In the Master's Footsteps

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13 - THE LAST WEEK

 

It was Monday morning. Once more Jesus and his band of disciples made their way down the stony path that led from Bethany to the Holy City. Unlike yesterday, the cheering crowds seemed to have stayed at home. Jesus was tired and hungry. Spotting a leafy fig tree beside the road, he went across to search the branches for fruit, but was disappointed. It was barren. He began to curse the hapless tree. “May no one ever eat fruit from you again!” he cried. (Mark 11:12-14). So far as we know he remained hungry all that day.

Why had Jesus nothing to eat? Surely, you might suppose, Martha and Mary would have given him a good breakfast before he left their house? Probably he went out long before daybreak to speak to God in prayer as he often did when important business was in hand, and so missed the meal. But why did he curse the fig tree? It was not like Jesus to throw a fit of temper just because he was thwarted. There was obviously more to the incident than meets the eye. Looking back, we find there was a previous occasion when Jesus had spoken about a fig tree. It was a parable, much earlier in his ministry. The owner of a vineyard had a barren fig. He wanted to cut it down, but the gardener persuaded him to give it one more chance. “And if it bear fruit next year, well and good, but if not, you can cut it down”. (Luke 13:6-9). Transparently, Israel was the fig tree, and Jesus was the conscientious gardener. During his arduous ministry the hard-hearted nation had had its last opportunity to repent, and failed. Jesus’ teaching had fallen on deaf ears. Consequently, by the end of that generation, the state of Israel was to be disbanded, and the fruitless tree left withered and stark to the winds of centuries.

Crossing the Kidron valley, Jesus went determinedly into the Temple. To the consternation of the priests, he began to overturn the money changers’ tables, sending their shiny coins rolling into the gutters. The stall holders with their sacrificial pigeons and lambs, for sale at exorbitant prices, had to go too. Jesus was angry “It is written,” he shouted ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer’, but you make it a den of robbers”. A shocked silence replaced the market cries as he settled down to teach the people, and the red-faced priests, at whose profits he had struck, retreated to consider their next move. Nobody noticed at the time the prophecy of Malachi : “The Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his Temple … and he will purify the sons of Levi (the priests) …till they present right offerings to the Lord.” (Malachi 3:1,3). Sadly, the turning of religion into organised profit still continues to this day, and candles, shrines and holy years still fill the coffers of many a church.

By Tuesday morning the Jewish leaders were ready for Jesus. The disciples walked down to the city, passing the object of Jesus’ curse. Leaves are no use without fruit, and the fig tree, as Peter remarked, was already “withered away to its roots” as a dire warning that God’s patience eventually runs out. Inside the Tempe courts Jesus began to teach the people and to heal the sick. After a while a stern-looking party of officials bore down upon him. The scribes and elders were determined to get rid of Jesus. “By what authority are you doing these things?” they thundered. Jesus had no degrees in theology, no licence to preach. How dare he take over their Temple? His reply was masterly. “I will ask you a question” he said, “Answer me, and I will tell you by what authority I do these things. Was the baptism of John from heaven or from men?” (Mark 11:29,30). They were stuck. If they admitted John was sent by God, then Jesus must have come from God too, because John’s work was to prepare the way for Jesus. If they denied the validity of John’s teaching they risked starting a riot, for John was a national hero. Lamely, they replied, “we do not know”. So Jesus was not obliged to answer their question, and he continued to teach in the Temple unchallenged.

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That night the Pharisees met with the Herodians to find a more successful way of discrediting Jesus. The two parties did not usually get on with one another, but a common hatred of Jesus temporarily overcame their differences. Painfully they thrashed out a double-edged question that would land him in trouble whichever way he answered. Wednesday dawned, and hey hastened to try it out on him. Sitting peacefully in the sunshine, Jesus’ disciples fell back respectfully as the sages drew near. “Tell us”, they smiled with spurious meekness “what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar or not?” To answer “Yes” would damage his claim to be the Messiah, the King of Israel. On the other hand “No” would amount to treason against Caesar, for which he could be arrested. Jesus saw through the trap “Show me the money for the tax” he requested. It had Caesar’s head stamped on it. “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, “ he said, “And to God the things that are God’s”. Caesar’s claims have no bearing on our allegiance to God. Jesus was the Messiah, and in God’s good time he will be the King of Israel, but until God declares the day and the hour, we must continue patiently waiting, doing our duty by God and man. As Jesus’ disciples, we are not called to political revolution. Like Abraham, we are to be “strangers and exiles on the earth”, seeking a homeland that has yet to come. (Hebrews 11:13, 14).

