The Procession of Sorrow

The Procession of Sorrow
A Sermon
(No. 497)
Delivered on Sunday Morning, March 1st, 1863, by the
Rev. C. H. SPURGEON,
At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington
"And they took Jesus, and led him away."–John 19:16.
NEXT SATURDAY ALL EYES will be fixed on a great Prince who shall ride
through our streets with his Royal Bride. To-day I invite your
attention to another Prince, marching in another fashion through his
metropolis. London shall see the glory of the one: Jerusalem beheld the
shame of the other. Come hither, ye lovers of Immanuel, and I will show
you this great sight–the King of sorrow marching to his throne of
grief, the cross. I claim for the procession of my Lord an interest
superior to the pageant you are now so anxiously expecting. Will your
Prince be sumptuously arrayed? Mine is adorned with garments crimsoned
with his own blood. Will your Prince be decorated with honors? Behold,
my King is not without his crown–alas, a crown of thorns set with ruby
drops of blood! Will your thoroughfares be thronged? So were the
streets of Jerusalem; for great multitudes followed him. Will ye raise
a clamor of tumultuous shouting? Such a greeting had the Lord of glory,
but alas, it was not the shout of welcome, but the yell of "Away with
him! away with him." High in the air ye bid your banners wave about the
heir of England's throne, but how shall ye rival the banner of the
sacred cross, that day for the first time borne among the sons of men.
For the thousands of eyes which shall gaze upon the youthful Prince, I
offer the gaze of men and angels. All nations gathered about my Lord,
both great and mean men clustered around his person. From the sky the
angels viewed him with wonder and amazement; the spirits of the just
looked from the windows of heaven upon the scene, yea, the great God
and Father watched each movement of his suffering Son. But ye ask me
where is the spouse, the king's daughter fair and beautiful? My Lord is
not altogether without his espoused one. The Church, the bride of
Christ, was there conformed to the image of her Lord; she was there, I
say, in Simon, bearing the cross, and in the women weeping and
lamenting. Say not that the comparison is strained, for in a moment I
will withdraw it and present the contrast. Grant me only thus much of
likeness: we have here a Prince with his bride, bearing his banner, and
wearing his royal robes, traversing the streets of his own city,
surrounded by a throng who shout aloud, and a multitude who gaze with
interest profound. But how vast was the disparity! The most careless
eye discerns it. Yonder young Prince is ruddy with the bloom of early
youth and health; my Master's visage is more marred than that of any
man. See, it has been blackened with bruises, and stained with the
shameful spittle of them that derided him. Your heir of royalty is
magnificently drawn along the streets in his stately chariot, sitting
at his ease: my princely sufferer walks with weary feet, marking the
road with crimson drops; not borne, but bearing; not carried, but
carrying his cross. Your Prince is surrounded by a multitude of
friends; hark how they joyously welcome him! And well they may; the son
of such noble parents deserves a nation's love. But my Prince is hated
without a cause. Hark how their loud voices demand that he should be
hastened to execution! How harshly grate the cruel syllables, "Crucify
him! crucify him!" Your noble Prince is preparing for his marriage:
mine is hastening to his doom. Oh, shame that men should find so much
applause for Princes and none for the King of kings. Yet, dear friends,
to some eyes there will be more attraction in the procession of sorrow,
of shame, and of blood, than in you display of grandeur and joy. Oh! I
pray you, lend your ears to such faint words as I can utter on a
subject all too high for me, the march of the world's Maker along the
way of his great sorrow; your Redeemer traversing the rugged path of
suffering, along which he went with heaving heart and heavy footsteps,
that he might pave a royal road of mercy for his enemies.
I. After our Lord Jesus Christ had been formally condemned by Pilate,
our text tells us he was led away. I invite your attention to CHRIST AS
LED FORTH.
