Jesus Arraigned Before Pilate

Then led they Jesus from Caiaphas unto the hall of judgment: and it was early; and they themselves went not into the judgment hall, lest they should be defiled; but that they might eat the passover. Pilate then went out unto them, and said, What accusation bring ye against this man?—And they began to accuse him, saying, We found this fellow perverting the nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Cæsar, saying that he himself is Christ a King.—St. John xviii: 28, 29; St. Luke xxiii: 2.

NOTE BY THE ARTIST

Priding themselves upon their strict administration of justice, the Romans not infrequently erected their tribunals in the open air, by the city gate, in the market-place or theatre, or even at the roadside, in order that all might have the opportunity of seeing and hearing. The design of Herod’s magnificent palace, now the official residence of Pilate, evidently made permanent provision for this method of official procedure, the “Gabbatha”—a platform—being a tesselated pavement in front of the Judgment Hall, to which access was obtained by a flight of steps. In the centre of this pavement was a slightly-raised platform, upon which was placed the curule chair of the procurator, with seats to right and left for the assessors; other officers of the court occupying benches on the lower level.

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THE
LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST
FOR THE YOUNG

BY THE
REV. RICHARD NEWTON, D.D.

AND
HIS LIFE DEPICTED IN A
GALLERY OF EIGHTY PAINTINGS

BY
WILLIAM HOLE
ROYAL SCOTTISH ACADEMY

VOL. IV

PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE BARRIE’S SONS, Publishers
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

COPYRIGHTED, 1876-1880, BY G. & B.

RENEWED, 1904-1907, BY GEORGE BARRIE & SONS

COPYRIGHTED, 1913, BY GEORGE BARRIE & SONS

CONTENTS
VOLUME IV

THE GALLERY OF THE LIFE OF
JESUS CHRIST
VOLUME IV

JESUS IN GETHSEMANE

In sailing across the ocean, if we attempt to measure the depth of the water in different places, we shall find that it varies very much. There are hardly two places in which it is exactly the same. In some places it is easy enough to find the bottom. In others, it is necessary to lengthen the line greatly before it can be reached. And then there are other places where the water is so deep that the longest line ordinarily used cannot reach to the bottom. We know that there is a bottom, but it is very hard to get down to it.

And, in studying the history of our Saviour’s life, we may compare ourselves to persons sailing over the ocean. The things that he did, and the words that he spoke, are like the water over which we are sailing. And when we try to understand the meaning of what Jesus said and did, we are like the sailor out at sea who is trying to fathom the water over which he is sailing, and to find out how deep it is. And in doing this we shall find the same difference that he finds. Some of the things that Jesus did and said are so plain and simple that a child can understand them. These are like those parts of the ocean where a very little line will reach the bottom. Other things that Jesus did and said require hard study, if we wish to understand them. But then, there are other parts of the sayings and doings of Jesus which the best and wisest men, with all their learning and study, cannot fully understand or explain. These are like those places in the sea where we cannot reach the bottom with our longest lines.

We find our illustration of this in the garden of Gethsemane. Some of the things that were done and said there we can easily understand. But other things are told us, of what Jesus did and said there which are very hard to explain.

In speaking about this part of our Saviour’s life, there are two things for us to notice. These are what we are told about Gethsemane, and what we are taught by the things that took place there. Or, a shorter way of stating it will be to say that our subject now is—the facts—and the lessons of Gethsemane.

Let us look now at the facts that are told us about Gethsemane. It is a fact that there was such a place as Gethsemane, near Jerusalem, when Jesus was on earth, and that there is such a place there now. It is a fact that Gethsemane was a garden or orchard of olive trees then, and so it is still. Everyone who goes to Jerusalem is sure to visit this spot, because it is so sacred to all Christian hearts on account of its connection with our Saviour’s sufferings. The side of the Mount of Olives on which Gethsemane stands is dotted over with olive trees. A portion of the hill has been enclosed with stone walls. This is supposed to be the spot where our Lord’s agony took place. Inside of these walls are eight large olive trees. They are gnarled and crooked, and very old. Some suppose they are the very trees which stood there when Jesus visited the spot, on the night in which he was betrayed. But this is not likely. For we know that when Titus, the Roman general, was besieging Jerusalem, he cut down all the trees that could be found near the city. But the trees now there have probably sprung from the roots of those that were growing in Gethsemane on this very night.

It is a fact that after keeping the last Passover, and observing, for the first time the Lord’s Supper with his disciples, Jesus left Jerusalem near midnight with the little band of his followers. He went down the side of the hill on which the city stood and crossed the brook Kedron on the way to Gethsemane. It is a fact that on going into the garden he left eight of his disciples at the entrance. It is a fact that he took with him the chosen, favored three, Peter, James, and John, and went further into the garden. It is a fact that then he “began to be sorrowful and very heavy. Then saith he—my soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death.” It is a fact that he withdrew from the three disciples, and, alone with God, he bowed himself to the earth, and prayed, saying, “O, my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.” It is a fact that after offering this earnest prayer he returned to his disciples and found them asleep, and said to Peter, “What! could ye not watch with me one hour? Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation.” It is a fact that he went away again, “and being in an agony he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was, as it were, great drops of blood falling down to the ground.” It is a fact that in the depths of his agony, “there appeared unto him an angel from heaven strengthening him.” We are not told what the angel said to him. No doubt he brought to him some tender, loving words from his Father in heaven, to comfort and encourage him. It is a fact that he returned to his disciples again and found them sleeping, for their eyes were heavy. It is a fact that he went away again, and prayed, saying, “O, my Father, if this cup may not pass from me except I drink it, thy will be done.” It is a fact that he returned the third time to his disciples, and said—“Sleep on now, and take your rest: behold the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us be going: behold he is at hand that doth betray me.” And it is a fact that, immediately after he had spoken these words, the wretched Judas appeared with his band to take him. These are the facts told us by the evangelists respecting Jesus and his agony in Gethsemane. They are very wonderful facts, and the scene which they set before us in our Saviour’s life is one of the most solemn and awful that ever was witnessed.

And now, let us go on to speak of the lessons taught us by these facts. These lessons are four.

The first lesson we learn from Gethsemane is a lesson—about prayer.

As soon as this great trouble came upon our blessed Lord in Gethsemane, we see him, at once separating himself from his disciples, and seeking the comfort and support of his Father’s presence in prayer. And this was what he was in the habit of doing. We remember how he spent the night in prayer before engaging in the important work of choosing his disciples. And now, as soon as the burden of this great sorrow comes crushing down upon him, the first thing he does is to seek relief in prayer.

The apostle Paul is speaking of this, when he says, “he offered up prayers and supplications, with strong crying and tears, unto him that was able to save him from death, and was heard in that he feared.” Heb. v: 7. This refers particularly to what took place here in Gethsemane. The earnestness which marked our Saviour’s prayers on this occasion is especially mentioned. He mingled tears with his prayers. It appears from what the apostle here says, that there was something connected with his approaching death upon the cross that Jesus particularly feared. We are not told what it was. And it is not worth while for us to try and find it out, for we cannot do it. But the prayer of Jesus, was not in vain. “He was heard, in that he feared.” No doubt this refers to what took place when the angel came to strengthen him. His prayer was not answered literally. He was not actually saved from death; but he was saved from what he feared in connection with death. Our Lord’s experience, in this respect, was like that of St. Paul when he prayed to be delivered from the thorn in the flesh. The thorn was not taken away, but grace was given him to bear it, and that was better than having it taken away. The promise is—“Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee.” Ps. lv: 22. And so, from the gloomy shades of Gethsemane, with our Saviour’s agony and bloody sweat, there comes to us a precious lesson about prayer. We see Jesus praying under the sorrows that overwhelmed him there: his prayer was heard, and he was helped.

And thus, by the example of our blessed Lord, we are taught, when we have any heavy burden to bear, or any hard duty to do, to carry it to the Lord in prayer.

Let us look at some examples from every day life of the benefit that follows from prayer.

“Washington’s Prayer.” General Washington was one of the best and greatest men that this country, or any other, ever had. He was a man of piety and prayer.

While he was a young man, he was appointed by Governor Dinwiddie, of Virginia, to the command of a body of troops, and sent on some duty in the western part of that state. A part of these troops was composed of friendly Indians. There was no chaplain in that little army, and so Washington used to act as chaplain himself. He was in the habit of standing up, in the presence of his men, with his head uncovered, and reverently asking the God of heaven to protect and bless them in the work they were sent to do. And no doubt, the great secret of Washington’s success in life, was his habit of prayer. He occupied many positions of honor and dignity during his useful life. But, never did he occupy any position in which he appeared so manly, so honorable, and so truly noble, as when he stood forth, a young man, in the presence of his little army, and tried to lift up their thoughts to God above, as the one “from whom all blessings flow.”

