_THE CRUCIFIXION._
"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.... After this Jesus, knowing that all things are now finished,
that the scripture might be accomplished, saith, I thirst. There was
set there a vessel full of vinegar: so they put a sponge full of the
vinegar upon hyssop, and brought it to His mouth. When Jesus
therefore had received the vinegar, He said, It is finished: and He
bowed His head, and gave up His spirit. The Jews therefore, because
it was the Preparation, that the bodies should not remain on the
cross upon the Sabbath (for the day of that Sabbath was a high day),
asked of Pilate that their legs might be broken, and that they might
be taken away. The soldiers therefore came, and brake the legs of
the first, and of the other which was crucified with Him: but when
they came to Jesus, and saw that He was dead already, they brake not
His legs: howbeit one of the soldiers with a spear pierced His side,
and straightway there came out blood and water. And he that hath
seen hath borne witness, and his witness is true: and he knoweth
that he saith true, that ye also may believe. For these things came
to pass, that the scripture might be fulfilled, A bone of Him shall
not be broken. And again another scripture saith, They shall look on
Him whom they pierced."--JOHN xix. 23, 24, 28-37.
Possibly the account which John gives of the Crucifixion is somewhat
spoiled to some readers by his frequent reference to apparently
insignificant coincidences with Old Testament prophecy. It is, however,
to be remembered that John was himself a Jew, and was writing for a
public which laid great stress on such literal fulfilments of prophecy.
The wording of the narrative might lead us to suppose that John believed
Jesus to be intentionally fulfilling prophecy. Where he says, "After
this, Jesus knowing that all things were now accomplished, that the
scripture might be fulfilled, saith, I thirst," it might be fancied that
John supposed that Jesus said "I thirst" in order that Scripture might
be fulfilled. This is, of course, to misconceive the Evangelist's
meaning. Such a fulfilment would have been fictitious, not real. But
John believes that in each smallest act and word of our Lord the will of
God was finding expression, a will which had long since been uttered in
the form of Old Testament prophecy. In these hours of dismay, when Jesus
was arrested, tried, and crucified before the eyes of His disciples,
they tried to believe that this was God's will; and long afterwards,
when they had found time to think, and when they had to deal with men
who felt the difficulty of believing in a crucified Saviour, they
pointed to the fact that even in small particulars the sufferings of the
Messiah had been anticipated and were to be expected.
The first instance of this which John cites is the manner in which the
soldiers dealt with His clothes. After fixing Jesus to the cross and
raising it, the four men who were detailed to this service sat down to
watch. Such was the custom, lest friends should remove the crucified
before death supervened. Having settled themselves for this watch, they
proceeded to divide the clothes of Jesus among them. This also was
customary among the Romans, as it has been everywhere usual that the
executioners should have as their perquisite some of the articles worn
by the condemned. The soldiers parted the garments of Jesus among them,
each of the four taking what he needed or fancied--turban, shoes,
girdle, or under-coat; while for the large seamless plaid that was worn
over all they cast lots, being unwilling to tear it. All this fulfilled
an old prediction to the letter. The reason why it had been spoken of
was that it formed a weighty element in the suffering of the crucified.
Few things can make a dying man feel more desolate than to overhear
those who sit round his bed already disposing of his effects, counting
him a dead man who can no longer use the apparatus of the living, and
congratulating themselves on the profit they make by his death. How
furious have old men sometimes been made by any betrayal of eagerness on
the part of their heirs! Even to calculate on a man's death and make
arrangements for filling his place is justly esteemed indecorous and
unfeeling. To ask a sick man for anything he has been accustomed to use,
and must use again if he recovers health, is an act which only an
indelicate nature could be guilty of. It was a cruel addition, then, to
our Lord's suffering to see these men heartlessly dividing among them
all He had to leave. It forced on His mind the consciousness of their
utter indifference to His feelings. His clothes were of some little
value to them: He Himself of no value. Nothing could have made Him feel
more separated from the world of the living--from their hopes, their
ways, their life--as if already He were dead and buried.
This distribution of His clothes was also calculated to make Him
intensely sensible of the reality and finality of death. Jesus knew He
was to rise again; but let us not forget that Jesus was human, liable to
the same natural fears, and moved by the same circumstances as
ourselves. He knew He was to rise again; but how much easier had it been
to believe in that future life had all the world been expecting Him to
rise! But here were men showing that they very well knew He would never
again need these clothes of His.
