Jerusalem was full of people. It was at the feast of the Passover, when the crowd had greatly increased, and when the representatives of all nations would be present to behold the spectacle. Parthians, and Medes, and Elamites, and the dwellers in Mesopotamia, in Greece, indeed, and perhaps far off Tarshish, and the islands of the sea. All were there to unite in this scoffing, and to increase the shame. And he was crucified between two thieves, as if to teach that he was more vile than they. Was there ever a shame like this?
22. Let me conduct you to the cross. The cross, the cross! Tears begin to flow at the very thoughts of it. The rough wood is laid upon the ground, Christ is flung upon his back, four soldiers seize his hands and feet, his blessed flesh is ripped with the accursed iron; he begins to bleed, he is lifted into mid air, the cross is dashed into the place prepared for it, every limb is dislocated, every bone put out of joint by that terrific jerk; he hangs there naked to his shame, gazed upon by all beholders, the sun shines hot upon him, fever begins to burn, the tongue is dried up like a potsherd, it cleaves to the roof of his mouth, he has nothing with which to nourish nature with moisture. His body has been long emaciated by fasting, he has been brought near the brink of death by flagellation in the hall of Pilate. There he hangs, the tenderest part of his body, his hands and feet are pierced, and where the nerves are most numerous and tender, there is the iron rending and tearing its fearful way. The weight of his body drags the iron up his foot, and when his knees are so weary that they cannot hold him, then the iron begins to drag through his hands. Terrible spectacle indeed! But you have seen only the outward, there was an inward, you cannot see that: if you could see, if though your eyes were like the angels, you would be struck with eternal blindness. Then there was the soul. The soul dying. Can you guess what must be the pangs of a soul dying? A soul never died on earth yet. Hell is the place of dying souls, where they die everlastingly the second death. And there was within the ribs of Christ’s body, hell itself poured out. Christ’s soul was enduring the conflict with all the powers of hell, whose malice was aggravated by the fact, that it was the last battle they should ever be able to fight with him. No, worse than that. He had lost what is the martyr’s strength and shield, he had lost the presence of his God, God himself was putting his hand upon him; it pleased the Father to bruise him; he has put him to grief, he has made his soul a sacrifice for sin. God, in whose countenance Christ had everlastingly seemed himself, basking in delight, concealed his face. And there was Jesus forsaken by God and man, left alone to tread the winepress, no, to be trodden in the winepress, and dip his vesture in his own blood. Oh, was there ever a grief like this! No love can picture it. If I had a thought in my heart concerning the suffering of Christ, it would flay my lips before I uttered it. The agonies of Jesus were like the furnace of Nebuchadnezzar, heated seven times hotter than ever human suffering was heated before. Every vein was a road for the hot feet of pain to travel in; every nerve a string in a harp of agony that thrilled with the discordant wail of hell. All the agonies that the damned themselves can endure were thrust into the soul of Christ. He was a target for the arrows of the Almighty, arrows dipped in the poison of our sin; all the billows of the Eternal dashed upon this rock of our salvation. He must be bruised, trodden, crushed, destroyed, his soul must be exceedingly sorrowful, even to death.
23. But I must pause, I cannot describe it. I can weep over it, and you can too. The rocks split when Jesus died, our hearts must be made of harder marble than the rocks themselves if they do not feel. The temple tore its gorgeous veil of tapestry, and will you not be mourners too? The sun itself had one big tear in its own burning eye, which quenched its light; and shall we not weep; we for whom the Saviour died? Shall we not feel an agony of heart that he should thus have endured for us?
24. Note, my friends, that all the shame that came on Christ he despised. He counted it so light compared with the joy which was set before him, that he is said to have despised it. As for his sufferings, he could not despise them, that word could not be used in connection with the cross for the cross was too awful for even Christ himself to despise. That he endured; the shame he could cast off, but the cross he must carry, and to it he must be nailed. “He endured the cross, despising the shame.”
25. II. And now HIS GLORIOUS MOTIVE. What made Jesus speak like this? — “For the joy that was set before him.” Beloved, what was the joy? Oh, it is a thought which must melt a rock, and make a heart of iron move; that the joy which was set before Jesus, was principally the joy of saving you and me. I know it was the joy of fulfilling his Father’s will — of sitting down on his Father’s throne — of being made perfect through suffering; but still I know that this is the grand, great motive of the Saviour’s suffering, the joy of saving us. Do you know what the joy is of doing good to others? If you do not I pity you, for of all joys which God has left in this poor wilderness, this is one of the sweetest. Have you seen the hungry when they have lacked bread for many an hour, — have you seen them come to your house almost naked, their clothes having been sold so that they might get money for them to buy bread? Have you heard the woman’s story of the griefs of her husband? Have you listened when you have heard the tale of imprisonment, of sickness, of cold, or hunger, of thirst, and have you never said, “I will clothe you, I will feed you.” Have you never felt that divine joy, when your gold has been given to the poor, and your silver has been dedicated to the Lord, when you bestowed it upon the hungry, and you have gone aside and said, “God forbid that I should be self-righteous”; but I do feel it is worth living if only to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, and to do good to my poor suffering fellow creatures. Now, this is the joy which Christ felt; it was the joy of feeding us with the bread of heaven — the joy of clothing poor, naked sinners in his own righteousness — the joy of finding mansions in heaven for homeless souls, — of delivering us from the prison of hell, and giving us the eternal enjoyments of heaven.
26. But why should Christ look on us? Why should he choose to do this for us? Oh, my friends, we never deserved anything from his hands. As a good old writer says, “When I look at the crucifixion of Christ, I remember that my sins put him to death. I do not see Pilate, but I see myself in Pilate’s place, bartering Christ for honour. I do not hear the cry of the Jews, but I hear my sins yelling out, ‘Crucify him, crucify him.’ I do not see iron nails, but I see my own iniquities fastening him to the cross. I do not see any spear, but I see my unbelief piercing his poor wounded side,
For you, my sins, my cruel sins,
His chief tormentors were;
Each of my sins became a nail,
And unbelief the spear.”
27. It is the opinion of the Romanist, that the very man who pierced Christ’s side was afterwards converted, and became a follower of Jesus. I do not know whether that is a fact; but I know it is the case spiritually. I know that we have pierced the Saviour, I know that we have crucified him; and yet, strange to say, the blood which came from those holy veins has washed us from our sins, and has made us accepted in the Beloved. Can you understand this? Here is manhood mocking the Saviour, parading him through the streets, nailing him to a cross, and then sitting down to mock at his agonies. And yet, what is there in the heart of Jesus but love for them? He is weeping all this while that they should crucify him, not so much because he felt the suffering, though that was much, but because he could not bear the thought that men whom he loved could nail him to the tree. “That was the unkindest stab of all.” You remember that remarkable story of Julius Caesar, when he was struck by his friend Brutus. “When the noble Caesar saw him stab, ingratitude, more strong than traitor’s arms, quite vanquished him! Then burst his mighty heart.” Now Jesus had to endure the stab in his innermost heart, and to know that his elect did it — that his redeemed did it, that his own church was his murderer — that his own people nailed him to the tree? Can you think, beloved, how strong must have been the love that made him submit even to this! Picture yourself today going home from this hall. You have an enemy who all his life long has been your enemy. His father was your enemy, and he is your enemy too. There is never a day passes but you try to win his friendship; but he spits upon your kindness, and curses your name. He harms your friends, and there is not a
