Lo, I am with you always

"I ascend unto my Father, and your Father, and to my God, and your God." John 20:17. 1897 312 It seems difficult to imagine how any thoughtful mind among believers can miss the majesty of these words. There are indeed writings merely human that are not without a certain elevation, as they are permeated with a charm that appeals to the cultivated intelligence. But how great the contrast between the choicest utterances of the princes of literature and the unique sublimity of the holy scriptures! The difference is as great as in the circumstances that call them forth. It must at any rate be granted, even by a sceptic, that, supposing Christ to have been what He claimed to be, all His words and acts are consistent with His being God incarnate. And more than this, all that is written about Him in the four Gospels, all that is written in the Acts and the Epistles, is stamped with the same consistency. Nay, what, on any other hypothesis, becomes of the innumerable predictions in the Old Testament, that point onwards to a coming Saviour? Whittle down your conception of the nature of Christ, and you are confronted with a bewildering enigma. Bow to Him as "the Word made flesh," and all is plain — not to speak of the incalculable blessing to the soul that does bow. Now in none of our Lord's words is there greater sublimity than in those that head these remarks. We, to whom, by God's grace, Christ is everything, hear them echoing over the sad tumult of nearly nineteen centuries, and, like sounds of true music clearly caught amid discordant noises, they ring out sweet and clear today. And they have a voice for today. We do not, I think, dwell enough on these great events in our Lord's history here below. Undoubtedly the atonement must ever occupy the central place, when we think of our deep need. Without that "precious death" it were vain to plead the incarnation, indispensable and supreme as that fact is. But we do well to ponder every now and again both the resurrection and ascension. The latter event indeed might have followed at once on the former but for God's purposes of grace. And undoubtedly the blessed Lord at once passed into "the holiest" after He had "dismissed His spirit" (Matt. 27:50). But the ascension was the crowning act of God in vindicating His beloved Son. It is also true that Christ ascended by His own act. "I ascend." Here we have the divine majesty and sublimity of the passage. I do not dwell at length upon the occasion of these great words of our Lord. We know that Mary Magdalene, in her most commendable love, would have detained the Saviour, not knowing that by her, as by the church at large in the sequel, Christ was to be known only after a heavenly sort. No contradiction between our Lord's manner here, and His permission subsequently to the other women to hold Him by the feet. For did not these typify how Israel will know Christ in the millennium? But Mary's was a higher privilege, though then she might hardly realise it. And so the Lord utters the magnificent words, "I ascend," etc. And is there not exquisite beauty in the fact that "Father" comes before "God"? It is doubtless the same divine hand that wrote, by the same St. John, "grace and truth." The tenderer relation comes first. Still, as more than one has remarked, it is not "our Father," nor "our God." That could not be. Whatever the grace, never can the interval between the Creator and the creature be bridged — not in that sense. The Lord could tell His disciples in that most comprehensive prayer, which He gave them, "When ye pray, say 'our Father.'" But His is a unique Sonship, though doubtless at the same time there is an emphasising of the truth that His God and Father is also ours. But where in the whole range of human writings, ancient or modern, can anything be found approaching these words? I speak not of mere grace and charm of diction, wherein moderns are only gratified if they can equal the ancients, but in subject-matter. Doubtless there are touches of true pathos as well as sound and lofty sentiments on the vanity of human life in ancient and modern classics. But where is there assurance? where comfort and anchorage for the soul? It is well known that there is none. How could there be? "Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought," sang a great but wayward poet. Nay, but the Christian sings most sweetly in his brightest joys. For this we have to thank Christ alone. His was the sorrow, the unfathomable pain. It is easy to write about it. It is less easy to enter into it, and to shape one's life according to it. But at least it is something, spite of shortcoming abundant, to love beyond all else these and like words of our Lord, words that are said to us as truly as to Mary of Magdala — to us, who have not, like her, seen Him in His humiliation, but who, like her, are to see Him in His glory, and be with Him, when we too have ascended to the Father. R. B. Junr.