Mar 132012
 

Promise At The Cross
G Campbell Morgan

He that spared not His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not also with Him freely give us all things?—Romans 8:12.

WE NOW COME TO THE LAST OF THESE STUDIES AROUND THE Cross of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, a series in which we have attempted to deal with some of the rich and gracious provisions of the Cross; here we shall consider some phases of that all-inclusive and plenteous redemption which God has provided for us through the Son of His love by the way of the Cross.
We have seen the Cross of Christ standing amidst human rain and helplessness at the very center of redemption, and as the channel of power.
We have endeavored to watch the progress of its work in the experience of the soul who surrenders to Christ.
We have first seen how pardon is ours, that we “have redemption through His blood . . . the forgiveness of . . .trespasses”; we have seen how purity comes to us by the way of the Cross, seeing that our consciousness may be “purged from dead works to serve the living and true God” by that same most precious blood; we have seen how peace comes to us by the way of the Cross, for He “has made peace” by the blood of His Cross; and, last, we have considered how power comes to us, for “the Word of the Cross,” the Logos of the Cross, “is the power of God to such as are being saved.”
Let us once more take our stand by this selfsame Cross, and observe how it’flings its light out on all the future, and on all possible needs and contingencies that may arise.
This is an aspect full of value to us. We are all growingly conscious of our limitation, of the fact that there are more things in heaven and earth than have been dreamed of in our philosophies. This growing consciousness very often affects our thought of, and relation to, spiritual things, the things of the soul, the things of redemption. There are moments when the trusting soul trembles through its own limitation of knowledge and vision.
Have there not been moments in your own Christian life when the very consciousness of the unending ages has been almost too great a burden to bear, when the consciousness of the illimitable spaces that lie unmeasured and immeasurable around you has almost crushed your spirit? We have all had such moments, in which we have asked questions about those ages, those spaces, those infinite things round about us, and there have been moments when we have asked questions about our own relationship to God in the light of these things.
Let us go back to the eighth chapter of Romans, and if there has seemed to be something of the nature of speculation in my introductory words, I want you to listen to Paul. These are some of the questions he asked: “Who is against us?” “Who shall lay anything to the charge of God’s elect?” “Who is he that shall condemn?” “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?”
It is impossible for any who know the Lord Jesus, and have come into the blessings that have lately occupied our attention to read those questions without the tone of challenge creeping into the very reading of them. I am perfectly sure that this was in the mind of Paul when he wrote them. “Who is against us?” “Who shall lay anything to the charge of God’s elect?” “Who is he that shall condemn?” “Who shall separate us?”
Remember where the great questions occur in the scheme of this epistle; they do not come in the early part in which the Apostle is dealing with the need for salvation, nor in the central part in which he is laying down the plan of salvation, but in chapter eight, the chapter of the final triumph, in which life in Christ is so wonderfully described, life by the Spirit, which is life in Christ; the chapter which, as so often has been said, begins, “no condemnation,” and ends, “no separation.” Beyond the first part of the chapter, beyond the present experience of the power of the Cross, these questions occur. To pardoned, purified souls, at peace and having power, all these questions come sooner or later. Happy and blessed indeed are the men and women who can face them as Paul faced them, so that in the asking of them there is a tone of challenge, the great ring of a sure triumph.
“Who is against us?” What attack may be directed against our souls? “Who shall lay anything” to our charge? Can any other accusation be brought against us? “Who is he that shall condemn?” “Who shall separate us?” They are all questions born of the soul’s consciousness of limitation. We are coming day by day to have a widening conception of life; we are living in an age in which the universe is a great deal larger than it seemed to our fathers. The discoveries of science—I say nothing of their speculations, I am always willing to wait while they speculate-have put the horizon back much further than it seemed to be. Theories which sounded like speculations to them are now ascertained facts; indeed, so great has the universe become that some men deny the relationship of the individual to God. All this is born of the ever enlarging sense of the universe.
These widening conceptions of life, this deepening sense of personal frailty, lead us to ask such questions. Can anyone be against us? I know some of the foes, but are there others of whom I know nothing? I read in my New Testament of “principalities and powers, the rulers of the darkness of this world,” and all this phraseology has grown in meaning with the passing of the years. I do not say it means more essentially, but it means more to us than it did.
As one in this little planet, one in this ever widening universe, ever widening to human conception, how do I know what lies beyond in the dim distances? Who can be against us? Is there some spiritual antagonism I have never yet faced, ready to attack me? Is there some accuser who will rise up and set my life in relation with other laws? Shall I find myself a sinner in some deeper sense? Is there any accuser? And the final throbbing, agonizing question, until we come to the Cross for an answer, is, “Who shall separate?” Can anyone?
Every question is in itself a demand, a reverent demand, the demand of the soul; and when I ask, “Who is against us?” I am asking for defense against all possibility of attack. When I ask, “Who shall lay anything to the charge of God’s elect?” I am asking that my justification shall be a justification in the presence of any and every possible accusation. When I ask, “Who is he that shall condemn?” I am asking that my acquittal at the bar of Infinite Holiness shall be from any possible condemnation that may arise. When I ask, “Who shall separate us?” I am asking that my communion with God shall be so arranged that all need arising from the new nature and the new conditions and the new demands shall be met.
I tremble on the verge of the eternal, I am, in my own poor personality, afraid in the presence of the immeasurable and the infinite that stretches out beyond. I stand, a man, a speck amid immensity, and I do not know what cohorts are hidden behind the distant hills ready to come against me. I do not know what traducers may yet bring charges against me. Can anything separate me from the love of God?
These are great questions. They do not always take this form, but they come to us all, sometimes very simply, and perhaps, therefore, the more subtly, with more far-reaching and deep-searching agony of soul.
In view of such questionings the greatness of my text is revealed. It is an answer to one of the questions, but I take it because out of it come the values that answer all the questions. “He that spared not His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not also with Him freely give us all things.”
I suppose every man who preaches the Word sometimes feels as though there is nothing more to say when he has read his text. That is certainly how I feel about this. Note its historic basis, “He spared not His own Son.” Notice its logical conclusion, “Shall He not freely give us all things?”
When God gave His Son, He gave His best; and now human language must be imperfect. He emptied heaven of its richest; He had nothing more worth the giving. He gave in that moment not something better than the rest by comparison, but something that included all. The Apostle here says, in effect, when God gave His Son, with Him “He freely gave us all things.” It is not merely that if He spared not His Son He will give other things. It is really that when He gave His Son He gave all. Take another statement of this same Apostle, from his Colossian letter, which deals with the glorious Christ, and remember his words about Jesus, “Christ, Who is the Image of the invisible God, the first-born of all creation; for in Him were all things created . . . and He is before all things, and in Him all things consist.” There is no far distant part of the universe of God that is not held together in orderly array by Christ. No mystic secret of the Divine procedure is unknown to Christ. No foe of humanity lurking in any of the infinite spaces that baffle and affright me is hidden from Christ. God gave His Son, and when He gave His Son, He gave the One in Whom all things consist, from Whom all things came, to Whom all things proceed. In originating wisdom and creating force and upholding power, He gave the sum total of everything when He gave Christ, so that when I ask a question about the infinite spaces I am asking a question about the things that are as familiar to Jesus as are the few grains of sand that I can hold in my hand and look at, and far more familiar, for I cannot tell you the deep- est mystery of the grains of sand, and He knows the last mystery of all the universe. When I ask my question about the days that are coming, I am asking a question about things that He will make, for He it is Who fashions not only the worlds of matter, but the worlds of time, the rolling ages as they come. God has given this Son of His love—Framer of the Universe in infinite wisdom, Upholder of it on its onward course to the final goal—given Him freely for us all.
Now, the Apostle says, “Who is against us?” “Who shall lay anything to the charge of God’s elect?” “Who is he that shall condemn?” “Who shall separate us?” Notice the questions again, and notice them as they are set against the great declaration.
First, “If God is for us, who is against us?” How, do I know God is for me? He gave His Son. There is no other demonstration. If you doubt the Cross you have no proof that God is for us. If you lose the sight of the Cross, and do not hear its message of the Divine good will and favor’ there is nothing in Nature to show you God is for you. Nature is red in tooth and claw. We are told sometimes that it is kind, and so it is if we are kind to it; but offend it, break its laws, and it will crush you with merciless severity.
And this also is a merciful provision, for the crushing of anything effete is good for the things that remain. God by salvation has not come to save effete things as effete things. He has come to save things from effeteness and make them new. Nature will laugh in sunshine on the face of your dead child; there is no message in Nature that tells you that the God behind it cares for you.
But this man, weak and frail, suffering the loss of all things, the pity of all worldly-minded souls, says God is for him. How does he know? “He spared not His own Son.” That is the infinite proof. The Cross is the revelation of the Divine interest. If I have that Cross, there God has given, in the mystery of that dying, His own Son, and I am prepared to challenge all the universe. “Who can be against me?”
As I learn the lesson and repeat the challenge there will come into it, not merely a tone of challenge, but the tone of contempt for everything that is against me. Circumstances are against me; let them be! God is against the circumstances! Another man says, My parentage is against me. God becoming your Father cancels the evil inheritance with which you entered into life.
But these are things of to-day. What lies beyond? I do not know. What infinite forces will be born in the new ages, the ages that will come fresh as the morning from the wisdom of God? What forces may be born with new principalities and new powers? Perchance some of them will be against me. It does not matter, they will be born of God, and God is for me, and the man who stands by the Cross of Jesus and knows that that, is God’s gift for his redemption knows that nothing can emerge out of the endless ages, or gather from infinite spaces, that can harm, because by that Cross he knows God is for him. Who can be against us?
As to accusation, “Who shall lay anything to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth.” We must interpret this word of the Apostle by his previous use of the word in the same argument. How does God justify? “Being, therefore, justified by faith . . . we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through Whom also we have had our access by faith into this grace wherein we stand; and . . . rejoice in hope of the glory of God.” Who shall lay anything to my charge? It is God that justifies me. How? By that Cross of Jesus. You may lay to my charge what you will. You may see in me the imperfection that contradicts your sense of law. I am talking in imagination to the principalities and powers which may be created fifty millenniums hence. God has justified me by the Cross, which does not mean for one single moment that He has covered and excused my sin, but by the infinite mystery of the pain borne in that Cross, He has made my sin not to be, canceled it, put it away, and in this justification God acts, not out of pity, but on the basis of eternal justice and righteousness.
I challenge all the accusers. Who are you? Lay your accusation. Yes, it is true, perchance even in the holy service of to-day, perchance even in the service of the ages to come, there will be the falling short somewhere. I do not mean wilful sin. Do you not know that God charges the angels with folly? When I measure my service, even in the infinite hereafter, by the compulsion and propulsion and constraint of the Infinite love, I think that we shall always have to cast our crowns at His feet and say, “Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto Thy name give glory.” If someone shall lay a charge against me that the thing is not as high as it ought to have been, then in the infinite ages the Cross of the Christ abides, God’s eternal provision, so that none can lay anything to the charge of such as He shall justify.
Or again, “Who is he that shall condemn?” “It is Christ Jesus that died, yea rather”—hear the music of it, if death were all, the condemnation would abide—”yea, rather, that was raised from the dead,” and in the mystery, and miracle, and marvel of that resurrection there is the demonstration of the truth that the dying was efficacious, that in the dying He accomplished the purpose of His heart, in the dying He put guilt away and bore sin so that I need bear it no more. “Who shall condemn?” The soul, afraid of possible condemnation, hides again in the cleft of the rock, and points to the Cross and the empty grave, and says for evermore, By virtue of that Cross and that empty tomb, there can be no condemnation to the trusting soul.
Once again, “Who shall separate us?” Paul always seems to me, at this stage, as though he had climbed to some great height and was looking out on all the dimensions. “Death,” he puts that first, because that is what men are so often afraid of as a separating force. “Life,” which is far more likely to separate us than death, even though men do not fear it. “Angels, principalities,” the whole world and universe of created intelligences. “Things present-things to come,” in simple sentences he sweeps through all the ages. “Powers, height, depth.”
Notice carefully this final phrase-”nor any other creation, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Did you notice the Apostle’s outlook on all these things? “Death?” That is a creation. “Life?” That is a creation. “Angels” and “principalities?” Creations. “Things present?” Creations. “Things to come?” Creations. “Powers?” Creations. “Height?” Creation. “Depth?” Creation. All had issued from God. How can created things separate me, says the Apostle, from the Origin of the created things, seeing I am bound to Him through the work of Jesus, His own Son? I cannot be separated by things created by the Creator, for the Creator has bound me to Him by giving His Son, and brings me back with His Son into eternal union with Himself. “Who shall separate me?”
Jesus, Thy blood and righteousness
My beauty are, my glorious dress;
‘Midst flaming worlds, in these arrayed,
With joy shall I lift up my head.
Bold shall I stand in Thy great day;
For who aught to my charge shall lay?
Fully absolved through these I am
From sin and fear, from guilt and shame.
When from the dust of earth I rise,
To claim my mansion in the skies,
Ev’n then, this shall be all my plea,
Jesus hath lived, hath died for me.
Jesus, be endless praise to Thee
Whose boundless mercy hath for me-
For me, a full atonement made,
An everlasting ransome paid.
0 let the dead now hear Thy voice;
Now bid Thy banished ones rejoice;
Their beauty this, their glorious dress,
Jesus, Thy blood and righteousness.
The Cross of Jesus, the rough Roman gibbet, brutal Cross so far as man had anything to do with it; the Cross of nineteen hundred years ago, which was the manifestation of the great mystery and passion by which God redeems men, that Cross flames with a glory far greater than is needed to illumine the little while, and the here and the now. Its light fills all the universe; its glory rests on all the coming ages. At its birth every new-born age will be baptized in the infinite light that streams from the Cross of Christ. I do not know what they will have in them. One of the joys of the contemplation of the hereafter is that God is infinite in wisdom and power, and my own consciousness of eternal existence becomes bearable as I remember that there can be no monotony with God, always new ages, always new creations, always new manifestations of the one Eternal, incomprehensible Being Whom I call God.
And I do not know what, or how, how long, how brief, how great, how simple. But this I know, that by the Cross I have been brought into the love of God even though I was a sinner; and this I know that nothing He creates can ever separate me from Him Who does create. I know it by the Cross. “No man hath seen God at any time. The only begotten Son, which is in the bosom of the Father, He hath declared Him.” When? By the way of the Cross. Men may know the exceeding power and wisdom of God if they study Nature, but they never find His heart.
There is only one way in which men find that—by the way of the Cross. But when a man comes that way, he comes at last to the point where he can write such a chapter as the eighth of Romans, and looking out from the midst of conscious weakness, out into the infinite spaces, as the questions throb through the mind, “Who? . . . who? . . . who?” He can answer them all with a quiet, calm assurance.
A man at the Cross challenges all attack, all accusation, all condemnation, all separation, and ends in the glorious declaration that none can be against, none can dare accuse, that none can condemn, that none can separate.
In conclusion, let me ask, what is the law of appropriation? There is no specific law of appropriation here; this aspect of promise leans back on God and the work accomplished in Jesus. Yet there is a law of appropriation; it is that of the realization of all that we have spoken of before. If I have never been to the Cross for its pardon, if I know nothing of the purity of consciousness that comes by it, if I am not now at peace with God, and within myself, therefore, if I know nothing of the power of the Cross in this life of probation, then the Cross brings me no promise, but condemnation.
The Cross of Jesus brings me all light, or banishes me to all darkness. Our fathers used to preach about the sin of rejecting Jesus. We do not hear very much about that to-day. And yet, believe me, it is the sin of all sins, it is the sin against the Holy Ghost. There is no sin so deep, so heinous, so awful as that. If I will not have its pardon, or its purity, or its peace, or its power, I cannot have its promise. Then if I ask this question, Who is against me? a myriad forces of evil charge on me to destroy me. If I ask, Who is he that lays anything to my charge? the great accuser stands before me and before God. If I ask, Who is he that shall condemn? the very God of love that would redeem, condemns. If I ask, Who shall separate me? I am separated by my own choice; and the question now becomes, Who can unite me? There is none can unite me if I reject the Cross of His dear Son.
Then let us rather come to the Cross, and in submission yield to its claim, and so receive its blessings.
Beneath the Cross of Jesus
I fain would take my stand—
The shadow of a mighty Rock,
Within a weary land;
A home within the wilderness,
A rest upon the way,
From the burning of the noontide heat,
And the burden of the day.
O safe and happy shelter,
O refuge tried and sweet,
O trysting place where heaven’s love
And heaven’s justice meet!
As to the holy patriarch
That wondrous dream was given,
So seems my Saviour’s Cross to me,
A ladder up to heaven.
There hes beneath its shadow,
But on the farther side,
The darkness of an awful grave
That gapes both deep and wide;
And there between us stands the Cross,
Two arms outstretched to save,
Like a watchman set to guard the way
From that eternal grave.
Upon that Cross of Jesus
Mine eye at times can see
The very dying form of One
Who suffered there for me;
And from my smitten heart, with tears,
Two wonders I confess,-
The wonder of His glorious love,
And my unworthiness.
I take, O Cross, thy shadow
For my abiding place;
I ask no other sunshine than
The sunshine of His face:
Content to let the world go by,
To know nor gain nor loss—
My sinful self my only shame,
My glory all the Cross.
The Cross is God’s giving, and the proof of His giving. His giving, “He spared not His Son.” The proof of His giving, “Shall He not freely give us all things?”
The Cross is the place of my receiving. I look back, and the Cross brings me pardon. I look within, and the Cross brings me purity. I look up, and the Cross brings me peace. I look around, and the Cross is the Word of power. I look on and out at the infinite and unknown possibilities of eternity, and the Cross is the message of promise. Here and now, as I know my own life, as I know my own heart, I have no hope for to-day or to-morrow, for life or death, for time or eternity, but in the Cross of my Saviour. I have that hope, for
In the Cross of Christ I glory,
Towering o’er the wrecks of time,
All the light of sacred story
Gathers round its head sublime.
When the woes of life o’ertake me,
Hopes deceive and fears annoy,
Never shall the Cross forsake me:
Lo! It glows with peace and joy.
When the sun of bliss is beaming
Light and love upon my way:
From the Cross the radiance streaming
Adds more luster to the day.
Bane and blessing, pain and pleasure,
By the Cross are sanctified;
Peace is there that knows no measure,
Joys that through all time abide.
Sermon found in: The Westminster Pulpit, Hodder and Stoughton, London

 Posted by at 4:53 pm
Mar 122012
 

Purity By The Cross
G Campbell Morgan

How much more shall the blood of Christ … cleanse your conscience from dead works? —Hebrews 9:14
IN OUR PREVIOUS STUDY WE CONSIDERED THE FIRST BLESSING that comes to men by the way of the Cross-first, I mean in the line of human experience-the blessing of pardon. We attempted to listen reverently to this note of the great evangel the glad declaration that forgiveness for actual trespass is provided for men not merely on the basis of pity, but in righteousness, through the mystery of the Cross of Jesus. We all are conscious how great a blessing this is, yet I think I speak for every person here when I say that we do not feel that it goes to the root of our need.
That is not to undervalue the blessing of pardon, but it is to say that mere pardon leaves us lacking something that we do not earnestly desire, and something which we desire the more earnestly as the result of the pardon bestowed on us. I attempted very carefully to limit our previous study to the word which my text contained, “trespasses”: sins rather than sin, definite, personal, actual acts of disobedience. Sins as trespasses are pardoned by the way of the Cross, but all such sins are the outward manifestations of an inward disease —a moral disease, of course—the disease of sin.
I am not proposing to enter into any lengthy discussion even now as to how man, using the word in its generic sense, contracted the disease. I simply propose to recognize the fact that it is here, present in human life, that we are all conscious of it, that we feel that behind the deed is a force which impelled us to the deed, and which, strive as we will, struggle as we may, has proved too much for us.
That is not the experience of lonely individuals. It is the common experience of the race. Every man fails, goes wrong, breaks down; and the fact of his actual transgressions results from this deeper, subtler, profounder fact of a tendency toward actual transgression, of a bias in that direction, You may call that original sin or continuous abnormality—phrases matter nothing. The fact of which I am conscious and you are conscious and every man is conscious is that in man there is the double consciousness of a desire to do good and of a force which prevents his doing good.
Unless the evangel of the Cross can deal with that deeper thing in my life it does not meet my profoundest need. Great and gracious is the proclamation that my sins may be forgiven, and my hands are open to receive that gift and my heart sings a song of gladness as I receive it; but, oh, my soul, is that all? Must I still be left with this underlying somewhat that drives me to sin? Can nothing be done for me in the actual warp and woof of my spirit, in my moral fiber, to quench the fires of passion, to correct the poison that throbs? Or, again, to use the simpler language, is my prayer, “Create in me a clean heart, O God,” to find no answer?
The evangel of the Cross is incomplete unless it meets that great need. My probation is not the probation of an unfallen man, of a man born without these forces and vices within him. The probation that I live is not exactly identical with that of the perfect One of Nazareth, or even of the first man according to the story of holy writ. The father of the race, according to that story, stood upright, erect, began without these forces throbbing through his consciousness. I did not so begin. I was born in sin and “shapen in iniquity.” I was born with the need of a redemption that should deal not merely with the sins I have committed as the result of an inherited iniquity, or deviation from the straight, but with the inherited iniquity itself. And I am prepared to say this, even though for a moment it may sound a startling thing. Believe me, I say it most reverently, and yet I am talking out of the deepest and most passionate conviction of my life: Unless God has provided a redemption that touches sin in me as well as the sins that grow out of it, it is an imperfect redemption. All that, as it states the need according to the common experience of men, prepares the way for the consideration of our text, in which the perfect provision is revealed.
God has provided-to quote from the passage I read—”eternal redemption,” and eternal redemption is infinitely more than long-lived redemption. Eternal does not finally or necessarily mean continuance without end. Eternal is as broad as it is long, as high as it is deep. Eternal redemption is redemption that meets every possible and conceivable necessity of the case. He has provided that redemption, and, while pardon for sins is its first benefit, everything else that I need is contained within that selfsame redemption. In this passage it is declared that Jesus Christ, who offered Himself through the Eternal Spirit, without spot to God, made a provision by which my conscience can be cleansed from dead works, that I may be able to do that thing that I have not been able to do—to serve the living and true God.
Now let us consider some of the outstanding terms of this text. I want to draw your special attention to the expressions, “conscience” and “dead works.” “Conscience” is a word used at this point in one particular sense. “Dead works” is a figure of speech, and we must go back to the old economy with which the writer was dealing if we would understand what the phrase really means in this connection.
According to popular usage, conscience is a faculty enabling men to distinguish right from wrong. Conscience in the Bible has a far wider meaning.
The word is found only once in the Old Testament save once, and then it is in the margin. A careful examination of all the passages in which the word occurs in the New Testament shows that it is used in the sense of consciousness rather than in our ordinary sense of “conscience.” The Apostle speaks of “a good conscience,” of “a conscience void of offence,” of “an evil conscience,” of “a conscience branded as with a hot iron.” Now, in neither case was he referring to the faculty that discerns between good and evil, but rather to the facts discerned. When he speaks of a good conscience he does not mean an excellent capacity for the discernment of good and evil. When he speaks of an evil conscience he does not mean a conscience unequal to the discernment of good and evil. Conscience is consciousness. To make this clearer let me requote those isolated passages, inserting the word “consciousness” instead of conscience. “A good consciousness,” “a consciousness void of offence,” “an evil consciousness.” In each case the word indicates the fact of discernment rather than the faculty of discernment. “A conscience void of offence,” then, is man’s inner consciousness, having nothing in it that causes him to offend. “A good conscience” is man’s whole consciousness, the whole sweep of his mind good. “An evil conscience” is man’s whole consciousness, the whole content of the mind evil.
And here the writer of the letter to the Hebrews says that by the mystery of the Cross man’s consciousness is cleansed. Consciousness lies at the back of conduct, is influenced by conduct subsequently, but is first the inspiration of conduct. There is perpetually a reflex action between a man’s consciousness and his conduct. My consciousness of anything creates my conduct toward it, and my conduct toward it reflects on my consciousness, and changes it, in that it either defiles it, or lifts it into higher reaches of purity.
Take the simplest thing you know for purpose of illustration. Let us take such a simple thing as the Master would have taken. Bring me a little child, and put this little child in the midst. My consciousness of a little child will create my conduct toward that little child. Let that be my first proposition. What is a little child? What do you think of a little child? Tell me, and I will tell you what your conduct toward that child will be. Is your consciousness of a little child a low consciousness, a mean consciousness? Your conduct to the little child will be low and mean. Suppose you have the same consciousness of a little child that Jesus had, suppose you say, In heaven its angel always beholds the face of the Father, then what? Then your conduct toward that little child will make you say what He said. If you offend that child it is better that a millstone were hanged about your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea. My consciousness of a flower will affect my conduct toward it. Young man, your consciousness of a woman will affect your conduct toward her. Now, as God is my witness, there is nothing I crave more than a clean consciousness of things—a consciousness that takes hold upon a flower, a child, a woman, a city, everything, cleanly, purely, and without defilement; if I have that, then have I solved my riddle, then have I found plenteous redemption. And that is exactly what the Cross provides for every man, no matter how depraved he may be, or how utterly his consciousness has become evil. The writer of the letter to the Hebrews says, “If the blood of goats and bulls and the ashes of a heifer sprinkling them that have been defiled sanctify unto the cleanness of the flesh, how much more shall the blood of Christ, who through the Eternal Spirit offered Himself without blemish unto God, cleanse your consciousness from dead works to serve the living God.”
Now let us look at that phrase, “dead works.” As we indicated before, it is absolutely important that we should notice that the writer is dealing with the old economy, and we remember how strict and stringent were the laws of that economy concerning ceremonial defilement. Both in Leviticus and in Numbers we find clear revelation of how particular God is about small things. To touch the dead was to be defiled, and cleansing was needed. To enter the house where the dead were, and, though they were wandering through the wilderness, and the tabernacle was not erected, and they could not come to sacrifice, they must be sprinkled in water in which were the ashes of a red heifer. If you will ponder well these old Mosaic requirements they are suggestions and pictures of infinite truth, telling us what God thinks of defilement and how easily a man is defiled. So that when I read here, on the page of a letter written to Hebrews, the term, “dead works,” I must not pass it over as a mere poetical description. It is a description of corruption, of an evil thing that contaminates and spoils the life. These are the very forces spoiling me; these are the things from which I want a cleansing. My consciousness-how, I do not know; why, I may not be able to tell-is defiled, is contaminated; it suggests things to me which are not pure. Of course, I am speaking of a man by nature, and apart from the grace of God. I am speaking also of many a man who has been born again, but who has never appropriated God’s gift of purity. The consciousness is tainted, defiled, spoiled by dead works. It is from that possibility of being contaminated that man wants cleansing.
Let us take some illustrations of things resulting from a consciousness defiled by dead things, corrupt things. First, in personal life-in the realm of the physical, a perpetual inclination to self-indulgence, to laziness, even to sensuality; in the realm of the mental, a tendency toward sloth, toward covetousness, toward dishonesty in dealing with truth, and even, alas! sometimes toward actual impurity of thinking; or, in the spiritual, proneness to lethargy, to neglect, to compromise between right and wrong. It was such impure consciousness issuing in carnal conduct which made the Apostle urge the Corinthians to purify themselves and cleanse themselves from all defilement of flesh and spirit. It is the defilement of the spirit which lies at the back of these manifestations in the realm of the flesh that we supremely need to have dealt with.
Then, because of this defiled consciousness, this defiled spirit, sin abiding still in the life manifests itself in lack of love, so that envy, malice, and even hatred are present. These are actively expressed by unwillingness to forgive where wrong has been suffered and unwillingness to apologize where it has been done. Or, again, in violation of truth, so that men are given to exaggeration or to prevarication, which is an evasion of truth; or deceit, which is to give another a wrong view of a matter; or fraud, which is to give another a wrong view in order to gain something for oneself; or slander, which is to issue a false report to the injury of another person. Or, again, in the violation of justice, the spiteful disposition, the incivility, the rudeness, the thoughtlessness, and, alas! sometimes the robbery. Now, all these things are to be found, not all in any one person perchance, but in the common consciousness of men and women who have received the blessing of pardon and sing in their joy over that blessing. My brethren, I am talking with you, not merely to you. We know what this conscience or consciousness is which is not devoid of offense, out of which offense comes, so that we do not look on men or things or affairs as we ought to, and the distorted vision of men and things and affairs produces a wrong attitude toward men and things and affairs. We know this is wrong, and we cry out at last, in the agony of our hearts, and say the good we see we cannot do. The vision of the ideal is in front of us, but power to realize it we lack. Or, in the words of the Apostle, when we would do good, evil is present with us.
Now, what we need supremely—what I need, what you need—is that our very inward nature should be taken hold of and cleansed. We need not merely the forgiveness of sins, but a consciousness that is clean. It is a terrible need. It is as deep as our nature, and the cleansing must penetrate as far as our pollution. It must be a cleansing that deals not merely with the surface of sin, but goes down into the warp and woof, into the fiber of the being. Water will not do; fire is needed. Water is not sufficient; the infinite mystery of blood is demanded.
If I have partially voiced your sense of need, as I have spoken experimentally to you of my sense of need, as I have come to know what God is, and what I am, then I bring you the second note of the evangel. It is in the presence of that need that the writer asks, “How much more shall the blood of Christ, who through the Eternal Spirit offered Himself without blemish unto God, cleanse your consciousness?” Christ offered Himself through the eternal Spirit. And by that offering He is able to cleanse the nature of the soul that trusts Him by the mystery of that blood poured forth. He can cleanse the consciousness and make it pure and good. And again I say I am not going to tell you how it is done, I am not going to try to explain to you by speculation of my finite mind or any philosophy of man how through the mystery of that shed blood a man’s consciousness can be cleansed as he trusts in Jesus. The writer does not explain it, he affirms it, and all the burden of the teaching of the New Testament is this, that not merely by the mystery of this shed blood a man’s sins are forgiven, but he is cleansed from his sin, changed, remade, a new creation, so that the consciousness defiled becomes a consciousness that is pure.
Now, I am perfectly well aware that a great many people who certainly have received the blessing of the forgiveness of sins have never appropriated this blessing of the cleansed consciousness and purity. I am perfectly well aware that hundreds and thousands of us are sighing after it, but not possessing it; and consequently I am driven to ask this question, if that indeed is declared to be a possibility, on what ground can I have that cleansing of my nature which shall change my view of everything, and give me a new outlook on everything, and so remake my attitude toward everything? How, in brief, can I have, instead of an evil conscience, a good conscience, instead of a conscience seared as with a hot iron, a consciousness which is void of offense? How? And the answer takes us back again to the statement of first principles.
The first thing we have to learn to do is to cease attempting to change our own consciousness. We must quit the conflict which is purely personal. A man says, I will come to look upon a little child as I ought to look upon a little child. You cannot do it in the strength of your own willing. That is the very mystery we have been dealing with. How many a man has said, I hate my outlook, this conception which is false and which issues in sinful conduct. I will alter it, I will change it, I will look upon the old things from a new standard, with cleanness of perception. A clean consciousness of the things round about me shall be mine. He was sincere in the vow, but long before the sun went westering, and the night had come upon him, he had looked again with evil thoughts, and impure desire, and debauched conceptions. The first thing, then, to do, strange as it may sound, is that we cease attempting to change our own consciousness. What then? Then we must be ready and willing to abandon once and forever all permitted acts of sin. We are to put ourselves, so far as it is possible to us, outside the place of sinning. That is very concrete if only you will make it so. It means this. If you are going to quit impure thoughts you must begin by burning your impure pictures. If, after long struggle, you are going to enter into the possibility that lies declared in this text and overcome your tendency toward drunkenness-for let us name things by their right name— you must begin by turning out the last hidden cupboard in your house of the thing that has made you sin. “Having, therefore, these promises, beloved, let us cleanse ourselves from all defilement of flesh and spirit, perfecting holiness in the fear of God.” “Having, therefore, these promises,” what promises? “I will be their God.” “I will dwell in them and walk in them.” “I will be to you a Father, and ye shall be to Me sons and daughters.” These are the promises. Having them, what am I to do? Cleanse myself! But that is what I cannot do. If I try self-cleansing apart from these promises, and apart from the claim that faith makes upon them, I shall fail; but if I claim the promises and neglect the personal cleansing, I shall fail. There must not only be first a cessation of attempt to master the underlying evil in my strength, there must also be what appears to be a contradiction to that first statement, a resolute parting company with all the circumstances and friends and habits and methods which I know have led me into sin.
What beyond? There must be a handing over of the life just as it is, with its defilement, to Jesus Christ. Oh, but you say you are telling us to do what you tell people to do when they come to Him at first. Exactly! When the Church at Ephesus lost her first love, the great and glorious One, walking amid the seven golden lamp-stands, said, “I have this against thee, that thou didst leave thy first love.” What shall she do? This is what she shall do: “Repent, and do the first works.” Begin where you began, fall in line with the principles you have neglected and wandered from. Remember, when we come for purity we are to come exactly as we came for pardon. First, “Nothing in my hands I bring,” the cessation of my attempts to deal with the underlying impurity; second, “Here I give my all to Thee,” the utter and absolute abandonment of the life to Jesus Christ-not as a theory to be sung, but as fact. And then what next? Then, dear heart, trust Him for that very thing after which you have been sighing. Accept it as from Him, trusting in Him. The cleansing of the conscience comes whenever a soul ventures everything on Christ and trusts Him absolutely. If you will come now, just where you are and as you are, with your false consciousness, but in strong determination that you will cut every cord that binds you to the old life, burn every bridge behind you, stand out in separation to Him, and then trust Him, He will break the power of canceled sin. He will set the prisoner free. And so, by the way of this Cross, infinite and ever-increasing mystery of God’s love, there comes to men not merely pardon, but purity-that for which the heart, quickened by the Spirit, most profoundly seeks.
Sermon found in: The Westminster Pulpit, Hodder and Stoughton, London

