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ON THE ROAD TO DEATH
Jo. xi. 54-57. Mt. xx. 17-34 ; Mk. x. 32-52 ; Lk. xviii. 31-34 (xxii. 20, 26), 35-xix. 28. Jo. xii. 1-8 ; Mt. xxvi. 6-13 ; Mk. xiv. 3-9.
Whatever hope our Lord may have entertained that the miracle would so conquer the enmity of the rulers that He might return to Jerusalem and resume His ministry there was dispelled by the Sanhedrin’s resolution. He withdrew from Bethany. Perhaps He thought of returning to Bethabara; but presently He learned that the rulers, finding Him gone, had issued a proclamation requiring that any one acquainted with His whereabouts should lodge information in order to His arrest. They would quickly have been apprised of His presence at Bethabara, that busy ford of the Jordan ; and so He betook Himself to Ephraim, a peaceful little town twenty miles north of Jerusalem, surrounded by wheat-fields which gave it all its prosperity and its only fame, since just as we speak of “carrying coals to Newcastle,” the Jews in those days spoke of “carrying straw to Ephraim.” There He found a secure asylum ; for not merely did Ephraim lie remote among the uplands with the wilderness of Judaea betwixt it and the capital, but it was close to the Samaritan frontier and in case of alarm He might easily escape from the Sanhedrin’s jurisdiction.
That year (29 A.D.) the Passover fell on April 16. The sacred week began on the 12th, and on the 10th He left Ephraim and set out for Jerusalem, accompanied [ p. 311 ] not only by the Twelve but by the townsfolk who were also going thither to keep the Feast. For some twelve miles the route ran south-eastward, winding through the mountains till it reached the Plain of Jericho and joined the highway from the north. As they journeyed, the travellers were wont to sing glad psalms (cf. Ps. xlii. 4), but the voices of those pilgrims from Ephraim were hushed. For the bearing of Jesus cast an awe upon them. He strode on in advance rapt in meditation; and, says the Evangelist, His disciples “were amazed, and the others, as they followed, were afraid.” (Mk. x. 32)
What His meditations were the Twelve fancied that they knew. Despite His reiterated admonitions the Jewish ideal of the Messianic Kingdom as a kingdom of this world was fixed in their minds, and it was only the stern logic of events and the subsequent illumination of the Holy Spirit that dispelled it. Sure of His Messiahship, they regarded His lowliness as only a temporary disguise, and were ever expecting Him to cast it off and manifest Plimself in regal majesty. Their confidence had indeed been shaken by the triumphant hostility of the rulers; but it had been confirmed by His recent miracle at Bethany, and now that He was going up to Jerusalem, they imagined that the long expected, long delayed denouement was at hand and He was going thither to claim His throne and put His adversaries to confusion by the revelation of His rightful glory.
Such was their fond hope that April morning when they set forth from Ephraim. As He strode on in silence, they fancied that He was immersed in meditation on the grand issue ; but in truth He was thinking [ p. 312 ] of His bitter Passion, and presently He told them the reality. Twice already in the course of that final year of His ministry had He expressly forewarned them of it (Mt. xvi. 21; Mk. viii. 31; Lk. ix. 22). The first occasion was at Caesarea Philippi after Peter’s memorable confession of His Messiahship, and there He merely intimated that He would be put to death by the rulers and rise again (Mt. xvii. 22,23; Mk. ix. 31; Lk. ix. 44). Then on the way home from Caesarea He repeated the announcement, adding the distressful detail of His betrayal. Now He unfolds the whole tragedy. “Look you,” said He, “we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be betrayed to the Chief Priests and Scribes : and they will condemn Him to death and deliver Him to the Gentiles; and they will mock Him and spit on Him and scourge Him and kill Him : and after three days He will rise again.”
