all, if the same hard treatment had been continued towards him. But it
was not continued. No, at Norfolk Island, he came under the care of a
good Christian gentleman. This was Capt. Maconochie, an officer of the
English army. He had great faith in the power of kindness and love. He
found this man Anderson one of the very worst men he had ever met with;
but he resolved to try the power of the gospel upon him. He treated him
kindly, as one man ought to treat another. He got him to attend a night
school which he had opened, and there had him taught to read. Then
he persuaded him to join a Bible class which he taught. He showed an
interest in him and sympathy for him. He often took him apart by himself
and talked kindly to him. He told him of the wonderful love of Jesus, as
shown in the story of the cross. This touched and melted the hard and
stony heart of that desperate man. He wept like a child, at the thought
of his life of sin. He prayed earnestly for pardon, and found it. Charles
Anderson—the fierce, unmanageable man—the man who had been chained,
like a wild beast to that lonely rock, became a Christian. And he was
a thoroughly changed man in every respect. The change from midnight to
mid-day, from mid-winter to mid-summer, is not greater than the change
that appeared in him. From being an ill-tempered, gloomy, disobedient,
idle man who was a plague to all about him, he became gentle, and kind,
cheerful, obedient, and trustworthy; a man who gained the respect and the
love of all who knew him. Capt. Maconochie got him released from being a
prisoner, on account of his good behaviour. Then he took him into his own
service, and a more useful and excellent servant he never had in all his
life. Here we see the power of the love of Christ. And so when we think
of the history of the crucifixion, let us remember these six things,—the
place—the time—the manner—the witnesses—the wonders—and the words—which
make up that history. And when we think of the lessons it teaches—let us
remember the lesson of forgiveness—the lesson of duty to our parents—the
lesson about the power and willingness of Christ to save—about the depths
of his sufferings—and the wonders of his love.
We cannot better close this subject than with the words of the hymn we
often sing:
“When I survey the wondrous cross,
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.
“Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the cross of Christ my God,
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to his blood.
“See from his head, his hands, his feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
“Were the whole realm of nature mine,
_That_ were a tribute far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my life—my soul—my all.”
THE BURIAL
In the last chapter, we left our blessed Lord hanging dead upon the
cross. Deep darkness was spread over the land, as if to hide from view
the awful wickedness which men were committing.
We have now to consider what became of the dead Saviour after this. When
death enters our homes and lays his icy hand on some one whom we love,
we know that the next thing to follow is the funeral. We have to make
preparation, as Abraham said on the death of Sarah, his wife, to “bury
our dead out of our sight.” Gen. xxiii: 4. And so, after the crucifixion,
or death of our Saviour, the next thing for us to consider is—his burial.
We have an account of this burial in each of the four gospels. We can
read all that is said about it in the following places:—St. Matt. xxvii:
56-66; St. Mark xv: 42-47; St. Luke xxiii: 50-56, and St. John xix:
38-42.
The history of the burial of Christ, given in these different places,
briefly stated, is, that as soon as he was dead, and while he was yet
hanging on the cross, two men came forward and took charge of his burial.
One of these is called “Joseph of Arimathea.” We know nothing about him
before this. His name was never mentioned before, and after this it is
never mentioned again in the Scriptures. What we are told about him
is, that he was a rich man—an honorable counsellor, or a member of the
Jewish Sanhedrim: he was a just and good man—a disciple of Jesus—but
had kept his thoughts and feelings on this subject to himself, because
he was afraid of the Jews. And with him came Nicodemus—of whom we read
in the third chapter of St. John—who came to Jesus by night to have a
talk with him on the subject of religion. He was also a member of the
Jewish Sanhedrim, and “a ruler of the Jews.” Joseph went boldly in before
Pilate, and asked permission from him to take the body of Jesus down
from the cross and have it buried. This was in the afternoon of the same
day on which the crucifixion had taken place. Pilate was surprised to
think that Jesus could have died so soon. Death by crucifixion, although
very painful, was still a lingering death. It is said that cases have
been known of persons who have hung upon the cross for two or three days
before death put an end to their sufferings. We do not wonder, therefore,
that Pilate should have felt surprised, when he heard that Jesus, who was
crucified about twelve o’clock, should have been dead about three o’clock
the same afternoon. He sent for the centurion, who had charge of the
crucifixion, and asked if it was true that Jesus was already dead. The
centurion had carefully examined the body, and told Pilate that he was
really dead.
