The Greatest Trial on Record

The Greatest Trial on Record
A Sermon
(No. 495)
Delivered on Sunday Morning, February 22nd, 1863, by the
Rev. C. H. SPURGEON,
At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington
"The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel
together, against the Lord, and against his anointed."–Psalm 2:2.
AFTER OUR LORD HAD been betrayed by the false-hearted Judas, he was
bound by the officers who had come to take him; no doubt the cords were
drawn as tight, and twisted as mercilessly as possible. If we believe
the traditions of the fathers, these cords cut through the flesh even
to the very bones, so that all the way from the garden to the house of
Annas, his blood left a crimson trail. Our Redeemer was hurried along
the road which crosses the brook Kedron. A second time he was made like
unto David, who passed over that brook, weeping as he went; and perhaps
it was on this occasion that he drank of that foul brook by the way.
The brook Redron, you know, was that into which all the filth of the
sacrifices of the temple was cast, and Christ, as though he were a foul
and filthy thing, must be led to the black stream. He was led into
Jerusalem by the sheep-gate, the gate through which the lambs of the
Passover and the sheep for sacrifice were always driven. Little did
they understand, that in so doing they were again following out to the
very letter the significant types which God had ordained in the law of
Moses. They led, I say, this Lamb of God through the sheep-gate, and
they hastened him on to the house of Annas, the ex-high priest, who,
either from his relationship to Caiaphas, from his natural ability, or
his prominence in opposing the Savior, stood high in the opinion of the
rulers. Here they made a temporary call, to gratify the bloodthirsty
Annas with the sight of his victim; and then, hastening on, they
brought him to the house of Caiaphas, some little distance off; where,
though it was but a little past the dead of night, many members of the
Sanhedrim were assembled. In a very short time, no doubt informed by
some speedy messenger, all the rest of the elders came together, and
sat down with great delight to the malicious work. Let us follow our
Lord Jesus Christ, not, like Peter, afar off, but, like John, let us go
in with Jesus into the high priest's house, and when we have tarried
awhile there, and have seen our Savior despitefully used, let us
traverse the streets with him, till we come to the hall of Pilate, and
then to the palace of Herod, and then afterwards to the place called
"the pavement," where Christ is subjected to an ignominious competition
with Barabbas, the murderer, and where we hear the howling of the
people, "Crucify him! Crucify him!"
Brethren, as the Lord gave commandment concerning even the ashes and
offal of the sacrifices, we ought to think no matter trivial which
stands in connection with our great burnt offering. My admonition is,
"Gather up the fragments which remain, that nothing be lost." As
goldsmiths sweep their shops, to save even the filings of the gold, so
every word of Jesus should be treasured up as very precious. But,
indeed, the narrative to which I invite you is not unimportant. Things
which were purposed of old, prophesied by seers, witnessed by apostles,
written by evangelists, and published by the ambassadors of God, are
not matters of secondary interest, but deserve our solemn and devout
attention. Let all our hearts be awed as we follow the King of kings in
his pathway of shame and suffering.
I. Come we, then, to the hall of Caiaphas. After the mob had dragged
our Lord from the house of Annas, they reached the palace of Caiaphas,
and there a brief interval occurred before the High Priest came forth
to question the prisoner. How were those sad minutes spent? Was the
poor victim allowed a little pause to collect his thoughts, that he
might face his accusers calmly? Far from it; Luke shall tell the
pitiful story: "And the men that held Jesus mocked him, and smote him.