 Posted by at 4:50 pm
Mar 092012
 

Power By The Cross
G Campbell Morgan

For the Word of the Cross … unto us which are being saved … is the power of God.— I Corinthians 1: 18

THE ASPECT OF THE CROSS OF CHRIST WHICH IS NOW TO occupy our attention is one that has application only to a certain number of people, whom the Apostle refers to in the words, “to us which are being saved.” We have spoken in this series of meditations first of pardon, and then of purity, and lastly of peace by way of the Cross.
We are now to speak of a third blessing~power by way of the Cross. We are often reminded of the fact that in the great experience of salvation there are tenses. I was saved; I am being saved; now is my salvation nearer than when I believed-that is, I shall be saved. The particular aspect of the Cross which is before our minds deals with the present and progressive tense of salvation. Pardon full, sufficient, perfect, is granted in the very moment in which we believe on the Lord Jesus Christ. Purity is in that selfsame moment placed at our disposal; whether we appropriate it or not may be another matter. Power is also at our disposal from that moment and ever onward, but we necessarily come to understand it and make use of it as we live the Christian life. The Word of the Cross is the power of God to those of us who are being saved. The soul pardoned and purified immediately confronts the future, and nowhere is weakness more keenly felt than at that moment. Often men are kept from that great act of surrender to Jesus Christ, which brings them into the position of pardon or purity, or of both, by fear of the future. And though men yield to the call of the Lord, and rejoice in the forgiveness of sins; even though they submit themselves wholly to Him, and claim the great purging of conscience which comes by such surrender; even though the great peace of God is in their hearts, yet when they face the future the sense of weakness comes, perhaps as never before. To that sense of weakness the Cross brings an evangel, and as by the way of the Cross I have pardon and purity and peace, so also by the way of the Cross—blessed be God!—there is power for me.
Let us think for a moment of the need of the soul pardoned, purified, at peace. The new relationship to Jesus Christ does not remove us out of all the old relationships. We are still left on the probationary plane. We shall live in the same store, the same workshop, even though our sins are for-Christ. We shall go back to business in the same office, the same store, the same workshop, even though our sins are forgiven. All the peculiar forces that have played on our personality prior to our relationship with Jesus Christ will still operate to-morrow, though He has forgiven us, purified us, and brought us into the place of peace. All the ordinary conditions and contingencies will recur to the soul that has come into new relationship with the Lord. The old temptations will come again, and will be felt far more keenly than they have ever been felt before. The old temptations will come through the old avenues; there are but three-the physical, the spiritual, and the vocational. Bread-that is the first; tampering with confidence in God-that is the second; attempting to possess the kingdoms in some other way than by treading the Divinely appointed pathway—that is the third. The devil has no other. These avenues are still open when I give myself to Jesus Christ. I still live within the physical tabernacle; I still am dependent on God for everything, and must live the life of trust; I still am called to Divine purpose in the world. And along every one of these avenues temptation will come to me, even though I am forgiven, purified, and at peace. My consciousness of temptation will be far keener than it ever has been; temptation will be more subtle; the tempter will be more busy. The devil is far more eager to spoil that new life dedicated to Jesus Christ than he is to pay any attention whatsoever to the souls that lie asleep in him.
Not temptation only, but suffering will still be my portion. Bereavements will come to me, as they come to others; defeat will sometimes overtake my endeavor, as it overtakes the endeavors of all men; treachery may lurk in the pathway to harm me; I am still in the place of tears, the place of suffering, the place of sorrow. Again, I am still in the place of joy. I now belong to Jesus Christ, but that will not rob me of the rapture of success; I have been pardoned and purified, and am at peace with God, but that will not interfere with the delight I have in the comradeship and friendship for others of my kind. I have indeed seen Him Whom to see is to find light and life and love and liberty; but there is still within me that which asks for gold on the morning sky. Hope will still take hold of every promise and build on it some great expectation. I am still in the midst of the old circumstances. I must still live the old life.
Once again, the dedication of my life to Jesus Christ, and all the answering blessings that come by the way of the Cross: these things do not remove me out of the place of mystery. I am still limited in my outlook. Phantoms will flit across the seas of life, threatening me and affrighting me; questions will still arise in the inner life as they did before. Yielded to Jesus Christ, I am not at the end of the questioning mind, I have not solved the last riddle or probed the deepest problem.
The man pardoned, purified, and at peace, abides in the place of peril. He must live where he lived, and as he lived, must strive for bread, and prosecute his business, and touch the world. At least, that is the Divine intention for him. And if any man shall attempt to live the Christian life by escaping from these conditions and hiding within stone walls, he will find that he has cut the very nerve of saintship, and has made it impossible to be all that Christ meant him to be. “As is the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.” Christianity is not an exotic which flourishes in hothouse atmosphere, separated from all difficulties. Christianity is a hardy perennial that blossoms among the thorns; and if a man moves from such surroundings he will move from the conditions that make him strong.
Yet it is not merely in order that we may meet these things that we need power. When we yielded ourselves to Christ, and received blessing at His hand, we were brought into a new realm of activity. New demands were made on us. When I come to the Cross and receive these benefits, I, by that reception, commit myself to its responsibilities. When I come to the Cross, and there, a lost and ruined soul, see that I am found and redeemed, in the act by which I receive the Christ I take the oath of allegiance to the One Who saves me. In that moment I commit myself to all the enterprises of God. He demands that what there is of my life shall be surrendered to Him, and that from that moment I shall be a worker together with Him, in fellowship, partnership with Him. From that moment I am to stand, wheresoever my lot may be cast, for righteousness, and not for policy merely—I am to put my whole life into the great business of bringing about a reconciliation of men to God. From that moment in which the blessings of the Cross become my own, my life is committed to the publication of the evangel of the Cross to all men; from that moment in which the compassion of God becomes my salvation, I am called on to live in the power of that compassion for the salvation of others. Standing on the brink of the new life of service, with its demands so great and wonderful, the soul says, “Who is sufficient for these things?” Pardoned, purified, at peace, I have to live and serve. How can I live and serve?
What I need is that there shall come into my life a new force that is equal to all the demands. Power to resist temptation, power to endure suffering equally, power to endure joy that I be not spoiled thereby, power to wait amid the mysteries until His light shall shine on the pathway.
For service I need power. If I am called to this new service I need the passive power that will enable me to stand four square to every wind that blows; I need the active power that will enable me to accomplish the work God puts in my hands as a saved man; I need persuasive power to constrain men to this selfsame Cross where I have found my blessings.
Now, I take up this letter to the Corinthians because in face of difficulties and divisions and misunderstanding the Apostle insists on this one thing, that “the Word of the Cross is the power of God.”
Now, the question arises, simply and naturally in the heart of each one of us, In what sense can it be true that the Word of the Cross is the power of God to them that are being saved? Not merely the power which enables a man to find salvation, but the power that he needs to live this life, which is in itself a procession and probation of salvation. In what sense can the Word of the Cross be said to be power? If you approach from the standard of merely human intellectual strength you will come to one of two conclusions. You will come to the conclusion of the Jew or of the Greek. You will come to the conclusion that the Cross of Jesus is either a stumbling-block or utter foolishness. These are perfectly natural conclusions. The Jew said the Cross is a stumbling block, a skandalon, something in the way, over which men fall. Put the Cross into its relation to the life of Jesus as the Jew saw it. Take the disciples, not the great crowd that neglected Him: they learned of Jesus, and learned to love Him, and desired to follow Him. What was the Cross prior to Pentecost? It was a stumbling-block; the moment Jesus mentioned it they drew back from Him, and why? Because they thought the Cross would hinder, not help. There was no power in the Cross to the mind of Peter when he said, “That be far from Thee, Lord.” It was the thing that ended power, that robbed Jesus of power to the thinking Jew unilluminated by the Spirit of God, who had never seen into the mystery. After the Cross and resurrection, when Jesus walked to Emmaus, two men talked to Him about the Cross. They said, “We hoped that it was He which should redeem Israel.” In imagination I will join the group, and ask these men a question. Do you not still hope? No, we have lost our hope. What killed it? The Cross killed it. So long as He was careful, or seemed to be careful of Himself, so long as when men were angry He went away into the country and waited awhile, and went on with His teaching, we hoped; but when He became reckless and set His face to go to Jerusalem, and we could not dissuade Him, that Cross was the stumbling-block; there He fell, there our hopes were ruined. There is no other conclusion; they were perfectly right, judging by natural law.
Or if not, then what? Then, still within the realm of the natural, you say with the Greek, the Cross was foolishness. It means the same thing underneath. It is absolutely foolish to talk about a Roman gibbet lifting a man except that it may kill him. Foolishness to the Greek. When Paul began his ministry, this teller of tales. There were men who traveled through these Greek cities doing nothing but telling tales of travel, adventure, things seen in distant places; and the men of the time who listened had itching ears-and they have successors to-day-men always seeking for some new thing. When Paul came to tell them the story of how Jesus lived and was crucified and rose, they said: This is a tale, and it is just foolishness, we will amuse ourselves and listen to it. The Cross is still that to-day to some. There is nothing that vitalizes the intellect until you are born again; there is nothing in the Cross that helps on the redemption of the race until you are born again. It is a cold, dead, lifeless stumbling-block, and some men are doing their very best to get rid of it. I am therefore limited in all I say now. “To us which are being saved.”
What is it to us who are being saved? “The power of God.” What is the “power of God”? The “Word of the Cross.” Not the preaching of the Cross-one of the most important changes in translation here-not the preaching, but the Logos, the Word, exactly the same phrase which you have in John’s Gospel, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. . . . And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” “The Word of the Cross.” It is not the preaching of the Cross that is the power. Thank God there is a sense in which the preaching of the Cross is the power of God; it is by the preaching, the heralding, the proclamation of the Cross that men find the Word of the Cross. But it is not the act of preaching that is powerful, it is the thing preached. Some years ago a theological professor said what seemed to be a smart thing to his class. He said, “Gentlemen, remember God has chosen the foolishness of preaching, not the preaching of foolishness.” If he had looked a little more closely he would have found he was wrong. God has chosen the preaching of foolishness, foolishness to the Greek. What is this foolishness? “The Word of the Cross.” Let us take the phrase and look at it for a moment, very reverently. “The Word … .. The Word of the Cross.”
Have you ever made anything like careful and patient study of what the Bible says about the “Word of God”? Have you ever taken that phrase and traced it through? The Bible says wonderful things about the Word of God. I go back into the Old Testament, and there is a wonderful amount of New in the Old. I turn to one of the Psalms and I read this:
By the word of the Lord were the heavens made;
And all the host of them by the breath of His mouth.
He gathereth the waters of the sea together as an heap:
He layeth up the deeps in storehouses.
Let all the earth fear the Lord.
Let all the inhabitants of the world stand in awe of Him.
For He spake, and it was done;
He commanded, and it stood fast.
Listen to a statement of the New Testament, “Who being the effulgence of His glory, and the very image of His substance, and upholding all things by the word of His power, when He had made purification of sins, sat down on the right hand of the Majesty on high.” “He spake, and it was done; He commanded, and it stood fast.” “Upholding all things by the word of His power.” Hear once again. An angel visitor is talking to the Virgin, and in the midst of her sweet and holy questioning he says, “No word of God shall be void of power.” The word of man is a wish! The Word of God is a work! It is always so. I speak, and then I must do it; He speaks, and it is done. I utter a thought that is in my mind; it is a dream, a prophecy, a desire, a disappointment perchance. When God expresses Himself, the thing He expresses, is. The Word of God is the expression of God, the Speech, the Revelation, the uttering forth, the going out, and with the Word is the Work.
In the fulness of time “the Word was made flesh.” And what did men do with that Word made flesh? They crucified Him. I know perfectly well that at this moment-God help us to be reverent—we are standing in the presence of the burning bush. It is well that we take our shoes from off our feet, and say to our hearts that we are looking on the ineffable glory, and cannot explain it. We stand and peer into the mystery, and never understand it; yet, I pray you, think moment in the realm of analysis.
Reverently let me take that great Word of the Cross and see how power is in it, in the mystery of defeat, in the hour of dying, by listening to the words of the Word of the Cross. If you will take the words spoken by the Word in the supreme agony of the Cross, you will find every one of them tells of defeat and of victory, of weakness and of power.
“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” It is the word of an unutterable pain, but the pain is the plea that prevails.
“To-day shalt thou be with Me in Paradise.” It is the confession of defeat; not often have we said so, but you must take the word and put it into Jewish thinking. Paradise, what is that? The place of departed spirits, and men do not want to pass into the place of departed spirits. He says in effect: I am passing, I am a dying Man, I am going to Paradise. But you will not leave it like that; you know full well it is the passing of a King, that it is the voice of the Master of all defeat, that it is the voice of One Who in supreme defeat utters the word of an eternal victory, “To-day shalt thou be with Me in Paradise.”
“Woman, behold thy son,” “Behold thy mother.” His heart is bereaved, and He knows His mother’s heart is pierced through with a sword, and yet He knows that there, through that bereavement and that agony and loss and suffering, the suffering of sympathy for His own mother, there He creates the new kinship, the new relationship, gives His mother a son in the bond of His love, such as she never could have had in any other way, gives Himself back to His mother through John in the new discipleship of John, and begins that gracious work that He has carried on ever since, of healing broken hearts with the new kinship, the new relationship, the new family of God. It is a great triumph through a great sorrow.
“My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?” That forsaking that so appalls you as it appalls me, what is it but the way of approach? ne forsaking is the pathway to fellowship.
“I thirst.” Out of that thirst there springs the living water of which thirsty men shall drink, and never thirst.
“It is finished,” and we sing of it to-night, not as the declaration of a Man who is beaten and defeated. We know the ending was the beginning. That is the dawning of the new order and the new life.
“Father, into Thy hands I commend My Spirit.” The actual passing is the coming back to the Father. Take any of the words, and I will defy you to explain them. Crucified in weakness, and yet throbbing through the weakness rivers of power, which, by the way of the resurrection, have passed out into all human life. “The Word of the Cross” is “the power of God.” He spake at creation; it was done. He spoke in Jesus, and it was done. Pardon and purity and peace, and all the power that man needs to live a life and render a service come by the way of the Cross.
Now, brethren, finally, how am I to realize this power as an actual positive fact in my own life? The abiding condition of the manifestation of Divine power is that of weakness. This, carried to its logical and proper conclusion, teaches us that the supreme condition for the working of the power of the Word of the Cross in our lives is that we know what it is to be crucified with Him, to enter into the place of death with Him. It is when I come to the point of the cessation of my activity in the power of the flesh, in the power of my own intellect, that the power of the Cross becomes operative in me, and through me. Here is where we stand away, and do not know His power, even those who are His. Someone writes me. I open the letter, and I read it. It is such an old story. It says: “I am a Christian, and have been one for long years, but I cannot overcome this temptation, this besetment. I want power to overcome.” Or the letter says: “I have been trying to work for God for long years in the Sunday school, in the church, it may be in the pulpit, but there is no power. What am I to do?” And my answer in every case must be the same. “The Word of the Cross. . . . is the power of God.”
But how am I to make contact with that power, that I may overcome? How am I to appropriate that power in order that I may serve in power? There is only one way, and it is that I get to the end of my own attempts to do without God, that God is able through the mystery of this power of the Cross to come into my life, and work in victory over temptation and sin, and in all the service that His will appoints. “I have been crucified with Christ,” said the Apostle, and sometimes one is almost afraid to quote the passage, it has been quoted so often, it has been preached on so constantly. Yet never until I come there shall I know what power is in my own life. That great power of the Cross operates in and through only men and women who are content to die with Him, to be at the end of self, that He may be the one supreme enthroned and crowned Lord of the life. Oh, it is this dying that hinders us. These ambitions must be laid aside, these prejudices must be crucified, this pride must be humbled; that goal toward which I have been running, which is, in the last analysis, pure selfishness, must be swept away, and I must be willing to say, “I live, yet not I.” It is that canceling of the “I” in the life of the Christian that creates contact with the power of the Cross. It is only as we are prepared to go down into the death of the Cross that we shall begin to find its dynamic and its thrill, and shall know its mastery in us, over all that is against us, and through us, over all that is against God. Thank God, it is the “Word of the Cross,” and it is “the power of God.” No human philosophy can explain it, and no human investigation along the lines of scientific method can account for it. Here the fact remains, and the simple illustrations are to be found everywhere. Here is a frail man, battered and bruised by his own sin, who comes at last to Jesus for pardon, claims His purity, finds the peace of God, and then goes out to begin his life anew. Beginning it anew, there is no dependence on himself. He says, “I have tried and failed; I yield myself to Him, willing to be nothing, sinking to the place where I count not my life to be anything. I cast ambition as dust beneath my feet, or, in the words of old, ‘I lay my treasure in the dust,’ and all I counted as dear is to be counted as dross and dung. I am nothing.” Easily said, but not so easily consented to. It is when a man gets there—and now I am out of the realm of explanation, but I am in the realm of faith-that this great Word of the Cross, the Cross that is the death of sin, the Cross that cancels sin, the Cross that brings the power, begins to thrill and throb through that man’s life. He is able to sin no more.
God is sufficient for all the life and service of His people. No exigencies can surprise Him, no combinations can defeat Him. But the element of human trouble and weakness has ever been the self-life. Where that ends, God, through the mystery of His Cross, the Cross of His Son, resumes His government, resumes His activity; then the life touches the place of omnipotence. I thank God for the pardon of the Cross. I thank God for purity that is mine by the way of the Cross. I thank God for peace; but, oh! sometimes—and I suppose it is because it is the last thing one thinks of in God’s great gifts is always the best-this power that has come into the life and made it equal to the things to which it was unequal, this present power of God, how great and gracious a thing it is! If you and 1, who tremble and are afraid as we face our surroundings and our service, will but consent to all that is meant by crucifixion with Him, we shall find that that Cross, which was a stumbling-block to Jew and foolishness to Greek, is to such as are being saved the power of God.
Sermon found in: The Westminster Pulpit, Hodder and Stoughton, London

 

