_MARY AT THE CROSS._
"They took Jesus therefore: and He went out, bearing the cross for
Himself, unto the place called The place of a skull, which is called
in Hebrew Golgotha: where they crucified Him, and with Him two
others, on either side one, and Jesus in the midst. And Pilate wrote
a title also, and put it on the cross. And there was written, JESUS
OF NAZARETH, THE KING OF THE JEWS. This title therefore read many of
the Jews: for the place where Jesus was crucified was nigh to the
city: and it was written in Hebrew, and in Latin, and in Greek. The
chief priests of the Jews therefore said to Pilate, Write not, The
King of the Jews; but, that He said, I am King of the Jews. Pilate
answered, What I have written I have written. The soldiers
therefore, when they had crucified Jesus, took His garments, and
made four parts, to every soldier a part; and also the coat: now the
coat was without seam, woven from the top throughout. They said
therefore one to another, Let us not rend it, but cast lots for it,
whose it shall be; that the scripture might be fulfilled, which
saith, They parted My garments among them, And upon My vesture did
they cast lots. These things therefore the soldiers did. But there
were standing by the cross of Jesus His mother, and His mother's
sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus
therefore saw His mother, and the disciple standing by, whom He
loved, He saith unto His mother, Woman, behold thy son! Then saith
He to the disciple, Behold, thy mother! And from that hour the
disciple took her unto his own home."--JOHN xix. 17-27.
If we ask on what charge our Lord was condemned to die, the answer must
be complex, not simple. Pilate indeed, in accordance with the usual
custom, painted on a board the name and crime of the Prisoner, that all
who could understand any of the three current languages might know who
this was and why He was crucified. But in the case of Jesus the
inscription was merely a ghastly jest on Pilate's part. It was the
coarse retaliation of a proud man who found himself helpless in the
hands of people he despised and hated. There was some relish to him in
the crucifixion of Jesus when by his inscription he had turned it into
an insult to the nation. A gleam of savage satisfaction for a moment lit
up his gloomy face when he found that his taunt had told, and the chief
priests came begging him to change what he had written.
Pilate from the first look he got of his Prisoner understood that he had
before him quite another kind of person than the ordinary zealot, or
spurious Messiah, or turbulent Galilean. Pilate knew enough of the Jews
to feel sure that if Jesus had been plotting rebellion against Rome He
would not have been informed against by the chief priests. Possibly he
knew enough of what had been going on in his province to understand
that it was precisely because Jesus would _not_ allow Himself to be made
a king in opposition to Rome that the Jews detested and accused Him.
Possibly he saw enough of the relations of Jesus to the authorities to
despise the abandoned malignity and baseness which could bring an
innocent man to his bar and charge Him with what in their eyes was no
crime at all and make the charge precisely because He was innocent of
it.
Nominally, but only nominally, Jesus was crucified for sedition. If we
pass, in search of the real charge, from Pilate's judgment-seat to the
Sanhedrim, we get nearer to the truth. The charge on which He was in
this court condemned was the charge of blasphemy. He was indeed examined
as to His claims to be the Messiah, but it does not appear that they had
any law on which He could have been condemned for such claims. They did
not expect that the Messiah would be Divine in the proper sense. Had
they done so, then any one falsely claiming to be the Messiah would
thereby have falsely claimed to be Divine, and would therefore have been
guilty of blasphemy. But it was not for claiming to be the Christ that
Jesus was condemned; it was when He declared Himself to be the Son of
God that the high priest rent His garments and declared Him guilty of
blasphemy.
Now, of course it was very possible that many members of the Sanhedrim
should sincerely believe that blasphemy had been uttered. The unity of
God was the distinctive creed of the Jew, that which had made his
nation, and for any human lips to claim equality with the one infinite
God was not to be thought of. It must have fallen upon their ears like a
thunder-clap; they must have fallen back on their seats or started from
them in horror when so awful a claim was made by the human figure
standing bound before them. There were men among them who would have
advocated His claim to be the Messiah, who believed Him to be a man sent
from God; but not a voice could be raised in His defence when the claim
to be Son of God in a Divine sense passed His lips. His best friends
must have doubted and been disappointed, must have supposed He was
confused by the events of the night, and could only await the issue in
sorrow and wonder.
