Misunderstood

Behold, he calleth Elias—

Mar_15:35

Christ’s Life Began and Ended in Misunderstanding

We are here in the center of the Gospel mystery. It is the closing scene in the earthly life of Jesus. Jesus has been betrayed, He has been scourged and crucified, and in a little while the sorrow will be over. It is then that in His unutterable agony He cries, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani”—and some of them that stood by when they heard it said, “Behold, He calleth Elias.” They misinterpreted that last dear cry. They thought He was speaking to Elias and not to God. So at the very end, and on the cross itself, Jesus was misunderstood.

The strange thing is that what happened in this last scene of the life of Jesus had happened also in the first of which we read. It had happened on that memorable occasion when Jesus was a lad of twelve years old, and had gone up with Mary and Joseph to Jerusalem. There they had lost Him—you recall the story—and they hurried back to Jerusalem to find Him; and all the time they thought it was childish wantonness—the careless wandering of a happy boy. “Son,” said Mary, “why hast Thou thus dealt with us? Behold thy father and I have sought Thee sorrowing”: and He said unto them, “How is it that ye sought me: wist ye not that I must be about My Father’s business?” His nearest and His dearest misconstrued Him. There were purposes of heaven in His waiting, and they thought at the best it was a boyish frolic. So Christ began by being misunderstood, and ended misunderstood on Calvary.

The Way in Which Jesus Was Misunderstood

On that subject I wish to speak tonight— the way in which Jesus was misunderstood. And the very fact that He was so misunderstood is a tribute to the greatness of our Lord. There is, it is true, a very real sense in which we are all of us misapprehended. Even the shallowest heart is far too deep ever to utter itself aright to any man. Yet in large measure we understand each other when we are moving on the same lines and levels; it is when a man is transcendently original, that he is certain to be misunderstood. Men did not misinterpret John the Baptist; they recognized him as a prophet and they honored him. And I feel that Jesus must be greater than John when the whole nation misunderstood Him so.

You will observe, too, that if Christ was misunderstood it was not from any subtlety of character. If He was supremely great, do not forget that He was supremely simple— His life is transparent as the finest glass. It is hard to say how high the mountain is when the mists hang round it and it is wrapped in cloud; and there are men like that— men who never reveal themselves, and such men are certain to be misinterpreted. If you have not the courage to be a clear, straight man, you must not wonder if we all misjudge you. It is part of the penalty which every hypocrite pays that he is involved in perpetual misunderstandings. But Christ? He was sincerity incarnate! filled with one passion and pressing for one goal. There was never such a simplicity on earth as that of the character of Jesus; yet for all that there never was a character which was so hopelessly misunderstood. Is not that very strange? I think it is. It sharpens the thorn in my Redeemer’s crown. Great Savior! who wast so true and open— it was Thou who wert misunderstood!

Men Misunderstood Christ’s Motives

I want to follow that misinterpretation into one or two spheres of the earthly life of Jesus: and I notice first that men misunderstood His motives. Think for example of His healing miracles— “He casteth out devils by Beelzebub,” they said. There was no gainsaying that the devils were routed, and that the sick were healed, and that the dead were raised. It was all part and parcel of Christ’s gracious ministry. It was the kingdom of God coming with power among them. That was the motive of it— let God’s kingdom come. That was the meaning of it— let sin be overthrown. And “He casteth out devils by Beelzebub,” they said. Or think of His eating with publicans and sinners. You know the motive of that condescension? It was love— it was love unutterable for mankind— that shattered the barriers and made Christ a brother. But “He is a gluttonous man and a winebibber,” they said. “He feels at home with sinners, and so He eats with them.” That condescension spelled out love divine, and they thought it was proof positive of guilt.

If you are Christ’s you must expect that too, for the servant is not greater than his Lord. If you are truly in earnest about the kingdom, and striving to live along the lines of Jesus, be sure your motives may be misconstrued. There is not a deed you do but men may question it, and run it back into your secret thought, and if there be two possible motives for it, you may be certain that the world will choose the worse. Tell me what are you really thinking in the very moment when you are praising so and so? Ah, if we could only read your thoughts sometimes, I fear we might think little of your praise. It is that knowledge which keeps a Christian steadfast through the world’s censure and the world’s applause. In the light of Christ he has learned to expect his motives to be misunderstood. And so he takes the world’s praise very lightly, detects the fester at the roots of it, lifts his brow heavenward, goes forward to his duty, and leaves his final judgment to God.

Christ’s Speech Misunderstood

Again I remark that men misunderstood the mystical and poetic speech of Jesus. They took Him very prosaically and literally when He only meant to suggest as music does, and so time and again they misconstrued Him. Take for example one of His early words, “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up again.” And as He spake, I doubt not, He would wave His hand toward His own body. That was the Temple, the home of the living God, a thousand times greater than these mighty stones; but they were literalists— the Temple? There it was— and not one Jew in all the circle caught the rich suggestion of the Lord. So, too, in the sad sweet story of the home at Bethany you recall how Jesus said to His disciples, “Our friend Lazarus sleepeth.” And they all loved Jesus— that little band of followers— and love gives a man eyes to understand. Yet they answered at once, “Lord if he sleep, he shall do well,” and Jesus, with a touch of pity at their dullness, had to tell them plainly that Lazarus was dead. They had not grasped the sweet suggestion of the word. They took Christ literally and misunderstood Him— and yet they were His disciples, and they loved Him.

I think that Jesus is still misunderstood that way. There are men who love Him as these disciples did, and who are striving to serve Him in a life of duty, but they have taken the music of His speech, that was meant to suggest and to lead into the infinite, and they have built their arguments upon the letter of it, forgetting that it is the spirit that giveth life. Believe in the possibilities of Jesus’ speech. No creed or commentary can ever exhaust it. It may have been interpreted a thousand times, but there is some new gleam of heaven in it for me. Take all the words of Jesus at their largest. Be not afraid: expand them infinitely. In everything He ever said there is far more than has ever yet been grasped by Christendom.

