THE FIRST WORD FROM THE CROSS[1]
In the last chapter we saw the impressions made by the crucifixion on
the different groups round the cross. On the soldiers, who did the
deed, it made no impression at all; they were absolutely blind to the
wonder and glory of the scene in which they were taking part. On the
members of the Sanhedrim, and the others who thought with them, it had
an extraordinary effect: the perfect revelation of goodness and
spiritual beauty threw them into convulsions of angry opposition. Even
the group of the friends of Jesus, standing afar off, saw only a very
little way into the meaning of what was taking place before their eyes:
the victory of their Master over sin, death and the world appeared to
them a tragic defeat. So true is it, as I said, that, when something
grand is to be seen, there is required not only the object but the
seeing eye. The image in a mirror depends not only on the object
reflected but on the quality and the configuration of the glass.
We wish, however, to see the scene enacted on Calvary in its true
shape; and where shall we look? There was one mind there in which it
was mirrored with perfect fidelity. If we could see the image of the
crucifixion in the mind of Jesus Himself, this would reveal its true
meaning.
But in what way can we ascertain how it appeared to Him, as from His
painful station He looked forth upon the scene? The answer is to be
found in the sentences which he uttered, as He hung, before His senses
were stifled by the mists of death. These are like windows through
which we can see what was passing in His mind. They are mere
fragments, of course; yet they are charged with eternal significance.
Words are always photographs, more or less true, of the mind which
utters them; these were the truest words ever uttered, and He who
uttered them stamped on them the image of Himself.
They are seven in number, and it will be to our advantage to linger on
them; they are too precious to be taken summarily. The sayings of the
dying are always impressive. We never forget the deathbed utterances
of a parent or a bosom friend; the last words of famous men are
treasured for ever. In Scripture Jacob, Joseph, Moses, and other
patriarchal men are represented as having risen on their deathbeds far
above themselves and spoken in the tones of a higher world; and in all
nations a prophetic importance has been attached to the words of the
dying. Now, these are the dying words of Christ; and, as all His words
are like gold to silver in comparison with those of other men, so
these, in comparison with the rest of His words, are as diamonds to
gold.
In the First Word three things are noticeable--the Invocation, the
Petition, and the Argument.
I.
It was not unusual for crucified persons to speak on the cross; but
their words usually consisted of wild expressions of pain or bootless
entreaties for release, curses against God or imprecations on those who
had inflicted their sufferings. When Jesus had recovered from the
swooning shock occasioned by the driving of the nails into His hands
and feet, His first utterance was a prayer, and His first word "Father."
Was it not an unintentional condemnation of those who had affixed Him
there? It was in the name of religion they had acted and in the name
of God; but which of them was thus impregnated through and through with
religion? which of them could pretend to a communion with God so close
and habitual? Evidently it was because prayer was the natural language
of Jesus that at this moment it leapt to His lips. It is a suspicious
case when in any trial, especially an ecclesiastical one, the condemned
is obviously a better man than the judges.
The word "Father," further, proved that the faith of Jesus was unshaken
by all through which He had passed and by that which He was now
enduring. When righteousness is trampled underfoot and wrong is
triumphant, faith is tempted to ask if there is really a God, loving
and wise, seated on the throne of the universe, or whether, on the
contrary, all is the play of chance. When prosperity is turned
suddenly into adversity and the structure of the plans and hopes of a
life is tumbled in confusion to the ground, even the child of God is
apt to kick against the Divine will. Great saints have been driven, by
the pressure of pain and disappointment, to challenge God's
righteousness in words which it is not lawful for a man to utter. But,
when the fortunes of Jesus were at the blackest, when He was baited by
a raging pack of wolf-like enemies, and when He was sinking into
unplumbed abysses of pain and desertion, He still said "Father."
