"Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother, and his
mother's sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalene.
When Jesus, therefore, saw his mother standing, and the
disciple whom he loved, he said to his mother, _Woman, behold
thy son_, and to the disciple, _Son, behold thy mother_."
Thus far, every utterance of Jesus has been one of thoughtful
consideration for others, of prayer for his enemies, of grace and
pardon to the poor wretch by his side, and of tenderness to his
mother and disciple. But in tasting death for every man our Lord was
to pass through a deeper experience; he was to know the sufferings
of the darkened brain, which, clogged and impeded by the obstructed
circulation, no longer afforded a clear medium for divine communion.
He was to suffer the eclipse which the animal nature in its dying
state can interpose between the soul and God. Three hours we are
told had passed, when there was darkness over all the land, like
that that was slowly gathering over the head of the suffering Lord.
"And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, _Eloi,
Eloi, lama sabacthani_, which is, being interpreted, My God, my
God, why hast thou forsaken me?" Those words, from the Psalm of
David, come now as the familiar language expressive of that dreadful
experience to which the whole world looks as its ransom:--
"After that, Jesus said, _I thirst_. And one ran and filled a
sponge full of vinegar and put it on a reed and gave him to
drink. And when he had received the vinegar, he said, _It is
finished_, and he bowed his head."
What we read of his last utterance is that "he cried with a loud
voice, and gave up the ghost." This last loud utterance was in the
words, "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit."
It is the interpretation that the church has given to these last
words that they betokened a sudden flame of joyful perception,
such as sometimes lights up the brain at the dying moment, after
it has been darkened by the paralysis of death. As he said, "It is
finished," light, and joy, and hope, flushed his soul, and with
this loud cry of victory and joy, it departed like a ray of heavenly
light to the bosom of the Father.
Such were the seven "last utterances" of Jesus--and when can we
hope to attain to what they teach? When shall _we_ be so grounded
in Love that no tumult or jar of outward forces, no insults, no
physical weariness, exhaustion, or shock of physical pain, shall
have power to absorb us in selfishness, or make us forgetful of
others? When shall pity and prayer be the only spontaneous movement
of our hearts when most hurt and injured--pierced in the tenderest
nerve? When shall thoughtfulness for others, and divine pity for
degraded natures, be the immovable habit of our souls? How little of
_self_ and its sufferings in these last words; how much of pity and
love--the pity and love of a God!
Could we but learn life's lessons by them, then will come at last to
us the final hour, when, _our_ trial being completed, we shall say
"It is finished," and pass like him to the bosom of the Father.