<u>The Jerusalem Climate.</u>
Then _Jesus_ came. His coming was greeted with great gladness above, and
great silence below. Above, the stars sent a special messenger to bid Him
welcome to the earth they lightened and brightened. Below, the rusty
hinges of earth's inn refused to swing for Him. So man failing, the lower
creation shared room with Him.
Above, was the sweetest music, the music of heaven. Three times the music
of heaven is mentioned: at the creation, at this coming of Jesus, at the
coming crowning of Jesus in John's Revelation. Below, the only music was
that of the babe's holy young mother, God's chosen one to mother His Son,
crooning to her babe; and the gentle lowing in minor key of the oxen whose
stall He shared. Above, the great glory shining, the messenger of God
speaking a message of peace and love. Below, only darkness and silence.
Among the cultured leaders of the city of David, and of Solomon, and of
God's once glorified temple, there were no ears for the message, nor eyes
for the glory. They had gone deaf and blind Godward long before. To them
came no message, for no door was open. To simple men of nature who lived
with the stars and the hills and the sheep, came the new shining of the
glory, and the wondrous messenger and message. Their doors were open. They
practised looking up. Of course neither city nor country mattered, nor
matters. God always speaks into the upturned ear and looks into the
upturned face.
And so Jesus came. With all of its contrasts it was a winsome coming. A
pure young mother nursing her babe; the babe with its sweet wondrous face,
a fresh act of God indeed; the simple unselfish cattle; the bright stars;
the Glory shining; the sudden flood of music; the Lord's messenger; the
message--a very winsome coming.
He came into the peculiar climate of Jerusalem. Jerusalem is Judea. Out of
the Babylonian remnant of Israel had come great men, true leaders, with
great zeal for the city, and the temple, and the temple service, and for
the law. They made the mould in which this later Jerusalem was cast. But
that mould retaining its old form, had now become filled with the baser
metals. The high ideals of the new makers of the city had shrunk into mere
ideas. The small, strongly entrenched ruling circle were tenacious
sticklers for traditions as interpreted by themselves. That fine old word
conservative (with an underneath meaning of "what we prefer") was one of
their sweetest morsels. Underneath their great pride as Moses' successors,
the favored custodians of the nation's most sacred treasures, was a
passionate love for gold. The temple service was secretly organized on
the profit-sharing plan, with the larger share, as usual, for the
organizers.
That hardest thing in the whole range of human action to overcome, either
by God or man or the devil--prejudice--they had, in the Simon-pure form,
superlatively refined. The original treasure of God's Word was about as
much overlaid and hidden away by writings about it as--it has been in some
other times. Of course they were looking for a Messiah, the one hope of
their sacredly guarded literature. But He must be the sort that they
wanted, and--could use.
Herod the King was a man of great ability, great ambition, great passion,
and great absence of anything akin to conscience. But the virtual ruler
was the high priest. His office was bargained for, bought and sold for the
money and power it controlled in the way all too familiar to corrupt
political life in all times, and not wholly unknown in our own. The old
spiritual ideals of Moses, and Samuel, preached amid degeneracy by Elijah
and Isaiah, were buried away clear out of sight by mere formalism, though
still burning warm and tender in the hearts of a few. This was the
atmosphere of the old national capital into which Jesus came.
<u>The Bethlehem Fog.</u>
Then it was that Jesus came. Strange to say, there is a shadow over His
coming from the beginning. A gray chilling shadow of the sort of gray that
a stormy sky sometimes shows, gray tingeing into slaty black. Yet it was
the coming that made the shadow. It takes light, and some thick thing like
a block, and some distance for perspective, to make a shadow. The nearer
the light to the block thing the blacker the shadow. Here the light came
close to some thick blocks; of stupid thickness; human blocks grown more
toughly thick by the persistent resisting of any such transparent thing as
light.
This was a foggy shadow. A fog is always made by influences from below. A
lowering temperature chills the air, and brings down its moisture in the
shape of a gray subtle pervasive mist, that blurs the outlook, and often
gathers and holds black smoke, and mean poisonous odors and gases from bog
and swamp. Such a fog endangers both health and life. This was just such a
shadowing fog. There was a decided drop in the temperature, a sudden
chill, a fog formed that sucked up the poison of the marshes, and
threatened to stifle the baby breath of the new-born King.
A subtle, intangible, but terribly sure something haunts and hunts the
King from the first. His virgin mother is suspected by the one nearest her
of the most serious offense that can be charged against a woman. The
shadow that later grew to inky blackness came ahead of the man, and, under
the stable eaves, waited grimly His arrival. The feverish green of Herod's
eyes will be content with nothing but a new, bright, running red, and
plenty of it. Satan's plan of killing was started early. He was not
particular about the way it was done. The first attempt was at Bethlehem.
The venomous spittle oozed out there first. But he must move along natural
channels: just now, a murderous king's jealous dread of a possible rival.
The first hint of the actual coming of the long expected One is from the
star-students of the east. Their long journey and eager questioning bring
the birth of Jesus before the official circle of the nation. It is most
significant that His birth causes at once a special meeting of the
nation's ruling body. Herod was troubled, of course. But--all Jerusalem
was troubled _with_ him. Here is a surprising sympathy. It reflects at
once vividly the situation. It was strangely suggestive that news of their
King coning should trouble these national leaders. These devout
star-watchers are wise in the source of information they came to. These
leaders knew. They quickly pointed out the spot where the coming One
_should_ be born.
A pure virgin under cruel suspicion, a roomless inn, a village filled with
heart-broken mothers, a quick flight on a dark night to a foreign land by
a young mother and her babe, the stealthy retirement into a secluded spot
away from his native province, a fellow feeling between a red-handed king
and the nation's leaders--ugh! an ugly, deadly fog.
<u>The Man Sent Ahead.</u>
A high fence of silence shuts out from view the after years. Just one
chink of a crack appears in the fence, peering through which, one gets a
suggestion of beautiful simplicity, of the true, natural human growing
going on beyond the fence.
When mature years are reached, the royal procession is formed. A man is
sent ahead to tell of the King's coming. John was Jesus' diplomatic
representative, His plenipotentiary extraordinary; that is, the one man
specifically sent to represent Him to the nation whose King He was.
Treatment of John was treatment of Jesus. A slight done him was slighting
his sovereign Master. If Sir Henry Mortimer Durand were to be slighted or
treated discourteously by the American authorities, it would be felt at
London as a slight upon the King, the government, and the nation they
represent. Any indignity permitted to be done on American soil to von
Stuckenburg would be instantly resented by Kaiser William as personal to
himself. John was Jesus' Durand, His von Stuckenburg, His Whitelaw Reid.
And no diplomat ever used more tactful language than this John when
questioned about his Master. In Jesus' own simile, John was His _best
man_. Jesus was a bridegroom. John stood by His side as His most intimate
friend.
Jesus and John are constantly interwoven in the events of Jesus' career.
We moderns, who do everything by the calendar, have been puzzled in the
attempt to piece together these events into an exact calendar arrangement.
And the beautiful mosaic of the Gospels has been cut up to make a new,
modern, calendar mosaic. But these writers see things by _events_, not by
_dates_. They have in mind four great events, and about these their story
clusters. And in these Jesus and John are inextricably interwoven. First
is John's wilderness ministry, heading up in his presenting Jesus to the
nation. Then John's violent seizure, and Jesus' withdrawal from the danger
zone. Then John's death, and Jesus' increased caution in His movements.
