Chapter 3. The Character of Christ
Some years ago I received a letter from a young man I knew slightly. "1 have just made a great discovery," he wrote. "Almighty God had two sons. Jesus Christ was the first; I am the second." I glanced at the address at the top of his letter. He was writing from a well-known mental hospital.
There have of course been many pretenders to greatness and to divinity. Lunatic asylums are full of deluded people who claim to be Julius Caesar, the Prime Minister, the Emperor of Japan or Jesus Christ. But no one believes them. No one is deceived except themselves. They have no disciples, except perhaps their fellow patients. They fail to convince other people simply because they do not seem to be what they claim to be. Their character does not support their claims.
Now the Christian's conviction about Christ is greatly strengthened by the fact that he does appear to be who he said he was. There is no discrepancy between his words and his deeds. Certainly a very remarkable character would be necessary to authenticate his extravagant claims, but we believe that he displayed just such a character. His character does not prove his claims to be true, but it strongly confirms them. His claims were exclusive. His character was unique. John Stuart Mill called him "A unique figure, not more unlike all his predecessors than all his followers."[1] Quoted by W. H. Griffith Thomas, Christianity Is Christ, 1909; Church Book Room Press edition, 1948, p. 15.Carnegie Simpson wrote, Instinctively we do not class him with others. When one reads his name in a list beginning with Confucius and ending with Goethe we feel it is an offence less against orthodoxy than against decency. Jesus is not one of the group of the world's great. Talk about Alexander the Great and Charles the Great and Napoleon the Great if you will.... Jesus is apart. He is not the Great; he is the Only. He is simply Jesus. Nothing could add to that.... He is beyond our analyses. He confounds our canons of human nature. He compels our criticism to overleap itself. He awes our spirits. There is a saying of Charles Lamb... that "if Shakespeare was to come into this room we should all rise up to meet him, but if that Person was to come into it, we should all fall down and try to kiss the hem of his garment."[2] P. Carnegie Simpson, The Fact of Christ, 1930; James Clarke edition. 1952, pp. 19-22.
We are concerned then to show that Jesus stands in a moral category by himself. To concede that he was "the greatest man who ever lived" does not begin to satisfy us. We cannot talk of Jesus in comparative, or even superlative terms. To us it is a question not of comparison, but of contrast. "Why do you call me good?" he asked the rich young ruler. "No one is good but God alone." "Exactly," we should have replied. "It is not that you are better than other men, nor even that you are the best of men, but that you are good—good with the absolute goodness of God." The importance of this claim should be clear. Sin is a congenital disease among men. We are born with its infection in our nature. It is a universal complaint. Therefore if Jesus of Nazareth was without sin, he was not just man as we know men. If he was sinless, he was distinct from us. He was supernatural.
"His character was more wonderful than the greatest miracle."[3] Tennyson, quoted by Carnegie Simpson, p. 62. "This separateness from sinners is not a little, but a stupendous thing; it is the presupposition of redemption; it is that very virtue in Christ without which He would not be qualified to be a Savior, but would, like us, need to be saved."[4] James Denney, Studies in Theology, Hodder and Stoughton, 9th edition, 1906, p. 41.
It may be helpful to summarize the evidence for the sinlessness of Christ under four headings.
What Christ Himself Thought
On one or two occasions Jesus stated directly that he was without sin. When a woman was discovered in the act of adultery and was dragged before him, he issued an embarrassing challenge to her accusers, "Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her." Gradually they slunk away until there was no one left. A little later in the same chapter (John 8), it is recorded that Jesus issued another challenge, this time concerning himself: "Which of you convicts me of sin?" No one answered. They slipped away when he accused them. But when he invited them to accuse him, he could stay and bear their scrutiny. They were all sinners; he was without sin. He lived a life of perfect obedience to his Father's will. "I always do," he said, "what is pleasing to him." There was nothing boastful about those words. He spoke naturally, with neither fuss nor pretension.
