Peter, the third in that band most closely bound to Christ, had already had his fierce temptation, and would have it more fiercely – to the uprooting of life, if the Great High-Priest had not specially interceded for him. And, as regards these two sons of Zebedee and of Salome, we know what temptation had already beset them, how John had forbidden one to cast out devils, because he followed not with them, and how both he and his brother, James, would have called down fire from heaven to consume the Samaritans who would not receive Christ. It was essentially the same spirit that now prompted the request which their mother Salome preferred, not only with their full concurrence, but, as we are expressly told, with their active participation. There is the same faith in the Christ, the same allegiance to Him, but also the same unhallowed earnestness, the same misunderstanding – and, let us add, the same latent self-exaltation, as in the two former instances, in the present request that, as the most honoured of His guests, and also as the nearest to Him, they might have their places at His Right Hand and at His Left in His Kingdom. Terribly incongruous as is any appearance of self-seeking at that moment and with that prospect before them, we cannot but feel that there is also an intenseness of faith and absoluteness of love almost sublime, when the mother steps forth from among those who follow Christ to His Suffering and Death, to proffer such a request with her sons, and for them.

And so the Saviour seems to have viewed it. With unspeakable patience and tenderness, He, Whose Soul is filled with the terrible contest before Him, bears with the weakness and selfishness which could cherish such thoughts and ambitions even at such a time. To correct them, He points to that near prospect, when the Highest is to be made low. ‘Ye know not what Ye ask!’ The King is to be King through suffering – are they aware of the road which leads to that goal? Those nearest to the King of sorrows must reach the place nearest to Him by the same road as He. Are they prepared for it; prepared to drink that cup of soul-agony, which the Father will hand to Him – to submit to, to descend into that baptism of consecration, when the floods will sweep over Him? In their ignorance, and listening only to the prompting of their hearts, they imagine that they are. Nay, in some measure it would be so; yet, finally to correct their mistake: to sit at His Right and at His Left Hand, these were not marks of mere favour for Him to bestow – in His own words: it ‘is not Mine to give except to them for whom it is prepared of My Father.’

But as for the other ten, when they heard of it, it was only the pre-eminence which, in their view, James and John had sought, which stood out before them, to their envy, jealousy, and indignation. And so, in that tremendously solemn hour would the fierce fire of controversy have broken out among them, who should have been most closely united; would jealousy and ambition have filled those who should have been most humble, and fierce passions, born of self, the world and Satan, have distracted them, whom the thought of the great love and the great sacrifice should have filled. It was the rising of that storm on the sea, the noise and tossing of those angry billows, which He hushed into silence when He spoke to them of the grand contrast between the princes of the Gentiles as they ‘lord it over them,’ or the ‘great among them’ as they ‘domineer’ over men, and their own aims – how, whosoever would be great among them, must seek his greatness in service – not greatness through service, but the greatness of service; and, whosoever would be chief or rather ‘first’ among them, let it be in service. And had it not been thus, was it not, would it not be so in the Son of Man – and must it not therefore be so in them who would be nearest to Him, even His Apostles and disciples? The Son of Man – let them look back, let them look forward – He came not to be ministered unto, but to minister. And then, breaking through the reserve that had held Him, and revealing to them the inmost thoughts which had occupied Him when He had been alone and apart, going before them on the way, He spoke for the first time fully what was the deepest meaning of His Life, Mission, and Death: ‘to give His Life a ransom for many’  – to pay with His Life-Blood the price of their redemption, to lay down His Life for them: in their room and stead, and for their salvation.

These words must have sunk deep into the heart of one at least in that company. A few days later, and the beloved disciple tells us of this Ministry of His Love at the Last Supper, and ever afterwards, in his writings or in his life, does he seem to bear them about with him, and to re-echo them. Ever since also have they remained the foundation-truth, on which the Church has been built: the subject of her preaching, and the object of her experience.

