<u>Yielding to Arrest.</u>
It is probably close to midnight when Jesus steps out from among the trees
to meet the crowds headed by the traitor. He knew they were coming, and
quietly goes to meet them. There is a great rabble that the chief priests
had drummed up, a city rabble with Roman soldiers, some of the chief
priests' circle, and in the lead of all, Judas. Judas keeps up the
pretense of friendship, and, advancing ahead of his crowd, greets Jesus
with the usual kiss. Jesus dispels the deception at once with His question
of reproach, "Betrayest thou with a _kiss_?" Damnable enough to betray,
but to use love's token in hate's work made it so much worse. Then He
yields to Judas' lips. It was the beginning of the indignities He was to
suffer that night. Jesus quietly adds, "Friend, do what you have planned.
Let there be no more shamming." But Judas' work is done. The silver
secured under his belt is earned. He drops back into the crowd.
Jesus steps out into the clear moonlight, and faces the crowd pressing
eagerly up. His is the one masterly, majestic presence. Quietly He asks,
"Whom are you hunting for?" Back comes the reply, "Jesus of Nazareth."
Jesus at once replies, "I am He." Again, that strange power of Jesus'
presence is felt, but now more marked than ever before. The crowd falls
backward and down to the ground. Soldiers, priests, crowds, Judas lying
prone before Jesus! Again the question and the answer, and then the word
spoken on behalf of His followers. This manifestation of power is _for
others_ this time.
Recovering themselves, the crowds press forward. The bewildered Peter
makes an awkward stroke with a sword he had secured and cuts off the right
ear of a man in the front of the crowd. Jesus gently stops the movement
with a word. The Father would even then send twelve legions of angels if
He were but to give the word. But He was not giving words of that sort,
but doing what the Father wished. With a word of apology for His impetuous
follower, the man's ear is restored with a touch. Surely _he_ never forgot
Jesus.
The leaders, now satisfied that Jesus will not use His power on His own
behalf, seize Him and begin to bind His hands. As He yields to their
touch, Jesus, looking into the faces of the Jewish leaders, said, "You
hunt me and treat me as though I were a common robber. I have never tried
to get away from you. But now for a while things are in your control, the
control of the powers of night."
Meanwhile the disciples forsook Him and fled, except two, John and Peter.
Peter followed at what he thought a safe distance. John kept along with
the crowd, and went in "_with Jesus_." Mark tells about the attempted
arrest of a young man who seemed friendly to Jesus, but in the struggle he
escaped, leaving his garments behind. And so they make their way, a
torch-light procession through the darkness of the night, back across the
brook, up the steep slope to the city gate, and through the narrow streets
to the palace of the high priest.
<u>The Real Jewish Ruler.</u>
Here Jesus is expected. Late as it is He is at once brought before Annas.
Annas was an old man who had been high priest himself once, years before,
and who had afterwards absolutely controlled that office through the
successive terms of his sons and now of his son-in-law. He was the real
leader of the inner clique that held the national reins in a clutching
grip. Caiaphas was the nominal high priest. The old man Annas was the real
leader. He controlled the inner finances and the temple revenues. To him
first Jesus is taken. He begins a quizzical, critical examination of Jesus
about disciples and teaching. Possibly he is trying to overawe this young
Galilean. Jesus calmly answers. "I have taught openly, never secretly;
everybody knows what my teaching has been. Why ask Me? These people all
around have heard all my teaching." He was ever in the open, in sharp
contrast with these present proceedings. One of the underlings of the
high priest--struck--Jesus--in the face, saying, "Answerest thou the high
priest so?" Jesus quietly replies, "If I have spoken something wrong tell
me what it is, but if not, why do you strike Me?" Annas ignores the gross
insult by one of his own men, and, probably with an exultant sneer that
the disturber of the temple revenues is in his power at last, gives order
that Jesus be bound and taken to his chief underling, Caiaphas.