Similarly, by the very nature of his teaching, he placed himself in a moral category by himself. So indeed did the Pharisee in the temple in his arrogant thanksgiving, "God, I thank thee that I am not like the rest of men." But Jesus assumed his uniqueness unselfconsciously. He did not need to draw attention to it. It was a fact so obvious to him that it hardly required emphasis. It was implied rather than asserted. All other men were lost sheep; he had come as the Good Shepherd to seek and to save them. All other men were sick with the disease of sin; he was the doctor who had come to heal them. All other men were plunged in the darkness of sin and ignorance; he was the light of the world. All other men were sinners; he was born to be their Savior and would shed his blood in death for the forgiveness of their sins. All other men were hungry; he was the bread of life. All other men were dead in trespasses and sins; he could be their life now and their resurrection hereafter. All these metaphors express the moral uniqueness of which he was conscious.
It is not surprising, therefore, that although we are told of the temptations of Jesus, we hear nothing of his sins. He never confesses his sins or asks for forgiveness, although he tells his disciples to do so. He shows no consciousness of moral failure. He appears to have no feeling of guilt and no sense of estrangement from God. His baptism was indeed John's "baptism of repentance." But John demurred before baptizing Jesus, and Jesus submitted to it not because he was acknowledging himself to be a sinner but "to fulfill all righteousness," and to begin to identify himself with the sins of others. He himself seems to have lived in unbroken communion with his Father.
This absence of all moral discontent and this sense of unclouded fellowship with God are particularly remarkable for two reasons.
The first is that Jesus possessed a keen moral judgment. "He... knew what was in man." Often it is recorded of him in the Gospel narratives that he read the inner questionings and perplexities of the crowd. His clear perception led him fearlessly to expose the duplicity of the Pharisees. He hated their hypocrisy. He pronounced woes upon them as thunderous as those of the Old Testament prophets. Ostentation and pretense were an abomination to him. Yet his penetrating eye saw no sin in himself.
The second reason why his self-conscious purity is astonishing is that it is utterly unlike the experience of all saints and mystics. The Christian knows that the nearer he approaches God, the more he becomes aware of his own sin. In this the saint somewhat resembles the scientist. The more the scientist discovers, the more he appreciates the mysteries which await his discovery. So the more the Christian grows in Christlikeness, the more he perceives the vastness of the distance which still separates him from Christ. A glance into any Christian biography will satisfy the reader of this fact, if his own experience is not sufficient evidence. One example may be given. David Brainerd was a young pioneer missionary among the Indians of Delaware at the beginning of the nineteenth century. His diary and letters reveal the rich quality of his devotion to Christ. Despite great pain and crippling weakness which led to his death at the age of twenty-nine, he gave himself without reserve to his work. He traveled on horseback through thick forests, preached and taught without rest, slept in
the open, and was content with no settled home or family life. His diary is full of expressions of love to "my dear Indians" and of prayers and praises to his Savior. Here surely, one would imagine, is a saint of the first order, whose life and work can have been little tainted by sin. Yet as we turn the pages of his diary, he continually laments his moral "corruption." He complains of his lack of prayer and love for Christ. He calls himself "a poor worm," "a dead dog" and "an unspeakably worthless wretch." This is not because he had a morbid conscience. He simply lived near Christ and was painfully aware of his sinfulness. And they who fain would serve thee best Are conscious most of wrong within. Yet Jesus Christ, who lived more closely to God than anybody else has done, was free from all sense of sin.
What Christ's Friends Said
It is clear then that Jesus believed himself to be sinless, as he believed himself to be the Messiah and the Son of God. But may he not have been mistaken in the former as in the latter? What did his disciples think? Did they share his opinion of himself? It may be thought that the disciples of Christ were poor witnesses. It has been argued that they were biased, and that they deliberately painted him in more beautiful colors than he deserved. But in this the apostles have been greatly maligned. Their statements cannot be so lightly dismissed.
There are several reasons why we may confidently rely on their evidence.
First, they lived in close contact with Jesus for about three years. They ate and slept together. They experienced the cramped neighborliness of the same boat. They even had a common purse (and a common bank account can be a fruitful cause of dissension!). The disciples got on one another's nerves. They quarreled. But they never found in Jesus the sins they found in themselves. Familiarity normally breeds contempt, but not in this case. Indeed, two of the chief witnesses to the sinlessness of Christ are Peter and John (as we shall see later), and they belonged to that inner group (consisting of Peter, James and John) to whom he gave special privileges and a yet more intimate revelation.
