Three Evangelists leave the door of the upper room standing ajar. Through it we can see much that is passing, and hear much that is said. John coming after them opens it wide, thus enlarging our view and increasing our knowledge.

Luke says of Jesus, "He sat down and the apostles with Him." That is a very simple statement. We might suppose all was done in quietness and harmony. But he tells us of a sad incident which happened, probably in connection with it. "There arose also a contention among them which of them is accounted to be greatest." The question in dispute was possibly the order in which they should sit at the table. They still had the spirit of the Pharisees who claimed that such order should be according to rank.

We wonder how John felt. Did he have any part in that contention; or had he put away all such ambition since the Lord had reproved him and his brother James for it? Or was his near relation to the Lord so well understood that there was no question by anybody where John might sit—next to the Master?

Let us notice the manner of sitting at meals. The table was surrounded by a divan on which the guests reclined on their left side, with the head nearest the table, and the feet extending outward.

"There was at the table reclining in Jesus' bosom one of His disciples, whom Jesus loved." This is the first time John thus speaks of himself. He never uses his own name. His place was at the right of the Lord. There he reclined during the meal, once changing his position, as we shall see. Judas was probably next to Jesus on His left. This allowed them to talk together without others knowing what they said.

John begins his story of the upper room as a supplement to Luke's record of the contention. He first tells two things about Jesus,—His knowledge that His hour "was come that He should depart out of this world unto the Father," and His great and constant love for His disciples. With these two thoughts in mind, how grieved He must have been at the ambitious spirit of the Apostles. He had once given them a lesson of humility, using a little child for an object lesson. That lesson was not yet learned; or if learned was not yet put into practice. So He gave them another object lesson, having still more meaning than the first.

But before making record of it John, as at the supper in Bethany, points to Judas. We are reminded of the traitor's purpose formed while Mary anointed and wiped Jesus' feet. So awful was that purpose, so full of hatred and deceit, that John now tells us it was the devil himself who "put into the heart of Judas ... to betray Him." "Humanity had fallen, but not so low."

John seems to have well understood his Master's thoughts and interpreted His actions in giving the second object lesson. He noticed carefully, and remembered long and distinctly, every act. Was there ever drawn a more powerful picture in contrast than in these words,—"Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into His hands, and that He came forth from God, and goeth unto God, riseth from supper, and layeth aside His garments; and He took a towel, and girded Himself. Then He poureth water into the basin, and began to wash the disciples' feet, and to wipe them with the towel wherewith He was girded."

This was the service of a common slave. It is easy to imagine the silent astonishment of the disciples. The purpose of Jesus could not be mistaken. It was a reproof for their contention. The object lesson was ended. John continued to closely watch His movements, as he took the garments He had laid aside and resumed His seat at the table. The very towel with which the Lord had girded Himself, found a lasting place in John's memory, worthy of mention as the instrument of humble service. What a sacred relic, if preserved, it would have become—more worthy of a place in St. Peter's in Rome than the pretended handkerchief of Veronica.

The Last Supper—Benjamin West
Page 158

Christ's treatment of one of the disciples at the feet-washing left a deep impression on John's mind. With sadness and indefiniteness the Lord said, "He that eateth My bread lifted up his heel against Me": one who accepts My hospitality and partakes of the proofs of My friendship is My enemy. For that one whoever it might be, known only to himself and to Jesus, it was a most solemn call to even yet turn from his evil purpose. But the faithless one betrayed no sign; nor did Jesus betray him even with a glance which would have been a revelation to John's observant eye.

