When our Lord withdrew from Jerusalem He did not hasten back into Galilee, but remained in Judea, and at length proceeded to the Jordan, where He began to baptize. This seemed to common apprehension to bring Him into direct rivalry with John, who was then actually baptizing at another station on the river, higher up, at Aenon, near to Salim. John’s disciples, jealous for their master’s credit, hastened to tell him of this; and the terms in which they did so, intimate that the baptism of John had become comparatively forsaken for that of Jesus. They said: “He that was with thee beyond Jordan, and to whom thou barest witness, behold, the same baptizeth, and all men come unto Him.” They spoke as those not only jealous for their master, but as feeling their own consequence as his adherents affected by the higher popularity which the new teacher had already acquired. The principle on which all this is founded, lies deep in human nature. Jealousy of a rival’s fame and success is constantly seen in the world, through every path of life, and not only inflicts great anguish upon the proud fleshly mind, but has often led to deeds of great blackness and dishonor. The religion of Jesus enjoined the entire prostration of this common feeling; and the man whose mind is thoroughly saturated with its holy influences, will be content, while he knows that his record is on high, and that his Lord’s honor and the good of souls have been his only aims, to lie humbly in the dust, neglected and forgotten of men, and to regard not only without repining or dislike those who have outstripped him or outshone him in his own paths of honor and usefulness, but to rejoice in their success, and to cheer on with sympathizing shouts those who have taken from his own hands the sword of warfare and the palm of triumph.
John was not a Christian. But no one, however fully instructed in the things of Christ, did ever more strongly or loyally evince this self-abnegation in a matter where the pride of man is most quick and tender. It is quite refreshing to contrast his tone with that of his disciples. The manner in which they speak of Jesus is manifestly bitter, if not contemptuous, as if He was laboring to supplant in the public favor the man who had introduced Him to it, and as if He had been but too successful in his art.
Nothing ever uttered by man, under any like circumstances, can be finer than was John’s answer, which, without a word of direct reproof, must in its effect, and by its contrast, have been felt as a severe rebuke by the complaining disciples. He called to their minds that he had always declared that he was not the Christ, but was sent before Him to prepare the way for Him. He beautifully compared himself to the paranymph, or friend of the bridegroom, who, although he had not himself the bride, stood by rejoicing greatly in the happiness of his friend. “This is my joy,” he said, “this my joy, therefore is fulfilled.” And then he added with a cheerful satisfaction which reaches to the sublime of moral grandeur—“He must increase, but I must decrease.”
See here how freely he admits and acquiesces in the fact of his own decline; and consider how unwilling men are to admit any idea of the kind, and how earnestly they repel it when hinted by others, as the suggestion of malice or ignorance. Many can better endure the idea of death than of such degradation, and will welcome it, if it saves them from public neglect. But John admits it frankly, and with a clear perception of all that it involved. It involved the decline of his fame. To some minds popularity is the most gratifying of all attainments, and John had gained it in a high degree. He had seen multitudes flocking to him from all quarters; he had received a dignified deputation from the great ecclesiastical council of the nation to ask if he were the Messiah. But few were now to approach him; and the very qualities which had no doubt aided in establishing his reputation, now furnished ground for calumny; for we learn from the subsequent testimony of our Savior, that men said of John, “he hath a devil,” seeing that he came “neither eating nor drinking,” nor taking part in the social gladnesses of common life. This change, which the most patient of men regarded as the bitterest drop in the cup he had to drink, was viewed by John with a cheerful and steady countenance. It in nowise moved him. That “He must increase” was to him an abundant satisfaction and compensation for “I must decrease.” It was what he desired; he would not, if he could, have had it otherwise; and this, be it remembered, came not upon him at a time when age was unfitting him for the exertions and enfeebling the powers which had once produced so great an excitement; but when every faculty was in its prime, and when he was more than ever worthy of the public esteem.
John had further in view the remediless decline not only of his popularity but of his influence; this had once been most extensive and salutary. His earnest voice had awed multitudes into seriousness, and had brought the most audacious sinners to his feet, crying, “What shall we do?” Even the tetrarch of Galilee heard him gladly, and did many things in compliance with his calls. But all this was in a great measure to pass away. Few came to listen to him; and of the obduracy and indifference of many who had once seemed impressed by his teaching, there were many painful indications. This might naturally excite an unpleasant feeling for the moment even in his mind; but all this was speedily swallowed up in the overpowering thought, “He must increase,” must establish an influence boundlessly more effectual and permanent than his, to which the fiercest prejudices, and even hearts of stone, must yield, and which would in due time be felt “from sea to sea, and from the river to the ends of the earth.”
John may also be regarded as speaking not only in view of this loss of fame and influence, but as contemplating the actual close of his ministry, and perhaps of his life. The purposes for which he had been raised up had been accomplished; and feeling that his task was done, he might have felt or known that he must soon go hence. No intimation had been given of any other service for him than that to which his views had even from his earliest years been directed, and he expected no other. But he contemplated all this in the prime and vigor of his days without a sigh, not because he was weary of life and of life’s labors, or because the world had seemed to have lost all interest in him; but because he knew that his place would be supplied by that “One greater than he,” to whom the Spirit had not, as to himself, been given “by measure;” who was not, as himself, “of the earth,” and therefore “earthy;” but One who was “from above,” and therefore “above all.”
This willing renunciation of all that the worldly mind holds dear for the furtherance of the kingdom of God—this readiness to render honor to whom honor was due, even though he thereby became nothing, is an eternal renown to the memory and name of John, and a glorious example to all “the children of the kingdom.”
“He saw Jesus able to loose every evil, to unfold every mystery, to detect every snare, to brighten every darkness, to guide into all truth, and to form to all goodness, and to no hands could he leave the concerns of religion, and the spiritual interests of those to whom he had ministered, but in those of Christ. In the splendor of his grace and truth John was happy to be darkened, and in such fame he was content to be forgotten. Had his honors been ten thousand times brighter than they were, he would have laid them all at Christ’s feet. John in his ministry was not like the evening star, sinking into the darkness of night, but like the morning star lost to our view in the brightness of day. And he chose wisely for himself; for thus retiring, he has secured a fame brighter than the applause of multitudes could have given, and he is now in possession of an honor which can never be diminished.” Note: Belfrage’s Portrait of John the Baptist. Edinburgh: Oliphant. 1836. A work in which the view embodied in this evening’s reading is more fully and very eloquently wrought out.