04.12. Volume 6 contd
Jesus Entering Jerusalem
Mat 21:1-17 The triumphal entry was one of the most remarkable incidents in our Lord’s life. Usually Jesus made no public demonstration, did nothing to draw attention to Himself in any way. Indeed, He avoided notoriety and fame; He did not strive nor cry aloud; neither did anyone hear His voice in the streets. He spoke to His disciples confidentially of His Messiahship—but did not publicly proclaim it. On this occasion, however, He made a public demonstration; riding into the city as a king would ride, thus proclaiming to the multitudes assembling for the Passover feast—the fact of His Messiahship. How shall we explain this? May we not say that it was another way of presenting Himself to the people, offering Himself to them as their Messiah, for the last time? A prophet had foretold that He would thus in this spectacular way, ride into the city—but He did not do it merely to fulfill prophecy. The prophecy was part of the will of God for him—and there was a reason for it beyond the fulfilling of what had been foretold.
"As they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them: Go to the village ahead of you, and at once you will find a donkey tied there, with her colt by her. Untie them and bring them to me." Note their obedience. "The disciples went—and did as Jesus had instructed them." They were glad to have a part in the honoring of their Master. No doubt they themselves shared the expectations of the multitude regarding Jesus, hoping that the time had now come for Him to assume His place as King. It was a lowly errand on which they were sent—to bring to their Master the animal on which He was to ride—but they were proud to be chosen for this service. We should be glad always to run any errand, even the humblest, for our Master. If He were here now, and wanted to ride somewhere, who would not be eager to bring Him his horse to ride upon?
Jesus has told us that we may now do just such errands for Him—since what we do for any of His little ones, even the least, in His name, is done for Him. We may so set Jesus before us—that our very drudgeries shall be made Divine; we may thus transform them into heavenly ministries, by doing them for Him. The angels never think about the degree of honorableness in the tasks they are set to do.
Promptly the disciples returned, bringing with them the animals they had been sent to bring. "They brought the donkey and the colt, placed their cloaks on them, and Jesus sat on them." The donkey was a symbol of peace. If Jesus had ridden on a horse, it would have spoken of war—but He was the Prince of Peace. In those days there was nothing degrading on riding on an donkey. It was the royal animal. The disciples were told to say to the owner, that the Lord had need of the animals. There is nothing that Christ may not use—nothing of ours, however lowly, which may not have its place in advancing His kingdom and glory. It is said that once Queen Victoria was traveling through the Highlands and stopped a little while at the home of a poor woman to rest and sat in a common chair. When the royal party was leaving, one whispered to the old woman, that it was the Queen who had been in her home. She took up the chair on which the Queen had been sitting and carried it away, saying, "No one ever shall sit in this chair again, because my Queen has used it!" Our King will use anything we have, and what of ours He uses—is lifted to highest honor. He has need for our money, our hands, our feet, our lips—and we do well when we hold all our possessions ready at any call of His—to be used as He desires.
It was a strange scene—the enthusiasm of the people that day as Jesus rode toward the city. "A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, while others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road." Xerxes, history tells us, when passing over the bridge of the Hellespont, found the road strewn with branches of myrtle, while perfumes filled the air. When Alexander the Great was entering Babylon, flowers were strewn before him. It is no wonder that these Jewish pilgrims honored Jesus that day. For the moment they regarded Him as indeed their Messiah. They were escorting Him into the city, as they thought—to take His place on David’s throne. They were not deceived, either, for Jesus was really going to His coronation, though not to such a coronation as they thought. He was to be crowned—but with thorns! The people were indeed escorting the Messiah—but not such a Messiah as they were looking for. The time of His triumph was indeed at hand—though not such a triumph as they expected to see. His kingdom was not of this world. His glory was to be reached through disgrace and shame. He was the king of sorrows, because through sorrow He prepared redemption for the world. The strange pageant of that day was a picture, a Divine foreshadowing, of the coming day, when all nations shall join in honoring Christ as King.
Glad were the songs that rang out on the air that morning: "Hosanna to the son of David! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!" The people were disappointed in a sense. In a little while all their bright hopes had vanished—Jesus went to a cross instead of a throne! Soon "Hosanna!" was changed to "Crucify Him!" Soon the palm branches were withered and trodden underfoot by the throngs. Yet the people sang that morning better than they knew. They thought of the restoring of David’s kingdom; the King that was coming was really far more glorious than David. They expected liberty from the Roman yoke; Jesus brought liberty from the yoke of Satan and sin. They expected restoration of homes, riches and honors; Jesus had restored us to our place in our Father’s family. They looked for physical prosperity; He brought the peace of God and the prosperity which comes by righteousness. They expected the conquest of all nations by their Messiah; he will conquer the whole world by His grace and truth. The earthly blessings they looked for as a result of the Messiah’s coming—were but the shadows of the heavenly joys which He actually brought. A remarkable scene occurred in the temple. "Jesus entered the temple area and drove out all who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves." The temple was the house of prayer—but it had been changed into a den of robbers, as Jesus says. Not only did these traders desecrate the sacred house by making it a marketplace—but they robbed the people by usury and overcharging. Jesus cast out the traders and the money changers and cleansed the holy place. Thus it is that He would do—when He comes as King into our hearts. Made to be temples of God, houses of prayer, homes of purity and peace—sin has turned them into dens of robbers, desecrating them and filling them with unholy things. Christ’s first work is to drive out all that defiles them, all that is unholy, and make them ready to be God’s dwelling-places! The rulers were vexed when they saw all that Jesus had done. They seemed to have been especially annoyed by hearing the children singing their hosannas to Jesus. He reminded them, however, that their own Scriptures had foretold this very scene: "Have you never read: From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise?" Everywhere in the Bible we learn that children are dear to God. He wants their earliest love. He is pleased to hear their voices in songs of praise. A sweeter music rises to heaven from the children’s singing, than from trained choirs of insincere, formal, or mere professional worshipers. The children should always be in the church services and should join in the songs. The service is completed, perfected by their voices. The great triumph of Christ is still going on in this world. The palm branches which were waved that day have long since faded, and the music of the songs has died away on the air; but uncounted millions are following in the procession of those who honor Him. Among these are prophets, apostles, martyrs and saints of all ages. Countless multitudes have been gathered from the darkest abodes of sin, and, wearing white garments washed in the blood of the Lamb, are now among those who honor Christ. Old men and boys, feeble women and maidens, all saved by the power of the cross—are now singing the song, "Hosanna to the Son of David!"
Two Parables of Judgment
"Listen to another parable: There was a landowner who planted a vineyard. He put a wall around it, dug a winepress in it and built a watchtower. Then he rented the vineyard to some farmers and went away on a journey." The parable interprets itself. The people of Israel were familiar with the use of a vineyard as an image or illustration of themselves. The prophets had employed it. It is easy to explain the parable in its historical sense—but it has a reference also to us. God is continually planting vineyards and leaving them in the care of farmers. He has placed one in your care—it is your own life. He has placed in it many vines, which, if well tended and cultivated, will produce rich fruits. He has put a hedge about it, the walls and defenses of your own home and of the Church, and the restraints and safeguards of Christian friendships and associations. You were not born in a heathen land, your life open and unfenced like a public common, to be trodden down by every unholy foot. God has made every provision for His vineyard that is necessary for its fruitfulness. It is well watered—the influences of Divine grace flow all through your life. He has done for His vineyard all that could be done. It is yours now to keep and care for, not as owner—but as tenant. You are not your own; you belong to Christ (see 1Co 1:1); your life is His, and you are to keep it and cultivate it for Him. You are really one of God’s tenants. He has "assigned" to you a little vineyard, for whose care and cultivation you are responsible. You He does not compel you to obey Him, to keep your heart, to bring forth fruit; you are free—but He holds you accountable for the way you keep your vineyard. The analogy is followed: "When the harvest time approached, he sent his servants to the tenants to collect his fruit." This is the way the farmers were to pay their rent; they were to give to the owner each year a certain proportion of the fruits of the vineyard. God expects us to return something to Him of the fruits of the vineyard He has assigned to us. It belongs to Him, and he has done all that needs to be done to render it fruitful. He expects a proper "rental." The rental of this vineyard was to be paid, not in money—but in the fruit of the vineyard itself. This is suggestive. God is not satisfied with the mere giving to Him of money or of a portion of the earthly possessions that may belong to us. Of course, our money is part of our vineyard and should pay rent, too; a share of its fruit or earnings should be returned to God, to whom it all actually belongs. But the vineyard proper is our own life—and we are to pay our rental to God, the owner, in the fruits of our life—in love, obedience, worship, honor, service. No amount of money will ever satisfy God—if we do not also love Him and do His will. This businesslike illustration of our relation to God is very suggestive. We are His tenants, and all we are and all we have belong to Him. Every tenant must pay a proper rent, or he cannot remain on the property that has been assigned to him. The larger our vineyard and the greater our privileges and blessings—the more rent we must pay. If we do not thus make suitable return—we are robbing God. The reception given to the servants sent to receive the rental was not merely discourteous, it was cruel and an act of rebellion: "The farmers took his servants, and beat one, and killed another, and stoned a third." The servants who come to us are those that God sends to us to call us to duty. Of course, none of us ever treat the messengers God sends to us—as His ancient people treated the prophets. We do not beat our teachers and preachers. We do not stone them and kill them. We are very kind to them. We show them courtesy. We even love them very much and, as a rule, we listen with great respect to what they have to say to us. We never think of arresting them and putting them in prison or of sawing them asunder. Surely, then, this part of the parable cannot have any application to us.
But, wait a moment. On what errand are the servants sent? What is their request of us? They come to get the rental which we owe to God, to receive the fruits which are His due. We do not beat the messengers—but do we grant what they in God’s name ask from us for Him? Do we give up our sins—when they ask us to do it? Do we yield our hearts to God and begin to love and obey Him and live for Him—when they ask these things of us? We are very respectful to God’s servants—but we go on in our evil ways, and they carry back nothing from us, no fruits, to the God whose we are. We treat the messengers with high honor—but the message we disregard and Him who sends it to us we reject and neglect. Nothing is sadder to the heart of a pastor or teacher than this, that while those to whom he bears God’s message treat him with finest courtesy and gentlest love, and are kind to him—they do not learn to honor God and love and serve Him.
"Then he sent other servants to them, more than the first time, and the tenants treated them the same way." We read the story of God’s dealing with His ancient people, and wonder at His marvelous patience with them. Though the treated His servants so badly—He continued to send others. He seemed never to tire of trying to bless them. But is it not our own history as really as it was theirs? As soon as we are old enough to understand anything, God begins sending messengers to us—loving mothers, faithful fathers, godly pastors, teachers and friends, the voices of conscience, of the Scriptures, of the Spirit, the leading of Providence. But we hear the calls—and then go on as before, unheeding, despising, sinning. But God does not grow weary. He continues to send His messengers. Not only is this true of the impenitent—but to every believer He sends again and again, seeking for fruits—and finding none. We never can measure God’s patience. But we must remember that there will be a last call.
"Last of all, he sent his son to them." Mark says, "He still had one to send, a beloved son. Finally he sent him to them" (Mark 12:6). There is a matchless pathos in these words when we think of them as referring to God and defining the acts of His love and mercy. All he had left now was his son. His servants had all been sent, and the last of them had been killed. There was no other messenger that he could send unless he would send his son. If he gave him—he gave all, for he had not many sons—but one, his only-begotten son. "Finally he sent him to them." He kept nothing back, spared not even his own son, in his great desire to have men reconciled to him. Thus the sending of Jesus was the climax of a long history of gracious acts of love.
There is another thought here. He sent his son last. Then there is no messenger of mercy after Jesus. He is God’s best and final gift. There is nothing more that even God in His infinite power and love can do to induce men to be reconciled. When men reject Christ, they throw away their last hope of mercy—they lose their last opportunity. No other messenger will be sent—no other can be sent.
