We saw him on the Jordan, standing with his kindred and namesake, who pointed him to Jesus as the Messiah for whom he had been looking. From that hour we have known him as a disciple of Jesus, later as one of his twelve Apostles, then one of the chosen three, then the one--the beloved Disciple.

Through his eyes we have beheld the wonderful works of our Lord: with his ears we have heard the most wonderful words ever spoken to man. We have caught glimpses of him in most wonderful scenes which he was almost the only one to behold--amid the glories of the transfiguration, in the death-chamber changed to that of life, in the shadows of Gethsemane.

We have learned through John the sacredness of human friendships, made closer and holier by friendship with the loved and loving Lord. He has been our guide to the Upper Room of joy and sadness; to the Priestly Palace of suffering and of shame; to the cross of agony and death; to the tomb of surprise and exaltation; to the mount of final blessing and ascension.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PERGAMOS AND THE RUINS OF THE CHURCH OF ST. JOHN _Old Engraving_ Page 233]

John saw what kings and prophets longed to see, but died without the sight--the Messiah come. He witnessed probably all the miracles of Jesus, from his first in Cana as a guest, to his last on the sea-sh.o.r.e as a host--the signs of divine power inspired by pity and love. He looked upon the enthusiastic but mistaken throng who in Galilee would force upon Jesus an unwelcome crown; then upon the mult.i.tudes who hailed him with hosannas on Olivet; then the maddened crowd who shouted through the streets of Jerusalem, "Crucify Him." He witnessed Christ's movements when the mult.i.tudes gathered about Him for instruction and healing, and when he withdrew from them to pray. His eyes were dazzled by the brightness of the transfiguration as he looked upon the form which at last was enshrouded in darkness on Calvary. With another vision he beheld that form in Heaven itself.

On the Jordan he beheld Jesus as the Lamb of G.o.d which was to be offered as a sacrifice. He saw the cross become His altar of sacrifice, and then in Heaven discerned Him as the "Lamb as it had been slain." He was witness of Christ's joys and sorrows, shame and suffering, humiliation and exaltation, entering into them more fully than did any other human being.

From the hour in which John stood with the Baptist who told him to behold Jesus, his eye was upon Him, until, because there was no more for him to behold of his Lord on earth, the angels asked, "Why stand ye gazing?" Having seen Him "lifted up" on a beclouded cross, he saw Him "taken up" as a glorious "cloud received Him out of sight."

John heard wondrous things. He became familiar with his Lord's voice, its tones of instruction and exhortation, warning and reproof, invitation and affection, forgiveness and benediction, prayer and praise, depression and agony, joy and triumph. He was no careless listener to the words spoken to Jesus--those of inquiry and pleading, hypocrisy and contempt, mockery and deceit, hatred and love. Beside his Lord, he heard saintly voices, and the voice of the Father.

Much that John saw and heard when with his Lord he has made known. We imagine some things were too tender and sacred for others' ears: concerning such his lips were sealed. Other things were too precious for silence: of such he is the most distinct echo. His Gospel is often a commentary on the other three. He was an eye-witness of most of the events of which he tells. His Gospel is rich with illuminated texts.

Having the best understanding of "the words of the Lord Jesus," he is the fullest reporter of His teachings. Having the deepest insight into the heart of hearts of his Lord, he is its clearest revealer. While many others grasped separate truths, he placed them side by side in harmony and unity, and thus held them up and revealed them to mankind. His Lord's words were the most sacred treasures of his memory: his greatest joy was to bring them forth for others to view and admire, that they too might be inspired thereby to "love and good works." Without erasing aught from the pictures drawn by his fellow-Evangelists, he has added to, and filled in, and re-touched with a sympathizing hand. So familiar had he become with his Lord's countenance, with all its varied expressions, and so skilful was he in reproducing them, that his composite portrait is the most beautiful and impressive of all attempts to portray "the human face divine."

