[ p. 87 ]
WE HAVE still one more element in Jesus’ message to consider. This message was “good news”—a “gospel”—because it taught the Father’s readiness to receive all who approached Him as penitent children. If we accept the true ideal of righteousness and realize God’s willingness to pardon, we are on the right path. But where does that path lead? Jesus’ answer was, “Into the Kingdom of God.”
It is important to see precisely what this phrase meant on Jesus’ lips.
The term, let us remember, was one in common use. Any Jewish school child would be ready to give the definition. The Kingdom of God is the perfectly righteous state, in which God will rule absolutely and men will worship Him perfectly. With the establishment of the Kingdom human history stops; nothing can follow God’s final rule. [1] It was in these terms that John the Baptist had preached, reviving—if any revival was needed—and reinforcing the only fundamental definition the Kingdom ever had. Any teaching, ancient or modern, which does not start from and include this definition is defective. When Jesus, then, [ p. 88 ] in using the term “the Kingdom of God,” [2] does not modify the conception in clear language, we must understand him in the current sense; all of his hearers would have so understood him. Instances of his use of the phrase strictly according to the current definition are very numerous. One of the clearest is found in what we call the Beatitudes, the second clauses of which are as follows:
Theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
They shall be comforted.
They shall inherit the Land. [3]
They shall be filled with righteousness.
They shall obtain mercy.
They shall see God.
They shall be called sons of God.
Theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
So far as the content of these clauses is concerned, they might have stood in any spiritually minded Jewish apocalypse of the period; every phrase describes a condition that can be fulfilled only after the stress of human life is over. Characteristic of Jesus, however, is the poetic structure of the passage: seven parallel phrases, all expressing the same truth, are arranged to form a climax, and are completed by a repetition of the first line to summarize the whole.
Or, again, in a touching phrase uttered at the Last Supper, we read: “Verily I say unto you, I shall no [ p. 89 ] more drink of the fruit of the vine, until the day when I drink it new in the Kingdom of God.” This is so much in the language of the time as actually to seem to us a little materialistic; the Kingdom will be found on earth, and in this Kingdom there will be vines, from whose grapes wine will be made.
It is needless to multiply instances, which occur all through our Gospels, especially in the parables. In the Lord’s Prayer the petition, “Thy Kingdom come,” could have but one meaning, that of the familiar hymn:
Thy Kingdom come, O God!
Thy rule, O Christ, begin!
Break with thine iron rod
The tyrannies of sin.
So, in the primary sense of the term, the Kingdom of God, as Jesus taught, does not belong to the history of this world; in this sense it is a special title for the final age to come. It is for this reason that John avoids the term in his Gospel, [4] substituting for it the unambiguous phrase “eternal life.”
Consequently—and there is not the slightest excuse for blinking the fact—Jesus’ deepest interests were not in this world. Earthly issues, no matter how grave, sink into insignificance in the presence of the issue of infinite importance that confronted men. To secure admission to the Kingdom was the one thing needful. If this could be secured, nothing else mattered; if this should be lost, there could be no possible compensation [ p. 90 ] in its place. In ordinary systems of ethics we are warned that it is “better” to do good rather than evil; that the good man will, on the whole, find greater happiness in life—or at least greater contentment— than will the evil man. But in Jesus’ teaching the issue cannot be measured in comparatives of “better” and “worse,” with endless gradations between the two. The issue is clear and sharp. No sacrifice one can make is too great, if entrance to the Kingdom can be won. “Whosoever shall cause one of these little ones to stumble, it were better for him if a great millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were cast into the sea.” “If thy hand offend thee, cut it off; if thy foot offend thee, cut it off; if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out!”
One thing is needful—to put first things first and place the service of God above every other obligation. This is a constant lesson in the parables, or illustrative stories, which Christ used in his instructions.
One thing is needful; and the rich fool discovered this when he had spent his life in the accumulation of property, and then suddenly learned that he must appear at once to render his account to God.
One thing is needful; and if privileges are not used in God’s service they may be taken away even on this earth—so we are taught in the story of the barren fig tree, in the fate of the unprofitable servants.
One thing is needful, faithful service, which receives its blessing even when rendered at the very close of opportunity, as with the laborers in the vineyard; even when offered at last, after much grudging and hot [ p. 91 ] headed protest, by one who (like the boy in the parable of the two sons) fights against duty, but finally answers the call of conscience. [5]
Among the worst sins are the sins of indifference. The story of the feast which the invited guests declined to attend [6] plainly declares that. So does the story of the marriage of the king’s son, with its added warning that spiritual privileges may not only be neglected, but may be accepted with an irreverent nonchalance quite as offensive.
