through Palestine of the thousands congregating in the earthly Jerusalem
to the great Paschal Feast, was but a feeble type of the profound
interest with which myriad angel-worshippers in the Jerusalem above were
gathering to witness the offering of the True Paschal Sacrifice, "the
Lamb slain from the foundation of the world."
On the morning after the supper at Bethany (probably that of our
Sabbath), the Saviour rose from His couch of needed rest to approach
Jerusalem. The reserve hitherto maintained as to His kingly power is now
to be set aside. "The hour is come in which the Son of man is to be
glorified." BETHANY is one of the few places associated with
recollections of the Redeemer's royalty. The "despised and rejected" is,
for once, the honoured and exalted. It is a glimpse of the crown before
He ascends the cross; a foreshadowing of that blessed period when He
shall be hailed by the loud acclaim of earth's nations--the Gentile
hosannah mingling with the Hebrew hallelujah in welcoming Him to the
throne of universal empire.
Multitudes of the assembled pilgrims in the city, who had heard of His
arrival, crowded out to Bethany to witness the mysterious Being, whose
deeds of mercy and miracle had now become the universal theme of
converse. His mightiest prodigy of power in the resurrection of Lazarus
had invested His name and person with surpassing interest. We need not
wonder, therefore, that "the town of Mary and her sister Martha" should
attract many worshippers from Jerusalem, to behold with their own eyes
at once the restored villager and his Divine Deliverer! In fulfilment of
Zechariah's prophecy, the meek and lowly Nazarene, seated on no
caparisoned war-horse, but on an unbroken colt, and surrounded with the
multitude, sets forth on His journey.[26] "The village and the desert
were then all alive (as they still are once every year at the Greek
Easter) with the crowd of Paschal pilgrims moving to and fro between
Bethany and Jerusalem. ... Three pathways lead, and probably always led,
from Bethany; ... one a long circuit over the northern shoulder of Mount
Olivet, down the valley which parts it from Scopus; another, a steep
footpath over the summit; the third, the natural continuation of the
road by which mounted travellers always approach the city from Jericho,
over the southern shoulder between the summit which contains the Tombs
of the Prophets, and that called the 'Mount of Offence.' There can be no
doubt that this last is the road of the entry of Christ, not only
because, as just stated, it is, and must always have been, the usual
approach for horsemen and for large caravans such as then were
concerned, but also because this is the only one of the three approaches
which meets the requirements of the narrative which follows. ... This is
the only one approach which is really grand. It is the approach by which
the army of Pompey advanced, the first European army that ever
confronted it. Probably the first impression of every one coming from
the north-west and the south may be summed up in the simple expression
used by one of the modern travellers--'I am strangely affected, but
greatly disappointed!' But no human being could be disappointed who
first saw Jerusalem from the east. The beauty consists in this, that you
then burst at once on the two great ravines which cut the city off from
the surrounding table-land.
* * * * *
"Two vast streams of people met on that day. The one poured out from the
city, and as they came through the gardens whose clusters of palms rose
on the south-eastern corner of Olivet, they cut down the long branches,
as was their wont at the Feast of Tabernacles, and moved upwards towards
Bethany with loud shouts of welcome. From Bethany streamed forth the
crowds who had assembled there on the previous night, and who came
testifying to the great event at the sepulchre of Lazarus. The road soon
loses sight of Bethany. It is now a rough, but still broad and
well-defined mountain track, winding over rock and loose stones,--a
steep declivity below on the left; the sloping shoulder of Olivet above
on the right. Along this road the multitudes threw down the branches
which they cut as they went along, or spread out a rude matting formed
of the palm branches they had already cut as they came out. The larger
portion (those perhaps who escorted Him from Bethany) unwrapped their
loose cloaks from their shoulders, and stretched them along the rough
path, to form a momentary carpet as he approached. The two streams met
midway. Half of the vast mass, turning round, preceded; the other half
followed. Gradually the long procession swept up and over the ridge,
where first begins the 'descent of the Mount of Olives,' towards
Jerusalem. At this point the first view is caught of the south-eastern
corner of the city. The Temple and the more northern portions are hid by
the slope of Olivet on the right; what is seen is only Mount Zion,
covered with houses to its base, surmounted by the castle of Herod on
the supposed site of the palace of David, from which that portion of
Jerusalem, emphatically 'The City of David,' derived its name. It was at
this precise point, as he drew near, at the descent of the Mount of
Olives, (may it not have been from the sight thus opening upon them?)
that the shout of triumph burst forth from the multitude--'Hosannah to
the Son of David! Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord!