The Silence of Jesus Misunderstood

The world, then, misunderstood the speech of Jesus; but it also misunderstood His silence. There is no clearer instance of that in the four Gospels than in the scene we read from the Gospel of Luke tonight. Christ had been sent by Pilate to Herod, and Herod when he saw Him was exceeding glad. He plied his prisoner with ceaseless questions, and he hoped to have seen some miracle at last. But Christ would do no miracle and would answer nothing. Silent and unresponsive, He stood still. And if ever the silence of Jesus was misunderstood, it was that day by Herod. He took it as a confession of His impotence. It was because Christ was powerless, that He was speechless. The dignity of it, and all the royalty of it, was lost on Herod. He misunderstood the silence of the Christ.

Is not Christ’s silence still misunderstood? There is nothing harder for many a mind to grapple with than the apparent silence of our ascended Lord. It is not what God does, it is what He fails to do; it is not what Christ says, it is what He fails to say, that puzzles and perplexes many an earnest soul. Has He no word of answer when we cry to Him? Does He not hear the moaning of the world? Why are the heavens of brass, when such things happen? Is there no eye to pity this poor earth? Until we are tempted to say, He does not know: until we are tempted to cry, He does not care: and all the time, like Herod in the Gospel, we have misunderstood the silence of the King. Not that I can explain that silence. It is inscrutable and mysterious and dark. But I am determined not to misinterpret it; I shall suspend my judgment till the glory. And then, I take it, it will so shine with meaning and will be so bright with patience and with love, that at last I shall begin to understand the mysterious silence of my Lord.

Misconstruing the Part as the Whole

One word and I have done. Come back to our text again before we close. “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani,” and when they heard it they said He calleth Elias. Do you see the reason why they misunderstood Him? They had only caught a fragment of His speech. They had only heard a syllable or two. Had they caught the whole of it— let the whole sentence sink into their hearts— they would have known that He was calling upon God.

There never was a time when Christ was more misunderstood than now, for the very reason that we find at Calvary. There was never a time when fragments of the Gospel were proclaimed with such assurance as the whole round truth. One man will take the Sermon on the Mount, and neglecting everything else say, This is Christianity. Another can think of nothing but the sacrifice: the whole of the Gospel is in that for him. They are like the men who heard “Eloi Eloi,” and said at once, “He is calling for Elias.” It is wonderful, I grant you, what a single word— what a mere fragment will do for any soul. A few stray syllables, like a strand of rope, may save a sinner and bring him to the shore. But for you who are Christians that is not enough. You must study and strive to have a full rich Gospel. To take a part and think it is the whole is the sure way of misunderstanding Christ. Therefore reject not uncongenial truths. Embrace the whole: come like a child to it. Believe that wherever God Almighty works, there must be infinite compass and unfathomable depth. So slowly, and amid many things you cannot reconcile, you will draw nearer to the truth as it is in Jesus, until at last in the land where there are no misunderstandings any more, you will know even as also you are known.

