SECTION I. FASTING
Matt. 9:14-17; Mark 2:16-22; Luke 5:33-39.
We have learnt in the last chapter how Jesus
taught His disciples to pray, and we are now to learn in the present chapter
how He taught them to live.
Christ's ratio vivendi was characteristically
simple; its main features being a disregard of minute mechanical rules, and a
habit of falling back in all things on the great principles of morality and
piety.
The practical carrying out of this rule of life
led to considerable divergence from prevailing custom. In three respects
especially, according to the Gospel records, were our Lord and His disciples
chargeable, and actually charged, with the offence of nonconformity. They
departed from existing practice in the matters of fasting, ceremonial
purifications as prescribed by the elders, and Sabbath sanctification. The
first they neglected for the most part, the second altogether; the third they
did not neglect, but their mode of observing the weekly rest was in spirit
totally, and in detail widely, diverse from that which was in vogue.
These divergences from established custom are
historically interesting as the small beginnings of a great moral and religious
revolution. For in teaching His disciples these new habits, Jesus was
inaugurating a process of spiritual emancipation which was to issue in the
complete deliverance of the apostles, and through them of the Christian church,
from the burdensome yoke of Mosaic ordinances, and from the still more galling
bondage of a "vain conversation received by tradition from the fathers."
The divergences in question have much
biographical interest also in connection with the religious experience of the
twelve. For it is a solemn crisis in any man's life when he first departs in
the most minute particulars from the religious opinions and practices of his
age. The first steps in the process of change are generally the most difficult,
the most perilous, and the most decisive. In these respects, learning spiritual
freedom is like learning to swim. Every expert in the aquatic art remembers the
troubles he experienced in connection with his first attempts,--how hard he
found it to make arms and legs keep stroke; how he floundered and plunged; how
fearful he was lest he should go beyond his depth and sink to the bottom. At
these early fears he may now smile, yet were they not altogether groundless;
for the tyro does run some risk of drowning though the bathing-place be but a
small pool or dam built by schoolboys on a burn flowing through an inland dell,
remote from broad rivers and the great sea.
It is well both for young swimmers and for
apprentices in religious freedom when they make their first essays in the
company of an experienced friend, who can rescue them should they be in danger.
Such a friend the twelve had in Christ, whose presence was not only a safeguard
against all inward spiritual risks, but a shield from all assaults which might
come upon them from without. Such assaults were to be expected. Nonconformity
invariably gives offence to many, and exposes the offending party to
interrogation at least, and often to something more serious. Custom is a god to
the multitude, and no one can withhold homage from the idol with impunity. The
twelve accordingly did in fact incur the usual penalties connected with
singularity. Their conduct was called in question, and censured, in every
instance of departure from use and wont. Had they been left to themselves, they
would have made a poor defence of the actions impugned; for they did not
understand the principles on which the new practice was based, but simply did
as they were directed. But in Jesus they had a friend who did understand those
principles, and who was ever ready to assign good reasons for all He did
Himself, and for all He taught His followers to do. The reasons with which he
defended the twelve against the upholders of prevailing usage were specially
good and telling; and they constitute, taken together, an apology for
nonconformity not less remarkable than that which He made for graciously
receiving publicans and sinners, consisting, like it, of three lines of defence
corresponding to the charges which had to be met. That apology we propose to
consider in the present chapter under three divisions, in the first of which we
take up the subject of fasting.
From Matthew's account we learn that the conduct
of Christ's disciples in neglecting fasting was animadverted on by the
disciples of John the Baptist. "Then," we read, "came to Him the disciples of
John"--those, that is, who happened to be in the neighborhood--"saying, Why do
we and the Pharisees fast oft, but Thy disciples fast not?"[7.2] From this
question we learn incidentally that in the matter of fasting the school of the
Baptist and the sect of the Pharisees were agreed in their general practice. As
Jesus told the Pharisees at a later date, John came in their own "way" of legal
righteousness."[7.3] But it was a case of extremes meeting; for no two
religious parties could be more remote in some respects than the two just
named. But the difference lay rather in the motives than in the external acts
of their religious life. Both did the same things--fasted, practised ceremonial
ablutions, made many prayers--only they did them with a different mind. John
and his disciples performed their religious duties in simplicity, godly
sincerity, and moral earnestness; the Pharisees, as a class, did all their
works ostentatiously, hypocritically, and as matters of mechanical routine.