 

Twice more on that fateful day Jesus was besieged by clever questions, and twice more, at his skilful replies, his enemies conceded defeat. Eventually, as the afternoon wore on, Jesus’ patience ran out. For three years he had reasoned with the Pharisees, seeking their repentance and their salvation. Their pride and prejudice remained impenetrable. With stinging words, standing boldly in the very stronghold of his enemies, he began to expose their sordid, ugly lives. “Woe to you scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites” he repeated. Blind guides, whitewashed tombs, a brood of vipers – one figure after another came tumbling out as he condemned their outward show of piety that concealed an unrepentant heart. We can imagine the tense, white angry faces of the Jewish leaders, and the amusement of the onlookers at their discomfiture. Jesus moved along to the Temple treasury, and watched the visitors throwing in their donations. The rich cast in handfuls of coins, their offerings clanging noisily into the large chest. A widow crept furtively among them and threw in two embarrassingly tiny coins. To Jesus, the difference epitomised all that was wrong with the spiritual life of the nation. In a classic ‘saying’ he declared that the poor widow had put more into the treasury than all the rich men. It seemed a contradiction, comparing her two half-farthings with their lavish gifts. But God looks on the heart. Those wealthy men were handing over money they could easily afford, just to be seen and admired by their fellows – their religion had been debased to ‘keeping up with the Joneses’. The despised widow had so little, and yet gave all her weekly pension to God. The contrast was painful. If ever we are tempted by outward show in religion, by respectable titles, by fine clothes and buildings, we should remember the Pharisees. James says “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble” (James 4:6). For the Pharisees, pride came before their fall.

 

Shortly after this incident, Jesus stalked out of the Temple. Crossing the valley of the Kidron with his followers, he climbed the steep slope of the Mount of Olives on the other side. One of the disciples, looking back at the city and the soaring white pinnacles of the Temple, golden in the afternoon sunlight, drew his attention to the sight. “Look Teacher” he said “What wonderful stones, and what wonderful buildings” (Mark 13:1).

 

He had entirely mistaken Jesus’ mood. “Do you see these great buildings?” he snapped “There shall not be left here one stone upon another that will not be thrown down”. Sitting down upon the hillside he began to explain to them the signs that would precede the overthrow of Jerusalem by the Romans, and how they must be ready to leave the doomed city at the first opportunity. He went on to speak of his Second Coming, and those signs that would warn disciples at the end of another age, that the Kingdom of God was drawing near. Again and again, he emphasised the importance of watchfulness, and diligence in his work. The Parable of the Faithful Servant, the Ten Virgins, the Talents, and the Sheep and Goats, all burned into their memories on that last peaceful afternoon as the darkness fell over their beloved city.

 

It was too dangerous for Jesus to go to Bethany now, and he probably spent the whole night outdoors in the Garden of Gethsemane (Luke 21:37, John 18:1,2). The same night, two days before the Passover was due to begin, the Jewish leaders held a full Council at the palace of Caiaphas, the High Priest. Somehow, they agreed, Jesus must be killed. But with Jerusalem full of his disciples, they decided to do nothing till after the Feast. They were encouraged, however, by a secret visitor, Judas Iscariot, a member of Jesus’ inner council and familiar with all his secret haunts, called in to indicate that for a suitable reward he was prepared to let them know the best time to capture Jesus. He was a valuable ally, and they paid over the thirty gold coins without a demur.

 

Piece by piece, the patchwork of the greatest drama of history was being sewn into place.

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14 - GETHSEMANE

 

Thursday dawned like any other day. For Jesus the hours ahead hung damply over his mind like the mist of death. Two of his disciples came to him in the morning, concerned that he had not yet made arrangements for the Passover feast. He set their minds at rest. If they went into the city, he said, they would meet a man carrying a pitcher of water; they must follow him, and knock at the door of the house where he went in, where the owner had agreed to provide Jesus with a room for the sacred meal. By this simple device, Judas Iscariot was prevented from knowing the address of their rendezvous that night.

While the two men went off to make ready, Jesus and the ten remained in hiding outside Jerusalem.

When darkness fell, the little band followed the Master to a large upper room, with the table set and lamps aglow. The scene was familiar, the ritual one they had followed from childhood each spring. But this Passover they would remember all their lives, and it has become inexpressibly dear to Christ’s followers through the centuries.