The Evident Christ
He could not be hid— Mar_7:24
It Was Impossible to Conceal Christ
Jesus was in retirement at this time. He had sought seclusion in the coasts of Tyre. It was perilous for Him to be seen just then, and the hour of His cross had not yet come. The tetrarch Herod had become suspicious. The Pharisees made no concealment of their hatred. The people who were so enthusiastic lately had taken deep offence at Jesus’ teaching. And our Lord, recognizing the danger in all this, withdrew for a time to a half-heathen territory, where occurred that exquisite and precious incident—the visit of the Syrophenician woman. Now there was one thing which deeply impressed the disciples there. It was the impossibility of concealment for their Master. Quietly He had stolen away. No vision of Messiah stirred these villagers, for they were pagans and outside the covenant. Yet even there Jesus could not be hid— there were hearts which recognized Him as the Christ— and it was that which made so deep a mark on the watchful minds of the disciples. It is very probable that as the years went on that thought would grow in meaning for the twelve. John would recall it on the shores of Patmos; Peter amid the crowds of Babylon. And when they were wearied out with opposition, or crushed by the might and mockery of heathendom, it would come to them sometimes like cheering music, that Christ could not be hid. On that thought I wish to speak. I want to show you how grandly true it is. Firstly, we shall consider Jesus in the flesh. Secondly, Jesus in the world. Thirdly, Jesus in the heart.
Jesus in the Flesh
First, then, considering Jesus in the flesh let us dwell for a moment on His lot. It would be hard to imagine any lot that offered a surer promise of obscurity. He was the child of a secluded village— a village that was not held in much repute. There He lived and there He humbly labored till He was some thirty years of age. And so deep was the retirement of these years, so void of rumors of the coming glory, that Nathanael, who belonged to Cana in the neighborhood, seems never to have heard a whisper of Him. Most men who are to come to greatness are on the road to it before the age of thirty. They have left their native village long ere that; they are out in the world and battling with its powers. But at thirty Christ was still at Nazareth, still toiling for His daily bread there, still acting as a father to His brothers, for His mother Mary was a widow now. Wealth is able to open many doors, but in the cottage at Nazareth there was no wealth. Influence is powerful in advancement, but what influence had a village carpenter? Learning can beat a way through every barrier, and bring a man into the court of kings, but to the laborious learning of His day, Jesus was utterly indifferent.
Have you ever thought again how much in Jesus’ character seemed to promise nothing but obscurity? I say that with the utmost reverence— you all know what our Lord means for me. There is not a trace in Him of lust of power, so often the characteristic of the great. If He had ever felt it He had crushed it down, as you may read in the Temptation narrative. There is not a sign in Him of any passion for fame— the spur that the clear spirit doth raise, as Milton puts it. And as for ambition, if He were ambitious, ambition should be made of sterner stuff. Christ was gentle. Christ was tenderhearted. Christ was compassionate to all the failures. And when men would have made Him a king He slipped away. He had a habit of slipping away from demonstrations. And He loved solitude, and lowly life, and the quiet beauty of pasture and of hill. And He was never happier than with His own, where the waves were lapping on the shore. There were men who became powerful then as now by taking the lead in patriotic movements. Christ never once identified Himself with any popular or patriotic movement. He stood apart a little from them all; went His own way in sunshine and in shadow; and, with a character of perfect poise, kept at the heart of all a perfect love. It is not usually characters like that which break through every barrier of concealment. It is men who are determined and aglow; who are intense even to narrowness. And it seems to me that the very poise of Christ, and His meekness, and the beauty of His love, are just the elements we might have reckoned on as making for the shelter of obscurity.
Yet we all know that that was not the case. Jesus could not be hid. No prophet who ever lifted up his voice created such intense interest as Jesus. Wherever He went, crowds hung upon His steps. Wherever He was known to be, crowds gathered. He was talked of in the castle of the Herods. He was the conversation of the cottage. And there were some who loved Him, and there were some who scorned Him, and there were some who wished Him dead; but there were none who could be quite indifferent. And it was not just His miracles that did it, though His miracles deepened the impression. Nor was it just the wonder of His speech, although the charm of it was irresistible. It was the feeling, born they knew not how, and spreading mysteriously and steadily, that here was One who stood apart from all, and in whose being were unfathomed depths. You will never understand the life of Christ until you waken to that great impression. There was something about Him that suggested God, and men, detecting it, were awed. It shone through every veil that wrapped Him round— poverty, lowliness, suffering, and death— till those who loved Him knew, nothing could ever hide the Christ of God.
Jesus in the World
So much then about Jesus in the flesh; now shall we think of Jesus in the world? Our text is as true of the big world of Rome as it had been of the little world of Palestine. You know how powerless one often feels on entering a great city as a stranger. That is often a moment of great loneliness, and of an overwhelming sense of insignificance. And I think the apostles must have felt like that when they went out from the land of their nativity, and entered the cities of the Roman Empire, carrying the simple message of the Christ. Everywhere around them was philosophy, and they were ignorant of all philosophies. Everywhere were temples to the gods, and the only temples they had were themselves. Everywhere they were confronted with a powerful faith which was rooted in an immemorial past, and they had to preach the happenings of yesterday—the death of Jesus and the resurrection. Roman patriotism was against them, for every patriot clung to the old gods. Pride was against them, for it was intolerable that one should worship a Jew who had been crucified. And immorality was rampant everywhere, and superstition was a tremendous power, and every act of soldier or of emperor was interpenetrated with ancient ritual. What chance had Jesus in a world like that? He had an excellent chance of being buried. Roman historians made so little of Him that they could not even spell His name correctly. It was a gallant sight to see those eastern preachers carrying the message of their Christ abroad; but everyone was certain that in a dozen years Jesus Christ would be buried in oblivion.
Yet the fact is, that is what never happened. The strange thing is, Jesus could not be hid. In the might of a power that was the power of God, Jesus rose conspicuous in Rome. They tried to hide Him by ignoring Him, but Jesus can never be ignored. They tried it by awful persecution, but persecution was powerless to do it. They tried to hide Him in the cloak of ridicule, wrapping Him in the motley of derision; but the more they tried it, taunting Him with folly, the more He silently showed Himself a King. His name became familiar in the markets. It was whispered by the soldiers in the camp. Where no philosopher had ever entered, Christ entered with His power and His peace. Until at last to the remotest west, and from the cottage to the court of Caesar, there was not a woman but had heard of Calvary, and not a man but knew the name of Jesus. Explain it as you will, these are the facts. That is what happened on the stage of history. Out of an obscurity like night, Christ rose into the gaze of every eye. And it just means that Jesus in the world was the very Jesus who had lived in Galilee. In Rome and Lyons, as in the coasts of Tyre, Jesus could not be hid.
And is not the same thing eminently true as we survey the ages till today? The verdict of all the centuries is this, that there is that in Jesus which is irrepressible. I have seen a rock cleft into twain by a seedling-birch that rooted in the crannies. A seed had fallen, and the spring had quickened it, and it rent its prison-house and rose in beauty. And so in the ages has it been with Christ— He has been buried out of sight a thousand times, and a thousand times when hope was almost dead, the world has learned that He could not be hid. That is the meaning of the Reformation, when Christ stepped forth again out of the darkness. That is the meaning of every revival, when Christ is uplifted and every eye beholds Him. That is the meaning of all social effort, which is so earnest in our land today; for it is Christ who is moving in it all, and He cannot be hid. We have had, in the generation that is passing, an unparalleled criticism of the Bible. Did it not seem as if Christ were to be hid in the clouds of dust from the critics’ chariot-wheels? Yet to how many of us Christ is nearer now, and His grace more real, and His love more wonderful; to how many the Bible is a more precious book, because it is the avenue to Him. Science has been powerless to hide Him, though it has lengthened time by millions of years. Astronomy has been powerless to hide Him, though it has cast the earth out of her central place. It is to Christ’s ideals we still are working. It is by Christ’s standards that we still are judging. It is in Christ’s Spirit that we still are hoping for the weakest and the worst of human kind. Heaven and earth have passed away since Galilee, yet every letter you write, you date from Jesus. Commerce is vast and intricate and keen, yet commerce ceases the day when Jesus rose. On every hospital Christ is written large. On every orphanage His name is graven. Through every provision for friendless and for fallen, the pity of His heart is shining still. Think what you will of Christ, there is the fact, that history has been powerless to hide Him. You cannot avoid Him; He confronts you everywhere; He is magnificently and universally conspicuous. And yet this Christ was very meek and lowly, and shrunk from popularity and clamor, and was never happier than with His own, where the waves were lapping on the beach.
Jesus in the Heart
And now in closing, and in a word or two, shall we think of Jesus in the heart? In the heart within as in the world without, Jesus cannot be hid. Of course there is a very real sense in which, when He is ours, He is concealed. He is our life— and can you fathom life? Can you find its secret in the tiniest weed? Search for it, and it lurks within the shadows. Probe for it with the lancet, and it dies. Of every flower which blossoms that is true; and it is true of every Christian man. There must always be a secret in religion— something you cannot tell to anybody. The secret of the Lord is with them that fear Him—always a secret between Him and you. And so the Christian has a hidden life, and it is fed by thanksgiving and prayer, and no one shall ever know how deep it is, until the day when secrets are revealed.
But if Christ in the heart is always hidden thus, it is just as true that He cannot be hid. If Christ be in you, everything is possible, except to hide Him from the light of day. You can never crush Him down and keep Him so. If you can do it, it is not the Christ. The power of the resurrection is within you, and it is mightier than human weakness. Slowly the Master will reveal Himself, like a root out of a dry ground, until at last, over the field of character, there is the swaying of branches in the wind. In one He will be seen in added strength; in another, in unexpected tenderness. One will be filled with a desire to serve; another with a new desire to pray. And some will walk in a new path of rectitude; and some will cease to fret and become happy; and some will no longer be rebellious, but will take up their cross, and be at peace. We may never be aware of what is happening. Moses wist not that his face shone. We shall cry to the last day we live, “God be merciful to me a sinner!” Yet if we trust Him, and if we long to be like Him, and if we have taken Him to be our own, Christ will use us, and He will not be hid in us, any more than in the coasts of Sidon.

