Christmas gold, p.279
Christmas Gold, page 279
CHAPTER XI.
IT IS THE LORD.
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Though the chief priests and Pharisees carefully reported that the disciples had stolen the body of Jesus of Nazareth, they took no steps to prove the fact, or to punish the violators of the grave. The whole number of the disciples remained in Jerusalem during the feast, and the Sabbath following the feast. Even on the first day of the week after it, when the bulk of the Galileans had started homewards, the eleven apostles still lingered in the city. Thomas, who had vehemently refused to believe in the resurrection of his Master because he had not seen Him, had passed the week in alternate mourning and disputing with those who vainly sought to convince him. He saw Mary, the mother of Christ, comforted, and full of gladness; his fellow-disciples rejoicing and exultant; yet to all they urged he answered, ‘Except I shall see in His hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into His side, I will not believe.’ It was a miserable week for him, for he was deeply attached to his crucified Master, and timid and despondent as he was, he had once said, ‘Let us also go, that we may die with Him.’ But he could not be persuaded that He had risen from the dead.
Eight days had passed since Jesus had been seen; and the eleven apostles were sitting together, the doors being shut for fear of the Pharisees, as on the week before, when once more He stood in their midst, with no sign or sound of coming, and said, ‘Peace be unto you.’ Then turning to Thomas, and sneaking directly to him, He added, ‘Reach hither thy finger, and behold My hands, and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into My side, and be not faithless, but believing.’ But he did not now need the evidence he had demanded; it was enough to see his Master, and hear Him speak. Jesus wished to prove to him he was the very Son of man, who had died upon the cross. Thomas cried, ‘My Lord and my God!’
The apostles no longer lingered in Jerusalem. They were needed in their homes in Galilee, and it was safer for them to assemble together there, where the chief priests had less power than in Judea. Moreover, there would be many arrangements to make for their families, before they could set out on those missionary journeys which soon scattered them into far countries. They scarcely yet knew what their Lord would have them to do, but for a short time longer they were sent to dwell in their own homes, among their own people, following their old trades amid familiar scenes.
Seven of, them were dwelling near Capernaum, on the shores of the lake, where they had earned their livelihood by fishing. Peter said to his comrades, one evening after their return from Jerusalem, ‘I go a fishing.’ Thomas and Nathanael, James and John, with two others, joined him, and, entering into a boat, launched out upon the dark waters, and toiled all night, but came back to the land with empty nets. In the cold grey of the morning they were going ashore, disappointed and hungry men, when they saw on the dim beach a man standing to watch them. It was still too dark for them to see clearly. ‘Children, have ye any meat?’ His voice called across the water. There is nothing unusual in such a question from a bystander, who has been looking on while men are fishing. ‘No,’ they shouted back; for they were still some distance from the land. ‘Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and ye shall find,’ was the advice given. He might see signs of fish, which had escaped them; and they obeyed, feeling that though their toil had been in vain all night, one chance cast of the net might atone for their want of success. If not, they could but return empty, as they were now doing.
While they cast their net the light grew stronger, and the morning shone upon the lake and shore, upon the disciples in their boat, and the solitary stranger looking on. But soon the net was so full of fish, that they could not draw it; and quickly there flashed through the mind of John the memory of that morning, when Jesus had called them to leave their nets, and follow Him. ‘It is the Lord,’ he said to Peter. There He stood in the morning light at the edge of the waters where they were fishing. Possibly, nay probably, there was already shining about Him a transfiguring glory, such as they had witnessed on the mountain, when His face was as the sun, and His raiment as white as the glistering snow. Peter at once threw himself into the lake, that he might the sooner reach the Master he had once denied; and the rest followed in their boat, dragging their net with them.
Just such a reception met them as may have welcomed them often in the old days, when, though disciples, they still had to earn their bread. No doubt their Lord had often ministered to them before He washed their feet at the Last Supper. There was a fire already kindled on the beach, lit for them whilst they were toiling, hungry and weary, in the darkness; and fish was broiling on it, and cakes of bread were baking in the hot ashes. It was a homely, simple welcome, such as one of themselves might have prepared for his comrades. They and their Master had often eaten their meals together thus in the open air, beside a little fire on the ground. ‘Bring of the fish which ye have now caught,’ said Jesus to them; and Peter ran and drew the net to land, counting the fish as he took them out of the unbroken meshes. Presently Jesus said to them, ‘Come and dine.’ But none of them durst say, ‘Who art thou?’ They were silent in happy awe.
The meal was ready, and they hungry with their night’s toil They were at home, on the shores of their own lake. Every hill, every village, every landmark about them, lying clear in the early light, was as familiar to them as the faces of old friends. The freshness of the morning air brought to them the scent of flowers such as they had plucked when children. The little waves of the lake rippled up against the margin, chiming as it had done to them when they were boys. The larks sang overhead, and the waterfowl cried across the water. How different was this from that upper chamber in Jerusalem, when their Master’s soul was troubled, and exceedingly sorrowful, as He said there was a traitor among them. There was no traitor now, no agony in Gethsemane, no cruel foes, no cross. All these were for ever past.