It was the apotheosis of faith, and to all time it will serve as an
example; because it was gloriously vindicated. If ever the hand of the
Creator seemed to be withdrawn from the rudder of the universe, and the
course of human affairs to be driving down headlong into the gulf of
confusion, it was when He who was the embodiment of moral beauty and
worth had to die a shameful death as a malefactor. Could good by any
possibility rise out of such an abyss of wrong? The salvation of the
world came out of it; all that is noblest in history came out of it.
This is the supreme lesson to God's children never to despair. All may
be dark; everything may seem going to rack and ruin; evil may seem to
be enthroned on the seat of God; yet God liveth; He sits above the
tumult of the present; and He will bring forth the dawn from the womb
of the darkness.
II.
The prayer which followed this invocation was still more remarkable: it
was a prayer for the pardon of His enemies.
In the foregoing pages we have seen to what kind of treatment He was
subjected from the arrest onwards--how the minions of authority struck
and insulted Him, how the high priests twisted the forms of law to
ensnare Him, how Herod disdained Him, how Pilate played fast and loose
with His interests, how the mob howled at Him. Our hearts have burned
with indignation as one depth of baseness has opened beneath another;
and we have been unable to refrain from using hard language. The
comment of Jesus on it all was, "Father, forgive them."
Long ago, indeed, He had taught men, "Love your enemies, bless them
that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which
despitefully use you and persecute you." But this morality of the
Sermon on the Mount had been considered, as the world still inclines to
consider it, a beautiful dream. There have been many teachers who have
said such beautiful things; but what a difference there is between
preaching and practice! When you have been delighted with the
sentiments of an author, it is frequently well that you know no more
about him; because, if you chance to become acquainted with the facts
of his own life, you experience a painful disillusionment. Have not
students even of our own English literature in very recent times
learned to be afraid to read the biographies of literary men, lest the
beautiful structure of sentiments which they have gathered from their
writings should be shattered by the truth about themselves? But Jesus
practised what He taught. He is the one teacher of mankind in whom the
sentiment and the act completely coincide. His doctrine was the very
highest: too high it often seems for this world. But how much more
practical it appears when we see it in action. He proved that it can
be realised on earth when on the cross He prayed, "Father, forgive
them."
Few of us, perhaps, know what it is to forgive. We have never been
deeply wronged; very likely many of us have not a single enemy in the
world. But those who have are aware how difficult it is; perhaps
nothing else is more difficult. Revenge is one of the sweetest
satisfactions to the natural heart. The law of the ancient world was,
at least in practice, "Thou shalt love thy neighbour and hate thine
enemy." Even saints, in the Old Testament, curse those who have
persecuted and wronged them in terms of uncompromising severity. Had
Jesus followed these and, as soon as He was able to speak, uttered to
His Father a complaint in which the conduct of His enemies was branded
in the terms it deserved, who would have ventured to find fault with
Him? Even in that there might have been a revelation of God; because
in the Divine nature there is a fire of wrath against sin. But how
poor would such a revelation have been in comparison with the one which
He now made. All His life He was revealing God; but now His time was
short; and it was the very highest in God He had to make known.
In this word Christ revealed Himself; but at the same time He revealed
the Father. All His life long the Father was in Him, but on the cross
the divine life and character flamed in His human nature like the fire
in the burning bush. It uttered itself in the word; "Father, forgive
them"; and what did it tell? It told that God is love.
III.
The expiring Saviour backed up His prayer for the forgiveness of His
enemies with the argument--"For they know not what they do."
This allows us to see further still into the divine depths of His love.
The injured are generally alive only to their own side of the case; and
they see only those circumstances which tend to place the conduct of
the opposite party in the worst light. But at the moment when the pain
inflicted by His enemies was at the worst Jesus was seeking excuses for
their conduct.