"This is the heir. Come, let’s kill him and take his inheritance!" The rulers killed Jesus that the power might still be theirs. There are many now who reject Christ for very much the same reason. They think that the way to get liberty, pleasure and gain—is to thrust Christ altogether away from their lives. To become Christians would interfere too much with their plans, perhaps with their business, or with their pleasure. They think that Christian people make great sacrifices. But the Bible puts it very differently. It tells us that those who receive Christ, instead of losing—gain a glorious inheritance; they become children of God, and if children, then heirs to an unfading inheritance. The rulers killed their best friend—when they killed Jesus. Had they accepted Him, they would have received His inheritance, becoming "joint-heirs with Christ" (Rom 8:17). Rejecting and killing Him, they lost the very inheritance they thought to seize! Those who now reject Christ, reject the only One who could give them eternal life. Since Christ is God’s last messenger of mercy to men—the rejection of Him is the thrusting away of the last hope of mercy.
"The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone." They did not think Jesus suitable to be their Messiah, and so they rejected Him; now, however, He is the King of glory. The very men who rejected Him and crucified Him, when they awake on judgment morning, shall see Him whom they thus despised sitting as their Judge. But again, we must not apply it to the first rejecters only. A great many people now think Christ unsuitable to be their Lord. They do not consider it an honor to be called a Christian. They blush to own His name or enroll themselves among His followers. They do not care to build their life on Christ. But He has now the highest honor in heaven. The highest angels are not ashamed to own His name. Redeemed spirits praise Him day and night. The Father has exalted him to the throne of power and glory. Why then should sinful men be ashamed to own Him as their Lord? They should remember further that God has made Him the capstone of the whole building not made with hands. No life that is not built on Him can stand. If men ever are saved—it must be by this same Jesus whom they are now rejecting. The King’s Marriage Feast
Christ is soon to be condemned by the rulers and put to death—but as He stands now in the holy city, He speaks as the Judge, pronouncing the doom upon the people who are rejecting Him as their Messiah. "The kingdom of heaven is like a king who prepared a wedding banquet for his son." The marriage feast suggests two great thoughts concerning gospel blessings. The figure of a feast pictures abundance of provision, and also gladness and good fellowship. Then the figure of marriage suggests the closeness of the relation into which God invites us. Marriage represents the highest ideal of love and friendship. It expresses mutual affection and delight; on the one hand, protecting care; on the other, perfect trust. The blending of two lives in one, which is the meaning of true marriage, suggests the union of Christ and His people in thought, purpose, feeling and motive. We are Christ’s, and Christ is ours. Christ and we become one. He lives in us, and we live in Him. The forms of Oriental life are preserved in the framework of the parable. The king sent forth his servants "to those who had been invited to the banquet to tell them to come." They had already received a preliminary invitation, and now they are formally called by the king’s messengers. The refusal to accept such an honor was a distinct and intentional insult and showed that they were in heart rebellious and disloyal. The meaning of the parable is plain. God was the King who made the feast. The invitation shows the Divine earnestness in seeking to bless men. God does not merely invite them once and then if they refuse, give no more thought to them; but He invites them again, and most urgently presses upon them the invitation.
We all have been invited many times to the feast of Divine love. The invitations begin to fall upon our ears in childhood, and are repeated all through our life. Marcus Dods says: "If God is in earnest about anything, it is about this—it is in the tenderness and sincerity with which God invites you to Himself."
After all that God had done for His people, and all His efforts to win them to accept His love—they treated His mercy with contempt. "But they paid no attention and went off—one to his field, another to his business." That is, they simply ignored the invitation, paid no heed to it, treated it as a matter of no importance, and hurried on to their own business. It is in this way that a large class of people always treat the gospel invitation. They do not oppose Christ in any active way. They do not rush into great wickedness—they are fairly moral people. They speak patronizingly of the gospel and of the Church. But they pay no heed to the calls of Christ. They treat them as if the gospel were only a sort of child’s play, something for sick people and the very old—but not important enough for them to give thought to. They treat the gospel as if there were no real importance in the messages of love it brings, which break so urgently upon their ears. They regard their worldly business, as of far more importance than personal salvation.
Silent neglect is one of the most offensive ways of treating anyone, and those who "make light" of the gospel insult God even more than those who openly refuse its invitation. Yet these people imagine and often say that they have never rejected Christ because they have shown no open enmity to Him. Countless thousands of souls have been lost—by simply making light of the guilt and danger of sin and neglecting the way of mercy!
Those who were first invited and made light of the invitation "went off—one to his field, another to his business." That is, their business was more important in their estimation than their king’s feast. It is easy to see the same spirit today. There are thousands who have more interest in their business affairs, than they have in the affairs of God’s kingdom. This is the way some of the king’s servants treated his son’s marriage and the invitation to it which they received. They made light of it, paid no respect whatever to it, and went on with their business as if they had never received an invitation to the royal marriage!
Then there was another class of the king’s servants who rose up in anger against the messengers, "The rest seized his servants, mistreated them and killed them!" There are those who are not content with ignoring Christ and His messengers—but become open enemies and violent rejecters. The king turned to others, when the first invited had refused. "The wedding banquet is ready, but those I invited did not deserve to come." This does not mean that those who had been invited were too wicked to be saved, for the gospel is offered for the worst. Their unworthiness was shown in their refusal to come. The final responsibility when men are shut out of heaven, cannot be laid on God—his part is fully and faithfully done. The feast is ready, even at infinite cost. The invitations are given in all sincerity and pressed with Divine urgency. But if men will not accept the mercy, there the matter must end. They will not be compelled to come to the feast. The weakest sinner can refuse the greatest honor of Divine love. The final responsibility rests upon the rejecters. "They would not come!" is the reason that they are shut out. The king then bade his servants to go into the streets of the highways—that is, among the Gentiles, and in a little while the tables were filled. The king came to see his guests, to know whether they had fulfilled the conditions of their invitation. "The framework of the parable presupposes the Oriental custom of providing garments for the guests who are invited to a royal feast." When the king made his inspection, he "saw there a man who was not wearing a wedding garment." The man came to the feast—but came in his own way, refusing to accept the conditions and to wear the garment prescribed by the king. The man may represent those who enter the Church but do not accept the garment which is the invariable mark of all Christ’s true followers. Church membership is not this garment—one may have this honor and not have on a wedding garment. Nor is it baptism or the Lord’s Supper—one may observe these sacraments and yet lack the essential mark of true discipleship. The wedding garment is the righteousness of Christ. We do not become Christians merely by associating ourselves with Christians, by adopting the forms of religion. We must have in us the mind of Christ, conformity to God, an abhorrence of that which is evil, a love for that which is good, a sincere desire to honor God and do His will.
Notice also that this garment is an individual matter. One man in all that great company lacked the required dress, and was excluded. Each one must have the garment for himself. God looks at us as individuals, not in companies. Being in a godly family, or among holy people, or in a Church of saintly members—will no excuse the lack in the one of us who may lack the prescribed garment. When the king asked the man why he had come to the feast without the wedding garment, he had nothing to answer. "He was speechless." He had no excuse to offer. He knew that he alone was to blame for this lack of preparation, since he had rejected what was freely offered to him. So will it be with any who refuse the grace of God. They are not speechless now; they find many excuses when they are urged to accept Christ. But when they stand at length before the omniscient Judge, they will be speechless; they will have nothing to say for themselves.
Three Questions Mat 22:15-22; Mat 22:34-46 The Pharisees, on those last days in the temple, were in continual and bitter controversy with Jesus. They sought to trouble Him, to ensnare or entangle Him in His conversation. We may be glad, however, for the questions they asked, because they drew from Him great utterances which are of priceless value to us.
First, they took counsel together and prepared a question which they thought would entrap Him whichever way He answered it. They began by praising His sincerity and truthfulness, as if to flatter Him. Then they asked, "Is it lawful to pay taxes unto Caesar, or not?" They thought He could not possibly avoid being ensnared. If He would answer Yes, He would be denounced as lacking in Jewish patriotism. If He should answer No, He would be denounced as disloyal to Rome. But He was not ensnared by their question. He knows men’s thoughts. He knew their hypocrisy and falseness, and easily baffled them. His answer lays down a great principle. "Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s." The use of the coinage of Caesar by the people, was an admission of his rule. But there was something higher than that. God was over all, and no duty to Him must be neglected. They must be good citizens of Rome—but there was a higher citizenship, and they must also be good citizens of heaven. The Sadducees came next with their question about the resurrection. They did not believe in the resurrection nor in the existence of spirits, and they thought their question would completely puzzle Him. "In the resurrection… whose wife shall she be of the seven? For they all were married to her." They thought to make the doctrine of resurrection ridiculous. The answer was wonderfully wise. They were thinking only of the earthly life—but in the immortal life all will be different. In the resurrection there will be no marriage. Christ does not mean that the love which binds husband and wife together and grows into such sacredness and beauty in true marriage, shall perish in death and have no existence in the resurrection life. Love never dies—it is immortal. It is only the incidents of birth, death and marriage that have no existence beyond the grave.
Then a lawyer had a question to ask Jesus, "testing Him," the record says. "Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?" The question was a theological one that was discussed much among Jewish teachers, who were proverbially fond of splitting hairs. However, it is an important question for us, too. It is well for us to know which are the first things in life.
Jesus answered promptly, "You shall love the Lord your God will all your heart." God comes first. Nothing else in all the universe can be put before Him in true living. The first words of the Bible are, "In the beginning God." God was at the beginning, before anything—a grain of sand, the tiniest flower, the smallest thing—was created. There was nothing before God. There is nothing which God did not create. But He is also at the beginning of everything of good and beauty. The same is true in every true heart. We cannot get a blessing, until we have God first. Not God first in order, merely—but God first in love, in the place of confidence and trust. He must have the chief place—we must love Him with all our being. It is idle to think of any other religious act or effort, until we have begun to love God. This is the beginning of all true religion. Not to love God—is not to have taken the first step in a true and holy life.
Then something else follows. "And the second is like unto it, You shall love your neighbor as yourself." Love for our neighbor is second, in two ways. It must be second in place and in degree. God must be loved supremely. To love any being or anything more than God—is idolatry. It will not do to preach a religion of humanitarianism and not to have first "You shall love the Lord your God." Love to a man is second also, in the sense that it must spring out of love for God. There must be a first before there can be a second. There can be no love for our neighbor, if there is not first love for God. "We love, because He first loved us" (1Jn 4:19), We love our neighbor, because God loves us, and we love God and because this love warms our heart toward others. But when we truly love God—we will love our brother also.
There has been altogether too little stress put by the Christian Church in the past on this commandment of love to our neighbor. A careful study of the teachings of Christ, will show that He Himself insisted continually on love as the very proof and test of Christian life. We cannot get God’s forgiveness, until we forgive our fellow men. We are to love our enemies, if we would be the children of our Father. By this shall all men know that we are Christ’s disciples, because we love one another (see John 13:35). The epistles, too, are full of teachings concerning the duty of love. Paul’s wonderful thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians shows how essential love is, and then shows us the way we must live—if we are indeed Christ’s. John also makes it plain to us that if we love God we will love our brother also. The claim that we love God cannot be true—if it appears that we do not love our brother. "If a man says, I love God, and hates his brother—he is a liar; for he who loves not his brother whom he hat seen, how can he love God whom he has not seen?"
Jesus asked the Pharisees a question, too. "What do you think of Christ?" It was not an easy question to answer. They had very mistaken ideas about their Messiah. Many stumbled at the Messiahship of Jesus, because it was not what they were expecting. Even Christ’s own disciples did not understand the matter. The Jews were looking for a king who would reign on David’s throne—an earthly monarch, a worldly conqueror. The Pharisees said the Messiah was to be David’s son. Jesus then asked them another hard question. "How then does David in Spirit, calls him Lord?" But they had not thought about the particular Scripture to which Jesus referred. If they had, they would have had different ideas of the character and reign of their Messiah.
