The Spurgeon Series 1859 & 1860. Charles H. Spurgeon
and the scribes stood, and at length sat and watched him there. When they saw his head fall upon his chest, they would, no doubt, make some bitter remark about it, and say, “Ah! he will never lift his head again among the multitude”; and when they saw his hands bleeding they would say, “Ha, ha, these were the hands that touched the lepers, and that raised the dead, they will never do this again”; and when they saw his feet, they would say, “Ah, those feet will never tread this land again, and journey on his pilgrimages of mercy”; and then some coarse, some villainous, some brutal, perhaps some beastly jest would be made concerning every part of his thrice adorable person. They mocked him, and, at last, he called for a drink, and they gave him vinegar — mocking his thirst, while they pretended to allay it.
18. But worst of all, I have one more thing to notice, they mocked his prayers. Did you ever read in all the annals of executions, or of murders, that any men ever mocked their fellow creatures prayers? I have read stories of some dastardly villains who have tried to kill their enemies, and seeing their death approaching the victims have said, “give me a moment or two for prayer” — and it has been very rare when this has was not allowed. But I never read of a case in which when the prayer was uttered it has been laughed at, and made the object of a jest. But here hangs the Saviour, and every word he speaks becomes the subject of a pun, the motto of a jest. And when at the last he utters the most thrilling death shriek that ever startled earth and hell, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani,” even then they must make pun of it, and say, “he calls for Elijah, let us see whether Elijah will come and take him down.” He was mocked even in his prayer! Oh Jesus! never was there a love like yours; never a patience that could be compared with your endurance when you endured the cross, despising the shame.
19. I feel that in thus describing the Saviour’s mockeries, I have not been able to set before you the fulness of the shame through which he passed, and shall have to attempt it yet, again, in another moment, when I come to describe his shameful death, taking the words which preceded the ones I have already enlarged upon. He endured the cross just as he despised the shame.
20. The cross! the cross! When you hear that word it wakens in your hearts no thoughts of shame. There are other forms of capital punishment in the present day far more disgraceful than the cross. Connected with the guillotine there is much of ignominy, with the block, as much, with the gallows, most of all. But, remember, that although to speak of the gallows is to utter a word of ignominy, yet there is nothing of shame in the term “gallows,” compared with the shame of the cross, as it was understood in the days of Christ. We are told that crucifixion was a punishment to which no one could be subject to except a slave, and, even then, the crime must have been of the most frightful character — such as the betrayal of a master, the plotting his death, or murdering him — only such offences would have brought crucifixion, even, upon a slave. It was looked upon as the most terrible and frightful of all punishments. All the deaths in the world are preferable to this; they have all some slight alleviating circumstance, either their rapidity or their glory. But this is the death of a villain, of a murderer, of an assassin, — a death painfully protracted, one which cannot be equalled in all the inventions of human cruelty, for suffering and ignominy. Christ himself endured this. The cross, I say, is in this day no theme of shame. It has been the crest of many a monarch, the banner of many a conqueror. To some it is an object of adoration. The finest engravings, the most wonderful paintings, have been dedicated to this subject. And now, the cross engraven on many a gem has become a right, royal, and noble thing. And we are unable to this day, I believe, fully to understand the shame of the cross; but the Jew knew it, the Roman knew it, and Christ knew what a frightful thing, what a shameful thing it was to be put to death by crucifixion.
21. Remember, too, that in the Saviour’s case, there were special aggravations of this shame. He had to carry his own cross; he was crucified, too, at the common place of execution, Calvary, which is analogous to our ancient Tyburn, or our present Old Bailey. {a} He was put to death, too, at a time when Jerusalem was full of people. It was at the feast of the Passover, when the crowd had greatly increased, and when the representatives of all nations would be present to behold the spectacle. Parthians, and Medes, and Elamites, and the dwellers in Mesopotamia, in Greece, indeed, and perhaps far off Tarshish, and the islands of the sea. All were there to unite in this scoffing, and to increase the shame. And he was crucified between two thieves, as if to teach that he was more vile than they. Was there ever a shame like this?
22. Let me conduct you to the cross. The cross, the cross! Tears begin to flow at the very thoughts of it. The rough wood is laid upon the ground, Christ is flung upon his back, four soldiers seize his hands and feet, his blessed flesh is ripped with the accursed iron; he begins to bleed, he is lifted into mid air, the cross is dashed into the place prepared for it, every limb is dislocated, every bone put out of joint by that terrific jerk; he hangs there naked to his shame, gazed upon by all beholders, the sun shines hot upon him, fever begins to burn, the tongue is dried up like a potsherd, it cleaves to the roof of his mouth, he has nothing with which to nourish nature with moisture. His body has been long emaciated by fasting, he has been brought near the brink of death by flagellation in the hall of Pilate. There he hangs, the tenderest part of his body, his hands and feet are pierced, and where the nerves are most numerous and tender, there is the iron rending and tearing its fearful way. The weight of his body drags the iron up his foot, and when his knees are so weary that they cannot hold him, then the iron begins to drag through his hands. Terrible spectacle indeed! But you have seen only the outward, there was an inward, you cannot see that: if you could see, if though your eyes were like the angels, you would be struck with eternal blindness. Then there was the soul. The soul dying. Can you guess what must be the pangs of a soul dying? A soul never died on earth yet. Hell is the place of dying souls, where they die everlastingly the second death. And there was within the ribs of Christ’s body, hell itself poured out. Christ’s soul was enduring the conflict with all the powers of hell, whose malice was aggravated by the fact, that it was the last battle they should ever be able to fight with him. No, worse than that. He had lost what is the martyr’s strength and shield, he had lost the presence of his God, God himself was putting his hand upon him; it pleased the Father to bruise him; he has put him to grief, he has made his soul a sacrifice for sin. God, in whose countenance Christ had everlastingly seemed himself, basking in delight, concealed his face. And there was Jesus forsaken by God and man, left alone to tread the winepress, no, to be trodden in the winepress, and dip his vesture in his own blood. Oh, was there ever a grief like this! No love can picture it. If I had a thought in my heart concerning the suffering of Christ, it would flay my lips before I uttered it. The agonies of Jesus were like the furnace of Nebuchadnezzar, heated seven times hotter than ever human suffering was heated before. Every vein was a road for the hot feet of pain to travel in; every nerve a string in a harp of agony that thrilled with the discordant wail of hell. All the agonies that the damned themselves can endure were thrust into the soul of Christ. He was a target for the arrows of the Almighty, arrows dipped in the poison of our sin; all the billows of the Eternal dashed upon this rock of our salvation. He must be bruised, trodden, crushed, destroyed, his soul must be exceedingly sorrowful, even to death.
23. But I must pause, I cannot describe it. I can weep over it, and you can too. The rocks split when Jesus died, our hearts must be made of harder marble than the rocks themselves if they do not feel. The temple tore its gorgeous veil of tapestry, and will you not be mourners too? The sun itself had one big tear in its own burning eye, which quenched its light; and shall we not weep; we for whom the Saviour died? Shall we not feel an agony of heart that he should thus have endured for us?
24. Note, my friends, that all the shame that came on Christ he despised. He counted it so light compared with the joy which was set before him, that he is said to have despised it. As for his sufferings, he could not despise them, that word could not be used in connection with the cross for the cross was too awful for even Christ himself to despise. That he endured; the shame he could cast off, but the cross he must carry, and to it he must be nailed. “He endured the cross, despising the shame.”
25. II. And now HIS GLORIOUS MOTIVE. What made Jesus speak like this? — “For the joy that was set before him.” Beloved, what was the joy? Oh, it is a thought which must