The Shadow of the Cross
“As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up.” — John iii. 14.
IN a well-known picture, a modern painter has given us an imaginary incident in the youth of our Lord. It is the carpenter’s shop. Boards sawn for use are propped against the walls, the floor is strewn with chips and curls of wood and heaps of sawdust, various tools mingle in the confusion, or are placed in the rack ready for use. Mary is kneeling close beside the Christ, the level rays of the setting sun strike through the casement, and as the young carpenter draws Himself to his full height and extends his arms, a shadow as of one crucified is thrown on the opposite wall. Mary, at least, sees that shadow of the cross, and it recals the prediction of the venerable Simeon, which had for the moment chilled her motherly rapture, whilst he foretold the sword which should pierce her soul.
This, of course, is fancy; and yet it is without doubt that, to Mary at least, the anticipation of crushing sorrow, in connection with that wondrous Being with whom her own life was so mysteriously entwined, was an ever-present source of grief.
When did the first realization of his death break on the human consciousness of our blessed Lord? Of course, as the Son of God, He must always have anticipated it. From eternity it had been present to his mind. Before the mountains were brought forth, or the foundations of the earth were laid, in purpose and intention, He was the Lamb slain. He emptied Himself with the express purpose of becoming obedient to the death of the cross. But there was perhaps a moment when it first broke on his soul as the Son of Man.
8o Wift ^Irai»oto of tyjt Cross.
Whenever that moment was, it lay far back before the day when He took up his public ministry; for from his earliest words and onward to his latest it is evident that He was living in the anticipation of Calvary.
The shadow of the cross rests on all the incidents and words of his public life. Nowhere does the sun of his life shine in a clear sky. The darkness is denser here and thinner there, but it is everywhere; “as the twilight creeps noiselessly into evening’s sunniest nooks, and quietly masters all the land without the winnowing of its silken wing being heard or seen.” Let us for a moment trace it. Calvary is a low hill; but it casts a long shadow.
In his first appeal to his fellow-countrymen from the court of the cleansed Temple, He spoke clearly of the destruction of his body, in which the destruction of their own Temple was foreshadowed (ii. 19).
In his first recorded conversation He said positively and unmistakeably that He must be lifted up, not simply to the right hand of the Father, but as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness (iii. 14). Between Him and the bright Home whither He was going lay the blackness of the midnight of the cross.
He spoke of his flesh as given for the life of the world (vi. 51). He broke the full horror of his death to the inner circle of his adherents on the eve of his transfiguration, exciting their vigorous remonstrance (Matt. xvi. 21); He set his face to go to Jerusalem, knowing full well that the predicted hour had nearly struck (Luke ix. 51); He described the Good Shepherd as giving his life for the sheep (John x. 11); He accepted the gift of Mary’s love for his burying (xii. 7); his last utterances were full of similar references (xv. 13); He went to meet the band which Judas led, knowing the while to what He went (xviii. 4).
And perhaps there is no scene in all his life more touching than when the question of certain Greeks, at the close of his public ministry, plunges Him into deep and heart-rending meditation; from the midst of which come the cries of his (Kalbarj. 8i
human soul in agony, and He uses again these very words about the Son of Man being lifted up, adding to them a marvellous forecast of the effect that it should have on the minds and hearts of men throughout all lands and all coming years (xii. 32, 33).
I. The Heroism of the Son of Man. — He evidently foresaw all. The bodily torture — the shame and spitting; the racked muscle and quivering flesh; the slow agony of death — these were present to Him, and the bitterness of the soul, and the God-forsakenness of the spirit. He to some extent must have gauged the weight of the world’s sin, which He was to bear away. And his soul was troubled beyond what words can tell, as He came within the penumbra of that eclipse. No eye would pity, no hand would save; lover and friend must stand afar off; the disciples would forsake Him and flee; the very heavens would veil their blessed light. He must be accounted as “sin,” and go forth alone as the scapegoat. In front of Him He saw the winepress which He must tread alone. And yet He was not rebellious, neither turned away. He gave his back to the smiters, and his cheeks to them that plucked off the hair; He hid not his face from shame and spitting (Isa. 1. 6).
Who does not know the pain of anticipating some awful agony — a separation from some twin soul, an operation, an inevitable break-up of some blessed abode of human bliss? Under circumstances lik these, the life drags on its weary length in almost unsuppo .able anguish, which gnaws it away, as the fret of the sea-billo does the base of the cliffs. At such times the very event we dread is almost a welcome relief from the agony of anticipation. And it is conceivable that the outward tumult of Calvary was positively this to the human nature of Jesus.
And yet He never faltered. Is there not a side light here on the heroic tenacity of his purpose, on the strength of his will! Gentle as a woman. He is mightier than the mightiest of men. Simple as a child. He is strong as God. Lamb though He be, He is Lion too. “For the joy set before Him, He endured the cross, despising the shame.” What wonder, then, that having overcome the natural instinctive dread of the pain of death in which all men, more or less, participate, He has been able to overcome the world, and its prince, and the power of darkness, and to save with a great salvation!
This Saviour of ours, my brothers, is no effeminate weakling, no creature of circumstances, no hysterical enthusiast; but a Man who knew what it was to endure the long strain of anticipated agony; who could suffer silently, locking up the secret in his heart; who could face without blanching the direst anguish that man ever bore. It may be that you, too, have some kind of prevision of the cross and shame which await you; but be strong, yea, be strong, because He has gone this way before you, and can make you more than conquerors. You can go through no darker rooms than He has traversed; and you may have what He could not have, the company of One who is touched with the feeling of your infirmities, because He has been tempted in each point like you. Let those especially who, through fear of death, are all their lifetime subject to bondage, understand how completely the blessed Lord can sympathise with them; and let them claim his heroism, and that He Himself should be in them that strength and confidence which they need.
