“He beheld the city, and wept over it.”
IT is night. The sun has long since set behind the western Cannel, and from mid-heaven the moon shines down upon the great and guilty city. The song of the drunkard is over―he snores among his wine cups. The hollow laughter of the harlot has given place to her wild shriek in the grip of some foul nightmare. Yonder the son of toil seeks repose from the labor of the day that was and strength for the day that is to come. There sleep kisses the lines of care from the brow of that tired mother, while at her breast the babe rests peacefully. The merchant has forgotten his haggling, the Pharisee his pride. The city sleeps.
But yonder on the eastern Olivet there stands a stranger, solitary, alone. His garments are travel-stained, and His locks are wet with the dew of night. He stands and looks upon the city, and through His wondrous eyes compassion shines, and as He looks He weeps.
Ah! this is Jesus from the plains of Galilee―the Nazarene. Still the city sleeps; the Weeper and His tears are all unheeded by those for whom He wept. But a wakeful heaven looks on in wonder wrapt, and multitudes of swift-winged angels bow and worship at this sight. These are they that sang aloud with gladness at His birth, and wondered that the earth did not respond in music to their song. They look upon Him now, the rejected One, with broken heart and tear-washed cheek.
But why is this? Jesus is the Lord of heaven, the Son of God, yet here He stands upon the earth His hands had made without a home. Ah! the reason is not far to seek. Men’s hearts were full of sin, and His was full of love. He came to bring them blessing, to flood their land with joy from heaven, e’en as the sun at morn fills all the earth with light. He came to shield them from the blast of evil as the mother bird shelters her young beneath her wing when screams the hawk on high. But they would not. All, all had been in vain. They sleep indifferently. His words, His works, His tears have not awakened any love to Him. The city sleeps. How dark and deathful is that slumber.
And yet their hatred did not sleep, for often had their hearts been stirred with rage against Him, and that without a cause; yet spite of all, he loved them. He might have gathered in His fists, the leaping lightnings of the heavens, and blasted all the land forever, but that He will not do; instead He stands and weeps, then passes onward to the cross.
He passes onward to the cross to die for them, to shed His precious blood that e’en to them salvation might be preached, and to them given not joy on earth which they had forfeited, but joy unspeakable in heaven.
He died, His blood was shed, His love passed through the test. He died for sinners, and being raised out of the grave, He sent His servants with the word of life into the city over which He wept; and wondrous fact, from out that deathful mass there came forth those who hailed Him Lord, that bowed the knee before Him, turned from their sins to Him, receiving pardon through His name.
Nearly two thousand years have passed away since then, still the Saviour Jesus sits on high, and from Him there the message of salvation comes to men on earth. Alas! thousands there are who sleep indifferently; the arms of slumber wrap them roundabout―a dark and deathful slumber, the sleep of sin. They want not Christ, nor God, nor heaven they love their dreams of peace and happiness; and if they rouse themselves at all, ‘tis but to show their enmity against the God who longs to bless them.
Oh, ghastly spectacle, for they must wake ere long, and waking, prove how fearfully they have been duped. For hell forever must be the awful portion of all who will not have the Christ of God.
Oh, reader, to you we turn. Are you awake or sleeping? Are you saved or lost? The Son of God has died, but can you say, “He gave Himself for me.” Have you bowed at His feet as did those sinners in Jerusalem long, long ago? If not, why not now? Say, “Christ for me.” His blood for my sins, His love for my heart, His path for my feet, His will my law, His heaven my home. Then happy indeed will you be both now and evermore.
J. T. M.