Then Jesus' death. John comes, points to Jesus, and goes. Jesus comes,
walks a bit with John, reaches beyond him and then goes, too.
John baptized. That is, he used a purifying rite in connection with his
preaching. It helps to remember the distinction between baptism as
practised in the Christian Church, and as practised by John, and by Jesus
in His early ministry. In the church, baptism has come to be regarded as a
dedicatory rite by some, and by others an initial and confessional rite.
But in the first use of it, by John and Jesus, it was a purifying rite. It
was a confession too, but of sin, and the need of cleansing, not, as
later, of faith in a person, or a creed, although it did imply acceptance
of a man's leadership. To a Hebrew mind it was preaching by symbol as well
as by word. The official deputation sent from Jerusalem to look John up
asked why he should be using a purifying rite if he were neither the
Christ, nor Elijah, nor the prophet. They could understand the
appropriateness of either of these three persons using such a rite in
connection with his preaching as indicating the national need of
cleansing. And in the beginning Jesus for a time, through His disciples,
joined in John's plan of baptizing those who confessed sorrow for sin.
Jesus acknowledged John as His own representative, and honored him as
such, from first to last. He gives him the strongest approval and backing.
The national treatment of John always affects Jesus' movements. When,
toward the close, His authority is challenged, He at once calls attention
to the evident authority of His forerunner and refuses to go farther.
A trace of that ominous, puzzling foreboding noticed in the Old Testament
vision of the coming One creeps in here. Pointing to Jesus, John says,
"Behold the lamb of God, who beareth (away) the sin of the world." Why did
John say that? _We_ read his words backward in the light of Calvary. But
_he_ could not do that, and did not. He knew only a _King_ coming. Why?
Even as Isaiah fifty-third, and Psalm twenty-second were written, the
writers there, the speaker here, impelled to an utterance, the meaning of
which, was not clear to themselves.
This relation and intimacy between these two, John and Jesus, must be
steadily kept in mind.
<u>The Contemptuous Rejection.</u>
From the very first, though Jesus was _accepted by individuals_ of every
class, _He was rejected by the nation_. This is the twin-fact standing out
in boldest outline through the Gospel stories. The nation's rejection
began with the formal presentation of Him to it by John. First was the
simple refusal to accept, then the decision to reject, then the
determination that everybody else should reject too. First, that He should
not be admitted to their circle, then that He should be kept out of their
circle, and then that He should be kept out of every circle. There are
these three distinct stages in the rejection from the Jordan waters to the
Calvary Hill.
First came _the contemptuous rejection_. John was a great man. Made of the
same rugged stuff as the old prophets, he was more than they in being the
King's own messenger and herald. In his character he was great as the
greatest, though not as great in privilege as those living in the kingdom.
He preached and baptized. With glowing eyes of fire, deep-set under shaggy
brows, and plain vigorous speech which, if pricked, would ooze out red
life, he told of the sin that must be cleaned out as a preparation for the
coming One. And to all who would, he applied the cleansing rite.
He had great drawing power. Away from cultured Jerusalem on the hilltops
down to the river bottoms, and the stony barrens of the Jordan; from the
Judean hill country, away from the stately temple service with its music
and impressive ritual, to his simple open-air, plain, fervid preaching, he
drew men. All sorts came, the proud Pharisee, the cynical Sadducee, the
soldiers, the publicans, farmers, shepherds, tradespeople--all came. His
daily gatherings represented the whole people. The nation came to his
call. It was the unconscious testimony of the nation to his rugged
greatness and to his divine mission. They were impelled to come, and
listen, and do, and questioningly wonder if this can be the promised
national leader.
One day a committee came from the Jewish Senate to make official inquiry
as to who he claimed to be. With critical, captious questions they demand
his authority. True to his mission and his Master, he said, "I am not
_the_ One, but sent to tell you that He's coming, and so near that it's
time to get ready." Then the next day, as Jesus walks quietly through the
crowd, probably just back from the wilderness, he finishes his reply to
the deputation. With glowing eyes intently riveted upon Jesus, and finger
pointing, before the alert eyes of his hundreds of hearers--Pharisees,
Sadducees, official committee, Roman soldiers, and common folk--he said in
clear, ringing tones, "_That is He: the coming One!_"
No more dramatic, impressive presentation could have been made of Jesus to
the nation. To their Oriental minds it would be peculiarly significant,
Mark keenly the result. On the part of the leaders _utter silence_ There
could be no more cutting expression of their contempt. With eyebrows
uplifted, eyes coldly questioning, their lips slightly curling, or held
close together and pursed out, and shoulders shrugging, their contempt,
utter disgusted contempt, could not be more loudly expressed. If they had
had the least disposition to believe John's words about Jesus, even so far
as to _investigate_ patiently and thoroughly, how different would their
conduct have been! But--only silence. And silence long continued. Jesus
gave them plenty of time before the next step was taken. No silence ever
spoke in louder voice. That same day five thoughtful men of that same
throng _did_ investigate, and were satisfied, and gave at once loyal,
loving allegiance.
A few months later, the Passover Feast drew crowds from everywhere to
Jerusalem. Jesus coming into the temple areas, with the crowds, one day,
is struck at once with the strange scene. Instead of reverent, holy quiet,
as worshippers approached the dwelling-place of God, with their offerings
of penitence and worship, the busy bustle of a market-place greets His
ears. The noise of cattle and sheep being driven here and there, the
pavement like an unkempt barnyard, loud, discordant voices of men handling
the beasts and bargaining over exchange rates at the brokers'
tables--strange scene. Is it surprising that His ear and eye and heart,
perhaps fresh from a bit of quiet morning talk with His Father, were
shocked? Here, where everything should have called to devotion, everything
_jarred_.
Quietly and quickly putting some bits of knotted string together, He
started the stock out, doubtless against the protests of the keepers. With
flashing light out of those keen eyes, He tipped over the tables, spilling
out their precious greedy coins, and ordered the crates of pigeons
removed. But all with no suggestion of any violence used toward anybody.
Reluctantly, perhaps angrily, wholly against their plans and wishes, the
crowd, impelled by _something_ in this unknown Man, with no outer evidence
of authority, goes. It is a remarkable tribute, both to the power of His
personal presence and to His executive faculty.
Of course the thing made trouble. It was the talk of the town, and of all
the foreigners for days after. The leaders were aroused and angered,
deeply angered. This stranger had kicked up a pretty muss with His
inconvenient earnestness and inconsiderate quoting of Scripture. It was a
practical assumption of superior authority over them. It was an assumption
of the truth of John's ignored claim that He was the promised King.
Was not this arrangement in the temple area a great convenience for the
many strangers, who were their brothers and guests; a real kindly act of
hospitality? Yes--and was it not, too, a finely organized bit of business
for profiting by these strangers, a using of their proper authority over
the temple territory to transfer their brothers' foreign coins safely over
to their own purses? Aye, it was a transmuting of their holy offices into
gold by the alchemy of their coarse, greedy touch.