(Luk_19:1-10; Mat_20:29-34; Mar_10:46-52; Luk_18:35-43; Joh 11:55-12:1; Mat_26:6-13; Mar_14:3-9; Joh_12:2-11)

Once more, and now for the last time, were the fords of Jordan passed, and Christ was on the soil of Judaea proper. Behind Him were Peraea and Galilee; behind Him the Ministry of the Gospel by Word and Deed; before Him the final Act of His Life, towards which all had consciously tended. Rejected as the Messiah of His people, not only in His Person but as regarded the Kingdom of God, which, in fulfilment of prophecy and of the merciful Counsel of God, He had come to establish, He was of set purpose going up to Jerusalem, there to accomplish His Decease, ‘to give His Life a Ransom for many.’ And He was coming, not, as at the Feast of Tabernacles, privately, but openly, at the head of His Apostles, and followed by many disciples – a festive band going up to the Paschal Feast, of which Himself was to be ‘the Lamb’ of sacrifice.

The first station reached was Jericho, the ‘City of Palms,’ a distance of only about six hours from Jerusalem. The ancient City occupied not the site of the present wretched hamlet, but lay about half an hour to the north-west of it, by the so-called Elisha-Spring. A second spring rose an hour further to the north-northwest. The water of these springs, distributed by aqueducts, gave, under a tropical sky, unsurpassed fertility to the rich soil along the ‘plain’ of Jericho, which is about twelve or fourteen miles wide. The Old Testament history of the ‘City of Palms’ is sufficiently known. It was here also that King Zedekiah had, on his flight, been seized by the Chaldeans, and thither a company of 345 men returned under Zerubbabel. In the war of liberation under the Maccabees the Syrians had attempted to fortify Jericho. These forts were afterwards destroyed by Pompey in his campaign. Herod the Great had first plundered, and then partially rebuilt, fortified, and adorned Jericho. It was here that he died. His son Archelaus also built there a palace. At the time of which we write, it was, of course, under Roman dominion. Long before, it had recovered its ancient fame for fertility and its prosperity. Josephus describes it as the richest part of the country, and calls it a little Paradise. Antony had bestowed the revenues of its balsam-plantations as an Imperial gift upon Cleopatra, who in turn sold them to Herod. Here grew palm-trees of various kinds, sycamores, the cypress-flower, the myro-balsamum, which yielded precious oil, but especially the balsam-plant. If to these advantages of climate, soil, and productions we add, that it was, so to speak, the key of Judaea towards the east, that it lay on the caravan-road from Damascus and Arabia, that it was a great commercial and military centre, and lastly, its nearness to Jerusalem, to which it formed the last ‘station’ on the road of the festive pilgrims from Galilee and Peraea – it will not be difficult to understand either its importance or its prosperity.

We can picture to ourselves the scene, as our Lord on that afternoon in early spring beheld it. There it was, indeed, already summer, for, as Josephus tells us, even in winter the inhabitants could only bear the lightest clothing of linen. We are approaching it from the Jordan. It is protected by walls, flanked by four forts. These walls, the theatre, and the amphitheatre, have been built by Herod; the new palace and its splendid gardens are the work of Archelaus. All around wave groves of feathery palms, rising in stately beauty; stretch gardens of roses, and especially sweet-scented balsam-plantations – the largest behind the royal gardens, of which the perfume is carried by the wind almost out to sea, and which may have given to the city its name (Jericho, ‘the perfumed’). It is the Eden of Palestine, the very fairyland of the old world. And how strangely is this gem set! Deep down in that hollowed valley, through which tortuous Jordan winds, to lose his waters in the slimy mass of the Sea of Judgment. The river and the Dead Sea are nearly equidistant from the town – about six miles. Far across the river rise the mountains of Moab, on which lies the purple and violet colouring. Towards Jerusalem and northwards stretch those bare limestone hills, the hiding-place of robbers along the desolate road towards the City. There, and in the neighbouring wilderness of Judaea, are also the lonely dwellings of anchorites – while over all this strangely varied scene has been flung the many-coloured mantle of a perpetual summer. And in the streets of Jericho a motley throng meets: pilgrims from Galilee and Peraea, priests who have a ‘station’ here, traders from all lands, who have come to purchase or to sell, or are or, the great caravan-road from Arabia and Damascus – robbers and anchorites, wild fanatics, soldiers, courtiers, and busy publicans – for Jericho was the central station for the collection of tax and custom, both on native produce and on that brought from across Jordan. And yet it was a place for dreaming also, under that glorious summer-sky, in those scented groves – when these many figures from far-off lands and that crowd of priests, numbering, according to tradition, half those in Jerusalem, seemed fleeting as in a vision, and (as Jewish legend had it) the sound of Temple-music came from Moriah, borne in faint echoes on the breeze, like the distant sound of many waters.