 Posted by at 4:46 pm
Mar 082012
 

Peace By The Cross
G Campbell Morgan

Having made peace through the blood of His Cross. — Colossians 1:20

PEACE IN HUMAN EXPERIENCE IS THE ISSUE OF PARDON AND purity. There can be no peace so long as sin is unforgiven; there can be no perfect peace so long as impurity remains in the life, dominant and influential. Peace is a necessary sequence in experience; if indeed my trespasses are forgiven, if indeed my consciousness is purged, then issues peace.
The need of peace is created primarily by the fact that man is out of harmony with God. Here I need hardly stay to argue or discuss; I suppose it will be readily granted that this is true. This the Apostle declared in words both blunt and bold: “The carnal mind is emnity against God”; the “natural man” does “not know the things of God.” He cannot know them. The natural man is in intelligence dark toward God, ignorant rather than intelligent; in emotion contrary to God, hating rather than loving; in will perverse against God, disobeying rather than obeying.
If instead of stating these things in these terms of doctrine I state them in the realm of experience, the fact is perhaps more patent. Man does not want to talk about God. In the most refined society-using that word in its very degraded and abused sense, for the only final refinement is the refinement of spiritual culture-the one subject which is “ta-boo” is God. Man is out of harmony with God, afraid of God, unbelieving toward God, and to-day, worst of all indifferent about God.
The reason for this is sin. Find me a man who is afraid of God, and I will find you a man who is a sinner and living in sin. The sin may be manifested in a hundred different ways, but it lies at the back and is the sole reason for lack of harmony with God. It is sin that cuts man off from God, for it is sin that blinds his vision, so that he cannot see God; deadens his emotion, so that he cannot love God; turns his will into perverse attitudes, so that he cannot obey God. Sin prevents the fulfillment of purpose, and thus puts man out of harmony with God.
Moreover, sin reacts on the sinner, polluting the very sources of life, and this pollution prevents communion, so that a man is not only alienated from God by his sin, but by his alienation from God prevented from ceasing to sin. Sin excludes me from the Divine presence. Being excluded, it may be that I want not to sin, but I have lost my power not to sin, for the only power that enables a man not to sin is that of direct communion with God. That is the awful tragedy Of sin— its reflex action in human life. Men are coming to understand to-day that if man is to find perfect peace he must find his way into harmony with God. In his Varieties of Religious Experience, Professor James tells us that he has come to the deliberate conclusion along lines of scientific investigation that, somewhere, somehow, man has business with God, and that man fulfils his highest destiny only as he submits himself to the call of God.
But men are not having dealings with Him, do not find Him; cannot find Him though they search through the long and misty avenues of scientific investigation, though they spend long and weary years in philosophical elaboration and research. God is never so found. Yet men out of harmony with God are conscious that they lack peace, and the reason of the lack of harmony and the absence of communion is sin, the direct and wilful and personal doing of wrong, when right and wrong have stood confronting man’s reason and his will.
Because man is out of harmony with God he is utterly out of harmony with everything else. A man who has no peace with God lacks peace within his own personality. A man who has no peace with God, and who lacks peace within his own personality, fails of peace with his fellow man. The man who has no peace with God, and lacks peace in his own personality, and therefore fails to have peace with his fellow men, is out of harmony with the whole of Nature.
The man who is out of harmony with God is out of harmony within his own personality. My text occurs in one of the stupendous passages of the New Testament: in order that its light may flash on my subject, I ask you to consider the context. The Apostle is dealing with the great subject of creation and of Christ’s relationship thereto. He speaks of Christ as being the Image of God, and also as being the First-born of creation. He distinctly says that the God-created things were made by Him and for Him. He distinctly affirms that in Him-that is, in Christ—”all things consist.” Then he declares, right at the heart of the great argument, that this Christ, Firstborn of creation, Upholder of creation, shed His blood in the midst of creation; and that through the mystery of that blood-shedding, in the midst of the creation held together by Christ, and created by Christ, He will reconcile all things to Himself, both on the earth and in the heavens. That is the majestic sweep of the passage.
In Christ all things consist. Banish from your mind all the larger outlook on creation. Forget the spaces by which you are surrounded: forget even this one little planet on which you stand, and out of its myriad mysteries consider your own life. You are part of creation; the principle that obtains in the whole creation obtains in you. In Him, the Christ Who is the image of God, things consist. In Him they harmonize, part fitting to part, power answering power, joint uniting with joint. If you banish this Christ from the life by sin, if you put God out of count, then you no longer consist, you no longer hold together. You become, within your own personality disorganized, broken up, disintegrated. Every man who is Godless and Christless is disintegrated in his own personality; he is a mystery to himself. He finds the physical—we all know the physical; he finds the mental—we are all conscious of the mental; every now and then he hears, not from without, as though a voice out of the blue addressed him, but from within, the voice of his spiritual nature. This last he stifles, silences, drives back. The mental he sometimes attempts to cultivate and refine; the physical he ministers to with all his power; but he is a broken man. The spiritual, which is the essential, is dethroned, imprisoned within the personality; the mental has the wrong vision, the wrong outlook, and, consequently, is perpetually degraded; and the physical is made the principal; that man lives, as Paul says, “in flesh” instead of in spirit. There is no harmony; and out of that discord of a human life come the questionings and the agonies, and the conflicts, and the defeats that are perpetual in human history. Out of that discord comes the dual cry of a man when he says, I would do good. Evil is present with me. I would climb, but I fall. The man who is Godless lacks peace within. There is passion within, there is power within, but not peace. Passion runs riot, power is misapplied; ambition, aspiration, desire, endeavor, all these things; but no peace. Moments that seem peaceful are broken in on by some rush of passion; moments that seem quiet are disturbed by some new mystery within the life of the man of the world.
Oh, man, thy personality is as marvelous as is God’s universe, and the things in conflict are great things, God-made things. Every part of thy personality is the result of a Divine thinking, and a Divine creation; and if thou art living without the Divine Who thought, and the Divine Who created, the great forces in thy life are conflicting and clashing, and there is discord, but no peace.
The result is that man is not at peace with his fellow man. Each man being disorganized within his own personality, social disorganization must necessarily ensue. Are you prepared to say there is peace in the world? Of course, by comparison there are countries that are at peace, but I am not at all sure that the peace of to-day which is perpetually at- tempting to be ready for war is not more disastrous than war itself.
Is there social peace? Nation is divided against nation, class against class, there is commercial strife, and social strife is rife, and why? Because the units are at strife within themselves. When strife meets strife, strife is perpetuated, and you will never have the peace of a great socialism until you have the peace of a great individualism.
Finally, man is not only out of harmony within himself And with his fellow-man, he is out of harmony with Nature. I take up my Bible, and I turn over to that great psalm about man:
What is man, that Thou are mindful of him?
And the son of man, that Thou visitest him?
And now hear the answer:
For Thou hast made him but little lower than God,
And crownest him with glory and honour.
Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of Thy hands;
Thou hast put all things under his feet:
All sheep and oxen,
Yea, and the beasts of the field;
The fowl of the air and the fish of the sea,
Whatsoever passeth through the paths of the sea.
That is a picture of God’s intention for man, dominion over Nature, harmony with Nature, mastery of Nature; a beneficent mastery of Nature that leads Nature out to its highest and its best—that is God’s thought for man.
At the beginning God put man into a garden; what for? So that he might admire the flowers and pluck the fruits? No! “To dress it and to keep it.” He put him into the garden in order that man might put his God-made hand on God’s unfinished work and finish it. The Garden of Eden was a garden of potentialities, waiting for the touch of man to make it perfect. God placed man in it, and said, Now touch it with labor, and it will laugh at you with flowers. We can see something of this even to-day. One’s mind goes to the simplest of all illustrations among the flowers. Who of us has not seen the wonderful development of what in my boyhood’s days was a simple country flower, the chrysanthemum? I remember it in my father’s garden. It was so old-fashioned that there were gardens that would not have it, but there is not a garden that has not room for it to-day. It has grown since those days, and the petals have run out into wavy gracefulness and tender tints. What has happened? Man has touched it. The potentialities of the chrysanthemum of to-day lay in the old-fashioned garden chrysanthemum, but it waited for man to complete the work of God. At this hour Nature as a great whole is an unconquered territory because man is Godless. You tell me that the most scientific men are Godless mem You tell me that the countries that are most scientific are the most Godless. I do not believe it. Let us study the map of the world; imagine you see it before you. Now put your hand on the places where most discoveries have been made. And while your hands are resting on those countries in which men have done most in the work of mastering Nature and discovering her secrets and giving them to men, they are resting on the countries where the Gospel of Jesus Christ has prevailed most. That is the larger outlook. You bring me to some man whom you call scientific, and he is Godless, and you say that scientific investigation makes a man Godless. I tell you it is a narrow outlook. It is just as narrow an outlook as the outlook of Robert Ingersoll when he said that something happened as naturally as water runs down hill. If you think that is true, read Father Lambert’s reply, and see how Father Lambert demonstrated that water does not run down hill, that the vast mass of the waters of the world are piled at the equator.
In the light of Godliness men have mastered Nature; electric light has come directly as the result of Godliness, for if you find lands that are Godless you find them in darkness in every sense of the word. Man remains out of harmony with Nature until he finds his way to God. One man tells me he will climb to Nature and find God. Never. You must find God and then climb into Nature. Neither as to its beauty nor as to its potentiality can you ever be at peace with Nature until you are at peace with God.
And how we long for peace. Oh, the restlessness of the present age! Oh, the friction! Sometimes one pauses to listen and it seems as though surging through the cities, coming up from the quieter country, beating on the listening car, from all the continents and the isles of the sea, there is the noise of strife and battle, man within himself hot and restless, feverish, lacking peace; man battling with his brother man for territory, for commerce, for advance; man out of harmony with Nature, losing his love of the beautiful, failing to interpret its message of God, but slowly discovering its deep underlying secrets. Peace seems absent, and yet how man longs for it, sighs after it, sings about it, courts it, and fails to find it.
But there are men and women who have peace; there are men and women living at the very center of it. There are men and women who know peace with God, within themselves, with their fellow men, and with all the universe of God. And how has this peace come? I go back again to the first chapter of Colossians, and again ask you to let the great and stately argument of the Apostle pass before you. Christ, First-born of creation, all things held together in Him; Christ bowed to death, to the awful and lonely tragedy of an earthly dying, in the midst of the lack of peace, and making peace through the blood of His Cross.
This is the third time we have come to this central mystery, and for the third time I say to you, I do not know how it was done. I cannot fathom it, but I see the infinite order in the economy of God of which Christ is Originator and Upholder. I see the awful discord and lack of peace that sweep upon men and everything to the utmost limit of the universe. I see at the center the worst disorder of all, the dying Christ, and I see proceeding from that Cross reconciliation, the restoration of peace, men finding God, men finding themselves, because they have found God; men finding their brother men and getting back to them because they have found God; men finding the secrets and beauties of Nature because they have found God. Already I hear across the nations and the continents, war-mad, strife-occupied, the song of an infinite peace. How came it? It began in the mystery of His dying, and the awful darkness of His blood-shedding. I cannot fathom it; I cannot measure it. I cannot tell you all the deep mystery of that outpoured life and flood, but this I know, that through it peace is born.
First of all, peace between man and God. Let us take three phrases of the New Testament. “Justified by faith, we have peace with God.” “Peace from God our Father.” “And the peace of God shall garrison your heart.” “Peace with God,” “peace from God,” “the peace of God.” This is the experience of the soul that comes back to God from sin and pollution by the way of the Cross of Jesus. No man can speak perfectly of this peace. It defies analysis, it transcends explanation, it may sing itself into snatches of song, but the great infinite experience can never be told; it must be known. Peace with God, that is, if you will have it so-judicial peace. I have sinned against Him, and I am afraid of Him. But I come to Him as He calls me by the way of the Cross, and my sin is put away, I am no longer afraid. The fear is gone, that which made me afraid to speak of Him, to think of Him, has all been put away, and small as I am in His great universe, and utterly unable as I know myself to be to comprehend the full meaning of His existence, this at least is true-fear has been banished, I am at peace with Him, at peace with Him Who holds the universe in the hollow of His hand, at peace with the infinite Force and Intelligence. As God is my witness, standing by that Cross, claiming and receiving its pardon, its purity, I have also its peace, and I am not afraid. So the soul that comes to this Cross is first at peace with God.
This peace is also from God, the quietness that comes into the life when man knows that God is pleased. There is no language that can tell the deepest truth here, but as I am accepted in the Beloved, as I am complete in the Christ, the very blessedness of God rests on me, because it rests on Him, the Christ Himself. I have been joined to Him, and “he that is joined to the Lord is one spirit” And as the good pleasure of God was declared with the Christ, it is declared also with all such as put their trust in Him: pardon for the past, purity for the present, and the peace of knowing;
My God is reconciled,
His pardoning voice I hear;
He owns me for His child,
I can no longer fear.
With confidence I now draw nigh,
And “Father, Abba Father,” cry.
And yet once more and most wonderful of all in this connection, not merely peace with God, and peace from God, but “the peace of God.” What is God’s peace? It is the peace of His omniscience, the peace of His omnipotence, the peace of His omnipresence. Do you not see how all these things must necessarily create peace in the very Being of God? What robs me of peace in the small affairs of life? My limitations. I cannot see the end, and I am afraid. I cannot be where I would be, and my heart is hot and restless. I cannot do what ought to be done, and panic seizes me. God sees the end from the beginning, God is always where He is needed. God is always equal to the demand that is made on Him, even though it be the redemption of a lost race; and, consequently, in the presence of the fall of man, in the presence of the sin of the race, in the presence of the wrong of the centuries of pain, God’s peace in its deepest was never disturbed, because He knew how out of it He would bring life and light and glory, until at last heaven would be reached over the mystery of evil, and its mastery come by the way of the Cross.
The perfect peace of God is the peace of the child of God. Not that I now can see the end from the beginning, but I know He can, and so I sing. Not that I now can be everywhere at the same moment, but He is, and so while I stand here, separated by miles from my friend in danger, I speak to Him, and in the act I am with my friend, for God is with my friend. Distance is annihilated in this life of fellowship, power is perpetual, and the things I cannot do, I can do in Him and through Him. The man who is at peace with God enters into the peace of God, for he has found his way, small atom though he be, infinitesimal part of the universe, into harmony with the order of the universe.
This necessarily means that the peace that comes to us is exactly what we need in other respects, not only in relationship to God, but in relationship to self. The whole being is balanced and quiet.
Look at these two men. What is that man? He is a spirit indwelling a body, having a mind. What is this man? He is a spirit indwelling a body, having a mind. What is the difference between them? This man is perturbed, he lacks peace, he is always full of fear, he is hot, restless, feverish. That man is quiet, calm, strong. What is the difference? This man is out of harmony within himself. The essential spirit is starved, dwarfed, driven out, consequently flesh is glorified, and worshiped and served. He lacks balance, harmony, there is no consistence in this man, because he has not found God. That man has found God, his own spirit is taken out of the prison house and put on the throne. The flesh is not bruised, the flesh is not scourged, it is governed, kept under, made servant, instead of master. He has found the true proportion of things. He is consistent within himself, and his life is full of peace. Why? Because he found God, and finding peace with God and from God and of God, he gained peace within his own personality, and his life became strong, free from friction, quiet, calm, powerful.
Watch that man still; that man knows what peace is with his fellow man. I know that Jesus said, I have not come to send peace but a sword.” That is perfectly true. That is the effect produced among Godless men by the presence of godly men; so long as there are godless men they will hate the godly, and so will attempt to destroy their peace. The measure in which professing Christians fail to make peace is the measure in which they are not Christians. I think the day has come when we ought to be more ready to “unchristianize” the man who libels Christianity than to “unchristianize” Christianity on account of such a man. You tell me of a Christian man who is always making disturbances; I do not believe it. Oh, but he is a minister; that does not matter. He is a deacon; that has no signification in this connection. He has been a church member for forty years; I cannot help it. If the influence of his life is not that of peace, he is not a Christian. When once the peace of God possesses a human life, when once the peace of God dominates a human life, the influence of that life is peace. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the sons of God.”
And yet that is after all but a negative way of arguing the case. Take the positive statement of truth. There are still those who dare say that war is devilish. There are some of us who still believe that you cannot justify war, and we say so because we believe in Jesus Christ. Thank God for the lonely singers! There is a good deal to be heard beside their song. There are a great many other voices attempting to express in harmony the glory of war; but I hear the singers on the other side of the sea and in this country; and even on that poor war-mad continent there are some foolish souls who believe in peace, and who will try to bring it in.
Where did they learn their song? It was never born or learned anywhere save in living relationship to God. The song of peace, prophetic, expectant, determined, is always the song of godliness, never the song of godlessness; and we know that all the peace that comes in social and national relationships is the outcome of relationship to God, restored in human lives by the mystery of the Cross.
Man finds his way back into the place of peace with nature by this selfsame work of Jesus Christ. As a side light on our subject read again the eighth chapter of Romans, and read it this time not so much in order to learn its marvelous teaching concerning personal relationship to God; listen for the larger thing in it. You will find groaning mentioned three times over. The Apostle says: “The whole creation groaneth and travaileth together in pain until now.” “We also groan within ourselves waiting for the redemption.” “The Spirit makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.” The groaning of Nature is everywhere. The Spirit of God interprets the agony of Nature to the godly man, and the godly man groans in the midst of it, inspired by the Spirit into sympathy with it. “Preach the Gospel,” said Jesus, “to the whole creation,” and the Gospel of Jesus Christ has its application to all the sorrow and the evil there is in nature. Before the Cross has won its last triumph man will be restored to Nature, and Nature will be restored to man. When God’s Second Man and Last Adam went down into the wilderness, He met and mastered evil, and at the close we read: “He was with the wild beasts,” and we have read it as though it were a message of terror. It means He was with them in company and comradeship, and they were unafraid of Him. Because of His own absolute perfection ferocity ceased; there was no wild beast in the presence of God’s Perfect Man. Neither will there be in the presence of a perfectly redeemed humanity. The earth is not old, it is young. This earth effete? By no means. We have hardly begun to realize its resources. The race is struggling still in its kindergarten days, believe me. When by-and-by His reign shall be established, when by-and-by man shall have found peace with God in a larger sense than the merely individual, then he will begin to find Nature and its secrets, then such flowers as men have never looked upon, then such wonders as we would now call miracles, then the resurrection of Christ shall no longer be a mystery to scientific thinking. Do not imagine, my brothers, you know all about Nature. So far, you have just scratched on the surface of things. That is all the race has done. When the Lord of creation, Who is First-born of creation, shall have won His perfect victory and reconciled all things to God, then man will have found peace with Nature. Have you entered into peace with God? If not, you have never seen a flower yet:
Heaven above is softer blue,
Earth around is sweeter green;
Something lives in every hue
Christless eyes have never seen;
Birds with gladder songs o’erflow,
Flowers with deeper beauties shine,
Since I know, as now I know,
I am His and He is mine!
Peace! It can come to you, my brother, personal, social with Nature, only as it first comes with God. I beseech you, it acquaint now thyself with Him, and be at peace.” And the only way is at the;
Trysting-place, where heaven’s love
And heaven’s justice meet.
The only place is at the Cross, where He made peace through the shedding of blood.
Sermon found in: The Westminster Pulpit, Hodder and Stoughton, London

 Posted by at 8:00 am
Mar 072012
 

CROSS-BEARING
Arthur W. Pink

“When said Jesus unto His disciples, if any man will come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross, and follow me”

Matthew 16:24

“Then said Jesus unto His disciples, if any man will”—the word “will” here means “desire to” just as in that verse, “If any will live godly.” It signifies “determine to.” “If any man will or desires to come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross (not a cross, but his cross) and follow me.” Then in Luke 14:27 Christ declared, “And whosoever doth not bear his cross, and come after Me, cannot be My disciple.” So it is not optional. The Christian life is far more than subscribing to a system of truth or adopting a code of conduct, or of submitting to religious ordinances. Preeminently the Christian life is a person; experience of fellowship with the Lord Jesus, and just in proportion as your life is lived in communion with Christ, to that extent are you living the Christian life, and to that extent only.

The Christian life is a life that consists of following Jesus. If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me.” O that you and I may gain distinction for the closeness of our walk to Christ, and then shall we be “close communionists” indeed. There is a class described in Scripture of whom it is said, “These are they which follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth.” But sad to Say, there is another class, and a large class, who seem to follow the Lord fitfully, spasmodically, half-heartedly, occasionally, distantly. There is much of the World and much of self in their lives, and so little of Christ. Thrice happy shall he be who like Caleb followeth the Lord fully.

Now, beloved, our chief business and aim is to follow Christ, but there are difficulties in the way. There are obstacles in the path, and it is to them that the first part of our text refers. You notice that the words “follow Me” come at the end. Self, self stands in the way, and the world with its ten thousand attractions and distractions is an obstacle; and therefore Christ says, “If any man will come after Me—(first) let him deny himself, (second) take up his cross, (third) and follow Me.” And there we learn the reason why so few professing Christians are following Him closely, manifestly, consistently.

The first step toward a daily following of Christ is the denying of self. There is a vast difference, brethren and sisters, between denying self and so-called self-denial. The popular idea that obtains both in the world and among Christians is that of giving up things which we like. There is a great diversity of opinion as to what should be given up. There are some who would restrict it to that which is characteristically worldly, such as theatre-going, dancing, and the racecourse. There are others who would restrict it to a certain season when amusements and other things which are followed during the remainder of the year are rigidly eschewed at that time. But such methods as those only foster spiritual pride, for surely I deserve some credit if I give up so much as. My friends, what Christ speaks of in our text (and O may the spirit of God apply it to our souls this morning) as the first step toward following him, is, the denial of self itself not simply some of the things that are pleasing to self. not some of the things after which self hankers, but the denying of self itself. What does that mean—“If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself?” It means in the first place, abandoning his own righteousness; but it means far more than that. That is only its first meaning. It means refusing to rest upon my own wisdom. It means far more than that. It means ceasing to insist upon my own rights. It means repudiating self itself. It means ceasing to consider our own comforts, our own ease, our own pleasure, our own aggrandizement, our own benefits. It means being done with self. It means, beloved, saying with the apostle, For me to live is, not self, but Christ. For me to live is to obey Christ, to serve Christ, to honor Christ, to spend myself for Him. That is what it means. And “if any man will come after Me,” says our Master, “let him deny himself, “ let self be repudiated, be done with. In other words it is what you have in Romans 12:1, “Present your bodies a living sacrifice unto God.”

Now the second step toward following Christ is the taking up of the cross. “If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross.” Ah, my friends, to live out the Christian life is something more than a passive luxury; it is a serious undertaking. It is a life that has to be disciplined in sacrifice. The life of discipleship begins with self-renunciation and it continues by self-mortification. In other words, our text refers to the cross not simply as an object of faith, but as a principle of life, as the badge of discipleship, as an experience in the soul. And, listen! Just as it was true that the only way to the Father’s throne for Jesus of Nazareth was by the cross, so the only way for a life of communion with God and the crown at the end for the Christian is via the cross. The legal benefits of Christ’s sacrifice are secured by faith, when the guilt of sin is cancelled: but the cross only becomes efficacious over the power of indwelling sin as it is realized in our daily lives.

I want to call your attention to the context. Turn with me for a moment to Matthew 16, verse 21: “From that time forth began Jesus to show unto His disciples, how that He must go unto Jerusalem, and suffer many things of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and be raised again the third day. Then Peter took Him, and began to rebuke Him.” He was staggered and said, “Pity Thyself, Lord.” That expressed the policy of the world. That is the sum of the world’s philosophy—self shielding and self-seeking; but that which Christ preached was not spare “but” sacrifice.” The Lord Jesus saw in Peter’s suggestion a temptation from Satan and He flung it from Him . Then He turned to His disciples and said, if any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me.” In other words what Christ said was this: I am going up to Jerusalem to the cross: if anyone would be My follower there is a cross for him. And, as Luke 14 says, “Whosoever doth not bear his cross cannot he My disciple.” Not only must Jesus go up to Jerusalem and be killed, but everyone who comes after Him must take up his cross. The “must” is as imperative in the one case as in the other. Mediatorialy the cross of Christ stands alone, but experimentally it is shared by all who enter into life.

Now then, what does “the cross” stand for? What did Christ mean when He said that except a man take up his cross? My friends, it is deplorable that at this late date such a question needs to he asked, and it is more deplorable still that the vast majority of God’s own people have such unscriptural conceptions of what the “cross” stands for. The average Christian seems to regard the cross in this text as any trial or trouble that may be laid upon him. Whatsoever comes up that disturbs our peace, that is unpleasing to the flesh, that irritates our temper is looked upon as a cross. One says, “Well, that is my cross,” and another says, “Well, this is my cross,” and someone else says something else is their cross. My friends, the word is never so used in the New Testament.

The word ‘cross” is never found in the plural number, nor is it ever found with the indefinite article before it—“a cross,” Note also that in our text the cross is linked to a verb in the active voice and not the passive. It is not a cross that is laid upon us, but a cross which must be “taken up”! The cross stands for definite realities which embody and express the leading characteristics of Christ’s agony.

Others understand the “cross” to refer to disagreeable duties which they reluctantly discharge, or to fleshly habits which they grudgingly deny. They imagine that they are cross-bearing when, prodded at the point of conscience, they abstain from things earnestly desired. Such people invariably turn their cross into a weapon with which to assail other people. They parade their self-denial and go around insisting that others should follow them. Such conceptions of the cross are as Pharisaical as false, and as mischievous as they are erroneous.

Now, as the Lord enables me, let me point out three things that the cross stands for. First, the cross is the expression of the world’s hatred. The world hated the Christ of God and its hatred was ultimately manifested by crucifying Him. In the 15th chapter of John, seven times over, Christ refers there to the hatred of the world against Himself and against His people; and just in proportion as you and I are following Christ, just in proportion as our lives are being lived as His life was lived, just in proportion as we have come out from the world and are in fellowship with Him, so will the world hate us.

We read in the Gospels that one man came and presented himself to Christ for discipleship, and he requested that he might first go and bury his father—a very natural request, a very praiseworthy one surely (?) and the Lord’s reply is almost staggering. He said to that man, “Follow Me: and let the dead bury their dead.” What would have happened to that young man if he had obeyed Christ? I do not know whether he did or not, but if he did, what would happen? What would his kinsfolk and his neighbours think of him? Would they be able to appreciate the motive, the devotion that caused him to follow Christ and neglect what the world would call a filial duty? Ah, my friends, if you are following Christ the world will think you are mad, and some natures and dispositions find it very hard to bear reflections on their sanity. Yes, there are some who find the reproaches of the living a harder trial than the loss of the dead.

Another young man presented himself to Christ for discipleship and he requested the Lord that he might first be allowed to go home and say farewell to his friends—a very natural request, surely—and the Lord presented to him the cross: “No man, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God!” Affectionate natures find the wrench of home ties hard to bear; harder still are the suspicions of loved ones and friends for having been slighted. Yes, the reproach of the world becomes very real if we are following Christ closely. No man can keep in with the world and follow Him.

Another young man came and presented himself to Christ and fell at His feet and worshipped Him, and said, “Master, what good thing shall I do?” and the Lord presented to him the cross. “Sell all that thou hast and give to the poor. ..and come and follow Me.” And the young man went away sorrowful. And Christ is still saying to you and to me this morning, “Whosoever doth not bear his cross, and come after Me, cannot be My disciple.” The cross stands for the reproach and the hatred of the world. But as the cross was voluntary for Christ, so it is for His disciple. It can either be avoided or accepted; ignored or “taken up”!

But secondly, the cross stands for a life that is voluntarily surrendered to the will of God. From the standpoint of the world the death was a voluntary sacrifice. Turn for a moment to the 10th of John, beginning at the 17th verse: “Therefore doth My Father love Me, because I lay down My life, that I might take it again. No man taketh it from Me, but I lay it down of Myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again.” Why did He thus lay down his life? Look at the closing sentence of verse 18: “This commandment have I received of My Father.” The cross was the last demand of God upon the obedience of His Son. That is why we read in Philippians 2 that, He “being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God; but made Himself of no reputation, and took upon Him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men: and being found in fashion as a man, He humbled Himself, and became obedient unto death” (that was the climax, that was the end of the path of obedience) —“even the death of the cross.”

Christ has left us an example that we should follow His steps. The obedience of Christ should be the obedience of the Christian—voluntary, not compulsory—voluntary, continuous, faithful, without any reserve, unto death. The cross then stands for obedience, consecration, surrender, a life placed at the disposal of God. “If any man will come after Me, let him take up his cross and follow Me” and “Whosoever doth not bear his cross and come after Me, cannot be My disciple.” In other words, dear friends, the cross stands for the principle of discipleship, our life being actuated by the same principle that Christ’s was. He came here and He pleased not Himself: no more must I. He made Himself of no reputation: so must I. He went about doing good: so should I. He came not to be ministered unto but to minister: so should we. He became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross. That is what the cross stands for: First, the reproach of the world—because we have antagonized it, raised its ire by separating ourselves from it, and are walking on a different plane, and through being actuated by different principles from those by which it walks. Second, a life sacrificed unto God—laid down in devotion to Him.

In the third place, the cross stands for vicarious sacrifice and suffering. Turn to the first Epistle of John, the third chapter, verse 16: “Hereby perceive we the love of God, because He laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives.” That is the logic of Calvary. We are called unto fellowship with Christ, our lives to be lived by the same principles that His was lived by—obedience to God, sacrifice for others. He died that we might live and, my friends, we have to die that we may live. Look at the 25th verse of Matthew 16: “For whosoever will save his life shall lose it”: that means every Christian, for Christ was speaking there to disciples. Every Christian who has lived a self-centered life, considering his own comforts, his own peace of mind, his own welfare, his own advantages and benefits, that “life” is going to be lost forever—all wasted so far as eternity is concerned; wood, hay and stubble, that will go up in smoke. But “whosoever will lose his life for My sake, “ that is, whosoever has not lived his life considering his own wellbeing, his own interests, his own profit, his own advancement, but has sacrificed that life, has spent it in the service of others for Christ’s sake; he shall find—“find” what? —he shall find it, not something else: it, not another: he shall find it. That life has been immortalized, perpetuated, it has been built of imperishable materials that will survive the testing-fire in the day to come. He shall find “it”. He died that we might live, and we have to die if we are to live! “Whosoever will lose his life for My sake shall find it.”