Was the Sanhedrim, then, to blame for condemning Jesus? They sincerely
believed Him to be a blasphemer, and their law attached to the crime of
blasphemy the punishment of death. It was in ignorance they did it; and
knowing only what they knew, they could not have acted otherwise. Yes,
that is true. But they were responsible for their ignorance. Jesus had
given abundant opportunity to the nation to understand Him and to
consider His claims. He did not burst upon the public with an
uncertified demand to be accepted as Divine. He lived among those who
were instructed in such matters; and though in some respects He was very
different from the Messiah they had looked for, a little openness of
mind and a little careful inquiry would have convinced them He was sent
from God. And had they acknowledged this, had they allowed themselves to
obey their instincts and say, This is a true man, a man who has a
message for us--had they not sophisticated their minds with quibbling
literalities, they would have owned His superiority and been willing to
learn from Him. And had they shown any disposition to learn, Jesus was
too wise a teacher to hurry them and overleap needed steps in conviction
and experience. He would have been slow to extort from any a confession
of His divinity until they had reached the belief of it by the working
of their own minds. Enough for Him that they were willing to see the
truth about Him and to declare it as they saw it. The great charge He
brought against His accusers was that they did violence to their own
convictions. The uneasy suspicions they had about His dignity they
suppressed; the attraction they at times felt to His goodness they
resisted; the duty to inquire patiently into His claims they refused.
And thus their darkness deepened, until in their culpable ignorance they
committed the greatest of crimes.
From all this, then, two things are apparent. First, that Jesus was
condemned on the charge of blasphemy--condemned because He made Himself
equal with God. His own words, pronounced upon oath, administered in the
most solemn manner, were understood by the Sanhedrim to be an explicit
claim to be the Son of God in a sense in which no man could without
blasphemy claim to be so. He made no explanation of His words when He
saw how they were understood. And yet, were He not truly Divine, there
was no one who could have been more shocked than Himself by such a
claim. He understood, if any man did, the majesty of God; He knew better
than any other the difference between the Holy One and His sinful
creatures; His whole life was devoted to the purpose of revealing to men
the unseen God. What could have seemed to Him more monstrous, what could
more effectually have stultified the work and aim of His life, than that
He, being a man, should allow Himself to be taken for God? When Pilate
told Him that He was charged with claiming to be a king, He explained to
Pilate in what sense He did so, and removed from Pilate's mind the
erroneous supposition this claim had given birth to. Had the Sanhedrim
cherished an erroneous idea of what was involved in His claim to be the
Son of God, He must also have explained to them in what sense He made
it, and have removed from their minds the impression that He was
claiming to be properly Divine. He did not make any explanation; He
allowed them to suppose He claimed to be the Son of God in a sense which
would be blasphemous in a mere man. So that if any one gathers from this
that Jesus was Divine in a sense in which it were blasphemy for any
other man to claim to be, he gathers a legitimate, even a necessary,
inference.
