July 19The cup which my Father hath given me, shall I not drink it? — John 18:11.
How the grace of humility shines out in all the little affairs of our dear Redeemer's ministry; even at the moment of His surrender to His enemies He does not boast that His course is a voluntary one, nor seek praise as a martyr! He declares the simple truth that the Father required this of Him as an evidence of His personal loyalty to Him. He confesses Himself a servant of God, a Son who learned obedience by the things which He suffered. No other lesson, perhaps, is more needed by the Lord's followers than the one of willingness to drink the cup which the Father pours—a recognition that the Father is guiding and directing in our affairs because we are His, as disciples of the Anointed One—Z '99, 118; '01, 91 (R 2467, 2778). The cup symbolizes experiences of bliss or woe; and as nothing happens to the saints, and as all things coming into their lives are of the Father's will, they recognize their experiences as the cup that the Father offers them to drink. As it was to their Master, it should be to them a self-evident matter that they drink it always with a contented mind and, as far as possible, with a thankful and appreciative heart, to God's glory and others' and their own profit—P '34, 95. Parallel passages: Job 13:15; Psa. 119:75; Jer. 10:19; Matt. 20:22; 26:39, 42; Luke 22:20; Rom. 5:3-5; 1 Cor. 10:16, 21; 2 Cor. 7:4; Phil. 3:8; Psa. 23:5; 116:13; Isa. 51:22, 23. Hymns: 168, 276, 5, 299, 325, 326, 134. Poems of Dawn, 237: The Angel of Gethsemane. Tower Reading: Z '14, 84 (R 5421). Questions: What have been this week's experiences in line with this text? How were they borne? In what did they result? |
|
THE ANGEL OF GETHSEMANE
'TWAS midnight, and the Man of Sorrows took
His chosen three,
And sought with weary step the shelter of Geth-
semane
To pray, His soul exceeding sorrowful, e'en unto
death,
And heavy laden with the sin and woe of all the
world.
In agony of bloody sweat He fell upon His face,
And cried, with tears, "My God, My Father, if it
be Thy will,
Oh, let this cup of shame and numbering with trans-
gressors pass,—
If it be possible! Yet not My will, but Thine be
done!"
And then His thoughts turned to the sacrifice,—a
fear bore down
With agonizing weight upon His heart, lest to comply
With every jot and tittle of the Law, He might have
failed!
He saw the priestly type, He knew eternal death
awaited,
Should He seek to pass the second veil unworthily.
Eternal death! Oh, anguish inexpressible, to see
No more His Father's face! He sought His well-
beloved three,
Perchance they might refresh His fainting heart with
some sure word
Of prophecy. Alas! Their eyes were heavy and
they slept.
Three times He sought them, and three times in vain!
Yet He was heard
In that He feared. The Father sent a heavenly
comforter
To touch with tender, strengthening hand that dear,
devoted head,
And whisper, " 'I, the LORD, in righteousness have
called Thee, I
Will hold Thine hand, and keep Thee.' Neither shalt
Thou 'fail nor be
Discouraged.' Lo, Thou art 'a Priest forever, and a
King
Upon Thy throne, like to Melchisedec.' And Thou
shalt see
The travail of Thy soul, and shalt be satisfied.'"
His heart
Revived, He knew His Father's faithful Word could
never fail;
He knew it would accomplish that whereunto it was
sent.
He rose, and from that hour went forth to trial and
to death,
In peace,—a calmness born of perfect confidence in
God.
How oft, throughout the many-centuried "night" of
this dark Age,
The Father's "little ones" have knelt in sad Geth-
semane
To pray! E'en now the Garden's shade re-echoes
with the cry
Of God's elect, "How long, oh, Lord, how long
until we see
The travail of our soul? How long until Thou shalt
avenge
Thine own elect, who cry to Thee, with tears, both
night and day?
* * *
Dear Lord, oh, use me as the Angel in Gethsemane!
Oh, fill me with Thy holy Spirit of Divinest love!
Oh! make me sympathetic, wise, that every anguished
heart
May come, nor seek in vain for consolation from
Thy Word,
And strengthened, comforted, go forth to prison or
to death,
To suffer patiently the cruel mockings of the tongue;
To bear the cross unto the bitter end, then calmly say,
" 'Tis finished," and with faith unwavering pass be-
neath "the veil!"
'TWAS midnight, and the Man of Sorrows took
His chosen three,
And sought with weary step the shelter of Geth-
semane
To pray, His soul exceeding sorrowful, e'en unto
death,
And heavy laden with the sin and woe of all the
world.
In agony of bloody sweat He fell upon His face,
And cried, with tears, "My God, My Father, if it
be Thy will,
Oh, let this cup of shame and numbering with trans-
gressors pass,—
If it be possible! Yet not My will, but Thine be
done!"
And then His thoughts turned to the sacrifice,—a
fear bore down
With agonizing weight upon His heart, lest to comply
With every jot and tittle of the Law, He might have
failed!
He saw the priestly type, He knew eternal death
awaited,
Should He seek to pass the second veil unworthily.
Eternal death! Oh, anguish inexpressible, to see
No more His Father's face! He sought His well-
beloved three,
Perchance they might refresh His fainting heart with
some sure word
Of prophecy. Alas! Their eyes were heavy and
they slept.
Three times He sought them, and three times in vain!
Yet He was heard
In that He feared. The Father sent a heavenly
comforter
To touch with tender, strengthening hand that dear,
devoted head,
And whisper, " 'I, the LORD, in righteousness have
called Thee, I
Will hold Thine hand, and keep Thee.' Neither shalt
Thou 'fail nor be
Discouraged.' Lo, Thou art 'a Priest forever, and a
King
Upon Thy throne, like to Melchisedec.' And Thou
shalt see
The travail of Thy soul, and shalt be satisfied.'"
His heart
Revived, He knew His Father's faithful Word could
never fail;
He knew it would accomplish that whereunto it was
sent.
He rose, and from that hour went forth to trial and
to death,
In peace,—a calmness born of perfect confidence in
God.
How oft, throughout the many-centuried "night" of
this dark Age,
The Father's "little ones" have knelt in sad Geth-
semane
To pray! E'en now the Garden's shade re-echoes
with the cry
Of God's elect, "How long, oh, Lord, how long
until we see
The travail of our soul? How long until Thou shalt
avenge
Thine own elect, who cry to Thee, with tears, both
night and day?
* * *
Dear Lord, oh, use me as the Angel in Gethsemane!
Oh, fill me with Thy holy Spirit of Divinest love!
Oh! make me sympathetic, wise, that every anguished
heart
May come, nor seek in vain for consolation from
Thy Word,
And strengthened, comforted, go forth to prison or
to death,
To suffer patiently the cruel mockings of the tongue;
To bear the cross unto the bitter end, then calmly say,
" 'Tis finished," and with faith unwavering pass be-
neath "the veil!"