Again, in the 20th chapter of John, Christ said to His disciples, “As the Father hath sent Me, even so send I you.” What was Christ sent here to do? To glorify the Father: to express God’s love; to manifest God’s grace; to weep over Jerusalem; to have compassion on the ignorant and those that are out of the way; to toil so assiduously that He had no leisure so much as to eat; to live a life of such self-sacrifice that even His kinsfolk said, “He is beside Himself.” and, “as the Father hath sent Me, even so,” says Christ, “send I you”: In other words, I send you back into the world out of which I have saved you. I send you back into the world to live with the cross stamped upon you. O brethren and sisters, how little “blood” there is in our lives! How little is there the bearing of the dying of Jesus in our bodies (2 Cor. 4:10)

Have we begun to “take up the cross” at all? Is there any wonder that we are following Him at such a distance? Is there any wonder that we have such little victory over the power of indwelling sin? There is a reason for that. Mediatorially the Cross of Christ stands alone, but experimentally the cross is to be shared by all His disciples. Legally the cross of Calvary annulled and put away our guilt, the guilt of our sins; but, my friends, I am perfectly convinced that the only way of getting deliverance from the power of sin in our lives and obtaining mastery over the old man within us, is by the cross becoming a part of the experience of our souls. It was at the cross sin was dealt with legally and judicially: it is only as the cross is “taken up” by the disciple that it becomes an experience— slaying the power and defilement of sin within us. And Christ says, “Whosoever doth not bear his cross, cannot be My disciple”. O what need has each Christian here this morning to get alone with the Master and consecrate Himself to His service.
[Sermon] [ChristLikeness]

 Posted by at 8:00 am
Mar 062012
 

THE CROSS: A CALL TO THE FUNDAMENTALS OF RELIGION
By J.C. Ryle

“By thy cross and passion, good Lord deliver us.”

THE CROSS

“God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.” –Galatians 6:14

Reader,

What do you think and feel about the cross of Christ? You live in a Christian land. You probably attend the worship of a Christian Church. You have perhaps been baptized in the name of Christ. You profess and call yourself a Christian. All this is well. It is more than can be said of millions in the world. But all this is no answer to my question, “What do you think and feel about the cross of Christ?”

I want to tell you what the greatest Christian that ever lived thought of the cross of Christ. He has written down his opinion. He has given his judgment in words that cannot be mistaken. The man I mean is the Apostle Paul. The place where you will find his opinion, is in the letter which the Holy Ghost inspired him to write to the Galatians. And the words in which his judgment is set down, are these, “God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Now what did Paul mean by saying this? He meant to declare strongly, that he trusted in nothing but Jesus Christ crucified for the pardon of his sins and the salvation of his soul. Let others, if they would, look elsewhere for salvation. Let others, if they were so disposed, trust in other things for pardon and peace. For his part, the apostle was determined to rest on nothing, lean on nothing, build his hope on nothing, place confidence in nothing, glory in nothing, except “the cross of Jesus Christ.”

Reader, let me talk to you about this subject. Believe me, it is one of the deepest importance. This is no mere question of controversy. This is not one of those points on which men may agree to differ, and feel that differences will not shut them out of heaven. A man must be right on this subject, or he is lost forever. Heaven or hell, happiness or misery, life or death, blessing or cursing in the last day,—all hinges on the answer to this question, “What do you think about the cross of Christ?”

I. Let me show you what the Apostle Paul did not glory in.
II. Let me explain to you what he did glory in.
III. Let me show you why all Christians should think and feel about the cross like Paul.
I. What did the Apostle Paul not glory in?

There are many things that Paul might have gloried in, if he had thought as some do in this day. If ever there was one on earth who had something to boast of in himself, that
man was the great apostle of the Gentiles. Now, if he did not dare to glory, who shall?

He never gloried in his national privileges. He was a Jew by birth, and as he tells us himself,— “An Hebrew of the Hebrews.” He might have said, like many of his brethren, “I have Abraham for my forefather. I am not a dark, unenlightened heathen. I am one of the favored people of God. I have been admitted into covenant with God by circumcision. I am a far better man than the ignorant Gentiles.” But he never said so. He never gloried in anything of this kind. Never for one moment! He never gloried in his own works. None ever worked so hard for God as he did. He was more abundant in labors than any of the apostles. No living man ever preached so much, traveled so much, and endured so many hardships for Christ’s cause. None ever converted so many souls, did so much good to the world, and made himself so useful to mankind. No father of the early Church, no Reformer, no Missionary, no Minister, no Layman—no one man could ever be named, who did so many good works as the Apostle Paul. But did he ever glory in them, as if they were in the least meritorious, and could save his soul?

Never! never for one moment!

He never gloried in his knowledge. He was a man of great gifts naturally, and after he was converted, the Holy Spirit gave him greater gifts still. He was a mighty preacher, and a mighty speaker, and a mighty writer. He was as great with his pen as he was with his tongue. He could reason equally well with Jews and Gentiles. He could argue with infidels at Corinth, or Pharisees at Jerusalem, or self-righteous people in Galatia. He knew many deep things. He had been in the third heaven, and heard unspeakable words. He had received the spirit of prophecy, and could foretell things yet to come. But did he ever glory in his knowledge, as if it could justify him before God?

Never! never! never for one moment!

He never gloried in his graces. If ever there was one who abounded in graces, that man was Paul. He was full of love. How tenderly and affectionately he used to write! He could feel for souls like a mother or a nurse feeling for her child. He was a bold man. He cared not whom he opposed when truth was at stake. He cared not what risks he ran when souls were to be won. He was a self-denying man,— in hunger and thirst often, in cold and nakedness, in watchings and fastings. He was a humble man. He thought himself less than the least of all saints, and the chief of sinners. He was a prayerful man. See how it comes out at the beginning of all his Epistles. He was a thankful man.

His thanksgivings and his prayers walked side by side. But he never gloried in all this, never valued himself on it, never rested his soul’s hopes in it. Oh! no! never for a moment!

He never gloried in his churchmanship. If ever there was a good churchman, that man was Paul. He was himself a chosen apostle. He was a founder of churches, and an ordainer of ministers. Timothy and Titus, and many elders, received their first commission from his hands. He was the beginner of services and sacraments in many a dark place. Many a one did he baptize. Many a one did he receive to the Lord’s table. Many a meeting for prayer, and praise, and preaching, did he begin and carry on. He was the setter up of discipline in many a young church. Whatever ordinances, and rules, and ceremonies were observed in them, were first recommended by him. But did he ever glory in his office and church standing? Does he ever speak as if his churchmanship would save him, justify him, put away his sins, and make him acceptable before God? Oh!
no! never! never! never for a moment!

And now, reader, mark what I say. If the apostle Paul never gloried in any of these things, who in all the world, from one end to the other, has any right to glory in them in our day? If Paul said, “God forbid that I should glory in anything whatever except the cross,” who shall dare to say, “I have something to glory of—I am a better man than Paul?”

Who is there among the readers of this tract, that trusts in any goodness of his own? Who is there that is resting on his own amendments, his own morality, his own performances of any kind whatever? Who is there that is leaning the weight of his soul on anything whatever of his own in the smallest possible degree? Learn, I say, that you are very unlike the Apostle Paul. Learn that your religion is not apostolical religion.

Who is there among the readers of this tract that trusts in his churchmanship for salvation? Who is there that is valuing himself on his baptism, or his attendance at the Lord’s table—his church-going on Sundays, or his daily services during the week—and saying to himself, What lack I yet? Learn, I say, this day, that you are very unlike Paul. Your Christianity is not the Christianity of the New Testament. Paul would not glory in anything but the cross. Neither ought you.

Oh! reader, beware of self-righteousness. Open sin kills its thousands of souls. Self-righteousness kills its tens of thousands. Go and study humility with the great apostle of the Gentiles. Go and sit with Paul at the foot of the cross. Give up your secret pride. Cast away your vain ideas of your own goodness. Be thankful if you have grace, but
never glory in it for a moment. Work for God and Christ with heart and soul, and mind and strength, but never dream for a second of placing confidence in any work of your own.

Think, you who take comfort in some fancied ideas of your own goodness—think, you who wrap up yourselves in the notion, “all must be right, if I keep to my church,”—think for a moment what a sandy foundation your are building upon! Think for a moment how miserably defective your hopes and pleas will look in the hour of death, and in the day of judgment! Whatever men may say of their own goodness while they are strong and healthy, they will find but little to say of it, when they are sick and dying. Whatever merit they may see in their own works here in this world, they will discover none in them when
they stand before the bar of Christ. The light of that great day of assize will make a wonderful difference in the appearance of all their doings. It will strip off the tinsel, shrivel up the complexion, expose the rottenness, of many a deed that is now called good. Their wheat will prove nothing but chaff. Their gold will be found nothing but dross. Millions of so-called Christian actions, will turn out to have been utterly defective and graceless. They passed current, and were valued among men. They will prove light and worthless in the balance of God. They will be found to have been like the whitened sepulchres of old, fair and beautiful without, but full of corruption within. Alas! for the man who can look forward to the day of judgment, and lean his soul in the smallest degree on anything of his own![1]

Reader, once more I say, beware of self-righteousness in every possible shape and form. Some people get as much harm from their fancied virtues as others do from their sins. Take heed, lest you be one. Rest not, rest not till your heart beats in tune with St. Paul’s. Rest not till you can say with him, “God forbid that I should glory in anything but the cross.”

II. Let me explain, in the second place, what you are to understand by the cross of Christ.

The cross is an expression that is used in more than one meaning in the Bible. What did St. Paul mean when he said, “I glory in the cross of Christ,” in the Epistle to the Galatians? This is the point I now wish to make clear.

The cross sometimes means that wooden cross, on which the Lord Jesus was nailed and put to death on Mount Calvary. This is what St. Paul had in his mind’s eye, when he told the Philippians that Christ “became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross” (Phil 2:8). This is not the cross in which St. Paul gloried. He would have shrunk with horror from the idea of glorying in a mere piece of wood. I have no doubt he would have denounced the Roman Catholic adoration of the crucifix, as profane, blasphemous, and idolatrous. The cross sometimes means the afflictions and trials which believers in Christ have to go through if they follow Christ faithfully, for their religions’ sake. This is the sense in which our Lord uses the word when He says, “He that taketh not his cross and followeth after me, cannot be my disciple” (Matt 10:38). This also is not the sense in which Paul uses the word when he writes to the Galatians. He knew that cross well. He carried it patiently. But he is not speaking of it here.

But the cross also means in some places the doctrine that Christ died for sinners upon the cross—the atonement that He made for sinners by his suffering for them on the cross—the complete and perfect sacrifice for sin which He offered up when he gave His own body to be crucified. In short, this one word, “the cross,” stands for Christ crucified, the only Saviour. This is the meaning in which Paul uses the expression, when he tells the Corinthians, “the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness” (1 Cor 1:18). This is the meaning in which he wrote to the Galatians, “God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross.” He simply meant, “I glory in nothing but Christ crucified, as the salvation of my soul.”[2]

Jesus Christ crucified was the joy and delight, the comfort and the peace, the hope and the confidence, the foundation and the resting place, the ark, and the refuge, the food and the medicine of Paul’s soul. He did not think of what he had done himself, and suffered himself. He did not meditate on his own goodness, and his own righteousness. He loved to think of what Christ had done, and Christ had suffered,—of the death of Christ, the righteousness of Christ, the atonement of Christ, the blood of Christ, the finished work of Christ. In this he did glory.

This was the sun of his soul.This is the subject he loved to preach about. He was a man who went to and fro on the earth, proclaiming to sinners that the Son of God had shed His own heart’s blood to save their souls. He walked up and down the world, telling people that Jesus Christ had loved them, and died for their sins upon the cross. Mark how he says to the Corinthians, “I delivered unto you first of all that which I also received, how that Christ died for our sins” (1 Cor 15:3). “I determined not to know anything among you, save Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Cor 2:2). He, a blaspheming, persecuting Pharisee, had been washed in Christ’s blood. He could not hold his peace about it. He was never weary of telling the story of the cross.

This is the subject he loved to dwell upon when he wrote to believers. It is wonderful to observe how full his epistles generally are of the sufferings and death of Christ,—how they run over with “thoughts that breathe, and words that burn,” about Christ’s dying love and power. His heart seems full of the subject. He enlarges on it constantly. He returns to it continually. It is the golden thread that runs through all his doctrinal teaching and practical exhortations. He seems to think that the most advanced Christian can never hear too much about the cross.[3] This is what he lived upon all his life, from the time of his conversion. He tells the Galatians, “The life that I now live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me” (Gal 2:20). What made him so strong to labor? What made him so willing to work? What made him so unwearied in endeavors to save some? What made him so persevering and patient? I will tell you the secret of it all. He was always feeding by faith on Christ’s body and Christ’s blood. Jesus, crucified, was the meat and drink of his soul.

And, reader, you may rest assured that Paul was right. Depend upon it, the cross of Christ,—the death of Christ on the cross to make atonement for sinners,—is the center truth in the whole Bible. This is the truth we begin with when we open Genesis. The seed of the woman bruising the serpent’s head, is nothing else but a prophecy of Christ crucified. This is the truth that shines out, though veiled, all through the law of Moses and the history of the Jews. The daily sacrifice, the passover lamb, the continual shedding of
blood in the tabernacle and temple,—all these were emblems of Christ crucified. This is the truth that we see honored in the vision of heaven before we close the book of Revelation. “In the midst of the throne and of the four beasts,” we are told, “and in the midst of the elders, stood a lamb as it had been slain” (Rev 5:6). Even in the midst of heavenly glory we get a view of Christ crucified. Take away the cross of Christ, and the Bible is a dark book. It is like the Egyptian hieroglyphics, without the key that
interprets their meaning,—curious and wonderful, but of no real use.

Reader, mark what I say. You may know a good deal about the Bible. You may know the outlines of the histories it contains, and the dates of the events described, just as a
man knows the history of England. You may know the names of the men and women mentioned in it, just as a man knows Caesar, Alexander the Great, or Napoleon. You may
know the several precepts of the Bible, and admire them, just as a man admires Plato, Aristotle, or Seneca. But if you have not yet found out that Christ crucified is the foundation of the whole volume, you have read your Bible hitherto to very little profit. Your religion is a heaven without a sun, an arch without a keystone, a compass without a needle, a clock without spring or weights, a lamp without oil. It will not comfort you. It will not deliver your soul from hell.

Reader, mark what I say again. You may know a good deal about Christ, by a kind of head knowledge, as the dead Oriental churches know the facts of Christianity as well as
we do. You may know who Christ was, and where He was born, and what He did. You may know His miracles, His sayings, His prophecies, and his ordinances. You may
know how He lived, and how he suffered, and how He died. But unless you know the power of Christ’s cross by experience—unless you have reason to know that the blood shed on that cross has washed away your own particular sins,—unless you are willing to confess that your salvation depends entirely on the work that Christ did upon the cross,—unless this be the case, Christ will profit you nothing. The mere knowing Christ’s name will never save you. You must know His cross, and His blood, or else you will die in your sins.[4]

Reader, as long as you live, beware of a religion in which there is not much of the cross. You live in times when the warning is sadly needful. Beware, I say again, of a religion without the cross.There are hundreds of places of worship, in this day, in which there is every thing almost except the cross. There is carved oak and sculptured stone. There is stained glass and brilliant painting. There are solemn services and a constant round of ordinances. But the real cross of Christ is not there. Jesus crucified is not proclaimed in the pulpit. The Lamb of God is not lifted up, and salvation by faith in him is not freely proclaimed. And hence all is wrong. Beware of such places of worship. They are not apostolical. They would not have satisfied St. Paul.[5]

There are thousands of religious books published in our times, in which there is everything except the cross. They are full of directions about sacraments and praises of the church. They abound in exhortations about holy living, and rules for the attainment of perfection. They have plenty of fonts and crosses both inside and outside. But the real cross of Christ is left out. The Saviour and His dying love are either not mentioned, or mentioned in an unscriptural way. And hence they are worse than useless. Beware of such books. They are not apostolical. They would never have satisfied St. Paul.

Dear reader, remember that St. Paul gloried in nothing but the cross. Strive to be like him. Set Jesus crucified fully before the eyes of your soul. Listen not to any teaching which would interpose anything between you and Him. Do not fall into the old Galatian error. Think not that any one in this day is a better guide than the apostles. Do not be
ashamed of the old paths, in which men walked who were inspired by the Holy Ghost. Let not the vague talk of men who speak great swelling words about catholicity, and the church, and the ministry, disturb your peace, and make you loose your hands from the cross. Churches, ministers, and sacraments, are all useful in their way, but they are not Christ crucified. Do not give Christ’s honor to another. “He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord.”
III. Let me show you why all Christians ought to glory in the cross of Christ.

I feel that I must say something on this point, because of the ignorance that prevails about it. I suspect that many see no peculiar glory and beauty in the subject of Christ’s cross. On the contrary, they think it painful, humbling, and degrading. They do not see much profit in the story of His death and sufferings. They rather turn from it as an unpleasant thing.Now I believe that such persons are quite wrong. I cannot hold with them. I believe it is an excellent thing for us all to be continually dwelling on the cross of Christ. It is a good thing to be often reminded how Jesus was betrayed into the hands of wicked men, how they condemned Him with most unjust judgment, how they spit on Him, scourged Him, beat Him, and crowned Him with thorns; how they led Him forth as a lamb to the laughter, without His murmuring or resisting; how they drove the nails through His hands and feet, and set Him up on Calvary between two thieves; how they pierced His side with a spear, mocked Him in His sufferings, and let Him hang there naked and bleeding till He died. Of all these things, I say, it is good to be reminded. It is not for nothing that the crucifixion is described four times over in the New Testament. There are very few things that all the four writers of the Gospel describe. Generally speaking, if Matthew, Mark, and Luke tell a thing in our Lord’s history, John does not tell it. But there is one thing that all the four give us most fully, and that one thing is the story of the cross. This is a telling fact, and not to be overlooked.

Men forget that all Christ’s sufferings on the cross were fore-ordained. They did not come on Him by chance or accident. They were all planned, counselled, and determined from all eternity. The cross was foreseen in all the provisions of the everlasting Trinity, for the salvation of sinners. In the purposes of God the cross was set up from everlasting. Not one throb of pain did Jesus feel, not one precious drop of blood did Jesus shed, which had not been appointed long ago. Infinite wisdom planned that redemption should be by the cross. Infinite wisdom brought Jesus to the Cross in due time. He was crucified by the determinate counsel and foreknowledge of God.

Men forget that all Christ’s sufferings on the cross were necessary for man’s salvation. He had to bear our sins, if ever they were to be borne at all. With His stripes alone could we be healed. This was the one payment of our debt that God would accept. This was the great sacrifice on which our eternal life depended. If Christ had not gone to the cross and suffered in our stead, the just for the unjust, there would not have been a spark of hope for us. There would have been a mighty gulf between ourselves and God, which no man ever could have passed.[6]

Men forget that all Christ’s sufferings were endured voluntarily and of His own free will. He was under no compulsion. Of His own choice He laid down His life. Of His own choice He went to the cross to finish the work He came to do. He might easily have summoned legions of angels with a word, and scattered Pilate and Herod and all their armies, like chaff before the wind. But he was a willing sufferer. His heart was set on the salvation of sinners. He was resolved to open a fountain for all sin and uncleanness, by shedding His own blood.

Now, when I think of all this, I see nothing painful or disagreeable in the subject of Christ’s cross. On the contrary, I see in it wisdom and power, peace and hope, joy and gladness, comfort and consolation. The more I look at the cross in my mind’s eye, the more fulness I seem to discern in it. The longer I dwell on the cross in my thoughts, the more I am satisfied that there is more to be learned at the foot of the cross than anywhere else in the world.

Would I know the length and breadth of God the Father’s love towards a sinful world? Where shall I see it most displayed? Shall I look at His glorious sun shining down daily on the unthankful and evil? Shall I look at seed-time and harvest returning in regular yearly succession?

Oh! no! I can find a stronger proof of love than anything of this sort. I look at the cross of Christ. I see in it not the cause of the Father’s love, but the effect. There I see that God so loved this wicked world, that He gave His only begotten Son—gave Him to suffer and die—that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have eternal life. I know that the Father loves us because He did not withhold from us His Son, His only Son. Ah! reader, I might sometimes fancy that God the Father is too high and holy to care for such miserable, corrupt creatures as we are.

But I cannot, must not, dare not think it, when I look at the cross of Christ.[7]

Would I know how exceedingly sinful and abominable sin is in the sight of God? Where shall I see that most fully brought out? Shall I turn to the history of the flood, and read how sin drowned the world? Shall I go to the shore of the Dead Sea, and mark what sin brought on Sodom and Gomorrah? Shall I turn to the wandering Jews, and observe
how sin has scattered them over the face of the earth? No! I can find a clearer proof still. I look at the cross of Christ. There I see that sin is so black and damnable, that nothing but the blood of God’s own Son can wash it away. There I see that sin has so separated me from my holy Maker, that all the angels in heaven could never have made peace
between us. Nothing could reconcile us short of the death of Christ. Ah! if I listened to the wretched talk of proud men, I might sometimes fancy sin was not so very sinful. But I cannot think little of sin, when I look at the cross of Christ.[8]

Would I know the fulness and completeness of the salvation God has provided for sinners? Where shall I see it most distinctly? Shall I go to the general declarations in the Bible about God’s mercy? Shall I rest in the general truth that God is a God of love? Oh! no! I will look at the cross of Christ. I find no evidence like that. I find no balm for a sore conscience, and a troubled heart, like the sight of Jesus dying for me on the accursed tree. There I see that a full payment has been made for all my enormous debts. The curse of that law which I have broken has come down on One who there suffered in my stead. The demands of that law are all satisfied. Payment has been made for me, even to the uttermost farthing. It will not be required twice over. Ah! I might sometimes imagine I was too bad to be forgiven. My own heart sometimes whispers that I am too

wicked to be saved. But I know in my better moments this is all my foolish unbelief. I read an answer to my doubts in the blood shed on Calvary. I feel sure that there is a way to heaven for the very vilest of men, when I look at the cross.Would I find strong reasons for being a holy man? Whither shall I turn for them? Shall I listen to the ten commandments merely? Shall I study the examples given me in the Bible of what grace can do? Shall I meditate on the rewards of heaven, and the punishments of hell? Is there no stronger motive still? Yes! I will look at the cross of Christ. There I see the love of Christ constraining me to live not unto myself, but unto Him. There I see that I am not my own now;—I am bought with a price. I am bound by the most solemn obligations to glorify Jesus with body and spirit, which are His. There I see that Jesus gave Himself for me, not only to redeem me from all iniquity, but also to purify me and make me one of a peculiar people, zealous of good works. He bore my sins in His own body on the tree, that I being dead unto sin should live unto righteousness. Ah! reader, there is nothing so sanctifying as a clear view of the cross of Christ! It crucifies the world unto us, and us unto the world. How can we love sin when we remember that because of our sins Jesus died? Surely
none ought to be so holy as the disciples of a crucified Lord.

Would I learn how to be contented and cheerful under all the cares and anxieties of life? What school shall I go to? How shall I attain this state of mind most easily? Shall I
look at the sovereignty of God, the wisdom of God, the providence of God, the love of God? It is well to do so. But I have a better argument still. I will look at the cross of
Christ. I feel that He who spared not His only begotten Son, but delivered Him up to die for me will surely with Him give me all things that I really need. He that endured that
pain for my soul, will surely not withhold from me anything that is really good. He that has done the greater things for me, will doubtless do the lesser things also. He that gave His own blood to procure me a home, will unquestionably supply me with all really profitable for me by the way. Ah! reader, there is no school for learning contentment that can be compared with the foot of the cross.

Would I gather arguments for hoping that I shall never be cast away? Where shall I go to find them? Shall I look at my own graces and gifts? Shall I take comfort in my own
faith, and love, and penitence, and zeal, and prayer? Shall I turn to my own heart, and say, “This same heart will never be false and cold?” Oh! no! God forbid! I will look at the cross of Christ. This is my grand argument. This is my main stay. I cannot think that He who went through such sufferings to redeem my soul, will let that soul perish after
all, when it has once cast itself on Him. Oh! no! what Jesus paid for, Jesus will surely keep. He paid dearly for it. He will not let it easily be lost. He died for me when I was yet
a dark sinner. Ah! reader, when Satan tempts you to doubt whether Christ is able to keep his people from falling, bid Satan look at the cross.

And now, reader, will you marvel that I said all Christians ought to glory in the cross? Will you not rather wonder that any can hear of the cross and remain unmoved? I declare I know not greater proof of man’s depravity, than the fact that thousands of so-called
Christians see nothing in the cross. Well may our hearts be called stony,—well may the eyes of our mind be called blind,—well may our whole nature be called diseased,—well may we all be called dead, when the cross of Christ is heard of, and yet neglected. Surely we may take up the words of the prophet, and say, “Hear O heavens, and be
astonished O earth; a wonderful and a horrible thing is done,”—Christ was crucified for sinners, and yet many Christians live as if He was never crucified at all!

Reader, the cross is the grand peculiarity of the Christian religion. Other religions have laws and moral precepts,—forms and ceremonies,—rewards and punishments. But other religions cannot tell us of a dying Saviour. They cannot show us the cross. This is the crown and glory of the Gospel. This is that special comfort which belongs to it alone. Miserable indeed is that religious teaching which calls itself Christian, and yet contains nothing of the cross. A man who teaches in this way, might as well profess to explain the solar system, and yet tell his hearers nothing about the sun.

The cross is the strength of a minister. I for one would not be without it for all the world. I should feel like a soldier without arms,—like an artist without his pencil,—like a pilot without his compass,—like a laborer without his tools. Let others, if they will, preach the law and morality. Let others hold forth the terrors of hell and the joys of heaven. Let others be ever pressing upon their congregations the sacraments of the church. Give me the
cross of Christ. This is the only lever which has ever turned the world upside down hitherto, and made men forsake their sins. And if this will not, nothing will. A man may
begin preaching with a perfect knowledge of Latin, Greek and Hebrew. But he will do little or no good among his hearers unless he knows something of the cross. Never was
there a minister who did much for the conversion of souls who did not dwell much on Christ crucified. Luther, Rutherford, Whitfield, Cecil, Simeon, Venn, were all most eminently preachers of the cross. This is the preaching that the Holy Ghost delights to bless. He loves to honor those who honor the cross.

The cross is the secret of all missionary success. Nothing but this has ever moved the hearts of the heathen. Just according as this has been lifted up missions have prospered. This is the weapon that has won victories over hearts of every kind, in every quarter of the globe. Greenlanders, Africans, South-Sea Islanders, Hindus, Chinese, all have alike felt its power. Just as that huge iron tube which crosses the Menai Straits, is more affected and bent by half an hour’s sunshine than by all the dead weight that can be placed in it, so in like manner the hearts of savages have melted before the cross when every other argument seemed to move them no more than stones.

“Brethren,” said a North American Indian after his conversion, “I have been a heathen. I know how heathens think. Once a preacher came and began to explain to us that there was a God; but we told him to return to the place from whence he came. Another preacher came and told us not to lie, nor steal, nor drink; but we did not heed him. At
last another came into my hut one day and said, ‘I am come to you in the name of the Lord of heaven and earth. He sends to let you know that He will make you happy, and deliver you from misery. For this end he became a man, gave his life a ransom, and shed his blood for sinners.’ I could not forget his words. I told them to the other Indians,
and an awakening begun among us. I say, therefore, preach the sufferings and death of Christ, our Saviour, if you wish your words to gain entrance among the heathen.” Never
indeed did the devil triumph so thoroughly, as when he persuaded the Jesuit missionaries in China to keep back the story of the cross!

The cross is the foundation of a church’s prosperity. No church will ever be honored in which Christ crucified is not continually lifted up. Nothing whatever can make up for the
want of the cross. Without it all things may be done decently and in order. Without it there may be splendid ceremonies, charming music, gorgeous churches, learned
ministers, crowded communion tables, huge collections for the poor. But without the cross no good will be done. Dark hearts will not be enlightened. Proud hearts will not be humbled. Mourning hearts will not be comforted. Fainting hearts will not be cheered. Sermons about the Catholic Church and an apostolic ministry,—sermons about baptism
and the Lord’s supper,—sermons about unity and schism,—sermons about fast and communion,—sermons about fathers and saints,—such sermons will never make up for the absence of sermons about the cross of Christ.

They may amuse some. They will feed none. A gorgeous banqueting room and splendid gold plate on the table will never make up to a hungry man for the want of food. Christ crucified is God’s grand ordinance for doing good to men.