Pilate, as we reminded you, scourged our Savior according to the common
custom of Roman courts. The lictors executed their cruel office upon
his shoulders with their rods and scourges, until the stripes had
reached the full number. Jesus is formally condemned to crucifixion,
but before he is led away he is given over to the Praetorian guards
that those rough legionaries may insult him. It is said that a German
regiment was at that time stationed in Judea, and I should not wonder
if they were the lineal ancestors of those German theologians of modern
times who have mocked the Savior, tampered with revelation, and cast
the vile spittle of their philosophy into the face of truth. The
soldiery mocked and insulted him in every way that cruelty and scorn
could devise. The platted crown of thorns, the purple robe, the reed
with which they smote him, and the spittle with which they disfigured
him, all these marked the contempt in which they held the King of the
Jews. The reed was no mere rush from the brook, it was of a stouter
kind, of which easterns often make walkingstaves, the blows were cruel
as well as insulting; and the crown was not of straw but thorn, hence
it produced pain as well as pictured scorn. When they had mocked him
they pulled off the purple garment he had worn, this rough operation
would cause much pain. His wounds unstaunched and raw, fresh bleeding
from beneath the lash, would make this scarlet robe adhere to him, and
when it was dragged off; his gashes would bleed anew. We do not read
that they removed the crown of thorns, and therefore it is most
probable, though not absolutely certain, that our Savior wore it along
the Via Dolorosa, and also bore it upon his head when he was fastened
to the cross. Those pictures which represent our Lord as wearing the
crown of thorns upon the tree have therefore at least some scriptural
warrant. They put his own clothes upon him, because they were the
perquisites of the executioner, as modern hangmen take the garments of
those whom they execute, so did the four soldiers claim a right to his
raiment. They put on him his own clothes that the multitudes might
discern him to be the same man, the very man who had professed to be
the Messias. We all know that a different dress will often raise a
doubt about the identity of an individual; but lo! the people saw him
in the street, not arrayed in the purple robe, but wearing his garment
without seam, woven from the top throughout, the common smock-frock, in
fact, of the countrymen of Palestine, and they said at once, "Yes, tis
he, the man who healed the sick, and raised the dead; the mighty
teacher who was wont to sit upon the mountain-top, or stand in the
temple courts and preach with authority, and not as the Scribes." There
can be no shadow of doubt but that our Lord was really crucified, and
no one substituted for him. How they led him forth we do not know.
Romish expositors, who draw upon their prolific fancy for their facts,
tell us that he had a rope about his neck with which they roughly
dragged him to the tree; this is one of the most probable of their
surmises, since it was not unusual for the Romans thus to conduct
criminals to the gallows. We care, however, far more for the fact that
he went forth carrying his cross upon his shoulders. This was intended
at once to proclaim his guilt and intimate his doom. Usually the crier
went before with an announcement such as this, "This is Jesus of
Nazareth, King of the Jews, who for making himself a King, and stirring
up the people, has been condemned to die." This cross was a ponderous
machine; not so heavy, perhaps, as some pictures would represent it,
but still no light burden to a man whose shoulders were raw with the
lashes of the Roman scourge. He had been all night in agony, he had
spent the early morning at the hall of Caiaphas, he had been hurried,
as I described to you last Sunday, from Caiaphas to Pilate, from Pilate
to Herod, and from Herod back again to Pilate; he had, therefore, but
little strength left, and you will not wonder that by-and-bye we find
him staggering beneath his load, and that another is called to bear it
with him. He goes forth, then, bearing his cross.
What learn we here as we see Christ led forth? Do we not see here the
truth of that which was set forth in shadow by the scape-goat? Did not
the high-priest bring the scape-goat, and put both his hands upon its
head, confessing the sins of the people, that thus those sins might be
laid upon the goat? Then the goat was led away by a fit man into the
wilderness, and it carried away the sins of the people, so that if they
were sought for, they could not be found. Now we see Jesus brought
before the priests and rulers, who pronounce him guilty; God himself
imputes our sins to him; he was made sin for us; and, as the substitute
for our guilt, bearing our sin upon his shoulders–for that cross was a
sort of representation in wood of our guilt and doom–we see the great
Scape-goat led away by the appointed officers of justice. Bearing upon
his back the sin of all his people, the offering goes without the camp.
Beloved, can you say he carried your sin? As you look at the cross upon
his shoulders does it represent your sin? Oh I raise the question, and
be not satisfied unless you can answer it most positively in the
affirmative. There is one way by which you can tell whether he carried
your sin or not. Hast thou laid thy hand upon his head, confessed thy
sin, and trusted in him? Then thy sin lies not on thee; not one single
ounce or drachma of it lies on thee; it has all been transferred by
blessed imputation to Christ, and he bears it on his shoulder in the
form of yonder heavy cross. What joy, what satisfaotion this will give
if we can sing–
"My soul looks back to see
The burden thou didst bear,
When hastening to the accursed tree,
And knows her guilt was there!"
