A second time occurs that significant word, “withdrew.”  Jesus withdrew to the sea, followed by a remarkable multitude of Galileans, and others from such distant points as Tyre and Sidon on the north, Idumea on the extreme south, beyond the Jordan on the east, and from Jerusalem.  He was safe with this sympathizing crowd.

The crowds were so great, and the days so crowded, that Jesus’ very eating was interfered with.  His friends remonstrate, and even think Him unduly swayed by holy enthusiasm.  But it is a man come down from Jerusalem who spread freely among the crowds the ugly charge that He was in league with the devil, possessed by an unclean spirit, and that that explained His strange power.  No uglier charge could be made.  It reveals keenly the desperate purpose of the Jerusalem leaders.  Clearly it was made to influence the crowds.  They were panic-stricken over these crowds.  What could He not do with such a backing, if He chose!  Such a rumor would Spread like wildfire.  Jesus shows His leadership.  He at once calls the crowds about Him, speaks openly of the charge, and refutes it, showing the evident absurdity of it.

Then a strange occurrence takes place.  While He is teaching a great crowd one day, there is an interruption in the midst of His speaking Oddly, it comes from His mother and her other sons.  They send in a message asking to see Him at once.  This seems very strange.  It would seem probable from the narrative that they had access to Him constantly.  Why this sudden desire by the one closest to Him by natural ties to break into His very speaking for a special interview?  Had these Jerusalem men been working upon the fears of her mother heart for the safety of her Son?  She would use her influence to save Him from possible danger threatening?  There is much in the incident to give color to such a supposition.  Perhaps a man of such fineness as He could be checked back by consideration for His mother’s feelings.  They were quite capable of pulling any wire to shut Him up, however ignorant they showed themselves of the simple sturdiness of true character.  But the same man who so tenderly provides for His mother in the awful pain of hanging on a cross reminds her now that a divine errand is not to be hindered by nature’s ties; that clear vision of duty must ever hold the reins of the heart.

Then comes the most terrible, and most significant event, up to this time, in the whole gospel narrative—­the murder of John.  This marks the sharpest crisis yet reached.  For a year or so John had been kept shut up in a prison dungeon, evidence of his own faithfulness, and of the low moral tone, or absence of moral tone, of the time.  Then one night there is a prolonged, debased debauchery in a magnificent palace; the cunning, cruel scheme of the woman whose wrong relation to Herod John had honestly condemned.  The dancing young princess, the drunken oath, the terrible request, the glowing-coal eyes closed, the tongue that held crowds with its message of sin, and of the coming One stilled, the King’s herald headless—­the whole horrible, nightmare story comes with the swiftness of aroused passion, the suddenness of a lightning flash, the cold cruelty of indulged lust.