The Rational Creation

The Sufferings of Christ

The original glory of Christ.—The Apostle Paul, in his Epistle to the Philippians, when speaking of the example which Jesus has set us, says, "Who being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God; but made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men. And being found in fashion as a man, he humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross." In his original condition our great Redeemer was arrayed in the form, that is, in all the outward glory and blessedness of God, and thought it no robbery to claim every perfection and every honour as his own. All the glories of the Eternal were his. They were his in right; for he was "God over all, blessed for evermore." They were his also in possession; for he was "the brightness of the Father's glory, and the express image of his person, and upholding all things by the word of his power." Rich in himself, in the infinitude of wisdom, power, and blessedness, all the gifts that fill creation with joy flowed forth from him. Every creature had been formed by his hand, and was fed by his care. Every eye was turned to him, and by his bounty a supply was provided for the want of everything that lives. The highest of created beings, as well as the lowest, derived their enjoyment from him; and while they found in him a store that satisfied every present desire, they entertained no fear of his treasure being ever exhausted. To understand aright the work which the Saviour undertook, we must look at him in his original glory as Head over all. We must contemplate the mighty whole over which he ruled, and, surveying star after star, and world after world, we must keep in mind that whatever is blissful or beautiful in the vast creation, originally flowed from him. Previous to the time when he took upon himself the form of a servant, he was the mighty centre around which creation rolled; from him there radiated forth the all-pervading influence that animated the whole, and to him its universal homage was paid. No mere creature can conceive the blessedness and majesty of him who dwelt in light that is inaccessible, and full of glory. Yet for our sakes he became poor! he submitted to a life of humiliation, and died a death of agony and shame!

The Humiliation of Christ.—In the words of the apostle, "He humbled himself," or, as the original term may more properly be rendered, he emptied, or divested himself of the form of God. He laid aside all the outward manifestation of glory and dominion with which, from the beginning, he had been arrayed, and which, as the Creator, he could claim as his own. It is evident, from the very nature of Deity, that he could not denude himself of his essential attributes. He necessarily continued to be, as he had ever been, the Almighty, the Infinite, and the Eternal God; but he laid aside all that glory and magnificence by which he had formerly exhibited his perfections to his creatures. He renounced that supreme dominion which had hitherto supplied a field for the exercise of his benevolent desires. He took on him our nature; the Eternal and Almighty God was "found in fashion as a man." This humiliation it is impossible for us to measure or to conceive. The distance between the Creator and the creature, between the infinite and unchangeable Jehovah, and the feeble perishing children of the dust, is so vast, that it is not only beyond the power of the human mind to comprehend the mystery of Christ's humiliation, but it is utterly impossible for any created being, even for the highest of the angels before the throne, fully to understand it. Into these things, therefore, we cannot penetrate, and we dare not venture on doubtful speculations.

When we direct our attention to subjects that are better suited to our mental capacity, the extent of our Saviour's humiliation will appear in a very striking point of view, if we consider the rank that man holds among the intelligent classes of creation. We are told of "cherubim" and "seraphim," of "thrones, dominions, principalities, and powers," of various orders and ranks of angelic beings; and man seems to be far below then all. If we may so express ourselves, man appears to be at the zero, or lowest point, in the scale of rational and accountable existence; and Christ became a man. If we had been told that the Creator was to assume a creature form, and had been left to conjecture what that form should be, we would naturally have looked to the highest rank, and our imagination would have clothed him in angel's likeness. Even that would have been amazing condescension. But "he took not on him the nature of angels;" he passed down through one order of rational creatures to another and another, till he came to the lowest, and in that he veiled the glory of the Eternal. We find, moreover, that he not only assumed the human nature, but he assumed it in its lowest estate. He was not made like Adam before the Fall, but he walked upon earth in "the likeness of sinful flesh." He was "an hungered," "athirst," "he grieved in spirit," he "groaned," he bled, "he was made under the law," and "he endured the cross!" This was his wonderful condescension; who can describe it, or to what can it be compared? If an angel, filling the sky with his radiance, were seen to assume the garb of a worm; if he were to submit to crawl in the dust, to hide among the clods of the valley, and to be crushed as a loathsome thing beneath the feet of the passer by, we would doubtless say that his humiliation was great; but such a descent, great as it doubtless would be, could not for a moment be compared to that of the Redeemer, who, being God, "took on himself the form of a servant."

