And as the people were in expectation, and all men mused in their hearts of John, whether he were the Christ, or not; John answered, saying unto them all, I indeed baptize you with water; but one mightier than I cometh, the latchet of whose shoes I am not worthy to unloose: he shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost and with fire.—St. Luke iii. 15, 16.
In the homage of the infant John to the infant Jesus, painters have striven to express the contrast between them. The Evangelists present this contrast to us quite differently. St. Luke indicated it in his narrative of the two births; the full declaration of it is in the words I have just read to you. They correspond almost literally with some which you will find in the third chapter of St. Matthew. They are in substance adapted by St. Mark in his opening chapter. I do not complain of the painters for departing from the text of Scripture, and adopting traditions which had become part of the oral teaching of Christendom. Every great picture has helped to elevate these traditions, to bring out their moral significance, to suggest the study of the books which have been darkened by them. Other influences have been, and are more pernicious, than any which have proceeded from artists; but their works, especially when they have been of a soft and sentimental character, have contributed to a result which they could not foresee. Together with the acts of devotion which have been directed to the sacred heart of Jesus, with the society which has profaned that name, with all the books and discourses of Romanists or of Protestants which have separated it from the Christ, they have led us to think that the difference between the Baptist and Him whose shoes he was not worthy to stoop down and unloose, was the difference between a certain rough human excellence and a certain transcendent superhuman grace and sweetness. The Lord Jesus is set before us not exactly as a Divine Person, not exactly as a human person. Some qualities, which we suppose to be divine, are mixed confusedly with some which we suppose to be human. There is a certain amount of awe awakened by the first—an awe which interferes with sympathy. There is a certain amount of sympathy awakened by the last—a sympathy which diminishes the awe. We feel such a state of mind to be one that, we cannot retain; we accept one of two alternatives. The image which we had tried to bring near recedes into an immeasurable distance; we are afraid to think of it; practically we dismiss it from our minds. Or else it is stripped of all that made it wonderful and adorable to our childhood. It shrinks into the form of one whose acts we can easily measure and interpret, to whom we attribute whatever of moral excellence does not too much throw our own into the shade, to whom we at last impute an untruthfulness which we acknowledge would be disgraceful in any teacher of our century. Very painful it is to describe this habit of thinking simply and distinctly. But it must be described, because it is a prevalent one, and is likely to be more prevalent; because we who preach the Gospel are in a very great degree answerable for it; because it should teach us to consider our ways and to repent of much for which we have given ourselves credit. If it does produce that repentance in us, we may be led back to the direct statements of the Evangelists, and through them to the belief which is contained in our Creeds; the belief not in a half-God and half-man, but in One who is very God, and therefore very Man; the perfect image of the Father, and for that reason the image after which we are created. What healthiness and freedom of mind, what deliverance from mawkishness and superstition, what a standard of morality for ourselves, what mercy to others, we should gain if we did heartily receive that old faith, I think we none of us know, though God may make our children know it. We and they may have to learn another lesson first; that there is a path to the most grovelling and the most antiquated forms of superstition and idolatry—to the most utter confusion of truth and falsehood—through those attempts to divide Jesus from the King and the Son of God, which many regard as the greatest achievements of modern refinement and discrimination.
You will see at once that the language of the text leads us to consider John as a messenger of God, great only in that character, great only as he acknowledges his calling and girds himself to the fulfilment of it. You will see that they lead us to think, not of some man born in Bethlehem, or in Nazareth, but of the Christ, the anointed of God, who was to bestow the Spirit with which He was anointed, upon men. Who this Christ was, no Evangelist tells us that John the Baptist guessed. St. John introduces Him, saying in direct words that he did not know. He knew what the office of the Christ was; what his was not. He could prepare the way for him, by preaching the baptism of repentance for the remission of sins. That baptism, not John’s wisdom, was to manifest the Christ to Israel.