Standing outside of some grand cathedral, before its stained window, we mark the figures with their rich depth of color. Pa.s.sing within we see the same figures, but the outline is more distinct; the colors are richer, and with more harmonious blending. So sometimes we seem to stand with the three Evangelists outside the Gospel Cathedral; and then with John within.

Like Ruth in the field of Boaz he followed the reapers--the first three Evangelists in the field of their Lord,--to "glean even among the sheaves." He "gleaned in the field until evening," the close of the long day of his life, "and beat out that he had gleaned," and gave it to others. There was not need for them to ask him, "Where hast thou gleaned?" There was only one field from which such harvest could be gathered. Rather could they say as Naomi to Ruth, "Blessed is he that did take knowledge of thee."

There have been more noted ill.u.s.trations of change in character than is furnished in St. John. His early life was not profligate like that of John Newton or John Bunyan. And yet the change in him was marked enough to furnish an exhibition of contrast, showing the power of Christ's teachings and example upon him, until he reached an unwonted degree of perfection. He combined the n.o.blest traits of the loftiest manhood and womanhood, with the simplicity of childhood. His human kinship to Jesus ill.u.s.trated but faintly the closer and tenderer relation formed by the transforming of his spirit into the likeness of Christ. This was more royal than any merely human relationship. It was the closest relation of which we know of the perfect Christ with imperfect man. We have watched the changes in John's spirit, and seen his imperfections smoothed away, and his character so polished that it became the brightest reflector of the image of Jesus Christ. Yet from the first there were budding virtues in him which Mary Magdalene's supposed gardener brought to perfection.

[Ill.u.s.tration: RUINS OF LAODICEA _Old Engraving_ Page 233]

In history John stands and must ever stand alone. He was one of the two who first accepted the call of Christ to come to Him: he was the last of the Apostles to repeat, in another and yet as true a sense, that invitation to mult.i.tudes of men. He was one of those two who first saw what may be called the beginning of the Christian Church, in the little booth by the Jordan: and the last one of the Twelve to remember its fuller establishments in the Upper Chamber of Jerusalem. He was the last man who had seen the last prophet who told of the coming Messiah; and was the last Evangelist to tell that He had come. He was one of the three who were the last to behold the Shechinah, and to whom came the voice of G.o.d the Father.

John was the lone disciple in the palace of the high priest, witnessing the injustice, mockery, and cruelty before Pilate; the last one with whom the Lord spoke and on whom His eye rested before His death. He was the lone disciple to gaze upon the cross and witness the dying agonies; the first to look into the deserted tomb; the first of whom we are told that he believed the Lord had risen therefrom. The last survivor of the Apostolic band, he had the fullest opportunity to witness the fulfilment of prophecies of which he was a careful student and clear interpreter.

He saw the sad close of the Jewish dispensation, and the glorious beginning of Christianity. He saw the Holy City overthrown, as Christ declared to Him on Olivet that it would be, and had a vision of the New Jerusalem of which the old was a consecrated type, at last profaned.

Of the golden Apostolic chain he was the last link binding the Church to its Lord. He was the last known human kindred of the Son of Man. The last words of inspiration were spoken to and recorded by him. He was the latest prophet, historian, and Evangelist. One of the first to say, "I have seen the Messiah," he was the last to say, "I have seen the Lord."

We have caught glimpses of St. John in the early days of Christianity, as a light and a pillar, a teacher and a guide. Sometimes for years together he has been hidden from our view, and then has emerged with a yet brighter halo around his head. We have watched him on a lonely isle gazing into heaven, beholding glories of which he gives us hints, but which he tells us he cannot fully describe.

Because of his relation to the Lord, the fisher boy unknown beyond the hamlet of Bethsaida two thousand years ago is "spoken of" as truly as Mary of Bethany, whose memory he especially has made sacred and perpetual. Wherever the Gospel is preached he too is remembered, honored and loved.

