It is John who uses the one phrase in the Gospels which furnishes a tragic subject for artists, and poets and preachers, on which imagination dwells, and excites our sympathies as does no other save the crucifixion itself. His phrase is this,—"Jesus ... bearing the cross for Himself." We notice this all the more because of the silence of the other Evangelists, all of whom tell of one named Simon who was compelled to bear the cross. As John read their story, there was another picture in his mind, too fresh and vivid not to be painted also. He recalled the short distance that Christ carried the cross alone, weakened by the agonies of the garden and the scourging of the palace, until, exhausted, He fell beneath the burden. We are not told that the crown of thorns had been removed, though the purple robe of mockery had been. So this added to His continued pain. As John looked upon those instruments of suffering he heard the banter and derision of shame that always accompanied them.
There followed Jesus "a great multitude of the people," whose morbid curiosity would be gratified by the coming tragedy. But there were others—"women who bewailed and lamented Him."
It is surmised that at the moment when Jesus could bear His cross no longer, and was relieved by Simon, He turned to the weeping "Daughters of Jerusalem" following Him, and in tenderest sympathy told of the coming days of sorrow for them and their city, of which He had told John and his companions on Olivet.
John says that Jesus "went out ... unto the place called the place of a skull, which is called in Hebrew Golgotha." The place was also called Calvary. We do not certainly know the sacred spot, though careful students think it is north of the city, near the Damascus gate, near the gardens of the ancient city, and tombs that still remain. We think of John revisiting it again and again while he remained in Jerusalem, and then in thought in his distant home where he wrote of it. "There," says John, "they crucified Jesus, and with Him two others, on either side one, and Jesus in the midst." How few his words, but how full of meaning. We long to know more of John's memories of that day—of all that he saw and felt and did. They were such in kind and number as none other than he did or could have.
There were two contrasted groups of four each around the cross, to which John calls special attention. One, the nearest to it, was composed of Roman soldiers, to whom were committed the details of the crucifixion—the arrangement of the cross, the driving of the nails, and the elevation of the victim upon it.
Having stripped Jesus of His clothing, according to custom they divided it among themselves; the loose upper garment or toga to one, the head-dress to another, the girdle to another, and the sandals to the last. John watched the division—"to every soldier a part." But his interest was chiefly in the under-garment such as Galilean peasants wore. This must have been a reminder of the region from which he and Jesus had come. He thinks it worth while to describe it as "without seam, woven from the top throughout." Perhaps to him another reminder—of Mary or Salome or other ministering women by whose loving hands it had been knit. If ever a garment, because of its associations, could be called holy, surely it is what John calls "the coat" of Jesus. Even without miraculous power, it would be the most precious of relics. We notice John's interest in it as he watches the soldiers' conversation of banter or pleasantry or quarrel, in which it might become worthless by being torn asunder. He remembered their parleying, and the proposal in which it ended,—"Let us not rend it, but cast lots for it whose it shall be." How far were their thoughts from his when their words recalled to him the prophecy they were unconsciously fulfilling,—"They part My garments among them, and upon My vesture do they cast lots."
With what pity did Jesus look down upon the lucky soldier—so he would be called—sporting with the coat which had protected Him from the night winds of Gethsemane. How He longed to see in the bold and heartless heirs to His only earthly goods, the faith of her, who timidly touched the hem of His garment. What a scene was that for John to behold! What a scene for angels who had sung the glories of Jesus' birth, now looking down upon His dying agonies of shame—and upon the gambling dice of His murderers! No marvel John added to the almost incredible story, "These things ... the soldiers did."
It is at this point that we notice a sudden transition in John's narrative. He points us from the unfriendly group of four, to another of the same number; saying as if by contrast, "But there were standing by the cross of Jesus His mother, and His mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas and Mary Magdalene." By "His mother's sister" we understand Salome.
The centurion had charge of the plundering soldiers; John was the guardian of the sympathizing women. He had a special interest in that group, containing his mother and aunt, and probably another relative in Mary the wife of Clopas. Mary Magdalene was not of this family connection, though of kindred spirit. So must John have felt as she stood with him at the cross, and at a later hour when we shall see them together again.
