Chapter Two:

  The Synoptic Gospels: The “Kingdom” and the Mystical Body

I. 

                What was present in the Old Testament only in embryo is fully developed in the New. An examination of the latter will therefore disclose the same alliance, the same promises, and the same pledges that we have seen in the Old Testament. But here the pledges are being fulfilled, the promises are being put into execution, and finally, the alliance between God and men becomes the very person of the Man-God.

                However, the fulfillment is like the announcement. God knows no fevered haste; what He gives, He gives gradually, and the revelation of the gift, like the gift itself, proceeds slowly and calmly.

                It will be complete in the time of Paul and of John. Not till then will God fully give and explain to men the divine unity He has in store for them. Before that time, the Acts of the Apostles represent that union taking up its abode in mankind. Earlier still, the Synoptic Gospels provide a kind of transition. They describe how the concept of a brilliant and triumphant Kingdom, appearing in a blaze of glory, which the Old Testament was apt to suggest to many Jews, was transformed into the true and Christian concept of an interior and hidden, as well as visible and empirical, Kingdom---the concept of a supernatural and mystical Kingdom, whose King comes within us and comes to die for us. These, in our opinion, are the principle stages of the revelation; the chapters of our study of the New Testament are arranged accordingly.

                There is no reason why one should not be able to find a doctrinal development even in the books of the New Testament. Whether such development be an addition to revelation itself, or whether it consist merely in a better understanding and a clear exposition of this revelation, makes little difference. For our subject, it is unnecessary to make such a distinction. However, this much is certain: both kinds of development were possible. For, until the death of the last Apostle, revelation was capable of receiving new truths, and the Apostles themselves could have continued to grow in the comprehension of their message throughout their whole life, without any new revelation. Indeed, should we not say that this latter must have been the case? To suppose the contrary; namely, that they at once appreciated fully ever aspect of the transcendent truth, and to suppose that they should immediately have found adequate and exact terms in which to express its immeasurable richness, is to postulate a profusion of psychological miracles such as God is not wont to perform. The marvel of Christianity is that God seeks the society and the co-operation of men. Is it likely that He should have dealt otherwise with those whom He Himself chose to be the first witnesses of His condescension, or that, by force of prodigies, He should have prevented them from concurring, in their imperfect way---they have no other---in His work?

                Of course, He would assist them, but by directing, not by supplanting their efforts. He would aid their thoughts and reflections, not to make them more sluggish or more passive, but to give them greater ardor. Must we assume that He exempted them from all groping and from all hesitation? In that case, their effort would not have been a human effort. Is it not more natural to suppose that, without dispensing them from out processes of comprehension and of investigation, He watched over them more carefully, rendered them more clear-sighted and more prudent, to the end that the weakness inherent in our nature might introduce no inexact or doubtful element into the treasure that they bore in fragile vessels? Thus, being men, they could have made progress after the manner of men. And their progress was no less assured and divine; for He, who through them, was communicating Himself to men, He who was revealing, inspiring them, and assisting them, was always God and God alone.

                Let us continue. Whatever form this progress may have taken, God could have willed to reveal the fact of its occurrence by means of His Scripture. If He willed to tell us in the Holy Books about the tunics that Dorcas was making, and of the wine that Timothy was to take, why should He not have wished to inform us of a matter far more important and far more instructive with regard to His economy of revelation: how the light of His truth has by little and little penetrated our mists, and how, little by little, men’s souls have opened to its rays?

                Furthermore, as there was nothing to prevent His giving us this information, so there was nothing to prevent His giving it in the manner He preferred. Not only could He do so by explicit declarations, which we should merely have had to read; but He could also have given it in words of hidden meaning, by way of indications that must be sought out and interpreted. He alone is judge, and the best way is the one He chooses.

                Can one find, in either of these processes, anything unworthy of His Holy Scripture? On the contrary, have we not always believed that the Bible could contain, and actually does abound in hidden meanings, and that everything in the Scripture, even the choice and position of words, every jot and tittle, is full of significance? Is it for us to decide, according to our own a priori views on literary types and on the Providence of God, just how an inspired book ought to be written? It is as God has willed it, and that is enough. God has moved the human author to write this particular book; He has assisted him in the course of the writing, to insure its being exactly as He wished it; He has approved the book when completed, and, by the medium of the Church, He has given it to us as His own authentic work. Now, if this book contains indications that can be discerned and understood only after careful scrutiny, all that we can say is that they are as truly inspired as the rest of the book, and therefore deserve to be studied with equal respect. Were these indications explicitly recognized and intended by the human author? We should hesitate to say that this were necessary. In every human writing, a thousand things betray themselves without the author’s knowledge. Why need an inspired writer have a consciousness so clear and so little human, of all that in one way or another is attested in his book? If he may not have seen so far ahead, at least God did; and it is God, after all, who is the principal author.

                Whether or not Scripture actually does contain such indications, we can determine only by examining Scripture itself. We shall now undertake this investigation.

II 

                The books of Scripture which we shall now consider are those with which the New Testament opens---the Synoptic Gospels. These, of course, are not the first in date among the inspired writings; the Epistles of St. James andof St. Jude, as well as most of St. Paul’s letters, were written several years earlier. Nevertheless, the events recorded by the Gospels are anterior to the exhortations and instructions that make up the Epistles, and the accounts from which they are drawn must have existed from the earliest beginnings of Christian teaching in a form, either oral or written, somewhat similar to that which they have in the Gospels.

                Generally speaking, the Synoptics have little to say on the subject of the Mystical Body. The fact is not hard to understand. The Gospels are not a methodical exposition of the Master’s doctrine, any more than they are a complete biography of Jesus Christ. They are the testimony rendered to Christ by the witnesses of Christ; in other words, they are a collection of facts, the purpose of which is to make known who Christ is and what it means to belong to Christ, and also to introduce the messengers sent by Christ with the commission to preach Christ to the world.

                For the messengers of Christianity had to present their credentials, and these credentials were not in them, but in the Master. They were merely His witnesses. Their task was to make the Master known, to give their hearers and readers the same direct, living contact that had attracted and won their own hearts. This they did untiringly in the course of their missions, on the Roman roads, in the privacy of friendly homes, in the calm or the uproar of the synagogues. In the brief but expressive phrase of the Acts, they told tà perì ‘Iesou (1),  a collection of facts concerning Jesus. At first, it is likely that these details were chosen somewhat at random from among their recollections; soon, however, through frequent repetition, they took on a certain order. Doctrinal instruction was joined with the narration of events in this happy message that they were announcing. Primarily, though, the whole was a kind of portrait, intended to depict, as a very living personality, Him who still continued to be the one Master, and who was thus personally introducing His message and His messengers.

                Gradually, depending upon the audience, the viewpoint of each Apostle, and the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, the choice of details began to vary; emphasis was placed upon one or the other aspect of Christ’s personality, and the accounts began to present differences of nuance and of interests. Thus were formed our first three Gospels. Each has its own individuality, but all remain basically the same: the testimony rendered to Jesus by His witnesses.