Do not let the picture vanish till you have satisfied yourselves once
for all that Christ was here the substitute for you.
Let us muse upon the fact that Jesus was conducted without the gates of
the city. It was the common place of death. That little rising ground,
which perhaps was called Golgotha, the place of a skull, from its
somewhat resembling the crown of a man's skull, was the common place of
execution. It was one of Death's castles; here he stored his gloomiest
trophies; he was the grim lord of that stronghold. Our great hero, the
destroyer of Death, bearded the lion in his den, slew the monster in
his own castle, and dragged the dragon captive from his own den.
Methinks Death thought it a splendid triumph when he saw the Master
impaled and bleeding in the dominions of destruction; little did he
know that the grave was to be rifled, and himself destroyed, by that
crucified Son of man.
Was not the Redeemer led thither to aggravate his shame? Calvary was
like our Old Bailey; it was the usual place of execution for the
district. Christ must die a felon's death, and it must be upon the
felon's gallows, in the place where horrid crimes had met their due
reward. This added to his shame; but, methinks, in this, too, he draws
the nearer to us, "He was numbered with the transgressors, and bare the
sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors."
But further, my brethren; this, I think, is the great lesson from
Christ's being slaughtered without the gate of the city–let us go
forth, therefore, without the camp, bearing his reproach. You see there
the multitude are leading him forth from the temple. He is not allowed
to worship with them. The ceremonial of the Jewish religion denies him
any participation in its pomps; the priests condemn him never again to
tread the hallowed floors, never again to look upon the consecrated
altars in the place of his people's worship. He is exiled from their
friendship, too. No man dare call him friend now, or whisper a word of
comfort to him. Nay more; he is banished from their society, as if he
were a leper whose breath would be infectious whose presence would
scatter plague. They force him without the walls, and are not satisfied
till they have rid themselves of his obnoxious presence. For him they
have no tolerance. Barrabas may go free; the thief and the murderer may
be spared; but for Christ there is no word, but "Away with such a
fellow from the earth! It is not fit that he should live." Jesus is
therefore hunted out of the city, beyond the gate, with the will and
force of his oven nation, but he journeys not against his own will;
even as the lamb goeth as willingly to the shambles as to the meadow,
so doth Christ cheerfully take up his cross and go without the camp.
See, brethren, here is a picture of what we may expect from men if we
are faithful to our Master. It is not likely that we shall be able to
worship with their worship. They prefer a ceremonial pompous and gaudy;
the swell of music, the glitter of costly garments, the parade of
learning all these must minister grandeur to the world's religion, and
thus shut out the simple followers of the Lamb. The high places of
earth's worship and honor are not for us. If we be true to our Master
we shall soon lose the friendship of the world. The sinful find our
conversation distasteful; in our pursuits the carnal have no interest;
things dear to us are dross to worldlings, while things precious to
them are contemptible to us. There have been times, and the days may
come again, when faithfulness to Christ has entailed exclusion from
what is called "society." Even now to a large extent the true Christian
is like a Pariah, lower than the lowest caste, in the judgment of some.
The world has in former days counted it God's service to kill the
saints. We are to reckon upon all this, and should the worst befal us,
it is to be no strange thing to us. These are silken days, and religion
fights not so stern a battle. I will not say it is because we are
unfaithful to our Master that the world is more kind to us, but I half
suspect it is, and it is very possible that if we were more thoroughly
Christians the world would more heartily detest us, and if we would
cleave more closely to Christ we might expect to receive more slander,
more abuse, less tolerance, and less favor from men. You young
believers, who have lately followed Christ, should father and mother
forsake you, remember you were bidden to reckon upon it; should
brothers and sisters deride, you must put this down as part of the cost
of being a Christian. Godly working-men, should your employers or your
fellow-workers frown upon you; wives, should your husbands threaten to
cast you out, remember, without the camp was Jesus' place, and without
the camp is yours. Oh! ye Christian men, who dream of trimming your
sails to the wind, who seek to win the world's favor, I do beseech you
cease from a course so perilous. We are in the world, but we must never
be of it; we are not to be secluded like monks in the cloister, but we
are to be separated like Jews among Gentiles; men, but not of men;
helping, aiding, befriending, teaching, comforting, instructing, but
not sinning either to escape a frown or to win a smile. The more
manifestly there shall be a great gulf between the Church and the
world, the better shall it be for both; the better for the world, for
it shall be thereby warned; the better for the Church, for it shall be
thereby preserved. Go ye, then, like the Master, expecting to be
abused, to wear an ill-name, and to earn reproach; go ye, like him,
without the camp.