In the days of the boyhood of John and Jesus, we thought of their mothers as sisters, and of parents and children as looking for the coming Messiah. None thought of the possibilities of this hour when they would meet in Jerusalem at the cross. By it stands John the only one of the Apostles. Judas has already gone to "his own place." If Peter is following at all it is afar off. The rest have not rallied from their flight enough to appear after their flight. James the brother of John is not with him. As their mother looks upon Jesus between two robbers, does she recall her ambitious request, "Command that these my two sons may sit, one on Thy right hand, and one on Thy left hand"? She understands now the fitness of the reply she had received,—"Ye know not what ye ask"?
But Salome and John are loyal to the uncrowned King. Though they may not share the glory of His throne, they are yet ready to stand beneath the shameful shadow of His cross.
But another is there,—drawn by a yet stronger cord of affection. She heads John's list of the women "by the cross of Jesus—His mother," whose love is so deep that it cannot forego witnessing the sight that fills her soul with agony. Yes, Mary, thou art there.
"Now by that cross thou tak'st thy final station,
And shar'st the last dark trial of thy Son;
Not with weak tears or woman's lamentation,
But with high, silent anguish, like His own."
—H.B. Stowe.
As she stands there we seem to read her thoughts: "Can that be He, my babe of Bethlehem, my beautiful boy of Nazareth, in manhood my joy and my hope! Are those hands the same that have been so lovingly held in mine; those arms, outstretched and motionless, the same that have so often been clasped around me! Oh! that I might staunch His wounds, and moisten His parched lips, and gently lift that thorny crown from His bleeding brow."
But this cannot be. There is being fulfilled Simeon's prophecy, uttered as he held her infant in his arms,—a foreboding which has cast a mysterious shadow on the joys of her life.
"Beside the cross in tears
The woeful mother stood,
Bent 'neath the weight of years,
And viewed His flowing blood;
Her mind with grief was torn,
Her strength was ebbing fast,
And through her heart forlorn,
The sword of Anguish passed."
She can only draw yet nearer to His cross and give the comfort of a mother's look, and perhaps receive the comfort of a look from Him, and—oh, if it can be—a word of comfort from His lips for the mother-heart. Perhaps for a moment her thoughts are on the future,—her lonely life, without the sympathy of her other sons who believed not on their brother. Oh! that they were like John, to her already more of a son than they.
In childhood Jesus had been "subject" to her: in youth and manhood He had been faithful to her. In the Temple He had thought of her as His mother, and of God as His Father. But no exalted relation, no greatness to which He had attained on earth, had made Him disloyal to her. While claiming to be the Son of God, He was still the loving son of Mary. Such He would show Himself to be on the cross. We thank John for the record of that moment when "Jesus ... saw His mother." "The people stood beholding" Him, but His eyes were not on them; nor on those passing by His cross wagging their heads, nor the malefactor at His side reviling Him; nor on the chief priest and scribes, the elders and soldiers mocking Him; nor the rulers deriding Him. His thought was not on them, nor even on Himself in His agonies, as His eyes rested keenly on His mother. It was a deep, tender, earnest gaze.
John tells that Jesus also "saw" "the disciples standing by, whom He loved." The Lord turned His head from His mother to His disciple. This could be His only gesture pointing them one to the other.
The prayer for His murderers had apparently been uttered when His hands were pierced, before the cross was raised. He may have spoken once after it was elevated, before He saw the two special objects of His love. His eyes met His mother's. She saw Him try to speak. The utterance of His parched lips, with gasping breath, was brief, full of meaning and tenderness—"Woman! behold, thy son!" Then turning toward John He said, "Behold! thy mother!"
In these words Jesus committed His mother to John without asking whether he would accept the charge.
"From that hour the disciple took her unto his own home." It is a question whether or not the phrase, "from that hour," is to be taken literally. It may be that the blessed words, "mother" and "son," were as a final benediction, after which John led her away, and then returned to the cross. Or, it may be that the mother-heart compelled her to witness the closing scenes.