Of this preparation for the Son of God, St. Matthew and St. Mark speak nearly in the same terms as St. Luke. Both quote a passage from the 40th chapter of Isaiah, as being fulfilled in John; St. Luke quotes more than the others. Now the question is often asked, Did Isaiah mean John the Baptist by the voice crying in the wilderness? or if not, were his words distorted by the Evangelists from their right and natural signification? Are they making a forced application of an old sentence? I have answered the question in another case. John the Baptist, though a contemporary of Jesus, and even kinsman of His mother, did not know Him as the Christ, if he knew Him at all. But he had a clear apprehension of what the Christ must be. This was the illumination of a prophet, this was that which had been given at sundry times and in divers manners to the prophets before him. The vision dawned upon them gradually, of one who must be the perfect King of others, who must be the perfect image of God. When He should be declared to men, the older prophets could not say; how He should be declared to men they learnt by degrees through their own trials and the trials of their land; they could announce the tidings as they were needed. But they were sure that if He were to be fully manifested in the ages to come, He was living then; that he was manifesting Himself through imperfect men, kings, priests, or prophets; that He was manifesting himself through the judgments upon them when they failed of their duty. And Isaiah knew in himself, knew in his countrymen, what hindered the perception of this true King, what kept men from confessing Him, and expecting a fuller discovery of Him. Some were self-exalted, some were desponding of the Divine goodness, some were finding the path of life very tortuous and intricate, some were finding it very painful to the feet. They could not understand how God could have devised such ways for creatures whom He loved. What must one do who should come in the name of the Lord to prepare for a revelation of Him? He must shew that God was bringing down hills and exalting the valleys, was making straight the crooked ways, was making the rough ways smooth. He must shew it by more than words. He must have a message to all manner of people, which all manner of people should feel to be a divine one, and which each should feel was adapted to him and his troubles. ‘The glory of the Lord’—this is the portion of the passage which the other Evangelists have omitted and which St. Luke has preserved, ‘The glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.’ How that was to be, how all flesh could bear such an unveiling, the prophet might not know. But this and nothing less than this could answer to his sense of the deep necessity of his race, and of the Divine purpose towards it. So far the vision is clear and full as to the nature of the message, but it contains no limitations of space or time, no intimation of one more than another who should accomplish it. Would it not be right to say that every prophet must in his own time and in his own place act in conformity with this divine announcement? ’There could be no account of his functions so vivid and so accurate.
There is, however, one point in the description which appears to be more local. ‘The voice is heard crying in the wilderness.’ How often this incident would be repeated, how often the preacher who spoke to people concerning their God, would be literally as well as morally a speaker in the wilderness, it is needless to inquire. The divine impulse which led John to choose it as his appointed place will not have been less divine, less inward, if it gathered strength from the study of this very passage; whether it did or not, there was something entirely fitting in the place to the mind and object of the speaker. And so without the least debating about the amount of foresight which Isaiah possessed, without the least caring whether he intended this application or not, the Evangelist could say, ‘Here is, in the strictest, completest sense, the fulfilment of the prophet’s sense. He who knows the end from the beginning, and has ordained words for our use, must mean us to connect these words with this event, to interpret them by it, and it by them.’
