And it came to pass, that on one of those days, as he taught the people in the temple, and preached the Gospel, the chief priests and the scribes came upon him with the elders, and spake unto him, saying, Tell us, by what authority doest thou these things? or who is he that gave thee this authority.—St. Luke xx. 1, 2.
I. ‘The people were very attentive to hear him.’ These were the last words which we heard in the 19th chapter. ‘He was teaching the people in the temple, and preaching the gospel.’ These are the words which meet us when we open this chapter. The people are full of eagerness for a Kingdom of God. What it is they do not know. Something very different it must be from the kingdom of the priests; something very different from the kingdom of the Cæsars. Of such a kingdom Jesus, the Prophet of Galilee, is speaking in the very heart of the capital—in the temple itself. The news sounds like good news. Crowds listen to it.
There comes a grave procession of chief priests, and scribes, and elders. All the dignity of the Jewish religion and the Jewish nation is there; all that can awe the new Teacher. They have heard that He is talking of a kingdom; they have heard that He has assumed a right to purge the temple. They would like to know by what authority He did these things. Whence did He derive it? ‘And he answered and said unto them, I will also ask you one thing; and answer me; The baptism of John, was it from heaven, or of men?’ John had come amongst them apparently without any authority; he had wrought no miracle to prove that he had a right to be heard. Had he a right to be heard? He spoke of Repentance. He spoke of a Kingdom of God. The people went out to him. Ought they to have gone? Was his message an earthly or heavenly one? ‘And they reasoned with themselves, saying, If we shall say, From heaven; he will say, Why then believed ye him not? But if we say, Of men; all the people will stone us: for they be persuaded that John was a prophet.’ It was a calculation with them in all cases what answer would be a safe one; what the consequence would be of saying ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ On the whole, their reply came as near the truth as a reply of theirs could come. The messenger might have been a heavenly one; they could not positively say that he was not. Though he wanted the proper signs of one, the people had an instinct that he knew secrets which none but a divine teacher could know. The true man, they thought, was sent by the true God. The chief priests and scribes hated the people, and feared what they hated. If the multitude grew violent, what might it not do? They might be its first victims. It was better to avow ignorance though that was unpleasant and might weaken their influence, than to incur this peril. ‘And Jesus said unto them, Neither tell I you by what authority I do these things.’ You cannot find out whence came the power of the man who called you to repent. You cannot find out mine. My authority, like John’s, must prove itself. If it does not prove itself to you, you will never know what it is.
II. And it did prove itself to them. ‘Then began he to speak to the people this parable: A certain man planted a vineyard, and let it forth to husbandmen, and went into a far country for a long time. And at the season he sent a servant to the husbandmen, that they should give him of the fruit of the vineyard: but the husbandmen beat him, and sent him away empty. And again he sent another servant: and they beat him also, and entreated him shamefully, and sent him away empty. And again he sent a third: and they wounded him also, and cast him out. Then said the lord of the vineyard, What shall I do? I will send my beloved son: it may be they will reverence him when they see him. But when the husbandmen saw him, they reasoned among themselves, saying, This is the heir: come, let us kill him, that the inheritance may be ours. So they cast him out of the vineyard, and killed him. What therefore shall the lord of the vineyard do unto them? He shall come and destroy these husbandmen, and shall give the vineyard to others. And when they heard it, they said, God forbid.’ The parable took the old form. To the readers of the divine book it recalled the song in Isaiah ‘To my well-beloved, concerning his vineyard.’ To those who dwelt among vineyards, and knew how vineyards were leased out, it was the liveliest instance of an actual trust which had been violated—of actual profits that were demanded, and refused. It recalled the past history of the land, interpreting the messages of the prophets—the treatment of the prophets. It brought distinctly before them their state of mind at that time. They did hate Him who was speaking to them. Was it the same kind of hatred which their fathers had for the prophets? Was it not more intense? Why? A flash of light came into their consciences. Was it a Son of the great Husbandman who had been sent to them? Such flashes come and go. They provoke momentary terror which soon passes into bitterer wrath. The cry, ‘God forbid,’ or ‘Let it not be,’ was the natural utterance of the terror. Oh, let us not be cast out of the vineyard! Let not our house be left desolate.’
‘And he beheld them, and said, What is this then that is written, The stone which the builders rejected, the same is become the head of the corner? Whosoever shall fall upon that stone shall be broken; but on whomsoever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder. And the chief priests and the scribes the same hour sought to lay hands on him; and they feared the people: for they perceived that he had spoken this parable against them.’ Is it not the Heir you are rejecting? Have not your prophets spoken of a corner-stone of the nation, of one who alone could bind it together? Are you not trying to build up your nation without that corner-stone? Do you not think it will prove itself stronger than anyone who dashes himself against it? Do you not think that if it falls upon your poor fabric the whole will be ground to powder? In those words we read the great Gospel to humanity; the announcement of the living Centre which was to unite all its arches, to knit its loose fragments into a whole. The chief priests and scribes read in it their sentence, which they must avert, if possible, by laying hands on the Reprover.