II. Let us now gaze for awhile upon CHRIST CARRYING HIS CROSS.
I have shown you, believer, your position; let me now show you your
service. Christ comes forth from Pilate's hall with the cumbrous wood
upon his shoulder, but through weariness he travels slowly, and his
enemies urgent for his death, and half afraid, from his emaciated
appearance, that he may die before he reaches the place of execution,
allow another to carry his burden. The tender mercies of the wicked are
cruel, they cannot spare him the agonies of dying on the cross, they
will therefore remit the labor of carrying it. They place the cross
upon Simon, a Cyrenian, coming out of the country. We do not know what
may have been the color of alimony face, but it was most likely black.
Simon was an African; he came from Cyrene. Alas poor African, thou hast
been compelled to carry the cross even until now. Hail, ye despised
children of the sun, ye follow first after the King in the march of
woe. We are not sure that Simon was a disciple of Christ; he may have
been a friendly spectator; yet one would think the Jews would naturally
select a disciple if they could. Coming fresh from the country, not
knowing what was going on, he joined with the mob, and they made him
carry the cross. Whether a disciple then or not, we have every reason
to believe that he became so afterwards; he was the father, we read, of
Alexander and Rufus, two persons who appear to have been well known in
the early Church; let us hope that salvation came to his house when he
was compelled to bear the Savior's cross.
Dear friends, we must remember that, although no one died on the cross
with Christ, for atonement must be executed by a solitary Savior, yet
another person did carry the cross for Christ; for this world, while
redeemed by price by Christ, and by Christ alone, is to be redeemed by
divine power manifested in the sufferings and labors of the saints as
well as those of Christ. Mark you, the ransom of men was all paid by
Christ; that was redemption by price. But power is wanted to dash down
those idols, to overcome the hosts of error; where is it to be found?
In the Lord of Hosts, who shows his power in the sufferings of Christ
and of his Church. The Church must suffer, that the gospel may be
spread by her means. This is what the Apostle meant when he said, "I
fill up that which is behind of the afflictions of Christ in my flesh
for his body's sake, which is the Church." There was nothing behind in
the price, but there is something behind in the manifested power, and
we must continue to fill up that measure of revealed power, carrying
each one of us the cross with Christ, till the last shame shall have
been poured upon his cause, and he shall reign for ever and ever. We
see in Simon's carrying the cross a picture of what the Church is to do
throughout all generations. Mark then, Christian, Jesus does not suffer
so as to exclude your suffering. He bears a cross, not that you may
escape it, but that you may endure it. Christ does exempt you from sin,
but not from sorrow; he does take the curse of the cross, but he does
not take the cross of the curse away from you. Remember that, and
expect to suffer.
Beloved, let us comfort ourselves with this thought, that in our case,
as in Simon's, it is not our cross, but Christ's cross which we carry.
When you are molested for your piety; when your religion brings the
trial of cruel mockings upon you; then remember, it is not your cross,
it is Christ's cross; and how delightful is it to carry the cross of
our Lord Jesus?
You carry the cross after him. You have blessed company; your path is
marked with footprints of your Lord. If you will look, there is the
mark of his blood-red shoulder upon that heavy cross. Tis his cross,
and he goes before you as a shepherd goes before his sheep. Take up
your cross daily and follow him.
Do not forget, also, that you bear this cross in partnership. It is the
opinion of some commentators that Simon only carried one end of the
cross, and not the whole of it. That is very possible; Christ may have
carried the heavier end, against the transverse beam, and Simon may
have borne the lighter end. Certainly it is so with you; you do but
carry the light end of the cross; Christ bore the heavier end.
"His way was much rougher and darker than mine;
Did Christ, my Lord, suffer, and shall I repine?"
Rutherford says, "Whenever Christ gives us a cross, he cries, Halves,
my love.'" Others think that Simon carried the whole of the cross. If
he carried all the cross, yet he only carried the wood of it; he did
not bear the sin which made it such a load. Christ did but transfer to
Simon the outward frame, the mere tree; but the curse of the tree,
which was our sin and its punishment, rested on Jesus' shoulders still.
