In one corner of a much-loved Christian Science reading-room there hangs a picture of Jesus and his disciples passing through a cornfield. It is the Sabbath day, and as they are plucking and eating the corn,—or "wheat," as we in America would call it,—they are rebuked by the Pharisees for violating a Mosaic law. The artist has portrayed the moment when Jesus is reminding the Pharisee that "the Son of man is Lord also of the sabbath."
As we study the picture, a Sabbath day stillness seems to steal upon the thought. We note the warm yellow tones of the ripened grain, the soft tint of the Oriental sky, and even fancy that we almost hear the swish of the swaying stalks as the travelers push them aside to keep in the narrow path. John, as always, is close to the Master, his fair hair turning to gold in the sunshine, his face as innocently radiant as that of a child, and the other disciples, Peter plodding patiently in their lead, are not far behind. But the central figure is that of the Nazarene, who stands beside the rebuking Pharisee, his head bent to the level of his questioner, his hand laid in ineffable compassion upon the other's arm.
Poor little straggling band of pilgrims, with "not where" to lay their heads, grateful even for the frugal meal of a few grains rubbed from the wheat-ears with their fingers as they pass along! In all the records of human history was there ever a group of men more unassuming, more simple, more utterly devoid of all that the world would deem essential for the establishment and promulgation of a great cause? Yet who can say that it may not have been because of this very simplicity, this ignorance of worldly policy, this childlike willingness to be taught, that they were thus spiritually fitted to receive and to impart the message of the Christ. When Jesus was asked by Pilate, the question, "What is truth?" he made no answer; yet he sat beside the ostracized woman of Samaria, at Jacob's well, and talked with her in words that made her heart burn within her as she listened.
