No person, less than divine, could have carried the message or rendered the service He did to mankind. How, for instance, could He have learned from His own experience or from His environment the startling proposition that He embodied in His interpretation of The Parable of the Sower? "The care of this world and the deceitfulness of riches choke the truth," and yet in that short sentence He gave an epitome of all human history. Reforms come up from the oppressed, not down from the oppressors—a fact which Christ explains in a word.
He announced the divine order: "Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness." Duty to God comes first—all other things that are good for us will come in due time.
His parables stand alone in literature; they have no parallel in the expression of great truths with beauty and simplicity through object lessons taken from every-day life. These truths covered a wide range and were embedded in the language of the parable because of the unbelief of that day. They are increasingly appreciated as their practical application to all time becomes more and more manifest.
The parable of the Prodigal Son is the most beautiful story of its kind ever told and is based on an experience through which nearly every person passes, but few of whom, fortunately, carry the spirit of rebellion to the point of leaving home. At that period which marks the transition from youth to maturity—from dependence on others to self-reliance—rebelliousness is likely to be exhibited to a greater or less extent even where the parents have done everything possible for the child. Christ takes an extreme case where the wisdom and experience of the father were scorned; where a wilful son insisted upon learning for himself of the things against which the father had warned him. He was of age; parental authority could no longer be exerted for his protection. He had his way, and as long as his money lasted he found plenty of associates willing to help him spend it; the "boys" had what the wicked call "a good time." Then came the sobering up, the repentance, the humility, the return, the father's welcome, the very natural complaint of the other son and the parental rebuke—all so lifelike and all designed to give emphasis to the love of the Heavenly Father and the joy in Heaven when a wanderer returns. How many souls it has awakened! The thought has been beautifully translated into song by Rev. Robt. Lowry, in "Where Is My Wandering Boy To-night?" which has probably touched more hearts than any sermon delivered since the song was written in 1877.
In passing, note the contrast between the Rich Young Man and the Prodigal Son. The former, an exemplary youth, is lost because he put the love of money first—we see his back as he retires into oblivion. The latter, a reckless sinner, repentant and forgiven; we leave him at a banquet, happy with father and friends who rejoice that one who "was dead is alive again."
The parable of The Talents has shamed a multitude into activity, while the parable of The Vineyard has been an encouragement to those who have neglected early calls to service. He used the great preservative, salt, to illustrate the saving influence His followers would exert on society and warned them not to lose this quality. He likened them to a city set on a hill and to the light that illumines the entire house.
Christ gave the world a philosophy that fits into every human need; He sounded all the depths. In the first and third of the Beatitudes He exalts humility—a virtue difficult to cultivate, and even to retain after one has cultivated it. Some one has suggested that pride is such an insidious sin that the humble sometimes become proud of their humility. Christ sets two prizes before the humble—the poor in spirit are to have the Kingdom of Heaven for their recompense while the meek are to be given the earth for their inheritance.
The mourners are to be comforted and the merciful are to obtain mercy. Righteousness is to be the reward of those who hunger and thirst after it, and the peacemakers are to be crowned with one of the most honourable of appellations, the children of God.
He devotes double space to those who are reviled and persecuted for His sake, foreseeing the fierce opposition which His Gospel would arouse. In the study of the Beatitudes one Sunday, I asked the members of an adult class which they considered first in importance. Although there was quite a wide difference in preference, the Sixth, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God," received the highest vote. And what can be more important than the cleansing of the heart of all that obstructs one's view of God? The Creator is equally near to all His creatures—He is no respecter of persons. It is man's fault if he allows anything to come between himself and the Heavenly Father. Surely, nothing is more to be desired than the unclouded vision. "Thou shalt have no other gods before me," is the first of the Commandments brought down from Sinai and its primacy is endorsed by the Saviour: the sixth Beatitude expresses the same supreme requirement. No false gods, not even self—the most popular of all the false gods—must be permitted to come between man and his Maker.
Christ put into simple words some of the great rules for the interpretation of life. "By their fruits ye shall know them," has become a part of the language of the civilized world. "Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?" He asks. "A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit." Here a great spiritual principle was announced. We must consider the nature; nothing less than a change in the nature can change the fruit. A bad heart is just as sure to bring forth bad thoughts and bad deeds as the thistle is to bring forth thorns. And so the good heart is just as sure to yield good deeds as the grape-vine is to yield grapes or the fig-tree is to yield figs. Look at the tree, therefore; the fruit will take care of itself.