[ p. 120 ]
LOOK! A sower sowing his seed. See where it falls. Some falls on the trodden path, some on shallow earth which barely covers the rock, some among the thorns and briers along the edge of the field, some in the good soil. Many men have trivial minds, and the word will make no impression on them; some are shallow, with no deep conviction; some are so engrossed with the work and pleasures of life that the better nature is stifled; but there is good ground as well, and when the seed falls on such “soil,” it grows up and increases, and brings forth fruit, some thirty, some sixty, some a hundred fold. It is comforting to turn away from the resistance offered by Jesus’ enemies, and to look at what he did for those who accepted his message.
There were more of these than we are apt to think. “Over five hundred brethren at once” were witnesses of Jesus’ resurrection, and they could have been only a fraction of the whole number of first believers. We are not, to be sure, told much about them. Occasionally we hear a name or so—“Johanna,” “Alexander and Rufus”—or we may be given a glimpse of a friendly scene: Mary and Martha, or Nicodemus; but most of the disciples were unnamed men and women, whose [ p. 121 ] relations with the Master were not sufficiently striking to lead our Evangelists to describe their friendship. One inclusive picture, though, tells the story. “Jesus, looking round on them that sat about him, said, ‘Behold my mother and my brethren. For whosoever shall do the will of God, he is my brother and my sister and my mother.’ ”
From these disciples, to be found in every place where he preached, Jesus gradually picked specially receptive souls for the closest personal relationship: “that they might be with him.” These men, that they might be worthy of the responsibility to be laid upon them, were subjected to the same unsparing discipline which Jesus imposed upon himself. When he felt that a man was fit to receive the decisive command, “Follow me!” he expected immediate and unquestioning obedience. In one case he went so far as to refuse a follower permission to bury his father; any Jew who touched a dead body was ceremonially unclean for seven days, and Jesus’ work brooked no delay. [1]
It must not be supposed that these men were called at once to so serious a work, and that they immediately left their professions and followed. The Gospel stories of their “call” tell us only of the final step. There was a growth in their friendship with Jesus which led to the later choice. At first they were merely friends; next they joined the number of the disciples; then they began to distinguish themselves among this group, and were employed for occasional tasks; we hear of [ p. 122 ] seventy [2] “others” who were sent out on an evangelistic journey. Indeed, it would not have been natural or right for them to leave everything and follow him until they had been so prepared and until he knew their capacity for loyalty and leadership.
The number as finally completed—Luke tells us after a whole night spent by Jesus in prayer—was twelve, and as “the Twelve” they were henceforth known. Later on [3] they came to be called “apostles,” [4] a term first used of the somewhat larger group who received the great missionary commission from the risen Jesus; the term was afterwards restricted to the Twelve.
“The names of the twelve apostles are these: Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother; James the son of Zebedee, and John, his brother; Philip, and Bartholomew, Thomas and Matthew; James the son of Alphceus, and Thaddeus; Simon the Zealot, and Judas Iscariot.”
Of the first four the early tradition has much to tell us. In the Fourth Gospel we hear of their first meeting with Jesus. Andrew and (presumably) John, son of Zebedee, were disciples of John the Baptist when they were first attracted by the new Teacher. One day they followed him persistently. When he turned to ask them what they desired they could only stammer an embarrassed request to know where he was sojourning. He invited them to come with him and they [ p. 123 ] stayed all the rest of the day. Years after they remembered the very hour when they met him. It was ten o’clock in the morning. Andrew brought his brother Simon and introduced him to Jesus, and Simon was greeted with the words: “I know you! you are Simon, the son of Jonas. I know your father; I know your early environment; I know your present feelings; I know your weakness and impulsiveness. But I also know your future possibilities. I mean to call you Peter, the Rock-Man.” Probably John brought his brother James. The other Gospels tell us of the final call of these four to the number of the Twelve; they were fishermen, and were engaged in their task when the fateful words, “Follow me,” were heard; “and they left all and followed him.”
The Fourth Gospel tells us of the first call of Philip, whom Jesus himself “found,” and the Nathaniel, whom Philip brought, may very well be the Bartholomew of the list above. Thomas was a plain, common-sense, matter-of-fact man, who found it hard to accept what he could not understand, but had extraordinary loyalty. Matthew was “called” from his business office, where he was collecting the customs. About the other James and Thaddeus traditional accounts vary and we really know next to nothing about them. Simon was a Zealot, [5] a political radical, who had taught uncompromising hatred of Rome; when Jesus accepted him, his zeal was turned into better channels. Last in the list is Judas Iscariot, who be [ p. 124 ] came the betrayer of his Master—called Iscariot, probably, because he was a man of Kerioth.
The traditional pictures represent most of the Twelve as men of mature years, but as a matter of fact all of them were probably younger than Jesus himself. Peter, presumably the eldest, was an active missionary up to the day of his death, which took place about the year 65. He must therefore have been approximately twenty-five years old when he first met Jesus. Next to moral sincerity, the most important quality needed in the Twelve was “teachableness,” an intelligent open-mindedness that would permit a readjustment of the whole religious outlook. For this, youth was a practical necessity.