And when they had blindfolded him, they struck him on the face, and
asked him, saying, Prophesy, who is it that smote thee? And many other
things blasphemously spake they against him." The officers were pausing
until the chairman of the court should please to have an interview with
the prisoner, and instead of suffering the accused to take a little
rest before a trial so important, upon which his life and character
depended, they spend all the time in venting their bitter malice upon
him. Observe how they insult his claim to the Messiahship! In effect,
they mock him thus: "Thou claimest to be a prophet like unto Moses;
thou knowest things to come; if thou be sent of God, prove it by
discovering thy foes; we will put thee on thy trial, and test thee, O
thou man of Nazareth." They bind his eyes, and then, smiting him one
after another, they bid him exercise his prophetic gift, for their
amusement, and prophesy who it was that smote him. Oh, shameful
question! How gracious was the silence, for an answer might have
withered them for ever. The day shall come when all that smite Christ,
shall find that he has seen them, though they thought his eyes were
blinded. The day shall come, blasphemer, worldling, careless man, when
everything that you have done against Christ's cause and Christ's
people, shall be published before the eyes of men and angels, and
Christ shall answer your question, and shall tell you who it is that
smote him. I speak to some this morning who have forgotten that Christ
sees them; and they have ill-treated his people; they have spoken ill
of his holy cause, saying, "How doth God know? and is there knowledge
in the Most High?" I tell you, the Judge of men shall ere long, point
you out, and make you, to your shame and confusion of face, confess
that you smote the Savior when you smote his Church.
This preliminary mockery being over, Caiaphas, the high priest came in;
he began at once to interrogate the Lord before the public trial
doubtless with the view of catching him in his speech. The high priest
asked him first of his disciples. We do not know what questions he
asked; perhaps they were something like these: "What meanest thou, to
allow a rabble to follow thee wherever thou goest? Who art thou, that
thou shouldst have twelve persons always attending thee and calling
thee Master? Dost thou intend to make these the leaders of a band of
men? Are these to be thy lieutenants, to raise a host on thy behalf? Or
dost thou pretend to be a prophet, and are these the sons of the
prophets who follow thee, as Elisha did Elias Moreover, where are they?
Where are thy gallant followers? If thou art a good man, why are they
not here to bear witness to thee? Where are they gone? Are they not
ashamed of their folly, now that thy promises of honor all end in
shame?" The high priest "asked him of his disciples." Our Lord Jesus on
this point said not a syllable. Why this silence? Because it is not for
our Advocate to accuse his disciples. He might have answered, "Well
dost thou ask, Where are they?' the cowards forsook me; when one proved
a traitor, the rest took to their heels. Thou sayest, Where are my
disciples?' there is one yonder, sitting by the fire, warming his
hands, the same who just now denied me with an oath." But no, he would
not utter a word of accusation; he whose lips are mighty to intercede
for his people, will never speak against them. Let Satan slander, but
Christ pleads. The accuser of the brethren is the prince of this world:
the Prince of peace is ever our Advocate before the eternal throne.
The high priest next shifted his ground, and asked him concerning his
doctrine–what it was that he taught–whether what he taught was not in
contradiction to the original teachings of their great law-giver
Moses–and whether he had not railed at the Pharisees, reviled the
Scribes, and exposed the rulers. The Master gave a noble answer. Truth
is never shamefaced; he boldly points to his public life as his best
answer. "I spake openly to the world; I ever taught in the synagogue,
and in the temple, whither the Jews always resort; and in secret have I
said nothing. Why askest thou me? ask them which heard me, what I have
said unto them: behold they know what I said." No sophistries–no
attempt at evasion–the best armor for truth is her own naked breast.
He had preached in the market-places, on the mountain's brow, and in
the temple courts; nothing had been done in a corner. Happy is the man
who can make so noble a defense. Where is the joint in such harness?
Where can the arrow pierce the man arrayed in so complete a panoply?
Little did that arch-knave Caiaphas gain by his crafty questioning. For
the rest of the questioning, our Lord Jesus said not a word in
self-defense; he knew that it availed not for a lamb to plead with
wolves; he was well aware that whatever he said would be misconstrued
and made a fresh source of accusation, and he willed, moreover, to
fulfill the prophecy, "He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as
a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth." But
what power he exerted in thus remaining silent! Perhaps nothing
displays more fully the omnipotence of Christ, than this power of
self-control. Control the Deity? What power less than divine can
attempt the task? Behold, my brethren, the Son of God does more than
rule the winds and commend the waves, he restrains himself. And when a
word, a whisper, would have refuted his foes, and swept them to their
eternal destruction, he "openeth not his mouth." He who opened his
mouth for his enemies, will not utter a word for himself. If ever
silence were more than golden, it is this deep silence under infinite
provocation.