Obsessed with the idea of the coming triumph, what could they make of this ? It simply bewildered them ; and so far as they attached any meaning to it, they took it as a premonition of a stem conflict issuing in ultimate victory. Presently it appeared how far they were from recognising the grim reality. They reached the highway from the north which at that season was thronged with troops of Galilean pilgrims to the Holy City ; and there, probably by appointment, they were joined by a company of friends from Capernaum. Among these was Salome, the mother of James and John; and hardly had she greeted her sons when she unfolded to them a high purpose which she had conceived. A report of the miracle at Bethany had reached her, and it convinced her that the long expected consummation was at hand. The Lord was going up to [ p. 313 ] Jerusalem, and surely His errand was nothing else than the establishment of His Kingdom. She was ambitious for the advancement of her sons; and knowing how near they stood to the Master, unrivalled save by Peter in His regard, she was confident that they would hold the chief places of honour at His royal court. But she would leave nothing to chance ; and her idea was that they should forthwith approach Him and petition Him on the strength of their approved devotion to promise them, after the manner of an oriental potentate, whatever boon they might crave. Then, when they had His pledge, they would present their claim. (cf. Mt. xiv. 7; Mk. vi. 22,23)
They shrank from the adventure, feeling the dishonour of thus stealing a march on their comrades and apprehending His displeasure ; but Salome would take no refusal. If they would not present the petition, she would present it for them ; and she led them to the Master. “Teacher,” said she, “our desire is that whatever we ask, you should do for us.” But He would not pledge Himself in the dark. “What is it,” He asked, “that you desire ?” “Say,” she answered, “that these my two sons are to sit one on your right hand and one on your left in your Kingdom.”
Just a week later the Lord was hanging on a cross with two fellow-sufferers “one on His right hand and one on His left.” He knew the dread reality, and He turned to the two brothers, pitying their fond delusion. “You know not,” He exclaimed, “what you are asking ! Can you drink the cup which I am soon to drink ?” (Mt. xxvii. 38; Mk. xv. 27) Fancying that He meant the conflict which would prelude the winning of His throne and that He was challenging their courage [ p. 314 ] to face it, they answered : “We can.” Indeed there was a conflict before Him, and they and all His faithful followers would share it. “My cup you will drink ; but,” He added, “to sit on My right hand and on My left—this is not Mine to give ; no, it is theirs for whom it has been prepared.”
What did He mean ? “Suppose,” says St. Chrysstom, “there is an umpire, and many gallant athletes are entering the lists. Two of these who are intimate with him approach him and say : * Arrange that we be crowned and proclaimed victors’ relying on their good will and friendship with him. But he answers : ‘ This is not mine to give ; it is theirs for whom it has been prepared by their efforts and sweat.’” And even so with the honours of the Kingdom of Heaven. They are not gifts; they are prizes, and they must be won by strenuous devotion.
The ten, following close, overheard the colloquy, and they were naturally aggrieved at the attempt of their two comrades to snatch an advantage over them. The Lord observed their resentful looks and, beckoning them to His side, taught them a lesson which they as well as James and John had need to learn. They were all alike ambitious to be great in His Kingdom; and it was indeed a worthy ambition, if only they realised what constitutes greatness there. In the kingdoms of this world they are great who have dominion and exercise authority over their fellows ; but in the Kingdom of Heaven self-devotion is the path to honour. He is the greatest there who serves most, “even,” says the Lord, reiterating with solemn emphasis His intimation of His approaching Passion and challenging them to follow Him on that painful [ p. 315 ] road, “as the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give His life a ransom for many.”
Travelling southward the pilgrims soon drew near to Jericho. It was a prosperous city, deriving much wealth from the palms which flourished so luxuriantly in its neighbourhood. Being a prosperous town and, moreover, a principal station on the highway from the north, it had a custom-house with a large staff of taxgatherers ; but wherever there is wealth, there is also poverty, and Jericho had its full tale of mendicants. Especially at the festal seasons when the highway was thronged with pious pilgrims, they were accustomed to post themselves by the wayside just without the citygate, displaying their misery and craving charity. Among the mendicants waiting there that evening as our Lord and His retinue approached was a blind man named Bartimaeus. The acclamations of the crowd excited his curiosity, and inquiring what was ado, he learned that Jesus the Nazarene was coming along the road. It was glad news for the poor creature. He had heard the fame of the wonderful prophet—how He had opened so many blind eyes and only the other week had raised a dead man to life. Often had he wished that he might meet with Him and experience His mercy, but he had no one to conduct him to Him. And now he had the opportunity which he craved. Jesus was approaching, and he lifted up his eager voice and shouted: “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me !” The leaders of the procession bade him hold his peace, but he shouted all the more lustily : “Son of David, have pity on me !” Presently the Lord came up. He stopped. “Call him” He said. “Courage !” said the bystanders to Bartimaeus ; “rise, He is calling for [ p. 316 ] you.” He threw off his encumbering mantle, sprang to his feet, and made his way through the crowd which opened to let him pass. “What,” asked the Lord, “would you have Me do for you ?” “Rabboni,” he prayed, employing that most honourable of Jewish appellations which was to “Rabbi” as Monsignor is to Monsieur , “give me sight.” “Go your way,” was the answer. “Your faith has saved you.”
