When he bade turn the other cheek—­that sentence which Celsus found so vulgar—­did no one smile, then, at the idea of anybody ever dreaming of such an act (Matt. 5:39)?  Nor at the picture of the kind brother taking a mote from his brother’s eye, with a whole baulk of timber in his own (Matt. 7:5)?  Nor at the suggestion of doing two miles of forced labour when only one was demanded (Matt. 5:41)?  Nor when he suggested that anxiety about food and clothing was a mark of the Gentiles (Matt. 6:32)?  Did none of his disciples mark a touch of irony when he said that among the Gentile dynasties the kings who exercise authority are called “Benefactors” (Luke 22:25)?  It was true; Euergetes is a well-known kingly title, but the explanation that it was the reward for strenuous use of monarchic authority was new.  Are we to think his face gave no sign of what he was doing?  Was there no smile?

We are told by his biographer that Marcus Aurelius had a face that never changed—­for joy or sorrow, “being an adherent,” he adds, “of the Stoic philosophy.”  The pose of superiority to emotion was not uncommonly held in those times to be the mark of a sage—­Horace’s “nil admirari”.  The writers of the Gospels do not conceal that Jesus had feelings, and expressed them.  We read how he “rejoiced in spirit” (Luke 10:21)—­how he “sighed” (Mark 7:34) and “sighed deeply” (Mark 8:12)—­how his look showed “anger” (Mark 3:5).  They tell us of his indignant utterances (Matt. 23:14; Mark 11:17)—­of his quick sensitiveness to a purposeful touch (Mark 5:30)—­of his fatigue (Mark 7:24; Luke 8:23)—­of his instant response, as we have just seen, to contact with such interesting spirits as the Syro-Phoenician woman and the rich young ruler.  Above all, we find him again and again “moved with compassion.”  We saw the leper approach him, with eyes fixed on the face of Jesus.  The man’s appeal—­“If thou wilt thou canst make me clean”—­his misery moves Jesus; he reaches out his hand, and, with no thought for contagion or danger, he touches the leper—­so deep was the wave of pity that swept through him—­and he heals the man (Mark 1:40-42).  It would almost seem as if the touching impressed the spectators as much as the healing.  Compassion is an old-fashioned word, and sympathy has a wide range of suggestions, some of them by now a little cold; we have to realize, if we can, how deeply and genuinely Jesus felt with men, how keen his feeling was for their suffering and for their hunger, and at the same moment reflect how strong and solid a nature it is that is so profoundly moved.  Again, when we read of his happy way in dealing with children, are we to draw no inference as to his face, and what it told the children?  Finally, on this part of our subject, we are given glimpses of his dark hours.  The writer to the Hebrews speaks of his “offering up prayers and supplications with strong crying and tears” and “learning obedience by the things that he suffered” (Heb. 5:7, 8), and Luke, perhaps