JESUS by Malcolm Muggeridge

JESUS by Malcolm Muggeridge "Jesus did not come into the world to found a Church but to proclaim a Kingdom - the two being by no means the same thing." If Jesus chose Peter to be the rock on which his church was to be founded, thereby in effect nominating him to be the first of a long line of his Vicars on earth, there have been many mundane intruders into this spiritual domain, from the Emperor Constantine onwards. To those who like myself, rightly or wrongly, have become convinced that what is called 'Western civilization' is irretrievably over, and that another Dark Age is upon us, this seeming collapse of the Church is desolating. We bemoan the passing of a liturgy in which we never participated, of high virtues which we never practiced, of an obedience we never accorded and an orthodoxy we never accepted and often ridiculed. Yet even if it is true that, despite the assurance given to Peter, the gates of Hell have prevailed, or at any rate are now swinging on ecumenical hinges, that is only a lost battle. The war goes on; and suddenly, in the most unlikely theater of all, a Solzhenitsyn raises his voice, while in the dismal slums of Calcutta a Mother Teresa and her Missionaries of Charity go about Jesus' work of love with incomparable dedication. When I think of them, as I have seen them at their work and at their devotions, I want to put away all the books, tear up all the scribbled notes. There are no more doubts or dilemmas; everything is perfectly clear. What commentary or exposition, however, eloquent, lucid, perceptive, inspired even, can equal in eludication and illumination the effect of these dedicated lives? What mind has conceived a discourse, or tongue spoken it, which conveys even to a minute degree the light they shine before men? I was hungry, and you gave me meat. I was thirsty, and you gave me drink. I was a stranger, and you took me in, and I was naked and you clothed me. I was sick, and you visited me. I was in prison, and you came unto me. The words (of Jesus) come alive, as no study or meditation could possibly make them, in the fulfillment in the most literal sense of Jesus' behest to see in the suffering face of humanity his suffering face, and in their broken bodies, his. The religion Jesus gave the world is an experience, not a body of ideas or principles. It is in being lived that it lives, as it is in loving that the love which it discloses at the heart of all creation becomes manifest. It belongs to the world of a Cervantes rather than that of a Wittgen-stein; to Rabelais and Tolstoy rather than to Bultmann and Barth. It is for fools like me, the poor of this world, rather than for the king. Read on...