But notwithstanding all, Jesus _pleads_! Still the Great Intercessor "waits to be gracious." He is at once Moses on the mountain, and Joshua on the battle-plain--fighting _with_ us in the one, praying _for_ us in the other. No Aarons or Hurs needed to sustain His sinking strength, for it is His sublime prerogative neither to "faint nor grow weary!" There is no loftier occupation for faith than to speed upwards to the throne and behold that wondrous Pleader, receiving at one moment, and at _every_ moment, the countless supplications and prayers which are coming up before Him from every corner of His Church. The Sinner just awoke from his moral slumber, and in the agonies of conviction, exclaiming, "What must I do to be saved?"--The Procrastinator sending up from the brink of despair the cry of importunate agony.--The Backslider wailing forth his bitter lamentation over guilty departures, and foul ingrat.i.tude, and injured love.--The Sick man feebly groaning forth, in undertones of suffering, his pet.i.tion for succour.--The Dying, on the brink of eternity, invoking the presence and support of the alone arm which can be of any avail to them.--The Bereaved, in the fresh gush of their sorrow, calling upon Him who is the healer of the broken-hearted.

But _all heard_! Every tear marked--every sigh registered--every suppliant succoured. Amalek may come threatening nothing but discomfiture; but that pleading Voice on the heavenly Hill is "greater far than all that can be against us!" He pleads for His elect in every phase of their spiritual history--He pleads for their inbringing into His fold--He pleads for their perseverance in grace--He pleads for their deliverance at once from the accusations and the power of Satan--He pleads for their growing sanctification;--and when the battle of life is over, He uplifts His last pleading voice for their complete glorification. The intercession of Jesus is the golden key which unlocks the gates of Paradise to the departing soul. At a saint's dying moments we are too often occupied with the lower _earthly_ scene to think of the _heavenly_. The tears of surrounding relatives cloud too often the more glorious revelations which faith discloses. But in the m.u.f.fled stillness of that death-chamber, when each is holding his breath as the King of Terrors pa.s.ses by--if we could listen to it, we should hear the "Prince who has power with G.o.d" thus uttering His final prayer, and on the rushing wings of ministering angels receiving an answer while He is yet speaking--"Father, I will that they also, whom thou hast given me, be with me where I am, that they may behold my glory!"

Reader! exult more and more in this all-prevailing Advocate. See that ye approach the mercy-seat with no other trust but in His atoning work and meritorious righteousness. There was but _One_ solitary man of the whole human race who, of old, in the Jewish temple, was permitted to speak face to face with Jehovah. There is but ONE solitary Being in the vast universe of G.o.d who, in the heavenly sanctuary, can effectually plead in behalf of His Spiritual Israel. "Seeing, then, that we have a Great High Priest pa.s.sed into the heavens, Jesus the Son of G.o.d, ... let us come boldly to the throne of grace." If Jesus delights in asking, G.o.d delights in bestowing. Let us put our every want, and difficulty, and perplexity, in His hand, feeling the precious a.s.surance, that all which is really good for us will be given, and all that is adverse will, in equal mercy, be withheld. There is no limitation set to our requests.

The treasury of grace is flung wide open for every suppliant. "Verily, verily, I say unto you, whatsoever ye shall ask the Father _in my name_ He will give it you." Surely we may cease to wonder that the Great Apostle should have clung with such intense interest to this elevating theme--the Saviour's _intercession_;--that in his brief, but most comprehensive and beautiful creed,[19] he should have so exalted, as he does, its relative importance, compared with other cognate truths. "It is Christ that died, _yea rather_, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of G.o.d, _who also maketh intercession for us_." Climbing, step by step, in the upward ascent of Christian faith and hope, he seems only to "reach the height of his great argument" when he stands on "_the mountain of myrrh and the hill of frankincense_." _There_, gazing on the face of the great officiating Priest who fills all heaven with His fragrance, and feeling that against _that_ intercession the gates of h.e.l.l can never prevail, he can utter the challenge to devils, and angels, and men, "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?"

XVI.

THE OMNIPOTENT SUMMONS.

