CHAPTER 16.
CHRIST AS A MAN OF FEELING.
So much learning has been expended in the present age on the Life of Christ, and every particle of the record has been so thoroughly sifted, that it may be questioned If mere intellect will now discover much that is new in the subject. There may still, however, be great scope for the divinatory power of feeling. Jesus was as refined and delicate in feeling as He was wise in speech and mighty in act; and the motives of His conduct are often incomprehensible except to those who possess in some degree the same feelings as He had. He taught mankind to feel finely, and ever since He was in the world there have been increasing numbers who have learned from Him to regard childhood and woman, poverty and service, and many other objects, with sentiments totally different from those with which they were regarded before His advent.
The notices in the Gospels of the impressions made on His feelings by different situations in which He was placed are extraordinarily numerous; but a single incident—the raising of the daughter of Jairus—in which the feelings of His heart came conspicuously into view will serve as a sufficient clue.
I.
His Compassion was illustrated in this incident.
It was the case of a man whose only daughter was lying at the point of death; and he besought Jesus greatly for her, says St. Mark. The heart of Jesus could not but answer such an appeal In a similar instance—that of a woman with an only son, the widow of Nain—it is said that, when the Lord saw her following behind the bier, He had compassion on her and said to her, “ Weep not.” He not only gave the required help in such cases, but gave it with an amount of sympathy which doubled its value. Thus He not only raised Lazarus, but wept with his sisters. In curing a man who was deaf, He sighed as He said, “Ephphatha.” All His healing work cost Him feeling. There is a great difference between the clergyman or physician who merely calls at the house of sorrow as a matter of duty, to be able to say that he has been there, and him who takes the suffering of the stricken home on his heart and goes away melted and broken down with it.
On this occasion the compassion of Christ was deepened by the fact that it was a child who was ill. “My little daughter” she was called by her father. All the scenes in Christ’s life in which children appear are exquisitely touching; and it was His feeling which gave them their beauty and pathos. As you look at them, you feel that He not only knew all that is in a father’s and a mother’s heart, but sank new wells in the heart of humanity and brought love up from deeper levels than it had sprung from before. Ruskin has observed that there are no children in Greek art, but that they abound in Christian art—an unmistakable token that it was the eye of Christ which first fully appreciated the attractiveness of childhood.
II.
A second feeling which Jesus showed in this incident was Sensitiveness.
At Jairus’ request He went to the house where the dying girl was; but on the way a messenger met them, who told the poor father that all was over, and that he need not trouble the Master any further. Whereupon, without waiting to be appealed to, Jesus turned to him and said, “ Be not afraid; only believe.”
In this we might see a new instance of His compassion; but it also reveals something else: Jesus was extremely sensitive to the sentiments of trust or distrust with which He was regarded. If any generosity of belief was shown towards Him, His heart filled with gladness, and He acknowledged His gratification without stint. Thus, when another applicant for help, in a situation not unlike that of Jairus, expressed his belief that, if Jesus would only speak a word even at a distance, without going to the house in which the sick person was lying, a cure would ensue, Jesus stood still in the road and, turning to the bystanders, exclaimed, “I have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel.” The faith of Jairus, though not so strong as this, had evidently gratified Him, and it was because He could not bear to have it clouded with doubt that He hastened so promptly to strengthen it.
He had, however, many an experience to encounter of the opposite kind, and the feeling thereby occasioned in Him was keen. If now and then He had to marvel at the greatness of faith, He had to marvel far oftener at unbelief. In His own native place, when He visited it, He could do scarcely any mighty works on this account. The rebuff so chilled His heart that the activity of His miraculous power was restrained. His most signal favours were sometimes received with ingratitude, as in the case of the ten lepers, of whom only one returned to give thanks for his cure, causing Him to ask sadly, “Where are the nine?”
III.
A third species of feeling which He betrayed on this occasion was Indignation.
When He reached the house, not only was the child dead, but the place had been taken possession of by the mummers who undertook the ghastly ceremonial of mourning. Death, though the most solemn of all events, has in many countries been invested with absurdity through the mourning customs with which it has been associated; but in Palestine this was carried to an extreme. As soon as a death took place, the house was invaded by professional mourners, who filled it with wild ululations and doleful music. This hideous custom was in full operation when Jesus arrived, and to His serene soul it was intolerable. He indignantly enjoined silence, and, when this was not forthcoming, He drove the whole ghastly apparatus forth and cleared the house.
Indignation, though closely allied to sinful anger, is not vicious, but virtuous. It is the sign of an honourable and self-respecting nature. The soul that loves order, uprightness and nobleness cannot but be indignant at disorder, duplicity and meanness. The indignation of Jesus is often mentioned. It could be aroused by unseemly noise and confusion, as on this occasion. When casting out devils, he used angrily to rebuke the outcries of the possessed. He is represented in the same attitude when calming the winds and waves in the storm, presumably because He was counteracting the prince of the power of the air. The whole empire of Satan is the empire of disorder, and every manifestation of its power affected Him in this way. This explains the strange tumult of indignant excitement in which He advanced to the grave of Lazarus: His condition of mind was one of angry vengeance against the ravages of death.