III. But there was a gospel also for nations; a gospel concerning the cause of national slavery; the true means of national emancipation. Thus was it preached:
‘And they watched him, and sent forth spies, which should feign themselves just men, that they might take hold of his words, that so they might deliver him unto the power and authority of the governor. And they asked him, saying, Master, we know that thou sayest and teachest rightly, neither acceptest thou the person of any, but teachest the way of God truly: Is it lawful for us to give tribute unto Caesar, or no? But he perceived their craftiness, and said unto them, Why tempt ye me? Shew me a penny. Whose image and superscription hath it? They answered and said, Caesar’s. And he said unto them, Render therefore unto Caesar the things which be Caesar’s, and unto God the things that be God’s. And they could not take hold of his words before the people: and they marvelled at his answer, and held their peace.’
One can well understand the calculation which led to this plot. ‘He speaks of a Kingdom of God. The people suppose that He means freedom to the land; freedom from Rome. Will He dare to avow that He does? If not, His influence with the multitude is gone. Or else we have a direct charge to bring before Pilate.’ The plot itself is well laid. The messengers have a case of conscience. They do not quite see their duty. Ought they to comply with the demands of the tax-gatherer or to resist? Of course He will tell them frankly; He is not afraid of any man. The answer of our Lord is often represented as a kind of skilful evasion. An evasion would have been fatal. The spies were armed against that danger. They might evade. He would, they were sure, make a direct answer. He met them with defiance. He denounced them as hypocrites. They had not come with a case of conscience. They knew they had not. They had come to entrap Him.
But their question should be answered nevertheless. They wished to know whether they were to pay tribute to the emperor. What tribute did they pay? Coins? Let Him see one of the coins. There is an image upon it. Whose image? The emperor’s. There is a superscription upon it. Whose superscription? The emperor’s. Render to him by all means that which is his. Your money is stamped by him. Your dealings go on under his sanction. Do not withdraw that from him. You cannot. He has proved his claim to it. But render to God the things that are God’s. Has not He stamped His image anywhere? Is not His superscription to be discovered anywhere? Think where they ought to be; be sure that is His.
Here is the very principle of the Kingdom of Heaven; here is the proof that Christ did come to emancipate slaves from the yoke of a tyrant, not to discourse about a religion. The yoke of the Roman was upon the Jewish heart. That was doing homage to the purple. That was coveting a king just like the Caesars. And therefore they fancied that the great bondage was the necessity of paying tribute. They grudged their money. They yielded up themselves. While this was so, there might be perpetual insurrections; there would be no freedom. They would be slaves by their own compulsion.’ They would lose the protection and security of the Roman government; they would bring down its iron hand upon them. But they would not recover their manhood; they would not rise to be a nation. The words have been heard through ages of Christian history. They have been perverted to various uses. They have been turned into apologies for tyranny. They have been turned into excuses for rebellion. The Caesar has been taken disloyally and unpatriotically to represent a native sovereign ruling according to law. God has been blasphemously confounded with the ecclesiastical power—often when it was most flagrantly violating justice, and setting aside the maxims of Christ. But the grand truth enunciated in the dialogue has asserted itself through all these misrepresentations. Tribute is not the cause of a nation’s bondage, only the outward sign of it. While it is debased, while it is confessing gold or outward power as its god, it cannot better itself by shaking off that badge of subjection; it becomes worse, more anarchical, liable to fall under a grosser tyranny than that which it casts away. When the spirit is freed, when it bows to the God who sets free, the fetters fall from the hands.
IV. Both sects of the Jews were now to try whether they could not withdraw the people from the common enemy. The Sadducees might seem to have few resources for this purpose. They obviously despised the multitude and its faith; their lore was professedly for the refined. But surely they were not wrong in thinking that they had arguments which would appeal very directly to the animal instincts of a crowd—to their broad notions of what was likely or unlikely.
‘Then came to him certain of the Sadducees, which deny that there is any resurrection; and they asked him, saying, Master, Moses wrote unto us, If any man’s brother die, having a wife, and he die without children, that his brother should take his wife, and raise up seed unto his brother. There were therefore seven brethren: and the first took a wife, and died without children. And the second took her to wife, and he died childless. And the third took her; and in like manner the seven also: and they left no children, and died. Last of all the woman died also. Therefore in the resurrection whose wife of them is she? for seven had her to wife.’
So far as this argument was drawn from Jewish customs and the Mosaic law, it was very suitable for its immediate purpose. The principle of it is the one which has affected, and does affect, the minds of all men, Jews, Heathens, Christians, when they think of a life after death. ‘Why should I not continue?’ asks Butler. ‘Are you not bound to show why the ’event you call death should break the thread of my individual existence?’ ‘Continue; how?’ says the objector. ‘Do you mean that all our relations, with the persons and things we see, are to continue? ’Whose wife then shall she be of the seven?’ that is the natural shape in which the doubt presents itself.
