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Chapter 5: The Religious Personality as Interpreted by Himself

B. SIGNIFICANCE OF HIS DEATH

§ I. Growth of the Idea

1. VAGUE and general as were the terms in which Jesus stated His anticipation of death, it was yet at once unwelcome and unintelligible to His disciples. For from this point onwards a change which profoundly affects their mutual relations may be seen in process. Their agreement with Him as to the central matter—His Messiahship—only accentuates the radical difference between them as to what the Messiah is to be and what He ought to do. The “Christ” as Jesus conceives Him is devoted to suffering and death; but the disciples conceive the Messiah not in terms they had learned of Jesus, but rather under the categories of local tradition and personal interest. The more explicit His Messianic consciousness grows the more He emphasizes His death; but the more strongly they believe in His Messiahship the less will they permit themselves to think of His liability to a death which they can only construe as defeat. And so there emerges the most tragic moment in the ministry, the bewilderment of the disciples and their alienation from the Master. The conflict which had hitherto raged between Jesus and the Pharisees is now transferred to the innermost circle of His friends; but with this characteristic difference: while the old conflict was open, frank, and audible, the new was secret, sullen, inarticulate. The signs of the estrangement are many. Their ambitions grew sordid, and they began to feel as if following Him were sheer loss. When He said, “How hard is it for them who trust in riches to enter the kingdom of God”—no strange truth in His mouth—they were “astonished above measure,” and said to Him, “Who then can be saved?”1 Feeling as if this doctrine threatened them with the lot of the uncompensated, Peter, as ready a spokesman of suspicion as of faith, said, “Behold we have forsaken all and followed Thee; what, therefore, shall we have?”2 The natural result was that jealousy, envy, and mutual distrust wasted their brotherhood, and they disputed by the way as to “who should be the greatest.”3 Hence Jesus had to set the little child in their midst that he might teach the grown men how to live in trust and love. Even thus their greed of place and preeminence was not silenced, for the ten were moved to indignation by James and John—two of the most privileged disciples—seeking to beguile the Master into a promise to give them seats, the one at His right hand, the other at His left, in His kingdom.4 So far did they fall that they attempted to do His works without His faith,5 tried to hinder men doing good in His name,6 and even when His face was towards Jerusalem so little had they knowledge of His spirit or His mission that they asked authority to command fire from heaven to consume a Samaritan village.7 The picture of the alienation is most graphic in Mark: “They were in the way going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus went before; and they were amazed, and as they followed they were afraid.”8 He walks alone, unheeded; the words He speaks they do not care to hear, for they are confounded, and walk as in a vain show, feeling as if the voice which had created their hopes had turned into a contradiction of the hopes it had created. This was their mood, and it is doubtful whether they ever escaped from it while He lived. It helps to explain their behaviour during the passion, which was but the natural expression of their imperfect sympathy with the Sufferer.

Jesus' method of dealing with this mood enables us to read more clearly His idea as to His sufferings and death. He met the protest of Peter by a public reproof, for Mark here has a trait which Matthew overlooked: “When he had turned about and looked on the disciples, He rebuked Peter”9—an act which the apostle had evidently never forgotten. But much more significant than the reproof is the manner and the circumstances under which He repeats and enforces the teaching as to His death. All the Synoptists agree in placing after this incident the words in which Jesus affirms that those who follow Him must not shrink from the fellowship of the cross.10 They must deny themselves, willingly lose life for His sake and the Gospel's, live as those who love the soul and fear no worldly loss. But not satisfied with indirect instruction, He, under conditions which speak of exaltation, returns to the idea which they so hated. He speaks of it as they were descending from the Mount of Transfiguration.11 While men were wondering at the things He did, seeing in them “the mighty power of God,” He bade His disciples let His sayings sink down into their ears, “for the Son of Man shall be delivered into the hands of men.”12 But one Evangelist is careful to add, “They understood not this saying.”13 His answer to James and John, when they wanted the Samaritan village consumed, was, “The Son of Man is not come to destroy men's lives, but to save them”;14 which means, read in its connexion, to save even by suffering at their hands. Then at the very hour when the alienation was most complete, He would not hide the offence of the cross from their eyes, but once more predicted His death and the part “the chief priests and the scribes” were to take in it,15 though even yet, as Luke says, “this saying was hid from them, neither understood they the things which were spoken.”16 So far, however, Jesus has only repeated His thought in its original form, His purpose seeming to be to make it as clear and distinct to the consciousness of the Twelve as it was to His own. He could not attempt to expand or explain it to men who would allow it no entrance into their minds. But their mutual rivalries, which were the fruits of their alienation from Him, created at once the opportunity and the need for further exposition; and He added to His prediction of the fact and manner a word as to the function and end of the Messianic death: “The Son of Man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give His life a ransom for many.”17

2. This saying marks a very clear advance in the expression of His consciousness, or the definition of His own idea as to His death.

(a) Baur argued that this saying is so contrary to the thought and habit of Jesus that we must suppose He either never said it or said it in quite another form.18 The exhortation to the disciples is complete without it, and so, said the critic, these words were made for Him, not used by Him. But it is hardly possible to conceive a more gratuitous conjecture. The words will stand any test, critical or diacritical, that can be applied to them. The heart of the narrative implies its conclusion, for what do the “cup” He has to drink, the “baptism” He is to be baptized with, signify? Not surely the mere idea of service, but the idea of suffering endured to its tragic end. Here, if anywhere, we have a γό γιον ἀληθιννόν, spoken to jealous, unsympathetic, disputatious disciples, while He and they were going up to Jerusalem. It is something to have this fragment of authentic speech, which has, as it were, seized and preserved His articulate voice in the very act of defining Himself and His mission. It is easy to import into the clause too much of our technical theology, but it is still easier to simplify it into insignificance by attempting to keep all theology out of it. The key to its meaning has been commonly found in λύτρον, and in a measure correctly. In each of His formal references in the Synoptists to the death there is a special terminus technicus which may well claim to be a key-word. In the first it is Χριστόϛ, in the last διαήκη here λύτρον Now λύτρον is a term easy of interpretation by itself, but here the context in which it stands makes it peculiarly difficult: for while the persons ransomed are specified, He neither defines the state out of which, or the state into which, they are redeemed, nor the need for the ransom, nor the person to whom it was paid, nor the precise respect in which it is the issue of His surrendered life. Ritschl,19 in an elaborate dissertation, argues that λύτρον here, as in the LXX., where it translates רפֶכּׂ, signifies means or instrument of protection (Schutzmittel), which may in certain cases become means or price of release (Lösepreis). He examines various typical texts in the Old Testament, and comes to the conclusion that those which present the most exact parallel to the words of Jesus are Psalm xlix. 7 and Job xxxiii. 24, and he thence deduces three positions: (i.) that this ransom is conceived as an offering to God and not to the devil; (ii.) that Jesus did instead of the many, what no one either for himself or for any other could do; and (iii.) that Jesus in thus defining His work specifically distinguishes Himself from man, who must die, as one who dies freely, or who by His own voluntary act surrenders His life to God. So he finally defines λύτρον as “an offering which, because of its specific worth to God, is a protection or covering against death.” The positions are interesting, and we see how they are reached, but what we do not see is any connexion between the method of reaching them and the words of Jesus. Wendt20 is less elaborate and exhaustive. He argues that the term is used to express one idea—the deliverance of many, i.e. “all those who will learn of Him,” by Christ's voluntary sufferings “from their bondage to suffering and death”; but he has nothing to say as to the person or power to whom the ransom was paid. Beyschlag21 considers the ransom not a payment to God, but a purchase for God, and a being freed from the dominion of a power hostile to him, the bondage neither of death nor even of mere guilt but of sin.