Once again Jesus took bread, and, breaking it, He gave it to them. In silence, blissful, yet reverent, they took their food from His hand, and satisfied their hunger. They knew that it was the Lord, and that was enough. When the meal was over, three times Christ asked of Peter the question, ‘Lovest thou Me?’ until at the third time Peter was aggrieved. ‘Lord,’ he cried, ‘Thou knowest all things; Thou knowest that I love thee.’ Jesus bade him feed His lambs and His sheep; and signified to him what death he should die for His sake. By this time the morning had advanced, and the people were waking up to their day’s work in the fields, or upon the lake, and Jesus withdrew from His disciples, saying to Peter, ‘Follow Me.’ All of them were about to enter upon the life He had quitted; they would be persecuted, cast out of the synagogue, and put to death as He had been. The servant could not be above his Master, nor the disciple above his Lord. They must all, even Peter, who had denied Him, follow Him through shame and suffering to a bitter end. Peter understood Christ’s words literally, and rose up to follow Him; John also could not stay behind if he might but be with his Lord in that mysterious solitude whither He was about to vanish, and whence He came so suddenly among them. But here they could not follow Him. Peter asked a question as to what John should do in the perilous future they were about to enter; but Jesus checked his curiosity by a vague, indefinite answer before passing out of their sight. This was the third time that Jesus showed Himself to His disciples after He was risen from the dead.
CHAPTER XII.
HIS FRIENDS.
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Twice had the Lord been seen by the women who ministered unto Him; three times by the apostles. But a still larger assembly were to have proof that He had indeed risen from the dead. Whilst Jesus was yet in Galilee, before His crucifixion, He had told not only His twelve apostles, but the mass of His disciples, that He should be crucified, and rise again on the third day. He had also fixed upon a mountain where He would appear unto them after this resurrection, probably a mountain in some central point, where all could assemble to meet Him. More than five hundred disciples flocked to this appointed place, men and women, those whom He had delivered from blindness, sickness, sorrow, even from evil spirits. None would be absent who could possibly reach the quiet mountain, where their crucified Lord would meet them in His own person; no spirit; no illusion. A few even yet doubted; but the rest worshipped Him. Speaking to them all, not to the aposties merely, He bade them teach all nations to observe whatsoever He had commanded. Each disciple was to be a messenger of the good tidings for Him; though only a chosen few were to forsake all to become His ambassadors to distant lands.
There was one of the Lord's disciples, who had been His companion, not for a few months only, nor for two or three years, but during His whole life. They had been boys together, dwelt in the same village, climbed the hills side by side, learned from the same schoolmaster, gone together to the synagogue Sabbath after Sabbath; perhaps worked at the same carpenter's bench. This was James, the son of His aunt Maxy Cleophas, of whom tradition says he closely resembled the Lord in his personal appearance. Jesus appeared alone to him, in some quiet, unknown hour, which would have remained a secret from us if James had not himself told it to Paul some years afterwards. Jesus had not ceased to love those whom He had loved in His early life; and it may be He appeared to James to satisfy some passionate yearning of His cousin's heart, for one more hour of such communion as those they had had together on the hills round Nazareth.
For forty days after His resurrection Christ remained upon earth, showing Himself alive by many infallible proofs, eating and drinking with His disciples; being seen of them, and touched by them; teaching them, and speaking to them things pertaining to the kingdom of God, which they were to preach. He had said, ‘I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice: and your joy no man taketh from you.’ His words were fulfilled. The joy of His resurrection had made them strong to face the perils they had once dreaded; and by many a proof He made this joy unspeakable, and full of glory. No king, no high priest, no emperor, not all the powers and principalities of the whole world, could take this joy from them. Now the time was come when Christ could trust His message with them, and leave them to go to the Father.
The mission of the apostles was to begin at Jerusalem—the city of His crucifixion. There, some days before the Feast of Pentecost, they were once more gathered together, with Mary, the mother of Jesus, and other women, and His kinsmen, waiting for His last revelation of Himself. Jesus came to them, and led them out as far as Bethany, on the Mount of Olives; but whether all were there, or His apostles only, we cannot tell. Seen and heard by them, but invisible to eyes that had no love for Him, He passed along that road, down which the thronging multitudes had swept in glad procession, waving palm branches, and shouting, ‘Hosanna to the Son of David!’ Once more He looked upon the doomed city, over which He had wept, and which was now crowned by its blackest sin. ‘Begin at Jerusalem,’ He said. Even yet the apostles did not fully understand Him ‘Lord,’ they asked, ‘wilt Thou at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?’ They beheld their beautiful city, with its magnificent temple and gorgeous palaces, and still thought it, blood-stained as it was, a fitting throne for their risen Lord Again, as once before, He told them they were not to know the times and seasons which the Father had kept in His own power.
