The Last Act of the Tragedy

“And the people stood beholding.” — Luke xxiii., 35.

THERE is nothing more wild and ungovernable than a -’- mob. Some of the older people in the audience may remember the excitement in New York during the riot when the people went howling through the streets at the time Macready stood on the stage of the Astor Place Opera-house. Those of you who have read history may remember the excitement in Paris during the time of Louis XVL, and how the mob rushed up and down frantically. To this day you may see the marks of the bullets that struck the palace as the Swiss Guards stood defending it.

There is a wild mob going through the streets of Jerusalem. As it passes along, it is augmented by the multitudes that come out from the lanes and the alleys to join the shouts and the laughter and the lamentation of the rioters, who become more and more ungovernable as they get toward the gates of the city. Fishermen, vagabonds, rude women, grave officials, merchant princes, beggars, mingle in that crowd. They are passing out now through the gates of the city. They come to a hill white with the bleached skulls of victims — a hill that was itself the shape of a skull, covered with skulls, and called Golgotha, which means the place of a skull. Three men are to be put to death — two for theft, one for treason, having claimed to be King of the Jews. Each one carries his own cross, but one of them is so exhausted from previous hardship that he faints under the burden, and they compel Simon of Cyrene, who is supposed to be in sympathy with the condemned man, to take hold of one end of the cross and help him to carry it. They reach the hill. The three men are lifted in horrid crucifixion. While the mob are howling and mocking, and hurling scorn at the chief object of their hate, the darkness hovers and scowls and swoops upon the scene, and the rocks rend with terrific clang; and the choking wind, and moaning cavern, and dropping sky, and shuddering earthquake declare, in whisper, in groan, in shriek, “This is the Son of God!”

I propose to speak of the two groups of spectators around the cross — the friendly and the unfriendly. In the unfriendly group were the Roman soldiers. Now, it is a grand thing to serve one’s country. There is not an Englishman’s heart but thrills at the name of Havelock, brave for Christ and brave for the British Government. When there was a diflicult point to take, the officers would say, “Bring out the saints of old Havelock.” I think if Paul had gone into military service, he would have eclipsed the heroism of the Ciesars and the Alexanders and the Napoleons of the world by his bravery and enthusiasm. There is a time to be at peace, and there is a time when a Christian has to fight. I do not know of a graver or braver thing than for a young man, when it is demanded of him, to turn his back upon home and quiet and luxury, and in the service of his country go forth to camp and field, and carnage and martyrdom. It was no mean thing to be a Roman soldier; it was no idle thing. You know what revolutions dashed up against the walls of that empire. You know to what conquest she devoted herself, flinging her war-engles against the proudest ensigns. But the noblest army has in it sneaks, and these were the men who were detailed from that army to attend to the execution of Christ. Their dastardly behavior puts out the gleam of their spears, and covers their banner with obloquy. They were cowards. They were ruffians. They were gamblers. No noble soldier would treat a fallen foe as they treated the captured Christ.

Generally there is respect paid to the garments of the departed. It may be only a hat or coat or a shoe, but it goes down in the family wardrobe from generation to generation. Now that Christ is to be disrobed, who shall have his coat? Joseph of Arimathea would have liked to have had it. Mary, the mother of Jesus, would have liked to have had it. How fondly she would have hovered over it! and when she must leave it, with what tenderness she would have bequeathed it to her best friend! It was the only covering of Christ in darkness and storm. That was the very coat that the woman touched when from it there went out virtue for her healing. That was the only wedding-garment he had in the marriage at Cann, and the storms that swept Galilee had drenched it again and again. And what did they do with it? They raffled for it. We have heard of men who gambled away their own garments, who gambled away their children’s shoes, who gambled away the family Bible, who gambled away their wife’s last dress; but it adds to the ghastliness of a Saviour’s humiliation and the horror of the crime, when I hear Jesus in his last moments declaring, “They parted my garments among them, and for my vesture did they cast lots.”

