The Christian adventure

Preface

There are no arguments about the truth o£ Christianity in this book. It is wholly concerned with the preliminary question, "What is Christianity ?"

I have had uncounted discussions with men and women about the truth of Christianity, and in the vast proportion of them I have found that they were talking about one thing while I was talking about another.

Sometimes I have found myself hoping devoutly that the thing which my interrogators called Christianity could not be proved true.

Therefore in these pages I have confined myself to an effort to present the message of Jesus as He gave it to the world. Within the limits set to me it has not been possible to do more than write a series of outlines, and I am painfully aware that no single topic has been adequately handled.

Yet I hope that what I have written may at least suggest to some that Christianity embodies the one summons to men and women that is adequate to their humanity, and that it offers to the race the one hope of solving all the problems of civilization,

VI

PREFACE

Once men and women have really accepted Christianity so conceived, it is my faith that they will very soon oifer to the world a demonstration of its truth beyond all challenge.

A. H. G.

d

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

Preface v

I. Jesus i

Chapter I

The man who would understand Christianity must begin by understanding Jesus. Churches, creeds, and theologies are secondary affairs, however important. No man can know whether or no Christianity offers him the great things which in his heart he wants until he has faced Jesus and come to know both what Jesus was, and what Jesus offers. Churches frequently make mistakes. Creeds are never more than partially successful attempts to state truths. But Jesus either was or was not the ♦ embodiment of the essential secret of life, and while churches may come and go, and while creeds may change again and again, Christianity stands or falls by mankind's judgment on Him.

His Selflessness. — Almost at a first glance Jesus presents us with a strange combination. On the one hand, He quietly assumed an absolute authority ; * and on the other. He was entirely without self-regard in the ordinary sense. He never sought anything for Himself, and was serene in spirit though He had no status in society, no certain means of livelihood, and no security for life itself. In most men, even though they be good men, there is an undercurrent of thought about self which every now and then becomes apparent. In Jesus no such thoughts appear. He gave Himself lavishly to others, and never seemed to stop to consider what the world might think of Him. He was so free from vanity that the opinion of men actually did not matter to Him. Such a thing as jealousy is unthinkable in connection with Him. He did not plan out a career for Himself, and of what we call ^ personal ambition there was no trace in all His life.

He did indeed reveal to His disciples^ that once at the beginning of His public life He had a great struggle over this matter. At that point, when a full sense of His powers first came to Him, His human self made a very stubborn effort at selfassertion. He was racked and tossed for days on end by the familiar ambitions of great human spirits. The prospects of worldly dominion and of dazzling outward fame danced before His imagination; and a fight, grim and lonely, had to be faced before He subdued self altogether. The fight may have been renewed in secret again and again in after days, but it never came to the surface. To onlookers self seemed to be dead in Him altogether. He was content even to be despised, because He sought nothing for Himself.

The ablest and most virile of men will best be able to realize how much that means. Ambition is the last infirmity of noble minds, because for them the great ambitions are possibilities. But the

* It is obvious that the disciples can only have known about the Temptation because Jesus, for reasons of His own, for once broke through His reserve and told them that tremendous story of Hi« own inner life.

noblest mind in history attained to a complete victory over ambition. That meant a greater thing than laying down one's life in bodily death, and in that sense Jesus laid down His life at the very beginning.

On the other hand, Jesus quietly made such an assumption of authority as the world had never heard of before. He declared that by their attitude to Himself men judged themselves. He claimed to speak for God, and that in Him Grod was perfectly revealed. He taught no doctrine about His own nature and person, but He consistently assumed that His coming was the central event of the world's history. To confess Him before the Father was to be sure of welcome— to deny Him was to court rejection. He crowned His claim by saying that those who had seen Him had seen God. And yet even in this most arresting and mysterious part of His life a real effort after self-obliteration is discernible. 'T do nothing of myself.'' ''The Father that dwelleth in me he doeth the works." He was invariably anxious that men should look past Him to His Father.

Both these features of Jesus arrest the heart and inspire trust. He seemed to His disciples to need no credentials except Himself. It was a later age that asked for proofs, and discussed the significance of miracles, and the circumstances of His birth, and the manner of His resurrection. His first disciples trusted Him because ''never man spake like this man." They were quite sure about Him simply because of what He was to their immediate vision.