Blessed is the kingdom that cometh of our father David.
Hosannah--Peace--Glory in the highest!' There was a pause as the shout
rang through the long defile; and as the Pharisees who stood by in the
crowd complained, He pointed to the 'stones,' which, strewn beneath
their feet, would immediately 'cry out' if 'these were to hold their
peace.' Again the procession advanced. The road descends a slight
declivity, and the glimpse of the city is again withdrawn behind the
intervening ridge of Olivet. A few moments, and the path mounts again,
it climbs a rugged ascent, it reaches a ledge of smooth rock, and in an
instant the whole city bursts into view. As now the dome of the Mosque
El Aksa rises like a ghost from the earth before the traveller stands on
the ledge, so then must have risen the Temple Tower; as now the vast
enclosure of the Mussulman Sanctuary, so then must have spread the
Temple Courts; as now the gray town on its broken hills, so then the
magnificent city with its background (long since vanished away) of
gardens and suburbs on the western plateau behind. Immediately below was
the valley of the Kedron, here seen in its greatest depth, as it joins
the valley of Hinnom; and thus giving full effect to the great
peculiarity of Jerusalem, seen only on its eastern side--its situation
as of a city rising out of a deep abyss. It is hardly possible to doubt
that this rise and turn of the road (this rocky ledge) was the exact
point where the multitude paused again, and 'He, when He beheld the
city, wept over it.' ... Here the Lord stayed His onward march, and here
His eyes beheld what is still the most impressive view which the
neighbourhood of Jerusalem furnishes--and the tears rushed forth at the
sight."[27]
Without dwelling longer on this splendid ovation, we may only further
remark, that had the Redeemer's mission been on (the infidel theory) a
successful imposture, what an opportunity now to have availed Himself of
that outburst of popular fervour, and to have marched straight to take
possession of the hereditary throne of David. The populace were
evidently more than ready to second any such attempt; the Sanhedrim and
Jewish authorities must have trembled for the result. The hosannas,
borne on the breeze from the slope of Olivet, could not fail to sound
ominous of coming disaster. So incontrovertible indeed had been the
proof of Lazarus' resurrection, that only the most blinded bigotry could
refuse to own in that marvellous act the divinity of Jesus. In addition,
too, to this last crowning demonstration of omnipotence, there were
hundreds, we may well believe, in that procession, who, in different
parts of Palestine, had listened to His gracious words, and witnessed
His gracious deeds. What _other_, what _better_ Messiah could they wish
than this--combining the might of Godhead with the kindness and
tenderness of a human philanthropist and friend? Is He to accept of the
crown? Nay, by a lofty abnegation of self, and all selfish
considerations, He illustrates the announcement made by Him, a few hours
later, in Pilate's judgment-hall, as to the leading characteristic of
that empire He is to set up in the hearts of men--"My kingdom is not of
this world." He was, indeed, one day to be hailed alike King of Zion and
King of Nations, but a bitter baptism of blood and suffering had
meanwhile to be undergone. No glitter of earthly honour--no carnal
dreams of earthly glory--would divert Him from His divine and gracious
undertaking. He would save _others_--Himself He _would_ not save.
Let us pause for a moment, and ponder that significant chorus of praise
which on Olivet arose to the Lord of Glory. How interesting to think of
the vast and varied multitude gathered around the Conqueror! Many,
doubtless, assembled from curiosity, who had never seen Him before, and
had only heard of His fame in their distant homes; others, from feelings
of personal love and gratitude, were blending their voices in the shout
of welcome. Think, it may be, of Bartimeus, now gazing with his unsealed
eyes on his Divine Deliverer. Think of Mary Magdalene, her heart gushing
at the remembrance of her own sin and shame, and her adorable Redeemer's
pardoning and forgiving mercy! Nicodemus, perhaps, no longer seeking to
repair by stealth, under the shadow of night, to hold a confidential
meeting; but in the full blaze of day, and before assembled Israel,
boldly recognising in "the Teacher sent from God" the promised Messiah,
the Prince of Peace, the Redeemer of Mankind. Shall we think of Lazarus
too, fearless of his own personal safety, venturing to follow his guest
with tearful eye, the multitude gazing with wonder on this living trophy
of death? We may think of the very children, as He entered the temple,
uplifting their infant voices in the general welcome--pledges of the
myriad little ones who, in future ages, were to have an interest in "the
kingdom of God."
