Worship Under the Shadow

‘When the Sabbath was past, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome, had bought sweet spices, that they might come and anoint Him.”’ — Mark xvi. 1.

HAVE always felt that these women who

stood at the sepulchre on Easter morning had reached the very climax of Christian love. Most people will mistake the reason why I think so. The common impression will be that the wonderful thing about them was their faith that Christ would rise again. To me the wonderful thing is the fact that their love survived the eclipse of that faith. It is clear to my mind that they did not expect Christ to rise again. They had not been amongst the circle of disciples to whom He had promised His rising. But what proves conclusively that they had no hope of His resurrection is the fact that they brought the spices. Would any one bring

spices to anoint a body which he knew would rise again! Let us not mistake the significance of the act of these women. It was a deed of vhe deepest devotion; but why? Because it was a deed of devotion paid to a Christ whom they believed to be dead. They wanted the stone rolled from the sepulchre; but why? Not because they hoped to see Jesus come forth, but because they wished to anoint His body in the grave. They dreamed not of a Resurrection Angel; they dreamed not of a vacant sepulchre; they dreamed not of a risen Christ — they brought, not garlands, but spices. Yet to them even the dead Christ was supreme! The dead Christ was more than all the living world! They thought Jesus to be in the grave; but their heart was in the grave with Jesus. They deemed that death held Him; but it held for them all that was dear. Their hopes of a coming kingdom were levelled with the dust; but the dust itself had become the treasury of that which to them was the fairest, the holiest, the most precious, memory that ever gladdened or saddened a human soul!

My brother, there are hours in your life in which faith is eclipsed. There come moments to you in which Christ is buried in the grave and you see not beyond the sepulchre. Men say at such times that you have parted with Christ. It need not be so. You have lost the garlands but you ought to have the spices still. Men call you an agnostic, you call yourself an agnostic; but if you have ceased to know, why should you cease to feel? To you, as to the first disciples, there has dawned the intermediate day between Calvary and Olivet; Christ is dead, and the Angel of the Resurrection is not yet come. It is a dark day — the darkest I know in the sky of a human soul. What then ! — will you cease to call yourself a Christian! Did the two Marys cease to call themselves Christians! They, too, were in that intermediate day; they, too, were wandering between Calvary and Olivet. The world would have said of them, “They have made shipwreck; they have lost everything!” Had they? No, they had one thing left — the spices; they could at least anoint the dead. You, too, my benighted brother, can retain this star; you can anoint the dead. Bring your spices to the sepulchre of Jesus! Is He not worthy of being anointed even for His burial! Your faith may have wavered; but will you let love die! Prophets may have failed, tongues may have ceased, knowledge may have vanished away; but will you let love die? The roses are withered, but the spices are still there. The box is broken, but the fragrance is still there. You believe your Christ to be a memory. Glorify that memory! Crown Him in death! Wreath Him in the sepulchre! Worship Him in His night! Adore Him in His tattered robes! Recognise Him in His mean disguise! Bow to Him in His valley of humiliation! So shall your love be fragrant when your faith is broken; bring your spices to the grave of Jesus!