Love’s Crowning Deed

A SERMON DELIVERED OF LORD'S-DAY MORNING, AUGUST 24, 1873,

BY C. H. SPURGEON,

AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON.

"Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for
his friends." John 15:13.

I HAVE lately in my ministry very much detained you in the balmy region
of Divine lovingkindness. Our subjects have frequently been full of
love. I have, perhaps, repeated myself, and gone over the same ground
again and again, but I could not help it. My own soul was in a grateful
condition and therefore out of the abundance of the heart the mouth has
spoken. Truly I have little reason to excuse myself, for the region of
love to Christ is the native place of the Christian. We were first
brought to know Christ and to rest in Him through His love, and there,
in the warmth of His tenderness, we were born to God. Not by the
terrors ofjustice, nor the threats of vengeance were we reconciled, but
Divine Grace drew us with cords of love.

Now, we have sometimes heard of sickly persons, that the physician has
recommended them to try their native air, in hopes of restoration. So
we, also, recommend every backsliding Christian to try the native air
of Christ's love and we charge every healthy Believer to abide in it.
Let the Believer under decays of Grace go back to the Cross–there he
found his hope, there he must find it again. There his love to Jesus
began–we, "love Him because He first loved us"–and there must His
love be again inflamed. The atmosphere around the Cross of Christ is
bracing to the soul. Get to think much of His love and you grow strong
and vigorous in Grace.

As the dwellers in the low-lying Alpine valleys become weak and full of
disease in the close, damp atmosphere, but soon recover health and
strength if they climb the hillside and tarry there, so in this world
of selfishness, where every man is fighting for his own and the mean
spirit of caring only for one's own self reigns predominant, the saints
become weak and diseased, even as worldlings are. But up on the
hillsides, where we learn Christ's self-denying, disinterested
affection to the sons of men, we are braced to nobler and better lives.
If men are ever to be truly great they must be nurtured beneath the
wing of Free Grace and dying love.

The grandeur of the Redeemer's example suggests to His disciples to
make their own lives sublime, and both furnishes them with motives for
doing so and with forces to constrain them thereto. Moreover, we may
well tarry for many a day in the region of the love of Christ because
not only is it our native region and full of bracing influences, but it
has an outlook towards the better shore. As shipwrecked mariners upon a
desert island have been known to linger most of the day upon that
headland which pushes farthest out into the main ocean, in the hope
that, perhaps, if they cannot catch a glimpse of their own country
across the waves, they may possibly discern a sail which had left one
of the ports of the well-beloved land, so it is that while we are
sitting on the headlands of Divine Love we may look across to Heaven
and become familiar with the spirits of the just.

If ever we are to see Heaven while we are yet tarrying here, it must
surely be from Cape Cross or Mount Fellowship–from that jutting piece
of holy experience of Divine Love which runs away from the ordinary
thoughts of men and approaches the heart of Christ. There, at any rate,
do I long to sit for many an hour till the eternal day shall break and
the shadows flee away. And I shall dwell with all the chosen in the
land where there is no more sin–for if there can be found a Heaven
below, it is where Heaven came down from Heaven to die for sinful men,
that sinful men might go up to Heaven to live eternally.

Our subject this morning, then, is Divine Love, and we have chosen the
highest hill in all the goodly land for you to climb. We shall take
you, today, to Love's most sacred shrine, to the Jerusalem of the holy
land of Love, to the labor of Love where it was transfigured, and put
on its most beautiful garments. Where it became, indeed, too bright for
mortal eye fully to gaze upon it, too lustrous for this dim vision of
ours. Let us come to Calvary where we find Love stronger than death,
conquering the grave for our sakes!

We shall speak, first, upon Love's crowning act–"Greater love has no
man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." But,
then, since the text, grand as it is, and high, so that we cannot
attain unto it, yet seems to fall short of the great argument–though
it is one of the Master's own sayings–we shall speak upon the
sevenfold crown of Jesus' Love. And when we have done so, we shall have
some royal things to say which befit the place whereon we stand when we
are gathered at the foot of the Cross.

