That which separated Jesus from the merciless Roman,the sophisticated Greek and the dogmatic Jew,was his understanding of the word “love.”
His heart was filled with love of his fellow-men.Not merely towards his own friends in Nazareth,his neighbours in Galilee,but towards the people of that vaster world which lay hidden beyond the last curve of the road to Damascus.
He pitied them.
Their strife seemed so senseless,their ambitions so futile,their desire for gold and glory such a waste of valuable time and energy.
It was true that many of the Greek philosophers had come to an identical conclusion.They too had discovered that true happiness was a matter of the soul and did not depend upon a pocket filled with drachmas or the noisy approval of the crowd in the stadium.
But they had never carried their ideas beyond that small and exclusive circle of well-born gentlemen who alone in those days were allowed the luxury of an immortal soul.
They had resigned themselves to the existence of slaves and of the poor people and of those millions for ever doomed to dwell in misery,as being part of an established and inevitable order of things—as something unfortunate which just could not be helped.
They would as soon have explained the principles of their Epicurean or Stoic philosophy to the dogs of the fields and to the cats of their backyards as to the labourers who worked in their farms and to the cook who prepared their dinner.
In some ways they were far in advance of those early Jewish leaders who had steadfastly refused to acknowledge the rights of any man who did not belong to their own tribe.
But to Jesus (who knew nothing about them)they had not gone far enough.
He included all that lived and breathed within the compassion of his great heart.And although he had vague forebodings of the fate which awaited him if he were to teach his doctrine of patience and kindness and humility to a country dominated by the uncompromising Pharisees,he could not well refuse to follow the voice which bade him give his life for the cause of a better world.
It was the crisis of his career.
He could do one of three things.
In the first place,there was the prospect of a quiet old age in Nazareth,doing odd jobs about the town and discussing profound questions of law and ceremony with the rustics who in the evening gathered around the watering trough and listened to the village rabbi.
This did not appeal to Jesus.It would mean slow spiritual starvation.
If,on the other hand,he cared to lead a life of adventure,he now had his opportunity.
He could make use of the enthusiasm which his mere appearance had created among the followers of the Baptist.If he would allow these simple people to believe what they were only too eager to believe,he could easily get himself recognised as the long-expected Messiah and could become the head of a nationalistic movement which,after the example of the Maccabees,might (and then again,might not)bring independence and unity to the sorely divided Jewish nation.
But the temptation to do this (and who during his lifetime does not have a momentary dream of such a future?)was immediately discarded as utterly unworthy of the ambition of a serious man.
There remained therefore but one other course.
He must go forth,must leave father and mother,run the risk of exile,hatred and death,to tell all those who cared to listen of the things which were uppermost in his own mind.
He was thirty years old when he started upon his great work.
In less than three years,his enemies had killed him.
