Jesus in Gethsemane

“When Jesus had spoken these words, he went forth with his disciples over the brook Cedron, where was a garden, into the which he entered, and his disciples. And Judas also, which betrayed him, knew the place; for Jesu8 ofttimes resorted thither with his disciples.” — John xviii. 1, 2,

I REMEMBER to have read somewhere, though I cannot just now recall the authority, that Bethany — to which ylace one would have thought the Saviour would have gone to spend the night, at the house of Mary and her sister Martha, — was over the brow of the Mount of Olives, and was out of the bounds of the city of Jerusalem. Now, at the passover, it was incumbent that all who kept the feast should spend the whole night within the bounds of the city; and our Divine Lord and Master, scrupulous to observe every point of the old law, did not go over the hill, but stayed within the area which was technically considered to be part and parcel of Jerusalem; so that his going to Gethsemane was, in part, a fulfilment of the ceremonial law; and, for that reason, he went no further, and sought no other shelter.

Our Lord also knew that, on that particular night, he would be betrayed into the hands of his enemies; and, therefore, he would need to be prepared, by a special season of devotion, for the terrible ordeal he was about to endure. That passover night was a night to be remembered on this account, and he would, therefore, keep it peculiarly sacred; but it was to be made still more memorable a” the time of the commencement of his passion sufferings, so he determined to spend the whole night in prayer to his Father. In this act, he reminds us of Jacob by the brook Jabbok; when he had to face trouble on the morrow, he spent the night in wrestling prayer; and this greater Jacob spent his night, not by Jabbok, but by the black, foul brook of Kedron, and there wrestled with mightier power even than the patriarch put forth in his notable night struggle with the Angel of the covenant. I want you to try, in thought, to go as far as Gethsemane, and I think you ought to be No. 2,767. encouraged to go there because our text says, “Jesus ofttlmea resorted thither with his disciples.”

I. And, first, so far as we can in thought, let us view the place.

I have never seen the garden of Gethsemane; many travellers tell us that they have done so, and they have described what they saw there. My impression is, that not one of them ever saw the real spot, and that not a trace of it remains. There are certain old olive trees, within an enclosure, which are commonly thought to have been growing at the time of the Saviour; but that seems scarcely possible, for Josephus tells us that the whole of the trees round about Jerusalem were cut down, many of them to be made into crosses for the crucifixion of the Jews, others of them to assist in building the bulwarks with which the Roman emperor surrounded the doomed city. There does not seem to have been scarcely anything left that would be a true relic of the old city, and I cannot imagine that the olive trees would be spared. From what I have heard from brethren who have gone to the reputed garden of Gethsemane, I conclude that it is not very helpful to one’s devotions to go there at all. One, who thought to spend a part of his Sabbath there, and who hoped to enjoy much fellowship with Christ in the place, said that he was made very bitterly to learn the meaning of our Saviour’s words to the woman at the well of Sychar, “The hour cometh, when ye shall neither in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father.... The hour cometh, and now is, when the time worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth: for the Father seeketh such to worship him.”

I do not want to find out exactly where Gethsemane was; it is enough for me to know that it was at the side of Mount Olivet, and that it was a very retired spot. My conception of it is the result of having, for many winters, resided in a little town in the South of France where olive trees grow to perfection; and where, on the side of the hills I have often sat me down in olive groves, and I have said to myself, “Gethsemane was a place just like this.” I am sure it was so, because one olive garden, on the side of a hill, must necessarily be very like another. The hills are lined out in terrace above terrace, each one seldom above eight, ten, or twelve feet wide; then you rise, say, five, six,’ seven, or eight feet, and there is another terrace, and so on right up the hill; and on these terraces the olive trees grow.

One of the charms of an olive garden of that kind is that, as soon as you get into it, you may sit down under the lee of the bank at the back of the terrace, — perhaps in an angle where you are sheltered from the wind, — and you will be completely hidden from all observers. I have had persons sitting within a few yards of me, of whose presence I had no idea. One Sabbath day, when we had been spending a little time in prayer together, I saw what appeared to be an Englishman’s tall hat moving away, at a little distance, just above one of the terraces. By-and-by, I recognized the head that was under the hat as that of a Christian brother whom I knew, and I found th?.t he had been walking up and down there, studying his sermon for the afternoon. He had not noticed us, except that he had heard some sounds that seemed to him like prayer and praise. Many of you might be in an olive garden; but, unless you made some sign of recognition to your friends, they would scarcely know that anybody else was there; and under the thick yet light foliage, with the glints of sunlight shining through, or at night, under the kind of ashy, grey colour, with the moonlight glimmering through with its silvery beams, I cannot imagine a more delightful place of retreat, — a place where one would feel surer of being quite alone, even though somebody might be near you, — a place where you might feel free to express your thoughts and your prayers; because, at any rate, to your own consciousness, you would seem to be entirely alone.

I cannot help thinking that our Saviour also loved to get among the olive trees, because of the very congenial form of the olive. It twists and winds and turns about as though it were in an agony. It has to draw up oil out of the flinty rock, and it seems to do so with gi-eat labour and travail; the very shape of many olive trees seems to suggest that thought. So, an olive garden is a place of painful pleasure and of fruitful toil, where the oil is rich and fat, but where much effort has to be expended in the extraction of it out of the hard soil on which the olive stands. I believe that others have felt about this matter as I have felt, namely, that there is no tree which seems more suggestive of a fellow-feeling with the sufferer than an olive, — no shade that is more sweetly pensive, more suitable to the season of sorrow, and the hour of devout meditation. I marvel not, therefore, that Jesus sought the garden of Gethsemane that he might be quite alone, — that ha might poux out his soul before God, and yet might have some companions within call without being disturbed by their immediate presence.

One reason for his going to that particular garden was, because he had gone there so often that he loved to he in the old familiar place. Do you not feel something of that in your own special place of prayer? I do not like reading out of other people’s Bibles so well as out of my own. I do not know how it is, but I like my own study Bible best of all; and if I must have a smaller one, I prefer one that has the words on the same page as in my Bible, so that I may easily find them; and I do not know whether you feel the same, but I can usually pray best in one place. There are certain spots where I delight to be when I draw near to God; there is some association, connected with them, of former interviews with my Heavenly Father, that makes the old arm-chair to be the very best plaoe at which one can kneel. So, methinks, the Saviour loved Gethsemane, because he had oftentimes resorted thither with his disciples; and, therefore, he makes that the sacred spot where his last agony of prayer shall be poured out before his Father.

II. That, however, is only the introduction to the main matter of our meditations; so, now, let us view the Saviour in Gethsemane, THAT WE MAY IMITATE HIM.