And surely, if by any act or by any speech, valleys could be exalted, hills could be made low, crooked ways could be made straight, rough ways smooth, the preaching of the baptism of repentance for the remission of sins was that act and that speech. All the children of Abraham, without exception—the religious Pharisee and the harlot, the most wise Sadducee and the most ignorant handicraftsman, the proudest Jewish patriot and the publican who was profiting by the Roman tribute—were addressed as God’s people, were told that He was calling them to repent of sins which separated them from Him, were all alike assured, by a significant token, that He sent away their sins. What a universal message, yet what an individual message! It meant nothing till it found the particular man with his own particular burthen pressing upon his conscience. Then it said to him, ‘He who knows of that burthen, He who knows how it came to thee, invites thee to cast it off. Thou mayest confess it. Thou mayest be delivered from it. Thou mayest go forth a free man.’ Had the Pharisee anything to confess? Perhaps not; he was satisfied; he was better and holier than others. In that superiority and holiness he must abide. If that was all he wanted he might enjoy it. And then assuredly he would not see the salvation of God, for he would have nothing to be saved from. If he did confess that his self-glorification had kept him from God, that it was a great sin, a heavy burthen, it would be taken from him; the hill would be made low. Had the harlot anything to confess? She might think she had nothing; she had fallen into that miserable condition through circumstances, through the faults of others, she could not charge it against herself. Then the burthen must still be borne. But if she confessed it, she might be set as free from her load as the Pharisee from his; she, like him, might see the salvation of God. The valley would be exalted. Did the ’Sadducee see anything at all strange or crooked in his own course, or in the course of the world? Perhaps not, perhaps he had a theory which would account for everything; he wanted no straighter way than that which he was in. But if he did, if he found that his wit was at fault, if he owned himself a fool, that confession might bring him to see what he had supposed was a mere fantasy. He might see the salvation of God, and so his blessing would be like that of the ignorant man whom he despised. He, bewailing his ignorance, confessing that he could see in what path he was to walk, might have the crooked way made straight. And the weariness and despondency of those who complained of weariness and despondency, might be taken away by Him who bids His creatures be of a good heart. Their rough way might be made smooth.
Thus, the message had all the qualities which prophetic message could have. It bore witness of its origin from One who knew what is in man. It appealed to all equally. It appealed to each man by himself. It went home to that in each which wanted remission and purification. It did its work. It was at once levelling and exalting. St. Matthew and St. Mark are so busy with their main subject, ‘Prepare the way of the Lord,’ that they can think of no other. For St. Luke, whose mind is occupied with the Gospel to the Gentiles—to all mankind—the clause ‘All flesh shall see the salvation of God,’ was very important; it blended itself with the previous sentence; he could not divide them.
But if the message, ‘Repent, and turn to God, who puts away sins, who sets the conscience free,’ is a blessed message, what are we to say of this, ‘Then said he to the multitude that came forth to be baptised of him, O generation of vipers, who hath warned you to flee from the wrath to come?’ They are certainly very unlike the previous words. And yet the same man must have uttered them both. Their resemblance is inward and essential; the opposition is on the surface. Every prophet who had asked the children of Abraham to turn to the God of their fathers had asked them to turn from an idolatry and a slavery which were destroying them. Every prophet had said that idolatry and slavery would infallibly bring down curses upon their land. In the form of invasion from some enemy, above all from the great Babylonian Empire, they would experience the misery of having sold their hearts to vain things, of having trusted in that which would give them no courage to resist, or fortitude to bear. Their horses and chariots would not save them from those who had a far greater multitude of chariots and horses. When these were their confidence they must feel their own pettiness; the enemy would laugh them to scorn. About the poor divided, sect-ridden, money-worshipping Jews of John’s age the clouds were gathering close and thick. An empire mightier than any Chaldean Empire was trampling upon them—might in a little time extinguish them. The thought of this coming wrath was pressing intensely upon the mind of the preacher. This was the issue to which the pride of the Pharisees and the Sadducees was leading! This was the horror which the whole country would have to bear because the sins of its rulers had infected every part of it! In St. Matthew the speech of John is directed expressly to the opposing sects who were to be the ruin of the commonwealth. St. Luke speaks as if it had been addressed to the people at large. Both rulers and people were, no doubt, warned of that which would affect both. Rulers and people were asked alike to cast away the abominations which were bringing on the catastrophe. And of rulers and people it was equally true that if they merely came to the baptism because they were afraid of a wrath to come, they would remain a generation of vipers; that if they came to be delivered from sins which oppressed them, they would have the poison taken out of them—they would receive remission of their sins.