Jesus then asked them again, "If David then calls Him Lord, how is He his son?" No wonder that no one was able to answer Him a word after hearing this question. The question was simply unanswerable on any theory that made the Messiah an earthly monarch. It is unanswerable also on any conception of the character of Jesus which considers Him as no more than a man. If David called the Messiah his Lord, the Messiah must be Divine, the Son of God. We may worship Him, therefore, and give Him the supreme place in all our lives.
It is thus, indeed, that Christ offers Himself to us in the Scriptures. He claims the supreme individual love of His followers. He who loves father or mother more than Him—is not worthy of Him. He claims the place of absolute Master in the life of every man who would be His. We must obey implicitly, unquestioningly, wholly. We cannot take Christ merely as Savior, trusting in Him as our Redeemer, without at the same time taking Him as Lord, as Master, and obeying Him. What David did in calling the Messiah his Lord, is what everyone who accepts Him must do. Paul put his whole creed in a single sentence when he said of Christ; "Whose I am, and whom I serve" (Acts 27:23). The confession of Thomas should be the confession of everyone who receives Christ and believes in Him, "My Lord and my God!" (John 20:28). The Lesson of Watchfulness
It was Tuesday evening. Jesus had left the temple, to return to it no more. His last words to the people had been spoken. On the way His disciples called His attention to the temple, perhaps suggesting its magnificence and its solidity. It was indeed a wonderful building. But Jesus said, "I tell you the truth—not one stone here will be left on another; every one will be thrown down." The little company moved out to the Mount of Olives and sat down. A deep solemnity filled their hearts. The disciples asked Him to tell them when the things He had foretold should come to pass. They had in mind three events—the destruction of the temple, the Lord’s final coming, and the end of the world. He warned them first against being led astray by impostors. "Watch out that no one deceives you. For many will come in my name, claiming, ’I am the Christ, ’ and will deceive many!"
He bade them to be in readiness for whatever might come. The parable of the fig tree taught them to expect tribulations. The precise day and hour, "No one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father." The stupendous events would come unheralded. It would be as in Noah’s days. "As it was in the days of Noah, so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man. For in the days before the flood, people were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, up to the day Noah entered the ark; and they knew nothing about what would happen until the flood came and swept them all away. That is how it will be at the coming of the Son of Man!" The great lesson Jesus taught His disciples was in the word "Watch!" which sounds in every-recurring strokes in His discourse like a great bell. Questions as to when or how are discouraged—but they are always to watch. "Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come!" Mat 24:42
We must be always watching—watching ourselves—lest we do wrong; watching our Guide—that we may follow Him closely and carefully; watching our duty—that we may always know it and do it; watching for danger—for on every hand danger lurks. It is not a safe world to live in—that is, it is not safe unless we watch, and unless we are in divine keeping. Satan is so vigilant, his approaches are so insidious and stealthy, and sin is so alluring and deceptive, that only sleepless vigilance can insure our safety. In this passage, however, the watching is for the coming of Christ, for which we are commanded to be always in readiness. He will surely come, and His coming will be sudden and unannounced. There will be a great final coming of Christ—but really He is always coming. The only way, therefore, to be prepared for Him at any most sudden moment, is to be ready all the time. If there is one hour when we relax our vigilance and cease to watch, that may be the hour when He will come.
There is an old legend of a man who waited a thousand years before the gates of paradise, watching for them to open, that he might enter in. At last, yielding to weariness, he slept for just one hour. And during that hour—the gates opened for a few moments and closed again. Thus by being off his guard a little while, he missed his opportunity. The coming of Christ will be so sudden that no preparation can be made for it after He appears. We must learn to live so that there will not be a moment, day or night, when we would be afraid or ashamed to have Him come into our house or place of business and find us as we are. There is no day which may not be our last. Therefore, we should keep our work done up to the moment, finishing it every evening as if we were never to come back to it anymore.
Christ illustrates His teaching to make it more emphatic. "If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into." Thieves do not send a notification of the hour when they will break into the house; they make their coming as stealthy as possible. They come when they will be the least expected and when the master of the house is least likely to be watching. If one would be prepared against them when they come—he must always be prepared. Christ will come as a thief in the night. That means that His coming will be without warning, without any token to indicate His approach. All efforts of wise men to compute the time and settle upon a year or a day when He will come—are useless, for Jesus Himself said, "Of that day and hour knows no man, no, not the angels of heaven!"
What is it to be ready for the coming of Christ? For one thing, it is to be at peace with God, reconciled to Him, saved. In a sense, death is a coming of Christ to individuals, for it ends their probation and ushers them into the presence of God. What is it to be prepared for death? No one is prepared, who has not accepted Christ as Savior and Lord, finding forgiveness of sins and new life and love in Him. Nothing could be more terrible than the sudden coming of death to one whose sins are not forgiven, and who is thus unprepared to meet his God. But forgiveness is not the only thing in preparation for death. One’s work should be well done. There is a story of man who had wasted his life and who at last, near the end, found peace in believing. A friend said to him, "Are you afraid to die?" He answered, "No, I am not afraid to die; but I am ashamed to die." He meant that while his salvation was assured in Christ, he was ashamed to go home, having wasted all his years and having done nothing for the honor of his Master. We should do our best possible work every day—that we should never be ashamed to have Christ come.
Jesus sought to make the meaning of His words very clear. "Who then, is a faithful and wise servant," He asked, "whom his lord has made ruler over his household?" The answer is implied in the form of the words used. He is both faithful and wise. Then comes the assurance of reward, "Blessed is that servant, whom his lord when he comes, shall find so doing." Doing how? Doing his work with fidelity. The watching that Christ wants—is not sitting at the window and looking out to see Him approach—but diligence in all duty. If a man went away, leaving a servant in charge of a certain work, fixing no time for his return—what should the servant do? Stand in the door, gazing down the road, watching to get the first glimpse of the master’s return? No, that is not the kind of watching that would please his master. The way to be ready for Christ’s coming, is not to sit down in idleness to wait and watch for His appearance—but to keep at one’s work with unceasing diligence, so that when He comes—He may not find us in the midst of unfinished tasks, away behind with our work.
There can be no better rule in life—than to make every day of life complete, to finish everything each night before retiring, so that if we should never come back to our work again, nothing would suffer. A Christian woman was told by her physician that she could not live a great while, and that she might die any hour. She did not, however, drop her work and shut herself away to prepare for death. She went on with all her usual duties, only with more earnestness and greater diligence, knowing now that the time must be short. Some people would suppose that in a case like this, one should give up all active work and spend the short and uncertain time in praying and reading the Bible; but this Christian woman’s way was the better way. Long before she had made her peace with God, and all her life had lived in readiness for eternity. When the warning came that the time was growing short, she was not flustered. Thus far she had done her duty as well as she could—and all she had to do now was the work of the few remaining days and hours. This she did with love and faith, and with diligence, and when the Master came—she quietly went away home with Him.
"But suppose that servant is wicked and says to himself, ’My master is staying away a long time,’ and he then begins to beat his fellow servants and to eat and drink with drunkards. The master of that servant will come on a day when he does not expect him and at an hour he is not aware of. He will cut him to pieces and assign him a place with the hypocrites, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth!" Mat 24:48-51
While there is reward for the servant who is faithful, there is punishment for the evil servant who fails in his duty. Judgment will come upon him suddenly. "The master of that servant will come on a day when he does not expect him and at an hour he is not aware of!" There are several things said her about this unfaithful servant. He is unbelieving. The delay of his lord leads him to conclude that he is not going to return at all. His unbelief leads him to abuse his position—he becomes tyrannical and despotic in his treatment of those placed under his care. Then his own habits become unworthy; we find him eating and drinking with drunken men. These are characteristics of those who reject Christ through unbelief and become unfaithful. The punishment of the unfaithful servant is vividly described. It is a fearful thing to live regardless of life’s sacred trusts and solemn responsibilities. It is a terrible thing to die after having lived thus. We should compare these two pictures—the faithful and the unfaithful servant—and know positively which one of the two is our own portrait. The Wise and Foolish Virgins
Mat 25:1-13 The three parables in this chapter teach great lessons. They are based on the promise of Christ’s return. He is surely coming again, but when—no one can know. But we should live always so as to be ready for His most sudden coming any moment. The ten virgins were alike in some ways. An onlooker in the early evening could not have told which were the wise, and which the foolish. Each had her lamp. In any Christian congregation the members may all seem alike true friends of Christ, as they sit in their pews in common worship or at the Lord’s Table. The testing comes in other ways.
All the virgins slept while the bridegroom tarried. There was nothing wrong in this. We all have to sleep some time. We should be sure that we are safe against any surprise while we are asleep, that no duty has been omitted before we slept, which is essential to a complete life. The wise virgins were ready for the coming of the wedding party at any hour, however long the delay might be. We are not required to wake and watch every moment for the coming of Christ; we are to be ready for the event so that we cannot be surprised. For example, we are not to think every moment of death—but we are so to live always that whenever death may come, however suddenly, it will not find us unprepared. "Not what death finds us doing—but how death finds us furnished, is the important question." The lamps of the foolish virgins did not hold much oil and would soon burn out, and these maidens had no oil in reserve to refill their lamps when they became empty. This was their folly. The difference in the other virgins, was that besides having their lamps filled, they had oil in reserve with which they could quickly refill them when they had burned out. This is plain enough as regards these virgins. Applied to human lives, the teaching is also clear. The wise Christian is the one who is not content with a mere profession or with external marks of godliness. These may seem to be satisfactory in the easy days when there is no stress but in the hour of trial, they will not stand the test. The essential thing is the grace of God in the heart, or real union with Christ. This is represented in the parable by the supply of oil by which the wise virgins were made ready for the need which the midnight brought. If we have only the little lamp of our own life, we may get along while there is not great stress—but in the hour of trial, we shall fail. But if we have Christ with His Divine fullness—we can draw from Him for any sorrow, struggle or hard duty.
Midnight came and brought great commotion. The virgins were all sleeping, waiting until they should be summoned out to meet the bridegroom. Life is full of emergencies which come so suddenly that there is not time to prepare for them. If we are not ready at the moment of need we cannot become ready. Now it was that the watchfulness of all the virgins was tested. The delay had been so long, that all the lamps were burning low. Now appeared the wisdom of the five who had oil in reserve. Their lamps were quickly filled, and they were ready to go with the bridegroom. Now was brought out also the folly of the other virgins. Their lamps were going out, and they had no oil to refill them.
It is such occasions as these that test character. They show what is in us. No one is ready for life’s sudden emergencies unless he has made preparation in advance for anything that may happen. One who has missed his lessons and trifled in school days—will by and by find the doors of opportunity shut to him, because he is not ready to go in. Many a man fails in life, because through early neglect he has not the training for his place or business, the reason being that he wasted the time when it was his duty to make the preparation. Many a woman fails in her homemaking and wrecks her own happiness and that of her family, because at the right time she did not learn the simple household arts which fit a girl for being a good wife. The foolish virgins missed the wedding joy and were shut out in the darkness, because earlier they had not laid up a reserve of oil. Many people’s religion fails them in times of need, because they have not really the Word of God laid up in their hearts. "A man has only as much religion, as he can command in trial."
It was a natural request that these distressed virgins made: "’Give us some of your oil; our lamps are going out!" At first thought, too, we would say that the wise virgins should have granted this pathetic request of their sisters. If you were very hungry and I had even a crust of bread, it would not be right for me to eat all of my crust myself. We are taught that we should bear one another’s burdens and that the strong should help the weak. Yet the refusal of the wise is reasonable and right when we look at it thoughtfully. If you and your neighbor have each signed a note for a certain sum, to fall due on a certain date, and you by dint of economy and perseverance have been able to lay by just enough to meet your obligation, while your neighbor, wasting his hours on trifles, has made no provision for the day of settlement; and if on the morning when the note falls due, he should come beseeching you to give him some of your money to help him pay his debt—would you give it to him? Does the law of love require that you should?