And, first, our blessed Lord is to be imitated by us in that he frequently sought and enjoyed retirement. His was a very bus life; he had much more to do than you and I have; yet he found abundant time for private prayer. He was much holier than any of us are; yet he realized his need of private prayer and meditation. He was much wiser than we shall ever be; yet he felt the necessity for retiring into solitude for communion with his Father. He had much power over himself, he could control and compose himself far more readily than we can; yet, amid the distractions of the world, he felt that he must frequently get away alone. It would be well for us if we were more often alone; we are so busy — so taken up with this or that committee-meeting, working-class, Sunday-school, preaching, talking, visiting, gossiping, — all sorts of things, good, bad, or indifferent, — that we have no leisure for the due cultivation of our spiritual life. We rush from pillar to post, without proper time for rest; but, brothers and sisters, if we want to be strong, if we mean to be like Jesus our Lord and Saviour, we must have our Gethsemane, our place for secret retirement, where we can get alone with our God. I think it was Luther who said, “I have a hard day’s work before me to-day; it will take me many hours, and there will be a stem struggle, so I must have at least three hours’ prayer, that I may gain the necessary strength for my task.” Ah! we do not act in that wise fashion nowadays; we feel as if we cannot spare the time for private prayer; but, had we more communion with God, we should have more influence with men.

But our blessed Master is especially to be imitated in that he fought retirement when he was about to enter upon the great struggle of his life. Just then, when Judas was about to give the traitor’s kiss, — when scribes and Pharisees were about to hound him to the cross, — it was then that he felt that he must get away to Gethsemane, and be alone in prayer with his Father. What did you do, my dear brother, when you apprehended trial? Why, you sought out a sympathizing friend. I shall not blame you for desiring the consolations of true friendship, but I shall not commend you if you put them into the place of communion with God. Are you, even now, dreading some approaching calamity? What are you doing to meet it? I will not suggest that you should neglect certain precautions, but I would admonish you that the first and best precaution is to get away to your God in prayer. As the feeble conies find their shelter in the solid rock, and as the doves fly away to their home in the dovecot, so should Christians, when they expect trouble, fly straight away to their God upon the wings of fear and faith. Your great strength does not lie in your hair, else might you feel as proud as Samson was in the days of his victories; your great strength lies in your God. Wherefore, hie away to him with all speed, and ask from him help in this your hour of need.

Some of you pray when you are, as it were, at Calvary, but not at Gethsemane. I mean, you pray when the .trouble comes upon you, but not when it is on the road; yet your Master here teaches you that to conquer at your Calvary, you must commence by wrestling at your Gethsemane. When as yet it is but the shadow of your coming trial that spreads its black wings over you, cry unto God for help. When you are not emptying the bitter cup, — when you are only sipping the first drops of the wormwood and the gall, begin even then to pray, “Not as I will, but as thou wilt, O my Father!” You will thu be the better able to drink of the cup to itB very dregs when God shall place it in your hand.

We may also imitate our Lord — as far as it would be in our line, in his talcing his disciples with him. At any rate, if we do not imitate him in this respect, we may certainly admire him; for he took the disciples with him, I think, for two purposes. First, for their good. Remember, brethren and sisters, that the morrow was to be a day of trial for them as well as for himself. He was to be taken to trial and condemnation; but they were to be severely tried, in their fidelity to him, by seeing their Lord and Master put to a shameful death. So he took them with him that they also might pray, — that they might learn how to pray by hearing his wondrous prayers, — that they might watch and pray, lest they should enter into temptation. Now, sometimes, in your special hour of trouble, I believe that it will be for the good of others for you to communicate to them the story of your distress, and ask them to join you in prayer concerning it. I have often done this, so I can urge you to do the same. I found it a great blessing, on one dark day of my life, to ask my sons, though they were but lads, to come into my room, and pray with their father in his time of trouble. I know that it was good for them, and their prayers were helpful to me; but I acted as I did in part that they might realize their share in domestic responsibilities, that they might come to know their father’s God, and might learn to trust him in their time of trouble.

But our Saviour also took his disciples with him to Gethsemano that they might assist to comfort him; and, in this respect, he is to be imitated by us because of his wonderful humility. If those disciples had all done their best, what would it have been worth? But what they really did was most discouraging to Christ, instead of being at all helpful to him. They went to sleep when they should have watched with their Lord, and they did not assist him with their prayers as they might have done. It is noteworthy that he did not ask them to pray with him; he bade them watch and pray, lest they should enter into temptation, but he said to them, “What, could ye not watch with me one hour?” He did not say, “What, could ye not pray with me one hour?” He knew that they could not do that. What mortal man could pray at such a time as that, when great drops of bloody sweat punctuated every paragraph of his petition? No; they could not pray with him, but they might have watched with him; yet that they did not do. Sometimes, dear friends, when a very great trial comes upon you, it will be well for you to ask some brothers and sisters, who cannot do much, but who can do something, to come and watch with you, and pray with you. If it does not do any good to you, it will be good for them; but it will do good to you also, I feel sure. Often — I have to confess it, — I have got two brethren to kneel with me in prayer, when I have been depressed through thia late illness of mine, and their honest, earnest, hearty prayer;^ in my study have often lifted me right up into joy and peace. I believe it has done them good also; I know it has done me good, and I feel sure that you might often be a blessing to others if you did not mind confessing to them when you are depressed and sad at heart. Say, “Come into my room, and watch with me one hour;” and you may add to that request this other one, “Come and pray with me,” for some of them can pray as well as you can, and even better. So imitate the Saviour in endeavouring not only to pray yourself, but to call to your assistance the praying legion of God’s elect ones when a great trial is impending.

Still, our Lord’s example may mainly be followed in another direction, namely, when we do pray in the presence of a great trouble, it is well to pray with much importunity. Our Saviour prayed in Gethsemane three times, using the same words. He prayed with such intensity of desire that his heart seemed to bum with anguish. The canals overflowed their banks, and the red streams came bursting down in bloody drops that fell upon the earth in that rightly-named “olive-press.” Ah! that is the way to pray, — if not actually unto a bloody sweat, as we may not have to do, or be able to do, yet with such intensity of hearty earnestness as we can, and as we ought, when God the Holy Spirit is working mightily in us. We cannot expect to be helped in our time of trouble unless it is intense prayer that we send up to heaven.

But imitate Christ also in the matter of your jjrayer. I feel sure that he only softly whispered the request, “O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.” You also may present that petition, but mind that you say it very softly. Yet I feel certain that it was with all his might that our Saviour said, “Nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.” In the presence or in the prospect of a great trouble, make this your prayer to God, “Thy will be done.” Brace up your soul to this point; — having asked the Lord to screen you, if it should seem good in his sight, resign yourself absolutely into his hands, and say, “Nevertheless, O my Father, not as I will, but as thou wilt!”

It is prevailing prayer when one gets as far as that; a man is prepared to die when he knows how to present that petition. That is the best preparation for any cross that may come upon your shoulders. You can die a martyr’s death, and clap your hands even in the midst of the fire, if you can, with all your soul, really pray as Jesus prayed, “Not as I will, but as thou wilt.” This is the object which I set before you, my brothers and sisters in Christ, — that, if you are expecting sickness, — if you are fearing loss, — if you are anticipating bereavement, — if you are dreading death, — let this be your great ultimatum, go to God now, in the time of your distress, and, by mighty prevailing prayer, with such prayerful sympathy as others can give you, breathe out this one petition, “Thy will be done, O my Father! Thy will be done; help me to do it; help me to bear it; help me to go through with it all, to thy honour and glory. Let me be baptized with thy baptism, and drink of thy cup, oven to the dregs.”

