18. THE ANOINTING IN BETHANY; OR, THIRD LESSON ON THE DOCTRINE OF THE CROSS
Matt. 26:6-13; Mark 14:3-9; John 12:1-8.
The touching story of the anointing of Jesus by
Mary at Bethany forms part of the preface to the history of the passion, as
recorded in the synoptical Gospels. That preface, as given most fully by
Matthew, includes four particulars: first, a statement made by Jesus to His
disciples two days before the pass over concerning His betrayal; second, a
meeting of the priests in Jerusalem to consult when and how Jesus should be put
to death; third, the anointing by Mary; fourth, the secret correspondence
between Judas and the priests. In Mark's preface the first of these four
particulars is omitted; in Luke's both the first and the third.
The four facts related by the first evangelist
had this in common, that they were all signs that the end so often foretold was
at length at hand. Jesus now says, not "the Son of man shall be betrayed," but
"the Son of man is betrayed to be crucified." The ecclesiastical authorities of
Israel are assembled in solemn conclave, not to discuss the question what
should be done with the object of their dislike--that is already
determined--but how the deed of darkness may be done most stealthily and most
securely. The Victim has been anointed by a friendly hand for the approaching
sacrifice. And, finally, an instrument has been found to relieve the priests
from their perplexity, and to pave the way in a most unexpected manner for the
consummation of their wicked purpose.
The grouping of the incidents in the introduction
to the tragic history of the crucifixion is strikingly dramatic in its effect.
First comes the Sanhedrim in Jerusalem plotting against the life of the Just
One. Then comes Mary at Bethany, in her unutterable love breaking her alabaster
box, and pouring its contents on the head and feet of her beloved Lord. Last
comes Judas, offering to sell his Master for less than Mary wasted on a useless
act of affection! Hatred and baseness on either hand, and true love in the
midst.[18.1]
This memorable transaction of Mary with her
alabaster box belongs to the history of the passion, in virtue of the
interpretation put upon it by Jesus, which gives to it the character of a Iyric
prelude to the great tragedy enacted on Calvary. It belongs to the history of
the twelve disciples, because of the unfavorable construction which they put on
it. All the disciples, it seems, disapproved of the action, the only difference
between Judas and the rest being that he disapproved on hypocritical grounds,
while his fellow-disciples were honest both in their judgment and in their
motives. By their fault-finding the twelve rendered to Mary a good service.
They secured for her a present defender in Jesus, and future eulogists in
themselves. Their censure drew from the Lord the extraordinary statement, that
wheresoever the gospel might be preached in the whole world, what Mary had done
would be spoken of for a memorial of her. This prophecy the fault-finding
disciples, when they became apostles, helped to fulfill. They felt bound by the
virtual commandment of their Master, as well as by the generous redaction of
their own hearts, to make amends to Mary for former wrong done, by telling the
tale of her true love to Jesus wherever they told the story of His true love to
men. From their lips the touching narrative passed in due course into the
gospel records, to be read with a thrill of delight by true Christians to the
end of time. Verily one might be content to be spoken against for a season for
tulle sake of such chivalrous championship as that of Jesus, and such
magnanimous recantations as those of His apostles!
When we consider from whom Mary's defense
proceeds, we must be satisfied that it was not merely generous, but just. And
yet surely it is a defense of a most surprising character! Verily it seems as
if, while the disciples went to one extreme in blaming, their Lord went to the
other extreme in praising; as if, in so lauding the woman of Bethany, He were
but repeating her extravagance in another form. You feel tempted to ask: Was
her action, then, so preeminently meritorious as to deserve to be associated
with the gospel throughout all time? Then, as to the explanation of the action
given by Jesus, the further questions suggest themselves: Was there really any
reference in Mary's mind to His death and burial while she was performing it?
Does not Jesus rather impute to her His own feeling, and invest her act with an
ideal poetic significance, which lay not in it, b.lt in His own thoughts? And
if so, can we endorse the judgment He pronounced; or must we, on the question
as to the intrinsic merit of Mary's act, give our vote on the side of the
twelve against their Master?
