Mark 6:1-6

Christ Condemned

Mar 6:1-6

It was not a ministry that elicited cordial response. Sometimes the teacher has to work with a conscious reluctance which disables him. There is a sense of weariness in the whole tone of this paragraph; it is discoverable even in the attitude and action of the Son of God. This, said he, is the synagogue, and this is the Sabbath day, and this is the sacred roll, historical, prophetical, poetical; but these people do not want to hear me. I know it by their countenances; every eye blinks with suspicion, every man is waiting for my halting; here I have to encounter a tremendous resistance of soul. Sometimes the teacher could encounter open hostility, and become eloquent under the pungent attack; but what can he do with the cold heart? what can any man do in the presence of indifference? Oppose the gospel, and the gospel will find its own replies: challenge it to combat, and its sword will flash out in the light instantly, and never be put back until the victory has been determined; but what could even the Son of God do with simple suspicion, unexpressed and unavowed dislike, prejudice, and distrust? Had there been open detestation the case would have been better. You can answer detestation, you cannot reply to prejudice; you do not know where it is, where it originates, how it develops, what colour it assumes, and what subtle courses it pursues in the whole intricacy of the human mind and heart. We have seen Jesus Christ in the presence of hostile throngs, but to see him in the presence of his own countrymen, and, so to say, townsmen and fellow-villagers, and to see him encountered by simple blank suspicion, is a new view of this Man, whose ministry comprehended every aspect and every necessity of human nature.

Yet it was difficult to repress opinion. The people said among themselves, "From whence hath this man these things?" He has no right to them; this wine ought not to have been in this goblet; the water is good, but how rough the vessel: could we not have had this same water in fine porcelain? It would have tasted better in a pure crystal; we do not like this man's way of giving it: we cannot deny what he says; he is wise, shrewd, penetrating; an able man, wonderful, striking, unique: but how is it that he can do these mighty works? He was never trained in this direction; he lacks the guinea-stamp of the schools; he has not been ordained by rabbi or learned man or authentic authority of any kind; there are the miracles, but how did he come to work them? If some high priest or scribe had worked these miracles we would have applauded them, the balance of things would have been equal; but how can the carpenter, the son of Mary, the brother of James, and Joses, and of Juda and Simon do these things? They, like many others, started the argument from the wrong end. They should have said: Seeing the works are so excellent, the worker himself must be good. If we would adopt that standard of reasoning, what prejudice would be dispelled, what new charities would be opened up and exercised and come to noble fruition! Let us say so with regard to sects, communions, denominations: why say, These people are rough, therefore they can do no beautiful thing? Why not say, contrariwise, The thing done is beautiful, therefore, under the rough exterior there must be some hidden, latent, divinely-originated loveliness? That would be right, that would be just; the spirit of charity would make such a criticism noble. We are apt to think that because the instruments are rude, therefore what the instruments are seeking to express must be rude also. That is false in reasoning, and it is unjust in morality: what is the thing being taught, what is the thing being done, what is the doctrine being declared, what are the results of the pursuit and the declaration? If men are made honest, sober, wise, honourable, if they are proved to be worthy of trust and all the honours of citizenship, the thing itself which has wrought out this issue must be credited with divinity, must be regarded as an aspiration. It must be a very difficult thing for persons who have known the carpenter, the son of Mary, the brother of James, and Joses, and of Juda and Simon, to believe anything that he says. Did Jesus resent this? When did he resent anything? He was the Son of man, he understood contempt, he knew the evil genius of suspicion. "They were offended at him," but he held himself ready to do mighty works on their account if by faith they would allow him to show his omnipotence. This seems to be the attitude of all good men towards suspicious and suspecting persons. Whatever others do, be sure you always act the gentleman. Poor men can do so; men who have had no advantages of a social, academic, or other kind, can by meekness and pureness of soul, sweetness and simplicity of disposition, be real aristocrats, gentlemen, knights. Whenever persons, therefore, mock you, or indulge and use mischievously prejudice against you, always show that you vindicate your position, not by your resentment, but by your gentleness, forbearance, magnanimity. Say, in sweet Christian monologue, They would not do so if they knew better; probably they only see me from an exterior point of view; they do not understand all my purpose, they only hear part of what I say, and they listen with too much credulity to what others say about me, and especially against me; perhaps if they knew me better they would not be resentful, prejudiced, unkind, hostile, and unamiable. That is the speech for a Christian to make; it is hard to compose, it is all but impossible to deliver; but even this miracle lies within the almightiness of the Holy Ghost, God the Holy Spirit. Let us ask him to make us gracious when others are ungracious, magnanimous when others are supercilious and petulant and unjust; and let us ask God to show us that there is after all no argument equal to a character. Silence may be a miracle; a closed mouth in the presence of evil imputation may be the best exculpation: "He was led as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth": what if that silence were the consummation and expression of his omnipotence?