“Praying Better Than Stealing.” A poor family lived near a wood wharf. The father of this family got on very well while he kept sober; but when he went to the tavern to spend his evenings and his earnings, as he did sometimes, then his poor family had to suffer. One winter, during a cold spell of weather, he was taken sick from a drunken frolic. Their wood was nearly gone.

After dark one night, he called his oldest boy John to his bedside, and whispered to him to go to the wood wharf and bring an armful of wood.

“I can’t do that,” said John.

“Can’t do it—why not?”

“Because that would be stealing, and since I have been going to Sabbath-school, I’ve learned that God’s commandment is, ‘Thou shalt not steal.’”

“Well, and didn’t you learn that another of God’s commandments is—‘Children, obey your parents?’”

“Yes, father,” answered the boy.

“Well, then, mind and do what I tell you.”

Johnny was perplexed. He knew there must be some way of answering his father, but he did not know exactly how to do it. The right thing would have been for him to say that, when our parents tell us to do what is plainly contrary to the command of God, we must obey God rather than men. But Johnny had not learned this yet. So he said:

“Father, please excuse me from stealing. I’ll ask God to send us some wood. Praying’s better than stealing. I’m pretty sure God will send it. And if it don’t come before I come home from school at noon to-morrow, I will go and work for some, or beg some. I can work, and I can beg, but I can’t steal.”

Then Johnny crept up into the loft where he slept, and prayed to God about this matter. He said the Lord’s prayer, which his teacher had taught him. And after saying—“give us this day our daily bread;” he added—“and please Lord send us some wood too, and let father see that praying is better than stealing—for Jesus’ sake. Amen.”

And at noon next day when he came home from school, as he turned round the corner, and came in sight of their home, what do you think was the first thing he saw? Why, a load of wood before their door! Yes, there it was. His mother told him the overseers of the poor had sent it. He did not know them. He believed it was God who sent it. And he was right.

The first lesson from Gethsemane is about prayer.

The second lesson from this hallowed spot is—about sin.

Here, in Gethsemane, we see Jesus engaged in paying the price of our redemption: this means, what he had to suffer for us before our sins could be pardoned. The pains and sorrows through which Jesus passed, in the agony of the garden, and the death on the cross: the sighs he heaved—the groans he uttered—the tears he shed—the fears, the griefs, the unknown sufferings that he bore—all these were part of the price he had to pay, that we might be saved from our sins.

When we read of all that Jesus endured in Gethsemane: when we hear him say—“my soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death:” when we see him fall to the earth, in such an agony that “his sweat was, as it were, great drops of blood falling down to the ground:” we may well ask the question—what was it which caused him all this fearful suffering? And there is only one way of answering this question; and this is by saying that he was bearing the punishment of our sins. There was nothing else that could have made him feel so sad and sorrowful. But this explains it all. Then, as the prophet says—“He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities;—and the Lord had laid on him the iniquity of us all.” Is. liii: 5, 6. Our sins had provoked the wrath of God against us, and Jesus was bearing that wrath for us. In all the world, there is nothing that shows so clearly what a fearful thing sin is, as the awful sufferings of Jesus when he was paying the price of our sins, or making atonement for us. And it is by knowing what took place in Gethsemane, and on Calvary, and only in this way, that we can learn what a terrible evil sin is, and how we are to be saved from it.

Some years ago, there was a good Christian lady in England who had taken into her family a deaf and dumb boy. She was anxious to teach him the lesson of Gethsemane and Calvary; that Christ had suffered and died for our sins. Signs and pictures were the only means by which she could teach him. So she drew a picture of a great crowd of people, old and young, standing near a deep, wide pit, out of which smoke and flames were issuing, and into which they were in danger of being driven. Then she drew the figure of one who came down from heaven, representing Jesus, the Son of God. She explained to the boy that when this person came, he asked God not to throw those people into the pit, because he was willing to suffer and to die for them, that the pit might be shut up and the people saved.

The deaf and dumb boy wondered much: and then made signs that the person who offered to die was only one, while the guilty ones who deserved to die were many. He did not understand how God could be willing to take one, in the place of so many. The lady saw the difficulty that was in the boy’s mind. Then she took a gold ring off from her finger, and put it down by the side of a great heap of withered leaves, from some faded flowers, and then asked the boy, by signs, which was the more valuable, the one gold ring, or the many withered leaves? The boy took in the idea at once. He clapped his hands with delight, and then by signs exclaimed—“The one—the golden one.” And then to show that he knew what this meant, and that the life of Jesus was worth more than the world of sinners for which he died, he ran and got his letters, and spelled the words—“Good! The golden one good!” The deaf and dumb boy had learned two great lessons that day. For one thing he had learned this lesson about sin which we are trying to learn from Gethsemane. He saw what a dreadful thing sin is, when it was necessary for Jesus to die before it could be pardoned. And then, at the same time, he learned a lesson about Jesus. He saw what a golden, glorious character he is: that he is perfect man, and perfect God. This made his blood so precious that the shedding of that blood was a price sufficient to pay for the sins of the whole world.

Jesus Privately Examined by Pilate

Then Pilate entered into the judgment hall again, and called Jesus, and said unto him, Art thou the King of the Jews? Jesus answered him, Sayest thou this thing of thyself, or did others tell it thee of me? Pilate answered, Am I a Jew? Thine own nation and the chief priests have delivered thee unto me: what hast thou done? Jesus answered, My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews: but now is my kingdom not from hence. Pilate therefore said unto him, Art thou a king then? Jesus answered, Thou sayest that I am a king. To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth. Every one that is of the truth heareth my voice. Pilate saith unto him, What is truth?—St. John xviii: 33-38.

NOTE BY THE ARTIST

If Herod’s palace was built according to the customary Roman method, the private examination of Jesus would naturally be conducted either in the library, or in Pilate’s business room—apartments which usually occupied positions on opposite sides of a short passage leading from the further extremity of the spacious atrium to the inner halls and chambers of the palace. There were six examinations of our Lord: (1) before Annas for fact; (2) before Caiaphas for determinations; (3) before the Sanhedrim for official confirmation; (4) before Pilate for preliminary enquiry; (5) before Herod Antipas as Tetrarch of Galilee; (6) before Pilate for final acquittal or condemnation.

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And now, let us see, for a moment, how much good is done by telling to poor sinners this story of Gethsemane and Calvary, and of the sufferings of Jesus there. Here is an illustration of the power of this story, for which we are indebted to one of the Moravian Missionaries in Greenland.

Kazainak was a robber chief, who lived among “Greenland’s icy mountains.” He came, one day to a hut, where the missionary was engaged in translating into the language of that country the gospel of St. John. He saw the missionary writing and asked him what he was doing. Pointing to the letters he had just written, he said those marks were words, and that the book from which they were written could speak. Kazainak said he would like to hear what the book had to say. The missionary took up the book, and read from it the story of Christ’s crucifixion. When he stopped reading the chief asked:

“What had this man done, that he was put to death? had he robbed any one? or murdered any one? had he done wrong to any one? Why did he die?”

“No,” said the missionary. “He had robbed no one; he had murdered no one; he had done no wrong to any one.”

“Then, why did he die?”

“Listen,” said the missionary. “Jesus had done no wrong; but Kazainak has done wrong. Jesus had robbed no one; but Kazainak has robbed many. Jesus had murdered no one; but Kazainak has murdered his brother; Kazainak has murdered his child. Jesus suffered that Kazainak might not suffer; Jesus died that Kazainak might not die.”

“Tell me that again,” said the astonished chief. It was told him again, and the end of it was that the hard-hearted, blood-stained murderer became a gentle, loving Christian. He never knew what sin was till he heard of Christ’s sufferings for it.

The second lesson we learn from Gethsemane is—the lesson about sin.

The third lesson from Gethsemane is the lesson about submission.