This is the first phase of the condemnation determined upon beforehand,
and the real settling of the _Jewish_ disposition of Jesus. Still the
forms had to be gone through. So Jesus is sent with the decision of Annas
in the thongs on His hands to Caiaphas, high priest that year by the grace
of the old intriguer Annas, and by Roman appointment. The thing must be
done up in proper shape. These folks are great sticklers for proper forms.
Probably it is across a courtyard they go to another part of the same pile
of buildings or palace. Caiaphas, too, is ready, unusual though the hour
is. With him are several members of the senate, the official body in
control of affairs. The plans have been carefully worked out. This night
work will get things in shape before the dreaded crowds of the morrow can
be aroused. Now begins the examination here. These plotters have been so
absorbed in getting Jesus actually into their power that they seem to have
over-looked the details of making out a strong case against Him. They
really didn't need a case to secure their end, yet they seem to want to
keep up the forms, probably not because of any remnants of supposed
conscience left unseared, but to swing the bothersome, fanatical crowds
that must always be reckoned with. Now they deliberately try to find men
who will lie about Jesus' words, and swear to it. They find some willing
enough--money would fix that--but not bright enough to make their stories
hang together. At last some one brings up a remark made three years before
by Jesus about destroying the temple and rebuilding it in three days. It
is hard to see how they might expect to make anything out of that, for in
the remark, as they understood it, He had proposed to undertake the
rebuilding of the famous structure if they should destroy it. And then
they can't even agree here. Clearly they're hard pushed. Something must be
done. Precious time is slipping away. The thing must be in shape by dawn
if they are to get it through before the crowds get hold of it.
All this time Jesus stands in silence, doubtless with those eyes of His
turned now upon Caiaphas, now on the others. His presence disturbed them
in more ways than one. That great calm, pure face must have been an
irritant to their jaded consciences. Suddenly the presiding officer stands
up and dramatically cries out, as though astonished, "Answerest thou
nothing? Canst thou not hear these charges against Thee?" Still that
silence of lip, and those great eyes looking into His enemies' faces. Then
comes the question lurking underneath all the time, put in the form of a
solemn oath to the prisoner, "I adjure Thee by the living God, that Thou
tell us whether Thou art the Christ, the Son of God." Thus appealed to,
Jesus at once replies, "_I am_." And then, knowing full well the effect of
the reply, He adds, "_Nevertheless_--notwithstanding your evident purpose
regarding Me--the Son of Man will be sitting at the right hand of Power,
and coming in the clouds of heaven, and ye shall see it."
In supposed righteous horror Caiaphas tore his garments, and cried, "What
further need is there of witnesses? Behold you have heard His blasphemy.
What verdict do you give?" Back come the eager cries, "He deserves
death--Guilty." So the second session closes with the verdict of guilty
agreed upon. Yet this was not official. The senate could meet only in
daylight hours. The propriety of form they were so eager for requires them
to wait until dawn should break, and then they could technically give the
decisive verdict now agreed upon. While they are waiting, the intense
hatred of Jesus in their hearts and their own cruel thirstings find outlet
upon Jesus' person. They--spat--in--His--face, and struck Him, with open
hand and shut fist. He is blind-folded, and then struck by one and another
with derisive demands that He use His prophetic skill to tell who had been
hitting Him. And this goes on for possibly a couple of hours before dawn
permits the next step, soldiers vying with senators in doing Him greatest
insult.
<u>Held Steady by Great Love.</u>
Meanwhile a scene is being enacted within ear-shot of Jesus that hurts Him
more than these vulgar insults. Peter is getting into bad shape. John was
acquainted in the high priest's house-hold, and, going directly in without
striking his colors, is not disturbed. Peter gets as far as the gateway,
leading through a sort of alley into the open courtyard, around which on
the four sides the palace was built. Here, as a stranger, he was refused
admittance, until John comes to speak a word for him. In the center of the
open court a fire was burning to relieve the cold of the night, and about
this was gathered a mixed crowd of soldiers and servants and attendants.
Peter goes over to the fire, and, mingling with the others, sits warming
himself, probably with a studied carelessness. The maid who let him in,
coming over to the fire, looks intently into his face, and then says, "You
belong to the Nazarene, too." Peter stammers out an embarrassed, mixed up
denial, "I don't know what you mean--I don't understand--what do you say?"