A comparison of this narrative with the other Gospels brings out that
the words "I thirst" must have been uttered immediately after the
fearful cry "My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?" For when the
soldier was mercifully pressing the sponge steeped in vinegar to His
parched lips, some of the bystanders called out, "Let be: let us see
whether Elias will come to save Him," referring to the words of Jesus,
which they had not rightly understood. And this expression of bodily
suffering is proof that the severity of the spiritual struggle was over.
So long as that deep darkness covered His spirit He was unconscious of
His body; but with the agonised cry to His Father the darkness had
passed away; the very uttering of His desolation had disburdened His
spirit, and at once the body asserts itself. As in the wilderness at the
opening of His career He had been for many days so agitated and absorbed
in mind that He did not once think of food, but no sooner was the
spiritual strife ended than the keen sensation of hunger was the first
thing to demand His attention, so here His sense of thirst is the sign
that His spirit was now at rest.
The last act of the Crucifixion, in which John sees the fulfilment of
Old Testament prophecy, is the omission in the case of Jesus of the
common mode of terminating the life of the crucified by breaking the
legs with an iron bar. Jesus being already dead, this was considered
unnecessary; but as possibly He might only have swooned, and as the
bodies were immediately taken down, one of the soldiers makes sure of
His death by a lance thrust. Medical men and scholars have largely
discussed the causes which might produce the outflow of blood and water
which John affirms followed this spear thrust, and various causes have
been assigned. But it is a point which has apparently only physiological
interest. John indeed follows up his statement of what he saw with an
unusually strong asseveration that what he says is true. "He that saw it
bare record, and his record is true: and he knoweth that he saith true,
that ye might believe." But this strong asseveration is introduced, not
for the sake of persuading us to believe that water as well as blood
flowed from the lance wound, but for the sake of certifying the actual
death of Jesus. The soldiers who had charge of the execution discharged
their duty. They made sure that the Crucified was actually dead. And
John's reason for insisting on this and appending to his statement so
unusual a confirmation is sufficiently obvious. He was about to relate
the Resurrection, and he knows that a true resurrection must be preceded
by a real death. If he has no means of establishing the actual death, he
has no means of establishing the Resurrection. And therefore for the
first and only time in his narrative he departs from simple narration,
and most solemnly asseverates that he is speaking the truth and was an
eyewitness of the things he relates.
The emphatic language John uses regarding the certainty of Christ's
death is, then, only an index to the importance he attached to the
Resurrection. He was aware that whatever virtue lay in the life and
death of Christ, this virtue became available for men through the
Resurrection. Had Jesus not risen again all the hopes His friends had
cherished regarding Him would have been buried in His tomb. Had He not
risen His words would have been falsified and doubt thrown upon all His
teaching. Had He not risen His claims would have been unintelligible and
His whole appearance and life a mystery, suggesting a greatness not
borne out--different from other men, yet subject to the same defeat. Had
He not risen the very significance of His life would have been obscured;
and if for a time a few friends cherished His memory in private, His
name would have fallen back to an obscure, possibly a dishonoured,
place.
It is not at once obvious what we are to make of the physical sufferings
of Christ. Certainly it is very easy to make too much of them. For, in
the first place, they were very brief and confined to one part of His
life. He was exempt from the prolonged weakness and misery which many
persons endure throughout life. Born, as we may reasonably suppose,
with a healthy and vigorous constitution, carefully reared by the best
of mothers, finding a livelihood in His native village and in His
father's business, His lot was very different from the frightful doom of
thousands who are born with diseased and distorted body, in squalid and
wicked surroundings, and who never see through the misery that
encompasses them to any happy or hopeful life. And even after He left
the shelter and modest comforts of the Nazareth home His life was spent
in healthy conditions, and often in scenes of much beauty and interest.
Free to move about through the country as He pleased, passing through
vineyards and olive-groves and cornfields, talking pleasantly with His
little company of attached friends or addressing large audiences, He
lived an open-air life of a kind in which of necessity there must have
been a great deal of physical pleasure and healthful enjoyment. At times
He had not where to lay His head; but this is mentioned rather as a
symptom of His want of friends than as implying any serious physical
suffering in a climate like that of Palestine. And the suffering at the
close of His life, though extreme, was brief, and was not to be compared
in its cruelty to what many of His followers have endured for His sake.
