But He could not be hid.
He could not be hid
There are some persons in this world who cannot be hid: by birth, inheritance, or talent, they come to the front. But this was not the case here. Christ was but the reputed son of a village carpenter, a poor despised Nazarene. Yet He could not be hid. And no wonder. He had come to seek and save that which was lost, to fulfil all prophecy, to preach the everlasting gospel, to work such miracles as the world had never seen; therefore the fame of Him spread abroad.
1. The Lord Jesus Is not hid. He may be plainly seen by those who will use their eyes-in the works of creation, in His Word, in the effects of His grace.
2. He ought not to be hid. We must renounce self to announce Christ. He is the only remedy for the yearning cry of humanity.
3. He cannot be hid. The Christian sky may be clouded for a time, but it will clear, and the Sun of Righteousness burst forth in fresh power and glory. All things are preparing for His coronation. He must reign. Over all man’s resistance, His purpose must prevail.
4. He will not be hid. A day is coming, when every eye shall see Him, and self-deception will be no longer possible. (J. Fleming, B. D.)
Why Christ cannot be hid
Because-
1. Great need will seek Him out.
2. True love will surely find Him.
3. Earnest faith will ever lead to Him.
4. His own heart will betray Him.
5. His disciples will make Him known. (A. Rowland, B. A.)
He could not be hid
Tacitus saith of Brutus-“The more he sought to secrete himself, the more he was noticed.”
The open secret of character
I. Christ desired to be hid. He entered into a house, and would have no man know it. We are sure this desire was not prompted by fear or shame, that it did not spring from caprice or unworthy policy. One reason will be found-
1. In the modesty of high goodness. There is a religiousness which clamours for recognition. Far removed from this stagey pietism it the goodness which does not clamour for recognition. With all her magnificence, how modest is Nature. Christ’s character and life is the grandeur of the firmament-silent, simple, severe. He enjoined upon His disciples constant sequestration, and Himself set the example. Let us remember the modesty illustrated by the Master, enjoined by Him. He forever discarded the trumpet. “Let your light so shine.” Have we been anxious for distinction or applause? Have we cared for the foreground? Let us rise to a more perfect life, and we shall think less of society, less of ourselves, and live more than content in the eye of God.
2. The sensitiveness of high goodness constrained Christ to privacy. Wherever you find rare purity, you find this shrinking from the corruptions of the times. We find the same desire to escape from the world’s wickedness in the Master Himself, and it is so shared by all His pure-hearted followers. Monasticism had its origin, to a considerable extent, in this shrinking of the saints from the corruptions of their age.
II. Christ could not be hid. With all His miracle working power, He could not accomplish this; and all who are thoroughly like their Master share this inability. High goodness desires to hide; it cannot be hid.
1. Christ could not be hid because of the manifestiveness of such goodness. Goodness is self-revealing. This is true in large measure of genius, of culture, and this is preeminently true of character. It “cannot be hid.” That Christ could not hide Himself is manifest from other passages than our text, e.g., when the disciples walked with Him to Emmaus. However carefully He might shroud Himself, some rift in the cloud, some shifting of the darkness, would betray the hidden glory. And, indeed, the course adopted of making Palestine the scene of the Incarnate Life is itself the supreme illustration of the necessary manifestations of glorious character. It is ever thus with worthy lives-hidden, they are revealed; all the more impressively revealed for the attempt at retirement and suppression. Christ could not be hid, because of humanity’s felt need of what great goodness has to give. Mark the event which drew Christ forth from His sequestration. How she knew of the power and presence of Jesus it boots little to conjecture. Misery has a swift instinct for a helper, and, as Lange observes, “The keen sagacity with which need here scents out and finds her Saviour is of infinite, quite indeterminable, magnitude.” All this is true, in its measure, of those who are like Christ. The world needs them, knows them, and denies them retirement and leisure.
3. Christ could not be hid, because of the self-sacrificing nature of His perfect goodness. When the afflicted woman made herself and her sorrow known to the Master, He did not refuse to come forth from His hiding place. Desiring to be hid, we are half like Jesus Christ; desiring to be hid, but forced by charity into the light, we are like Christ altogether. Let us, in these days of manifold luxury and chronic self-indulgence, remember the admonition of the Prophet (Amos 6:4-6). (W. L. Watkinson.)