I. First, then, LOVE'S CROWNING DEED. There is a climax to everything
and the climax of love is to die for a beloved one. "Free Grace and
dying love" are the noblest themes among men and when united they are
sublimity itself. Love can do much, can do infinite things, but greater
love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.
This is the ultima thule of love–its sails can find no further shore,
its deeds of self-denial can go no further. To lay down one's life is
the most that love can do. This is clear if we consider, first, that
when a man dies for his friends, it proves his deep sincerity.
Lip-love, proverbially, is a thing to be questioned–too often is it a
counterfeit. Love which speaks can use hyperbolical expressions at its
will, and when you have heard all you can hear of love's speech, you
are not sure that it is love, for all are not hunters that blow the
horn, all are not friends who cry up friendship.

There is much among men of a feeling which bears all the likeness of
that priceless thing called love, which is more precious than the gold
of Ophir, and yet for all that, as all is not gold that glitters, so it
is not all love that walks delicately and feigns affection. But a man
is no liar when he is willing to die to prove his love. All suspicion
of insincerity must then be banished. We are sure he loves who dies for
love. Yes, it is not bare sincerity that we see in such a case–we see
the intensity of his affection.

A man may make us feel that he is intensely in earnest when he speaks
with burning words and he may perform many actions which may all appear
to show how intense he is, and yet for all that, he may but be a
skillful player, understanding well the art of simulating that which he
does not feel. But when a man dies for the cause he has espoused, you
know that his is no superficial passion! You are sure that the core of
his nature must be on fire when his love consumes his life. If he will
shed his blood for the object loved–there must be blood in the veins
of his love–it is a living love. Who can question the solemn vehemence
of a man's love when he passes through the sepulcher and yields his
soul up for the thing he professes to love? So that "greater love has
no man than this," because he can give no greater proof of the
sincerity and intensity of his affection than to lay down his life for
his friends.

And, again, it proves the thorough self-abnegation of the heart when
the man risks life, itself, for love. Love and self-denial for the
object loved go hand-in-hand. If I profess to love a certain person and
yet will neither give my silver nor my gold to relieve his needs, nor
in any way deny myself comfort or ease for his sake, such love is
contemptible. It wears the name, but lacks the reality of love–true
love must be measured by the degree to which the person loving will be
willing to subject himself to crosses and losses–to suffering and
self-denials. After all, the value of a thing in the market is what a
man will give for it, and you must estimate the value of a man's love
by that which he is willing to give up for it. What will he do to prove
his affection? What will he suffer for the sake of benefiting his
beloved? Greater love for friends has no man than this, that he lay
down his life for them.

Even Satan acknowledged the reality of the virtue which would lead a
man to die, when he spoke concerning Job to God. He made little of
Job's losing his sheep, and his cattle, and his children and remaining
patient. But he said, "Skin for skin; yes all that a man has will he
give for his life; but put forth now Your hand, and touch his bone and
his flesh, and he will curse You to Your face." So if love could give
up its cattle and its land, its outward treasures and possessions, it
would be somewhat strong, but comparatively it would fail if it could
not go further and endure personal suffering. Yes, and the laying down
of life, itself.

No such failure occurred in the Redeemer's love. Our Savior stripped
Himself of all His glories and by a thousand self-denials proved His
love. But the most convincing evidence was given when He gave up His
life for us. "Hereby perceive we the love of God," says the Apostle
John, "because He laid down His life for us." As if John passed by
everything else which the Son of God had done for us and put his finger
upon His death and said, "Hereby we perceive the love of God towards
us." It was majestic love that made the Lord Jesus lay aside, "His
attire and rings of light," and lend their glory to the stars. He
stripped off His azure mantle and hung it on the sky and then come down
to earth to wear the poor, mean garments of our flesh and blood–in
which to toil and labor like ourselves. But the masterpiece of love was
when He would even put off the garment of His flesh and yield Himself
to the superlative agonies of death by crucifixion!

He could go no further. Self-abnegation had achieved its utmost. He
could deny Himself no more when He denied Himself leave to live.

Again, Beloved, the reason why death for its object is the crowning
deed of love is this, that it excels all other deeds. Jesus Christ had
proven His love by dwelling among His people as their Brother, and
participating in their poverty as their Friend, till He could say,
"Foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests, but I, the Son
of Man, have not where to lay My head." He had manifested His love by
telling them all He knew of the Father, unveiling the secrets of
eternity to simple fishermen. He showed His love by the patience with
which He bore with their faults, never harshly rebuking, but only
gently chiding them–and even that but seldom. He revealed His love to
them by the miracles He worked on their behalf and the honor which He
put upon them by using them in His service. Indeed, there were ten
thousand princely acts of the love of Jesus Christ towards His own, but
none of them can, for a moment, endure comparison with His dying for
them–the agonizing death of the Cross surpasses all the rest!