Some of the band, we are told, from the beginning thought of Jesus as the Messiah, although their first conceptions of Messiahship must have been most crude. What the others first thought we do not know; no doubt they held him to be a great prophet. As the period of the public ministry drew to a close, Jesus retired more and more from the crowds that always followed him, took quiet journeys with this small group of friends, trained them with painstaking care, bent all his energies toward making them understand the secret of his life. Many of their ideas about his leadership were to be dispelled before their companionship with him was over; they were to learn that he would not “take his power and reign,” that the Messiah was to be a “suffering servant,” that the path to [ p. 125 ] victory ran to Calvary and the cross. It Is one of the wonders of their story that, with the exception of Judas the betrayer, they held fast or achieved their faith in him as the Messiah, even though he dispelled almost all their ideas of his purpose and work. Nor was such faith limited to the Twelve. It is to be found in many of the disciples, both men and women, even though they lacked the practical qualifications which would fit them to be chosen as teachers. There were many hundreds who accepted in full Jesus’ teaching and endeavored to live it out in their lives. As the existence of this group became unmistakable, a new and triumphant note appeared in the preaching of Jesus.
Herod Antipas had imprisoned John the Baptist, and from his prison John sent two of his own disciples to ask Jesus: “Are you the Coming One? Or must we wait for some one else?” If Jesus was truly the Messiah, John could possess his soul in patience, knowing that his release and his great reward were soon to come. Probably Jesus never had a more difficult question put to him. His admiration for the Baptist was profound, and an answer could not be refused, but he knew John’s limitations; he knew that an unqualified “yes” would raise false hopes; so he gave John the only reply possible. He recounted his works of mercy, [6] concluding with the declaration that “the poor have good tidings preached to them” as the most important work of all, and left John to draw his own conclusions, with the warning, “Happy is the man who [ p. 126 ] does not misunderstand!” That John’s conclusions would be wholly right, however, Jesus had little expectation, and he was obliged to protect himself against the effect of the Baptist’s refusal to believe. So he said to the people: “You all know John. You all know that he is no waverer, now thinking one thing, now another, a reed shaken by every wind. You all know he is no courtier, interested only in the rich and great. You hold John to be a prophet, and you are right. He is a prophet, and more than a prophet. No greater man than John has ever lived, and yet”—then came the momentous words—“he who is least in the Kingdom of God is greater than he.” John, despite his moral grandeur, still belonged to the old order, which sought God in the earthquake, fire, and hurricane, and those who had caught a glimpse of Jesus’ outlook were on a higher plane than the great prophet. Such disciples, Jesus asserted, were actually in the Kingdom of God, so that the Kingdom itself was, in some real sense, already present. Just so, he had declared—perhaps not many days before—“If I by the finger of God cast out demons, [7] then the Kingdom of God has come upon you.”
Such an assertion came as a startling novelty in the Judaism of the day, and yet it was perfectly comprehensible; many Jews were longing and praying for the time when such language would be true. The Kingdom, as has been said more than once, is in its full and proper sense the final and unconditional reign of God; [ p. 127 ] but few Jews thought of the coming of the Kingdom as wholly instantaneous. It would send powers before it, which, as they touched the earth, would produce portentous results both for good and for evil. The books that predict the Kingdom [8] luxuriate in descriptions of these phenomena, and exhaust every resource of the imagination in painting them in vivid colors. The evil portents are the most popular, and their catalogue is endless: wars, revolutions, pestilences, famines, earthquakes, demoniac horsemen, stars falling to earth; usually ending in an apocalyptic battle and the Last Judgment. But the portents of good appear also: men, touched by the forces of the Kingdom, who prophesy mightily and do wonderful works. Especially interesting in the present connection is one of the favorite apocalypses, [9] which, as one of the signs of the end, pictures a little group of believers, who alone are faithful to the truth and proclaim it boldly despite all persecution.
So, when Jesus said, “If I by the finger of God cast out demons, then the Kingdom of God has come upon you,” his meaning was unmistakable. The Kingdom was so near that forces from it had already reached this earth; the might displayed in his own acts was not of this world. When he spoke of others being “in” the Kingdom, his words were equally clear: divine power was embracing these disciples and transforming them. The Kingdom was coming, so to speak, like a cone. First its tip touched Jesus. Then, as it penetrated [ p. 128 ] further, others as well were included within its surface. On the human side, Jesus’ teaching is accepted as a principle of life, a law of conduct, opening the heart that God may reign there. On the divine side there is an immediate answer from God in a new force working in the world, and this new force comes from nothing less than the heavenly Kingdom of God.