Two things, however, the physical sufferings of Christ do secure: they
call attention to His devotedness, and they illustrate His willing
sacrifice of self. They call attention to His devotedness and provoke a
natural sympathy and tenderness of spirit in the beholder, qualities
which are much needed in our consideration of Christ. Had He passed
through life entirely exempt from suffering, in high position, with
every want eagerly ministered to, untouched by any woe, and at last
passing away by a painless decease, we should find it much harder to
respond to His appeal or even to understand His work. Nothing so quickly
rivets our attention and stirs our sympathy as physical pain. We feel
disposed to listen to the demands of one who is suffering, and if we
have a lurking suspicion that we are somehow responsible for that
suffering and are benefited by it, then we are softened by a mingled
pity, admiration, and shame, which is one of the fittest attitudes a
human spirit can assume.
Besides, it is through the visible suffering we can read the willingness
of Christ's self-surrender. It was always more difficult for Him to
suffer than for us. We have no option: He might have rescued Himself at
any moment. We, in suffering, have but to subdue our disposition to
murmur and our sense of pain: He had to subdue what was much more
obstinate--His consciousness that He might if He pleased abjure the life
that involved pain. The strain upon His love for us was not once for all
over when He became man. He Himself intimates, and His power of working
miracles proves, that at each point of His career He might have saved
Himself from suffering, but would not.
When we ask ourselves what we are to make of these sufferings of Christ,
we naturally seek aid from the Evangelist and ask what he made of them.
But on reading his narrative we are surprised to find so little comment
or reflection interrupting the simple relation of facts. At first sight
the narrative seems to flow uninterruptedly on, and to resemble the
story which might be told of the closing scenes of an ordinary life
terminating tragically. The references to Old Testament prophecy alone
give us the clue to John's thoughts about the significance of this
death. These references show us that he considered that in this public
execution, conducted wholly by Roman soldiers, who could not read a word
of Hebrew and did not know the name of the God of the Jews, there was
being fulfilled the purpose of God towards which all previous history
had been tending. That purpose of God in the history of man was
accomplished when Jesus breathed His last upon the cross. The cry "It is
finished" was not the mere gasp of a worn-out life; it was not the cry
of satisfaction with which a career of pain and sorrow is terminated: it
was the deliberate utterance of a clear consciousness on the part of
God's appointed Revealer that now all had been done that could be done
to make God known to men and to identify Him with men. God's purpose had
ever been one and indivisible. Declared to men in various ways, a hint
here, a broad light there, now by a gleam of insight in the mind of a
prophet, now by a deed of heroism in king or leader, through rude
symbolic contrivances and through the tenderest of human affections and
the highest human thoughts God had been making men ever more and more
sensible that His one purpose was to come closer and closer into
fellowship with them and to draw them into a perfect harmony with Him.
Forgiveness and deliverance from sin were provided for them, knowledge
of God's law and will that they might learn to know and to serve
Him--all these were secured when Jesus cried, "It is finished."
Why, then, does John just at this point of the life of Jesus see so many
evidences of the fulfilment of all prophecy? Need we ask? Is not
suffering that which is the standing problem of life? Is it not grief
and trouble and sorrow which press home upon our minds most convincingly
the reality of sin? Is it not death which is common to all men of every
age, race, station, or experience? And must not One who identifies
Himself with men identify Himself in this if in anything? It is the
cross of Jesus that stands before the mind of John as the completion of
that process of incarnation, of entrance into human experience, which
fills his Gospel; it is here he sees the completion and finishing of
that identification of God with man he has been exhibiting throughout.
The union of God with man is perfected when God submits Himself to the
last darkest experience of man. To some it seems impossible such a thing
should be; it seems either unreal, unthought-out verbiage, or blasphemy.
To John, after he had seen and pondered the words and the life of Jesus,
all his ideas of the Father were altered. He learned that God is love,
and that to infinite love, while there remains one thing to give, one
step of nearness to the loved to be taken, love has not its perfect
expression. It came upon him as a revelation that God was really in the
world. Are we to refuse to God any true participation in the strife
between good and evil? Is God to be kept out of all reality? Is He
merely to look on, to see how His creatures will manage, how this and
that man will bear himself heroically, but Himself a mere name, a lay
figure crowned but otiose, doing nothing to merit His crown, doing
nothing to warrant the worship of untold worlds, commanding others to
peril themselves and put all to the proof, but Himself well out of range
of all risk, of all conflict, of all tragedy? How can we hope to love a
God we remove to a throne remote and exalted, from which He looks down
on human life, and cannot look on it as we do from the inside! Is God to
be only a dramatist, who arranges thrilling situations for others to
pass through, and assigns to each the part he is to play, but Himself
has no real interests at stake and no actual entrance into the world of
feeling, of hope, of trial?