These life-actions of His love are bright as stars, and, like the
stars, if you gaze upon them, they will be seen to be far greater than
you dreamed, but yet they are only stars compared with this clear,
blazing sun of Infinite Love which is to be seen in the Lord's dying
for His people on the bloody tree. Then, I must add that His death did,
in effect, comprehend all other acts, for when a man lays down his life
for his friend he has laid down everything else. Give up life, and you
have given up wealth–where is the wealth of a dead man? Renounce life
and you have relinquished position–where is the rank of a man who lies
in the sepulcher? Lay down life and you have forsaken enjoyment–what
enjoyment can there be to the denizen of the morgue? Giving up life,
you have given up all things, therefore the force of that reasoning,
"He that spared not His own Son but freely delivered Him up for us all,
how will He not with Him also freely give us all things?"

The giving of the life of His dear Son was the giving of all that His
Son was. And as Christ is Infinite, and All in All, the delivering up
of His life was the concession of All in All to us–there could be
nothing more. Beloved, I speak but too coldly upon a theme which ought
to stir my soul, first, and yours afterwards. Spirit of the living God,
come like a quickening wind from Heaven and let the sparks of our love
glow into a mighty furnace just now, even now, if it may so please You!
Beloved, we now remark that for a man to die for his friends is
evidently the grandest of all proofs of his love in itself. The words
glide over my tongue and drop from my lips very readily–"lay down his
life for his friends," but do you know or feel what the words mean?

To die for another! There are some who will not even give of their
substance to the poor. It seems like wrenching away a limb for them to
give a trifle to God's poor servants. Such people cannot guess what it
must be to have love enough to die for another, any more than a blind
man can imagine what colors can be like–such persons are out of court
altogether. There have been loving spirits who have denied themselves
comfort and ease, and even common necessities, for the sake of their
fellow men. Only such as these are in a measure qualified to form an
idea of what it must be to die for another. But still, none of us can
fully know what it means. To die for another! Conceive it! Concentrate
your thoughts upon it! We start back from death, for under any light in
which you may place it, human nature can never regard death as
otherwise than a terrible thing.

To pass away into the Glory-land is so bright a hope that death is
swallowed up in the victory, but the death itself is a bitter thing,
and therefore needs to be swallowed up in the victory before we can
bear it. It is a bitter pill and must be drowned in a sweet potion
before we can rejoice in it. I am certain that no person, apart from
sweet reflections of the Presence of God and the heavenly future, could
regard death other than as a dreadful calamity. Even our Savior did not
regard His approaching death without trembling! The thought of dying
was not, in itself, otherwise than saddening, even to Him. Witness the
bloody sweat as it streamed from Him in Gethsemane, and that man-like
putting away of the cup with, "If it is possible let this cup pass from
Me"!

As you think of that soul-conflict let it increase your idea of the
God-like Love which took the cup resolutely, with both its hands, and
drank right on, and never stayed its dreadful draught till the Lord had
drank damnation dry for all His people, swallowing up their deaths in
His own most comprehensive death! It is no light thing to die. We speak
too flippantly of death, but dying is no child's-play to any man–and
dying as the Savior died–in awful agonies of body and tortures of
soul, it was a great thing, indeed, for His love to do. You may
surround death, if you please, with luxury. You may place at the
bedside all the dear assuagements of the most tender love. You may
alleviate pain by the art of the

apothecary and the physician. And you may decorate the dying couch with
the honor of a nation's anxious care–but death, for all that, is, in
itself, no slight thing–and when borne for others it is the
masterpiece of Love.

And so, closing this point of Love's crowning action, let me say that
after a man has died for another, there can be no question raised about
his love. Unbelief would be insane if it should venture to intrude
itself at the foot of the Cross, though, alas, it has been there and
has there proved its utter unreasonableness! If a man dies for his
friend, he must love him, nobody can question that! And Jesus, dying
for His people, must love them–who shall cast a doubt upon that fact?
Shame on any of God's children that they should ever raise questions on
a matter so conclusively proven! As if the Lord Jesus knew that even
this masterpiece of Love might still be intruded upon by unbelief, He
rose again from the dead and rose with His love as fresh as ever in His
heart–and went to Heaven leading captivity captive–His eyes flashing
with the eternal Love that brought Him down!