Jesus taught us in the Lord’s prayer to say, “Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.” And this is one of the most important lessons we ever have to learn. It is very easy to say these words—“Thy will be done;” but it is not so easy to feel them, and to be and do just what they teach. The will of God is always right, and good, and holy. Everything opposed to his will is sinful. St. Paul tells us that—“sin is the transgression of the law.” To transgress a law, means to walk over it, or to break it. But the law of God is only his will made known. And so, everything that we think, or feel, or say, or do, contrary to the will of God—is sin. And when we remember this it should make us very anxious to learn the lesson of submission to the will of God. If we could all learn to do the will of God as the angels do, it would make our earth like heaven. And this is one reason why Jesus was so earnest in teaching us this lesson. He not only preached submission to the will of God, but practised it. When he entered Gethsemane, he compared the dreadful sufferings before him to a cup, filled with something very bitter, which he was asked to drink. Now, no person, however good or holy he may be, likes to endure dreadful sufferings. It is natural for us to shrink back from suffering, and to try to get away from it. And this was just the way that Jesus felt. He did not love suffering any more than you or I do. And so, when he prayed the first time in Gethsemane, with those terrible sufferings immediately before him, his prayer was—“Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.” But the cup did not pass away. It was held before him still. He saw it was his Father’s will for him to drink it. So, when he prayed the second time, his words were—“O, my Father, if this cup may not pass from me, except I drink it: thy will be done!” This was the most beautiful example of submission to the will of God the world has ever seen.

When Adam was in the garden of Eden he refused to submit to the will of God. He said, by his conduct, “Not thy will, but mine be done:” and that brought the curse upon the earth, and filled it with sorrow and death. When Jesus was in the garden of Gethsemane, he submitted to the will of God. He said, “Not my will, but thine, be done.” This took away the curse which Adam brought upon the earth, and left a blessing in the place of it—even life, and peace, and salvation.

We ought to learn submission to the will of God, because he knows what is best for us.

“The Curse of the Granted Prayer.” A widowed mother had an only child—a darling boy. Her heart was wrapped up in him. At one time he was taken very ill. The doctor thought he would die. She prayed earnestly that his life might be spared. But she did not pray in submission to the will of God. She said she did not want to live unless her child was spared to her. He was spared. But, he grew up to be a selfish, disobedient boy. One day, in a fit of passion, he struck his mother. That almost broke her heart. He became worse and worse; and, at last, in a drunken quarrel, he killed one of his companions. He was taken to prison; was tried—condemned to be hanged—and ended his life on the gallows. That quite broke his mother’s heart.

Now God, in his goodness, was going to save that mother from all this bitter sorrow. And would have done so if she had only learned to say—“Thy will be done.” She would not say that. The consequence was that she brought on herself all that heart-breaking sorrow.

And then we ought to learn submission to the will of God—because, whatever he takes away from us—he leaves us so many blessings still!

Here is a good illustration of this part of our subject. Some years ago, in a town in New England, there was a minister of the gospel who was greatly interested in his work. But he was attacked with bleeding of the lungs and was obliged to stop preaching and resign the charge of his church. About the same time his only child was laid in the grave; his wife, for a time, lost the use of her eyes; his home was broken up, and his prospects were very dark. They had been obliged to sell their furniture and take boarding at a tavern in the town where they lived. But, under all these trials, he was resigned and cheerful. He felt the supporting power of that precious gospel which he had so loved to preach. His wife had not felt as contented and cheerful under their trials as he was.

One day, as he came in from a walk, she said to him: “Husband dear, I have been thinking of our situation here, and have made up my mind to try and be patient and submissive to the will of God.”

“Ah,” said he, “that’s a good resolution. I’m very glad to hear it. Now, let us see what we have to submit to. I will make a list of our trials. Well, in the first place, we have a comfortable home; we’ll submit to that. Secondly, we have many of the blessings of life left to us; we’ll submit to that. Thirdly, we are spared to each other; we’ll submit to that. Fourthly, we have a multitude of kind friends; we’ll submit to that. Fifthly, we have a loving God, and Saviour, who has promised to take care of us, and ‘make all things work together for our good;’ we’ll submit to that.”

This was a view of their case which his wife had not taken. And so by the time her husband had got through with his fifthly, her heart was filled with gratitude, her eyes with tears, and she exclaimed: “Stop, stop; please stop, my dear husband; and I’ll never say another word about submission.”

The lesson of submission is the third lesson that we are taught in Gethsemane.

The last lesson for us to learn from this solemn scene in our Saviour’s life is a lesson—about tenderness.

Jesus taught us this when he came back, again and again, from his lonely struggles with the sufferings he was passing through, and found his disciples asleep. It seemed very selfish and unfeeling in them to show no more sympathy with their Master in the time of his greatest need. He had told them how full of sorrow he was, and had asked them to watch with him. Now, we should have supposed that, under such circumstances, they would have found it impossible to sleep. They ought to have been weeping with him in his sorrow, and uniting in prayer to God to help and comfort him. But, instead of this, while he was bearing all the agony and bloody sweat which was caused him by their sins, they were fast asleep! If Jesus had rebuked them sharply for their want of feeling, it would not have been surprising. But, he did nothing of the kind. He only asked, in his own quiet, gentle way—“could ye not watch with me one hour?” And then he kindly excused them for their fault, saying—“The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak!” How tender and loving this was! Here we have the lesson of tenderness that comes to us from Gethsemane. We see here, beautifully illustrated, the gentle, loving spirit of our blessed Saviour. And the exhortation of the apostle, is—“Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus.” Phil. ii: 5.

Someone has well said, that “the rule for us to walk by, if we are true Christians, is, when any one injures us, to forget one half of it, and forgive the rest.” This is the very spirit of our Master. This was the way in which he acted towards his erring disciples in Gethsemane. And, if all who bear the name of Christ were only trying to follow his example, in this respect, who can tell how much good would be done?

Here are some beautiful illustrations of this lesson of tenderness and forbearance which Jesus taught us in Gethsemane.

“The Influence of This Spirit in a Christian Woman.” A parish visitor had a district to attend to which contained some of the worst families in town. There was a sick child in one of those families. The visitor called on her every day. The grandfather of this child was a wicked, hardened man, who hated religion and everything connected with it. He had a big dog that was about as savage as he was himself. Every day, when he saw this Christian woman coming to visit the sick child, he would let loose the dog on her. The dog flew at her, and caught hold of her dress. But she was a brave woman, and stood her ground nobly. A few kind words spoken to the dog took away all his fierceness. She continued her visits, day after day, bringing to the poor child such nice things as she needed. At first the dog was set upon her every day; but as she went on in her kind and gentle way, the old man began to feel ashamed of himself; and before a week was over, when he saw this faithful Christian woman coming to the suffering little one, instead of letting loose the dog upon her, he would take his pipe out of his mouth with one hand and lift the cap from his head with the other, and make a polite bow to her, saying, “Good morning, ma’am: werry glad to see you.”

And so the spirit of Christ, as practised by that good woman, won the way for the gospel into that home of sin and misery, and it brought a blessing with it, as it always does.

“The Spirit of Christ in a Little Girl.” “Sitting in school one day,” says a teacher, “I overheard a conversation between a little girl and her brother. He was complaining of various wrongs that had been done to him by another little boy belonging to the school. His face grew red with anger, and he became very much excited in telling of all that this boy had done to him. He was going on to say how he intended to pay him back, when his sister interrupted him by saying, ‘Brother, please don’t talk any more in that way. Remember that Charley has no mother.’

“Her brother’s lips were closed at once. This gentle rebuke from his sister went straight to his heart. He walked quietly away, saying to himself—‘I never thought of that.’ He remembered his own sweet home and the teaching of his loving mother; and the question came up to him—‘What should I be if I had no mother?’ He thought how lonely Charley must feel, and how hard it must be for him to do right without a mother. This took away all his anger. And he made up his mind to be kind and forbearing to poor Charley, and to try to do him all the good he could. This little girl was following the example of Christ, and we see what a good effect it had upon her brother.”

“A Boy with the Spirit of Christ.” Two boys—Bob Jones and Ben Christie—were left alone in a country school-house between the morning and afternoon sessions. Contrary to the master’s express orders Bob Jones set off some fireworks. When afternoon school began, the master called up the two boys, to find out who had done the mischief.

“Bob, did you set off those fireworks?”

“No, sir,” said Bob.

“Did you do it, Ben?” was the next question.

But Ben refused to answer; and so the master flogged him severely for his obstinacy.

At the afternoon recess the boys were alone together. “Ben, why didn’t you deny it?” asked his companion.

“Because there were only us two there, and one of us must have lied,” said Ben.

“Then why didn’t you say I did it?”

“Because you had said you didn’t, and I would rather take the flogging than fasten the lie on you.”

Bob’s heart melted under this. Ben’s noble spirit quite overcame him. He felt that he never could allow his companion to lie under the charge of the wrong that he had done.