(b) Let us reverse the order these scholars have followed, and instead of coming to the context through the term, come to the term through the context. The sons of Zebedee and their mother had made their request for the two pre-eminent seats in the new kingdom. Jesus in charity attributes their request to their ignorance, and then asks, Were they able to drink His cup and bear His baptism? And they said they were able. The question and the answer are alike significant. The question shows that His spirit was already foretasting the passion. We see that while they wrangled and schemed as to who should be pre-eminent, He was feeling the awful solitude of His sorrow, the suffering that was His alone to know and to bear. Their answer illustrates, more than any other utterance recorded in the Gospels, the ignorance which was the root of the alienation in which the disciples then lived. It expressed a tragic temerity, the courage of the childish or the drunken, who use words but do not know what they mean. If John ever recalled this moment, and looked at it through the memories of the passion, he must have experienced shame and humiliation of a kind which it is good even for saints to feel. But though it suggests to us the audacity of the child which now overwhelms and now amuses the man, what it must have signified to Jesus was the distance between His mind and theirs, the absence from their consciousness of what were then the most patent facts and potent factors in His own. So He gently calls to Him the disappointed two and the angry ten, though in the ten the very thoughts were active that had moved the two; and proceeded once more to explain His kingdom in its antithesis to man's. They had construed His kingdom through man's instead of through Himself, and so had been seeking parallels where they ought to have found contrasts. And these contrasts He indicates rather than develops, (i.) The fundamental difference was in the persons who exercised kinghood, and therefore in the kinghood they exercised. In man's kingdom lordship is founded upon conquest, authority is based upon might, and so the great are the strong who compel the obedience of the weak; but in Christ's the note of eminence is service, “the chiefest of all is the servant of all.” This, however, requires the rarest qualities: for service of all without moral elevation degrades both him who gives and him who takes. Humility without magnanimity is meanness; the humbleness that glories in being down invites the contempt of all honourable men, for it can neither climb up itself, nor lift up the fallen, nor help up the struggling. The service must therefore here be interpreted through the ideal Servant, “the Son of man.” “Lordship” of the heroic order is not a difficult thing to attain, for men of marked moral inferiority have attained it: Alexander, who was a youth of ungoverned passions; Cæsar, who was a statesman more astute than scrupulous; Napoleon, who was but colossal obstinacy, loveless and athirst for blood. But the pre-eminence that comes of being “the servant of all” only Jesus has attained, and it is a pre-eminence which has outlasted ail dynasties, because based on qualities that have ministered to all that was best, highest, and most universal in man. (ii.) Correspondent to this contrast in the authorities of the two kingdoms, is the difference in their ends. The “lord” governs as a ruler, persons to him are nothing, order and law are all in all. The violated law must be vindicated, the man who breaks it must be broken. But the “minister” serves as a saviour; persons to him are everything; law and order are agencies for the creation of happy persons and the common weal. The law which lordship enjoins is in its ultimate analysis force, and is, when violated, vindicated by the strength it commands; but the end or law which the ministry obeys is benevolence, or in its ultimate analysis love, and it is vindicated only when it can, by the creation of a happy harmony between the person and his conditions, overcome misery and its causes. The creative energy in this case is moral, not, as in the other, physical; and the created state is beatitude, or personal happiness within a happy state. (iii.) The contrast of authorities and ends implies therefore a correlative contrast of means. The “lord” prevails by his power to inflict suffering, the “minister” by his power to save from it; but the saving is a process of infinite painfulness, while the infliction is easy to him who has the adequate strength. The “lord” has only so to marshal his forces as to work his will, but the “minister” has to seek the person he would save, bear him in his own soul, quicken the dead energies of good within him by the streams of his own life, burn out the evil of the old manhood by the fire of consuming love. The final act, therefore, of the King whose kinghood is a ministry, is the sacrifice of Himself, giving “His life as a ransom for many.”

3. From this analysis of the words of Jesus, several positions seem, to follow, and these we may illustrate, not only from the Synoptists, but from John, which is here full of elucidatory material.

(a) There is a distinct change in the point of view from which the death is regarded. Before it was represented as inflicted, the Son of man was to suffer death at the hands of the “elders and chief priests” here He lays down His life, spontaneously submits to death. The entrance of this voluntary element modifies the whole conception, changes the death from a martyrdom to a sacrifice. The martyr is not a willing sufferer, he is the victim of superior force. He dies because others so will. He might be able to purchase a pardon by recantation, did his conscience allow him to recant; but conscience is not the cause of this death, only a condition for the action of those who inflict it. He does not choose death; death, as it were, chooses him. But sacrifice is possible only where there is perfect freedom—where a man surrenders what he has both the right and the power to withhold. Now Jesus here speaks of His act as a free act; He came, not simply to suffer at the hands of violent men, but to do a certain thing—“give his life.” The terms that describe the ministry and the death are co-ordinate, freedom enters in the same measure into both; as He came to minister He came to give His life, the spontaneity in both cases being equal and identical.

The two points of view—the earlier and the later—are not inconsistent, but rather complementary. In John the spontaneity is more emphasized than in the Synoptists. His life no man takes from Him, He lays it down of Himself.22 But the same Gospel emphasizes more than any of the others the malignant activity of the Jews in compassing His death.23 Their action was necessary to its form, but His Spirit determined its essence. The significance it had for history came from the framework into which it was woven; but its value to God and man proceeded from the spontaneity with which it was undertaken and endured. In the freedom, therefore, which He now emphasized, Jesus lifted His death from an event in the history of Israel to an event in the history of Spirit; and at the same time changed it from a martyrdom into a sacrifice, i.e. from a fate which He suffered to a work which He achieved.