Jesus' conduct was the keenest sort of criticism of these rulers, before
the eyes of the nation and of the thousands of pilgrims present. These
leaders never forgave this humiliating rebuke of themselves. It made their
nerves raw to His touch ever after. Here is the real reason of all their
after bitter dislike. They had a sensitive pocket-nerve. It was a sort of
pneumogastric nerve so close did it come to their lives. Jesus touched it
roughly. It never quit aching. Scratch all their later charges against Him
and under all is this sore spot. The tree of the cross began growing its
wood that day. Their hot, captious demand for authority, meant as much for
the ears of the crowd as for His, brought from Jesus, who read His future
in their hearts, a reply which they could not understand. They asked their
question for the crowd to hear, He replied for His disciples to remember
in the after years. There could be no evidence of authority more
significant than this temple incident.
His first public work was done at this time. The great throng of pilgrims
from around the world, attracted to Him by this simple daring act of
leadership, witnessed a group of mighty acts during these Passover days.
The angry leaders had critically asked for "signs" of His authority. He
gave them in abundance, not in response to their captious demand, but
doubtless, as always, in response to pressing human needs. The result was
that many persons accepted Him, but the nation in its rulers, maintained
their attitude of angered, contemptuous silence. But underneath that
surface the pot is beginning to boil.
Of all the members of the national Senate, one, _just one_, comes to make
personal inquiry, and sift this man's claim sincerely and candidly. And
he, be it marked, chooses a darkened hour for that visit. That night hour
speaks volumes of the smouldering passion under their contempt. That Jesus
recognized fully their attitude and just what it meant comes out in that
quiet evening talk. To that sincere inquirer, He frankly Jays, "You people
won't receive the witness that John and I have brought you." He was
pleading before a court that stubbornly refuses testimony of fact. And to
this honest seeker, whom we must all love for his sincerity, He reveals
His inner consciousness of a tragic break coming, with a pleading word for
personal trust, and a saddened "men love darkness."
With the going away of the Passover crowds, Jesus leaves the national
capital, and assists in the sort of work John was doing. His power to draw
men, and men's eagerness for Him, stand out sharply at once. John had
drawn great crowds of all classes. Jesus drew greater crowds. Multitudes
eagerly accepted John's teaching and accepted baptism from him. As it
turned out, greater multitudes of people, under the very eyes of these
ignoring, contemptuous leaders, accepted Jesus' leadership. John baptized.
Jesus baptized through His disciples. These leaders in their questioning
of John had tacitly acknowledged the propriety of "the Christ" using such
a rite. Jesus follows the line of least resistance, and fitted into the
one phase of His work which they had recognized as proper.
The pitiable fact stands out that the only result with _them_ is a wordy
strife about the relative success of these two, Jesus and John. The most
that their minds, steeped in jealousies and rivalries, ever watching with
badger eyes to undercut some one else, could see, was a rivalry between
these two men. John's instant open-hearted disclaimer made no impression
upon them. They seemed not impressionable to such disinterested loyalty.
A little later, probably not much, John's ruggedly honest preaching
against sin came too close home to suit Herod. He promptly shuts up the
preacher in prison, with no protest from the nation's leaders. These
leaders had developed peculiar power in influencing their civil rulers by
the strenuousness of their protests. That they permitted the imprisonment
of John with no word of protest, was a tacit throwing overboard of John's
own claims, of John's claims for Jesus, and of Jesus' own claim.
Here is the first sharp crisis. From the first, the circle of national
leaders characterized by John, the writer of the Gospel, as "the Jews,"
including the inner clique of chief priests and the Pharisees, ignored
Jesus; with silent contempt, coldly, severely ignored. This was before the
temple-cleansing affair. That intensified their attitude toward the next
stage. They had to proceed cautiously, because the crowd was with Jesus.
And full well these keen leaders knew the ticklishness of handling a
fanatical Oriental mob, as subsequent events showed. Now John is
imprisoned, with the consent of these leaders, possibly through their
connivance.
Jesus keenly and quickly grasps the situation. First ignored, then made
the subject of evil gossip, the temple clash, and now His closest friend
subjected to violence, His own rejection is painfully evident. He makes a
number of radical changes. His _place_ of activity is changed to a
neighboring province under different civil rule; His _method_, to
preaching from place to place; His _purpose_, to working with
_individuals_. There's a peculiar word used here by Matthew to tell of
Jesus' departure from Judea to a province under a different civil ruler;
"He _withdrew_." The word used implies going away because of danger
threatening. We will run across it again and each time at a crisis point.
The leaders refused Jesus because He was not duly labelled. It seems to be
a prevailing characteristic to want men labelled, especially a
characteristic of those who make the labels. There is always an eager
desire regarding a stranger to learn whom he represents, who have put
their stamp upon him and accepted him. And if the label is satisfactory,
he is acccepted in the degree in which the label is accepted. Others are
marked with a large interrogation point. Inherent worth has a slow time.
But sure? Yes, but slow. Jesus bore no label whose words they could spell
out or wanted to. They were a bit rusty in the language of worth. How
knoweth this man letters, having never learned! He seems to know, to know
surprisingly well. He seems keenly versed in the law, able quickly to turn
the tables upon their catch questions. But then it can't be the real
article of learning, because He hasn't been in our established schools. He
has no sheepskin in a dead language with our learned doctors' names
learnedly inscribed. How indeed! An upstart!!
Yet always to the earnest, sincere inquirer there was authority enough. In
His acts, an open-minded doctor of the law could read the stamp of God's
approval. The ear open to learn, not waxed up by self-seeking plans, or
filled with gold dust, heard the voice of divine approval out of the
clouds, or in His presence and acts.
<u>The Aggressive Rejection.</u>
Then came the second stage, _the aggressive rejection._ This is the
plotting stage. Their hot passion is cooling now into a hardening purpose.
This has been shaping itself under the surface for months. Now it is open.
This was a crowded year for Jesus, and a year of crowds. The Galileans
had been in His southern audiences many a time and seen His miracles. The
news of His coming up north to their country swiftly spread everywhere.
The throngs are so great that the towns and villages are blockaded, and
Jesus has recourse to the fields, where the people gather in untold
thousands.
An ominous incident occurs at the very beginning of this Galilean work. It
is a fine touch of character that Jesus at once pays a visit to His home
village. One always thinks more of Him for that. He never forgot the home
folk. The synagogue service on the Sabbath day gathers the villagers
together. Jesus takes the teacher's place, and reads, from Isaiah, a bit
of the prophecy of the coming One. Then with a rare graciousness and
winsomeness that wins all hearts, and fastens every eye upon Himself, He
begins talking of the fulfilment of that word in Himself.
Then there comes a strange, quick revulsion of feeling. Had some
Jerusalem spy gotten in and begun his poisoning work already? Eyes begin
to harden and jaws become set. "Why, that is the man that made our
cattle-yoke."--"Yes, and fixed our kitchen table."--"He--the Messiah!"
Then words of rebuke gently spoken, but with truth's razor edge. Then a
hot burst of passion, and He is hustled out to the jagged edge of the hill
to be thrown over. Then that wondrous presence awing them back, as their
hooked hands lose hold, and their eyes again fasten with wonder, and He
passed quietly on His way undisturbed. Surely that was the best evidence
of the truth of His despised word.
Seven outstanding incidents here reveal the ever-hardening purpose of the
leaders against Jesus. First comes another clash in the temple. Their
ideas of what was proper on the Sabbath day receive a shock because a man
enslaved by disease for years was healed with a word from Jesus' lips.