The moment has now come for the voice of Omnipotence to give the mandate. The group have gathered around the sepulchral grotto--the Redeemer stands in meek majesty in front--the teardrop still glistening in His eye, and that eye directed heavenward! Martha and Mary are gazing on His countenance in dumb emotion, while the eager bystanders bend over the removed stone to see if the dead be still there. Yes! _there_ the captive lies--in uninvaded silence--attired still in the same solemn drapery. The Lord gives the word. "_Lazarus come forth!_" peals through the silent vault. The dull, cold ear seems to listen. The pulseless heart begins to beat--the rigid limbs to move--_Lazarus lives_! He rises girt in the swaddling-bands of the tomb, once more to walk in the light of the living.

Where Scripture is silent, it is vain for us to picture the emotions of that moment, when the weeping sisters found the gloomy hours of disconsolate sorrow all at once rolled away. The cry of mingled wonder and grat.i.tude rings through that lonely graveyard,--"This our brother was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found!"

O most wondrous power--Death vanquished in his own territory! The sleeper has awoke a moral Samson, snapping the withs with which the King of Terrors had bound him. The star of Bethlehem shines, and the Valley of Achor becomes a door of hope. The all-devouring destroyer has to relinquish his prey.

Was the joy of that moment confined to these two bosoms? Nay! The Church of Christ in every age may well love to linger around the grave of Lazarus. In _his_ resurrection there is to His true people a sure pledge and earnest of their own. It was the first sheaf reaped by the mower's sickle antic.i.p.atory of the great Harvest-home of the Final day "when all that are in their graves" shall hear the same voice and shall "come forth."[20]

Solemn, surely, is the thought that that same portentous miracle performed on Lazarus is one day to be performed on _ourselves_. Wherever we repose--whether, as _he_ did, in the quiet churchyard of our native village, or in the midst of the city's crowded cemetery, or far away amid the alien and stranger in some foreign sh.o.r.e, our dust shall be startled by that omnipotent summons. How shall we hear it? Would it sound in our ears like the sweet tones of the silver trumpet of Jubilee?

Would it be to gaze like Lazarus on the face of our best friend--to see _Jesus_ bending over us in looks of tenderness--to hear the living tones of that same voice, whose accents were last heard in the dark valley, whispering hopes full of immortality? True, we have not to wait for a Saviour's love and presence till then. The hour of _death_ is to the Christian the birthday of endless life. Guardian angels are hovering around his dying pillow ready to waft his spirit into Abraham's bosom.

"The souls of believers do _immediately_ pa.s.s into glory." But the full plenitude of their joy and bliss is reserved for the time when the precious but redeemed dust, which for a season is left to moulder in the tomb, shall become instinct with life--"the corruptible put on incorruption, and the mortal immortality." The spirits of the just enter at _death_ on "the inheritance of the saints in light;" but at the _Resurrection_ they shall rise as separate orbs from the darkness and night of the grave, each to "shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father." However glorious the emanc.i.p.ation of the soul in the moment of dissolution, it is not until the plains and valleys of our globe shall stand thick with the living of buried generations--each glorified body the image of its Lord's--that the predicted anthem will be heard waking the echoes of the universe--"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?" Then, with the organs of their resurrection-bodies enn.o.bled, etherealised, purified from all the grossness of earth, they shall "behold the King in his beauty." "The King's daughter," all glorious without, "all glorious within"--"her clothing of wrought gold"--resplendent _without_ with the robes of righteousness--radiant _within_ with the beauties of holiness--shall be brought "with gladness and rejoicing," and "enter into the King's palace." This will form the full meridian of the saints' glory--the essence and climax of their new-born bliss--the full vision and fruition of a Saviour-G.o.d. "When He shall appear, ... we shall see Him as He is!"

The first sight which will burst on the view of the Risen ones will be _Jesus_! _His_ hands will wreath the glorified brows, in presence of an a.s.sembled world, with the crown of life. From _His_ lips will proceed the gladdening welcome--"Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord!"

But this will not exhaust the elements of bliss in the case of the "perfected just" on the day of their final triumph. Though the presence of their adorable Redeemer would be enough, and more than enough, to fill their cup with happiness, there will be others also to welcome them, and to augment their joy. Lazarus' Lord was not _alone_ at the sepulchre's brink, at Bethany, ready to greet him back. Two loved sisters shared the joy of that gladsome hour. We are left to picture for ourselves the reunion, when, with hand linked in hand, they retraversed the road which had so recently echoed to the voice of mourning, and entered once more their home, radiant with a sunshine they had imagined to have pa.s.sed away from it for ever!