Then Pilate gave Joseph and Nicodemus permission to take down the body
and bury it. Immediately they went back to Calvary and took the body
of Jesus down from the cross. They could hardly do it by themselves,
and they had, no doubt, engaged some other persons to help them. We are
not told how the body was taken down. In the art gallery, at Antwerp
in Belgium, there is a famous painting of this scene, by Rubens the
celebrated Flemish artist. It is called—“The Descent from the Cross.”
Here, Joseph and Nicodemus are represented as having set up ladders
against the cross. They have climbed up the ladder, and have drawn out
the nails, and then we see them carefully handing down the dead body of
our blessed Lord. This would be one way of taking the body down.
Another way would be to lift the cross up from the place in the earth,
where it was fastened, and lay it carefully down on the ground, with the
body of Jesus still nailed to it. It would be much easier to get the
nails out, with the cross in this position, than while it was standing
upright. But we are not told how it was done, and so we are at liberty
to think of either of these ways as the one that was adopted. And now,
the mangled body of the dead Saviour is removed from the cross. Then, it
is reverently wrapped in the linen which Joseph had brought with him for
this purpose. Nicodemus had brought a hundred pounds weight of spices,
myrrh and aloes. These were probably in the form of powder. It was the
custom of the Jews to use these spices in the burial of the dead, because
they have the power of preventing decay from taking place immediately.
In a warm country like Palestine, decay begins very soon after death. And
in a body that had been torn and mangled, as was the case with the body
of Jesus, it would take place still sooner. And so the use of the spices
was necessary.
No doubt the wounds made by the nails in the hands and feet of our
Saviour, and the gash of the spear in his blessed side, were gently
filled with those powdered spices. And then the spices were put freely
in between the folds of the linen that were wrapped about his dead cold
limbs. The Jews did not use coffins. Their dead were only wrapped in
grave-clothes, as was the case with Lazarus, and here with our Lord.
And now the preparations are made. The body is ready for the burial.
And the grave is ready for the body. Near to Calvary, where Jesus was
crucified, there was a garden. And in that garden was a new tomb, in
which no dead body had ever lain. This tomb was dug out from the solid
rock. The rocks around Jerusalem are filled with such tombs. They are
not generally dug down below the surface of the ground, as we make our
graves, but into the side of the rock, and on a level with the ground.
This tomb belonged to Joseph of Arimathea. It had, no doubt, been made
for himself and family. How little he thought when he had that new tomb
made, that Jesus, the Son of God, and the Redeemer of the world, would
be the first one to occupy it! What an honor and privilege Joseph had in
being permitted to furnish the tomb in which the dead body of the Lord
of life was to rest till the morning of the resurrection!
And now, the funeral procession is formed. Joseph and Nicodemus, and
their helpers, take reverently hold of the body of Jesus, and bear it
quietly and solemnly away to the open tomb in yonder garden. No doubt
the good women, who lingered round the cross, joined in the procession,
and followed the body of their Lord to the place where it was to lie.
They reach the tomb. On the rocky floor of that tomb, the lifeless body
of Jesus is gently laid. They linger in silence around it. They gaze at
it with loving wonder and amazement. Then they go out. A great stone is
rolled against the mouth of the tomb. And now, all that loving hearts
can suggest, or willing hands can do for the buried one has been done.
They pause awhile to meditate on that silent tomb, and then slowly retire
to their homes, to prepare for the Jewish Sabbath, which began at six
o’clock on Friday evening.
[Illustration: Jesus Yieldeth Up the Ghost
And it was about the sixth hour, and there was a darkness over all the
earth until the ninth hour. And the sun was darkened, and the veil of the
temple was rent in the midst. And when Jesus had cried with a loud voice,
he said, Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit: and having said
thus, he gave up the ghost. Now when the centurion saw what was done, he
glorified God, saying, Certainly this was a righteous man. And all the
people that came together to that sight, beholding the things which were
done, smote their breasts, and returned.—_St. Luke xxiii: 44-48._
_NOTE BY THE ARTIST_
_Of the various points of evidence which may be adduced in favor of the
identity of the spot referred to in picture No. 68 with the Golgotha of
the Gospels one only need here be dwelt upon. “The place of the skull” is
the interpretation of the Hebrew word as given in the Authorized Version,
but according to the Revised Version “the place called the ‘Skull’” is
the more accurate translation, and the singular suitability of this name
to the hillock in question is obvious to anyone looking at it from the
Mount of Olives; the caves and apertures in the face of the cliff beneath
its rounded summit bearing a strange resemblance to the eye-sockets and
nostrils of a human skull. The significance also of the words, “They that
passed by railed on him,” is at once apparent; as the knoll is in full
view of passers-by to east and north, standing as it does at the junction
of the high roads from Jericho and Damascus._
70]
But there is one other thing to notice in connection with this burial.