He passed through the pearly gates and rode in triumph up to His Great
Father's Throne, and though He looked upon His Father with Love
ineffable and eternal, He gazed upon His people, too, for His heart was
still theirs. Even at this hour, from His Throne among the seraphim,
where He sits in Glory, He looks down upon His people with pitying love
and condescending Grace–

"Now, though He reigns exalted high, His love is still as great.

Well He remembers Calvary, Nor let His saints forget."

He is all Love and altogether Love. "Greater love has no man than this,
that a man lay down his life for his friends."

II. THE SEVEN CROWNS OF JESUS' DYING LOVE are our second point. I hope
I shall have your interested

attention while I show that above that highest act of human love there
is a something in Christ's death for love's sake still more elevated.
Men's dying for their friends–this is superlative–but Christ's dying
for us is as much above man's superlative as that could be above mere
commonplace. Let me show you this in seven points. The first is
this–Jesus is immortal, therefore the special character of His death.

Damon is willing to die for Pythias. The classic story shows that each
of the two friends was anxious to die for the other. But suppose Damon
dies for Pythias, he is only antedating what must occur, for Damon must
die one day and if he lays down his life for his friend, say ten years
before he otherwise would have done so, still he only loses that ten
years' life–he must die sooner or later. Or if Pythias dies and Damon
escapes, it may be that only by a fear weeks one of them has
anticipated the departure, for they must both die eventually. When a
man lays down his life for his friend, he does not lay down what he
could keep altogether. He could only have kept it for a while. Even if
he had lived as long as mortals can, till gray hairs are on their head,
he must, at last, have yielded to the arrows of Death.

A substitutionary death for love's sake in ordinary cases would be but
a slightly premature payment of that debt of Nature which must be paid
by all. But such is not the case with Jesus. Jesus needed not die at
all! There was no ground or reason why He should die apart from His
laying down His life in the place of His friends. Up there in Glory was
the Christ of God forever with the Father, eternal and everlasting. No
age passed over His brow. We may say of Him, "Your locks are bushy and
black as the raven, You have the dew of Your youth." He came to earth
and assumed our Nature that He might be capable of death, yet remember,
though capable of death, His body need not have died. As it was it
never saw corruption, because there was not in it the element of sin
which necessitated death and decay.

Our Lord Jesus, and none but He, could stand at the brink of the grave
and say, "No man takes My life from Me, but I lay it down of Myself. I
have power to lay it down and I have power to take it again." We poor
mortal men have only power to die, but Christ had power to live! Crown
Him, then! Set a new crown upon His beloved head! Let other lovers who
have died for their friends be crowned with silver, but for Jesus,
bring forth the golden diadem and set it upon the head of the Immortal
who never needed to have died, and yet became a mortal, yielding
Himself to death's pangs without necessity, except the necessity of His
mighty love!

Note, next, that in the cases of persons who have yielded up their
lives for others they may have entertained and probably did entertain
the prospect that the supreme penalty would not have been enacted from
them. They hoped that they might yet escape. Damon stood before
Dionysius, the tyrant, willing to be slain instead of Pythias. But you
will remember that the tyrant was so struck with the devotion of the
two friends that he did not put either of them to death and so the
proffered substitute escaped. There is an old story of a pious miner
who was in the pit with an ungodly man at

work. They had lighted the fuse and were about to blast a piece of rock
with the powder, and it was necessary that they should both leave the
mine before the powder exploded.

They both got into the bucket, but the hand above which was to wind
them up was not strong enough to draw the two together, and the pious
miner, leaping from the bucket, said to his friend, "You are an
unconverted man, and if you die your soul will be lost. Get up in the
bucket as quickly as you can! As for me, I commit my soul into the
hands of God, and if I die I am saved." This lover of his neighbor's
soul was spared, for he was found in perfect safety arched over by the
fragments which had been blown from the rock–he escaped. But remember
well that such a thing could not occur in the case of our dear
Redeemer. He knew that if He was to give a ransom for our souls He had
no loophole for escape. He must surely die. It was either He die, or
His people must–there was no other alternative. If we were to escape
from the pit through Him, He must perish in the pit Himself. There was
no hope for Him. There was no way by which the cup could pass from Him.

