“The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God.” (Mark i. i.)
By the late Prof. JOSEPH ADDISON ALEXANDER, D.D., Princeton.
I.
AMONG the incidental disadvantages attending the inestimable privilege of early and life-long familiarity with the Word of God, is the habit of confounding things really distinct, and especially of overlooking the characteristic peculiarities of the sacred writers, which were not all destroyed by inspiration, and a due regard to which is often necessary to their just interpretation. In no part of the Bible is this error more common or injurious than in the Gospels, which the great majority even of devout and believing readers are too much in the habit of
regarding as precisely alike in plan and purpose, whereas no other books on the same subject could be more distinctly marked by individual peculiarities, some of which are of the most minute and unimportant nature in themselves, but for that very reason less likely to have been invented or contrived for any purposes of deception.
Many who have read the Gospels all their lives, would be surprised to hear that Matthew uses the word “then” more frequently than all the others put together—that Mark is almost equally exclusive in his use of “immediately”—that John alone has the double Amen, Amen—and a multitude of other minute differences equally unimportant in themselves, but equally demonstrative of individuality and independence in the several writers. The same thing is true as to other differences more important in themselves, and relating not to mere forms of expression, but to plan and method. Thus Matthew cites the prophecies, and points out their fulfilment so much more frequently than Mark and Luke, that his Gospel is by some regarded, not so much as history, as a historical argument, intended to show that Jesus was the Messiah of prophets. Mark is distinguished by his use of Latin words and explanation of Jewish customs, showing that he wrote immediately for Gentile readers; on the other hand, he frequently records the Aramaic or vernacular expressions used by Christ, with a Greek translation, such as Talitha cumi, Ephphatha, Corban, Abba, father. Another peculiarity of this Evangelist is, that to him we are indebted for almost all our knowledge of our Saviour’s looks and gestures; as we are to Luke for many interesting glimpses of His devotional habits—such as His spending whole nights in prayer, His praying at His baptism, and before the choice of His apostles, and in other cases. John, besides the general differences, arising from the commonly admitted fact that he wrote to complete or supplement the others, dwells chiefly on our Lord’s discourses, and relates His actions chiefly as connected with them. On the other hand, it is to him we owe our knowledge of the chronology
or dates of our Lord’s ministry—it is he that enumerates the passovers and several other feasts included in that period, and thus shows us that His ministry or public life on earth continued for above three years.
These points of difference between the Gospels are selected out of many that might just as easily be given, in illustration of the general statement, that while all were equally inspired and all are perfectly harmonious, each writer has his own peculiarities, not only of expression, but of plan and method. This is a matter, not of learned criticism, but within the reach of every careful and attentive reader, and if properly noticed, would greatly tend, not only to elucidate the Gospels, but to make them interesting,—in other words, to aid both the understanding and the memory. A due regard to these peculiarities would lead to the correction of another error, far too prevalent in reference to this delightful part of the Scriptures,—that of regarding the four Gospels, not as complete histories, but as mere collections of materials, out of which we are to frame the history for ourselves; a mistake which has occasioned not only a vast waste of time and labour in attempts to reduce the four accounts to one continued narrative, but has also contributed directly to the disregard of those peculiarities which have been already mentioned as belonging to the several books, but which, of course, are overlooked and confounded in the process of condensing four books into one.
The simple truth appears to be, that God, for wise and holy purposes, which are only in part visible to us, or discovered by us, was pleased to put the life of Christ on record for the edification of His people, and the glory of His own name, not in one, but in four distinct accounts, each complete in itself, with reference to its own specific purpose, and the definite impression it was meant to make upon the reader’s mind, yet all completing one another in relation to the general aggregate or sum total of the impression meant to be conveyed. In this
respect they have been likened to four portraits, or four landscapes, exhibiting one and the same object, but in different lights and from different points of view, yet all of course harmonious and consistent. As it would be absurd to cut up and amalgamate the paintings, so is it no less absurd to destroy the individuality of the Gospels by reducing them to one. They are, indeed, to be harmonized in order to elucidate their meaning, and exhibit their consistency, but not in such a way as to destroy their separate existence, or confound their individual peculiarities. No harmony can or ought to take the place of the original Gospels, which were meant to be read separately to the end of time, and with a careful observation of their several characteristics, even of such as in themselves may seem to be wholly unimportant.
