An admirable idea governed Jesus in all this, as well as the band of joyous children who accompanied him and made him for eternity the true creator of the peace of the soul, the great consoler of life.  In disengaging man from what he called “the cares of the world,” Jesus might go to excess and injure the essential conditions of human society; but he founded that high spiritualism which for centuries has filled souls with joy in the midst of this vale of tears.  He saw with perfect clearness that man’s inattention, his want of philosophy and morality, come mostly from the distractions which he permits himself, the cares which besiege him, and which civilization multiplies beyond measure.[1] The Gospel, in this manner, has been the most efficient remedy for the weariness of ordinary life, a perpetual sursum corda, a powerful diversion from the miserable cares of earth, a gentle appeal like that of Jesus in the ear of Martha—­“Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things; but one thing is needful.”  Thanks to Jesus, the dullest existence, that most absorbed by sad or humiliating duties, has had its glimpse of heaven.  In our busy civilizations the remembrance of the free life of Galilee has been like perfume from another world, like the “dew of Hermon,"[2] which has prevented drought and barrenness from entirely invading the field of God.

[Footnote 1:  Matt. xiii. 22.]

[Footnote 2:  Psalm cxxxiii. 3.]

CHAPTER XI.

THE KINGDOM OF GOD CONCEIVED AS THE INHERITANCE OF THE POOR.

These maxims, good for a country where life is nourished by the air and the light, and this delicate communism of a band of children of God reposing in confidence on the bosom of their Father, might suit a simple sect constantly persuaded that its Utopia was about to be realized.  But it is clear that they could not satisfy the whole of society.  Jesus understood very soon, in fact, that the official world of his time would by no means adopt his kingdom.  He took his resolution with extreme boldness.  Leaving the world, with its hard heart and narrow prejudices on one side, he turned toward the simple.  A vast substitution of classes would take place.  The kingdom of God was made—­1st, for children, and those who resemble them; 2d, for the outcasts of this world, victims of that social arrogance which repulses the good but humble man; 3d, for heretics and schismatics, publicans, Samaritans, and Pagans of Tyre and Sidon.  An energetic parable explained this appeal to the people and justified it.[1] A king has prepared a wedding feast, and sends his servants to seek those invited.  Each one excuses himself; some ill-treat the messengers.  The king, therefore, takes a decided step.  The great people have not accepted his invitation.  Be it so.  His guests shall be the first comers; the people collected from the highways and byways, the poor, the beggars, and the lame; it matters not who, the room must be filled.  “For I say unto you,” said he, “that none of those men which were bidden shall taste of my supper.”