Chapter II: Part 2

“Oh, wait a moment,” said he, “till I ask the Lord Jesus Christ to stand by my side. I know it will be dreadful hard to bear; but it will be such a comfort to think that Jesus is near me.”

One thing we are taught by the betrayal and desertion of Christ, is the loneliness of his sufferings.

_Another thing, taught us by this part of our Saviour’s history is—HIS WILLINGNESS TO SUFFER._

We often make up our minds to suffer certain things, because we have no power to help it. But it was not so with Jesus. He had power enough to have saved himself from suffering, if he had chosen to do so. Sometime before this, when he was speaking to his disciples about his death, or, as he called it, laying down his life, he said—“No man taketh it from me, but I lay it down of myself. _I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again._” John x: 18. And he showed plainly what his power was at the very time of his betrayal. When his enemies came to take him, he “went forth, and said unto them, Whom seek ye? They answered him, Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus saith unto them, I am he.” John xviii: 4. But he put such wonderful power into these simple words—“_I am he_”—that, the moment they heard them, the whole multitude, soldiers, servants, and all, fell to the ground before him. It was nothing but the power of Jesus which produced this strange effect. It seems as if Jesus did this, on purpose to show that the mighty power by which he had healed the sick, and raised the dead, and cast out devils, and walked on the water, and controlled the stormy winds and waves, was in him still. He was not taken by his enemies because he had no power to help himself. The same power which made his enemies fall to the ground with a word could have held them there while he walked away; or could have scattered them, as the chaff is scattered by the whirlwind; or could have made the earth open and swallow them up. But he did not choose to exercise it in any of these ways. He was _willing_ to suffer for us; and so he allowed himself to be taken.

As the Jews were seizing him Peter drew his sword, and smote one of the servants of the high-priest, and cut off his right ear. Jesus touched the ear, and healed it, in a moment, thus showing again what power he had. Then he told Peter to put up his sword, and said—“Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels?” St. Matt. xxvi: 53. A full Roman legion contained six thousand men. Jesus had power enough in his own arm to keep himself from being taken, if he had chosen to use it. And more than seventy thousand angels would have flown with lightning speed to his deliverance, if he had but lifted his finger; or said—“come.” There was so much power in himself, and so much power in heaven, at his command, that all the soldiers Rome ever had could not have taken him, unless he had been willing to be taken. But he _was_ willing. And when they came to crucify him, all the nails ever made could not have fastened him to the cross, unless he had been willing to be fastened there. But his wonderful love for you and for me and for a world of lost sinners, made him willing to be fastened there, to suffer and to die, that our sins might be pardoned and that we might enter heaven.

And it is the thought of this amazing love of Christ, making him willing to suffer for us, which gives to the story of the cross the marvellous power it has to melt the hardest hearts and win the worst of men to his service. There is a power in love to do what nothing else can do,—to make men good and holy. And this is what we are taught when told that—“Christ suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God.” I. Peter iii: 18. And when we find people acting in this way towards each other in everyday life it has just the same effect. Here is an illustration of what I mean. We may call it:

“The Power of Love; or, The Just for the Unjust.” In a town near Paris, is a school for teaching poor homeless boys who are found wandering about the streets of that city and are growing up in idleness and crime.

When one of the boys breaks the rules of the school and deserves punishment, the rest of the school are called together, like a jury, to decide what shall be done with the offender. One of the punishments is confinement for several days in a dungeon, called “the black-hole.” The prisoner is put on a short allowance of food, and, of course, forfeits all the liberties of the other boys.

After the boys have, in this way, passed sentence on one of their companions and the master approves of it, this question is put to the rest of the school:—“Will any of you become this boy’s substitute? _i. e._, take his place, and bear his punishment, and let him go free?” And it generally happens that some little friend of the criminal comes forward and offers to bear the punishment instead of him. Then the only punishment the real offender has to bear is to carry the bread and water to his friend as long as he is confined in the dungeon. In this way, it generally happens that the most stubborn and hard-hearted boys are melted down, by seeing their companions willingly suffering for them what they know they deserved to suffer themselves.