"Meanwhile He paces through th' adoring crowd,
Calm as the march of some majestic cloud
That o'er wild scenes of ocean war
Holds its still course in Heaven afar.
* * * * *
"Yet in the throng of selfish hearts untrue,
His sad eye rests upon His faithful few;
Children and child-like souls are there,
Blind Bartimeus' humble prayer;
And Lazarus, waken'd from his four days' sleep,
Enduring life again that Passover to keep."[28]
May not Olivet be regarded on this occasion as a type of the Church
triumphant in Heaven--Jesus enthroned in the affections of a mighty
multitude which no man can number--old and young, great and small, rich
and poor--casting their palms of victory at His feet, and ascribing to
Him all the glory of their great salvation?
Let _us_ ask, have _we_ received Jesus as _our_ King?--have _our_ palm
branches been cast at His feet? Feeling that He is alike willing and
mighty to save, have we joined in the rapture of praise--"Blessed is He
that cometh in the name of the Lord to save us?" Have our hearts become
living temples thrown open for His reception? Is this the motto and
superscription on their portals--"This is the gate of the Lord, into
which THE RIGHTEOUS ONE shall enter!" Jesus refused and disowned none of
these gratulations--He spurned no voice in all that motley Jerusalem
throng. There were endless diversities and phases, doubtless, of human
character and history there. The once proud formalist, the once greedy
extortioner, the hated tax-gatherer, the rich nobleman, the child of
penury, the Roman officer, the peasant or fisherman of Galilee, the
humbled publican, the woman from the city, the reclaimed victim of
misery and guilt! All were there as types and samples of that
diversified multitude who, in every age, were to own Him as King, and
receive His gracious benediction.
We have spoken of this incident as a glimpse of glory before His
sufferings. Alas! it _was_ but a glimpse. What a picture of the
fickleness and treachery of the heart!--That excited populace who are
now shouting their hosannahs, are ere long to be raising the cry,
"Crucify Him, crucify Him!" Four days hence we shall find the palm
branches lying withered on the Bethany road, and the blazing torches of
an assassin-band nigh the very spot where He is now passing with an
applauding retinue! "Cease ye from man, whose breath is in his
nostrils."
It does not belong to our narrative to record the remaining transactions
of this day in Jerusalem. The shades of evening find the Saviour once
more repairing to Bethany. The evangelist _Mark_, in the course of his
narrative, simply but touchingly says:--"And Jesus entered into
Jerusalem, and into the temple, and when He had looked round about upon
all things" (the mitred priests, the bleeding victims, the costly
buildings), "and now the eventide was come, he went out unto BETHANY
with the twelve." (Mark xi. 11.) As He returned to the sweet calm of
that quiet home, if He could not fail to think of the hours of darkness
and agony before Him, could He reap no joy or consolation in the
thought, that that very day week the redemption of His people was to be
consummated--the glory that surrounded the grave and resurrection of
Lazarus was to be eclipsed by the marvels of His own!
XIX.
THE FIG-TREE.