Could there be a finer use of a Sabbath day! We can either think them
really shocked, or hunting for a religious chance to fight Him. Jesus'
reply seems so to enrage that a passion to kill Him grips them. It is
notable that they had no doubt of the extent of Jesus' claim; "He called
God His own Father, making Himself equal with God." On these two things,
His use of the Sabbath, and His claim of divinity, is based the aggressive
campaign begun that day.
The incident draws from Him the marvellous words preserved by John in his
fifth chapter. In support of His claim He quietly brings forward five
witnesses, John His herald, His own miraculous acts, His Father, the
Scriptures entrusted to their care, and Moses, the founder of the nation.
That was a great line of testimony. This first thought of killing Him
seems to have been a burst of hot, passionate rage, but gradually we shall
find it cooled into a hardened, deliberate purpose.
At once Jesus returns to the northern province. And now they begin to
follow Him up, and spy upon His movements and words. In Capernaum, His
northern headquarters, a man apparently at unrest in soul about his sins,
and palsied in body, is first assured of forgiveness, and then made bodily
whole. Their criticism of His forgiving sins is silenced by the power
evidenced in the bodily healing. But their plan of campaign is now begun
in earnest, and is evident at once. Later criticism of His personal
conduct and habits with the despised classes is mingled with an attempt to
work upon His disciples and undermine their loyalty. The Sabbath question
comes up again through the disciples satisfying their hunger in the grain
fields, and brings from Jesus the keen comment that man wasn't made for
the Sabbath, but to be helped through that day, and then the statement
that must have angered them further that He was "Lord of the Sabbath."
Another Sabbath day in the synagogue they were on hand to see if He would
heal a certain man with a whithered hand whom they had gotten track of,
"that they might accuse Him." They were spying out evidence for the use of
the Jerusalem leaders. To His grief they harden their hearts against His
plea for saving a _man_, a _life_, as against a tradition. And as the man
with full heart and full eyes finds his chance of earning a living
restored, they rush out, and with the fire spitting from their eyes, and
teeth gritting, they plan to get their political enemies, the Herodians,
to help them kill Jesus. A number of these incidents give rise to these
passionate outbursts to kill, which seem to cool off, but to leave the
remnants that hardened into the cool purpose most to be dreaded.
A second time occurs that significant word, "withdrew." Jesus withdrew to
the sea, followed by a remarkable multitude of Galileans, and others from
such distant points as Tyre and Sidon on the north, Idumea on the extreme
south, beyond the Jordan on the east, and from Jerusalem. He was safe with
this sympathizing crowd.
The crowds were so great, and the days so crowded, that Jesus' very eating
was interfered with. His friends remonstrate, and even think Him unduly
swayed by holy enthusiasm. But it is a man come down from Jerusalem who
spread freely among the crowds the ugly charge that He was in league with
the devil, possessed by an _unclean_ spirit, and that that explained His
strange power. No uglier charge could be made. It reveals keenly the
desperate purpose of the Jerusalem leaders. Clearly it was made to
influence the crowds. They were panic-stricken over these crowds. What
could He not do with such a backing, if He chose! Such a rumor would
Spread like wildfire. Jesus shows His leadership. He at once calls the
crowds about Him, speaks openly of the charge, and refutes it, showing the
evident absurdity of it.
Then a strange occurrence takes place. While He is teaching a great crowd
one day, there is an interruption in the midst of His speaking Oddly, it
comes from His mother and her other sons. They send in a message asking
to see Him at once. This seems very strange. It would seem probable from
the narrative that they had access to Him constantly. Why this sudden
desire by the one closest to Him by natural ties to break into His very
speaking for a special interview? Had these Jerusalem men been working
upon the fears of her mother heart for the safety of her Son? She would
use her influence to save Him from possible danger threatening? There is
much in the incident to give color to such a supposition. Perhaps a man of
such fineness as He could be checked back by consideration for His
mother's feelings. They were quite capable of pulling any wire to shut Him
up, however ignorant they showed themselves of the simple sturdiness of
true character. But the same man who so tenderly provides for His mother
in the awful pain of hanging on a cross reminds her now that a divine
errand is not to be hindered by nature's ties; that clear vision of duty
must ever hold the reins of the heart.
Then comes the most terrible, and most significant event, up to this time,
in the whole gospel narrative--the murder of John. This marks the sharpest
crisis yet reached. For a year or so John had been kept shut up in a
prison dungeon, evidence of his own faithfulness, and of the low moral
tone, or absence of moral tone, of the time. Then one night there is a
prolonged, debased debauchery in a magnificent palace; the cunning, cruel
scheme of the woman whose wrong relation to Herod John had honestly
condemned. The dancing young princess, the drunken oath, the terrible
request, the glowing-coal eyes closed, the tongue that held crowds with
its message of sin, and of the coming One stilled, the King's herald
headless--the whole horrible, nightmare story comes with the swiftness of
aroused passion, the suddenness of a lightning flash, the cold cruelty of
indulged lust.
Instantly on getting the news Jesus "_withdrew_"--for the third time
withdrew to a retired desert place. This had tremendous personal meaning
for Him. Nothing has occurred thus far that spells out for Him the coming
tragic close so large, so terribly large, as does this. He stays away from
the Passover Feast occurring at this time, the only one of the four of His
public career He failed to attend.
<u>The Murderous Rejection.</u>
This crisis leads at once into the final stage, _the murderous rejection_.
Jesus is now a fugitive from the province of Judea, because the death plot
has been deliberately settled upon. The southern leaders begin a more
vigorous campaign of harrying Him up in Galilee. A fresh deputation of
Pharisees come up from Jerusalem to press the fighting. They at once bring
a charge against Jesus' disciples of being untrue to the time-honored
traditions of the national religion. Yet it is found to be regarding such
trivial things as washing their hands and arms clear up to the elbows each
time before eating, and of washing of cups and pots and the like. Jesus
sharply calls attention to their hypocrisy and cant, by speaking of their
dishonoring teachings and practices in matters of serious moment. Then He
calls the crowd together and talks on the importance of being clean
_inside_, in the heart and thought. Before all the crowds He calls them
hypocrites. It's a sharp clash and break. Jesus at once "withdrew." It is
the fourth time that significant danger word is used. This time His
withdrawal is clear out of the Jewish territory, far up north to the
vicinity of Tyre and Sidon, on the seacoast, and there He attempts to
remain unknown.
After a bit He returns again, this time by a round-about way, to the Sea
of Galilee. Quickly the crowds find out His presence and come; and again
many a life and many a home are utterly changed by His touch. With the
crowd come the Pharisees, this time in partnership with another group, the
Sadducees, whom they did not love especially. They hypocritically beg a
sign from heaven, as though eager to follow a divinely sent messenger. But
He quickly discerns their purpose to _tempt_ Him into something that can
be used against Him. The sign is refused. Jesus never used His power to
show that He could, but only to help somebody.
