Jesus goes alone and on foot to Jerusalem, to try and prove
Himself. In six months they will kill Him. The rich Capital
no place for Socialism. "If thou be Christ, tell us,
plainly." He is a fugitive from a city mob. The Raising of
Lazarus. Again the people are following Him. The great
Sanhedrin is alarmed. "This Man has everybody believing on
Him! He will create a Revolution yet." Jerusalem is in
political danger, anyway; so is the Roman Empire. Everything
seems going to pieces. "This Man has too many Followers; we
must kill Him." Judas is hired to betray Him.
There is but a little stay in Capernaum now, the great Galilean will
scarcely walk by His beautiful lake again. He is now thirty-two years
old and more.
In a few days His disciples will have gone up to Jerusalem to the
great festival, the feast of the tabernacle. It is said that some of
the nearest relatives of the Galilean did not believe in Him even now.
It was they, however, who told Him to go up to Jerusalem to the
headquarters of the opposition and "prove himself," if He could. "Show
Thyself to the world," they said, "these things are not done in
secret." And so He went alone and on foot.
Six months--and it will be the end. They will kill Him. His meditation
on that lonesome foot journey to Jerusalem, with death and the cross
as its last goal, we will never know.
The great Jerusalem is full of strangers. Tens of thousands are now
beginning to hear of the great Galilean for the first time. There is
great excitement in the city. Most of the newcomers take time to talk
of Him. He is on every tongue. "When does He come, and from whence?"
"Galilee?" "No good can come from there; that is sure." "Where is He
now?" "Why do the people shout?" "What does He look like?" "Will He be
welcomed or stoned?"
Suddenly the sweet face of the Master himself is on the temple porch
in Jerusalem. Look, He is teaching the people. How strange, how
embarrassing the situation. Save for a little coming of believers and
friends, men and women who have come to Him from Galilee, He is
almost without a friend in all that splendid city. If many souls,
hearing, believe in Him, it is dangerous to say so. All such will be
turned out of the synagogue, their houses and their lands taken from
them. Anyway this great, unbelieving city is not the place to preach
humility in, nor love for the lowly, nor the giving away of property,
nor for the reproaching of the rich. That is a kind of socialism
usually wanted by people who have nothing. This splendid city, with
its minarets and domes, its gorgeous temple, and the magnificent
structures built by Roman emperors, is full of rich people, full of
aristocrats; and is governed by proud priests, who look upon the
Galilean reformer and His small following with utter contempt.
One day when He was walking on Solomon's porch of the temple, numbers
of Jews came around Him and tauntingly said, "How long dost Thou make
us to doubt? If Thou be the Christ, tell us plainly." He answered, "I
have already told you, and ye believed not." "The works I do in my
Father's name bear witness of me." Then He happened to say something
very mysterious. "I and my Father are one." That was too much for
them. Not knowing what it meant, they tried to stone Him out of the
city. "I have done many good works," He continued, "for which of those
works do you stone me?" "We stone you for blasphemy," they cried, "and
because being a man Thou makest Thyself God." He had to fly. Another
bitter charge against Him had been His healing the sick on Sunday. Not
even a good deed dare be done on the Sabbath, was a doctrine of these
extreme interpreters of the Mosaic law. Once the Lord restored a blind
man to sight on a Sunday, and the poor man was almost mobbed because
of it.
The wrangling of the scribes and doctors about Him still goes on.
There is not a moment of peace for Him. He is even in constant danger.
On a slope of the Mount of Olives, where He often sits summer evenings
looking down to the city at His feet and lamenting over it, stands
the little hamlet of Bethany. Three good friends of his live there.
Mary and Martha and their brother Lazarus. Many a time after tiresome
disputes and wranglings with insolent priests and rabbis in the city,
who were only trying to entrap Him, He goes to this quiet little home
among the olive groves for rest.
After a while He leaves the neighborhood of the great city entirely,
and goes over the Jordan near the desert, to the very spot in fact
where John baptized Him two years ago. What strange feelings must have
possessed His soul while there--there where the dove had come down on
Him, and where the great voice had called Him "the beloved Son"! There
His public life commenced. And now He is there again. Not with the
voice of God speaking to Him.--No--He is a fugitive from a city mob.
Yet a great many people from the villages come to Him down there by
the Jordan and believe on Him. Many wonders are again performed. Many
people are healed. A part of this restful time away from Jerusalem is
spent close to Jericho. A lovely plain is there with delightful
plantations and gardens of perfume. "It is a divine country there,"
said Josephus, the historian, but in those days it was all fresh and
green--the climate different from now. Lover of beautiful nature as He
was, this little spot of roses and verdure must have delighted His
soul.
In a few days His dear friends Mary and Martha, back there in Bethany,
send to tell Him that their brother Lazarus, who is very dear to Him,
is sick.
"Let us go back there at once," exclaimed the Master. His disciples
tried to warn Him. "Why,--they stoned you and you had to fly just
now,--will you risk going back?" He reflected a moment in silence, and
then told them, sadly, plainly, that Lazarus was dead. "Let us go."
And some of the disciples said, "Let us also go that we may die with
Him."