Another reflection which is forced upon the reader of this narrative is,
that disaster waits upon stifled inquiry. The Jews honestly convicted
Christ as a blasphemer because they had dishonestly denied Him to be a
good man. The little spark which would have grown into a blazing light
they put their heel upon. Had they at the first candidly considered Him
as He went about doing good and making no claims, they would have become
attached to Him as His disciples did, and, like them, would have been
led on to a fuller knowledge of the meaning of His person and work. It
is these beginnings of conviction we are so apt to abuse. It seems so
much smaller a crime to kill an infant that has but once drawn breath
than to kill a man of lusty life and busy in his prime; but the one, if
fairly dealt with, will grow to be the other. And while we think very
little of stifling the scarcely breathed whisperings in our own heart
and mind, we should consider that it is only such whisperings that can
bring us to the loudly proclaimed truth. If we do not follow up
suggestions, if we do not push inquiry to discovery, if we do not value
the smallest grain of truth as a seed of unknown worth and count it
wicked to kill even the smallest truth in our souls, we can scarcely
hope at any time to stand in the full light of reality and rejoice in
it. To accept Christ as Divine may be at present beyond us; to
acknowledge Him as such would simply be to perjure ourselves; but can we
not acknowledge Him to be a true man, a good man, a teacher certainly
sent from God? If we do know Him to be all that and more, then have we
thought this out to its results? Knowing Him to be a unique figure among
men, have we perceived what this involves? Admitting Him to be the best
of men, do we love Him, imitate Him, ponder His words, long for His
company? Let us not treat Him as if He were non-existent because He is
not as yet to us all that He is to some. Let us beware of dismissing
_all_ conviction about Him because there are some convictions spoken of
by other people which we do not feel. It is better to deny Christ than
to deny our own convictions; for to do so is to extinguish the only
light we have, and to expose ourselves to all disaster. The man who has
put out his own eyes cannot plead blindness in extenuation of his not
seeing the lights and running the richly laden ship on the rocks.
Guided by the perfect taste which reverence gives, John says very little
about the actual crucifixion. He shows us indeed the soldiers sitting
down beside the little heap of clothes they had stripped off our Lord,
parcelling them out, perhaps already assuming them as their own wear.
For the clothes by which our Lord had been known these soldiers would
now carry into unknown haunts of drunkenness and sin, emblems of our
ruthless, thoughtless desecration of our Lord's name with which we
outwardly clothe ourselves and yet carry into scenes the most
uncongenial. John, writing long after the event, seems to have no heart
to record the poor taunts with which the crowd sought to increase the
suffering of the Crucified, and force home upon His spirit a sense of
the desolation and ignominy of the cross. Gradually the crowd wearies
and scatters, and only here and there a little whispering group remains.
The day waxes to its greatest heat; the soldiers lie or stand silent;
the centurion sits motionless on his motionless, statue-like horse; the
stillness of death falls upon the scene, only broken at intervals by a
groan from one or other of the crosses. Suddenly through this silence
there sound the words, "Woman, behold thy son: son, behold thy
mother."--words which remind us that all this dreadful scene which makes
the heart of the stranger bleed has been witnessed by the mother of the
Crucified. As the crowd had broken up from around the crosses, the
little group of women whom John had brought to the spot edged their way
nearer and nearer till they were quite close to Him they loved, though
their lips apparently were sealed by their helplessness to minister
consolation.
These hours of suffering, as the sword was slowly driven through Mary's
soul, according to Simeon's word, who shall measure? Hers was not a
hysterical, noisy sorrow, but quiet and silent. There was nothing wild,
nothing extravagant, in it. There was no sign of feminine weakness, no
outcry, no fainting, no wild gesture of uncontrollable anguish, nothing
to show that she was the exceptional mourner and that there was no
sorrow like unto her sorrow. Her reverence for the Lord saved her from
disturbing His last moments. She stood and saw the end. She saw His head
lifted in anguish and falling on His breast in weakness, and she could
not gently take it in her hands and wipe the sweat of death from His
brow. She saw His pierced hands and feet become numbed and livid, and
might not chafe them. She saw Him gasp with pain as cramp seized part
after part of His outstretched body, and she could not change His
posture nor give liberty to so much as one of His hands. And she had to
suffer this in profound desolation of spirit. Her life seemed to be
buried at the cross. To the mourning there often seems nothing left but
to die with the dying. One heart has been the light of life, and now
that light is quenched. What significance, what motive, can life have
any more?[28] We valued no past where that heart was not; we had no
future which was not concentrated upon it or in which it had no part.