It was through Jericho that Jesus, ‘having entered,’ was passing.  Tidings of the approach of the festive band, consisting of His disciples and Apostles, and headed by the Master Himself, must have preceded Him, these six miles from the fords of Jordan. His Name, His Works, His Teaching – perhaps Himself, must have been known to the people of Jericho, just as they must have been aware of the feelings of the leaders of the people, perhaps of the approaching great contest between them and the Prophet of Nazareth. Was He a good man; had He wrought those great miracles in the power of God or by Satanic influence – was He the Messiah or the Antichrist; would He bring salvation to the world, or entail ruin on His own nation? Conquer or be destroyed? Was it only one more in the long list of delusions and illusions, or was the long-promised morning of heaven’s own day at last to break? Close by was Bethany, whence tidings had come; most incredible yet unquestioned and unquestionable, of the raising of Lazarus, so well known to all in that neighbourhood. And yet the Sanhedrin – it was well-known – had resolved on His death! At any rate there was no concealment about Him; and here, in face of all, and accompanied by His followers – humble and unlettered, it must be admitted, but thoroughly convinced of His superhuman claims, and deeply attached – Jesus was going up to Jerusalem to meet His enemies!

It was the custom, when a festive band passed through a place, that the inhabitants gathered in the streets to bid their brethren welcome. And on that afternoon, surely, scarce any one in Jericho but would go forth to see this pilgrim-band. Men – curious, angry, half-convinced; women, holding up their babes, it may be for a passing blessing, or pushing forward their children that in after years they might say they had seen the Prophet of Nazareth; traders, soldiers – a solid wall of onlookers before their gardens was this ‘crowd’ along the road by which Jesus ‘was to pass.’ Would He only pass through the place, or be the guest of some of the leading priests in Jericho; would He teach, or work any miracle, or silently go on His way to Bethany? Only one in all that crowd seemed unwelcome; alone, and out of place. It was the ‘chief of the Publicans’ – the head of the tax and customs department. As his name shows, he was a Jew; but yet that very name Zacchaeus, ‘Zakkai,’ ‘the just,’ or ‘pure,’ sounded like mockery. We know in what repute Publicans were held, and what opportunities of wrong-doing and oppression they possessed. And from his after-confession it is only too evident, that Zacchaeus had to the full used them for evil. And he had got that for which he had given up alike his nation and his soul: ‘he was rich.’ If, as Christ had taught, it was harder for any rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, what of him who had gotten his riches by such means?