Sometimes, dear friends, you may wish, in your hearts, that the Lord would make great use of you, and yet perhaps he may not do so. Well, a man who holds his tongue, when Christ tells him to do so, is glorifying Christ more than if he opened his mouth, and broke the Master’s commandment. There are some of the Lord’s people who, by a quiet, holy, consistent manifestation of what the Lord has done for them, glorify him more than they would do if they went from place to place telling out his gospel in a way which would make the gospel itself disgusting to those who heard it. That is quite possible, for some people do it. If my Lord puts me m the front rank, blessed be his name for it, and I must fight for him there as best I can. But if he says to me, ‘’ Lie in bed! Be bed-ridden for seven years, and never get up!” — I have nothing to do but to glorify him in that way. He is the best soldier who does exactly what his captain bids him.

III. Now, in the third place, and only briefly, let us view the

DISCIPLES IN GeTHSEMANE, BY WAY OF INSTRUCTION TO OURSELVES.

Probably, the disciples had often been with their Master to Gethsemane; — I suppose, sometimes by day, and oftentimes by night, in secret conclave they had been instructed in the olive garden. It had been their Academy; there they had been with the Master in prayer; no doubt, each one praying, and learning how to pray better from’ his divine example. Dear brothers and sisters, I recommend you oftentimes to get to the place where you can best commune with your God.

But, now, the disciples came to Gethsemane because a great trouble was impending. They were brought there that they might watch and pray. So, get you to the place of prayer, at this time of trouble, and at all other times of trial that shall come upon you throughout your whole life. Whenever you hear the knell ringing out all earthly joy, let it ring you into the garden of prayer. Whenever there is the shadow of a coming trouble looming before you, let there also be the substance of more intense communion witt-God. These disciples were, however, at this time, called to enter into fellowship with their Master in the thicker, deeper darkness that was coming over him, — far denser than any that was coming over them. And you are called, dear brothers and sisters, each in your measure, to be baptized unto Jesus in the cloud and in the aea, that you may have fellowship with him in his sufferings. Be not ashamed to go even to Gethsemane with Christ, entering into a knowledge of what he suffered by being made, according to your capacity, to suffer in the selfsame manner. All his true followers have to go there; some have only to stand at the outside gate, and keep watch; but his highly-favoured ones have to go into the denser gloom, and to be nearer to their Lord in his greatest agonies; but, if We are his true disciples,, we must have fellowship with him in his sufferings.

Our difficulty is, that the flesh shrinks from this trial, and that, like the disciples, we sleep when we ought to watch. When the time of trial comes, if we get depressed in spirit about it, we are apt not to pray with that fervour and vigour which greater hopefulness would have begotten; and when we come to feel something of what the Saviour endured, we are too apt to be overwhelmed by it rather than stimulated by it; and so, when he comes to us, he finds us, like the disciples, “sleeping for sorrow,” The Master gently said, “The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak;” but I do not suppose that one of the disciples made any excuse for himself. I feel, if I may judge them from myself, that I should always have said, “I never can forgive myself for going to sleep that night; how could I fall asleep when he said, * Watch with me ‘? And when he came again, with his fae red with bloody sweat, and with that disappointed look upon his countenance, said, ‘What, could ye not watch with me one hour?’ how could I go to sleep a second time? and, then, how could I go to sleep a third time?” Oh, methinks that Simon Peter must ever have remembered that his Saviour said to him, “Simon, couldst not thou watch with me one hour?” That question must have stuck by him all his life; and James and John must have felt the same. Brethren and sisters, are any of you sleeping under similar circumstances, — while Christ’s Church is suffering, — while Christ’s cause is suffering, — while Christ’s people are suffering, — while a trial is coming upon you to help you into fellowship with him? Are you, instead of being aroused to a higher and intenser devotion, sinking into deeper sleep? If so, Christ may in his great love excuse you, but I beg you not to begin making excuses for yourself. Nay, rouse ye, brethren, and “watch and pray, lest ye enter into temptation.”

That slumber of theirs must have been greatly rebuked by their Saviour’s kindness to them. As I understand the narrative, our Lord came to his disciples three times, and on the third occajsion he found them still heavy with sleep, so he sat down beside them, and said to them, “Sleep on now, and take your rest.” There he sat, patiently waiting for the traitor’s arrival; — not expecting any help or sympathy from his disciples, but just watching over them as they would not watch with him, praying for them as they would not pray for themselves, and letting them take another nap while he inade himself ready to meet Judas and the rabble throng that would ao soon surround him. Our Master, in his great tenderness, sometimes indulges us with such sleeps as these; yet we may have to regret them, and to wish that we had had sufficient strength of mind and earnestness of heart to keep awake, and watch with him in his season of sorrow. It appears to me that, of all the eleven good disciples, there was not one who kept awake. There was one vile traitor, and he was wide awake. He never went to sleep, — he was awake enough to sell his Master, and to act as guide to tkose who came to capture him.

I think also that, at least partly in consequence of that slumber of the disciples, within a short time, “they all forsook him, and fled.” They seem, for the time, to have slept away their attachment to their Lord, and waking, as from a disturbed dream, they scarcely knew what they did, and helter-skelter away they fled. The sheep were all scattered, and the Shepherd was left alone, thus fulfilling the ancient prophecy, “Smite the Shepherd, and the sheep shall be scattered;” and that other word, “I have trodden the winepress alone; and of the people there was none with me.” Wake up, brothers and sisters, else you too may forsake your Master; and in the hour when you ought most to prove your fidelity, it may be that your slumbering state of heart will lead on to backsliding, and to forsaking of your Lord. God grant that it may not!

IV. Now I close with a word of warning which I have almost anticipated. Let us, in thought, go to Gethsemane to take warning FROM Judas. Let me read to you the latter part of the text: “Judas also, which betrayed him, knew the place: for Jesus of tr times resorted thither with his disciples.”

“Judas also, which betrayed him, knew the place.” Yes, he had probably, many times, been there all night with Christ. He had sat with the other disciples in a circle round their Lord on one of those olive-clad terraces, and he had listened to his wondrous words in the soft moonlight. He had often heard his Master pray there; “Judas also, which betrayed him,” had heard him pray in Gethsemane. He knew the tones of his voice, the pathos of his pleading, the intense agony of that great heart of love when it was poured out in prayer. He had, no doubt, joined with the other disciples when they said, “Lord, teach us to pray.”

“Judas also, which betrayed him, knew the place,” He could have pointed out to us the very spot where the Saviour most loved to be, — that angle in the terrace, that little corner out of the way, where the Master was wont to find a seat when he sat down, and taught the chosen band around him. Yes, Judas knew the place; and it was because he knew the place that he was able to betray Christ; for, if he had not known where Jesus was, he could not have taken the guard there.