Whenever a church keeps back Christ crucified, or puts anything whatever in that foremost place which Christ crucified should always have, from that moment a church ceases to be useful. Without Christ crucified in her pulpits, a church is little better than a cumberer of the ground, a dead carcass, a well without water, a barren fig tree, a
sleeping watchman, a silent trumpet, a dumb witness, an ambassador without terms of peace, a messenger without tidings, a lighthouse without fire, a stumbling-block to
weak believers, a comfort to infidels, a hot-bed for formalism, a joy to the devil, and an offence to God.The cross is the grand center of union among true Christians. Our outward differences are many without doubt. And what may be the importance of those
differences which now in a measure divide such as faithfully hold the head, even Christ, we cannot here enquire. But, after all, what shall we hear about most of these differences in heaven? Nothing most probably: nothing at all. Does a man really and sincerely glory in the cross of Christ? That is the grand question. If he does he is my brother; we are travelling in the same road. We are journeying towards a home where Christ is all, and
everything outward in religion will be forgotten. But if he does not glory in the cross of Christ, I cannot feel comfort about him. Union on outward points only is union only for
time. Union about the cross is union for eternity. Error on outward points is only a skin-deep disease. Error about the cross is disease at the heart. Union about outward points is
a mere man-made union. Union about the cross of Christ can only be produced by the Holy Ghost.

Reader, I know not what you think of all this. I feel as if I had said nothing compared to what might be said. I feel as if the half of what I desire to tell you about the cross were
left untold. But I do hope that I have given you something to think about. I do trust that I have shown you that I have reason for the question with which I began this tract, “What
do you think and feel about the cross of Christ?” Listen to me now for a few moments, while I say something to apply the whole subject to your conscience.

Are you living in any kind of sin? Are you following the course of this world, and neglecting your soul? Hear, I beseech you, what I say to you this day: “Behold the cross
of Christ.” See there how Jesus loved you! See there what Jesus suffered to prepare for you a way of salvation! Yes! careless men and women, for you that blood was shed! For
you those hands and feet were pierced with nails! For you that body hung in agony on the cross! You are those whom Jesus loved, and for whom He died! Surely that love ought to melt you. Surely the thought of the cross should draw you to repentance. Oh! that it might be so this very day.

Oh! that you would come at once to that Saviour who died for you and is willing to save. Come and cry to Him with the prayer of faith, and I know that He will listen. Come and lay hold upon the cross, and I know that He will not cast you out. Come and believe on Him who died on the cross, and this very day you will have eternal life. How will you ever escape if you neglect so great salvation? None surely will be so deep in hell as those who despise the cross!

Are you inquiring the way toward Heaven? Are you seeking salvation but doubtful whether you can find it? Are you desiring to have an interest in Christ but doubting whether Christ will receive you? To you also I say this day, “Behold the cross of Christ.” Here is encouragement if you really want it. Draw near to the Lord Jesus with boldness, for nothing need keep you back. His arms are open to receive you. His heart is full of love towards you. He has made a way by which you may approach Him with confidence. Think of the cross. Draw near, and fear not.Are you an unlearned man? Are you desirous to get to heaven and yet perplexed and brought to a stand-still by difficulties in the Bible which you cannot explain? To you also I say this day, “Behold the cross of Christ.” Read there the Father’s love and the Son’s compassion. Surely they are written in great plain letters, which none can well mistake. What though at present you cannot reconcile your own corruption and your own responsibility? Look, I say, at the cross. Does not that cross tell you that Jesus is a mighty, loving, ready Saviour? Does it not make one thing plain, and that is that if not saved it is all your own fault? Oh! get hold of that truth, and hold it fast.Are you a distressed believer? Is your heart pressed down with sickness, tired with disappointments, overburdened with cares? To you also I say this day, “Behold the cross of Christ.” Think whose hand it is that chastens you. Think whose hand is measuring to you the cup of bitterness which you are now drinking. It is the hand
of Him that was crucified. It is the same hand that in love to your soul was nailed to the accursed tree. Surely that thought should comfort and hearten you. Surely you should
say to yourself, “A crucified Saviour will never lay upon me anything that is not for my good. There is a needs be. It must be well.”

Are you a believer that longs to be more holy? Are you one that finds his heart too ready to love earthly things? To you also I say, “Behold the cross of Christ.” Look at the cross. Think of the cross. Meditate on the cross, and then go and set affections on the world if you can. I believe that holiness is nowhere learned so well as on Calvary. I believe you cannot look much at the cross without feeling your will sanctified, and your tastes made more spiritual. As the sun gazed upon makes everything else look dark and dim, so does the cross darken the false splendor of this world. As honey tasted makes all other things seem to have no taste at all, so does the cross seen by faith take all the sweetness out of the pleasures of the world. Keep on every day steadily looking at the cross of Christ, and you will soon say of the world as the poet does,—

Its pleasures now no longer please,
No more content afford;
Far from my heart be joys like these,
Now I have seen the Lord.
As by the light of opening day
The stars are all conceal’d,
So earthly pleasures fade away
When Jesus is reveal’d.

Are you a dying believer? Have you gone to that bed from which something within tells you you will never come down alive? Are you drawing near to that solemn hour when soul and body must part for a season, and you must launch into a world unknown? Oh! look steadily at the cross of Christ, and you shall be kept in peace. Fix the eyes of your mind firmly on Jesus crucified, and he shall deliver you from all your fears. Though you walk through dark places, He will be with you. He will never leave you, never forsake you. Sit under the shadow of the cross to the very last, and its fruit shall be sweet to your taste. “Ah!” said a dying missionary, “there is but one thing needful on a death-bed, and that is to feel one’s arms round the cross.”

Reader, I lay these thoughts before your mind. What you think now about the cross of Christ I cannot tell; but I can wish you nothing better than this, that you may be able to say with the apostle Paul, before you die or meet the Lord, “God forbid that I should glory save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
FOOTNOTES
[1] “Howsoever men when they sit at ease, do vainly tickle their own hearts with the wanton conceit of I know not what proportionable correspondence between their merits and their rewards, which in the trance of their high speculations, they dream that God hath measured and laid up as it were in bundles for them; we see notwithstanding by daily experience, in a number even of them that when the hour of death approacheth, when they secretly hear themselves summoned to appear and stand at the bar of that
Judge, whose brightness causeth the eyes of angels themselves to dazzle, all those idle imaginations do then begin to hide their faces. To name merits then, is to lay their souls upon the rack. The memory of their own deeds is loathsome unto them. They forsake all things wherein they have put any trust and confidence. No staff to lean upon, no rest, no ease, no comfort then, but only in Christ Jesus.”—Richard Hooker.

[2] “By the cross of Christ the apostle understandeth the all-sufficient, expiatory, and satisfactory sacrifice of Christ upon the cross, with the whole work of our redemption: in the saving knowledge of, whereof he professeth he will glory and boast.”—Cudworth on
Galatians.

“Touching these words, I do not find that any expositor, either ancient or modern, Popish or Protestant, writing on this place, doth expound the cross here mentioned of the sign of the cross, but of the profession of faith in Him that was hanged on the cross.”—Mayer’s Commentary.

“This is rather to be understood of the cross which Christ suffered for us, than of that we suffer for Him.”—
Leigh’s Annotations.

[3] “Christ crucified is the sum of the Gospel, and contains all the riches of it. Paul was so much taken with Christ that nothing sweeter than Jesus could drop from his pen and lips. It is observed that he hath the word ‘Jesus’ five hundred times in his Epistles.”—Charnock.

[4] “If our faith stop in Christ’s life, and do not fasten upon his blood, it will not be a justifying faith. His miracles which prepared the world for his doctrines; his holiness, which fitted himself for his sufferings, had been insufficient for us without the addition of the cross.”—Charnock.

[5] “Paul determined to know nothing else but Jesus Christ, and him crucified. But many manage the ministry as if they had taken up a contrary determination, even to know anything save Jesus Christ and him crucified.”—Traill.

[6] “In Christ’s humiliation stands our exaltation; in his weakness stands our strength; in his ignominy our glory; in his death our life.”—Cudworth.

“The eye of faith regards Christ sitting on the summit of the cross, as in a triumphal chariot; the devil bound to the lowest part of the same cross, and trodden under the feet of Christ.”—Bishop Davenant on Colossians.

[7] “The world we live in had fallen upon our heads, had it not been upheld by the pillar of the cross; had not Christ stepped in and promised a satisfaction for the sin of
man. By this all things consist: not a blessing we enjoy but may put us in mind of it; they were all forfeited by sin, but merited by his blood. If we study it well we shall be sensible how God hated sin and loved a world.”—Charnock.

[8] “If God hateth sin so much that he would allow neither man nor angel for the redemption thereof, but only the death of his only and well-beloved Son, who will not
stand in fear thereof?”—Homily for Good Friday.

http://www.mountzion.org/text/ryle-cross.txt

 Posted by at 8:00 am
Mar 022012
 

THE ATTRACTION OF THE CROSS
by John Angell James

A Sermon, preached before the London missionary Society, at Surrey Chapel, on Wednesday morning, May 12, 1819, by John Angell James. (The impression produced by the delivery of this sermon first attracted public attention to the author. Of all his printed sermons, it remains the one most well known.)

“And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me—this he said signifying what kind of death he would die.” John 12:32, 33

“We preach Christ crucified!” 1 Corinthians 1:23

“For I determined to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified. And I was with you in weakness, in fear, and in much trembling. My speech and my proclamation were not with persuasive words of wisdom, but with a demonstration of the Spirit and power.” (1 Corinthians 2:2-4)

If the perfection of wisdom consists in seeking the noblest ends by the fittest means, then does the cause of missions appear before the world, invested with the glory, and preferring the claims, of the wisest scheme for man’s activity which has ever been devised. Of the benevolence and sublimity of our object, there can exist no doubt; and the only question which can arise about the rationality of our scheme, must relate to the adequacy of our means. We are not infrequently told that all attempts to convert pagan nations to Christianity, not supported by the aid of miracles, must prove entirely ineffectual, or be followed with very inconsiderable success. That miracles were necessary at the introduction of Christianity, as the witnesses of its heavenly origin and descent, is obvious; they formed the visible signatures of the divine hand to the testimony of the Son of God and his apostles; but to argue for their repetition through succeeding ages, in every country which the gospel approaches for the first time, is to contend that a deed, however well attested, cannot be admitted as valid unless the witnesses who originally signed it live forever to verify their signature. This objection, however, is best answered by an appeal to facts. However difficult it may be to ascertain with precision the exact time when the testimony of miracles ceased, nothing is more certain than that these witnesses had finished their evidence long before the conversion of the northern and western parts of Europe; and the demand of supernatural interposition, as necessary to the propagation of Christianity, is urged with an ill grace by a Protestant, when it is remembered that there is not a single Protestant country which did not receive the gospel unaccompanied with signs and wonders; and with still greater inconsistency is it made by an Englishman, when it is considered that this happy country, the glory of Christendom, the joy of the whole earth, and the evangelist of the world, was recovered from the thraldom of Saxon idolatry without one miraculous operation.

What, then, are the means with which we set out on this high and holy enterprise of converting the world? I answer, the doctrine of the cross—for, says Christ, “If I be lifted up,” or “when I am lifted up, I will draw all men unto me.”

In these words our Lord announces the nature of his approaching death—he was about to be lifted up, or crucified; he predicts the consequences with which his crucifixion would be followed; all men would be gathered to him; he specifies the means, and the manner of their conversion—they would be drawn, or attracted by an exhibition of his death. In other words, the text presents us with the great object of missionary zeal, the grand instrument of missionary exertion, and the final consummation of missionary success.

It will be instantly perceived that I have not sought after novelty of subject, and it will soon be discovered that I have not attained ingenuity or profundity of discussion. The state of my mind and feelings since I received the application of the directors, would alone have precluded these. Their request for my services on this occasion found me at the tomb of all that was dearest to me on earth, a situation not very favorable for penetrating into the depth of any other subject than my own irreparable loss. One thing which induced me to comply with their solicitation, was a hope that my mind would be drawn away in some degree from the heart-withering recollection of departed bliss—nor has that hope been altogether disappointed; for the subject of my sermon has often presented such visions of spiritual glory as have made the tear forget to fall, and hushed the sorrows of a bursting heart, and taught the preacher that while the missionary cause goes as the messenger of mercy to pagan realms abroad, it is one of the best comforters in the house of mourning at home.

I. The text presents us with the great OBJECT of missionary zeal, “To bring men to Christ.”

There are at the present moment more than six hundred million people in the appalling situation of the men whom the apostle describes as “without Christ in the world;” and the question is, with what feelings and what purposes a Christian should survey this vast and wretched portion of the family of man. To ascertain this, you have only to contemplate the scene which at your last anniversary was brought before you with such force of reason, pathos, and eloquence. Behold Paul at Athens. Think of the matchless splendor which blazed upon his view, as he rolled his eye round the enchanting panorama which encircled the hill of Mars. Around him, as he stood upon the summit of the rock, beneath the canopy of heaven, was spread a glorious prospect of mountains, islands, sea, and sky. Within view was the gulf of Salamis, and on the horizon the plain of Marathon, where the conquests of the old Greek heroes had saved not their country only, but the mental liberty and energy of man. Above him towered the Acropolis, crowned with the pride of Grecian architecture. There, in the zenith of their splendor and the perfection of their beauty, stood those peerless temples, the very fragments of which are viewed by modern travelers with an idolatry almost equal to that which reared them. Stretched along the plain below him, and reclining her head on the slope of the neighboring hills, was Athens, mother of the arts and the sciences, with her noble offspring sporting by her side. The Porch, the Lyceumn, and the Grove, with the statues of their departed sages, and the forms of their living disciples, were all presented to the apostle’s eye.

Who of us possessing the slightest pretensions to knowledge or taste, can even fancy himself gazing upon this sublime and captivating scenery without a momentary rapture? Yet there did this accomplished scholar stand as insensible to all the grandeur, as if nothing was before him but the treeless, turfless desert. Absorbed in the holy abstraction of his mind, he saw no charms, felt no fascinations, but on the contrary was pierced with the most poignant distress—and what was the cause? Because “he saw the city wholly given to idolatry.” To him it presented nothing but a magnificent mausoleum, decorated, it is true, with the richest productions of the sculptor and the architect, but still where the souls of men lay dead in trespasses and sins; while the dim light of philosophy which still glimmered in the schools, appeared but as the lamp of the sepulcher, shedding its pale and sickly ray around gorgeous chambers of death. What must have been his indignant grief at the dishonor done by idolatry to God? What must have been his amazement at the weakness and folly of the human mind? What must have been his abhorrence of human impiety? What must have been his compassion for human wretchedness, when such stately monuments had not the smallest possible effect in turning away his view from the guilt which raised them and the misery which endured amidst them.

Yet how many professedly Christian travelers and divines, while occupying the same spot, though they saw not a thousandth part of what the apostle saw, have had their minds so engrossed by the scene, as not to feel one sentiment of pity for the Pagans of old, or the Muhammadans who now dwell amidst the venerable ruins. But we being of one mind with Paul, and looking upon the souls of mankind in the light which his inspired writings have thrown upon their destiny, have imbibed his temper, and feel our spirits grieved within us, over the multitudes that are given to idolatry. We cannot help thinking that men without Christ are in the very depths of misery, though they may stand in other respects upon the summit of civilization, literature, and science; and for such an opinion we can plead the authority of the apostle, who, as we have seen, bewailed a city of philosophers with more intense and piercing grief than any of us ever did a horde of idolatrous savages.

Here, then, is the object of our zeal—to bring to Christ those who are afar off. “To turn men from dumb idols to serve the living and the true God, and to wait for his Son from heaven.” To induce them, by the power of persuasion, in humble dependence upon the blessing of God, to renounce all their systems of error for the revelation of Christ as our divine Prophet; to abandon their rites, sacrifices, and penances, for his one oblation as our great High Priest; and to forsake their wicked customs and immoral habits, for obedience to his laws as King in Zion. In fact, to accomplish in the happy experience of the heathen, the descriptions which the pen of prophecy has given of the Messiah and his kingdom; to achieve the victory announced in the mystic terms of the first promise, and bruise the head of the serpent; to circulate the blessing of Abraham’s seed through all the families of the earth; to bring the gatherings of the peoples unto Shiloh, as the way, the truth, and the life; to cause that bright star to rise upon the benighted parts of the world, the beam of which so confounded the eye of the hireling prophet, that his tongue forgot to curse the armies of Israel; to scatter the fruits of Isaiah’s rod, and diffuse the fragrance of Jeremiah’s branch, over all the famishing and fainting children of the fall; to open new channels through which the cleansing streams of Zechariah’s fountain, and the vivifying waters of Ezekiel’s river, may flow; to prepare for the coming of Haggai’s desire of all nations, and to bring forth the people sitting in darkness and in the valley of the shadow of death, to feel the enlivening beams of the moral sun, the dawn of which Malachi foresaw, and to catch the healing virtues which he shakes from the golden plumage of his wings.

Now, such an object associates our cause, first, with the design of the Son of God in redemption. The object of the Redeemer’s visit to our world was not to teach men the arts and the sciences, not to instruct them in letters, not to introduce the reign of philosophy, not to break the yoke of civil tyranny, nor to promulgate the best theory of human government. As valuable as are these objects to the present interests of mankind, they are infinitely too low to be the end of the incarnation and death of the Son of God. For such purposes he would not have deigned to approach the horizon of our globe. No, my brethren, the one object of the humiliation of the Son of God was the salvation of the human soul; and what must be the value of the salvation which was worthy of that humiliation? When Jesus Christ departed the throne of his glory, it was to avert the curse which threatened to sink a guilty world to perdition, to roll back the torrent of damnation, and pour through its deserted channels the streams of salvation; to rescue innumerable millions of immortal spirits from the consequences of the fall, and lift them by the power of his grace from the borders of the flaming pit—to the heavens of the great God. This was the favorite object on which his mind reposed from eternity, which he seemed in haste to disclose, as soon as the apostasy of man presented an opportunity; which he loved to announce to the world by the messages of the prophets, and to exhibit in shadow, by the sacrifices of the priests, for four thousand years before its accomplishment. In seeking to save the souls of the heathen by bringing them to Christ, we raise ourselves into the dignity of a partnership with the Son of God in these mighty designs of his; we enter into the fellowship of that cross which is destined to occupy eternity with the development of its wonders, and to fill the universe with the brightness of its glory.

Such an object associates our cause with the ultimate end of all Providential arrangements. Providence is the direction of all human events with immediate reference to the kingdom of Christ. The government of the world has ever had for its object, the accomplishment of the mediatorial scheme. From the fall, Providence devoted itself to redemption, and directed all its energies and resources to prepare for the crucifixion. Separate from this, it has no interests to establish in all its sphere of operation. Hence the language of our Lord, “You have given him power over all flesh, that he might give eternal life, to as many as you have given him;” and hence the echo of the same truth in the writings of his apostle, “He has put all things under his feet, and gave him to be head over all things to his church.”

All human events, the revolutions of empires, the change of dynasties, the succession of monarchies, the results of war, the councils of cabinets, the debates of senates, the progress of discovery, the course of invention—in their immediate influence and remote effects, are all parts of that great plan which has for its object to bring men to Christ. This is the center where all these lines converge. The world is given to Jesus, and he is incessantly employed in bringing it to himself. The Babylonish, the Persian, the Macedonian, the Roman conqueror, each at his own proper period, and in his own proper place, entered upon the stage, and though “he did not think so, neither did his heart mean it,” ministered to the designs of God in redemption. Little did Julius Caesar imagine, when the white cliffs of Britain, glittering in the sun, excited his ambition and drew him across the Channel, for what purpose he disembarked his legions on our coast; but we know that it was to open a door through which the Gospel might enter our beloved country. Little did the spirit of commercial enterprise imagine, when urged only by the love of mammon, it fixed its establishments near the mouth of the Hoogley, or on the banks of the Ganges, that it was sent there as the forerunner of Christian missionaries. Little does the genius of war imagine, when impelling its mad votaries to new contests, that Christianity is following at a distance, in the rear of its victorious armies, to plant her stations on the fields of their encampment, to bear away the best of the spoils, and assume the dominion which other potentates have lost. Little did Columbus imagine, when with his heart big with his mighty projects, he walked in silence on the shores of of the new world, and watched the star of evening go down the western sky, who it was that dictated the purpose to explore the region which she went nightly to visit on the other side of the Atlantic.

We live at a time when all these events are clearly seen to connect themselves with the grand purpose of Jehovah, “to bring all men to Christ.” And the people of future generations will as clearly discern the same relation in the circumstances of our day. Behold, then, the position occupied by the friends of missions. We are following in the rear of Providence, pursuing the very line of its march, moving when and where it moves, like the children of Israel in obedience to the cloudy pillar, availing ourselves of all the advantages it throws in our way, and embracing in our plans every favorable occurrence which we perceive in the universal history of the globe.

Such an object associates our cause with the best interests of the human race. If by the blessing of God upon our labors, we succeed in drawing men away from their idolatry to Christ, we save their immortal souls from death, and provide them with a blissful and glorious eternity. There are not lacking those who would restrict our benevolence to the ‘temporal interests’ of mankind. Civilize the savage, say they, cultivate his intellect, teach him to farm the ground, and deliver him from the galling fetters of slavery—but leave alone his religion. Yes, such an admonition is in character with the man who, having himself no part in Christ, would gladly find himself countenanced in the dreadful deficiency by the universal suffrages of a world of atheists or idolaters. Such a scantling philanthropy, if that indeed may be called philanthropy which proposes to leave men without God, and Christ, and hope—may satisfy the abject creeping spirit of infidelity, which, beyond the visible heavens, sees nothing to expect or fear. But it will not do for the lofty benevolence of Christianity, which soars upon the wing of faith until she beholds the unseen world, adapts the plan of her operation to the scale of eternity, and pursues it with an energy inspired by a view of heaven on the one hand, and of hell on the other.

Suppose, that out of compliment to the mockers of missionary zeal, we relinquished its highest, and indeed its identifying object, and confined our efforts exclusively to civilization, sending the plough and the loom instead of the cross, and that upon this reduced scale of operation we were as successful as could be desired, until we had raised the man of the woods into the man of the city, and elevated the savage into the sage. What, I ask, should we effect, viewing man, as with the New Testament in our hands we must view him, in the whole range of his existence? We may pour the light of science on his path, and strew it with the flowers of literature, but if we leave him to the dominion of his vices, it is still the path to perdition. We may teach him to fare sumptuously every day; but alas, this, in his case, is only like offering food to the wretch who is on his way to the place of execution. We may strip off his sheep-skin dress, and clothe him with purple and fine linen—but it is only to aid him, like Dives, to live in luxury, on the way to the torments of the damned. We may raise the sculptured monument over his bones, in place of the earthly hillock in the wilderness, but though his ashes repose in grandeur, the worm that never dies will forever devour his soul, amidst the flames that can never be extinguished.

In the civilization of he heathen, we confer a blessing which is valuable while it lasts; but it is a blessing which the soul drops as she steps across the confines of the unseen world, and then passes on to wander through eternity, “wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked.” But let us aim first to save the soul, by bringing it under the influence of Christianity, and then as we advance to the end of our exertions we shall not fail to scatter along the path of our benevolence all the seeds of civilization and social order.

It is a mere assumption destitute of all proof, that such tribes as those of South Africa, and the inhabitants of the South-Sea Islands, could be civilized without the aid of religion—but it is not an assumption, for experience proves the fact, that in their savage state they are capable of receiving the gospel. And who needs to be informed that the principles of true religion contain the seed of all that is polished, as well as all that is excellent, in human nature. Religion is strictly and essentially a civilizing process. By faith, the mind is raised above the debasing tyranny of sensible objects, and sensual gratifications; by hope, the influence of present and pressing impulse is controlled by the prospect of future benefits; love establishes a law of kindness in the bosom, by which the irascible passions are subdued. And thus the elements of barbarism are expelled whenever the soul is brought into union with Christ. Industry is enjoined by the weight of a heavenly authority, and enforced by motives of eternal importance, while the intellect sublimated and quickened by its communion with immaterial objects, is prepared to start in the career of endless improvement.

If, then, you would convert the wilderness into a garden, let the first tree you plant in it be the tree of life, and you shall not long see it skirted by the nettle and the briar, much less like the poison tree of Java, shall it stand the center of a circle of death. But you shall behold it dropping its fruit for the life of the world, and shedding its leaves for the healing of the nations, while civilization shall, with feeble and tender arms, clasp its trunk, and be raised by its support into notice and strength.

II. Let us now consider the grand INSTRUMENT of Missionary exertions. This is the doctrine of the Cross, “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw men unto me.”

It was evidently our Lord’s intention to represent the conversion of the nations not merely as a circumstance that would follow his death in the mere order of time, but as a consequence connected with it in the order of cause and effect.

This day do we see something resembling the splendid fable told of Constantine’s conversion. You armies of Christ, marshaled around this pulpit, and confederated in the mighty enterprise of wresting the empire of the world from the prince of darkness, behold the cross suspended in the firmament of revelation, radiant with its own brightness, and inscribed with the auspicious motto, “By this conquer!” Yes, this is the emblem which must wave alone in our banner, “and to it shall the Gentiles seek.” I preach another and a true crusade to the heathen world; far different from that convulsive mania which, in the midnight of superstition, disturbed the slumbers of the globe, and like a volcano, precipitated all Europe in a state of merger upon the valleys of Judea. Our object is not to recover the holy sepulcher from the possession of heretics, but to make known the death of Him who descended to it to wrest the keys of empire from the king of terrors. The weapons of our warfare are not carnal, as the sword, the spear, and the battle axe—but spiritual, as the doctrines of the gospel exhibited in the sermons of our missionaries. The line of our march will not be marked by ensanguined fields, and the reign of desolation—but by the comforts of civilization and the blessings of Christianity. We shall not be followed in our career by the groans of dying warriors, and the shrieks of bereaved widows—but by the songs of redeemed sinners, and the shouts of enraptured angels. Our laurels will be stained with no blood—but that of the Lamb of God, and bedropped with no tears but those of penitence and joy. Our spoils will consist not of bits of the true cross, or shreds of the Virgin’s robe—but rejected idols and the regenerated souls of those who once adored them.

1. It will be important under this head of discourse, first, to state what is essentially included in the doctrine of the cross. It includes, of necessity, the MANNER of Christ’s death. The sacred historian having conducted us to Calvary, and pointed to its summit, exclaims with pregnant simplicity, “and there they crucified him.” Crucifixion was not only the most agonizing, but the most ignominious death. By the Jewish law it was pronounced accursed, and by the jurisprudence of Rome it was employed as the broom of destruction, by which the vilest of slaves and criminals might be swept from the face of the earth, “as the filth and offscouring of all things.” And did You, who are the brightness of your Father’s glory, humble yourself to the death of the cross? Yes, you did, but by that cross you shall conquer the world!

The design of Christ’s death, as an atonement for sin, is essentially included in this doctrine. It appears to me to be one of the mysteries in the world of mind, that the doctrine of the atonement should be disputed by any who profess assent to the testimony of Scriptural revelation. Have they ever read with attention the language of Paul? “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as an atoning sacrifice by his blood, to be received by faith. This was to show God’s righteousness, because in his divine forbearance he had passed over former sins. It was to show his righteousness at the present time, so that he might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus.” (Romans 3:23-26)

How is it possible to avoid seeing the great truth for which we are now contending in this most convincing passage, where, in the compass of two verses, it is thrice affirmed that the end of Christ’s death was a declaration of justice? For in what other way than as an atonement his blood can be a manifestation of justice, it must confound even the ingenious spirit of error to inform us. The atonement is not, so much a doctrine of Scripture, as the very Scripture itself, and if it be removed, leaves all that remains as incoherent and unmeaning as the leaves which the Sybil dispersed to the wind.