The simple meal of unleavened (yeast-less) bread and wine, with readings from the Law and prayers and psalms, was a moving reminder of the historic night the Israelites left behind the darkness and slavery of Egypt. The blood of the sacrificial lamb spilled in the Exodus was about to be shed again to redeem men and women of all nations from the bondage of sin and death. But as the shadows flickered in the warmth and calm of that upper room, only Jesus knew its significance. It must have moved them strangely when, after the meal, he took up the loaf from the table, gave thanks, broke it in pieces and invited them all to eat. “This is my body” he said “which is broken for you”. And again, the wine, lifted out of the remnants of the feast, newly blessed and passed round – “This cup, which is poured out for you, is the new covenant in my blood”. (Luke 22:19,20). The saying was an echo of what he had said months before in Galilee, when he predicted his flesh and blood would bring eternal life. The words were not literal. They could not be. As he spoke them, his blood had not yet been poured out. “Do this” he commanded “in remembrance of me” In after years, when the full meaning of his words had become apparent in his crucifixion and his going away to his Father, their weekly gatherings to share the bread and wine would bring back vividly to the apostles the scene in that upper room. Obedient to his command, disciples of Jesus have met to remember his death through many centuries in an unbroken chain of Sundays. Those of us who have been baptised into Jesus can still take our place in imagination at the table with the apostles. In times of persecution, in sickness, in grief or contrition, the weekly sharing of the bread and wine with fellow believers as we “show forth his death, until he come” (1 Cor. 11:26) brings a wonderful comfort and peace.

With supper ended, the perplexed disciples had another surprise. Jesus fetched a bowl of water, knelt down and began tenderly to wash the dust from their dirty feet and dry them on a towel. All around the circle he went, even Judas feeling the cool touch of those gentle hands, so soon to be torn by nails. Peter’s protests were stifled. The parable of Jesus’ actions was soon explained: “I have given you an example” he told them “ … Do as I have done to you” (John 13:15). No longwinded speech, no list of rules. Just a simple practical lesson from a leader who made himself servant of all, earning an undying loyalty from millions who know him only from the writings of those who were there. Their memory of his humility must often have shamed them into action, when pride would have made them wait for someone else to roll up his sleeves. And if, like Peter, we feel we would be better off washing Jesus’ feet, we have plenty of freedom when we remember his decree that if we do it to the least of his brethren, we do it to him.

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It was about this time that Judas went out. Jesus relaxed once the betrayer had left, and began to talk earnestly to the eleven about the great work that lay ahead of them, now he was going away. They must be united in love, loyal to one another and to him, he said, for danger would face them as they went forth to preach. Kings and councils would maltreat them, and he would no longer be there to advise them. They would, however, receive a wonderful gift, the Holy Spirit power, that would give them wisdom and a message to speak. He prayed for them, and for the disciples they would make, pouring out his soul in moving words recorded only in the gospel of John. The night wore on; the streets of Jerusalem fell silent. At last they sang a Psalm together, then left and went out of the city, crossing the trickling brook of the Kidron, and up into the familiar shadows of an olive orchard on the slopes of the Mount of Olives, the Garden of Gethsemane. Here Jesus settled down to wait.

 

Meanwhile, Judas had caused a stir in the palace of the High Priest. The council had agreed not to attack Jesus until after the festival, but Judas brought news of an ideal opportunity to capture him. Should he risk arresting Jesus now, with hours to go before the Passover? It was a difficult decision for Caiaphas to take, with the councillors already asleep and scattered throughout the city. He knew he had to have some semblance of legality about his actions, for Jesus had friends, even on the Council itself. He had to find a charge against him worthy of death under both Jewish and Roman law, and prove it in open court. He would have to send messengers to convene the Council in the middle of the night, rush through a preliminary trial, and then have the verdict confirmed in daylight the next morning before handing Jesus over to the Roman Governor to approve their decision. It was a tall order, but Caiaphas must have decided he could pull it off, for within hours the wheels began to roll. It seems likely he contacted Pilate at once, for a cohort of Roman soldiers was put at his disposal to help arrest the prisoner – the High Priest was taking no chances of fumbling that part of his plan! If Jesus’ disciples were armed, they would stand no chance against trained soldiers. Soon the elderly councillors, grumbling no doubt at their disturbed rest, were being called to the palace. Eventually it was time to despatch Judas with the arrest party to the house from which he had slipped out during supper. When they arrived, they would find the room deserted, and Judas would have to guess that Jesus was sheltering in Gethsemane. It meant a further delay while they trailed him with lanterns through the darkness, searching among the trees.

