The History of Christianity - John S. C. Abbott (bookstand for reading .txt) 📗

The reply of Jesus was a distinct avowal of his Messiahship: “Because I said unto thee, I saw thee under the fig-tree, believest thou? Thou shalt see greater things than these. Hereafter ye shall see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of man.”

Jesus, strengthened, not exhausted, by his temptation in the wilderness, returned to Nazareth. In the mystery of his double nature as Son of God and Son of man, the mission of his life seems now to have been fully revealed to him. He then commenced preaching his gospel of penitence for sin, faith in him as a Saviour, and a holy life.

Not with words of denunciation did he open his ministry. Tenderly he bore with the doubts and questionings, which led many to hesitate to acknowledge him as the long-looked-for Messiah. Sympathy and healing for body and soul were the first messages of our Lord. The hard, stern outlines of the Jewish law were softened, yes, glorified, by the spiritual meaning infused into them by Jesus. Sent to preach the gospel to the poor, and to bind up the broken-hearted, he addressed the desponding in words of encouragement and cheer, while he did not abate one iota of the integrity and authority of the law.

A few miles north of Nazareth, slumbering among the hills of Galilee, was the little village of Cana. A marriage was celebrated there on the third day after the return of Jesus from the wilderness. He was invited to the wedding, with his mother and the disciples who had accompanied him to Nazareth. The fame of Jesus was rapidly extending, and the knowledge of his expected presence probably drew an unexpected number to the wedding. Consequently, the wine, simple juice of the grape, usually provided on such occasions, was found to be insufficient. The mother of Jesus informed him with some solicitude that the wine was falling short. It would appear that he had anticipated this; for his reply, “What have I to do with thee? mine hour is not yet come,” may be interpreted, “It is not necessary for you, mother, to be anxious about this: the time for me to interpose is not yet come.” That time soon came,—probably when the wine was entirely exhausted. The anxious, care-taking mother understood this to mean that he would, at the proper time, provide for the emergency; for she went to the servants, and requested them to do whatever Jesus should ask of them.

In the court-yard there were six stone firkins, or jars, about two-thirds the size of an ordinary barrel, containing about thirty gallons each. Jesus ordered the servants to fill them with water. Surprised, but unhesitatingly they obeyed. He then directed them to draw from those firkins, and present first to the governor of the feast. To their amazement, pure wine filled their goblets,—wine which the governor of the feast declared to be of remarkable excellence. This was the first miracle which is recorded of our Saviour. There is no evidence that there was the slightest intoxicating quality in this pure beverage thus prepared for the wedding-guests.

Soon after this, Jesus went to Capernaum, a thriving seaport town upon the western shores of the Lake of Galilee, about twelve miles north-east of Nazareth. His mother, his brothers,—who did not accept his Messiahship,—and his disciples,—we know not how many in number,—accompanied him. We have no record of his doings during the few days that he remained there. As the feast of the Passover was at hand, Jesus went up to Jerusalem, there to inaugurate his ministry in the midst of the thousands whom the sacred festival would summon to the metropolis. A few of his disciples accompanied him. Their journey was undoubtedly made on foot, a distance of about a hundred miles.

Upon their arrival, Jesus directed his steps immediately to the temple, probably then the most imposing structure in the world. The sight which met his view as he entered the outer court-yard of the temple with his humble Galilean followers excited his indignation. The sacred edifice had been perverted to the most shameful purposes of traffic. The booths of the traders lined its walls. The bleating of sheep and the lowing of oxen resounded through its enclosures. The litter of the stable covered its tessellated floors, and the tables of money-changers stood by the side of the magnificent marble pillars. The din of traffic filled that edifice which was erected for the worship of God.

Jesus, in the simple garb of a Galilean peasant, and without any badge of authority, enters this tumultuous throng. Picking up from the floor a few of the twigs, or rushes, he bound them together; and, with voice and gesture of authority whose supernatural power no man could resist, “he drove them all out of the temple, and the sheep and the oxen; and poured out the changers’ money, and overthrew the tables; and said unto them that sold doves, Take these things hence: make not my Father’s house a house of merchandise.”