And yet Zacchaeus was in the crowd that had come to see Jesus. What had brought him? Certainly, not curiosity only. Was it the long working of conscience; or a dim, scarcely self-avowed hope of something better; or had he heard Him before; or of Him, that He was so unlike those harsh leaders and teachers of Israel, who refused all hope on earth and in heaven to such as him, that Jesus received – nay, called to Him the publicans and sinners? Or was it only the nameless, deep, irresistible inward drawing of the Holy Ghost, which may perhaps have brought us, as it has brought many, we know not why or how, to the place and hour of eternal decision for God, and of infinite grace to our souls? Certain it is, that, as so often in such circumstances, Zacchaeus encountered only hindrances which seemed to render his purpose almost impossible. The narrative is singularly detailed and pictorial. Zacchaeus, trying to push his way through ‘the press,’ and repulsed; Zacchaeus, ‘little of stature,’ and unable to look over the shoulders of others: it reads almost like a symbolical story of one who is seeking ‘to see Jesus,’ but cannot push his way because of the crowd – whether of the self-righteous, or of his own conscious sins, that seem to stand, between him and the Saviour, and which will not make room for him, while he is unable to look over them because he is, so to speak, ‘little of stature.’

Needless questions have been asked as to the import of Zacchaeus’ wish ‘to see who Jesus was.’ It is just this vagueness of desire, which Zacchaeus himself does not understand, which is characteristic. And, since he cannot otherwise succeed, he climbs up one of those wide-spreading sycamores in a garden, perhaps close to his own house, along the only road by which Jesus can pass – ‘to see Him.’ Now the band is approaching, through that double living wall: first, the Saviour, viewing that crowd, with, ah! how different thoughts from theirs – surrounded by His Apostles, the face of each expressive of such feelings as were uppermost; conspicuous among them, he who ‘carried the bag,’ with furtive, uncertain, wild glance here and there, as one who seeks to gather himself up to a terrible deed. Behind them are the disciples, men and women, who are going up with Him to the Feast. Of all persons in that crowd the least noted, the most hindered in coming – and yet the one most concerned, was the Chief Publican. It is always so – it is ever the order of the Gospel, that the last shall be first. Yet never more self-unconscious was Zacchaeus than at the moment when Jesus was entering that garden-road, and passing under the overhanging branches of that sycamore, the crowd closing up behind, and following as He went along. Only one thought – without ulterior conscious object, temporal or spiritual – filled his whole being. The present absolutely held him – when those wondrous Eyes, out of which heaven itself seemed to look upon earth, were upturned, and that Face of infinite grace, never to be forgotten, beamed upon him the welcome of recognition, and He uttered the self-spoken invitation in which the invited was the real Inviter, the guest the true Host. Did Jesus know Zacchaeus before – or was it only all open to His Divine gaze as ‘He looked up and saw him?’ This latter seems, indeed, indicated by the ‘must’ of His abiding in the house of Zacchaeus – as if His Father had so appointed it, and Jesus come for that very purpose. And herein, also, seems this story spiritually symbolical.

As bidden by Christ, Zacchaeus ‘made haste and came down.’ Under the gracious influence of the Holy Ghost he ‘received Him rejoicing.’ Nothing was as yet clear to him, and yet all was joyous within his soul. In that dim twilight of the new day, and at this new creation, the Angels sang and the Sons of God shouted together, and all was melody and harmony in his heart. But a few steps farther, and they were at the house of the Chief Publican. Strange hostelry this for the Lord; yet not stranger in that Life of absolute contrasts than that first hostelry – the same, even as regards its designation in the Gospel, as when the manger had been His cradle; not so strange, as at the Sabbath-feast of the Pharisee Rulers of the Synagogue. But now the murmur of disappointment and anger ran through the accompanying crowd – which perhaps had not before heard what had passed between Jesus and the Publican, certainly, had not understood, or else not believed its import – because He was gone to be guest with a man that was a sinner. Oh, terribly fatal misunderstanding of all that was characteristic of the Mission of the Christ! oh, terribly fatal blindness and jealousy! But it was this sudden shock of opposition which awoke Zacchaeus to full consciousness. The hands so rudely and profanely thrust forward only served to rend the veil. It often needs some such sudden shock of opposition, some sudden sharp contest, to waken the new convert to full consciousness, to bring before him, in clear outline, alike the past and the present. In that moment Zacchaeus saw it all: what his past had been, what his present was, what his future must be. Standing forth, not so much before the crowd as before the Lord, and not ashamed, nay, scarcely conscious of the confession it implied – so much is the sorrow of the past in true repentance swallowed up by the joy of the present – Zacchaeus vowed fourfold restoration, as by a thief, of what had become his through false accusation, as well as the half of all his goods to the poor. And so the whole current of his life had been turned, in those few moments, through his joyous reception of Christ, the Saviour of sinners; and Zacchaeus the public robber, the rich Chief of the Publicans, had become an almsgiver.