From the same question we further learn that the
disciples of John, as well as the Pharisees, were very zealous in the practice
of fasting. They fasted oft, much (puknaVV, Luke; pollaV, Matthew). This
statement we otherwise know to be strictly true of such Pharisees as made great
pretensions to piety. Besides the annual fast on the great day of atonement
appointed by the law of Moses, and the four fasts which had become customary in
the time of the Prophet Zechariah, in the fourth, fifth, seventh, and tenth
months of the Jewish year, the stricter sort of Jews fasted twice every week,
viz., on Mondays and Thursdays.[7.4] This bi-weekly fast is alluded to in the
parable of the Pharisee and the publican.[7.5] It is not to be assumed, of
course, that the practice of the Baptist's disciples coincided in this respect
with that of the strictest sect of the pharisaic party. Their system of fasting
may have been organized on an independent plan, involving different
arrangements as to times and occasions. The one fact known, which rests on the
certain basis of their own testimony, is that, like the Pharisees, John's
disciples fasted often, if not on precisely the same days and for the same
reasons.
It does not clearly appear what feelings prompted
the question put by John's disciples to Jesus. It is not impossible that party
spirit was at work, for rivalry and jealousy were not unknown, even in the
environment of the forerunner.[7.6] In that case, the reference to pharisaic
practice might be explained by a desire to overwhelm the disciples of Jesus by
numbers, and put them, as it were, in a hopeless minority on the question. It
is more likely, however, that the uppermost feeling in the mind of the
interrogators was one of surprise, that in respect of fasting they should
approach nearer to a sect whose adherents were stigmatized by their own master
as a "generation of vipers," than to the followers of One for whom that master
cherished and expressed the deepest veneration. In that case, the object of the
question was to obtain information and instruction. It accords with this view
that the query was addressed to Jesus. Had disputation been aimed at, the
questioners would more naturally have applied to the disciples.
If John's followers came seeking instruction,
they were not disappointed. Jesus made a reply to their question, remarkable at
once for originality, point, and pathos, setting forth in lively parabolic
style the great principles by which the conduct of His disciples could be
vindicated, and by which He desired the conduct of all who bore His name to be
regulated. Of this reply it is to be observed, in the first place, that it is
of a purely defensive character. Jesus does not blame John's disciples for
fasting, but contents Himself with defending His own disciples for abstaining
from fasting. He does not feel called on to disparage the one party in order to
justify the other, but takes up the position of one who virtually says: "To
fast may be right for you, the followers of John: not to fast is equally right
for my followers." How grateful to Christ's feelings it must have been that He
could assume this tolerant attitude on a question in which the name of John was
mixed up! For He had a deep respect for the forerunner and his work, and ever
spoke of him in most generous terms of appreciation; now calling him a burning
and a shining lamp,[7.7] and at another time declaring him not only a prophet
but something more.[7.8] And we may remark in passing, that John reciprocated
these kindly feelings, and had no sympathy with the petty jealousies in which
his disciples sometimes indulged. The two great ones, both of them censured for
different reasons by their degenerate contemporaries, ever spoke of each other
to their disciples and to the public in terms of affectionate respect; the
lesser light magnanimously confessing his inferiority, the greater magnifying
the worth of His humble fellow-servant. What a refreshing contrast was thus
presented to the mean passions of envy, prejudice, and detraction so prevalent
in other quarters, under whose malign influence men of whom better things might
have been expected spoke of John as a madman, and of Jesus as immoral and
profane![7.9
Passing from the manner to the matter of the
reply, we notice that, for the purpose of vindicating His disciples, Jesus
availed Himself of a metaphor suggested by a memorable word uttered concerning
Himself at an earlier period by the master of those who now examined Him. To
certain disciples who complained that men were leaving him and going to Jesus,
John had said if effect: "Jesus is the Bridegroom, I am but the Bridegroom's
friend; therefore it is right that men should leave me and join Jesus."[7.10]
Jesus now takes up the Baptist's words, and turns them to account for the
purpose of defending the way of life pursued by His disciples. His reply,
freely paraphrased, is to this effect: "I am the Bridegroom, as your master
said; it is right that the children of the bride-chamber come to me; and it is
also right that, when they have come, they should adapt their mode of life to
their altered circumstances. Therefore they do well not to fast, for fasting is
the expression of sadness, and how should they be sad in my company? As well
might men be sad at a marriage festival. The days will come when the children
of the bride-chamber shall be sad, for the Bridegroom will not always be with
them; and at the dark hour of His departure it will be natural and seasonable
for them to fast, for then they shall be in a fasting mood--weeping, lamenting,
sorrowful, and disconsolate."