                This special formation of the Gospels explains the manner in which they speak of the Mystical Body. They do not treat of it directly; directly they speak only of Christ. But the Christ they describe is not a Christ imprisoned within the narrow limits of His brief appearance on the stage of this world; He is the Christ who, in His very historical life, is also mystical. Yet each of the Evangelists teaches this truth in a different way.

III 

                We shall consider first the Gospel of St. Mark, which is the record of Peter’s preaching. Here the very plan of the narrative, the central theme, the progression of events, the choice of details, and the conclusion speak to us of the mystical life of Christ.

                Surprising as the statement may at first appear, it is strictly true. Despite his plain and popular manner of speech, despite the impression he gives of a simple, direct workingman, despite his characteristic way of representing Christ just as He appeared outwardly in real life---despite all this Mark testifies, in a very forceful manner, to the Christ who abides within, in the mystery of the soul.

                Or, rather, we should not say despite, but through and in all these characteristics. Mark’s testimony is an integral part of the Gospel story, as circumstantiated and lived; it is the very meaning of the story.

                As we shall have occasion to see more and more clearly in the course of these pages, it is precisely through his most distinctive and most personal qualities that each of the inspired writers speaks of the Mystical Body. We shall learn, too, that the doctrine of the Mystical Body is not something set apart from the most commonplace realities of Christian life; it is our own prosaic human nature that God has united to Himself in His Son. Lastly, we shall discover that Christian truth is something more than an abstraction that can be expressed in the form of theorems and theses. Before all else, that truth is Jesus Christ, and Jesus Christ teaches it not only by His words, but simply by being Himself.

                Therefore it is not in the least surprising that in order to understand His message, Mark should have been content to contemplate His person and His way of acting and reacting. This does not show that the author has abandoned the scientific method or that he has forgotten the purpose which he had set for himself, or even that he is aiming at a more psychological or more concrete treatment of his subject; it betrays merely his desire to seek Christian truth in its first manifestation and in its plenitude: in the person and life of the Master.

                Theology differs from other sciences in that it deals with a doctrine which, besides being a fact, is also a person. Its proper and scientific method must therefore include contemplation of the person as well as reflection on the fact. Hence, even as a science, theology must examine the Gospel narrative primarily as a narrative; in other words, the theologian must live the story over again; he must lose himself in it and make it his own; he must reflect upon the presuppositions that are implied in it and upon the meaning that it is intended to convey; he must be able to discern the tact testimony which it contains and which is, as it were, its soul and its life.

                The task is a delicate one, indeed, for there is little opportunity here to apply philological and dialectic methods of control. This is not a question of textual criticism or of evaluating syllogisms; it is a question of reconstructing historical facts in one’s own mind and soul, and of keeping silence in order to hear them speak for themselves. We grant that such a method necessarily remains somewhat subjective and conjectural, and great care must be exercised lest personal preference be mistaken for the language of the facts, and lest mere probabilities be accepted as established truths.

                Yes, the task is difficult, but it is necessary. The Gospel history, precisely in its quality as history, is one of the principal theological sources; nay, it is the great source. No theology can be truly scientific and truly theological unless it remains in perpetual contact with, and in the constant meditation and contemplation of this written source.

                The first feature which we note in the Gospel of St. Mark as having a special bearing on our subject is the central theme. Everything in the account converges toward the death of Jesus. The same is true, though in a less striking degree, of the other Synoptic Gospels, which follow the same general plan as Mark’s, and of the Gospel of St. John. Not only is the death of Jesus recounted in much greater detail than any other part of His public or hidden life (2), but the narrative is centered from the very beginning upon the tragedy of Calvary. This death marks the disappearance of the historical Jesus; yet it appears to be the principal part of the story. One would say that the author has only one purpose in mind: to explain exactly why the Saviour, the subject of the story, is no longer on the scene.

                This trait is particularly noticeable in St. Mark. The first detailed episode of the Gospel indicates that a struggle is to come; two groups are forming, with Jesus and His disciples on one side, and His enemies on the other. Of the latter little is said as yet, except that they compare unfavorably with Jesus. But this is precisely the source of all the trouble: wounded self-love changes so quickly into jealousy and hostility! The events that follow represent the opening skirmish of what is later to become a battle to the death. Privately at first, and without making any protest, the Pharisees criticize the conduct of the Master who forgives sins; soon they began to find fault openly, first with the Apostles, then with Jesus Himself on the subject offasting and of violating the Sabbath. When offering His defense Jesus indicates, even at this early stage, what His final and decisive action will be: He speaks of His mission and of His power, but He makes an especial point of the plan of salvation whereby His death is to become the source of life.

                His death? Yes, for the subject is introduced without delay. Immediately after the events to which we have just referred, comes the account of the cure of the man with the withered hand. The same two parties face each other again: Jesus and the watchful Pharisees. The latter observe the presence of the unfortunate cripple: an excellent bait to attract the Maser’s sympathy. Will He dare to heal the man publicly on the Sabbath? As if in answer Jesus goes straight to carry out this act of mercy: He performs the miracle, saving this life at the risk of His own. “And the Pharisees”, continues the Gospel, “went out and straightaway took counsel with the Herodians against Him, how they might destroy Him.”  (3) Now the plot of the story is evident. All that precedes has served to convey this one idea: Jesus is come in order to die, and the story of His life will consist in showing how He comes to that end. Such is “the beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, Son of God”. (4)

                In the other Synoptics, which reproduce the general outline of St. Mark’s Gospel, there are signs, less evident however, of a like orientation. Thus in the Gospel of St. Matthew we may recall the opposition of Herod which is aroused at once, and the massacre of the Innocents which follows closely upon the birth of Jesus. In St. Luke’s Gospel the same final tragedy is foreshadowed in the prophecy uttered by Simeon on the occasion of Jesus’ first appearance in the temple, and in the attempt made upon His life when He began to preach in Nazareth. The latter passage is particularly suggestive, and may be compared with the first two chapters of St. Mark. In Luke’s Gospel the incident introduces Jesus’ public ministry, and it is without question a presage of the Passion. Jesus declares that the text of Isaias which He has just read refers to Himself, and that it describes His mission: to teach, to heal, to console. The Jews, His own countrymen, make answer by attempting to do what they would one day accomplish in Jerusalem: they case Him out of the city and drag Him up a mountain, to put Him to death---the entire story of Calvary!

                “And His own received Him not”; the prologue of St. John’s Gospel expresses exactly the same thought: Jesus has come in order to die. Through all His heralds, all His evangelists, in the opening pages of Jesus’ story, God turns our eyes to the Cross.

                We are not surprised at this, for we hae been familiar with the story since childhood. Yet it is all so strange! Our authors set out to tell the story of a life, and immediately they focus all attention upon a death; they intend to reveal a person, and what they tell us only seems to hide Him from our eyes; they begin a narrative, and then develop it as if he interest were to begin only after the ending should have been reached. This narrative is designed to accredit the preaching of the Apostles; yet it insists from the outset upon the defeat of Him who sends them forth. This is the Gospel, the good tidings, that is to bring life to the world; yet it opens with a saddening prophecy and summarizes its entire message in a death. Such an orientation given to such a history, so soon and with such emphasis, cannot but appear paradoxical as soon as one begins to reflect upon it.