The divinity of Christ’s person, as constituting the value of his atoning sacrifice, appears to me to be an essential part of this system of truth. While the hope of a guilty world can rest nowhere else than on an atonement, that in its turn, can be supported by nothing short of the Rock of Ages—and hence it is that these two are so often exhibited in the Word of God in close connection with each other. It was he “who was in the form of God, and thought it not robbery to be equal with God, that humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.” It was he “who was before all things, and by whom all things are held together, who made peace through the blood of the cross.” It was he “who was the brightness of the Father’s glory, and the express image of his person, and who upholds all things by the word of his power, that by himself purged our sins.” It should not be overlooked, how closely connected with the divinity of Christ, and how dependent upon it, is the success of the cause of missions. This cause with all which it involves, is supported by the power of Jesus. “The pleasure of the Lord is in his hand.” “The government is upon his shoulders.” “The Father has made him to be head over all things to his church.” “All power in heaven and earth is given to him.” Do we, then, depend for success upon the energies of a mere creature? Is it an arm of flesh alone that we must look to for support and conquest? Then, indeed, may we sound the ‘signal of retreat’ to our Missionaries, dissolve our Society, and abandon the field of conflict to Satan. But we have not so learned Christ; we believe him to be the omnipotent and the omniscient God. In him we trust, and shall not be ashamed.

Essential to the doctrine of the cross is the gratuitous manner in which its blessings are bestowed. “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him might not perish, but have everlasting life.” “It is by faith that it might be by grace.” Leave out the justification of the soul by faith alone, and you send to the heathen but a lying resemblance of the cross. And to complete the scriptural view of this sublime compendium of truth, it is necessary we should include its moral tendency and design as respects the heart and conduct of those by whom it is received. “I am crucified,” said the Apostle, “with Christ,” earnestly desiring, “that I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings; being made conformable unto his death.”

It is not one of these, but all of them combined, which form the doctrine of the cross. Take any of them away and the arch is destroyed, all the rest sink together to the dust, a mass of splendid ruins, a heap of crumbling fragments. Without the atonement, the fact of the crucifixion appears to me, a dark unintelligible inexplicable spot upon the page of revelation, connecting nothing, supporting nothing, explaining nothing. The atonement without the deity of Christ, lacks both the impress and the value to secure for it confidence; and acceptance of the atonement and the deity of Christ, without the justification of the soul by faith, leaves the system without any link which can connect it with the experience of the sinner; while all together would be of no avail in his salvation, unless they secured his sanctification.

2. I shall now illustrate the various POWERS OF ATTRACTION which the doctrine of the cross exerts. The stupendous fact of the cross, arrests and fixes the attention. The human mind, especially in its cruder states, where there is such a preponderance of ‘imagination’ over ‘reason’, is much more easily and powerfully wrought upon by a narration of facts than a statement of principles. And the whole fabric of Christianity, both as to doctrines and duties, is founded upon a fact; and that fact, drawn out into details more touching and tender than can be found in any real history or in any romance. The life and the death of the “man of sorrows,” unites to all the sobriety and power of truth—the fascination of fiction. The veiled splendor of his deity, occasionally bursting through its thin disguise, and irradiating the gloom of his poverty; the extremity of his sufferings, and the heart-affecting meekness with which he bore them; the perfection of his virtues, together with the unrelenting cruelty of his enemies; the mysterious combination of glory and humility in his person and life; the garden of Gethsemane; the scenes of Pilate’s hall, and the mount of Calvary—give a magic power to the story of the cross!

But when we thus know that this was the incarnation and crucifixion of the ‘Son of God’ for a ‘world of sinners’—we arrive at the pinnacle of all that is marvelous, and interesting, and sublime! History in its most extraordinary narrations, and imagination in its loftiest flights, are both left infinitely behind. When with devout contemplation we have been engaged in surveying this stupendous fact, we feel, in turning away to other objects, just as the man does who has been gazing upon the unclouded sun, so dazzled with excess of light, as to perceive no other object, whatever its magnitude or splendor. We no longer wonder at the researches of the prophets, nor feel any surprise that the angels should leave every fountain of celestial knowledge to look upon the cross.

Conceive then, my hearers, the effect of this wonder of wonders upon the minds of the poor pagans, who, after having been conversant all their lives with nothing but the despicable ignorance of a barbarous state, hear for the first time of the death of the Son of God. “Tis this,” said our Missionary, Ebner, speaking of the wild Bushmen, “tis this that excites their admiration, melts them into tears, and breaks their hearts.” If then, you would arrest the savage of the desert; if you would detain him from the chase; if you would rivet him to the spot, and hold him in the power of a spell that is altogether new to him—do not begin with cold abstractions of moral duties or theological truths; but tell him of Christ crucified, and you shall see his once vacant countenance enlivened by the feelings of a new and deep interest, and the teardrop glistening in the eye unused to weep; and shall witness the evil spirit departing out of the man, as he drops one by one from his hand, the murderous weapons with which he lately would have sought your life.

As an exhibition of unparalleled love, the cross melts and captivates the heart. The cross has been beautifully denominated the noon-tide of everlasting love, the meridian splendor of eternal mercy. The sacred writers never seem to labor so much for expression as when setting forth this mystery. “Herein, is love”—as if, until God gave his Son, men had never seen anything that deserved the name of love. John calls it the ‘manifestation of love’—as if nothing more now remained to be known of love in any age or any world. And Paul speaks of the cross as the commendation of love, as if nothing more could now ever be said upon the subject. Jesus Christ, in describing this act of divine mercy, uses this remarkable emphasis, “God so loved the world,” importing that this is a demonstration of love which will send rapturous surprise to the remotest world that Omnipotence has formed.

In short, all we can say of this this love which was demonstrated at the cross, is that it is ineffable; and that all we know of it, that it passes knowledge. Now, my brethren, there is a mighty power in love. He that knows all the mechanism of the human mind, has told us, that “the cords of love are the bands of a man.” That heart, which wraps itself up in the covering of a stubborn and reckless despair against the attacks of severity, like the flower which closes its petals at the approach of the angry blast—will put forth all the better parts of its nature to the smiles of love, like the tendrils of the sea anemone, when it feels the first wave of the returning tide upon its native rock.

Think then of the attraction of the cross—when the love which it exhibits is seen and felt by a mind under the influence of the Spirit of God. What was it, my hearers, that melted your hard and frozen hearts into penitence, and gratitude, and love? What was it that drew you away from your sins? What was it that brought you as willing captives to the feet of Jesus? It was the love of God beseeching you upon the summit of Calvary, and with open arms bidding you welcome to the heart of Deity! Everything else united to repel you; the terrors of justice petrified you with horror, and despair was binding you more closely than ever to your sins—until divine mercy appeared and told you there was hope for the guilty—in the cross of Christ!

And shall not the same attraction be felt, do you think, in pagan realms? Shall this heavenly magnet lose its power there? O no! Many circumstances unite to increase its influence among those miserable tribes. Does it heighten the love of God to consider the sinfulness and unworthiness of its objects? What then must be the views of it which the poor Hottentots will entertain, whom their Dutch oppressors have taught to consider themselves as little above the level of the baboons and monkeys of the woods! and which the wretched Chandalahs of the East will entertain, who are considered unworthy to look upon the face of a Brahmin, when they are informed that God so loved them, as to give his Son to die upon the cross for them? Does the guilt of its objects heighten the love of God, and render it more and more astonishing, how will it appear to the South Sea Islander, who so lately rioted in the brute violence of the passions, gorged his cannibal appetite with the flesh of the man he had murdered, and offered human blood in sacrifice to demons, when he is informed that God so loved him as to give his Son to die upon the cross for him?

And then there is another circumstance which must add to the attraction of the cross in heathen countries. One of the prevailing features of all idolatry is cruelty; and for this plain reason—When man lost the knowledge of God, he cast his deities in the mold of his own imagination, and animated them with the dispositions of his own heart. The prototypes of all the idols in the Pantheon were found in the human bosom; and because ‘mercy’ had no altar in the latter, she therefore had no statue in the former. Go, Christian missionary, to the dark places of the earth, which are full of the habitations of cruelty, and to those who have never associated any other idea with Deity than inexorable cruelty, and never contemplated their gods but with uncontrollable terror—proclaim that God is love; and by all the soft allurements of heavenly grace, draw them away from the hideous frowning objects of their homage—to the Father of Mercies.

As a system of mediation, it allays the fears of a guilty conscience, and draws the soul into confidence in God. History informs us that the greater part of the religion of all idolatrous nations, both ancient and modern, has consisted of denigrating rites of expiation—a plain proof, in my opinion, that no nation ever considered penitence and obedience to be sufficient to satisfy the demands of an offended deity. So far as the testimony of history and experience goes, the idea of ‘retributive justice’, as an attribute of the Divine Being—seems far more easily deducible by a sinner, from the light of nature, than that of ‘free mercy’. What, I ask, is the meaning of all those bloody sacrifices, and rites, and penances, which have been multiplied without number in the ritual of idolatry? They are the efforts of a guilty but blinded conscience, groping, in the hour of its extremity, after some atonement on which to roll the burden of its sins, and seeking some satisfaction to the justice it has offended, by which its fears may be allayed, and on the ground of which it may have confidence in respect of the past. No sooner does a missionary set his foot on any part of the heathen world, than innumerable objects seem to ask him, with deep and lengthened emphasis, “How shall man be just with God?” Here, then, is the attraction of the cross—it removes every obstacle out of the way of the sinner’s approach to God; it puts an authorised and perfect satisfaction to God’s justice in his hand, with which he may venture to the very foot of the eternal throne, and gives him that boldness which arises from a perception that God has not more effectually provided for the sinner’s salvation, than he has for the glory of his own attributes, government, and laws. In short, that God is both “just, and the justifier of him that believes in Jesus.”

By admitting an ‘individual appropriation’ of its benefits, it appeals to all the feelings of self-regard and personal interest. It is the glory of the Gospel, that, while it makes an ample provision for the world, and invites the whole family of man to the feast, it lays all its blessings at the feet of every individual to whom it comes, and tells him that they are all for him—if he will accept them. It does not appraise the value of the human race by a method of calculation founded only on the mass of mankind, but represents every individual as an object of infinite importance, and of distinct and separate consideration in the view of Infinite Mercy.

Think of the effect of this upon the mind of an obscure pagan, who, amidst the millions around him and above him, has no idea of his own individual importance; who, by a long series of cruel oppressions, has begun to lose all self-respect; who, under the debasing influence of tyranny, has reconciled himself to the thought of having no separate destiny or accountability, and of being a mere appendage to the establishment of some lordly master. I say, conceive the effect of the gospel upon this man’s mind, when led forth by a missionary to Mount Calvary, and told that, if he believes the truth that the Son of God died upon the cross for him, for no child of Adam rather than for him, as much for him as if he stood alone in need of a Savior, and that all the blessings of salvation shall center and settle in him. Do you think there is no attraction here? Yes, and could you follow this man home to his hut, you would see him pondering the mystery in the pensive attitude of thought, or repeating it to himself while lost in wonder—or collecting around him his domestic circle, and telling it to them in the first raptures of amazement.

By the suitableness and certainty of its blessings, the cross awakens hope, and establishes faith. From the cross—as the tree of life, hang in maturity and abundance—all those fruits of grace which are necessary to the salvation of the soul. Are we guilty—here is pardon. Are we rebels against God—here is reconciliation. Are we condemned—here is justification. Are we unholy—here is sanctification. Are we agitated with conscious guilt—here is peace for a wounded spirit. “But from Him you are in Christ Jesus, who for us became wisdom from God, as well as righteousness, sanctification, and redemption.”

Here, at the cross, every curious enquiry which the mind might originate concerning God, and the soul, and death, and eternity, and moral obligation, and personal accountability—is answered satisfactorily, and set at rest forever. With what feelings must an intelligent heathen approach his final catastrophe—death. He has seen his ancestors go down to the dust, and often, when standing upon their graves, has felt a distressing solicitude, which nothing could relieve, to know something of that state of being into which they passed when they vanished from the earth. At length his own turn has arrived, and he too must die. Where is he going? What is to become of him? If there is a God—how shall he meet him? If there is a future state—how and where is he to spend it? Not a whisper of consolation is heard from the tomb, nor a ray of satisfactory light is thrown upon its darkness by the instructions of the living. Oh! with what horror does he turn his half averted eye upon that sepulcher, in which he must shortly be interred! And with what dreadful efforts does he endeavor to force his reluctant spirit upon her destiny, astonished every moment at the specters which rise in her own disordered imagination. Oh! how much would he give for someone to tell him what there is beyond the grave, and what he must do to get rid of his guilt—so as to be admitted to the world of the blessed.

Just at this time, one of our missionaries reaches his abode, and declares to him that Christ, by his death, has brought life and immortality to light. This is bliss indeed; he never heard such news before. The Spirit of God gives effect to the gospel message. He is drawn to Jesus, clasping to his bosom that doctrine which gives him life in death, and hope in despair. And he who but a few weeks before was stumbling upon the dark mountains of idolatry, just ready to be descend into eternal night, leaves the scene of his earthly existence with the language of Simeon upon his lips, “Lord, now let you your servant depart in peace—for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared before the face of all people, a light to lighten the Gentiles!”

Such, then, are the sources of that attraction which is destined in the divine councils to draw all men away from their idolatry—to the true and living God. Not that this effect will ever be produced independently of the influence of the Spirit, or merely in the way of moral persuasion. Nothing short of the supernatural agency of the Holy Spirit accompanying the truth, will render it in any case “the power of God unto salvation.”

It is, however, a tribute due to the wisdom of God, to observe the moral fitness of the instrument by which he accomplishes the purposes of his mercy. As auxiliary to the power illustrated above, I ought to mention the MODE ordained by the Divine Head of the church for publishing his gospel. Preaching is a very important part of those means which Christ has instituted for the conversion of the world. It is, in fact, the necessary introduction of all other means, and that from which all the rest draw much of their energy. What stress is laid upon this in the Word of God. How emphatically does the apostle dwell upon the preaching of the cross. It is the doctrine so made known, which becomes the power of God unto salvation. For one person that is converted by reading the gospel, it might be safely affirmed there are a hundred converted by the preaching of it—a circumstance which, in considering the relative merits of Bible and Missionary Societies, throws an immense weight of importance into the scale of the latter. Giving to Bible Societies (who print and distribute the Scriptures)—all that is claimed for them, and too much cannot be claimed; still, without Missionary institutions, they would present a very incomplete system for the conversion of the world. The preaching of the cross has peculiar force in foreign countries, where, in addition to all the attractions usually found in oral instruction and impassioned address, the hearers see and feel the influence of the benevolence which has led the preacher to leave his home, to traverse the ocean, and dwell in a strange land, for the benefit of others.

III. I shall now consider the EFFECTS which the doctrine of the cross has produced. Contemplate the mighty wonders which were wrought by the cross during the apostolic age. It is a fact that the personal ministry of our Lord was attended by comparatively little success. While exhibiting an example in which the uncreated glories of the Godhead mingled their splendor with the milder beauties of the perfect man, while working miracles brighter than the sun, and preaching morality purer than the light—but few were attracted to his cause. We do not read that a single soul was converted by the sublime discourse upon the Mount. But no sooner was he crucified, and his death had become the theme of apostolic preaching, than Christianity assumed a new aspect.

The scene of its first triumphs was Jerusalem. Those simple words of Peter addressed to the Jews on the day of Pentecost, “Him being delivered by the determinate counsel and foreknowledge of God, you have taken, and with wicked hands have crucified and slain,” wounded three thousand to the heart, and drew them, with weeping and supplication, to look on him whom they had pierced. For a long season, as often as the cross was exhibited, multitudes of the seed of Israel became the trophies of its power. We might have expected it to be successful anywhere rather than there. The inhabitants of Jerusalem had many circumstances in their case which opposed it with the strongest resistance. They had seen all that was repulsive and forbidding—in its exterior aspect. They had beheld the Crucified One in the very lowest stage of his humiliation; they had seen him covered with shame and spitting, the object of derision, the butt of ridicule, lifted up in the place of public execution, associated with malefactors in his death—and expiring in a way that, according to their own law, rendered him accursed. In addition to this, they had all the consciousness that they themselves had put him to death; which, even if they could admit that he was the Messiah, seemed to throw them to the greatest possible distance from his mercy. They heard the apostles charging them with his murder, and knew the truth and justice of the accusation. Moreover, if they became this man’s disciples, it was necessary they should abandon their fond and long cherished hopes of a temporal prince and worldly domination. Yet even there, and over all these prejudices and obstacles, did the doctrine of the cross so remarkably triumph, as to fill Jerusalem with its followers; and vast multitudes, who had remained unallured by the splendor of his living miracles, were captivated and subdued by the spectacle of his dying agonies! Where, I ask, in the language of triumphant exultation, may we not expect it to prove successful, when it subdued the guilt, the fear, the pride, and the bigotry of those very men, by whom the crucifixion itself was effected?

We have heard much of the bigotry of the heathen, especially of that bigotry as fortified in the East by the adamantine bond of caste. But what is the power of caste, when set in opposition to the rod of Jehovah’s strength? No matter what is the deity which is at the head of their idols; no matter what the distinctions of the privileged order, or what the reproaches to which their voluntary forfeiture exposes them, let the Brahmin only look by faith to the crucified Savior, and that moment the altar and the god sink together to the dust—his soul swells beyond the measure of her chains, which burst from around her like the green ropes of the Philistines from the arms of Sampson—and the regenerated spirit walks abroad, amidst the whole family of God, greeting them in the language of the apostle, “Grace be with all those who love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity.”

When the Apostles and Evangelists were driven by the storms of persecution from Judea, they turned to the Gentiles, “preaching Christ in every place.” One of the earliest scenes of their labor, after they had passed the confines of the holy land, was ANTIOCH, a city, which, with the beautiful grove of Daphne in its neighborhood, was so utterly abandoned to licentiousness as to be shunned by every heathen who had any regard to his reputation, and to give rise to the phrase, “horrid Daphne morals,” which expressed the utmost corruption of their morals and manners. “Those who had been scattered as a result of the persecution that started because of Stephen made their way as far as Phoenicia, Cyprus, and Antioch, speaking the message to no one except Jews. But there were some of them who came to Antioch and began speaking to the Hellenists, proclaiming the good news about the Lord Jesus. The Lord’s hand was with them, and a large number who believed turned to the Lord.” (Acts 11:19-21)

In that scene of lecherousness, debauchery, and voluptuous sin, was the truth so remarkably successful as to originate a new name for the followers of Jesus, and the “disciples were called Christians first at Antioch.” Tell me in what country, however abandoned to depravity, we may despair of the triumphs of the cross, when it expelled the votaries of Bacchus and Venus from the grove of Daphne; raised a magnificent church upon the site of the temple of Apollo, converted this haunt of vice into the walk of Christian meditation, and taught even the inhabitants of Antioch, to “deny ungodliness and worldly lusts, and to live soberly, righteously, and godly in this present evil world.”

CORINTH was another of the cities into which Christianity made an early and victorious entrance. This was a place of great renown in its day. Such were its commerce, its science, its temples, and its schools, that the prince of Roman orators denominated it “the light of all Greece”, and another writer called it the ornament of Greece. Its elegance, however, was exceeded by its vice. Lasciviousness was carried to such a pitch in this most abandoned city, that in the language of those times the appellation of a ‘Corinthian’ given to a woman imported that she had lost her virtue; and “corinthianize,” or to behave as a Corinthian, spoken of a man, was the same as to say, that he was given up to lecherousness and debauchery. To this scene of iniquity did the apostle direct his course, like the sunbeam to the stagnant lake, not to partake of its impurity, but to draw from it a pure and beneficial exhalation.

And how did he attempt the reformation of this dissolute people? Did he begin by descanting upon the deformities of vice, and reading lectures in praise of virtue? Nothing of the sort! He himself shall inform us. In writing to his converts he tells them, “And I brethren, when I came to you, came not with excellency of speech or of wisdom, declaring unto you the testimony of God. For I determined not to know anything among you, except Jesus Christ and him crucified.” And at Corinth was the attraction of this truth so irresistible, as to raise one of the most considerable of the primitive churches there, to which no small portion of the New Testament was addressed.

These, however, are but instances selected from a general course of exertion and success. Wherever the apostles went, the doctrine of the cross was the theme of their public discourses, and the topic of their more private instruction. Whether standing amidst the luxury of Corinth, the schools of Athens, the overwhelming grandeur of Rome, or the hallowed scenes of Jerusalem, they presented this to all men alike. They did not conceal the ‘ignominy of the accursed tree’ behind the sublime morality of the gospel, and permit the ‘unsightly object’ to steal out only disguised, and by degrees. No! They immediately exhibited the naked cross—as the very foundation of the religion which they were commissioned and inspired to promulgate. When the Jew on one hand was demanding a sign, and the Greek on the other was asking for wisdom, they replied to both, “we preach Christ crucified!”

They never courted the philosopher by a exhibition of science; nor the orator by a blaze of eloquence; nor the curious by the aid of novelty. They tried no experiments, made no digressions. Feeling the power of this sublime truth in their own souls; enamored by the thousand, thousand charms with which they saw the preaching of the cross attended; emboldened by the victories which followed its career; and acting in obedience to the divine authority, which regulated all their conduct; they kindled into rapture amidst the scorn and rage of an ungodly world; and in the fervor of their zeal, threw off an impassioned sentiment, which has been returned in distinct echo from every Christian land, and been adopted as the watch-word of an evangelical ministry, “God forbid that I should glory, except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ!”

Wonderful was the effect of their labor. A revolution more extraordinary than history records, or imagination could have conceived, was everywhere effected, and this by what the men who gave laws to the opinions of the world, derided as “the foolishness of preaching.” The powers of paganism beheld the worshipers of the gods drawn away from their shrines by an influence which they could neither understand nor resist. Not the authority of the Olympian Jove, nor the seductive rites of the Paphian goddess, could any longer retain the homage of their former votaries. The exquisite beauty of their temples and their statues, with all those fascinations which their mythology was calculated to exert upon a people of refined taste and wicked habits, became the objects not only of indifference, but abhorrence. And millions by whom the cross must have been contemplated with mental revulsion as a matter of taste, embraced it with ecstacy as the means of salvation. The idolatrous rites were deserted, the altars overturned, the deities left to sympathize with each other in dumb consternation, the lying oracles were hushed, the deceptive light of philosophy was extinguished, Satan fell like lightning from heaven, while the ministers of light rose with the number, the order, and the brilliancy of the stars. Resistance promoted the cause it intended to oppose, and persecution like the wind of heaven blowing upon a conflagration, served to spread the flame. In vain “did the kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together against the Lord.” The imperial eagle collecting all her strength, and rousing all her fury, attacked the Lamb of God, until she, too, subdued and captivated by the cross, cowered beneath its emblem, as it floated from the towers of the capitol, and Christianity, with the purple waving from her shoulders, and the diadem sparkling upon her brows, was proclaimed to be the Truth of God and the empress of the world, on that throne of the Caesars before which she had been so often arraigned as a criminal, and condemned as an impostor.

What an illustrious proof is there in all this of the divine authority of the New Testament. The men who set out on the project of converting the world from idolatry and irreligion, with no instrument but a cross, and no patronage but his who was crucified upon it, must either have been mad or inspired, and the result proves which was the fact.

Since the apostles fell asleep, and others have entered upon their unfinished labors, has not this continued to be the means by which nations have been subjugated to the sway of religion? I appeal to the records of ecclesiastical history. What was it, I ask, which, by the instrumentality of Luther and Melancthon, and Calvin, and Zwingle, dissolved the power of the Beast on the continent of Europe, and drew a third part of his worshipers within the pale of a more scriptural communion? It was the doctrine of justification by faith in the blood of Christ.

David Brainerd, the apostle of the American Indians, has left an essay to inform the world that it was by preaching Christ crucified that he was enabled to raise a Christian church in the desolate wilds where he labored, and among a barbarous people devoted to witchcraft, drunkenness, and idolatry.*

* “I cannot but take notice,” he remarks, “that I have, in the general, ever since my first coming among these Indians in New Jersey, been favored with that assistance, which to me is uncommon in preaching Christ crucified, and making him the center and mark to which all my discourses among them were directed. God was pleased to help me ‘not to know anything among them except Jesus Christ and him crucified.’ And this was the preaching God made use of for the awakening of sinners, and the propagation of this work of grace among the Indians; and it was remarkable, from time to time, that when I was favored with any special freedom in discoursing of the ability and willingness of Christ to save sinners, and the need they stood in of such a Savior, there was then the greatest appearance of divine power in awakening numbers of self-secure souls. And it is worthy of remark, that numbers of these people are brought to a strict compliance with the rules of morality and sobriety, and to a conscientious performance of the external duties of Christianity, by the internal power and influence of divine truths, the peculiar doctrines of grace, upon their minds. And God was pleased to give these divine truths such a powerful influence upon the minds of these people, that their lives were quickly reformed, without my insisting upon the precepts of morality and spending time in repeated harangues upon external duties. When these truths were felt at heart, there was now no vice unreformed, no external duties neglected. Drunkenness, the darling vice, was broken off from, and scarcely an instance known of it among my hearers for months together. The practice of husbands and wives in divorcing each other, and taking others in their stead, was quickly reformed, so that there are three or four couples who have voluntarily dismissed those they had taken, and now live together again in love and peace. The same might be said of all other wicked practices. The reformation was general, and all springing from the internal influence of divine truth upon their hearts, and not from any external restraints, or because they had heard their vices particularly enforced, and repeatedly spoken against. Some of them I never so much as mentioned, particularly that of the parting of men and their wives, until some having their conscience awakened by God’s word, came and of their own accord confessed themselves guilty in that respect.” (See Brainerd’s Journal, Edwards’s Works, vol. 3, p. 416.)

The Moravian Missionaries, those holy, patient, unostentatious servants of our Lord, have employed with peculiar effect these heaven-appointed means, in converting and civilizing the once pilfering and murderous Eskimos. With these, have they also “dared the terrors of an Arctic sky, and directing their adventurous course through the floating fields and frost-reared precipices that guard the secrets of the Pole,” have caused the banner of the cross to wave over the throne of everlasting winter, and warmed, with the love of Christ, the bosom of the shivering Greenlander.

Mr. Kicherer, when he first labored among the Hottentots, proceeded upon the plan recommended by some modern sociologists. He tried to civilize their habits, as a preparatory process for communicating to them the principles of religion; but every effort failed, until he was obliged to try that last, which he should have done first, and proved by an additional experiment that the doctrine of the cross is the only certain method of improving the moral condition of the world. And what is it which, at this moment, is kindling the intellect, softening the manners, sanctifying the hearts and purifying the lives of the numerous tribes of the degraded sons of Ham? It is the “faithful saying, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.” It is this, poured in artless strains from the lips of our missionaries, and sent home to the soul by the power of the Holy Spirit, which is more than realizing the fable of Amphion’s lyre, and raising up the stones of African deserts, into the walls of the church of God.

O, had the cannibal inhabitants of Tahiti been persuaded to renounce their wretched superstition and cruel customs, by any efforts of a purely rational nature; had the emissaries of ‘philosophy’ been the instruments of their conversion, and had the gods of Pomare been sent home by them, to be deposited in the British Museum, instead of the Missionary Rooms, how would the world have rung with the praises of ‘all-sufficient Reason’. New temples would have been raised to this modern Minerva, while all the tribes of the heathen would have been seen moving in triumphal procession to her shrine, chanting as they went the honors of their illustrious goddess. But yours, O crucified Redeemer! yours is the power, and yours shall be the glory of this conquest. Those islands of the Southern Sea shall be laid at your feet, as the trophies of your cross, and shall be added as fresh jewels to your mediatorial crown!