It is John who tells us that as they sat at the table "Jesus ... was troubled in spirit." The apostle closest to Him in position and sympathy would be the first to detect that special trouble, and the greatness of it, even before the cause of it was known. But that was not long. "Jesus said, Verily, verily, I say unto you that one of you shall betray Me." Such is John's record of Christ's declaration. It is in His Gospel alone that we find the double "Verily" introducing Christ's words, thus giving a deeper emphasis and solemnity than appears in the other Evangelists. A comparison of this declaration of Christ as given by the four, illustrates this fact. John immediately follows this statement of the betrayal with another, peculiar to himself. Its shows his close observation at the time, and the permanence of his impression. What he noticed would furnish a grand subject for the most skilful artist, beneath whose picture might be written, "The disciples looked one on another, doubting of whom He spake." As John gazed upon them, raising themselves on their divans, looking first one way, then another, from one familiar face to another, exchanging glances of inquiry and doubt, each distrustful of himself and his fellow, he beheld what angels might have looked upon with even deeper interest. There has been no other occasion, nor can there be, for such facial expressions—a blending of surprise, consternation, fear and sorrow. Was John one of those who "began to question among themselves which of them it was that should do this thing"? Did he take his turn as "one by one" they "began to say, ... Is it I, Lord?" If so it must have been in the faintest whisper; and so the blessed answer, "No." But we must believe that Jesus and John understood each other too well for any such question and answer. The definite answer was not yet given to any one by the Master, yet with an awful warning, He repeated His prediction of the betrayal.

Peter was impatient to ask Jesus another question. At other times he was bold to speak, but now he was awed into silence. Yet he felt that he must know. The great secret must be revealed. There was one through whom it might possibly be done. So while the disciples looked one on another, Peter gazed on John with an earnest, inquiring look, feeling that the beloved disciple might relieve the awful suspense. "Peter therefore beckoneth to him, and saith unto him, Tell us who it is of whom He speaketh." So "He, leaning back, as he was, on Jesus' breast, saith unto Him, Lord, who is it? Jesus therefore answereth, He it is for whom I shall dip the sop and give it him." Did John on one side of Jesus hear the whispered question of Judas on the other, "Is it I, Rabbi?" He watched for the sign which Jesus said He would give. The morsel was given to Judas. That was more than a sign, more than kindness to an unworthy guest; it was the last of thousands of loving acts to one whom Jesus had chosen, taught and warned—yet was a traitor. Of that moment John makes special note. Having told us that at the beginning of the supper "the devil ... put into the heart of Judas ... to betray," he says, "After the sop, Satan entered into him." As he saw Judas, with a heart of stone and without a trembling hand, coolly take the morsel from that hand of love, he realized that the evil one had indeed taken possession of him whose heart he had stirred at the feast of Bethany.

It must have been a relief to John when he heard the Lord bid Judas depart, though "no man at the table knew for what intent."

"He then having received the sop went out straightway,"—out from that most consecrated room; out from the companionship of the Apostles in which he had proved himself unfit to share; out from the most hallowed associations of earth; out from the most inspiring influences with which man was ever blessed; out from the teachings, warnings, invitations and loving care of his only Saviour. "When Satan entered into him, he went out from the presence of Christ, as Cain went out from the presence of the Lord." As John spoke of the departure, no wonder he added, "It was night." His words mean to us more than the darkness outside that room illumined by the lamp which Peter and John had lighted. They are suggestive of the darkness of the traitor's soul, contrasted with the "Light of the World" in that room, to whose blessed beams he then closed his eyes forever. Night—the darkest night—was the most fitting symbol for the deeds to follow. Possessed by Satan, Judas went out to be "guide to them that took Jesus." To them, two hours later, He who was the Light of the World said, "This is your hour and the power of darkness."

It was when "he was gone out" that Christ called the disciples by a new name, and gave them a new commandment. In both of them John took a special interest which he showed long after. That name was "Little Children." The word which Christ used had a peculiar meaning. This is the only time we know of His ever using it. It was an expression of the tenderest affection for His family, so soon to be orphaned by His death. When John wrote his Epistles, he often used the same word, whose special meaning he had learned from his Lord, to show his own love for his fellow-Christians.