As soon as the school began again, Bob marched up to the master’s desk, and said:

“Please, sir, I can’t bear to be a liar. Ben Christie didn’t set off these fire-crackers. I did it, and he took the flogging rather than charge me with the lie.” And then Bob burst into tears.

The master looked at him in surprise. He thought of the unjust punishment Ben had received, his conscience smote him, and his eyes filled with tears. Taking hold of Bob’s hand, they walked to Ben Christie’s seat; then the master said aloud:

“Ben, Ben, my lad, Bob and I have done you wrong; we both ask your pardon!”

The school was hushed and still as the grave. You might almost have heard Ben’s big-boy tears dropping on his book. But, in a moment, dashing the tears away, he cried out—“Three cheers for the master.” They gave three cheers. And then Bob Jones added—“And now three cheers for Ben Christie”—and they made the school-house ring again with three rousing cheers for Ben.

Ben Christie was acting in the spirit of Christ in what he did that day. And in doing so he did good to his companion, Bob Jones. He did good to the master, and to every scholar in the school.

And there is no way in which we can do so much real good to all about us as by trying to catch the spirit and follow the example of our blessed Saviour.

And so, when we think of Jesus in Gethsemane, let us never forget the facts and the lessons connected with that sacred place. The facts are too many to be repeated. The lessons are four. There is the lesson about prayer; the lesson about sin; the lesson about submission; and the lesson about tenderness.

And, as we leave this solemn subject, we may each of us say, in the words of the hymn:

“Can I Gethsemane forget?

Or there thy conflict see,

Thine agony and bloody sweat,

And not remember thee?

“Remember thee, and all thy pains,

And all thy love to me;

Yes, while a breath, a pulse remains,

Will I remember thee.

“And when these failing lips grow dumb,

And mind, and memory flee,

When thou shalt in thy kingdom come,

Jesus, remember me.”

Herod Expecteth to be Amused

Then said Pilate to the chief priests and to the people, I find no fault in this man. And they were the more fierce, saying, He stirreth up the people, teaching throughout all Jewry, beginning from Galilee to this place. When Pilate heard of Galilee, he asked whether the man were a Galilæan. And as soon as he knew that he belonged unto Herod’s jurisdiction, he sent him to Herod, who himself also was at Jerusalem at that time. And when Herod saw Jesus, he was exceeding glad: for he was desirous to see him of a long season, because he had heard many things of him; and he hoped to have seen some miracle done by him. Then he questioned with him in many words; but he answered him nothing. And the chief priests and scribes stood and vehemently accused him. And Herod with his men of war set him at nought, and mocked him, and arrayed him in a gorgeous robe, and sent him again to Pilate.—St. Luke xxiii: 4-11.

NOTE BY THE ARTIST

While in residence in Jerusalem, Herod Antipas occupied the ancient palace of the Hasmonæan kings, situated on the western hill, not far from that built by Herod the Great. A weak, cruel sensualist, Antipas, like other princelings of his family, affected the dress and manners and the refined luxury of the Greeks. Blasé and wearied doubtless with the monotonous pleasures of the dissolute court, he welcomed the excitement promised by the appearance of Jesus at his judgment-seat, anticipating that the prisoner would thankfully purchase his life at the cost of amusing him and his courtiers by some display of the magical power with the possession of which rumor had credited him. Herod was devoted to hunting and had special hunting grounds near the Lake of Gennesaret, so a favorite hound is appropriately introduced.

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THE BETRAYAL AND DESERTION

One of the darkest chapters in the history of our Saviour’s life is this now before us. Here we see him betrayed into the hands of his enemies by one of his disciples and deserted by all the rest.

In studying this subject, we may look at the history of the betrayal and desertion, and then consider some of the lessons that it teaches.

The man who committed this awful crime was Judas Iscariot. He was one of the twelve whom Jesus chose, in the early part of his ministry, to be with him, all the time, to see all the mighty works that he did, and to hear all that he said in private as well as in public. He is called Judas Iscariot, to distinguish him from another of the disciples of the same name, viz., Judas, the brother of James. Different explanations have been given of the meaning of this name Iscariot. The most likely is, that it was used to denote the place of his birth. If this be so, then it was written at first, Judas-Ish-Kerioth—which means a man of Kerioth. And then this would show us that he belonged to a town in the southern part of Judah, called Kerioth.

We know nothing about Judas before we hear him spoken of as one of the twelve apostles. In the different lists of the names of the apostles, he is always mentioned last, because of the dreadful sin which he finally committed. When his name is mentioned he is generally spoken of as “the traitor”—or as the man “which also betrayed him.” Jesus knew, of course, from the beginning, what kind of a man Judas was, and what he would do in the end. But, we have no reason to suppose that Judas himself had any idea of committing this horrible crime when he first became an apostle; or that the other apostles ever had the least suspicion of him. There can be no doubt that he took part with the other apostles when Jesus sent them before his face to “preach the gospel of the kingdom,” and to perform “many mighty works.” Yes, Judas, who afterwards betrayed his Master, preached the gospel and performed miracles in the name of Jesus. His fellow-disciples, so far from suspecting any harm of him, made him the treasurer of their little company, and let him “have the bag” and manage their money affairs. And this, may have been the very thing that ruined him.

The first time that we see anything wrong in Judas is at the supper given to our Lord at Bethany. We read about this in St. John 12: 1-9. On this occasion, Mary, the sister of Lazarus, brought a very precious box of ointment, and anointed the feet of Jesus with it. Judas thought this ointment was wasted, and asked why it had not been sold for three hundred pence, and given to the poor. This would be about forty-five or fifty dollars of our money. It is added—“This he said, not because he cared for the poor; but because he was a thief, and had the bag, and bore what was put therein.” None of his disciples suspected Judas of being a thief at this time. These words were added, long after the death of Judas, when his true character was well known.

But, when Jesus rebuked Judas for finding fault with Mary, and praised her highly for what she had done, he was greatly offended. And then, it seems, he first made up his mind to do that terrible deed which has left so deep and dreadful a stain upon his memory. For we read—St. Matt. xxvi: 14-16—“Then one of the twelve, called Judas Iscariot, went unto the chief priests and said unto them, What will ye give me, and I will deliver him unto you? And they covenanted with him for thirty pieces of silver. And from that time he sought opportunity to betray him.” The paltry sum for which Judas agreed to betray his Master was about fifteen dollars of our money—the price of a common slave.

Very soon after this Jesus met his disciples in that upper chamber of Jerusalem, to eat the Passover together for the last time. And Judas came with them. How could the wretched man venture into the presence of Jesus, when he had already agreed to betray him?

But Jesus knew all about it. How startled Judas must have been when he heard Jesus say before them all—“One of you shall betray me.” It is probable that Jesus said this to drive Judas out from his presence, for it must have been very painful to him to have him there. And, after Jesus had given the sop to Judas, to show by this that he knew who the traitor was, we read that—“Satan entered into him. Then Jesus said unto him, That thou doest do quickly.” Then he “went immediately out;” and hastened to the chief priests to make arrangements for delivering Jesus unto them.

It is clear, I think, from this that Judas was not present while Jesus was instituting the Lord’s Supper. It must have been a wonderful relief to Jesus when Judas left their little company. And we are not surprised to find it written—“When he was gone out Jesus said, Now is the Son of man glorified, and God is glorified in him,” St. John xiii: 31. Then followed the Lord’s Supper; and the glorious things spoken of in the 14th, 15th, and 16th chapters of St. John, and the great prayer in the 17th chapter. After this came the agony in the garden of Gethsemane.

Just as this was over, Judas appeared with the band of soldiers and servants of the chief priests “with lanterns, and torches, and weapons.” Jesus went forth to meet them, and asked whom they were seeking. They answered, “Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus saith unto them, I am he. As soon as he had said unto them I am he, they went backward and fell to the ground.” Then Judas came to Jesus according to the signal he had given them, and said, Hail, Master, and kissed him. But Jesus said unto him, Judas, betrayest thou the Son of man with a kiss? Then Peter drew his sword to defend his Master, and struck a servant of the high-priest, and cut off his right ear. Jesus touched the ear, and healed it; and told Peter to put up his sword. Then they came to Jesus and bound him, and led him away to the high-priest; and it is added: “Then all the disciples forsook him and fled.” He was betrayed by one of his own disciples and forsaken by all the rest.

Nothing is said about Judas during the time of the trial of Jesus. Some suppose that he expected our Lord would deliver himself out of the hands of his enemies. We have no authority for thinking so. But, when he found, at last, that Jesus was condemned and was really to be put to death, his conscience smote him for what he had done. He brought back the thirty pieces of silver—the beggarly price he had received for betraying his Master—and threw them down at the feet of the chief priests, saying—“I have sinned, in that I have betrayed the innocent blood. And they said—What is that to us? See thou to that. And he went and hanged himself.”