During this preliminary examination, our Lord suffered an outrage which
needs a passing notice. When he had said, "Ask them that hear me," some
over-officious person in the crowd struck him in the face. The margin
in John 18:22, very properly corrects our version, and renders the
passage, "with a rod." Now, considering that our blessed Lord suffered
so much, this one little particular might seem unimportant, only it
happens to be the subject of prophecy in the book of Micah 5:1, "They
shall smite the Judge of Israel with a rod upon the cheek." This
smiting while under trial is peculiarly atrocious. To strike a man
while he is pleading in his own defense, would surely be a violation of
the laws even of barbarians. It brought Paul's blood into his face, and
made him lose his balance when the high priest ordered them to smite
him on the mouth. I think I hear his words of burning indignation: "God
shall smite thee, thou whited wall: for sittest thou to judge me after
the law, and commandest me to be smitten contrary to the law?" How soon
the servant loses his temper: how far more glorious the meekness of the
Master. What a contrast do these gentle words afford us–"If I have
spoken evil bear witness to the evil; but if well, why smitest thou
me?" This was such a concentrated infamy, to strike a man while
pleading for his life, that it well deserved the notice both of
evangelist and prophet.
But now the Court are all sitting; the members of the great Sanhedrim
are all in their various places, and Christ is brought forth for the
public trial before the highest ecclesiastical court; though it is,
mark you, a foregone conclusion, that by hook or by crook they will
find him guilty. They scour the neighborhood for witnesses. There were
fellows to be found in Jerusalem, like those who in the olden times
frequented the Old Bailey, "straw witnesses," who were ready to be
bought on either side; and, provided they were well paid, would swear
to anything. But for all this, though the witnesses were ready to
perjure themselves, they could not agree one with another; being heard
separately, their tales did not tally. At last two came, with some
degree of similarity in their witness; they were both liars, but for
once the two liars had struck the same note. They declared that he said
"I will destroy this temple that is made with hands, and within three
days I will build another made without hands," Mark 14:58. Now here
was, first, misquotation. He never said, "I will destroy the temple,"
his words were, "Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it
up." See how they add to his words and twist them to their own ends.
Then again, they not only misquoted the words, but they misrepresented
the sense, wilfully, because he spake concerning the temple of his
body, and not the literal temple in which they worshipped; and this
they must have known. He said, "Destroy this temple"–and the
accompanying action might have showed them that he meant his own body,
which was raised by his glorious resurrection after destruction upon
the cross. Let us add, that even when thus misrepresented, the witness
was not sufficient as the foundation of a capital charge. Surely there
could be nothing worthy of death in a man's saying, "Destroy this
temple, and I will build it in three days." A person might make use of
those words a thousand times over–he might be very foolish, but he
would not be guilty of death for such an offense. But where men have
made up their minds to hate Christ, they will hate him without a cause.
Oh! ye that are adversaries of Christ–and there are some such here
to-day–I know ye try to invent some excuse for your opposition to his
holy religion; ye forge a hundred falsehoods; but ye know that your
witness is not true, and your trial in conscience through which you
pass the Savior, is but a mock one. Oh that ye were wise, and would
understand him to be what he is, and submit yourselves to him now.
Finding that their witness, even when tortured to the highest degree,
was not strong enough, the high priest, to get matter of accusation,
adjured him by the Most High God to answer whether he was the Christ,
"the Son of the Blessed." Being thus adjured, our Master would not set
us an example of cowardice; he spake to purpose; he said, "I am," Mark
14:62, and then, to show how fully he knew this to be true, he added,
"ye shall see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power, and
coming in the clouds of heaven." I cannot understand what Unitarians do
with this incident. Christ was put to death on a charge of blasphemy,
for having declared himself to be the Son of God. Was not that the time
when any sensible person would have denied the accusation? If he had
not really claimed to be the Son of God, would he not now have spoken?
Would he not now, once for all, have delivered our minds from the
mistake under which we are laboring, if, indeed, it be a mistake, that
he is the Son of God? But no, he seals it with his blood; he bears open
testimony before the herd of his accusers. "I am." I am the Son of God,
and I am the sent-one of the Most High. Now, now the thing is done.