His Originality, — It will astonish those who have never really looked at Jesus but who only know the habitual atmosphere of churches to find that He was quite unlike the ordinary very religious man. He was not a preacher. He did indeed talk constantly about religion, because it was to Him the happiest and the most beautiful of all possible subjects of talk. But He talked spontaneously as occasion oifered, and there are no continuous discourses of Jesus.^ He seems not to have known any theological words. He avoided all those special terms which give hardness and edge to religious truth, and preferred to trust to impressions which were conveyed in stories and images. He was quite uninterested in ceremonial, and initiated no ritual or forms of worship except the very simple words used at the last supper. Above all He was not oppressively solemn. He kept no special tone of voice for speaking about God. He was not annoyed by the surface interests of life, which necessarily engross people so much. He never seems to have wished to quench laughter, or to have felt that the children of eternity should never be merry in time. He did not sit through festivities refraining for charity's sake from criticism. He was Himself happy in the joys of others, and it was characteristic of Him that once when a marriage feast was in danger of failure through the lack of wine, He took steps to remedy the lack. His presence heightened

* The Sermon on the Mount is a collection of sayings compiled by the Evangelist. The Johannine discourses are not in form characteristic of Jesus at all.

JESUS S

joys, and those who had thought of religion as atbest a dull affair had to change their ideas in the company of Jesus. His own spirit played in such homely touch with real and familiar life, that He only just escapes definite and positive humour. He must have spoken much with a smile, and often must have made others smile — the sort of smile for which a man is the better at once.

His Appreciativeness, — When we look closer into His ways we begin to see that one main secret of this strange fascination which He exercised over unspiritual and unchurchy people lay in the fact that it was His instinct and His habit to see first in any man or woman what could be appreciated — ^not what was open to criticism. Have you not felt about many quite good people that they have a terrible aptness in detecting what is indefensible in your life or character? Their kind but searching glances are very disconcerting. Though they are so good, it is hard to love them, and we escape from their company with relief. But the glances of Jesus were not disconcerting. He saw more good in men than they had suspected themselves. He saw in Zaccheus the possibility of a great and generous life; and once He had seen it Zaccheus saw it too, so that forthwith it sprang into being. He saw in Mary Magdalene a great woman, not yet spoiled beyond hope. And because He saw that great womanhood in her, she forthwith began to be a great woman.

Tradition has it that once when He was leaving a village with His disciples He found a crowd at the gate gathered round the carcass of a dead mongrel dog. The others present were yying with one another in pointing out its repulsive features — its loathsome skin, its bleared eyes, its misshapen legs. But when Jesus had looked He said only this, 'Tearls cannot equal the whiteness of his teeth." There is a world of meaning in that stor}\ What He saw was the one beautiful feature in the case. And He saw it first. He always saw it first, even in rakes, profligates, and misers. Criticism of human beings is, of course, the easiest thing in the world. A man need hardly be intelligent in order to detect what is wrong w^ith any given character. That popular hobby called pulling other people to pieces barely requires the use of the mind at all. To note one man's uncouth accent, and another's funny walk — to detect that this man is conceited, and that man dubiously honest — to discover that that girl is plain and that other one selfish — to label a whole year of freshers or seniors or a whole college staff with their appropriate faults — these things constitute a \ery rudimentary form of mental exercise.

But to see in any man or woman what can be loved and valued is a very different business. And it was in that matter that Jesus was sublimely proficient. He had the seeing eye which could detect that which is of God in any human personality. Therefore, of course. He was of immense help to all whom He met. I doubt whether any one of us was ever helped or profited by anybody who began by disapproving of us. But the people who appreciate us can do almost anything with us. And there lay Christ's power. Rough men and light women who were hardened to resist the scorn of the respectable felt constrained to say, "Why, this man values and likes us!'' And forthwith they began to respect themselves and to have a new hope in life. To have been appreciated by Jesus might well make any man hold up his head.

Nor was this attitude on Christ's part in any way an affectation. I remember the time when I supposed that Jesus loved all men simply because He believed it to be His duty, and whether or no He found in them anything to be loved. The idea was, of course, grotesquely foolish. God Himself could not love what is essentially unlovable. No ! Jesus loved men and women because He could always find in them something worthy to be loved — some possibility at the worst which was a fit object even for Divine love. He could detect in each instance that which justified the declaration that man was made in the image of God.