What Jesus Learned at His Trade
Is not this the carpenter?— Mar_6:3
We Learn from Our Trades
Every man learns certain lessons from the trade in which he is engaged. Nobody is unaffected by his business. The farmer is very different from the sailor, because the one is a farmer and the other is a sailor. Each has his own outlook upon things; each dwells in his own universe. As you can often tell a man’s profession by certain indications in his body, so also by indications in his soul. Now we are faced with the great fact that our blessed Savior was a carpenter. Through His youth, and on to the age of thirty, Jesus was the Carpenter of Nazareth. And we may be certain, from all we know of life, that these years of carpentering would leave their mark on the public ministry of after days. They would suggest much; they would give Him certain insights; they would impress certain truths upon His mind. It was not alone in the house and in the field that He was gathering material for His teaching. He was learning things, just as we all learn them, in the quiet discharge of daily duty, which were to help Him when everything was changed. Never forget that Jesus was a poet, just as His life was God’s most perfect poem. Every common task at which He wrought would flash out into diamonds of significance. The village shop was not only full of logs; for Him it was also full of parables, as was His mother’s kitchen, and the garden, and the fields.
As a Carpenter the Lord Learned from a Log. How Much There Can Be Hidden
One truth I reverently think that He would learn was how much may lie hidden in a thing. Picture the waggoner delivering a tree that had been ordered by the Carpenter of Nazareth. The Carpenter would begin to work it up; He would lop off the branches and the twigs; He would saw it into planks and blocks; He would use it for the orders He was executing. And by and by, round His little workshop, would be ranged the various things that He had made—a plough, a chair, a wooden bowl or platter. What! a plough hidden in that tree— that rough, gnarled creature of the forest? And platters and bowls (to feed the children with) hidden in that swaying tree? Then the Poet-Carpenter would halt a moment, and dream, and say quietly to Himself, “Ah, how much may lie hidden in a thing.” Did He forget that when carpentering days were over? Was not that one glorious secret of His hopefulness? He saw the Kingdom in a mustard seed. He saw the citizen of heaven in a child. He saw, as no one else has ever seen, how much lay hidden in the human heart, and in the lives and characters of common men.
It Takes Pains and Time to Transform a Thing
Another truth I believe that He would learn is what pains it takes just to transform a thing. That would be deeply graven on His heart. Picture a farmer coming to the shop and asking the Carpenter to make a plough. An Eastern plough was a very simple thing. The farmer would sit there till it was made. “Friend,” the Carpenter would say to him, “my ploughs are not manufactured while you wait. It is a long and weary business making ploughs! See that tree? I have got to transform that tree. I have got to change that tree into your plough. Who can tell what faults and flaws are in it? Leave Me alone. I have to wrestle with it.” With such material, so rude and so intractable, one thing the Carpenter would learn was this: that pains and patience go to all transforming. Was that forgotten when carpentering days were over? Think of the first disciples. Not in one hour did Simon become Peter. John was not made an apostle “while you wait.” There is nothing more wonderful in history than the long, patient, and persistent way in which the Lord transformed these followers of Galilee. In a single instant He could heal the leper. In a single instant He could raise the dead. It took many a thousand weary instants to transform Simon into Peter. And what more beautiful training for that ministry than to be sent of God until the age of thirty to toil as the lowly Carpenter of Nazareth. Perhaps one day, when things were very difficult, and the disciples were like wayward children, Jesus espied a plough that He had made, and remembered all the pains that it had cost Him. And then He would thank His Father that He had been a carpenter, for if it took all these pains to make a plough, how infinitely more to make a Peter. We are all in the hands of One who was a carpenter. That is a fact we never should forget. He is a thorough workman. He never spares Himself. He is eager for perfection in His workmanship. And some day, when His work on us is over, and we are perfected in His own perfect way, we shall say, “Is not this the Carpenter?”
The Finest Things Are Made of Hardest Wood
Then, lastly, might He not learn in carpentering that the finest things are made of hardest wood? It was cedar-wood that was demanded for the paneling of palace or of temple. Did He smile, I wonder, when He noticed that? Did he recognize the deeper meaning of it? And was He recalling the old days in Nazareth when He deliberately selected Paul? Hard as cedar, injurious, a persecutor, the bitter and savage foe of every Christian—but finest things may be made from hardest wood. Do you know anyone who is what is called a hard case—anyone who has resisted every pleading—some member of your flock, or some wild lad you try to teach on Sundays? Have faith. Someday he will be won. The cedar will adorn the temple yet. And then you will say, quietly and adoringly, “Is not this the Carpenter?”

Morning:

Surely the LORD is in this place; and I knew [it] not.

Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am
I in the midst of them.–Lo, I am with you alway, [even] unto
the end of the world.–My presence shall go [with thee], and I
will give thee rest.

Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee
from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou [art] there:
if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou [art there].–[Am] I a
God at hand, saith the LORD, and not a God afar off? Can any
hide himself in secret places that I shall not see him? saith
the LORD. Do not I fill heaven and earth? saith the LORD.

Behold, the heaven and heaven of heavens cannot contain thee;
how much less this house that I have builded?–Thus saith the
high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name [is]
Holy; I dwell in the high and holy [place], with him also [that
is] of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the
humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones.–Ye are
the temple of the living God; as God hath said, I will dwell in
them, and walk in [them]; and I will be their God, and they
shall be my people.

Ge 28:16 Mt 18:20 28:20 Ex 33:14 Ps 139:7,8 Jer 23:23,24
1Ki 8:27 Isa 57:15 2Co 6:16

Evening:

Keep yourselves from idols.

My son, give me thine heart.–Set your affection on things
above, not on things on the earth.

Son of man, these men have set up their idols in their heart,
and put the stumblingblock of their iniquity before their face:
should I be enquired of at all by them?–Mortify . . . your
members which are upon the earth; fornication, uncleanness,
inordinate affection, evil concupiscence, and covetousness,
which is idolatry.–They that will be rich fall into temptation
and a snare, and [into] many foolish and hurtful lusts, which
drown men in destruction and perdition. For the love of money is
the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have
erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many
sorrows. But thou, O man of God, flee these things.

