A tonic for witnessing Christians
And one of the scribes came, and having heard them reasoning together, and perceiving that he had answered them well, asked him, Which is the first commandment of all? (Mark 12:28)
It was the Tuesday before the Friday of the Lord’s crucifixion. In just three days he would hang and bleed on Calvary’s cross.
The Temple was a wonderfully peaceful place on this Tuesday. There were no sounds of animals or commotion of trade and money changers, because the Lord had cast them out the previous day.
It was the second time the Lord had done this, the first being at the beginning of his ministry, when he took a symbolic whip of cords—a picture of discipline—and commanded the offenders out.
On both occasions there emanated from Christ such divine power and authority that none could resist him.
Now, at the very end of his earthly ministry, he had done it again, bringing about a reverent silence in that holy place. He had, as it were, claimed and possessed his house, so that his voice could be heard throughout its hallowed courts.
The Saviour tested by intellectuals
So far this Tuesday he had been responding to challenging questions from the scribes, Pharisees and Sadducees, who had conspired to bring him down and destroy him.
They first attempted to trick him into pronouncing against the Roman poll tax, so that they could accuse him of treason—but instead of falling into their trap he made a magnificent statement, teaching the responsibility of people to respond both to the civil rulers and to God.
Then it had been the turn of the Sadducees to entangle him with a question about the resurrection, but he exposed their ignorance and misreading of the Scriptures.
None of his replies were mere escapes, but solid, principled answers, which amazed the people and confounded the questioners, bringing the Pharisees to near-panic. “How can we trap him?” they thought. “How can we bring him down?”
Matthew records that “when the Pharisees had heard that he had put the Sadducees to silence, they were gathered together.” They held a council of war to determine a more effective course of action.
One of the obstacles to the arrest of the Lord was the admiration of the common people for him, his miracles and his teaching. They were mesmerised, being convinced that he was a prophet from God, and one endowed with far greater learning and authority than their regular clergy.
The chosen strategy for his destruction was to lure him into argument with the most skilled debater in their ranks, a notable lawyer, who would surely be able to make him appear ignorant and inadequate, duly shattering the confidence that the people had in him.
Such lawyers or scribes counted over 600 laws in the books of Moses: far too many, they thought, for society to obey without the help of experts to determine which had precedence over others. The profession of the scribes was to minutely examine these laws and decide which were the more important and binding, and this led to many learned debates.
The scribes clearly said to themselves, “Jesus? Where does he come from? Nazareth! What does he know about debating the finer points of the law? When and where has he ever studied the greater or lesser importance of laws? We have many an expert in our midst who can entangle him in deep, complex, technical discussion, and outclass him in the eyes of the people.”
An intellectual champion
The man they chose had listened carefully to the previous attempts to question the Lord, Mark’s Gospel noting how he had admired Christ’s responses. The chosen scribe, however, seems to have had confidence that he could succeed where others had failed, and he began with the perfect question to initiate furious debate: “Which is the first commandment of all?”
No doubt, whichever law Christ chose of the hundreds of possibilities, an involved debate could be fabricated. The Lord’s reply, however, was totally unexpected. Without hesitation he declared: “The first of all the commandments is, Hear, O Israel; The Lord our God is one Lord: and thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength: this is the first commandment.”
He quoted from Deuteronomy 6:4–5, the opening verses of the so-called Shema, the confession of faith of Israel. The Shema was repeated by pious Jews twice every day, and to this day it remains central to the typical synagogue service. It speaks of one God, and then summarises the first four of the Ten Commandments. (It is called Shema because this is the Hebrew for ‘hear’, the very first word.)
The declaration that God is one contradicted the polytheism of all the other religions of that day. But the summary of the first four commandments (man’s duty to God) as loving him with our whole being startled the scribe. Immediately, the Lord added a second greatest commandment (taken from Leviticus 19:18): “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,” saying, “There is none other commandment greater than these.”
The Lord said, in effect, that the commandments were the outworking of one supreme virtue—sincere and wholehearted love for God.
The scribe was stunned. He had never approached the subject in this way. Love to God first, and to man second. He had repeated the Shema twice every day, and yet had never seen it as a searching, testing summary of the first table of the law—love to God. It was so obvious and so simple, and he was shaken to the core.
The learned scribe’s reaction was the same as that felt by vast numbers of people down the centuries in whose hearts the Holy Spirit has suddenly shone rays of illumination—the beginning of conversion—the birth of a deep need to be accepted by God, the process of spiritual awakening.
“In all my studies,” thought the scribe, “I have not considered that I owe God my love and my life. While I have been focused on ceremonial, ritual acts, God required my love and obedience.”
Awareness of sin overcomes all objections
As soon as thoughts such as these enter the heart, we realise we have withheld that love, and been ruled by selfishness, self-love, and the things of this world.
Awareness of our sin dawns, along with openness to the saving work of Christ. This is surely what began to happen in the life of the scribe. He now realised that what mattered was the life lived.
The scribe said to the Lord, “Well, Master,” but not in the manner of the modern expression “Oh well.” Rather, he said, “Master, what you have said is right.” And then he repeated the Lord’s words, and we can almost hear him saying them in a slow, contemplative tone, as though rolling the words round his mind, as it dawned on him what they meant.