The state of the times in which He lived afforded peculiar occasion for the display of this sentiment. It was because the mourning in the house of Jairus was professional, with no heart in it, that He disliked it so utterly. But the society of Judaea at that time was one vast hypocrisy. The holders of sacred offices were self-seekers; the professors of piety were hunting for the praise of men; the teachers of the people laid grievous burdens on other men’s shoulders, which they would not themselves touch with one of their fingers; sacred language was a cloak for spoliation and impurity. Jesus burned with indignation against it all and poured His feelings out in philippics against the parties and personalities of the time.
His was holy fire: it was the flame of truth consuming falsehood, of justice attacking wrong, of love burning against selfishness. Too often the crusade against shams and hypocrisy has been inspired by zeal which is unholy. Men have undertaken the office of the censor and satirist whose own hearts have not been pure and whose lives have been inconsistent, plucking the mote out of their brother’s eye, and behold a beam was in their own. They have only masqueraded in the garment of indignation. But this robe found in Jesus its true wearer, and He wore it with incomparable dignity. “Are ye come out,” He demanded of those about to arrest Him, “as against a thief?” “Judas,” He asked the traitor, “betrayest thou the Son of man with a kiss?” Before the high-priest, Pilate and Herod His indignant silence was more eloquent than the most scorching words. He has not put off this garment yet: in heaven still burns “the wrath of the Lamb.”
IV.
A fourth mode of feeling characteristic of Jesus which was illustrated on this occasion was Delicacy.
Having put the professional mourners out, He went into the room of death, where the little maid was lying on the bed. But He did not go alone, or only with the three disciples whom He had taken into the house with Him: He took with Him the father and mother of the maiden, as being deeply interested in her who was their own and entitled to see all that happened to her.
Then He took her by the hand before pronouncing the resurrection words; for He did not wish her to be startled when she woke, but to feel the support of a sympathetic presence. Many a one in an hour of agitation or when coming out of a swoon has felt how it steadies and strengthens to be held by a firm hand and to look into a calm face.
Thus He did all with perfect tact, not by calculation, but with the instinct of delicate feeling, which guided Him at every turn to do precisely the best thing. Yet there was no straining after refinement. The besetting sin of emotional natures is to overstrain and overdo. But how healthy and manly was the feeling of Jesus! His very next act, after these exquisite touches, was this: “He commanded that something should be given her to eat.” In the same way, after days of healing and preaching in the wilderness, during which He had been borne along with the prophetic enthusiasm, it was He who made the proposal that food should be given to the multitude, before they were dispersed, lest they should faint by the way; the disciples, though far less preoccupied, never thinking of such a thing. He excelled them as much in considerateness and practicality as in delicacy of feeling.
V.
The last kind of feeling exhibited by our Lord on this occasion was Modesty.
After the miracle was performed, “He charged them straitly that no man should know it” This is the sequel to many a work of wonder in His life. “See thou tell no man,” He said to a leper whom He had cleansed. “See that no man know it,” He said to two blind men whose sight He had restored. He straitly charged those, as a rule, out of whom He had cast devils not to make Him known.
Such notices abound in the Gospels; yet I am not sure that I have ever seen the true explanation of them given. All kinds of elaborate explanations have been attempted. In one case, for example, it is said that He forbade the man who had been healed to mention his cure, lest it should do him harm by puffing him up; in another, because his testimony would have had no weight; in a third, because it was not yet time to acknowledge Himself to be the Messiah; and so on. Such are the suggestions made by learned men, and there may be some truth in them all. But they are too elaborate and recondite; the real explanation lies on the surface. It is simply that, while so great a worker, He disliked to have His good deeds made known. St. Matthew puts this so plainly that it ought not to have been overlooked. After mentioning an occasion when, after healing great multitudes, He charged them that they should not make Him known, the evangelist adds that this was in fulfilment of a prophecy which said, “He shall not strive nor cry, neither shall any one hear His voice in the street.”
It is one of the penalties of public work for God that it comes to be talked about, and vulgar people make a sensation of it. We are well acquainted with this at the present day, when nothing is allowed to remain private, and, if a man does anything in the least out of the common, the minutest details of his life are dragged out and exposed to the public eye. But this is contrary to the very genius of goodness and exposes even those occupied with the holiest work to the temptation of playing for the praise of men instead of acting humbly in the eye of God. Jesus detested it. He would have been hidden if He could; and it was a heavy cross to Him that the more He pressed people to say nothing about Him, the more widely did they spread His fame.
Such was the heart of Christ as it is laid bare in a single story. By taking a wider sweep we might have accumulated more illustrations. But the clue, once seized, can be easily followed in the Gospels, where the notices of how He felt in the different situations in which He was placed are far more numerous than any one whose attention has not been specially directed to them would believe.
Nor would it be difficult to trace the refining influence which intercourse with Him had on His disciples—how they learned to feel about things as He did. There is no other influence so refining as genuine religion. Where the Gospel is faithfully preached and affectionately believed, there is gradually wrought into the very features of people the stamp of the Son of man. The friendship of Jesus breeds the gentle heart.