(β) But beside this change from the conception of His person as a passive to that of it as an active factor in His death, stands another the expression of the principle that governs His action. The sacrifice is not unmotived; it is in order to service, an act born of benevolence. John here supplies an interpretative verse: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”24 And there is a still higher synthesis. What is done in obedience to love is done in obedience to God. And so the same act which appears as love to man appears as duty to His Father, doing His will or obeying His commandments.25 The voluntary act thus turns into the very end of His existence, the cause why He came into the world.26 And He is therefore the person whose function it is as the way to lead to the Father, as the truth to show the Father, as the life to generate, enlarge, and perpetuate on earth the Spirit which is of God.27 The death thus ceases to be an incident in the petty and distressful history of a small people. It assumes a universal significance, is taken into the purpose of God, and becomes the means for the realization of the divine ends

(γ) The ends to which the death is a means are variously represented. In the synoptic passage the end stands in antithesis to that of the ethnic kingdoms, i.e. it is a state not of bondage but of ordered freedom, in a realm where the highest in honour and in office are the most efficient in service. This is in harmony with the Johannine word, “the truth shall make you free.”28 But the opposite of freedom is bondage, and in each case the state is in nature correspondent to its cause. “Where the Spirit of the Lord is there is liberty” but “whosoever committeth sin is the bondservant of sin.”29 The sin which man serves may be incorporated in many forms: the world,30 which is sin generalized; the devil,31 which is sin personalized; the wolves that harass and devour the flock,32 which is sin symbolized. These are but aspects of one thing: sin is each, and sin is all; but His death is the means by which God effects deliverance from each and all. By it the world is overcome,33 the devil is judged,34 and the sheep are saved.35 Now there is no term that could better express the means that effects these ends than λύτρον, i.e. where the end is redemption, emancipation, deliverance from the dark powers which hold man in bondage, the means are most correctly denoted a “ransom.” It is evident that Jesus is thinking of the fitness and efficacy of His death as a method of accomplishing a given purpose, and this determines the word He chooses. He does not think of buying off man either from the world or the devil, or of paying a debt to God, or of making satisfaction to law; He simply thinks of man as enslaved, and by His death rescued from slavery. To require that every element in a figurative word be found again in the reality it denotes, is not exegesis but pedantry—the same sort of pedantry that would find in the parable of the Prodigal Son a complete and exhaustive picture of the relations of God and man.

(δ) The death is “for many.” The “many” is to be taken as = multitude, mass. We cannot think that “the Son of man” and the “many” stand in accidental juxtaposition. The one term denotes a person who stands related to collective mankind; the other term denotes those to whom He is related as the “multitude,” the “many,” not as opposed to the few, but as distinguished from “the One.” The One has the distinction of the unique: He stands alone, and does what He alone can do. Of the “many” no one “can by any means redeem his brother nor give to God a ransom for him”;36 but “the One” can do what is impossible to all or any of the “many.” His pre-eminence, therefore, is the secret of His worth; He does what is possible to no other, for He transcends all others, and His personality equals as it were the personality of collective man. Hence He is able to “give Himself a ransom for many.”

(ϵ) “For many:” ἀντὶ πολλω̑ν = “in room of many.” His death is not a common death, and Jesus does not here conceive it simply as suffered “for conscience' sake,” but as “for many.” In it He endures the tragedy of His pre-eminence. Though His grace concedes to those who follow Him fellowship in His sufferings, yet in the article and moment of Sacrifice He is without a fellow. It is “a cup” which He alone can drink; “a baptism” which none can share. And it is so because He stands where no one can stand beside Him, in a death which is “a ransom for many.”

§ II. How Jerusalem helps to define the Idea

The ministry in Jerusalem is the supreme moment in the history of Jesus, and we have therefore to inquire whether it reveals, and, if so, in what degree it defines, His idea as to His death. We must keep clearly in view the positive features in the situation: He comes to the Holy City, the heart of the religion, the home of the temple, the throne of the priesthood, the one place where sacrifices acceptable to God could be offered. And He comes consciously as the Christ, for the prophet could not perish out of Jerusalem.37 And so everything He was to do and suffer was stamped by Him and for Himself with a distinct Messianic character.

1. The triumphal entry can hardly be regarded as an accidental or even spontaneous outburst of popular enthusiasm. The Synoptists are agreed in ascribing the initiative to Jesus; He sends for the ass and the ass's colt in order that He may fitly enter the Holy City,38 and though John is less detailed he is almost as explicit.39 The disciples read the command as a public assertion of His claim to Messianic dignity, and proceed to inspire the multitude with their belief. And so Jesus is welcomed as the King come to claim His own by a jubilant people, crying, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” He does not rebuke their joy, or, as He had once done,40 enjoin silence as to His being the Christ, but accepts their homage as His rightful due. Hence when the Pharisees said, “Master, rebuke Thy disciples,” He answered that, were they to be silent, the very stones would cry out.41 He thus endorses and vindicates their recognition. But He knows that while the people are trustful and waiting to be led, the rulers are suspicious and watching to crush the leader and—to fulfil His prophecy. For to subtle rulers nothing is so easy as to use a simple people as they will.

But for His judgment on these public events we must turn to words spoken in the intimacy of His immediate circle. On the morrow, as He returns to the city, He speaks the parable of the barren fig tree.42 It has a double moral, one pointed at the Jews, another at the disciples. The first tells how in the season of fruition He came to Israel, and instead of fruit “found nothing but leaves.” And what was the good of the fruitless tree save to be bidden “to wither away”? The scribes, who ought to have been the eyes of the people, saw not the time of their visitation, saw only that their own custody of the parchment which held the oracles of God was threatened; and so they made the great refusal. The chief priests, who ought to have been the conscience of Israel, had no conscience toward God but only to themselves; and so they could think of nothing but the happiest expedient for effecting His death. So read, the parable is a piece of severe prophetic satire. The second moral told the disciples to have faith; with it they could accomplish anything, without it nothing at all. They were to be the antithesis to the rulers, and exemplify not a faithlessness which the world overcomes, but the faith which overcomes the world. The two combined show the twofold attitude of Jesus, on the one hand to the men who were to erect the cross, on the other to the men who were to preach in His name to all nations. What is significant is the place and function which the parable assigns to Himself: to fail to receive Him is fundamental failure; to believe in Him is to be qualified to effect the removal of mountains.

What immediately followed the entry must also be noted. Jesus went straight to the temple, where, Mark significantly says, “He looked round upon all things,”43 and, returning on the morrow, “He cast out all them that bought and sold in the temple, and overthrew the tables of the money-changers, and the seats of them that sold doves.”44 This incident has been very variously judged: it has been regarded as an outbreak of passion, as a lawless act, as even an act of rebellion and revolution; as a desperate attempt to precipitate a conflict, and by a sort of surprise attack save Himself from defeat by the priests and rulers.45 These seem to us shallow views. We could not feel as if Jesus became sinful simply because He was angry; nay, the more sinless we think Him to be the more do we conceive indignation and resentment as natural and even necessary to Him. There are acts and states that ought to provoke anger, and not to feel it would argue a singularly poor and obtuse moral nature, without any power of recoil from the offensive and reprehensible. And from what He saw in the temple Jesus did well to be angry though it was anger without passion. Matthew46 finely indicates this by two things, “the blind and the lame”—the two most timid classes—came to Him to be healed; and the children, who are ever sensitive to passion and instinctively shrink from hate, were attracted to Him and sang in His praise; i.e. the anger which was terrible to the guilty seemed tenderness to the innocent. And so the chief priests and scribes said, in suspicion and alarm, “Hearest Thou what these say?” But He justified the children thus: “Yea, did ye never read, Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings Thou hast perfected praise?” And His own action, how does He justify it? By comparing the ideal with the actual temple: the ideal was to be a House of Prayer for all nations, but the actual had been made a den of robbers, i.e. they had narrowed it, and had prostituted the pure house of God to their own sordid uses. And He claimed the right to raise up the fallen ideal and to open the door wide to the pure in heart, who could see God, but could not trade in the holy place.