In this unfriendly group around the cross, also, were the rulers and the scribes and the chief priests. Lawyers and judges and ministers of religion in this day are expected to have some respect for their offices. In this land, “where the honors of the judiciary sometimes come to besotted politicians and men noted for drunkenness — even in this land where we live, it is an unheard-of thing that a judge comes down from the bench and strikes a prisoner in the face. No minister of religion would scoff at or mock a condemned criminal. And yet the great men of that land seemed to be equal to any ruffianism. They were vying with each other as to how much scorn and billingsgate they could cast into the teeth of the dying Christ. Why, the worst felon, when his enemy has fallen, refuses to strike him. But these men were not ashamed to strike Jesus when he was down.

So it has been in all ages of the world, that there have been men in high positions who despised Christ and his Gospel. What popes have issued their anathemas! What judgment- seats have kindled their fires! What inquisitions have sharpened their swords! “Not this man, but Barabbas. Now Barabbas was a robber.” Against the Christian religion have been brought the historical genius of Gibbon, and the polish of Shaftesbury, and the kingly authority of Frederick of Prussia, and the brilliancy of John Earl of Rochester, and the stupendous intellect of Voltaire, Innumerable pens have stabbed it, and innumerable books have cursed it, and that mob that hounded Christ from Jerusalem to “the place of a skull” has never been dispersed, but is augmenting yet, as many of the learned men of the world and great men of the world come out from their studios and their laboratories and their palaces, and cry, “Away with this man! away with him!” The most bitter hostility which many of the learned men of this day exercise in any direction they exercise against Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Saviour of the world, without whom we will die forever.

In this group of enemies surrounding the cross, in this unfriendly group, I also find the railing thief. It seems that he twisted himself on the spikes; he forgot his own pain in his complete antipathy to Jesus. I do not know what kind of a thief he was. I do not know whether he had been a burglar or a pickpocket or a highwayman; but our idea of his crimes is aggravated when we hear him blaspheming the Redeemer. O shame indescribable! O ignominy unsupportable! Hissed at by a thief! In that ridicule I find the fact that there is a hostility between sin and holiness. There can not be, there never has been, any sympathy between honesty and theft, between purity and lasciviousness, between zeal and indolence, between fliith and unbelief, between light and darkness, between heaven and hell. And when I see a good man going out to discharge his duty, and he is enthusiastic for Christ, and I see persecution after him, and scorn after him, and contempt after him, I say, “Hark! another hiss of the dying thief!” And when I see Holiness going forth in her white robes, and Charity, with great heart and open hand, to take care of the sick and help the needy and restore the lost, and I find her lashed with hypercriticism, and-jostled of the world, and pursued from point to point, and caricatured with low witticisms, I say, “Aha! another hiss of the dying thief!”

It is a sad thing to know that this malefactor died just as he had lived. People nearly always do. Have you never remarked that? There is but one instance mentioned in all the Bible of a man repenting in the last hour. All the other men who lived lives of iniquity, as far as we can understand from the Bible, died deaths of iniquity. If you live a drunkard’s life, you will die a drunkard; the defrauder dies a defrauder; the idler dies an idler; the blasphemer dies a blasphemer; the slanderer dies a slanderer; the debauchee dies a debauchee. As you live, you will die, in all probability. Do not, therefore, make your soul believe that you can go on in a course of sin, and then in the last moment repent. There is such a thing as death-bed repentance, but I never saw one — I never saw one. God in all this Bible presents us only one case of that kind, and it is not safe to risk it, lest our case should happen not to be the one amidst ten thousand.

“Repent! the voice celestial cries,

No longer dare delay;
The wretch that scorns the mandate dies,

And meets the fiery day.”

But there were rays of light that streamed into the crucifixion. As Christ was on the cross and looked down on the crowd of people, he saw some very warm friends there. And that brings me to the remarking upon the friendly group that were around the cross.