The new commandment was this—"That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another." The command itself was not new, for it had been given through Moses, and repeated by Christ, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." But Christ gave the disciples a new reason or motive for obeying it. They were to love one another because of His love for them. As John grew older he became a beautiful example of one who obeyed the command. In his old age he urged such obedience, saying, "If God so loved us, we ought also to love one another."

Through the door of the Upper Room left ajar by three Evangelists, we catch glimpses of the group around the table of the Last Supper. Through it as opened wide by John we hear the voice of Jesus as He utters His farewell words. He comforts His disciples and tells of heavenly mansions. He gives His peace in their tribulations. He promises the Holy Spirit as a Comforter. He closes His address, even in this hour of sadness and apparent defeat, with these wonderful words, "Be of good cheer; I have overcome the world."

And now as John still holds open the door, we hear the voice of prayer, such as nowhere else has been offered. It is ended. There are moments of silence, followed by a song of praise. Then John closes the door of the Upper Room, which we believe was opened again as the earliest home of the Christian Church. There we shall see him again with those who, because of his experience with his Lord in that consecrated place, gave him the name of "The Bosom Disciple."

In Gethsemane—Gustave Doré
Page 163

CHAPTER XXIV

With Jesus in Gethsemane

John was our leader to the Upper Room. And now he guides us from it, saying, "Jesus ... went forth with His disciples." That phrase "went forth" may suggest to us much more than mere departure. The banquet of love was over. The Lord's cup of blessing and remembrance had been drunk by His "little children," as He affectionately called them. He was now to drink the cup the Father was giving His Son—a mysterious cup of sorrow. It was probably at the midnight hour that Jesus "went forth" the last time from Jerusalem, which He had crowned with His goodness, but which had crowned Him with many crowns of sorrow.

Other Evangelists tell us that He went "to the Mount of Olives," "to a place called Gethsemane." John shows us the way thither, and what kind of a place it was. Jesus went "over the ravine of the Kidron," in the valley of Jehoshaphat. At this season of the year it was not, as at other times, a dry water-bed, but a swollen, rushing torrent, fitting emblem of the waters of sorrow through which He was passing. Whether the name Kidron refers to the dark color of its waters, or the gloom of the ravine through which they flow, or the sombre green of its overshadowing cedars, it will ever be a reminder of the darker gloom that overshadowed John and His Master, as they crossed that stream together to meet the powers of darkness in the hour which Jesus called their own.

The garden of Gethsemane was an enclosed piece of ground. We are not to think of it as a garden of flowers, or of vegetables, but as having a variety of flowering shrubs, and of fruit-trees, especially olive. It might properly be called an orchard. On the spot now claimed to be the garden, there are several very old gnarled olive-trees. Having stood beneath them, I would be glad to believe that they had sheltered my Lord. But I remember that when the prophecy concerning Jerusalem was fulfilled, the most sacred trees of our world were destroyed.

The Valley of Jehoshaphat—Old Engraving
Page 164

Who was the owner of that sacred garden? He must have known what happened there "ofttimes." Perhaps, like the "goodman of the house" in Jerusalem, he was a disciple of Jesus, and provided this quiet retreat for the living Christ, in the same spirit with which Joseph of Arimathæa provided a garden for Him when He was dead. To these two gardens John is our only guide. From the one he fled with Peter in fear and sadness: to the other he hastened with Peter in anxiety followed by gladness.

When at the foot of Hermon, Jesus left nine of His disciples to await His return. Now one was no longer "numbered among" them, as Peter afterward said of him "who was guide to them that took Jesus." At the entrance to the garden Jesus paused and said to eight, "Sit ye here while I go yonder and pray." So had Abraham nineteen hundred years before, pointing to Mount Moriah, visible from Olivet in the moonlight, said "unto his young men, Abide ye here ... and I and the lad will go yonder and worship."

That very night Jesus was to ascend that very Mount on His way as a sacrifice, without any angel to stay the sacrificial hand.

