The Joy of the Cross
[77]” That evening, when the Carpenter swept out
The fragrant shavings from the workshop floor, And placed the tools in order, and shut to
And barred for the last time the humble door, And, going on His way to save the world, Turned from the laborer’s lot forever more, I wonder — was He glad?
“That morning, when the Carpenter walked forth
From Joseph’s doorway, in the glimmering light, And bade His holy mother long farewell,
And, through the rose-shot skies with dawning bright, Saw glooming the dark shadows of the cross,
Yet, seeing, set His feet toward Calvary’s height, I wonder — was He sad f
“Ah, when the Carpenter went on His way, He thought not for Himself of good or ill; One was His path, through shop or thronging men Craving His help, e’en to the cross-crowned hill. In toiling, healing, teaching, suffering, all His joy, His life, to do the Father’s will; And earth and heaven are glad.”
—S. Alice Raulett.
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E are not accustomed to associate joy with the experiences of the cross. Every item in the story of the terrible hours when Jesus was in the hands of His enemies, tells of suffering. Yet there is no doubt that there was joy in the Redeemer’s heart in the midst of all His anguish. One New Testament writer tells us that for the joy that was set before Him He endured the cross, despising shame. In one sense, Christ’s enduring of the cross includes His whole life. It seems certain, at least, that from the beginning of His public ministry He was aware of the manner of His death. When in His village home in Nazareth He heard the call to go out to begin His Messianic work, He knew to what He was going. It is easy to find hints of joy in the story as [79]
He moved toward the cross. It may seem strange to look at the seven words on the cross to find hints of joy, and yet more than one of these has its note of gladness. The saddest of them all was that uttered in the darkness, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” It was a mysterious cry. In the bitterness of His sufferings His Father’s face was obscured for a time. Yet in the words “My God” we have a suggestion of joy. Though He could not see His Father’s face, His faith did not fail. God was His and He was God’s, and in His direst sorrow He spoke this word of confidence. Another of the seven words was, “It is finished.” This certainly has in it a note of joy. It was not a cry of despair, but a shout of victory. A work had been given Him to do, and now it was finished. The word told of the gladness which filled His heart as He came to the end. Great was His relief that His sorrow was now over. Great was His gladness that He had not failed in doing what had been given Him to do. He knew that His life was [80]
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not a failure, that He was not dying too soon, that an everlasting kingdom would be established through His sacrifice and death, that His influence would fill the world, that His very cross would draw all men unto Him.
It was the joy set before Him that enabled Him to pass through the experiences of death in triumph. Just beyond the cross He saw glory for Himself. St. John puts it thus in one of his great words refemng to the death of Christ: “Jesus knowing that His hour was come that He should depart out of this world unto the Father.” He does not say, “Knowing that His hour was come when He should go to His cross,” but, “when He should depart unto the Father.” His eye and heart did not rest on the way of His going, close before Him, but upon His destination. He was going back to His Father. He was going to His coronation as King of glory.
This was one of the secrets of the joy which
sustained Christ in those hours. Another was
in the knowledge that countless lives would
be saved through His sufferings and death. One of Dore’s pictures represents Jesus on His cross. Stretching away into the dim distance is seen a vast multitude of people of all ranks — kings, nobles, peasants, men, women, children, a company which no man could number. On every face falls a light from the cross. There is no doubt that some such vision as this was before the eyes of Jesus Himself when He hung on the cross. He saw before Him all the blessed and glorious results of His great sacrifice. He knew that multitudes in all ages — ages past and ages to come — should reach the blessed life because of His offering of Himself on the cross. This was one element of the joy set before Him which enabled Him to endure the cross with triumph in His heart.
Jesus is not only our Saviour, but also our example. He would have us endure our cross as He endured His. The great central meaning of the cross is suffering for others. No one ever can lay down his life for others in the same wonderful way that Jesus did. Yet [82] everyone who follows Him must lay down his life vicariously, in his own measure. The death on the cross was the token of Christ’s vicarious suffering. He lived and bore the cross for others every day that He lived. He loved perfectly, and love always gives itself. Love in us must be the same that it was in Christ. He exhorts His followers to love one another, even as He loved His disciples. St. John says that “because He laid down His life for us, we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.” We shall not likely have to do this literally. Now and then one falls at his post in doing the duty of love for another. Sometimes physicians and nurses give their lives for their patients. Ofttimes a mother gives her life for her child. But there are many ways of laying down one’s life for others besides dying for them. Usually our duty is to live for others — not to die for them. This means to forget ourselves utterly, never to hold ourselves back from any service or sacrifice to which love calls us.