The first in all that crowd was his mother. You need not point her out to me. I can see by the sorrow, the anguish, the woe, by the upthrown hands! That all means mother! “Oh,” you say, “why didn’t she go down to the foot of the hill, and sit with her back to the scene? It was too horrible for her to look upon.” Do you not know, when a child is in anguish or trouble, it always makes a heroine of a mother? Take her away, you say, from the cross. You can not drag her away. She will keep on looking; as long as her son breathes, she will stand there looking. What a scene it is for a tender-hearted mother to look upon! How gladly she would have sprung to his relief! It was her son. Iler son! How gladly she would have clambered up on the cross and hung there herself if her son could have been relieved! How strengthening she would have been to Christ if she might have come close by him and soothed him! There was a good deal in what the little sick child said, upon whom a surgical operation of a painful nature must be performed! The doctor said, “That child won’t live through this operation unless you encourage him. You go in, and get his consent.” The father told him all the doctor said, and added, “Now, John, will you go through with it? Will you consent to it?” He looked very pale, and he thought a minute, and said, “Yes, father, if you will hold my hand, I will!” So the father held his hand, and led him straight through the peril. O woman! in your hour of anguish, whom do you want with you? Mother. Young man, in your hour of trouble, whom do 3’ou want to console you? Mother. If the mother of Jesus could have only taken those bleeding feet into her lap! If she might have taken the dj-ing head on her bosom! If she might have said to him, “It will soon be over, Jesus — it will soon be over, and we will meet again, and it will be all well.” But no; she dared not come up so close. They would have struck her back with their hammers. They would have kicked her down the hill. There can be no alleviation at all. Jesus must suffer, and Mary must look. I suppose she thought of the birth-hour in Bethlehem. I suppose she thought of that time when, with her boy in her bosom, she hastened on in the darkness in the flight toward Egypt. I suppose she thought of his boyhood when he was the joy of her heart. I suppose she thought of the thousand kindnesses he had done her, not forsaking her, or forgetting her even in his last moments; but turning to John, and saying, “There is mother; take her with you. She is old now. She can not help herself. Do for her just as I would have done for her if I had lived. Be very tender and gentle with her. Behold thy mother!” She thought it all over, and there is no memory like a mother’s memory, and there is no woe like a mother’s woe.

There was another friend in that group, and that was Simon the Cyrenian. He was a stranger in the land, but had been long enough there to show his favoritism for Christ. I suppose he was one of those men who never can see any body imposed upon but he wants to help him. “Well, Simon,” they cried out, “you are such a friend to Jesus, help him to carry the cross. You see him fainting under it.” So he did, A scene for all the ages of time and all the cycles of eternity; a cross with Jesus at the one end of it and Simon at the other, suggesting the idea to you, O troubled soul! that no one need ever carry a whole cross. You have only half a cross to carry. If you are in poverty, Jesus was poor, and he comes and takes the other end of the cross. If you are in persecution, Jesus was persecuted, and he comes and takes the other end of the cross. If you are in any kind of trouble, you have a sympathizing Redeemer. Oh, how the truth flashed upon my soul this morning! Jesus at one end of the cross and the soul at the other end’ of the cross; and when I see Christ and Simon going up the hill together, I say we ought to help each other to carry our burdens. “Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of

Christ,” If you find a man in persecution or sickness or in business trouble, go right to him, and say, “My brother, I have come to help you. You take hold of one end of the cross, and I will take hold of the other end of the cross, and Jesus Christ will come in and take hold of the middle of the cross; and after a while there will be no cross at all.”

” Shall Jesus bear the cross alone,
And all the world go free?
No; there is a cross for every one,
And there is a cross for me.”

But there was another marked personage in that friendly group. That was the penitent malefactor. He was a thief, or had been — no disguising that fact. What was he to do? “Oh!” he says, “what shall I do with my sins upon me?” and he looks around and sees Jesus, and sees compassion in his face, and he says, “Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.” What did Jesus do? Did he turn and say-, “You thief! I have seen all your crimes, «,nd you have jeered and scoffed at me; now die forever!” — did he say that? Oh no; Jesus could not say that. He says, “This day shalt thou be with me in paradise.” I sing the song of mercy for the chief of sinners. Murderers have come and plunged their red hands in this fountain, and they have been made as white as snow. The prodigal that was ofif for twenty years has come back and sat at his father’s table. The ship that has been tossed in a thousand storms floats into this harbor. The parched and sun-struck soul comes under the shadow of this rock. Tens of thousands who were as bad as you and I have ever been have put down their burdens and their sins at the feet of this blessed Jesus.