                But the paradox vanishes and all becomes clear when interpreted in the light of the Mystical Body. Christ as a twofold life on earth: one visible and historical, the other invisible and mystical; the first is the preparation for the second, and the second is the prolongation of the first. In the second, which is His mysterious existence in the depths of souls, Christ is far more active, far more truly alive than ever He was in the days when He walked and preached in Judea. Therefore it is quite natural and in keeping with the supernatural economy of God’s plan that His life should be represented in the Gospel as already directed toward His death, since His death is the climax of His life. Are we not justified in saying that the sacred text demands some such commentary, and that this is God’s way of suggesting the doctrine of the Mystical Body?

                In the light of the doctrine, Christ’s death, far from marking His departure from this world of ours, is seen rather to effect a more profound penetration of Jesus into the souls of men. Jesus will continue to belong mystically to this earth; He will continue to act, to suffer, to affect its history, but in a new way: His history will no longer be separate from that of the world; He will become, in the hearts of humanity, the very life of history.

                Hence, when God, by means of His inspired writers, reveals the history of Christ in its true light, we can understand why He gives such prominence to an event which, though it terminates the narrative, is itself such a magnificent new beginning.

                What we have just said of the central theme round which the Gospel story turns may be repeated with equal truth of its content; for this too points to the doctrine of the Mystical Body as the key to its meaning.

                Let us therefore examine the principal lines of this content as they are presented by St. Mark, who enjoys the reputation of being the most objective, the most empirical, the most positive of the Evangelists. Once more, if we read attentively, the Saviour’s visible life allows us to see something of the invisible prolongation of that life which constitutes the plenitude of His human reality. We have already observed in the opening episodes of the narrative that Jesus is doomed to death. But now what is he going to do? Will He bee too quick for His enemies? Will he proclaim the good tidings far and wide, to so many of the people that it will be too late to suppress it? Will He kindle the flame which He has brought upon the earth in so many localities that it cannot be extinguished? No! “What you hear in secret: Quod in aure auditis.” He now proceeds even more silently; instead of extending the scope of His activity, He limits it; instead of diffusing it, He deepens it.

                It is true that He continues to preach to the multitudes, but usually He does so in parables. It is likewise true that when He meets an audience that is better able to understand Him, He does not refuse to instruct them. But to the Apostles alone is granted the complete explanation.

                One coincidence is so clearly marked in St. Mark and St. Luke that it seems to have been a reality of fact and to have been intended by Jesus: it was immediately after the meeting which we have mentioned as taking place between the Pharisees and the Herodians, that the apostolic college was definitively established; the assembly that determined upon Jesus’ death thus stands out in opposition to the Church in which Jesus will live again for all time.

                No new choice is made. Jesus had chosen them from the beginning, and now He merely binds them more closely to Himself: again we notice how His life is pursuing its own course even when His enemies appear to be forcing His hand.

                So, during long months Jesus now devotes Himself to His disciples. Under the spell of His miracles, under the influence of His words, under the gradual penetration of long months of intimacy with Him, their slowness of perception begins to yield bit by bit: they begin to sense the mystery that He bears in His soul.

                For, to read the Gospel, it would appear that He did not choose to reveal this divine secret to them in words: He willed that His whole being should manifest it; it was by living with Him that, with God’s help, they were to become aware of what lay within Him.

                At last there came a day when Jesus saw that their hearts were ready. He was walking with the twelve near Caesarea Philippi. Abruptly he turns to them and asks a question: “Whom do men say that I am?” And Peter answers: “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.” (5)

                This confession of Peter is one of the high poins, the very climax, we should say, of the public life. Jesus had come to establish in the world the faith that worketh by charity, and here at last He has found one who makes open profession of that faith. But, says Holy Scripture, it is Christ Himself who by faith comes to dwell in our hearts.

                Doubtless ohers had believed ere this; unquestionably the Apostles had long been living in the state of grace; and certainly years before a creature who was blessed among all women possessed a wonderful faith: “Blessed art thou who hast believed,” (6) it is written of the Virgin. But all this had taken place in the secret fastnesses of souls. Now this interior mystery has come to be expressed exteriorly. But by faith, we repeat, Christ abides in us. From this moment forward, therefore, He will dwell in us, not merely in the secret of souls, but in a visible organism, in a magisterium, and He will be enabled thus to carry on His work mystically in a visible manner. He has laid the first stone, the foundation stone of the Church as the Mystical Body.

                This is as it were the Saviour’s second birth. At His first birth some thirty years before, He had taken his visible flesh, in a moment’s time, from the Virgin most pure. Now He is taking the visible element for His Mystical Body, by a process that will continue for a long time, as long as our human nature remains on earth, not from the Immaculate Virgin, but from sinful humanity. Both are works of God: it is His power that comes upon us, and it is the Father in Heaven who assists and who makes known the mystery. To the faith of Mary at the Annunciation, God made answer by effecting the Incarnation of the Word; to the faith of Peter near the city of Tiberius, the Word makes answer by instituting the Church.

                The acts of Jesus are perpetual. From the beginning of the public life He had cast his lot with Peter and had made no secret of the fact. During His early preaching we see Him spend the night at Peter’s home and perform miracles there; very soon Peter comes to lok on Jesus as his own. This was not to cease, nor will it ever cease. Now, in the midst of the public life, Jesus comes to Peter once more, but in a new manner: He comes, not into Peter’s house, but into his soul; not in order to work a few miracles, but in order to lead all men.

                To Peter’s self-surrender Jesus makes answer by giving Himself in return. To Peter’s act of complete faith Jesus makes answer by an act of confidence, of self-abandonment, of faith, that is just as complete. Peter may now look upon Jesus, more than ever before, as his very own; Peter shall be the rock sustaining the whole Church; Peter shall hold the keys; he shall bind and loose; and Peter is given to understand that God ratifies in heaven every judicial sentence that he, Peter, shall pronounce on earth.

                What does Christ gain by all this? What can He do now that He could not do before? There is only this difference: Peter can do nothing except by Christ, and in Peter it is Christ alone who can do all things.

                For this Church that has just been begun in Peter is still Christ, the mystical Christ. The Church is Christ, and for us at least, she is Christ in a more perfect sense than was the historical Christ; for she is Christ inasmuch as He forms one Body with us. And, if it is true that Christ came upon earth for us, may we not say that Christ is most truly Himself under that aspect in which He contributes most to our advantage? Thus we possess a new testimony to the doctrine of the Mystical Body, expressed by the Gospel narrative in its own way.

                But let us proceed. If Peter’s profession of faith marks a high point in the Gospel story, it likewise divides that story into two parts. Since Christ has begun to live within His own, it is no longer necessary for Him to live at their side; since it is in the Church and in Peter that He will henceforth be all things for them, He must pass into the Church. He may now quit the external scene of history and enter into the source of history, into the souls of humanity.