It does seem, to me, very dreadful that familiarity with Christ should have qualified this man to become a traitor; and it is still true that, sometimes, familiarity with religion may qualify men to become apostates. Oh, if there be a Judas here, I would speak very solemnly to you! You know the place; you know all about church government and church order, and you can go and tell pretty tales about the mistakes made by some of God’s servants, who would not err if they could help it. Yes; you know the church members; you know where there are any flaws of character and infirmity of spirit; you know how to go and spread the story of them among worldlings, and you can make such mischief as you could not make if you had not known the place. Yes; and you know the doctrines of grace, at least with a measure of head-knowledge, and you know how to twist them, so as to make them seem ridiculous, even those eternal verities, which ravish the hearts of angels and of the redeemed from among men. Because you know them so well, you know how to parody them, and to caricature them, and to make the grace of God itself seem to be a farce. Yes, you know the place; you have been to the Lord’s table, and you have heard the saints speak of their raptures and their ecstasies; and you pretended that you were sharing them. So you know how to go back to the world, and to represent true godliness as being all

10ft METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE PULPIT.

cant and hypocrisy; and you make rare fun out of those most solemn secrets of which a man would scarcely speak to his fellow because they are the private transactions between his soul and his God.

I can hardly realize how terrible will be the doom of those who, after making a profession of religion, have prostituted their knowledge of the inner working of the Church of God, and made it the material for novels in which Christ’s gospel is held up to scorn. Yet there have been such men, who have not been content to be like birds that have fouled their own nests, for they have also gone forth, and tried also to foul the nest of every believing heart that they could reach. What a dreadful thing it will be if any one of us, here, should know the place, and therefore should betray the Saviour! Do you know the place of private prayer, or do you think you do? Do you know the place where men go when the shadow of a coming trial is looming before them? Do you think you know something about fellowship with Christ in his sufferings? But, what if the greed of gold should overmaster in you, as it did in Judas, such natural attachment as you feel towards Christ and better things? And what if even Gethsemane shoidd, like a pit, open wide its mouth to swallow you up? It is terrible to contemplate, yet it may be true, for “Judas also, which betrayed him, knew the place.” I cannot bear to think that any one of you should be familiar with the ins and outs of this Tabernacle, and yet should betray Christ; — that you should be one of those who gather around this communion table, that you should be familiar with all the loving and tender expressions which we are wont to use here, and yet, after all, should forsake our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. Pass the disciples’ question round, and each one ask it, “Lord, is it I? Is it I?”

When any turn from Zion’s way,
(Alas, what numbers do !;
Methinks I hear my Saviour eay,
‘Wilt thou forsake me too? ’

“Ah, Lord I with such a heart as mine.
Unless thou hold me fast,
I feel I must, I shall decline.
And prove like them at last.”

Therefore, hold thou me up, O Lord, and I shall be safe; keep me even to the end, for thy dear Son’s sake! Amen.

lExposition bo C* y. Spurgron.

JOHN XV. 1 — 8.

On the way from the supper table to the garden of Gethsemane, or while still lingering in the upper room, our Lord spoke this wondrous parable.

Verse 1. 1 am the true vine, —

All other vines are but shadows of Christ. They represent Christ, but he is himself the substance, the essence, the one great reality. He is the tmfh of all fhino-s ttnt exist: “I am the true Vine.” Does anybody ask which is the true Church? All who are vitally joined to Christ are in the true Church, fur he says, “I am the true Vine,” —

1. And my Father is the husbandman.

He cares for the Church with infinite wisdom and love. No one else can care for that true Vine as the Father — the Husbandman — does.

2. Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away:

If there be any, who are only nominally in Christ, and who therefore bear no fruit, their doom is to be taken away; for, in order to final perseverance and eternal safety, there must be fruit-bearing.

2, And every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit.

Pruning, then, is for fruit-bearers. If the branch were dead, what would be the good of pruning it? Say not, dear friend, that your afflictions must be caused by your sins; nay, rather they may come in consequence of your virtues. Because you do bear fruit, it is worth while for the Husbandman to use his knife upon you, that you may bring forth more fruit.

3, 4. Now ye are clean through the word which I have spoken unto you. Abide in me, and I in you.

Give good heed to that sweet word, beloved brethren,” Abide in me ‘•’ Do not seem to get into Christ, and then depart from him. Add constancy to all your other graces.

4, 5. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me. I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringtth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.

You know how the branch is in the vine, it is a component part of the vine; but do not forget that the vine is also in the branch, — that the sap, which is the very life of the vine, flows into every living branch. So we are in Christ, and Christ is in us, and he says to us, as the marginal reading has it, “Severed from me, ye can do nothing.” What! not even a little, Lord? Can we not do something good, something acceptable apart from thee? No; “Without me, ye can do nothing.”

6. If a man abide not in me, he is cast forth as a branch, and is withered; and men gather them, and cast thtm into the fire, and they are burned.

That is all that can be done with fruitless vine-branches. You cannot make anything of them. Other trees yield timber, and are useful for various purposes; but, with the vine, it is as the prophet Ezekiel says, “Son of man. What is the vine tree more than any tree, or than a branch which is among the trees of the forest.? Shall wood be taken thereof to do any work? or will men take a pin of it to hang any vessel thereon? Behold, it is cast into the fire for fuel; the fire devoureth both the ends of it, and the midst of it is burned. Is it meet for any work?” It is useless if it is fruitless; and so is it with us, if we do not bear fruit unto God, we are of no service to him whatsoever.

7. If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.

Here is the secret of prevailing prayer. It is not every man, who chooses to pray, who shall have whatever he asks of God; but the successful pleader is the man who abides in Christ, and in whom Christ’s words abide. God will not hear our words if we disregard his words. We cannot expect our prayers to be prevalent if we are severed from our Lord.

8. Herein is my Father glorified that ye hear much fruit; so ahaCl ye he my disciples.

“Much fruit “should be produced by the disciples of the much-doing Christ. The true Vine was full of fruit, and it scarcely can be believed that we are branches of that Vine if we exhibit only a little fruit. It is “much fruit” that proves our union to this Vine.

Hymns from ‘* Our Own Hymn Book” — 319, 271, 278.

% ^ttm

Intended for Reading on Lord’s-day, March 9th, 1902,
delivered by
AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON,
On Lord’s-day Evening, June 5th, 1881.

“And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him.” — Luke xxii. 43.

I SUPPOSE that this incident happened immediately after our Lord’s first prayer in the garden of Gethsemane. His pleading became so fervent, so intense, that it forced from him a bloody sweat. He was, evidently, in a great agony of fear as he prayed and wrestled even unto blood. We are told, by the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews, that he ‘’ was heard in that he feared.” It is probable that this angel came in answer to that prayer. This was the Father’s reply to the cry of his fainting Son, who was enduring an infinity of sorrow because of his people’s sin; and who must, therefore, be divinely upheld as to his manhood, lest he should be utterly crushed beneath the terrible weight that was pressing upon his holy soul.

Scarcely had our Saviour prayed before the answer to his petition came. It reminds us of Daniel’s supplication, and of the angelic messenger who was caused tO’ fly so swiftly that, as soon as the prayer had left the prophet’s lips, Gabriel stood there with the reply to it. So, brethren and sisters, whenever your times of trial come, always betake yourselves to your knees. Whatever shape your trouble may take, — if, to you, it should even seem to be a faint representation of your Lord’s agony in Gethsemane, put yourselves into the same posture as that in which he sustained the great shock that came upon him. Kneel down, and cry to your Father who is in heaven, who is able tO’ save you from death, who will prevent the trial from utterly destroying you, will give you strength that you may be able to endure it, and will bring you through it to the praise of the glory of his grace.