He thus, in effect, said that as they had failed to understand prophecy, they had failed to realize worship. The counterpart of the dumb oracle was the defiled altar. And so He affirmed His right to govern the house of God, to declare invalid the authority of the men who claimed to stand in the Aaronic succession and to sit in Moses' seat, to abolish the old and institute a new order, and to introduce the hour when the true worshipper was to “worship the Father in spirit and in truth.” But in order to see the full meaning of the act, we must turn to a saying found elsewhere. At the trial two false witnesses appear and testify: “This man said, I am able to destroy the temple of God, and to build it in three days,”47 and the words were repeated by the mockers at the cross.48 The saying, which was truly told, but falsely interpreted, evidently belongs here, and means that He had conceived Himself as the spiritual reality of which the temple was the material counterpart. What it was in symbol He was in truth—the medium for the reconciliation of man and God. In Galilee His controversy had been with the Pharisees touching tradition and the law, here it was with the priests touching worship and the temple; but the same idea lies behind both—His transcendence of the system which the Jew regarded as absolute and final: the Son of Man is greater than the temple,49 and the Lord of the Law;50 both are from Him, through Him, and for Him. In the background of His mind, regulating His speech and action, is the thought of the ideal temple, which was profaned in the profanation of the actual, and as the pure Sacrifice He purged the place where sacrifices were impurely offered.

2. But it is still more in the teaching peculiar to the Jerusalem period that His idea is defined. It falls into two divisions, which we may call the exoteric and the esoteric.

(α) In the exoteric, or outer, there is a new note; His words are graver, sterner, much concerned with His death, and the part in it the rulers were to play. Ideas and principles also appear, different from any He had expressed while He lived in Galilee, (i.) There is the parable of the husbandmen, who first beat and kill and stone the servants, and finally slay the son that they may seize on his inheritance.51 What is this but a picture of the scene which was passing before His eyes and theirs? (ii.) There is His interpretation of the stone which the builders rejected, but which yet became the chief stone of the corner.52 The builders are the rulers; He Himself is the stone, hastily set aside, but so terrible that it breaks whoever falls on it, and grinds to powder the man on whom it falls. No words could more clearly forecast their respective parts in the immediate future and in the subsequent history. (iii.) There is the parable of the Marriage Supper,53—full of the tragedy of the moment,—the bidden guests scornfully refusing to come, the servants spitefully entreated, even slain, though the slayers are themselves soon to be slain, and their city burned up, while the wedding is to be furnished with fitter guests. The meaning is obvious: He is the King's Son, now is the festival of the marriage, and the rulers, who in spite of their proud claims are yet only guests in the House, are rejected of God for the rejection of His Son. (iv.) There is the attitude of Jerusalem to Him and His to her. He has a marvellous vision;54 on the one hand the city is as it were personalized, and stands pictured as a colossal persecutor, inheritor of the guilt of all past martyrdoms, and so charged with all the righteous blood which has from the days of Abel been shed upon the earth; and on the other hand He stands as Maker and Leader of martyrs, a colossal Person in whose veins flows all the blood of all the righteous; and by whose will the new prophets are fitly to be sent to deliver their testimony and endure the cross; i.e. He conceives the hour to be at hand when acts are to be done which will epitomize arid embody all the martyrdoms of all the holy who have ever lived. But He who sees Himself and His thus suffer at her hands, is the very One whose mission and passion it was to save and shelter her. (v.) In the most authentic and sublime of the Apocalyptic discourses He affirms what we may call the vicarious principle. The good or ill of His people is His; they are one with Him and He with them. The smallest beneficence to the least of His brethren is done to Him; the good refused to them is denied to Him.55 And, we may add, this idea implies its converse: if their sufferings are His, His are theirs; what He endures and what He achieves, man achieves and endures.

We can hardly misread the significance of these passages. They bear witness to this: that the moment when He foresees His death most clearly He conceives His person most highly; that He regards this death as a calamity to those who reject, an infinite good to those who accept, Him; that those who compass it participate in what may be termed a universal crime, which shall work their disaster while constituting His opportunity to effect everlasting good. The principle which explains these things is His complete identification with all the righteousness of time, or the unity in Him of the being of all the good who are hated of all the evil.

(β) But these are more or less external views, conditioned by the antithesis under which they are developed; for His more inward mind we must turn to His words to the disciples. What this mind was is evident from the incident in the house of Simon, the leper.56 The conflict in the city and with the rulers is over; and He can speak to His own quietly and without controversy concerning the secret things of His own soul. As they sit at meat a woman, bearing “an alabaster box of very precious ointment,” steals softly up behind Him, and “pours it upon His head.” What followed shows how little the disciples had learned, and how much of their old spirit still lived within them. “To what purpose is this waste?” is their indignant question, while their sordid feeling is disguised as concern for the poor. But the reply of Jesus expresses His innermost thought: “She is come to anoint My body aforehand for the burying.” His death fills His mind, and it is to be a death which will leave no chance for assuaging the grief of the living by the last tender ministries to the dead. And He rejoices to see His own acts of sacrifice reflected in the gracious act of the woman; the love that surrenders life feels comforted by the kindred love which covers with grateful fragrance the body so soon to be lifeless. But there is an even finer touch, showing the faith that lived in the heart of disaster. Jesus, while He anticipates death, anticipates universal fame and everlasting remembrance. His gospel is to be preached “throughout the whole world,” and the woman's act is to be everywhere “spoken of as a memorial for her.” This consciousness of His universal and enduring import is a note of the sayings which belong to His last days, and stands indissolubly associated with His approaching death. His words are to abide for ever;57 His gospel is, like the temple of God, destined for “all peoples.” And these things He speaks of as simply and confidently as He speaks of His death.

§ III. The Significance of the Supper

1. But the most solemn and significant of all His utterances concerning His death are the words spoken at the institution of the Supper. Their sacramental interpretation lies indeed outside our present purpose; so does the interesting question which has been recently raised, whether we owe the change of the Supper into a permanent sacrament to Jesus or to Paul, and whether the suggestive cause of the change was Jewish custom or Greek mysteries. This question requires a broader and more searching treatment than it has yet received. The later action of the mysteries, and the tendencies that created the mysteries, upon the ideas of the Supper, of the elements, the conditions, the effects, and the modes of observance, may be established by various lines of proof; but we see no reason to doubt that the Supper had become a Christian custom before Christianity had felt the delicate yet subduing touch of the Hellenic spirit. This question, however, does not affect ours, which is simply, “What did Jesus mean by the words He used as to His own death at the institution of the Supper?”