Second, the testimony of the apostles in this matter is trustworthy because they were Jews whose minds had been soaked since infancy in the doctrines of the Old Testament. And one Old Testament doctrine which they had certainly assimilated is the universality of human sin:
"They have all gone astray, they are all alike corrupt; there is none that does good, no, not one."
"All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way."
In the light of this biblical teaching they would not easily have attributed sinlessness to anyone.
Third, the apostolic testimony to the sinlessness of Jesus is the more credible because it is indirect. They do not set out to establish the truth that he was without sin. Their remarks are asides. They are discussing some other subject, and add almost as a parenthesis a reference to his sinlessness. This is what they say. Peter first describes Jesus as "a lamb without blemish or spot" and then says that he "committed no sin; no guile was found on his lips." John roundly declares that all men are sinners, and that if we say we have no sin or have not sinned, we are both liars ourselves and make God a liar too. But he goes on to say that in Christ, who was manifested to take away our sins, "there is no sin."[5] 1 Peter 1:19; 2:22; 1 John 1:8-10; 3:5. To this testimony of Peter and John we may add the words of Paul and of the author of the epistle to the Hebrews. They describe Jesus as one who "knew no sin," but rather was "holy,
blameless, unstained, separated from sinners." He was indeed "in every respect... tempted as we are"—but "without sinning."[6] 2 Corinthians 5:21; Hebrews 7:26; 4:15.
What Christ's Enemies Conceded
We may feel ourselves to be on safer ground when we come to consider what the enemies of Jesus thought of him. They certainly had no bias—at least not in his favor. We read in the Gospels that "they watched him" and tried to "entrap him in his talk." It is well known that when a debate cannot be won by reasoning, controversialists are prone to descend to personal abuse. If arguments are lacking, mud is a good substitute. Even the annals of the church are smudged by the dirt of personal animosities. So it was with the enemies of Jesus. Mark assembles four of their criticisms (in 2:1-3:6). Their first accusation was blasphemy. Jesus had forgiven a man's sins. This was an invasion of divine territory. It was blasphemous arrogance, they said. But to say so is to beg the question. If he were indeed divine, to forgive sins was his prerogative. Next, they were (they said) horrified by his evil associations. He fraternized with sinners. He ate with publicans. He allowed harlots to approach him. No Pharisee would dream of this behavior. He would gather his skirts around him and recoil from contact with such scum. He would have thought himself righteous for doing so, too. He would not appreciate the grace and tenderness of Jesus who, though "separate from sinners," yet earned the honored title "friend of sinners." Their third accusation was that his religion was frivolous. He did not fast like the Pharisees, or even like the disciples of John the Baptist. He was "a glutton and a drunkard" who came "eating and drinking." Such an attack hardly deserves a serious refutation. That Jesus was full of joy is true, but there can be no doubt that he took religion seriously.
Fourth, they were incensed by his sabbath-breaking. He healed sick people on the sabbath day. And his disciples even walked through the cornfields on the sabbath, plucking, rubbing and eating corn, which the scribes and Pharisees forbade as tantamount to reaping and threshing. Yet no one can doubt that Jesus was submissive to the law of God. He obeyed it himself, and in controversy he referred his opponents to it as the arbiter. He also affirmed that God had made the sabbath, and that he had made it for man's benefit. But being himself "lord of the sabbath," he claimed the right to set aside the false traditions of men and to give to God's law its true interpretation. All these accusations are either trivial or question-begging. So when Jesus was on trial for his life, his detractors had to hire false witnesses against him. But even then they did not agree with one another. In fact, the only charge they could manufacture against him was not moral but political. And as the stately prisoner came before men for a verdict, again and again he was pronounced righteous. Pilate, after several cowardly attempts to evade the issue, publicly washed his hands and declared himself "innocent of this man's blood." Herod could find no fault in him. Judas the traitor, filled with remorse, returned the thirty pieces of silver to the priests with the words "I have sinned in betraying innocent blood." The penitent thief on the cross rebuked his confederate for his abuse and added, "this man has done nothing wrong." Finally, the centurion, having watched Jesus suffer and die, exclaimed, "Certainly this man was innocent!"[7] Matthew 27:24; Luke 23:15; Matthew 27:3-4; Luke 23:41, 4Z.