The question has been raised how far the excuse which He made on their
behalf applied. Could it be said of them all that they knew not what
they were doing? Did not Judas know? did not the high priests know?
did not Herod know? Apparently it was primarily to the soldiers who
did the actual work of crucifixion that Jesus referred; because it was
in the very midst of their work that the words were uttered, as may be
seen in the narrative of St. Luke. The soldiers, the rude uninstructed
instruments of the government, were the least guilty among the
assailants of Jesus. Next to them, perhaps, came Pilate; and there
were different stages and degrees down, through Herod and the
Sanhedrim, to the unspeakable baseness of Judas. But St. Peter, in the
beginning of Acts, expressly extends the plea of ignorance so far as to
cover even the Sanhedrists--"And now, brethren, I wot that through
ignorance ye did it, as did also your rulers"--and who will believe
that the heart of the Saviour was less comprehensive than that of the
disciple?
Let us not be putting limits to the divine mercy. It is true of every
sinner, in some measure, that he knows not what he does. And to a true
penitent, as he approaches the throne of mercy, it is a great
consolation to be assured that this plea will be allowed. Penitent St.
Paul was comforted with it: "God had mercy on me, because I did it
ignorantly in unbelief." God knows all our weakness and blindness; men
will not make allowance for it or even understand it; but He will
understand it all, if we come to hide our guilty head in His bosom.
Of course this blessed truth may be perverted by an impenitent heart to
its own undoing. There is no falser notion than that expressed in the
French proverb, _Tout comprendre est tout pardonner_ (To understand
everything is to pardon everything), for it means that man is the mere
creature of circumstances and has no real responsibility for his
actions. How far our Lord was from this way of thinking is shown by
the fact that He said, "Forgive them." He knew that they needed
forgiveness; which implies that they were guilty. Indeed, it was His
vivid apprehension of the danger to which their guilt exposed them that
made Him forget His own sufferings and fling Himself between them and
their fate.
It has been asked, Was this prayer answered? were the crucifiers of
Jesus forgiven? To this it may be replied that a prayer for
forgiveness cannot be answered without the co-operation of those prayed
for. Unless they repent and seek pardon for themselves, how can God
forgive them? The prayer of Jesus, therefore, meant that time should
be granted them for repentance, and that they should be plied with
providences and with preaching, to awaken their consciences. To punish
so appalling a crime as the crucifixion of His Son, God might have
caused the earth to open on the spot and swallow the sinners up. But
no judgment of the kind took place. As Jesus had predicted, Jerusalem
perished in indescribable throes of agony; but not till forty years
after His death; and in this interval the pouring out of the Spirit at
Pentecost took place, and the apostles began their preaching of the
kingdom at Jerusalem, urgently calling the nation to repentance. Nor
was their work in vain; for thousands believed. Even before the scene
of the crucifixion terminated, one of the two thieves crucified along
with Jesus, who had taken part in reviling Him, was converted; and the
centurion who superintended the execution confessed Him as the Son of
God. After all was over, multitudes who had beheld the sight went away
smiting their breasts.[2] We have no reason to doubt, therefore, that
even in this direct sense the prayer received an abundant answer.
But this was a prayer of a kind which may also be answered indirectly.
Besides the effect which prayer has in procuring specific petitions, it
acts reflexly on the spirit of the person who offers it, calming,
sweetening, invigorating. Although some erroneously regard this as the
only real answer that prayer can receive, denying that God can be moved
by our petitions, yet we, who believe that more things are wrought by
prayer, ought not to overlook this. By praying that His enemies might
be forgiven, Jesus was enabled to drive back the spirits of anger and
revenge which tried to force their way into His bosom, and preserved
undisturbed the serenity of His soul. To ask God to forgive them was
the triumphant ending of His own effort to forgive; and it is
impossible to forgive without a delicious sense of deliverance and
peace being shed abroad in the forgiving heart.
May we not add that part of the answer to this prayer has been its
repetition age after age by the persecuted and wronged? St. Stephen
led the way, in the article of death praying meekly after the fashion
of his Master, "Lord, lay not this sin to their charge." Hundreds have
followed. And day by day this prayer is diminishing the sum of
bitterness and increasing the amount of love in the world.
[1] "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do."
[2] Luke xxiii. 48.