There is also an important spiritual lesson which the parable is meant to teach—that the gifts and blessings of grace are not transferable. No matter how eagerly one may wish to impart them, he cannot do it. If one woman has improved her opportunities and grown into refined and disciplined character, while her sister has missed her chance and has grown up into weak and uncultured womanhood; the first sister cannot give of her strength, self-control, and noble spirit to the other, to help her through some special emergency.
If one man has studied diligently and learned every lesson, at last reaching a position of eminence and power—-he cannot give of his trained ability to his brother, who has trifled through years, to help to make his life a success. A brave soldier in the battle cannot share his discipline and courage with trembling comrade by his side. In temptation, one who is victorious cannot give part of his strength to a friend by his side who is about to fall. We cannot share our forgiveness of sin with our dearest friend. Each one must live his own life, bear his own burden, and have the grace of the Holy Spirit for himself. No one can give another these gifts.
It was a tragic moment when the foolish virgins got back to the house and found themselves too late: "The door was shut!" It had stood open long enough for all who were ready to enter. Then it was closed and could not be opened again. This teaches us the meaning of opportunity. We may apply it to the matter of personal salvation. There is a time to be saved, and when that time is past, the door is shut! Life is full of opportunities. There is a time when we can enter God’s family, receiving all blessing. Then there is a time when the door is closed, and all the powers of the universe could not open it again. To the young people every door stands open. They can get an education and a training to fit them for noble, beautiful and worthy life. They can make good friends, friends whose companionship and help would enrich their whole life. They can form good habits which would build up fine character in them and make them respected and influential in the community. They can read good books which will fill their minds and hearts with noble thoughts and upward inspirations. They can win victory over their own lives and become self-controlled and kingly among men. But the doors stand open only a reasonable time—there is not a moment to lose. By and by they will be shut. Then no imploring cry will open them again. The lesson for all is, "Watch therefore!" We know not the day nor the hour. That is true of our Lord’s coming. It is true of death. But it is true also of nearly every other experience of life. We go on, not knowing. The future is closed to our eyes. We know not what awaits us at any turning of a street corner, or what we shall have to meet any moment as we go. The only way to be ready for the unknown events of tomorrow, is to improve every opportunity of today. The Parable of the Talents
"Again, it will be like a man going on a journey, who called his servants and entrusted his property to them. To one he gave five talents of money, to another two talents, and to another one talent, each according to his ability. Then he went on his journey." The particular teaching of this parable is not the same as that of the parable of the virgins. That was the duty of preparation; this is the duty of working—using one’s powers and capacities. Every one of us has received a talent or talents, some portion of our Lord’s goods. The Master has gone away, leaving us to use whatever of His, He has entrusted to us until He returns. Then we shall have to give account to Him. It is not a voluntary matter with us, nor is it a matter of indifference, whether we will be Christ’s servants or not. Christ is the rightful Lord of every man. Declining to accept Him and to enter His service—does not exempt anyone from the responsibility.
"Again, it will be like a man going on a journey, who called his servants and entrusted his property to them." Perhaps we do not realize how entirely Christ has entrusted His affairs and His interests in this world, to His followers. This puts a serious responsibility on us. If the gospel is to get to men—then we must proclaim it. If the work of the Church is to be done—then we must do it. The only hands Christ has for work in this world—are our hands. If the sorrowing are to receive comfort—then we must give it. If the world is to see the beauty, the gentleness, the patience, the compassion, the helpfulness of God—then we must be the interpreters of these Divine affections. Christ has delivered His goods to us.
We notice also that in the distribution of talents the same is not given to all. "To one he gave five talents of money, to another two talents, and to another one talent, each according to his ability." Each person received what he was able to care for. This principle is observed in all Divine endowments. No one has duties allotted to him, which he has not the ability to perform. Nothing impossible is ever asked of any person. Men differ in their ability to manage their Lord’s affairs, and the talents given into their hands vary accordingly. The merchant does not take the man with capacity only for lifting heavy bales—and put him in the counting-room. When a woman wants a fine dress made, she does not give the costly materials to a washer woman, a hairdresser, or to a teacher of German or music—but to a skillful dressmaker. Our Master gives each particular disciple, the duties he has ability to do. We need never say, therefore, that we cannot do the things that seem to be required of us. We can do whatever we are given by our Master to do. He makes no mistakes in the allotment of tasks. The story then tells what the servants did with their share of their master’s goods. "The man who had received the five talents went at once and put his money to work and gained five more." This man used faithfully what had been put into his hands, and the result was that it was doubled—his five talents became ten. He used his gifts—traded with them, and in the trading came the increase. This is the Divine law in all life. God gives one a gift of music—but it is only in its possibilities as yet. It must be cultivated, developed, disciplined, or it never will become of any practical value. Love must be exercised, if it is to grow. It is only a capacity at first. The same is true of all human powers, whether of body, mind or heart. The trouble with too many people, is that they are indolent and do nothing with their natural gifts, and then these gifts never increase. Talents that are exercised, put to work, traded with—always multiply. "The hand of the diligent makes rich" (Pro 10:4). The boy who is so shy and diffident that he can scarcely speak a work in public, by using his small abilities, becomes a great orator, able to sway a vast multitude. The girl, whose voice is sweet but undeveloped, puts her talents to use, and by and by sings so as to thrill countless hearts. The man with the two talents was faithful, too. "So also, the one with the two talents gained two more." Not many of us would claim, that we have five talents. This is the distinction of only a few. And many of us would not be quite willing to say we have only one talent. That would seem to put us low in the scale. Perhaps, however, some of us would admit that we have about two talents. It is the great middle class that does most for the world.
It would not do for all to be great—to be five-talented. If all the soldiers were fit for generals, who would make up the rank and file? If all Church members were eloquent preachers, who would do the countless little, quite services that need to be done? If all men and women were great poets, who would write the prose? There is need for far more common people than great brilliant ones. One Niagara is enough for a continent—but there is need for thousands of little springs and rivulets. A few great men are enough for a generation—but there is work for millions of common folks. So this diversity of gifts, is part of the Divine plan. The world needs more people of average ability, than it needs of the extraordinary sort, and so we are sure always of being in good company. Lincoln said God must love the common people, for He made so many of them. People who are very great must feel lonesome, for there are so very few of them. In the case of this two-talented servant, as with that of the five-talented, it was diligent work that redeemed the mediocre man from the obscurity of the commonplace, and gave him distinction. Presently he had four talents. The practical lesson in all the parable, is the using of our gifts, that, if we really have only two talents, we should not vex ourselves—but should go to work with what we have, and it will grow by and by into something worthy. William Dawson speaks in one of his sermons, of the commonness and pitiableness of "contented insignificance." The talents were not given to the servants; they were only committed to them to be used. Then there would be an accounting. "After a long time the master of those servants returned and settled accounts with them." There is an important suggestion in this "long time." We are given plenty of time to make use of our talents. It takes time to learn to work well and to develop and train our faculties to their best. Even if we have buried our talents for a season, there is ample time to dig them up and try to put them to better use. We owe far more than we can tell, to God’s patience in waiting so long for us. But we must never forget that the Lord will come—and we shall have to reckon with Him for whatever of His we have. The character of the reward should be noticed. The successful man was not give a year’s vacation that he might take a long rest. He was not given an easier position where he would have less care and less work. The reward for doing his work well—was more work! Because he had done well with the little that had been entrusted to him—more was put into his hands. That is the way of honorable promotion among men—not rest and luxury—but a higher position with harder work, increased burden. "Joy" is promised, too, "the joy of your Lord," the joy which comes of serving, of doing the Lord’s work. The deepest joy experienced in this world—is the joy which comes of serving. But one of the servants had failed to do his best with his talent. "Then the man who had received the one talent came." The story of the one-talented man is pathetic, and yet it has its startling lesson. If only he, too, had been faithful, doing his best with his little gift—he also would have multiplied his talent. Many who have done the most for the world—had only one talent to begin with. The discovery that we have only one talent, never should discourage us. We should accept what we have, however small it may be, and set about making the most of it and doing the most with it. The last thing to do with our gift or ability—is to despair about it and then hide it away. The gifts that are not used—are lost. "Take therefore the talent away from him." In all life it is the same—faculties unused are lost, become extinct. Natural eyes would lose the power of sight—if one lived in darkness continually, and never used them. The eye that is never turned toward God, by and by loses even the power to look toward God. The capacity for believing, which never believes, at length ceases to be able to believe. "Capacity is extirpated by disuse." The lesson comes with tremendous force to the young. If they will not use the abilities which God has bestowed upon them—these powers will be taken away from them. The Last Judgment
Mat 25:31-46 This passage gives us a wonderful picture of the last judgment. It is not a parable—but a prophetic presentation of the great scene. The sheep and goats are used as representing the good and evil. Christ will be the Judge. He will appear as the Son of man, that is, in His humanity. It is a comfort to think of this, that it will be our Brother whom we shall see on the throne of glory. Christ came first in lowly form. He was born in a stable and cradled in a manger. No retinue of angels then attended Him except the host that sang their song in the shepherd’s ears. In His first coming, He was lowly and despised. He was so poor that often He had nowhere to lay His head. He had but few followers and made but little name for Himself on the earth. But He will not come this way the second time. He will appear in glory, and will be attended by hosts of angels. For once the whole human family will be together. "All the nations will be gathered in his presence." Yet in our thought of the grandeur of this scene—we must not lose sight of the individuality of the judgment. We shall be there—but none of us will be lost in the crowd; each one shall have personal judgment.
During a war the telegraphic reports from the field say that in a great battle ten thousand men were slain. Not knowing any of them personally, we think only of the vast aggregate number. But suppose some friend of ours—brother or father—was among the slain; we think no more then of the ten thousand—but of the one. And every one of the ten thousand is mourned in some home—is somebody’s father, husband, brother, son, friend. From that battlefield ten thousand cords stretch to ten thousand homes. The heaps of slain are simply ten thousand individuals. So in that countless throng on judgment day, not one person will be lost in the multitude. "Everyone must bear his own burden."
There will be a division that day—the whole human family will not be as one. "All the nations will be gathered in his presence, and he will separate them as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will place the sheep at his right hand and the goats at his left." Our Lord’s teachings are full of this thought of final separation. The tares and the wheat will grow together until the harvest; but then there will be an infallible separation—not a tare will be gathered into the barn with the wheat. The net draws good and bad fish to the shore—but there the two classes are separated. The ten virgins were together during the time of waiting—but the midnight cry caused an instant, final and irrevocable separation, as the door opened for those who were ready to enter and shut upon those who were unprepared. Nothing is more plainly taught in the Word of God, than that the evil and the good, the believing and the rejecting, the righteous and the unrighteous shall be separated at the last day, each going to his own place.
These separations will cut very close in many cases. "Two men will be in the field; one will be taken and the other left. Two women will be grinding with a hand mill; one will be taken and the other left." When we are sure of our place on Christ’s right hand, we should never rest until we are sure also that all those whom we love shall be in the same company. The King speaks to the people as if He had personally lived among them, "For I was hungry—and you gave Me something to eat." It seems from this picture of the judgment, that the eternal destiny of men shall be settled by their works. Feeding the hungry and giving drink to the thirsty, are mentioned as reasons for the favor shown to those upon the right hand. But a careful study of the passage shows that in the judgment, all will turn upon one question—how men have treated Jesus Christ. If they have believed on Him, loved Him, honored Him, and lived for Him—they will be honored by Him, gathered at His right hand and admitted to His kingdom of glory. But if they have not believed on Him, have not honored Him, have not lived for Him in this world—they will be rejected by Him at the last and shut out of the heavenly kingdom. In other words, all will depend upon whether men believe or do not believe on the Lord Jesus Christ. But believing in Christ means more than giving assent to a correct creed—it means also a life of obedience and service. The whole of Christian life is love, not only love for Christ—but love for Christ’s own. If we love God—we will love our brother also, says the beloved disciple. If we do no love our brother, it is evident that we do not love God. If we have the love of Christ in our heart, it will show itself to all those who belong to Christ. While there is love for all the world, there should be a special love for those who belong to the Master. The King speaks as if He had come to the people in the great company, in many experiences of personal suffering and need. "For I was hungry—and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty—and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger—and you took Me in; I was naked—and you clothed Me; I was sick—and you took care of Me; I was in prison—and you visited Me." There is something very pathetic in this thought of Jesus as a stranger, as hungry, or as sick, coming to our doors in those whose appeals are made to us. If we allowed it to enter our heart and exercise its proper effect upon us—it would inspire in us sympathy and love, and would make us very gentle to all who are in need.
