But to them of old time it was said, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour.”  Where, then, is the difference between the old commandment and the new?  It lies in the new definition of “neighbour.”  The old law which said, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour,” said also, “and hate thine enemy”; which meant that some are and some are not our neighbours, and that toward those who are not love has no obligations.  But Christ broke down for ever the middle wall of partition, and declared the old distinction null and void.  In His parable of the Good Samaritan He taught that every man is our neighbour who has need of us, and to whom it is possible for us to prove ourselves a friend.  As we have opportunity we are to do good unto all men.  The same lesson with, if possible, still greater emphasis, Christ taught in the Upper Room:  “A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another; even as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.”  A love that goes all the way with human need, that gives not itself by measure, that is not chilled by indifference, nor thwarted by ingratitude, that fights against evil until it overcomes it—­such was the love He gave, and such is the love He asks.  And in that command all other commands are comprehended.  Christ might have made His own the daring word of St. Augustine, “Love, and do what you like.”

When first men heard this law of the heavenly righteousness how wondrous simple it must have seemed in contrast with the elaborate scribe-made law which their Rabbis laid upon them.  Pharisaism had reduced religion to a branch of mechanics, a vast network of rules which closed in the life of man on every side, a burden grievous and heavy to be borne, which crushed the soul under its weary load.  This was the yoke of which Peter said that neither they nor their fathers were able to bear it.  Was it any marvel that from such a system men should turn to Him who cried, “Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me; for My yoke is easy, and My burden is light”?  But if Christ’s law of love is simpler it is also far more exacting than the old law which it superseded.  It has meshes far finer than any that Pharisaic ingenuity could weave.  Rabbinical law can secure the tithing of mint and anise and cumin, the washing of cups and pots, and many such like things; it can regulate the life of ritual and outward observance; and after that it has no more that it can do.  But Christ’s law of love is a mentor that searches out the deep things of man.  The inside of the cup and platter, the things that are within, the hidden man of the heart—­it is on these its eyes are fixed.  It gives heed both to the words of the mouth and the meditations of the heart.  And, sometimes, when the lips are speaking fair, suddenly it will fling open the heart’s door and show us where, in some secret chamber, Greed and Pride and Envy and Hate sit side by side in unblest fellowship.  Verily this law of love is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing of soul and spirit, of both joints and marrow, quick to discern the thoughts and intents of the heart.