Among these is the way in which they open, and the point from which they set out, in recording the biography of Jesus Christ. Matthew begins with His genealogy, and shows by a formal and authentic pedigree, perhaps extracted from official records, His descent from Abraham and David. This is not so much a part of his narrative as a documentary introduction to it, after which he sets out from the conception and nativity of the Saviour. Luke goes back to the previous conception and nativity of John the Baptist, His forerunner. John goes still further back, to teach the doctrine of his pre-existence; while Mark omits all this, plunging at once into the midst of his subject, and beginning with the official life or public ministry of Jesus; “the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
These words admit of several constructions, each of which has something to recommend it, and none of which are utterly exclusive of each other; so that all of them may be allowed to suggest something to the mind of the reader.
The simplest construction, and the one most probably intended by the writer, is that which makes this a description of the whole book, or a statement of its subject. This is the beginning of the life of Christ, or here beginneth His recorded history. It
is equally grammatical, however, to connect the words with what follows, as a part of the same context; “the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ was as it is written in the prophets;” or, “the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ was John the Baptist preaching in the wilderness.” These are not only positive constructions, but suggest important facts in the life of Christ, as will be afterwards particularly mentioned.
In the meantime I invite your attention to two topics, suggested by the words themselves, however they may be connected with what follows; one of which is really included in the other, or is a mere specification of it. The first and most general of these topics is the gospel; and the second and more specific, is the beginning of the gospel. Either of these would be sufficient by itself to furnish ample food for meditation and instruction, even if we merged the mere beginning in the whole, of which it is the part, or considered the whole only with respect to its beginning. I prefer, however, to present the two precisely as they lie together in the text, only giving the precedence to the general subject, and the second place to its specification. Or, in other words, first considering the gospel as a whole, and then the beginning of it in particular.
In carrying out this suggestion, it may be convenient to resolve each of these topics into two inquiries, under the general subject of the gospel: Considering first, What it is?—then, Whose it is?—Under the more specific head, Of the beginning of the gospel, asking first, Where it began of old And secondly, Where it begins now By this division and arrangement, I may hope to assist both your understandings and your memories in the brief examination which I now propose to make of this interesting passage, not as a matter of mere curious speculation, but as a source of instruction and improvement.
1. Our first theme, then, is the gospel; and our first inquiry, What it is?
This may seem to some too elementary a question, and to others too extensive; but I merely ask you to consider for a moment, and in quick succession, the elements really included in this most familiar term, which, like others of the same sort, often conveys very vague ideas even to the minds of those who most familiarly employ it. There are few kinds of knowledge, and religious knowledge is certainly not one of them, in which it is not often both agreeable and useful to go back to elementary ideas and first principles, and even to the simple definition of the most familiar terms. I do not scruple, then, to put the question both to you and to myself; What is the gospel? and to answer, in the first place:—
(1.) That the word, both in Greek and English, originally means good news, glad tidings,—a delightful phrase, expressing a delightful thing, awakening a thousand sweet and tender recollections. Who has never heard good news? Who cannot call to mind the thrill of joy which such intelligence once darted through him? To some the experience may be fresh, to others, faded; perhaps dimmed and neutralized by many an intervening alternation or vicissitude of bad news and of mournful tidings. Yet even in this case it is often possible to look back through these intervening changes, and to reproduce in some degree the exquisite delight occasioned at some distant period, by the reception of good news from some beloved object, perhaps far removed. This is an experience which can never grow obsolete. Increasing facilities of communication only multiply its causes and occasions. Even now, how many are rejoicing in glad tidings by the last arrival from some distant shore; how many anxiously, yet hopefully, expecting to receive them by the next! I appeal to these associations, not for any rhetorical or sentimental purpose, but simply to awaken the appropriate feeling which belongs to the very definition of the gospel—good news—good news—not in some abstruse or transcendental sense, but in the plain, homely, everyday sense of the same words, as employed in the dialect of common life. Why is it that the very terms
and phrases which inflame or agitate us in our ordinary parlance fall so lifeless on the ear and heart when uttered in connection with religion? Partly because our whole state of feeling on religious subjects is too cold and dead; partly because we wilfully divorce religious terms from their natural association, and treat them as belonging to another.
