The Impotence Which Is Divine

“He saved others; himself he cannot save.” — Matt, xxvii 42.

There is a great difference between inability and incapacity. Incapacity is the absence of a power; inability may come from the presence of a power. There are two things which may make a man say, I cannot “— too little life or too much life. Let us say there is a storm at sea. The ship is in the last stage of dilapidation. The life-boats have been lowered and occupied. So full are they that there is only room for one passenger more; and there are two yet remaining on the vessel. One of these is a paralytic; like the man at the pool of Bethesda, he has been unfit to push forward; he cannot save himself. The other man has full strength of limb and could take the leap in a moment; but he has infinite pity for the paralytic; he feels bound to help him into the boat; he, too, cannot save himself. Now, what is the difference between these two? It is not a difference in the degree of helplessness. Both are equally helpless. The contrast lies in the cause of their helplessness. That of the paralytic comes from a sense of weakness; that of the other comes from the sense of a great strength — human love. The one is unfit to save himself by reason of impotence; the other is unfit to save himself by reason of power — power driving him in another direction. The motto of the one is, “The flesh is weak;” the motto of the other is the French saying, “Noblesse oblige” — the dignity of my nature makes it impossible for me to do a mean or ignoble thing.

Son of Man, Thou art never so Divine to me as in the hour of Thine impotence. Not on the Mount of wondrous accents, not on the Lake of wondrous deeds, not in the Desert of wondrous charities, art Thou to me so glorious. All spots even of Thy journey have paled before the hill of Calvary. Hermon has faded; Tabor has grown dim; Gennesaret’s waves have lost their music — but the hill of Calvary keeps green. We worship no hour even of Thine like the hour of Thy disrobing. Whither do the tribes of earth go up? Not to the songs of Bethlehem, not to the voice from heaven, not to the wine of Cana, not to the ruling of the storm, not to Bethsaida’s banquet, not to Galilee’s gathering, not to Jerusalem’s shouts of The Impotence which is Divine

joy. They come to the hushed hosannas; they come to the withered palm leaves; they come to the broken heart. They bring their anthem to Thy blood, their laurel to Thy grave, their spices to Thy burial. What is it that they reverence in Thy setting? Is it feebleness? No, it is power — love’s power. It is love that makes Thee passive; it is devotion that makes Thee dumb. Had Thy love been less mighty, Thou couldst have saved Thyself; Thy cross has come from the lustre of Thy crown. Not the lowliness but the love, not the stooping but the strength, not the laying down of life but the Life that laid it down, is the object of our glory. Thou couldst not save Thyself because Thy love was omnipotent.