THE ASCENT: FROM THE RIVER JORDAN TO THE MOUNT OF TRANSFIGURATION

THE NIGHT OF MIRACXLES ON THE LAKE OF GENNESARENT.

CHAPTER XXX.

St. Matt. xiv. 22-36; St. John 15-21.) THE last question of the Baptist, spoken in public, had been: 'Art Thou the Coming One, or look we for another?' It had, in part, been answered, as the murmur had passed through the ranks: 'This One is truly the Prophet, the Coming One!' So, then, they had no longer to wait, nor to look for another! And this 'Prophet' was Israel's long expected Messiah. What this would imply to the poeple, in the intensity and longing of the great hope which, for centuries, nay, far beyond the time of Ezra, had swayed their hearts, it is impossible fully to conceive. Here, then, was the Great Reality at last before them. He, on Whose teaching they had hung entranced, was 'the Prophet,' nay, more, 'the Coming One:' He Who was coming all those many centuries, and yet had not come till now. Then, also, was He more than a Prophet, a King: Israel's King, the King of the world. An irresistible impulse seized the people. They would proclaim Him King, then and there,; and as they knew, probably from previous utterances, perhaps when similar movements had to be checked, that He would resist, they would constrain Him to declare Himself, or at least to be proclaimed by them. Can we wonder at this; or that thoughts of a Messianic worldly kingdom should have filled, moved, and influenced to discipleship a Judas; or that, with such a representative of their own thoughts among the disciples, the rising waves of popular excitment should have swollen into the mighty billows?

'Jesus therefore, perceiving that they were about to come, and to take Him by force, that they might make Him King, [1 Note here the want of the article: We owe this notice to the Fourth Gospel, and it is in marked inconsistency with the theory of its late Ephesian authority.] withdrew again into the mountain, Himself alone,' or, as it might be rendered, though not quite in the modern usage of the expression, 'became an anchorite again . . . Himself alone.' [a St. John vi. 15.] This is another of those sublime contrasts, which render it well-nigh inconceivable to regard this history otherwise than as true and Divine. Yet another is the manner in which He stilled the multitude, and the purpose for which He became the lonely Anchorite on the mountain-top. He withdrew to pray; and He stilled the people, and sent them, no doubt solemnised, to their homes, by telling them that He withdrew to pray. And He did pray till far on, 'when the (second) evening had come,' [b St. Matt. xiv. 23.] and the first stars shone out in the deep blue sky over the Lake of Galilee, with the far lights twinkling and trembling on the other side. And yet another sublime contrast, as He constrained the disciples to enter the ship, and that ship, which bore those who had been sharers in the miracle, could not make way against storm and waves, and was at last driven out of its course. And yet another contrast, as He walked on the storm-tossed waves and subdued them. And yet another, and another, for is not all this history one sublime contrast to the seen and the thought of by men, but withal most true and Divine in the sublimeness of these contrasts?

For whom and for what He prayed, alone on that mountain, we dare not, even in deepest reverence, inquire. Yet we think, in connection with it, of the Passover, the Manna, the Wilderness, the Lost Sheep, the Holy Supper, the Bread which is His Flesh, and the remnant in the Baskets to be carried to those afar off, and then also of the attempt to make Him a King, in all its spiritual unreality, ending in His View with the betrayal, the denial, and the cry: 'We have no King but Caesar.' And as He prayed, the faithful stars in the heavens shone out. But there on the Lake, where the bark which bore His disciples made for the other shore, 'a great wind' 'contrary to them' was rising. And still He was 'alone on the land,' but looking out into the evening after them, as the ship was 'in the midst of the sea,' and they toiling and 'distressed in rowing.'