                Hence the promises which He now makes to the Apostles conclude with the prediction of His coming departure. This is the Noli me tangere of the Synoptics: Why should we try to keep Him before our eyes, when He desires to enter into us? As the Gospels clearly indicate, it was at this moment that Jesus began to teach them, saying that the Son of man would be rejected, tortured, slain.

                After Peter’s confession, one might have expected that He would now take especial pains to sow the seeds of truth in these souls which He saw at last opening to receive it; that He would now retire to some quiet place and there, in secret, confide to His Apostles as much of His teaching as possible. But not; He wills instead to implant Himself in their souls, for is He not the fountain of truth?

                There was still time, of course, in which to teach them, and undoubtedly He did tell them many things during the few months that still remained. But to judge from the slowness of heart that they manifested during His very last days, they certainly could not have understood all. For truths so sublime mere words are so inadequate!

                At all events God saw to it that little of what was said in these discourses should be recorded in the Scriptures. But what the Scripture does repeat unceasingly from this time forward is that Jesus is here in order to die. Time and again the fearful prophecy recurs: the Christ must die. Henceforth death is the only possible outcome.

                But this is not all. If Christ is come into us, and if He is also come to die, then it is a life of pain, the life of the Cross, that He is come to implant in our souls. The prediction of His death must in consequence go hand in hand with an exhortation to self-denial. And, as a matter of fact, the two points are associated by all three of the Synoptics: when Jesus foretold His Passion for the first time, He predicted that sufferings and contradictions would fall to the lot of His members. Never before had Jesus spoken in this fashion in the Gospel of St. Mark. The same is true of St. Luke, and even in St. Matthew, as it would be a simple but long task to prove, these words convey an entirely new meaning. From now on, however, the thought is frequently expressed in all three of the Gospels; one may say that it is at least implicit in all of Jesus’ teaching during this last period.

                Soon, when the Passion has come very nigh, the prediction of suffering and persecution grows clearer and more vivid, as may be seen in the eschatological discourse. We shall consider this prophecy at the end of the chapter; for the present let us note merely that it is the final lesson which Jesus gives to show how truly the fate of the Mystical Body is one with the fate of Christ: Jesus must die, and we must die with Him. What else can this mean, except that we are part of Him?

                We next turn to consider Christ’s death. The doctrine of the Mystical Body, we saw, helps us to understand its early mention and its prominence in the general scheme of the Gospel narrative: now it brings out the full significance of the relation that exists between Christ’s death and His life.

                It is now the last week, the week during which the Paschal Lamb is to be sacrificed. Jesus goes up to Jerusalem. All things are accomplished.

                But on the night before He was to die, He instituted the sacrament and the sacrifice of the Eucharist, thus making us the gift of His life, which was so soon to be taken from Him, and coming to live in His faithful disciples before the Jews should put an end to that life in Him. The communion of the Cenacle, joined with the oblation of the Cross, brings out the twofold aspect of His death. His visible existence ends with the act that establishes the sacrament of His mystical existence, and in order that the continuity of the two might not be broken, the latter takes place before the first. What He gives us is His immolated Body; the sacramental and mystical immolation of His Body precedes the historical immolation. Thus the rite whereby He communicates Himself as the living source of life, and the act whereby He lays down His life constitute in reality but one complete act: each time that the Mass is offered, the sacrifice of Calvary is present anew.

                He dies, and yet He dies not. For through the Eucharist, which is His death, His death is prolonged in every Mass; the Mass is prolonged in every sacramental and spiritual communion, and these communions are prolonged in the whole of the Christ-life, interior and exterior. Thereby His death becomes the source of all supernatural activity; hence His death is His life, His true human life in its fullness and in its universality. So we can understand why it occupies the chief place, or rather why it fills the entire authentic account of His existence.

                As water falling upon the dry earth remains visible for a few moments on the surface, shimmering and clear, and is then absorbed to become vegetation and fertility in the soil, freshness in the leaves, and strength in the branches, so Christ appears for a brief time on the face of our earth and then vanishes. He need remain visible only long enough to prepare for His departure, since that departure will be His entrance into the very depths of life.

                If then His historical life is but a preparation for a much more expansive life, for a mystical life, it can rightly appear as a preparation, rapid and unfinished. This is the last point to be noted. Here we must introduce thoughts of a more general nature, which have to do not with a particular chapter or verse of the Gospel, but with general characteristics both of the inspired text and of the life of Christ as recounted therein.

                The first of these characteristics is this: Jesus’ life appears to be a total failure when it is considered without reference to the Mystical Body in which it is continued.

                Think of it! God Himself becomes flesh for the salvation of men; long years He labors in order to wean them from sin and to draw them to Himself; upon this work He lavishes His prayers, His preaching, His miracles. And what is the result? A few disciples, fearful and hesitant; a handful of faithful souls who follow Him to the Cross are women; multitudes who, though enthusiastic at times, are ever inconstant, and desert Him when He turns to serious matters. How far He is from attaining His goal: the conferring of baptism on every creature, the conversion of the whole world! No, it is not He, but the Church that has fulfilled His work and continues to fulfill it. He left the world in defeat.

                The doctrine of the Mystical Body shows how superficial such views are: He did not leave in defeat, because in reality He did not leave at all. What the Church has accomplished, He has accomplished, but He has done so in her; the work is all the more wonderful, all the more divine by reason of the fact that He was able to bring it about, delicate and pure though it is, by means of our awkward and unclean hands. Having thus proved itself to be more truly divine and more truly human, the work only appears to better advantage as the work of the Man-God. Again we see how the doctrine of the Mystical Body is implicitly contained in the account of the apostolic life of Jesus.

                Something similar may be said of Jesus’ teaching as it is recorded in the Gospels. Jesus is Eternal Wisdom, the Light that enlighteneth every man; He came to dispel our darkness. Yet what does He leave after Him at His death? Almost nothing: some sermons, a few parables, a few intimate discourses. An unparalleled heritage this is, overflowing with meaning and possessing an eternal appeal. But He has left nothing that approaches a complete exposition or a systematic expression of doctrine. His lessons are fragmentary, and they are not understood even by His Apostles. After His death, centuries will elapse before Christian dogmas receive a rigorous definition, and who can number all the controversies that will arise? Could He not have expressed Himself clearly? Could He not have sparked His followers so many painful disputes, so many heresies, so many schisms, so much toil? Is it after all true that not He but the Church has had to make the synthesis, the summary, the catechism of His doctrine?

                Again our answer must be in the negative, for what the Church is to do, He will do; He alone will do it in her. He is, in her as in Himself, the sole Master, but He has two ways of teaching. First He speaks to men from without, as He stands at their side; then He addresses them from within, as He abides in the conscience of each one and in an infallible human magisterium. If we consider his first teaching alone, it appears incomplete, precisely because it is not alone. It is only a beginning, the beginning of a lesson that is to continue to the end of time; far from being incomplete, it possesses a superabundant fullness. The whole of Tradition, in which it is to be continued, will show how rich and how significant were His least words, just as His words will in turn bring out all the life, the holiness, and the sweetness that are contained in the least theological thesis.