It was then, when it had been all done in silence, as mostly all God’s great works, that Jesus spake it to him, for his endless comfort, and in the hearing of all, for their and our teaching: ‘This day became – arose – there salvation to this house,’ ‘forasmuch as,’ truly and spiritually, ‘this one also is a son of Abraham.’ And, as regards this man, and all men, so long as time endureth: ‘For the Son of Man came to seek and to save that which was lost.’

The Evangelistic record passes with significant silence over that night in the house of Zacchaeus. It forms not part of the public history of the Kingdom of God, but of that joy with which a stranger intermeddleth not. It was in the morning, when the journey in company with His disciples was resumed, that the next public incident occurred in the healing of the blind by the wayside. The small divergences in the narratives of the three Evangelists are well-known. It may have been that, as Matthew relates, there were two blind men sitting by the wayside, and that Luke and Mark mention only one the latter by name as ‘Bar Timaeus’ – because he was the spokesman. But, in regard to the other divergence, trifling as it is, that Luke places the incident at the arrival, the other two Evangelists at the departure of Jesus from Jericho, it is better to admit our inability to conciliate these differing notes of time, than to make clumsy attempts at harmonising them. We can readily believe that there may have been circumstances unknown to us, which might show these statements to be not really diverging. And, if it were otherwise, it would in no way affect the narrative itself. Historical information could only have been derived from local sources; and we have already seen reason to infer that Luke had gathered his from personal inquiry on the spot. And it may have been, either that the time was not noted, or wrongly noted, or that this miracle, as the only one in Jericho, may have been reported to him before mention was made of the reception by Christ of Zacchaeus. In any case, it shows the independence of the account of Luke from that of the other two Evangelists.

Little need be said of the incident itself: it is so like the other Deeds of His Life. So to speak – it was left in Jericho as the practical commentary, and the seal on what Christ had said and done the previous evening in regard to Zacchaeus. Once more the crowd was following Jesus, as in the morning He resumed the journey with His disciples. And, there by the wayside, begging, sat the blind men – there, where Jesus was passing. As they heard the tramp of many feet and the sound of many voices, they learned that Jesus of Nazareth was passing by. It is all deeply touching, and deeply symbolical. But what must their faith have been, when there, in Jericho, they not only owned Him as the true Messiah, but cried – in the deep significance of that special mode of address, as coming from Jewish lips: ‘Jesus, Thou Son of David, have mercy on me!’ It was quite in accordance with what one might almost have expected – certainly with the temper of Jericho, as we learned it on the previous evening, when ‘many,’ the ‘multitude,’ ‘they which went before,’ would have bidden that cry for help be silent as an unwarrantable intrusion and interruption, if not a needless and meaningless application. But only all the louder and more earnest rose the cry, as the blind felt that they might for ever be robbed of the opportunity that was slipping past. And He, Who listens to every cry of distress, heard this. He stood still, and commanded the blind to be called. Then it was that the sympathy of sudden hope seized the ‘multitude’ the wonder about to be wrought fell, so to speak, in its heavenly influences upon them, as they comforted the blind in the agony of rising despair with the words, ‘He calleth thee.’ As so often, we are indebted to Mark for the vivid sketch of what passed. We can almost see Bartimaeus as, on receiving Christ’s summons, he casts aside his upper garment and hastily comes. That question: what he would that Jesus should do unto him, must have been meant for those around more than for the blind. The cry to the son of David had been only for mercy. It might have been for alms – though, as the address, so the gift bestowed in answer, would be right royal – ‘after the order of David.’ But our general cry for mercy must ever become detailed when we come into the Presence of the Christ. And the faith of the blind rose to the full height of the Divine possibilities opened before them. Their inward eyes had received capacity for The Light, before that of earth lit up their long darkness. In the language of Matthew, ‘Jesus had compassion on them and touched their eyes.’ This is one aspect of it. The other is that given by Mark and Luke, in recording the words with which He accompanied the healing: ‘Thy faith has saved thee.’

