085. Prayer Of Jesus On The Cross.
Prayer Of Jesus On The Cross.
We have just done contemplating the agony of Jesus in the garden, and those “prayers and supplications, with strong cryings and tears,” unto Him who alone was able to help. Consequent upon these, and, doubtless, in answer to them, there seems to have been a remission of his sufferings. But that remission was but temporary, only sufficient for the powers of nature to rally, and for faith and fortitude to acquire further needful strength. Such was the tenderness of the Redeemer’s spirit; such his keen sensibility to suffering, that had he not been favored with some alleviation, the lamp of life would, probably, have been extinguished ere the purposes of Infinite Wisdom had been accomplished. That unknown and amazing agony ceased. But the tragic scenes of that eventful night went on; each one contributing to, and urging forward, the momentous catastrophe which was to follow. Jesus is betrayed—mocked—arraigned —scourged—crowned with thorns, and condemned to the death of the cross. To that cross he is, at length, nailed; and there, on the accursed tree, the Savior of the world now hangs. The agony of the garden is renewed and redoubled. Darkness broods upon the face of nature; and, though deep and intense, it is but a faint emblem of that deeper darkness which overshadows his soul. Upon his agony in the garden, an angel from heaven strengthened him. But now, in this hour, when— The waves of swelling grief Do o’er his bosom roll; And mountains of almighty wrath, Lie heavy on his soul— where is that heavenly messenger? Where that countenance which was wont to smile upon him? Alas, the Father is himself arrayed against the Son. From the Father proceeds those very sufferings which are drinking up his mortal spirits, and which extort from him the loud and plaintive wail: “My God, my God,why hast thou forsaken me?”
While the measure of his sufferings was fast filling up, and it would seem impossible that he should not be wholly absorbed in his own intense pangs, his eye fell upon one— she was a spectator of the scene; she was poor—homeless —friendless—wretched—forlorn. For the moment, he forgot his own agony; and, with all the tenderness and sympathy of an affectionate son, he commended her to the care and kindness of the “beloved disciple,” who was also near. “Woman,” said he, “behold thy son!” “Disciple, behold thy mother!” When or where, in the annals of filial love, was there a parallel to this? And, yet, in that bosom whence proceeded that filial love, there was a deeper, holier current; a tide flowing forth, and having for its object those who were now mocking his agonies, and thirsting for his blood. “Father!” said he—though that Father’s face was hid from him, and he might no longer pray for himself, nor for a mitigation of his own personal sufferings—yet he might pray for his murderers—for the mockers of his pangs—and he does pray: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Hark, how he prays! The charming sound Dwells on his dying lips, And every groan and gaping wound Cries: “Father! let the rebels live!” The “Evangelical Prophet” had, seven hundred years before, foretold that he would “make intercession for the transgressors,” (Isaiah 53:12;) and here that prophecy is fulfilled. He had himself inculcated the love of enemies—the forgiveness of injuries—and prayer for those who should despitefully use and persecute; and the rule which he had prescribed for others, he now illustrates by his own noble and sublime example. The question has been raised: Whom did Jesus embrace in his supplication for forgiveness? Two distinct classes were accessory to his crucifixion—Romans and Jews. The former were the immediate agents; the latter, the instigators. Both, however, were ignorant of the enormity of their guilt. Paul says, “that had they known it, they would not have crucified the Lord of Glory.” This ignorance Jesus urges as a reason why God should pardon them. In respect to the Romans, they were really ignorant that he was the Son of God; nor had they, perhaps, any means of distinguishing between him and the malefactors who were crucified with him. But the Jews were better informed; at least, they knew that he was innocent, and they might have learned his true character. The prejudices, under the influence of which they regarded him, had the effect to render them incapable of fairly estimating the evidence which he adduced, that he was in truth the Son of God. They were, therefore, guilty, especially the rulers, who were better situated to inform themselves as to his true character. All, indeed, might have arrived at the truth—for the light shone bright and glorious, but they loved darkness better than light, because their deeds were evil.
It was, however, a time of love and compassion when Jesus was on the cross. It was right that this “morn of mercy” should be signalized by the voice of prayer, ascending from Him who was expiating human guilt. It was a glorious act—thus to antedate, if we may so speak—the application of his blood, to wash out the deep moral stains of those who were about to shed it. It was a pledge and presage of the efficacy of the atoning work of Jesus. If he could ask blessings on the heads of murderers amid the agonies of crucifixion—how might he not be supposed to intercede when the bitterness of death should have passed, and the glorious work of expiation should have been accomplished! To the men of the world, such kindness and compassion may seem inexplicable. They are governed by no such motives: are influenced by no such love: can feel no such duty. But here they may learn, from the example of Jesus, what his religion inculcates. Is it difficult so to act? That may well be granted. It is difficult. To bear reproaches and persecutions with patience; to bless those who are seeking our ruin; and, more than all, to pray in kindness and sincerity for them, is difficult. But Jesus did it: Stephen did it: Paul did it; and thousands, governed by the same love, have thus honored the sublime and glorious inculcations of the gospel.
What a different world had this proved, had the example of Jesus been strictly followed, since he presented it on the cross! Ah, those fires of revenge—intense and consuming —had never burned; those persecutions—those murders— those midnight assassinations, had never polluted the pages of our history. Those wars which have made wives widows, and children orphans, had never been waged. The walls of a thousand dungeons had not reverberated with the clanking of the chains of the incarcerated victims of revenge; nor had they started at their curses upon the guilty authors of their sufferings.
Well, disciples of Jesus, let the world pass on, and continue its revengeful fires, if it please. Let passion rage; let anger burn; but let us, taking a lesson from the precepts and example of Jesus—like him pity; like him pray; like him forgive. Is this difficult? Yes; difficult, but not impossible. By grace we can accomplish it: by grace we can do all duty and practice all self-denial. Let this prayer daily, hourly ascend to Him who has set a sublime and glorious example, and he will help us to follow it.
Make us, by thy transforming grace, Dear Savior, daily more like thee!
Thy fair example may we trace, To teach us what we ought to be!
Oh, how benevolent and kind!
How mild!—how ready to forgive! Be this the temper of our mind, And these the rules by which we live.