Spreading their loose garments upon the unsaddled ass, the disciples had set their Master thereon, who was slowly approaching the city of David. At length the descending and ascending processions met, and in the rapture of the moment vied with each other in expressions of gladness and in tokens of respect. Those who had escorted him from Bethany threw from their shoulders their loose robes, and, spreading them on the highway, formed a temporary carpet for his triumphal march; and those who had come from Jerusalem spread their palm-branches before him, while from that vast multitude arose that more than regal shout,“Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who cometh in the name of the Lord! Hosannah in the highest!”[195] It was the hour of the exaltationof the Son of God. The people had gathered unto Shiloh; the visions of the past were realized, and prophecy was fulfilled.
The interruption over, the great procession re-formed. Those who had come from Jerusalem, turning round, led the advance; those who had come from Bethany brought up the rear; while in the centre Jesus rode in triumph.
Midway the two cities, the ancient path burrows the side of Olivet, and, after sweeping round a deep ravine, ascends a shoulder of the sacred mount, where the whole city, as by enchantment, bursts upon the view. Where now appears the Tomb of David then were seen the palaces of Herod, and where now stands the Mosque of Omar then stood the Jewish Temple. Charmed by a vision so grand, the people again shouted, but, unelated by the praise or view, “Jesus beheld the city, and wept over it.” While the scenic grandeur of the prospect thrilled the multitude with joy, the view of a doomed city caused him to shed more than human tears. Once more the procession advanced. Descending a shelving path, with the groves of Gethsemane on the right and the Tomb of Absalom on the left, the Savior crossed the Kidron, and, mounting the sides of Moriah, he entered his Temple amid the astonishment of enemies and the acclamation of friends.
At the junction of the three roads which lead to Bethany is the Garden of Gethsemane. It is a quiet spot, and wears the air of sweet repose. Formerly it was open and accessible to all, but now it is surrounded by a stone wall twenty feet high. It is an area of 120 feet east and west, and 150 north and south. The entrance is through a low iron gate on the eastern side, and the keeper is an old Franciscan monk. With a skillful hand he has transformed the inclosure into a pretty but not gorgeous garden. On the east are three terraces, adorned with flowers. On the first is a well of delicious water, covered with trellis-work, on which are vines, and in the northeast corner is the monk’s cell. A graveled walk follows the circuit of the walls, and on the interior of the walls are pictures representing memorable scenes in the last night of our Lord’s life. The centre of the area is inclosed with a high picket fence, and the ground within is laid out in flower-beds. As memorials of the past, he has cultivated the graceful but bitter wormwood, and also the beautiful passion-flower—the symbol ofagony. Near them are a few palms and cypresses. With parental care he has nourished the eight remaining olive-trees, beneath which he thinks the fearful struggle occurred. They bear marks of great age, and are now the oldest on the face of the earth. Their trunks are gnarled and hollow, their foliage scanty, and, true to their species in old age, their roots are far above the ground, but at present covered with an artificial soil. One, more venerable than the rest, is seven feet in circumference, and has separated into four parts from the roots upward to the branches; a second is twisted with age; and a third is hollow. But the branches are strong, the leaf green, and from the aged roots young trees are sprouting—successors to these patriarchal shades.
GETHSEMANE AND THE MOUNT OF OLIVES.
Gethsemane is the only place in all my travels I hesitated for a moment to visit. I had passed it many times before, but always felt unwilling to disturb its solemn repose. But, unattended by companion or guide, I determined to enter. Rapping on the low gate, the venerable Franciscan bade me welcome. His countenance was pale with watchings, and a pensive smile played over his dry and wrinkled face. Entering his solitary cell, he left me alone. Not a sound disturbed the quiet of the hour. Kneeling beneath an aged olive, I gave myself up to the undisturbed reflections and hallowed memories of the place. The story of our Lord’s agony had a reality I had never before experienced. This lonely vale, these ancient hills, these serene skies, heard the Sufferer’s cry. Here the compassionate Redeemer lay prostrate upon the ground, and, yielding to his Father’s will, accepted the cup of death. Here descended that kind angel who strengthened the fainting Savior. Here resounded the horrid tramp of that ruffian band, whose huge staves smote the earth, and whose swords glittered in the starlight. Here the betrayer’s signal-kiss polluted the cheek of innocence, and the Master’s words of surprise startled the dull ear of night. Here the impetuous spirit of Peter, gaining the mastery of his discretion, moved him to smite off the ear of Malchus; and, losing sight of the dangers that threatened him, and unmindful of the hatred of his foes, the benevolent Savior asked as an unselfish favor, “Suffer ye thus far, and he touched his ear and healed him.” Here the Shepherd was smitten and the flock scattered. Here John fled, leaving the linen cloth in the hands of the ruffians, and Jesuswas led to judgment. It was passing strange to be in such a place.
At every station where Israel had encamped en route for the Mount of the Law; on the awful summit of Sinai; beside the cave of Machpelah and the tomb of Rachel; in the stable of the Nativity at Bethlehem; along the Jordan; on Zion, Moriah, and Olivet; and on Gibeon, where Solomon received a wise and understanding heart, I had offered my devotions to God; but Gethsemane seemed the nearest to heaven in the hour of prayer.
Gathering a few flowers and olive leaves for loved ones at home, I left the garden with impressions as blessed as they are imperishable, and began the ascent of Olivet. The Mount of Olives is no less memorable in the annals of Jewish and Christian history than its aspect is impressive to the eye of the beholder. Rising 2800 feet above the Mediterranean, its base is 1000 feet from the city, and its summit half a mile from St. Stephen’s Gate. Having an elevation of more than 400 feet above the bed of the Kidron Valley at “Absalom’s Pillar,” it is 104 feet higher than the crown of Zion, and rises 127 feet above the summit-level of Mount Moriah. Owing to its irregular outline, both its form and cardinal points are difficult to define.Its general direction is north and south, with spurs shooting out toward every point of the compass, and its location agrees with the description by the prophet, who places it before Jerusalem on the east.[196] Including the Hill of Scandal, it may be said to have three peaks, though with equal propriety Scopus might be enumerated among them. Topographically this may be correct, but historically the Hill of Scandal is too far southwest to be included as a part of Olivet, as Mount Scopus is too far north. The two adjacent peaks are distinct, the northern one bearing the name of Galilee, from the supposition that there the angels addressed the Galileans, and the southern one, called by the Arabs Jebel et-Tûr, but by the Christians the Mount of Ascension.
The sides of the mountain gently descend east and west, and are streaked horizontally with stripes of green and gray. From base to summit it is terraced and planted with olives, from which the mount derives its name. Though rough and stony, yet in spring-time and summer flowers bloom upon it luxuriantly.On its broad and level summit is the small village of Jebel et-Tûr, clustering around the Church of the Ascension, and, in turn, is surrounded by fields of grain. From Gethsemane three paths lead to this Arab town; one strikes up boldly along a projecting cliff, a second winds up more gradually to the south, while the third follows a gentle ravine, and is the most ancient of the three. It was up the latter path David fled from the rebellion of Absalom, “weeping as he went up, with his head uncovered, and his feet bare.” On the summit, where he lingered to worship, he was met by the faithful Hushai, who, by the king’s command, returned to the city to defeat the counsels of Ahithophel. Just over the hill-top the kind Ziba met the royal fugitive with refreshments.And not far down the eastern declivities is Bahurim, where the cowardly Shimei cursed the king, and where the heroic Abishai was impatient to vindicate his insulted master.[197]