If we pause long enough to inquire why John was chosen to be trusted with this special charge, we can find probable answer. Jesus' "brethren" did not then believe on Him. Mary's heart would go out toward him who did, especially as he was her kindred as well as of a kindred spirit. His natural character, loving and lovable, made him worthy of the trust. Apparently he was better able to support her than were any other of the Apostles, and perhaps even than her sons. He seems to have been the only Apostle or relative of Mary who had a home in Jerusalem, where she certainly would choose to dwell among the followers of the Lord. Above all John was the beloved disciple of Mary's beloved son. So to him we can fittingly say:
"As in death He hung,
His mantle soft on thee He flung
Of filial love, and named the son;
When now that earthly tie was done,
To thy tried faith and spotless years
Consigned His Virgin Mother's tears."
—Isaac Williams.—Trans. An. Latin Hymn.
Blessed John. When Jesus called His own mother "thy mother," didst thou not almost hear Him call thee "My brother"?
One tradition says that John cared for Mary in Jerusalem for twelve years, until her death, before his going to Ephesus. Another tradition is that she accompanied him thither and was buried there. What a home was theirs, ever fragrant with the memory of Him whom they had loved until His death. No incidents in His life, from the hour of brightness over Bethlehem to that of darkness over Calvary, was too trivial a thing for their converse. That home in Jerusalem became what the one in Nazareth had been, the most consecrated of earth. What welcomes there of Christians who could join with Mary as she repeated her song of thirty-three years before, "My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour." Of her we shall gain one more distinct view—the only one.
Three sayings on the cross reported by John:
"Woman, behold, thy son! Behold, thy mother!"
"I thirst."
"It is finished."
—John xix. 26, 27, 28, 30.
Of the seven sayings of Christ on the cross, three are preserved by John only; one of love, another of suffering, and another of triumph. The first is that to Mary and John himself. The second is the cry, "I thirst"—the only one of the seven concerning the Lord's bodily sufferings. John was a most observing eyewitness, as is shown by the details of the narrative,—the "vessel full of vinegar," the "sponge filled with vinegar," and the hyssop on which it was placed, the movements of the soldiers as they put it to Christ's lips, and the manner in which He received it. He was willing to accept it to revive His strength to suffer, when "He would not drink" the "wine mingled with gall" that would relieve Him from the pain He was willing to endure. The end was drawing near. The thirst had long continued. He had borne it patiently for five long hours. Why did He at last utter the cry, "I thirst"? John gives the reason. A prophecy was being fulfilled, and Jesus would have it known. It was this: "In My thirst they gave Me vinegar to drink." So "Jesus, ... that the Scripture might be fulfilled, saith, 'I thirst.'"
John watched Him as He took His last earthly draught. It was probably of the sour wine for the use of the soldiers on guard. What varied associations he had with wine,—the joyful festivities of Cana, the solemnities of the Upper Room, and the sadness of Calvary.
When Jesus therefore had received the vinegar, He said, "It is finished." This is the third of the sayings of Jesus on the cross preserved by John, who was a special witness to the chief doings of his Lord on the earth. So the declaration meant more to him than to any other who heard it. Yet it had a fulness of meaning which even he could not fully know. Jesus' life on earth was finished. He had perfectly obeyed the commandments of God. The types and prophecies concerning Him had been fulfilled. His revelation of truth was completed. The work of man's redemption was done. On the cross He affirmed what John said He declared in the Upper Room to His Father: "I have glorified Thee on the earth, having accomplished the work Thou hast given Me to do."
All four Evangelists tell of the moment when Jesus yielded up His life, but John alone of the act that accompanied it as the signal thereof, which his observant eye beheld. "He bowed His head,"—not as the helpless victim of the executioner's knife upon the fatal block, but as the Lord of Life who had said, "No one taketh it away from Me, but I lay it down of Myself."
John makes mention of another incident without which the story of the crucifixion would be incomplete. Mary Magdalene and other loving women had left the cross, but were gazing toward it as they "stood afar off." John remained with the soldiers who were watching the bodies of the crucified. "The Jews, ... that the bodies should not remain upon the cross upon the Sabbath, asked of Pilate that their legs might be broken"—to hasten death—"and that they might be taken away." As John saw the soldiers "break the legs of the first and of the other which was crucified with" Jesus, with what a shudder did he see them approach His cross; but what a relief to him when they "saw that He was dead already, and brake not His legs."