Dear friend, if you think that you suffer all that a Christian can
suffer; if all God's billows roll over you, yet, remember, there is not
one drop of wrath in all your sea of sorrow. Jesus took the wrath;
Jesus carried the sin; and now all that you endure is but for his sake,
that you may be conformed unto his image, and may aid in gathering his
people into his family.
Although Simon carried Christ's cross, he did not volunteer to do it,
but they compelled him. I fear me, beloved, I fear me that the most of
us if we ever do carry it, carry it by compulsion, at least when it
first comes on to our shoulders we do not like it, and would fain run
from it, but the world compels us to bear Christ's cross. Cheerfully
accept this burden, ye servants of the Lord. I do not think we should
seek after needless persecution. That man is a fool and deserves no
pity, who purposely excites the disgust of other people. No, no; we
must not make a cross of our own. Let there be nothing but your
religion to object to, and then if that offends them let them be
offended, it is a cross which you must carry joyfully.
Though Simon had to bear the cross for a very little while, it gave him
lasting honor. I do not know how far it was from Pilate's house to the
Mount of Doom. Romanists pretend to know; in fact they know the very
spot where Veronica wiped the blessed face with her handkerchief, and
found his likeness impressed upon it; we also know very well where that
was not done; in fact they know the very spot where Jesus fainted, and
if you go to Jerusalem you can see all these different places if you
only carry enough credulity with you; but the fact is the city has been
so razed, and burned, and ploughed, that there is little chance of
distinguishing any of these positions, with the exception, it may be,
of Mount Calvary, which being outside the walls may possibly still
remain. The Via Dolorosa, as the Romanists call it, is a long street at
the present time, but it may have been but a few yards. Simon had to
carry the cross but for a very little time, yet his name is in this
Book for ever, and we may envy him his honor. Well, beloved, the cross
we have to carry is only for a little while at most. A few times the
sun will go up and down the hill; a few more moons will wax and wane,
and then we shall receive the glory. "I reckon that these light
afflictions, which are but for a moment, are not worthy to be compared
with the glory which shall be revealed in us." We should love the
cross, and count it very dear, because it works out for us a far more
exceeding and eternal weight of glory. Christians, will you refuse to
be cross-bearers for Christ? I am ashamed of some professed Christians,
heartily ashamed of them! Some of them have no objection to worship
with a poor congregation till they grow rich, and then, forsooth, they
must go with the world's church, to mingle with fashion and gentility.
There are some who in company hold their tongues, and never say a good
word for Christ. They take matters very gently; they think it
unnecessary to be soldiers of the cross. "He that taketh not up his
cross and followeth not after me," says Christ, "is not worthy of me."
Some of you will not be baptized because you think people will say, "He
is a professor; how holy he ought to be." I am glad the world expects
much from us, and watches us narrowly. All this is a blessed clog upon
us, and a means of keeping us more near the Lord. Oh! you that are
ashamed of Christ, how can you read that text, "He that is ashamed of
me, and of my words, of him will I be ashamed when I come in the glory
of my Father, and all my holy angels with me." Conceal your religion?
Cover it with a cloak? God forbid! Our religion is our glory; the Cross
of Christ is our honor, and, while not ostentatiously parading it, as
the Pharisees do, we ought never to be so cowardly as to conceal it.
"Come ye out from among them, and be ye separate, and touch not the
unclean thing." Take up your cross, and go without the camp, following
your Lord, even until death.
III. I have now a third picture to present to you–CHRIST AND HIS
MOURNERS.
As Christ went through the streets, a great multitude looked on. In the
multitude there was a sparse sprinkling of tender-hearted women,
probably those who had been healed, or whose children had been blessed
by him. Some of these were persons of considerable rank; many of them
had ministered to him of their substance; amidst the din and howling of
the crowd, and the noise of the soldiery, they raised an exceeding loud
and bitter cry, like Rachel weeping for her children, who would not be
comforted, because they were not. The voice of sympathy prevailed over
the voice of scorn. Jesus paused, and said, "Daughters of Jerusalem,
weep not for me; but weep for yourselves and for your children." The
sorrow of these good women was a very proper sorrow; Jesus did not by
any means forbid it, he only recommended another sorrow as being
better; not finding fault with this, but still commending that. Let me
show what I think he meant. Last Sunday the remark was made to me–"If
the story of the sufferings of Christ had been told of any other man,
all the congregation would have been in tears." Some of us, indeed,
confess that, if we had read this narrative of suffering in a romance,
we should have wept copiously, but the story of Christ's sufferings
does not cause the excitement and emotion one would expect. Now, I am
not sure that we ought to blame ourselves for this. If we weep for the
sufferings of Christ in the same way as we lament the sufferings of
another man, our emotions will be only natural, and may work no good.