Taken unawares, poor Peter mingles a lie with the denial. As soon as
possible he moves away from the fire toward the entrance. It's a bit warm
there--for him. He remembered afterwards that just then the crowing of a
cock fell upon his ear. Again one of the serving-maids notices him and
says to those standing about, "This man was with Jesus." This time the
denial comes sharp and fiat, "I don't know the man." And to give good
color to his words, and fit his surroundings, he adds a bit of profanity
to it.
An hour later, as he moves uneasily about, he is standing again by the
fire. Something about him seems to make him a marked man. Evidently he has
been talking, too. For now a man looking at him, said, "You belong to this
Jesus. I can tell by the twist of your tongue." Peter promptly says, "No."
Lying comes quicker now. But at once another speaks up, who was kin to the
man that temporarily lost his ear through Peter's sword. "Why," he said,
"certainly I saw you with Him in the garden." Again the denial that he
knew Jesus mingled freely with curses and oath. And even as he spoke the
air was caught again with the cock's shrill cry. And then Jesus, in the
midst of the vulgarity being vented upon Him, turned those wondrous eyes
upon Peter. What a look must that have been of sorrow, of reproach, and of
tenderest love. It must surely have broken Peter's heart. The hot tears
rushing up for vent were his answer. Those tears caught the light of love
in that look, as he goes away into the night and weeps bitterly. Those
bitter tears were as small, warm rain to a new growth within.
<u>An Obstinate Roman.</u>
And now the impatient leaders detect the first streaks of gray coming up
in the east. The national council can now properly meet. Like their two
chiefs, these men are prompt. The whips had been out over the city
drumming up the members for this extraordinary session. There seems to
have been a full attendance. Jesus, still bound, is led through the
streets; followed by the mixed rabble, to the meeting hall, probably in
the neighborhood of the temple. He is brought in and faces these men. How
some of those eyes must have gloated out their green leering! Here are the
men He had not hesitated to denounce openly with the severest invective
ever spoken.
Some time is spent in consultation. The difficulty here is to fix upon a
charge upon which they can themselves agree, and which will also be
sufficient for the desired action by the Roman governor. It was a tough
task. They fail in it. These men divided into groups that were ever at
swords' points. There were utter opposites in beliefs and policies. But
their common hate of Jesus rises for the time above their hatred for each
other. The charge must appeal to Pilate, for only he has power of capital
punishment, and nothing but Jesus' blood will quench their thirst.
Their consultation results in another attempt to question Jesus in the
hope of getting some word that can be used. The president goes back to his
former question, "If Thou art the Christ, tell us." Jesus reminds them of
the lack of sincerity in their questionings. They would not believe Him,
nor answer His questions. Then He repeats the solemn words spoken in the
night session, "From henceforth shall the Son of Man be seated at the
right hand of the power of God." Eagerly they all blurt out, "Art Thou
then the Son of God?" Back comes the quiet, steady reply, "Ye say that I
am," equal to a strong yes. Instantly they decide fully and formally upon
His condemnation. So closes the third phase of the Jewish examination. The
death sentence is fixed upon. The thing has been formally fixed up. The
ground is now cleared for taking Him to Pilate for His death sentence.
It is still early morning when Jesus is taken to Pilate. It was an
imposing procession of the leading men of the nation, headed very likely
by Caiaphas, that now led Jesus across the city, through its narrow
streets, up to the palace of the Roman governor. Jesus is conducted into
Pilate's hall of judgment within, but, with their scrupulous regard for
the letter of their law, these principals would not enter his palace on
that day, but remained without. They seem to be expecting Pilate to send
the prisoner back at once with their death sentence endorsed.