He got his sight; and when the Lord moved on and entered the city-gate, he followed in His train, joining in the chorus of acclamation which rose ever higher as the news of the miracle spread and swelled the concourse. It was a noisy throng that surged along the streets, and as it approached the customhouse the din reached the ears of the chief taxgatherer, a Jew named Zaccai or in Greek Zacchaeus (cf. Ezr. ii. 9), a rich man but, like the rest of his order, a social outcast. He left his desk and hurried out to see what was ado, and on learning who it was that the populace was acclaiming, he was keenly interested. Rich as he was, his heart was unsatisfied; and ever since he had heard how the Lord was known in Galilee as “the Friend of taxgatherers and sinners,” he had been eager to meet with Him and perhaps learn from His gracious lips the secret of that peace for which he yearned. And now the blessed Saviour had come to Jericho and was there passing along the street. Zacchaeus would fain see Him ; but he was a little man, and even on tiptoe he could not look over the heads of the crowd, and when he essayed to push through, he would be jostled and jeered at. See Jesus he must and would, and an expedient occurred to him. The procession was [ p. 317 ] approaching the southern gate of the city; and, extricating himself from the throng, he darted ahead and, passing through the gateway, climbed a huge sycomore which grew there, spreading its boughs over the road.
The Lord had observed the incident—the eagerness of Zacchaeus to get near Him and the rough play of the crowd. He understood it all, and when He came to the tree He stopped. “Zacchaeus,” said He, “hasten down ; for I must stay at your house to-day.” What was the necessity ? It was evening when He reached Jericho, and since the Jewish day was reckoned from sunset to sunset, the new day had already begun. He must break His journey ; for even had it been safe to travel after nightfall up the Ascent of Blood, He was weary with the long march from Ephraim. And moreover the day which had just begun was the Sabbath, and 2000 cubits was the limit of a Sabbath Day’s journey. So He must stay at Jericho till the Sabbath was over. As He traversed the city, footsore and travel-stained, amid the acclamations of the crowd, no one had ever thought of offering Him hospitality, and He had to crave it of the despised taxgatherer.
Nor did He crave it in vain. Zacchaeus had been eager to see His face and perhaps catch His notice, and now his desire was fulfilled far beyond his hope. He scrambled down and joyfully bade Him welcome. It was a rebuke to the bystanders, and for very shame they should have held their peace ; but their prejudice was strong, and as Zacchaeus conducted the Lord away, a murmur went round : “He has gone to lodge with a sinner !” Zacchaeus heard it, but he said nothing at the moment. His house stood hard by on the fair plain where the palms flourished so luxuriantly and [ p. 318 ] where the wealthier sort of citizens had their mansions; and he escorted Jesus thither. The crowd followed, and on reaching the entrance Zacchaeus stopped and addressed Him in their hearing. He cared little for their contempt, being accustomed to it; but he would fain prove that the Lord’s grace had not been ill bestowed, and he made a public confession of “repentance, faith, and new obedience.” “Look you, Lord,” he cried, “the half of my property I give to the poor, and if I have made any wrongful exaction from any one, I give it back fourfold.” It was a lavish atonement. He devoted half of his honest wealth to charity, whereas a fifth was the extremity of Pharisaic osten tation ; and whatever fraud he might have perpetrated, he vowed a fourfold restitution, though the Law required merely payment of “the principal” and “the fifth part more thereto.” (Cf Lev vi. 1-5; Num. v. 6,7)
It was a truly heroic surrender, proving his full repentance and his resolute purpose to have done with his evil past; and the Lord hailed it gladly. “To-day,” said He to the carping crowd, [1] “has salvation come to this house, since he too is a son of Abraham.” It was a generous vindication of Zacchaeus. An outcast though he was in their eyes, he was still a Jew and, by reason of his faith, a true son of Abraham, “the Father of the Faithful.” (Cf.Gal. iii. 7-9) And then He added a vindication of His own gracious dealing with Zacchaeus. It was fitting that He, the Friend of Sinners, should thus befriend a sinner ; “for the Son of Man came to seek and save what is lost.”
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A record of our Lord’s converse with the taxgatherer and his household during that Sabbath which He spent under his roof—the last Sabbath of His earthly life, since on the next His mangled body was lying in the sepulchre—would indeed have been a precious page of the Gospel narrative ; but unfortunately the story is unwritten. All that is told of Zacchaeus we owe to St. Luke, who here as everywhere in his narrative has shown his peculiar interest in the Lord’s kindness toward the sinful and the outcast; and surely he would have related the sequel had the Jewish prejudice so strong in the first generation of believers suffered it to be remembered until his day. This much, however, his diligent research has rescued from oblivion, albeit somewhat cf. Lk. iv. confusedly—that after His wont the Lord l6 attended the synagogue that Sabbath and was invited to address the congregation.