And Pilate, when he had called together the chief priests and the rulers and the people, said unto them, Ye have brought this man unto me, as one that perverteth the people: and, behold, I, having examined _him_ before you, have found no fault in this man touching those things whereof ye accuse him. No, nor yet Herod: for I sent you to him; and, lo, nothing worthy of death is done unto him. I will therefore chastise him, and release _him_. (For of necessity he must release one unto them at the feast.) And they cried out all at once, saying, Away with this _man_, and release unto us Barabbas. (Who for a certain sedition made in the city, and for murder, was cast into prison.)—Then Pilate therefore took Jesus, and scourged _him_.—_St. Luke xxiii: 13-19; St. John xix: 1._

_NOTE BY THE ARTIST_

_In endeavoring to apprehend, however imperfectly, the sufferings endured by Jesus during this terrible day, there may be a tendency to under-estimate the significance of one detail which is only incidentally mentioned by the evangelists, namely, the punishment of scourging. But this was nevertheless so barbarously cruel, that the mind recoils in horror from the effort to realize the awful agony which it entailed. Bound in a crouching attitude to the pillar of torment, the quivering flesh lacerated by the fragments of bone and metal intertwisted with the thongs, few of its victims, save such as were in perfect physical health, were able to survive the infliction of the scourge, but perished either then and there, or shortly afterwards, from nervous shock or from mortification of the wounds. Yet it was a punishment so common, such an everyday occurrence, that the scourging of one more malefactor—Jesus by name—the justice or injustice of whose sentence they neither knew nor cared to know, would be regarded with utter indifference by the brutal soldiery charged with its infliction._

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Not long ago, a boy about nine or ten years old, named Pierre, was received into this school. He was a boy whose temper and conduct were so bad that he had been dismissed from several schools. He behaved pretty well at first; but soon his bad temper broke out, and one day he quarrelled with a boy about his own age, named Louis, and stabbed him in the breast with a knife.

Louis was carried bleeding to his bed. His wound was painful, but not dangerous. The boys were assembled, to consult about what was to be done with Pierre. Louis was a great favorite with the boys, and they all agreed at once that Pierre should be turned out of the school and never allowed to come back.

This was a very natural sentence under the circumstances, but the master thought it was not a wise one. He said that if Pierre was turned out of school, he would grow worse and worse, and probably end his life on the gallows. He asked them to think again. They then agreed upon a long imprisonment, without saying how long it was to be. They were asked as usual, if any one was willing to go to prison instead of Pierre. But no one offered and he was marched off to prison.

After some days, when the boys were all together, the master asked again if any one was willing to take Pierre’s place. A feeble voice was heard, saying—“I will.” To the surprise of every one this proved to be Louis—the wounded boy, who was just getting over the effect of his wound.

Louis went to the dungeon and took the place of the boy who had tried to kill him; while Pierre was set at liberty. For many days he went to the prison carrying the bread and water to Louis, but with a feeling of pride and anger in his heart.

But at last he could bear it no longer. The sight of his kind-hearted, generous friend, still pale and feeble from the effects of his wound, pining in prison—living on bread and water—and willingly suffering all this _for him_—who had tried to murder him—this was more than he could bear. His fierce temper and stubborn pride broke down under it. The generous love of Louis had fairly conquered him. He went to the master, fell down at his feet, and with bitter tears confessed his fault, begged to be forgiven, and promised to be a good boy.

He kept his promise, and became one of the best boys in the school.

And so it is the love of Christ in being willing to suffer for us that wins the hearts and lives of men to him, and gives to the story of the cross all its power.

The willingness of Christ to suffer is the second thing taught us by the history of the betrayal and desertion.

These are the two things taught us about Jesus by this history: his loneliness in suffering, and his willingness to suffer.

But, there are two things taught us about Judas, also, by this history.

One of these is—THE POWER OF SIN.

The sin of Judas was covetousness, or “the love of money.” The apostle Paul tells us that this—“is the root of all evil.” I. Tim. vi: 10. The little company of the apostles made Judas their treasurer. He carried the purse for them. He received the money that was contributed for their expenses, and paid out what was needed from day to day. We may suppose that, soon after his appointment to this office, he found himself tempted to take some of this money for his own use. Perhaps he only took a penny or two, at first, but then he soon went on to take more. Now, if he had watched and striven against this temptation, at the very first, and had prayed for strength to resist it, what a different man he might have been! There is an old proverb which says—“_Resist the beginnings._” Our only safety is in doing this. Judas neglected to resist the beginning of his temptation and the end of it was his ruin. We never can tell what may come out of one sin that is not resisted.

If you want to sink a ship at sea, it is not necessary to make half a dozen big holes in her side; one little hole, which you might stop with your finger, if left alone, will be enough to sink that ship. Judas gave himself up to the power of one sin, and _that_ led him on to betray his Master.

Let us look at some illustrations of the power of one sin.

“Clara’s Obstinacy.” Little Clara Cole was saying her prayers one evening before going to bed. Part of her evening prayer was the simple hymn—“And now I lay me down to sleep.” When she came to the last line she stopped short and would not say it. “Go on, my dear, and finish it,” said her mother. “I can’t,” she said, although she knew it perfectly well, and had said it hundreds of times before. “Oh, yes! go right on, my child.”

“No; I can’t.” “My dear child, what makes you talk so? Say the last line directly.”