                Thus if we review all the actions of His mortal life, all that He did, whether by way of precept, by way of example, or by way of expiation, we always find the same incompleteness in the same fullness: incompleteness when we consider in His life only the thirty years; fullness, when in His life we behold the single seed whence all life and all supernatural activity has sprung.

                In narrating such a life, God can afford to be brief. He who makes the best us of all for the good of His children can be content with sketchy accounts that repeat each other, even though there be material present to fill whole libraries.

                And yet, is not the knowledge of that life the most important thing in the world for us? Where can we see what we ought to be in Him and how we ought to act in Him, unless we see it in Him?

                True enough. Yet, precisely because He is the life of men, we can contemplate His life elsewhere than in the pages of the Gospel. His work is not a mere monument of what He was; it is the continued existence, unto the consummation of the world, of all that He is. Everything in that work speaks of Him alone, for it exists in Him alone. Yet that work is a reality that is coexistent with every soul; it is in close contact with every soul; it is interior to every soul; it takes a hundred different forms, a thousand changing aspects. Now we see one, now another, yet all point to Him alone if we will only use our eyes. The history of the Church, the lives of the saints, the story of our own soul, the spectacle of Christian charity, of the needs of men, of liturgical ceremonies, the meditation of Christian asceticism, the contemplation of Christian dogmas---all this must supply the deficiencies of the Gospel, or rather, it must bring out all the hidden meaning of the narratives that at first reading appear so sketchy. The Gospel is like a seed: from without it seems tiny, but within lies hidden a limitless power of life and growth. Thus it is with the slightest action of Christ: The light of life that flows from Him into the Church reveals Him as the builder of the entire future. However, His visible sphere of activity remains lilmited: a beginning need not be presented otherwise than as a beginning; to tell a story well, it is not necessary to exhaust the subject in the introduction.

                Once more, therefore, the doctrine of the whole Christ, of the mystical Christ, is suggested as the sole possible explanation of Jesus’ life, even as viewed historically, that is, if we consider it as having a limited existence in time. How else can one conceive that God should descend to our earth in so ineffable a manner, and that this stupendous action of His should have no greater effect than a few years’ sojourn here? Thirty years, and of these so many hidden years! What is that in comparison with the thousands of years of our human history?

                Is it possible to conceive that the Eternal should put forth as it were all His power and all His love, that He should overcome all obstacles and span all distances, in order to produce a result so fleeting? Why should He appear at all---if we may be excused for speaking so---if He is going to leave before He is even seen?

                Unquestionably this momentary contact, this passing touch infinitely surpasses anything that we could have hoped for. But is it so great as to exhaust His divine munificence and to satisfy what He Himself calls an everlasting love? Will He, whose gifts are without repentance, be so eager, after He has once given us Himself, to retract His divine gift?

                How truly all this demands an explanation! Yet how clear it all becomes once the explanation is given! He did not take back His gift from us, just as His life did not end completely: all that is in Him has been in a state of growth, like the path of the just of which the Scriptures speak. His life and His gift to men were first promised and prepared during the time of the Old Testament; they were realized in their plenitude during the days of His mortal life in His theandric person; lastly, from that plenitude they have flowed into men during all these centuries of human history. And all this makes up one Christ, who is the same as the Christ of yesterday, the Christ of today, and the Christ of all days; all this makes up one man, who reaches to every part of the terrestrial globe and who continues to grow in each succeeding century, unus homo diffusus toto orbe terrarum et succrescens per volumina saeculorum. (7) After the historical Body of Christ had been born and had grown to man’s estate, then the Mystical Body was born and began to grow. The death of the first inaugurated the second, and still coninues to inaugurate it, since the sacrifice of the Cross, continued in the Mass, is the unfailing source which sends forth, from the one Christ, the immense unity of Christianity.

                As the two lives are fused into one, so are their respective histories interwoven, and we must think of the second life and history in order to see the first in all its truth and in all its intelligibility.

                Hence we may say that by the way in which He disposes His life, as well as by the way in which He led the Synoptics, especially St. Mark, to record that life, Jesus gives the faithful to understand that His historical life is but a preparation and an introduction to another life, which is His mystical life.

                This, of course, remains as yet only a probably hypothesis, but we shall see it confirmed by the remainder of the present study, and, through a singular but real confidence, by the consideration of St. John’s Gospel in particular.

                Jesus, therefore, reveals His union with the faithful, not in words merely, but also in the very order of the events of His life. This, by the way, is a truth often repeated by the Fathers: His every action is a lesson for us, etiam factum Verbi, verbum nobis est. (8) If this holds true for His least action, what may we not say of His entire life, the sum total of all His actions? Is it an exaggeration to think that His life constitutes His entire teaching, and that it expresses in its own manner the whole mystery of Christianity, the mystery of God givine Himself to men in Jesus Christ, the mystery of the Mystical Christ?

2 

                The truth which Jesus thus revealed in His manner of acting, living, and dying, He also taught in explicit statements. It is to these sources that we shall now turn.

                But first it is to be noted that these are not isolated expressions, without relation either among themselves or to Him by whom they are uttered. On the contrary, we shall see that they are all interdependent, and this because they all refer to a single reality, which in turn is itself intimately connected with the Saviour as His prolongation and as His plenitude. Hence we may say that the explicit doctrine of the Mystical Body as found in the Synoptics is exactly what the life of Jesus, as told in the same Synoptics, leads us to expect.

                This single reality which is so intimately associated with the Saviour and to which His teaching of the Mystical Body refers, is the Kingdom: “the Kingdom of heaven”, or “the Kingdom of God”.

                We do not mean that the Kingdom is in every respect identical with the Mystical Body. But as we shall see, the Mystical Body is one of the elements which give unity to this many-sided concept; it is even the most intimate, the most essential, and the most mysterious of these elements, and it is the center, the explanation, and the supreme realization of all the others.

                The announcement of the Kingdom is bound up with the prophecies and with the entire economy of the Old Testament. When Jesus preached His Kingdom, each of His hearers recognized in it the ancient hopes of Israel, and while He took carer to rectify their ideas and to elevate their desires to a higher plane, Hid did not disclaim the heritage. It is well to note that He Himself made of His doctrine on the Kingdom---and, we may venture to comment, the doctrine of the Mystical Body---the continuation of the pages of the Old Testament.

                At that time, the prayers and aspirations of the Jews were haunted by the thought of the Kingdom. They were familiar with the Holy Books, and in their dreams of the promised Messias, they did not conceive Him as coming alone. At His side, as inseparable from His as His shadow and prolongation, they envisioned with enthusiasm the messianic Kingdom that He was to establish. The Kingdom of God, the Kingdom of Israel and of the Son of David, the Day of the Messias, the Day of Joy---all these concepts were intermingled in their minds. Naturally enough, not everyone interpreted the oracles of the Prophets with the same sincerity or in the same way; each understood them in accordance with his own interior hopes. All, however, associated the Messias with something else---something that to them was often more brilliant and more glorious than the Messias Himself---that was to be the exaltation of the children of Israel through Him.