In a single clause John pictures a scene ever vivid in Christian thought. He knew that Jesus "gave up His spirit" when "He bowed His head." The executioners pronounced Him dead. "Howbeit one of the soldiers"—to make this certain beyond dispute—"with a spear pierced His side, and straightway there came out blood and water." There was now no pain to excite the Apostle's sympathy, and yet he reports the incident as being of special importance. He calls attention to the fact that he was an eye-witness, and that there was something in it that should affect others as well as himself. He says, "He that hath seen hath borne witness, and his witness is true; and he knoweth that he saith true, that ye also may believe." He explains why these incidents so deeply impressed him. They recalled two prophecies of the Old Testament. One was this, "A bone of Him shall not be broken." This reminded John of the Paschal Lamb which should be perfect in body; and of Jesus as the Lamb of God, by which name He had been called when pointed out to him as the Messiah. All through life Jesus had been preserved from accident that would have broken a bone, and in death even from the intended purpose that would have defeated the fulfilment of the prophecy.
The other prophecy was this,—"They shall look on Him whom they pierced." Because of what John saw and tells, we pray in song,
"Let the water and the blood
From Thy riven side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure:
Cleanse me from its guilt and power."
John once more furnishes a contrast between Jesus' foes and friends. He says that the Jews asked Pilate that the bodies of the crucified might be taken away. This was to the dishonored graves of malefactors. John more fully than the other Evangelists tells of Joseph of Arimathæa who "besought Pilate that he might take away the body of Jesus"—for honorable burial. Other Evangelists tell of his being "rich," "a counsellor of honorable estate," "a good man and a righteous," who "had not consented to" the "counsel and deed" of the Sanhedrin of which he was a member, because he "was Jesus' disciple." Mark says, "He boldly went in unto Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus." He had summoned courage so to do. Hitherto as John explains he had been "a disciple of Jesus, but secretly for fear of the Jews." John implies that Joseph was naturally timid like Nicodemus. As Pilate had delivered Jesus to His open enemies to be crucified, he delivered the crucified body to Joseph, the once secret but now open friend. The Jews "led him"—the living Christ—"away to crucify Him." Joseph "came" and tenderly "took away His body" from the cross.
"There came also Nicodemus," says John, "he who at the first came to Him by night." Yes, that night which John could not forget, in which to this same Nicodemus Jesus made known the Gospel of God's love, manifested in the gift of His Son whose body in that hour these timid yet emboldened members of the Sanhedrin took down from the cross. They were sincere mourners with him who watched their tender care as they "bound it in linen cloths with the spices" for burial, with no thought of a resurrection.
Perhaps Joseph and Nicodemus recalled moments in the Sanhedrin when they whispered together, speaking kindly of Jesus, but were afraid to defend Him aloud; thus silently giving a seeming consent to evil deeds because timidity concealed their friendship. But at last the very enmity and cruelty of His murderers emboldened them as they met at the cross.
It is John who tells us that Jesus the night before His crucifixion went "where was a garden into which He entered," and who also says, "Now in the place where He was crucified there was a garden." The one was ever more suggestive to him of a coming trial; the other of that trial past. "There," in the garden—probably that of Joseph—John says "they laid Jesus." There also were laid John's hopes, which seemed forever buried when Joseph "rolled a great stone to the door of the sepulchre, and departed." What a contrast in his thoughts and feelings between the rolling away of the stone from the tomb of Lazarus, and the rolling to that of Jesus. The one told him of resurrection; but the other of continued death; for as he afterward confessed, "as yet" he and Peter "knew not that Jesus must rise from the dead."
Two mourners at least lingered at the closed tomb. "Mary Magdalene was there, and the other Mary, sitting over against the sepulchre" of their Lord, after they "beheld where He was laid." John's parting from them at that evening hour was in sadness which was to be deepened when he met Mary Magdalene again.