To their surprise and disgust,[A] Pilate comes out himself and wants to
know the charge against the prisoner. They are not prepared for this. It
is their weak point, and has been from the first. Their bold, sullen
answer evades the question, while insisting on what they want, "If He were
not a criminal we would not have brought Him to thee." They didn't want
his opinion, but his power, his consent to their plot. But Pilate doesn't
propose to be used as such a convenience. With scorn he tells them that if
they propose to judge the case they may. This wrings from them the
humiliating reminder that the power of capital punishment is withheld from
them by their Roman rulers, and nothing less will satisfy them here. Then
they begin a series of verbal charges. They are all of a political nature,
for only such would this Roman recognize. This man had been perverting the
nation, forbidding tribute to Caesar and calling Himself a King.
It takes no keenness for Pilate to see the hollowness of this sudden
loyalty to Caesar. He returns to the beautiful marble judgment hall, and
has Jesus brought to him again. He looks into Jesus' face. He is keen
enough to see that here is no political schemer. At most probably a
religious enthusiast, or reformer, or something as harmless from his
standpoint. "Art _Thou_ the King of the Jews?" he asks. Jesus' answer
suggests that there was a kindliness in that face. If there be a desire
for truth here He will satisfy it. This political charge had been made
outside while He was within. "Do you really want to know about Me, or are
you merely repeating something you have heard?" He asks, with a gentle
earnestness.
But Pilate at once repudiates any personal interest. "Am I a _Jew_?" he
asks, with plain contempt on that word. "Thine own people are accusing
thee. What hast Thou done?" Then comes that great answer, "My kingdom is
not of this world, if so I would be resisting these leaders and these
present circumstances would all be different. But my kingdom is not of
your sort or theirs." Again there likely came a bit of softening and
curious interest in Pilate's face, as he asks, "Art Thou really a _King_
then?" Jesus replies, "To this end have I been born, and to this end am I
come into the world, that I should bear witness to the truth. Every one
that is of the truth heareth my voice." Pilate wonders what this has to do
with being a king. With a weary, impatient contempt, he says, "_Truth_?
What is that?" The accused seems to be an enthusiast, a dreamer, yet
withal there certainly was a fine nobility about Him. Certainly He was
quite harmless politically.
Leaving Him there, again he goes to the leaders waiting impatiently
outside. To their utter astonishment and rage he says, "I find no fault in
this man." It is the judgment of a keen, critical, worldly Roman; an
acquittal, the first acquittal. The waiting crowd bursts out at once in a
hot, fanatical tumult of shouted protests. Is all their sleepless planning
to be disturbed by this Roman heathen? The prisoner was constantly
stirring up the people all through Judea and Galilee. He was a dangerous
man. Looking and listening, with his contempt for them plainly in his
face, and yet a dread of their wild fanaticism in his heart, Pilate's ear
catches that word Galilee. "Is the man a Galilean?" "Yes." Well, here's an
easy way of getting rid of the troublesome matter. Herod, the ruler of
Galilee, was in the city at his palace, come to attend the festival. It
would be a bit of courtesy that he might appreciate to refer the case to
him, and so it would be off his own hands. And so the order is given.
<u>A Savage Duel.</u>
Once more Jesus is led through these narrow streets, with the jeering
rabble ever increasing in size and the national heads in the lead. They
are having a lot of wholly unexpected trouble, but they are determined not
to be cheated of their prey. And now they are before Herod. This is the
murderer of John. He is glad to see Jesus. There has been an eager
curiosity to see the man of whom so much was said, and he hoped to have
his morbid appetite for the sensational satisfied with a display of Jesus'
power. He plies Him with questions, while the chief priests with fierce
vehemence stand accusing Him, and asking for His condemnation.
But for this red-handed man Jesus has no word. To him rare light had come
and been recognized, and then had been deliberately put out beyond recall.
He has gone steadily down into slimiest slush since that. Now, with
studied insolence, he treats this silent man with utmost contempt. His
soldiers and retainers mock and deride, dressing Him in gorgeous apparel
in mockery of His kingly claims. When they weary of the sport He is again
dismissed to Pilate, acquitted. It is the second mocking and the second
acquittal.