This was the end of the wretched man, so far as this world is concerned. And such is the history of the betrayal and desertion of Jesus.

We might refer to many lessons taught us by this sad history, but we shall speak of only four. Two of these relate to Jesus, and two of them to Judas.

One of the lessons about Jesus, taught us here, refers to—the loneliness of his sufferings.

We all know how natural it is, when we are in trouble, to desire to have one near who loves us. The very first thing a child does when worried about anything is to run to its mother and throw itself into her loving arms. It would almost break the child’s heart if it could not have its mother’s presence and gentle sympathy at such a time.

And it is the same when we grow older. We naturally seek the company of our dearest friends in times of trouble. And it adds greatly to our suffering if we cannot have those we love near us when we are in sorrow. But, in the history of our Saviour’s betrayal and desertion, we see how it was with him. In the midst of his great trouble, when the wrath of God, occasioned by our sins, was pressing heavily upon him, he was betrayed into the hands of his enemies by one of the little band of his own chosen followers. How much this must have added to his sorrow! And if the rest of his apostles had only stood by him faithfully, as they had promised to do, during that night of sorrow, it would have been some comfort to him. But they did not. As soon as they saw the traitor Judas deliver him into the hands of his enemies, we read these sad, and melancholy words, “Then all the disciples forsook him, and fled!” How hard this must have been for Jesus to bear! The cup of his sorrows was full before; this must have made it overflow. He knew it was coming. For, not long before, he had told them that “the hour was coming, when they would be scattered, and leave him alone.” This shows how deeply he felt, and feared this loneliness. Seven hundred years before he came into our world, the prophet Isaiah represented him as saying—“I have trodden the wine-press alone,” chap. lxiii: 3. And this was what he was doing now. In the midst of the multitudes he came to save he was left—alone. There was not an earthly friend to stand by him—to speak a kind word to him—or to show him any sympathy in this time of his greatest sorrow. The only comfort left to him was the thought that his Father in heaven had not forgotten him.

When he spoke of his disciples leaving him alone, he said, “And yet, I am not alone, because the Father is with me.” St. John xvi: 32.

Jesus never forgets how lonely he felt at this time; and he loves to come near and comfort us when we are left alone. We should always remember at such times how well able he is to help and comfort us.

Here are some simple illustrations of the blessing which those find who look to Jesus in their loneliness.

An aged Christian was carried to a consumptives’ hospital to die. He had no relation or friend to be near him except the nurse and the doctor. Yet he always seemed bright and happy. The doctor, in talking with him one day, asked him how it was that he could be so resigned and cheerful? His reply was—“When I am able to think, I think of Jesus; and when I am not able to think of him, I know he is thinking of me.”

And this was just the way King David felt when he said, “I am poor and needy; yet the Lord thinketh upon me.”

“Not Alone.” Little Bessie was sitting on the piazza. The nurse came in and found her there. “Ah! Bessie dear, all alone in the dark,” said the nurse, “and yet not afraid?”

“No, indeed,” said little Bessie, “for I am not all alone. God is here. I look up and see the stars, and God seems to be looking down at me with his bright eyes.”

“To be sure,” said the nurse, “but God is up in the sky, and that is a great way off.”

“No,” said Bessie; “God is here too; sometimes He seems to be clasping me in his arms, and then I feel so happy.”

“The Help of Feeling Jesus Near.” There was a poor man in a hospital. He was just about to undergo a painful and dangerous operation. They laid him out ready, and the doctors were about to begin, when he asked them to wait a moment. “What shall we wait for?” was the inquiry of one of the doctors.

“Oh, wait a moment,” said he, “till I ask the Lord Jesus Christ to stand by my side. I know it will be dreadful hard to bear; but it will be such a comfort to think that Jesus is near me.”

One thing we are taught by the betrayal and desertion of Christ, is the loneliness of his sufferings.

Another thing, taught us by this part of our Saviour’s history is—his willingness to suffer.

We often make up our minds to suffer certain things, because we have no power to help it. But it was not so with Jesus. He had power enough to have saved himself from suffering, if he had chosen to do so. Sometime before this, when he was speaking to his disciples about his death, or, as he called it, laying down his life, he said—“No man taketh it from me, but I lay it down of myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again.” John x: 18. And he showed plainly what his power was at the very time of his betrayal. When his enemies came to take him, he “went forth, and said unto them, Whom seek ye? They answered him, Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus saith unto them, I am he.” John xviii: 4. But he put such wonderful power into these simple words—“I am he”—that, the moment they heard them, the whole multitude, soldiers, servants, and all, fell to the ground before him. It was nothing but the power of Jesus which produced this strange effect. It seems as if Jesus did this, on purpose to show that the mighty power by which he had healed the sick, and raised the dead, and cast out devils, and walked on the water, and controlled the stormy winds and waves, was in him still. He was not taken by his enemies because he had no power to help himself. The same power which made his enemies fall to the ground with a word could have held them there while he walked away; or could have scattered them, as the chaff is scattered by the whirlwind; or could have made the earth open and swallow them up. But he did not choose to exercise it in any of these ways. He was willing to suffer for us; and so he allowed himself to be taken.

As the Jews were seizing him Peter drew his sword, and smote one of the servants of the high-priest, and cut off his right ear. Jesus touched the ear, and healed it, in a moment, thus showing again what power he had. Then he told Peter to put up his sword, and said—“Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels?” St. Matt. xxvi: 53. A full Roman legion contained six thousand men. Jesus had power enough in his own arm to keep himself from being taken, if he had chosen to use it. And more than seventy thousand angels would have flown with lightning speed to his deliverance, if he had but lifted his finger; or said—“come.” There was so much power in himself, and so much power in heaven, at his command, that all the soldiers Rome ever had could not have taken him, unless he had been willing to be taken. But he was willing. And when they came to crucify him, all the nails ever made could not have fastened him to the cross, unless he had been willing to be fastened there. But his wonderful love for you and for me and for a world of lost sinners, made him willing to be fastened there, to suffer and to die, that our sins might be pardoned and that we might enter heaven.

And it is the thought of this amazing love of Christ, making him willing to suffer for us, which gives to the story of the cross the marvellous power it has to melt the hardest hearts and win the worst of men to his service. There is a power in love to do what nothing else can do,—to make men good and holy. And this is what we are taught when told that—“Christ suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God.” I. Peter iii: 18. And when we find people acting in this way towards each other in everyday life it has just the same effect. Here is an illustration of what I mean. We may call it:

“The Power of Love; or, The Just for the Unjust.” In a town near Paris, is a school for teaching poor homeless boys who are found wandering about the streets of that city and are growing up in idleness and crime.

When one of the boys breaks the rules of the school and deserves punishment, the rest of the school are called together, like a jury, to decide what shall be done with the offender. One of the punishments is confinement for several days in a dungeon, called “the black-hole.” The prisoner is put on a short allowance of food, and, of course, forfeits all the liberties of the other boys.

After the boys have, in this way, passed sentence on one of their companions and the master approves of it, this question is put to the rest of the school:—“Will any of you become this boy’s substitute? i. e., take his place, and bear his punishment, and let him go free?” And it generally happens that some little friend of the criminal comes forward and offers to bear the punishment instead of him. Then the only punishment the real offender has to bear is to carry the bread and water to his friend as long as he is confined in the dungeon. In this way, it generally happens that the most stubborn and hard-hearted boys are melted down, by seeing their companions willingly suffering for them what they know they deserved to suffer themselves.

Jesus is Scourged

And Pilate, when he had called together the chief priests and the rulers and the people, said unto them, Ye have brought this man unto me, as one that perverteth the people: and, behold, I, having examined him before you, have found no fault in this man touching those things whereof ye accuse him. No, nor yet Herod: for I sent you to him; and, lo, nothing worthy of death is done unto him. I will therefore chastise him, and release him. (For of necessity he must release one unto them at the feast.) And they cried out all at once, saying, Away with this man, and release unto us Barabbas. (Who for a certain sedition made in the city, and for murder, was cast into prison.)—Then Pilate therefore took Jesus, and scourged him.—St. Luke xxiii: 13-19; St. John xix: 1.