They want no further evidence. The judge, forgetting the impartiality
which becomes his station, pretends to be wonderfully struck with
horror, rends his garments, turns round to ask his co-assessors whether
they need any further witness, and they, all too ready, hold up their
hands in token of unanimity, and he is at once condemned to die. Ah!
brethren, and no sooner condemned, than the high priest, stepping down
from his divan, spits in his face, and then the Sanhedrim follow, and
smite him on his cheek; and then they turn him down to the rabble that
had gathered in the court, and they buffet him from one to the other,
and spit upon his blessed cheeks, and smite him, and then they play the
old game again, which they had learned so well before the trial came
on; they blindfold him for a second time, place him in the chair, and
as they smite him with their fists they cry. "Prophet! Prophet!
Prophet! who is it that smote thee? Prophecy unto us!" And thus the
Savior passed a second time through that most brutal and ignominious
treatment. If we had tears, if we had sympathies, if we had hearts, we
should prepare to shed those tears, to awake those sympathies, and
break those hearts, now. O thou Lord of life and glory! how shamefully
wast thou illtreated by those who pretended to be the curators of holy
truth, the conservators of integrity, and the teachers of the law!
Having thus sketched the trial as briefly as I could, let me just say,
that, throughout the whole of this trial before the ecclesiastical
tribunal, it is manifest that they did all they could to pour contempt
upon his two claims–to Deity and to Messiahship. Now, friends, this
morning–this morning, as truly as on that eventful occasion–you and I
must range ourselves on one of two sides. Either this day we must
cheerfully acknowledge his Godhead, and accept him also as the Messias,
the Savior promised of old to us; or else we must take our post with
those who are the adversaries of God and of his Christ. Will you ask
yourself the question, on which side will you now stand? I pray you, do
not think that Christ's Deity needs any further proof than that which
this one court gives. My dear friends, there is no religion under
heaven, no false religion, which would have dared to hazard such a
statement, as that yonder man who was spit upon and buffeted was none
other than incarnate God. No false religion would venture to draw upon
the credulity of its followers to that extent. What! that man there who
speaks not a word, who is mocked, despised, rejected, made nothing
of–what! he "very God of very God?" You do not find Mohammed, nor any
false prophet, asking any person to believe a doctrine so
extraordinary. They know too well that there is a limit even to human
faith; and they have not ventured upon such a marvellous assertion as
this, that yonder despised man is none other than the upholder of all
things. No false religion would have taught a truth so humbling to him
who is its founder and Lord. Besides, it is not in the power of any
man-made religion to have conceived such a thought. That Deity should
willingly submit to be spit upon to redeem those whose mouths vented
the spittle! In what book do you read such a wonder as this? We have
pictures drawn from imagination; we have been enchanted along romantic
pages, and we have marvelled at the creative flights of human genius;
but where did you ever read such a thought as this? "God was made flesh
and dwelt among us"–he was despised, scourged, mocked, treated as
though he were the offscouring of all things, brutally treated, worse
than a dog, and all out of pure love to his enemies. Why, the thought
is such a great one, so God-like, the compassion in it is so divine,
that it must be true. None but God could have thought of such a thing
as this stoop from the highest throne in glory to the cross of deepest
shame and woe. And do you think that if the doctrine of the cross were
not true, such effects would follow from it? Would those South Sea
Islands, once red with the blood of cannibalism, be now the abode of
sacred song and peace? Would this island, once itself the place of
naked savages, be what it is, through the influence of the benign
gospel of God, if that gospel were a lie? Ah! hallowed mistake, indeed,
to produce such peaceful, such blessed, such lasting, such divine
results! Ah! he is God. The thing is not false. And that he is Messiah,
who shall doubt? If God should send a prophet, what better prophet
could you desire? What character would you seek to have exhibited more
completely human and divine? What sort of a Savior would you wish for?
What could better satisfy the cravings of conscience? Who could commend
himself more fully to the affections of the heart? He must be, we feel
at once, as we see him, one alone by himself, with no competitor; he
must be the Messiah of God.
Come, now, sirs, on which side will you range yourselves? Will you
smite him? I put the question–"Who is it that will smite him this day?