Again the weary tramping of the streets, with the chief priests' rage
burning to the danger point. Twice they have been foiled. Now the matter
must be _forced_ through, and quickly, too, ere the crowd that are
friendly have gotten the news. They hurry Jesus along and make all haste
back to Pilate. Now begins the sixth and last phase of that awful night.
Things now hasten to a climax. The character of Pilate comes out plainly
here. He really feared these wildly fanatical Jews whom he ruled with a
contemptuous disgust undisguised. Three times since his rule began their
extreme fanaticism had led to open riot and bloodshed, and once to an
appeal to the emperor, by whose favor he held his position. His hold of
the office was shaky indeed if the emperor must be bothered with these
superstitious details about their religion. The policy he pursued here was
but a piece of the whole Roman fabric. Yet had he but had the rugged
strength to live up to his honest conviction----. But then, that is the
one question of life everywhere and always. He failed in the test, as do
thousands. Unconsciously he was touching the quivering center of a whole
world's life, and so his action stands out in boldest outline.
He comes out now and sums up the case. He had examined the prisoner and
found no fault touching their charges of perverting the people. Herod,
their own native ruler, who was supposed to know thoroughly their peculiar
views, had also fully acquitted Him. Now, as a concession to them, he
will disgrace this man by a public scourging and let him go as harmless.
Instantly the air is filled with their fierce shrill cries, "Away with
Him: Away with Him."
But Pilate seems determined to do the best he can for Jesus, without
risking an actual break with these fanatical Orientals such as might
endanger his own position. It was usual at feast times to release to the
people some one who had been imprisoned for a political offense. The
crowds, prompted by the chief priests, doubtless, begin to ask for the
usual favor. Pilate brings forward a man named Barabbas, who was a robber
and murderer and charged with leading an insurrection against Roman rule.
Meanwhile, as he waits, a messenger comes up to him and repeats a message
from his wife. She has been suffering much in dreams and urges that he
have nothing to do with "that righteous man."
Apparently Pilate brings forward the two men, the one a robber and
murderer, the other with purity and goodness stamped on every line of His
face. It is a dramatic moment. "Which of the two will you choose?" he
asks. It is the appeal of a heathen to the better nature of these Jews,
called the people of God. Quick as a flash of lightning the word shot from
their lips and into his face, "_Barabbas!_" "What, then, shall I do with
Jesus, who is called Christ?" He is weakening now. His question shows it.
They are keen to see it and push their advantage. Again the words shoot
out as bullets from their hot lips, "Crucify Him: crucify Him." Still he
withstands them. "Why? What evil has He done? I find no fault in Him. To
please you I will chastise Him and release Him." But they have him on the
run now. At once the air is filled with a confused jangle of loud shrill
voices, "Away with Him! Give us Barabbas! Crucify! Crucify."
Apparently he yields. Barabbas is released. Jesus is led away to be
scourged by the soldiers. His clothing is removed, and He is bent over,
with thongs on the wrists drawn down, leaving the bare back uppermost and
tense. The scourging was with bunches of leather strips with jagged pieces
of bone and lead fastened in the ends. The blows meant for the back, even
if laid on by a reluctant hand, would strike elsewhere, including the
face. But reluctance seems absent here. Then occurs another, a third of
those scenes of coarse vulgarity, horrid mockings, based on His kingly
claims. The whole band of soldiers is called. Some old garments of royal
purple are put upon Jesus. One man plaits a crown of the thorns that grow
so large in Palestine, and with no easy gesture places it upon His head. A
reed is placed in His hand. Then they bow the knee in turn, with "Hail!
King of the Jews," and spit in His face, and rain blows down upon the
thorn-crown. All the while their coarse jests and shouts of derisive
laughter fill the air. Surely one could never tell the story were he not
held in the grip of a strong purpose.
But now Pilate springs a surprise. The scourging might be preliminary to
crucifixion or a substitute. Again Jesus is brought forward, as arrayed by
the mocking soldiers. There must have been an unapproachable majesty in
that great face, as so bedecked, with the indescribable suffering lines
ever deepening, He stands before them with that wondrous calm still in
those sleepless eyes. Pilate seems caught by the great spirit of Jesus
dominant under such treatment. He points to Him and says, "Behold the
Man!" Surely this utter humiliation will satisfy their strange hate.