The fall of that year found Him boldly returning to the danger zone of
Jerusalem for attendance on the harvest-home festival called by them the
Feast of Tabernacles. It was the most largely attended of the three annual
gatherings, attracting thousands of faithful Jews from all parts of the
world. The one topic of talk among the crowds was Jesus, with varying
opinions expressed; but those favorable to Him were awed by the keen
purpose of the leaders to kill Him. When the festival was in full swing,
one morning, Jesus quietly appears among the temple crowds, and begins
teaching. The leaders tried to arrest Him, but are held back by some
hidden influence, nobody seeming willing to take the lead. Then the clique
of chief priests send officers to arrest Him. But they are so impressed by
His presence and His words, that they come back empty-handed, to the
disgust of their superiors. Great numbers listening believe on Him, but
some of the leaders, mingling in the crowd, stir up discussion so sharp
that with hot passion, and eyes splashing green light, they stoop down and
pick up stones to hurl at Him and end His life at once. It is the first
attempt at personal violence in Jerusalem. But again that strange
restraining power, and Jesus passes out untouched.
As he quietly passes through and out, He stops to give sight to a blind
man. Interestingly enough it occurs on a Sabbath day. Instantly the
leaders seize on this, and have a time of it with the man and his parents
in turn, with this upshot, that the man for his bold confession of faith
in Jesus is shut out from all synagogue privileges, in accordance with a
decision already given out. He becomes an outcast, with all that that
means. It's a fine touch that Jesus hunts up this outcast and gives him a
free entrance into His own circle.
After this feast-visit to Jerusalem, Jesus probably returns to Galilee, as
after previous visits there, and then one day leads His band of disciples
up to the neighborhood of snow-capped Hermon. Here probably occurs the
transfiguration, the purpose of which was to tie up these future leaders
of His, against the events now hurrying on with such swift pace. From this
time begins the preparation of this inner circle for the coming tragedy so
plain to His eyes.
Then begins that memorable last journey from Galilee toward Jerusalem
through the country on the east of the Jordan. With marvellous boldness
and courage He steadfastly set His face toward Jerusalem. The
ever-tightening grip of His purpose is in the set of His face. The fire
burning so intensely within is in His eye as He tramps along the road
alone, with the disciples following, awestruck and filled with wondering
fear. Thirty-five deputations of two each are sent ahead into all the
villages to be visited by Him. What an intense campaigner was Jesus! He
was thoroughly, systematically stumping the whole country for God.
As He approaches nearer to the Jerusalem section the air gets tenser and
hotter. The leaders are constantly harrying His steps, tempting with catch
questions, seeking signs, poisoning the crowds--mosquito warfare! He moves
steadily, calmly on. Some of the keenest things He said flashed out
through the friction of contact with them. A tempting lawyer's question
brings out the beautiful Samaritan parable. The old Sabbath question
provokes a fresh tilt with a synagogue ruler. There is a cunning attempt
by the Pharisees to get Him out of Herod's territory into their own. How
intense the situation grew is graphically told in Luke's words, they
"began to set themselves vehemently against Him, and to provoke Him to
speak many things; laying wait for Him to catch something out of His
mouth."
Though unmoved by the cunning effort of the Pharisees to get Him over from
Herod's jurisdiction into Judea, despite their threatening attitude, the
winter Feast of Dedication finds Him again in Jerusalem walking in one of
the temple areas. Instantly He is surrounded by a group of these Jerusalem
Jews who, with an air of apparent earnest inquiry, keep prodding Him with
the request to be told plainly if He is really the Christ. His patient
reply brings a storm of stones--almost. Held in check for a while by an
invisible power, or by the power of His presence shown under such
circumstances so often, again they attempt to seize His person, and again
He seems invisibly to hold their hands back, as He quietly passes on His
way out of their midst.
Then comes the stupendous raising of Lazarus, which brings faith in Him to
great numbers, and results in the formal official decision of the national
council to secure His death. He is declared a fugitive with a price set
upon His head. Anybody knowing of His whereabouts must report the fact to
the authorities. This decides Him not to show Himself openly among them.
In a few weeks the pilgrims are crowding Jerusalem for the Passover.
Jesus' name is on every tongue. The rumor that He was over the hills in
Bethany takes a crowd over there, not simply to see Him, but to see the
resurrected Lazarus. Then it was determined to kill Lazarus off, too.
That tremendous last week now begins. Jesus is seen to be the one masterly
figure in the week's events. In comparison with His calm steady movements,
these leaders run scurrying around, here and there, like headless hens.
The week begins with the most public, formal presentation of Himself in a
kingly fashion to the nation. It is their last chance. How wondrously
patient and considerate is this Jesus! And how sublimely heroic! Into the
midst of those men ravenous for His blood He comes. Seated with fine,
unconscious majesty on a kingly beast, surrounded by ever-increasing
multitudes loudly singing and speaking praises to God, over paths
bestrewed with garments and branches of living green, slowly He mounts the
hill road toward the city. At a turn in the road all of a sudden the city
lies spread out before Him. "He saw the city and wept over it."
"He sat upon the ass's colt and rode
Toward Jerusalem. Beside Him walked
Closely and silently the faithful twelve,
And on before Him went a multitude
Shouting hosannas, and with eager hands
Strewing their garments thickly in the way.
Th' unbroken foal beneath Him gently stepped,
Tame as its patient dam; and as the song
Of 'Welcome to the Son of David' burst
Forth from a thousand children, and the leaves
Of the waving branches touched its silken ears,
It turned its wild eye for a moment back,
And then, subdued by an invisible hand,
Meekly trod onward with its slender feet.
"The dew's last sparkle from the grass had gone
As He rode up Mount Olivet. The woods
Threw their cool shadows directly to the west;
And the light foal, with quick and toiling step,
And head bent low, kept up its unslackened way
Till its soft mane was lifted by the wind
Sent o'er the mount from Jordan. As He reached
The summit's breezy pitch, the Saviour raised
His calm blue eye--there stood Jerusalem!
Eagerly He bent forward, and beneath
His mantle's passive folds a bolder line
Than the wont slightness of His perfect limbs
Betrayed the swelling fulness of His heart.
There stood Jerusalem! How fair she looked--
The silver sun on all her palaces,
And her fair daughters 'mid the golden spires
Tending their terrace flowers; and Kedron's stream
Lacing the meadows with its silver band
And wreathing its mist-mantle on the sky
With the morn's exhalation. There she stood,
Jerusalem, the city of His love,
Chosen from all the earth: Jerusalem,
That knew Him not, and had rejected Him;
Jerusalem for whom He came to die!
"The shouts redoubled from a thousand lips
At the fair sight; the children leaped and sang
Louder hosannas; the clear air was filled
With odor from the trampled olive leaves
But 'Jesus wept!' The loved disciple saw
His Master's tear, and closer to His side
He came with yearning looks, and on his neck
The Saviour leaned with heavenly tenderness,
And mourned, 'How oft, Jerusalem! would I
Have gathered you, as gathereth a hen
Her brood beneath her wings--but ye would not!'
"He thought not of the death that He should die--
He thought not of the thorns He knew must pierce
His forehead--of the buffet on the cheek--
The scourge, the mocking homage, the foul scorn!
"Gethsemane stood out beneath His eye
Clear in the morning sun; and there, He knew,
While they who 'could not watch with Him one hour'
Were sleeping, He should sweat great drops of blood,
Praying the cup might pass! And Golgotha
Stood bare and desert by the city wall;
And in its midst, to His prophetic eye
Rose the rough cross, and its keen agonies
Were numbered all--the nails were in His feet--
Th' insulting sponge was pressing on His lips--
The blood and water gushed from His side--
The dizzy faintness swimming in His brain--
And, while His own disciples fled in fear,
A world's death agonies all mixed in His!