Thus far, to the utmost verge of their need, but not farther. The Lake is altogether about forty furlongs or stadia (about six miles) wide, and they had as yet reached little more than half the distance (twenty-five or thirty furlongs). Already it was 'the fourth watch of the night.' There was some difference of opinion among the Jews, whether the night should be divided into three, or (as among the Romans) into four watches. The latter (which would count the night at twelve instead of nine hours) was adopted by many. [c Ber. 3 b.] In any case it would be what might be termed the morning-watch, [1 Probably from 3 to about 6 A. M.] when the well-known Form seemed to be passing them, 'walking upon the sea.' There can, at least, be no question that such was the impression, not only of one or another, but that all saw Him. Nor yet can there be here question of any natural explanation. Once more the truth of the event must be either absolutely admitted, or absolutely rejected. [2 Even the beautiful allegory into which Keim would resolve it, that the Church in her need knows not, whether her Saviour may not come in the last watch of the night, entirely surrenders the whole narrative. And why should three Evangelists have invented such a story, in order to teach or rather disguise a doctrine, which is otherwise so clearly expressed throughout the whole New Testament, as to form one of its primary principles? Volkmar (Marcus, p. 372) regards this whole history as an allegory of St. Paul's activity among the Gentiles! Strange in that case, that it was omitted in the Gospel by St. Luke. But the whole of that section of Volkmar's book (beginning at p. 327) contains an extra- ordinary congeries, of baseless hypotheses, of which it were difficult to say, whether the language is more painfully irreverent or the outcome more extravagant.] The difficulties of the latter hypothesis, which truly cuts the knot, would be very formidable. Not only would the origination of this narrative, as given by two of the Synoptists and by St. John, be utterly unaccountable, neither meeting Jewish expectancy, nor yet supposed Old Testament precedent, but, if legend it be, it seems purposeless and irrational. Moreover, there is this noticeable about it, as about so many of the records of the miraculous in the New Testament, that the writers by no means disguise from themselves or their readers the obvious difficulties involved. In the present instance they tell us, that they regarded His Form moving on the water as 'a spirit,' and cried out for fear; and again, that the impression produced by the whole scene, even on them that had witnessed the miracle of the previous evening, was one of overwhelming astonishment. This walking on the water, then, was even to them within the domain of the truly miraculous, and it affected their minds equally, perhaps even more than ours, from the fact that in their view so much, which to us seems miraculous, lay within the sphere of what might be expected in the course of such a history.

On the other hand, this miracle stands not isolated, but forms one of a series of similar manifestations. It is closely connected both with what had passed on the previous evening, and what was to follow; it is told with a minuteness of detail, and with such marked absence of any attempt at gloss, adornment, apology, or self-glorification, as to give the narrative (considered simply as such) the stamp of truth; while, lastly, it contains much that lifts the story from the merely miraculous into the domain of the sublime and deeply spiritual. As regards what may be termed its credibility, this at least may again be stated, that this and similar instances of 'dominion over the creature,' are not beyond the range of what God had originally assigned to man, when He made him a little lower than the angels, and crowned him with glory and honour, made him to have dominion over the works of His Hands, and all things were put under his feet. [a Ps. viii. 5, 6; comp. Hebr. ii. 6-9.] Indeed, this 'dominion over the sea' seems to exhibit the Divinely human rather than the humanly Divine aspect of His Person, [1 On the other hand, the miraculous feeding of the multitude seems to exhibit rather the humanly-Divine aspect of His Person.] if such distinction may be lawfully made. Of the physical possibility of such a miracle, not to speak of the contradiction in terms which this implies, no explanation can be attempted, if it were only on the ground that we are utterly ignorant of the conditions under which it took place.

This much, however, deserves special notice, that there is one marked point of difference between the account of this miracle and what will be found a general characteristic in legendary narratives. In the latter, the miraculous, however extraordinary, is the expected; it creates no surprise, and it is never mistaken for something that might have occurred in the ordinary course of events. For, it is characteristic of the mythical that the miraculous is not only introduced in the most realistic manner, but forms the essential element in the conception of things. This is the very raison d'etre of the myth or legend, when it attaches itself to the real and historically true. Now the opposite is the case in the present narrative. Had it been mythical or legendary, we should have expected that the disciples would have been described as immediately recognising the Master as He walked on the sea, and worshipping Him. Instead of this, they 'are troubled' and 'afraid.' 'They supposed it was an apparition,' [2 Literally, a phantasma. This word is only used in this narrative (St. Matt. xiv. 26 and St. Mark vi. 49.).] (this in accordance with popular Jewish notions), and 'cried out for fear.' Even afterwards, when they had received Him into the ship, 'they were sore amazed in themselves,' and 'understood not,' while those in the ship (in contradistinction to the disciples), burst forth into an act of worship. This much then is evident, that the disciples expected not the miraculous; that they were unprepared for it; that they had explained it on what to them seemed natural grounds; and that, even when convinced of its reality, the impression of wonder, which it made, was of the deepest. And this also follows is a corollary, that, when they recorded it, it was not in ignorance that they were writing that which sounded strangest, and which would affect those who should read it with even much greater wonderment, we had almost written, unbelief, than those who themselves had witnessed it.