At the garden gate there was no formal farewell, but a solemn final charge, "Pray that ye enter not into temptation." Jesus knew that the hour had come in which should be fulfilled Zechariah's prophecy. Sadly He had declared in the Upper Room, "All ye shall be offended because of Me this night; for it is written, I will smite the Shepherd, and the sheep of the flock shall be scattered abroad."

He dreads to be entirely alone. He longs for companionship. He craves sympathy. In whose heart is it the tenderest and deepest? There is no guessing here. The names are already on our lips. Answer is found in the home of Jairus and on Hermon. Those whom He had led into the one, and "apart" onto the other, He would have alone with Him in the garden. So "He taketh with Him Peter and James and John." These companions of His glory shall also be of His sorrow.

As Jesus advanced into the garden, the three discovered a change in Him—a contrast to the calmness of the Upper Room and the assurances of victory with which He had left it. He "began to be sore amazed and sorrowful and troubled," and "to be very heavy." We have seen John apparently quicker than others to detect his Lord's thoughts and emotions. We imagine him walking closest to His side, and watching as closely every change of His countenance and every motion that revealed the inward struggle. And so when Jesus broke the silence, he was somewhat prepared to hear Him say to the three, "My soul is exceeding sorrowful even unto death."

Christ Before Caiaphas—Old Engraving
Page 176

The moment had come when He must deny Himself even the little comfort and strength of the immediate presence of the three. So saying, "Tarry ye here and watch with Me," He turned away. They must not follow Him to the spot of His greatest conflict. There He must be alone, beyond the reach of human help, however strong or loving. Even that which He had found in the few moments since leaving the garden entrance must end. Their eyes followed Him where they might not follow in His steps. It was not far. "He went forward a little." "He was parted from them about a stone's cast"—probably forty or fifty yards. This separation implies sorrow. They were near enough to watch His every movement as He "kneeled down" and "fell on His face to the ground" They were near enough to hear the passionate cry of love and agony, "O, My Father." This is the only time we know of His using this personal pronoun in prayer to His Father. He thus showed the intensity of His feeling, and longing for that sympathy and help which the Father alone could give.

On Hermon the glories of the Transfiguration were almost hidden from the three disciples by their closing eyes. And now weariness overcame them in the garden. They too fell to the ground, but not in prayer. They tarried indeed, but could no longer watch.

They had seen Moses and Elijah with their Lord on the Holy Mount, but probably did not see the blessed watcher in the garden when "there appeared unto Him an angel from heaven strengthening Him" in body and soul. So had angels come and ministered unto the Lord of angels and men in the temptation in the wilderness.

"Being in agony He prayed more earnestly" until mingled blood and sweat fell upon the ground. The heavenly visitants on Mount Hermon in glory had talked with Him of His decease now at hand. The cup of sorrow was fuller now than then. He prayed the Father that if possible it might pass from Him. Then the angel must have told Him that this could not be if He would become the Saviour of men. He uttered the words whose meaning we cannot fully know, "Not My will, but Thine, be done."

The angelic presence did not make Him unmindful of the three. "He rose up from His prayer," and turned from the spot moistened by the drops of His agony. With the traces of them upon His brow, "He came unto the disciples." How much of pathos in the simple record, "He found them sleeping." Without heavenly or earthly companionship, His loneliness is complete.

"'Tis midnight; and from all around,
The Saviour wrestles 'lone with fears;
E'en that disciple whom He loved,
Heeds not His Master's griefs and tears."

The head that reclined so lovingly on the bosom of the Lord in the Upper Room now wearily rests on the dewy grass of Gethsemane. The eyes that looked so tenderly into His, and the ear that listened so anxiously for His whisper, are closed.