Men have bravely risked their lives for their friends. Perhaps had they
been certain that the risk would have ended in death they would have
hesitated. Jesus was certain that our salvation involved death to
Him–the cup must be drained to the bottom–He must endure the mortal
agony and in all the extreme sufferings of death He must not be spared
one jot or tittle. Yet deliberately, for our sakes, He espoused Death
that He might espouse us. I say again, bring forth another diadem! Put
a second crown upon that once thorn-crowned head! All hail, Immanuel!
Monarch of Misery, and Lord of Love! Was ever love like Yours? Lift up
His praises, all you sons of song! Exalt Him, all you heavenly ones!
Yes, set His throne higher than the stars! And let Him be extolled
above the angels, because with full intent He bowed His head to Death.
He knew that it behooved Him to suffer, it behooved that He should be
made a Sacrifice for sin, and yet for the joy that was set before Him,
He endured the Cross, despising the shame.

Note a third grand excellency in the crowning deed of Jesus' love,
namely, that He could have had no motive in that death but one of pure,
unmingled love and pity. You remember when the Russian nobleman was
crossing the steppes of that vast country in the snow, the wolves
followed the sledge in greedy packs, eager to devour the travelers. The
horses were lashed to their utmost speed, but needed not the lash, for
they fled for their lives from their howling pursuers. Whatever could
stay the eager wolves for a time was thrown to them in vain. A horse
was loosed–they pursued it, tore it to pieces, and still followed,
like grim Death.

At last a devoted servant, who had long lived with his master's family,
said, "There remains but one hope for you. I will throw myself to the
wolves and then you will have time to escape." There was great love in
this, but doubtless it was mingled with a habit of obedience, a sense
of reverence to the head of the household, and probably emotions of
gratitude for many obligations which had been received through a long
course of years. I do not depreciate the sacrifice, far from it. Would
that there were more of such a noble spirit among the sons of men! But
still, you can see a wide difference between that noble sacrifice and
the nobler deed of Jesus laying down His life for those who never
obliged Him, never served Him–who were infinitely His inferiors and
who could have no claims upon His gratitude.

If I had seen the nobleman surrender himself to the wolves to save his
servant, and if that servant had in former days tried to be an assassin
and had sought his life–and yet the master had given himself up for
the undeserving menial–I could see some parallel. But as the case
stands, there is a wide distinction. Jesus had no motive in His heart
but that He loved us, loved us with all the greatness of His glorious
Nature–loved us, and therefore for love, pure love, and love alone–He
gave Himself up to bleed and die–

"With all His sufferings full in view And woes to us unknown, Forth to
the tack His spirit flew, 'Twas love that urged Him on."

Put the third crown upon His glorious head! Oh angels, bring forth the
immortal coronet which has been stored up for ages for Him alone, and
let it glitter upon that ever-blessed brow!

Fourthly, remember, as I have already begun to hint, that in our
Savior's case it was not precisely, though it was, in a sense, death
for His friends. Greater love has no man than this towards his friends
that he lay down his life for them. Read the text so, and it expresses
a great truth–but greater love a man may have than to lay down his
life for his friends, namely–if he dies for his enemies! And here is
the greatness of Jesus' love, that though He called us "friends," the
friendship was all on His side at the first. He called us friends, but
our hearts called Him enemy, for we were opposed to

Him. We loved not in return for His love. "We hid, as it were, our
faces from Him, He was despised, and we esteemed Him not." Oh the
enmity of the human heart to Jesus! There is nothing like it! Of all
enmities that have ever come from the Pit that is bottomless, the
enmity of the heart to the Christ of God is the strangest and most
bitter of all!

And yet for men polluted and depraved, for men hardened till their
hearts are like the nether millstone, for men who could not return and
could not reciprocate the love He felt, Jesus Christ gave Himself to
die! "Scarcely for a righteous man one will die, yet perhaps for a good
(benevolent) man one could even dare to die, but God commends His love
to us in that while we were yet sinners in due time Christ died for the
ungodly."–

"O love of unexampled kind! That leaves all thought so far behind;
Where length, and breadth, and depth, and height, Are lost to my
astonished sight." Bring forth the royal diadem again, I say, and crown
our loving Lord, the Lord of Love, for as He is King of kings
everywhere else, so is He King of kings in the region of affection!