But, in spite of her mother’s positive commands and loving entreaties, Clara was obstinate, and would not do it. “Very well,” said Mrs. Cole at last: “you can get into bed; but you will not get up till you have said that line.”

Next morning Mrs. Cole went into Clara’s room as soon as she heard her stir. “Now, Clara,” she said pleasantly, “say the line, and jump up.”

“I can’t say it,” said Clara, obstinately, and she actually lay in bed all that day, and part of the next rather than give up. The second day was her birthday and a number of little girls had been invited, in the evening, to her birthday party. That little, strong, cruel will of hers held out till three o’clock; then she said, “I pray the Lord my soul to take,” and bursting into tears asked her mother’s forgiveness.

How much power there was in that one sin! No one can tell what trouble it might have caused that poor child if she had not been taught to conquer it. But after that it never gave her much trouble.

“One Drop of Evil.” “I don’t see why you won’t let me play with Willie Hunt,” said Walter Kirk, with a frown and a pout. “I know he doesn’t always mind his mother. He smokes segars, and once in a while he swears just a little; but I’ve been brought up better than that; he won’t hurt me. I might do him some good.”

“Walter,” said his mother, “take this glass of pure water, and put just one drop of ink into it.”

Walter did so, and then in a moment exclaimed, “Oh! mother, who would have thought that one drop would blacken a whole glass so!”

“Yes, it has changed the color of the whole. And now just put one drop of clear water in it, and see if you can undo what has been done.”

“Why, mother, one drop, or a dozen, or fifty won’t do that.”

“That’s so, my son; and that is the reason why I don’t want you to play with Willie Hunt. For one drop of his evil ways, like the drop of ink in the glass, may do you harm that never can be undone.”

Here we see the power of a single sin.

“One Worm Did It.” One day a gentleman in England, went out with a friend who was visiting him, to take a walk in the park. As they were walking along, he drew his friend’s attention to a large sycamore tree, withered and dead.

“That fine tree,” said he, “was killed by a single worm.”

In answer to his friend’s inquiries, he said:

“About two years ago, that tree was as healthy as any in the park. One day I was walking out with a friend, as we are walking now, when I noticed a wood-worm about three inches long forcing its way under the bark of the tree. My friend, who knew a great deal about trees, said—‘Let that worm alone, and it will kill this tree.’ I did not think it possible, and said—‘well, we’ll let the black worm try, and see what it can do.’”

The worm tunnelled its way under the bark. The next summer the leaves of the tree dropped off, very early. This year the tree has not put out a single green leaf. It is a dead tree. That one worm killed it.

Here we see the power of one sin. The third lesson taught us by the history of the betrayal and desertion, is—the power of sin.

_The fourth lesson taught us by this history is—THE GROWTH OF SIN._

Solomon says, “The beginning of strife”—and the same is true of all sin—“is as when one letteth out water.” Prov. xvii: 14. There is a bank of earth that keeps the water of a mill-dam in its place. You notice one particular spot where the bank seems weak. The water is beginning to make its way through. At first, it only just trickles down, drop by drop. By and by, the drops come faster. Now, they run into each other, and make a little rill. Every moment the breach grows wider and deeper, till, at last, there is a roaring torrent rushing through that nothing can stop.

Every sin is like a seed. If it be planted in the heart and allowed to spring up, no one can tell what it will grow into. Suppose, that you and I knew nothing about the growth of trees. We are sitting under the wide-spreading branches of a vast oak tree. A friend picks up a tiny, little acorn, and holding it up before us, says—“This giant tree, under whose shade we are sitting, has all grown out of a little acorn, like this.” It would seem impossible to us. We could hardly be made to believe it. But we need no argument to prove this. We know it is so.

But the growth of sin in the hearts and lives of men is quite as surprising as the growth of trees in the forest. We see this in the case of Judas. Suppose that we could have seen him when he first let his love of money lead him to do wrong. Perhaps he only stole a penny or two, at first. That was not much. And then, suppose we had not seen Judas again till the night in which he had made up his mind to commit that greatest and most awful of all sins—the sin of betraying his Master! what a wonderful change we should have seen in him! The growth of a river from a rill—of a giant oak from a tiny acorn—would not be half so surprising as the monstrous growth in wickedness that we should have seen in Judas. When we saw him committing his first sin, he was like a little child. When we saw him committing his last awful sin—the child had sprung up into a huge, horrible giant. Jesus said he had become a devil. St. John vi: 70. How fearful it is to think of such growth in wickedness! And yet, if we allow the seed of sin to be sown in our hearts, and to spring up there, we cannot tell but what its growth may be as fearful in us as it was in Judas.

Let us look at some illustrations of the growth of sin.