As Jesus stood by the three recumbent forms held by deep sleep, and gazed by the pale moonlight into their faces which showed a troubled slumber, He knew they "were sleeping for sorrow." In silence He looked upon them until His eye fastened—not on the beloved John—but on him who an hour ago had boasted of faithfulness to His Lord. The last utterance they had heard before being lost in slumber was that of agonizing prayer to the Father. The first that awakened them was sad and tender reproof—"Simon, sleepest thou? Couldest thou not watch one hour?" In the Master's words and tones were mingled reproach and sympathy. In tenderness He added, "The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak." Because of the spirit He pardoned the flesh. The question, "Why sleep ye?" was to the three, as well as the charge, "Rise and pray, that ye enter not into temptation."

Let imagination fill out the outline drawn by the Evangelists:—"He went away again the second time and prayed; He came and found them asleep again; He left them and went away again and prayed the third time; and He cometh a third time and saith unto them, 'Sleep on now and take your rest.'" If we may suppose any period of rest, it was soon broken by the cry, "Arise, let us be going; behold he that betrayeth Me is at hand." They need "watch" no longer. Their Lord's threefold struggle was over. He was victor in Gethsemane, even as John beheld Him three years before, just after His threefold conflict in the wilderness.

As they rose from the ground the inner circle that had separated them, not only from the other Apostles but from all other men, was erased. We do not find them alone with their Lord again. They rose and joined the eight at the garden gate.

Recalling Gethsemane we sing to Jesus,

"Thyself the path of prayer hast trod."

The most sacred path of prayer in all the world was in Gethsemane. It was only "a stone's cast" in length. The Lord trod it six times in passing between the place where He said to the three, "tarry ye here," and that where He "kneeled down and prayed." One angel knows the spot. Would that he could reveal it unto us.

Christ before Pilate (Ecce Homo)—H. Hofmann
Page 182

When Jesus was praying and the three were sleeping, Judas reported himself at the High-Priestly Palace, ready to be the guide of the band to arrest his Master. There were the Temple-guard with their staves, and soldiers with their swords, and members of the Sanhedrin, ready to aid in carrying out the plot arranged with the betrayer. It was midnight—fit hour for their deed of darkness. The full moon shone brightly in the clear atmosphere; yet they bore torches and lamps upon poles, to light up any dark ravine or shaded nook in which they imagined Jesus might be hiding. If any cord of love had ever bound Judas to his Master, it was broken. That very night he had fled from the Upper Room, which became especially radiant with love after his departure. To that room we believe he returned with his murdering band. But the closing hymn had been sung, and the Passover lamps extinguished two or three hours before. The consecrated place was not to be profaned with murderous intent. Another place must be sought for the victim of hate and destruction.

John in his old age recalled precious memories of it, because Jesus ofttimes resorted thither with His disciples. But he had a remembrance of another kind. It is when speaking of this midnight hour that he says, "Judas also which betrayed Him knew the place." Thither he led his band—to Gethsemane.

"Lo, he that betrayeth Me is at hand," said

Jesus to the three, as He saw the gleams of the torches of the coming multitude. His captors were many, but His thought was especially on one—His betrayer. Again John reads for us the mind of Jesus, as he did when the "Lord and Master washed the disciples' feet." He would have us understand the calmness of the fixed purpose of Jesus to meet without shrinking the terrible trial before Him, and to do this voluntarily—not because of any power of His approaching captors. "Knowing all things that were coming upon Him," He "went forth" to meet them—especially him who at that moment was uppermost in His thought. John now understood that last, mysterious bidding of the Lord to Judas, with which He dismissed him from the table—"That thou doest, do quickly." He now "knew for what intent He spake this unto him." It was not to buy things needed for the feast, nor to give to the poor. It was to betray Him.

What a scene was that—Jesus "going forth," the three following Him; and Judas in advance, yet in sight of his band, coming to meet Him.

"Hail, Rabbi," was the traitor's salute. And then on this solemn Passover night, in this consecrated place, just hallowed by angelic presence, interrupting the Lord's devotions, rushing upon holiness and infinite goodness, with pretended fellowship and reverence, profaning and repeating—as if with gush of emotion—the symbol of affection, Judas covered the face of Jesus with kisses.

