Every now and then I will run across a writer whom I find particularly intriguing. I was just a young man when I happened onto a one-volume commentary on the Bible by Matthew Henry, written in 1706. I say “happened onto” because I do not remember how I came across it, whether a gift or something I picked up on my own. Over the years I wore that bulky commentary out, and its cover hung by a thread for as long as I can remember. I continued to use it that way until about seven years ago when my friend Carl Martin gave me his set, choosing to read on-line.
I appreciated the gift tremendously, because I still like to hold a book in my hand and feel its texture. It was especially nice that it was a six-volume set, allowing me to grab one book at a time and not have to lug around a boulder. Its print also was slightly bigger than the medicine-bottle print in the old commentary, a feature my tiring eyes continue to appreciate. For years now, whether using the old volume or the new, I seldom delve into a biblical study without reading – underlining as I go – the thoughts of Matthew Henry. Though he was a Methodist preacher, he refers to the “church of Christ” throughout his writings even as I might, emphasizing the singularity of the church of the New Testament.
I ran across another writer a couple of years ago, this one a Scottish Baptist preacher who lived from 1826-1910. As with Matthew Henry, Alexander Maclaren writes in an elegant, fluid style that befits the era in which these men lived. Both writers often require you to stop, re-read a statement a time or two, tap your pencil contemplatively, and look at the wall while you swish the thought around in your head for a while.
As difficult as some find Mr. Henry to read, Maclaren may trump him. If you’ve ever read Thoreau or Emerson – both contemporaries of Maclaren – then you will recognize the similarities in the style and thinking. Maclaren views Christianity in a deeply spiritual way, a transcendental look at spiritual matters similar to Thoreau and Emerson’s transcendent view of nature. Their philosophies are completely different, of course, but their mode of thinking is not.
As I perused Maclaren’s prose this week, I could not help but think of the many hours I sat in a college classroom rehearsing the writings of the two American Transcendentalists. I was in the first chapter of the gospel of John and came to Maclaren’s observations regarding one of the Lord’s first converts, Nathanael. Nathanael has not been conversing with the Lord very long until he declares with full confidence: “Rabbi, thou art the Son of God; thou art the King of Israel.”
At that point, Mr. Maclaren dives in: “Notice,” he says, “the enthusiasm of the confession; one’s ear hears clearly a tone of rapture in it. The joy-bells of the man’s heart are all a-ringing. It is no mere intellectual acknowledgment of Christ as Messiah. The difference between mere head-belief and heart-faith lies precisely in the presence of these elements of confidence, of enthusiastic loyalty, and absolute submission.”
With those few strokes of the pen, Maclaren defines faith in a way that immediately disrobes many theologians’ view of faith today. But he doesn’t stop there. He next turns to you and me – much like a professor in the classroom – to make sure we're getting the point:
“So the great question for each of us,” he says, “is, not, Do I believe as a piece of my intellectual creed that Christ is ‘the Messiah ….’ That will not make you a Christian, my friend. That will neither save your soul nor quiet your heart, nor bring you peace and strength in life, nor open the gates of the Kingdom of Heaven to you. A man may be … sunk in all manner of wickedness … though he believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God and the King of Israel. You want something more than that. You want just this element of rapturous acknowledgment, of loyal submission, absolute obedience, of unfaltering trust” (Eerdmans 66-67).
We are glad today to be able to visit with such great scholars as this 19th century preacher and the 18th century comrade, Matthew Henry. We do not spend time with either for long before seeing their elegant style driven by a conservation view of the world and scriptures. Maclaren’s emphasis on the necessity of absolute obedience over mere “head-belief” – as he calls it – sounds a great deal like a church of Christ preacher of today.
I was thinking, too: If we’re all extremely fortunate, some of the elegance of these writers of the most beautiful prose will rub off on one of your favorite modern-day, Southern writers – you know, the nice fella you just happen to be reading at this moment.
Of course, such eloquence may never rub off. That’s just wishful thinking. But their endless supply and liberal use of words – a little trait some lovingly call longwindedness – has rubbed off quite and amazingly well.
Or say some.
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