No one ventured any resistance. The temple was cleared of its abominations. There must have been a more than human presence in the eye and voice of this Galilean peasant, to enable him thus, in the proud metropolis of Judæa, to drive the traffickers from all nations in a panic before him, while invested with no governmental power, and his only weapon consisting of a handful of rushes; for this seems to be the proper meaning of the words translated “a whip of small cords.”

The temple being thus cleared, some of the people ventured to ask of him by what authority he performed such an act. His extraordinary reply was, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” There is no evidence that there was any thing in the voice or gesture of Jesus upon this occasion which implied that he did not refer to the material temple whose massive grandeur rose around them. It is certain that his interrogators so understood him: for they replied, “Forty and six years was this temple in building; and wilt thou rear it up in three days?”

The evangelist John adds, “But he spake of the temple of his body.” We have no intimation that Jesus attempted to rectify the error into which they had fallen. And it is difficult to assign any satisfactory reason why he should have left them to ponder his dark saying. Human frailty is often bewildered in the attempt to explicate infinite wisdom.

Probably the fame of Jesus had already reached Jerusalem. His wonderful achievement, in thus cleansing the temple, must have excited universal astonishment. Many were inclined to attach themselves to him as a great prophet. There was at that time residing in Jerusalem a man of much moral worth, by the name of Nicodemus. He was rich, was in the highest circles of society, a teacher of the Jewish law, and a member of the Sanhedrim, the supreme council of the nation.

He sought an interview with Jesus at night, that he might enjoy uninterrupted conversation, or, as is more probable, because he had not sufficient moral courage to go to him openly. In the following words he announced to Jesus his full conviction of his prophetic character: “Rabbi, we know that thou art a teacher come from God; for no man can do these miracles that thou doest except God be with him.”

Jesus did not wait for any questions to be asked. With apparent abruptness, and without any exchange of salutations, he said solemnly, as if rebuking the assumption that he, the Lamb of God, had come to the world merely as a teacher, “Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.”

Nicodemus ought to have understood this language. The “new birth” was no new term, framed now for the first time. The proselytes from heathenism, having been received into the Jewish fold by circumcision and baptism, in token of the renewal of their hearts, were said to be “born again.” Jesus, adopting this perfectly intelligible language, informed Nicodemus that it was not by intellectual conviction merely that one became a member of the Messiah’s kingdom, but by such a renovation of soul, that one might be said to be born again,—old things having passed away, and all things having become new. Nicodemus, who perhaps, in pharisaic pride, imagined that he had attained the highest stage of the religious life, was probably a little irritated in being told that he needed this change of heart to gain admission to the kingdom of God; and, in his irritation, allowed himself in a very stupid cavil. “How can a man,” said he, “be born when he is old? Can he enter the second time into his mother’s womb, and be born?”

Jesus, ever calm, did not heed the cavil, but simply reiterated his declaration, that no man could become a member of the kingdom of God, unless, renewed in the spirit of his mind, he thus became a partaker of the divine nature. Nicodemus probably assumed that he, as a Jew, would be entitled by right of birth to membership in the kingdom of the Messiah. When a Gentile became a proselyte to the Jewish religion, by the rite of baptism he promised to renounce idolatry, to worship the true God, and to live in conformity with the divine law. The external rite gradually began to assume undue importance. Our Saviour, in announcing to Nicodemus the doctrine that a spiritual regeneration was needful, of which the application of water in baptism was merely the emblem, said, “Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God. That which is born of the flesh is flesh,”—is corrupt: “that which is born of the Spirit is spirit,”—is pure. “Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again.”

And then, in reply to queries which he foresaw were rising in the mind of Nicodemus, he continued: “The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit.” This sublime truth is thus enunciated without any attempt at explanation. Why is one man led by the Holy Spirit to the Saviour, while another, certainly no less deserving, is not? This question has been asked through all the ages, but never answered. Where is the Christian who has not often said,—