                In this expectation not all was false; far from it. But too often, all was understood in a material sense. Consequently, in preaching the Kingdom, Jesus had to modify these desires in a certain degree. Instead of a kingdom of this world, He had to turn their thoughts to a heavenly and spiritual Kingdom, in which, to be sure, the glory of the Messias would always shed its brilliance upon those who believed in Him, but where this glory would be more than a transient splendor; where it would be the communication of a supernatural dignity and of an eternal life: the communication of His own life to the members of His Mystical Body.

                Thus the notion of the Mystical Body, which had remained vague in the Old Testament, is completed and made definite. By showing who the Messias really is, a Messias much humbler, but likewise far more glorious than was expected, the Gospels show at the same time the nature of the Kingdom that He brings: much more hidden, but far more wondrous than was thought, since it is, in part, the Mystical Body of that Messias.

                Indeed, as we saw in the Synoptic Gospels, the preaching of the Kingdom holds a central position in Jesus’ teaching. Furthermore, the Kingdom is shown so united with Jesus, and possessing such solidarity with Him, that the principal divisions that may be noted in the public life of Christ also mark the principal aspects under which the Kingdom is presented.

                Jesus’ Gospel is the Gospel of the Kingdom: 

After John had been delivered up, Jesus came into Galilee preaching the gospel of God and saying, ‘The fullness of time is come and the Kingdom of God is night; repent, and believe in the gospel’. (9)               

                He preached “the Gospel of the Kingdom”, says St. Matthew; according to St. Luke, “He preached the Kingdom of God”. Later, when He sends the disciples on their mission, Jesus Himself condenses into one brief formula what they are to teach: “Say that the Kingdom of God is nigh upon you”. (10)

                Such, it seems, was the tenor of Jesus’ early preaching. He presents Hiimself to the world as God’s envoy, and at the same time introduces the Kingdom of God that He has come to establish.

                But this simple, open style of instruction could not continue for long. Opposition is soon aroused. Jesus has to hide, in order to avoid the Scribes and the Pharisees; He remains aloof, in desert places, and devotes His attention chiefly to His Apostles. At the same time, the preaching of the Kingdom is done less openly; as a rule, the Kingdom is now described to the multitudes only under the veil of parables. But to the disciples, to whom He manifests Himself, the Master also discloses the mystery of the Kingdom.

                At last, as a result of these conversations with Jesus, the Apostles begin to understand. One day Peter, the first among them, receives light from God and sees clearly; he confesses that He is the Christ, “the Son of the living God”, and Jesus answers with the promise of the keys of the Kingdom.

                At once, as we have already seen, a profound change takes place in the manner in which Jesus speaks of Himself and of the Kingdom. He tells them that He is going to His death; He will be delivered to the Gentiles and crucified; then, on the third day, He will rise again. And the Kingdom, too, is about to enter into a period of tribulation; they will have to renounce everything, all the dreams of Israel, all human ambitions; they must bear the cross and mount the hill of Calvary; they must abandon all if they will be with Him. In short, for Jesus as for the Kingdom, a catastrophe is imminent. Certain of the disciples there present will not taste death before the the coming of the Kingdom.

                In the Synoptics, and particularly in St. Mark, there is an evident parallel between the manifestation of the King and that of the Kingdom. One feels that an intimate union must exist between these two realities.

                Let us consider the Kingdom in itself. In Jesus’ own words, repeated by all three of the Synoptics, the Kingdom is a “mystery”. We shall see what this mystery is. In the first place, it possesses a marvelous solidarity; it is like a flock whose unity is assured by the shepherd. The sheep do not wander at will, and if one goes astray, the shepherd follows it, and brings it back rejoicing. Sometimes the Kingdom is likened to a living thing, or to a plant.

                Like a living thing, it has its principle of growth hidden within itself. At first small and insignificant, it develops under the influence of the energy that comes from within. It is like to leaven, or a seed. 

And He said: ‘Thus is the kingdom of God, as when a man casteth seed upon the earth---night and day he sleepeth and riseth, and the seed is shooting up and growing, he knoweth not how. Of itself the earth beareth the crop---first the blade, then the ear, then the full-formed grain in the ear. But when the crop is ripe, straightaway he sendeth for the sickle, for the harvest is ready”.

And He said: ‘To what are we to liken the kingdom of God, or in what parable to set it forth? It is like to a mustard seed, which when sown upon the earth is the least of all the seeds upon the earth; yet when it is sown it springeth up and becometh greater than all the herbs, and putteth forth great branches, so that the birds of the air can dwell beneath the shade therof’. (11)

Since it is life, a very mystery of life, the Kingdom is also a union and mystery of union. Just as a living thing draws its parts together unto itself, so the Kingdom will enfold its constituents in so close an embrace that they shall be as one. Their meekness will know no bounds, their kindness toward their brethren will be modeled upon Christ’s; their readiness to forgive will be untiring, and their love for one another perpetual, unconditional, generous. Like the Master, they too will be the light of the world, but through Him. It is not a moral theology of contracts, of rivalries, of distinctions that Jesus is proclaiming, but a moral theology of union. Each one will have its own goods, of course; but above all, let each be disposed to give. That, we may say, is the great lesson of the Sermon on the Mount. True, Jesus laid down other precepts on this occasion, and His teaching is not confined to this discourse; but here as everywhere, the ground upon which all must rest, is union and love. Often does He repeat this: 

But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for them that persecute you, that ye may become yourselves children of your Father who is in the heavens; for He maketh His sun to rise upon the evil and the good, and He raineth upon the just and the unjust.

Ye, therefore, shall be perfect, even as your heavenly Father is perfect. (12) 

                It is brotherly love, then, but a love that comes from God. Jesus makes it a matter of divine worship, of religion. 

If therefore thou be offering they gift at the altar, and there remember that they brother hath something against thee, leave there they gift before the altar, and go first and be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift. (13) 

                It is the condition required for entrance into the Kingdom of God; our justice must abound, and overflow in the form of charity. This is the price God places upon His favors: Give, and He shall give to you; forgive your debtors, and He shall forgive your own debts; grant pardon, and He shall pardon you.

                Peace with God, union with God. This is a seond grace that those of the Kingdom shall receive, and this grace is more important and more characteristic than the first.

                The little flock to which God was pleased to give the Kingdom, is the object of a special Providence. God, who clothes in glory the lilies of the field, knows its needs, and He will provide for them: to them that seek first the Kingdom of God and His justice, all else shall be given besides.

                The same thought is contained, in one form or other, in a series of parables which later tradition even considered as symbols of the Eucharist, the sacrament of perfect union; and certainly Jesus’ insight was no less clear. The parables of the marriage feast, of the seed, of the lost sheep brought back on the shoulders of the Good Shepherd, all deserve to be studied from this point of view. However, this would require a long commentary, which does not appear until later. Hence we think it best to leave the parables aside, and to dwell instead on a few words that are clear in themselves. They are to be found chiefly in the Gospel according to St. Matthew.