“The Growth of Lying.” Some time ago a little boy told his first falsehood. It was like a solitary little thistle seed, sown in the mellow soil of his heart. No eye but that of God saw him as he planted it. But, it sprung up—O, how quickly! and, in a little time, another seed dropped from it into the ground, and then another, and another, each in its turn bearing more and more of those troublesome thistles. And now, his heart is like a field of which the weeds have taken entire possession. It is as difficult for him to speak the truth as it is for the gardener to clear his land of the ugly thistles that have once gained a rooting in the soil.

“The Snake and the Spider.” A black snake, about a foot long, lay sunning itself on a garden-bed one summer’s day. A spider had hung out his web on the branches of a bush, above where the snake lay. He saw the huge monster lying there, for huge indeed he was compared to the little spider, and he concluded to take him prisoner. But, you ask, is not the snake a thousand times stronger than the spider? Certainly he is. Then how can he take him prisoner? Well, let us see how he did it. The spider spun out a fine, slender thread. He slipped down, and touched the snake with it. It stuck. He took another, and touched him with that, and that stuck too. He went on industriously. The snake lay quiet. Another, and another thread, was fastened to him, till there were hundreds and thousands of them. And, by and by, those feeble threads, not one of which was strong enough to hold the smallest fly, when greatly multiplied, were strong enough to make the snake a prisoner. The spider webbed him round and round, till, at last, when the snake tried to move, he found it was impossible. The web had grown strong out of its weakness. By putting one strand here, and another there, and drawing, first on one, and then on another, the spider had the snake bound fast, from head to tail, to be a supply of food for himself and family for a long while.

And so, if we give way even to little sins, they may make us their prisoner as the spider did the snake, and before we are aware of it, we may be bound hand and foot and unable to help ourselves.

“Sin Like a Whirlpool.” The Columbia river, in Oregon, has a great bend in it at one place where it passes through a mountain range. When the water in the river is high there is a dangerous whirlpool in this part of the river. An officer connected with the United States Exploring Expedition was going down this river, some years ago, in a boat which was manned by ten Canadians. When they reached this bend in the river, they thought the water was so low that the whirlpool would not be dangerous. So they concluded to go down the river in the boat, as this would save them the labor of carrying the boat with its baggage across the portage to the place where they would take the river again below the rapids. But, the officer was put on shore, to walk across the portage. He had to climb up some high rocks. From the top of these rocks he had a full view of the river beneath and of the boat in her passage. At first, she seemed to skim over the waters like a bird. But, soon he saw they were in trouble. The struggles of the oarsmen and the shouts of the man at the helm showed that there was danger from the whirlpool, when they thought there would be none. He saw the men bend on their oars with all their might. But, in spite of all, the boat lost its straightforward course, and was drawn into the whirl. It swept round and round, with increasing force and swiftness. No effort they could make had the least control of it. A few more turns, each more rapid than the rest, and at last, the centre was reached; and the boat, with all her crew, was drawn into the dreadful whirlpool, and disappeared. Only one of the ten bodies was found afterwards, in the river below; and that was all torn and mangled by the rocks, against which it had been dashed.

Just such a whirlpool is sin. Judas was drawn into it when he first gave way to his covetousness and began to steal money from the purse with which he was entrusted. Like the men in the boat, he soon lost all control of himself and was carried round and round, till at last he was “drowned in destruction and perdition.”

And thus we have considered the history of the betrayal and the lessons that it teaches. Two of these lessons refer to Jesus. They show us the _loneliness_ of his sufferings, and his _willingness_ to suffer. Two of them refer to Judas. They show us the _power_, and the _growth_ of sin.

There is a beautiful Collect in the Prayer Book which is very suitable to use in connection with such a subject as this. It is the Collect for the Fourth Sunday after Epiphany, and teaches us to pray thus:

“O God, who knowest us to be set in the midst of so many and great dangers, that by reason of the frailty of our nature, we cannot always stand upright; grant to us such strength and protection as may support us in all dangers, and carry us through all temptations, through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.”

The blessings asked for in this prayer are just what we need amidst the dangers and temptations that surround us in this evil world. If we only obtain for ourselves “the strength and protection” here prayed for, and which God has promised to give to those who truly seek it, we need not be afraid either of the power or the growth of sin. This strength will be a safeguard to us against the power of sin, and this protection will check the growth of sin in our hearts. It will indeed, “support us in all dangers, and carry us through all temptations.” If Judas had used such a prayer as this, and had earnestly sought “the strength and protection” here spoken of, he would never have been known as “the traitor,” and the end of his earthly life would never have been wound up with this shameful sentence—“he went and hanged himself.” But, as wrecks along the shore show us where the danger lies, so, when we see the wrecks we should try to avoid the rocks on which they struck and go on our way in safety.