And indeed, not to leave our own age, or our own land—do we not see all around us the attractions of the cross? What is it that guides and governs the tide of religious popularity, whether it roll in the channels of the Establishment or those of Dissent? Is it not this which causes the mighty influx of the spring tide in one place, and is it not the absence of it which occasions the dull retiring ebb in another? Yes, raise me but a barn, in the very shadow of Saint Paul’s Cathedral, and give me a man who shall preach Christ crucified with something of the energy which that ‘all inspiring theme’ is calculated to awaken, and in spite of the baseness of the one, and the magnificence of the other, you shall see the former crowded with the warm and pious hearts of living Christians, while the matins and vespers of the cathedral, if the gospel be not preached there, shall be chanted only to the cold statues of the mighty dead. To conclude this part of my discourse, where, I ask, and when, was there an idolatrous nation converted to Christianity, or a lukewarm church reclaimed from indifference; when was there minister at home, or missionary abroad, who was successful in bringing sinners unto God through Christ, by any other system than that which I have before described? This has ever been successful, and with the proofs of its power embodied in the records of its victories, can we, who have adopted it as the instrument of our warfare, doubt for a moment of its ultimate and universal triumph?

III. Let us now anticipate the final CONSUMMATION of Missionary success. “All men shall be brought to Christ.” I do not mean to infer from this expression, or from any other which can be found in the Word of God, that we are ever to look for an age when every inhabitant of the globe shall become a real Christian. But what I contend for is, that the Scripture warrants us to expect an era when, by means of human exertion, and in answer to the prayers of the righteous, the power of Antichrist shall be dissolved, all fundamental errors in Christendom shall be exploded, the blasphemies of infidelity shall be hushed, the Jews shall believe in Jesus, the pale crescent of Mohammed shall set forever in the blaze of the Sun of Righteousness, the multiform systems of idolatry retire before the growing brightness of eternal truth, and the whole earth be filled with the knowledge of the Lord, the fruits of righteousness, and the works of peace. So has God decreed. So has prophecy declared. “Men shall be blessed in him, all nations shall call him blessed.” “I saw in the night visions,” said the prophet Daniel, “and behold, one like the Son of Man came with the clouds of heaven, and came to the Ancient of Days; and there was given him dominion, and glory, and a kingdom, that all people, and languages, and nations, should serve him—his dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away; and his kingdom that which shall not be destroyed.” If on the one hand there is much in the present condition of the world to try our faith in these animating predictions, is there not, in the exertions of the Christian world, very much on the other hand to confirm and strengthen it? Contemplate for a few moments the state of the earth, together with the means which are employed for its improvement.

Suppose, for the sake of illustration, that you occupied the station of the angel represented in the Apocalypse, as standing in the sun, and that with eyes piercing as the beams of day, you were looking down on the revolutions of this low earthly sphere. Scarcely had England turned towards the east, before Ireland, an integral part of your own empire, would present four million of Roman Catholics, satisfying themselves with the crucifix instead of the cross; at the same time, however, you would behold the preachers of the Irish Evangelical Society, and the Schools of the Hibernian Society, lending their assistance to the Protestant ministers of various denominations, and all infusing the pure principles of the gospel into this mass of superstition. The Atlantic having glided away beneath your view, and with it the United States which fringe its western shore, you would look down on the innumerable tribes which wander without God through the unexplored regions of the American continents; still among these would be discovered here and there a missionary conducting them to Jesus. Then would follow the broad Pacific, spotted with innumerable islands, each the domain of idol gods; yet Tahiti and Eimeo would shine resplendent, like bright specks upon the bosom of the ocean, whence the light of salvation is diverging in every direction over that mighty mass of waters. No sooner had your eye regaled itself with Christian temples, floating, as it were, upon the great South Sea, than China would heave into sight its unwieldy empire, groaning as it rolled beneath the crimes of two hundred millions of idolaters; but even there, groups of Chinese, assembled to read in secret the Testaments circulated by our honored Morrison and Milne, would exhibit the first attraction of the cross in that most singular country. Now, the plains of Hindustan, watered by the obscene and deified Ganges, would arrest your attention and produce an indescribable horror, as they disclosed the frantic orgies of Juggernaut, the flaming pile of the devoted widow, with innumerable other spectacles of idolatrous cruelty; yet, in the center of Oriental abominations, would you discover the crimson standard waving from the Mission-houses of Serampore and Calcutta, with Carey, and Townley, and the men of other missions, directing the teeming population to the means of salvation. If you looked northward beyond the mountains of India, immense tracts, covered with ignorance and idolatry, would be seen stretching away to the pole, but at the same time you would spot the rose of Sharon, planted by Stallybrass and Rahmn, amidst the snows of Siberia, and attracting the Calmuc and the Tartar by its fragrance and beauty. Persia and Arabia would succeed, presenting in the numerous millions devoted to the false prophet, a formidable phalanx of blindness and bigotry; but moving down from Astrachan, along the shores of the Caspian, borne by the missionaries of the Edinburgh Society, would be seen the cross, advancing to spread the spirit of division and revolt through this army of the aliens, and to bring down the tottering fabric of Mohammadanism to the dust. Palestine, “the ground of sacred story,” next appears. How would your eye linger over the valleys where the father of the faithful pitched his tent, the mountains on which Isaiah struck his harp; and above all, on the summit of that hill, where the Savior of the world poured out his soul unto death. Little, I confess, would be seen at Jerusalem but the mosque and the minaret, save where a company of Jews, veiled with unbelief, sit down round the site of their ancient temple; still would you not there anticipate the accomplishment of those numerous predictions which assure us that the exiles of Judea shall one day dwell in their own cities, and look on him whom they have pierced, and mourn?

In Asia Minor, amidst prevailing superstition, you would trace the Russian Bible Society, bearing back the golden candlestick to its place in one hand, and in the other the torch of truth, to rekindle those lamps which once threw their luster on the waves of the Mediterranean. Africa would then pass by shrouded in the gloom of barbarism, and still bleeding from the wounds inflicted by the ruffian hand of commercial avarice, an object as wretched as ignorance, oppression, and idolatry can render her; but ah! you would exclaim, with joyful exultation, “I see Bethelsdorp, and Theopolis, and Guadenthal, and Sierra Leone, in each of which I behold a pledge that Africa shall yet be free, enlightened, and holy.” Europe, debased by the superstitions of the Greek church in the north, and by the errors of the Vatican in the south, would present that wonder of the age, the British and Foreign Bible Society, rising up to complete the work which Luther’s life was too short to finish, and effect a universal and perfect reformation.

Such, then, is the present condition of the moral world, and such, in part, the means employed for its improvement; from which you perceive that the church of Christ, like the woman in the parable, has hidden the mystic leaven in the mighty mass, and that the assimilating process is commenced. It has commenced, and though it operates a while unseen, it shall never cease until the whole lump is leavened.

Evidence is not lacking that the period is rapidly approaching when all the nations of the world shall be brought to Christ. I pretend not to ascertain the year, nor the century, when the millennium shall reach its meridian. I am not in the secret of “the times and the seasons which the Father has put into his own power.” I am not versed in the symbolical arithmetic of prophecy; but it appears extremely probable, from all the movements of Divine Providence, that a great and happy era is struggling in the birth. The political, the moral, the religious world, have all been agitated of late years, by new and quickening principles. The stagnancy of past ages has been disturbed. A vivifying wind has been sweeping over the face of chaos, preparatory to the new creation. The day has broken upon the world, and, just as might be expected, after a night so lowering and cloudy, beams of light diffuse themselves front one side of the heavens, and the storm rumbles with solemn grandeur, as it retires across the other.

Nor should it be overlooked that the chief splendor of that illustrious era will consist in the universal subjection of the world to Christ. It appears pretty evident that the grand contest which was originated by the entrance of moral evil into the universe; which converted the regions of celestial peace into the scenes of destructive war; which was then cherished in hell by the powers of darkness, and has since been perpetuated on earth in all the multiform systems of error and vice, has more particularly concerned the dominion and glory of the Son. He seems to have been the special object of satanic envy and hate, and to prevent his reign, all the resources of the infernal world have been incessantly in motion. Here, then, is the glory of the latter day; it shall exhibit the termination of this grand rebellion, the cessation of this long conflict, in an entire victory over the rebel armies, and the universal subjection of the world to Jesus. “Every thought is to be brought into captivity to Christ.” “He must reign until he has put all enemies under his feet.” Hence the shout of victory which is to be uttered at the close of this solemn contest, is represented as uttering this language, “The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of God, and of his Christ.” Let the children of Zion be joyful in their king. Let them anticipate with triumph his universal reign. All men shall be gathered to him. Wherever the traveler directs his course through this wide world of ours, he shall behold in every country, city, town, and village, the friends and the disciples of Jesus, and none else. He shall hear every temple echo with his praise, and see every land filled with his renown. He shall witness all the kings of the earth casting down their crowns, and all the nations laying their glory at his feet.

And how greatly will it contribute to his renown, that this mighty conquest was effected by his cross. It will raise the fame of his power and wisdom to the highest pitch, that by “the foolishness of preaching” he overcame every enemy, and subjugated the world to himself. Had human reason devised a method for overturning the fabric of idolatry, and for establishing the true religion upon its ruins, it would have been anything but that which was employed by God. We would have said, “Adapt your system as nearly as possible to the fashionable philosophy of the day; announce it with Tully’s golden writings; and celebrate its glories with the harmony of Virgil’s numbers, and then you will probably succeed, especially if its apostles be the princes, the conquerors, and the scholars of the age.” “But God’s ways are not as our ways, nor his thoughts as ours.” He determined to conquer by an instrument despised for its weakness, and hated for its ignominy. “The weakness of the rod of Moses magnified the power of which it was the instrument; the contemptible nature of the rams’ horns, signalized the victory at Jericho; the despicable appearance of the lamps and pitchers celebrated the defeat in the valley of Moreh; and the ‘ignominy of the tree’ will raise the fame of the power of Jesus in conquering the world, to a pitch beyond which nothing can advance it. To have broken and dissolved the gates of hell in a situation advantageous and honorable, would have magnified his power and wisdom; but to do this upon the cross, the instrument prepared by themselves for his destruction, elevates the glory of the achievement above our comprehension and our praise.”

I shall now conclude with an address to the directors, to missionaries, to ministers, and to the congregation. Directors of this vast and noble institution, see in this subject your honor and your duty. Yours is the distinction of uniting, organizing, and directing the zeal of a large proportion of the Christian world; a zeal which has for its object to make known to perishing millions the Savior of mankind. A sacred trust is reposed in you. May the wisdom that is from above, replenish your minds, the love of Christ constrain your souls, the unity of the Spirit pervades your councils, the bond of peace encircles your hearts, and the blessing of God crowns all your exertions. Continue to cultivate a friendly fellowship with other kindred societies, remembering that we all attack the same enemy, and move under the same banner; and though one may have inscribed upon the pole of his standard the name of the Church Missionary Society, a second that of the Baptist Mission, a third that of the Wesleyan Missions, yet all have placed the cross in the center of the banner, and all have written over the sacred emblem the ancient motto, “By this conquer!” Your generosity in past times to our Moravian brethren, and more recently to the Edinburgh society, produced but one feeling, and that was admiration; and called forth but one expression, and that was applause. Perish forever all envy and all rivalry, and let the only contest be this—who shall most glorify God and bless the human race.

Direct your missionaries to exhibit the great atoning sacrifice of Christ, to the heathen, and to consider this as the very end of their mission. At the same time, give them every opportunity of acquiring those qualifications which are so pre-eminently important in their situation. I speak the sentiments of all my brethren in the ministry with whom I have conversed on the subject, when I respectfully but urgently advise a lengthened term of education for such of our missionaries as are destined to the East. It is our opinion that four years are quite little enough for the literary and theological education of men who are to preach the doctrines of the gospel in a strange language, and to present them pure as they were revealed from heaven, in a faithful translation of the sacred volume.

In this country, valuable as are literary attainments, and highly valuable they are everywhere, a minister may discharge the duties of his office with considerable success, although he be ignorant of every language but his own; and even should he unhappily swerve from the truth, there are many on every hand to pluck up the weeds of error as fast as they arise in the garden of the Lord. But what is a foreign missionary to do without a literary education, who cannot hold a conversation with a pagan until he has acquired a foreign tongue; who cannot distribute a tract until he is able to translate it into a language—the genius and structure of which are totally dissimilar to any with which he is acquainted? The work of translating the Scriptures is of immense importance, and of no small difficulty, and should not be entrusted to unskillful hands. One imperfect version of the Bible may pollute the crystal stream of revelation for ages, and one error in theology planted among the heathen, may proliferate amidst almost boundless space. First Scripture versions and first systems of doctrine delivered to the converts from idolatry should be as perfect as possible, since these are the models of others which succeed, and in addition to the circumstance of propagating their own imperfections, if any such attach to them, they soon acquire the veneration which is paid to antiquity, and cover their errors with the defense of this sacred shield. I can assure the directors that any increase of expense incurred, by renewed attention to civilization in barbarous countries, and by an extended literary education being given to their missionaries going to the East, will be most cheerfully defrayed by increased liberality on the part of their constituents.

There is one circumstance which is as a bundle of myrrh in the festive goblet of these annual banquets of benevolence and zeal—I mean the vacant seats of some who have “fallen asleep in Jesus,” and the increasing infirmities of others who yet remain. Aged and honorable men! whose revered forms inspire veneration, whose noble exploits provoke emulation, and whose memory will be held in everlasting esteem; you linger amidst the scenes of labor, weary and worn as you are, yet almost unwilling to retire to your eternal repose, through fear lest, when you are gone, the cause which you have sheltered by your prayers, watered with your tears, and which is dearer to you than your life’s blood, should be neglected. Dismiss your fears; around you are your younger brethren, whose character you have formed by your example, and into whose spirit you have breathed your own, confide the sacred trust to them. Bequeath to them as a legacy the interests of the Missionary Society, and whenever the chariot shall arrive, far distant be yet the day, which is to convey you in triumph to the skies, step into it without reluctance, being assured that we will search for your descending mantle, and never give up the pursuit until we have found the inspiring vestment.

Missionaries, you noble hearted men, whom I feel myself unworthy to address, and whom we all regard, or ought to regard, not as the servants of our institution, but its respected and beloved agents in foreign countries; receive my congratulations upon the high honor to which you are called. Yours it is to follow in the train of the Redeemer’s retinue and earth’s best friends, next to apostles, evangelists, and martyrs. Learn from the subject of this discourse your exalted and unalterable duty. Your peculiar and almost exclusive business is to “make manifest the savor of the knowledge of Christ in every place.” “You are debtors both to the Greeks and to the barbarians, to the wise and to the unwise, so much as in you is, to be ready to preach the gospel of Christ.” You go far hence to the heathen to make known “the unsearchable riches of Christ.” However you may sometimes, for relaxation, engage in the studies of natural history or local pursuits; this is your business—to preach the gospel. Seek to have your own minds filled with the glory, and your own hearts attracted by the influence of the cross, until you burn with inextinguishable ardor to plant the holy standard on the loftiest ramparts of superstition. Take as your example the inspired missionary to the Gentiles, and determine in his spirit “to know nothing, except Jesus Christ and him crucified.” Repose unbounded confidence in the weapons of your warfare. Seek to be full of faith. Leave your unbelief in England. In England did I say? Oh no—leave it not here, we have too much of it already; carry it with you on board the vessel which is to convey you to your station, then sink it ten thousand fathoms below the surface of the ocean, and call the monsters of the deep to sing its requiem. “Be holy—you who bear the vessels of the Lord.” Be diligent; death has passed on before you; along the line of your march rise the tombs of departed heroes; and Swartz, and Brainerd, and Vanderkemp, and Cran, and Des Granges come forth from their sepulchers as you pass, to admonish you in the language of Scripture, “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with your might, for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave, where you are going.” “Be faithful unto death.” Never forsake your cause. When you are found among the slain, let your face be toward the foe, and no scar be seen upon your back; then will we tell the world that,
“When you fell, you fell like stars,
Streaming splendor through the sky.”

My respected fathers and brethren in the ministry, has this subject no voice to us? Let us learn here our obligations. The pulpit is intended to be a pedestal for the cross, though, alas! even the cross itself, it is to be feared, is sometimes used as a mere pedestal for the preacher’s fame. We may roll the thunders of eloquence, we may dart the coruscations of genius, we may scatter the flowers of poetry, we may diffuse the light of science, we may enforce the precepts of morality from the pulpit—but if we do not make Christ the great subject our preaching, we have forgotten our purpose, and shall do no good. Satan trembles at nothing but the cross. At this he does tremble; and if we would destroy his power, and extend that holy and benevolent kingdom, which is righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit, it must be by means of the cross. “We preach Christ crucified!” “For I determined to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified. And I was with you in weakness, in fear, and in much trembling. My speech and my proclamation were not with persuasive words of wisdom, but with a demonstration of the Spirit and power.” (1 Corinthians 2:2-4)

Upon the congregation, the discourse which they have heard demands just and extensive claims. Behold the Lamb of God for yourselves, my hearers, with penitence, with prayer, and faith. Could you direct the eyes and hopes of millions to the Savior, this would avail nothing for your salvation, in the absence of a personal application on your own behalf. Having first given yourselves to the Lord, then use every scriptural means for making him known to the heathen. Be importunate in prayer that his kingdom may come, his “will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Believing prayer is the animating soul of the missionary cause. It is this which distinguishes it from every worldly combination, and elevates it far above the level of mere earthly institutions. Let this cease, and it sinks down from its own exalted rank, to take the place and share the fortune of all other human associations. Any increase of eloquence, funds, or patronage, which the cause of missions might acquire, when the spirit of prayer is departed, is only like the rigidity which the human body sometimes gains when the vital principle is extinct, or at best but as the swelling which precedes death.

Your property, however, must be added to your prayers, since he who has commanded us to ask, has also enjoined us to seek; evidently intending by such an injunction that all rational means should be united with devotion in every case where human agency is employed for God. Christians, I come to ask you this day, not what you will give to send a specific remedy to a nation desolated every year by the ravages of the plague; with such an object I might be bold in appealing to your benevolence; how much more bold, then, when I ask what you will give, what you ought to give, to send the doctrine of the cross to more than six hundred million of your fellow sinners, who are without Christ, and therefore without God, and without hope in the world. Answer this question, not upon the principles of a mere worldly calculation, which looks around upon a circle of luxurious enjoyments with the enquiry—what can I spare and not be the poorer; or which values everything by a financial standard; but as a Christian, who professes to have felt the constraining love of Jesus, and “to have rejoiced in God through Jesus Christ, by whom we have received the atonement;” answer me as a Christian, with your eye upon the cross for salvation, what ought you to give out of that property which God has first given you, to send the gospel to the heathen? If anything can be needed to excite your benevolence, I bring forward this morning five petitions, each soliciting your assistance, and each sufficient of itself to merit the greatest liberality.

The first petition is uttered in the groans of six hundred million human beings, who as they pass before you on their way to eternity, repeat that imploring language, “Come over and help us!”

The second petition is from several hundred missionaries, who, looking around upon the immeasurable scene of their labors, urge the admonition of their Master, “The harvest is great, but the laborers are few; ask therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he would send forth more laborers into his harvest.”

The third petition is from the directors, “stating that their expenditure this year has exceeded their receipts above five thousand pounds, and entreating that they may not be forced to slacken their exertions, for lack of funds to support them; which must inevitably be the case, unless they are encouraged to go forward by increased liberality on the part of their constituents.”

The fourth petition is from heaven, borne to us by the spirits of departed missionaries, who hover over our assembly this morning, “beseeching us to carry on with renewed vigor that cause in which they sacrificed their lives; and the magnitude and importance of which, amidst all their zeal for its interests, they never perfectly knew until they were surrounded with the scenes of the eternal world.”

The fifth petition is from hell. Yes, directed to your hearts in the shriek of despair, comes the solicitation of many a lost soul in prison “Oh! send a missionary to my father’s house, where I have yet five brethren, that he may testify to them, that they come not into this place of torment!” You cannot reply to this, “They have Moses and the prophets, let them hear them.” What hearts you must possess if you can be deaf to such pleas, and can turn away such petitions unrelieved. Have you arrived at the very limit of your ability, and is every private resource exhausted? Then let us go to the treasury of the sanctuary, let us melt down the golden church plate, and convert even that into a means of sending the gospel to the heathen, assured that if we have nothing else to give, it will be more acceptable to our divine Lord to see it so employed, than to behold it glittering upon his sacramental table.

But do not plead such a necessity until you have surrendered the luxuries of your own houses, until the gorgeous display upon your own tables is given up. The mere ‘tithe of extravagance’ would support all the Missionary and Bible Societies in existence, magnified to ten times their present extent. A showy and lavish profusion in our habits is not only injurious to our own spiritual interests, but also to the interests of others. It is a felony upon the fund of mercy. Frugality is the best financier of philanthropy, and one of the most important auxiliaries of the missionary cause.

It is an encouragement to your liberality to know that eventually nothing shall be lost. You are employed in building that temple of which Jehovah declares, “My house shall be called a house of prayer for all nations;” and of which the top stone shall at length be brought forth, amidst the shouts of exulting spectators, crying, “Grace, grace unto it!” Stupendous and glorious edifice! its transept shall extend from the northern to the southern pole. Its choir shall rest upon the empire of China, and its western window look out upon the waters of the great South Sea; while all the nations of the earth, attracted by the cross which shines upon its dome, shall assemble within its mighty circumference, and amidst the sacred memorials of missionary institutions, and the monumental inscriptions of illustrious men occupying every niche, and hanging from every pillar, shall celebrate the jubilee of the world, and unite in the sublime anthem, “Hallelujah; salvation, and glory, and honor, and power unto the Lord our God! The kingdoms of this world have become the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign forever and ever! Worthy is the Lamb who was slain!”

While the ten thousand times ten thousand angels around the throne shall respond to the shouts of the redeemed on earth, “Saying with a loud voice, Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honor, and glory, and blessing!” And still the chorus shall swell, and still the strain shall wax louder and louder, “until every creature which is in heaven, and on the earth, and under the earth, and such as are in the sea, and all that are in them, shall cry, Blessing, honor, glory, and power, be unto him who sits upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, forever and ever! Amen! Amen!”