The principle underlying this graphic
representation is, that fasting should not be a matter of fixed mechanical
rule, but should have reference to the state of mind; or, more definitely, that
men should fast when they are sad, or in a state of mind akin to
sadness--absorbed, pre-occupied--as at some great solemn crisis in the life of
an individual or a community, such as that in the history of Peter, when he was
exercised on the great question of the admission of the Gentiles to the church,
or such as that in the history of the Christian community at Antioch, when they
were about to ordain the first missionaries to the heathen world. Christ's
doctrine, clearly and distinctly indicated here, is that fasting in any other
circumstances is forced, unnatural, unreal; a thing which men may be made to do
as a matter of form, but which they do not with their heart and soul. "Can ye
make the children of the bride-chamber fast while the bridegroom is with
them?"[7.11] He asked, virtually asserting that it was impossible.
By this rule the disciples of our Lord were
justified, and yet John's were not condemned. It was admitted to be natural for
them to fast, as they were mournful, melancholy, unsatisfied. They had not
found Him who was the Desire of all nations, the Hope of the future, the
Bridegroom of the soul. They only knew that all was wrong; and in their
querulous, despairing mood they took pleasure in fasting, and wearing coarse
raiment, and frequenting lonely, desolate regions, living as hermits, a
practical protest against an ungodly age. The message that the kingdom was at
hand had indeed been preached to them also; but as proclaimed by John the
announcement was awful news, not good news, and made them anxious and
dispirited, not glad. Men in such a mood could not do otherwise than fast;
though whether they did well to continue in that mood after the Bridegroom had
come, and had been announced to them as such by their own master, is another
matter. Their grief was wilful, idle, causeless, when He had appeared who was
to take away the sin of the world.
Jesus had yet more to say in reply to the
questions addressed to Him. Things new and unusual need manifold apology, and
therefore to the beautiful similitude of the children of the bride-chamber He
added two other equally suggestive parables: those, viz., of the new patch on
the old garment, and the new wine in old skins. The design of these parables is
much the same as that of the first part of His reply, viz., to enforce the law
of congruity in relation to fasting and similar matters; that is, to show that
in all voluntary religious service, where we are free to regulate our own
conduct, the outward act should be made to correspond with the inward condition
of mind, and that no attempt should be made to force particular acts or habits
on men without reference to that correspondence. "In natural things," He meant
to say, "we observe this law of congruity. No man putteth a piece of unfulled
cloth[7.12] on an old garment. Neither do men put new wine into old skins, and
that not merely out of regard to propriety, but to avoid bad consequences. For
if the rule of congruity be neglected, the patched garment will be torn by the
contraction of the new cloth;[7.13] and the old skin bottles will burst under
the fermenting force of the new liquor, and the wine will be spilled and
lost."
The old cloth and old bottles in these metaphors
represent old ascetic fashions in religion; the new cloth and the new wine
represent the new joyful life in Christ, not possessed by those who tenaciously
adhered to the old fashions. The parables were applied primarily to Christ's
own age, but they admit of application to all transition epochs; indeed, they
find new illustration in almost every generation.
The force of these homely parables as arguments
in vindication of departure from current usage in matters of religion may be
evaded in either of two ways. First, their relevancy may be denied; i.e., it
may be denied that religious beliefs are of such a nature as to demand
congenial modes of expression, under penalties if the demand is not complied
with. This position is usually assumed virtually or openly by the patrons of
use and wont. Conservative minds have for the most part a very inadequate
conception of the vital force of belief. Their own belief, their spiritual life
altogether, is often a feeble thing, and they imagine tameness or pliancy must
be an attribute of other men's faith also. Nothing but dire experience will
convince them that they are mistaken; and when the proof comes in the shape of
an irrepressible revolutionary outburst, they are stupefied with amazement.