While these activities were proceeding in the city opposite, Jesus waited in Gethsemane. Desperately lonely and fearful, he took Peter, James and John to keep him company while he prayed to his Father. As the hours crept by the three weary men nodded off, leaving him unguarded and alone. From time to time he came to rouse them, but their eyes were heavy, and they did not understand his agitations. At some point they realised that Jesus was greatly distressed. “He fell to the ground” Mark recalls, and prayed that, if it were possible the hour might pass from him. And he said “Abba, Father, all things are possible to Thee, remove this cup from me, yet not what I will, but what Thou wilt” (Mark 14:35,36). ‘Abba’ is the name a small Jewish boy would use to call his father, like our familiar ‘daddy’. It was the cry of a frightened child dreading the prospect of death. And, although the night was cold enough for a fire to be lit in the High Priest’s court, Jesus was perspiring: “his sweat became like great drops of blood” remembers Luke. (Luke 22:44).

 

We cannot adequately enter into the feelings of our Lord at this crisis. There was more to his suffering than the fear of pain and mockery, hard though that was to face. In some way he felt gathering against him the cumulative weight of the sins of pride, greed, envy and revenge that have driven men to bloody violence right from the days of Cain. He was holy, sinless, entirely good, and the hatred of his enemies towered above him like some nightmare tidal wave: “Save me, O God,” the Psalmist wrote as he tasted in advance the sufferings of the Messiah who was to be his son, “for the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in deep mire where there is no foothold, I have come into deep waters and the floods swept over me (Psalm 69:12). Every fibre of Jesus’ consciousness was repulsed at the thought of falling into the hands of the wicked. To our eternal relief, he bravely accepted God’s will that he should drink out the cup, and he waited on, alone, for his appointment with eternity.

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At last the flicker of torches and the tramp of heavy feet told Jesus that the High Priest’s men had tracked him across the Kidron. The hour had come. Waking the scared disciples, he stepped out to face the great crowd of servants and soldiers swarming up the hill. Judas, with a futile attempt at deception, greeted Jesus with a friendly kiss. Jesus, though he knew well why Judas had come, made no attempt to escape. Peter had concealed a sword under his clothing for just such an emergency as this, and now lunged out wildly at the nearest enemy. He only managed to sever an ear, which Jesus stooped to heal. Seeing their master captured and bound by a superior force, the eleven frightened men fled into the shadows.

We need to piece together the gospels carefully at this point. John tells us that Jesus was marched to the High Priest’s house, high on the western hill overlooking the City of David and the Temple. Here he was interrogated for a while by Annas, ex High Priest,and father-in-law of Caiaphas (John 18:13). Perhaps Caiaphas needed extra time to complete his summons of the elders for the trial. Annas made no progress. Jesus refused to answer any of his questions. During this preliminary hearing Peter and John recovered sufficiently to follow Jesus as far as the palace. Unfortunately, Peter was recognised by the girl who kept the door, and greatly embarrassed, found himself denying any connection with the prisoner.

At last the courtroom scene was set. Jesus was brought before the great council of seventy elders, the Supreme Court and Parliament of Israel. The flickering lamps of the great hall lit up the hatred in their eyes. Mark gives the clearest account of the trial. Many witnesses volunteered to say they had seen him do things contrary to the law, but their evidence was conflicting and flawed. The closest they came to condemning him was when two men said “We heard him say ‘I will destroy this temple made with hands, and on the third day I will build another, not made with hands’” (Mark 14:58). It was a subtle distortion of the provocative words Jesus had spoken years before, when he claimed that if they destroyed the temple, he would raise it up in three days. (John 2:19). As John remarks, he spoke of the temple of his body. His words could have been taken as sorcery, and the witnesses even made it appear blasphemy, as if he were threatening God’s house. But when it came to a close examination, even on this charge the two witnesses could not agree. Jesus made no attempt to defend himself, and remained silent throughout.

The hours slipped by. Dawn was approaching fast. We can almost see the perspiration glistening on Caiaphas’ brow, as he realised his case was falling apart, and Jesus was going to be set free. Suddenly a brainwave came to him. Standing over the prisoner, he charged him by a solemn oath to declare whether or not he was the Messiah, the Son of God. It was quite wrong to continue the trial by questioning when witnesses had failed to condemn the accused man, but it was no time for legal niceties. Jesus was cornered. If he denied the charge he would, of course, go free. But, on oath before God, he must speak the truth. And with two solemn words, he sealed his fate. “I am” he said. It was enough. At last Caiaphas had secured an admission that was blasphemy under Jewish law (excepting it was spoken by the Son of God himself, and therefore true). It was also a suitable charge to persuade the Roman Governor to have Jesus executed, for to claim to be a king was treason against Rome. Putting the matter to the vote, Caiaphas persuaded a large majority to follow his lead, and Jesus was found guilty, and worthy of death.