We, for our part, cordially take Christ's side of
the question; and in doing so, we can afford to make two admissions. In the
first place, we admit that Mary had no thought of embalming, in the literal
sense, the dead body of Jesus, and possibly was not thinking of His death at
all when she anointed Him with the precious ointment. Her action was simply a
festive honor done to one whom she loved unspeakably, and which she might have
rendered at another time.[18.2] We admit further, that it would certainly have
been an extravagance to speak of Mary's deed, however noble, as entitled to be
associated with the gospel everywhere and throughout all time, unless it were
fit to be spoken of not merely for her sake, but more especially for the
gospel's sake; that is to say, unless it were capable of being made use of to
expound the nature of the gospel. In other words, the breaking of the alabaster
box must be worthy to be employed as an emblem of the deed of love performed by
Jesus in dying on the cross.
Such, indeed, we believe it to be. Wherever the
gospel is truly preached, the story of the anointing is sure to be prized as
the best possible illustration of the spirit which moved Jesus to lay down His
life, as also of the spirit of Christianity as it manifests itself in the lives
of sincere believers. The breaking of the alabaster box is a beautiful symbol
at once of Christ's love to us and of the love we owe to Him. As Mary broke her
box of ointment and poured forth its precious contents, so Christ broke His
body and shed His precious blood; so Christians pour forth their hearts before
their Lord, counting not their very lives dear for His sake. Christ's death was
a breaking of an alabaster box for us; our life should be a breaking of an
alabaster box for Him.
This relation of spiritual affinity between the
deed of Mary and His own deed in dying is the true key to all that is
enigmatical in the language of Jesus in speaking of the former. It explains,
for example, the remarkable manner in which He referred to the gospel in
connection therewith. "This gospel," He said, as if it had been already spoken
of; nay, as if the act of anointing were the gospel. And so it was in a figure.
The one act already done by Mary naturally suggested to the mind of Jesus the
other act about to be done by Himself. "There," He thought within Himself, "in
that broken vessel and outpoured oil is my death foreshadowed; in the hidden
motive from which that deed proceeded is the eternal spirit in which I offer
myself a sacrifice revealed." This thought He meant to express when He used the
phrase "this gospel;" and in putting such a construction on Mary's deed He was
in effect giving His disciples their third lesson on the doctrine of the
cross.
In the light of this same relation of spiritual
affinity, we clearly perceive the true meaning of the statement made by Jesus
concerning Mary's act: "In that she hath poured this ointment on my body, she
did it for my burial." It was a mystic, poetic explanation of a most poetic
deed, and as such was not only beautiful, but true. For the anointing in
Bethany has helped to preserve, to embalm so to speak, the true meaning of the
Saviors death. It has supplied us with a symbolic act through which to
understand that death; it has shed around the cross an imperishable aroma of
self forgetting love; it has decked the Saviors grave with flowers that never
shall wither, and reared for Jesus, as well as for Mary, a memorial-stone that
shall endure throughout all generations. Might it not be fitly said of such a
deed, She did it for my burial? Was it not most unfitly said of a deed capable
of rendering so important a service to the gospel, that it was wasteful and
useless?
These questions will be answered in the
affirmative by all who are convinced that the spiritual affinity asserted by us
really did exist. What we have now to do, therefore, is to show, by going a
little into detail, that our assertion is well founded.
There are three outstanding points of resemblance
between Mary's "good work" in anointing Jesus, and the good work wrought by
Jesus Himself in dying on the cross.
There was first a resemblance in motive. Mary
wrought her good work out of pure love. She loved Jesus with her whole heart,
for what He was, for what He had done for the family to which she belonged, and
for the words of instruction she had heard from His lips when He came on a
visit to their house. There was such a love in her heart for her friend and
benefactor as imperatively demanded expression, and yet could not find
expression in words. She must do something to relieve her pent-up emotions: she
must get an alabaster box and break it, and pour it on the person of Jesus,
else her heart will break.
Herein Mary's act resembles closely that of Jesus
in dying on the cross, and in coming to this world that He might die. For just
such a love as that of Mary, only far deeper and stronger, moved Him to
sacrifice Himself for us. The simple account of Christ's whole conduct in
becoming man, and undergoing what is recorded of Him, is this: He loved
sinners. After wearying themselves in studying the philosophy of redemption,
learned theologians come back to this as the most satisfactory explanation that
can be given. Jesus so loved sinners as to lay down His life for them; nay, we
might almost say, He so loved them that He must needs come and die for them.
Like Nehemiah, the Jewish patriot in the court of the Persian king, He could
not stay in heaven's court while His brethren far away on earth were in an evil
case; He must ask and obtain leave to go down to their assistance[18.3. Or,
like Mary, He must procure an alabaster box--a human body--fill it with the
fine essence of a human soul, and pour out His soul unto death on the cross for
our salvation. The spirit of Jesus, yea, the spirit ox the Eternal God, is the
spirit of Mary and of Nehemiah, and of all who are likeminded with them. In
reverence we ought rather to say, the spirit of such is the spirit of Jesus and
of God; and yet it is needful at times to put the matter in the inverse way.