Jesus’s most complete teaching about the present Kingdom is found in a passage [10] phrased throughout in the language of the purest first-century Judaism. He had sent out a group of disciples to preach and to heal. They returned, flushed with victory, announcing, “Even the demons are subject to us in thy name.” So fired were they by their sense of Jesus’ power that, by relying on it, they could even restore to sanity men of unbalanced mind. Jesus’ exultant reply is boldly figurative. In popular Jewish belief, Satan dwelt not under the earth, but up at the zenith of the sky. There he reigned over this world, which had come almost wholly under his power; from his seat there he sent down his hosts of demons to plague and destroy mankind. [11] This rule of Satan, Jesus announced, is over: “I followed your success in my spirit; I was watching Satan fall from the sky like lightning.” [12] To be sure, little seemed to have happened. A few sick people had [ p. 129 ] been cured; a few sinners had been converted—certainly there were no imposing or spectacular events. But to Jesus that moment was the most important in the history of the world. His work would endure. He was no longer alone. Others were sharing in some part of his knowledge and in some part of his power. If he should be taken away, they could carry on his mission. Yet, characteristically, he warns the disciples not to emphasize the cures overmuch: “Rejoice rather that your names are written in heaven”—in the heavenly list of the citizens of God’s Kingdom.
What had begun would now go on irresistibly. A tree can grow from a tiny seed. Progress would seem small. The seed grows secretly. But the progress is sure. There was but a little company of the faithful, but it would become a great company. In it men would find strength and rest for their souls. It is like the seed from which rises a great tree, in whose branches the birds have their homes. It is like leaven; [13] a very small piece will produce an effect out of all proportion to its size.
The present Kingdom, then, means corporate righteousness, with a community of the faithful giving it definite and visible form. No Jew of the day could think in any other terms; least of all Jesus, with his intense emphasis on activity and brotherhood. The whole concept of Israel’s religion was corporate; a people chosen and guided by God. The whole conception of the Kingdom was equally corporate; Israel, [ p. 130 ] purified and perfected forever, chosen and still guided by God. The conception of the present Kingdom is simply the second corporate conception interpenetrating the earlier thought.
The church [14] idea, then—to use the modern term—is not something which arose out of the accommodation of Christianity to the empire in which the Christian faith spread. It is not found only in the system of Paul, supposed to be the first great churchman. It was an integral part of “the mind of Jesus,” and was fundamental in his teaching about the present Kingdom; it was a prime object of his work. Christianity is necessarily a life lived in corporate fellowship.
This fact is one which we need to lay hold upon in these days, when the idea has gone abroad that church membership is a matter of indifference, and church loyalties a matter of choice, and that even if we become “church members” we may make our own choice, as we will; the idea that the church is “a mere amorphous aggregation of individual souls, a society through which a set of views may be promulgated—and a more or less incoherent and unstable set of views at that.’
No doubt unworthy men would claim membership in the present Kingdom; even the Twelve included Judas. The present Kingdom, so far as it is visible, is like a field with tares [15] among the wheat. And we cannot separate the tares from the good grain, lest we [ p. 131 ] root up the wheat with the weeds. The Kingdom, so far as it is visible, will have bad citizens and good, as a net gathers fish, some good and some of no value. When will disloyalty cease and all men do righteously? Only in the day of consummation of all things, just as the tares are not separated from the wheat until the time of harvest and as the good and bad fish are placed in different heaps when the net is drawn in and the catch counted.
Of course Jesus was all the devoutest imagination can picture him in the simple beauty of his life of service. Of course, he did ask, first of all, for personal love and loyalty. Of course the preaching of the Kingdom begins with the spoken word of God. But it does not end there. Entrance into the Kingdom is not man’s act, it is God’s response to man’s act, and entrance into the Kingdom is entrance into a corporate life. While Jesus made men his followers one by one, he never meant his followers to be left loose and unattached. From the most human standpoint of practical necessity, it was natural that individual fellowship should be kept strong and steady through corporate union. Individual attachment, of course; but, after that, corporate union for its safeguarding; rather, corporate union because the band of individual disciples was the nucleus of a heavenly Kingdom beginning to manifest itself in this world.
Modem discipleship is hesitating and uncertain because it lacks this higher conception of the church. We shall always leave the church out of our calculations, if we think of it as the afterthought of men rather [ p. 132 ] than as the forethought of Christ. The church will never be anything but an idea, impotent and unsaving, unless we are sure that Jesus himself meant to bring to earth the first manifestation of God’s Kingdom, where life is to be lived in corporate fellowship.
It is possible, of course, that the man merely asked to delay his answer until after the father’s death. ↩︎
Quite possibly a round number. ↩︎
Very rarely in St. Mark or St. Matthew. ↩︎
“Men sent on a mission.” ↩︎
In Aramaic “Cananasan,” a word that has nothing to do with “Canaanite.” ↩︎
Compare page 99. ↩︎
Compare page 117. ↩︎
The “Apocalypses.” ↩︎
The Book of Enoch, chap. 90. ↩︎
St. Luke x: 17-20. ↩︎
It was perhaps from this conception that Satan was called “the prince of the powers of the air.” ↩︎
This passage has nothing to do with the “fall of Satan from heaven,” as described, for example, in “Paradise Lost.” ↩︎
Fermented dough. ↩︎
“Church,” derived from the Greek Kyriakc, means merely “belonging to the Lord.” Jews used the adjective freely to describe Israel. ↩︎
A weed almost indistinguishable from wheat in its immature stage. ↩︎