Ah!--He forgot all this. He only saw
Jerusalem--the chosen--the loved--the lost!
He only felt that for her sake His life
Was vainly given, and in His pitying love
The sufferings that would clothe the heavens in black
Were quite forgotten.
"Was there ever love,
In earth or heaven, equal to this?"[5]
And so the King entered His capital. It was a royal procession. Mark
keenly the result. Again that utter, ominous, loud silence, that greeted
His ears first, more than three years before. He had come to His own home.
His own kinsfolk received Him not!
Then each day He came to the city, and each night, homeless, slept out in
the open, under the trees of Olivet, and the blue. Now, He rudely shocks
them by clearing the temple areas of the market-place rabble and babble,
and now He is healing the lame and maimed in the temple itself, amid the
reverent praise of the multitude, the songs of the children, and the
scowling, muttered protests of the chief priests. Calmly, day by day, He
moves among them, while their itching fingers vainly clutch for a hold
upon Him, and as surely are held back by some invisible force. By every
subtle device known to cunning, crafty men, they lay question-traps, and
lie in wait to catch His word. He foils them with His marvellous, simple
answers, lashes them with His keen, cutting parables and finally Himself
proposes a question about their own scriptures which they admit themselves
unable to answer, and, utterly defeated, ask no more questions. Then
follows that most terrific arraignment of these leaders, with its
infinitely tender, sad, closing lament over Jerusalem. That is the final
break.
Then occurs that pathetic Greek incident that seems to agitate Jesus so.
This group of earnest seekers, from the outside, non-Jewish world brings
to Jesus a vision of the great hungry heart of the world, and of an
open-mindedness to truth such as was to Him these days as a cool,
refreshing drink to a dusty mouth on a dry hot day. But--no--the Father's
will--simple obedience--only that was right. The harvest can come only
through the grain giving out its life in the cold ground.
Before the final act in the tragedy Jesus retires from sight, probably for
prayer. Some dear friends of Bethany in whose home He had rested many a
time, where He ever found sweet-sympathy, arranged a little home-feast for
Him where a few congenial friends might gather. While seated there in the
quiet atmosphere of love and fellowship so grateful to Him after those
Jerusalem days, one of the friends present, a woman, Mary, takes a box of
exceeding costly ointment, and anoints His head. To the strange protests
made, Jesus quietly explains her thought in the act. She alone understood
what was coming. Alone of all others it was a woman, the simple-hearted
Bethany Mary, who _understood_ Jesus. As none other did she perceive with
her keen love-eyes the coming death, and--more--its meaning.
It is one of the disciples, Judas, who protests indignantly against such
_waste_. This ointment would have brought at least seventy-five dollars,
and how much such a sum would have done for the _poor_! Thoughtless,
improvident woman! Strange the word didn't blister on his canting lips.
John keenly sees that his fingers are clutching the treasure bag as he
speaks the word, and that his thoughts are far from the poor. Jesus gently
rebukes Judas. But Judas is hot tempered, and sullenly watches for the
first chance to withdraw and carry out the damnable purpose that has been
forming within. He hurries over the hill, through the city gate, up to the
palace of the chief priest.
Within there was a company of the inner clique of the leaders, discussing
how to get hold of Jesus most easily. They sit heavily in their seats,
with shut fists, set jaws, and that peculiar yellow-green light spitting
out from under their lowering, knit brows. These bothersome crowds had to
be considered. The feast-day wouldn't do. The crowd would be greatest
then, and hardest to handle. Back and forth they brew their scheme. Then a
knock at the door. Startled, they look alertly up to know who this
intruder may be. The door is opened. In steps a man with a hangdog,
guilty, but determined look. It is one of the men they have seen with
Jesus! What can this mean? He glances furtively from one to another.
Then he speaks: "How much'll you give if I get Jesus into your hands?" Of
all things this was probably the last they had thought might happen. Their
eyes gleam. How much indeed--a good snug sum to get their fingers securely
on his person. But they're shrewd bargainers. That's one of their
specialties. How much did he _want_? Poor Judas! He made a bad bargain
that day. Thirty pieces of silver! He could easily have gotten a thousand.
Judas did love money greedily, and doubtless was a good bargainer too, but
anger was in the saddle now, and drove him hard. Without doubt it was in a
hot fit of temper that he made this proposal. His descendants have been
coining money out of Jesus right along: exchanging Him for gold.
Only a little later, and the Master is closeted with His inner circle in
the upper room of a faithful friend's house in one of the Jerusalem
streets, for the Passover supper. A word from Him and Judas withdraws for
his dark errand. Then those great heart-talks of Jesus, in the upper room,
along the roadway, under the full moon, maybe passing by the massive
temple structure, then under the olive trees. Then the hour grows late,
the disciples are drowsy, the Master is off alone among those trees, then
weird uncertain lights of torches, a rabble of soldiers and priests, a man
using friendship's cloak, and friendship's greeting--then the King is in
the hands of His enemies. An awful night, followed by a yet more awful
day, and the plan of the kingdom is broken by the tragic killing of the
King.
<u>Suffering the Birth-pains of a New Life.</u>
Why did Jesus die? It's a pretty old question. It's been threshed out no
end of times. Yet every time one thinks of the gospel, or opens the Book,
it looks out earnestly into his face. And nothing is better worth while
than to have another serious prayerful go at it. The whole nub of the
gospel is here. It clears the ground greatly not to have any theory about
Jesus' death, but simply to try thoughtfully to gather up all the
statements and group them, regardless of where it may lead, or how it may
knock out previous ideas.
It can be said at once that His dying was not God's own plan. It was a
plan conceived somewhere else, and yielded to by God. God had a plan of
atonement by which men who were willing could be saved from sin and its
effects. That plan is given in the old Hebrew code. To the tabernacle, or
temple, under prescribed regulations, a man could bring some live animal
which he owned. The man brought that which was his own. It represented
him. Through his labor the beast or bird was his. He had transferred some
of his life and strength into it. He identified himself with it further by
close touch at the time of its being offered. He offered up its life. In
his act he acknowledged that his own life was forfeited. In continuing to
live he acknowledged the continued life as belonging to God. He was to
live as belonging to another. He made, in effect, the statement made long
after by Paul: "I am offering up my life on this altar for my sin;
nevertheless I am living: yet the life I live is no longer mine, but
another's. Mine has been taken away by sin." There was no malice or evil
feeling in the man's act, but only penitence, and an earnest, noble
purpose.
The act revealed the man's inner spirit. It acknowledged his sin, that
life is forfeited by sin, his desire to have the sin difficulty
straightened out, and to be at one again with God. He expressed his hatred
of sin and his earnest desire to be free of it. I am not saying at all
that this was true of every Hebrew coming with his sacrifice. I may not
say it of all who approach God to day through Jesus. But clearly enough,
all of this is in the old Hebrew _plan_ devised by God. It was the new
choice that brought the man back to God, even as the first choice had
separated him from God. And the explicit statement made over and over is
this, "and it shall make atonement."
Clearly Jesus' dying does not in any way fit into the old Hebrew _form_ of
sacrifice, nor into the spirit of the man who caused the death of the
sacrifice, though in spirit, in requirement it far more than fills it out.