It is a fascinating exercise to try to use His method. I remember reviewing for this purpose a number of people of my acquaintance. I found that one man, whom I knew to be a drunkard, was also a very large-hearted and generous soul. Another, of whom I knew that his business activities would scarcely stand scrutiny, was none the less a truly and loyally affectionate husband and father. A third, who has a notoriously vile temper, is also honest and reliable beyond most. Another still, who is one of the slaves of lust, is also brave and energetic and able. Another, who appeared mean and sly and cowardly, has none the less a soul that responds to beautiful music and can live at times in a very beautiful world. One woman, who flaunts a frivolous nature in the face of the world, can serve and slave like a heroine when trouble is in the air. Another, of whom it cannot be denied that she is vain, is also a most capable and valuable citizen. A third, who is exacting and fractious at times, is none the less capable of great acts of unselfishness. Several, who are most unattractively pious, are none the less really conscientious and consistent. Certain aggressive teetotallers turned out to be behind that forbidding exterior persons of real public spirit. Certain gaunt and stern spirits of the old school were yet honest with themselves and resolute in duty as few younger spirits are. Oh yes ! and in the army I have found drinkers and swearers and men of wild hooligan nature who could on occasion display such qualities of courage, gentleness, and selfforgetfulness, as might well make most church members very humble. In connection with all these people to pay attention to what was obvious was to be repelled. But also with them all further search revealed things which not only can be loved, but which ought to be loved. And this was the instinctive manner of Jesus.

Possibly there was even more meaning than I have suggested in His willingness to be the companion of outcasts — publicans and sinners, and so forth. In Jack London's great book, "John Barleycorn/' he confesses that he had always found himself irresistibly drawn to the company of the sort of men who were to be found in saloons — those whom he calls the "big chesty men/' and that because there was such volume and wealth of energy in them. He found them tremendously alive and direct. Whether they were good or bad, there was a strong hearty simplicity in them. If they were but raw material they were certainly genuine material. I believe Jesus felt the same fascination in the same sort of man. The rough, untutored, hearty men of Galilee appealed to His heart far more than the refined but conventional folk of Jerusalem, or the priests and Pharisees fashioned in the schools. He could get at the former because they were at least sincere. This at least is certain, that the men who felt awkward and out of place in churches, who were accustomed to speak with loud voices and in very plain language, who had learnt no conventions and acquired no polish, none the less found themselves quite at home with Jesus. Were there such an one as He now in the world, he could go into any army dining hall, into any stokehole, any shipyard, any common room, any lodging house, and his presence would not make men uncomfortable. His coming would not be resented. And his second visit would be eagerly looked for.

His Friendships. — ^We shall see further into His nature by thinking of His friendships. It would seem that He was always ready to begin a friendship. Zaccheus, who belonged to the same moral class as sweating employers, was no doubt a much detested man, deliberately shunned by both the respectable and the poor. Probably no man had made a friend of him for years. But Jesus no sooner knew him than He insisted on becoming his friend ; and though many houses were open to Him, it was to the house of the bete noir of Jericho that He insisted on going. Of Mary Magdalene no respectable man and no virtuous woman would ever have thought of making a friend. She was left to the company of those who did her no good. But for Jesus the fact that she needed a friend was final. I doubt if He even realized what the world might think. One thing only He saw, and that a lonely soul who needed the warm garment of friendship. And at once He wrapped her in it. She should know forthwith that one man had real friendship to give her. No wonder she turned for ever from those who could only traffic with lust, Bartimseus was to the ordinary traveller just a bit of flotsam by the shore of life's river — just something living within a bundle of dirty rags, to be sufficiently dealt with by a coin carelessly thrown, or a piece of food that could be spared. It seemed to the bystanders an affront that he should even wish to speak with Jesus. But Jesus saw in him only another possible friend, and what He did was just to make a friend of him, and so doing to make another man of him. And so it was always. He found His friends in no one class. He did not seek out congenial spirits. He never considered what He could get from a friendship. It was enough for Him always that a man or a woman needed a friend. It was His instinct and His passion to give, and to give lavishly,

JESUS II

of love and fellowship even to unattractive and twisted natures. He was that kind of man.