They would be very proper, very proper; God forbid that we should stay
them, except with the gentle words of Christ, "Daughters of Jerusalem,
weep not for me." The most Scriptural way to describe the sufferings of
Christ is not by laboring to excite sympathy through highly-coloured
descriptions of his blood and wounds. Romanists of all ages have
wrought upon the feelings of the people in this manner, and to a degree
the attempt is commendable, but if it shall all end in tears of pity,
no good is done. I have heard sermons, and studied works by Romish
writers upon the passion and agony, which have moved me to copious
tears, but I am not clear that all the emotion was profitable. I show
unto you a more excellent way.
What, then, dear friends, should be the sorrows excited by a view of
Christ's sufferings? They are these–Weep not because the Savior bled,
but because your sins made him bleed.
"Twere you my sins, my cruel sins,
His chief tormentors were;
Each of my grimes became a nail,
And unbelief the spear."
When a brother makes confession of his transgressions, when on his
knees before God he humbles himself with many tears, I am sure the Lord
thinks far more of the tears of repentance than he would do of the mere
drops of human sympathy. "Weep for yourselves," says Christ, "rather
than for me."
The sufferings of Christ should make us weep over those who have
brought that blood upon their heads. We ought not to forget the Jews.
Those once highly favored people of God who cursed themselves with,
"His blood be upon us and upon our children," ought to make us mourn
when we think of their present degradation. There are no passages in
all the public ministry of Jesus so tender as those which have regard
to Jerusalem. It is not sorrow over Rome, but Jerusalem. I believe
there was a tenderness in Christ's heart to the Jew of a special
character. He loved the Gentile, but still Jerusalem was the city of
the Great King. It was, "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often would I have
gathered thy children together as a hen gathereth her chickens under
her wings, but ye would not!" He saw its streets flowing like bloody
rivers; he saw the temple naming up to heaven; he marked the walls
loaded with Jewish captives crucified by command of Titus; he saw the
city razed to the ground and sown with salt, and he said, "Weep not for
me, but for yourselves and for your children, for the day shall come
when ye shall say to the rocks, Hide us, and to the mountains, Fall
upon us."
Let me add, that when we look at the sufferings of Christ, we ought to
sorrow deeply for the souls of all unregenerate men and women.
Remember, dear friends, that what Christ suffered for us, these
unregenerate ones must suffer for themselves, except they put their
trust in Christ. The woes which broke the Savior's heart must crush
theirs. Either Christ must die for me, or else I must die for myself
the second death; if he did not carry the curse for me, then on me must
it rest for ever and ever. Think, dear friends, there are some in this
congregation who as yet have no interest in Jesu's blood, some sitting
next to you, your nearest friends who, if they were now to close their
eyes in death, would open them in hell! Think of that! Weep not for
him, but for these. Perhaps they are your children, the objects of your
fondest love, with no interest in Christ, without God and without hope
in the world! Save your tears for them; Christ asks them not in
sympathy for himself. Think of the millions in this dark world! It is
calculated that one soul passes from time into eternity every time the
clock ticks! So numerous has the family of man now become, that there
is a death every second; and when we know how very smell a proportion
of the human race have even nominally received the cross–and there is
none other name given under heaven among men whereby we must be
saved–oh! what a black thought crosses our mind! What a cataract of
immortal souls dashes downwards to the pit every hour! Well might the
Master say, "Weep not for me, but for yourselves." You have, then, no
true sympathy for Christ if you have not an earnest sympathy with those
who would win souls for Christ. You may sit under a sermon, and feel a
great deal, but your feeling is worthless unless it leads you to weep
for yourselves and for your children. How has it been with you? Have
you repented of sin? Have you prayed for your fellow men? If not, may
that picture of Christ fainting in the streets lead you to do so this
morning.
IV. In the fourth place, one or two words upon CHRIST'S
FELLOW-SUFFERERS.