For somehow we are slow to believe that love is a reality for God. We almost
shrink, as if it were an impiety, from ascribing to the Divine Being attributes
which we confess to be the noblest and most heroic in human character. Hence
the practical value of the sanction here given by Jesus to the association of
the anointing in Bethany with the crucifixion on Calvary. He, in effect, says
to us thereby: Be not afraid to regard my death as an act of the same kind as
that of Mary: an act of pure, devoted love. Let the aroma of her ointment
circulate about the neighborhood of my cross, and help you to discern the sweet
savor of my sacrifice. Amid all your speculations and theories on the grand
theme of redemption, take heed that ye fail not to see in my death my loving
heart, and the loving heart of my Father, revealed.[18.4
Mary's "good work" further resembled Christ's in
its self-sacrificing character. It was not without an effort and a sacrifice
that that devoted woman performed her famous act of homage. All the evangelists
make particular mention of the costliness of the ointment. Mark and John
represent the murmuring disciples as estimating its value at the round sum of
three hundred pence; equal, say, to the wages of a laboring man for a whole
year at the then current rate of a deniers per day. This was a large sum in
itself; but what is more particularly to be noted, it was a very large sum for
Mary. This we learn from Christ's own words, as recorded by the second
evangelist. "She hath done what she could," He kindly remarked of her, in
defending her conduct against the harsh censures of His disciples. It was a
remark of the same kind as that which He made a day or two after in Jerusalem
concerning the poor widow whom He saw casting two mites into the temple
treasury; and it implied that Mary had expended all her resources on that
singular tribute of respect to Him whom her soul loved. All her earnings, all
her little hoard, had been given in exchange for that box, whose precious
contents she poured on the Saviors person. Hers was no ordinary love: it was a
noble, heroic, self sacrificing devotion, which made her do her utmost for its
object.
Herein the woman of Bethany resembled the Son of
man. He, too, did what He could. Whatever it was possible for a holy being to
endure in the way of humiliation, temptation, sorrow, suffering, yea, even in
the way of becoming "sin" and "a curse," He willingly underwent. All through
His life on earth He scrupulously abstained from doing aught that might tend to
make his cup of affliction come short of absolute fullness. He denied ~limself
all the advantages of divine power and privilege; He emptied Himself; He made
Himself poor; He became in all possible respects like His sinful brethren, that
He might qualify Himself for being a merciful and trustworthy High Yriest to
them in things pertaining to God. Such sacrifices in life and death did His
love impose on Him.
While imposing sacrifices, love, by way of
compensation, makes them easy. It is not only love's destiny, but it is love's
delight, to endure hardships, to bear burdens for the object loved. It is not
satisfied till it has found an opportunity of embodying itself in a service
involving cost, labor, pain. The things from which selfishness shrinks love
ardently longs for. These reflections, we believe, are applicable to Mary. With
her love to Jesus, it was more easy for her to do what she did than to refrain
from doing it. But love's readiness and eagerness to sacrifice herself are most
signally exemplified in the case of Jesus Himself. It was indeed His pleasure
to suffer for our redemption. Far from shrinking from the cross, He looked
forward to it with earnest desire; and when the hour of His passion approached,
He spoke of it as the hour of His glorification. He had no thought of achieving
our salvation at the smallest possible cost to Himself. His feeling was rather
akin to this: "The more I suffer the better: the more thoroughly shall I
realize my identity with my brethren; the more completely will the sympathetic,
burden-bearing, help-bringing instincts and yearnings of my love be satisfied."
Yes: Jesus had more to do than to purchase sinners for as small a price as
would be accepted for their ransom. He had to do justice to His own heart; He
had adequately to express its deep compassion; and no act of limited or
calculated dimensions would avail to exhaust the contents of that whose
dimensions were immeasurable. Measured suffering, especially when endured by so
august a personage, might satisfy divine justice, but it could not satisfy
divine love.