It is not easy for us to put ourselves in the place of John, as he turns from the tomb toward his lonely home. We know what happened afterward, but he did not know what would happen, though his Lord had tried to teach him. He is repeating to himself the words he had heard from the cross, "It is finished," but he is giving them some difference of meaning from that which Jesus intended. He is walking slowly and sadly through the streets of Jerusalem, dimly lighted by the moon that shone in Gethsemane the night before upon him and his living Lord. We imagine him saying to himself:—"Truly it is finished: all is over now. How disappointed I am. I do not believe He intended to deceive me, yet I have been deceived. From early childhood I looked, as I was taught to do, for the coming of the Messiah. On Jordan I thought I had found Him. He chose me for one of His twelve, then one of the three, then the one of His special love. What a joy this has been, brightening for three years my hopes and expectations. I have seen Him work miracles, even raising the dead. I have seen Him defeat the plots of evil men against Him, and did not believe any power on earth could destroy Him. I have watched to see Him the great and glorious King. But to-day instead of this I have seen Him crucified as the feeblest and worst of men. I do remember now how Moses and Elijah, when we were with them on the Holy Mount, talked with Him of 'His departure which He was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.' But I did not understand them, nor even Himself when, just before we ascended the Mount, He told us 'how that He must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things, ... and be killed.' I do not wonder that Peter then said to Him, 'Be it far from Thee, Lord,' though the Lord was right in rebuking him. Can it be only last night He said, 'Tarry with Me.' How gladly would I do it now. But He is dead, and buried out of my sight. Oh that I might see Him rise, as I did the daughter of Jairus. Oh that I might roll away the stone from His tomb as I helped to do from that of Lazarus, and see Him come forth. How gladly would I 'loose Him' from His 'grave-bands' and remove the 'napkin bound about His face.' I know it was a mean and shameful taunt of His revilers when they said, 'If Thou art the Son of God, come down from the cross.' But why did He not do it? I remember how once He said concerning His life, 'no one taketh it away from Me.' But have not Pilate and the Jews taken it away? I shall never lean upon His bosom again. But this I know—He loved me, and I loved Him, and love Him still. The mysteries are great, but the memories of Him will be exceedingly precious forever."
Poor John. He forgot those other words of His Lord concerning His life,—"I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again." The Lord had done the one already: He was soon to do the other, though His sorrowing disciple understood it not. Meanwhile we leave him, resting if possible from the weariness of the garden and the palace and Calvary, during that Friday night, which was to be followed by a day of continued sadness, and that by another night of sorrowful restlessness.
"Now on the first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early, while it was yet dark, unto the tomb, and seeth the stone taken away from the tomb. She runneth therefore, and cometh to Simon Peter, and to the other disciple, whom Jesus loved.
"Peter therefore went forth, and the other disciple, and they went toward the tomb.
"Simon Peter ... entered into the tomb.
"Then entered in therefore the other disciple also, ... and he saw and believed."—John xx. 1, 2, 3, 6, 8.
"Let us take John for our instructor in the swiftness of love, and Peter for our teacher in courage."—Stalker.
"Oh, sacred day, sublimest day!
Oh, mystery unheard!
Death's hosts that claimed Him as their prey
He scattered with a word;
And from the tomb He valiant came;
And ever blessed be His name."
—Kingo. Trans. Hymns of Denmark.
"Mine eye hath found that sepulchral rock
That was the casket of Heav'n's richest store."
—Milton.—The Passion.
Of the women who visited the tomb of Jesus on the morning of the Resurrection, John was especially interested in Mary Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out, probably in his presence; thus giving him opportunity to see the marvelous change from a most abject condition, to grateful devotion to her Healer, perhaps beyond that of any other one whom He healed. John long remembered her starting on her errand "while it was yet dark." So he remembered Judas starting when "it was night" on his errand, of which Mary's was the sad result. One was a deed of love which no darkness hindered: the other was a deed of hate which no darkness prevented or concealed.