So will it be with the believer on the morning of the Resurrection.

While his Lord will be _there_, waiting to welcome him, there will be others ready with their presence to enhance the bliss of that gladdening restoration. Those whose smiles were last seen in the death-chamber of earth, now standing--not as Martha and Mary, with the tear on their cheek and the furrow of deep sorrow on their brow, but robed and radiant in resurrection attire, glowing with the antic.i.p.ations of an everlasting and indissoluble reunion!

Can we antic.i.p.ate, in the resurrection of Lazarus, our own happy history? Yes! _happier_ history, for it will not _then_ be to come forth once more, like _him_, into a weeping world, to renew our work and warfare, feeling that restoration to life is only but a brief reprieve, and that soon again the irrevocable sentence will and must overtake us!

Not like _him_, going to a home still covered with the drapery of sorrow,--a few transient years and the mournful funeral tragedy to be repeated,--but to enter into the region of endless life--to pa.s.s from the dark chambers of corruption into the peace and glories of our Heavenly Father's joyous _Home_, and "so to be for ever with the Lord!"

Sometimes it is with dying believers as with Lazarus. Their Lord, at the approach of death, _seems_ to be absent. He who gladdened their homes and their hearts in life, is, for some mysterious reason, away in the hour of dissolution; their spirits are depressed; their faith languishes; they are ready to say, "Where is now my G.o.d?" But as He returned to Bethany to awake His sleeping friend, so will it be with all his true people, on that great day when the arm of death shall be for ever broken. If _now_ united to Him by a living faith,--loved by Him as Lazarus was, and conscious, however imperfectly, of loving Him back in return,--we may go down to our graves, making Job's lofty creed and exclamation our own, "I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth; and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see G.o.d."

One remark more. We have listened to the Omnipotent fiat,--"Lazarus, come forth!" We have seen the ear of death starting at the summons, and the buried captive goes free! Shall we follow the family group within the hallowed precincts of the Bethany dwelling? Shall fancy pour her strange and mysterious queries into the ear of him who has just come back from that land "from whose bourne no traveller returns?" He had been, in a far truer sense than Paul in an after year, in "_Paradise_."

He must have heard unspeakable and unutterable words, "which it is not possible for a man to utter." He had looked upon the Sapphire Throne. He had ranged himself with the adoring ranks. He had strung his harp to the Eternal Anthem. When, lo! an angel--a "ministering one"--whispers in his ear to hush his song, and speed him back again for a little season to the valley below.

Startling mandate! Can we suppose a remonstrance to so strange a summons? What! to be uncrowned and unglorified!--Just after a few sips of the heavenly fountain, to be hurried away back again to the valley of Baca!--to gather up once more the soiled earthly garments and the pilgrim staff, and from the pilgrim rest and the victor's palm to encounter the din and dust and scars of battle! What!--just after having wept his final tear, and fought the last and the most terrible foe, to have his eye again dimmed with sorrow, and to have the thought before him of breasting a second time the swellings of Jordan!

"The Lord hath need of thee," is all the reply, It is enough! He asks no more! That glorious Redeemer had left a far brighter throne and heritage for _him_. Lazarus, come forth! sounds in his old world-home, whence his spirit had soared, and in his beloved Master's words, on a mightier emba.s.sy, he can say,--"Lo, I come! I delight to do thy will, O my G.o.d."

Or do other questions involuntarily arise? What was the nature of his happiness while "absent from the body?" What the scenery of that bright abode? Had he mingled in the goodly fellowship of prophets? Had he conversed with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob? Was his spirit stationary--hovering with a brotherhood of spirits within some holy limit--or, was he permitted to travel far and near in errands of love and mercy? Had Bethany been revisited during that mysterious interval?

Had he been the unseen witness of the tears and groans of his anguished sisters?

But hush, too, these vain inquiries. We dare not give rein to imagination where Inspiration is silent. There is a designed mystery about the circ.u.mstantials of a future state. Its scenery and locality we know nothing of. It is revealed to us only in its _character_. We are permitted to approach its gates, and to read the surmounting inscription,--"Without _holiness_ no man shall see the Lord." Further we cannot go. Be it ours, like Lazarus, to attain a meetness for heaven, by becoming more and more like Lazarus' Redeemer! "_We shall be_ LIKE HIM,"

is the brief but comprehensive Bible description of that glorious world.