But the absorption of common love must have been far surpassed in Mary's
case. None had been blessed with such a love as hers. And now none
estimated as she did the spotless innocence of the Victim; none could
know as she knew the depth of His goodness, the unfathomable and
unconquerable love He had for all; and none could estimate as she the
ingratitude of those whom He had healed and fed and taught and comforted
with such unselfish devotedness. She knew that there was none like Him,
and that if any could have brought blessing to this earth it was He, and
there she saw Him nailed to the cross, the end actually reached. We know
not if in that hour she thought of the trial of Abraham; we know not
whether she allowed herself to think at all, whether she did not merely
suffer as a mother losing her son; but certainly it must have been with
intensest eagerness she heard herself once more addressed by Him.
Mary was commended to John as the closest friend of Jesus. These two
would be in fullest sympathy, both being devoted to Him. It was perhaps
an indication to those who were present, and through them to all, that
nothing is so true a bond between human hearts as sympathy with Christ.
We may admire nature, and yet have many points of antipathy to those who
also admire nature. We may like the sea, and yet feel no drawing to some
persons who also like the sea. We may be fond of mathematics, and yet
find that this brings us into a very partial and limited sympathy with
mathematicians. Nay, we may even admire and love the same person as
others do, and yet disagree about other matters. But if Christ is chosen
and loved as He ought to be, that love is a determining affection which
rules all else within us, and brings us into abiding sympathy with all
who are similarly governed and moulded by that love. That love indicates
a certain past experience and guarantees a special type of character. It
is the characteristic of the subjects of the kingdom of God.
This care for His mother in His last moments is of a piece with all the
conduct of Jesus. Throughout His life there is an entire absence of
anything pompous or excited. Everything is simple. The greatest acts in
human history He does on the highway, in the cottage, among a group of
beggars in an entry. The words which have thrilled the hearts and mended
the lives of myriads were spoken casually as He walked with a few
friends. Rarely did He even gather a crowd. There was no advertising, no
admission by ticket, no elaborate arrangements for a set speech at a set
hour. Those who know human nature will know what to think of this
unstudied ease and simplicity, and will appreciate it. The same
characteristic appears here. He speaks as if He were not an object of
contemplation; there is an entire absence of self-consciousness, of
ostentatious suggestion that He is now making atonement for the sins of
the world. He speaks to His mother and cares for her as He might have
done had they been in the home at Nazareth together. One despairs of
ever learning such a lesson, or indeed of seeing others learn it. How
like an ant-hill is the world of men! What a fever and excitement! what
a fuss and fret! what an ado! what a sending of messengers, and calling
of meetings, and raising of troops, and magnifying of little things!
what an absence of calmness and simplicity! But this at least we _may_
learn--that no duties, however important, can excuse us for not caring
for our relatives. They are deceived people who spend all their charity
and sweetness out of doors, who have a reputation for godliness, and are
to be seen in the forefront of this or that Christian work, but who are
sullen or imperious or quick-tempered or indifferent at home. If while
saving a world Jesus had leisure to care for His mother, there are no
duties so important as to prevent a man from being considerate and
dutiful at home.
Those who witnessed the hurried events of the morning when Christ was
crucified might be pardoned if their minds were filled with what their
eyes saw, and if little but the outward objects were discernible to
them. We are in different circumstances, and may be expected to look
more deeply into what was happening. To see only the mean scheming and
wicked passions of men, to see nothing but the pathetic suffering of an
innocent and misjudged person, to take our interpretation of these rapid
and disorderly events from the casual spectators without striving to
discover God's meaning in them, would indeed be a flagrant instance of
what has been called "reading God in a prose translation," rendering His
clearest and most touching utterance to this world in the language of
callous Jews or barbarous Roman soldiers. Let us open our ear to God's
own meaning in these events, and we hear Him uttering to us all His
Divine love, and in the most forcible and touching tones. These are the
events in which His deepest purposes and tenderest love find utterance.
How He is striving to win His way to us to convince us of the reality of
sin and of salvation! To be mere spectators of these things is to
convict ourselves of being superficial or strangely callous. Scarcely
any criminal is executed but we all have our opinion on the justice or
injustice of his condemnation. We may well be expected to form our
judgment in _this_ case, and to take action upon it. If Jesus was
unjustly condemned, then we as well as His contemporaries have to do
with His claims. If these claims were true, we have something more to do
than merely to say so.