01.12. Chapter 12 The feet of Jesus—which went about

Chapter12 The feet of Jesus—which went about DOING GOOD When Peter opened his mouth to teach Cornelius and those who were with him, he spoke of ’how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power, and how He went about doing good and curing all who were under the tyranny of the Devil, because God was with Him." Acts 10:38.

How full that good was, we can see from Matthew 4:23, where we are told that, "Jesus was going all over Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, preaching the good news of the kingdom, and healing every disease and sickness among the people." Thus, and thus only were the feet of Jesus occupied on earth. In this work they went on long travel—in this they were weary, dirt-stained, and unrefreshed; if the history of each foot-fall could be written, it would contain some portion of the story of His love to man. And yet these are the feet of which we read here, as pierced and torn—these are the feet which men nailed to the cross! The ingratitude which they showed would be in itself enough to furnish subject matter for long sad thought. And with the ingratitude, the folly, and the madness. For they were recklessly shutting up the means of their choicest blessing; forbidding all other journeys for good; saying that no more would the feet of the Healer travel through their land—to the home of the sick, and the tombs of the dead; no more would those feet of the Teacher go through coast and village, and into temple and synagogues bearing God’s last and greatest message to them.

They crowned with thorns—the head which had never thought of them but for good! They pierced with a spear—the heart which had never felt towards them but love! They nailed the hands which had fed and healed them; and the feet, which had journeyed only to carry blessing hither and there throughout their land.

Sin is indeed a guilty madness, and nowhere is it more plainly seen so than here, when sinful man nails his best benefactor to a cross! But let us turn our attention to one or two other thoughts, from which we get important teaching for ourselves. And first of all, we observe that this great injury to Jesus, is suffered in the very instrument of blessing to man.

Now this is in itself enough to raise some questionings within our hearts.

Why did not the goodness of Jesus protect Him from this indignity and suffering, and this tragic ending to His mission of doing good?

Jesus came into the world, as it was from its first days of sin—from the time of the murdered Abel, when goodness attracted injury, instead of repelling injury. He was in the world, not ’very good’ as He had made it—but evil as it had become. And the evil of man was such—that He was not worthy to live. Now this comes home practically to many of the children of God, and all the more so, the more like they are to Christ.

God’s people often allow themselves in very mistaken ideas, with regard to their position in the world.

They expect to be appreciated, to be valued. They think that for their very usefulness and the good they do—that they will find help and not hindrance, honor and not shame. They are vexed at the injustice and the stupidity of those with whom they have to do, in not recognizing the value of their work.

Let them look at the cross; at the head and hands, and feet, which are all pierced there! And when they have looked, say, ’the disciple is not above his master.’ Their piercings have this characteristic in common with His. But we sometimes have thoughts in this matter connected with God Himself. Sometimes in folly, sometimes in bewilderment, sometimes in ignorance, we think when we see health, and property, and position, which were used for advancing good—taken away; and illness, and loss, and the ’antagonism of the world’ taking their place—that this ought not to be! We think that all such blessings and opportunities should be spared; in a word, that no cross should be laid on them!

Here is a man who spent the bulk of what he had, in doing good; and now, in a moment—it is all taken from him! All his money has been stolen, and so far as doing good goes—he is nailed hand and foot. Barabbas gets off scot free—but the man of God is practically crucified with his Lord. The staggering of David comes upon us—and we have need to go into the sanctuary of the Lord to understand this.

Into that sanctuary Jesus doubtless went. Amid the many thoughts which flooded His mind as He hung upon the accursed tree, these, perhaps, may have had place. When the last breath was parting, Jesus cried with a loud voice, "Father, into Your hands I commend my spirit!" But who can tell what He had been suffering as He hung there!

We may rest assured that there is a solution to all dark dispensations of this kind; they are the mysteries of God. And He who allows them to enter into His plans—can unravel the if He sees fit. They are not out of place, because they are inexplicable.