Pharisaic hypocrisy inflictive to the holy nature of Christ
Culture of any kind is pained by contact with coarseness and imperfection. An eye schooled to beauty is pained misshapen thing, an ear schooled to harmony is tortured by dissonance, and thus a high, delicate, moral nature is wounded by the world’s sin and shame. There is a goodness, maybe, which dwells with a wicked generation contentedly enough, simply because it is so little ahead of the generation; but a deeply true and spiritually tender nature suffers in all the sin and suffering of its neighbourhood. And this is the situation of Christ in the instance before us. He had seen the worst features of the age in the pharisaic lenity. All their lies and impurities were open to His eye, unutterably afflictive to His holy nature, and He retired before the impure atmosphere as before the breath of pestilence. They were defiled, hardened, blinded by sin, and He shrank from them with horror. His pure soul was grieved by the common sinfulness, hollowness, shamelessness; and heart sore, heart sick, he sought solitude and rest. (W. L. Watkinson.)
Hidden, yet revealed
The hidden violets proclaim their presence in every passing breeze; the lark, hidden in the light, fills all the landscape with music; and the vivid freshness of grass and flower betrays all the secret windings of the coy meadow stream. Thus superiority of mind and life all unconsciously reveals itself, makes itself everywhere known and felt as a thing of beauty and blessing-all the more penetrating for its softness, all the more subduing for its silence, all the more renowned for its secrecy. The still, small whisper shakes the world; those are crowned who shun greatness; the valley of humility is the peak of fame. The man of royal soul cannot hide himself. In his modesty he may draw a veil over his face, but the veil itself will share the transfiguration. Or, if constitutionally timid and retiring, the superiority of his spirit and method will declare itself, and the “unknown” are the “well-known.” Or, he may be poor, illiterate, persecuted, yet will the innate grandeur shine through all poverty, rudeness, or unpopularity, winning the suffrages of all beholders. And as he cannot hide himself, neither can the world hide him. Never does the world appear more foolish than when it attempts to extinguish a burning and shining light. In the Indian legend, a mighty, wicked sorcerer seeks, with very poor success, to keep the sun, moon, and stars in three separate chests; and those who bare sought to suppress God’s servants have succeeded no better. John was banished to Patrues; but far from sinking out of view in the solitary sea, he stands before the world amid sublimest illuminations, like his own “angel standing in the sun.” They drove Luther into the Wartburg; but there, in translating the Scriptures into German, he became the cynosure of all eyes. Bunyan’s enemies consigned him to Bedford gaol, and lo, he became known to the race, one of the foremost of the immortals of Christendom. Eminent goodness will out-neither men nor devils can keep it under a bushel. (W. L. Watkinson.)
The true disciple cannot be hid any more than his Master
The Chinese have a wood which, buried some feet underground, fills the air with fragrance; and thus grand qualities, powers, graces, assert themselves through all obstructions, filling the atmosphere of earth with the fragrance of heaven. (W. L. Watkinson.)
Attraction at a distance
Observers have stated that if flowers are placed in a window, the window closed and the blinds drawn, the bees outside are aware of the presence of flowers, and beat against the window panes, evidently anxious to reach them. This “action at a distance” is sufficiently wonderful; yet misery has a sense still more keen, faith a penetration yet more powerful. Christ “entered into a house, and would have no man know it,” and no doubt took necessary measures to secure and preserve secrecy; but the sorrowful woman discovered His locality, apprehended His power and grace, and rested not till she gained that Plant of Renown whose leaves are “for the healing of the nations.” The world in its pharisaical mood may spurn Christ and drive Him away, but as the world realizes its misery it feels its absolute need of Him, and feels after Him, if haply it may find Him. (W. L. Watkinson.)