What We Can See for Ourselves
In assessing the character of Jesus Christ, we do not need to rely only on the testimony of others; we can make our own estimate. The moral perfection which was quietly claimed by him, confidently asserted by his friends and reluctantly acknowledged by his enemies, is clearly exhibited in the Gospels.
We are given ample opportunity to form our own judgment. The picture of Jesus painted by
the Evangelists is a comprehensive one. True, it depicts largely his public ministry of barely three years. But we are given a glimpse of his boyhood, and Luke twice repeats that during his hidden years at Nazareth he was developing naturally in body, mind and spirit, and was growing in favor with God and man. We see him withdrawn into privacy with his disciples, and we watch him in the noisy bustle of the crowd. He is brought before us in the Galilean ministry, hero-worshiped by the mob who wanted to take him by force and make him a king, and we follow him into the cloisters of the Jerusalem temple where Pharisees and Sadducees united in their subtle inquisition. But whether scaling the dizzy heights of success or plunged into the depths of bitter rejection alone, he is the same Jesus. He is consistent. He has no moods. He does not change. Again, the portrait is balanced. There is in him no trace of the crank. He believes ardently in what he teaches, but he is not a fanatic. His doctrine is unpopular, but he is not eccentric. There is as much evidence for his humanity as for his divinity. He gets tired. He needs to sleep and eat and drink like other men. He experiences the human emotions of love and anger, joy and sorrow. He is fully human. Yet he is no mere man. Above all, he was unselfish. Nothing is more striking than this. Although believing himself to be divine, he did not put on airs or stand on his dignity. He was never pompous. There was no touch of self-importance about Jesus. He was humble. It is this paradox which is so baffling, this combination of the self-centeredness of his teaching and the unself-centeredness of his behavior. In thought he put himself first; in deed last. He exhibited both the greatest self-esteem and the greatest self-sacrifice. He knew himself to be the Lord of all, but he became their servant. He said he was going to judge the world, but he washed his apostles' feet.
Never has anyone given up so much. It is claimed (by him as well as by us) that he renounced the joys of heaven for the sorrows of earth, exchanging an eternal immunity to the approach of sin for painful contact with evil in this world. He was born of a lowly Hebrew mother in a dirty stable in the insignificant village of Bethlehem. He became a refugee baby in Egypt. He was brought up in the obscure hamlet of Nazareth, and toiled at a carpenter's bench to support his mother and the other children in their home. In due time he became an itinerant preacher, with few possessions, small comforts and no home. He made friends with simple fishermen and publicans. He touched lepers and allowed harlots to touch him. He gave himself away in a ministry of healing, helping, teaching and preaching.
He was misunderstood and misrepresented, and became the victim of men's prejudices and vested interests. He was despised and rejected by his own people, and deserted by his own friends. He gave his back to be flogged, his face to be spat upon, his head to be crowned with thorns, his hands and feet to be nailed to a common Roman gallows. And as the cruel spikes were driven home, he kept praying for his tormentors, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do." Such a man is altogether beyond our reach. He succeeded just where we invariably fail. He had complete self-mastery. He never retaliated. He never grew resentful or irritable. He had such control of himself that, whatever men might think or say or do, he would deny himself and abandon himself to the will of God and the welfare of mankind. "I seek not my own will," he said, and "I do not seek my own glory." As Paul wrote, "For Christ did not please himself." This utter disregard of self in the service of God and man is what the Bible calls love. There is no self-interest in love. The essence of love is self-sacrifice. The worst of men is adorned by an occasional flash of such nobility, but the life of Jesus irradiated it with a never-fading incandescent glow. Jesus was sinless because he was selfless. Such selflessness is love. And God is love.