What is meant by such permissions of evil, we know not now—but we shall know hereafter; but meanwhile, we may understand enough to steady us when we see these things happening; and, perhaps, even to make us enter with some degree of fullness and power into the mind and will of God. When money, and health, and influence, and the like, are taken away—there is often the mystery of a higher call. So it was with Jesus. His sacred feet are seized, and nailed, and hindered—and man proclaims that they shall move no more. But in that nailing they received the mystery of a higher call—they were given a wider sphere—the nail which pinned them to the cross enlarged the boundary of their mission, and gave them the world, and not only Judea for a sphere. He belonged to the Jews; but that nail lifted Him off the soil of Judea; and not only were the Jews to look on Him whom they had pierced—but the nations also; and for everyone who believes that He was bruised for our iniquities—that by His stripes we are healed—and that it was our sins, which nailed Him to the accursed tree. And now with pierced feet Jesus traverses the world. Wherever the story of the cross reaches, so must it come as a tale of many woundings. Thus only can Jesus approach a poor sinner—yes, thus only wills He to approach him; and thus only should he, on his part, wish to see Jesus. Who can tell what a far-reaching prospect Jesus had from the cross? We are told that for the joy set before Him, He endured the cross, despising the shame—and this may have been one of the helps to His endurance. It was the will of His Father that Jesus should traverse Judea for awhile, bearing with Him blessing wherever He went. But that was to be only for a time—there was a deeper will to be fulfilled; and terrible as were the shame and pain of the cross, the words of Jesus’ heart, as His feet were transfixed to it, were these, "I delight to do Your will, O my God!"

And, in truth, when we have served God with what we have had at our disposal, be it health, wealth, position, or anything else—and these are removed, by a providential dispensation, from us—we must not for a moment look upon ourselves as removed from the power to fulfill the will of God, or a high destiny. We must rather seek to have our eyes open to see that we are now called to the fulfillment of a deeper will. And though we see it not, and flesh and blood would choose it not—our call has been in unity with the mind of God, which mind has passed on into something deeper—more for the eternal glory, than anything that has hitherto been revealed as to our career. The stillness of those feet of Jesus, nailed to the accursed tree, was a fulfillment of the deeper will of the Father. The hour had come—and now His activity must cease for a season, the sandal must be unbound, the nail must be driven and fixed. And may we see the fulfillment of ’God’s will’ in all our times of enforced cessation—it may be even painful cessation from service; in all our sad exchanges of that which is pleasant, for that which is hard to flesh and blood.

If we see that which is made ill use of taken away, we are inclined to say, ’it is a just judgment of God!’ But if that which is being made a good use of is taken away—we are inclined to be staggered and bewildered. But we shall not stagger, if we say to ourselves, ’I am now going into God’s deeper will—obedience is better than sacrifice; it is more to the glory of God that I should fulfill His will by apparent personal extinction, when He appoints that for me—than by any ministry, no matter how much in outward appearance, for His glory. "He must increase—but I must decrease!"

Let us also steadily keep in view—the idea of SERVICE. When these feet of Jesus became pierced, they entered upon a higher form of service than they had yet assumed. The piercing was essential to this. The feet which had done well during life, were not now laid aside, they were placed in service of a different kind. And as to us, if our will is like the will of Jesus, ready for anything that God wills, we shall never be thrown aside—we shall never be put down to lower service. We may be apparently so—but not really; for He who ordains our service knows what is in it—what of glory to Himself—what of honor to us.

Therefore, should all our instruments of usefulness fail us—even the very members of our body; let us but have faith and obedience, and let the mind which was in Jesus, as He allowed His feet to be nailed to the cross, be in us; and our apparent laying aside may be our highest service.

One more observation we would make. This piercing, which appeared to put an end to Jesus altogether, was, in point of fact, only an end to His human suffering. The long journeys were now all ended—the many wearinesses—the footsore of travel—the goings about far away from His Father’s home. The piercing of those feet was the way to everlasting rest—an unlikely way, to all human appearance; but the best way in the mind of God.

Ah! how little do we know of the way to long, deep rest! How different is our way of seeking it—from that in which God pleases to send it! How often do we think that our great trial can bring us ’no peace’, while in very truth, it may bring us our greatest rest.

Sad indeed to every Christian, must be the contemplation of the pierced feet of Jesus; but now as we look back upon the crucifixion, our feeling of sadness may be tempered with satisfaction. We think not only of what the piercings have done for us—but also of what they did for Him—that they ended a life of sorrow, and were the immediate preparations for the commencement of a life of unending and unutterable joy!
The Feet Which Had Been Lovingly Tended

There are no cups of such unmingled bitterness, as not to have in them one drop of what is sweet; and the cup of life which Christ drank was no exception to the rule.