To Peter, watching from the courtyard below, it was the end. Some time before, a second serving girl had spotted him standing in the firelight, and insisted he was a disciple. After that denial he went off into the shadows by the gate. But there a bystander heard his Galilean accent, and accused him of being involved with Jesus. This time his courage deserted him entirely, He called down a curse upon himself if he had anything whatever to do with Jesus of Nazareth. At that moment a cock crowed to greet the dawn, and Jesus turned and looked across at his terrified follower. It was too much for Peter to stand. At the awful realisation of what he had done to his master, he broke down in tears and went out into the night. And as he did so, the Temple guards began to punch the weary Jesus, and spit loathsomely upon his face. The very worst in human nature, the serpent heart that drives us all to hate and to destroy that which condemns our sin, was rising like a poisonous cobra to strike down the Son of God.

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15 - THE END OF THE JOURNEY

 

It was Passover morning. Long before the crowds of visitors had ventured from their lodgings into the streets, the Elders of Israel had stumbled wearily back to the house of the High Priest. Jesus of Nazareth had been condemned to death at a preliminary hearing the night before. The law required them to meet again, to re-consider their verdict; there had to be an opportunity for reflection and a change of heart in favour of the accused. The vote was the same. Jesus had blasphemed, had claimed to be king. He was worthy of death.

 

A gleeful Caiaphas led the bruised and silent prisoner to the heavily guarded headquarters of Pontius Pilate, where he requested the Roman Governor to execute Jesus forthwith. Pilate, cautious, decided to try the prisoner himself. It would look bad afterwards if he rubber-stamped the verdict of the Jews without investigation, and he could not risk his chances of promotion from Rome. But first he needed an accusation.

 

After some discussion, the Jews put forward a charge which seemed serious enough. Jesus had claimed to be the King of Israel. Pilate stood in the Hall of Judgement and spoke to the prisoner alone. “Are you the King of the Jews?” he said.

 

Jesus’ reply was cryptic but reassuring. “My kingship is not of this world” he declared. “If my kingship were of this world, my servants would fight”. The point appealed to Pilate. A king whose servants would not fight was no threat to Caesar. He did not follow Jesus’ strange ideas, but he seemed harmless enough. He returned to the Jews with his decision. “I find no crime in him” he said.

 

His verdict was greeted by the Jews with howls of rage and execration. The energy of their protest surprised and alarmed the Governor. He felt he was being pressurised, and he did not like it. At last, out of the shouting below him, he heard Jesus accused of spreading sedition among the people “from Galilee even to this place” (Luke 23 : 5). As soon as he discovered Jesus came from the northern territory governed by Herod, he felt relieved. Herod was in Jerusalem for the feast. Perhaps he could be persuaded to take the case off his hands. He sent Jesus to his rival with a note, and the shouting, at last, died down.

 

Pilate’s respite was short lived. Across Jerusalem, Herod interrogated the prisoner, egged on by the chief priests, who made their accusation loud and clear. Jesus, to Herod’s annoyance, refused to speak. Frustrated by his complete silence, Herod’s eyes took on a cruel gleam. Calling his soldiers, he dressed Jesus in a kingly robe, and made fun of the man his father had once tried to kill. Jesus endured their blows and jeers without a sound. At last, tired of his little game, Herod sent Jesus back to Pilate.

 

As the noise began again outside his door, the perspiring Governor felt the situation slipping from his grasp. He decided to play his trump card. It was usual at the Passover to declare an amnesty for one of the prisoners in his charge. If he could release Jesus as this year’s prisoner, the problem might just disappear. He should, of course, have released Jesus already, for he had declared him innocent from crime, but logic was wilting rapidly before the roar from 1,000 throats. His suggestion was instantly dismissed by the Jews, who shouted “Not this man, but Barabbas”. Barabbas was a notorious criminal, guilty of murder.

 

Pilate was worried. With the capital jammed with visitors for the feast, nationalist feelings were running high, and he was responsible to Rome for keeping the peace. The leaders of the Jews knew their man, and urged the crowd to ask for crucifixion.