That is the first lesson for us to learn from cur Lord’s

experience in Gethsemane, — the blessing of prayer. He has

bidden us pray, but he haa done more than that, for he

has set us the ectample of prayer; and if example be, as we are sure it is, far more powerful than precept, let us not fail to imitate our Saviour in the exercise of potent, prevalent, repeated supplication, whenever our spirits are cast down, and we are in sore distress of soul. Possibly, you have sometimes said, “I feel so sorrowful that I cannot pray.” Nay, brother, that is the very time when you must pray. As the spices, when bruised, give forth all the more fragrance because of the bruising, so let the sorrow of your spirit cause it to send forth the more fervent prayer to the God who is both able and willing to deliver you. You must express your sorrow in one way or another; so let it not be expressed in murmuring, but in supplication. It is a vile temptation, on the part of Satan, to keep you away from the mercy-seat when you have most need to go there; but do not yield to that temptation. Pray till you can pray; and if you find that you are not filled with the Spirit of supplication, use whatever measure of the sacred bedewing you have; and so, by-and-by, you shall have the baptism of the Spirit, and prayer shall become to you a happier and more joyful exercise than it is at present. Our Saviour said to his disciples, “My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death;” yet then, above all times, he was in an agony of prayer; and, in proportion to the intensity of his sorrow was the intensity of his supplication.

In our text, there are two things to note. First, our Lord’s weakness; and, secondly, our Lord’s strengthening.

I. First, then, let us meditate for a little while upon our Lord’s

WEAKNESS.

That he was exceedingly weak, is clear from the fact that an angel came from heaven to strengthen him, for the holy angels never do anything that is supei*fluous. They are the servants of an eminently practical God, who never does that which it is unnecessary for him to do. If Jesus had not needed strengthening, an angel would not have come from heaven to strengthen him. But how strange it sounds, to our ears, that the Lord of life and glory should be so weak that he should need to be strengthened by one of his own creatures! How extraordinary it seems that he, who is “very God of very God,” should, nevertheless, when he appeared on earth as Immanuel, God with us, so completely take upon himself our nature that he should become so weak as to need to be sustained by angelic agency! This struck some of the older saints as being derogatory to his divine dignity; so some manuscripts of the New Testament omit this passage; it is supposed that the verse was struck out by some who claimed to be orthodox, lest, perhaps, the Arians should lay hold upon it, and use it to bolster up their heresies. I cannot be sure who did strike it out, and I am not altogether surprised that they should have done so. They had no right to do anything of the kind, for whatever is revealed in the Scriptures must be true. But they seemed to shudder at the thought that the Son of God should ever have been so weakened as to need the support of an angelic messenger to strengthen him.

Yet, brethren and sisters, this incident proves the reality of our Saviour’s manhood. Here you can perceive how fullv he shares the

THE WEAKENED CHRIST STRENGTHENED. Ill

weakness of our humanity; — not in spiritual weakness, so as to become guilty of any sin; — but in mental weakness, so as to be capable of great depression of spirit; and in physical weakness, so as to be exhausted to the last degree by his terrible bloody sweat. What is extreme weakness? It is something different from pain, for sharp pain evidences at least some measure of strength; but perhaps some of you know what it is tO’ feel as if you were scarcely alive; you were so weak that you could hardly realize that you were actually living. The blood flowed, if it flowed at all, but very slowly in the canals of your veins; everything seemed stagnant within you. You were very faint, you almost wished that you could become unconscious, for the consciousness you had was extremely painful; you were so weak and sick that you seemed almost ready to die. Our Master’s words, “My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death,” prove that the shadow of impending dissolution hung darkly over his spirit, soul, and body, so that he could truly quote the 22nd Psalm, and say, “Thou hast brought me into the dust of death.” I think, beloved, that you ought to be glad it was so with your Lord, for now you can see how completely he is made like unto his brethren, in their mental depression and physical weakness, as well as in other respects.

It will help you to get an idea of the true manhood of Christ if you remember that this was not the only time when he was weak. He, the Son of man, was once a babe; and, therefore, all the tender ministries that have to be exercised because of the helplessness of infancy were necessary also in his case. Wrapped in swaddling bands, and lying in a manger, that little child was, all the while, the mighty God, though he condescended to keep his omnipotence in abeyance in order that he might redeem his people from their sins. Doubt not his true humanity, and learn from it how tenderly he is able to sympathize with all the ills of childhood, and all the griefs of boyhood, which are not so few or so small as 3ome people imagine.

Besides being thus an infant, and gradually growing in stature just as other children do, our Lord Jesus was often very weary. How the angels must have wondered as they saw him, who sways the sceptre of universal sovereignty, and marshals all the starry hosts according to his will, as he, “being wearied with his journey, sat thus on the well” at Sychar, waiting for the woman whose soul he had gone to win, and wiping the sweat from his brow, and resting himself after having travelled over the burning acres of the land. The prophet Isaiah truly said that “the everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weai-y.” That is the divine side of his glorious nature. “Jesus, therefore, being wearied with his journey, sat thus on the well.” That was the human side of his nature. We read that “he did eat nothing” during the forty days’ temptation in the wilderness, and “he afterwards hungered.” Have any of you ever known what it has been to suffer the bitterness of hunger? Then, remember that our Lord Jesus Christ also endured that pang. He, whom we rightly worship and adore aa “God blessed for ever,” as the Son of man, the Mediator between God and men, hungered; and he also thirsted, for he said to the woman at the well, “Give me to drink.”

In addition to this, our Saviour was often so weary that he slept, which is another proof of his true humanity. He was so tired, once, that he slept even when the ship was tossing to and fro in a storm, and was ready to sink. On one occasion, we read that the disciples “took him even as he was in the ship,” which seems to me to imply even more than it says, namely, that he was so worn out that he was scarcely able to get into the ship; but “they took him even as he was,” and there he fell asleep. We know, moreover, that “Jesus wept,” — not merely once, or twice, but many times; and we also know what completes the proof of his humanity, — that he died. It was a strange phenomenon that he, to whom the Father has given “to have life in himself,” should have been called to pass through the gloomy shades of death, that he might in all points be made like unto his brethren, and so be able to fully sympathize with us. O ye weak ones, see how weak your Lord became that he might make you strong! We might read that familiar passage, “though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his poverty might be rich;” in a slightly different way, “though he was strong, yet for your sakes he became weak, that ye through his weakness might be strong.” Therefore, beloved, “be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might.”

What was the reason for the special weakness of our Saviour when in the garden of Gethsemane? I cannot now go fully into that matter, but I want you to notice what it was that tried him so severely there. I suppose, first, it was contact with sin. Our Saviour had always seen the effects of sin upon others, but it had never come home to him so closely as it did when he entered that garden; for there, more than ever before, the iniquity of his people was made to meet upon him, and that contact aroused in him a holy horror. You and I are not perfectly pure, so we are not as horrified at sin as we ought to be; yet, sometimes, we can say, with the psalmist, “Horror hath taken hold upon me because of the wicked that forsake thy law;” but for our gracious Saviour — hearken to the inspired words, they are none of mine, — to be “numbered with the transgressors,” must have been an awful thing to his pure and holy soul. He seemed to shrink back from such a position, and it needed that he should be strengthened in order that he might be able to endure the contact with that terrible mass of iniquity.