                The passage which sums up the entire Gospel from the standpoint of the doctrine of the Mystical Body is that which serves as the conclusion of the narrative. The words are perhaps the last which Jesus uttered before His ascension. His last act, which consisted in a blessing, was to impart all His power to the Church. More than that: He Himself passes into the Church. 

All power in heaven and on earth has been given Me. God ye, therefore, make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit; teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.

And behold, I am with you all days, unto the consummation of the world. (14) 

                He is with them all days, according the Vulgate translation. When Yahweh sent forth His prophets of old, He employed the same phrase to signify His solidarity with them. Now, when Jesus is about to send forth the Church, He takes the place of God and unites Himself with her. He bestows upon her all His powers and all His rights: the right to teach, to command, to sanctify. And the explanation of this supernatural power comes at the end: the Church can do whatever Christ can do, because Christ is within her. It is He who, through her, continues to exercise all power.

                If this were an isolated text, one would doubtless be rash to see in it such a depth of meaning. But it is by no means isolated; on the contrary, it is rather the final résumé of a teaching which is expressed in several different passages of the Gospel and then repeated in its entirety, so to speak, in a long discourse of the Master.

                This discourage, which is found in the eighteenth chapter, is so full of instruction concerning the Church that it might be called the “ecclesiological” discourse, just as St. Matthew is considered the most “ecclesiological” of the Evangelists. Probably Matthew wrote for the benefit of Jewish-Christian communities, to whom it was necessary to prove that the Church of Christ was the true House of God.

                Now the discourse contains the greater part of Matthew’s teaching on the subject of the Mystical Body. Once more we see that it is by means of the most characteristic of its books that Scripture speaks of the Mystical Body.

                There is a special significance in the very circumstances which lead up to the discourse. Jesus was wont often to speak of the Kingdom, and the subject had become the occasion of petty rivalries among the Twelve; each one wished to have the best place for himself. One day, in the course of an apostolic journey, the depths of hearts were revealed, and along the way the Apostles disputed their claims to the first place. Upon their return home, Jesus asked them what they had been so hotly debating on the road. Silence was their only answer. Then the Master called a child to Him, and taking it in His arms, He spoke to them of the Kingdom, of peace, of humility, and especially of the unity that should inspire their every action.                   

    And He called unto Him a little child and set it in their midst and said, ‘Amen I say to you, unless ye turn again and become like little children, ye shall not enter the kingdom of the heavens. Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of the heavens. And whosoever receiveth one such little child in My name, receiveth me.

    ‘But whosever shall scandalize one of these little ones that believe in Me, it were profitable for him that a great millstone were hung around his neck and he were drowned in the depth of the sea. Woe to the world because of scandals! For it must needs be that scandal come; yet woe to that man through whom the scandal cometh!

    ‘See that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say to you, their angels in the heavens always behold the face of My Father who is in the heavens. For the Son of man hath come to save that which was lost.

    ‘What think ye? If a man have a hundred sheep and one of them stray, will he not leave the ninety-nine upon the mountains and go in search of the one goneastray? And if it befall that he find it, amen I say to you, he rejoiceth over it more than over the ninety-nine that went not astray. Even so it is not the will of your Father in the heavens that one of these little ones perish.

    ‘But if thy brother sin, go, show him his fault, between thee and him alone. If he listen to thee, thou hast gained thy brother. But if he listen not, take with thee one or two others, that in the mouth of two or three witnesses every word be established. And if he will not hear them, tell the church. But if he will not hear even the church, let him be to thee as the heathen and the publican.

                ‘Amen I say to you, whatsoever ye shall bind uon earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatsoever ye shall loose upon earth shall be loosed in heaven. Amen again I say to you, if two of you agree on earth about anything for which they ask, it shall be done for them by My Father in the heavens. For where two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst of them.’

    Then Peter came to Him and said, ‘Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me and I forgive him? Up to seven times?’ Jesus saith to him, ‘Nay, I say to thee, not up to seven times but up to seventy times seven.

    ‘Therefore is the kingdom of heaven like to a king who wished to make up his accounts with his servants.

    ‘And when hebegan to make them up, there was brought to him one who owed ten thousand talents; and whereas he had not wherewith to pay, his lord commanded him to be sold with his wife and his children and all that he had, and payment to be made. The servant, therefore, falling down prostrated himself before him saying, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay thee all’. And the lord of that servant was moved with compassion and released him and forgave him the debt.

    ‘But upon going out, that servant found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred shillings; and he seized him and throttled him, saying, ‘Pay what thou owest’. His fellow-servant, therefore, fell down and besought him, saying, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay thee’. But he would not, but went and cast him into prison until he should pay what was owing.

    ‘His fellow-servants, therefore, seeing what had befallen, were deeply grieved; and they went and explained to their lord all that had befallen. Then his lord sent for him and saith to him, ‘Thou wicked servant, all that debt I forgave thee because thou besoughtest me; shouldst not thou also have  had pity on thy fellow-servant, even as myself had pity on thee?’ And his lord, being angry, delivered him to the torturers until he should pay all that was owing.

    ‘So also shall My heavently Father do to you, if ye forgive not each his brother from your hearts’. (15) 

In general, the chapter is an instruction on the Kingdom and the

church; it is introduced by a dispute relating to the Kingdom, and in several places it speaks explicitly of the Kingdom. But, as we shall see, it deals at the same time with that mystery of unity which is the Mystical Body. What is said upon this subject is presented as an instruction on the prayer of the Church (vv. 19, 20); as an instruction on the power of the Church (vv. 15-22); as an instruction on the dignity of the Christian (vv. 2-7; 10-14; 23-24). Let us consider these parts successively.

                We shall begin with the instruction on prayer. When His brethren assemble to pray, the Lord will be in their midst. They need not search far, nor call Him; their very union will make Him present. Jesus explains that the Father Himself willsee Him in them, and it is for this reason, that He who can never be deceived, will hear His children’s prayer: 

Amen I say to you, if two of you agree on earth about anything for which they ask, it shall be done for them by My Father in the heaven. For {note the word, for} where two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst of them. 

                So, when the Church prays, she prays in Christ, and her prayer implies His prayer. This teaching is even more forcefully expressed in the words of Jesus recorded by St. John: We must abide in Him, and He in us, as the branches abide in the vine; then we shall obtain all that we ask.

                Secondly, the passage contains an instruction on the power of the Church. The Church that governs and commands is united to the one Master by the same bond which unites the Church that prays with the one Priest. Whatever the Church shall bind upon earth, declares our Lord, shall be bound in Heaven, and whatever she shall loose, shall be loosed in heaven. Jesus had already given the same assurance to Simon Peter in the same Gospel. 