Saviour-like _here_, we shall have heaven begun on earth, and lying down like Lazarus in the sweet sleep of death, when our Lord comes, on the great day-dawn of immortality, we shall be satisfied when we awake in _His likeness_!

"He that was dead rose up and spoke--He spoke!

Was it of that majestic world unknown?

Those words which first the bier's dread silence broke-- Came they with revelation in each tone?

Were the far cities of the nations gone, The solemn halls of consciousness or sleep, For man uncurtain'd by that spirit lone, Back from the portal summon'd o'er the deep?

Be hush'd, my soul! the veil of darkness lay Still drawn; therefore thy Lord called back the voice departed, To spread His truth, to comfort the weak-hearted; Not to reveal the mysteries of its way.

Oh! I take that lesson home in silent faith; Put on submissive strength to _meet_, not _question_ DEATH."

XVII.

THE BOX OF OINTMENT.

Once more we visit in thought a peaceful and happy home-scene in the same Bethany household. The severed links in that broken chain are again united.

How often in a time of severe bereavement, when some "light of the dwelling" has suddenly been extinguished, does the imagination fondly dwell on the possibility of the wild dream of separation pa.s.sing away; of the vacant seat being refilled by its owner the "loved and lost one"

again restored. Alas! in all such cases, it is but a feverish vision, destined to know no fulfilment. Here, however, it was indeed a happy reality. "Lazarus is dead!" was the bitter dirge a few brief weeks ago; but now, "Lazarus lives." His silent voice is heard again--his dull eye is lighted again--the temporary pang of separation is only remembered to enhance the joy of so gladsome a reunion.

It was on a Sabbath evening, the last Sabbath but one of the waning Jewish dispensation, when Spring's loveliness was carpeting the Mount of Olives and clothing with fresh verdure the groves around Bethany, that our blessed Redeemer was seen approaching the haunt of former friendship. He had for two months taken shelter from the malice of the Sanhedrim in the little town of Ephraim and the mountainous region of Perea, on the other side of the Jordan. But the Pa.s.sover solemnity being at hand, and his own hour having come, he had "set His face steadfastly to go to Jerusalem." It is more than probable that for several days He had been travelling in the company of other pilgrims coming from Galilee on their way to the feast. He seems, however, to have left the festival caravan at Jericho, lingering behind with his own disciples in order to secure a private approach to the city of solemnities. They were completing their journey on the Sabbath referred to just as the sun was sinking behind the brow of Olivet, and, turning aside from the highway, they spent the night in their old Bethany retreat. Befitting tranquil scene for His closing Sabbath--a happy preparation for a season of trial and conflict! It is well worthy of observation, how, as His saddest hours were drawing near--the shadow of His cross projected on His path--Bethany becomes more and more endeared to Him. Night after night, during this memorable week, we shall find Him resorting to its cherished seclusion. As the storm is fast gathering, the vessel seeks for shelter in its best loved haven.[21]

Imagine the joy with which the announcement would be received by the inmates--"Our Lord and Redeemer is once more approaching." Imagine how the great Conqueror of death would be welcomed into the home consecrated alike by His love and power. Now every tear dried! The weeping that endured for the long night of bereavement all forgotten. Ah! if Jesus were loved before in that happy home, how, we may well imagine, would He be adored and reverenced now. What a new claim had He established on their deepest affection and regard. Feelingly alive to all they owed Him, the restored brother and rejoicing sisters with hearts overflowing with grat.i.tude could say, in the words of their Psalmist King--"Thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness, to the end that my glory may sing praise to thee, and not be silent. O Lord my G.o.d, I will give thanks unto thee for ever!"

But does the love and affection of that household find expression in nothing but words? Supper is being made ready. While Martha, with her wonted activity, is busied preparing the evening meal--doing her best to provide for the refreshment of the travellers--the gentle spirit of Mary (even if her name had not been given, we should have known it was she) prompts her to a more significant proof of the depth of her grat.i.tude.