A third feature which fitted Mary's "good work"
to be an emblem of the Saviors, was its magnificence. This also appeared in the
expenditure connected with the act of anointing, which was not only such as
involved a sacrifice for a person of her means, but very liberal with reference
to the purpose in hand. The quantity of oil employed in the service was,
according to John, not less than a pound weight. This was much more than could
be said to be necessary. There was an appearance of waste and extravagance in
the manner of the anointing, even admitting the thing in itself to be right and
proper. Whether the disciples would have objected to the ceremony, however
performed, does not appear; but it was evidently the extravagant amount of
ointment expended which was the prominent object of their displeasure. We
conceive them as saying in effect: "Surely less might have done; the greater
part at least, if not the whole of this ointment, might have been saved for
other uses. This is simply senseless, prodigal expenditure."
What to the narrow-hearted disciples seemed
prodigality was but the princely magnificence of love, which, as even a heathen
philosopher could tell, considers not for how much or how little this or that
can be done, but how it can be done most gracefully and handsomely.[18.5] And
what seemed to them purposeless waste served at least one good purpose. It
symbolized a similar characteristic of Christ's good work as the Saviour of
sinners. He did His work magnificently, and in no mean, economical way. He
accomplished the redemption of "many" by means adequate to redeem all. "With
Him is plenteous redemption." He did not measure out His blood in proportion to
the number to be saved, nor limit His sympathies as the sinner's friend to the
elect. He shed bitter tears for doomed souls; He shed His blood without
measure, and without respect to numbers, and offered an atonement which was
sufficient for the sins of the world. Nor was this attribute of universal
sufficiency attaching to His atoning work one to which He was indifferent. On
the contrary, it appears to have been in His thoughts at the very moment He
uttered the words authorizing the association of Mary's deed of love with the
gospel. For He speaks of that gospel, which was to consist in the proclamation
of His deed of love in dying for sinners, as a gospel for the whole world;
evidently desiring that, as the odor of Mary's ointment filled the room in
which the guests were assembled, so the aroma of His sacrifice might be
diffused as an atmosphere of saving health among all the nations.
We may say, therefore, that in defending Mary
against the charge of waste, Jesus was at the same time defending Himself;
replying by anticipation to such questions as these: To what purpose weep over
doomed Jerusalem? why sorrow for souls that are after all to perish? why
trouble Himself about men not elected to salvation? why command His gospel to
be preached to every creature, with an emphasis which seems to say He wishes
every one saved, when He knows only a definite number will believe the report?
why not confine His sympathies and His solicitudes to those who shall be
effectually benefited by them? why not restrict His love to the channel of the
covenant? why allow it to overflow the embankments like a river in full
flood?[18.6
Such questions betray ignorance of the conditions
under which even the elect are saved. Christ could not save any unless He were
heartily willing to save all, for that willingness is a part of the perfect
righteousness which it beloved Him to fulfill. The sum of duty is, Love God
supremely, and thy neighbor as thyself; and "neighbor" means, for Christ as for
us, every one who needs help, and whom He can help. But not to dwell on this,
we remark that such questions show ignorance of the nature of love. Magnify.
pence, misnamed by churls extravagance and waste, is an invariable attribute of
all true love. David recognized this truth when he selected the profuse
anointing of Aaron with the oil of consecration at his installation into the
office of high priest as a fit emblem of brotherly love.[18.7] There was
"waste" in that anointing too, as well as in the one which took place at
Bethany. For the oil was not sprinkled on the head of Aaron, though that might
have been sufficient for the purpose of a mere ceremony. The vessel was emptied
on the high priest's person, so that its contents flowed down from the head
upon the beard, and even to the skirts of the sacerdotal robes. In that very
waste lay the point of the resemblance for David. It was a feature that was
likely to strike his mind, for he, too, was a wasteful man in his way. He had
loved God in a manner which exposed him to the charge of extravagance. He had
danced before the Lord, for example, when the ark was brought up from the house
ox Obed-edom to Jerusalem, forgetful of his dignity, exceeding the bounds of
decorum, and, as it might seem, without excuse, as a much less hearty
demonstration of his feelings would have served the purpose of a religious
solemnity.[18.8]
David, Mary, Jesus, all loving, devoted beings,
prophets, apostles, martyrs, confessors, belong to one company, and come all
under one condemnation. They must all plead guilty to a waste of affection,
sorrow, labor, tears; all live so as to earn for themselves the blame of
extravagance, which is their highest praise. David dances, and Michal sneers;
prophets break their hearts for their people's sins and miseries, and the
people make sport of their grief; Marys break their alabaster boxes, and frigid
disciples object to the waste; men of God sacrifice their all for their
religious convictions, and the world calls them fools for their pains, and
philosophers bid them beware of being martyrs by mistake; Jesus weeps over
sinners that will not come to Him to be saved, and thankless men ask, Why shed
tears over vessels of wrath fitted for destruction?