Who is it that will spit upon him this day?" "I will not," says one,
"but I do not accept nor believe in him." In that you smite him. "I do
not hate him," says another, "but I am not saved by him." In refusing
his love you smite him. Whoever among you will not trust him with your
soul–in that you smite him, smite him in the tenderest part: since you
impugn his love and power to save. Oh! "Kiss the Son, lest he be angry,
and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little."
That suffering man stands in the room, and place, and stead of every
one that will believe on him. Trust him! trust him!–you have then
accepted him as your God, as your Messiah. Refuse to trust him!–you
have smitten him; and you may think it little to do this to-day; but
when he rides upon the clouds of heaven you will see your sin in its
true light, and you will shudder to think that ever you could have
refused him who now reigns "King of kings and Lord of lords." God help
you to accept him, as your God and Christ, to-day!
II. But our time flies too rapidly, and we must hasten with it, and
accompany our Savior to another place.
The Romans had taken away from the Jews the power to put a person to
death, they sometimes did it still, but they did it, as in the case of
Stephen, by popular tumult. Now, in our Savior's case they could not do
this, because there was still a strong feeling in favor of Christ among
the people, a feeling so strong, that had they not been bribed by the
rulers, they would never have said, "Crucify him! crucify him!" You
will remember that the priests and rulers did not arrest him on the
feast day, "lest" said they "there be a tumult among the people."
Besides, the Jewish way of putting a person to death, was by stoning:
hence, unless there was a sufficient number of persons who hated him, a
person would never get put to death at all. That is why the method of
putting to death by stoning was chosen, because if a person was
generally thought to be innocent, very few persons would stone him; and
although he would be somewhat maimed, his life might possibly be
spared. They thought, therefore, the Savior might escape as he did at
other times, when they took up stones to stone him. Moreover they
desired to put him to the death of the accursed; they would confound
him with slaves and criminals, and hang him like the Canaanitish kings
of old; therefore they hound him away to Pilate. The distance was about
a mile. He was bound in the same cruel manner, and was doubtless cut by
the cords. He had already suffered most dreadfully; please to remember
the bloody sweat of last Sabbath week; then remember that he has
already twice been beaten; and he is now hurried along, without any
rest or refreshment, just as the morning is breaking, along the streets
to the place where Pilate lived, perhaps the tower of Antonia, close to
the temple itself; we are not quite sure. He is bound and they hurry
him along the road; and here the Romish writers supply a great number
of particulars of anguish out of their very fertile imaginations. After
they had brought him there a difficulty occurred. These holy people,
these very righteous elders, could not come into the company of Pilate,
because Pilate, being a Gentile, would defile them; and there was a
broad space outside the palace, like a raised platform, this was called
"the pavement," where Pilate was wont to sit on those high days, that
he might not touch these blessed Jews. So he came out on the pavement,
and they themselves went not into the hall, but remained before "the
pavement." Always notice, that sinners who can swallow camels will
strain at gnats, crowds of men who will do great sins are very much
afraid of committing some little things which they they think will
affect their religion. Notice, that many a man who is a big thief
during the week, will ease his conscience by rigid Sabbatarianism when
the day comes round. In fact, most hypocrites run for shelter to some
close observance of days, ceremonies, and observations, when they have
slighted the weightier matters of the law.
Well, Pilate receives him bound. The charge brought against him was
not, of course, blasphemy; Pilate would have laughed at that, and
declined all interference. They accused him of stirring up sedition,
pretending to be a king, and teaching that it was not right to pay
tribute to Caesar. This last charge was a clear and manifest lie. He
refuse to pay tribute? Did not he send to the fish's mouth to get the
money? He say that Caesar must not have his due? Did he not tell the
Herodians–"Render unto Caesar the things that are Cresar's?" He stir
up a sedition?–the man that had "not where to lay his head?" He
pretend to snatch the diadem from Caesar?–he, the man who hid himself,
when the people would have taken him by force and made him a king?