Some fragrant ointment of spikenard--contained, as we gather from the other Evangelists, in a box of Alabaster--had been procured by her at great cost;[22] either obtained for this antic.i.p.ated meeting with her Lord, or it may in some way have fallen into her possession, and been sacredly kept among her treasured gifts till some befitting occasion occurred for its employment. Has not that occasion occurred now? On whom can her grateful heart more joyously bestow this garnered treasure than on her beloved Lord. With her own hands she pours it on His feet.

Stooping down, she wipes them, in further token of her devotion, with her loosened tresses, till the whole apartment was filled with the sweet perfume.

And what was it that const.i.tuted the value of this tribute--the beauty and expressiveness of the action? _She gave her Lord the best thing she had!_ She felt that to Him, in addition to what He had done for her own soul, she owed the most valued life in the world.

"Her eyes are homes of silent prayer, Nor other thought her mind admits; But, he was dead, and there he sits, And He that brought him back is there.

"Then one deep love doth supersede All other, when her ardent gaze Roves from the living brother's face And rests upon the Life indeed.

"All subtle thought, all curious fears, Borne down by gladness so complete; She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet With costly spikenard and with tears."[23]

What a lesson for us! Are we willing to give our Lord the best of what we have--to consecrate time, talents, strength, life, to His service?

Not as many, to give Him the mere dregs and sweepings of existence--the wrecks of a "worn and withered love"--but, like Mary, anxious to take every opportunity and occasion of testifying the depth of obligation under which we are laid to Him? Let us not say--"My sphere is lowly, my means are limited, my best offerings would be inadequate." Such, doubtless, were the very feelings of that humble, diffident, yet loving one, as she crept noiselessly to where her pilgrim-Lord reclined, and lavished on His weary limbs the costliest treasure she possessed.

Hundreds of more imposing deeds--more princely and munificent offerings--may have been left unrecorded by the Evangelists; but "wherever this Gospel shall be preached, in the whole world, there shall also this that this woman hath done be told for a memorial of her."[24]

Would that love to "that same Jesus" were with all of us more paramount than it is! "Lovest thou Me _more than these_" is His own searching test and requirement. Is it so?--Do we love Him more than self or sin--more than friends or home--more than any earthly object or earthly good; and are we willing, if need be, to make a sacrifice for His glory and for the honour of His cause? Happy for us if it be so. There will be a joy in the very consciousness of making the effort, feeble and unworthy as it may be, for His sake, and in acknowledgment of the great love wherewith He hath loved us.

"Thrice blest, whose lives are faithful prayers, Whose loves in higher Love endure; Whose souls possess themselves so pure, Or is there blessedness like theirs?"

Let it be our privilege and delight to give Him our pound of spikenard, whatever that may be; and if we can give no other, let us offer the fragrant perfume of holy hearts and holy lives. _That_ religion is always best which reveals itself by its effects--by kindness, gentleness, amiability, unselfishness, flowing from a principle of grateful love to Him who, though unseen, has been to us as to the family of Bethany--Friend, and Help, and Guide, and Portion. Mary's honour was great to anoint her Lord, but the lowliest and humblest of His people may do the same. We may have no aromatic offering, neither "gold, nor frankincense, nor myrrh;" but My son, My daughter, "give Me thine heart." "The sacrifices of G.o.d are a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart, O G.o.d, thou wilt not despise."

Nor ought we to forget our blessed Lord's reply, when Judas objected to the waste of the ointment--"Let her alone; ... the poor ye have always with you, _but Me ye have not always_." Let us seek to make the most of our Lord's visits while we have Him. The visits of Jesus to Bethany were soon to be over;--so also with us. He will not always linger on our thresholds, if our souls refuse to receive Him, or yield Him nothing but coldness and ingrat.i.tude in return for His love. "Me ye have not always." Soon may sickness incapacitate for active service! Soon may opportunities for doing good be gone, and gone for ever! Soon may death overtake us, and the alabaster box be left behind, unused and unemployed; the dying regret on our lips--"Oh that I had done more while I lived for this most precious Saviour! but opportunities of testifying my grat.i.tude to Him are now gone beyond recall." Good deeds performed on Gospel motives, though unknown and unvalued by the world, will not go unrecompensed or unowned by Him who values the cup of cold water given in His name. "G.o.d is not unmindful to forget our work of faith and our labour of love." The Lamb's Book of Life registers every such deed of lowly piety; and on the Great Day of account "it shall be produced to our eternal honour, and rewarded with a reward of grace; though not of debt."