The Old Testament scheme is Jewish. The manner of Jesus' death is not
Jewish, but Roman. As a priest He was not of the Jewish order, but of an
order non-Jewish and antedating the other by hundreds of years. In no
feature does He fit into the old custom. But every truth taught by the old
is brilliantly exemplified and embodied in Him.
The epistle to the Hebrews was written to Jews who had become Christians,
but through persecution and great suffering were sorely tempted to go back
to the old Jewish faith. They seemed to be saying that Jesus filled out
neither the kingdom plan, nor the Mosaic scheme of sacrifice. The writer
of the epistle is showing with a masterly sweep and detail the immense
superiority of what Jesus did over the old Mosaic plan. Read backward,
these provisions are seen to be vivid illustrations of what Jesus did do,
not in form, not actually, but in fact, in spirit, in a way vastly ahead
of the Hebrew ritual. The truth underneath the old was fully fulfilled in
Jesus, though the form was not.
One needs always to keep sharply in mind the difference between God's
_plan_ and that which He clearly saw ahead, and into which He determined
to fit in carrying out His purpose. There is no clearer, stronger
statement of this than that found in Peter's Pentecost sermon: "Him being
delivered up by the determinate counsel and foreknowledge of God, ye by
the hands of men without law did crucify and slay." God knew ahead what
would come. There was a conference held. The whole matter talked over.
With full knowledge of the situation, the obstinate hatred of men, the
terrific suffering involved, it was calmly, resolutely advised and decided
upon that when the time came Jesus should yield Himself up pliantly into
their hands. That is Peter's statement.
This in no way affects the fact that Jesus dying as He did is the one
means of salvation. It does not at all disturb any of Paul's statements,
in their plainest, first-flush meaning. It does explain the kingdom plan,
and the necessity for Jesus finishing up the kingdom plan some day. For
though God's plan may be broken, and retarded, it always is carried
through in the end. It explains too that evil is never necessary to good.
Hatred, evil never helps God's plans. The good that God brought out of the
cross is not through the bad, but in spite of the bad.
The preaching of the Acts is absorbed with the astounding, overshadowing,
appalling fact of the killing of the nation's King. But through it all
runs this strain of reasoning: the kingdom plan has been broken by the
murder of the King. He has been raised from the dead in vindication of His
claim. This marvellous power that is so evident to all eyes and ears is
the Holy Spirit whom the killed King has sent down. It proves that He is
now enthroned in glory at God's right hand. He is coming back to carry out
the kingdom plan. Now the thing to do is to repent, and so there will come
blessing now, and by and by the King again.
When the first church council is held to discuss the matter of letting
non-Jewish outsiders into their circle, the clear-headed,
judicial-tempered James, in the presiding chair, puts the thing straight.
He says: "Peter has fully told us how God _first_ visited the outside
nations to take out of them a people for Himself. And this fits into the
prophetic plan as outlined by Amos, that _after_ that the kingdom will be
set up and then _all_ men will come."
This brings out in bold relief the fact that the _horrible_ features of
Jesus' dying, the hatred and cruelty, were no part of the plan of
salvation, and not necessary to the plan. The cross was the invention of
hate. There is no cross in God's plan of atonement. It is the superlative
degree of hate, brooded and born, and grown lusty in hell. It was God's
master touch that, through yielding, it _becomes_ to all men for all time
the superlative degree of love. The ages have softened all its sharp
jagged edges with a halo of glory.
It is perfectly clear, too, that Jesus died of His own accord. He chose
the _time_ of His death and the _manner_ of it. He had said it was purely
voluntary on His part, and the record plainly shows that it was. All
attempts to kill Him failed until He chose to yield. There are ten
separate mentions of their effort, either to get hold of His person or to
kill Him at once before they finally succeeded. He was killed _in intent_
at least three times, once by being dashed over a precipice, and twice by
stoning, before He was actually killed by crucifixion. Each time
surrounded by a hostile crowd, apparently quite capable of doing as they
pleased, yet each time He passes through their midst, and their hooked
fingers are restrained against their will, and their gnashing teeth bite
only upon the spittle of their hate.
This makes Jesus' _motive_ in yielding explain His death. The cross means
just what His purpose in dying puts into it. If we read the facts of the
gospel stories apart from Jesus' words, the cross spells out just one
word--in large, pot-black capitals--HATE.
What was Jesus' motive or purpose in dying? His own words give the best
answer. The earlier remarks are obscure to those who heard, not
understood. And we can understand that they could not. At the first
Passover He speaks of their destroying "this temple," and His raising it
in three days. Naturally they think of the building of stone, but He is
thinking of His body. To Nicodemus He says that the Son of Man must "be
_lifted up_": and to some critics that when the "bridegroom" is "taken
away" there will be fasting among His followers.
Later, He speaks much more plainly. After John has gone home by way of
Herod's red road, at the time of the feeding of the 5,000 there is the
discussion about bread, and the true bread. Jesus speaks a word that
perplexes the crowd much, and yet He goes on to explain just what He
means. It is in John, sixth chapter, verses fifty-three to fifty-seven
inclusive, He says that if a man eat His flesh and drink His blood he
shall have eternal life. The listening crowd takes the words literally and
of course is perplexed. Clearly enough it is not meant to be taken
literally. Read in the light of the after events it is seen to be an
allusion to His coming death. Such a thing as actually eating His flesh
and drinking His blood would necessitate His death.
We men are under doom of death written in our very bodies, assured to us
by the unchangeable fact of bodily death. Now if a man take Jesus into his
very being so that they become one in effect, then clearly if Jesus die
the man is freed from the necessity of dying. Through Jesus dying there is
for such a man _life_. That is the statement Jesus makes.
In five distinct sentences He attempts to make His meaning simple and
clear. The first sentence puts the _negative_ side: there is no life
without Jesus being taken into one's being. Then the positive side:
through this sort of eating there is _life_. And with this is coupled the
inferential statement that they are not to be spared _bodily_ death,
because they are to be _raised up_. The third sentence, that Jesus is the
one true food of real life. The fourth sentence gives a parallel or
interchangeable phrase for eating and drinking, _i.e._, "_abideth_ in me
and I in Him." A mutual abiding in each other. The food abides in the man
eating it. The man abides in the strength of the food He has taken in.
Eating My flesh means abiding in Me. The last sentence gives an
illustration. This living in Jesus, having Him live in us as closely as
though actually eaten, is the same as Jesus' own life on earth being lived
in His Father, dependent upon the Father. And when the crowds take His
words literally and complain that none can understand such statements, He
at once explains that, of course, He does not mean literal eating--"The
flesh profiteth nothing" (even if you did eat it): "it is the _Spirit_
that gives life:" "the _words_ ... are _Spirit_ and _life_." The taking
of Jesus through His words into one's life to dominate--that is the
meaning.
A few months later, in Jerusalem, He speaks again of His purpose, in
John's tenth chapter, "The good shepherd layeth down His life for the
sheep." "I lay down my life for the sheep." The death was for others
because of threatening danger. "Other sheep I have which are not of this
fold: them also I must lead." Here is clear foresight of the wide sweep of
influence through His death. "I lay down my life that I may take it
again." The death was _one step_ in a plan. There is something beyond. "I
lay it down of myself. I have the right to lay it down, and I have the
right to take it again. This commandment I received from my Father." The
dying was voluntary and was agreed to between the Father and Himself. To
the disciples He speaks of the need of taking up a "cross" in order to be
followers, and to the critical Pharisee asking a sign, He alludes to
Jonah's three days and nights in the belly of the sea monster. Neither of
these allusions conveyed any definite idea to those listening.