Nothing can be more atrociously false. Pilate examines him, and
discovers at once, both from his silence and from his answer, that he
is a most extraordinary person; he perceives that the kingdom which he
claims is something supernatural; he cannot understand it. He asks him
what he came into the world for, the reply puzzles and amazes him, "To
bear witness to the truth," says he. Now, that was a thing no Roman
understood; for a hundred years before Pilate came, Jugurtha said of
the city of Rome, "a city for sale;" bribery, corruption, falsehood,
treachery, villany, these were the gods of Rome, and truth had fled the
seven hills, the very meaning of the word was scarcely known. So Pilate
turned on his heel, and said, "What is truth?" As much as to say, "I am
the procurator of this part of the country; all I care for is money."
"What's truth?" I do not think he asked the question, "What is truth?"
as some preach from it, as if he seriously desired to know what it
really was, for surely he would have paused for the divine reply and
not have gone away from Christ the moment afterwards. He said, "Pshaw;
What's truth?" Yet there was something so awful about the prisoner,
that his wife's dream, and her message–"See that thou have nothing to
do with this just person," all worked upon the superstitious fears of
this very weak-minded ruler; so he went back and told the Jews a second
time, "I find no fault in him;" and when they said, "He stirreth up the
people, teaching throughout all Jewry, beginning at Galilee to this
place," he caught at that word "Galilee." "Now," he thought, "I will be
rid of this man; the people shall have their way, and yet I will not be
guilty." "Galilee?" said he; "why, Herod is ruler there; you had better
take him to Herod at once." He thus gained two or three points; he made
Herod his friend; he hoped to exonerate himself of his crime, and yet
please the mob. Away they go to Herod. Oh! I think I see that blessed
Lamb of God again hounded through the streets. Did you ever read such a
tale? No martyr, even in bloody Mary's time, was ever harried thus as
the Savior was. We must not think that his agonies were all confined to
the cross; they were endured in those streets–in those innumerable
blows, and kicks, and strikings with the fist, that he had to bear.
They took him before Herod, and Herod having heard of his miracles,
thought to see some wonderful thing, some piece of jugglery, done in
his presence; and when Christ refused to speak, and would not plead
before "that fox" at all, then Herod treated him with a sneer. "They
made nothing of him." Can you picture the scene? Herod, his captains,
his lieutenants, all, down to the meanest soldiers, treat the Savior
with a broad grin! "A pretty king," they seem to say; "a miserable
beggar better! Look at his cheeks, all bruised where they have been
smiting him: is that the color of royalty's complexion?" "Look," say
they, "he is emaciated, he is covered with blood, as though he had been
sweating drops of blood all night. Is that the imperial purple?" And so
they "made nothing of him," and despised his kingship. And Herod said,
"Bring out that costly white robe, you know, if he be a king, let us
dress him so," and so the white robe is put on him–not a purple
one–that Pilate put on afterwards. He has two robes put on him–the
one put on by the Jews, the other by the Gentiles; seeming to be a fit
comment on that passage in Solomon's song, where the spouse says, "My
beloved is white and ruddy"–white with the gorgeous robe which marked
him King of the Jews, and then red with the purple robe which Pilate
afterwards cast upon his shoulders, which proved him King of nations
too. And so Herod and his men of war, after treating him as shamefully
as they could, looking at him as some madman mare fit for Bedlam than
elsewhere, sent him back again to Pilate. Oh! can you not follow him?
You want no great imagination–as you see them dragging him back again!
It is another journey along those streets; another scene of shameful
tumult, bitter scorn, and cruel smitings. Why, he dies a hundred
deaths, my brethren, it is not one–it is death on death the Savior
bears, as he is dragged from tribunal to tribunal.