Mr. Wesley, one winter day, met a poor girl in one of the schools under his care. She seemed almost frozen. He asked her if she had no clothing but the thin garments she was wearing. She said she had not. His hand was in his pocket in an instant—but there was no money there. He went to his room—but the pictures on the wall seemed to upbraid him. He took them down, saying to himself: "How can the Master say to you, ’Well done, good and faithful servant’? You have adorned your walls with the money which might have screened this poor creature from the bitter cold! O justice! O mercy! Are not these pictures the blood of the poor maid?" So he sold the pictures to get money to relieve the girl’s distress.
Those to whom the King spoke, could not understand what He meant. "Lord, when did we see You hungry, or thirsty, or a stranger, or without clothes, or sick, or in prison—and help You?" Their surprise need not seem remarkable. The truest greatness, is not conscious of itself. Moses knew not, that his face shone. The best Christians put the lowest value upon their own good works. No doubt many of the commendations and rewards of the righteous in the judgment, will indeed be surprises to them. They keep no record of their good deeds. Their sense of personal unworthiness hinders them from seeing anything worthy in what they do. We do not dream of the real value and helpfulness of the things we do. Besides, we do not indeed see Christ in the lowly and suffering ones who come before us, needing love and help—we see only poor, sick, unfortunate people, with no marks of glory, no hints of nobility, no traces of heavenly beauty. We do not see things as they are. Jesus Himself is ever before us, in lowly guise. We are unconsciously serving the Master, whenever we do in His name the holy things of love. Every lowly, faithful Christian is preparing for himself many a blessed surprise in glory.
Jesus is still in this world. Once He was here in human form, as the Son of man. Now He is here in His Church. "You are the body of Christ" (1Co 12:27), said the apostle. The smallest kindness shown to a Christian, even the least, Christ accepts as done to Himself. Parents understand this. Any honor shown to a child—a father receives as shown to himself. If a son is in a strange land and meets with some misfortune, or is sick, and someone finding him there as a stranger in trouble shows him kindness, no greater act done to the parents at home would be as pleasing to them—as is that little ministry to their child in a foreign land. Christ loves His people so much, that whatever is done to any of them—He accepts as if He Himself had been the recipient of the kindness. The same is true, on the other hand, of any unkindness or any lack of kindness shown to another. "For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me. I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these—you did not do for me." We must beware how we treat the lowliest Christian, for if we neglect him in his need—it is as if Christ were in the same need, and we had neglected Him!
We must learn that we are judged not only by the things we do—but by the things we fail to do. These people had not been cruel or unkind to any of Christ’s little ones—no such charge is made against them; they had not done the kindnesses which they ought to have done. In the parable of the Good Samaritan, neither the priest nor the Levite did any harm to the wounded man, and yet they are severely condemned. They sinned against him grievously by not doing the things of love which he needed to have done for him.
"Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life." The Anointing of Jesus
We enter now upon the last events of our Lord’s life. We are within two days of the Passover. We have a glimpse of the plotting of the priests and elders, and their desire to take Jesus by subtlety to kill Him. They wished, however, to wait until after the feast, fearing excitement and tumult, and had so determined. The culmination of the plot was hastened, however, by the unexpected treachery of Judas. The incident of the anointing is given here apparently out of its proper order, probably because of its influence on the treason of Judas. The incident occurred, according to John’s gospel (John 12:1-8), six days before the Passover. Judas was offended by Christ’s rebuke of his criticism of Mary’s anointing, and under the sting of this, went to the priest, offering to betray Christ.
Bethany was a sacred place to Jesus. There He found a home of love where His heart was rested many a time after the conflicts and controversies of the day in the temple. There His greatest miracle was wrought—the raising of Lazarus. We know Martha and Mary well. They differed in their dispositions—but they were alike in their warm and loyal friendship for Jesus.
These two sisters had each her own way of expressing her love for her Friend. The other evangelists tell us that Martha served—Martha always served. There are certain people that we never fail to recognize by some unmistakable feature. We always know Peter by his impulsiveness. We know John by his lying upon the Savior’s bosom at the last supper. We know Thomas as the man who doubted. We know Felix as the man who trembled, and then sent the preacher away for a more convenient season. We recognize Martha wherever we see her, by her serving. She represents those whose love for Christ takes the practical form, rather than the form of meditation and devotion.
Some people like to criticize Martha and find fault with her; but after all, her type of piety is important in this world where there is so much need for service and ministry. Beautiful as the Mary spirit is, it would not do if all were Marys, for who then would do the work of serving that needs so much to be done? A wife and mother, for instance, who would spend all her time in Bible reading and prayer, giving no thought to her household duties—would not make a very happy home. The picture of Mary is also familiar. We see her three times in the Gospels, and each time she is in the same posture—at Jesus’ feet. When we have our first glimpse within the Bethany home, we find Martha in her characteristic attitude—serving; and Mary we see sitting at the Master’s feet, eagerly listening to His words. Our next view of Mary, is when Jesus came back to Bethany after the death of Lazarus, and the sisters came out to meet Him. Again, she is at the feet of Christ, this time in deep sorrow, seeking comfort. And here again we find her at the Master’s feet, and now it is in an act of honor and an expression of love and gratitude to Him.
We think of Mary, therefore, as a woman who was always at Christ’s feet. In the bright, happy days, she sat there as a learner. When grief was in the house and Jesus came, she went to His feet for comfort. Then when the trouble was over, we find her again in her familiar place, honoring Him with her heart’s richest and best gifts. There is no fitter place for the redeemed life—than at the Master’s feet!
Mary came in during the feast and anointed Jesus. We must distinguish this anointing from another by a woman who was a sinner. That anointing was an expression of penitence; this was an outburst of grateful love. Mary brought the best she had, the richest gift in all her possession. Her ointment was very costly. We should bring our best to Christ. No ointment in the world is half so precious to Him—as the love of a human heart; we should bring Him our best love, giving Him the first place in our affection. We should give Him the best of our life, the best of our time, and the best of our service.
It seems a sad pity that any occasion so sacred as this, should be marred by human littleness and baseness. The disciples had indignation. "Why this waste?" they asked. John tells us that Judas led in the criticism, and when we know this—we are not surprised. Judas thought it was waste when the ointment was poured out on the feet and head of Jesus. There still are many people who think everything wasted, which is not coined into dollars, or that does not show in direct practical usefulness. But the truth is, that much of the richest and sweetest blessing scattered in this world, is the fragrance from the breaking of alabaster boxes. It is well to give food and clothing to the poor—but sometimes love and sympathy are better. But the truth is, the fragrance of love always carries a blessing wherever it reaches. Besides, Christ looks into the heart and is pleased with love there, whether the expression of the emotion takes the form of garments for the poor—or flowers for the sick room.
It is beautiful to read how promptly Jesus came to Mary’s relief when she was blamed. "Why are you bothering this woman?" He asked. It was a shame for big, strong men like the apostles—to pounce with such ill manners and cowardly rudeness—on a timid young girl like Mary. They ought to have been gallant enough to encourage and praise her deed of love.
"She has done a beautiful thing to Me!" said Jesus. This was what gave her act distinction and honor—it was wrought for the Master.
Anything done for Christ is lifted up to honor. It is this that makes all lowly Christian service beautiful—it is something done for Jesus. Judas had said the money ought to have been given to the poor. But Jesus said they could always do good to the poor—but they could not show kindness to Him much longer.
Then Jesus said further that this ointment had been poured on His body to prepare Him for burial. Mary probably did not know He was so near death—but Jesus knew it and accepted the honor as for His funeral. We do not know half the real meaning of our lowliest deeds of love! In Mark’s Gospel (Mark 14:3-9) we read that Jesus said: "She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial."
Many people would have kept that box sealed up, to anoint His cold and dead body. When a man dies, there is never any lack of kind words about him, nor of flowers for his coffin. This is all well in its place—but Mary’s way is better. Let us not wait until our friends are gone, before we show our love for them—but rather, let us bring our ointment while they are alive to enjoy its fragrance. Fill the lives of your friends with sweetness; speak approving, cheering words—while their ears can hear them and while their hearts can be blessed by them. The flowers you mean to send for their coffins—send to brighten and sweeten their homes before they leave them! Let us learn the lesson today—to anoint our friends beforehand for their burying. The Last Supper
Jesus left the temple for the last time on Tuesday evening, and spent Wednesday in retirement. He gave instructions to two of His disciples on Thursday morning, concerning preparations for the Passover. "Go into the city to a certain man and tell him, ’The Teacher says: My appointed time is near. I am going to celebrate the Passover with my disciples at your house." The man was to be known by a certain sign—he would be carrying a pitcher of water (see Mark 14:13; Luk 22:10). As women carried the burdens in those days, the sight of a man carrying water was uncommon. Hence the identification would be easy. Evidently secrecy was intended in the choosing of the place for the Passover. It is thought that the reason for this secrecy was to keep from Judas the knowledge of the place, as he was watching for an opportunity to betray Jesus. The Master is always coming to people and saying, "I am going to celebrate the Passover at your house." He wants to be a guest in every family. Blessed is the home that opens to Him and gives Him its upper room as His guest chamber.
It was a sad announcement that Jesus made to the disciples that night when they had gathered about the table. "Truly I say unto you—that one of you shall betray Me." Judas himself was at the table, and possibly one reason why Jesus made this announcement was to give him an opportunity to repent even at he last moment. It is remarkable that not one of the disciples seem to have suspected anyone as the traitor to whom Jesus had referred. They did not begin to say: "I wonder which of us it is? Do you think it can be Andrew? Do you suppose it can be Peter?" Instead of suspicion, each one shuddered at the possibility that he himself might, after all, be the one. "Is it I, Lord?" they all began to say. "Surely not I, Lord!" is the more accurate rendering. We should examine ourselves rather than look at others for sins we find condemned.
It is very much easier to see faults in our neighbors than in ourselves; and to think others capable of doing evil things, rather than suppose it possible that we should do them. But our business is with ourselves alone. We do not have to answer for the sins of our neighbors. Then it is not enough to ask merely whether we have done such and such things; we should ask also whether we are in danger of committing them. "Let him that thinks he stands—take heed lest he fall" (1Co 10:12). We do not know the dark possibilities of evil which lurk in our hearts. We dare not say, when we learn of someone who has fallen into terrible sin, that it would have been impossible for us to have done the same thing. What any man has done—any man may do! The answer of Jesus, "He who dips his hand with Me in the dish, the same shall betray Me," was not meant to point out any individual as the traitor. He merely meant to indicate the greatness of the crime—that one of those who had eaten at His table, and enjoyed the familiarity of closest friendship—and they all had—was now to betray Him. In the East, those who ate together, by that very act pledged to each other loyal friendship and protection. This made the crime of Judas all the darker and blacker.