Then the last week when the Greeks came; "Except a grain of wheat fall
into the earth and die, it abideth by itself alone; but if it die, it
beareth much fruit." The dying was to have great influence upon others.
"And I if I be lifted up from the earth will draw all men unto myself."
The dying was to be _for others_, and to exert tremendous influence upon
the whole race.
In that last long talk with the eleven, "that the world may know that I
love the Father and as the Father gave me commandment even so I do." The
dying was in obedience to His Father's wish, and was to let men know of
the great love between Father and Son. "Greater love hath no man than
this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." This dying was for
these friends. And in that great prayer that lays His heart bare, "for
their sakes I sanctify myself that they also may be sanctified in truth."
The dying is _for others_, and is for the securing in these others of a
certain spirit or character. The reference to the dying being in accord
with the Father's wish comes out again at the arrest, "The cup that the
Father hath given me, shall I not drink it?"
To these quotations from Jesus' lips may be added a significant one from
the man who stood closest to Jesus. Referring to a statement about Jesus
made by Caiaphas, John adds: "being high priest that year he prophesied
that Jesus should die for the nation; and not for the nation only, but
that He might gather together into one the children of God that are
scattered abroad." As John understood the matter, the death was not simply
for others, but for the _Jewish nation_ as a nation, and beyond that for a
gathering into one of _all_ of God's children. Jesus was to be God's
magnet for attracting together all that belong to Him. The death was to be
a roadway through to something beyond.
From His own words, then, Jesus saw a _necessity_ for His dying. He
"must" be lifted up. That "must" spells out the desperateness of the need
and the strength of His love. Sin contains in itself death for man as a
logical result. And by death is not meant the passing of life out of the
body. That is a mere incident of death. Death is separation from God. It
is gradual until finally complete. Love would plan nothing less radical
than a death that would be for man the death of death. His death was to be
_for others_, it was purely _voluntary_, it was by agreement with His
Father, in obedience to His wishes, and an evidence of His filial love.
The death is a step in a plan. There is something beyond, growing out of
the death.
Jesus plans not merely a transfer of the death item, but a _new_ life, a
new _sort_ of life, in its place. The dying is but a step. It is a great
step, tremendously great, indispensable, the step that sets the pace. Yet
but one step of a number. Beyond the dying is the _living_, living a _new_
life. He works out in Himself the plan for them--a dying, and after that a
new life, and a new sort of life. Then according to His other teaching
there is the sending of some One else to men to work out in His name in
each of them this plan. That plan is to be worked out in each man choosing
to receive Him into his life. He will send down His other self, the Holy
Spirit, to work this out in each one. Jesus' death released His life to be
re-lived in us. Jesus plans to get rid of the sin in a man, and put in
something else in its place. The sin must be gotten out, first washed
out, then burned out. Then a new seed put in that will bear life. What a
chemist and artist in one is this Jesus! He uses bright red, to get a pure
white out of a dead black.
In addition to the plan for man individually, the dying is to produce the
same result in the Jewish nation. There is to be a national new-birth. A
new Jewish people. And then the dying is to have a tremendous influence
upon all men. On the cross Jesus would suffer the birth-pains of a new
life for man and for the world. Such, in brief, seems to be the grouping
of Jesus' own thought about His dying. Its whole influence is manward.
The value of Jesus' dying lies wholly in its being _voluntary_. Of
deliberate purpose He _allowed_ them to put Him to death. Otherwise they
could not, as is fully proven by their repeated failures. And the purpose
as well as the value of the death lies entirely in His _motive_ in
yielding. If they could have taken His life without His consent, then that
death would have been an expression of their hate, and only that. But as
it is, it forever stands an expression of two things. On their part of the
intensest, hottest hate; on His part of the finest, strongest love. It
makes new records for both hate and love. Sin put Jesus to death. In
yielding to these men Jesus was yielding to sin, for they personified sin.
And sin yielded to quickly brought death, its logical outcome.
Jesus' dying being His own act, controlled entirely by His own intention,
makes it _sacrificial_. There are certain necessary elements in such a
sacrifice. It must be voluntary. It must involve pain or suffering of some
sort. The suffering must be _undeserved_, that is, in no way or degree a
result of one's own act, else it is not sacrifice, but logical result. It
must be for others. And the suffering must be of a sort that would not
come save for this voluntary act. It must be supposed to bring benefit to
the others. Each of these elements must be in to make up fully a
sacrifice. There are elements of sacrifice in much noble suffering by man.
But in no one do all of these elements perfectly combine and blend, save
in Jesus.
To this agree the words of the philosopher of the New Testament writers.
It would be so, of course, for the Spirit of Jesus swayed Paul. The
epistle to the Romans contains a brief packed summary of his understanding
of the gospel plan. There is in it one remarkable statement of the
_Father's_, purpose in Jesus' death. In the third chapter, verse
twenty-six, freely translated, "that He might be reckoned righteous in
reckoning righteous the man who has faith." "That He might be reckoned
righteous"--that is, in His attitude toward sin. That in allowing things
to go on as they were, in holding back sin's logical judgment, He was not
careless or indifferent about sin or making light of it. He was controlled
by a great purpose.
God's great difficulty was to make clear at once both His love and His
hate: His love for man: His hate for the sin that man had grained in so
deep that they were as one. For the man's sake He must show His love to
win and change him. For man's sake He must show His hate of sin that man,
too, might know its hatefulness and learn to hate it with intensest hate.
His love for man is to be the measure of man's hate for sin. The death of
Jesus was God's master-stroke. At one stroke He told man His estimate of
man and His estimate of man's sin; His love and His hate. It was the
measureless measure of His hate for sin, and His love for man. It was a
master-stroke too, in that He took sin's worst--the cross--and in it
revealed His own best. Out of what was meant for God's defeat, came sin's
defeat, and God's greatest victory.
And the one simple thing that transfers to a man all that Jesus has worked
out for him is what is commonly called "faith." That is, trusting God,
turning the heart Godward, yielding to the inward upward tug, letting the
pleasing of God dominate the life. This, be it keenly marked, has ever
been the one simple condition in every age and in every part of the earth.
Abraham _believed_ God and it was reckoned to him for righteousness. The
devout Hebrew, reverently, penitently standing with his hand on the head
of his sacrifice, at the tabernacle door, _believed_ God and it was
reckoned to _him_ for righteousness. The devout heathen with face turned
up to the hill top, and feet persistently toiling up, patiently seeking
glory and honor and incorruption _believes_ God, though he may not know
His name, and it is reckoned to _him_ for righteousness. The devout
Christian, with his hand in Christ's, _believes_ God, and it is counted to
_him_ for righteousness.
The devout Hebrew, the earnest heathen, and the more enlightened believer
in Jesus group themselves here by the common purpose that grips them
alike. The Hebrew with his sacrifice, the heathen with his patient
continuance, and the Christian who _knows_ more in knowing Jesus, stand
together under the mother wing of God.