True! His smiles were few, His friends were few, sunshine did not often fall upon Him—but He did rejoice in spirit; there were some who loved Him—there were some homes where He was welcome—there were those who ministered to Him of their substance, who looked on Him with reverence, who poured out their hearts in love to Him. And so Jesus, fulfilling His lot as man, put Himself even by these small enjoyments under the solemn power of contrast.

These feet which are now pierced with the cruel nails, were once washed with tears, and wiped with the hair of a loving woman’s head. They had been tended with unusual evidences of love.

It may have been, that the remembrance of this love came along with the piercing of the nail; and that the mind of Jesus, acute in all its susceptibilities and powers, put the stroke of the executioner, and the tenderness of the woman, side by side.

It was but a little while before, and perhaps the contrast of the ’Hosannahs!’ and the ’Crucify Him!’ had given Him food enough for melancholy thought; and now the anointing with tears, and the transfixing with nails, may have presented themselves side by side. In that intense rush of true human misery which, though He was the Son of God—yet came to Him on the cross as the Son of man—the weight of this contrast may have been felt.

It is a sad thought that, we cannot have any enjoyment but what carries within it—a seed of possible sorrow. Pure and, so to speak, perfect as regards itself, as we look at it now, and turn it every way, we can see no trouble clinging to it, nor can we see why any should do so. But we are not able to look forward far enough, and to see how it will link itself with some future woe. The laugh of the curly-headed child which now fills my heart with gladness—may be destined to make doubly bitter the hour when I shall be left alone. The oneness with a heart which beats with my heart, may only make more bewildered and lonely, my condition—when that heart has ceased to beat. We do not say that such thoughts are to be indulged, or to be gone in search of; misery enough will come to meet us—without going to look for it! We only say that in providing one of the two elements necessary for contrast, every present pleasure—has in it the power of pointing with double anguish some future woe.

"By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept—when we remembered you, O Zion." "Oh that I were as in months past," says Job, "as in the days when God preserved me, when His candle shined upon my head, and when by His light I walked through darkness;" and then two whole chapters are filled with an account of what he had been—and what he then was! In Ezra chapter 3, "When the builders completed the foundation of the Lord’s Temple, the priests put on their robes and took their places to blow their trumpets. And the Levites clashed their cymbals to praise the Lord." But there were those who had seen the previous temple, and better days—they were old now—but their memory was young; and the power of contrast came with terrible force on them. "Many of the older priests, Levites, and other leaders remembered the first Temple, and they wept aloud when they saw the new Temple’s foundation."

If Jesus had never experienced a kindness, never heard a ’Hosanna’, never had a Mary to anoint Him, or a John to lie in His bosom, or even a grateful Gadarene to ask to be always with Him—His position on the cross would have been so far ameliorated that, it would have had less in it of this element of contrast. But would it have been well that it should have been ameliorated, that even one drop of its bitterness should have been diluted, one grain of it removed? We may be sure it would not. Contrast works both ways, as from, joy to sorrow, so from sorrow to joy. Our Lord notes the double action in John 16 : "Truly, truly, I say unto you—that you shall weep and lament—but the world shall rejoice; and you shall be sorrowful—but your sorrow shall be turned into joy!" Then He illustrates it from a well-known fact in common life, and adds, "And you now, therefore, have sorrow; but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice—and your joy no man takes from you." The power which wrought backward—was able to work forward too; and as Jesus endured the cross, the joy set before Him no doubt wrought upon His mind.

It was with Jesus—as we are sure it ever is with His people who suffer with a mind akin to His—the immense and glorious future was able to out-weigh altogether the past joy. The joy of the past was nothing—in comparison with that which was to come. He, as man, shared in the great law of bounty, by which His Father ordains that that which we sow, and allow to die at His command, shall spring up an hundred-fold, and a thousand-fold. The pierced One sowed a contrast, to reap a contrast—the contrast of the preciousness of the little love He had experienced and His present piercing—with these same piercings and the future adorings of individuals, the love of millions—all those wonders of Revelation chapter 5—the falling down before the Lamb—the mingling of the voices of many angels round about the throne, and the living creatures, and the elders, whose number was ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands; whose cry was this: ’Worthy is the Lamb who was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honor, and glory, and blessing! The response to whose cry came loud and long from all places—for every creature which is in heaven, and on the earth, and under the earth, and such as are in the sea, and all that are in them, re-echoed the ascription of praise; and said, Blessing and honor, and glory, and power, be unto Him who sits upon the throne, and unto the Lamb forever and ever; and the living creatures say amen, and the four-and-twenty elders fall down and worship Him that lives forever and ever.’ As I write of this great glory, I can scarcely believe that a moment ago I was at the cross—and that it is at pierced feet the elders fall down and worship! I too say Amen! You have right nobly won it all, O Christ. Amen and amen! But now we must come back to ourselves, our little concerns; for in truth they are all-important to us, and our blessed Savior knows that they are so. He will allow us to use His cross, on which He perfected our great atonement, as our teacher, our comforter in the contrasts, in the midst of which we are set.