I know not how to finish this subject better than for each of us to say, in the words of the hymn:

“My soul, be on thy guard;
Ten thousand foes arise;
And hosts of sins are pressing hard
To draw thee from the skies.

“O watch, and fight, and pray;
The battle ne’er give o’er;
Renew it boldly every day,
And help divine implore.”

Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the common hall, and gathered unto him the whole band _of soldiers_. And they stripped him, and put on him a scarlet robe. And when they had platted a crown of thorns, they put _it_ upon his head, and a reed in his right hand: and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews! And they spit upon him, and took the reed, and smote him on the head.—_St. Matt. xxvii: 27-30._

_NOTE BY THE ARTIST_

_Had it been possible to add a pang to the suffering already endured, this must surely have been effected by the foul jests and ribald mockery which Jesus was now called upon to endure at the hands of the ruffians of the barrack-room. The lust of cruelty, delight in inflicting and witnessing torture, marks the lowest depth of human depravity; and to sorrow of heart beyond what we can comprehend, to physical suffering as great as any which mortal man can endure and live, was now added the humiliation of being the object of sport and derision to the dregs of mankind. For these men were not even Romans, save in name; the ranks of the imperial armies called upon for foreign service being mainly recruited from the scum of the population of tributary provinces._

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THE TRIAL

We come now to another of the dark and sad chapters in the history of our Saviour’s life. We have seen how he was betrayed by one of his disciples, and forsaken by all the rest. Then his enemies seized him, and led him away to those who had sent them—the priests and rulers of the Jewish church. We speak of what then took place at the _trial_ of our Saviour. But it was only the form or mockery of a trial. It was not conducted at all in the way in which regular trials were required to be conducted among the Jews. The simple truth is that the enemies of Jesus had made up their minds to put him to death, and they merely pretended to have a trial because they were afraid to do it without.

And in studying this part of the life of our Saviour, we may look, very briefly, at the history of his trial; and then at some of the lessons that it teaches us.

When the band of soldiers and servants had seized Jesus, and made him prisoner, they led him away to the house of Caiaphas the high-priest. He had gathered together the chief-priests and other members of the Jewish high council, called the Sanhedrim. This was the highest court among the Jews. It was composed of seventy, or seventy-two of the oldest, the most learned, and honorable men of the nation. The high-priest was generally the president of this council. Their usual place of meeting was in one of the courts of the temple. But, on special occasions, they met in the house of the high-priest, as they did now. Jesus was brought before this council. Here they tried to bring some charge against him of teaching false doctrines, or of doing something contrary to the laws of their church. But though they had hired many false witnesses against him, the witnesses did not agree in their testimony, and they found it impossible to prove anything wrong against him.

Then the high-priest made a solemn appeal to him, and asked him to say whether he was the Son of God. “Jesus saith unto them—I am. Hereafter shall the Son of man sit on the right hand of the power of God.” Then they said he was guilty of blasphemy, and deserved to be put to death. St. Matt. xxvi: 59-66; St. Mark xiv: 55-64; John xviii: 19-24.

After this, the servants of the priests blindfolded Jesus, and began to mock him, to smite him, to spit on him, and to say all manner of insulting and blasphemous things to him. St. Matt. xxvi: 67, 68; St. Mark xiv: 65; St. Luke xxii: 62-65.

Then the priests and other members of the council seem to have gone home, leaving Jesus to the mockery and insults of the servants. As soon as it was morning the priests and scribes met again. They asked him once more if he were the Christ, the Son of God. Again he declared that he was. Then they arose and led him to Pilate, the Roman governor, to get his consent for them to put him to death. This was necessary because Jerusalem was then under the power of the Romans, and no one but the governor, whom they appointed, had the power of putting a prisoner to death according to law.

But, when the priests brought Christ before Pilate, they changed their plan. They did not accuse him of blasphemy now, because they knew very well that Pilate would not care at all about that. So they pretended that he had been trying to stir up the people in opposition to the Roman government. This was a very serious charge, and one for which, if it could be proved, the punishment would be death.

But, they could not prove their charge. As soon as Pilate looked on Jesus, he seemed to be satisfied that he was an innocent man. Then he took him aside and had a long conversation with him, alone by himself. The result of this was that Pilate was perfectly satisfied of the innocence of Jesus, and was resolved to release him.

But, on returning to the judgment hall and telling the Jews what he wished to do, he found that they would not listen to this for a moment. Thus he was in trouble, and knew not what to do. Just then something was said about Galilee. This was in the northern part of Palestine, and out of the dominion of Pilate. Herod was the governor of Galilee. He happened to be in Jerusalem at that time. Pilate resolved to send his prisoner to him, and hoped in this way, to get rid of any further trouble in connection with him.