Because of his relation to the Lord, towns in lands of which he never knew, bear his name; in which people are taught by his words and inspired by his spirit. In them many a family is known by the name St.

John. Rivers in their flow bear his name from generation to generation on earth, while he points men to the pure river "proceeding out of the throne of G.o.d and the Lamb," which was "showed" him in Patmos. Societies for fraternal fellowship and mutual helpfulness are called after him.

St. John's day has a sacred place in the calendar. Many a rural chapel and stately city church are reminders of him. The richness of his graces, and the yet future of his saintly influence, are symbolized in the yet unfinished temple of surpa.s.sing grandeur in the City of New York,--"The Cathedral of St. John the Divine."

From all these earthly scenes in which we have beheld him, to which history and tradition have pointed us, and from those things which are memorials of him, we turn to the Heavenly scenes which he bids us behold as they were revealed to him. Thither we follow him after all his trials and labors and triumphs of earth. With reverence and gladness for him, we listen to the voice of the Lord saying to him what He had told him to say to the Churches of Asia:--"Because thou didst overcome I give thee 'to eat of the tree of life, which is in the midst of the Paradise of G.o.d.' Thou shalt 'not be hurt with the second death.' I give thee 'a white stone, and upon the stone a new name written.' I give thee 'the morning star.' 'I will in no wise blot thy name out of the book of life!

I make you a pillar in the temple of My G.o.d.' O John, rememberest thou thy pet.i.tion and that of thy brother who has long been with Me,--'Grant unto us that we may sit, one on Thy right hand, and one on Thy left hand in Thy glory'? Thou thoughtest that 'glory' was an earthly throne, which thou never sawest. But thou hast overcome thy pride and ambition, thy jealous and revengeful spirit. Thou hast triumphed over those who were thine enemies because thou wast My friend. Thou didst see My agonies and victories in Gethsemane and on Calvary. Thou didst take up My cry on My cross concerning My work on earth, and sound it forth,--'It is finished.' Dost thou remember My final promise to him that overcometh, which I made from this My true throne of glory, through thee, 'in the isle that is called Patmos'--precious name even here because of thy 'testimony for' Me. That promise I now fulfil in thee. O John, one of My chosen Twelve on earth; yea more, one of My chosen three; yet more, My beloved one, here in Heaven, now, 'Sit down with Me on My throne, as I also overcame and sat down with My Father in His throne.'"

_CHAPTER x.x.xIII_

_Legends and Traditions of St. John_

After closing the history of St. John, we linger over the traditions that cl.u.s.ter about his later years. They reveal the feelings of the early Church toward him who was the last of the Apostolic band, and the last who had seen their Lord.

There is one legend so beautiful, so much like him, that we can almost believe it as having a fitting place in his history. It belongs to the time when he preached in the magnificent Church which Christians had reared for him in Ephesus. We may not credit the story that on his brow he wore a golden plate engraven with the inscription, "Holiness to the Lord," but we can almost imagine it written there. His memorable appearance and his tender manner, the loving voice with which he told the story of his Lord, fastened all eyes upon him, and opened all ears to his message of salvation. There was one, a young man, who standing in the distance, looked and listened with such eager interest as to attract the attention of the Apostle. In repentance and faith he found the peace which nothing else can give. He was baptized and numbered with the Ephesian Christians. St. John took special interest in him, training him in Christian doctrine, and preparing him for a useful life. When the hour for John's banishment came, in his anxiety for the youth, he committed him to the care of the Bishop of the place, whom he charged to be faithful in teaching and spiritual guidance.

But the youth was exposed to many temptations from the heathen about him. Their songs and dances and wine again charmed him as they did before he heard the preaching of John. He yielded to their influences, and renounced his profession of Christianity. In the absence of the Apostle, the reproofs of the Bishop only maddened him. He no longer attended the services of the Church, or sought the companionship of Christians. Having entered the paths of sin, he wandered farther and farther therein. At last he committed a crime against the government. In fear of punishment he fled from Ephesus, and joined a company of robbers and bandits in the wild ravines of the mountains. Though young in years, he was so cunning and bold in crime that he became the leader of the band. Inspired by his daring spirit they were ready for deeds of violence that made them the terror of the whole region.