The priests had heard Jesus speak of rising from the dead on the third
day. They went to Pilate and told him of this. They said they were
afraid that his disciples might come by night and steal away his body,
and then declare that he had risen from the dead. They asked him,
therefore, to allow them to seal the stone over the mouth of the grave
with his seal, and to have a guard of Roman soldiers appointed to keep
watch over the tomb till the third day was passed. Pilate gave them leave
to do this. And we read, “so they went and made the sepulchre sure,
sealing the stone, and setting a watch.” St. Matt. xxvii: 66.
Such is the history of the burial of our Saviour. And as we stand in
thought before the silent tomb in which the body of Jesus is lying, we
may well say, in the words of one of our hymns for Easter even:
“All is o’er, the pain, the sorrow,
Human taunts, and Satan’s spite;
Death shall be despoiled to-morrow
Of the prey he grasps to-night,
Yet once more, his own to save,
Christ must sleep within the grave.
“Fierce and deadly was the anguish
On the bitter cross he bore;
How did soul and body languish,
Till the toil of death was o’er!
But that toil, so fierce and dread,
Bruised and crushed the serpent’s head.
“Close and still the tomb that holds him,
While in brief repose he lies;
Deep the slumber that enfolds him,
Veiled awhile from mortal eyes;
Slumber such as needs must be
After hard won victory.
“Near this tomb, with voice of sadness,
Chant the anthem sweet and low;
Loftier strains of praise and gladness
From to-morrow’s harps shall flow;
Death and hell at length are slain,
Christ hath triumphed, Christ doth reign.”
This is the history of the burial of Christ. And now we may speak of four
lessons taught us by this history.
The first lesson taught us is about—THE CERTAINTY OF HIS DEATH.
Sometimes the enemies of our religion have ventured to say that Jesus did
not really die, but that he only fainted, or swooned, or appeared to die.
But it is of the highest importance for us to know that Jesus did really
die. When we are saying or singing that grand old anthem—the TE DEUM,
we look up to Jesus and say, “When thou had’st _overcome the sharpness
of death_, thou did’st open the kingdom of heaven to all believers.” By
Christ’s overcoming the sharpness of death is meant his resurrection from
the dead. But, if his resurrection was a real resurrection, then the
death from which he rose, must have been a real death. We cannot come
out of a state, or place, if we have never been in it. It is impossible
that you, or I, for example, should go out of this church, unless we were
first in it. And when we know that none of us could enter heaven, unless
Jesus had really died for us, we see how important it is for us to be
sure of the certainty of his death.
Now there was one thing connected with the burial of Christ which proves
that he was really dead, and that was the drawing out of the nails from
his hands and feet. When a great, rough nail or spike has been driven
into a piece of solid wood, we know how hard it is to draw it out. There
were two such spikes driven through the palms of the hands of Jesus, and
two through his feet. In trying to draw these out, I suppose they must
have made use of a large pair of pincers, or of a hammer with a claw
on one side of it. As they came to those nails, one by one, they would
have to get the nippers of the pincers or the claw of the hammer under
the head of the nail. Then they would have to press down hard on the
bruised and torn part of the hands and feet of our Saviour. Now this
must have been so very painful that if he had only fainted on the cross
this dreadful operation, as they went through with it four times, would
certainly have brought him out from his fainting fit. But it did not. It
had not the slightest effect upon him. There was no more feeling in his
hands or feet than there was in the wood of the cross to which he was
nailed. And this proves that he was really dead.