Nor let it be forgotten, that what had just been remarked about this narrative holds equally true in regard to other miracles recorded in the New Testament. Thus, even so fundamental an article of the faith as the resurrection of Christ is described as having come upon the disciples themselves as a surprise, not only wholly unexpected, but so incredible, that it required repeated and indisputable evidence to command their acknowledgment. And nothing can be more plain, than that St. Paul himself was not only aware of the general resistance which the announcement of such an event would raise, [a Acts xxvi. 8.] but that he felt to the full the difficulties of what he so firmly believed, [b 1 Cor. xv. 12-19.] and made the foundation of all his preaching. [c Acts xvii. 31, 32.] Indeed, the elaborate exposition of the historical grounds, on which he had arrived at the conviction of reality, [d 1 Cor. xv. 1-8.] affords an insight into the mental difficulties which it must at first have presented to him. And a similar inference may be drawn from the reference of St. Peter to the difficulties connected with the Biblical predictions about the end of the world. [e 2 Pet. iii. 4.] [1 The authenticity of the Second Epistle of St. Peter is here taken for granted, but the drift of the argument would be the same, to whatever authorship it be ascribed.]

It is not necessary to pursue this subject further. Its bearing on the miracle of Christ's walking on the Sea of Galilee will be sufficiently manifest. Yet other confirmatory evidence may be gathered from a closer study of the details of the narrative. When Jesus 'constrained the disciples to enter into the boat, and to go before Him unto the other side, [f St. Matt. xiv. 22.] they must have thought, that His purpose was to join them by land, since there was no other boat there, save that in which they crossed the Lake. [g St. John vi. 22.] And possibly such had been his intention, till He saw their difficulty, if not danger, from the contrary wind. [2 Weiss (Matthaus-Evang. p. 372) sees a gross contradiction between what seems implied as to His original purpose and His walking on the sea, and hence rejects the narrative. Such are the assumptions of negative criticism. But it seems forgotten that, according to St. Matt. xiv. 24, the journey seems at first to have been fairly prosperous.] This must have determined Him to come to their help. And so this miracle also was not a mere display of power, but, being caused by their need, had a moral object. And when it is asked, how from the mountain-height by the Lake He could have seen at night where the ship was labouring so far on the Lake, [3 Weiss (u. s.) certainly argues on the impossibility of His having seen the boat so far out on the Lake.] it must surely have been forgotten that the scene is laid quite shortly before the Passover (the 15th of Nisan), when, of course, the moon would shine on an unclouded sky, all the more brightly on a windy spring-night, and light up the waters far across.

We can almost picture to ourselves the weird scene. The Christ is on that hill-top in solitary converse with His Father, praying after that miraculous breaking of bread: fully realising all that it implied to Him of self-surrender, of suffering, and of giving Himself as the Food of the World, and all that it implied to us of blessing and nourishment; praying also, with that scene fresh on His mind, of their seeking to make Him, even by force, their King, that the carnal might become spiritual reality (as in symbol it would be with the Breaking of Bread). Then, as He rises from His knees, knowing that, alas, it could not and would not be so to the many, He looks out over the Lake after that little company, which embodied and represented all there yet was of His Church, all that would really feed on the Bread from Heaven, and own Him their true King. Without presumption, we may venture to say, that there must have been indescribable sorrow and longing in His Heart, as His gaze was bent across the track which the little boat would follow. As we view it, it seems all symbolical: the night, the moonlight, the little boat, the contrary wind, and then also the lonely Saviour after prayer looking across to where the boatmen vainly labour to gain the other shore. As in the clear moonlight just that piece of water stands out, almost like burnished silver, with all else in shadows around, the sail-less mast is now rocking to and fro, without moving forward. They are in difficulty, in danger: and the Saviour cannot pursue His journey on foot by land; He must come to their help, though it be across the water. It is needful, and therefore it shall be upon the water; and so the storm and unsuccessful toil shall not prevent their reaching the shore, but shall also be to them for teaching concerning Him and His great power, and concerning His great deliverance; such teaching as, in another aspect of it, had been given them in symbol in the miraculous supply of food, with all that it implied (and not to them only, but to us also) of precious comfort and assurance, and as will for ever keep the Church from being overwhelmed by fear in the stormy night on the Lake of Galilee, when the labour of our oars cannot make way for us.

And they also who were in the boat must have been agitated by peculiar feelings. Against their will they had been 'constrained' by the Lord to embark and quit the scene; just as the multitude, under the influence of the great miracle, were surrounding their Master, with violent insistence to proclaim him the Messianic King of Israel. Not only a Judas Iscariot, but all of them, must have been under the strongest excitement: first of the great miracle, and then of the popular movement. It was the crisis in the history of the Messiah and of His Kingdom. Can we wonder, that, when the Lord in very mercy bade them quit a scene which could only have misled them, they were reluctant, nay, that it almost needed violence of His part? And yet, the more we consider it, was it not most truly needful for them, that they should leave? But, on the other hand, in this respect also, does there seem a 'need be' for His walking upon the sea, that they might learn not only His Almighty Power, and (symbolically) that He ruled the rising waves; but that, in their disappointment at His not being a King, they might learn that He was a King, only in a far higher, truer sense than the excited multitude would have proclaimed Him.