There were two other cross-bearers in the throng; they were
malefactors; their crosses were just as heavy as the Lord's, and yet,
at least, one of them had no sympathy with him, and his bearing the
cross only led to his death, and not to his salvation. This hint only.
I have sometimes met with persons who have suffered much; they have
lost money, they have worked hard all their lives, or they have laid
for years upon a bed of sickness, and they therefore suppose that
because they have suffered so much in this life, they shall thus escape
the punishment of sin hereafter. I tell you, sirs, that yonder
malefactor carried his cross and died on it; and you will carry your
sorrows, and be damned with them, except you repent. That impenitent
thief went from the cross of his great agony–and it was agony indeed
to die on a cross–he went to that place, to the flames of hell; and
you, too, may go from the bed of sickness, and from the abode of
poverty, to perdition, quite as readily as from the home of ease and
the house of plenty. No sufferings of ours have anything to do with the
atonement of sin. No blood but that which He has spilt, no groans but
those which came from His heart, no suffering but that which was
endured by Him, can ever make a recompense for sin. Shake off the
thought, any of you who suppose that God will have pity on you because
you have endured affliction. You must consider Jesus, and not yourself;
turn your eye to Christ, the great substitute for sinners, but never
dream of trusting in yourselves. You may think that this remark is not
needed; but I have met with one or two cases where it was required; and
I have often said I would preach a sermon for even one person, and,
therefore, I make this remark, even though it should rebuke but one.
V. I close with THE SAVIOR'S WARNING QUESTION–"If they do these things
in the green tree, what will they do in the dry?" Among other things
methinks he meant this–"If I, the innocent substitute for sinners,
suffer thus, what will be done when the sinner himself–the dry
tree–whose sins are his own, and not merely imputed to him, shall fall
into the hands of an angry God." Oh! ye unregenerate men and women, and
there are not a few such here now, remember that when God saw Christ in
the sinner's place he did not spare him, and when he finds you without
Christ, he will not spare you. You have seen Jesus led away by his
enemies; so shall you be dragged away by fiends to the place appointed
for you. "Deliver him to the tormentors," was the word of the king in
the parable; it shall be fulfilled to you–"Depart ye cursed into
everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels." Jesus was
deserted of God; and if he, who was only imputedly a sinner, was
deserted, how much more shall you be? "Eloi, Eloi, lama
sabachthani,"–what an awful shriek! But what shall be your cry when
you shall say, "Good God! good God! why hast thou forsaken me?" and the
answer shall come back, "Because I have called, and ye refused; I have
stretched out my hand, and no man regarded; but ye have set at nought
all my counsel, and would none of my reproof: I also will laugh at your
calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh." These are awful words,
but they are not mine; they are the very words of God in Scripture. Oh!
sinner, if God hides his face from Christ, how much less will he spare
you! He did not spare his Son the stripes. Did I not describe last
Sabbath the knotted scourges which fell upon the Saviours back? What
whips of steel for you, what knots of burning wire for you, when
conscience shall smite you, when the law shall scourge you with its
ten-thonged whip! Oh! who would stand in your place, ye richest, ye
merriest, ye most self-righteous sinners–who would stand in your place
when God shall say, "Awake O sword against the rebel, against the man
that rejected me; smite him, and let him feel the smart for ever!"
Christ was spit upon with shame; sinner, what shame will be yours! The
whole universe shall hiss you; angels shall be ashamed of you; your own
friends, yes, your sainted mother, shall say "Amen" to your
condemnation; and those who loved you best shall sit as assessors with
Christ to judge you and condemn you! I cannot roll up into one word all
the mass of sorrows which met upon the head of Christ who died for us,
therefore it is impossible for me to tell you what streams, what oceans
of grief must roll over your spirit if you die as you now are. You may
die so, you may die now. There are more unlikely things than that you
will be dead before next Sunday. Some of you will! It does not often
happen that five or six thousand people meet together twice; it never
does, I suppose; the scythe of death must cut some of you down before
my voice shall warn you again! Oh! souls, I do beseech you, by the
agonies of Christ, by his wounds and by his blood, do not bring upon
yourselves the curse; do not bear in your own persons the awful wrath
to come! May God deliver you! Trust in the Son of God and you shall
never die.
The Lord bless you, for Jesu's own sake. Amen.