If riches increase, set not your heart [upon them].–My fruit
[is] better than gold, yea, than fine gold; and my revenue than
choice silver.

Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.–The
LORD looketh on the heart.

1Jo 5:21 Pr 23:26 Col 3:2 Eze 14:3 Col 3:5 1Ti 6:9-11
Ps 62:10 Pr 8:19 Mt 6:21 1Sa 16:7

The Kind of Man He Was
There was a man there [in the synagogue] which had a withered hand— Mar_3:1
He Was an Ordinary Man
If we center our attention on this man we see him as a quite ordinary person. He was one of the crowd of undistinguished people who go to church on the Sabbath day. Tradition says he was a bricklayer, and quite probably that is true. It at least indicates the old belief that this was a quite ordinary person. And one of the striking things about the Gospel is its perennial and amazing power over ordinary people like this bricklayer. He is not like Lazarus, or even Bartimaeus, whose names have come ringing down the aisles of time. The only name his fellow-worshippers had for him was “the man with the withered hand.” And that, from the first, is just the kind of man whom the Gospel has been powerful to handle, and to give back to usefulness again. That is what makes it a universal Gospel—that heavenly power over nameless people. If lack of culture made it ineffectual it could never be preached across the world. And the very fact that it is so preached, and preached with signs and wonders following, proclaims it as of the Son of Man.
His Experience Was Hard and Embittered
Again we recognize him as a person who had had a hard and embittering experience. We feel the force of that more vividly when we turn to the Gospel of St. Luke. One of the charming things about Luke’s Gospel is his illuminative touches in the miracles. Luke was a doctor, with a doctor’s eye, quick to observe everything pathological. He tells us that the leper was “full of leprosy,” and that Peter’s mother-in-law was down with “a great fever”; here he reveals that the hand was the right hand. Nor, mark you, had the man been so from birth. This cruel affliction had come upon him gradually. His hand grew stiff; he lost the power of it; gradually it shrank and atrophied. Until now, when people passed him in the street, they glanced at him with commiseration, and called him “the man with the withered hand.” One thinks of everything that must have meant in a day when there were no insurance’s nor doles. His work gone—his children without bread—his wife a broken-hearted woman. It was a cruel thing, to all appearance meaningless, one of the taunting ironies —the years had brought him, when he was never dreaming of it, a hard and most embittering experience. Such people are always a great company. There will be not a few of them among my readers. Nothing is so hard to bear in life as bitter things that seem devoid of meaning. And the beautiful thing is that it was just that kind of person whom our blessed Savior singled out that day, in a synagogue which would be crowded.
He Had Not Lost His Faith
And then, equally evident is this, that this man had not lost his faith; for first of all the Savior healed him, and faith is indispensable to miracle. Mark you, faith is not always mentioned in the miracles, nor is there any reason why it should be. It seems to me that faith, like beauty, is often in the eye of the beholder. Had you asked this man if he had faith, he might probably have answered in the negative, but Christ saw more in him than the man dreamed. I want to say a very comforting thing, out of a long pastoral experience. I think that many people have more faith than they are ever willing to admit. Life is compact of faith; we could. not live without it; we walk by faith through every common day—but it has never been turned upon the Lord. That is why Christ did not ask if he had faith. The man would probably have answered “No.” But Christ knew him, and read his inmost heart, and saw there what the man had never seen. That is why often the Lord can work so wonderfully, and perform His miracles of grace, on folk who lament they have no faith at all.
He Had Not Given Up the Church
And then this man had not given up the church: that also is a witness to his faith. After his hard and embittering experience he was in the synagogue on that Sabbath day. One can picture him in the old, happy days coming to church with his wife and children; life was pleasant then, and God was good to him, and there was work and bread upon his table. But now, impoverished—dependent upon others—with hungry children and a despairing wife—could you have wondered if he had stayed away? “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want”—and his wife and children were in want. “The Lord God, merciful and gracious”—had He been merciful and gracious unto him? Quite evidently this was a great big soul, still simply trusting in the God of Jacob, and that the Lord instantly recognized. After that cruel irony, after that seemingly meaningless catastrophe, there he was, in his familiar place, listening to the gracious news of heaven. What need to ask him, “Hast thou faith?” That sweet and simple continuance declared it—and, “being in the way,” he won his crown.
He Found That He Could Do What Up to That Hour He Had Deemed Impossible
But I keep the best wine to the last, for there is one thing more to be said about this bricklayer. He was a man who found that he could do what up to that hour he had deemed impossible. Do you not think his wife had often said to him, “Husband, try to stretch your hand this morning”? And he, feeling a little better perhaps, had tried, and always tried in vain. The delightful thing is that when the Lord commanded, somehow or other it was not in vain: the Lord said, “Stretch it out,” and he just did it. He did not pray about it, nor discuss it, nor plead that it was utterly impossible. To his own intense amazement he just did it, though I daresay he could never tell you how he did it. But we, who know the mind of Christ far more intimately than the despairing bricklayer, are cognizant of the secret of the Lord. There may be seeming ironies in life: there are none in the commands of Christ. When He enjoins, He enables. When He commands, He gives the power. Despondent, on the margins of despair, with an enfeebled will or withered heart, I can do all things through Christ who strengtheneth me.