And these two results came of it: ‘all the people, when they saw it gave praise unto God;’ and, as for Bartimaeus, though Jesus had bidden him ‘go thy way,’ yet, ‘immediately he received his sight,’ he ‘followed Jesus in the way,’ glorifying God. And this is Divine disobedience, or rather the obedience of the spirit as against the observance of the letter.

The arrival of the Paschal band from Galilee and Peraea was not in advance of many others. In truth, most pilgrims from a distance would probably come to the Holy City some days before the Feast, for the sake of purification in the Temple, since those who for any reason needed such – and there would be few families that did not require it – generally deferred it till the festive season brought them to Jerusalem. We owe this notice, and that which follows, to John, and in this again recognise the Jewish writer of the Fourth Gospel. It was only natural that these pilgrims should have sought for Jesus, and, when they did not find Him, discuss among themselves the probability of His coming to the Feast. His absence would, alter the work which He had done these three years, the claim which He made, and the defiant denial of it by the priesthood and the Sanhedrin, have been regarded as a virtual surrender to the enemy. There was a time when He need not have appeared at the Feast – when, as we see it, it was better He should not come. But that time was past. The chief priests and the Pharisees also knew it, and they ‘had given commandment that, if any one knew where He was, he would show it, that they might take Him.’ It would be better to ascertain where He lodged, and to seize Him before He appeared in public, in the Temple.

But it was not as they had imagined. Without concealment Christ came to Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom He had raised from the dead. He came there six days before the Passover – and yet His coming was such that they could not ‘take Him.’ They might, as well take Him in the Temple; nay, more easily. For, the moment His stay in Bethany became known, ‘much people of the Jews’ came out, not only for His sake, but to see that Lazarus whom He had raised from the dead. And, of those who so came, many went away believing. And how, indeed, could it be otherwise? Thus one of their plans was frustrated, and the evil seemed only to grow worse. The Sanhedrin could perhaps not be moved to such flagrant outrage of all Jewish Law, but ‘the chief priests,’ who had no such scruples, consulted how they might put Lazarus also to death.

Yet, not until His hour had come could man do aught against Christ or His disciples. And, in contrast to such scheming, haste, and search, we mark the majestic calm and quiet of Him Who knew what was before Him. Jesus had arrived at Bethany six days before the Passover – that is, on a Friday. The day after was the Sabbath, and ‘they made Him a supper.’ It was the special festive meal of the Sabbath. The words of John seem to indicate that the meal was a public one, as if the people of Bethany had combined to do Him this honour, and so share the privilege of attending the feast. In point of fact, we know from Matthew and Mark that it took place ‘in the house of Simon the Leper’ – not, of course, an actual leper – but one who had been such. Perhaps his guest-chamber was the largest in Bethany; perhaps the house was nearest to the Synagogue; or there may have been other reasons for it, unknown to us – least likely is the suggestion that Simon was the husband of Martha, or else her father. But all is in character. Among the guests is Lazarus: and, prominent in service, Martha; and Mary (the unnamed woman of the other two Gospels, which do not mention that household by name), is also true to her character. She had ‘an alabaster’ of ‘spikenard genuine,’ which was very precious. It held ‘a litra’ (לִיטְרָא or לִיטַרְתָּא) which was a ‘Roman pound,’ and its value could not have been less than nearly 9l. Remembering the price of Nard, as given by Pliny, and that the Syrian was only next in value to the Indian, which Pliny regarded as the best ointment of ‘genuine’ Nard – unadulterated and unmixed with any other balsam (as the less expensive kinds were), such a price (300 dinars = nearly 9l.) would be by no means excessive; indeed, much lower than at Rome. But, viewed in another light, the sum spent was very large, remembering that 200 dinars (about 6l.) nearly sufficed to provide bread for 5,000 men with their families, and that the ordinary wages of a labourer amounted to only one dinar a day.

