_Good Friday_
A peculiar sacredness always attaches to the words of the dying.
In that lonely pass between the here and the hereafter the meanest
soul becomes in a manner a seer, and a mysterious interest invests
it. But the last utterances of great and noble spirits, of minds of
vast feeling and depth, are of still deeper significance. The last
utterances of great men would form a pathetic collection and a food
for deep ponderings. It is no wonder, then, that the traditions of
the Christian Church have attached a special value to the last words
of Jesus on the cross.
The last words of Socrates, reported by Plato, have had an undying
interest. These words were spoken in the bosom of sympathizing
friends and in the enjoyment of physical quiet and composure. Death
was at hand; but it was a death painless and easy, and undisturbing
to the flow of thought or emotion.
The death of Jesus, on the contrary, was death with every
aggravation and horror which could make it fearful. There was
everything to torture the senses and to obscure the soul. It was
a whirl of vulgar obloquy and abuse, confusing to the spirit,
and following upon protracted exhaustion from sleeplessness and
suffering of various kinds for long hours.
In the case of most human beings we might wish to hide our eyes from
the sight of such an agony; we might refuse to listen to what must
be the falterings and the weaknesses of a noble spirit overwhelmed
and borne down beyond the power of human endurance. But no such
danger attends the listening to the last words on Calvary. They
have been collected into a rosary embodying the highest Christian
experience possible to humanity, the most signal victory of love
over pain and of good over evil that the world's history presents.
During Passion Week in Rome no services are more impressive than
those of the seven "last words," with the hymns, prayers, and
exhortations accompanying them. To us the mere quotation of them,
unattended by sermon or hymn or prayer, is a litany of awful power.
Have we ever pondered these as they were spoken in their order in
the words of the simple Gospel narrative?
"And when they came to the place that is called Calvary, there they
crucified him and the malefactors, the one on his right hand and
the other on his left. Then said Jesus, _Father, forgive them; they
know not what they do_." This is the first word. Against physical
violence and pain there is in us all a reaction of the animal nature
which expresses itself often in the form of irritation. Thus, in
strong, undisciplined natures, the first shock of physical torture
brings out a curse, and it is only after an interval that reason
and conscience gain the ascendency and make the needed allowance. In
these strange words of Jesus we feel that there is the sharp shock
of a new sense of pain, but it wrings from him only prayer. This
divine sweetness of love was unvanquished; the habit of tenderness
and consideration for the faults of others furnished an instant
plea. The poor brutal Roman soldiers--they know not what they do!
The foolish multitude who three days before shouted "Hosanna," and
now shout "Crucify"--they know not what they do! How strange to the
Roman soldiers must those words have sounded, if they understood
them! "What manner of man is this?" It is not surprising that
tradition numbers these poor soldiers among the earliest converts to
Jesus.