We have thus seen that Mary's good deed was a fit
and worthy emblem of the good deed of Jesus Christ in dying on the cross. We
are now to show that Mary herself is in some important respects worthy to be
spoken of as a model Christian. Three features in her character entitle her to
this honorable name.
First among these is her enthusiastic attachment
to the person of Christ. The most prominent feature in Mary's character was her
power of loving, her capacity of self devotion. It was this virtue, as
manifested in her action, that elicited the admiration of Jesus. He was so
delighted with the chivalrous deed of love, that He, so to speak, canonized
Mary on the spot, as a king might confer knighthood on the battlefield on a
soldier who had performed some noble feat of arms. "Behold," He said in effect,
"here is what I understand by Christianity: an unselfish and uncalculating
devotion to me as the Saviour of sinners, and as the Sovereign of the kingdom
of truth and righteousness. Therefore, wherever the gospel is preached, let
this that this woman heath done be spoken of, not merely as a memorial of her,
but to intimate what I expect of all who believe in me."
In so commending Mary, Jesus gives us to
understand in effect that devotion is the chief of Christian virtues. He
proclaims the same doctrine afterwards taught by one who, though last, was the
first of all the apostles in his comprehension of the mind of Christ--the
Apostle Paul. That glowing panegyric on charity, so well known to all readers
of his epistles, in which he makes eloquence, knowledge, faith, the gift of
tongues, and the gift of prophecy, do obeisance to her, as the sovereign
virtue, is but the faithful interpretation in general terms of the encomium
pronounced on the woman of Beth any. The story of the anointing and the
thirteenth chapter of the First Epistle to the Corinthians may be read with
advantage together.
In making love the test and measure of
excellence, Jesus and Paul, and the rest of the apostles (for they all shared
the Master's mind at last), differ widely from the world religious and
orologies. Pharisees and Sadducees, scrupulous religionists, and unscrupulous
men of no religion, agree in disliking ardent, enthusiastic, chivalrous
devotion, even in the most noble cause. They are wise and prudent, and their
philosophy might be embodied in such maxims as these: "Be not too catholic in
your sentiments, too warm in your sympathies, too keen in your sense of duty;
never allow your heart to get the better of your head, or your principles to
interfere with your interest." So widely diffused is the dislike to
earnestness, especially in good, that all nations have their proverbs against
enthusiasm. The Greeks had their mhdeVn a]gan, the Latins their Ne quid
nimis;[18.9] expressing skepticism in proverb-maker and proverb-quoter as to
the possibility of wisdom being enthusiastic about any thing. The world is
prosaic, not poetic, in temperament--prudential, not impulsive: it abhors
eccentricity in good or in evil; it prefers a dead level of mediocrity,
moderation, and self-possession; its model man is one who never forgets
himself, either by sinking below himself in folly or wickedness, or by rising
above himself, and getting rid of meanness, pride, selfishness, cowardice, and
vanity in devotion to a noble cause.
The twelve were like the world in their
temperament at the time of the anointing: they seem to have regarded Mary as a
romantic, quixotic, crazy creature, and her action as absurd and indefensible.
They objected not, of course, to her love of Jesus; but they deemed the manner
of its manifestation foolish, as the money spent on the ointment might have
been applied to a better purpose--say, to the relief of the destitute--and
Jesus loved nothing the less, seeing that, according to His own teaching, all
philanthropic actions were deeds of kindness to Himself. And, on first
thoughts, one is half inclined to say that they had reason on their side, and
were far wiser, while not less devoted to Jesus than Mary. But look at their
behavior on the day of their Lord's crucifixion, and learn the difference
between them and her. Mary loved so ardently as to be beyond calculations of
consequences or expenses; they loved so coldly, that there was room for fear in
their hearts: therefore, while Mary spent her all on the ointment, they all
forsook their Master, and fled to save their own wives. Whence we can see that,
despite occasional extravagances, apparent or real, that spirit is wisest as
well as noblest which makes us incapable of calculation, and proof against
temptations arising therefrom. One rash, blundering, but heroic Luther is worth
a thousand men of the Erasmus type, unspeakably wise, but cold, passionless,
timid, and time-serving. Scholarship is great, but action is greater; and the
power to do noble actions comes from love.
