There is no aspect of our Lord's life more pathetic than that of His
profound loneliness. I suppose the most utterly solitary man that
ever lived was Jesus Christ. If we think of the facts of His life,
we see how His nearest kindred stood aloof from Him, how 'there were
none to praise, and very few to love'; and how, even in the small
company of His friends, there was absolutely none who either
understood Him or sympathised with Him. We hear a great deal about
the solitude in which men of genius live, and how all great souls
are necessarily lonely. That is true, and that solitude of great men
is one of the compensations which run through all life, and make the
lot of the many little, more enviable than that of the few great.
'The little hills rejoice together on every side,' but far above
their smiling companionships, the Alpine peak lifts itself into the
cold air, and though it be 'visited all night by troops of stars,'
it is lonely amid the silence and the snow. Talk of the solitude of
pure character amid evil, like Lot in Sodom, or of the loneliness of
uncomprehended aims and unshared thoughts--who ever experienced that
as keenly as Christ did? That perfect purity must needs have been
hurt by the sin of men as none else have ever been. That loving
heart yearning for the solace of an answering heart must needs have
felt a sharper pang of unrequited love than ever pained another.
That spirit to which the things that are seen were shadows, and the
Father and the Father's house the ever-present, only realities
must have felt itself parted from the men whose portion was in this
life, by a gulf broader than ever opened between any other two souls
that shared together human life.
The more pure and lofty a nature, the more keen its sensitiveness,
the more exquisite its delights, and the sharper its pains. The more
loving and unselfish a heart, the more its longing for companionship:
and the more its aching in loneliness.
Very significant and pathetic are many points in the Gospel story
bearing on this matter. The very choice of the Twelve had for its
first purpose, 'that they should be with Him,' as one of the
Evangelists tells us. We know how constantly He took the three who
were nearest to Him along with Him, and that surely not merely that
they might be 'eyewitnesses of His majesty' on the holy mount, or of
His agony in Gethsemane, but as having a real gladness and strength
even in their companionship amid the mystery of glory as amid the
power of darkness. We read of His being alone but twice in all the
gospels, and both times for prayer. And surely the dullest ear can
hear a note of pain in that prophetic word: 'The hour cometh that ye
shall be scattered, every man to his own, and shall leave Me alone';
while every heart must feel the pitiful pathos of the plea, 'Tarry
ye here, and watch with Me.' Even in that supreme hour, He longs for
human companionship, however uncomprehending, and stretches out His
hands in the great darkness, to feel the touch of a hand of flesh
and blood--and, alas, for poor feeble love!--He gropes for it in
vain. Surely that horror of utter solitude is one of the elements of
His passion grave and sorrowful enough to be named by the side of
the other bitterness poured into that cup, even as it was pain
enough to form a substantive feature of the great prophetic picture:
'I looked for some to take pity, but there was none; and for
comforters, but I found none.'
So here, a deep pain in His loneliness is implied in these words of
our text which put the disciples' participation in the glories of
His throne as the issue of their loyal continuance with Him in the
conflict of earth. These, and these only, had been by His side, and
so much does He care for their companionship, that therefore they
shall share His dominion.
That lonely Christ sympathises with all solitary hearts. If ever we
feel ourselves misunderstood and thrown back upon ourselves; if ever
our hearts' burden of love is rejected; if our outward lives be
lonely and earth yields nothing to stay our longing for companionship;
if our hearts have been filled with dear ones and are now empty or
filled only with tears, let us think of Him and say, 'Yet I am not
alone.' He lived alone, alone He died, that no heart might ever be
solitary any more. 'Could ye not watch with Me?' was His gentle rebuke
in Gethsemane. 'Lo, _I_ am with _you_ always,' is His mighty
promise from the throne. In every step of life we may have Him for
a companion, a friend closer than all others, nearer us than our very
selves, if we may so say--and in the valley of the shadow of death we
need fear no evil, for He will be with us.