He was, moreover, poor and despised among men. No earthly palace received the King of glory, when he "came unto his own." No crowd of nobles welcomed his approach, or hastened to make their obeisance. The fishermen of Galilee were his companions, he was the friend of "publicans and sinners." In heaven he had been the object of adoration, and the highest bent before him; but on earth, the feeblest scorned him, and "the abjects gathered themselves together against him."

The whole of his life below was a continuous scene of suffering and humiliation. He was born in a stable, in the midst of strangers, far from his mother's home. No sooner did he see the light of day than he became the object of Herod's persecution, and had to be carried into a distant land, in order to elude the tyrant's grasp. When he afterwards returned, he spent his youth among a people that were despised. The house of poverty was his home, and the humble craft of a carpenter was his occupation. When he entered on his public ministrations he wandered about without any fixed abode, "he had not where to lay his head;" he was subjected to all the privations of a wandering life; he was despised and rejected of men; he was mocked and ridiculed, falsely accused, and continually assailed by those who "held their council against him how they might destroy him."

We must ever keep in remembrance, that though sustained by the power of the divinity within him, Jesus was, in all respects, a man. He not only suffered from the effects of hunger, and weariness, and thirst; but he felt the pang which arises from unmerited reproach, and the pain that is inflicted by the scoff and scorn of men. He took on him our nature, his feelings were the same as ours, sin only excepted; and though he did not yield to the temptation, there can be no doubt that his spirit was grieved and troubled within him, when he "endured the contradiction of sinners against himself." The nights that he spent in secret wrestling with God, the "prayers and supplications, with strong crying and tears," of which the Apostle speaks, may be referred to as serving to illustrate the nature of the conflict to which he was subjected. We may also remark, that while we read once and again of his weeping and groaning, there is but one solitary instance on record of his rejoicing in spirit. The Angel of the covenant, who ushered in the glorious revelation of mercy to a fallen world, appeared on earth as a man of sorrows, and he who had shone forth from eternity as the sun of the heavenly firmament, had "his visage marred more than any man, and his form more than the sons of men."

The Death of Christ.—In endeavouring to give an account of the sufferings borne by the Saviour at the time of his death, the mind becomes confused, in consequence of their number and variety, as well as overwhelmed by the thought of their fearful intensity.

His bodily sufferings must have been extreme. For several days previous to his being taken by the Jews, he had been continuously occupied in scenes of a painfully harassing kind; and instead of his wearied frame having been refreshed, on the night previous to his crucifixion, by a peaceful repose, he had endured the agony in the garden, in which his body partook so much of the affliction of the soul, that the sweat fell to the ground as if it had been great drops of blood. Scarcely had that hour of agony passed, when he was seized by the band which the traitor Judas led, and was dragged as a criminal before the council of the Jews. In the high-priest's palace he was treated with every sort of cruel indignity; he was spit upon, he was buffeted, he was struck by the hands of those who called out in derision, "Prophesy, thou Christ, who is he that smote thee." After the Jewish rulers had, by a vile mockery of justice, condemned him, he was carried before Pilate; the Roman governor then sent him to Herod, who, with his unfeeling soldiers, mocked him, and "set him at nought." Again brought back to Pilate, he was, by him, given up to the power of his enemies, and sentenced to die. This sentence his tormentors carried into execution, with every aggravation which fiendish ingenuity could devise. They mocked him, they scourged him, they crowned him with thorns; they smote him on the head, and compelled him to bear the heavy cross on which he was doomed to die. They brought him to the hill of Calvary, and nailed him to the accursed tree. It is needless to say, that no torture is more agonizing than that which crucifixion produces. The whole weight of the body supported by the nails that are driven through the hands and the feet, the limbs painfully and immovably extended, the suffering inflicted is so severe, that it scarcely can be imagined. To aggravate the whole of his other pains, we are also told, that the Saviour was parched with thirst, one of the most intolerable of bodily sensations. When we thus simply enumerate the various sources of his pain, we are led to exclaim, Could the ingenuity of man, or the malice of devils, have invented a torture more aggravated, or more agonizing? And we immediately infer, that a power superior to that of man must have been present, to enable the human frame to endure it all.