How great is the devoted Mary compared with the
coldhearted disciples! She does noble deeds, and they criticize them. Poor work
for a human being, criticism, especially the sort that abounds in
fault-finding! Love does not care for such occupation; it is too petty for her
generous mind. If there be room for praise, she will give that in unstinted
measure; but rather than carp and blame, she prefers to be silent. Then observe
again how love in Mary becomes a substitute for prescience. She does not know
that Jesus is about to die, but she acts as if she did. Such as Mary can
divine; the instincts of love, the inspiration of the God of love, teach them
to do the right thing at the right time, which is the very highest attainment
of true wisdom. On the other hand, we see in the case of the disciples how
coldness of heart consumes knowledge and makes men stupid. They had received
far more information than Mary concerning the future. If they did not know that
Jesus was about to be put to death, they ought to have known from the many
hints and even plain intimations which had been given them. But, alas! they had
forgot all these. And why? For the same reason which makes all men so forgetful
of things pertaining to their neighbors. The twelve were too much taken up with
their own affairs. Their heads were filled with vain dreams of worldly
ambition, and so their Master's words were forgotten almost as soon as they
were uttered, and it became needful that He should tell them pathetically and
reproachfully: "The poor ye have always with you, but me ye have not always."
Men so minded never understand the times, so as to know what Israel ought to
do, or to approve the conduct of those who do know.
A second admirable feature in Mary's character
was the freedom of her spirit. She was not tied down to methods and rules of
well-doing. The disciples, judging from their language, seem to have been great
methodists, servile in their adherence to certain stereotyped modes of action.
"This ointment," said they, "might have been sold for much, and given to the
poor." They understand that charity to the poor is a very important duty: they
know that their Master often referred to it; and they make it every thing.
"Charity," in the sense of almsgiving,[18.10] is their hobby. When Judas went
out to betray his Lord, they fancied that he was gone to distribute what
remained of the supper among some poor persons of his acquaintance. Their very
ideas of well-doing appear to be method-ridden. Good works with them do not
seem to be co-extensive with noble deeds of all sorts. The phrase is technical,
and limited in its application to a confined circle of actions of an expressly
and obviously religious and benevolent nature.
Not so with Mary. She knows of more ways of doing
good than one. She can invent ways of her own. She is original, creative, not
slavishly imitative. And she is as fearless as she is original. She cannot only
imagine forms of well-doing out of the beaten track, but she has the courage to
realize her conceptions. She is not afraid of the public. She does not ask
beforehand, What will the twelve think of this? With a free mind she forms her
plan, and with prompt, free hand she forthwith executes it.
For this freedom Mary was indebted to her large
heart. Love made her original in thought and conduct. People without heart
cannot be original as she was. They may addict themselves to good works from
one motive or another; but they go about them in a very slavish, mechanical
way. They have to be told by some individual in whom they confide, or more
commonly, by custom or fashion, what to do; and hence they never do any good
which is not in vogue. But Mary needed no counselor: she took counsel of her
own heart. Love told her infallibly what was the duty of the hour; that her
business for the present was not to give alms, but to anoint the person of the
great High Priest.
We may learn from the example of Mary that love
is, not less than necessity, the mother of invention. A great heart has fully
as much to do with spiritual originality as a clever head. What is needed to
fill the church with original preachers, original givers, original actors in
all departments of Christian work, is not more brains, or more training, or
more opportunities, but above all, more heart. When there is little love in the
Christian community, it resembles a river in dry weather, which not only keeps
within its banks, but does not even occupy the whole of its channel, leaving
large beds of gravel or sand Iying high and dry on both sides of the current.
But when the love of God is shed abroad in the hearts of her members, the
church becomes like the same river in time of rain. The stream begins to rise,
all the gravel beds gradually disappear, and at length the swollen flood not
only fills its channel, but overflows its banks, and spreads over the meadows.
New methods of well-doing are then attempted, and new measures of well-doing
reached; new songs are indited and sung; new forms of expression for old truths
are invented, not for the sake of novelty, but in the creative might of a new
spiritual life.