IL The Nature of his Death. — Evidently it was not a martyrdom. — A martyr is wholly at the discretion of his foes. His main object, as the name denotes, is to give a witness to certain neglected and unpopular truths. He is engrossed with this, and does not specially address himself to the question of his fate. If he prove a hindrance and reproof to the men of his time, he must probably suffer the direst penalty they can inflict. But it is no part of his primary purpose to incur that fate; and he has no thought of expiating the sin of those who hound him to his death.
Far different was the main purpose of the Lord Jesus. True, He came as a witness to the truth; but most of all He came to be the sin-offering of our race, and to pass through death
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into resurrection on behalf of a company which no man can number. Other men die because they have been born; our Lord was born that He might die.
I/zs death was voluntary. — The Father sent the Son; but the Son came. He was not forced suddenly and unexpectedly into the scenes of death. He deliberately walked directly into them, fore-knowing and choosing all. Never for a moment did He admit that his life was taken from Him. He said that He laid it down of Himself, and that He had received this power from his Father. Never for a single moment did He swerve from the acquiescence of his will with his Father’s. And can we doubt the voluntary character of his death, as we remark how safe He was until his hour had come, and whilst He remained among the hills of Galilee, or as we behold the marvellous display of his power which flung his captors to the ground on their backs?
No unwilling victim He! Not dragged to the slaughter! “Led!” From the depths of his steadfast soul the words rang out, “I delight to do thy will, O my God.” He trod the path to the brow of Mount Moriah as willingly as Isaac had done in his innocence before Him; though He knew, as the lad did not know, that He was to be God’s Lamb.
But if all were voluntary, how splendid the tribute to his love! A love that never faltered; that counted the gain more than the pain; that was prepared to bear all to win his Bride. Oh, love of the heart of Jesus, the more we think of thee, the more thou passest knowledge, whilst we stand baffled before thy depths and heights! A love that gave itself under the spell of some sudden impulse were much; but a love that could steadily face years of soul-gnawing agony, this is love indeed! Blessed is the spirit which will resign itself to the inevitable; but more blessed far the spirit which, for very love, will resign itself to the evitable, and stand at a stake, or hang on a cross, constrained, not by chains or nails, but by its own devotion.
His death was necessary. — The com of wheat must fall into the ground and die, if it were not to live alone. I love that word must. If there had been another way it would have
been selected; but there was no other way. In no other way could the love of God have free course and be glorified. In no other way could the curse of Adam’s sin be removed from the race. In no other way could our sins be borne, or our salvation achieved. In no other way could we obtain the life of God stored up in the human nature of Jesus. In no other way could He pass to his great reward. Must — GoA Himself had considered all other possible alternatives in vain, and this was the verdict of Deity. Must — ‘m the very nature of things, it was peremptory. Musi — it could not have been otherwise, if He would become the Saviour, Priest, King, Brother, and Life-giver of men. Oh, sad yet blessed necessity! Sad, because it cost Him so much; blessed, because it has brought us so much.
III. The Joy of the Son of Man. — Throughout all the long travail of his soul He was sustained and animated by one delightful anticipation. For the joy set before Him ( Heb. xii, 2), He looked through the shadow towards the sun-glints on the horizon to which He went. The joy of doing his Father’s will, of rolling away all imputation from his Father’s character. The joy of undoing the work of the first Adam, and of becoming, as the second Man, the Head of a redeemed race. The joy of drawing all men to Himself, and of winning for Himself the Church as his Bride. The joys of marriage, and victory, and deliverance, all crowded into one long ecstasy. This sustained and nerved his spirit.
We may just now be near despair. The days are dark. There is much to depress in the slow progress of the Church. The angels must weary as they stand at the twelve open gates of heaven counting the driblets that pass in, while the multitudes reject the invitation of God’s love. Iniquity abounds, and the love of many waxes cold. But why should we falter or despair? /fi? never did.
Let us keep our eye on the streaks of the breaking day. Let us keep our ears attentive for the first peal of the marriage bells. Let us cultivate his patience and his joy. “If we suffer with Him, we shall be glorified together.” “O death, where is thy sting! O grave, where is thy victory! The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” Wherefore hft up your heads and rejoice, for your redemption draweth nigh.
Ah, what will not that day of redemption bring! — when the regions of the air will no longer be infested by wicked spirits, which rule the darkness of this world; when creation herself shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption, which was, perhaps, flung upon her by the sin and fall of Satan and his hosts; when the Bride of Christ, built up as Eve of old from her Bridegroom’s wounded side, shall be brought to Him to share his authority and glory; when from our position beside Him we shall rule angels, and reign on the earth; when God shall have vindicated his wisdom and love in the permission of moral evil! Oh, day of surpassing blessedness; of light too dazzling for mortal eye; of rapture too intense for mortal hearts, we long for thee even as our Lord does! And for love of thee, will be content to wait till the mystery of iniquity has fulfilled its destined course, and we hear the voice that shall welcome us who have shared his sorrow to be partakers of his joy. “Everlasting joy shall be upon their heads. They shall obtain joy and gladness; and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.”