I shall not, I hope, weary you when I now observe that there was
another glorious point about Christ's dying for us for we had,
ourselves, been the cause of the difficulty which required a death.
There were two brothers on board a raft once, upon which they had
escaped from a foundering ship. There was not enough food, and it was
proposed to reduce the number that some, at least, might be able to
live. So many must die. They cast lots for life and death. One of the
brothers was drawn and was doomed to be thrown into the sea. His
brother interposed and said, "You have a wife and children at home. I
am single and therefore can be better spared. I will die instead of
you." "No," said his brother, "not so. Why should you? The lot has
fallen upon me." And they struggled with each other in mutual arguments
of love, till at last the substitute was thrown into the sea.

Now, there was no ground of difference between those too brothers
whatever. They were friends and more than friends. They had not caused
the difficulty which required the sacrifice of one of them. They could
not blame one another for forcing upon them the dreadful alternative.
But in our case there would never have been a need for anyone to die if
we had not been the offenders, the willful offenders. And who was the
offended one? Whose injured honor required the death? I speak not
untruthfully if I say it was the Christ that died who was, Himself, the
offended One. Against God the sin had been committed, against the
majesty of the Divine Ruler! And in order to wipe the stain away from
Divine Justice it was imperative that the penalty should be exacted and
the sinful one should die. So He who was offended took the place of the
offender and died, that the debt due to His own Justice might be paid.
It is the case of the judge bearing the penalty which he feels
compelled to pronounce upon the culprit!

Like the old classic story of the father who, on the judgment bench,
condemns his son to lose his eyes for an act of adultery, and then puts
out one of his own eyes to save an eye for his son–the judge himself
bore a portion of the penalty. In our case, He who vindicated the honor
of His own Law, and bore all the penalty, was the Christ who loved
those who had offended His Sovereignty and grieved His holiness! I say
again–but where are the lips that shall say it aright?–Bring forth,
bring forth a new diadem of more than imperial splendor, to crown the
Redeemer's blessed head anew, and let all the harps of Heaven pour
forth the richest music in praise of His supreme love!

Note, again, that there have been men who died for others, but they
have never borne the sins of others. They were willing to take the
punishment, but not the guilt. Those cases which I have already
mentioned did not involve character. Pythias has offended Dionysius,
Damon is ready to die for him, but Damon does not bear the offense
given by Pythias. A brother is thrown into the sea for a brother, but
there is no fault in the case. The servant dies for his master in
Russia, but the servant's character rises–it is in no degree
associated with any fault of the master–and the master is, indeed,
faultless in the case. But here, before Christ must die, it must be
written, "He was numbered with the transgressors, and He bore the sin
of many." "The Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all." "He made
Him to be sin for us who knew no sin, that we might be made the
righteousness of God in Him." "He was made a curse for us, as it is
written, Cursed is everyone that hangs on a tree."

Now, far be it from our hearts to say that Christ was ever less than
perfectly holy and spotless, and yet there had to be established a
connection between Him and sinners by the way of substitution, which
must have been hard for His perfect Nature to endure. For Him to be
hung up between two felons. For Him to be accused of blasphemy. For Him
to be numbered with transgressors. For Him to suffer, the Just for the
unjust, bearing His Father's wrath as if He had been

guilty–this is amazing and surpasses all thought! Bring forth the
brightest crowns and put them on His head, while we pass on to weave a
seventh chaplet for that adorable brow! For remember, once more, the
death of Christ was a proof of superlative love, because in His case He
was denied all the helps and alleviations which in other cases make
death to be less than death.

I marvel not that a saint can die joyously. Well may his brow be placid
and his eyes bright, for he sees his heavenly Father gazing down upon
him and Glory awaiting him! Well may his spirit be rapt in joy, even
while the death-sweat is on his face, for the angels have come to meet
him and he sees the far-off land, and the gates of pearl growing nearer
every hour! But ah, to die upon a Cross without a pitying eye upon you,
surrounded by a scoffing multitude–and to die there appealing to God,
who turns away His face! To die with this as your requiem, "My God, My
God, why have You forsaken Me!" To startle the midnight darkness with
an, "Eli, Eli, lama Sabachthani" of awful anguish such as never had
been heard before–this is terrible!

The triumph of Love in the death of Jesus rises clear above all other
heroic acts of self-sacrifice! Even as we have seen the lone peak of
the monarch of mountains rise out from all adjoining alps and pierce
the clouds to hold familiar converse with the stars, so does this love
of Christ soar far above anything else in human history, or that can be
conceived by the heart of man! His death was more terrible, His passing
away more grievous by far. Greater love has no man than this, that He
lay down such a life in such a fashion, and for such enemies so utterly
unworthy! Oh, I will not say, Crown Him–what are crowns to Him?
Blessed Lamb of God, our hearts love You! We fall at Your feet in
adoring reverence, and magnify You in the silence of our souls.