A beautiful story is told about the Agassiz [83] brothers. Their home wasi in Switzerland, on the shore of a lake. One winter day the father was on the other side of the lake from the home, and the boys wanted to join him. The lake was covered with thick ice. The mother watched the boys from her window as they set out. They got on well until they came to a wide crack in the ice. Then they stopped, and the mother became very anxious, fearing they might be drowned. The older boy got over easily, but the little fellow was afraid to jump. Then, as the mother looked, she saw Louis, the older brother, get down on his face, his body stretched over the crack, making a bridge of himself, and then she saw his little brother creep over on him. This story is a beautiful parable of love. We should be willing to make bridges of ourselves on which others may pass over the chasms and the streams that hinder them in their way. We have many opportunities of doing this in helping our brothers over hard places, out of temptation, through sickness, to positions, or over into some better way of living. It is not [84]
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pleasant to lie down on the ice or in the wet and let another use us as a bridge. But Christ did it. His cross was just the laying of His own blessed life over the awful chasm of death and despair that we might pass over on Him into joy and hope and heaven. He endured the cross, despising shame, that He might save us. We cannot call ourselves Christians if we balk or falter or hesitate in responding to calls to endure suffering, loss, or shame in order to help others. “He that saveth his life shall lose it.” Life is not easy for any of us. It may be easy to live without self-denial, to live to please ourselves. Many people have no higher thought of life than this. They like to have friends, but they never think of being a friend when it means inconvenience, trouble, or cost to themselves; when it requires sacrifice, the giving up of comfort, ease, or pleasure, to help another. They call themselves Christians, but they never think of doing anything that requires discomfort, self-denial. There is no teaching of the Master which by [85]
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any possibility can be made to put the stamp of Christian on such living as this. There is a legend of a monk to whose cell-door there came one night one in lordly mien, wearing rich dress, his hands sparkling with jewels, his whole appearance betokening luxury. “Who art thou?” asked the monk, as he opened the door. “I am Christ,” was the answer in a tone which did not suggest the meek and lowly One. The monk scanned his visitor severely for a moment, and then asked, “Where is the print of the nails?” The impostor blanched before the question and fled. Everything that is truly of Christ bears the print of the nails. Where this sign is not found, whether it be in a life, in a creed, in a character, or even in a church, we have a right to say, “This is not of Christ.” Not only did Jesus bear the cross Himself, bowing under its burden and submitting to have His body nailed upon it, but He tells us that if any man will follow Him, he, also, must bear the cross. And this does not mean merely that we are to share Christ’s cross — [86] ‘€y)t 9iot of te Cro0g
that is, trust in it for salvation, hide beneath its shadow for refuge; it means that we are to bear our own cross; that is, the principle for which the cross stands must be the law of our life. The cross means voluntary surrender to the will of God. It means death to selfishness, and joyful acceptance of all duty. It means the giving up of one’s life, all one’s dreams of pleasure or profit or ease, whenever the Master calls for service. Not only must the cross be endured, but it must be endured cheerfully. Some people always chafe and fret when they are called to do any hard or disagreeable duty. Perhaps they do it, but they do it in a way which robs the act of all beauty. Jesus endured His cross with joy, and that is the way He would have us do with our cross. We must not fret when the way is rough, when the task is disagreeable. We must not murmur when we are called to suffer, to endure loss, to pass through sorrow. We are to bear our cross joyfully. There come experiences in many lives when it is not easy to do this, the load is so heavy. It [87] seems we cannot go farther, but must sink under our burdens. But Jesus deals very gently with those who find the cross heavy. He sympathizes, for He knows what it means to suffer. He sank under His own cross and had to be helped with it by a passer-by on the way to Calvary. He understands when we sink beneath our cross. A sonnet, “Via Dolorosa,” has its comfort for those whose load is very heavy.
“‘Daughter, take up thy cross, and follow Me.* ‘I hear, 0 Master, and would follow still, Did not my frame, grown weaker than my will, Because my long-borne cross weighs heavily. Most helpless sink when I would most obey; But Thou that in Gethsemane didst pray The cup might pass, if such His will might be, Till Thou wast over-worn by agony, And so didst sink exhausted on the way To Calvary, till they raised the cross from Thee — Thou wilt not chide if for a while at length Weakened by anxious vigil, wrestling, loss, Sinking, and finding none to raise my cross, I lie where fallen, and wait returning strength.’”