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For further inquiries about the original work, go to the Stranraer Museum.
At the exhibition of the Royal Academy, in London, the great canvas by Sigismund Goetze, entitled “Despised and Rejected of Men,” (right) has created an artistic sensation. It is declared to be a “powerful and terribly realistic presentment of Christ.” in a modern setting, and is described by a writer in The Christian Commonwealth (London), as follows:
In the center of the canvas is the Christ, standing on a pedestal, bound with ropes, while on either side passes the heedless crowd. A prominent figure is a richly vested priest, proudly conscious of the perfection of the ritual with which he is starving his higher life. Over the shoulder of the priest looks a stern-faced divine of a very different type. Bible in hand, he turns to look at the gospel has missed its spirit,and is as far astray as the priest whose ceremonial is to him anathema. The startled look on the face of the hospital nurse in the foreground is very realistic; so is the absorption of the man of science, so intent on the contents of his test-tube that he had not a glance for the Christ at his side. One of the most striking figures is that of the thoughtless beauty hurring from one scene of pleasure to another; and spurning the sweet-faced little ragged child who is offering a bunch of violets. In rejecting the plea of the child who knows that the proud woman is rejecting the Christ who has identified himself forever with the least of these little ones. The only person in the whole picture who has found time to pause is the mother seated on the steps of the pedestal with her baby in her arms, and we can not but feel that when she has ministered to the wants of her child she will spare a moment for the lover of little children who is so close to her. In the background stands an angel with bowed head, holding the cup which the world He loved to the death is still compelling the Christ to drink, while a cloud of angel faces look down upon the scene with wonder. As the visitor turns away he is haunted with the music of Stainer’s “Crucifixion,” “Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by?”
Something happened two thousand and 40 years ago in the gray light of the first Easter morning which transformed and transfigured the face of the earth. History began again. The world's heart beat with new and gladder thrill. Henceforth and forever, beneath the all-beholding sun, there is nothing which is "too good to be true." It has not entered into the heart of man to conceive a good which is better than the reality of things. But we are afraid of imagination. It is a vain thing, and must be yoked to a servile mass of matter lest it soar upward and outward, into the blue sky, above the mountain tops, toward the glorious sun, and lose itself in the eternal truth of God!
O brother-man or sister-woman, are you afraid of your own prayers? He is God. He is the Father-God, the Mother-God, the God of the buttercups and daisies, of sunshine and spring, the God who cares for the sparrows and clothes the lilies, who spreads out the heavens as a curtain and calls all the stars by name, who longs for you as the child of his heart, and loves you with an everlasting love, so that sin and death cannot separate you from the might of His affection nor quench His hope in you. Morning light shames our midnight fears. And the shame is that in the darkness you were not sure of the coming dawn. You ought to have known that after midnight comes the morning; in the blackest night of the year you ought to have kept God's sunshine in your soul. Angels have rolled the stone away from the grave of your ascending Lord. Clouds turn to solid rock beneath your feet. And Christ is risen indeed. --Rev. C. F. Aked
"When John Holland died, it was about five or six in the evening, the shadow of night was gathering around, and it was growing darker and darker. When near the last moment he looked up, and said to the family: "What is this? What is this strange light in the room? Have they lighted the candles, Martha?" "No," she said. He replied; "Then it must be heaven. Welcome, heaven." Talmage