Therefore he bade them one and all bring forth fruits worthy of that repentance which they had professed. God wished to tear out their sins by the roots. He was not striking at some forms of evil, but at the great mother sin; at their trust in themselves, at their distrust of Him. These had been the causes of all misery to their forefathers; these were the causes of their misery. They were saying to themselves, ‘We have Abraham to our father.’ They were boasting of their difference from other people. Cunningest, vilest form of infidelity! Denial of the God of Abraham, under pretence of honour to Abraham! Let them know that God was able of those stones—of what seemed the hardest, most impenetrable materials—to raise up children to Abraham.
If the message of John, as delivered by St. Luke, is more general in its call and in its warnings than that which we read elsewhere, it is also more minute and definite. It is St. Luke who tells us that the soldiers, the publicans, and the people at large asked John what they should do—what fruits of repentance he demanded of them; and that his answers in each case referred to their ordinary duties and temptations. They were not to forsake their work that they might serve God more punctually and faithfully,—that would be a distrust and denial of Him. They were to serve Him in their work; they were to avoid those things which they knew were inconsistent with fidelity to it; they were to do the acts of simple kindliness and good neighbourhood which belonged to their position, and which came in their way. The preacher in the wilderness, whose raiment was of camel’s hair, and whose meat was locusts and wild honey, attached no worth to such costume or such food. They were suitable to him; he recommended them to no one else. Soldiers and tax-gatherers were to be soldiers and tax-gatherers still.
And then follow the words I have taken for my text. I have spoken to you already of their main import. They announced One who would be endowed with a divine Spirit, and who would impart that Spirit. They declared this to be the distinction between Him and John, between Him and all other prophets. He who was not able to bestow this gift was not the King and Deliverer their fathers had looked for. He was not the King and Deliverer who could raise them out of their low estate, or who could confer any rights or blessings on mankind.
Strange is it to think of the contrasts which men have drawn between John and Jesus, as if the first were merely a severe preacher, and the last were all tolerance and pity; and then to read this description. ‘Whose fan is in his hand, and he will throughly purge his floor, and will gather the wheat into the garner, but will burn up the chaff with fire unquenchable.’ Yet was it not such an one as this that the people of Palestine wanted; one who could look into the heart of their society, into the heart of each man, and burn up its evils, and burn up his evils? One who could kindle a new and divine life within them? Would anything less than this divine fire, than this divine Spirit, have sufficed for their renovation? My friends, will anything less than this divine fire, this divine Spirit, suffice for our renovation? Will it avail us to talk of the meek and lowly Jesus? Do we not know that we may talk of Him, and think ourselves much better for talking of Him, and may boast of our superiority to people who do not know Him, till all meekness and gentleness depart from us—till we become like the Jews, who said, ‘We have Abraham to our father’? Will any soft, sentimental faith purge out the sectarianism and the money-worship from our English nation, from our English church? Must there not be One with a fan in His hand, to accomplish for us what no outward baptism, no preaching of repentance, has been able to accomplish? Is there such an One? I think there is, for I accept this as a true sentence. ‘Now when the people were baptised, it came to pass, that Jesus also being baptised and praying, the heaven was opened, and the Holy Ghost descended in a bodily shape like a dove upon Him, and a voice came from heaven, which said, Thou art my beloved Son; in Thee am I well pleased.’
Here I find the commencement of that Kingdom of Heaven which John declared to be at hand. Here is the revelation of a Name which had been implied in every revelation, but which had never yet been spoken. He who is and was and is to come, is never forgotten; but the Father is discovered in the Baptism. The Word who said, ‘Let there be light, and there was light,’ is never lost sight of. But this Baptism declares a Son who is to do nothing of Himself, who is to shew forth the will whence all blessing and restoration proceed. And the Baptism reveals the Spirit, not as moving on the face of the waters, but as possessing the whole heart and mind of a man, as directing the thought and purposes of a man, as uniting the highest rule with the most perfect obedience. All that follows is the living exposition of Christ’s baptism.