On John's return from his exile in Patmos to Ephesus, he longed to know of the welfare of the young disciple, who had been to him as an adopted son, ever present to his mind and heart in his lonely island. The Bishop, with downcast eyes, sorrow and shame, declared, "He is dead."

"How?" asked John, "and by what death?" "He is dead to G.o.d," said the Bishop. "He has turned out wicked and abandoned, and at last a robber."

John rent his garments as a sign of distress. Weeping he cried with a loud lamentation, "Alas! alas! to what a guardian have I trusted our brother!" The tender, faithful heart of the aged Apostle yearned for the young man. He was ready to say, "How can I give thee up!" He knew the mercy of G.o.d, and the power of love, human and divine; and determined that the robber-chieftain should know it too.

Immediately he procured a horse and guide, and rode toward the stronghold of the robbers. It was in a wild mountainous ravine, with rushing torrents and rugged rocks overgrown with brushwood and luxuriant herbage. It was a place of grandeur, and yet of gloom--a fitting haunt for the robber-band. Few travelers pa.s.sed that way, and that hurriedly and in terror.

At last the Apostle and his guide heard from behind the rocks the hoa.r.s.e shouts of revelry. But he heeded them not, so intent was he on his errand. He was seeking the prodigal, his adopted son--who was not seeking the loving father. He drew the reins of his horse, while he told his guide that their journey was ended, and prayed for themselves and for him whom they sought. His nearness was discovered by one of the band, who led him to the rest, and bound his guide. There was a great contrast between the old man with his snowy locks and beard, in his humble garb; and the younger, the wild looking bandit with his streaming hair and loose white kilt; between the defenceless captive, and his captors armed with Roman swords, long lances, and bows and arrows before which he seemed perfectly powerless.

As he looked upon their hardened features they looked into his benignant face, and stood awed in his presence. Their rough manner, words and tones were changed by his smile and even friendly greeting. He made no resistance. His only motion was a wave of his hand. It was mightier than sword or lance or bow. His only request was, "Take me to your captain."

Over-awed by the dignity of his manner and his calmness, the captors obeyed their captive and silently led him to their chief. In an open s.p.a.ce the tall handsome young man was seated on his horse, wearing bright armor and breastplate, and holding the spear of a warrior. At a glance he recognized his old master, instructor and guide, who had been to him as a father. His first thought was, "Why should this holy man seek me?" He answered his own question, saying to himself, "He has come with just and angry threatenings which I well deserve." John had been called "a son of thunder." As such the trembling chief thought of him, ready to hear him p.r.o.nounce an awful woe. So with a mingled cry of fear and anguish, he turned his horse and would have fled--a strange sound and sight for his fellow-robbers.

But St. John had no thunder tones for him, no threats of coming punishment. The kind shepherd had found the sheep that had been lost.

The father had found the prodigal, without waiting for the wanderer's return. John sprang toward him. He held out his arms in an affectionate manner. He called him by tender names. With earnest entreaty he prevailed on him to stop and listen. As young Saul, when near Damascus caught sight of Jesus and heard His voice, dropped from his horse to the ground; so did the young chieftain at the sight and voice of St. John.

With reverence he kneeled before him, and in shame bowed his head to the ground. Like Peter who had denied the same Lord, the young man wept bitterly. His cries of self-reproach and his despair echoed strangely in that rocky defile. As St. John had wept for him, he wept for himself.

Those were truly penitential tears. John still spoke encouragingly. The young man lifted his head and embraced the knees of the Apostle, sobbing out, "No hope, no pardon." Then remembering the deeds of his right hand, defiled with blood, he hid it beneath his robe. St. John fell on his knees before him and enfolded him in his arms. He grasped the hand that had been hidden, and bathed it in tears as if he would wash away its b.l.o.o.d.y stains, and then kissed it, in thought of the good he said it should yet perform.