In the several narratives the formulæ are not quite identical. As has been often remarked, there are two main versions—that of Paul58 and Luke59 on the one hand, and that of Matthew60 and Mark61 on the other; but even the versions which are alike significantly differ from each other, and as significantly agree with a representative of the independent tradition. Thus the formula for the bread is simpler in Matthew (Λάβϵτϵ, ϕάγϵτϵ· του̑τό ϵ̓στιν τὸ σω̑μά μου), and Mark (who omits ϕάγϵτϵ), but more detailed in Paul (του̑τό μού ϵ̓στιν τὸ σω̑μα τὸ ὑπϵ̀ρ ὑμω̑τν· του̑το ποιϵι̑τϵ ϵἰς τὴν ϵ̓μὴν ἀνάμνησιν), and, according to the received text, most detailed in Luke (του̑τό ϵ̓στιν τὸ σω̑μά μου τὸ ὑπϵρ ὑμω̑ν διδόμϵνον· του̑το ποιϵι̑τϵ ϵἰς τὴν ϵ̓μ ϵ̓μὴν ἀνάμνησιν) The variations affect both the theological and the sacramental idea, the former in τὸ ὑπϵ̀ρ ὑμω̑ν, the latter in του̑το ποιϵι̑ττϵ ϵἰς τὶν ̓μὶν ἀνάμνησιν. In the formula for the wine, the cross agreements and differences are still more instructive. Mark is simplest: του̑τό ϵ̓στιν τὸ αἰ̑μά μου τη̑ς διαθήκης τὸ ϵ̓κχυννόμϵνον ὐπϵ̀ρ πολλω̑ν Matthew changes ὐπϵ̀ρ into πϵρί, and adds ϵἰς ἄϕϵσιν ἀμαρτιω̑ν. Paul says: του̑το τὸ ποτήριον ἡ καινὴ διαθήκη ϵ̓στὶν ϵ̓ν τῳ̑ ϵ̓μῳ̑ αἵματι: While Luke combines Matthew and Mark with Paul, thus: του̑το τὸ ποτήριον ἡ καινὴ διαθήκη ϵ̓ν τῳ̑ αἵματί μου, τὸ ὑπϵ̀ρ ὑμω̑ν ϵ̓κχυννόμϵνον

These variations are easily explicable, and show, so far as the sacramental idea is concerned, that the validity of the ordinance did not depend on any uniformity in the formula used; for words so freely altered could not be conceived to possess some mystic or magic potency capable of effecting a miraculous change in the elements. As concerns the theological idea, the difference in the terms represents no contradiction or radical divergence in the thought. Paul and Luke say, “the new covenant in My blood”—i.e. the covenant which stood in the blood, or had therein the condition of its being. Matthew and Mark say, “this is the blood of the covenant”—i.e. the blood which gives it being and character, which is its seal and sanction. They agree in their idea of the covenant, though Paul and Luke think of it as “the new” in contrast to “the old,” while Matthew and Mark think of it, absolutely, as sole and complete. Paul says nothing as to the persons for whom the blood has been shed; Luke says, “for you”; Matthew and Mark, “for many.” But the difference here is formal. Paul means what the others say, while the “you” is only the personalized and present “many,” the “many” the enlarged and collective “you.” Matthew alone definitely expresses the purpose for which the blood was shed—“unto the remission of sins”; but this only made explicit the idea contained in the ὑπϵ̀ρ ὑμω̑ν and the ὑπϵ̀ρ or even the τϵρὶ πολλω̑ν: for what other idea could the consciousness of the disciples supply save that the blood shed “for them,” or “in reference to many,” was shed “in order to remission of sins”? The phrasing varies; the language is here less, there more, explicit, but the thought is throughout one and the same.

2. What, then, did the words which our authorities thus render mean on the lips of Jesus? We cannot be wrong, considering where it stands, in regarding this as the weightiest, most precise, and defining expression which He has yet used concerning His death. The form under which He first conceived it was as an integral part of His work as Messiah, yet as a fate He endures or suffers at the hands of the elders and chief priests. The next form under which He conceived it was as the spontaneous surrender of Himself “as a ransom for many.” But here these two forms coalesce in a third, which is at once their synthesis and completion. His death has (α) at once an historical and an ideal, a retrospective and a prospective significance; it ends one covenant and establishes another; (β) it has an absolute worth irrespective of the form it may assume or the means by which it may be effected, for though inflicted by men, it is endured on behalf of man; and (γ) its express purpose is to create a new, an emancipated people of God.

(α) But in order that these ideas may be understood they must be interpreted through His experience, the facts and factors that had shaped and were shaping His thought. The covenant which He established stands as “the new” in explicit antithesis to the “old,” and finds its constitutive condition and characteristic in “His blood.” He dies at the hands of the old covenant, but in so dying He creates the new. This makes His death the concrete expression of the antithesis of the covenants, and at the same time represents the inmost fact of His own conscious experience. While possessed by the feeling of radical unity with His people, He was an alien to the actual system under which they lived. He consciously incorporated their most distinctive religious ideas, but He was as consciously in conflict with the men who claimed to be the official representatives and only authorized ministers of the old religion. The degree in which He embodied those ideas was the measure of His antagonism to the men, and theirs to Him. To be the Christ of prophecy was to be the Crucified of Judaism. This was the tragedy of the situation: the Jew had existed in order that he might produce the Christ, but once He was there the Jew did not know Him, would not love Him, had no room for Him, could do nothing with Him save compass His death. The words of Caiaphas62 are but the official version of what Jesus Himself had foreseen and so often foretold. His reading of the religion was the direct contradiction of theirs; both could not live together, and the only way in which they could effectually contradict His contradiction was by His death. But at this point, as to what was to be accomplished by His death, He and they radically differed; they thought that by the cross He was to die and they were to live, but He believed that they were through His death not to live, but to die. This idea fills His later teaching; it is the moral, not simply of the Apocalyptic discourses, but of the parables already noticed,63 of His words to the women of Jerusalem,64 and of His lamentation over the city.65 It was the supreme Nemesis of history. What fate save death could happen to the system whose reward to its most righteous Son was the cross?