NOTE BY THE ARTIST

In endeavoring to apprehend, however imperfectly, the sufferings endured by Jesus during this terrible day, there may be a tendency to under-estimate the significance of one detail which is only incidentally mentioned by the evangelists, namely, the punishment of scourging. But this was nevertheless so barbarously cruel, that the mind recoils in horror from the effort to realize the awful agony which it entailed. Bound in a crouching attitude to the pillar of torment, the quivering flesh lacerated by the fragments of bone and metal intertwisted with the thongs, few of its victims, save such as were in perfect physical health, were able to survive the infliction of the scourge, but perished either then and there, or shortly afterwards, from nervous shock or from mortification of the wounds. Yet it was a punishment so common, such an everyday occurrence, that the scourging of one more malefactor—Jesus by name—the justice or injustice of whose sentence they neither knew nor cared to know, would be regarded with utter indifference by the brutal soldiery charged with its infliction.

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Not long ago, a boy about nine or ten years old, named Pierre, was received into this school. He was a boy whose temper and conduct were so bad that he had been dismissed from several schools. He behaved pretty well at first; but soon his bad temper broke out, and one day he quarrelled with a boy about his own age, named Louis, and stabbed him in the breast with a knife.

Louis was carried bleeding to his bed. His wound was painful, but not dangerous. The boys were assembled, to consult about what was to be done with Pierre. Louis was a great favorite with the boys, and they all agreed at once that Pierre should be turned out of the school and never allowed to come back.

This was a very natural sentence under the circumstances, but the master thought it was not a wise one. He said that if Pierre was turned out of school, he would grow worse and worse, and probably end his life on the gallows. He asked them to think again. They then agreed upon a long imprisonment, without saying how long it was to be. They were asked as usual, if any one was willing to go to prison instead of Pierre. But no one offered and he was marched off to prison.

After some days, when the boys were all together, the master asked again if any one was willing to take Pierre’s place. A feeble voice was heard, saying—“I will.” To the surprise of every one this proved to be Louis—the wounded boy, who was just getting over the effect of his wound.

Louis went to the dungeon and took the place of the boy who had tried to kill him; while Pierre was set at liberty. For many days he went to the prison carrying the bread and water to Louis, but with a feeling of pride and anger in his heart.

But at last he could bear it no longer. The sight of his kind-hearted, generous friend, still pale and feeble from the effects of his wound, pining in prison—living on bread and water—and willingly suffering all this for him—who had tried to murder him—this was more than he could bear. His fierce temper and stubborn pride broke down under it. The generous love of Louis had fairly conquered him. He went to the master, fell down at his feet, and with bitter tears confessed his fault, begged to be forgiven, and promised to be a good boy.

He kept his promise, and became one of the best boys in the school.

And so it is the love of Christ in being willing to suffer for us that wins the hearts and lives of men to him, and gives to the story of the cross all its power.

The willingness of Christ to suffer is the second thing taught us by the history of the betrayal and desertion.

These are the two things taught us about Jesus by this history: his loneliness in suffering, and his willingness to suffer.

But, there are two things taught us about Judas, also, by this history.

One of these is—the power of sin.

The sin of Judas was covetousness, or “the love of money.” The apostle Paul tells us that this—“is the root of all evil.” I. Tim. vi: 10. The little company of the apostles made Judas their treasurer. He carried the purse for them. He received the money that was contributed for their expenses, and paid out what was needed from day to day. We may suppose that, soon after his appointment to this office, he found himself tempted to take some of this money for his own use. Perhaps he only took a penny or two, at first, but then he soon went on to take more. Now, if he had watched and striven against this temptation, at the very first, and had prayed for strength to resist it, what a different man he might have been! There is an old proverb which says—“Resist the beginnings.” Our only safety is in doing this. Judas neglected to resist the beginning of his temptation and the end of it was his ruin. We never can tell what may come out of one sin that is not resisted.

If you want to sink a ship at sea, it is not necessary to make half a dozen big holes in her side; one little hole, which you might stop with your finger, if left alone, will be enough to sink that ship. Judas gave himself up to the power of one sin, and that led him on to betray his Master.

Let us look at some illustrations of the power of one sin.

“Clara’s Obstinacy.” Little Clara Cole was saying her prayers one evening before going to bed. Part of her evening prayer was the simple hymn—“And now I lay me down to sleep.” When she came to the last line she stopped short and would not say it. “Go on, my dear, and finish it,” said her mother. “I can’t,” she said, although she knew it perfectly well, and had said it hundreds of times before. “Oh, yes! go right on, my child.”

“No; I can’t.” “My dear child, what makes you talk so? Say the last line directly.”

But, in spite of her mother’s positive commands and loving entreaties, Clara was obstinate, and would not do it. “Very well,” said Mrs. Cole at last: “you can get into bed; but you will not get up till you have said that line.”

Next morning Mrs. Cole went into Clara’s room as soon as she heard her stir. “Now, Clara,” she said pleasantly, “say the line, and jump up.”

“I can’t say it,” said Clara, obstinately, and she actually lay in bed all that day, and part of the next rather than give up. The second day was her birthday and a number of little girls had been invited, in the evening, to her birthday party. That little, strong, cruel will of hers held out till three o’clock; then she said, “I pray the Lord my soul to take,” and bursting into tears asked her mother’s forgiveness.

How much power there was in that one sin! No one can tell what trouble it might have caused that poor child if she had not been taught to conquer it. But after that it never gave her much trouble.

“One Drop of Evil.” “I don’t see why you won’t let me play with Willie Hunt,” said Walter Kirk, with a frown and a pout. “I know he doesn’t always mind his mother. He smokes segars, and once in a while he swears just a little; but I’ve been brought up better than that; he won’t hurt me. I might do him some good.”

“Walter,” said his mother, “take this glass of pure water, and put just one drop of ink into it.”

Walter did so, and then in a moment exclaimed, “Oh! mother, who would have thought that one drop would blacken a whole glass so!”

“Yes, it has changed the color of the whole. And now just put one drop of clear water in it, and see if you can undo what has been done.”

“Why, mother, one drop, or a dozen, or fifty won’t do that.”

“That’s so, my son; and that is the reason why I don’t want you to play with Willie Hunt. For one drop of his evil ways, like the drop of ink in the glass, may do you harm that never can be undone.”

Here we see the power of a single sin.

“One Worm Did It.” One day a gentleman in England, went out with a friend who was visiting him, to take a walk in the park. As they were walking along, he drew his friend’s attention to a large sycamore tree, withered and dead.

“That fine tree,” said he, “was killed by a single worm.”

In answer to his friend’s inquiries, he said:

“About two years ago, that tree was as healthy as any in the park. One day I was walking out with a friend, as we are walking now, when I noticed a wood-worm about three inches long forcing its way under the bark of the tree. My friend, who knew a great deal about trees, said—‘Let that worm alone, and it will kill this tree.’ I did not think it possible, and said—‘well, we’ll let the black worm try, and see what it can do.’”

The worm tunnelled its way under the bark. The next summer the leaves of the tree dropped off, very early. This year the tree has not put out a single green leaf. It is a dead tree. That one worm killed it.

Here we see the power of one sin. The third lesson taught us by the history of the betrayal and desertion, is—the power of sin.

The fourth lesson taught us by this history is—the growth of sin.

Solomon says, “The beginning of strife”—and the same is true of all sin—“is as when one letteth out water.” Prov. xvii: 14. There is a bank of earth that keeps the water of a mill-dam in its place. You notice one particular spot where the bank seems weak. The water is beginning to make its way through. At first, it only just trickles down, drop by drop. By and by, the drops come faster. Now, they run into each other, and make a little rill. Every moment the breach grows wider and deeper, till, at last, there is a roaring torrent rushing through that nothing can stop.

Every sin is like a seed. If it be planted in the heart and allowed to spring up, no one can tell what it will grow into. Suppose, that you and I knew nothing about the growth of trees. We are sitting under the wide-spreading branches of a vast oak tree. A friend picks up a tiny, little acorn, and holding it up before us, says—“This giant tree, under whose shade we are sitting, has all grown out of a little acorn, like this.” It would seem impossible to us. We could hardly be made to believe it. But we need no argument to prove this. We know it is so.

But the growth of sin in the hearts and lives of men is quite as surprising as the growth of trees in the forest. We see this in the case of Judas. Suppose that we could have seen him when he first let his love of money lead him to do wrong. Perhaps he only stole a penny or two, at first. That was not much. And then, suppose we had not seen Judas again till the night in which he had made up his mind to commit that greatest and most awful of all sins—the sin of betraying his Master! what a wonderful change we should have seen in him! The growth of a river from a rill—of a giant oak from a tiny acorn—would not be half so surprising as the monstrous growth in wickedness that we should have seen in Judas. When we saw him committing his first sin, he was like a little child. When we saw him committing his last awful sin—the child had sprung up into a huge, horrible giant. Jesus said he had become a devil. St. John vi: 70. How fearful it is to think of such growth in wickedness! And yet, if we allow the seed of sin to be sown in our hearts, and to spring up there, we cannot tell but what its growth may be as fearful in us as it was in Judas.