It was love that made Mary free from fear, as
well as from the bondage of mechanical custom. "Love," saith one who knew
love's power well, "casteth out fear." Love can make even shrinking, sensitive
women bold--bolder even than men. It can teach us to disregard that thing
called public opinion, before which all mankind cowers. It was love that made
Peter and John so bold when they stood before the Sanhedrim. They had been with
Jesus long enough to love Him more than their own life, and therefore they
quailed not before the face of the mighty. It was love that made Jesus Himself
so indifferent to censure, and so disregardful of conventional restraints in
the prosecution of His work. His heart was so devoted to His philanthropic
mission, that He set at defiance the world's disapprobation; nay, probably did
not so much as think of it, except when it obtruded itself upon His notice. And
what love did for Mary, and for Jesus, and for the apostles in after days, it
does for all. Wherever it exists in liberal measure, it banishes timidity and
shyness, and the imbecility which accompanies these, and brings along with it
power of character and soundness of mind. And to crown the encomium, we may
add, that while it makes us bold, love does not make us impudent. Some men are
bold because they are too selfish to care for other people's feelings. Those
who are bold through love may dare to do things which will be found fault with;
but they are always anxious, as far as possible, to please their neighbors, and
to avoid giving of fence.
One remark more let us make under this head. The
liberty which springs from love can never be dangerous. In these days many
people are greatly alarmed at the progress of broad school theology. And of the
breadth that consists in skeptical indifference to catholic Christian truth we
do well to be jealous. But, on the other hand, of the breadth and freedom due
to consuming love for Christ, and all the grand interests of His kindgom, we
cannot have too much. The spirit of charity may indeed treat as comparatively
light matters, things which men of austere mind deem of almost vital
importance, and may be disposed to do things which men more enamored of order
and use and wont than of freedom may consider licentious innovations. But the
harm done will be imaginary rather than real; and even if it were otherwise,
the impulsive Marys are never so numerous in the church that they may not
safely be tolerated. There are always a sufficient number of prosaic,
order-loving disciples to keep their quixotic brethren in due check.
Finally, the nobility of Mary's spirit was not
less remarkable than its freedom. There was no taint of vulgar utilitarianism
about her character. She thought habitually, not of the immediately, obviously,
and materially useful, but of the honorable, the lovely, the morally beautiful.
Hard, practical men might have pronounced her a romantic, sentimental, dreamy
mystic; but a more just, appreciative estimate would represent her as a woman
whose virtues were heroic and chivalrous rather than commercial. Jesus
signalized the salient point in Mary's character by the epithet which He
employed to describe her action. He did not call it a useful work, but a good,
or, better still, a noble work.
And yet, while Mary's deed was characteristically
noble, it was not the less useful. All good deeds are useful in some way and at
some time or other. All noble and beautiful things--thoughts, words,
deeds--contribute ultimately to the benefit of the world. Only the uses of such
deeds as Mary's--of the best and noblest needs--are not always apparent or
appreciable. If we were to make immediate, obvious, and vulgar uses the test of
what is right, we should exclude not only the anointing in Bethany, but all
fine poems and works of art, all sacrifices of material advantage to truth and
duty; every thing, in fact, that has not tended directly to increase outward
wealth and comfort, but has merely helped to redeem the world from vulgarity,
given us glimpses of the far-off land of beauty and goodness, concerning which
we now and then but faintly dream, brought us into contact with the divine and
the eternal, made the earth classic ground, a field where heroes have fought,
and where their bones are buried, and where the moss-grown stone stands to
commemorate their valor.
In this nobility of spirit Mary was pre-eminently
the Christian. For the genius of Christianity is certainly not utilitarian. Its
counsel is: "Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are venerable,
whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are
lovely, think of these things." All these things are emphatically useful; but
it is not of their utility, but of themselves, we are asked to think, and that
for a very good reason. Precisely in order to be useful, we must aim at
something higher than usefulness; just as, in order to be happy, we must aim at
something higher than happiness. We must make right revealed to us by an
enlightened conscience and a loving pure heart our rule of duty, and then we
may be sure that uses of all kinds will be served by our conduct, whether we
foresee them or not; whereas, if we make calculations of utility our guide in
action, we shall leave undone the things which are noblest and best, because as
a rule the uses of such things are least obvious, and longest in making their
appearance. Supremely useful to the world is the heroic devotion of the martyr;
but it takes centuries to develop the benefits of martyrdom; and if all men had
followed the maxims of utilitarian philosophy, and made utility their motive to
action, there would never have been any martyrs at all. Utilitarianism tends to
trimming and time-serving; it is the death of heroism and self-sacrifice; it
walks by sight, and not by faith; it looks only to the present, and forgets the
future; it seats prudence on the throne of conscience; it produces not great
characters, but at best petty busybodies. These things being considered, it
need not surprise us to find that the term "usefulness," of such frequent
recurrence in the religious vocabulary of the present day, has no place in the
New Testament.[18.11]
Four further observations may fitly close these
meditations on the memorable transactions in Beth any.