John had a special reason for remembering Mary. When she had seen that the stone was taken away from the tomb, it had a different meaning to her from what it did when she and John saw it on Friday evening. And when she "found not the body of the Lord Jesus," she imagined that either friends had borne it away, or foes had robbed the tomb. In surprise, disappointment and anxiety, her first impulse was to make it known—to whom else than to him who had sorrowed with her at the stone-closed door? So she "ran"—not with unwomanly haste, but with the quickened step of woman's love—"to Simon Peter and to the other disciple whom Jesus loved." They were both loved, but not in the fuller sense elsewhere applied to John. Astonished at her early call, startled at the wildness of her grief, sharing her anxiety, "they ran both together" "toward the tomb" from which she had so hastily come. But it was an uneven race. John, younger and nimbler, "outran Peter and came first to the tomb." "Yet entered he not in." Reverence and awe make him pause where love has brought him. For a few moments he is alone. His earnest gaze confirms the report of Mary that somebody has "taken away the Lord." He can only ask, Who? Why? Where? No angel gives answer. Still his gaze is rewarded. "He seeth the linen cloths lying." These are silent witnesses that the precious body has not been hastily and rudely snatched away by unfriendly hands, such as had mangled it on the cross.
Peter arriving, everywhere and evermore impulsive, enters at once where John fears to tread. He discovers what John had not seen,—"the napkin that was upon His head, not lying with the linen cloths, but rolled up in a place by itself." John does not tell whose head, so full is he of the thought of his Lord.
"Then entered in therefore that other disciple also," says John of himself, showing the influence of his bolder companion upon him. Though the napkin escaped his notice from without the tomb, it found a prominent place in his memory after he saw it. Who but an eye-witness would give us such details? What does he mean us to infer from the "rolled" napkin put away, if not the calmness and carefulness and triumph of the Lord of Life as He tarried in His tomb long enough to lay aside the bandages of death. When he saw the careful arrangement of the grave-cloths, "he believed" that Jesus had risen. We are not to infer from his mention of himself only that Peter did not share in this belief. We can believe that Luke does not complete the story when he says that Peter "departed to his home wondering at that which was come to pass." As they came down from the Mount of Transfiguration they were "questioning among themselves what the rising again from the dead should mean." As they came from the tomb they questioned no longer.
We long for a yet fuller record than that which John has given of what passed when he and Peter were within the tomb. He frankly tells us that "as yet they knew not the Scriptures, that He must rise again from the dead." Neither prophecy, nor the Scriptures, nor the Lord's repeated declarations, had prepared them for this hour of fulfilment.
We imagine them lingering in the tomb, talking of the past, recalling the words of their Lord, illumined in the very darkness of His sepulchre, and both wondering what the future might reveal. At last they left the tomb together. There was no occasion now for John to outrun Peter. They were calm and joyful. There was nothing more to see or to do. "So the disciples went away again unto their own home."
"But Mary was standing without at the tomb weeping." In these words John turns our thoughts from himself to her who had summoned him and Peter, and then followed them. After they had left the sepulchre she continued standing, bitterly weeping. She could not refrain from seeking that which she had told the disciples was not there. Her gaze was "at the very cause of her grief." "She stooped and looked into the tomb" as John had done.
From the infancy of Jesus to His death there was no ministry of angels to men, though they ministered to Him. "The Master being by, it behooved the servant to keep silence." But the angelic voices that proclaimed His birth, were heard again after His resurrection. According to John's minute description Mary "beholdeth two angels in white sitting, one at the head, and one at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain." The angelic silence was broken by them both, with the question, "Woman, why weepest thou"—so bitterly and continuously? They might have added, "It is all without a cause." Her answer was quick and brief; and without any fear of the shining ones who lightened the gloomy tomb, and were ready to lighten her darkened spirit. Her reply was the echo of her own words to Peter and John, slightly changed to show her personal loss;—"Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him."—Am I not wretched indeed? Is there not a cause? Why should I check my tears?
To answer was needless. Were not the angels in the blessed secret which was immediately revealed? Were they not glancing from within the tomb, over her bowed head, to the gently moving form without? Did Mary become suddenly conscious of some presence as "she turns herself back, and beholdeth Jesus standing, and knew not that it was Jesus"? His question seemed an echo of the angelic voices, "Woman, why weepest thou?" with the added question, "Whom seekest thou?" This was the first utterance of the risen Lord. In the garden, at this early hour, who—so thought Mary—can this be but the gardener? As such she addressed Him, "Sir, If thou hast borne Him hence, tell me where thou hast laid Him, and I will take Him away." We can hardly restrain a smile when we see how the strength of her love made her unmindful of the weakness that would attempt to "take Him away."