Thus we can imagine the feelings with which they had pushed the boat from the shore, and then eagerly looked back to descry what passed there. But soon the shadows of night were enwrapping all objects at a distance, and only the bright moon overhead shone on the track behind and before. And now the breeze from the other side of the Lake, of which they may have been unaware when they embarked on the eastern shore, had freshened into violent, contrary wind. All energies must have been engaged to keep the boat's head towards the shore. [1 According to St. Matt. xiv. 24, they seem only to have encountered the full force of the wind when they were about the middle of the Lake. We imagine that soon after they embarked there may have been a fresh breeze from the other side of the Lake, which by and by rose into a violent contrary wind.] Even so it seemed as if they could make no progress, when all at once, in the track that lay behind them, a Figure appeared. As it passed onwards over the water, seemingly upborne by the waves as they rose, not disappearing as they fell, but carried on as they rolled, the silvery moon laid upon the trembling waters the shadows of that Form as it moved, long and dark, on their track. St. John uses an expression, [2 St. John, in distinction to the Synoptists, here uses the expression (St. John vi. 19), which in the Gospels has the distinctive meaning of fixed, earnest, and intent gaze, mostly outward, but sometimes also inward, in the sense of earnest and attentive consideration. The use of this word as distinguished from merely seeing, is so important for the better understanding of the New Testament, that every reader should mark it. We accordingly append a list of the passages in the Gospels where this word is used: St. Matt. xxvii. 55; xxviii. 1; St. Mark iii. 11; v. 15, 38; xii. 41; xv. 40, 47; xvi. 4; St. Luke x. 18; xiv. 29; xxi. 6; xxiii. 35, 48; xxiv. 37, 39; St. John ii. 23; iv. 19; vi. 2 (Lachm. and Treg.), 19, 40, 62; vii. 3; viii. 51; ix. 8; x. 12; xii. 19, 45; xiv. 17, 19; xvi. 10, 16, 17, 19; xvii. 24; xx. 6, 12, 14. It will thus be seen, that the expression is more frequently used by St. John than in the other Gospels, and it is there also that its distinctive meaning is of greatest importance.] which shows us in the pale light, those in the boat, intently, fixedly, fearfully, gazing at the Apparition as It neared still closer and closer. We must remember their previous excitement, as also the presence, and, no doubt, the superstitious suggestions of the boatman, when we think how they cried out for fear, and deemed It an Apparition. And 'He would have passed by them,' [a St. Mark vi. 48.] as He so often does in our case, bringing them, indeed, deliverance, pointing and smoothing their way, but not giving them His known Presence, if they had not cried out. But their fear, which made them almost hesitate to receive Him into the boat, [1 This seems to me implied in the expression, St. John vi. 21: 'Then they were willing to take Him into the ship.' Some negative critics have gone so far as to see in this graphic hint a contradiction to the statements of the Synoptists. (See Lucke, Comment. u. d. Evang. Joh. ii. pp. 120-122.).] even though the outcome of error and superstition, brought His ready sympathy and comfort, in language which has so often, and in all ages, converted foolish fears of misapprehension into gladsome, thankful assurance: 'It is I, be not afraid!'

And they were no longer afraid, though truly His walking upon the waters might seem more awesome than any 'apparition.' The storm in their hearts, like that on the Lake, was commanded by His Presence. We must still bear in mind their former excitement, now greatly intensified by what they had just witnessed, in order to understand the request of Peter: 'Lord, if it be Thou, bid me come to Thee on the water.' They are the words of a man, whom the excitement of the moment has carried beyond all reflection. And yet this combination of doubt ('if it be Thou'), with presumption ('bid me come on the water'), is peculiarly characteristic of Peter. He is the Apostle of Hope, and hope is a combination of doubt and presumption, but also their transformation. With reverence be it said, Christ could not have left the request ungranted, even though it was the outcome of yet unreconciled and untransformed doubt and presumption. He would not have done so, or doubt would have remained doubt untransformed; and He could not have done so, without also correcting it, or presumption would have remained presumption untransformed, which is only upward growth, without deeper rooting in inward spiritual experience. And so He bade him come upon the water, [2 As to the physical possibility of it, we have to refer to our former remarks.] to transform his doubt, but left him, unassured from without, to his own feelings as he saw the wind, [3 The word 'boisterous' must be struck out as an interpolated gloss.] to transform his presumption; while by stretching out His Hand to save him from sinking, and by the words of correction which He spake, He did actually so point to their transformation in that hope, of which St. Peter is the special representative, and the preacher in the Church.