III. Lastly, and I must be very brief, as my time has fled, MANY ROYAL
THINGS OUGHT TO BE SUGGESTED

TO US BY THIS ROYAL LOVE. And first, dear Brothers and Sisters, how
this thought of Christ's proving His love by His death ennobles
self-denial. I do not know how you feel, but I feel utterly mean when I
think of what Christ has done for me. To live a life of comparative
ease and enjoyment shames me. To work to weariness seems nothing. After
all, what are we doing compared with what He has done? Those who can
suffer, who can lay down their lives in mission fields and bear
hardships, and poverty, and persecution for Christ–my Brethren, these
are to be envied–they have a portion above their Brethren!

It makes us feel ashamed to be at home and to possess any comforts when
JESUS so denied Himself. I say the thought of the Lord's bleeding love
makes us think ourselves mean to be what we are. It makes us nothing in
our own sight, while it causes us to honor before God the self-denial
of others and wish that we had the means of practicing it. And oh, how
it prompts us to heroism! When you get to the Cross you have left the
realm of little men–you have reached the nursery of true chivalry.
Does Christ die?–then we feel we could die, too! What grand things men
have done when they have lived in the love of Christ! That story of the
Moravians comes to my mind, and I will repeat it, though you may often
have heard it, how in the South of Africa there was, years ago, a place
of lepers into which persons afflicted with leprosy were driven.

There was a tract of country surrounded by high walls, from which none
could escape. There was only one gate and he who went in never came out
again. Certain Moravians looked over the wall and saw two men–one,
whose arms had rotted off with leprosy, was carrying on his back
another who had lost his legs–and between the two they were making
holes in the ground and planting seeds. The two Moravians thought,
"They are dying of a foul disease by hundreds inside that place. We
will go and preach the Gospel to them. But," they said, "if we go in,
we can never come out again. There we will die of leprosy, too." They
went in and they never did come out till they went home to Heaven. They
died for others for the love of Jesus.

Two others of these holy men went to the West Indian Islands, where
there was an estate to which a man could not go to preach the Gospel
unless he was a slave. And these two men sold themselves for slaves, to
work as others worked, that they might tell their fellow slaves the
Gospel. Oh, if we had that spirit of Jesus among us we should do great
things! We need it bad, and must have it. The Church has lost
everything when she has lost her old heroism! She has lost her power to
conquer the world when the love of Christ no longer constrains her. But
mark how the heroics in this case is sweetly tinctured and flavored
with gentleness. The chivalry of the olden times was cruel. It
consisted very much in a strong fellow cased in steel going about and
knocking others to pieces who did not happen to wear similar suits of
steel.

Nowadays we could get a good deal of that courage back, I dare say, but
we shall be best without it. We need that blessed chivalry of love in
which a man feels, "I would suffer any insult from that man if I could
do him good for Christ's sake. And I would be a doormat to my Lord's
temple gate, that all who come by might wipe their feet upon me, if
they could thereby honor Christ." The grand heroism of being nothing
for Christ's sake, or anything for the Church's sake– that is the
heroism of the Cross, for Christ made Himself of no reputation and took
upon Himself the form of a Servant, and being found in fashion as a
Man, He became obedient unto death, even the death of the Cross. O
blessed Spirit, teach us to perform heroic acts of self-abnegation for
Jesus' name's sake!

And, lastly, there seems to come to my ears from the Cross a gentle
voice that says, "Sinner, Sinner, guilty Sinner, I did all this for
you, what have you done for Me?" And yet another which says, "Return
unto Me! Look unto Me and be you saved, all you ends of the earth." I
wish I knew how to preach to you Christ Crucified. I feel ashamed of
myself that I cannot do better than I have done. I pray the Lord to set
it before you in a far better way than any of my words can. But, oh,
guilty Sinner, there is life in a look at the Redeemer! Turn, now, your
eyes to Him and trust Him! Simply by trusting Him you shall find
pardon, mercy, eternal life and Heaven. Faith is a look at the Great
Substitute. God help you to get that look for Jesus' sake. Amen.

PORTION OF SCRIPTURE READ BEFORE SERMON–John 15.
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The Heart Of Flesh