See, they bring him to Pilate a second time. Pilate again is anxious to
save him. He says, "I have found no fault in this man touching those
things whereof ye accuse him: no, nor yet Herod; I will therefore
release him!" "No, no," they say; and they clamor greatly. He proposes
a cruel alternative, which yet he meant for tender mercy "I will
therefore chastise him, and let him go." He gave him over to his
lictors to be scourged. The Roman scourge was, as I have explained
before, a most dreadful instrument. It was made of the sinews of oxen,
and little sharp pieces of bone, which, you know, cause the most
frightful lacerations, if by accident you even run them into your hand;
little sharp pieces, splinters of bone, were intertwisted every here
and there among the sinews; so that every time the lash came down some
of these pieces of bone went right into the flesh, and tore off heavy
thonglulls, and not only the blood but the very flesh would be rent
away. The Savior was tied to the column, and thus beaten. He had been
beaten before; but this of the Roman lictor was probably the most
severe of his flagellations. After Pilate had beaten him, he gave him
up to the soldiers for a short time, that they might complete the
mockery, and so be able to witness that Pilate had no idea of the
royalty of Jesus, and no complicity in any supposed treason. The
soldiers put a crown of thorns on his head, and bowed before him, and
spat on him, and put a reed in his hands; they smote the crown of
thorns into his temple, they covered him with a purple robe; and then
Pilate brought him out, saying, "Behold the man!" I believe he did it
out of pity. He thought, "Now I have wounded him and cut him to pieces
thus, I will not kill him; that sight will move their hearts." Oh! that
Ecce Homo ought to have melted their hearts, if Satan had not made them
harder than flints and sterner than steel. But no, they cry, "Crucify
him! crucify him!" So Pilate listens to them again, and they change
their note, "He hath spoken blasphemy." This was a wrong charge to
bring; for Pilate, having his superstition again aroused, is the more
afraid to put him to death; and he comes out again, and says, "I find
no fault in him." What a strong contest between good and evil in that
man's heart! But they cried out again, "If thou let this man go thou
art not Caesar's friend." They hit the mark this time, and he yields to
their clamor. He brings forth a basin of water, and he washes his hands
before them all, and he says, "I am innocent of the blood of this just
person: see ye to it." A poor way of escaping! That water could not
wash the blood from his hands, though their cry did bring the blood on
their heads–"His blood be on us and on our children." When that is
done, Pilate takes the last desperate step of sitting down on the
pavement in royal state; he condemns Jesus, and bids them take him
away. But ere he is taken to execution, the dogs of war shall snap at
him again. The Jews no doubt having bribed the soldiers to excessive
zeal of scorn, they a second time–(oh! mark this; perhaps ye thought
this happened only once. This is the fifth time he has thus been
treated)–the soldiers took him back again, and once more they mocked
him, once more they spat upon him, and treated him shamefully. So, you
see, there was once when he first went to the house of Caiaphas; then
after he was condemned there; then Herod and his men of war; then
Pilate after the scourging; and then the soldiers, after the ultimate
condemnation. See ye not how manifestly "he was despised and rejected
of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; we hid as it were
our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not." I do not
know when I ever more heartily wished to be eloquent than I do now. I
am talking to my own lips, and saying, "Oh! that these lips had
language worthy of the occasion!" I do but faintly sketch the scene. I
cannot lay on the glowing colors. Oh, that I could set forth thy grief,
thou Man of Sorrows! God the Holy Ghost impress it on your memories and
on your souls, and help you pitifully to consider the griefs of your
blessed Lord.
I will now leave this point, when I have made this practical
application of it. Remember, dear friends, that this day, as truly as
on that early morning, a division must be made among us. Either you
must this day accept Christ as your King, or else his blood will be on
you. I bring my Master out before your eyes, and say to you, "Behold
your King." Are you willing to yield obedience to him? He claims first
your implicit faith in his merit: will you yield to that? He claims,
next, that you will take him to be Lord of your heart, and that, as he
shall be Lord within, so he shall be Lord without. Which shall it be?
Will you choose him now? Does the Holy Spirit in your soul–for without
that you never will–does the Holy Spirit say, "Bow the knee, and take
him as your king?" Thank God, then. But if not, his blood is on you, to
condemn you. You crucified him. Pilate, Caiaphas, Herod, the Jews and
Romans, all meet in you. You scourged him; you said, "Let him be
crucified." Do not say it was not so. In effect you join their clamours
when you refuse him; when you go your way to your farm and to your
merchandise, and despise his love and his blood, you do spiritually
what they did literally–you despise the King of kings. Come to the
fountain of his blood, and wash and be clean.
III. But we must close with a third remark. Christ really underwent yet
a third trial. He was not only tried before the ecclesiastical and
civil tribunals, but, he was really tried before the great democratical
tribunal, that is, the assembly of the people in the street.