 

Pilate decided to compromise. He would have Jesus scourged. He did no deserve this dreadful punishment, but it might appease the multitude. The grim flogging with barbed thongs was administered at once, and the bowed and bleeding Jesus became the plaything of Pilate’s soldiers, like Herod’s before them. Again he was dressed up in a kingly robe, and a sceptre of reed pushed into his hand. Planting a rough crown from sharp thorns upon his head, they bowed before him in mock homage, then struck him on the face. When it was over, Pilate brought him out to the crowd. “Behold the man” he said.

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His words had a deeper significance than he intended, for Jesus was at the centre of a drama that was as old as man himself. The events of that day had been known by God from the gates of Eden, and hour by hour one prophecy after another had come true. The betrayal by Judas – “My bosom friend in whom I trusted…..has lifted up his heel against me” (Psalm 41:9); the scattering of the disciples- “Strike the shepherd that the sheep may be scattered” (Zech. 13:7); the one-sided trial – “Malicious witnesses rise up; they ask me of things that I know not” (Psalm 35:11); the mocking-“I hid not my face from shame and spitting” (Isaiah 50:6), and the barbarous scourging –“He was bruised for our iniquities … and with his stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5), were all predicted centuries before in the Old Testament. But these were only the beginning. As the morning wore on the pace quickened. Pilate, angry with himself, faced the mob. Maddened by the sight of Jesus’ blood, they chanted louder and louder for his death. Pilate made one last attempt to salvage his dignity. “I find no crime in him” he repeated. But relentlessly they wore him down. It was probably the wily Caiaphas who master-minded the final blow. “If you release this man” they cried “you are not Caesar’s friend Everyone who makes himself a king sets himself against Caesar”. That did it. They could make serious trouble for Pilate at Rome with a report like that. His career was in jeopardy. Faced with the choice, he had no compunction in signing the warrant for Jesus to be executed. What was the life of a Jewish carpenter against his own future? It was a choice which thousands have made since. Thinking to gain the world, they turn their backs on Jesus and, with a tragic irony, in so doing sign the order for their own eternal death.

 

Triumph filled the faces of the Jewish elders, and despair the hearts of Jesus’ disciples, as he was led out to die. His long journey from the baptism at Jordan three years before was nearly at an end. Once more the prophecies began to fall thick and fast. He carried his cross, as Isaac, Abraham’s son, bore the wood up the hill for his own sacrifice. At the place of execution, the weary, aching, pain-racked body of Jesus was nailed to the cross as the Psalmist had predicted- “they have pierced my hands and my feet” (Psalm 22:16). He was crucified between two thieves, just as Isaiah had said he would be “numbered with the transgressors”. The soldiers divided his clothes between them, casting lots for who should keep his hand woven outer robe. Even this had been foreseen by David – “They divide my garments among them, and for my raiment they cast lots” (Psalm 22:18). And as he hung slowly dying, they cast his claims in his teeth- “He trusts in God, let God deliver him now, if he desires him” they mocked, (Matt. 27:43), echoing the words recorded centuries before in Psalm 22:5.

 

We repeat. There is only one explanation for the astonishing way dozens of Bible prophecies found their fulfilment in the death of Jesus. Everything that would happen on that day had been planned before by God. Pilate, the Scribes, the Roman soldiers and the crowd were unconscious actors in a great drama in which God was drawing together, on that hill outside Jerusalem, a living tableau of the age-long conflict between good and evil; between love and hate; between the righteousness of God in His moral beauty and perfection, and the sin of man in his pride, his violence and the darkness of his heart. In that sublime paradox which God uses to teach His greatest lessons, as the life of Jesus ebbed away and his enemies congratulated each other, it was he, not they, who was the victor. Conquering the temptation to come down from the cross and take his revenge, in a supreme emptying of himself, he begged God to forgive their sin against him. He died to save his enemies. Many of those who mocked in later years came with shame and remorse to claim that forgiveness by being baptised into the name of Jesus Christ.

 

More importantly, at this final hour of the journey of Jesus we have come to the very heart of the way of salvation. For you and I, the spectators, are the actors in this drama too. We, as well as the Jews and Romans on that day, are the enemies of God by our wicked deeds. Every one of us, from day to day, is guilty of the same actions and emotions that put Jesus to death. Like the Jewish leaders, we envy those better than ourselves, and pride drives us to get rid of them. Like the Roman soldiers, we can be cruel to those who are at our mercy. We go along with the crowd, even when they are bent on evil, unwilling to stand out and be different. We run away, like Jesus’ disciples, from those who need us most, afraid to be involved. God bring us face to face with the horror of Calvary. He calls us to cross over from the circle of sinners, howling for Jesus’ death, to stand beneath the cross; to leave the sons of Adam, the sinner, to join the family of Jesus, the saint. We have to confess our sins, calling upon the name of the Lord, and wash them away in the water of baptism.