There was one engrossing idea in the minds of His hearers, even His own disciples. He was on His way to Jerusalem, and “they fancied that the Kingdom of God would immediately be declared.” At last the long expected consummation was at hand. He was going up to the Holy City to announce Himself as the King of Israel and claim His throne. He must disabuse their minds ; and so in the course of His sermon, by way of forewarning them what hindrances His Kingdom would encounter, He introduced a parable which is unique among His recorded parables in this— that it is based upon a recent incident of contemporary history. In his will King Herod the Great had nominated his son Archelaus as the successor to his throne, and on his decease in the year 4 B.C. the prince visited [ p. 320 ] Rome to obtain the Emperor’s confirmation of his title. But he was unacceptable to the Jews, and they petitioned that neither he nor any other of the Herodian family should succeed. “A certain nobleman,” said our Lord, “journeyed to a far country to get himself a kingdom and return ; but his citizens hated him, and they despatched an embassy after him. * We will not,’ said they, ’ have this man reign over us.’” Next morning He resumed His journey, and toward evening He reached the village of Bethany. There He had a right royal welcome. Tidings of His approach had preceded Him, and in brave defiance of the Sanhedrin’s edict the folk had resolved to honour Him with a public entertainment. The scene was the house of Simon, evidently the chief personage of the village. He had been a leper, and he would the more gladly undertake the office of host if, as is probable, he owed his healing to the Master. Of course Lazarus was one of the company. And what of his sisters ? Jewish sentiment debarred women from participation in a public feast, but Martha, that good housewife, was charged with its superintendence. As for Mary, all that was allowed her was to take her place among the spectators and watch the banquet and listen to the conversation ; but therewith she was not content. Her heart was overflowing with gratitude to the dear Master who had not merely the other week restored her brother but redeemed her from shame a year and a half ago; and she was set upon doing Him honour. She had procured a vase of costly ointment; and when the company had taken their places about the table, she entered with her tresses hanging loose and, bending over the couch where He reclined, poured her [ p. 321 ] fragrant offering over His feet and wiped them with her flowing hair.
The company were surprised, and no wonder. It was indeed the custom to anoint the head of an honoured guest, and it would have been nothing strange had Mary assumed the role of a servant and wrought this office on the Master. But it was not His head that she anointed : it was His feet. (Cf. Jo. xii. 3) And unbound hair was the token of an harlot. The story of her shame would be no secret; but wherefore, they would ask, should she thus blazon it ? And why should she wipe His feet with her loose tresses ? They marvelled, but He understood. It was a re-enactment of that scene in the house of Simon the Pharisee when she had crept to Hiscouch and anointed His feet, raining tears over them and wiping them off with her hair; and it told Him how she cherished His grace in undying remembrance and would fain requite it. (Cf . Lk. vii. 37,38)
The company wondered, and one raised his voice in angry protest. It was one of the Twelve—Judas the Man of Kerioth. And what was his grievance ? He was the treasurer of the Apostle-band; and, marking with his keen eyes the quality of Mary’s offering, he had appraised it at three hundred denarii — no mean sum, since a denarius was a day’s wage at that period, and three hundred were a whole year’s earnings. It was indeed a precious tribute, and had she bestowed the price upon the Master, Judas would have been well pleased; for, says the Evangelist with stinging contempt, “he was a thief and, having the coffer, used to pilfer the contributions.” (Jo. xii. 6) Had she bestowed the money, he would [ p. 322 ] have had his pickings; and that was his grievance. “Wherefore this loss ?” he cried. “Why was not this ointment sold for three hundred denarii and given to the poor ?”
“Let her alone !” said Jesus sternly. “Why are you annoying her ? It is a beautiful work that she has wrought on Me.” He saw in Mary’s offering a significance which she never dreamed of at the moment but which, ere the week was over, she would recognise when she helped to embalm His body and lay it in the sepulchre. “Let her alone !” said He. “It is for the day of My burial that she has hoarded it. For the poor you have always with you, but Me you have not always.” It was indeed a beautiful work, and it would be told evermore in her praise. “Verily I tell you, wherever the Gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done shall be talked of for a memorial of her.”
Reading “said to them” in Lk. xix. 9 on the authority of Old Latin and Syriac versions. ↩︎