Realizing that their fight is not yet won as they had thought, they make
the air hideous with their shouts, "Crucify--crucify--crucify." Anger and
disgust crowd for place in Pilate, as, with a contemptuous sneer, he says,
"_You_ crucify Him. _I_ find no fault in Him." It would be illegal, but it
would not be the first illegal thing. But these men are bound to get all
they want from their weakening governor. One of the leaders sharply spoke
up, "We have a law, and by our law He ought to die because He pretends to
be the Son of God." The Roman custom was to respect the laws of their
subject-peoples. All pretense of a political charge is now gone.
Pilate is startled. The sense of fear that has been strong with him
intensifies. That face of Jesus had impressed him. His wife's message
disturbed him. Now that inward feeling that this man was being wronged
grips him anew. At once he has Him led into his judgment hall for another
private interview. Looking into that face again with strangely mingling
emotions, he puts the question, "Whence art Thou?" But those lips refuse
an answer. The time for speech is past. Angered by the silence on the part
of the man he had been moved to help, Pilate hotly says, "Speakest Thou
not to _Me_? Knowest Thou not I have the power to release or to crucify?"
Then this strangely masterful Man speaks in very quiet tones, as though
pitying His judge, "Thou wouldst have no power against Me, except it were
given thee from above: therefore he that delivered Me unto thee hath
greater sin."
Again Pilate comes out to the waiting crowd more determined than ever to
release Jesus. But the leaders of the mob take a new tack. They know the
governor's sensitive nerve. "If thou release this man thou art not
Caesar's friend. Every one that maketh himself a king speaketh
against Caesar." That word "Caesar" was a magic word. Its bur catches
and sticks at once. It was their master-stroke. Yet it cost them
dear. Pilate instantly brings Jesus out and sits down on the
judgment seat. The thing must be settled now once for all. As Jesus
again faces them he says, "_Behold!--your King._" Again the hot shouts,
"Away--Away--Crucify--Crucify." And again the question. "Shall I crucify
your King?"
Now comes the answer, wrung out by the bitterness of their hate, that
throws aside all the traditional hopes of their nation, "_We have no king
but Caesar_." Having forced that word from their lips, Pilate quits the
prolonged duelling.
Yet to appease that inner voice that would not be stilled--maybe, too,
for his wife's sake, he indulges in more dramatics. He washes his hands in
a basin of water, with the words, "I am innocent of the blood of this
righteous man. See ye to it." Back come the terrible words, "His blood be
on us and on our children." Surely it has been! Then Jesus is surrendered
to their will. They have gotten what they asked, but at the sacrifice of
their most fondly cherished national tradition and with an awful heritage.
Pilate has yielded, but held them by the throat in doing it to compel
words that savagely wounded their pride to utter. The savage duel is over.
<u>Victory.</u>
Jesus is turned over to the soldiers for the execution of the sentence.
His own garments are replaced, and once more He is the central figure in a
street procession, this time carrying the cross to which He has been
condemned. His physical strength seems in danger of giving way under the
load, after the terrible strain of that long night. The soldiers seize a
man from the country passing by and force him to carry the cross. As they
move along, the crowd swells to a great multitude, including many women.
These give expression to their pitying regard for Jesus.
Turning about, Jesus speaks to them in words that reveal the same clear
mind and masterly control as ever. "Daughters of Jerusalem, be weeping for
yourselves and your babes, rather than for Me. The days are coming when
it shall be said, 'Blessed are the barren, and the womb that never bare,
and the breasts that never gave suck.' If they have done these things
while the sap of national life still flows, what will be done to them when
the dried-up, withered stage of their national life is reached!"