And if a Divine Person were in the course of things to come into this
human world, to enter into our actual experiences, and feel and bear the
actual strain that we bear, it is obvious He must come incognito--not
distinguished by such marks as would bring the world to His feet, and
make an ordinary human life and ordinary human trials impossible to Him.
When sovereigns wish to ascertain for themselves how their subjects
live, they do not proclaim their approach and send in advance an army of
protection, provision, and display; they do not demand to be met by the
authorities of each town, and to be received by artificial, stereotyped
addresses, and to be led from one striking sight to another and from one
comfortable palace to another: but they leave their robes of state
behind them, they send no messenger in advance, and they mix as one of
the crowd with the crowd, exposed to whatever abuse may be going, and
living for the time on the same terms as the rank and file. This has
been done often in sport, sometimes as matter of policy or of interest,
but never as the serious method of understanding and lifting the general
habits and life of the people. Christ came among us, not as a kind of
Divine adventure to break the tedium of eternal glory, nor merely to
make personal observations on His own account, but as the requisite and
only means available for bringing the fulness of Divine help into
practical contact with mankind. But as all filth and squalor are hidden
away in the slums from the senses of the king, so that if he is to
penetrate into the burrows of the criminal classes and see the
wretchedness of the poor, he must do it incognito, so if Christ sought
to bring Divine mercy and might within reach of the vilest, He must
visit their haunts and make Himself acquainted with their habits.
It is also obvious that such a Person would concern Himself not with art
or literature, not with inventions and discoveries, not even with
politics and government and social problems, but with that which
underlies all these and for which all these exist--with human character
and human conduct, with man's relation to God. It is with the very root
of human life He concerns Himself.
The sufferings of Christ, then, were mainly inward, and were the
necessary result of His perfect sympathy with men. That which has made
the cross the most significant of earthly symbols, and which has
invested it with so wonderful a power to subdue and purify the heart, is
not the fact that it involved the keenest physical pain, but that it
exhibits Christ's perfect and complete identification with sinful men.
It is this that humbles us and brings us to a right mind towards God and
towards sin, that here we see the innocent Son of God involved in
suffering and undergoing a shameful death through our sin. It was His
sympathy with men which brought Him into this world, and it was the same
sympathy which laid Him open to suffering throughout His life. The
mother suffers more in the illness of a child than in her own; the shame
of wrong-doing is often more keenly felt by a parent or friend than by
the perpetrator himself. If Paul's enthusiasm and devoted life for men
made him truly say, "Who is weak, and I am not weak?" who shall measure
the burden Christ bore from day to day in the midst of a sinning and
suffering world? With a burning zeal for God, He was plunged into an
arctic region where thick-ribbed ice of indifference met His warmth;
consumed with devotion to God's purposes, He saw everywhere around Him
ignorance, carelessness, self-seeking, total misunderstanding of what
the world is for; linked to men with a love which irrepressibly urged
Him to seek the highest good for all, He was on all hands thwarted;
dying to see men holy and pure and godly, He everywhere found them weak,
sinful, gross. It was this which made Him a man of sorrows and
acquainted with grief--loving God and man with a love which was the
chief element in His being, He could not get man reconciled to God. The
mere sorrows of men doubtless affected Him more than they affect the
most tender-hearted of men; but these sorrows--poverty, failure,
sickness--would pass away and would even work for good, and so might
well be borne. But when He saw men disregarding that which would save
them from lasting sorrow; when He saw them giving themselves to
trivialities with all their might, and doing nothing to recover their
right relation to God, the spring of all good; when He saw them day by
day defeating the purpose He lived to accomplish, and undoing the one
only work He thought worth doing,--who can measure the burden of shame
and grief He had to bear?
But it is not the suffering that does us good and brings us to God, but
the love which underlies the suffering. The suffering convinces us that
it is love which prompts Christ in all His life and death,--a love we
may confidently trust to, since it is staggered at no difficulty or
sacrifice; a love which aims at lifting and helping us; a love that
embraces us, not seeking to accomplish only one thing for us, but
necessarily, because it is love for us, seeking our good in all things.
The power of earthly love, of the devotedness of mother, wife, or
friend, we know;--we know what length such love will go: shall we then
deny to God the happiness of sacrifice, the joy of love? Let it not
enter our thoughts that He who is more closely related to us than any,
and who will far less disclaim this relationship than any, does not love
us in practical ways, and cannot fit us by His loving care for all that
His holiness requires.