“There is one God … and to love him with all the heart … is more than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices.” This man was broken! He scarcely knew what he was saying. What an about turn! What a change! He had altogether changed his mind about Christ. His wrong, pharisaical theology had crumbled in a moment. It was loving God that counted; it was the life; it was the sincerity of love for him, not the meticulous observance of the law.
How much he saw just at that time we cannot tell, but he certainly realised it was not the ritual, but the life that mattered. The listening Pharisees were horrified. Their champion, their great debater was himself under deep conviction, and his arguments had petered out.
The people also were astounded as they saw a learned scribe changing his view before their eyes; Christ was in complete control of the debate.
Christian witness emboldened
It would shortly be the same with a dying thief. There would be two, one either side of Christ as he hung on the cross, and at first they would both rail on him and scorn him. But then, suddenly, as recorded in Luke’s Gospel, one of them would say to the other, “Why are you doing this? Why are you shouting at him? This man has done nothing amiss. He is pure and holy. He is our Messiah.” And turning to Christ he would plead, “Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.”
An enemy would become a seeker, and although we do not see the same climax with the scribe, it may well have taken place as events unfolded, and we think so on the basis of the Philippians verse, “he that hath begun a good work in you will perform it.” (Philippians 1:6).
Just as Christ would save a dying thief as he hung on the cross three days later, so now he demonstrated his power and mercy in giving conviction and light to a prince of debate on the Tuesday before.
Throughout his earthly life the Saviour demonstrated his mission to save souls in his healing miracles, all of them being great pictures of spiritual conversion. And in the closing scenes of his humiliation and crucifixion, he publicly moves certain hearts, mellows minds, and draws hostile individuals to himself.
The dying thief would hear the essentials of an evangelistic sermon from the chief priests and the scribes as they shouted up at the cross, “You said you would save people.” The Holy Spirit applied those words to the heart of that tortured thief, giving understanding and saving desire. And whether the person was a violent thief or a critical, intellectual scribe, the saving work proved irresistible.
As we visualise the scene, either in the Temple on that Tuesday, or at the cross on Friday, we are immediately emboldened in our witness, knowing that no one, however antagonistic, is beyond the power of the Lord.
The transforming power of the Gospel
But how can we have such optimistic hopes for the Pharisees’ champion? Mark records how the Lord observed that the scribe answered ‘discreetly’. With this word our King James version gives the unintended impression that he answered diplomatically, to avoid losing face.
The Greek, however, means that he answered ‘with the mind’, and we could express it this way: ‘When Jesus saw that he answered with understanding.’ The scribe had seen the point, that righteousness before God is what counts. And when we have seen that point, it is not long before we see that Christ must be our provided righteousness.
We cannot be accepted by God, for we have not sincerely loved, served and honoured him, and consequently we are shut out of Heaven. We need a Mediator, a Saviour, a representative, namely the Son of God who gave his life a ransom for many, and suffered the eternal weight and penalty of sin for all who believe in him.
What love!—that Christ has suffered in our place, and has offered up his righteousness to count for us, and that through him we can be accepted by the living God.
How may we be sure that the debater-scribe moved to this realisation? The Lord’s magnificent words to him were these:
“When Jesus saw that he answered with understanding, he said unto him, Thou art not far from the kingdom of God.”
The scribe was seeking the Saviour, and transformation was under way. Perhaps a reader is in this position. You may say, “I long to be accepted by God; I need his salvation; I see the wonder of Christ and his atonement, and I long for salvation.”
You are not far from the kingdom—in fact, you are at the very door, and that is a great encouragement to you. But like the scribe you must enter into the kingdom by sincere repentance, total trust in Christ, and the yielding of your life unreservedly to him.
As for the scribe, to be “not far” implied a journey was in progress, and we may imagine him only three days later, standing in anguish amidst his jeering fellows as Christ hung on Calvary, burdened by an ever-deepening consciousness that this was the Saviour of the world. Or we may imagine him on the Day of Pentecost among three thousand people listening to Peter’s momentous sermon, finding their hearts pierced with godly sorrow and deep repentance.
Whether under cross-examination in the Temple, or hanging on the cross of redemption, Christ could exercise compassion, and his mercy could reign.
Christ alone can save lost souls
But if he was so powerful that he could even bring hostile people under conviction, turning around their whole mind and outlook, how was it that he could be so easily arrested and nailed to that cross?
The answer is that his weakness was only apparent, for he allowed himself to be taken. It was entirely voluntary on his part that he should go to Calvary and suffer that indescribable death, to bear the sin of all who would be forgiven, and to purchase their forgiveness. This was the greatest and most selfless voluntary act in the history of the universe.
And here is a final and very obvious point of application. If Christ could choose souls at will and save them, even a pharisaical, persecuting lawyer, and later a dying thief, in the midst of the turmoil of those final days, he can surely save anyone.
Therefore, in our witness, preaching, visiting, teaching of children, and any other outreach to needy souls, we may pray to him to save, knowing that he can do whatever he chooses to do, in his infinite mercy and love.