How deep the sting on this "human face divine," already defaced by the bloody sweat, and to be yet more by the mocking reed, and smiting hand and piercing thorn. The vision of the prophet seven hundred years before becomes a reality—"His visage was so marred more than any man." "But nothing went so close to His heart as the profanation of this kiss."

According to John's account, Judas' kiss was an unnecessary signal. Jesus Himself leaving the traitor, advanced toward the band, with a question which must have startled the Apostles, as well as the traitor and his company—"Whom seek ye?" The contemptuous reply, "Jesus of Nazareth," did not disturb His calmness as He said, "I am He," and repeated His question, "Whom seek ye?" Nor was that infinite calmness disturbed by the deeper contempt in the repeated answer, "Jesus of Nazareth." They had come with weapons of defence, but they were as useless as the betrayal kiss, especially when some of them, awed by His presence and words, "went backward and fell to the ground."

We have seen Jesus going forward from His company and meeting Judas going forward from his. We must now think of Judas joining his band, and the eleven disciples surrounding their Lord. John has preserved the only request made of the captors by the Master. It was not for Himself, but for His disciples;—"If therefore ye seek Me, let these go their way."

Three Evangelists tell that one of the disciples struck a servant of the high priest and cut off an ear. Luke the physician says it was the right ear, and that Christ touched it and healed it. John gives the disciple's name, which it was not prudent for the other Evangelists to do when Peter, who struck the blow, was still living. He also preserves the name of the servant, Malchus—the last one on whom he saw the Great Physician perform a healing act, showing divine power and compassion. John records the Lord's reproof to Peter, "Put up thy sword into the sheath; the cup which My Father hath given Me, shall I not drink it?" Can this firm voice be the same which an hour ago, a stone's cast from these two disciples, said beseechingly, "O My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from Me." Yea, verily, for He had added to the prayer, "Not as I will, but as Thou wilt."

Thus does John's record concerning Peter testify to the triumph of his Lord. But he also notes the immediate effect of Peter's mistaken zeal. The captain and officers "bound Him." That was a strange, humiliating sight, especially in connection with the Lord's words to Peter while returning the sword to its sheath, "Thinkest thou that I cannot beseech My Father, and He shall even now send Me more than twelve legions of angels?" Wonderful words! fitting to be the last of the Lord's utterances to a disciple in Gethsemane. With burning and just indignation at His being bound, Jesus turned to His captors, saying, "Are ye come out as against a robber, to seize Me?" As they closed around Him His disciples were terrified with the fear of a like fate. "And they all left Him and fled." Prophecy was fulfilled; the Shepherd was smitten; the sheep were scattered.

Without the voice of friend or foe, the garden of Olivet was silent. One had left it who, outliving his companions, gives us hints of his lone meditations. The beloved disciple cherished memories of joyous yet sad Gethsemane. He it was who longest remembered, and who alone preserved the prophecy in the Upper Room, so soon fulfilled—"Ye shall be scattered every man to his own, and shall leave Me alone."

In George Herbert's words we hear the Master cry,

"All My disciples fly! fear put a bar
Betwixt My friends and Me; they leave the star
Which brought the Wise Men from the East from far.
Was ever grief like Mine!"

CHAPTER XXV

John in the High Priest's Palace

We know not what became of nine of the disciples fleeing from Gethsemane; whether they first hid among the bushes and olive-trees, and escaped into the country; or took refuge in the neighboring tombs; or stole their way to some secret room where the goodman of the house furnished them protection; or scattered in terror each in his lonely way.

The captive Lord was dragged along the highway where Peter and John had been for a single hour the Heralds of the King. Over the Kidron, up the slope of Moriah, through the gate near the sacred Temple, along the streets of the Holy City, He was led as a robber to the high-priestly palace.