The hosannahs of yesterday had died away--the memorials of its triumph
were strewed on the road across Olivet--as, early on the Monday morning,
while the sun was just appearing above the Mountains of Moab, the Divine
Redeemer left His Bethany retreat, and was seen retraversing the
well-worn path to Jerusalem. Here and there, in the "olive-bordered
way," were Fig plantations. The adjoining village of Bethphage derived
its name from the Green Fig.[29] Indeed, "fig-trees may still be seen
overhanging the ordinary road from Jerusalem to Bethany, growing out of
the rocks of the solid mountain, which, by the prayer of faith, might
'be removed and cast into the (distant Mediterranean) Sea.'"[30] An
incident connected with one of these is too intimately identified with
the Redeemer's last journeys to and from the home of His friend to admit
of exclusion from our "Bethany Memories." These memories have hitherto,
for the most part, in connexion at least with our blessed Lord, been
soothing, hallowed, encouraging. Here the "still small voice" is for
once broken with sterner accents. In contrast with the bright background
of other sunny pictures, we have, standing out in bold relief, a
withered, sapless stem, impressively proclaiming, in unwonted utterances
of wrath and rebuke, that the same hand is "strong to smite," which we
have witnessed so lately in the case of Lazarus was "strong to save."
The eye of Jesus, as he traversed the rocky path with His disciples,
rested on a _Fig-tree_. (Mark xi. 12, 13.) It seems not to have been
growing alone, but formed part of a group or plantation on one of the
slopes or ravines of Olivet. Its appearance could not fail to challenge
attention. It was now only the Passover season (the month of April);
summer--the time for ripe figs--was yet distant; and as it is one of
the peculiarities of the tree that the fruit appears _before_ the
leaves, a considerable period, in the ordinary course of nature, ought
to have elapsed before the foliage was matured. Jesus Himself, it will
be remembered, on another occasion, spake of the putting forth of the
fig-tree leaves as an indication that "_summer_ was nigh." It must have
been, therefore, a strange and unusual sight which met the eye of the
travellers as they gazed, in early spring, on one of these trees with
its full complement of leaves--clad in full summer luxuriance. While the
others in the plantation, true to the order of development, were yet
bare and leafless, or else the buds of spring only flushing them with
verdure, the broad leaves of this precocious (and we may think at first
_favoured_) plant--the pioneer of surrounding vegetation--rustled in the
morning breeze, and invited the passers-by to turn aside, examine the
marvel, and pluck the fruit.
We may confidently infer that Jesus, as the Omniscient Lord of the
inanimate creation, knew well that fruit there was none under that
pretentious foliage. We dare not suppose that He went expecting to find
Figs; far less, that in a moment of disappointed hope, He ventured on a
capricious exercise of His power, uttered a hasty malediction, and
condemned the insensate boughs to barrenness and decay. The first
cursory reading of the narrative may suggest some such unworthy
impression. But we dismiss it at once, as strangely at variance with the
Saviour's character, and strangely unlike His wonted actings. We feel
assured that He literally, as well as figuratively, would not "break the
bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax." He came, in all respects,
"not to destroy, but to save." Some deep inner meaning, not apparent on
the surface of the inspired story, must have led Him for the moment to
regard a tree in the light of a responsible agent, and to address it in
words of unusual severity.
What, then, is the explanation? Our Lord on this occasion revives the
old typical or picture-teaching with which the Hebrews were to that hour
so familiar. He, as the greatest of prophets, adopts the significant and
impressive method, not unfrequently employed by the Seers of Israel,
who, in uttering startling and solemn truths, did so by means of
_symbolic actions_. As Jeremiah of old dashed the potter's vessel down
the Valley of Hinnom, to indicate the judgments that were about to
befall Jerusalem; or, at another time, wore around his own neck a wooden
yoke, to intimate their approaching bondage under the King of Babylon;
or, as Isaiah "walked naked and barefoot three years for a sign and
wonder upon Egypt and Ethiopia," so did our Lord now invest a tree in
dumb nature with a prophet's warning voice, and make its stripped and
blighted boughs eloquent of a nation's doom!
On the height of their own Olivet, looking down, as it were, on
Jerusalem, that fig-tree becomes a stern messenger of woe and vengeance
to the whole house of Judah. Often before had he warned by His _words_
and _tears_; now He is to make an insignificant object in the outer
world take up His prophecy, and testify to the degenerate people at once
the cause, the suddenness, and the certainty of their destruction! Let
us join, then, the Master and His disciples, as they stand on the crest
above Bethany, and, gazing on that fruitless leaf-bearer, "hear this
parable of the fig-tree."[31]
Jesus, on approaching it (it seemed to be at a little distance from
their path), and finding abundance of leaves, but no fruit thereon,
condemns it to perpetual sterility and barrenness.