So Jesus was sent to Herod—the Herod under whose dominion John was beheaded. He asked him many questions; but Jesus declined to answer one of them. Then Herod, with his men of war, mocked him and sent him back to Pilate, only saying that he found no fault in him. St. Matt. xxvii: 1, 2, 11-14; Mark xv: 1-5; Luke xxiii: 1-12; John xviii: 28-38.

After this Pilate made several attempts to release Jesus; but the Jews were so fierce in their opposition that he was afraid to do it.

Then he thought he saw his way out of the difficulty by the help of a custom that had prevailed in connection with the feast of the Passover, which was then about to be kept. He had been in the habit of allowing the Jews to ask for the release of some prisoner who deserved to be put to death, and of setting him at liberty, when they requested it, while they were keeping the feast. There was a prisoner then in Jerusalem named Barabbas. He had been guilty of murder and other dreadful crimes. Pilate thought that when he should bring Jesus and Barabbas before the people, side by side, and offer to release to them whoever they should choose, they would be sure to ask for the gentle, loving Jesus, in preference to a wretched, blood-stained murderer. And no doubt they would, if they had been left to their own choice. But they were not so left. The priests and scribes had made up their minds that Jesus should be put to death. So they went about among the people, when this offer was made, and persuaded them to cry out—“Not this man, but Barabbas.”

Thus Pilate was disappointed again.

While this was going on, his wife sent a message to him saying she had had a dream about this prisoner Jesus, which troubled her greatly. She said he was a just and good man, and begged her husband not to have anything to do with putting him to death. This made Pilate feel still more resolved than ever to let him ago.

Then he told the Jews that Jesus had done no wrong, and he would therefore chastise him and let him go. This made the Jews very furious. They told Pilate that if he let this man go, it would show that he was not a true friend of the emperor, Cæsar. They gave him to understand that they would complain of him to the emperor, and in this way he would be likely to lose his office. This alarmed him so that he could stand out no longer. He let the Jews have their way, and delivered Jesus up to them, to be crucified.

Then the soldiers took Jesus and stripped him of his own clothes, and put a purple robe upon him; and platted a crown of thorns and put it on his head, and bowed the knee before him in shameful mockery, and cried—“Hail! king of the Jews!” Then they smote him with the palms of their hands, and with the reed, and showed their utmost contempt by spitting on him. Then Pilate had him brought forth before the Jews, wearing the crown of thorns, and the purple robe, and pointing to him in scorn, said—“Behold the man! Behold your king!”

“And he delivered him to be crucified.” St. Matt. xxvii: 11-30; St. Mark xv: 1-20; St. Luke xxiii: 1-25; St. John xviii: 13-24, 28-40; xix: 1-16.

Such is the history of our Saviour’s trial.

And now, we may go on to speak of _five_ lessons taught us by this history.

_The first lesson is about—THE WEAK RULER._

We refer, of course, here to Pontius Pilate. We know very little about him beyond what we learn from the gospels. He belonged to a highly honorable Roman family. He had been the governor of Judea for several years. He was not a very cruel or oppressive ruler, although he sometimes did hasty and unjust things. Our Saviour referred to one of these when he spoke of—“the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices.” We know none of the particulars of this event. But, from reading the history of our Lord’s trial we can see, very well, what sort of a man Pilate was. He was a weak man. I do not mean weak in body, but weak in character. He could see what was right, and was willing to do it, if it could be done without injury to himself.

When Jesus was brought before him as a prisoner, he soon saw that he was an innocent man, and that it would be wrong to put him to death. But, at the same time, he saw that unless he did put him to death, he would give great offence to the Jews. And if he offended them, he was afraid they would complain of him to the emperor, and he would lose his office. And so his fear led him to condemn an innocent man to death, although he knew it was wrong to do so. He tried to get rid of the guilt connected with this act by washing his hands before the Jews, and saying “I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it.” But this was very foolish. Why, all the waters in the ocean could not wash away the stain of the Saviour’s blood from the hands of Pilate. He knew that the right thing for him to do was to let Jesus go: but he was afraid to do it. This shows what a weak man he was.

And the wrong that he did on this occasion did not save him from the dangers that he dreaded. The Jews did accuse him to the emperor for some other things. He lost his office in disgrace. And of what happened to him after losing his office, different accounts are given. One of the stories about him is that he retired into Switzerland and spent the rest of his days on a mountain, near the city of Lucerne. This mountain is named Pilatus after him. The story says that he lived a very unhappy life there, and that he finally drowned himself in a lake on the top of that mountain. But the things for us to remember about Pilate are that he was a weak man; that he committed a dreadful sin when he condemned Jesus to death; and that the punishment of his sin which followed him in this life was the loss of his office, and the deep disgrace which it has fastened on his name. Wherever the two great creeds of the church are repeated, all over the earth, we hear it publicly proclaimed that Jesus—“suffered under Pontius Pilate.”

