A Life of St. John for the Young

by George Ludington Weed

It is surmised that at the moment when Jesus could bear His cross no longer, and was relieved by Simon, He turned to the weeping "Daughters of Jerusalem" following Him, and in tenderest sympathy told of the coming days of sorrow for them and their city, of which He had told John and his companions on Olivet.

John says that Jesus "went out ... unto the place called the place of a skull, which is called in Hebrew Golgotha." The place was also called Calvary. We do not certainly know the sacred spot, though careful students think it is north of the city, near the Damascus gate, near the gardens of the ancient city, and tombs that still remain. We think of John revisiting it again and again while he remained in Jerusalem, and then in thought in his distant home where he wrote of it. "There," says John, "they crucified Jesus, and with Him two others, on either side one, and Jesus in the midst." How few his words, but how full of meaning. We long to know more of John's memories of that day—of all that he saw and felt and did. They were such in kind and number as none other than he did or could have.

There were two contrasted groups of four each around the cross, to which John calls special attention. One, the nearest to it, was composed of Roman soldiers, to whom were committed the details of the crucifixion—the arrangement of the cross, the driving of the nails, and the elevation of the victim upon it.

Having stripped Jesus of His clothing, according to custom they divided it among themselves; the loose upper garment or toga to one, the head-dress to another, the girdle to another, and the sandals to the last. John watched the division—"to every soldier a part." But his interest was chiefly in the under-garment such as Galilean peasants wore. This must have been a reminder of the region from which he and Jesus had come. He thinks it worth while to describe it as "without seam, woven from the top throughout." Perhaps to him another reminder—of Mary or Salome or other ministering women by whose loving hands it had been knit. If ever a garment, because of its associations, could be called holy, surely it is what John calls "the coat" of Jesus. Even without miraculous power, it would be the most precious of relics. We notice John's interest in it as he watches the soldiers' conversation of banter or pleasantry or quarrel, in which it might become worthless by being torn asunder. He remembered their parleying, and the proposal in which it ended,—"Let us not rend it, but cast lots for it whose it shall be." How far were their thoughts from his when their words recalled to him the prophecy they were unconsciously fulfilling,—"They part My garments among them, and upon My vesture do they cast lots."

With what pity did Jesus look down upon the lucky soldier—so he would be called—sporting with the coat which had protected Him from the night winds of Gethsemane. How He longed to see in the bold and heartless heirs to His only earthly goods, the faith of her, who timidly touched the hem of His garment. What a scene was that for John to behold! What a scene for angels who had sung the glories of Jesus' birth, now looking down upon His dying agonies of shame—and upon the gambling dice of His murderers! No marvel John added to the almost incredible story, "These things ... the soldiers did."

It is at this point that we notice a sudden transition in John's narrative. He points us from the unfriendly group of four, to another of the same number; saying as if by contrast, "But there were standing by the cross of Jesus His mother, and His mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas and Mary Magdalene." By "His mother's sister" we understand Salome.

The centurion had charge of the plundering soldiers; John was the guardian of the sympathizing women. He had a special interest in that group, containing his mother and aunt, and probably another relative in Mary the wife of Clopas. Mary Magdalene was not of this family connection, though of kindred spirit. So must John have felt as she stood with him at the cross, and at a later hour when we shall see them together again.

In the days of the boyhood of John and Jesus, we thought of their mothers as sisters, and of parents and children as looking for the coming Messiah. None thought of the possibilities of this hour when they would meet in Jerusalem at the cross. By it stands John the only one of the Apostles. Judas has already gone to "his own place." If Peter is following at all it is afar off. The rest have not rallied from their flight enough to appear after their flight. James the brother of John is not with him. As their mother looks upon Jesus between two robbers, does she recall her ambitious request, "Command that these my two sons may sit, one on Thy right hand, and one on Thy left hand"? She understands now the fitness of the reply she had received,—"Ye know not what ye ask"?

But Salome and John are loyal to the uncrowned King. Though they may not share the glory of His throne, they are yet ready to stand beneath the shameful shadow of His cross.

But another is there,—drawn by a yet stronger cord of affection. She heads John's list of the women "by the cross of Jesus—His mother," whose love is so deep that it cannot forego witnessing the sight that fills her soul with agony. Yes, Mary, thou art there.