A difficulty here occurs on the threshold of the narrative. If, as we
have noted, and as St Mark tells us, "the time of figs was _not
yet_"--why this seeming impatience--why this harsh sentence for not
having what, _if found_, would have been unseasonable, untimely,
abnormal?
In this apparent difficulty lies the main truth and zest of the parable.
The doom of sterility, be it carefully noted, was uttered by Jesus, not
so much because of the _absence of fruit_, but because the tree, by its
premature display of leaves, challenged expectations which a closer
inspection did not realise. "It was punished," says an able writer, "not
for being without fruit, but for proclaiming, by the voice of those
leaves, that it had such. Not for being barren, but for being
false."[32]
Graphic picture of boastful and vaunting Israel! This conspicuous tree,
nigh one of the frequented paths of Olivet, was no inappropriate type,
surely, of that nation which stood illustrious amid the world's
kingdoms--exalted to heaven with unexampled privileges which it
abused--proudly claiming a righteousness which, when weighed in the
balances, was found utterly wanting. It mattered not that the heathen
nations were as guilty, vile, and corrupt as the chosen people.
Fig-trees were they, too--naked stems, fruitless and leafless; but then
they made no boastful pretensions. The Jews had, in the face of the
world, been glorying in a righteousness which, in reality, was only like
the foliage of that tree by which the Lord and His disciples now
stood--mocking the expectations of its owner by mere outward semblance
and an utter absence of fruit.
The very day preceding, these mournful deficiencies had brought tears to
the Saviour's eyes--stirred the depths of His yearning heart in the very
hour of His triumph. He had looked down from the height of the mountain
on the gilded splendours of the Temple Courts beneath; but, alas! He saw
that sanctimonious hypocrisy and self-righteous formalism had sheltered
themselves behind clouds of incense. Mammon, covetousness, oppression,
fraud, were rising like strange fire from these defiled altars!
He turns the tears of yesterday into an expressive and enduring parable
to-day! He approaches a luxuriant Fig-tree, boasting great things among
its fellows, and thus through _it_ He addresses a doomed city and
devoted land,--"O House of Israel," He seems to say, "I have come up for
the last time to your highest and most ancient festival. You stand forth
in the midst of the nations of the earth clothed in rich verdure. You
retain intact the splendour of your ancestral ritual. You boast of your
rigid adherence to its outward ceremonial, the punctilious observance of
your fasts and feasts. But I have found that it is but 'a name to live.'
You sinfully ignore 'the weightier matters of the law, judgment,
justice, and mercy!' You call out as you tread that gorgeous fane--'The
Temple of the Lord! The Temple of the Lord! The Temple of the Lord are
we!' You forget that your hearts are the Temple I prize! Holiness, the
most acceptable incense--love to God, and love to man, the most pleasing
sacrifice. All that dead and torpid formalism--that mockery of outward
foliage--is to me nothing. 'Your new moons and Sabbaths--the calling of
assemblies--I cannot away with; it is iniquity even the solemn meeting.'
These are only as the whitewash of your sepulchres to hide the
loathsomeness within--'the rottenness and dead men's bones!' If you had
made no impious pretensions, I would not, peradventure, have dealt so
sternly with you. If like the other trees you had confessed your
nakedness, and stood with your leafless stems, waiting for summer suns,
and dews, and rains, to fructify you, and to bring your fruit to
perfection--all well; but you have sought to mock and deceive me by your
falsity, and thus precipitated the doom of the cumberer. 'Henceforth,
let no man eat fruit of thee for ever!'"
The unconscious Tree listened! One night only passed, and the morrow
found it with drooping leaf and blighted stem! On yonder mountain crest
it stood, as a sign between heaven and earth of impending judgment.
Eighteen hundred years have taken up its parable--fearfully
authenticated the averments of the August Speaker! Israel, a bared,
leafless, sapless trunk, testifies to this hour, before the nations,
that "heaven and earth may pass away, but God's words will not pass
away!"[33]
But does the parable stop here? Was there no voice but for the ear of
Judah and Jerusalem? Have _we_ no part in these solemn monitions?