Now the chosen place is reached, outside the city wall, probably a rise of
ground, like a mound or small hill. And the soldiers settle down to their
work. There are to be two others crucified at the same time. A drink of
stuff meant to stupefy and so ease the pain of torture was offered Jesus,
but refused. And now the cross is gotten ready. The upright beam is laid
upon the ground handy to the hole in which the end of it will slip, and
the cross-piece is nailed in place. Jesus is stripped and laid upon the
cross with His arms, outstretched on the cross-piece. A sharp-pointed
spike is driven through the palm of each hand and through the feet. The
hands are also tied with ropes as additional security. There is a small
piece half-way up the upright where some of the body's weight may be
supported.
As the soldiers drive the nails, Jesus' voice is heard in prayer, "Father,
forgive them; they know not what they do." Then strong arms seize the
upper end, and, lifting, shift the end of the cross into the hole, and so
steady it into an upright position. It is nine o'clock, and the deed has
been done. The soldiers, having finished their task, now go after their
pay. Jesus' garments are divided up among them, but when the outer coat
is reached it is found to be an unusually good garment, woven in one
piece. It was the love gift of some friend likely. So they pitch dice, and
in a few moments one of them is clutching it greedily as his own.
As quickly as the cross is in position the crowds are reading the
inscription which has been nailed to the top to indicate the charge
against the man. It was in three languages, Latin the official tongue,
Greek the world tongue, and Aramaic the native tongue. Every man there
read in one or other of these tongues, "_The King of the Jews_."
Instantly the Jewish leaders object, but Pilate contemptuously dismisses
their objection. This inscription was his last fling at them. And so Jesus
was crucified as a King. There He is up above them all, while the great
multitude stands gazing.
Now begins the last, coarse, derisive jeering. Some of the crowd call out
to Jesus, "Thou that destroyest the temple, and buildest it in three days,
save Thyself; if Thou art the Son of God, come down from the cross." The
chief priests have dignified the occasion with their presence. Now they
mockingly sneer out their taunts, "He saved others; but He can't save
Himself. He is the King of Israel. Let Him come down from the cross and we
will believe on Him." The two others hanging by His side, in their pain
and distress, join in the taunting cries, and the soldiers add their
jibes.
But through it all Jesus is silent. There He hangs with those eyes
watching the people to whom His great heart was going out, for whom His
great life was going out, calm, majestic, masterful, tender. The sight
affects at least one of those before unfriendly. The man hanging by His
side is caught by this face and spirit. He rebukes the other criminal,
reminding him that they were getting their just deserts, but "This Man
hath done nothing amiss." Then turning so far as he could to Jesus, he
said, with a simplicity of faith that must have been so grateful to Jesus,
"Jesus, remember me when Thou comest in Thy kingdom." Instantly comes the
reply, "Verily, I say unto thee, to-day shalt thou be with Me in
Paradise."
In the crowds were many of Jesus' personal acquaintances, including women
from Galilee. Close by the cross stood His mother and aunt and faithful
John and a few others of those dear to Him. Most likely John is supporting
Jesus' mother with his arms. Turning His eyes toward the group, Jesus
speaks to His mother in tones revealing His love, "Woman, behold thy son;"
and then to John, "Behold thy mother." _So_ He gives His mother a son to
take His own place in caring for her, and to His friend John this heritage
of love. John understands, and from that hour the ties between these two
were of the closest and tenderest sort.
So the hours drag along until noon. And now a strange thing occurs that
must have had a startling effect. At the time of day when the sunlight is
brightest a strange darkness came over all the scene, the sun's light
being obscured or failing wholly. And for three hours this strange, weird
spectacle continues. Then the hushed silence is broken by an agonizing cry
from the lips of Jesus, "My God--My God--why--didst--Thou--forsake--Me?"
One of the bewildered bystanders thinks He is calling for Elijah, and
another wonders if something startling will yet occur.
Jesus speaks again--"I--thirst" and some one near by with sponge and stick
reaches up to moisten His lips. Then a shout, a loud cry of _victory_
bursts in one word from those lips, "_It is finished_." Then softly
breathing out the last words, "Father, into Thy hands I commend My
spirit," and bowing His head, Jesus, masterful, kingly to the last,
_yielded up_ His spirit.