Address
to Mourning Communicants
"Again the next day, John was
standing with two of his disciples. When he saw Jesus passing by, he said,
"Look! The Lamb of God!" The two disciples heard him say this and followed
Jesus. When Jesus turned and noticed them following Him, He asked them,
"What are you looking for?"
They said to Him, "Rabbi" (which means "Teacher"), "where are You staying?"
"Come and you'll see,"
He replied. So they went and saw where He was staying, and they stayed with
Him that day. It was about the tenth hour." (John 1:35-39).
We had our meditations directed, today, to this beautiful
incident in the early Gospel narrative—the two fishermen friends and
companions from Bethsaida of Galilee—having pointed out to them, by the
Baptist, a Greater far than he—"Behold the Lamb of God!" They are at once
attracted, in some mysterious way, by HIM who had just returned to the banks
of the Jordan from the temptation of the wilderness, where, for forty days,
He had been without home or shelter. They hesitate to intrude—not venturing
to address Him or to disturb His meditations—still they follow His
footsteps, in the direction of His temporary dwelling—a dwelling probably,
like that of the other pilgrims who had gathered around the Desert
Preacher—some leafy tent close to the river side or under the shadow of a
rock, made of interlacing boughs from the adjoining woods. "Rabbi, where are
You staying?" was their simple request, full of humble yet confident faith
and trust. His response was immediate, a word of kind welcome—"Come and
see."
His voice, His look, His demeanor reassure them. It was
the truth of a future saying anticipated and illustrated, "Everyone
the Father gives Me will come to Me, and the one who comes to Me I will
never cast out." That long afternoon and evening
were spent in loving fellowship with that Gracious Master, whose devoted
consecrated servants they were ever after to be—enjoying an immediate three
years of blissful personal communion, and when that was terminated and His
visible presence withdrawn, believing, they still rejoiced with joy
unspeakable and full of glory.
What the themes of meditation were, during these thrice
hallowed hours, we cannot tell. May not their thoughts naturally have
grouped themselves around the Baptist's suggestive exclamation—"Behold the
Lamb of God!" John was undoubtedly one of these two disciples. And we know
that these words lingered in his ears like a strain of heavenly music, and
filled his most seraphic visions fifty years afterwards, when he wrote the
Apocalypse. How the divine emblem seemed almost to absorb his recollections!
Thirty times is Jesus there spoken of as a LAMB. Retaining that first
never-to-be-forgotten glimpse of his divine Redeemer, the writer seems to
have lived, and suffered, and died, beholding "the Lamb of God!" How
long, moreover, this interview in the valley at Bethabara lasted, we are not
informed. Probably it was far on towards midnight before they departed. The
bright stars and paschal moon may have been shining on the white cliffs and
foaming waters when the two disciples came forth, at the close of the most
momentous day of their lives. Who can doubt, that they would return to the
distant Bethsaida—home with their souls filled with the one wondrous theme
and thought—"We have seen the Lord!"
Our experience today has been identical with that of
these favored disciples. We have received a gracious invitation to partake
of nearer and more confidential communion with our divine Redeemer. "Master,
where are You staying?" You Son of the Eternal God, yet the Divine
Brother-man—alike the Taker-away of sin and the Remover of burdens from
laden-hearts—where are You staying? that we may come and unburden our heavy
secrets—and, like these two disciples of old, away from the din of the
multitude, sit at Your feet and behold You as the Lamb of God?
"Come and see!"—has been the gracious response. We have
obeyed the summons. We have beheld, in impressive emblem and memorial, the
Great Propitiation, "the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world." The
leafy tent or covert of the Jordan has still its glorious spiritual
counterpart and reality. "There shall be a tabernacle (a tent) for a shadow
in the day-time from the heat, and for a place of refuge, and for a covert
from storm and from rain." "A MAN shall be as an hiding-place from the wind,
and as a covert from the tempest,…as the shadow of a great rock in a weary
land!" Afflicted communicant!—Pilgrim of sorrow—you have resorted to your
Lord's Bethabara-dwelling, at His own gracious summons, "Come unto Me, all
you that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." But while
your season of fellowship has doubtless been hallowed and comforting; when
you come forth from it now, it is, like these same two disciples, to face
the dark night again—the dewy tear-drops on the dank grass—the cold
moonshine—the glimmering stars and the roll of Jordan. Yes, 'the roll of
Jordan,' with the saddened memories it may be of those who, in the familiar
and accepted figure, have recently crossed it; and whose companionship is
gone for the forever of time. You walk along, pensive and sad, to mingle,
once more, in the noise of the wilderness tents—back again tomorrow to
Bethsaida, to your smitten home—to gaze on the vacant seat—to miss the old
voice and the sympathetic ear, into which you could have told how your heart
burned within you, while He talked to you by the way, and you sat under His
shadow with great delight! Ah, perhaps it was the very smiting of that
earthly home which drove you, today, to ask, with more intense fervor and
more impassioned prayer, as you missed the earthly friend, "Master, where
are You staying?" 'My best earthly prop is gone. Oh, Messiah Jesus, I come
to You! I come now to Your own appointed dwelling-place, that I may unfold
all my grief, and get these heart-storms lulled with Your Omnipotent "Peace,
be still"!'
As you now pursue your saddened way, let not the darkness
blind your eye to this day's sight and vision. Let not that roll of Jordan
dull your ears to this day's exclamation, "Behold the Lamb of God!"
Suffering one! fix your gaze on that Sufferer of sufferers—that wounded,
bleeding Lamb of God. Think of that wilderness of temptation from which He
had just come! See Him, there, assaulted with hunger, thirst, cold,
weariness; tempted in body, assailed in spirit; and this by the arch enemy
of all. Yet He meekly endures! He is the Lamb "silent before His shearers!"
Say, can you murmur where He murmured not? Seek, rather, to honor Him more
and more by a closer following of His divine footsteps. Go forth, even in
the dark, with the fretted waters at your side, and star after star of
earthly hope expunged from your skies, meditating on His faithfulness and
love, even "in the night-watches!" Rest assured, if, as you journey on, you
try to utter through your tears, "though He slays me, yet will I trust in
Him,"—He will, as with the Bethsaida disciples, give you glorious
surprises—meeting you, now on the distant lake—now in the busy city—now in
"the high mountain apart," until, from these chequered earthly experiences,
He takes you across the true Bethabara ("the house of passage") to be with
Himself in the tearless land forever!