And Jesus answering said unto them, The children of this world marry, and are given in marriage: but they which shall be accounted worthy to obtain that world, and the resurrection from the dead, neither marry, nor are given in marriage: neither can they die any more: for they are equal unto the angels; and are the children of God, being the children of the resurrection.’
When we first consider this reply, it has, I think, a mournful sound. We accept the inference which so many have drawn from it. We practically throw off Butler’s doctrine of continuance. The future world is to be altogether unlike the present. All that has been most dear, most necessary, most human here, is to be wanting there. Then, as a maxim of practical conduct, are not those right who say, ‘The more we can detach ourselves from the relations which are to terminate so soon the better. The hermit’s life is the safe life.’ Before we quite adopt that opinion, let us listen to our Lord’s concluding words. ’Now that the dead are raised, even Moses shewed at the bush, when he calleth the Lord the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. For he is not a God of the dead, but of the living: for all live unto him?
The God of Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob! Was ever a greater honour put upon human relationships upon this special relationship of father to son—than that? Was ever so distinct an assertion of the permanence of this relationship? We actually learn. from it the very truth of immortality; we acquire from it the sense of our own continuance. The hermit cuts himself off from this evidence; his isolation from the present, his determination to be alone here, darkens his vision of the future. So we are brought to the secret of our Lord’s words, to that which makes them a real confutation of the Sadducees’ doubt, and of our doubt—a real message to the people, as well as to the earnest thinker. The Pharisee had the dogma of a Resurrection. Christ will not separate the Resurrection from God. The children of the Resurrection are the children of God. They live because He lives. Man continues because He continues. He has ordained the relations of men. Cannot they leave Him to take care of them—Him to maintain His own order? What have the accidents of those relationships here, what have the outward regulations concerning them, to do with their true nature as He sees it? Poor man! Do you fear that the wife or child that was bound to your heart here, will be torn from you there? That is a dream of death. That belongs to a death world. Is He not the living God? Is not the living God, the God of the living? Is He not the God of the fathers, and of the children?
“Then certain of the scribes answering said, Master, thou hast well said.’ It might be merely the triumph of schoolmen feeling that their adversaries had been confuted by a few simple words—by the most familiar of all sentences. It might be the genuine witness of human hearts. ‘Yes; that is, indeed, the Gospel of a ’Resurrection. We never believed it before, often as we have argued about it.’ Either feeling is compatible with the kind of awe expressed in the next verse. ‘And after that they durst not ask him any question at all.’
V. But He asked them a question; the most searching that had perhaps ever been presented to them.
‘And he said unto them, How say they that Christ is David’s son? And David himself saith in the book of Psalms, The Lord said unto my Lord, Sit thou on my right hand, till I make thine enemies thy footstool. David therefore calleth him Lord, how is he then his son?’
If our Lord met doubts fairly and fully, even when they were raised by the most captious of His enemies-political doubts, such as that concerning the tribute, religious doubts, such as that concerning the resurrection-He also Himself provoked doubts. He led His disciples, and the scribes and the people, to compare passages in the Scripture which looked as if they were contradictory; to face the difficulties from which they would have been most inclined to shrink as perilous to the security of their faith. Faith in His teaching never means acquiescence. In the child it is not that, but trust from a sense of feebleness. In the man it scarcely begins till acquiescence and security end. Those who are comfortable and satisfied in themselves do not care to look beyond themselves.
No doubt is really so deep, so fundamental as this: ‘How can David’s son be David’s Lord?’ If the Jew had honestly grappled with it—if he had said, ‘There must be a solution of it somewhere, or my Scriptures are false; there must be a solution of it somewhere, or the testimonies in my conscience are false; since otherwise my Lord is not my brother’— if he had spoken thus with himself, he would have perceived that the puzzle was not a verbal one, and that no words could remove it. The Person in whom he discovered most of human sympathy, most of lowliness, would then have been recognised as having most Divine power—HE would have been the explanation of the riddle. But there was a reason why they could not accept this explanation. What was the reason? Was it that they did not read their sacred books? that they did not pore over the prophecies contained in them? The scribes, who did this most, who were always reading the sacred books, always bringing forth interpretations of them, were those in whom this unbelief was the strongest, who revolted with the greatest horror from the notion that the Galilean peasant could be the Son of God. Is not the reason given here?—’ Then in the audience of all the people he said unto his disciples, Beware of the scribes, which desire to walk in long robes, and love greetings in the markets, and the highest seats in the synagogues, and the chief rooms at feasts; which devour widows’ houses, and for a shew make long prayers: the same shall receive greater damnation.’
Those who loved to exalt themselves above other men could not confess Him as royal, as Divine, who stooped to be the servant of all. Those who devoured widows’ houses could not accept a King who came to answer the cry of the widow and deliver her from the tormentors who assumed His authority. Those who craved to be seen of men could not abide the eye of the Judge who pierced through all veils into the secret heart. Therefore, upon that age of religious profession and self-glorification was coming greater damnation than had fallen upon all that had gone before it.