"Jesus saith unto her, Mary." That name, that familiar voice, that loving tone, sent a thrill through her heart which the name "woman" had failed to excite. More completely "she turned herself, and saith unto Him, Rabboni," with all the devotion of her impassioned soul.
Let us recall John's account of Mary's report of her first visit to the tomb, full of sadness—"They have taken away the Lord," and then in contrast place by its side his record of her second report, full of gladness—"Mary Magdalene, cometh and telleth the disciples, I have seen the Lord." The one was a mistaken inference; the other a blessed reality. Between these two utterances on the same day what revelations to them both. But the end was not yet.
"When therefore it was evening, on that day, the first day of the week, and when the doors were shut where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood in the midst, and saith unto them, Peace be unto you." So John describes the first meeting of Jesus with the disciples after His resurrection. He gives hints of some things of which other Evangelists are silent. With emphasis he notes "that day" as the day of days whose rising sun revealed resurrection glory. That "evening" must have recalled the last one on which they had been together. Then the Lord had said unto them, "Peace I leave with you." But the benediction had seemed almost a mockery, because of the sorrow which followed. But now it was repeated with a renewed assurance of His power to bestow it. Through fear of the Jews they had closed the doors of probably the same Upper Room where they had been assembled before. These doors were no barrier to His entry, any more than the stone to His leaving His tomb.
As John alone preserved the incident of the pierced side, he alone tells how Jesus "showed unto them His ... side," and said to Thomas, at the next meeting, "Reach hither thy hand and thrust it into My side;" and how this was followed by Thomas' believing exclamation, "My Lord, and my God." With this and the Lord's beatitude for other believing ones, John originally ended his story of the Lord, in these words,—"Many other signs therefore did Jesus in the presence of His disciples which are not written in this book: but these are written, that ye may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God; and that believing ye may have life in His name."
"Jesus manifested Himself again to the disciples at the Sea of Tiberias."—John xxi. 1.
"There were together Simon Peter ... and the sons of Zebedee."—v. 2.
"Peter, turning about, seeth the disciple whom Jesus loved following."—v. 20.
"Peter ... saith to Jesus, Lord, and What shall this man do?"—v. 21.
The twenty-first chapter of John's Gospel is without doubt an addition, written some time after the original Gospel was finished. Why this addition? To answer the question we must recall the things of which the addition tells. They are of special interest in our studies of Peter and John.
In our last chapter we were with John in Jerusalem. From there he carries us to the Sea of Tiberias. He tells us that he and his brother James, and Peter, with four others, "were there together." They were near their childhood home, where they had watched for the Messiah, and where, when He had appeared He called them to leave their fishing employment, and to become fishers of men. They had been saddened by His death, then gladdened by His resurrection. He had told them to meet Him in Galilee. And now they were waiting for His coming. They were within sight of a boat from which perhaps some day they had fished. Peter, ever active and ready to do something, said to his companions, "I go a-fishing." As John had followed him into the tomb, he and the others followed him to the boat saying, "We also come with thee." Let John himself tell what happened. "They went forth and entered into the boat; and that night they took nothing. But when day was now breaking, Jesus stood on the beach: howbeit the disciples knew not that it was Jesus. Jesus therefore saith unto them, Children, have ye aught to eat? They answered Him, No. And He said unto them, Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and ye shall find. They cast therefore, and now they were not able to draw it for the multitude of fishes."
Once more we are to find Peter and John the prominent figures, and see the difference between them, John being the first to understand, and Peter the first to act. When John saw the multitude of fishes he remembered the same thing had happened before at the beginning of Christ's ministry. Looking toward the land, and whispering to Peter, he said, "It is the Lord." "So when Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he girt his coat about him"—out of reverence for his Master—"and cast himself into the sea," and swam or waded about one hundred yards to the beach. The other disciples followed in the boat, dragging the net with the fishes. John remembered their great size, and the number "an hundred and fifty and three." He says, "When they got out upon the land, they see a fire of coals there." Did it not remind him of another "fire of coals" of which he had already written, kindled in the court of the high-priestly palace where "Peter stood and warmed himself," and near which he denied his Lord three times? If he did not recall that scene immediately, he did very soon.