Similar sufferings afflicted his soul. He had been assailed as a thief by a band of armed men, he had been carried to judgment during the silence of the night, like a robber seized while committing nocturnal depredations. He had been mocked and condemned by the rulers, both of the Gentiles and of the Jews; when offered to the people, those among whom he had gone about doing good, those that had shouted before him, "Hosannah to the Son of David," preferred a robber and a murderer, and cried out, "Crucify him, Crucify him." And at the time when he was thus ignominiously treated by the people and their rulers, even his own disciples deserted him; one of them had basely betrayed him, another had denied him, they had all forsaken him and fled. The mode of his execution, moreover, was not only one that produces extreme pain, but one that was reckoned so ignominious, that it was appropriated only to slaves, and to the vilest criminals. And while he hung in his anguish, his persecutors heaped insults upon him; they mocked at his cries, and in his extremity gave him to drink "vinegar mingled with gall."

Still more heart-rending were the feelings that grieved his soul, when he thought of his followers and friends. He saw them dispersed, scattered like sheep without a shepherd, and he thought of the time when they should drink of the cup that he then drank of, and be baptized with the baptism that he was baptized with. He looked down from the cross, and saw the women that had waited on his instructions bewailing and lamenting him; he thought of the woes to which they would themselves be subjected, and said "Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but weep for yourselves and your children." He saw his mother experiencing the truth of Simeon's prophecy, which told her, that "a sword should pierce through her own soul also;" and, while he commended her to the care of his beloved disciple, sympathized in all its intensity with the pang that tore her bosom.

All these sufferings, however, are sufferings of which other men have, in some measure, been partakers, they are sufferings which we are able to understand, and with which we can sympathize; but there was another source of anguish much more terrible than them all, of which we are unable to form any adequate idea.

His God forsook him.—We cannot tell what was the nature of that withdrawal, and we cannot estimate the anguish that it produced. And while we adduce some considerations which clearly prove it to have been exceedingly great, it is impossible for us to form any right conception of its intensity.

We are familiarly aware that the grief we feel, when we incur the displeasure of any friend or acquaintance, will be greater or less in proportion to the love which we bear him. If a companion dear to us and justly esteemed were alienated from us, our heart would be pained;—if a father revered and beloved were to pass by in the time of our distress regardless of our wo, were to look on us with displeasure, and leave us alone to die, no earthly trial could be more hard to bear. When we judge of the sorrow of the Saviour's soul by such a standard as this, we immediately perceive that it must have been great beyond our power to comprehend. Jesus loved his God with a love far surpassing that of man to man. He loved Him with the devotion and affection which Immanuel alone could feel. It was in compliance with his heavenly Father's will that he had come to suffer; and the God whom he so loved, the Father whose pleasure he had so earnestly sought to perform, forsook him in the hour of his extremity, and poured out on his head the vials of wrath! The sufferings which the Saviour endured when it "pleased the Lord to bruise him," must, therefore, have been extreme; but a suffering proportioned to the love which Immanuel bore to his God, it is impossible for us to measure.

It may also be observed, that it was this part of his agony that drew from him the solitary complaint to which his lips gave utterance. Tortured in body, beaten, scourged, and nailed to the cross, grieved in spirit by the insults of his enemies, and afflicted in soul on account of the sorrows of his friends, he uttered no lamentation. "He was led as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is dumb, so he opened not his mouth." But when this last trial in its intensity came upon him, when his Father manifested displeasure, he could keep silence no longer, but in the bitterness of soul he cried aloud, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"

It seems to have been the anticipation of this bitter ingredient in the cup of trembling prepared for him, that led him in the garden to pray, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me," and compelled him to seek deliverance with such fearful earnestness, that the blood oozed through the pores of his skin, and, mingling with his sweat, dropped in great drops to the ground; affording an evidence of mental anguish to which we find no parallel in all the varied records of human wo.