But he had, in addition, to bear the burden of that sin. It was not sufficient for him to come into contact with it; but it is written, “The Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all;” and as he began fully to realize all that was involved in his position as the great Sin-bearer, his spirit seemed to droop, and he became exceedingly weak. Ah, sir! if you have to bear the burden of your own sin when you appear before the judgment seat of God, it will sink you to the lowest hell; but what must Christ’s agony have been when he was bearing the s’n of all his people? As the mighty mass of their guilt came rolling upon him, his Father saw that the human soul and the human body both needed to be upheld, else they would have been utterly crushed before the atoning work had been accomplished.

Contact with sin, and the bearing of sin’s penalty, were reason enough to produce the Saviour’s excessive weakness in Gethsemane; but, in addition, he was conscious of the approach of death. I have heard some people say that we ought not to shrink from death; but I aver that, in proportion as a man is a good man, death will be distasteful to him. You and I have become, to a large extent, familiarized with the thought of death. We know that we must die, — unless the Lord should come soon, — for all who have gone before us have done so, and the seeds of death are sown in us, and, like some fell diseasei, they are beginning to work within our nature. It is natural that we should expect to die, for we know that we are mortal. If anybody were to tell us that we should be annihilated, any reasonable and sensible man would be horrified at the idea, for that is not natural to the soul of man. Well, now, death was as unnatural to Christ as annihilation would be to us. It had never come to be a part of his nature, his holy soul had none of the seeds of death in it; and his untainted body, — which had never known any kind of disease or corruption, but was as pure as when, first of all, “that holy thing” was created by the Spirit of God, — that also shrank back from death. There were not in it any of the things which make death natural; and, therefore, because of the very purity of his nature, he recoiled at the approach of death, and needed to be ‘specially strengthened in order to meet “the last enemy.”

Probably, however, it was the sense of utter desertion that was preying upon his mind, and so produced that extremity of weakness. All his disciples had failed him, and presently would forsake him. Judas had lifted up his heel against him, and there was not one of all his professed followers who would faithfully cleave to him. Kings, princes, scribes, and rulers were all united against him, and of the people, there were none with him. Worst of all, by the necessity of his expiatory sacrifice, and his substitution for his people, his Father himself withdrew from him the light of his countenance; and, even in the garden, he was beginning to feel that agony of soul which, on the cross, wrung from him that doleful cry, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” And that sense of utter loneliness and desertion, added to all that he had endured, made him so exceedingly weak that it was necessary that he should be specially strengthened for the ordeal through which he had still to pass.

II. Now, in the second place, let us meditate for a little while upon OUR Lord’s strengthening: “There appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him.”

It is night, and there he kneels, under the olives, offering up, as Paul says, “prayers and supplications with strong crying and tears unto him that was able to save him from death.” While wrestling there, he is brought into such a state of agony that he sweats great drops of blood; and, suddenly, there flasJiee before him, like a meteor from the midnight sky, a bright spirit that had come straight from the throne of God to minisrtper to him in his hour of need.

Think of the condescension on Christ’s part to allow an angel to come and strengthen him. He is the Lord of angels as well as of men. At his bidding, they fly more swiftly than the lightning flash to do his will. Yet, in his extremity of weakness, he was succoured by one of them. It was a wondrous stoop for the infinitely-great and ever-blessed Chiist of God to consent that a spirit of his own creation should appear unto him, and strengthen, him.

But while I admire the condescension which permitted one angel to come, I equally admire the self-restraint which allowed only one to come; for, if he had so pleased, he might have appealed to his Father, and he would at once have sent to him “more than twelve legions of angels.” No, he did not make such a request; he rejoiced to have one to strengthen him, but he would not have any more. Oh, what matchless beauties are combined in our blessed Saviour!’ Ypu may look on this side of the shield, and you will perceive that it is of pure gold. Then you may look on the other side of it, but you will not discover that it is brass, as in the fable, for it is gold all through. Our Lord Jesus is “altogether lovely.” What he does, or what he refrains from doing, equally deserves the praises of his people.

How could the angel strengthen Christ? That is a very natural enquiry; but it is quite possible that, when we have answered that question as well as we can, we shall not have given a full and satisfactory reply to it. Yet I can conceive that, in some mysterious, manner, an angel from heaven may have actually infused fresh vigour into the physical constitution of Christ. I cannot positively affirm that it was so, but it seems to me a very likely thing. We do know that God can suddenly communicate new strength to fainting spirits; and, certainly, if he willed it, he could thus lift up the drooping head of his Son, and make him feel strong and. resolute again.

Perhaps it was so; but, in any case, it must have strengthened the Saviour to feel that he was in pure company. It is a great joy to a man, who is battling for the right against a crowd who love the wrong, to find a comrade by his side who loves the truth ashe loves it himself. To a pure mind, obliged to listen to the ribald jests of the licentious, I know of nothing that is more strengthening than to get a whisper in the ear from one who says, “I, too, love that which is chaste and pure, and hate the filthy conversation of the wicked.” So, peradventure, the mere fact of that shining angel standing by the Saviour’s side, or reverently bowing before him, may in itself have strengthened him.

Next to that, was the tender sympathy which this angelic ministration proved. I can imagine that all the holy angels leant over the battlements of heaven to watch the Saviour’s wondrous life; and now that they see him in the garden, and perceive, by his whole appearance, and his desperato agony, that death is drawing near to him, they are so astonished that they crave permission that at least one of their number shall go down to see if he cannot carry succour to him from his Father’s house above. I can imagine the angels saying, “Did we not sing of him at Bethlehem when he was born? Did not some of us minister to him when he was in the desert, and amongst wild beasts, hungry after his long fast and terrible temptation? Has he not been seen of angels all the while he has been on earth? Oh, let some one of us go to his relief!” And I can readily suppose that God said to Gabriel, “Thy name means, ‘The strength of God,’ go and strengthen your Lord in Gethsemane,” “and there appeared an angel unto him from heaven strengthening him;” and I think that he was strengthened, at least in part, by observing the sympathy of all the heavenly host with him in his season of secret sorrow. He might seem to be alone as man; but, as Lord and King, he had on his side an innumerable company of angels who waited to do his will; and here was one of them come to assure him that he was not alone, after all.