But that was not all. Having given of His friendship, He was never willing to let a friendship end. He had the bitter experience of finding that His friends failed Him. Peter, the most demonstrative of them, passionately repudiated Him at a time of crisis. Thomas, the most dogged of them, bluntly doubted at a time when Jesus was longing to find belief. The whole band of His nearest and dearest ran away in panic at the worst hour of His life. Of such unstable friends many a man would say, "If that is all they care, I have no use for them.'* But Jesus having begun a friendship always refused to see it end. He sent a special and kindly message to Peter, calling him back. He gathered the eleven round Him, and though they must have been shamefaced at first, He insisted on restoring the old relations. He offered Thomas all the proof his cautious nature asked. He bridged the chasm they had made by the sheer fidelity of His own affection. He was proof even against cowardice and disloyalty. So He shows in His friendships — always ready to begin — never willing to leave off.

As we know them, men are mostly touchy, exacting, and sometimes difficult even in friendship. Sometimes they are too absorbed in their own affairs to be of use to us. Sometimes they ask more than we can give. But with Jesus it was never so. He was always able to meet a friend's claims, and having loved He loved unto the end.

And yet I do not think He was of those who do not need human love. Some strong men of good will seem always willing to give and to help, but never seem to be themselves in need. They never give their friends the chance to be of use. They never come in their turn for sympathy or seal a friendship by generous taking. I do not think Jesus was of that kind. When Peter in the folly of his impetuous love sought to restrain Jesus from the way of the cross, the very passion with which Jesus repulsed him seems to me proof that He too felt the power of human love, and knew the danger of allowing love to drag us down into that softer, warmer atmosphere where heroic things cannot be done. He was almost rude to Peter just because Peter's love had power with Him. No! He was not so independent of men that their desertions could not hurt Him. They rather made the hardest trial of His hardest hour. But His love was too big, too strong to be killed even by such blows. He was that kind of man.

His Daring. — It is quite impossible to do justice in words to the courage of Jesus, but we can let the plain facts speak for themselves. Of all the other actors in the drama of His life it is reported at some point or other that they w^ere afraid. And in each case their fears made them play a mean part. The rich, for instance, were afraid of poverty, and therefore could not deal honestly with the truths Jesus proclaimed. The priests feared for their own position, and therefore schemed to overthrow one whose teaching lessened their authority. The Pharisees feared the people, and therefore sought out underhand ways of accomplishing their ends. The mob feared their rulers, and therefore would not stand by the man whom at times they had acclaimed with shouts. Pilate feared Caesar, and when he was met by vulgar threats that unfavourable reports might reach Rome, he succumbed and deliberately acted against his own convictions as a judge. And lastly, and most tragic of all, the disciples themselves hopelessly gave way to panic at the critical hour, and stampeded away from the Lord whom they really loved. In all these cases we see men blatantly untrue to their own consciences, and openly resisting their own moral convictions. And the reason in every case was just fear — that most sinister of all the enemies of true manhood.

Alone among them all Jesus was never afraid. From the very beginning of His public career He had to make decisions daily which practically made it certain that His life would be taken. He went abroad into the nation to declare certain great liferedeeming truths, but they were so obnoxious to those in authority, that very soon it became plain that they would not tolerate this new teacher. To go on, therefore, was really to pile the faggots for His own martyrdom. Yet daily He did it, and we never catch even a glimpse of the spectre of fear stealing in and out of His life. I cannot think that He v/as one of those rare men, of whom I have at least heard, who are said never to have known what the feeling of fear is. He was too human for that — too fully one of us. But He was of that chosen company who are able never to let fear come to the surface — who in spite of it go on and do their business in a cheerful spirit — who attain to complete spiritual mastery over it — who, therefore, never seem to be afraid. There were many members of that band at the front, men who may have had their bad hours in secret, but who never showed it — men who encouraged others by making the causes of fear seem contemptible. And they will best appreciate Jesus. He had to do daily exactly what men at the front did. He had to go on with a round of duty which must mean death, and therefore daily He had to lay down his life. And yet if you look closely at Him you will not see a grim and determined man, living as it were in the throes of a tragic wrestle with fate. Oh no! His victory over fear was far more complete than that. You will see a serene and happy spirit, who did not pay His enemies the compliment of being even perturbed by them and their plots.