 Posted by at 2:02 pm
Mar 012012
 

Pardon By The Cross
- G Campbell Morgan

Redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses. — Ephesians 1:7

EVERYTHING A SINNING MAN NEEDS HE FINDS AT THE CROSS. Apart from the fact of human sin, the Cross is indeed foolishness, a veritable stumbling-block. To the Greek, seeking for the culture of uncultured man, “foolishness,” something without meaning, a story that can have no moral effect. To the Hebrew, that is the degraded Hebrew, whose ideals are materialized, a stumbling-block, a skandalon, something that interferes with progress rather than helps it. And both are fight, unless we see the background of sin that makes the Cross necessary, and the foreground of redemption that comes by the way of the Cross.
Unless there is some profounder meaning in the death of Jesus of Nazareth than the end of His life, then the Cross brings me into the realm of the greatest mystery, the deepest darkness, the most unfathomable wonder I have ever known. I will put this as superlatively as I feel, and as carefully as I may; unless there be some meaning in that Cross for others than the One dying on it, then the Cross makes me an unbeliever in the government of God. I cannot believe in the beneficence and goodness and righteousness of God if the Cross is nothing more than the ending of the life of Jesus. We speak of the problem of evil; it confronts us everywhere, but that Cross is the crux of it. If Incarnate Purity must be mauled to death by vile impurity, and God never interfere; if a life absolutely impulsed by love must be brutally murdered by devilish hatred, and God say nothing; and if that is all, then I decline to believe in the goodness of God. There must be some other explanation of the Cross if I am to be saved from infidelity. If in the life of Jesus the Cross was an accident, then the world is handed over to chaos, there is no throne, there is no government, and we are but puppets, and none knows the issue.
But to see the Cross in its relation to the fact of human sin, intelligently to appreciate what the New Testament teaches us concerning it, to see how the experience of nineteen hundred years verifies the doctrines of the New Testament in the lives of countless multitudes of men and women, is at the Cross to become, not an infidel, but a believer. Then at the Cross I see, not chaos, but the dawn of cosmos, not a darkness and an anarchy that appall me and fill me with despair, but a light and a government that make my heart sing amid the processes of a new creation, for I know by that sign amid the world’s darkness that God is on the throne, and that at last He must win.
I want to speak of some of the blessings, the advantages, the values that have come to men, and still are at the disposal of men by the way of the Cross. I propose to begin with the very simplest, to begin in the line of experience, with Pardon. That is only the first thing. It is not the last thing, it is not the deepest thing, it is not that after which some of our hearts are supremely hungry. In my next sermon I shall speak of another value of the Cross. Purity. Then I will speak of Peace by the way of the Cross, and after that of Power by the way of the Cross, and, finally, of Promise by the way of the Cross. In all this series of studies I shall do no more than touch the fringe. Every day I need the Cross more, and can talk of it less glibly. Every day I live this Christian life I am more and more conscious that I cannot understand the mystery of all Jesus did; yet more and more conscious that by the way of that Cross, and that Cross alone, my wounded heart is healed, my withered soul is renewed, my deformed spirit is built up, my broken manhood is re-made; and every day I live I sing in my heart with new meaning,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.
Let the water and the blood
From Thy riven side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure,
Save from guilt and make me pure.
The first thing that a sinning man needs is pardon. The note of preaching may differ in the West from that of the East, but whether in West or East, North or South, amid high or low, rich or poor, bond or free, the first fact that attracts men to Christianity is the fact that it proclaims pardon for sin; and as a man begins to weigh his life by the infinite balances, and to measure it by the undying standards, the first consciousness that breaks in upon his spiritual conception is that he needs forgiveness.
In speaking of the work of Jesus, Paul declares that we have “our redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses.” “Our redemption,” “our trespasses.” The former is the foreground, and the latter, background of the Cross. We will begin with the background, “our trespasses.”
The particular word here translated “sins” or “trespasses” is a word that signifies actual wrongdoing, and we are restricted this evening, not by my own choice, but by the very terms of the text, to that idea of sin, actual wrong-doing, wrong knowingly, wilfully, done. Sin as a principle we shall consider in a subsequent sermon.
The apostolic word in the epistle to the Romans, which is the foundation epistle of the gospel of the grace of God, declares that all have sinned. The Apostle does not say all are sinners. That is true. He will say that again, and in other ways; but he says “all have sinned.” I need take no time to discuss the question of how it comes that all have sinned. I am not speaking of the fall of man, of the fall of the race. I will not now discuss the sins of such men as have never walked in the light of revelation. I speak of the actual sins of men who have broken law definitely, positively, wilfully. That is the aspect of sin with which my text deals. And before we can understand this subject we must go back to first principles. We do not begin to know what sin is until there is a recognition of the government and claim of God in every human life. Exile God from the moral government of His universe, and we shall no longer make our confession of sin or sins. Exile God from relationship to the moral, and then sin will be continuous abnormality, a perpetual infirmity, but it will never be trespass. We must first recognize the throne of God, and the government of God. If you question that honestly and sincerely, then you will not follow my text. We must first take for granted that every man and woman, each one of us, is an individual creation of God, and that for every human life there is a Divine plan, a Divine purpose, and a Divine place. We must come to understand that the purpose of God in every human life is the purpose of perfect love, not merely for the race as a whole, but for every individual constituting a part of the race. Therefore in the economy of God the race is imperfect in the imperfection of any individual, perfected only as every man, every individual, finds his or her place in the great whole, and contributes his or her share to the commonwealth of which God Himself is King. The race is suffering from break-up, and division, and spoliation. But why? Always because the units have broken law, fallen out of harmony, created the chaos. As a whole, the race has no great and immediate responsibility to God. Individual souls have, and so we come down from the race idea, and think of this fact, that if I would contribute my quota to the well-being of all, if I would fill my niche in the infinite purpose of the infinite Creator, the unifying Originator, and the ever-present Governor, I must find what is His will for me and obey it. That is the prime necessity in every human life. Human life is created by God and for God, and the first question of every human life ought to be, What is God’s will for me? It is always a larger question than it seems. Find God’s will for you, and you have helped to bring in God’s will for the world. Walk in the way God has appointed for you, and keep His commandments, and you have made your contribution by so doing to His ultimate realization of the largest purpose of His infinite heart. I sin not only against myself when I break law, not only against God, but against the race. I postpone the golden age. I hinder the incoming of all for which my heart sighs in its holiest moments whenever I sin, for by the breaking of law on the part of the individual there is the postponement of the realization of the purposes of God for the race. Actual sin on my part therefore is not merely something that wrongs me and insults heaven. It is something that harms and injures and blights the race.
If this, indeed, be a fact, that the whole race is under the government of God, but is dependent for realization of His purpose on the obedience of the individual, then we have made one step toward understanding sin. Every human life, every individual fife, is conditioned within law, and that law is simply the Divine revelation of the pathway along which the individual may move to fulfilment of personality, and so contribute to the realization of the largest purpose of God in the race.
Do we know anything of these things? We all do. You may never have phrased the thing as I have phrased it. You may have looked at it from the personal position, and never realized your relation to the whole race. But everyone is conscious of having met God, heard His voice, and disobeyed. And here is where some of you will challenge me. You will say, No, I have never met God. I have heard the voice of the preacher, I have read the statements of the Scriptures of the Christian, I have been made familiar with the ethic of Christianity, but I have never met God. Then let me state the case differently. Would you feel perfectly prepared to stand where I stand, and in face of this congregation of men and women, of like passions with yourself—would you be prepared to say, “I have never deliberately done wrong”? Has there never been a moment when you stood face to face with right and wrong, and chose wrong? There is not a man or woman that is honest but will admit the fact of personal wrongdoing. You say, “I was driven by the force of passion I have inherited.” I have nothing to do with that now. You say, “The temptation was so subtle and strong I could not help it.” I have nothing to do with that. I am asking you one question: Is there a trespass chargeable against you in the light of the infinite Order? For one single moment I will cease to speak of your relation to God, and ask you to speak of humanity as a whole. Have you sinned against your race? Has there not been one moment in your life when you knew truth, and lied; when you knew purity and descended to impurity; straightness and consented to crookedness? I need not labor the inquiry, for I take it I am speaking to those who are perfectly prepared, alone and in silence before God, to be honest; and if you are, though there is no terror in it to you yet, though you do not realize the tremendous meaning of what you have confessed, there is not one that will not have to say, “I also have sinned; I also have committed a trespass.”
One step further. If you have submitted to this inquiry in simplicity, you have had to say more than once, “I have sinned.” You have been compelled to say, “My sins as mountains rise.” They may not have been the sins that society labels vulgar. The policeman’s hand has never rested on you. You have not yet lost your character in the eyes of men. But you have descended to the low when the high flamed before you. You have chosen a pathway because it was easy, though you knew it was dishonorable, when the rough, rugged, heroic pathway was in front of you. We all have sinned.
Now I charge this home upon you-and not on you alone, beloved, but on my own heart, as we stand in the presence of this great fact. The moment I say I have sinned, in that very moment, solemn and awful as it is, in that very moment I have confessed that I have been guilty of something that I cannot undo, that I have put myself into relation with disorder, instead of order, that I have contributed to all over which I mourn as I look out abroad in the world to-day. In brief, I have said that I have done something that I cannot undo, and that I cannot forgive myself for doing, unless, perchance, by some mystery that is beyond me, it can be canceled, undone, made not to be.
Sin is not a small act. Sin is something which, once committed, cannot be undone. The broken law means a marring of the ultimate purpose. That is punishment beginning here, but not ending here, unless, by infinite grace, the sin is ended here. I am sometimes told that hell is here and now, and so it is. I am sometimes told that heaven is here and now, and so it is. Both axe here and now; but when I am told that hell is here and now, if the deduction I am asked to make is that it is only here and now, by the same reasoning I must decide that heaven is only here and now. If heaven be a condition into which a man enters now, and more largely in the after-life, hell is a condition into which man enters now, and more largely in the after-life.
Hell, according to Scripture is failure, with all that it means in the consciousness and experience of man. Literal fire? No, a thousand times no, nothing so small; but the actual positive consciousness that I have failed, and have contributed to the failure of others. The fire is never quenched, and the worm never dies. The fire is no more physical than is the worm; but they are infinitely worse; they are spiritual, they are the natural outworking of sin. God’s plan for man is the ultimate realization of high purpose in the spiritual places. I would not have it. I chose the wrong. I sinned. In that moment, by the irrevocable decree of my own will, I set my face toward the darkling void where God is alienated, toward the awful spaces in which there is neither fellowship nor light, but in which I, with an ever-burning capacity for the high, am doomed to the low I have chosen. That is the out-working of sin. That is the meaning of hell. And I sit, and glibly, quietly, say, Oh, yes, I sinned, I lied, I committed a theft, I dishonored some other human being. I sinned, but it is all right.
Man, it is all wrong! And, having once done the sin, it is not thy tears of repentance or prayer can atone. You cannot undo it. There it is in the past. Ten years ago, twenty-more for some of you— but you cannot undo it. Disorder in the universe, and you created it. No, no, not twenty years, not ten, but yesterday, to-day-with God’s golden sunlight bathing all this Babel, prophetic of a great resurrection, you sinned under God’s sunlight to-day. You cannot undo it. You cannot overtake it. You have started discord, and the infinite spaces are catching it up and multiplying it.
Sin is never little. Never talk of peccadilloes-hellish word for the excuse of the thing that aims at the dethronement of God and the spoilation of all His infinite plan. Oh, man, man! if you could but see your trespass, your little sin, in all its magnified meaning, you would cry out to-night, “What must I do to be saved?” “Our trespasses”—and some-times one wishes only that one could persuade people to put into their prayer the tragedy that ought to be in it. In great congregations we pray, “Forgive us our trespasses,” and there is the rustle of soft music about it. Oh, there is tragedy in it, there is ruin in it, there is hell in it. If you and I prayed that prayer as it ought to be prayed, it would escape us with a sob, and a wail, and a cry.
But, thank God, there is the foreground of my text! What is this thing that Paul writes? “Our redemption through His blood.” Now again we must get down to the simple things if we would understand the larger things. “Through His blood.” Whose? And it is the old, old story. I have no new Saviour to bring you—”Jesus of Nazareth, a Man approved of God among you by mighty works and wonders and signs, which God did by Him in the midst of you: Him, being delivered up by the determinate counsel and foreknowledge of God, ye by the hand of lawless men did crucify and slay.” So said Peter in his first Pentecostal sermon. “Jesus of Nazareth, a Man approved of God,” the perfect One, the sinless One, the One Who never deviated from truth, or touched impurity, or committed theft, or chose the low, or consented to the dishonorable—the One Who never trespassed, Jesus, the perfect Man; and, if I am tempted to debate it, or discuss it, or defend it, I will resist the temptation. After all kinds of criticism, the ages have set their seal on the testimony of His own age, the testimony of a man in His own age: “I find no fault in Him”; the testimony of a devil in His own age: “I know Thee Who Thou art, the holy One of God”; the testimony of God in His own age: “Thou art My Son: in Thee I am well pleased.” Every rolling century has made deeper the imprint of that great truth, that Jesus was the perfect Man.
But I am not redeemed by His perfection. His perfection may lure me to something higher. As I talked of trespasses—and I talked of mine as well as yours-suddenly there came passing in front of my vision the radiant Person of Jesus, so pure, so tender, so perfect, that neither man, nor devil, nor God could find fault with Him. I look at Him and I say: Oh, if I could be such as He! Oh, if from this hour, in this church, I could take this life of mine and live it like He lived His! I will follow Him; I will try; and back out of the years there come to me my trespasses, and suddenly my heart says, It cannot be. His life was perfect from cradle to Cross—no flaw, no deviation, no deflection; and if even from now I could live all the rest of my life perfectly, what am I to do with the scars and the spoiling of the past?
No, Jesus cannot save me by His perfection, Our redemption through His perfection? No. What, then? “Through His blood.”
That phrase is not pleasant. It offends our sensibilities, Redemption through blood, and you shrink, you do not like it. You agree with the man who says that this is a religion of the shambles, and you object to it. God never meant that you should be pleased with that word, “blood.” God reckoned blood so sacred as to say, “Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed.” It is not refined; it is vulgar, this shedding of blood! It shocks you, startles you, appalls you. God meant it should, and especially when you see Whose blood it is. Redeemed not with the blood of bulls and of goats—oh, soul of mine, how canst thou utter it?—but with the precious blood of the Son of God, the dying of the pure and spotless. What happened in that dying I cannot tell. I do not know the mystery. I cannot go into that darkness. Alone He trod the winepress. Alone He bore the pain. You and I must stand outside. Oh, behold Him, the Perfect dying, the Sinless suffering! God in Christ bent to bruising! And as I see the mystery of the human blood I say: What means it, for there is no place for such dying in such pure life?
And now the answer comes, and I dare not give it you in my own language. I will give it you in the language of Holy Scripture: “Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.” “Who, His own self, bare our sins in His body upon the tree.” “He was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and with His stripes we are healed.” Oh, God, give us a vision of it! A small thing? Unutterably great! One lonely soul in the centuries! Are you puzzled and say, How can that be for the race? Behold Him! See Who that is! Put thy measurement, if thou canst, on the infinite value of His purity; plumb the depth of His holiness, climb the steep ascent of all that wondrous life, and know that this is God incarnate,—and when the vision of it breaks upon you, and the stupendous wonder of it overwhelms you, then listen: “Our redemption through His blood”; and if you dare to take that blood away, you must forgive me if I am angry with you. You knock from underneath my feet the one rock foundation of my faith, you take from my bruised and broken heart its only solace. I come to the infinite mystery, and there, by that scene, by that token, by that unveiling of the Infinite passion and compassion, I know that the trespass I could not overtake is forgiven.
The joyful news of sins forgiven,
Of hell subdued, and peace with heaven.
You say, But you have not explained it. Again I say, I cannot, but I know it. I want to say one little word to you, dear man, honestly groping after some solution of this great mystery. If, somehow, you could persuade me that God could forgive my trespass, which was the breaking up of the order of the universe, simply out of pity, well, my heart could not rest in it. I could not forgive myself that way. I should always realize that the thing was there, that its issue could not be overtaken. How can I utter it, how can I tell it, when I see God in Christ stooping and catching that sin into His own heart, and bearing its pain, and exhausting its powers? Then, while the Cross shall ever fill me with grief on account of my sin, it fills me with joy that Christ has triumphed, and that “where sin abounded, grace did abound more exceedingly.” The forgiveness of our trespasses can come to us only through His blood.
But, then, there are unforgiven men and women, and to such my final word shall be spoken. How may we obtain the forgiveness provided by the mystery of the Cross? First, I think there must be a sense of need:
All the fitness He requireth
Is to feel your need of Him.
And now there are those who feel their need. You say, Of course, I need it; I need forgiveness, I also am a sinner, I also have sinned. That is the first step toward obtaining. And what next? There must be a recognition on your part of the supremacy and sovereignty of God, and that I think is included in your confession of a sense of need. What next? Now there must be on your part repentance, the renunciation of the wrong, the spirit willing, if only the power be given you, to turn from the sin.
Dr. Pierson once gave me a great illustration on this subject. He told me of how in one of the Southern States a man lay condemned to die for having murdered another man; and a brother of the condemned murderer, who himself was a pure, strong man, and had laid the State under obligation to him, went and pleaded the cause of his condemned brother with the authorities, and though the case was one of clear murder, though there was no question about this, for the sake of the brother who had saved lives they consented to pardon the brother who had taken life. Then he went with the pardon of his condemned brother in his possession. He did not tell him immediately, but presently in talking to him he said to him, “If you had your pardon, supposing you had it now, and you were to go out free, what would you do?” And with a gleam of malice and hatred in his eye the murderer said, “I would find the principal witness and I would kill him, and I would kill the judge.” And that brother said nothing of the pardon, but leaving the cell he tore it to pieces and destroyed it, and you know that he did right.
Pardon for a man who is persisting in sin is impossible. It would continue the disorder, and make it infinitely worse. God will pardon you even though you cannot undo your past, pardon you without any merit on your part; but if in your heart you still cling to sin, He cannot, dare not, pardon you. And that is why the condition of receiving remission is repentance toward God. And repentance does not mean that a man quits sinning, it means that he is willing to quit if but the power be given him to do it. And that is the condition. You have committed sin. Are you willing to cease, if only the past may be dealt with, and power given to you by which you shall sin no more? That is repentance.
Yes, willing, more than willing, says some tired heart. Then what next shall I say to you? “Behold the Lamb of God.” God will give you perfect and full pardon now if you will trust Him, if you will take it of His grace, if instead of attempting to win it, if instead of attempting to merit it you will just come as a poor, guilty, ruined soul-for such you are-and, kneeling at the foot of that Cross, will take God’s pardon through Jesus Christ, that is all.
When may I have it? Now. All your sin may be blotted out now. Your neighbor will not know. God will know. But now, trust Him, sinning heart, not on the basis of pity, but on the basis of infinite righteousness wrought out in love ‘ I and rendered dynamic in the mystery of His Cross. “We have our redemption through His blood, even the forgiveness of our sins.”
Sermon found in: The Westminster Pulpit, Hodder and Stoughton, London

 Posted by at 4:45 pm
Feb 292012
 

The Wondrous Cross
by A.C. Gaebelein

Who can tell out the story of the cross! There was a time when we thought we knew much of it; but oh! the depths, the wonderful depths of the cross and the work accomplished there, which constantly break in upon the heart, as one meditates on the cross. One who knew the cross, whose eyes were filled with all its glory, because He beheld Him, who hung on the cross, in highest glory has told us “But God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world” (Gal. 6:14). Crucified unto the world. Dead to the world and to sin are the blessed effects of the cross.

Some time ago while remembering the Lord on the Lord’s Day we sang a familiar hymn:

When we survey the wondrous cross
On which the Lord of glory died,
Our richest gain we count but loss,
And pour contempt on all our pride.

How true!—contempt must be poured on all our pride when one beholds that sight, the cross on which the Lord of glory died. But is it so, “and pour contempt on all our pride?”

And when we sang the second verse its truth came home still more to the conscience:

Forbid it, Lord, that we should boast,
Save in the death of Christ, our God;
All the vain things that charm us most,
We’d sacrifice them to His blood.

How true! If such a one died to deliver us out of this present evil age then the vain things that charm us most, not the sinful things, must be relinquished. But is it really so—all the vain things that charm us most—we’d sacrifice them to His blood?

There from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flowed mingled down;
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
Were the whole realm of nature ours,
That were an off’ring far too small;
Love that transcends our highest powers
Demands our soul, our life, our all.

And then once more the heart said, How true! Marvelous sight the Lord of Glory on that cross for me! Forsaken of God, paying the penalty of my sins, drinking the cup of wrath, untasted by me. Such love surely demands our soul, our life, our all. But is it so? How often we sing these blessed truths and our lives are strangers to them. God grant that we may live out the truth of the cross in our lives. May the deliverance, the victory, the power of His cross be manifested in our lives. Dead to the world and the world dead to me.

Copied by Stephen Ross for WholesomeWords.org from The Lord of Glory… by A.C. Gaebelein. New York: Publication Office “Our Hope”, ©1910.

 Posted by at 3:38 pm
Feb 292012
 

The Cross—the Expression of Man’s Unbelief
By Horatius Bonar, 1867

But they kept shouting, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” Luke 23:21

Crucifixion was the death of the outcast only, the Gentile outcast. Stoning was the Jewish death, crucifying the Gentile death, or rather the Roman death; the death devised and inflicted by the fourth great beast of Daniel, when exercising his power in trampling down the nation of God with his iron feet.

“Crucify him,” then, meant, Let him die the worst of deaths—the Gentile death, the death that is so specially connected with the curse; the death that proclaims Him to be not merely an outcast from Israel, an outcast from Jerusalem—but an outcast from the Gentile, an outcast from the race.

He to whom this cry is directed, is a Gentile ruler; and it is striking to observe the Jew handing over his fellow-Jew to the abhorred Gentile, the conqueror of his city and nation. With what a hatred must these crucifiers have hated their victim—when they give him over to the Gentile to have their utmost malice executed upon him!

He, against whom they thus furiously shout forth their bitterness, is the Son of God; not merely a holy man—but one in whom the fullness of the Godhead dwells; one who has been sent of the Father to carry out his purpose of love. It is against “the Word made flesh,” the “only-begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth,” that the cry is raised, “Crucify him! crucify him! let him die the worst of deaths; not this man—but Barabbas!” It was not his human holiness merely, which excited the hatred and the outcry; it was his divine perfection. It was not merely man hating man because better than himself. Here is man hating God–man seeking to rid himself, and rid the world of God altogether. Here is man seizing the opportunity he now had, in having God in a human form within his power–of eliminating Jehovah–as the Being to whose absolute dominion he would not submit, and whose presence on the earth, in human form, was altogether intolerable!

Who were they who raised the cry and made this dreadful demand, in the name of justice and religion, upon a Gentile ruler, for the death of the Son of God?

They were the Jews, the Jews of Jerusalem; not the more ignorant and irreligious Jews of Samaria or Galilee—but the Jews of Jerusalem. No, and chief among these haters of Messiah were the men who professed most to be looking for his advent; the best educated, most learned, and, according to their ideas—the most devout and religious of the nation. They were not Egyptians or Persians, or Greeks or Romans, worshipers of false gods; but children of Abraham, men who studied Moses and the prophets, men well-read in the Scriptures, and worshipers of the one Jehovah. They were the choice men of a nation which had been trained up, for well-near two thousand years, in the knowledge of God; with whom God had taken infinite pains—to teach, to guide, to elevate, to keep from surrounding falsehoods, and superstitions, and sins. They were a people that knew more of truth, heavenly truth, than any other on the face of the earth. They were, beyond comparison, the best educated, most enlightened nation on the earth. No blessing had been grudged, no miracle withheld, no privilege refused, no cost spared—to make them the nation of nations— religiously, morally, and intellectually, and physically as well. They were, then, the best specimens of the race—the representatives of humanity in its best estate—the exhibition of the natural man, improved to the uttermost, by knowledge, and law, and government, and religion.

It was to this people that Messiah was proposed, for reception or rejection. If they rejected him, who could be expected to receive him? If they hated him, who could be expected to love him? If they treated him with dishonor, who could be expected to honor him? If the best portion of the race, who had been expressly separated from the rest, and divinely trained, in order to be ready for his advent, refused him—what could be expected of the worst; what could be expected of the race as a whole? God gave to Israel, and to our race in them, all advantages for receiving his Son. Yet, with all these advantages and privileges, they rejected him! “He came unto his own, and his own received him not.” Their cry was not, “Crown him,” but “Crucify him!” not, Let the King live forever—but, Let him die the worst of deaths!

It was thus that man rejected Christ—civilized man, educated man, religious man! It was thus that the natural heart spoke out, and showed the depths of its enmity and atheism—the extent of its desperate unbelief. Yes, it was the unbelief of the human heart that here manifested itself, and cried, “Crucify, crucify!”

All unbelief, then, is rejection of the Son of God. Whatever be its evasions, and subterfuges, and excuses, and fair pretenses, this is its essence—rejection of Jesus Christ. In thousands of cases it does not reach the length of the rejection in Pilate’s hall; but not the less true is it that such is its true and ultimate form of expression; that to such a height all unbelief is tending, and would assuredly rise, did circumstances call it forth! And that the great reason why, in so many cases, it does not ripen into this awfulness of aspect, is, that man is not so directly confronted with the Son of God, face to face, and the natural heart is not so explicitly shut up to the choice between Christ and Barabbas, nor so immediately and peremptorily called to decide upon the reception or rejection of the Son of God. Were the natural heart, even in its best estate, called upon to speak out, by the demand being made upon it for immediate and unreserved affection and allegiance to Messiah, it would rise up into the same dreadful attitude of enmity, and manifest its unbelief, in the same terrific outcry for the crucifixion of the Son of God, “Crucify Him! Crucify Him!”

And why this desperate rejection; this hatred of man towards Christ? For many reasons; but chiefly for this—that God’s religion, of which Christ is the beginning and the ending—is so thoroughly opposed to man’s religion, or man’s ideas of religion, that to accept Jesus of Nazareth would be a total surrender of self, a confession of the utter absence of all human goodness; and an overturning of every religious idea or principle, which the flesh had cherished and rested on! In such a case, and with such an alternative, it does not seem so incredible that man should resist to the uttermost the claims of Christ upon his faith and his heart. His alternative is, the denial of self—or the denial of Christ; the rejection of his own claims to be his own savior—or the rejection of the claims of Christ; the crucifixion of the flesh—or the crucifixion of Christ. With such an alternative, what will the natural unbelief of the human heart not resort to; and what but the almightiness of the Divine Spirit can effectually oppose the claims of self, and prevent the most daring rejection of Christ, or turn that rejection into a cordial and trustful reception? Nothing else will overcome the unbelief, or turn it into faith and love. Allow unbelief to take its own way, and run its course, and it will end in the crucifixion of the Lord of glory. It will prefer self, the flesh, the devil—the worst of criminals to Christ.

“Do you want me to release ‘the king of the Jews?” They shouted back, “No, not him! Give us Barabbas!” John 18:39-40

It is supposed by many that such a thing as the rejection of Christ could only have occurred among uneducated, uncivilized, lawless, irreligious men. But no.

Education will not hinder rejection of Christ. They who crucified Him were educated men; not ignorant and brutal.

Civilization will not hinder rejection of Christ. It was the civilized Roman, and the more civilized Jew, who crucified him. Civilization is a poor rampart against the assault of man’s natural unbelief.

Law will not hinder rejection of Christ. The Roman is the representative of man’s law, and the Jew of God’s; yet both combine to reject Christ’s claims, and to crucify himself.

Religion will not hinder rejection of Christ. Christ was crucified by men who had more of what man calls religion than any other on the earth. They prayed, they fasted, they gave alms, they multiplied sacrifices—yet they crucified Christ! It was the Scribes and Pharisees, the religious and respectable men of Israel, who were the foremost in rejecting Messiah. God’s way of dealing with them, as announced by Christ, was so opposed to their ideas of the way in which they ought to be dealt with, that rejection of the claims of Jesus, and hatred of his person, were necessary elements in, or at least indispensable deductions from, their religion. How often among ourselves, does a man’s religion, or religiousness, or ritualism, form the great hindrance to his reception of the gospel! It is not Christ that is his religion; it is his religion that is his Christ! This being the case, Christ cannot be prized, or loved, or trusted in; he can only be rejected, hated, crucified.

This rejection of Christ showed itself in various aspects, in the different character and events described by the evangelists, in this last scene in Jerusalem. In all of them, however, it is unbelief that is showing itself—the same unbelief which still induces opposition to Christ, the same unbelief which keeps an anxious sinner oftentimes so long in darkness and distrust. And, as we judge of the real nature of a thing best, when fully developed and carried out—so we learn the true nature of all unbelief, from the modes in which it expressed itself at this great scene of rejection, enacting at Jerusalem, from the hour that Judas sold his Master, up to the moment when the thief railed on him from the cross.

Look at Judas then—there is unbelief. The traitor is neither more nor less than an unbelieving man carrying out his unbelief in betrayal of his Lord. His is the unbelief that treats Christ as a piece of merchandise, bought and sold between man and man! O unbelieving man, you are Judas, you are the traitor; for all unbelief is betrayal of the Lord!

Look at the disciples; “they all forsook him, and fled.” Professing to love him, they treated him as one unworthy to be suffered for. That act of forsaking was the unbelief even of the converted man, coming out and showing itself again. Especially in Peter do we see it. In him there is open denial, and in that denial we see the old heart of unbelief again speaking out. O backslider! remember this, all unbelief is a forsaking of the Lord, a denial of the Master. Say what you will, this is your crime. You do you think are not so bad as Peter. The difference is only in degree, hardly even that.

Look at Herod; he mocks Jesus, and sets him at nothing. Here is another phase of unbelief. O unbelieving man, you are Herod; you and your companions are Herod with his men of war; for all unbelief is mockery of the Lord. You say you never mocked him; yet your unbelief, if unfolded, would make you a Herod.

Look at the Soldiers; they scourge and buffet him. There again is the natural heart acting itself out. These indignities and wounds, are but another utterance of man’s enmity. O unbelieving man, you are the executioner; for all unbelief is a buffeting and scourging of the Son of God!

Look at the Scribes and Pharisees, the Jewish crowds that demand his execution, and shout, “Crucify him! crucify him!” There is the evil heart of unbelief giving vent to itself. These crowds are fair specimens of the race; they are no worse than you are, O unbelieving man. In like circumstances, you would have said and done the same; for all unbelief is a crucifixion of the Son of God. You are the Scribe, you are the Pharisee, you are the clamoring Jew; it is the voice of your unbelief which cries, “Crucify him! let him die the death, let him die the worst of deaths!”

Look at the thief that is nailed beside him; he rails at him there. Ah, surely unbelief might have been silent in such circumstances! Yet no; even upon the cross it reviles. O unbelieving man, you are the reviler of the Son of God.

Look at the crowd around the cross; they wag their head, and taunt, and jest. It is still but man’s natural unbelief that is speaking out. O unbelieving man, you are the taunter, you are the jester, you are the mocker—of Jesus of Nazareth.

Look at the soldier who pierces his side, after he has breathed his last. He is determined to make sure of his death. Unbelief will not bear the thought that there should be the very chance of life left. O unbelieving man, you are the soldier—it is your spear that is drawing out the blood and water; it is your unbelief that not only says, Let him die the death; but, let us make sure of his death; let there be no mistake as to this.

Learn, then, the true nature of all unbelief; its deceitfulness and desperate malignity; its rooted hostility to Christ and to his claims upon man; its determination to be satisfied with nothing but his death; its resolute rejection of his person, and work, and grace; its natural and unchangeable watchword, “Not this man—but Barabbas!” “Crucify him! crucify him!”

Nor has this unbelief anything to say for itself. It cannot be accounted for by anything in the object presented. “They hated me without a cause” (John 15:25). “For my love—they give me hatred” (Psalm 109:5). This is the plain statement of the fact. The object hated, was most loveable, most trustworthy, most glorious; but man would have none of it. Here was the Being who, of all others, was most fitted to call up love and trust; for here was the only-begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth; here was the embodiment of divine love and loveableness—but God’s love is met with man’s hatred; the most definitive revelation of divine love, calls forth the most fearful utterance of human hatred and unbelief!

O man! can that heart of yours be anything but evil, which thus deals with God and his love? Can that unbelief of yours be a trifle? Can it be anything but the most resolute and guilty enmity; enmity which, though it may often slumber for a season, yet which, the moment it awakes and recovers strength, breaks forth in mockery against the Son of God, and demands his instant condemnation and crucifixion, “Crucify him! crucify him!” Be ashamed of it! Abhor it! Cast it utterly away!

When Christ comes again in his glory, how will unbelief appear? It will be seen to be rejection of the Son of God—rejection the same as Israel’s. You will be of those that “pierced him.” All who distrust, all who standing aloof—will be seen in their proper character. Your unbelief brings you among those who “have not obeyed the gospel,” and that brings you under the rod of him who comes to take vengeance upon such! Christ may come soon; but, whether or not—let the thought of that great day shut you up to immediate faith, immediate reception of Him whom Israel crucified!

 Posted by at 2:01 pm