We can here offer only conjectures. But it is, at least, not unreasonable to suppose – remembering the fondness of Jewish women for such perfumes – that Mary may have had that ‘alabaster’ of very costly ointment from olden days, before she had learned to serve Christ. Then, when she came to know Him, and must have learned how constantly that Decease, of which He ever spoke, was before His Mind, she may have put it aside, ‘kept it,’ ‘against the day of His burying.’ And now the decisive hour had come. Jesus may have told her, as He had told the disciples, what was before Him in Jerusalem at the Feast, and she would be far more quick to understand, even as she must have known far better than they, how great was the danger from the Sanhedrin. And it is this believing apprehension of the mystery of His Death on her part, and this preparation of deepest love for it – this mixture of sorrow, faith, and devotion – which made her deed so precious, that, wherever in the future the Gospel would be preached, this also that she had done would be recorded for a memorial of her. And the more we think of it, the better can we understand, how at that last feast of fellowship, when all the other guests realised not – no, not even His disciples – how near the end was, she would ‘come aforehand to anoint His Body for the burying.’  Her faith made it a twofold anointing: that of the best Guest at the last feast, and that of preparation for that Burial which, of all others, she apprehended as so terribly near. And deepest humility now offered, what most earnest love had provided, and intense faith, in view of what was coming, applied. And so she poured the precious ointment over His Head, over His Feet – then, stooping over them, wiped them with her hair, as if, not only in evidence of service and love, but in fellowship of His Death. ‘And the house was filled’ – and to all time His House, the Church, is filled – ‘with the odour of the ointment.’

It is ever the light which throws the shadows of objects – and this deed of faith and love now cast the features of Judas in gigantic dark outlines against the scene. He knew the nearness of Christ’s Betrayal, and hated the more; she knew of the nearness of His precious Death, and loved the more. It was not that he cared for the poor, when, taking the mask of charity, he simulated anger that such costly ointment had not been sold, and the price given to the poor. For he was essentially dishonest, ‘a thief,’ and covetousness was the underlying master-passion of his soul. The money, claimed for the poor, would only have been used by himself. Yet such was his pretence of righteousness, such his influence as ‘a man of prudence’ among the disciples, and such their sad weakness, that they, or at least ‘some,’ expressed indignation among themselves and against her who had done the deed of love, which, when viewed in the sublimeness of a faith, that accepted and prepared for the death of a Saviour Whom she so loved, and to Whom this last, the best service she could, was to be devoted, would for ever cause her to be thought of as an example of loving. There is something inexpressibly sad, yet so patient, gentle, and tender in Christ’s ‘Let her alone.’ Surely, never could there be waste in ministry of love to Him! Nay, there is unspeakable pathos in what He says of His near Burying, as if He would still their souls in view of it. That He, Who was ever of the poor and with them, Who for our sakes became poor, that through His poverty we might be made rich, should have to plead for a last service of love to Himself, and for Mary, and as against a Judas, seems, indeed, the depth of self-abasement. Yet, even so, has this falsely-spoken plea for the poor become a real plea, since He has left us this, as it were, as His last charge, and that by His own Death, that we have the poor always with us. And so do even the words of covetous dishonesty become, when passing across Him, transformed into the command of charity, and the breath of hell is changed into the summer-warmth of the Church’s constant service to Christ in the ministry to His poor.