 

We have been following in Jesus’ footsteps for many months. These last few paces can transform our lives.

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16 - THE EMPTY TOMB

 

The women watched in silence as the two men eased the limp bundle into the cave. The sun was declining, and soon it would be six o‘clock, when work must cease. Inside, the bruised body of Jesus was hastily washed clean, then wound tight as the swaddling of a newborn babe in long white cloths. Spices worth hundreds of pounds were enfolded into the bandages, for Joseph of Arimathea was rich, and he wanted to do honour to his Lord. At last the cold eyelids were gently closed, and a separate cloth placed over the face that once brought hope to the dying, now silent itself in the long sleep of death. Grunting with effort, the senators heaved the smooth round stone along the gully until it dropped with a crash into the lower groove in front of the tomb. No robber single-handed could ever raise that massive piece of masonry. Jesus could lie in peace.

 

Next morning a strange party entered the deserted cemetery and searched for the tomb. Some were important officials, who stretched a cord across the stone and fastened it to the rock on either side with a piece of wax impressed with the High Priest’s seal. The others were soldiers whom they left on guard before the entrance. Someone was taking extraordinary precautions to ensure Jesus stayed where he was. Overnight Caiaphas had remembered the oft-repeated claim of Jesus that on the third day after his death he would come back to life again. He was worried. On no account must the tomb be opened, neither by Jesus’ disciples, nor, perish the thought, by Jesus himself. Pilate had given him permission to make the sepulchre as sure as he could. With the precautions he had taken, he felt satisfied.

 

In fact, the disciples of Jesus seem to have had little ambition to go anywhere near the tomb that weekend. The male members of the company remained in hiding, shattered, heart-broken and demoralised. Their intense grief still showed three days later as two of them walked to Emmaus and struck a passing stranger by their sadness. (Luke 24:17). The disciples do not even seem to have realised that the tomb was being guarded. The women who had watched the burial made arrangements to meet at the tomb at first light on Sunday to re-anoint the body, unaware that a strong guard of soldiers stood outside, and the tomb was officially sealed.

 

What happened was completely unexpected. Very early on Sunday morning, a rumbling earth tremor shook the sleeping city. Sometime afterwards a posse of soldiers, terrified out of their wits, hammered at the door of the High Priest’s palace. Caiaphas’ heart lurched as he heard their tale. A mighty angel, they bleated, had suddenly appeared, rolled back the stone before the tomb, and sat upon it. In spite of his precautions, Caiaphas realised he was beaten. Jesus had done it again. Just when they were congratulating themselves on their victory over “the deceiver”, as they called him, he had triumphed after all. “Whatever next?” he must have wondered, as a hasty conference of the elders decided to bribe the soldiers to forget what they had seen.

 

Oblivious to what had happened, Mary Magdelene arrived early at the tomb to keep her appointment with the other ladies. It was not even properly light. There were no soldiers outside by then, and as she expected none, this caused her no surprise. What did catch her attention at once was the glaring fact that the stone she had seen rolled into position, late on Friday, was now rolled back. Someone had got into the tomb during the weekend. Shocked and dismayed, she ran back to the city. Peter and John, the leaders of the apostles, must be told at once. (John 20:1,2).

 

The reaction of the two men was predictable. Not prepared to take Mary at her word, they ran back to the tomb to see it with their own eyes. They found he cave was indeed open, and as it was now broad daylight, they went inside. John particularly notes in his gospel that he saw “the linen cloths lying, and the napkin, which had been on his head, not lying with the linen cloths, but rolled up in a place by itself” (v.7). Confused and wondering, they returned home.

 

While Mary had gone to find Peter and John, the other women in the party arrived at the tomb. They must have missed her by minutes. Their chief concern as they walked to the burial place was how they were going to get inside. “Who will roll away the stone for us?” they queried “… for it was very large. (Mark 16:3,4). Their combined strength was insufficient for the task. However, they soon saw the tomb was already open, and probably thinking Mary had got there first, hastened inside. They were amazed and frightened to find a young man “sitting at the right side, dressed in a white robe” (v.5) – clearly the same angel who had terrified the soldiers. “You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified” he said, “He is risen, he is not here. See the place where they laid him” (v.6). Trembling with fear, they left the tomb at once and set off for the city with this strange message. (Mark 16:8).