Three Evangelists tell us, "Peter followed afar off." But love soon overcame his fears. He was not long alone. John says, "Simon Peter followed Jesus and so did another disciple." We cannot doubt who was Peter's companion as he turned from his flight. They "went both together," as two days later they ran on another errand. In the shadows of the olive-trees along the roadside, or of the houses of the city, they followed the hurrying band which they overtook by the time it reached the palace gate. John did not "outrun Peter," who was probably the leader. But at the gate they were separated.

We must not think that this palace was like an American house. The entrance to it was through a great arched gateway. This was closed with a large door or gate, in which there was a small entrance called a wicket gate, through which people passed. These gates opened into a broad passage or square court. Around it on three sides the house was built. All rooms upstairs and down looked into it. One large room, forming one side, was separated from it, not by a wall, but by a row of pillars. Being thus opened it was easy to see what was passing in the room or the court.

"That disciple," who accompanied Peter to the gate, "was known unto the high priest and entered in with Jesus into the court of the high priest. But Peter was standing at the door without." John was doubtless familiar with the place and the servants, and went in with the crowd. He kept as near as he could to his Master during the dark hours of His trial, as he was to do during the yet darker hours at the cross.

But the disciple within could not forget the one without. They must not be separated in their common sorrow. Peter too must show by his presence his continued love for his Master. He must have opportunity to show in the palace something of the faithfulness of which he had boasted in the Upper Room, though it had faltered in Gethsemane.

"Then went out that other disciple which was known unto the high priest and spake unto her that kept the door, and brought in Peter." That doorkeeper was not Rhoda—she who with a different spirit joyfully answered Peter's knocking at another door—but was a pert maiden who, sympathizing with the enemies of Jesus, "saith unto Peter, Art thou also one of this man's disciples?" She understood that John was such. Her contempt was aimed at them both. But it was not her question so much as Peter's answer—"I am not"—that startled John. Was it for this denial that he had gained admission for his friend? It would have been better far if Peter had been kept "standing at the door without" though "it was cold," than to be brought into the court of temptation and sin, where he "sat with the servants" in his curiosity "to see the end," warming himself at the fire they had kindled.

Meanwhile we think of John hastening back to the judgment hall, from which he anxiously watched the movements of Peter "walking in the counsel of the ungodly, and standing in the way of sinners, and sitting in the seat of the scornful."

Poor Peter! He fears to look into any man's face, or to have any one look into his. He has obeyed the Master's bidding, "Put up thy sword into the sheath," but Malchus has not forgotten it; nor has his kinsman who saw Peter in the garden with Jesus,—though he may have forgotten the healing of Malchus' ear by his prisoner.

Three Evangelists tell how Peter "sat" with the enemies of Jesus. John tells how at different times he "stood" among them. Thus does he report as an eye-witness, and show his own watchfulness of Peter's restlessness;—of the conflicting emotions of shame and fear, the scornful frown, the enforced and deceiving smile, the defiant look, the vain effort to appear indifferent, and the storm of anger. Amazed at the first denial, shocked at the second, horrified at the third, what were John's feelings when one was "with an oath," and with another "he began to curse and to swear." But concerning this climax of Peter's sin, John is silent. It finds no place in his story.

At last "the Lord turned and looked upon Peter," either from the hall, or as He was being led from it. At the same moment, Peter turned and looked upon Him. We imagine John turning and looking upon them both, marking the grief of the one, and the sense of guilt and shame of the other. But he knew the loving, though erring disciple so well that he need not be told that when "Peter went out" "he wept bitterly." We almost see John himself weeping bitterly over his friend's fall; then comforting him when they met again, with assurances of the Lord's love and forgiveness. John's next record of their being together shows them united in feeling, purpose and action for their Lord.

There was another toward whom John's watchful eyes turned during the long and painful watches of that night. The picture of him is not complete without this Apostle's records.