Such men learn nothing from the history of previous generations; for they
persist in thinking that their own case will be an exception. Hence the vis
inertie of established custom evermore insists on adherence to what is old,
till the new wine proves its power by producing an explosion needlessly
wasteful, by which both wine and bottles often perish, and energies which might
have quietly wrought out a beneficent reformation are perverted into blind
powers of indiscriminate destruction.
Or, in the second place, the relevancy of these
metaphors being admitted in general terms, it may be denied that a new wine (to
borrow the form of expression from the second, more suggestive metaphor) has
come into existence. This was virtually the attitude assumed by the Pharisees
towards Christ. "What have you brought?" they asked Him in effect, "to your
disciples, that they cannot live as others do, but must needs invent new
religious habits for themselves? This new life of which you boast is either a
vain pretence, or an illegitimate, spurious thing, not worthy of toleration,
and the waste of which would be no matter for regret." Similar was the attitude
assumed towards Luther by the opponents of the Reformation. They said to him in
effect: "If this new revelation of yours, that sinners are justified by faith
alone, were true, we admit that it would involve very considerable modification
in religious opinion, and many alterations in religious practice. But we deny
the truth of your doctrine, we regard the peace and comfort you find in it as a
hallucination; and therefore we insist that you return to the time-honored
faith, and then you will have no difficulty in acquiescing in the
long-established practice." The same thing happens to a greater or less extent
every generation; for new wine is always in course of being produced by the
eternal vine of truth, demanding in some particulars of belief and practice new
bottles for its preservation, and receiving for answer an order to be content
with the old ones.
Without going the length of denunciation or
direct attempt at suppression, those who stand by the old often oppose the new
by the milder method of disparagement. They eulogize the venerable past, and
contrast it with the present, to the disadvantage of the latter." The old wine
is vastly superior to the new: how mellow, mild, fragrant, wholesome, the one!
how harsh and fiery the other!" Those who say so are not the worst of men: they
are often the best,--the men of taste and feeling, the gentle, the reverent,
and the good, who are themselves excellent samples of the old vintage. Their
opposition forms by far the most formidable obstacle to the public recognition
and toleration of what is new in religious life; for it naturally creates a
strong prejudice against any cause when the saintly disapprove of it.
Observe, then, how Christ answers the honest
admirers of the old wine. He concedes the point: He admits that their
preference is natural. Luke represents Him as saying, in the conclusion of His
reply to the disciples of the Baptist: "No man also, having drunk old wine,
desireth the new; for he saith, The old is good."[7.14] This striking sentiment
exhibits rare candor in stating the case of opponents, and not less rare
modesty and tact in stating the case of friends. It is as if Jesus had said: "I
do not wonder that you love the old wine of Jewish piety, fruit of a very
ancient vintage; or even that you dote upon the very bottles which contain it,
covered over with the dust and cobwebs of ages. But what then? Do men object to
the existence of new wine, or refuse to have it in their possession, because
the old is superior in flavor? No: they drink the old, but they carefully
preserve the new, knowing that the old will get exhausted, and that the new,
however harsh, will mend with age, and may ultimately be superior even in
flavor to that which is in present use. Even so should you behave towards the
new wine of my kingdom. You may not straightway desire it, because it is
strange and novel; but surely you might deal more wisely with it than merely to
spurn it, or spill and destroy it!"
Too seldom for the church's good have lovers of
old ways understood Christ's wisdom, and lovers of new ways sympathized with
His charity. A celebrated historian has remarked: "It must make a man wretched,
if, when on the threshold of old age, he looks on the rising generation with
uneasiness, and does not rather rejoice in beholding it; and yet this is very
common with old men. Fabius would rather have seen Hannibal unconquered than
see his own fame obscured by Scipio."[7.15] There are always too many Fabii in
the world, who are annoyed because things will not remain stationary, and
because new ways and new men are ever rising up to take the place of the old.
Not less rare, on the other hand, is Christ's charity among the advocates of
progress. Those who affect freedom despise the stricter sort as fanatics and
bigots, and drive on changes without regard to their scruples, and without any
appreciation of the excellent qualities of the "old wine." When will young men
and old men, liberals and conservatives, broad Christians and narrow, learn to
bear with one another; yea, to recognize each in the other the necessary
complement of his own one-sidedness?
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