The Spurgeon Series 1859 & 1860. Charles H. Spurgeon
the joy of saving you and me. I know it was the joy of fulfilling his Father’s will — of sitting down on his Father’s throne — of being made perfect through suffering; but still I know that this is the grand, great motive of the Saviour’s suffering, the joy of saving us. Do you know what the joy is of doing good to others? If you do not I pity you, for of all joys which God has left in this poor wilderness, this is one of the sweetest. Have you seen the hungry when they have lacked bread for many an hour, — have you seen them come to your house almost naked, their clothes having been sold so that they might get money for them to buy bread? Have you heard the woman’s story of the griefs of her husband? Have you listened when you have heard the tale of imprisonment, of sickness, of cold, or hunger, of thirst, and have you never said, “I will clothe you, I will feed you.” Have you never felt that divine joy, when your gold has been given to the poor, and your silver has been dedicated to the Lord, when you bestowed it upon the hungry, and you have gone aside and said, “God forbid that I should be self-righteous”; but I do feel it is worth living if only to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, and to do good to my poor suffering fellow creatures. Now, this is the joy which Christ felt; it was the joy of feeding us with the bread of heaven — the joy of clothing poor, naked sinners in his own righteousness — the joy of finding mansions in heaven for homeless souls, — of delivering us from the prison of hell, and giving us the eternal enjoyments of heaven.
26. But why should Christ look on us? Why should he choose to do this for us? Oh, my friends, we never deserved anything from his hands. As a good old writer says, “When I look at the crucifixion of Christ, I remember that my sins put him to death. I do not see Pilate, but I see myself in Pilate’s place, bartering Christ for honour. I do not hear the cry of the Jews, but I hear my sins yelling out, ‘Crucify him, crucify him.’ I do not see iron nails, but I see my own iniquities fastening him to the cross. I do not see any spear, but I see my unbelief piercing his poor wounded side,
For you, my sins, my cruel sins,
His chief tormentors were;
Each of my sins became a nail,
And unbelief the spear.”
27. It is the opinion of the Romanist, that the very man who pierced Christ’s side was afterwards converted, and became a follower of Jesus. I do not know whether that is a fact; but I know it is the case spiritually. I know that we have pierced the Saviour, I know that we have crucified him; and yet, strange to say, the blood which came from those holy veins has washed us from our sins, and has made us accepted in the Beloved. Can you understand this? Here is manhood mocking the Saviour, parading him through the streets, nailing him to a cross, and then sitting down to mock at his agonies. And yet, what is there in the heart of Jesus but love for them? He is weeping all this while that they should crucify him, not so much because he felt the suffering, though that was much, but because he could not bear the thought that men whom he loved could nail him to the tree. “That was the unkindest stab of all.” You remember that remarkable story of Julius Caesar, when he was struck by his friend Brutus. “When the noble Caesar saw him stab, ingratitude, more strong than traitor’s arms, quite vanquished him! Then burst his mighty heart.” Now Jesus had to endure the stab in his innermost heart, and to know that his elect did it — that his redeemed did it, that his own church was his murderer — that his own people nailed him to the tree? Can you think, beloved, how strong must have been the love that made him submit even to this! Picture yourself today going home from this hall. You have an enemy who all his life long has been your enemy. His father was your enemy, and he is your enemy too. There is never a day passes but you try to win his friendship; but he spits upon your kindness, and curses your name. He harms your friends, and there is not a stone he leaves unturned to do you damage. As you are going home today, you see a house on fire; the flames are raging, and the smoke is ascending up in one black column to heaven. Crowds gather in the street, and you are told there is a man in the upper bedroom who must be burnt to death. No one can save him. You say, “Why that is my enemy’s house”; and you see him at the window. It is your own enemy — the very man; he is about to be burned. Full of lovingkindness, you say, “I will save that man if I can.” He sees you approach the house; he puts his head out the window and curses you. “An everlasting blast upon you!” he says; “I would rather perish than that you should save me.” Do you imagine yourself then, dashing through the smoke, and climbing the blazing staircase to save him; and can you conceive that when you get near him he struggles with you, and tries to roll you into the flames? Can you conceive your love to be so potent, that you can perish in the flames rather than leave him to be burned? You say, “I could not do it; it is beyond flesh and blood to do it.” But Jesus did it. We hated him, we despised him, and, when he came to save us, we rejected him. When his Holy Spirit comes into our hearts to strive with us, we resist him; but he will save us; no, he himself braved the fire that he might snatch us as brands from eternal burning. The joy of Jesus was the joy of saving sinners. The great motive, then, with Christ, in enduring all this, was, that he might save us.
28. III. And now, give me just a moment, and I will try and hold the Saviour up for OUR IMITATION. I speak now to Christians — to those who have tasted and handled the good word of life. Christian men! if Christ endured all this, merely for the joy of saving you, will you be ashamed of bearing anything for Christ? The words are on my lips again this morning, —
If on my face for your dear name,
Shame and reproach shall be,
I’ll hail reproach, and welcome shame,
My Lord, I’ll die for thee.
Oh! I do not wonder that the martyrs died for such a Christ as this! When the love of Christ is shed abroad in our hearts, then we feel that if the stake were present we would stand firmly in the fire to suffer for him who died for us. I know our poor unbelieving hearts would soon begin to quail at the crackling faggot and the furious heat. But surely this love would prevail over all our unbelief. Are there any of you who feel that if you follow Christ you must lose by it, lose your position, or lose your reputation? Will you be laughed at, if you leave the world and follow Jesus? Oh! and will you turn aside because of these little things, when he would not turn aside, though all the world mocked him, until he could say, “It is finished.” No, by the grace of God, let every Christian lift his hands to the Most High God, to the Maker of heaven and earth, and let him say within himself,
Now for the love I bear his name,
What was my gain I count my loss,
I pour contempt on all my shame,
And nail my glory to his cross.
“For me to live is Christ; to die is gain,” Living I will be his, dying I will be his; I will live for his honour, serve him completely, if he will help me, and if he requires it, I will die for his name’s sake.
[Mr. Spurgeon was so consumed by the first point, that he was unable from lack of time to touch upon the other points. May what was blessed to the hearer be sweet to the reader.]
{a} Tyburn was used for centuries as the primary location of the execution of London criminals; the Old Bailey was the main criminal court of London.
Hypocrisy
No. 237-5:97. A Sermon Delivered On Sunday Morning, February 6, 1859, By C. H. Spurgeon, At The Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.
Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy. {Luke 12:1}
1. This age is full of shams. Pretence never stood in so eminent a position as it does at the present hour. There are few, I fear, who love the naked truth; we can scarcely endure it in our houses; you would scarcely do business with a man who absolutely stated it. If you walked through the streets of London, you might imagine that all the shops were built of marble, and that all the doors were made of mahogany and wood of the rarest kinds; and yet you soon discover that there is scarcely a piece of any of these precious materials to be found anywhere, but that everything is veneer, and painted, and varnished. I find no fault with this, except as it is an outward type of