It was night. The sun had long since set behind the western Carmel, and from mid-heaven the moon shone down upon the great guilty city. The song of the drunkard was ended, and he slept heavily. Yonder the toiler sought repose from the labor of the day past, and strength for the day to come. There sleep kissed the lines of care from the brow of the tired mother, while at her side her babe rested peacefully. The merchant had forgotten his business, the Pharisee his pride. The city slept.
But yonder on the eastern Olivet stood a Stranger, solitary, alone. His garments were travel-stained, and His locks were wet with the dew of night. He stood and looked upon the city, and through His wondrous eyes, compassion shone. As He looked, He wept.
Ah! it was Jesus from the plains of Galilee, the Nazarene. Still the city slept; the Weeper and His tears were all unheeded by those for whom He wept. But a wakeful heaven looked on in wonder wrapt, and multitudes of angels bowed and worshipped at the sight. Those were they that spoke aloud with gladness at His birth, and wondered that the earth did not respond in music to their praise. They looked upon Him with reverence as He stood there.
Jesus is the Lord of heaven, the eternal Son of God; yet there He stood, without a home upon the earth His hands had made. Why? 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, even 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 the hawk approaches.
But they would not. All, all had been in vain. They slept indifferently. His words, His works, His tears did not awaken any love to Him. The city slept. How dark and dreadful was that slumber.
Yet their hatred did not sleep, for often had their hearts been stirred with rage against Him, and that without a cause; yet in 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 did not do. Instead He stood and wept, then passed onward to the cross. He went to the cross to die for them, to shed His precious blood that even to them salvation might be preached, and to them be given not joy which they had forfeited on earth, 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. 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, and still the Savior-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 round about—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. If they rouse themselves at all, 'tis but to show their enmity against their God who longs to bless them.
O ghastly spectacle, for they must wake ere long, and waking, prove how fearfully they have been duped. Hell forever must be the awful portion of all who will not have the Christ of God.
Have you bowed at His feet as those sinners in Jerusalem did long, long ago? If not, why not now? Say, "Christ for me.”