'Hereafter I will not talk much with you: for the Prince of this world
cometh, and hath nothing in Me. But that the world may know that I love
the Father; and as the Father gave Me commandment, even so I do. Arise,
Let us go hence.'—JOHN xiv. 30,31.
The summons to departure which closes these verses shows that we have
now reached the end of that sacred hour in the upper room. In obedience
to the summons, we have to fancy the little group leaving its safe
shelter, as sailors might put out from behind a breakwater into a
stormy sea. They pass from its seclusion and peace into the joyous stir
of the crowded streets, filled with feast-keeping multitudes, on whom
the full paschal moon looked down, pure and calming. Somewhere between
the upper chamber and the crossing of the brook Kedron, the divine
words of the following chapters were spoken, but this discourse,
closely connected as it is with them, reaches its fitting close in
these penetrating, solemn words of outlook into the near future, so
calm, so weighty, so resolute, so almost triumphant, with which Christ
seeks finally to impart to His timorous friends some of His own peace
and assurance of victory.
They lead us into a region seldom opened to our view, and never to be
looked upon but with reverent awe. For they tell us what Christ thought
about His sufferings, and how He felt as He went down to that cold,
black river, in which He was to be baptized. 'Put off thy shoes from
off thy feet, for the place where thou standest is holy ground.' So,
reverently listening to the words, sacred because of the Speaker, the
theme, and the circumstances, we note in them these things: His calm
anticipation of the assailant, His unveiling of the secret and motive
of His apparent defeat, and His resolute advance to the conflict. Let
us look at these three points.