We see plainly illustrated in Pilate’s case the punishment that followed from his weakness in not doing what he knew to be right. If we have the courage to refuse to do what is wrong, we shall always be rewarded for it.

“Brave Charlie.” Two little boys were walking along a village street one day, when they stopped before the garden connected with a gentleman’s house and gazed with admiration on the many beautiful flowers that were growing there. Presently the smaller of the two boys exclaimed, “Oh, how I wish I had one or two of those beautiful roses, to take home to my sick sister. Every day she says she wishes she could see some flowers again.”

“Then, why don’t you take some of them, you little goose,” said the other boy. “Here, I am taller than you, and I can reach over the fence. I’ll get some for both of us.”

“No, no, Tim,” said the little boy, seizing his arm; “I wouldn’t steal even a flower, if I never had one in the world; but I’ll go in and ask the lady for a rose for Ellen.”

“Well, you’ll only get sent away for your pains,” said the older boy; “for my part I shall help myself.”

But, just as Tim was reaching over the fence and had seized a branch of beautiful roses, the gardener spied him, and dropping a basket that was in his hand, he rushed after the boy and caught him. He gave him a sound flogging and told him that if he ever found him doing that again, he would have him put in jail as a thief.

In the meantime little Charlie had gone up the steps and rung the door-bell. The door was opened immediately by a kind-looking lady.

“Please, ma’am will you give me a rose or two for my sick sister?” asked Charlie.

“Yes, indeed, my little man,” said the lady. “I have been sitting at the window and I heard your conversation with the boy who wished you to steal some of my roses; and I’m very glad to see that you would not steal ‘even a flower.’ Now come with me, and I will cut you a beautiful bunch of roses.” Then she asked him about his mother and sister, and told him to come and get some flowers whenever his sister wanted them.

After this she went to see his sick sister and mother and helped them in many ways. She kept up her interest in Charlie, and when he had done going to school, she got him a nice situation and remained his friend for life.

And when we think of Pontius Pilate, the weak ruler, let us remember that if we do wrong, we must always suffer for it; and that if we do right God will surely reward and bless us.

“Dare to do right! dare to be true!
You have a work that no other can do;
Do it so bravely, so kindly, so well,
Angels will hasten the story to tell.

“Dare to do right! dare to be true!
The failings of others can never save you;
Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith;
Stand like a hero, and battle till death.

“Dare to do right! dare to be true!
God, who created you, cares for you too—
Treasures the tears which his striving ones shed,
Counts, and protects every hair of your head.”

Pilate therefore went forth again, and saith unto them, Behold, I bring him forth to you, that ye may know that I find no fault in him. Then came Jesus forth, wearing the crown of thorns, and the purple robe. And _Pilate_ saith unto them, Behold the man! When the chief priests therefore and officers saw him, they cried out, saying, Crucify _him_, crucify _him_. Pilate saith unto them, Take ye him, and crucify _him_: for I find no fault in him.—And the governor said, Why, what evil hath he done? But they cried out the more, saying, Let him be crucified. When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but _that_ rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed _his_ hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye _to it_. Then answered all the people, and said, His blood _be_ on us, and on our children. Then released he Barabbas unto them: and when he had scourged Jesus, he delivered _him_ to be crucified.—_St. John xix: 4-6; St. Matt. xxvii: 23-26._

_NOTE BY THE ARTIST_

_Once more the scene is “Gabbatha”—the place where Pilate sat; and Jesus, his lacerated shoulders covered with a cast-off soldier’s cloak of scarlet, and wearing a crown of thorns, is exposed to the gaze of the rabble of Jerusalem, who now surged and thronged in the courtyard of the palace. Pilate vainly hoped that the sight of the sufferings the prisoner had already endured might satisfy the fury of his enemies; but the relentless hatred of the priests was voiced through the insensate yells of the ignorant and bloodthirsty mob, and their final argument was cunningly directed to the point of least resistance. Pilate’s sense of justice yielded to that of self-interest. “He released unto them one who (Barabbas), for sedition and murder, was cast into prison, whom they had desired; but he delivered Jesus to their will.”_

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_The second lesson that we may learn from the history of Christ’s trial is a lesson about—THE WICKED PRIESTS._