Harvest Thoughts
He went through the cornfields on the Sabbath day— Mar_2:23
Christ Introduces the Evidential Value of the Ordinary
Harvest helps us to recapture the thought of God in the common things of nature. We do not bring what is rare into the sanctuary; we bring the common products of the fields. Our Lord’s outlook upon nature differs somewhat from that of the Old Testament. There generally (though not always) God is recognized in the stupendous. In the roaring cataract, in the thunder, in the cedar which overtopped its neighbors, the Jew saw the signature of heaven, and found his testimony to Jehovah. The wonderful thing about our Lord is how He introduced another scale of values. He recognized, as none had done before Him, the evidential value of the ordinary. For Him the sparrows chattering on the housetops, and the mustard plant, and the lilies of the field were the scattered witnesses of God and the inconspicuous sacraments of heaven. It is a great thing to see God in the miracle; it is a greater to find Him in the usual. It is easier to recognize Him in an escape from death than in the recurring mercies of the day. And harvest-time, is very congenial to the mind of Christ, with its passionate insistence on the common. We do not search out rare and curious fruits for the adornment of the house of God. The sheaves, and the red berries, and the common vegetables are enough. Seeing as Jesus saw, we do not need now to limit heaven to the extraordinary. We recognize and adore God in the usual.
Harvest Awakens Us to the Faithfulness of the Creator
Again we are awakened every harvest to the faithfulness of the Creator. While the earth remains, harvest shall not fail. Often in the summer months one wondered if there would ever be a reaping. The days were sunless, and the rain so pitiless, and then the clouds returned after the rain. Yet now, in the appointed time, the golden sheaves are in the sanctuary, and the ancient promise is fulfilled again. In the deeper life of spirit we have to do with a faithful Creator. One may count on constancy in life when there is such splendid constancy in nature. If God keeps trust with corn, which knows no fashioning in His image, He is not likely to break trust with His children. Our blessed Lord was greatly daring, and spoke of the faith of a grain of mustard-seed. Did you ever quietly ask yourself what is the faith of a grain of mustard-seed? It is the faith, through cheerless days, when the sun is hidden and the rain is dripping, that its little flowers are to bloom and to be perfected. Unregarded by the eye of man, untended by any human skill, unsheltered from the storm, exposed to the fury of the elements, that weed keeps on keeping on, in the inborn hopefulness of heaven, and that is the faith of the grain of mustard-seed. All faith roots in the faithfulness of God. We only trust the trustworthy. One of the encouragements of harvest, to all whose faith is flickering, is its message of the faithfulness of heaven.
Harvest Reminds Us That Man Cannot Live by Bread Alone
Again we are reminded by the harvest that man cannot live by bread alone. Bread is needed if man is to exist; more is needed if he is to live. If bread were all that man required, we should never have had the wonder of the harvest-field. Heaven would have rained bread upon the earth, as it rained manna on the wilderness. The beauty of the harvest-field, with all its golden glory in the autumn, is the silent acknowledgment of heaven that man cannot live by bread alone. So when man makes his waterway he rules the straight line of the canal; but when God makes His waterway, He hollows it in the highland brook. And the brook wanders through the heather, and sleeps in pools and ripples on the pebbles; it is water set to beauty and to song. No poet ever wrote on a canal, but Tennyson caught his music from the brook. Yet probably the water in the brook is the same as flows in the canal. It is the way of giving, the heavenly overplus, the recognition of spiritual cravings, which is the hallmark of God’s gifts bestowed for the cravings of the body. The body does not need the harvest-glory, nor the song and beauty of the brook. Why then does heaven give like this? I find no answer to that question save in the knowledge of the great Creator that man cannot live by bread alone.
Harvest Reminds Us How God Requires the Services of Man
Harvest too, reminds us how God requires the services of man. Gifts, however freely given, are ours on the basis of copartnership. We call bread the gift of God. In such language we are taught to pray. Science could no more set a loaf upon the table than it could set a daisy on the lea. But if, in a dull fatalism, we left the giving of the loaf to God, omnipotence itself would be unequal to furnishing the staff of life. Bread needs the sower and the reaper. It needs the hands of miller and of baker. The farmer calls for God, and God calls for the farmer. It is that copartnership, that fellowship, that sense of being laborers together, that lies deep in the joy of harvest, as it lies deep in the joy of life.

Personality and Property
And when they could not come nigh unto him for the press, they uncovered the roof where he was: and when they had broken it up, they let down the bed wherein the sick of the palsy lay— Mar_2:4
Christ’s Presence Brought Disturbance into the House
I propose today to cast some sidelights on this delightful and arresting miracle, and one is that when Christ is in the house we must be prepared for certain disarrangement’s. If this cottage, as seems probable, was Peter’s, I wonder what Peter’s wife would think of things. The crowd, too, would be not a little irritated by the clouds of dust and by the falling debris. Yet all this happened in Capernaum just because the Lord was in the house, and not infrequently it happens still. I have seen houses sadly disarranged when a son or a daughter was converted to Christ. It was highly irritating, this intrusion into the ordered circumstance of worldly life. And it is very characteristic of our Lord that He foresaw this with such perfect clearness, and said “a man’s foes shall be they of his own household.” That happened constantly in early days; I have reason to know that it is happening yet. The coming of Christ into a house may mean disturbance. Let all those who have to suffer so, and who are vexed about it, as Peter’s wife would be, recall that blessed morning in Capernaum.
Help Received by Others Not Mentioned
One notes again how others have been helping before these comrades brought their friend to Jesus, for before then, and in this very neighborhood, the Lord had proved Himself a universal healer (Mat_4:24). Among those healed would be this patient’s friends. He saw the change the Lord had wrought on them. Some had been mad, and they were sane again; some had been palsied, and now they were restored. And who can doubt, though it is never mentioned, that the wonderful things his eyes had seen made him eager to be brought to Jesus? We must not give all the credit to these comrades. There were unrecorded helpers besides them. There were men and women, whose names we never hear, who had encouraged him to make the venture. And I take it that could we read the story of those who have been brought to Christ we should discover that it was always so. The evangelist may do the actual bringing, but it is others who make the bringing possible—a loving mother, or a believing friend, or a diligent and faithful pastor. Nor is their part less beautiful because we never hear of them in the hour when the great transaction is completed.
The Four Demonstrated a Lofty Sense of Values
Again it strikes one how these four helping comrades were men with a very lofty sense of values. There is no hint that they ever asked permission before they began digging through that roof. There are people who would not smash a roof, though by doing it they might save a thousand souls. To them property is sacred. But to these comrades the sacred thing was life, and they were willing to destroy a hundred roofs if so doing they could save a brother. That is the spirit we want within the Church, the spirit that sees the worth of personality; the spirit ready, for the Master’s sake, to break through everything that keeps us snug and comfortable. After all, it is only a matter of values, and whenever we see the value of one soul, then many an old roof will have to go, no matter what Peter’s wife may think about it.
The Unconventional Way in Which the Paralytic Was Brought to Christ
One thinks, too, how this man was brought to Christ in a unique and unexampled fashion. Never before and never afterwards was anyone brought to Jesus through a roof. The common way is through a door; sometimes it is through a window. I have seen the heathen clustering round the windows when I have been preaching Christ in Africa. But who ever heard, in any truthful chronicle, of a sinner reaching Jesus through a roof, and yet that is what happened at Capernaum. I am pleading against convention in the Church. I am pleading against insistence on the stereotyped. When every gate is blocked a man can still reach Jesus through the roof. And all this is entirely Scriptural; if it were not I never should enforce it. For does not the prophet say in a great passage, “A highway shall be there, and a way”?—a highway, broad and strong, for the marching army of the living God, and a peculiar and single way for you.
The Perfect Confidence of Jesus
I should like lastly to insist here on the perfect confidence of Jesus. I want you to think what would have happened if this miracle had proved a failure. Every eye was watching Him. Could He heal that man or could He not? If He failed in the presence of the crowd His claims were shattered and His name dishonored. And then, in a superb and perfect confidence, He said, “Arise, take up thy bed and walk,” and the man did it. My dear reader, with such a Lord as that do not tremble for the ark of God. The only man in Scripture who so trembled was the worldly and unworthy Eli. Rise to the perfect confidence of Jesus, which never failed Him in the darkest hour.
“Jesus shall reign where’er the sun
Doth his successive journeys run.”

