RABBI JOCHANAN BEN SACCAI was dying. The president of the Sanhedrim “the light of Israel,” “the right pillar of the Temple,” was passing away; the “light” was going out, the “pillar” was crumbling His disciples came to see him, and, to then amazement, the old man burst into tears “Why such signs of fear?” asked they.
“If,” replied he, “I were now to be brought before an earthly king, who lives today and dies tomorrow, whose wrath and whose bonds are not everlasting, and whose sentence of death, even, is not that to everlasting death, who can be assuaged by arguments, or perhaps bought off by money―I should tremble and weep; how much more reason have I to do so, when about to be led before the King of kings, the Holy One (blessed be He), who liveth and abideth forever, whose chains are chains for evermore, and whose sentence of death killeth forever, whom I cannot assuage with words, nor bribe by money! And not only so, but there are before me two ways, one to paradise and the other to hell, and I know not which of the two ways I shall have to go, whether to paradise or to hell: how, then, shall I not shed tears?”
Can more heart-breaking hopelessness than this be conceived?
About four years before this, a former disciple of another famous Jewish doctor, Rabbi Gamaliel, “the glory of the law,” was brought face to face with death. How or by what means it would come upon him he knew not; he was then already a prisoner, and death only would break his chain. It might be that, as a freeborn citizen of a Roman town, the ax of the lictor would release soul from body; it might be that dressed in the skin of beasts he would be thrown to furious dogs; it might be that dipped in pitch he would be set light to―a torch to lighten Nero Cæsar’s garden! Yet in a letter, perhaps the last he wrote, he penned these words—
“I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day; and not to me only, but unto all them also that love His appearing.”
You know the writer of this triumphant passage: Paul the Apostle, once known as Saul of Tarsus. What a contrast to the dying fears of Rabbi Jochanan! On the one hand, utter hopelessness; on the other, unbounded confidence. Do you know what made this difference―what gave the apostle such joy in view of his “departing”? It was the knowledge of Christ. “I know whom I have believed,” writes Paul, in that same epistle, “and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him against that day.” And He, whom he so knew, is the “Saviour, Jesus Christ.” (2 Tim. 1:12) He was going to meet Him, whom he, like Rabbi Jochanan, calls “the King of kings,” the only “Ruler of princes;” but he knew Him also as his Saviour, who came into the world to save sinners, of whom he, Paul, was the chief. He was going, not to a stranger, nor to a God who filled him with fear, but to One well known, ark believed in, and loved! His confidence, be it remembered, was not in his works, nor it his having fought so good a fight―it rested in Christ, who had shown mercy to him, though he was chief of sinners.
On the other hand, the solemnity of Jochanan’s dying fears becomes much intensified, and the lesson to us far more pointed, if it be the case (as is affirmed by learned men most competent to decide) that he is the John― “Jochanan” being simply the Hebrew form of that name before whom, together with Annas and Caiaphas, the apostles Peter and John were brought. (Act: 4:6, etc.) Then, sitting as judge, he had marveled at the boldness of these unlearned men, the disciples of Jesus. Then had he heard declared that in that Name alone is salvation―that “there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.” He had heard, and how full of blessing, had he but received it! But alas! Jesus was again “set at naught.”
Who would be bold enough to say that the remembrance of that solemn hour was not present to the dying man? ―an hour in which then had been set before him the “two ways, one to paradise and the other to hell.” His dying tears could avail nothing to reverse the decision he then made, and he passed with terror into a dreaded eternity.
Probably some who read this will fervently desire that their last end may not be like his Remember the cause of the contrast in these two men—that one had received and known. Christ, the other knew Him not. The “two ways” are before you now; into which one will you turn your feet? Think not that you may safely leave it till a dying bed; if at your peril you do so, you may be brought face to face with eternity and the eternal God, and He may be as terrible to you as to Rabbi Jochanan. Now in His love He sends forth the good news of salvation through His beloved Son. Oh, reader, do not slight it! Jr.