That hand cast away the sword it had wielded in murder, and lovingly, gratefully held that of John, as the Apostle, and the robber-chief now penitent and forgiven, together left the wilderness; within sight of the astonished band; some of whom were greatly touched by what they had seen and heard, while others were ready to scoff at what they called the weakness of their leader.

Another tradition is a beautiful ill.u.s.tration of the tenderness and sympathy which we may judge was increasingly manifest in St. John's character, the spirit of the Lord "whose tender mercies are over all His works," the spirit St. John had seen in his Master who noticed the sparrow falling to the ground. True it is,

"He prayeth well who loveth well Both man, and bird, and beast.

He prayeth best who loveth best All things, both great and small; For the dear Lord who loveth us, He made and loveth all."

There was a young tame partridge in which St. John took delight and found recreation in many an hour from which he had turned from labor for rest. A young hunter anxiously seeking the great Apostle was surprised to find him in what seemed a frivolous employment. He doubted for a moment whether this could be he. John asked, "What is that thing which thou carriest in thy hand?" "A bow," replied the hunter. "Why then is it unstrung?" said John. "Because," was the answer, "were I to keep it always strung it would lose its spring and become useless." "Even so,"

replied the Apostle, "be not offended at my brief relaxation, which prevents my spirit from waxing faint."

We have already alluded to a tradition which is perhaps the best known of all, and universally accepted. In Ephesus, in extreme old age, too infirm to walk, St. John was carried as a little child to the church where he had so long preached. In feebleness his ministry had ended. The last sermon as such had been preached. He could no longer repeat the words of Christ he had heard on the mountain, and the sea-sh.o.r.e, and in the Temple. He could no longer tell of the wonders of which he was the only surviving witness. In Christians he saw the child-spirit, whether in old or young. In his old age he was a father to all such as none other could claim to be. His great theme --his only theme--was love. So his only words, again and again repeated as he faced the congregation were "Little children, love one another." And when asked why he repeated the same thing over and over, he told them it was the Lord's command, and if they obeyed it, that was enough.

Traditions alone tell of St. John's death. One claims that as his brother James was the first of the Apostles to suffer martyrdom, he was the last. Others tell of miraculous preservation from death;--that he was thrown into a caldron of boiling oil, and drank hemlock, without any effect upon him. Sometimes he is pictured as holding a cup from which a viper, representing poison, is departing without doing him any harm.

There is still another story concerning his death. On the last Lord's Day of his life, after the Holy Communion, he told some of his disciples to follow him with spades. Leading them to a place of burial, he bid them dig a grave into which he placed himself, and they buried him up to the neck. Then in obedience to his command they placed a cloth over his face and completed the burial. With weeping they turned away and reported what had been done. But his disciples felt that, not the grave, but the great church was the fitting place for his burial. So with solemn service they went to bring his body thither. But on reaching the grave they found it empty, as he and Peter had found the tomb of their Lord on Easter morning. Then they remembered the words of Christ to Peter concerning John, "If I will that he abide till I come, what is that to thee?"

But there is another tradition stranger still. People refused to believe that St. John was dead, even though he had been supposed to be, and had been buried. For centuries his grave was shown at Ephesus. Pilgrims visiting it beheld a wonderful sight. The ground above it rose and fell, as if the great Apostle were still breathing as he had done for one hundred years, while treading the earth which now guarded his immortal sleep.

Such stories seem strange to us when we remember the chapter he wrote to correct a mistake made by those who misunderstood his Master's word, and believed that he would not die until the Lord returned to the earth.

He probably escaped martyrdom which befell his fellow-Apostles. Dying, probably in Ephesus, we think of him as peacefully entering the mansions of which he had heard his Lord tell in far-off Jerusalem nearly seventy years before.