It may seem at a first glance that there could be almost nothing in common between Jesus — the Galilean peasant, the idealist martyr — and the modern British athlete, whose friends say of him with pride that he is "a good sport." But what is this all-important quality to which we apply the epithet "sporting"? It has not really any necessary connection with games. It has to be applied to men who couldn't run a hundred yards in twenty seconds, or hit a cricket ball to save their lives. It is the word we apply to men who meet life with a laugh and not a whine — who rather enjoy risks —

IS who never go back on a friend, or fail to face the music — who may be very virtuous, but who at least have not chosen virtue merely because it is safe — who have a spirit that lifts them a little above life so that they are its masters and not its puppets.

And that quality I do find in a supreme measure in Jesus. He holds my heart because I see Him quiet and strong and even happy amidst the risks and sufferings which make other men run for shelter. Though they killed His body He was always master of the situation — the one man whom His whole generation could not conquer, because they could not make Him afraid.

And yet that is not the greatest thing that can be said about the courage of Jesus. He could do all that brave officers and privates have done in the way of taking bodily risks serenely, but He could also do what thousands of those contemporaries of ours are afraid to do — He could hold to convictions about truth and right which were utterly unpopular, and even when they made Him utterly lonely. Hundreds of the men who have won and deserved M.C.'s in this war, who could hold German bullets in honest contempt, were absolutely devoid of the kind of courage which would have been needed to stand to a conviction about social conduct, or politics, or personal goodness which was unpopular in their messes. The mere thought of being ticketed as ''pecuhar'' or ''cranky'' made them perspire with fear. They could not give their minds or their consciences free play. They were the abject slaves of public opinion.

i6 THE CHRISTIAN ADVENTURE

If Jesus had been of that kind we should never have heard of Him. He passed His whole life in open defiance of public opinion. And He was spared nothing. He had at one time the support of the crowd, but they afterwards forsook Him. The important people of His time all declared against Him. He was made the victim of their ridicule. His own family even thought Him mad, and failed to stand by Him. Because of His convictions He found Himself becoming constantly more and more lonely, and though He had twelve intimate friends who seemed to believe in Him and trust Him, they too failed Him at the last. And all the while He was an affectionate and sociable nature. He longed for friends who would agree with Him, and support Him. He was no man of ice and steel who did not care what anybody thought, and could dispense with human affection without a pang. He was of the warm-hearted, large-hearted type. And yet not even utter loneliness could make Him afraid. Are any of us fit to be His friends?

His Happiness. — And now let me speak of one last quality which we are only now in a position to appreciate. He was a happy man. Probably a great injustice has been done Him by the traditional title "Man of Sorrows.'' The great truth covered by that title is that He was always willing to share every human sorrow which He met. No child cried, and no woman wept, but Jesus was hurt by it. No strong men came to life's agonies without awakening the sympathy of Jesus. He involved Himself in anything and in everything that hurt His brethren. And further, for His own part He had to go through the darkest and the deepest waters of human agony. In body and in mind He was tortured. Loneliness, opposition, slander, persecution, treachery, weariness, defeat, and rejection — He had to meet them all. While beyond them there were certain sublime and mysterious agonies of spirit to be faced, which we cannot fully understand, but which came to a head in Gethsemane, when His sweat was as it were drops of blood. All these truths are covered by the title "Man of Sorrows." But what that title does not suggest is the still greater fact that He conquered all those sorrows. He won a spiritual victory over them and emerged again into joy. He was too sure of God to remain under the power of woe. He lived habitually in the sunshine which surrounds those who know God. There is a permanent instinct in us which tells us that gloomy religion is religion that has failed. The gloomy man is a man whom we do not want to be like. He cannot have found the secret of life. He is under the heel of life, and if religion is a saving thing it must deliver men from the weight of this life's tragedies. In Jesus the deliverance was complete. Men wanted to be with Him because He possessed an infectious spirit of hope and joy. Men and women whom the pains of life had made cold, sunned themselves in his presence.

And He enjoyed the joy of others. He liked to see people happy. He responded to the music of happy, honest laughter.

A man's power of joy depends ultimately upon i8 THE CHRISTIAN ADVENTURE