The Exceedingly Abundant Ability of God
“Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to allgenerations, forever and ever. Amen. (Ephesians 3:20-21)”
In light of God being our sufficiency for the development of godly characteristics, this benedictory prayer in Ephesians 3 becomes an appropriate and instructive response.

It begins with the most critical issue for living the Christian life, the ability of God: “Now toHim who is able.” Natural religious thinking would set forth the ability of man as the most vital matter in developing a godly life. Such an approach would leave us striving vainly under the law, attempting to live up to God’s perfect standards by our own inadequate resources. Praise be to God, there is a heavenly, effective option: relying upon God’s ability.

Think of the immeasurable ability of the Lord. “Ah, Lord God! Behold, You have made theheavens and the earth by Your great power and outstretched arm. There is nothing too hard for You“ (Jeremiah 32:17). He created the entire universe. Certainly, by His power He is able to strengthen us. “Behold, I am the LORD, the God of all flesh. Is there anything too hard forMe?” (Jeremiah 32:27). Our Lord rules over all of humanity. Surely, He is able to manage our lives. Actually, our God is “able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask orthink.” Everything we could ask concerning His will, He is able to do far beyond that. Whatever we might contemplate but hesitate to ask, He is able to surpass that.

One amazing aspect of God exercising His ability on our behalf is the imparting of His powerwithin our lives: “according to the power that works in us.” This is how the Lord wants to develop godliness in our lives. He Himself desires to work by the power of His grace deep within our hearts. “For it is good that the heart be established by grace“ (Hebrews 13:9). Again, the Christian life is not affected from the outside in, hoping to modify our behavior by external religious pressures. Rather, it involves a true change of character within, affected by God Himself. This is how God is ultimately glorified in the lives of His people: “to Him be glory in thechurch.” He works a genuine transformation of life in and through us. Then, we give Him the glory for His exceedingly abundant ability.
“Lord God of exceeding abundance, I worship You as the one who is able to do all things well. Forgive me for repeatedly turning to my ability. Lord, as I seek You in Your word, build my faith. Unleash the powerful life of Your Son within my heart, making me what You want me to be, through Christ I pray, Amen.”

Where They Found Him
And when they had found him— Mar_1:37
Lost and Found—Sinner and Savior!
Meditating on the Gospel story, one of the most enriching of all studies, one notes the great variety of places in which men and women found the Savior. There are people of whom we say admiringly, that you always know where you will find them. At any hour of any given day, you know where they are to be met with. But I venture to say, with the most perfect reverence, no one ever could say that of Christ—that was one of the wonders of His life. Appointments may be precious, but what a charm there is in unexpected meetings, when suddenly in the crowd we see a face, and then the sun shines out even in December. People were always finding Christ like that, suddenly, in very diverse places, and it is of one or two of these I wish to write.
In the Special or Striking Place
First, let us take the wise men from the East. They found Him in a manger. It was the unlikeliest place in all the world for One who had been heralded by stars. I remember, many years ago, going down a coal mine with a friend. We stumbled along a mile of tunnel, and there came on a man working in a hollow. And my guide, who was the local minister, pointing to the stooping figure, said, “That is the brightest Christian in my parish.” Then I thought of the wise men from the East finding Christ in that unlikely manger. I thought of the rowers upon the Lake of Galilee finding Him upon the stormy sea. I thought of the penitent thief upon the cross, finding the desire of all the nations amid the shames and agonies of Calvary. That is one of the wonders of the Lord. He is found in the unlikeliest places, in lives where one would never think to light on Him, and in the most unpromising of circumstances. He is found in India and in Manchuria, and among the hills and glens in Livingstonia, and in the savage islands of the Pacific Ocean. How often, studying the Old Testament, is the Lord found in the unlikeliest places—not in the royal splendors of Isaiah, but in seemingly desolate and barren tracts. So the magi, dreaming of kingly furnishings, and of cradles wrought with curious art, found Him a little babe among the beasts.
In the Sacred Place
Then, passing on a little, one remembers how His parents found Him in the Temple. It is a story familiar to us all. The wisest sages of the land were there, but Mary and Joseph never heeded them. The courts were echoing with music, but I question if Mary ever heard it. Like a morning of sunshine after a night of weeping was the sight of Jesus to His mother’s eyes, and she and Joseph found Him in the church. Not in the streets where rolled the tide of traffic; not amid the chaffering of bazaars; but in the beautiful place where God was worshipped, with its altar and its mercy seat. And to this hour, wherever folk are gathered to worship God in singleness of heart, the Lord still reveals Himself as present. Through song and prayer, or when the word is preached, or in mystical ways the mind can never fathom, how many become conscious of that presence which makes all the difference in the world? What new meaning does it give to churchgoing if we practice it in quiet assurance that we shall meet the chiefest among ten thousand there?
In the Solitary Place
Then, again, one recalls how His disciples found Him in the solitary place. To me that is of infinite suggestiveness. All the evening before He had been busy, healing sicknesses and working miracles. Virtue had been passing out of Him, for when He gave a cure He gave Himself. Then in the morning, long before the sunrise, He had risen and stolen quietly away—and they found Him in the solitary place. All alone, nobody beside Him, round Him the infinite solitude of nature—and to me there is a parable in that. To many a young man there comes the day when his spirit is thrilled by Emerson or Shakespeare. But Shakespeare and Emerson do not stand alone; there are other essayists and other poets. You find them moving in a glorious company, and you look at them, and call them men of genius; but you find Christ in the solitary place. Genius is a thing of less or more. It has its chosen child in every century. Genius may be an all-subduing flame, or it may only be a tiny spark. But the one thing you can never do with Christ is to regard Him as belonging to a class; you find Him in the solitary place. In the unconditional obedience He calls for, in His unparalleled and stupendous claims, in His immediate knowledge of the Father, in His total sinlessness, Christ stands alone, confronting every one of us. We find Him in the solitary place.
The Standard Places – Along the “Highway of Life”
Lastly, one recalls that there were those who found Him on the common highway. Who does not know the matchless story of the two who found Him on the Emmaus road. There rolled the wagon. There the chariot dashed. There marched the legions of the empire. There was the merchant travelling on business; there the prodigal returning home. It was the common highway, free to everybody, open to the beggar and to the emperor, and there the two disciples found the Lord. Sometimes that common road is very dusty. The heart faints and the feet grow weary on it. We wonder if we shall have strength to travel it, till in the hour of evening we win home. But what a difference it makes, what a blessed and amazing difference, when like the two going to Emmaus, we find Him on the common road! He makes so much of our worrying ridiculous. We forget it all in company with Him. He is so radiant, so full of loving hopefulness, so absolutely sure of God. In that companionship life blossoms. We have courage for the darkest mile. We recapture, even when the shadows fall, the burning of the heart.