If our Saviour had been persecuted and put to death by infidels or by men who did not profess to be religious, it would not have been surprising. But, when we find that it was the priests—men occupying the highest places in the church, and whose business it was to study the Scriptures, and teach them to the people—when _these_ were the men most forward in having Jesus put to death—it seems very strange. And yet, it was just so. When Jesus began his ministry, the priests were the first to oppose him. As he went on with the work of his ministry, they were always the most ready to persecute him, and give him trouble. And at the last, it was the priests who resolved he should be put to death and who took the lead in bringing about that awful result. It was the priests who hired Judas to betray him. It was the priests who brought false charges against him. And, when Pilate was willing to let him go, it was the priests who stirred up the people to insist on his being put to death. Jesus had come at the time and in the way that the prophets had said he should come; and yet the priests would not receive him. He had been loving, and gentle, and kind; and yet they hated him. He had spent his life in going about doing good; and yet the priests made up their minds that he must be put to death.

And the question that comes up here is—how was it possible that these men—these priests—should be so wicked? This is a very serious and important question. And the answer to it is this: that being ministers, or priests, or being engaged in the outward duties of religion will do us no good and make us no better than other people, unless we are careful to have our hearts made right in the sight of God; unless we are willing to believe what he tells us, and to think, and feel, and speak, and act, as he wishes us to do. The best things, when spoiled, always become the worst things. Women have many things that help to make them better than men. But a bad woman is always worse than a bad man. Satan was once an archangel. But he sinned. He fell. He is now an angel ruined, and this makes him the worst, the wickedest person to be found in all the universe.

There is one passage of Scripture which explains to us how it was possible for those priests to become so wicked. This passage is found in II. Thess. ii: 11, 12. Here the apostle Paul tells us that if we are not willing to let God be our teacher, and if we do not love the teachings that he gives us, God will let Satan come and deceive us, and lead us to believe what is not the truth. This will make us very wicked; and the end of it will be that our souls will be lost. This explains to us how it was that those Jewish priests became so wicked. They were not willing to let God be their Teacher. They would not receive the things that God had taught about Jesus in the Old Testament. Then Satan came and deceived them. He made them believe what was not true about Jesus. And it was _this_ which led to their becoming such wicked men. They were the wickedest men in the world at the time they lived.

And this should make us very careful not to think too much of ourselves or of our own opinions. It should make us willing to believe all that God tells us about Jesus, or about ourselves, in the Bible, whether we understand it or not. This is the only way in which we can become wise, and good, and happy; and be kept from following the example of these wicked priests.

There is only room for one illustration here:

“The Two Brothers.” Some years ago there lived in the State of Rhode Island two boys who were brothers, twin-brothers. They grew up together. They both had the same home, the same education, and everything about them the same. They were very much alike in size and appearance. They were both bright, intelligent, sensible, good-natured boys. This continued till they were about sixteen years of age. Then one of them read an infidel book—called Paine’s Age of Reason. He made up his mind to follow the teachings of that book. The other brother had read the Bible and resolved to take _that_ as his guide and teacher through life. And from this time, the two brothers, who had been so much alike before, soon began to be very different from each other. One of them turned around and walked in a wrong way, the other went on in the right way. One of them fell into habits of intemperance, and so was led on to all kinds of wickedness. The other learned the lessons which the Bible teaches, and practised them in his daily life. One of them became an idle, worthless vagabond, while the other became a useful, prosperous, and happy citizen. One of them sank down to the low level of a wretched gambler, while the other rose to occupy a seat in the Legislature of the State in which he lived.

And the end of these two men was that one of them committed murder. He was put in prison; was tried, found guilty, condemned to be hanged, and died upon the gallows. The other lived a long and useful and happy life, and died at last loved and honored by all who knew him.

This is the lesson about the wicked priests.

_The next lesson from this history of the trial is about—THE PATIENCE OF CHRIST._

There are many things told us of the life of Christ which are wonderful, but the most wonderful of all is his patience. There are other examples of patience in the Bible, but none that can be compared with the example of Jesus. The apostle James tells us of “the patience of Job.” Ch. v: 11. He was indeed very patient. In one day he lost all his property and his children. The messengers that brought him the sad tidings of his losses followed each other, like the waves of the sea. It must have been very hard for him to bear. And if we had been told that he was very much excited and had said some very violent and bitter words on hearing of all that had happened to him, we should not have been at all surprised. But he did nothing of the kind. After hearing of all his terrible losses, he simply bowed himself to the earth, and said—“The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” Job i: 21. Here is a noble example of patience.

Joseph was very patient. When he first saw his brethren, as they came down to Egypt to buy corn, he remembered all the bitter wrongs they had done to him. He was now the governor of all the land of Egypt. They were completely in his power. How easily he could have taken revenge upon them by throwing them all into prison or putting them to death! But there was no such feeling in his heart. He was forgiving and patient. He only thought of doing them good and showing them kindness.