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Meanwhile Mary had been walking back to the tomb, not running this time, but bowed down with grief. It was bad enough for Jesus to be killed; to be unable to minister to his broken body was deeply distressing. At last she stood for the second time that morning before the empty cave, hunched and sobbing. A stranger, walking in the garden, came to stand behind her, and asked what was wrong. She had been speaking to him for some time before she realised his voice had a familiar ring. She turned and looked harder. Heart racing, she knew at once that it was Jesus. Once more she ran back to the city, breathless with excitement. “I have seen the Lord” she told her friends (John 20:18). They remained sceptical.

 

Later that day Jesus appeared again, this time to Peter, who now knew why the tomb was empty. Later still, when it was practically dark, two more disciples came in with their own exciting news. They had walked out to Emmaus, they said, and for miles a stranger travelled with them, telling them that the death of Jesus was only to be expected. “It was necessary” he said, “that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory” (Luke 24 :26), and starting with Moses, he had gone through the Old Testament to prove what they had witnessed was part of God’s plan. And then, while their hearts burned with excitement, he had revealed himself to them as he sat in the house. It was none other than Jesus himself, they said.

 

The effect on the other disciples was disappointing. “They did not believe them,” writes Mark (Mark 16:13). Altogether they had now had three sources of evidence that the tomb was empty (Mary Magdelene, Peter and John and the women of the tomb party). They had also had three eyewitness accounts that Jesus was alive (Peter, Mary Magdelene, and the two from Emmaus). Yet they remained stubbornly unconvinced. Only when later that night Jesus appeared in the room, before their own eyes, were their doubts resolved, and the joyful fact began to sink home that Jesus really had conquered the grave. Even then, it was a week before Thomas, absent on the first Sunday, was persuaded. “Unless I see in his hands the print of the nails, and place my finger in the mark of the nails ... I will not believe” he insisted (John 21:25). The opportunity came. “Put your finger here, and see my hands” said Jesus “… and do not be faithless, but believing”. And Thomas became yet another witness to the resurrection.

 

The four gospel accounts of that first Sunday are reassuring. Read them for yourself. They sound natural, healthy, unforced. The reactions of the disciples are just what ours would have been if we had been there. The fear, the doubt, the slowly dawning comprehension, hammered home by repeated evidence and the sight of their own eyes, have the ring of truth. And that is important. For we have come to the very end of the ministry of Jesus. We have followed his footsteps from the banks of Jordan to the cross, and on into the freedom and light of immortality. We have listened to the call of Jesus to rise up and follow him. We have learnt that this call means more than worship on Sundays and leading an honest life. It demands our hearts, our very lives. And though the service of Jesus brings a deep joy and satisfaction here and now, the real reward for the Christian lies beyond the grave. We must face the fact that, unless Jesus comes back very soon, we could become disciples, then fall ill and die. Do we have faith strong enough to believe he can set us free when we have mouldered into dust?

The answer depends very much on the resurrection of Jesus himself. “If Christ has not been raised “ Paul writes “our preaching is in vain”. If he has, death need have no fears for us. ”I died” Jesus said to his disciples “and behold, I am alive for evermore, and I have the keys of death and Hades (the grave)” (Rev. 1:18)

 

If Jesus himself burst from the grave on the third day, then it is absolutely certain he will unlock our graves in that great day when he returns. The apostle Paul had no doubts “For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command” he writes “…and the dead in Christ will rise first” (1 Thessalonians 4:16, 17). “The trumpet will sound” he declares in another place “ and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed” (1 Cor. 15:2). To rise from the dead to live for ever in the Kingdom of God, in a world where God’s will is done, and the earth is set free from war, oppression and suffering. That is the reward of the faithful disciple.

 

We need no money to enter the Kingdom of God. We do not have to be famous, or clever, or wellborn. All we need to gain the prize is to believe in the victory of Jesus over sin and death, and to follow him through the waters of baptism and across the wilderness of life, keeping ourselves firmly in his footsteps right to the end. Then we shall see, with Mary, his smiling face, and hear his welcoming words “Come, O blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world” (Matt. 25:34).

 

Pray God we will share that day.

 

(All quotations from the Revised Standard Version)

 

Mirror - God So Loved the World

 

InTheMastersFootstepsPearce.pdf