The Place Where the Lord Lay
He is not here; for he is risen. ….Come, see the place where the Lord lay— Mat_28:6
The Grave Is Associated with Gladness
One does not usually associate gladness with the grave. That is not the experience of men. The sepulchre is the quiet home of sorrow, where the tears fall in gentle, loving memory. How often, visiting a graveyard, does one see somebody lingering by a tomb, taking away the flowers that are withered, tending it with a sweet and careful reverence. Such ministrants are seldom singing folk, with a great and shining gladness on their faces. They are the children of memory and sorrow. Summoned to a grave, we know at once that we are summoned to a place of sadness. Women clothe themselves in decent black, as perceiving the unseemliness of colour. And yet the strange thing is, in the passage now before us, that when the angel wanted to make these women glad, he bade them come and investigate a grave. He did not drive them from the garden, as Adam and Eve were driven from the garden. He did not bid them try to forget their sorrow, and go out and face their duty in the world. He quieted their fears and cheered their hearts, and turned their sorrow into thrilling joy, by bidding them investigate a grave. It is one of the strangest episodes of history. To exaggerate its uniqueness is impossible. It is the only time in all the centuries when a grave is the triumphant argument for gladness. We make pilgrimages to see where poets sang, or where patriots lived, or captains fought their battles. But the angel said (and it brought morning with it), “Come, see the place where the Lord lay.”
The Grave Was Empty
One marvellous thing was that that place was empty, though only the angel knew why it was empty. It had not been rifled of its priceless treasure: He is not here—He is risen. The Sadhu Sundar Singh tells of a friend of his who visited Mohammed’s tomb. It was very splendid and adorned with diamonds, and they said to him, “Mohammed’s bones are here.” Ho went to France and saw Napoleon’s tomb, and they said to him, “Napoleon’s bones are here.” But when he journeyed to the Holy Land and visited the sepulchre of Jesus, nobody there said anything like that. That was the marvellous thing about the place. It thrilled these women to the depths. The grave was empty. The Master was not there. In the power of an endless life He had arisen. That empty grave, flung open for inspection, lies at the back of all the Easter gladness which had transformed and revivified the world. In the rising of Christ all His claims are vindicated. In His rising His Father’s love is vindicated. His rising satisfies the human heart, which needs more than the inspiration of a memory. The certainty that we have a living friend, who will be with us always in a living friendship, springs from the investigation of a grave. For once, the grave is not a place of sadness. It is the home of song and not of tears. It is the birthplace of a triumphant joy that has made music through the darkest hours. “He is not here; He is risen. He has won the victory over the last great enemy. Come, see the place where the Lord lay.”
The Grave Was Orderly
But not only was the place empty. We are also told that it was orderly. There were the linen clothes lying, and the napkin folded by itself. Now, some have held (and perhaps they are right in holding) that this reveals the manner of the rising. The napkin still retained the perfect circle which it had had when wound around His brow. As if the Lord, awaking, had not laid aside these cerements, but had passed through them, in His spiritual body, as afterwards He passed through the closed doors. The older view is different from that, and to the older view I still incline. It is that our blessed Lord, awaking, had deliberately put all these things in order. And that, if it be the true conception, is in perfect harmony with all we know of Jesus, in the decisive hours of His life. What a quiet authority He showed! What a majestic and unruffled calm! Look at Him in the storm or on the Cross. His are no desperate nor hasty victories. And now, in His victory over the last great enemy, there is the kingly touch of a sublime assurance. “He that believeth will not make haste.” Drowning men struggle for the surface. Men entombed fight to gain their freedom. But the grave of Jesus bore not a single trace of any desperate or struggling haste. It was orderly. There lay the folded napkin. Leisurely calm had marked the resurrection. It was the quiet triumphing action of a king. Tell me, if men had stolen the body, would they conceivably have left these things behind? Or, if they had, would they not have torn them off, and thrown them down in a disordered heap? But they were folded, and everything was orderly, and there was not a trace of confusion in the grave. He is not here; He is risen.
The Grave Was Fragrant
But not only was it orderly; we must not forget that the place was also flagrant. Spices had been strewn around His body, and the odour of them filled the tomb. The Lord had left the grave, and it was empty. He had left it, and it was orderly. But is it not full of beautiful suggestiveness that He had left it flagrant? For now, through Him who died for us and rose again, there is something of fragrance in the common grave that none ever had perceived before. There is the hope of a life that lies beyond, in the light and love and liberty of heaven. There is the hope of meeting again those whom we have lost. There is the hope of seeing face to face, at last, in a communion that never shall be broken, the Friend and Master to whom our debt is infinite.