A Christian ethic cannot be content with the values of the present world. To be sure, it does not for a moment ignore this world. Christianity teaches that God made the heavens, the earth, and all things in them, and pronounced them good. The world is no illusion; it is very real and it offers endless opportunities for the service of God. The earthly well-being of our neighbor may determine our acts at almost every point; Jesus’ insistence on this was perpetual. But all this is only the beginning. As a great scholar has put it, a system of Christian ethics is not like a circle, with a single center—be that center in heaven or on earth. It is like an ellipse, and it has two foci, one in heaven and one on earth, and both must be taken into constant consideration. Yet of the two the former is vastly the more important; men must live in constant recognition of their destiny and their accountability to God.
[ p. 92 ]
So earthly values may often be reversed. The first clauses of the Beatitudes state this with classic brevity. How does Jesus describe the character that he would build up in his followers? The world has its own standards for estimating a man’s worth, and its own ideas of happiness and success. The teaching of Jesus cuts squarely across these standards.
Do you wish to enjoy the final happiness—to be blessed? Then, he says, learn that such happiness comes to “the poor in spirit ”; [7] to those persons, usually poor in earthly possessions as well, who accept patiently and cheerfully the will of God, and are content with what he gives and uncomplaining about what he withholds.
Real happiness, again, does not come by seeking all possible pleasures and shutting one’s eyes to everything unpleasant or troublesome, declining to permit anything to make too large a draft upon one’s emotions or sympathy. It comes to “those who mourn”; happy is the man who can enter into the world’s sin, and sympathize with its sorrow and suffering, until it hurts.
Once more, “blessed are the gentle.” [8] The world regards as happy the man who has won his rights and holds all possible privileges and dignities; Jesus declares that the man who thinks little of his rights, and does not always stand on his dignity, or seek to enforce his claims, will in the end receive the larger heritage.
[ p. 93 ]
“Blessed are they who hunger and thirst after righteousness.” There are many desires that most men long to have satisfied; the truly happy man is the one who is eager to enrich his inner life, who is literally hungry and thirsty for goodness, who longs for a goodness he has not yet attained.
Many men think more of justice than of mercy, and are fearful of betrayal into emotional reactions; true happiness comes to the “merciful” man, to the man who lets himself go and is full to overflowing of kindness and forgiveness.
In the religion of respectability there is a perpetual striving to make the best of two worlds at once, to unite successfully the worship of God with that of Mammon; real blessedness is for the “pure in heart,” for those prepared to make any sacrifice for God’s sake, cost what it may.
The victorious warrior is the hero of popular imagination everywhere, but class hatreds, race hatreds, fierce competition between individuals, break a man’s peace of soul. The true hero is the “peacemaker,” he who brings races and classes, neighbors and nations, rich and poor, hand-workers and head-workers, into reconciliation and better understanding.
Yet peace must not be purchased at any price; true peace can sometimes be won only by standing manfully against the forces that make for social quiescence. “Blessed are they who are persecuted for righteousness sake”; such persecution may well bring more of peace than of pain. The happiest man is the man who is so sure of his faith and so passionately devoted to truth, [ p. 94 ] that “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” and the sting of misunderstanding can no longer disturb his peace of spirit.
The happy man whom Jesus describes is like salt that gives savour, like a light in a dark place. Character is the one thing no one can keep to himself. Goodness is a quality that is always being communicated.
When Jews thought of a temporary earthly blessedness (the “millennium”) preceding an ultimate and eternal heavenly state, the real emphasis was laid on the latter. ↩︎
“Kingdom of heaven,” found only in St. Matthew, is merely another name for precisely the same thing. The Evangelist shared Jewish scruples about avoiding the use of the name “God.” Jesus preferred direct language. He was always direct. ↩︎
i.e., the Promised Land; Palestine spiritually interpreted. From Psalm xxxvii : n. Not “the earth.” ↩︎
There are only two exceptions, St. John iii: 3 and iii: 5. ↩︎
One wonders how many young people today are like this boy, defiant and rebellious, yet sound at heart! ↩︎
Excusing their neglect as busy business men today excuse their neglect to cultivate the things of the spirit. ↩︎
A very technical Jewish term, practically covering all the qualities summarized in the Beatitudes, just as “the kingdom of heaven” summarizes all the blessings promised. ↩︎
Not “meek,” a meaning which the Greek word probably never had. As always, the virtue commended by Jesus is active, not passive. ↩︎