rmits
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."

[Footnote