(β) But this is an indirect, and, as it were, negative result of His death; the direct and positive is the new covenant which is established in His blood. We need not concern ourselves with the idea of “covenant”; enough to say, it is here held to denote a gracious relation on God's part expressed in a new revelation for the faith and obedience of man. But what does very specially concern us is what Jesus says as to His blood. It must be explained through the moment and all its circumstances. He had strongly desired to eat the Passover with His disciples before He suffered,66 and He had sent Peter and John beforehand to prepare it.67 Now this means that its associations were vivid both in His mind and in theirs, and through these associations His words must be construed. The feast was the most domestic of all the feasts in Israel; in it the father was the priest, the home was the temple. The lamb was not the symbol of any sacerdotal function, but of family and racial unity, especially in the eye and purpose of God. Its blood was not shed to propitiate a vengeful Deity, and induce Him to pass kindly over the family for whom it had been slain and the house where it was being eaten, but rather to mark them as God's own; in other words, the paschal sacrifice did not make Him gracious, but found Him gracious, and confessed that those who offered it believed themselves to be the heirs of His grace. It was the seal of a mercy which had been shown and was now claimed, not the purchase of a mercy which was withheld and must be bought. It signified, too, that since the people were God's, they could not continue slaves, but must be emancipated and live as became the free, obedient to the Sovereign whose supremacy could brook no rival authority. It was the symbol, therefore, of unity, all the families who sacrificed constituted a single people; Israel knew only one God, God knew only one Israel. Jesus translated these associations from the traditions which acted as the fetters of the past into the ideals which were to govern the future. He manifestly conceived Himself as the sacrificial lamb, for only so can we find any meaning in the reference to His blood; and the figure was beautiful enough to apply even to Him. It was the symbol of innocence, meekness, gentleness, of one who was led to the slaughter, and was dumb under the hand of the shearer; but it did not speak of a victim whose blood was shed to appease a vindictive sovereign. On the contrary, the blood told of divine grace and denoted a member of the family of God, a man spared, emancipated, introduced into all the liberties and endowed with all the privileges of Divine sonship.

(γ) So far we have been concerned with the relation of the blood to the covenant, but we are now met by another question: In what sense could it be said to be shed “for you” or “for many”? We have seen that He spoke of acts done to the least and the neediest of men as if they were done to Himself; but the precise parallel of this is that the acts He does may be conceived as done by man; in other words, He is so the centre or keystone of family or racial unity that in a perfectly real sense His act is universal, even while a person performs it. His position is twofold: He conceives Himself as the Lamb sacrificed in order to mark and seal the people of God, i.e. establish His covenant; but He also at the same moment sits in the seat of the host or father, who sums up in himself the household, acts and speaks as their sole and responsible head. As the one He distributes the elements which symbolize the sacrifice; as the other He is the sacrifice which the elements symbolize. The ideas proper to these quite distinct relations, blend both in His consciousness and in that of the disciples. According to the one He is offered for the many; according to the other His act is their act, in Him they live impersonated. Hence His suffering at the hands of man is theirs, and theirs also is His surrender to the will of God. The outer letter which is abolished by His death, ceases to have dominion over them; the inner obedience which is accomplished by His spirit, becomes a fact of their history, and a factor of their new experience. In other words, by being made a curse for us He redeems us from the curse of the law; and by means of the new spirit of life which is in Him, He sets us free from the law of sin and death. And so Paul sums up the innermost meaning of His words when he said: “Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to every one who believeth.”68

§ IV. Gethsemane and the Cross

1. So far we have been occupied with Jesus' prophetic interpretation of His death, but when He comes face to face with it and sits in its shadow, we have to note a correspondent and characteristic change in His mental attitude. From the idea of death He never shrinks; He contemplates it calmly, speaks of it with the serene dignity of one who knew that the most tragic moment of His life was at once His own supreme choice and the real end of His being. But when He knows its mode and thinks of the agents it needed, His feeling changes, and His speech is charged now with admonition and judgment, now with pity and regret. This difference is recognized both by the Synoptists and by John. By the: Synoptists He is shown as speaking of the positive fact and function of His death only when His mood is most exalted, or when He is most moved by love and pity, or when He feels least scorched by human hate and most moved by the clinging trust of His disciples. But when He confronts the men and sees the means by which it is to be accomplished, His spirit vibrates to another tone; the men are the wicked husbandmen, or the foolish builders; they are “blind guides,” “hypocrites,” who crucify the living prophets, and build the sepulchres of those long dead. The city they rule so moves His compassion that at the sight of it He weeps. The traitor is a man of so woeful a fate that he had better never have been born. And so while of death in relation to Himself He thinks and speaks with benignant grace, the thought of its manner begets in Him something akin to dismay.

In John the difference is even more strongly accentuated. He speaks of His death in language that would on other lips suggest rapture. It was His own act, the thing He had come by command of the Father expressly to do.69 It was the hour in which “the Son of Man should be glorified.”70 By death He was “to be lifted up from the earth,” and would “draw all men unto Himself.”71 But the sanctity of the death does not sanctify the instruments by which it is realized. On the contrary the traitor acts by inspiration of Satan.72 The Jews are like their father the devil, who was “a murderer from the beginning,”73 and this was said because He knew that they “sought to kill Him.”74

We have, then, even in the prophetic period these two very different, but not at all incompatible, elements in the consciousness of Jesus. His sacred joy or spiritual exaltation in the prospect of death, and His horror at the form in which, and the forces through which, it was to come to Him. But now we must advance a step further, and study His spirit as it suffers in the hands of those forces whose action He had foreseen. And here we shall have constant need to remember the distinction between experience and foresight; for the evil the intellect watches is sweet when compared with the infinite bitterness of the evil which the soul touches and feels. What we have then to attempt to describe is the transition of the Saviour's mind from the objective contemplation of the death He was to die to His subjective experience of the powers by which it was to be accomplished.

2. The incident which exhibits this transition is the scene in Gethsemane. Now, of all the events in the Saviour's life this seems to me to demand the most reverent handling; for it is, as it were, the very Holy of Holies, the inmost sanctuary of His sorrow, which ought to be entered only at those moments when thought has been purged from the pride and impurities of life. But the scholar is often more curious than reverent, though in sacred things the irreverent is near of kin to the blind; and as it is so easy to be unfit to be an interpreter, few incidents have been more utterly misunderstood than this. It is not surprising that Celsus should have explained the scene as due to Christ's fear of death;75 or that Julian should have pitied Him as a miserable mortal unable to bear His fate calmly;76 or that a modern pagan like Vanini on his way to the scaffold should have pointed to a crucifix, and said: “Illi in extremis prae timore imbellis sudor: ego imperterritus morion”77 Nor are we surprised that the older Rationalists should regard it as the effect of a purely physical cause—fear due to bodily exhaustion and indisposition;78 or that Baur should see in it only an event that enabled him to play the Synoptists off against John and John against the Synoptists;79 or that Strauss, holding the narrative to be more poetical than historical, should have mythically decomposed it in his first Life,80 and followed in his second Baur's antithetical criticism to its issue in a prosaic naturalism;81 or that Renan, true to his Parisian sentimentality, should conceive it as a moment when human nature reawoke in Jesus, and He felt enfeebled, if not affrighted, at the vision before Him of the death which was to end all, and the vision behind of the clear springs of Galilee and the fair maidens who visited them.82 But we are surprised that Keim should see in it the human dread of death holding Christ back from His destiny;83 that Schleiermacher should lose all sense of its sublime significance in a hypercritical analysis of the possible sources of its details;84 or that Neander should see Him here asking, as a man, to be spared the sufferings that awaited Him.85 But bad as these explanations are, some of those we owe to more orthodox theologians are worse. Steinmeyer thinks that Jesus here may have taken upon His shoulders the sin of the world in order that He might, vicariously, make atonement for it on the Cross.86 Long before him Calvin had here seen Jesus as our substitute, burdened with our sins, bearing the wrath of God with the judgment-seat before His eyes.87 More reasonable was Ambrose, who saw Jesus sorrowful not for His own, but for man's state: “Tristis erat, non pro sua passione, sed pro nostra dispersione.”88 But possibly even more reasonable was the elder Dumas when he represented the agony as a second temptation, in which the devil tried to drive Christ back from His work by three successive visions, the last and most terrible being the persecution by the Church of the heretics, their heresy being often their higher saintliness. These selections from a multitude of elaborately argued opinions, are enough to show how hard it has been to seize the real significance of this awful moment in the history of our Saviour's Passion.