What Jesus said about the traitor is very suggestive. He said, "The Son of Man will go just as it is written about him. But woe to that man who betrays the Son of Man! It would be better for him if he had not been born." It is a great privilege to live. It is a great thing to be able to stay in this world for a certain number of years and leave our impress upon other lives. It is a great thing to sow seeds which may bring multiplied harvests of blessing in the future. But there are those who live, who perhaps, it may have been better had they never been born. Judas had a magnificent opportunity. He was chosen to be an apostle. He would not have been thus chosen if it had not been possible for him to be a faithful and worthy apostle. He might have gone forth to help bring the world to Christ’s feet, and his name might then have been written in heaven. Now, however, the face of Judas is turned to the wall and the place is blank which might have been filled with a story of noble deeds. He wrecked all the possibilities of his life by rejecting the Divine will. He left only a black shadow and then passed to his own place in the eternal world. It would indeed have been better for him—if he had not been born! The story of the Lord’s Supper is told very briefly in Matthew. We may notice, however, that Jesus sets aside the ancient Passover and substitutes in its place for Christian observance, this memorial supper. "Jesus took bread, and blessed, and broke it; and gave it to the disciples." Bread is a fit emblem of Christ’s body. By it our bodies are nourished and strengthened. Christ is food to our spiritual life. Unless we feed upon Him—we must perish. The giving of the bread to the disciples signified the offer to each one, by Christ Himself, of all the benefits and blessings of His love and sacrifice. Thus Christ ever stands with outstretched hands holding out to every human soul all the precious things of His salvation. The use of the words, "This is My body," "This is My blood," ought not to occasion any difficulty. Jesus often spoke in a similar way. When he said, "I am the door," no one supposed that He meant He was literally changed into a door, or when He said, "I am the vine," no one ever thought that He meant to say He had become an actual vine. Here it is just as plain that He spoke figuratively, meaning that the bread was an emblem of His body.
We should notice also that the disciples themselves had a part in this supper. Jesus offered Himself to them as bread—but they must voluntarily accept His gift. "Take, eat; this is My body." It is not enough that God loved the world and gave His Son for its redemption. It is not enough that Christ offered Himself as a sacrifice for men. These stupendous acts of love and grace alone will not save anyone. We have a responsibility in the matter. We must reach out our hands and take what is graciously offered to us. Bread must be eaten before it can become sustenance, so Christ, as the bread of life, must be received into our lives before it can become the food of our souls. Much of the failure of Christian life is at this very point—we do not take what Christ offers and even presses upon us. We pray for blessing, while all the time the blessing is close beside us, waiting only to be received and appropriated.
After giving them bread, Jesus took a cup from the table and gave it to them, too. "He took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink from it, all of you." A little later that same evening Jesus Himself too a cup from the hands of the Father and drank it to its bitter dregs. Into that cup there had been poured, as it were, all the world’s sorrow. Yet full as it was of the very gall and bitterness of human guilt, He pressed it to His lips and drank it, saying, "The cup which the Father has given Me, shall I not drink it?" This cup, however, which Jesus handed to His disciples, was a cup of blessing. Into it He Himself poured, as it were, the concentration of all heaven’s joy and glory. Again, however, we must notice the words, "Drink from it, all of you." It is not enough that the cup shall be prepared and then offered to us. Unless we accept the blessing of Christ’s atonement, we shall not be helped.
Jesus said that this cup represented the covenant. "This is My blood of the New Testament (new covenant), which is poured out for many for the remission of sins." In ancient times covenants were sealed by the blood of animals. The covenant of redemption was sealed by Christ’s own blood. Christ’s dying was not an accident—it was part of the great purpose of His life, that for which, above all else, he came into the world. We are saved, not merely by being helped over the hard places, not merely by being taught how to live, not only by having a perfect example set before us—but by having our sins remitted. No one can be saved until he is forgiven, and no man’s sin is put away except through the blood of Christ.
Jesus announced to the disciples that this was the last time He would eat with them at an earthly table. "I will not drink henceforth of this fruit of the vine, until that day when I drink it new with you in My Father’s kingdom." In telling them this, He gave them great comfort in the assurance that He would sit down with them again, by and by, in the heavenly kingdom. The earthly supper was only a symbol; the heavenly would be a glorious reality.
Jesus left the upper room with a song on His lips. "When they had sung a hymn, they went out into the mount of Olives." He knew where He was going—and to what. Just before Him was Gethsemane, with its agony. Beyond this experience would come His trial, and next day His death. Yet He went to these terrible experiences, with a song of praise.
Peter’s Denial Mat 26:31-35; Mat 26:69-75 As Jesus walked with his disciples from the upper room on the way to Gethsemane, He warned them of the peril into which they were about to enter. "This very night you will all fall away on account of of Me." Their trial would be very great. He quoted from an Old Testament prophet a word which described the situation as it was about to be: "I will smite the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock shall be scattered abroad" (see Zec 13:7). He knew what was coming. He would be smitten. He was the Shepherd and had kept His sheep in safe protection thus far. Now He was to be smitten—and they would be exposed to the power of their enemies and His.
Yet even in the shadows of the gathering night, He saw the breaking of the morning. "But after I am risen again, I will go before you into Galilee." He was to be killed—but He would be raised again from the dead. He was not to be finally torn away from them. Death would not be defeat to Him. He was to lie in the grave—but He would come again and lead them once more, away beyond the grave. Hope never failed in the heart of Christ. He was never discouraged.
Peter was always the first of the disciples to speak. The most holy occasion could not awe nor quiet him. He had heard the Master’s warning—but he resented it. There was no need to fear for him, whatever others might do. "Even if all fall away on account of you, I never will." His self-confidence was very strong. It was not possible, he said, for him to be untrue to his Lord. It was Peter’s rash boldness that made him weak. Jesus repeated His warning, making it personal. "Truly I say unto you, that this night, before the rooster crows, you shall deny Me three times." Still Peter resented the warning. "Peter said unto Him: Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you." We would say that such solemn words spoken by the Master could never be forgotten to commit such a sin against his Master that same night. Yet the fact that Peter actually denied Him with such positiveness, and so repeatedly, shows how terrible the temptation was—and how weak the strongest friend of Christ is in such an hour.
Gethsemane came next, with its hour of anguish. Then came the arrest, on the edge of the Garden, when Jesus was betrayed by one of His disciples and led away to the palace of the high priest. It was far on in the night. "Now Peter was sitting out in the courtyard." There are several steps leading to Peter’s present position in the courtyard, that we must recall in order to understand his denial. It began farther back. Earlier in the evening he disregarded, even resented, the warning that he would deny his Lord that night. That was a serious mistake. We would better listen when God speaks to us in this way. Peter was not a hypocrite. He was sincere, he loved Christ—but he was too self-confident. He lacked that distrust of self which should lead the best and holiest to know that only in Christ are they safe. Peter was weak that night—because he sought no Divine help.
Next we find him sleeping—when he ought to have been watching. That hour in the Garden was given in order that the disciples might be prepared for temptation. Peter did not improve it and was found unready. He failed in love’s duty to the Master. Next was his rashness in drawing his sword. This act made him liable to arrest and led him to try to hide his identity and his connection with Christ, lest he might be seized by the officers. Again we find him following Jesus "afar off." This showed timidity and failing faith. His courage was slipping. Following at a distance is always perilous. It shows a weakening love and a trembling loyalty. It is in itself a partial denial. The only really safe place—is close up to Christ.
Another fatal step was taken by Peter when he went in and sat down among the servants in the court. He was in bad company. He had seated himself among Christ’s enemies. His object was to conceal his discipleship. He wanted to be thought one of their company when he sat down among mockers and revilers. He hoped thus to escape detection. Thus he acted denial before he spoke it. Had he been altogether loyal and faithful, he would have kept out of such company and as near his Master as possible. The only true and safe thing to do when among Christ’s enemies, is to take one’s right place quietly and firmly at the beginning. Starting wrong puts one in a false position, in which it is almost impossible to be faithful afterward. Peter was in a bad place for a disciple when "sitting out in the courtyard." He was ready to fall. We must guard against taking the steps that lead to denial of Christ.
Peter’s denial was not premeditated, as was the betrayal by Judas. He was caught in the entanglement of circumstances. His first denial was partly owing to the suddenness of the assault and his previous false steps. He was not false at heart—but loved his Master even when denying Him. We must remember that when all the other disciples forsook Jesus, Peter was the only one, save John, who followed Him when in the hands of His enemies. True, he followed Him afar off, timidly—yet he followed. We must keep in mind his character also—impulsive, impetuous, always doing rash things—yet withal bold and loyal. These considerations palliate though they do not excuse Peter’s denial. After all, this is one of the saddest chapters in the Bible. This favored disciple, at the twitting of a slave girl, denies his Lord; and then goes on denying Him, with increasing earnestness and with oaths and curses.
There are several things that made Peter’s denial peculiarly sad and sinful. One was that he had received so many marks of special favor from his Master. He was not a disciple only—but an apostle. He was one of the three who had been chosen as the Master’s particular friends. He has been honored, too, by the Lord on several occasions, even that very night in the Garden when he was chosen to be with Him. He had made the boldest confession of Christ and had also loudly professed his allegiance.
Another aggravation of Peter’s denial—was that he had been so earnestly forewarned. Even that night he had been told that he would deny Christ—and he had utterly disregarded the Lord’s words, declaring that he could not possibly do such a thing. No railroad engineer runs past a red light. Forewarning makes sin, worse because it leaves it inexcusable.
Another thing that made the sin worse—was that it was in the Lord’s hour of sorest need that Peter had denied Him. If it had been on the Transfiguration Mount, or during the triumphal entry, it would not have been one-hundredth part so bad. But it was when Jesus was deserted and in the hands of the enemies. Was that a time for the bravest disciple, the most highly favored friend, the noblest confessor, to turn his back upon his Lord? When the shadow falls on your friend, when the tide turns against him, when others have forsaken him—is that the time for you, his long-time bosom companion, and the recipient of his favors, to turn coward and leave him alone? How much Peter might have comforted Jesus in His trial! Instead, however, the only words the Master heard from His friend’s lips, as he stood amid enemies and revilers, were words of denial, which cut like sword-thrusts into His heart. A simple lie becomes a lie sworn to, and then a lie sworn to with imprecations and curses. Simple denial is bad enough—but this apostle even went so far as to invoke curses upon himself if he were a disciple, if he even knew the man, and to utter oaths to emphasize his denial. How this aggravated his sin! But how could an apostle who had been with Jesus so long, hearing and using only pure speech, curse and wear in this way? The answer is that it must have been an old habit with Simon the fisherman, which now cropped out in the excitement. This is a way old evil habits have. It is impossible to root them out—so that they will never give trouble again. They are like weeds; you may dig them out and think there is not a root left in the ground, and for a while none may be seen; but someday they will reappear. Bad habits of any kind formed in early life always leave weak points in the character. It is very easy to fall again in sudden temptation where one has fallen before. It is always easy to take old paths on which the feet were once accustomed to go. One who drank alcohol in is youth, though he becomes a total abstainer and is true for years—is never as safe at that point, as one who never acquired the habit. It is so with lying, swearing, obscenity, dishonesty and all vices. At last Peter came to himself. "Peter remembered the word of Jesus, which said unto him… And he went out, and wept bitterly." The rooster crowed, and then Jesus turned and looked upon Peter (Luk 22:61), who, glancing up at that moment, caught his Lord’s eye. The cock-crow and the Master’s look, aroused him to a sense of what he had done. An incident, a remembering, a look, were the means by which the sinning apostle was brought to repentance. We can think of that look. Jesus was in the hands of mocking enemies, and while they were scoffing and beating Him, there fell on His ear the voice of His favored disciple, denying Him with curses and imprecations. Surely this was the bitterest drop in the bitter cup of that terrible night. What pain and sorrow there were in the look that fell upon Peter! But, thank God, the look broke his heart and saved him. He went out into the night—but not like Judas, to despair. He went out into the night—but the angel of mercy went with him and pointed him to hope. He wept bitterly—but the memory of that look—grieved, chiding—yet full of love—told him that he had not yet lost his place in the Master’s heart. He repented of his sin and was saved to become one of the noblest of our Lord’s apostles. So we may thank God for this sad story, because it shows us such a door of hope when we have sinned.
There was something strangely significant even in the name of the place where Jesus endured His midnight agony. Gethsemane means oil press. It was the place where oil was crushed out of the olives. Olive oil was very valuable. It was used chiefly for food and for lighting. The sufferings of Christ have yielded the highest blessings to the world—food for men’s souls, and light to shine in darkness.