I. In all the attributes of character hitherto
enumerated, Mary was a model of genuinely evangelic piety. The evangelic spirit
is a Spilit of noble love and fearless liberty. It is a counterfeit
evangelicism that is a slave to the past, to tradition, to fixed customs and
methods in religion. The true name for this temper and tendency is legalism.
2. From Christ's defense of Mary we may learn
that being found fault with is not infallible evidence of being wrong. A
much-blamed man is commonly considered to have done something amiss, as the
only possible reason for his being censured. But, in truth, he may only have
done something unusual; for all unusual things are found fault with--the
unusually good as well as, nay, more than, the unusually bad. Hence it comes
that Paul makes the apparently superfluous remark, that there is no law against
love and its kindred graces. In point of fact, these virtues are treated as if
illegal and criminal whenever they exceed the usual stinted niggard measure in
which such precious metals are found in the world. Was not He who perfectly
embodied all the heavenly graces flung out of existence by the world as a
person not to be tolerated? Happily the world ultimately comes round to a
juster opinion, though often too late to be of service to those who have
suffered wrong. The barbarians of the island of Malta, who, when they saw the
viper fastened on Paul's hand, thought he must needs be a murderer, changed
their minds when he shook off the reptile unharmed, and exclaimed, "He is a
god." Hence we should learn this maxim of prudence, not to be too hasty in
criticizing if we want to have credit for insight and consistency. But we
should discipline ourselves to slowness in judging from far higher
considerations. We ought to cherish a reverence for the character and for the
personality of all intelligent responsible beings, and to be under a constant
fear of making mistakes, and calling good evil, and evil good. In the words of
an ancient philosopher, "We ought always to be very careful when about to blame
or praise a man, lest we speak not rightly. For this purpose it is necessary to
learn to discriminate between good and bad men. For God is displeased when one
blames a person like Himself, or praises one unlike Himself. Do not imagine
that stones and sticks, and birds and serpents, are holy, and that men are not.
For of all things the holiest is a good man, and the most detestable a
bad."[18.12]
3. If we cannot be Christians like Mary, let us
at all events not be disciples like Judas. Some may think it would not be
desirable that all should be like the woman of Bethany: plausibly alleging
that, considering the infirmity of human nature, it is necessary that the
romantic, impulsive, mystic school of Christians should be kept in check by
another school of more prosaic, conservative, and so to say, plebeian
character; while perhaps admitting that a few Christians like Mary in the
church help to preserve religion from degenerating into coarseness, vulgarity,
and formalism. Be this as it may, the church has certainly no need for Judases.
Judas and Mary! these two represent the two extremes of human character. The
one exemplifies Plato's pavntwn marwvtatow (hatefullest of all things), the
other his pavntwn iJerwvtaton (holiest of all things). Characters so diverse
compel us to believe in a heaven and a hell. Each one goeth to his and her own
place: Mary to the "land of the leal;" Judas to the land of the false, who sell
their conscience and their God for gold.
4. It is worthy of notice how naturally and
appropriately Jesus, in His magnanimous defense of Mary's generous,
large-hearted deed, rises to the full height of prophetic prescience, and
anticipates for His gospel a world-wide diffusion: "Wheresoever this gospel
shall be preached in the whole world." Such a gospel could be nothing less than
world-wide in sympathy, and no one who understood it and its Author could fail
to have a burning desire to go into all the world and preach it unto every
creature. This universalis tic touch in Christ's utterance at this time, far
from taking us by surprise, rather seems a matter of course. Even critics of
the naturalistic school allow its genuineness. "This word in Bethany," says one
of the ablest writers on the Gospel history belonging to this school, "is the
solitary quite reliable word of the last period of Christ's life concerning the
world-wide career which Jesus saw opening up for Himself and His cause."[18.13]
If therefore the twelve remained narrow Judaists to the end, it was not due to
the absence of the universalis tic element in their Master's teaching, but
simply to this, that they remained permanently as incapable of appreciating
Mary's act, and the gospel whereof it was an emblem, as they showed themselves
at this time. That they did so continue, however, we do not believe; and the
best evidence of this is that the story of Mary of Bethany has attained a place
in the evangelic records.
This document (last modifiedSeptember 17, 1997) from Believerscafe.com
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