You will say, "How?" Well, the trial was somewhat singular, but yet it
was really a trial. Barabbas–a thief, a felon, a murderer, a traitor,
had been captured; he was probably one of a band of murderers who were
accustomed to come up to Jerusalem at the time of the feast, carrying
daggers under their cloaks to stab persons in the crowd, and rob them,
and then he would be gone again; besides that, he had tried to stir up
sedition, setting himself up possibly as a leader of banditti. Christ
was put into competition with this villain; the two were presented
before the popular eye, and to the shame of manhood, to the disgrace of
Adam's race, let it be remembered that the perfect, loving, tender,
sympathizing, disinterested Savior was met with the word, "Crucify
him!" and Barabbas, the thief, was preferred. "Well," says one, "that
was atrocious." The same thing is put before you this morning–the very
same thing; and every unregenerate man will make the same choice that
the Jews did, and only men renewed by grace will act upon the contrary
principle. I say, friend, this day I put before you Christ Jesus, or
your sins. The reason why many come not to Christ is because they
cannot give up their lusts, their pleasures, their profits. Sin is
Barabbas; sin is a thief; it will rob your soul of its life; it will
rob God of his glory. Sin is a murderer; it stabbed our father Adam; it
slew our purity. Sin is a traitor; it rebels against the king of heaven
and earth. If you prefer sin to Christ, Christ has stood at your
tribunal, and you have given in your verdict that sin is better than
Christ. Where is that man? He comes here every Sunday; and yet he is a
drunkard? Where is he? You prefer that reeling demon Bacchus to Christ.
Where is that man? He comes here. Yes; and where are his midnight
haunts? The harlot and the prostitute can tell! You have preferred your
own foul, filthy lust to Christ. I know some here that have their
consciences open pricked, and yet there is no change in them. You
prefer Sunday trading to Christ; you prefer cheating to Christ; you
prefer the theater to Christ; you prefer the harlot to Christ; you
prefer the devil himself to Christ, for he it is that is the father and
author of these things. "No," says one, "I don't, I don't." Then I do
again put this question, and I put it very pointedly to you–"If you do
not prefer your sins to Christ, how is it that you are not a
Christian?" I believe this is the main stumbling-stone, that "Men love
darkness rather than light, because their deeds are evil." We come not
to Christ because of the viciousness of our nature, and depravity of
our heart; and this is the depravity of your heart, that you prefer
darkness to light, put bitter for sweet, and choose evil as your good.
Well, I think I hear one saying, "Oh! I would be on Jesus Christ's
side, but I did not look at it in that light; I thought the question
was. "Would he be on my side? I am such a poor guilty sinner that I
would fain stand anywhere, if Jesu's blood would wash me." Sinner!
sinner! if thou talkest like that, then I will meet thee right
joyously. Never was a man one with Christ till Christ was one with him.
If you feel that you can now stand with Christ, and say, "Yes, despised
and rejected, he is nevertheless my God, my Savior, my king. Will he
accept me? Why, soul, he has accepted you; he has renewed you, or else
you would not talk so. You speak like a saved man. You may not have the
comfort of salvation, but surely there is a work of grace in your
heart, God's divine election has fallen upon you, and Christ's precious
redemption has been made for you, or else you would not talk so. You
cannot be willing to come to Christ, and yet Christ reject you. God
forbid we should suppose the possibility of any sinner crying after the
Savior, and the Savior saying, "No, I will not have you." Blessed be
his name, "Him that cometh to me," he says, "I will in no wise cast
out." "Well," says one, "then I would have him to-day. How can I do
it?" There is nothing asked of thee but this. Trust him! trust him!
Believe that God put him in the stead of men; believe that what he
suffered was accepted by God instead of their punishment; believe that
this great equivalent for punishment can save you. Trust him; throw
yourself on him; as a man commits himself to the waters, so do you;
sink or swim! You will never sink, you will never sink; for "he that
believeth on the Lord Jesus Christ hath everlasting life, and shall
never come into condemnation."
May these faint words upon so thrilling a subject bless your souls, and
unto God be glory, for ever and ever. Amen and Amen.