y stop here?"
"Yes." "Could I see him?" He steps in and spends an evening in earnest
conversation. I think we will all readily agree that Nicodemus
_believed_ Jesus after that night's interview, however he may have
failed to understand all He said. Yes, we can say much more--he _loved_
Him. For after the cruel crucifixion it is this man that brings a box of
very precious spices, weighing as much as a hundred pounds, worth,
without question, a large sum of money, with which to embalm the dead
body of his friend. Ah! he loved Him. No one may question that.

But turn now to the seventh chapter of John. There is being held a
special session of the Jewish Senate in Jerusalem for the express
purpose of determining how to silence Jesus--to get rid of Him. This man
is a member of that body, and is present. Yonder he sits with the
others, listening while his friend Jesus is being discussed and His
removal--by force if need be--is being plotted. What does he do? What
would you expect of a friend of Jesus under such circumstances? I wonder
what you and I would have done? I wonder what we do do? Does he say
modestly, but plainly, "I spent a whole evening with this man,
questioning Him, talking with Him, listening to Him. I feel quite sure
that He is our promised Messiah; and I have decided to accept Him as
such." Did he say that? That would have been the simple truth. But such
a remark plainly would have aroused a storm of criticism, and he dreaded
that. Yet he felt that something should be said. So, lawyer-like, he
puts the case abstractly. "Hmm--does our law judge a man without giving
him a fair hearing?" That sounds fair, though it does seem rather feeble
in face of their determined opposition. But near by sits a burly
Pharisee, who turns sharply around and, glaring savagely at Nicodemus,
says sneeringly: "Who are you? Do you come from Galilee, too? Look and
see! No prophet comes out of Galilee"--with intensest contempt in the
tone with which he pronounces the word Galilee. And poor Nicodemus seems
to shrink back into half his former size, and has not another word to
say, though all the facts, easily ascertainable, were upon his side of
the case. He loved Jesus without doubt, but he had _no power_ for Him
among men _because of his timidity_. Shall I use a plainer, though
uglier, word--his cowardice? That is not a pleasant word to apply to a
man. But is it not the true word here? He was so afraid of what _they_
would think and sa