What a chapter might be written upon such deep condescensions of the cross—how it is our comforter as well as our reprover, our vivifier as well as our destroyer of self; how it heals as well as wounds; how it whispers as well as thunders; how it stoops low beneath the humblest roofs, as well as towers high above the loftiest thrones! The once lovingly tended—but now pierced feet of Jesus teach me, then, these lessons. When sorrow comes upon me, I must meet the contrast of the present—with the past; with another contrast, even that of the present—with the future. But to do this I must of course have a future. I am privileged to sorrow, not as those without hope—but then I must have the hope. And so it will be a good thing to dwell upon future blessedness, even when it is not wanted as a compensation for the present sorrow; to have the blessedness always vivid, always at hand. All thoughts of the future are not to be set down as dreamy and unpractical; our present is always connected with a past and a future; and we should let a blessed future exercise its power.

Alas! the world is full of those who have no future; those, whose chief thought concerning the future is to reduce it to nothingness as far as they can. The future can be no help to them. But it ought to be much to the believer; he should see it as God’s antidote to sorrow. What it was to our Lord, it may well be to us.

We may be sure that our heavenly Father allows no trouble to come upon His people, without its own balancings and compensations. As no temptation is permitted without the means withal of escape—so no trouble is permitted without the means of endurance. But, as in the matter of the temptation, the way of escape is not always visible at once, so in that of trouble. We must recollect ourselves; we must call to mind the promised future; we must bring our spiritual being into the trial; and then will come the peace.

Another lesson which I learn is, ’the sobering power of contrast.’

These pierced feet, are those which as we have seen were once anointed with very precious ointment; which were washed with tears; which were even wiped with the hairs of the head. When we remember that thus it was with the Lord—how will it balance us when we seem likely to be intoxicated by present honor, or respect, or wealth, or joy! To attempt to be taken by force one day, to be made a king—and shortly after, to be taken by force to a cross—has its counterpart oftentimes in our life. Who is there that has not suffered from unbalanced joy; that has not at some time been run away with by the steed on whose neck he flung the rein! We have probably all suffered more or less from not having kept ourselves in check; but we probably have experiences enough to fall back upon, if we will only call them to mind, from which we can choose correctives for the future, able to balance us by the power of contrast.

Another voice which comes to me from this cross, to which are affixed the pierced feet, is this. Let us do all that we can, while we can—yet the time may come when we can no longer work—but must stand helplessly by. Our Lord Himself says, "the poor you have always with you—but me you have not always." No ointment could be poured on the feet when on the cross—the time had passed for that; those who would have anointed those feet with their life-blood if they could—can now do no more than stand helplessly by.

Even as regards earthly love and its tender ministrations, the cross condescends to teach this lesson. It says, ’Show love while you can! You may have opportunities in abundance today—but you may soon be debarred from doing forever. Even in such little things as these, what bitter thoughts may we lay up for ourselves. As we painfully see some dear one slowly drag one leg after the other; a long day’s journey now, from the bed to the sofa, and from the sofa to the bed again—how glad we would now be to walk miles with him; but we recall the time when we refused to go here or there at his request to gratify him. With eyes half closed, some dear one lies all day, and when they are opened it is weariedly and languidly, to be closed again without having taken any notice; and we sit by the bedside and think, how we refused, at some time or other, to show him something, or to gladden that eye with a cheerful look or smile. Perhaps, even in the matter of the day’s food—we cared but little to make it palatable; and now we lay dainties beside the sick one’s couch—but it is too late, they are untasted—even untouched; the time for being able to minister to him has past—and now it has slipped away beyond their reach. The cross, in its graciousness of teaching, condescends even to these things, and says, ’In common life—let it not be so.’ I would echo the voice of the cross. I would say, ’Lay up for yourself, so far as it may be done in and by things of this life,’ strong consolations by a life-long ministry of love. Be sowing seed every day you live, which shall sprout, and ear, and be garnered by the bed side, by the coffin and grave side of those you love. Those who sow deeds of love, shall reap loving memories; and memories shall do wonders when the time comes for them to act. They will sit by the lonely hearth—and people it; they will come into the desolate heart—and sing in it; they will command the desert—to blossom as the rose, and turn the dry ground into water springs.