"Art thou the King of the Jews?" asked Pilate of Jesus. Such John had thought Him to be. For three years he had waited to see Him assume His throne. He has preserved the Lord's answer,—"My kingdom is not of this world." This declaration contained a truth to which even the favored disciple had been partly blind. Was he not ready to ask with Pilate, though with different spirit and purpose, "Art thou a King then?" The Lord's answer must have meant more to the listening Apostle than to the captious and heedless Governor. It was a declaration of the true kingship of the Messiah-King,—"To this end have I been born, and to this end am I come into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth."

"What is truth?" asked Pilate in a careless manner, not caring for an answer. "What is truth?" was the great question whose answer the Apostle continued to seek, concerning the King and the kingdom of Him whom He had heard say, "I am the Truth."

In that night he saw the Messiah-King crowned, but with thorns. He saw the purple robe upon Him, but it was the cast-off garment of a Roman Governor. A reed, given Him for a sceptre, was snatched from His hand to smite Him on His head. Instead of pouring holy oil of kingly consecration, as upon David's head, His enemies "spit upon Him." It was in mockery that they bowed the knee before Him saying, "Hail King of the Jews."

There are two scenes with which John alone has made us familiar. One is described in these words:—"Then came Jesus forth, wearing the crown of thorns, and the purple robe. And Pilate saith, Behold the man!" Did not that word "Behold," recall to John another scene—that on the Jordan when he looked upon this same Jesus as the Lamb of God, whom His enemies were about to offer unwittingly, when He offered Himself not unwillingly a sacrifice upon the cross? The Baptist's exclamation had been in adoration and joyfulness: Pilate's was in pity and sadness. It was an appeal to humanity, but in vain. There was no pity in that maddened throng. Pilate turned in bitterness toward those whom he hated, but whose evil deeds he did not dare to oppose. So in irony "Pilate ... brought forth Jesus ... and he saith unto the Jews, Behold your King!"

John was the only one who heard the three cries of "Behold"—one at the beginning, the others at the close of the Lord's ministry. How much he had beheld and heard and learned between, concerning "the Lamb," "the Man," and "the King."

The only earthly throne on which John saw Him sit was one of mockery. He did not ask to sit with Him. It was a sad yet blessed privilege to be with Him during that night of agony—the only friendly witness to probably all of His sufferings. While John's eyes were turned often and earnestly toward Peter and Pilate, they were yet more on the Lord. When he went in with Jesus into the palace, and while he tarried with Him, he could do nothing—only look. No angel was there as in Gethsemane to strengthen the Man of sorrows, but did He not often look for sympathy toward that one who had leaned lovingly upon Him a few hours before? Was not John's mere waking presence among His foes in the palace, a solace which slumber had denied Him in the garden? John's eyes were not heavy now. There was no need of the Lord's bidding, "Tarry ye here and watch with Me." Love made him tarry and watch more than "one hour"—even through all the watches of the night. Then he was the Lord's only human friend—the one silent comforter.

CHAPTER XXVI

John the Lone Disciple at the Cross

Even careful students of the life of John are not together in their attempts to follow him on the day of crucifixion. Some think they find evidence, chiefly in his silence concerning certain events, that after hearing the final sentence of Pilate condemning Christ to be crucified, he left the palace and joined the other disciples and faithful women and the mother of Jesus, and reported what he had seen and heard during the night; and at some hour during the day visited Calvary, and returning to the city brought the women who stood with him at the cross: and witnessed only what he minutely or only describes. Other students think he followed Jesus from the palace to the cross, remaining near Him and witnessing all that transpired. This is certainly in keeping with what we should expect from his peculiar relation to Christ. It is in harmony with what we do know of his movements that day. So we are inclined to follow him as a constant though silent companion of Jesus, feeling that in keeping near him we are near to his Lord and ours. This we now do in the "Dolorous Way," along which Jesus is hurried from the judgment-seat of Pilate to the place of execution.