Gospel, I tell you, is good news in exactly the same sense that it was good news when you heard of the recovery or escape of a parent or child, a husband or a wife, a brother or a sister, from some fearful peril. Recall that feeling, and then use it to explain the phrase, good news, as a definition of the gospel. If you leave this out, your whole conception is a false one. Whatever else may yet be added, and it is much, this is the original, essential, fundamental notion. There can be no gospel without good news, though there may, in a restricted sense, be good news where there is, alas! no gospel.
(2.) Having settled this as the primary, elementary idea of the gospel, as glad tidings—just as the same words are used to signify good news from man to man—from house to house—from one place to another, such as burdens our mails and thrills along our telegraph wires,—let us now take another step, and add to this simple definition of the gospel, as a term of Scripture and religion, that it is good news from God to man—from heaven to earth—from the infinitely blessed and the infinitely holy to the lowest depths of human wretchedness and sin. It is not good news from America to Europe, or from the old world to the new; it is a voice from heaven, breaking through the silence or the discord of our natural condition. Oh, if we were half as sensible of this condition as we are of temporal anxieties, and fears, and wants—instead of listening coldly to this news from heaven, we should wait and watch for it, as eagerly as any mother now lies sleepless listening for the signal of a new arrival to relieve her fears and fill her cup to overflowing by glad tidings from her distant child. Oh, could the tumult of
this life cease to fill our ears even for a moment, we might hear another sound, to which we are now deaf—good news, good news from heaven—from heaven to earth—from God to man—to us—to you—to me—glad tidings. This is gospel, but is it the meaning of that word to you, my hearer?
(3.) Now let us make our definition more precise, by adding still another term. Good news, glad tidings, from the upper world, would be delightful if they related only to our natural necessities. If the voice of God were heard proclaiming peace instead of war, abundance in the place of want, and health for sickness—how might we rejoice, nay, how do we really rejoice in the sure though silent pledge of fruitful seasons and abundant harvests. But these, however free and entitled to our warmest thanks, can never meet our chief necessities—can never satisfy the soul. Its cravings are for spiritual good; its worst pains are the consciousness of guilt, remorse of conscience, and a fearful looking for of judgment. These may be smothered for a time but not for ever. Worldly prosperity may hide them from view, and drive them from the thoughts, just as the excitement of business or pleasure may distract the mind of the diseased and dying; but only to rush back again with tenfold anguish, when the momentary interruption shall have ceased. My hearers, no good news is good news in the highest sense, unless it reaches these necessities, supplies these wants, and remedies these evils. Without this, good news, even though sent from heaven, even though uttered by the voice of God, would be but like the good news of some half-forgotten social or political success, at which your heart has long since ceased to beat, your eye to sparkle, and your blood to boil.
With such experiences—and who is utterly without them?—no good news is good news to your sober judgment and your immortal soul—but good news in relation to your sins and your salvation, your future, your eternity. Oh, if the mask could now be taken from every heart, it would be seen that many who
appear engrossed with temporal and secular intelligence, are really longing for good news of a very different kind—for the glad tidings of forgiveness, reconciliation, safety—for the joyful news that God is not their enemy, that hell is not their portion, that they may be, that they are entitled to a share in that perpetual inheritance—that indefeasible possession which lies far beyond the changes, and panics, and convulsions of this present life. You must hear such news sooner or later, or be wretched; and such, such news you may hear now, in “the gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God.”
(To be continued.)