Jesus invited the disciples to eat of the meal he had prepared. As they did so they were filled with awe and reverence, "knowing that it was the Lord." In the light of the palace fire, "the Lord turned and looked upon Peter"—that only. But in the morning light on the seashore, "when they had broken their fast, Jesus saith to Simon Peter, Lovest thou Me?" Three times, with some difference of meaning, gently and solemnly He asked the question as many times as Peter had denied Him. On Peter's first assurance of his love Christ gave him a new commission, "Feed My lambs." This was a humble work,—not so exalted as it is now—a test of Peter's fitness for Apostleship. He was ready to accept it; and thus he showed his fitness for the enlarged commission, "Feed My sheep."
With what intense interest John must have listened to the conversation between his friend and their Lord. Was he not as ready as Peter to say, "Lord, Thou knowest all things; Thou knowest that I love Thee"? In the end John fulfilled the commission, "Feed My lambs," better than either Peter or any of the other Apostles. Of them all he had the most of the child-like spirit. He may fittingly be called the Apostle of Childhood.
Peter was told by the Lord something about his own future,—how in faithful service for his Master he would be persecuted, and "by what manner of death he should glorify God." By this his crucifixion is apparently meant. As John listened, perhaps he wondered what his own future would be. He was ready to share in service with Peter. Was he not also ready to share in his fate, whatever it might be?
"Follow Me," said Jesus to Peter. They seem to have started together away from the group. John felt that he must not be thus separated from his friend and his Lord. Though he had not been invited to join them, he started to do so, as if the command to Peter had been also for himself. "Peter, turning about, seeth the disciple whom Jesus loved following; which also leaned back on His breast at the supper, and said, Lord, who is he that betrayeth Thee?" As Peter at the supper beckoned unto John to ask that question concerning Judas, is it not possible that John now beckoned to Peter to ask Christ concerning himself? However this may be, "Peter, seeing him, saith to Jesus, Lord, what shall this man do?" or, as it is interpreted, "Lord—and this man, what?" It is as if he had said, "Will John also die a martyr's death, as you have said I shall die?" It is not strange that he wanted to know the future of his friend. But he did not receive the answer he sought, for "Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee?"
These words may mean that John would live to old age and escape martyrdom, which became true. But this was not the meaning which Christians of his day put into them. They had the mistaken idea that Christ, having ascended to Heaven, would soon come again. They also believed that John would live until Christ's second coming. "This saying therefore went forth among the brethren, that that disciple should not die." John was unwilling to have this mistake concerning Christ's words repeated over and over wherever he was known. So he determined to correct the false report by adding what is the twenty-first chapter of His Gospel, telling just what Christ did say, and the circumstances in which He uttered the words to Peter concerning John. His testimony is this:—"Jesus said not unto him, he shall not die; but, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? Follow thou Me."
Peter became the suffering; John the waiting disciple, "tarrying" a long time, even after his friend was crucified, and all his fellow-Apostles had died, probably by martyrdom.
But after all that John wrote to correct the mistaken report concerning His death, tradition would not let him die. It affirmed that although he was thrown into a caldron of boiling oil at Rome, and though he was compelled to drink hemlock, he was unharmed; and that though he was buried, the earth above his grave heaved with his breathing, as if, still living, he was tarrying until Christ should return.
"What shall this man"—John—"do?" asked Peter. He found partial answer in what they did together for the early Christian Church, until John saw "by what manner of death Peter should glorify God." And then that church found yet fuller answer in John's labors for it while alone he "tarried" long among them.
When John tells us that Peter turned and saw him following, we recall the hour when Andrew and he timidly walked along the Jordan banks, and "Jesus turned and saw them following," and welcomed their approach and encouraged them in familiar conversation. How changed is all now! John does not ask as before, "Where dwellest Thou?" Nor does Jesus bid him "Come and see." He who has become the favored disciple is now better prepared than then to serve his Master, following in the path they had trod together, and having an abiding sense of the blessed though unseen Presence, until his Lord shall bid him, "Come and see" My heavenly abode, and evermore "be with Me where I am," and share at last, without unholy ambition, the glory of My Throne."