We cannot begin to understand the anguish of Christ that night. He said, "My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death." We should take off our shoes as we stand by the edge of the scene. Some of the elements of His suffering, however, may be suggested. Before Him lay the betrayal, the arrest, the trial, and then death on the cross. By his pre-vision, He saw all these cruelties and tortures. Another element of His suffering lay in the falseness of the human hearts about Him. There were the traitorous kiss of Judas, the denial of Peter, the desertion by the other disciples, the rejection and crucifixion by the people He had come to save. All this, He saw from Gethsemane. But that which made the essence of the anguish that night—was that He died for sin. "The Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all" (Isa 53:6). What that meant—we never can know. He was dying, the just for the unjust. He bore our sin in His own body on the tree. We may not try to fathom the mystery—but the fact we should never allow to be forgotten. The humanness of Jesus also appears in the Garden. He craved the sympathy of His friends in His suffering. While they could not lessen the anguish nor bear any part of it for Him; feeling with Him, would make Him stronger to endure. There is a picture which shows two women seated side by side. One is in deep sorrow. Some great grief has fallen upon her heart and crushed it. Her face tells of deepest affliction. The other woman has come in from without. She is sitting beside the sufferer, in silence, holding her hand, while her face expresses deep sympathy. The near presence of one we love when we are in any trial, makes us stronger to endure. This suggests one way in which we may do good. True sympathy with those in trouble, is often the best service we can render them. No longer does Jesus Himself need that we should watch with Him—but in his little ones, He is ever saying to us, "Tarry here, and watch with Me." While Jesus wanted His friends near to Him—yet they could not share the actual experience of that hour. "He went a little further, and fell on His face, and prayed." We, too, must meet all our deepest experiences alone. Even our most tender human friends, we must leave back a little way. In sorrow, others may hold our hands and we may lean upon their strong arm for support; but that is all—the sorrow itself we must endure without companionship. No one can take our pain and bear it or our sorrow and endure it. The prayer which Jesus offered in the Garden was very intense, "My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me." Without attempting to fathom the mystery of His experience as He prayed this prayer, we get some suggestions from it for ourselves. For one thing, in all our troubles—we should seek refuge in prayer. There is no other place to go. "Being in agony—He prayed" (see Luk 22:44). He let His heart-cries go out in pleadings and supplications. Whatever our trial may be, it is a comfort to know that we may take it to God in prayer.
Another lesson is that however earnest we may be in our pleading, we must always submit our requests to the will of God. "Nevertheless, not as I will—but as You will." How can we know what is best? Even Jesus in His anguish would not trust His own judgment—but said, "If it is possible—as You will." Our prayers should always be modeled on our Master’s. Anything but God’s will—would be a mistake. It may be that the sorrow from which we implore God to save us—is bringing blessings we could not afford to miss. So we can only safely leave all to Him.
It was a bitter disappointment to our Savior when, after His first great struggle, He returned to the disciples and found them asleep. He had longed for their sympathy. He felt that if they were waking and watching—He would be stronger to endure the anguish. He came back seeking refreshment and renewal of strength from their sympathy. Instead of watching, however, the disciples were sleeping! We may not chide them, however. How is it with ourselves? Jesus is ever setting us to watch with Him and for Him. Does He always find us awake when He comes? Is He never disappointed in us? Do we never lose interest in His service?
He showed the pain of His disappointment in the way He spoke to the disciples. "What, could you not watch with Me for one hour?" It was to Peter He said this especially, because Peter was the one who had boasted but a little while before, that whatever others might do—he would be loyal. The time they were expected to watch, was short—only "one hour." It is very sad that the help Jesus craved that night from His own disciples, they failed to give Him. He is calling us to watch with Him. Even in His Divine glory, He still craves human affection, trust and faithfulness. We still may grieve His heart, by lack of fidelity. We have constant opportunity of watching with Christ. There always are those that need our sympathy, our cheer, our encouragement, and our help. The disciples that night lost an opportunity of lightening their Master’s load in His darkest hour. Let us not fail Christ in loyalty, in affection, in service.
Even in the midst of His own aguish He thought of His disciples in their danger—and sought their safety. "Watch and pray, that you enter not into temptation." It is not enough to pray, that you "enter not into temptation." It is not enough to pray without watching. An army in the enemy’s country never rests a moment without its encircling line of pickets, keeping watch at every point against danger, and reporting instantly every indication of a hostile movement. We are living in the enemy’s country, and we dare not pass an hour without watching. But watching is not enough, for we are not able to guard ourselves in danger. Hence we need also to pray continually, asking God to protect us. God means for us to keep our wits about us as we pray, as well as call to Him for help. "Watch and pray!" When Jesus prayed the second time, the form of His pleading was modified. "My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it—may your will be done." While the prayer was not answered directly, the Suppliant was growing stronger, and His will was coming more and more into acquiescence with the Father’s will. This is often the way our prayers are answered. The things we ask for are not given to us—but we are strengthened so as to accept the pain and endure it.
Very sad was the word which Jesus spoke when He returned to His disciples the last time, "Are you still sleeping and resting?" Their opportunity for watching with Him was now gone. He did not need them anymore, because the struggle was over. Waking now would do no good, and they might as well sleep on. There is a time for each duty—and the time soon passes. The time to show sympathy with a suffering friend or neighbor—is while the suffering is being endured. There is no use in our coming next day—when the need is past. The time to watch against a danger—is when the danger is impending; there is no use to wake up—when its work is done. Watching then will not undo the evil. We may almost as well then sleep on, and take our rest. The betrayal of Jesus is graphically described in Matthew’s gospel. It was "one of the twelve" who did it. This makes it terribly sad. It was a strange place to see a disciple—one who had lived with Jesus in such close relations, eating with Him, enjoying all the confidences of His friendship—acting now as guide to those who came to arrest his Master. The kiss, which was the honored token of affection and the sacred seal of friendship, became in this case the token of disloyalty and the sign of treason! The last word Jesus spoke to Judas shows love, ready even then to accept the traitorous disciple. "Friend, do what you came for."
There was a bewildered attempt by the disciples to defend their Lord against those who had laid hands upon Him. But they did not know what they were doing. They were loyal and devoted—but powerless in their fright and confusion. Quickly Jesus bade them put away their swords. He was not dependent on human force. He could by a word have had legions of angels sent to His defense. But that was not God’s way. His hour had come.
"Then all the disciples forsook Him, and fled." Shall we call them cowards and chide them with abandoning their Lord? Yes—but their Lord was infinitely patient with them. The Trial of Jesus
We speak of the trial of Jesus—but really it was not a trial. There was no intention of giving Him a fair and just hearing. The Sanhedrin had firmly made up its mind to condemn Jesus, and they went through the form of a trial, not to discover the truth about Him—but to endeavor to get some pretext for what they had determined to do. When we think who Jesus was, looking at Him in the light of our belief in Him as the Son of God, the scenes of His trial reveal His enemies in strange character indeed. Think of men arresting the Son of God, binding His hands, and putting Him on trial in their courts!
Jesus was arrested in the Garden of Gethsemane, just after the close of His anguish there. The effect of His arrest on the disciples, was to cause them to scatter and leave Him. While they all fled, John seems to have returned very soon, and we think of him as following close behind his Master on the way to the palace of the high priest. Peter also followed—but "afar off." This was the beginning of his denial. The rulers had no difficulty in getting men to testify against Jesus. There always are men who can be bribed to do anything. "The chief priests and elders and the council sought false witness against Jesus," that they might put Him to death. Their intention was not to bring out the truth about Him—but to get such testimony as would seem to justify their determination to kill Him! It was false witness they sought—no other kind of witness against Him could be found, for there were none. In all the land there was not a man, woman or child—who could truthfully say a word against Jesus. His was the one life in all the world’s history—in which there was no flaw, no blemish. No wonder the question was asked by Pilate, when the Jews clamored for the condemnation of Jesus, "Why, what evil has He done?" The rulers could have found thousands of witnesses to tell of the good things He had done—but they could not find even one to testify of any evil against Him. Hence they deliberately sought false witness. But even this testimony was not of any use, for one witness swept away what another had said. They found it not, "though many false witnesses came." There are many in these days, too, who are willing and eager to witness against the Bible and against Christianity—but there is no agreement among them. One man, for example, goes about with his hammer, breaking off bits of rock and studying ancient fossils, saying that his deductions demolish the statements of the Bible. But another man, also hostile to Christianity, follows, with his little hammer, and reports others deductions which sweep away the theories and conclusions of the first. So it is with all opposition to Christianity. One witness antagonized another. Amid enmities and assaults, the New Testament stands really unassailable, an impregnable rock, and Christ Himself abides the same yesterday, and today, yes, and forever. At length, however, two men were found who seemed to agree in their testimony, saying the same thing. Probably they had been drilled and taught just what to say. "At the last came two false witnesses, and said… This man said, I am able to destroy the temple of God, and to rebuild it in three days." Really, Jesus never said this. What He did say was, "Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up," referring to the temple of His body. The Jews taught that any word spoken against the temple, was blasphemy. Jesus had not said, however, that He would destroy the temple—but that if they destroyed it—meaning His body—He would restore it, foretelling His own resurrection. The witnesses perverted His words, however, so as to give the impression that Jesus had actually spoken blasphemy against the temple. There always are those who insist upon garbling and misrepresenting what Jesus said—in order to bolster up their own peculiar opinions.
"But Jesus remained silent" before all that the false witnesses said. There was no reason why He should speak, for there were no charges to answer. His calmness angered the high priest, and he stood up and fiercely demanded, "Are you not going to answer? What is this testimony that these men are bringing against you?" Still He answered nothing. There is a time to keep silence. When others say false or bitter things of us or to us—it is usually better not to answer back. Answering does no good—when enemies are in such mood. It only irritates them the more—it does not convince them or soften their hearts.
There is something very majestic in our Lord’s silence at this time. There He stood, pale and suffering—yet meek, patient, undisturbed, showing no bitterness, no resentment, and no anxiety concerning the outcome of His trial. "Who, when He was reviled, reviled not again; when He suffered, He threatened not; but committed Himself to Him who judges righteously" (1Pe 2:23). The lesson is for us, and we should not fail to get it—when we are wronged or hurt, when others say false things of us—or bitter things to us—we should keep love in our hearts, and say no unloving word and cherish no unloving thought, committing all the wrong, all the injustice—into the hands of our Father, who judges righteously. But as there is a time to keep silence, there is also a time to speak. Despairing of getting any real ground of charge from the false witnesses, the high priest determined to make Jesus convict Himself. He demanded of Him whether He were indeed the Christ. "I adjure You by the living God—tell us whether You are the Christ, the Son of God." Instantly the silence was broken. Not to have spoken now—would have been to deny His own Messiahship. To answer would cost Him His life—but He paused not a moment to think of the cost. There come times in everyone’s experience, when silence would be disloyalty to Christ. We should have courage then to speak the truth, regardless of consequences. Not only did Jesus answer the high priest’s question—but He went farther and gave him and his fellow-judges a glimpse of the glory of His power. "Yes, it is as you say! But I say to all of you: In the future you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One and coming on the clouds of heaven." Recall this scene before the council—the pale, meek One, standing there as a prisoner, bound, mocked, spit upon, smitten. Then go forward and think of the other scene which His own words bring up, when this same Holy One shall sit on the throne of His glory, wearing the crown of universal power, and when the priests, scribes and elders of that ancient court shall stand before Him, and recognize Him as the very prisoner of whom they looked with such contempt that night of His trial. Who can conceive of the shame, the remorse, the anguish, of that moment? The rulers supposed that Jesus was on trial before them; but really, they were on trial before Him!