Next, no doubt, our Saviour was comforted by the aiigeVs willing service. You know, dear brothers and sisters, how a little act of kindness will cheer us when we are very low in spirit. If we are despised and rejected of men, if we are deserted and defamed by those who ought to have dealt differently with us, even a tender look from a child will help to remove our depression. In times of loneliness, it is something even to have a dog with you, to lick your hand, and show you such kindness as is possible from him. And our blessed Master, who always appreciated, and still appreciates, the least service rendered to him, — for not a cup of cold water, given to a disciple, in Christ’s name, shall lose its reward, — was cheered by the devotion and homage of the ministering spirit that came from heaven to strengthen him. I wonder if the angel worshipped him, — I think that he could do no less; and it must have been something to worship the blood-red Son of God. Oh, that any one of us could have paid him such homage as that! The time for such special ministry as that is over now; yet my faith seems to bring him back here, at this moment, just as if we were in Gethsemane. I adore thee, thou blessed eternal God, — never more God-like than when thou didst prove thy perfect manhood by sweating great drops of blood in the awful weakness of thy depression in the garden of sorrow!

Peradventure, too, the angel’s presence comforted and strengthened the Saviour as being a sort of foretaste of his final victory. What was this angel but the pioneer of all the heavenly host that would come to meet him when the fight was over? He was one who, in full confidence of his Lord’s victory, had flown before the rest, to pay homage to the conquering Son of God, who would tread the old dragon beneath hia feet. You remember how, when Jesus was born, first there came one angel who began to speak of him to the shepherds, “and suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying. Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” The first angel had, as it were, stolen a march upon his brethren, and got lib Al^TKui’OL.lTAN TABERNACLE PL’LPIT.

before them; but, no sooner was the wondrous nefws bruited through heaven’s streets, than every angel resolved to overtake him ere his message was completed. So, here again is one that had come as an outrider, to remind his Lord of his ultimate victory, and there were many more afterwards to come with the same glad tidings; but, to the Saviour’s heart, that angel’s coming was a token that he would lead captivity captive; and that myriads of other bright spirits would crowd around him, and cry, “Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors; that the King of glory, fresh from his blood-red shame, may enter into his heavenly and eternal inheritance!”

Yet once more, is it not very likely that this angel brought the Saviour a message from heaven? The angels are generally God’s messengers, so they have something to communicate from him; and, perhaps, this angel, bending over the Saviour’s prostrate form, whispered in his ear, “Be of good cheer; thou must pass through all this agony, but thou wilt thereby save an innumerable multitude of the sons and daughters of men, who will love and worship thee and thy Father for ever and for ever. He is with thee even at this moment. Though he must hide his faoe from thee, because of the requirements of justice that the atonement may be complete, his heart is with thee, and he loves thee ever.” Oh, how our Lord Jesus must have been cheered if some such words as these were whispered into his ears!

Now, in closing, let us try to learn the lessons of this incident. Beloved brothers and sisters, you and I may have to pass through great griefs, — certainly, ours will never be so great as those of our Divine Master; — but we may have to follow through the same waters. Well, at such times, as I have already said, let us resort to prayer, and let us he content to receive comfort from the humblest instrumentality. “That is too simple an observation,” say you. It is a very simple one, but it is one that some people have need to remember. You remember how Naaman the Syrian was healed through the remark of a little captive girl; and, sometimes, great saints have been cheered by the words of very little people. You recollect how Dr. Guthrie, when he was dying, wanted “a bairn’s hymn.” It was just like him, great, glorious, simple-minded child-man that he was. He said what you and I must sometimes have felt that we wanted, — a bairn’s hymn, — a child’s joyful song to cheer us up in our hour of depression and sorrow.

There are some people, who seem as if they would not be converted unless they can see some eminent minister. Even that will not suit some of them; they want a special revelation from heaven. They will not take a text from the Bible, — though I cannot conceive of anything better than that; — but they think that, if they could dream something, or if they could hear words spoken, in the cool of the evening, by some strange voice in the sky, then they might be converted. Well, brothers and sisters, if you will not eat the apples that grow on trees, you must not expect angels to come and bring them to you. We have a more sure word of testimony in the Bible than we can have anywhere else. If you will not be converted il

by that Word, it is a great pity; and it is much more than a pity, it is a great sin. If your Lord and Master condescended to receive consolation from an angel whom he had himself created, you ought to be willing to gather comfort from the feeblest speech of the poorest person, — from the least of the people of God when they try

to cheer you. * u ti.

I have known an old professor say of a young minister, it is no use for me to hear him, for he has not had the experience that 1 have had, so how can he instruct or help me?” O sirs, I have known many old saints get more comfort out of godly boys than they did from those of their own age! God knows how, out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, to perfect praise; and I have never heard that he has done that out of the mouths of old men. Why is that? Because they know too much; but the children do not know anything; and, therefore, out of their mouths the praise of God is perfect. So let us never despise God’s messengers, however humble they may be.

The next lesson is, while you should be thankful for the least comforter; yet, in your times of deepest need, you may expect the greatest comforters to come to you. Let me remind you that an angel appeared to Joseph when Herod was seeking Christ’s life. Then, later, angels appeared to Christ when the devil had been tempting him. And now, at Gethsemane, when there was a peculiar manifestation of diabolical malice, for it was the hour of the powers of darkness; then, when the devil was loose, and doing his utmost against Christ, an angel came from heaven to strengthen him. So, when you are in your heaviest trials, you shall have your greatest strength. Perhaps you will have little to do with angels till you get into deep trouble, and then shall the promise be fulfilled, “He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.” They are always ready to be your keepers; but, in the matter of spiritual strengthening, these holyspirits may have little to do with some of you until you stand foot to foot with Apollyon, and have to fight stem battles with the evil bne himself. It is worth while to go through rough places to have angels to bear you up. It is worth while to go to Gethsemane, if there we may have angels from heaven to strengthen us. So, be of good comfort, brethren, whatever lies before you. The darker your experience is, the brighter will be that which comes out of it. The disciples feared as they entered the cloud on the Mount of Transfiguration; but when they had passed right into it, they saw Jesus, Moses, and Elias in glory. O ye who are the true followers of Christ, fear not the clouds that lower darkly over you, for you shall see the brightness behind them, and the Christ in them; and blessed shall your spirits be.

But if you are not believing in Christ, I am indeed grieved for you, for you shall have the sorrow without the solace, — the cup of bitterness without the angel, — the agony, and that for ever, without the messenger from heaven to console you. Oh, that ye would all believe in Jesus! God help you so to do, for Christ’s sake! Amen.

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LUKE XXII. H — 46.

Versps 14 — 16. And when the hour was come, he sat doivtiy and the twelve apostles with him. And he said unto them, With desire I have desired to eat this pasaover with you before I suffer: for I say unto you, I will not any more eat thereof, until it he fulfilled in the kingdom of Qod.

And it is fulfilled, for Christ himself is the Lamb of our passover. His blood has been shed and sprinkled; his people have been brought up out of their Egyptian bondage; and, by faith, they feed upon him, and are glad. How sweetly the passover melted away into the Lord’s supper, and how graciously did our Saviour thus teach us that, as a rule, he does not make violent changes in the development of his people’s spiritual life, but he leads them on gradually from one stage to another! There may be, sometimes, very sudden elevations; but, as a general rule, we go from strength to strength, a step at a time; and the truth is revealed to us little by little.

17, 18. And he took the cup, and gave thanhs, and said, Take this, and divide it among yourselves: for I say unto you, I will not drink of the fruit of the vine, until the kingdom of God shall come.