But then there was another thing that took place at the crucifixion of
Jesus which also proves the certainty of his death. We read in St. John
xix: 34—“But one of the soldiers with a spear pierced his side, and
forthwith came there out blood and water.” If Jesus had not been dead
before this took place, that cruel spear, thrust into his heart, would
certainly have killed him. If Jesus had been alive when the soldier did
this, not blood and water, but only blood, would have flowed out from the
wound which the spear made. And learned physicians who have examined this
matter tell us that two things are clearly proved by this flowing out of
blood and water from the wound which the soldier’s spear had made in our
Saviour’s side. One of these is, that he was already dead. The soldier’s
spear did not kill him, but it proved that he was dead before the wound
was made.
And then the other thing which it proved was that Jesus had died of a
broken heart. In Dr. Hanna’s “Life of Christ,” Vol. III. pp. 369-379, may
be found letters from several eminent Scottish physicians, showing that
nothing but a broken heart could account for the flowing out of “blood
and water” from the wound in our Saviour’s side. It was not being nailed
to the cross that killed our blessed Lord. Neither was it the wound made
by the spear. No, but it was the great sorrow he had felt in being made
to bear our sins, that had really broken his heart.
The sixty-ninth Psalm is one of the passages in the Old Testament that
refers to Christ. It is he who is speaking there. And in the twentieth
verse of that Psalm, we find him saying of himself, “_Reproach hath
broken my heart._” And so when we think of “the blood and water” that
flowed out from his wounded side, and of the drawing out of those nails
from his hands and feet, we may feel perfectly sure about the certainty
of the death of Christ.
_The next lesson that we learn from the burial of Christ is about—THE
FULFILLMENT OF HIS WORD._
The prophet Isaiah had spoken about the death and burial of our Saviour
seven hundred years before he was born into our world. In the ninth verse
of the fifty-third chapter of his prophecy, where he is speaking of Jesus
he says, “And he made his grave with the wicked, and with the rich in
his death.” This means that it was arranged, or intended, that he should
be buried with the wicked, and yet it would so happen that he would be
with the rich in his death. We can easily see how it was to be expected
that Jesus would be buried with the wicked, because he died with them. He
was crucified between two thieves. These thieves were buried “with the
wicked,” or in the place where common criminals were generally buried.
And as Jesus had died with them, so it was to be expected that he would
have been buried with them. And this is what would have happened if God
had not ordered it otherwise. The disciples of Jesus had all forsaken
him. And even if they had not done so, none of them were rich. Pilate
would not have given them leave to take charge of the body of their dead
Master. And if they had had it, they could not have procured a rich man’s
grave in which to bury it. It seemed impossible, therefore, that what
Isaiah had spoken should come to pass. But that was the word of God.
It was written in the scripture that Jesus was to be “with the rich in
his death.” And “the scriptures cannot be broken.” God’s word must be
fulfilled. And so, just when Jesus was dying, Joseph of Arimathea, who
had been a secret disciple of Jesus, made his appearance. He was a rich
man. He had a sepulchre near at hand. He asked Pilate to let him have the
body of Jesus, for the purpose of burying it. Pilate gave it to him. He
buried it in his new tomb. And so the words of Isaiah were fulfilled to
the very letter; although it seemed impossible before that such should
have been the case. Jesus died with the wicked, and yet was buried with
the rich. And here we see how wonderfully God’s word was fulfilled.
And we meet with instances, continually, to show that God is still
fulfilling his word in ways that are equally wonderful.
“Try It.” A Christian woman, rich in faith, but poor in this world’s
goods, was greatly perplexed about the meaning of the words, “Give, and
it shall be given unto you.” She said to herself: “the best way to find
out the meaning of such a promise, is to try it. I’ll try it.”
It was Saturday night. After buying what her children would need for
Sunday, she had just two dollars left. Putting this money in her pocket,
she went out. She had not gone far when a friend met her, who was in
great distress, and asked the loan of two dollars. She gave the money to
her friend, and resolved she would wait and see how God would fulfill his
word.
Monday morning came. She had nothing with which to buy food for her
family. While wondering what she should do, there came a knock at the
door. On opening it a lady came in with a bundle in her hand. “Can you do
some work for me?” she asked. “Certainly.” “What will you charge?” The
price was named. The lady put two dollars in her hand, saying, “This is
more than you ask, but you may as well have it.”
The good woman shouted for joy. She had tried God’s promise, and had
found out how wonderfully he fulfills his word.