There is great comfort to be derived from the incident narrated by the evangelist. One would say, given a preacher, wise, gracious, sympathetic, lovely in personal character, and unquestionably supreme in ability, and known to be ineffably tender in disposition, and the people must recognise him, welcome him, believe what he says, and repronounce in action the doctrine of his lips. That theory is dissolved and annihilated by this incident. It was the Son of God that was contemned, disbelieved, rejected. We hear even upon platforms that where the gospel is faithfully presented the people are hungering and thirsting for it, and are prepared to respond to its appeals, and invitations, and challenges. That was not the case with Jesus Christ. He was the Gospel, yet he was called Beelzebub; he was the Son of God, and was stoned for making the claim; there was no guile in his soul, there was no blackness of iniquity upon his sweet sacred lips; the people wondered at the gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth, and their wonder never rose into religion, trust, and praise. Let faithful men, therefore, be not too much discouraged. The reason of failure is not in you, necessarily; there is room enough for self-inquest, piercing examination of the heart, trying of the reins and thoughts and motives and purposes; you may hold continual self-assize; but the Son of God was despised and rejected of men; we hid, as it were, our faces from him; we spat upon his face, and plucked the hair from his cheeks. Say not, therefore, that if you had ideal beauty and loveliness and moral charm you would fall down in an attitude of piety, and accept the revelation as the very incarnation of God. History contradicts you, consciousness ought to restrain such an ebullition of impious pretension; we ought to know ourselves enough to know that men can go from temples to cesspools, can go from the altar where the blood of the Sacrament is drunk, and drink deeply out of the cup of devils. Human nature can do miracles of this kind. We ought by this time to be acquainted with the fact that impossibility is one of the easiest exercises we have ever to accomplish.

Jesus, like himself, generalised upon the incident; he said, "A prophet is not without honour, but in his own country, and among his own kin, and in his own house." He did not say, I am suffering from a thorn that never pierced any other man; I am the victim of an unusual and unprecedented suspicion: he simply allied himself by sympathetic union with the great lines of history and said, Nothing has happened to me that is uncommon; this is but a repetition of the beginning, the very genesis of history is in this conduct. "A prophet is not without honour, but in his own country, and among his own kin, and in his own house " because people will not look further than locality, visible characteristic, and limited uniqueness of speciality, infirmity, or other trait of disposition and relationship. Men will not listen to the music, they will handle the instrument; we have nothing to do with the organ, we have everything to do with the music. Not where Jesus came from but what he has to say should be our supreme inquiry: not the Nazarene but the Son of man can touch every point in the circumference of human relationship and human need. Judge every man by this standard; judge every Christian communion by this standard. If sects that you dislike are doing good, acknowledge it, and say, After all, there is something better in these people than I thought there was; I was wrong; by the fruit the tree shall be judged; good fruit never grew on bad trees: this fruit is sweet, therefore the tree cannot be bad. When we reason thus, I repeat, we shall get back to simplicity, trustfulness, charity, co-operation, and that wondrous exercise of mutual honour which results in mutual provocation to love and good works.

He was ready to do mighty works, but they would not allow him. You cannot drive the engine unless you light the fire. Many men have fuel enough. You have seen a grate full of fuel; was it a fire? Why do not you put your hands down to that grate and warm them? It is a grate. Your answer is simple, direct, and sufficient. The grate is there, the fuel is there; but where is the spark, the fire? So Jesus Christ himself was prepared to do many mighty works there, but there was no faith-spark, no love-fire, no answering heart, no cry that made him who heard it feel-that the urgency of human need was pleading with his all-sufficiency. It is right to fix the blame properly. If men are not saved, it is their own blame. Never can I believe that God has said to any man, I will not save you; I have made up my mind that you are not to be saved. God never said such words or thought such thoughts. He is the God and Father of us all: God so loved the world; Jesus Christ came to seek and to save the lost. If any man is not lost Christ had no mission to him; if a man can stand before Christ and say, I am perfectly well in body, soul, and spirit, Christ says, Then I came not to you, for you have no need of a physician. But first let the man be found. Jesus Christ does not retire from this sphere, saying, I could have done mighty works there, but I would not; he says in effect, I wanted to do mighty works, but the people would not allow me to do so because of their unbelief.

"He laid his hands upon a few sick folk "; they are always ready to take what they can get; they are always prepared to follow the suggestion and urgency of conscious pain and need. Jesus Christ was always welcomed to the sick-chamber after all other doctors had left; Jesus was never called first; after all the visitors had gone downstairs, saying, There is no hope, it is a case of dissolution, then they sent for the Son of God: a tribute, but not intended; a compliment, but not so expressed. Let us lay it down as a doctrine that may sober the mind and constrain the heart in right directions, that where men are not conscious of mighty works on the part of God, the reason is in their own unbelief. If we had believed more we should have enjoyed more; if our faith had been greater, then had our grace been larger and richer. Lord, increase our faith.

Now Jesus goes away. "He marvelled because of their unbelief." They marvelled at his mighty works; he marvelled at their want of faith. Why do not these people see that life is faith, and that faith is life, and that without faith life is a mockery, a transient dream? Why do they not comprehend the sublime philosophy which says that faith creates the universe and enjoys it? Faith builds new heavens, rolls new earths into place covered with summer and harvest, and faith enjoys as of right the creations of its splendid energy. Let us abide in the confidence of this doctrine. This will do more for us than any theory, suggestion, or possession of man. We cannot explain it; if we could explain it, it would be but a geometrical figure. Astronomy is never satisfied; it has its glasses, and it looks on the surface, but it says in its palpitating, discontented, resurgent heart, The worlds are beyond; these are outposts, spirit lamps: I want to be millions upon millions of miles beyond: all that height is crowded with stars, and this mean glass, this horrible mockery of optics, could only see a speck here and a speck there: and my astronomic record, what is it but an account of a phase of the moon, a throb in a cloud that means that there is another star there, pulsing, beating, waiting to be detected, weighed, measured, watched with astronomic reverence. Yet if we say the same theologically we are fanatics, enthusiasts, poor addle-brained little creatures. That is not so. Faith says, What you see is very little; that is the outside of the cloud; it is beautiful, but but but And in that sublime hope we endure all things; we purify ourselves.