Past the home at Bethany, which He had loved so much, and blessed so wondrously, Jesus led His disciples to some solitary spot on the mountain, where Jerusalem, the guilty city, with Calvary at her gates, was hidden from their view. Lifting up His pierced hands, He blessed them, His friends who had been with Him in His tribulation; but whilst He was yet speaking a cloud came down to overshadow them, as they had been overshadowed in the Mount of Transfiguration. Their loving hands could clasp Him no longer; they could hear Him no more, but falling down, they worshipped Him, as He was thus carried away from them. Even when all was lost to their sight, that bright chariot of cloud in which He was ascending on high amidst thousands of angels, and leading captivity captive, when that had faded in the deep blue of the heavens, they stood gazing steadfastly toward the point where it had vanished, until two men in white apparel spoke to them, saying, ‘Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven? This same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come again in like manner as ye have seen Him go into heaven.’
In great joy they returned to Jerusalem, along the well-known road, with Gethsemane not far off, and Calvary in sight With one accord they, with the women, and Mary, and all the kinsmen of the Lord, continued together in prayer and supplication, going up constantly to the Temple to praise and bless God.
CHAPTER XIII.
HIS FOES.
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But what of the enemies of Christ? the traitor, the priestly persecutors, the unjust judge, the cowardly tetrarch, nay the city itself, which could suffer such crimes? A few years after the crucifixion, Herod Antipas, the murderer of John the Baptist, was goaded on by Herodias to solicit the rank and title of king from the Roman emperor. Her brother, Herod Agrippa, had been made king of those provinces which had been governed by Philip the tetrarch; and he arrived in Palestine, a.d. 38. His kingly state excited the ambition and jealousy of Herodias, who at last succeeded in carrying Herod Antipas to Rome to supplant Agrippa in the favour of the emperor. But Agrippa’s influence proved stronger than theirs; and instead of being allowed to return to Palestine, Herod Antipas was banished, and from that time till his death dragged out the life of an exile in Gaul and Spain, Herodias did not forsake him; the only good thing we know of that wicked woman.
Pilate had sacrificed Christ to his fears of being misrepresented to the emperor. The very fate he dreaded befell him; for riots becoming more and more frequent under his rule, both in Judea and Samaria, his superior, the prefect of Syria, sent him to Rome for trial. He arrived there just after the death of Tiberius, who had been his friend and patron; and Caligula, his successor, banished him also to Gaul, where, it is said, he died by his own hand, unable to bear his disgrace and exile.
After the departure of Pilate, the prefect of Syria visited Jerusalem, and removed Caiaphas from his office as high priest But a son of Annas was put in his place, and the chief power of the priesthood remained in the family for a long period. Annas himself died in extreme old age, and was considered by his countrymen one of the happiest men of his time and nation.
For a brief space under Herod Agrippa, who was made king of Judea and Samaria, as well as of the provinces east of the Jordan, Jerusalem enjoyed prosperity, whilst the early Christians suffered many persecutions, Herod putting James, the brother of John, to death, to please the Jews. But immediately after this, upon the death of Herod, a.d. 45, a severe famine, lasting two years, befell Judea. Soon afterwards, at the feast of the passover, many thousands of the people perished in a tumult caused by the intrusion of the Roman soldiers into the Temple. A set of fanatics and assassins began to infest Jerusalem and its neighbourhood, some of whom slew the high priest, a son of Annas, whilst sacrificing. Riots and massacres became more and more common. False Messiahs sprang up. Rival high priests headed different parties, each bent upon plunder. At last the Jews broke out into open insurrection against the Roman power; but they were also divided among themselves, and separated into many factions, at deadly enmity with one another. The Roman army besieged Jerusalem, a.d. 70, when it was crowded with strangers and pilgrims come up to keep the passover. Thousands perished in battle, thousands more by famine and murder within the walls, and when the city was taken, the old and sickly were massacred, children under seventeen years of age were sold into slavery, and the rest were sent in multitudes to make up gladiatorial shows in the amphitheatres of Rome and the provinces. ‘The whole of the city was so thoroughly levelled and dug up, that no one visiting it would believe it had ever been inhabited.’ It is said that not one of the Christians perished in the siege, as they fled from the doomed city before it was surrounded by the Roman army.
But a far swifter and more direct destruction befell the man, who knew, and knew distinctly, what he was doing when he betrayed his Lord into the hands of His enemies. Judas was not ignorant of the purposes of the Sanhedrim; he was no stranger to Jesus. He had even been one of His familiar friends, in whom He trusted. He had been an eye-witness, like the other apostles, of the wondrous life of Jesus from the beginning. He had himself preached the gospel, and done works of mercy in the name of his Master. Yet he clearly understood that the bribe for which he bargained to betray Him was but the price of His blood. For he had been with Christ when He was hiding from His enemies, who sought to kill Him by any means, by private assassination, or by sudden tumult To sell Jesus to the chief priests, he knew, was to betray innocent blood.
We are led to suppose that Judas accompanied the band which carried Jesus from Gethsemane to the palace of the high priest, a dark-spirited, anxious, skulking villain, already hearing a low whisper of that storm of remorse which was soon to drive him to despair. The wages of his sin were promptly paid to him; yet still he seems to have lingered about the spot where his Master was, watching how things went on. It was night, and he was friendless. All his old comrades would now turn from him in terror. He was not a stupid man; he could feel keenly. There was but one spark of comfort—his purse was no longer empty, and the little field he coveted could now be his. As soon as the day dawned he would go and see about it.
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