There are many who are now, treating Christ with contempt, rejecting His mercy, despising His love, refusing to believe His words. There are those who flippantly deny the deity of Christ and laugh at the claims made by His followers for Him. These, too, will be compelled to see Him when He comes in glory to judge the earth. "Every eye shall see Him, and they also which pierced Him" (Rev 1:17). How are we treating Jesus Christ? Are we looking on Him in love, believing on Him as our personal Savior, following Him as our Master, cleaving to Him as our Friend? Or are we spurning Him from our doors, insulting Him, mocking Him? We must read ourselves and our own relation to Christ into the scene before us. The last item in the passage, is the formal vote of the Sanhedrin on the question of Christ’s guilt. When Jesus had answered, the high priest rent his garments, saying, "He has spoken blasphemy! What further need have we of witnesses? Behold, now you have heard his blasphemy. What do you think?" Instantly came the answer, "He is guilty (or worthy) of death." Thus the vote of the court condemned Jesus as a blasphemer, condemned Him to death because He claimed to be the Messiah, the Son of God. This was the signal for the beginning of mocking and insult. They spit on His face and buffeted Him. They blindfolded Him and smote Him and bade Him prophesy who it was that struck Him. The Crucifixion
Mat 27:33-50 The story of the crucifixion has the most sacred and tender interest for everyone who loves Jesus Christ. It is not merely an account of the tragic death of a good man—He who was crucified was the world’s Redeemer, our Redeemer, suffering for us! Some of the old preachers used to say that our sins drove the nails in the hands and feet of Jesus. He died for us. Paul speaks also of being crucified with Christ (see Gal 2:20). He means that Christ’s death was instead of his death. No other death in all history, means to the world what the dying of Jesus means.
They led Jesus out of Golgotha. There He was met by those who offered Him "vinegar to drink mingled with gall." It is supposed that the act was one of kindness, that the mixture was intended to stupefy Him so as to deaden in some measure, the awful suffering of crucifixion. But Jesus refused the drink. He would not have His senses dulled, as He entered upon His great work of death for the world, nor would He have His sufferings as Redeemer lessened in any degree. The garments of men who were crucified were by custom the perquisites of the soldiers in charge of the crucifixion. They "divided His garments, casting lots." We love to think of the garments which Jesus had worn. Perhaps they had been made by His mother’s hands—or else by the hands of some of the other women who followed Him and ministered unto Him of their substance. They were the garments the sick woman and other sufferers had touched with reverent faith, receiving instant healing. What desecration it seems when these heartless Roman soldiers take these garments and divide them among themselves! Then what sacrilege it is when the soldiers throw dice and gamble for His seamless robe—under the very cross where the Savior is dying!
"They sat and watched Him there." Roman soldiers kept guard—but they were not the only watchers. There was the careless, heartless watch of the soldiers. They knew nothing about Jesus. They saw three poor Jews on three crosses, and had no conception of the character of Him who hung on the middle cross. It is possible yet—to always to look at Christ on the cross—and see nothing more than these soldiers saw. We all need to pray to have our eyes opened when we look at Christ crucified, that we may see in the lowly sufferer—the Son of God, bearing the sin of the world.
There were also jealous watchers, the enemies of Jesus, so full of hatred that they even hurled scoffs at Him who hung in silences upon that central cross.
Then there were loving watchers—the women and John, Christ’s friends, with hearts broken as they looked at their Lord dying in shame and anguish.
Then there were wondering watchers—angels, who hovered unseen above the cross and looked in amazement upon the suffering Son of God, eagerly desiring to know what this mystery meant.
All the words that Jesus spoke on the cross were full of meaning. One, the very first, was a prayer for His murderers, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do" (Luk 23:34). The words seem to have come from His lips—just as the nails were being driven through His hands and feet. The torture was excruciating—but there was no cry of pain, no execration of those who were causing Him such bitter anguish; only an intercession. The answer to the world’s daring defiance of God—was the hands of Christ stretched out to be pierced with nails for the world’s redemption!
It was the custom to fasten on the cross, a board bearing the name and crimes of the sufferer. "They set up over His head his accusation written, this Is Jesus the King of the Jews." It was only in mockery that Pilate wrote this superscription. He did it to vex the Jews. Yet never were truer words written. Jesus was indeed the King of the Jews. They had looked forward to the coming of their Messiah with expectations of great blessings from Him. "He came unto His own—and His own received Him not" (John 1:11). This was the way they were treating their King. But He is our King, too. The crown He wore that day—was a crown of thorns. Thorns were part of the curse of sin, and the crown of Jesus—was woven of sin’s curse. We have the promise of crowns of glory in heaven, because on Christ’s brow rested that day the crown of shame.
"He saved others; He cannot save Himself." Unwittingly in their mockery they spoke a deep truth. Jesus had saved others, and even now He was saving others in the most wonderful way of all—by dying for them. He could have saved Himself, however, from the cross—if He had desired. His offering was voluntary. He said, "I lay down my life for My sheep. No man takes away from Me" (John 10:15-18). He said He could have summoned twelve legions of angels to deliver Him. He could have saved Himself—but then He would not have saved others. The soldier cannot save himself—and save his country. Jesus could not save Himself—and redeem His sheep. So He gave His own life a willing sacrifice to redeem lost men.
It was a strange scene that came on at noonday. "From the sixth hour until the ninth hour darkness came over all the land." A yet deeper darkness hung around the Redeemer’s soul those hours. It was so dark—that He even thought Himself forsaken of God. We never can understand the mystery of it, and we can know only that He wrapped the gloom of death about Himself that we might be clothed in garments of light. He died in darkness—that when we walk in the valley of the shadow of death, that the light of glory may shine about us. His head wore a matted crown of thorns—that under our heads may be the pillow of peace. He drank the cup of woe—that we may drink the cup of blessing.
"Jesus when he had cried again with a loud voice, yielded up the Spirit." His loud cry, "It is finished!" which John records (John 19:30), was a shout of victory. His work was completed. The atonement was made. Then followed the word, given by Luke, "Father, into Your hands I commend My spirit" (Luk 23:46). The shadows were lifted. There was no longer any feeling of forsakenness. Again we hear the sweet name, "Father," showing that the joy had been restored. We see also in this word, that death was to Jesus—only the breathing out of His spirit into His Father’s hands. We cannot see into the life beyond—but revelation assures us of the Divine presence close beside us. Dying is but fleeing from the body—into the arms of the Father. All this is ours because Jesus tasted death for us. Because He had the darkness—we have the light. The Resurrection
We think of death ordinarily as the end of a man’s life. He can do no more work in this world. Only his influence remains. But it was not the end of the life of Jesus Christ. He came again from the grave after a brief rest—and took up once more His work of redemption. The women watched beside the grave after the burial of the body there, until they were compelled to hasten into the city before the gates would be shut upon them. Meanwhile they were in deep grief. The Sabbath was a sad and dark day for them. They were eager to get back to the grave to honor their Lord’s dead body. So at the very dawn, after the Sabbath, as soon as the gates would be opened, they left their home and hastened away to His grave, carrying spices and ointments to anoint His dead body. No one saw the resurrection. We are told something, however, of what took place. "There was a great earthquake; for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone, and sat upon it." The rulers thought they had the sepulcher well-secured. The stone had been sealed with Pilate’s seal, so that to meddle with it would be a high crime. Besides, they had procured a guard of Roman soldiers to watch by the grave. They seem to have expected thus to keep Jesus from rising. When they asked for the guard, they gave this as the reason, "He said: After three days I will rise again" (Mat 27:63). They pretended to suspect that the disciples would try to carry away the body by night, to give the impression that their Master has risen. But we see how useless were all their precautions. There was no power in the universe that could keep the body of Jesus in that rock-prison. The effect of the resurrection and its attendant circumstances upon the Roman soldiers who kept watch, was startling. "There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men." The soldiers were hardened to all sorts of danger. They never recoiled in the presence of any enemy. But when an angel of God stood before them, with shining face and shining garments—they were in great terror. But the angel who caused such dread in the Roman soldiers, spoke with all gentleness to the women who stood before the grave in great sorrow. "The angel said to the women: Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay." This was the first announcement of the Resurrection. It was made by an angel to the Lord’s women friends. They had ample proofs of the fact thereafter. No event in all history is more incontestably sure, than that Jesus arose from the dead. Nor can the importance of the fact be overestimated. Everything depends upon Christ’s Resurrection. All the hopes of redemption waited outside that sealed sepulcher. Jesus had said that He would rise; His Messiahship therefore depended from confirmation on His rising. He had made promises to His disciples that He would come again from death and live forever. Indeed, His kingdom depended altogether upon His rising. If He had remained under the power of death, no soul that trusted in Him could have been saved. For a Savior vanquished and held as a prisoner—could not be deliverer of others. A Savior locked in a grave—could not appear before God to intercede for men, could not walk with His people in their trials and sorrows, could not lead the dying safely through the valley which He had not Himself been able to pass through victoriously, could not bring believers from death’s prison from which He had not Himself been able to come.
These are hints of what depended upon Christ’s rising from the dead. Thus we see something of the tremendous importance of the fact which was announced by the angel to the women that early morning. "He is not here; he has risen, just as he said!" We have a living Christ, therefore, for our Savior. He was victorious over all enemies—then, over death, the last enemy. Therefore, He is able to deliver us from all our enemies—and from death’s power at the last. He stands before God for us, and also walks with us on the earth in all our experiences, a living Friend, to love, to help, to comfort, to deliver, to keep, all who have committed themselves to Him in trusting faith. The angel sent the women on an errand the disciples to bear to them the glorious news. "Go quickly, and tell His disciples." They obeyed promptly and with joy. "They departed quickly." On their way Jesus Himself appeared to them. "Jesus met them, saying, Greetings!" Notice that it was as they were hastening in the path of obedience, that they met their Lord. It is always and only in the way of duty that we ever meet Christ, and find blessing and joy. Had the women loitered by the grave instead of hastening away as they were bidden, Jesus would not have appeared to them. It is only in the way of obedience, in the service of love, that Jesus meets us. There are Christian mourners who never go away from the grave where they have buried their loved ones. They hear the words of hope which the gospel brings—but sit still in their grief, and no comfort reaches their sad hearts. Jesus does not meet them. If they would rise and hasten on errands of love to the living, the Divine comfort would come to them. They would meet Jesus Himself in the way, and receive His Greetings!" Grief is often selfish. It forgets the living—in its sorrow for the dead. To such mourners, true comfort never comes. Rise up and go on errands of service—and Jesus will meet you. The women worshiped their Master, rejoicing that they had Him back again from the grave. He then Himself sent them on an errand to the disciples. "Go tell My brethren to go into Galilee, and there shall they see Me." Whenever Jesus makes an appointment with His friends, He will keep it, He will be present, and will have blessings to bestow upon those who meet Him there. Suppose that some of our Lord’s disciples had stayed away from the appointed meeting in Galilee, not quite believing his promise, or having other things to do instead—what would they have missed? Or they might have said, "It is a long distance to the place"; or, "The mountain is steep, and I do not like to climb it"; or, "I fear it will rain or be stormy"; or, "Perhaps He will not be there at all—I cannot understand how He can indeed be risen." For any of these reasons, or for any other reason—some might have been absent that wonderful day. But they would then have missed the glorious sight of the risen Jesus, and would not have received His commission and promise. To the end of their lives they would have regretted that they had not kept their Lord’s appointment that day.
Jesus makes appointments with us to meet us at times of prayer in church services, at the Holy Communion, at some holy appointed place. Sometimes we do not think these appointments very important, and are easily influenced to omit them. We never can know what we lose by these failures or neglects. Jesus always comes where He asks us to meet Him, and gives blessings there to those who have been faithful in gathering to wait for Him. We do not know what we may miss by staying away from any appointment with our Master. The risen Lord’s promise to His disciples when He sent them forth is one of great comfort. "Lo, I am with you always—even unto the end of the world!" If Jesus had given His commission without adding His promise, His disciples might well have shrunk from going forth to the work to which He assigned them. But having His promise, they could not hesitate. This assurance was not for the first disciples only; He says to us also, "I am with you always!" In what sense is Christ with us always? It is not merely as our departed human friends are with us—in the sweet memories of their lives. It is a real and personal presence. He is present with us—as He was with Mary and Martha when He came to them that day after their brother had died. He is present with each one of us, not only on the bright days but on the dark days. Let us believe in the actual presence of Christ with us, and then let us act as if we believe that He is with us. This is he secret of Christian power and Christian peace!