It is only some twenty-five miles perhaps, and they have come near to
the village. It seems the friend had been dead four days already. But
the coming back is to be followed by one of the astonishing wonders of
Bible history. Lazarus is to be brought to life. The names of Lazarus,
with Mary and Martha, had been well known in Jerusalem, and numbers of
its good citizens had come out to the village to condole with the
bereaved sisters. Hearing of the Master's approach, Martha hurried out
to the edge of the village and met Him at the door of her dead
brother's tomb, a place cut in the solid rock. "If thou hadst been
here, my brother had not died," cried the sister, weeping. "He will
rise again," the Master answered, simply. "Yes, I know, at the
resurrection," said Martha. Again he spoke. "I am the Resurrection,
whosoever believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this? Hast
thou faith?" And she answered, "Yes." Instantly she ran and told her
sister, and she, too, came, believing and worshiping. "Did I not tell
thee," said the Master, "that if thou wouldst believe, thou shouldst
see the glory of God?" Then He commanded the door of the tomb to be
taken away--and, in a loud voice, bade the dead to rise.
In a moment the living Lazarus walked out of the tomb. Some of the
Jews, seeing it, believed. Some of the higher classes also believed.
However it was done, it had been an astounding wonder, and the
excitement ran like wildfire into the city. The great Sanhedrin and
chief priests, hearing of it, instantly called a secret council.
"What shall we do?" they said. "This man doeth many miracles. If let
alone, all men will believe on him--and the Romans will come and take
our place and nation away from us." There was an ex-high priest named
Annas at this secret meeting. He was a religious tyrant, who had never
lost his power in the Jewish councils. His son-in-law, Caiaphas, was
officially high priest, but only as his tool. Annas was the power
behind the throne. His wishes, his commands, prevailed everywhere. The
murderous strings were pulled by his hands. Annas hated Jesus, hated
the apostles, hated every new doctrine; and possibly, too, he truly
feared that any new religion or excitement might disturb Jewish
politics, might bring on rebellion, might even bring the hatred of
Rome on the Jews. He did not know that the hatred of Rome was already
turned against Palestine; nor that Palestine, Jerusalem, Rome itself,
were all at that moment on the road to destruction, but it is from
causes with which the teaching of the Galilean, whom he is about to
murder, has nothing to do. "It is better to kill this religious
fanatic and disturber and save ourselves," said Annas to the great
council. "We will not do it with our own hands--we will arrest Him,
bring Him before the judges, and incite the mob to do the rest."
And so an order was sent out that the kind Jesus should be arrested
wherever found. The miracle at the tomb, however performed, or however
believed, had proved to be the most important act of the Galilean's
life. Now it was, alas, to be a warrant for His death. "Now," said the
Sanhedrin council, "it is going too far--all the world is running
after Him."
In perhaps a week after this there was a little supper at Martha's
home, in Bethany, only two miles out of the city--and the Master was
there, and the resurrected Lazarus sat at the table with them.
Singularly enough Judas, the coming traitor, was also there, and
complained of Mary's using some precious ointment to bathe the feet of
the Master. Because he was treasurer for the apostles and a thief, he
wanted the money value of the ointment put where he could steal it. He
was now already preparing himself for the great betrayal.
Out of curiosity to see Lazarus, the resurrected one, many went to the
village that night from Jerusalem; some of them also were converted.
The priests, hearing of this, decided it was best to put Lazarus also
to death. The great wonder performed at the tomb had alarmed them. It
had not converted them.
In a few hours, believing people, hearing that the great Galilean was
entering the city again, went out to meet him, swinging palm leaves
and shouting hosannas. Many even threw their mantles down for Him to
ride over and hailed Him king of Israel. Some of the bystanders,
looking on with contempt, even asked Jesus to silence and rebuke His
zealous followers. "No, no," He answered, "were these to hold their
peace, the very stones would cry out." Again all kinds of snares are
set for Him, every word is watched. Though He is again permitted to
talk at the porch of the temple every day, spies are there listening.
He is hated in the great city.
Pretty soon they will call Him a criminal for doing cures on the
Sabbath, for with their laws one scarcely dared eat his dinner on a
Sunday; not this only, they will persecute Him for saying He is a king
when there is no king, save Tiberius at Rome. Sometimes the Galilean's
own talk seems wilder, less comprehensible than it even was to His
native villagers. He has himself become so wholly spiritual, so filled
with a quick coming of the new kingdom, that He hardly realizes the
material life about Him.
Occasionally He climbs up to the top of the Mount of Olives,
overlooking the beautiful city, and sits there for hours, meditating
on its spiritual destruction--a destruction He had come to prevent,
and cannot. Even a material destruction is hanging over Jerusalem. In
thirty-seven years it will be burned to the earth--and where the
gorgeous temple stands, the mosque of Omar will one day lift its head,
type and temple of Mahomet, whose creed would have broken the Master's
heart. It seems the Master in His soul knew all that was about to
happen. Could He not have prevented it? By a miracle could He not have
destroyed all His enemies at a single blow? He did not do it. He only
said, "It is the father's will, these awful things that are about to
happen." He would not shirk them. He regarded Himself foreordained to
suffer. To His mind the Old Scriptures foretold His awful sacrifice.