Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 1198
“She called Mary her sister secretly, saying, The Master is come, and calls for you.” John 11:28.
I SUPPOSE by Martha’s whispering the word, “The Master,” in Mary’s ear, that it was the common name by which the sisters spoke of our Lord to one another in His absence. Perhaps it was His usual name among all the disciples, for Jesus said, “You call me Master and Lord: and you say well; for so I am.” It often happens that for persons whom we love we have some special title by which we speak of them familiarly when we are in the circle of those who join in our esteem of them. Instead of always using their official titles or their actual names, there is some one name which we have attached to them which calls up happy associations, or reminds us of endearing traits in their character and, therefore, it is very sweet in our mouths.
So I suppose that most of the disciples called Jesus, “The Master,” many of them coupling with it the word, “Lord.” Mary, I should suppose, was peculiarly given to the use of the term—it was her name for the Lord. I fancy that she called Him “my Master,” only, of course, Martha could not say to her, “your Master is come,” for that would have been to cast suspicion on her own loyalty to Jesus and perhaps she did not feel exactly in a frame of mind to say, “our Master,” remembering that He was Master of so many more, besides, and half hoping that He might be Master over Death himself. She therefore said, “The Master.”
It was an emphatic title, “The Master is come.” Very remarkable is it that minds of a kindred spirit to Mary have always loved this title, “The Master,” and more especially that wondrous, sweet, mystic poet and dear lover of His Lord, George Herbert, who, whenever he heard the name of Jesus mentioned, would always say, “my Master.” He has given us that quaint poem, called “The Odor,” which begins—
“How sweetly does my Master sound, my Master.” There must be something exceedingly precious about the title for a Mary and a Herbert thus to be enamored of it above all others. Jesus has many names, all full of music—this must be choice, indeed, to be selected before them all as the title which His best beloved prefer to apply to Him.
There are many among us who are, ourselves, accustomed to speak of the Lord as, The Master and, though there are many other titles, such as “The Well-Beloved,” “The Good Shepherd,” “The Friend,” “The Bridegroom,” “The Redeemer,” and “The Savior,” yet we still cherish a very special affection for this one name which gives forth to us “an oriental fragrance” with which, “all day we perfume our mind.” You are aware that the word might just as well be translated, “The Teacher,” the authoritative teacher, for that is the gist of its meaning. I am glad to pronounce it, Master, because usage and sweet association have enshrined the word. And also because we have still among us the custom of calling the Chief Teacher in a School or College, the Master, but still, had our version given us, “The Teacher is come,” it would have been nearer the mark.
I. I shall speak a few words, first, upon THE DEEP PROPRIETY OF THIS TITLE AS APPLIED TO OUR LORD. He is, indeed, The Master—The Teacher. What if I put the two together and say, The Master-Teacher? He has a peculiar fitness for this office to be a Master-Teacher. To be so, a man must have a masterly mind. Certainly all minds are not cast in the same mold and are not possessed with the same vigor, depth, force and quickness of action. Some mental organizations are princely by their very formation—though they may belong to plowboys, the imperial stamp is on them! These minds cannot be smothered by a peasant’s smock frock, nor kept down by the load of poverty—master minds are recognized by an innate superiority—and force their way to the front.
I say nothing of the moral qualities of Napoleon, but a mind so vast as his could not have been forever hidden away among the soldiers in the ranks. He must become a captain and a conqueror. So, too, a Cromwell or a Washington must rise to be masters among men because the caliber of their minds was masterly. Such men see a thing quickly. They hold it
with a comprehensive grasp and they have a way of infusing faith into others about it which, before long, pushes them into a master’s position, with the common consent of all around them. You cannot have, for a master-teacher, a man with a little soul. He may insinuate himself into the chair of the teacher, but everyone will see that he is out of place and no one will delight to think of him as his master.
There are many painters, but there have been few Raphaels, or Michelangelos—few who could found schools to perpetuate their names. Many songsters have there been, but few poets have founded schools of tuneful thought in which they have been the beloved choirmasters. Many philosophers have there been, but a Socrates or an Aristotle will not be found every day—for great teachers must have great minds—and these are rare among men. The teacher of all teachers, the master of all the teachers, must be a grand, colossal spirit—head and shoulders above other men! Such a soul Mary saw in her Lord Jesus Christ. And such we see there, also, and we therefore claim, for our Lord, the name of, “The Master.”