Let us look at some illustrations of the growth of sin.

“The Growth of Lying.” Some time ago a little boy told his first falsehood. It was like a solitary little thistle seed, sown in the mellow soil of his heart. No eye but that of God saw him as he planted it. But, it sprung up—O, how quickly! and, in a little time, another seed dropped from it into the ground, and then another, and another, each in its turn bearing more and more of those troublesome thistles. And now, his heart is like a field of which the weeds have taken entire possession. It is as difficult for him to speak the truth as it is for the gardener to clear his land of the ugly thistles that have once gained a rooting in the soil.

“The Snake and the Spider.” A black snake, about a foot long, lay sunning itself on a garden-bed one summer’s day. A spider had hung out his web on the branches of a bush, above where the snake lay. He saw the huge monster lying there, for huge indeed he was compared to the little spider, and he concluded to take him prisoner. But, you ask, is not the snake a thousand times stronger than the spider? Certainly he is. Then how can he take him prisoner? Well, let us see how he did it. The spider spun out a fine, slender thread. He slipped down, and touched the snake with it. It stuck. He took another, and touched him with that, and that stuck too. He went on industriously. The snake lay quiet. Another, and another thread, was fastened to him, till there were hundreds and thousands of them. And, by and by, those feeble threads, not one of which was strong enough to hold the smallest fly, when greatly multiplied, were strong enough to make the snake a prisoner. The spider webbed him round and round, till, at last, when the snake tried to move, he found it was impossible. The web had grown strong out of its weakness. By putting one strand here, and another there, and drawing, first on one, and then on another, the spider had the snake bound fast, from head to tail, to be a supply of food for himself and family for a long while.

And so, if we give way even to little sins, they may make us their prisoner as the spider did the snake, and before we are aware of it, we may be bound hand and foot and unable to help ourselves.

“Sin Like a Whirlpool.” The Columbia river, in Oregon, has a great bend in it at one place where it passes through a mountain range. When the water in the river is high there is a dangerous whirlpool in this part of the river. An officer connected with the United States Exploring Expedition was going down this river, some years ago, in a boat which was manned by ten Canadians. When they reached this bend in the river, they thought the water was so low that the whirlpool would not be dangerous. So they concluded to go down the river in the boat, as this would save them the labor of carrying the boat with its baggage across the portage to the place where they would take the river again below the rapids. But, the officer was put on shore, to walk across the portage. He had to climb up some high rocks. From the top of these rocks he had a full view of the river beneath and of the boat in her passage. At first, she seemed to skim over the waters like a bird. But, soon he saw they were in trouble. The struggles of the oarsmen and the shouts of the man at the helm showed that there was danger from the whirlpool, when they thought there would be none. He saw the men bend on their oars with all their might. But, in spite of all, the boat lost its straightforward course, and was drawn into the whirl. It swept round and round, with increasing force and swiftness. No effort they could make had the least control of it. A few more turns, each more rapid than the rest, and at last, the centre was reached; and the boat, with all her crew, was drawn into the dreadful whirlpool, and disappeared. Only one of the ten bodies was found afterwards, in the river below; and that was all torn and mangled by the rocks, against which it had been dashed.

Just such a whirlpool is sin. Judas was drawn into it when he first gave way to his covetousness and began to steal money from the purse with which he was entrusted. Like the men in the boat, he soon lost all control of himself and was carried round and round, till at last he was “drowned in destruction and perdition.”

And thus we have considered the history of the betrayal and the lessons that it teaches. Two of these lessons refer to Jesus. They show us the loneliness of his sufferings, and his willingness to suffer. Two of them refer to Judas. They show us the power, and the growth of sin.

There is a beautiful Collect in the Prayer Book which is very suitable to use in connection with such a subject as this. It is the Collect for the Fourth Sunday after Epiphany, and teaches us to pray thus:

“O God, who knowest us to be set in the midst of so many and great dangers, that by reason of the frailty of our nature, we cannot always stand upright; grant to us such strength and protection as may support us in all dangers, and carry us through all temptations, through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.”

The blessings asked for in this prayer are just what we need amidst the dangers and temptations that surround us in this evil world. If we only obtain for ourselves “the strength and protection” here prayed for, and which God has promised to give to those who truly seek it, we need not be afraid either of the power or the growth of sin. This strength will be a safeguard to us against the power of sin, and this protection will check the growth of sin in our hearts. It will indeed, “support us in all dangers, and carry us through all temptations.” If Judas had used such a prayer as this, and had earnestly sought “the strength and protection” here spoken of, he would never have been known as “the traitor,” and the end of his earthly life would never have been wound up with this shameful sentence—“he went and hanged himself.” But, as wrecks along the shore show us where the danger lies, so, when we see the wrecks we should try to avoid the rocks on which they struck and go on our way in safety.

I know not how to finish this subject better than for each of us to say, in the words of the hymn:

“My soul, be on thy guard;

Ten thousand foes arise;

And hosts of sins are pressing hard

To draw thee from the skies.

“O watch, and fight, and pray;

The battle ne’er give o’er;

Renew it boldly every day,

And help divine implore.”

Jesus, Arrayed in Mock State, is Crowned and Beaten

Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the common hall, and gathered unto him the whole band of soldiers. And they stripped him, and put on him a scarlet robe. And when they had platted a crown of thorns, they put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand: and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews! And they spit upon him, and took the reed, and smote him on the head.—St. Matt. xxvii: 27-30.

NOTE BY THE ARTIST

Had it been possible to add a pang to the suffering already endured, this must surely have been effected by the foul jests and ribald mockery which Jesus was now called upon to endure at the hands of the ruffians of the barrack-room. The lust of cruelty, delight in inflicting and witnessing torture, marks the lowest depth of human depravity; and to sorrow of heart beyond what we can comprehend, to physical suffering as great as any which mortal man can endure and live, was now added the humiliation of being the object of sport and derision to the dregs of mankind. For these men were not even Romans, save in name; the ranks of the imperial armies called upon for foreign service being mainly recruited from the scum of the population of tributary provinces.

65

THE TRIAL

We come now to another of the dark and sad chapters in the history of our Saviour’s life. We have seen how he was betrayed by one of his disciples, and forsaken by all the rest. Then his enemies seized him, and led him away to those who had sent them—the priests and rulers of the Jewish church. We speak of what then took place at the trial of our Saviour. But it was only the form or mockery of a trial. It was not conducted at all in the way in which regular trials were required to be conducted among the Jews. The simple truth is that the enemies of Jesus had made up their minds to put him to death, and they merely pretended to have a trial because they were afraid to do it without.

And in studying this part of the life of our Saviour, we may look, very briefly, at the history of his trial; and then at some of the lessons that it teaches us.

When the band of soldiers and servants had seized Jesus, and made him prisoner, they led him away to the house of Caiaphas the high-priest. He had gathered together the chief-priests and other members of the Jewish high council, called the Sanhedrim. This was the highest court among the Jews. It was composed of seventy, or seventy-two of the oldest, the most learned, and honorable men of the nation. The high-priest was generally the president of this council. Their usual place of meeting was in one of the courts of the temple. But, on special occasions, they met in the house of the high-priest, as they did now. Jesus was brought before this council. Here they tried to bring some charge against him of teaching false doctrines, or of doing something contrary to the laws of their church. But though they had hired many false witnesses against him, the witnesses did not agree in their testimony, and they found it impossible to prove anything wrong against him.

Then the high-priest made a solemn appeal to him, and asked him to say whether he was the Son of God. “Jesus saith unto them—I am. Hereafter shall the Son of man sit on the right hand of the power of God.” Then they said he was guilty of blasphemy, and deserved to be put to death. St. Matt. xxvi: 59-66; St. Mark xiv: 55-64; John xviii: 19-24.

After this, the servants of the priests blindfolded Jesus, and began to mock him, to smite him, to spit on him, and to say all manner of insulting and blasphemous things to him. St. Matt. xxvi: 67, 68; St. Mark xiv: 65; St. Luke xxii: 62-65.