He could not be hid
I. The purpose of God forbids that Christ should be hid.
II. The innate glory of the Son of God is another reason why He could not be hid.
III. The desperate need of sinners rendered it impossible that He should be hid.
IV. The boundless compassion of the Son of God accounts for the fact that He could not be hid.
V. The deep and abiding gratitude of His followers forbids that Christ should be hid. (W. G. Lewis.)
If a Christian abide hidden, there is little to hide
What does this prove in respect to some of us We enter into a house and are hid-we are not inquired for, solicited, dragged unwillingly into the light. We wish to be let alone, and are let alone. What does all this reveal but the poverty of our nature? We are not sought out, for we are not worth seeking. A needy heart is an infallible divining rod to discern where the gold is hidden in the social strata, and if none inquire for us, if none disturb our solitude, we may infer with certainty that there is little preciousness in our nature either toward God or man. He who knows the deep things of God will be sought out far and wide, as the Queen of Sheba came from the ends of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon. A man of prayer will ever be importuned, and an interest be sought in his sympathy and supplication. The good Samaritan is known throughout the city, and his aid implored day and night. If a Christian abides hidden, there is little to hide. If we are greatly pure, sympathetic, wise, prayerful, we are worth discovering, and shall soon and often be discovered. If there is in us the sweetness of the Rose of Sharon, we shall not be permitted to waste our “sweetness on the desert air”; if there is in us the preciousness and beauty of God’s jewels, we shall be fished from deepest caves to enrich the world. (W. L. Watkinson.)
The most beautiful characters the most unobtrusive
Travellers tell that the forests of South America are full of the gem-like humming bird, yet you may sometimes ride for hours without seeing one. They are most difficult to see when perched among the branches, and almost indistinguishable flying among the flowering trees; it is only every now and then some accidental circumstance reveals the swarm of bejewelled creatures, and they flash upon the vision in white, red, green, blue, and purple. It is somewhat thus with society-the noblest, the most beautiful characters, are not the obtrusive ones. Going through life carelessly, one might think all the people common enough; reading the newspapers, one might suppose the world to contain only bad men; but it may comfort us to remember the truly great and good shun observation and walk humbly with God. The poorest and worst side of things is the most obvious. “It is the glory of God to conceal a thing;” and it is the glory of God’s people to conceal themselves. Nevertheless, the time comes for their revelation, and then we are delighted to find how much silent, hidden goodness the world contains. The spectacle of want and woe draws forth the excellent ones of the earth; and however keen the trial of public life, however repugnant contact with scenes of sin and shame and suffering, all is bravely, cheerfully borne for the Saviour’s sake and the world’s betterment. When a true soul hesitates between the contemplative and active life, the example of Christ and love of Christ determines to self-renouncing service (W. L. Watkinson.)
The unbidden Saviour
I. The humanity of Christ as revealing itself in the story. His fatigue was real: Nature did not spare Him. When the soul is constantly going out towards the objects of one’s solicitude, the body may bear up bravely for a time; but Nature exacts her penalty.
II. There is also in these words a glimpse into something of a Divine purpose. It was part of the Divine plan that Christ’s immediate testimony should be conveyed to the Jews only; this involved great self-restraint.
III. This desire to be quiet in those regions, gives a prophetic glimpse. All the tenderness of God’s heart will be disclosed when we are prepared for it.
IV. The overture to a master’s work may seem sometimes long and needless.
1. “He could not be hid.” No, not even in these regions, where His ministry did not especially lie. Marvellous that the world should have got almost to disbelieve in the existence of a warm, generous heart.
2. How could Christ be hid? If He were a revelation, then He must be declared. There are great spring epochs in the working out of Divine thoughts and purposes; times when what had been concealed comes out to view. Love must reveal itself; so must life. If our inner life is to retain its force and beauty, it must manifest itself. A spiritual recluse is a mistake. (G. J. Proctor.)
Life must reveal itself
Life must reveal itself, and it must reveal itself after its own way. There is no need of parade and pomp to declare it. Christ-like piety, which is so delightful in all its phases, is specially so in this; while very courageous it is very modest; while gloriously strong it is very retiring. Parade and pomp were the prominent features of the Pharisees’ religion. Blow the trumpet! Sound the alarm! Make way for virtue, temperance, zeal, and godliness! Make way indeed! But where is love, the soul of all life? Love is modest. Have you forgotten her? Forgotten her? Then never mind about the rest. Your virtue is merely an accident of circumstance or constitution; your temperance only desire worn out; your zeal and godliness only self-importance dressed in sober garb, undertaker’s costume. No need of a flourish of trumpets and a beating of gongs to declare the true life. It must manifest itself, but not simply on state occasions. It will come to the light, but it would rather not have the limelight of a merely popular applause thrown upon it. It cannot be hid, but it will not speak of its own beauties. It will be self-assertive, but after the Christly sort. The life must be the light of men. A revealer of Divine mysteries and a redeemer of human sins and griefs could be no sealed fountain. (G. J. Proctor.)