3. If we are to interpret the agony, we must assume the reality and the authenticity of the Synoptic narrative.89 Though John does not give it, yet the attitude and state of mind it expresses were not unknown to him.90 Luke differs in certain details from Matthew and Mark—the angel which strengthens Him, the sweat “as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground,” and the omission of the thrice-repeated prayer; but the differences are mainly noticeable for this—Luke, by the angel and the sweat of blood, and Matthew and Mark, by the threefold resort to prayer, express the same thing—the intensity of the strain, the deadly nature of the struggle. Now, it is evident that the Evangelists did not regard the narrative as representing anything so commonplace and even vulgar as the fear of death. They had told, with many a touch of unconscious truth, how the disciples had refused to see the approach of its inexorable front while He had looked upon it with serene and open face; and, simple as they were, they could not have mistaken the meaning of so sudden a reversal of mental attitude. Not that horror at death in Jesus would have been either an unseemly or an inexplicable thing. Contempt of life is the obverse, indifference to death is the reverse of the same mind. The more excellent the good of life seems, the more terrible will appear its negation; and it might well have been that the soul which most possessed the good, should have most loved life, and most have feared its darksome ending. But the feeling, though explicable in itself, will not fit into the history. The death so often anticipated, so solemnly sanctioned, so formally blessed, could not be thus met. The higher we place its significance for Jesus, the less can we construe it as the cause of His agony; for this agony must stand in organic connexion with His expressed mind, not in violent contradiction to it. If so, then it is evident that the antecedent of the agony was not the idea of death, but the feeling as to its means and agents. His death was to be for sin, but at the hands of sinners, yet of sinners disguised as “elders and chief priests,” as disciples and judges. In foresight the mode of death was subordinate to the idea, but in experience the idea tended to be lost in the emotions which the mode awakened. How this was the history tells. In Galilee the men who were to effect His death were mere names to Him; in Jerusalem the names became men. They were the priests, who stood for all that the worship of God signified; the elders, who were in symbol the people of God; the magistrates, who guarded freedom, enforced law, and typified right; the disciples, who had heard and followed Him, and

Lived in His mild and magnificent eye.

Behind the actual persons He thus saw ideal figures stand; and if the ideal signified what ought to have been, it was the actual which, by its inevitable working, determined His all too bitter experience. To see it stand in the holy place was bad enough, it was worse to feel that it stood there to oppose all that was of God in Himself. And worst of all was the discovery that evil had found a foothold and embodiment in the society He Himself had selected and trained. We must not overlook the influence which the conduct of Judas would exercise on the mind of the Master. Jesus as He entered the garden carried a double memory: the gracious dream of the Supper, and the lurid image of the traitor. From the very nature of the case, the more bitter would for the moment be the more potent feeling; for where the soul is so susceptible and tense, the painful strikes more deeply than the agreeable. And Gethsemane represents the struggle of Jesus with the new problem which thus came before His imagination personified in Judas and the priests, and which he had to solve in the very face, if not in the very article, of death.

4. And what was this new problem? Jesus was holy, and felt as only the sinless can the stain of sin burn like a living fire upon His soul. He had conceived Himself as a Redeemer by the sacrifice of Himself, as a Saviour by death. But now, when He comes face to face with this death, what does He find? That sin has taken occasion from His very grace to become more exceedingly sinful, to mix itself up with His sacrifice, penetrating and effacing it, transmuting it from a free and gracious act into a violent and necessitated death. His act of redemption becomes, so to say, the opportunity for sin to increase. The thing He most hates seems to become a partner with Him in the work He most loves, contributing to its climax and consummation. Or if not so conceived, it must be conceived under a still more dreadful form, as forcing itself into His way, taking possession of His work, turning it into “a stone of stumbling and a rock of offence,” a means of creating sinners while it had been intended to save from sin. And there was an even more intolerable element in the situation: the men who were combining to effect this death were persons He was dying to save, and by their action they were making the saving a matter more infinitely hard, more vastly improbable, and changing the efficient cause of salvation into a sufficient reason for judgment.

Is it possible to exaggerate the suffering which such a problem at such a moment must have caused? He could not turn back without being defeated by His horror of this transcendent evil, and He could not go forward without feeling that He was almost compelling it to be. And so first seclusion, then solitude, become to Him a necessity. The society that had made the Supper sacred He must forsake, for at it He had something to give which made Him happy, while it consoled and satisfied the disciples; now He wanted to receive and could not, for they did not understand what to give and why He suffered. So he leaves them that he may pray alone, yet pauses, and turns to take Peter, James, and John, the three who seemed to know Him best and love Him most. But they are as irresponsive as the dumb soul which speaks no word the human ear can hear, because it has no ear which the human tongue can reach. So He turns to God in what we may almost describe as His despair. Thrice He prays in an agony of spirit which becomes an agony of body; but even in the midst of the anguish that will not be controlled, He remains master of His will, compels it, even while all His nature seems to resist, to be not submissive but obedient, to accept not its own impulse, but God's wisdom as its law The thing He would not do, is what His own nature abhors; but the thing He will do because He must, is what God requires. He feels the position as it lives in the place and the moment, but God sees the universal and the eternal issues within it; and so in spite of the noble and justified resistance of the flesh, the spirit obeys the wisdom that cannot err. The conflict is over, and He goes to a death which is at one and the same moment the world's redemption and the world's crime.