This was the passover cup, — the cup with which they concluded the paschal supper. At such times, they also usually began to chant a Psalm in happy unison. Just at that point, Chri«t interjected the first part of the celebration of the new ordinance, — the Lord’s supper, into which the paschal supper was to melt.

19. And he took bread, and gave thanks, and brake it, and gave unto them, saying. This is my body which is given for you: this do in remembrance of me.

It was clearly impossible that he could have meant that bread to be literally his body, because his body was there at the table. Therefore, the misunderstanding, or misrepresentation, of the Church of Rome is altogether without excuse. Our Saviour plainly intended to say, “This bread represents my body; it is an emblem, a symbol, of my body.” If this had been spoken concerning the bread after Christ had been dead and gone, and not before, there might have been some warrant for the teaching of the Papists; but there cannot be any such warrant, as he used the words while he was sitting there with his apostles. Let us be careful not to lose the true meaning of Christ’s words, while we combat the false interpretation that has been given to them.

20. Likewise also the cup after supper, saying. This cup is the new testament’ in my blood, which is shed for you.

He could not have meant that, literally, that cup was the new covenant; I never heard of anybody who thought ne did. Why, then, take one part of the ordinance literally, if not the other? But our Lord did mean that the contents of that cup represented the blood which seals and ratifies the eternal covenant on which our hopes are built.

21. But, behold, the hand of him that hetrayeth me is with me on the table. Lamentable circuTustance, — sad index of what often still occurs! The

worst traitors to Christ are not outside, but inside the visible church; there they have the best opportunity for doing mischief; there they can give the unkindest cut of all. God grant that none of us may be among that miserable number!

22. And truly the Son of man goeth, as it was determined: but wot unto that man by whom he is betrayed!

The fact that it was determined, in the eternal decrees of God, that Christ should die, did not at all diminish the responsibility of all those who tad a share in bringing about that death. Learn, beloved, to believe iirmly in Divine predestination without doubting human responsibility. Even though you may not be able to show how these two things agree, do not be anxious about that matter; be satisfied to believe what you <5annot understand. Both these things are true, and they are both of them in this verse.

23, 24. And they began to enqtiire among themselves, which of them it was ihat ‘should do this thing. And there tuas also a strife among them, which of them should he accounted the greatest.

What a strange thing that it should have been so! Is there any such strife among us here? If so, how utterly unworthy are we to be the disciples of such a Master as our Lord Jesus Christ!

25, 26. And he said unto them, The Icings of the Gentiles exercise lordship over them; and they that exercise authority upon them are called benefactors. But ye shall not be so: but he that is greatest among you, let him be as the younger; and he that is chief, as he that doth serve.

You know, brethren, that it always will be so. If a man tries to be great in the church, somehow or other his brethren generally think very little of him; but he who is willing to serve, — whose one ambition it is to lay himself out for the glory of his Master, and for the general good, — that man usually has a great deal more honour than he would have expected to receive. The way to be great in the church is to be serviceable to all around us, to be meek and lowly, to be williog to wait upon others. We have good reason for being the servants of our brethren when we remember the humble position that our Lord himself assumed.

27. For whether is greater, he that sitteth at meat, or he that serveth? is not he that sitteth at meat? but I am among you as he that serueth.

He served in the very humblest capacity, for did he not even wash the disciples’ feet? And if he, who was the greatest of all, thus condescended to perform the lowliest service, who among us shall be so lifted up as to suppose that no common work is good enough for him? Brethren, we must be humble, or else we shall be humbled. And let me remark that the latter experience is by no means a pleasant one, while the former experience is most sweet and gracious. God give us the grace to be humble!

28 — 30. Ye are they which have continued with me in my temptations. And 1 appoint unto you a kingdom, as my Father hath appointed unto me; that ye may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel.

Yes, there are thrones and a kingdom for those who are faithful to the King of kings; but there is something else to think of beside that kind of glory, for notice our Saviour’s next words: —

31. And the Lord said, Simon, Simon, behold, Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat:

And between us and the kingdom there will be struggles and dangers; and watchfulness and wrestling prayer will be required of us. And hero is our only hope of escape from the perils of the way, as it was with poor Peter : —

32 — 34. But I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not: and when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren. And he said unto hint. Lord, I am read II to go with thee, both into prison, and to death. And he said, I tell thee, Peter, the cock shall not crow this day, before that thou shalt thrice deny that thou knowest me.

Though Peter did not really know himself, Christ knew him. That is one of our comforts, — that the Lord Jesus Christ foresees all future ill, and” 80 proTides against it; he looks down into our nature, and aeais with us as we need to be dealt with. It is well for us that we ar« in his hands.

35 — 40. And he mid unto them, When I sent you without purse, and scripj and shoes, lacked ye any thing f And they said. Nothing. Then said he unto them, But now, he that hath a purse, let him take it, and likewise his scrip: and he that hath no sword, let him sell his garment, and buy one. For I say unto you, that this that is written must yet be accomplished in me. And he was reckoned among the transgressors: for the things concerning me have an end. And they said, Lord, behold, here are two swords. And he said unto them. It is enough. And he came out, and went, as he was wont, to the mount of Olives; and his disciples also followed him. And when he was at the placet he said unto them, Pray that ye enter not into temptation.

Or, “into trial.” We do not often enough present that petition, “Lead us not into temptation.” We are not able to bear temptation if it goes beyond a certain point; and it is a greater mercy to escape temptation than it is to pass through it, and to overcome it. I mean, of course, only in some respects. We may ask to be delivered from the evil one, if we must be tempted by him; but our first prayer should be that we may not snter into temptation.

41, 42. And he was withdrawn from them about a stoneU cast, and kneeled down, and prayed, saying, Father, if thou be willing remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.

We can read these words in a calm, quiet tone; but they were uttered by our Lord with an intensity of agony which we can scarcely call up before our mind’s eye. So terrible was that agony, that our Saviour became utterly weak and faint through the intensity of his pleading.

43. 44. And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven strengthening him. And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly:

More and more intense was that brief prayer as his supplication waf continued.

44. And his sweat was cu it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.

Luke was a physician, you know, so he was the most likely one to record this phenomenon. It has happened — so we have been told, — to some other persons in intense fright or agony, that their sweat has been tinged with blood; but we never remember reading or hearing of anyone but our Lord of whom it could be said, “His sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.”

45. And when he rose up from prayer, and was come to his disciples, he found them sleeping for sorrow,

Great sorrow may have quite opposite effects upon different men. You have, perhaps, sometimes noticed that intoxication produces upon some men exactly the opposite effect to that which it produces upon others; some become irritable and noisy, while others become taciturn and quiet. It is also quite a matter of fact that great sorrow has various effects upon different minds. In the Saviour’s case, it aroused him to an awful agony of earnestness in prayer. In the disciples’ case, it sent them to sleep.

46. And said unto them. Why sleep ye f rise and pray, lest ye enter into temptation.

The great trial for them, as well as for their Lord, was close at hand then. It was late at night, and they were drowsy and sleepy; yet no time is amiss for supplication. Prayer is never out of season, and never unnecessary. We never know when temptation is near, so let us pray without ceasing to him who is able to preserve us from temptation, or to delivtr us out of it.