“The dying thief rejoiced to see

That fountain in his day;

And there may I, as vile as he,

Wash all my sins away.”

But there was another friendly group. I do not know their names — we are not told; but we are simply told there were many around the cross who sympathized with the dying sufferer. Oh! the wail of woe that went through that crowd when they saw Jesus die! You know the Bible says if all the things Jesus did were recorded, the world would not contain the books that would be written. It implies that what we have in the Bible are merely specimens of the Saviour’s mercy. We are told that one blind man got his eye-sight. I suppose he cured twenty that we are not told of. When he cured the one leper whose story is recorded, he might have cured twenty lepers. Where he did one act of kindness mentioned, he must have done a thousand we do not know about. I see those who received kindnesses from him standing beneath the cross, and one says, “Why, that is the Jesus that bound up my broken heart!” And another, standing beneath the cross, says, “That is the Jesus that restored my daughter to life.” Another looks up, and sa3’s, “Why, that is Jesus who gave me my eye-sight!” And another looks up, and says, “That is the Jesus who lifted me up when I was sick; oh, I can’t bear to see him die!” Every pelt of the hammer drove a spike through their hearts. Every groan of Christ opens a new fountain of sorrow. They had better get on with that crucifixion quickly, or it will never take place. These disciples will seize Christ and snatch him from the grasp of those bad men, and take those ringleaders of the persecution and put them up in the very place. Be quick

26-i THE LAST ACT OF THE TRAGEDY.

with those nails! Be quick with that gall! Be quick with those spikes! for I see in the sorrow and the wrath of those disciples a storm brewing that will burst on the heads of those persecutors.

To-day we come and we join the friendly crowd. Who wants to be on the wrong side? I can not bear to be in the unfriendly group. There is not a man or woman in this house who wants to be in the unfriendly group, I want to join the other group. We come while they are bewailing, and join their lamentations. We see that brow bruised; we hear that dying groan; and while the priests scoff and the devils rave and the lightnings of God’s wrath are twisted into a wreath for that bloody mount, you and I will join the cry, the supplication, of the penitent malefactor, “Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.” Oh! the pain, the ignominy, the ghastliness, the agony! and 3’et the joj — , the thrilling, bounding, glorious hope! Son of Mary! Son of God!

Is there one here who will reject this atonement made for the people — not for one man here and one man there, but for all who will accept it?

There was a .very touching scene among an Indian tribe in the last century It seemed that one of the chieftains had slain a man belonging to an opposite tribe, and that tribe came up, and said, “We will exterminate you, unless you surrender the man who committed that crime.” The chieftain who did the crime stepped out from the ranks, and said, “I am not afraid to die; but I have a wife and four children, and I have a father aged, and a mother aged, whom I support by hunting, and I sorrow to leave them helpless.” Just as he said that, his old father from behind stepped out, and said, “He shall not die, I take his place.

I am old and well stricken in years. I can do no good. I might as well die. Mj days are almost over. He can not be spared. Take me.” And they accepted the sacrifice. Wonderful sacrifice, you say; but not so wonderful as that found in the Gospel; for we deserved to die, ay, we were sentenced, when Christ, not worn out with years, but in the flush of his youth, said, “Save that man from going down to the pit. I am the ransom! Put his burdens on my shoulders. Let his stripes fall on my back. Take my heart for his heart. Let me die, that he may live.” Shall it be told to-day in heaven that, notwithstanding all those wounds, and all that blood, and all those tears, and all that agony, you would not accept him?

“”Well might the sun in darkness liiJe
And shut his glories in,
When Cin-ist, the mighty maker, died
For man, the creature’s sin.

“Thus might I hide my hlushing ftice
While his dear cross appears,
Dissolve my heart in thankfulness,
And melt my eyes to tears.

“But drops of grief can ne’er repay
The debt of love I owe;
Here, Lord, I give myself away,
‘Tis all that I can do.”

0 Lord Jesus, we accept thee! We all accept thee now. There is no hand in all this audience lifted to smite thee on the cheek now. No one will spear thee now. No one will strike thee now. Come in. Lord Jesus! Come quickly!