I feel the temerity and presumption in so thinking, and still more in thus writing, for I feel as if the intellect, in analytically handling the Passion, tends to become little else than profane. I may say, however, that the very last thing I could bring myself to do is to apply legal fictions or judicial processes to the mind and state of the Saviour in Gethsemane. Everything here seems to me superlatively real, in the last and highest degree actual. And the reality in this stage of the Passion concerns His relation not to the Father, but to destiny and death. From death as such He does not shrink, but from its mode and agencies, from death under the form and conditions which involve its authors in what appears inexpiable guilt, His whole nature recoils. And this recoil compels us to see that we must divide asunder His part and man's; in what He contributes there is saving efficacy, in what man contributes there is a guilt which causes shame, and becomes a reproach to all mankind. And here one may find some small part of the reason why His prayer for release could not be granted. The cross has in a perfectly real sense done more than any other agency to convince the world of sin; one may say it has created in man, both as person and as race, the conscience for sin. It stands not simply as the symbol of the grace that saves, but of the wickedness that dared attempt to extinguish the grace. And another thing may be added. While He had to drink the cup, it would not be quite correct to say that His prayer was not answered. For He did not pray in vain. The author of Hebrews says, “He was heard for His godly fear.”91 Jesus died on the cross, but not of the cross. He suffered crucifixion, but He was not crucified. The will which triumphed in the conflict broke the heart which could not bear to endure death at the hands of sinners. And this brings us to the conclusion that the death which redeems was all the work of the Redeemer; and not at all of the men who might sin against His grace but could not sin away His mercy, or deprive Him of the splendid privilege of giving Himself “a ransom for many.”

  • 1.

    Mark x. 26; Matt. xix. 25.

  • 2.

    Matt. xix. 27.

  • 3.

    Mark ix. 34.; Matt. xviii. 1–2; Luke ix. 46–48.

  • 4.

    Mark x. 35–41; Matt. xx. 20–24.

  • 5.

    Mark ix. 17–19; Matt. xvii. 19, 20.

  • 6.

    Mark ix. 38–40; Luke ix. 49, 50.

  • 7.

    Luke ix. 51–56

  • 8.

    x. 32.

  • 9.

    viii. 33.

  • 10.

    Mark viii. 34–38; Matt. xvi. 24–28; Luke ix. 23–27.

  • 11.

    Mark ix. 9, 12; Matt. xvii. 9, 12. Luke makes “His decease which He was about to accomplish at Jerusalem”the subject on which Moses and Elias are said to have discoursed (ix. 31).

  • 12.

    Luke ix. 43, 44; Mark ix. 30, 31; Matt. xvii. 22, 23.

  • 13.

    Luke ix. 45.

  • 14.

    Luke ix. 56.

  • 15.

    Mark x. 33; Matt. xx. 17–19.

  • 16.

    Luke xviii. 31–34.

  • 17.

    Mark x. 45; Matt. xx. 28.

  • 18.

    Neutest. Theologie, 101.

  • 19.

    Christliche Lehre von der Rechtfertigung u. Versöhnung, ii. 69 89.

  • 20.

    Teaching of jesus, vol. ii. Pp. 227–234.

  • 21.

    Neutest. Thelogie, i. 153.

  • 22.

    x. 18.

  • 23.

    v. 18; vii. 19, 30; viii. 37–40; x. 31–32; xi 50.

  • 24.

    xv. 13.

  • 25.

    x. 18; xiv. 31.

  • 26.

    xviii. 37; xix. 11.

  • 27.

    xiv. 6.

  • 28.

    John viii. 32.

  • 29.

    2 Cor. iii. 17; John viii. 34.

  • 30.

    John xv. 18, 19.

  • 31.

    viii. 44.

  • 32.

    x. 12.

  • 33.

    xvi. 33.

  • 34.

    xvi. 11; xiv. 30.

  • 35.

    x. 14, 15.

  • 36.

    Ps. xlix. 7.

  • 37.

    Luke xiii. 33.

  • 38.

    Matt. xii. 1 ff.; Mark xi. 1 ff.; Luke xix. 29 ff.

  • 39.

    John xii. 14.

  • 40.

    Matt. xvi. 20.

  • 41.

    Luke xix. 40.

  • 42.

    Matt. xxi. 18–22.

  • 43.

    Mark xi. 11.

  • 44.

    xi. 15; Matt. xxi. 12, 13.

  • 45.

    Keim, Jesus of Nazara, vol. v. pp. 118–23, for example, speaks about “His uncurbed anger,” “His passion for rule and revolution,” and describes His action as the “Nothakt eines Untergehenden.”

  • 46.

    Matt. xxi. 14–16.

  • 47.

    Matt. xxvi. 61; cf. John ii. 19.

  • 48.

    Matt. xxvi. 40.

  • 49.

    Matt. xii. 6.

  • 50.

    Mark ii. 28.

  • 51.

    Matt. xxi. 33–41; Mark xii. 1–9; Luke xx. 9–16.

  • 52.

    Matt. xxi. 42–44.

  • 53.

    Matt. xxii. 2–10.

  • 54.

    Matt. xxiii. 34–39.

  • 55.

    Matt. xxv. 35–40, 42–45.

  • 56.

    Matt. xxvi. 6–13; mark xiv. 3–9.

  • 57.

    Mark xiii. 31.

  • 58.

    1 Cor. xi. 24–25.

  • 59.

    xxii. 19–20. But as to the text here see Westcott and Hort, Introauction, § § 240, 241, and Notes on Select Readings, pp. 63, 64. Cf. Zahn, Einleitung, ii. pp. 357–359.

  • 60.

    xxvi. 26–28.

  • 61.

    xiv. 22–24.

  • 62.

    John xi. 50.

  • 63.

    Ante, pp. 418–419.

  • 64.

    Luke xxiii. 28–31.

  • 65.

    Matt. xxiii. 38; Luke xix. 43, 44.

  • 66.

    Luke xxii. 15.

  • 67.

    Luke xxii. 8.

  • 68.

    Rom. x. 4.

  • 69.

    x. 18.

  • 70.

    xii. 23–27.

  • 71.

    xvii. 1, 33.

  • 72.

    xiii. 27.

  • 73.

    viii. 44.

  • 74.

    vii. 1.

  • 75.

    Contra Cels., lib. ii, c. xxiv.

  • 76.

    Apud Theod. Mops., in Ev. Lucœ Com. Frag.; Pat Gr., t. lxvi. p. 724.

  • 77.

    Grammondus, Hist. Gall. ab. ex. Hen. IV., lib. iii. pp. 211 seqq.; cf. Brucker, Historia Philos., t. iv., 11, pp. 675–8.

  • 78.

    Paulus, Das Leben Jesu, ii. pp. 202–210.

  • 79.

    Untersuch. Über die Kanon. Evang., pp. 198 ff., 207, 265 f.

  • 80.

    Life of Jesus (4th ed.) § § 125, 126.

  • 81.

    New Life, § 87.

  • 82.

    Vie de Jésus, p. 378 (7 ed.).

  • 83.

    Jesus of Nazara, vi. p. 12.

  • 84.

    Das Leben Jesu, pp. 422–4 Cf. Essay on the Gospel of St. Luke, pp. 300–1.

  • 85.

    Life of Christ, § 280.

  • 86.

    Leidensgesch, des Herrn, pp. 62 ff.

  • 87.

    In Harm. Evang. Matt. xxvi. 37.

  • 88.

    Expos. Ev. sec. Lucam, lib. x. § 61.

  • 89.

    Matt. xxvi. 36–46; Mark xiv. 32–42; Luke xxii. 39, 40.

  • 90.

    John xii. 27.

  • 91.

    v. 9.