WE left Jerusalem shortly before Easter so that we did not personally witness that consummation of impostures, the procuring of the "holy fire." As there has been considerable agitation of late for an amalgamation between the Church of England and the Greek Church—an agitation in which the Bishop of Jerusalem has taken a prominent part—it might be well that people at home should have a little insight into the practices of the Church with which they wish to be allied. Accordingly, we cannot do better than quote from the graphic description which Dean Stanley gives of the scene.
After describing “the gambols which take place, which an Englishman can only compare to a mixture of prisoner's base, football, and leap-frog, round and round the Holy Sepulcher," he proceeds, " From this moment the excitement, which has before been confined to the runners and dancers, becomes universal. Hedged in by soldiers, the two huge masses of pilgrims still remain in their places, all joining, however, in a wild succession of yells, through which are caught from time to time strangely—almost affectingly— mingled, the chants of the procession, the solemn chants of the Church of Basil and Chrysostom, mingled with the yells of savages. Twice the procession passes round; at the third lime the two lines of Turkish soldiers join and fall in behind. One great movement sways the multitude from side to side. The crisis of the day is approaching. The presence of the Turks is believed to prevent the descent of the fire, and at this point it is that they are driven, or consent to be driven, out of the church. In a moment the confusion as of a battle and a victory pervades the church. In every direction the raging mob bursts in upon the troops, who pass out of the church at the south-east corner. The procession is broken through; the banners stagger and waver. They stagger and waver and fall, midst the flight of priests, bishops, and standard-bearers, hither and thither before the tremendous rush. In one small but compact band the Bishop of Petra—who is on this occasion the bishop of the fire, the representative of the Patriarch—is hurried to the chapel of the sepulcher, and the door is closed behind him. The whole church is now one heaving sea of heads. One vacant spot alone is left a narrow lane from the aperture on the north-east side of the chapel to the wall of the church. By the aperture itself stands a priest to catch the fire; on each side of the lane hundreds of bare arms are stretched out, like the branches of a leafless forest.
“At last the moment comes. A bright flame, as of burning wood, appears inside the hole—the light, as every educated Greek knows and acknowledges, kindled by the bishop within; the light, as every pilgrim believes, of the descent of God Himself upon the Holy Tomb. Any distinct feature or incident is lost in the universal whirl of excitement which envelops the church, as slowly, gradually, the fire spreads from hand to hand, from taper to taper, through the vast multitude, till at last the whole edifice, from gallery to gallery, and through the area below, is one wide blaze of thousands of burning candles."
Well may Dean Stanley add that this scene "is the greatest moral argument against the identity of the spot which it proposes to honor; stripped, indeed, of some of its most revolting features, yet still, considering the place, the time, and the intention of the professed miracle, probably the most offensive imposture to be found in the world."
But it will be asked, “Is it possible to identify the true Calvary?” I have little hesitation in answering the question in the affirmative. The two valleys of Hinnom and Kedron, to which we have previously referred, make it impossible that the cross could have been erected on the sides of the city embraced by them. To the north or north-east, therefore, we must turn. Our Lord” suffered without the gate" (Heb. 13: 2)—" And as they came out, they found a man of Cyrene, Simon by name" (Matt. 27:32), and "In the place where He was crucified there was a garden" (John 19:40, and it was known as Golgotha, a place of a skull.
Just outside the Damascus Gate, and separated from the city walls by a rock-hewn trench, in which runs the road to Olivet, Bethany, and Jericho, is a rounded knoll, with a precipitous face towards the city. At the back of this, the ground slopes away, and within a stone's throw is a rock-hewn tomb of Herodian date, showing that the neighborhood was in the Lord's Day used for burial. From anywhere on this slope the women could have beheld “afar off," while the spot lies in full view of the city wall, where doubtless the high priests stood.
It was on a Sunday morning when I first lighted on this spot. I had gone out alone, hoping to find a place outside the city walls, the features of which agreed with the particulars supplied incidentally in the sacred narrative. Bending to the right from the great northern road, in a few moments I stood on the eminence just described. The scene and its associations were such as to make an indelible impression on the mind. Overhead stretched the cloudless Syrian sky; beneath the feet were the slabs that marked the resting places of Mohammedan dead, for the spot has been used from time immemorial for burial. Before the spectator lay the city, sloping downwards from the right, its many cupolas gleaming like marble in the blaze of light. A deep silence brooded over the spot; not a soul was in sight, save a solitary goat-herd accompanying his long-eared flock. Such was the scene, but what shall be said of its associations? In this very locality was enacted that most awful of crimes, the crucifixion of God's Son.
In this place many another had followed in his Master's steps. Here, according to tradition, Stephen was stoned and died the martyr's death, never surely so conscious as in death of his Master's presence. But it was no mere martyr's death that the Master died. As a martyr, truly, He suffered at the hands of sinners for righteousness sake; but there are sufferings which we cannot fathom, and into which the darkened heavens forbid us to intrude; He suffered at God's hands, as the sin-bearer for sin's sake. His sufferings forced from His righteous soul that awful cry of desolation and distress, “My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?" Why, indeed? Had not the One who uttered that cry been daily God's delight? (Prov. 8:30.) Was not this the One whom the Father from the opened heavens acclaimed as His beloved Son, in whom He was well pleased? In truth it was! And never, surely, was He more pleasing to the Father than when He submitted Himself to His will, took the cup from His hand, and bowed His soul in death. Yet, "it pleased the Lord to bruise Him." He who was His Father's delight had taken for sinners the sin-bearer's place, and as such suffered in righteousness at the hands of God.
Can my reader answer, “Lord Jesus, it was for me; Lord Jesus, it was for me"?
It may be asked, what is the spiritual gain of standing on the site of the crucifixion? We answer in the words of the Rev. J. A. Wylie, " There is no spiritual gain whatever; you are no nearer the Divine Sufferer on the literal Calvary than you would be in the most distant and solitary isle of the ocean. Your imagination is awakened, no doubt, but the soul is not more edified. The four Evangelists are the true Calvary, for it is only by faith in what the Spirit has inspired them to write that you can come to Him, and feed upon Him. There is now no cross on this hill, and no tenant in yonder tomb. He who suffered on the one, and lay in the other, has passed into the heavens, and sitteth on the right hand of power. It is there that we must seek Him, and the way thither is as open to us from our own closets as it is from the summit of Calvary." J. F.