“The Bullfinch.” Andrew Austin lived in Scotland. He was a tailor by
trade, a good, honest, Christian man, but very poor. At the time to
which this story refers, he was in great trouble. Sickness in his family
had used up all his money. The rent of his cottage was due, and he had
nothing to pay it with. “What shall I do?” he said to himself, in great
distress. He took down his Bible, and opened it at the book of Psalms.
His eye rested on the fourth verse of the seventy-second Psalm—“_For he
shall deliver the needy when he crieth._” He kneeled down and told God
of his trouble, and asked him to fulfill that promise in his present
distress. As he rose from his knees his heart was comforted, and he felt
sure that God would fulfill his word and send, in some way, the help that
was needed.
He resolved to go and see his landlord, and ask him to allow him a week’s
time in which to pay the rent.
Just as he opened the door to go out, a little bird flew past him,
perched upon the mantle-shelf, and hopped about, chirping merrily. Andrew
closed the door, and watched the movements of the little fellow with
great interest. He saw that it was a bullfinch, a piping bullfinch. This
is a bird something like a sparrow, with a round head and short thick
bill. Bullfinches are great singers. They can learn tunes, and carry them
all through nicely. While Andrew was watching the bird, it hopped on to
the Bible which he had just been reading, and lifting up its little head
began to sing the tune of “Old Hundred.” Of course the bird only had the
music without the words. But Andrew joined him, and put in the words:
“Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise him, all creatures here below;
Praise him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”
When he got through singing this verse, the old man felt perfectly happy.
Leaving the little stranger in his room, he went to see the landlord;
and as he walked along he was repeating to himself the words of the
twenty-third Psalm—“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”
He found the landlord very pleasant. He readily gave him the additional
time he wanted to make up his rent. As he was going home feeling very
bright and cheerful, he was singing to a simple tune these words which
just suited his circumstances:
“The birds, without barn or storehouse, are fed;
From them let us learn to trust for our bread;
His saints, what is fitting, shall ne’er be denied,
So long as ’tis written, ‘The Lord will provide.’”
As he went on, he was spoken to by a servant in livery, whom he
recognized at once as the footman of Lady Armistead, a rich and pious
old lady, who lived at Basford Hall, about three miles from the village
where he resided.
“You seem to be in good spirits, Andrew,” said the servant, who was an
old acquaintance. “You sing so well, one would think you had swallowed
Lady Armistead’s bullfinch. It’s been missing these two days. I’m going
home now, for it’s no use seeking any more. Her ladyship takes on
dreadfully about the bird, for it was a great favorite, and a regular
tip-topper at singing.”
Then Andrew asked him to go home with him, and said he should find his
bird again. As they walked along towards the cottage, Andrew told his
friend the story of his troubles; how he had prayed; what God had said to
him out of his Book; and how the bullfinch came and cheered his heart;
how he had been to the landlord’s, and had got another week to turn round
in; “and look you here John Morris, my rent’ll be ready when it’s wanted,
as sure as my name’s Andrew; for that bird was sent from my heavenly
father, and brought me His message on its wings, ‘for his mercy endureth
for ever.’”
So John got the bullfinch and took it home to his mistress. When she
heard about it, Lady Armistead sent for the tailor. His simple story
moved her to tears. She thought more of her bullfinch than ever, since
God had made him a messenger of mercy to one of his suffering children.
She gave the tailor money enough to pay his rent, and told him that he
should have work from Basford Hall as long as he lived. “God bless your
ladyship,” said Andrew, with a grateful heart. Just then the bullfinch
struck up its favorite tune, and Andrew joined in the song.
“Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”
Lady Armistead smiled with sympathy, and Andrew added—“Yes, yes: Praise
the Lord, for his mercy endureth forever.”
Now, however long old Andrew might have lived after that, I think he
would never read over that verse in the seventy-second Psalm—“He shall
deliver the needy when he crieth,” without remembering the lesson we
are here taught by the burial of Christ—and that is, how wonderfully he
fulfills his word.
_The next lesson we learn from the burial of Christ is about—THE WORKING
OF HIS PROVIDENCE._
Suppose we are looking at a great clock. Its wheels are moving slowly on.
We listen, and hear it going—tick-tick-tick. The hands on the dial plate
are getting near to twelve o’clock; and the very moment the minute hand
comes over the figure 12, the hammer in the clock starts up, and begins
to pound on the bell, and the clock strikes twelve. The maker of that
clock arranged every part of its machinery in such a way that it would be
sure to keep time and strike the hours as they came.