I will give thee the keys of the kingdom of the heavens; and whatsoever thou shalt bind upon earth shall be bound in the heavens, and whatsoever thou shalt loose upon earth shall be loosed in the heavens. (16) 

                St. Luke records similar, but perhaps even stronger words addressed to the seventy-two disciples. The passage concludes the discourse that sends them upon their mission. Jesus bids them go and announce the coming of the Kingdom. Men are to know that this Kingdom and its ambassadors are closely united to the King: those who receive them and those who reject them will be receiving or rejecting the Lord Himself.               

He that heareth you, heareth Me; and he that rejecteth you, rejecteth Me; and he that rejecteth Me, rejecteth Him who sent Me. (18) 

                When they speak, it is not their own words that will be heard. Again, as St. Matthew mentions in another context, the magisterium is not a mere multitude of pastors: in them all, there is only Christ.

 Be not ye called ‘Rabbi’, for one is your Master, and all ye are brethren. And call ye ‘father’ no man upon earth, for one only is your Father, who is in heaven.

 Neither be ye called ‘leaders’, for one only is your Leader: the Christ. (19) 

                But we must note that it is not the teaching Church alone that derives humility and dignity from its union with Christ. By the same union, all the faithful are changed and transfigured. This is the third point to be considered in this passage of St. Matthew: the instruction on the dignity of the faithful in Christ. 

Whosoever receiveth one such little child in My name, receiveth Me. (20) 

                Let us carefully study the sentence. It marks one of Christ’s most familiar traits. Directly and naturally, as it were, He takes the place of all His brethren, particularly of the most humble. Repeatedly in the Gospel does Jesus speak of this substitution that is so dear to His heart. He returns to the same thought in St. Matthew, at the close of the discourse on the apostolate: 

He that receiveth you, receiveth Me; and he that receiveth Me, receiveth Him who sent Me. He that receiveth a prophet because he is a prophet, shall receive the reward of a prophet; and he that receiveth a just man because he is a just man, shall receive the reward of a just man. And whosoever shall give one of these little ones but a cup of cold water to drink because he is a disciple, amen I say to you, he shall not lose his reward. (21) 

                Mark and Luke record the same declaration: 

Whosoever receiveth one such little child in My name, receiveth Me; and whosoever receiveth Me, receiveth, not Me, but Him who sent Me.

Whosoever receiveth this little child in My name, receiveth Me; and whosoever receiveth Me, receiveth Him who sent Me. (22) 

                The element common to these three passages is most significant. It is a sort of gradation: first there is the union of Christ with the Father, and then the union of the Son with the faithful. And the two unions are so closely bound together that the one leads to the other: to receive a Christian is to receive Christ, and to receive Christ is to receive the Father.

                This view of the economy of redemption is developed in the Epistles of Paul and especially in John’s Gospel, and we shall meet it again when we study these writings. But it is expressed more than once in the Synoptics. Thus, Jesus declares that God’s pardon comes to us by the same gradation. 

Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.               

                Such is the petition which the Master prescribes in the Lord’s Prayer. For, as He explains: 

If ye forgive men their transgressions, your heavennly Father will likewise forgive you; but if ye forgive not men their transgressions, neither will your Father forgive you your transgressions. (23) 

                The authority that the Apostles received from Christ folows the same order: 

All power in heaven and earth hath been given Me. Go ye, therefore, make disciples of all the nations.

                    He that rejecteth Me, rejecteth Him who sent Me. (24) 

                In a word, all salvation comes through unity; and the bond of all unity is Christ.

                To conclude, there remains one last text of St. Matthew. It repeats the instructions which we have already met, but, under the circumstances, it is so important a commentary of all Christ’s preaching of the Kingdom that it must be studied separately. It gives the final word of the doctrine of the Synoptics on this subject.

                After the confession of Peter, as we have said, the preaching of the Kingdom becomes catastrophic and “eschatological”; the day of the Lord will be attended by calamities so great that it turns Jesus’ thoughts to the Last Day. Hence, for the exegete, there arises the difficult question of eschatology in the New Testament. Happily, however, we do not have to find a complete solution to this problem, but merely to note what may be said from the viewpoint of our union in Jesus Christ.

                Jesus Himself gives this partial answer in the closing passage of His last discourse, where He explains in somewhat fuller detail what the coming of the Kingdom will be. For here, too, there is still question of the coming of the Kingdom. In this passage, cosmic disturbances pass to the background; we no longer see external calamities, and the context speaks only of moral dispositions, of watchfulness and of fidelity. The coming itself is summed up in an apparition of Christ, but of Christ declaring His mystical identity with His brethren. 

But when the Son of Man cometh in His glory, and all the angels with Him, then shall He sit upon the throne of His glory, and all the nations shall be gathered together before Him. And He shall separate men one from another, as the shepherd doth separate the sheep from the goats; and He shall place the sheep on His right hand, but the goats on His left.

Then shall the King say to those on His right, ‘Come, ye blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and ye gave Me to eat, thirsty and ye gave Me to drink: I was a stranger and ye brought Me within, naked and ye clothed Me: I was sick and ye visited Me, in prison and ye came unto Me.’ Then shall the just answer him saying, ‘Lord, when did we see Thee hungry and did feed Thee, or thirsty and did give Thee to drink? When did we see Thee a stranger and did bring Thee within, or naked and did clothe Thee? When did we see Thee sick or in prison and did come unto Thee?’ And the King answering sall say to them, ‘Amen I say to you, inasmuch as ye did it to one of the least of these My brethren, ye did it to Me.’

Then shall He say likewise to those on His left: ‘Depart from Me, ye cursed, into the everlasting fire, which was prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and yee gave Me not to eat, thirsty and ye gave Me not to drink: I was a stranger and ye brought Me not within, naked and ye clothed Me not: sick and in prison, and ye visited Me not.’ Then shall they likewise answer, saying, ‘Lord when did we see Thee hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not administer to Thee?’ Then shall He answer them, saying, ‘Amen I say to you, inasmuch as ye did it not to one of these least, neither did ye do it to Me.’

And these shall depart unto everlasting punishment, but the just unto everlasting life. (25)               

                Thus shall end the history of the world, and with a solemn affirmation of mystical identity. Since Jesus is the epitome of that entire history, His is able to speak exclusively of Himself, as if He alone had lived in the multitude of men.

                Evidently, He is not denying the other truths of faith. His is simply taking them for granted. For an alms to possess so great a value, men must first be raised to the supernatural order; they must be united to the whole Trinity, by grace and by the Sacraments, in the Church. The dogmas of justification, of ecclesiology, or Christology, are here supposed. But they are only supposed; for the moment, Jesus takes only such aspects of these truths as directly affect Himself---Himself and us. To love Him in men is everything. Not shall we add further comment.

                His final and glorious coming will render testimony to another coming, which is secret and perpetual; it will be, so to speak, the sudden glorification and the manifestation of the latter. His coming before the world will simply attest the fact that all this time He has been present in men’s souls and in the Church. Is not this what He means when He declares in the same Gospel of St. Matthew: ‘Behold, I am with you all days, unto the consummation of the world”? Yes, He will truly be with men, unto the last day of humanity.

                The inspired text places this