Fresh herbage carpets the roadside of the one who has yet many milestones to pass alone; and however dusty and hard his daily walk, he may turn aside and journey onwards amid the freshness of the dew of herbs; every loving word and deed in the past is like a grass blade—each one distinct—all offering themselves as a velvet carpet to his tender feet. If to dwell in unity be like the dew of heaven—like what dew, in its sparkling and refreshing, must it be to have dwelt amid perfect and unwearied ministries of love!’ But enough of ourselves, we must turn back again to Christ; the voice of teaching says, ’tend His pierced feet—while you can.’ But how can we, for now His feet are like unto fine brass, as though it was burnished in a furnace.

He Himself has told us how it may be done. "Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren—you have done it unto Me."

Let us picture to ourselves, what our feelings would be—if we were now to see the feet of Jesus nailed to the cross. As we stood by them and looked up into that pain-stricken yet patient face, we would say, ’What can I do for the One hanging there for me?’ We would say, ’What can I do—which I have left undone?’ We should question ourselves, and no doubt condemn ourselves too. But we are more favorably circumstanced than this. No doubt we have much to condemn ourselves for—for we have left undone that which we should have done—but as yet there is time to do. Yes, we may, as it were, give comfort to the One upon the cross; we may spend upon Him, we may tend Him. Let us do so while we can. The day will certainly come when we can do so no more—because we shall have passed out of the sphere in which it is appointed that such things may be done. We believe that there will be plenty of glorious service in the life to come; but we believe that all such as is connected with fellowship in Christ’s sufferings, must cease.

Much of present service is of this character; if we would perform such ministrations of love—we must do so now. No doubt, the so doing will bring its own peculiar reward. That reward will probably connect itself with the sweetness of memory’s retrospects. We need no vivid imagination to picture it to ourselves. Just think for a moment of looking at those feet in glory with the marks—the ineffable marks of the nails in them; and of being able to hold sweet talk within ourselves about what we did for them, and to them. The time will have passed for all such sayings as, ’We saw You hungry—and fed You. We saw You sick or in prison—and visited You.’ We shall know all about that; it will be explained to us how it was, and we [knowing then the connection between Jesus and His people] shall understand it. And we shall feel, ’O how sweet to think that I did not neglect those precious feet—that I eased them, that I honored them, that I anointed, washed, wiped them; that once I rested them, and always, dust-covered as they were, honored them.’ Would it not be heaven just to go about saying that to ourselves? and oh, how much more a heaven to hear Jesus saying it to us; and, perhaps, to meet with others, now this one and now that, and to hear from them what they did, and to tell them what we did.

’Stop!’ perhaps the reader says, this will foster pride; ’did not the accepted ones humbly say, that they had done nothing at all?’ Ah, yes—but as we have said, the time for this has past; they believe what Jesus spoke, when He said how they had done it to His very self; they have no false modesty—any more than foolish pride; all things are now seen in their real light, and they shall know the full value of what they did, and rejoice in it, and perhaps hold sweet communion with each other about it. With the close of this life, and our passage from this scene of sorrow, ends the opportunity for all this! Let us lay up, then, for ourselves this treasure in heaven—sweet memories, ever to be renewed at the sight of the One who was pierced for us!

There is one more remark to be made before we pass on from this branch of the subject. We must expect vicissitudes even as they were the portion of our Lord.

We would gladly always have the tendings and the tenderness of love—an uncheckered life; but as He was upon the earth, even so are we. Therefore, when the changes come—let us betake ourselves to the cross. Let us sit down, not at the feet of some Gamaliel to teach us philosophy—but at the pierced feet of Jesus, to learn the philosophy of the cross. To us it may now be a still, calm place; we may just sit there and think—look and think, and think and look again. I say nothing of the thorns in the head, or the nails in the hands, or the wound in the side; I see enough in this my time of woeful change, to calm, and teach, and strengthen my heart, if I use the sight aright, in the once lovingly tended—but now pierced, ’feet of Jesus.’