Then the priests and other members of the council seem to have gone home, leaving Jesus to the mockery and insults of the servants. As soon as it was morning the priests and scribes met again. They asked him once more if he were the Christ, the Son of God. Again he declared that he was. Then they arose and led him to Pilate, the Roman governor, to get his consent for them to put him to death. This was necessary because Jerusalem was then under the power of the Romans, and no one but the governor, whom they appointed, had the power of putting a prisoner to death according to law.

But, when the priests brought Christ before Pilate, they changed their plan. They did not accuse him of blasphemy now, because they knew very well that Pilate would not care at all about that. So they pretended that he had been trying to stir up the people in opposition to the Roman government. This was a very serious charge, and one for which, if it could be proved, the punishment would be death.

But, they could not prove their charge. As soon as Pilate looked on Jesus, he seemed to be satisfied that he was an innocent man. Then he took him aside and had a long conversation with him, alone by himself. The result of this was that Pilate was perfectly satisfied of the innocence of Jesus, and was resolved to release him.

But, on returning to the judgment hall and telling the Jews what he wished to do, he found that they would not listen to this for a moment. Thus he was in trouble, and knew not what to do. Just then something was said about Galilee. This was in the northern part of Palestine, and out of the dominion of Pilate. Herod was the governor of Galilee. He happened to be in Jerusalem at that time. Pilate resolved to send his prisoner to him, and hoped in this way, to get rid of any further trouble in connection with him.

So Jesus was sent to Herod—the Herod under whose dominion John was beheaded. He asked him many questions; but Jesus declined to answer one of them. Then Herod, with his men of war, mocked him and sent him back to Pilate, only saying that he found no fault in him. St. Matt. xxvii: 1, 2, 11-14; Mark xv: 1-5; Luke xxiii: 1-12; John xviii: 28-38.

After this Pilate made several attempts to release Jesus; but the Jews were so fierce in their opposition that he was afraid to do it.

Then he thought he saw his way out of the difficulty by the help of a custom that had prevailed in connection with the feast of the Passover, which was then about to be kept. He had been in the habit of allowing the Jews to ask for the release of some prisoner who deserved to be put to death, and of setting him at liberty, when they requested it, while they were keeping the feast. There was a prisoner then in Jerusalem named Barabbas. He had been guilty of murder and other dreadful crimes. Pilate thought that when he should bring Jesus and Barabbas before the people, side by side, and offer to release to them whoever they should choose, they would be sure to ask for the gentle, loving Jesus, in preference to a wretched, blood-stained murderer. And no doubt they would, if they had been left to their own choice. But they were not so left. The priests and scribes had made up their minds that Jesus should be put to death. So they went about among the people, when this offer was made, and persuaded them to cry out—“Not this man, but Barabbas.”

Thus Pilate was disappointed again.

While this was going on, his wife sent a message to him saying she had had a dream about this prisoner Jesus, which troubled her greatly. She said he was a just and good man, and begged her husband not to have anything to do with putting him to death. This made Pilate feel still more resolved than ever to let him ago.

Then he told the Jews that Jesus had done no wrong, and he would therefore chastise him and let him go. This made the Jews very furious. They told Pilate that if he let this man go, it would show that he was not a true friend of the emperor, Cæsar. They gave him to understand that they would complain of him to the emperor, and in this way he would be likely to lose his office. This alarmed him so that he could stand out no longer. He let the Jews have their way, and delivered Jesus up to them, to be crucified.

Then the soldiers took Jesus and stripped him of his own clothes, and put a purple robe upon him; and platted a crown of thorns and put it on his head, and bowed the knee before him in shameful mockery, and cried—“Hail! king of the Jews!” Then they smote him with the palms of their hands, and with the reed, and showed their utmost contempt by spitting on him. Then Pilate had him brought forth before the Jews, wearing the crown of thorns, and the purple robe, and pointing to him in scorn, said—“Behold the man! Behold your king!”

“And he delivered him to be crucified.” St. Matt. xxvii: 11-30; St. Mark xv: 1-20; St. Luke xxiii: 1-25; St. John xviii: 13-24, 28-40; xix: 1-16.

Such is the history of our Saviour’s trial.

And now, we may go on to speak of five lessons taught us by this history.

The first lesson is about—the weak ruler.

We refer, of course, here to Pontius Pilate. We know very little about him beyond what we learn from the gospels. He belonged to a highly honorable Roman family. He had been the governor of Judea for several years. He was not a very cruel or oppressive ruler, although he sometimes did hasty and unjust things. Our Saviour referred to one of these when he spoke of—“the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices.” We know none of the particulars of this event. But, from reading the history of our Lord’s trial we can see, very well, what sort of a man Pilate was. He was a weak man. I do not mean weak in body, but weak in character. He could see what was right, and was willing to do it, if it could be done without injury to himself.

When Jesus was brought before him as a prisoner, he soon saw that he was an innocent man, and that it would be wrong to put him to death. But, at the same time, he saw that unless he did put him to death, he would give great offence to the Jews. And if he offended them, he was afraid they would complain of him to the emperor, and he would lose his office. And so his fear led him to condemn an innocent man to death, although he knew it was wrong to do so. He tried to get rid of the guilt connected with this act by washing his hands before the Jews, and saying “I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it.” But this was very foolish. Why, all the waters in the ocean could not wash away the stain of the Saviour’s blood from the hands of Pilate. He knew that the right thing for him to do was to let Jesus go: but he was afraid to do it. This shows what a weak man he was.

And the wrong that he did on this occasion did not save him from the dangers that he dreaded. The Jews did accuse him to the emperor for some other things. He lost his office in disgrace. And of what happened to him after losing his office, different accounts are given. One of the stories about him is that he retired into Switzerland and spent the rest of his days on a mountain, near the city of Lucerne. This mountain is named Pilatus after him. The story says that he lived a very unhappy life there, and that he finally drowned himself in a lake on the top of that mountain. But the things for us to remember about Pilate are that he was a weak man; that he committed a dreadful sin when he condemned Jesus to death; and that the punishment of his sin which followed him in this life was the loss of his office, and the deep disgrace which it has fastened on his name. Wherever the two great creeds of the church are repeated, all over the earth, we hear it publicly proclaimed that Jesus—“suffered under Pontius Pilate.”

We see plainly illustrated in Pilate’s case the punishment that followed from his weakness in not doing what he knew to be right. If we have the courage to refuse to do what is wrong, we shall always be rewarded for it.

“Brave Charlie.” Two little boys were walking along a village street one day, when they stopped before the garden connected with a gentleman’s house and gazed with admiration on the many beautiful flowers that were growing there. Presently the smaller of the two boys exclaimed, “Oh, how I wish I had one or two of those beautiful roses, to take home to my sick sister. Every day she says she wishes she could see some flowers again.”

“Then, why don’t you take some of them, you little goose,” said the other boy. “Here, I am taller than you, and I can reach over the fence. I’ll get some for both of us.”

“No, no, Tim,” said the little boy, seizing his arm; “I wouldn’t steal even a flower, if I never had one in the world; but I’ll go in and ask the lady for a rose for Ellen.”

“Well, you’ll only get sent away for your pains,” said the older boy; “for my part I shall help myself.”

But, just as Tim was reaching over the fence and had seized a branch of beautiful roses, the gardener spied him, and dropping a basket that was in his hand, he rushed after the boy and caught him. He gave him a sound flogging and told him that if he ever found him doing that again, he would have him put in jail as a thief.

In the meantime little Charlie had gone up the steps and rung the door-bell. The door was opened immediately by a kind-looking lady.

“Please, ma’am will you give me a rose or two for my sick sister?” asked Charlie.

“Yes, indeed, my little man,” said the lady. “I have been sitting at the window and I heard your conversation with the boy who wished you to steal some of my roses; and I’m very glad to see that you would not steal ‘even a flower.’ Now come with me, and I will cut you a beautiful bunch of roses.” Then she asked him about his mother and sister, and told him to come and get some flowers whenever his sister wanted them.

After this she went to see his sick sister and mother and helped them in many ways. She kept up her interest in Charlie, and when he had done going to school, she got him a nice situation and remained his friend for life.

And when we think of Pontius Pilate, the weak ruler, let us remember that if we do wrong, we must always suffer for it; and that if we do right God will surely reward and bless us.

“Dare to do right! dare to be true!

You have a work that no other can do;

Do it so bravely, so kindly, so well,

Angels will hasten the story to tell.

“Dare to do right! dare to be true!

The failings of others can never save you;

Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith;

Stand like a hero, and battle till death.

“Dare to do right! dare to be true!

God, who created you, cares for you too—

Treasures the tears which his striving ones shed,