The Saviour was both God and man. He had taken our nature upon him that he might be capable of suffering, to which the pure Divinity cannot be subjected. At the same time he continued to be the Eternal and Almighty God, that the power of the indwelling Deity might support his humanity under its load of wo. But though the sufferer was thus the Almighty, such was the extent of his agony, that the whole of the Gospel narrative leads us to look on him as bending beneath the burden, and all but sinking under its weight. How fearful then must that measure of endurance have been, which even the might of Immanuel could scarcely bear!

Nothing less, however, could suffice; for the guilt of a world was lying upon him. Every sin deserves the wrath of God, not only in this life, but in that which is to come. Every sin deserves, and, if it be not atoned for, will be followed by an eternity of wo. And on the cross the Saviour expiated the guilt of a world. He bore at once the punishment, which, if he had not appeared, men must have endured through an endless eternity. In that one dark, dark hour, there was concentrated an amount of endurance equivalent to the punishment which the law demanded for the sins of all his people. The penalty incurred by man's transgression was suffering, limited in measure, because man's power of endurance is limited, but endless in duration, because his sin was immeasurably great; while the ransom paid was suffering, limited in duration, because it was not meet that a sinless surety should suffer for ever, but infinite in measure, that the honour of the law might be fully vindicated. But we cannot measure it; we cannot conceive it. Time cannot unfold it, and even Eternity itself, will not suffice us to explore it.

There was yet another aggravation of the Redeemer's sufferings, to which we must allude, though unable fully to describe or understand its nature: we refer to the painful effects of Satan's temptations. When the promised deliverer was first spoken of, he was described as coming "to bruise the serpent's head," while it was said, that "the serpent would bruise his heel." The Son of God is said to have been "manifested that he might destroy the works of the devil," and we are led to understand that, throughout the whole of his pilgrimage on earth, there was a continual struggle between him and the powers of darkness. No incidents of the contest are recorded, excepting the temptation in the wilderness; but we have every reason to conclude that the onsets of the hosts of hell were distinguished by all that terrible might and inveterate hatred which characterize the fallen angels. In reference to his death, the Saviour said to his disciples, "Hereafter I will not talk much with you, for the prince of this world cometh, and hath nothing in me," (John xiv. 30.) And he said to his enemies, when they came to seize him, "This is your hour, and the power of darkness," (Luke xxii. 53.) These expressions plainly refer to an arduous struggle through which he had to pass; and, though the nature of this last combat between the destroyer and the Captain of our salvation has not been made known, it seems very evident that it must have been terrible in itself, and must have formed a fearful aggravation of the manifold agonies to which he was otherwise exposed.

The value of these sufferings of Christ were further enhanced by the dignity of the sufferer. "We were not redeemed with corruptible things, as silver and gold; but with the precious blood of Christ." He who thus endured was God's own Son; he was the Lord of glory manifest in the flesh. The dignity of his nature, the perfect purity of his life, the devotion to God, and the love to man, that characterized all his deportment, communicated a still higher value, if we can conceive that to have been possible, to the sacrifice which he offered. Such suffering as he endured, without any account being taken of the rank and character of him by whom it had been borne, would have satisfied the law's demands; but such suffering, borne by the Son of God, by the Creator clothed in human nature, magnified the law, and made it honourable.

The extent of suffering that was demanded, and the value of the propitiation that was offered, we are altogether unable to comprehend, and such is the perversity of our nature, we are prone to forget and to despise them. But how wonderful was the dread reality! And how striking is the homage paid by other creatures, and by the great Creator! Men mocked the agony endured on Calvary, but the earth quaked,—the rocks rent,—the graves were opened,—and the sun withdrew his shining. Men account these things "foolishness," while thousand thousand angelic tongues proclaim eternally the glories of "the Lamb." Men treat these wondrous events as if they were beneath their regard; but because the Saviour humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross, "God also path highly exalted him, and given him a name which is above every name; that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth."

The consequences that result from the sufferings of Christ as the substitute for man.—Some have spoken of the humiliation and death of the Redeemer as if they had been designed to give us an example of resignation and obedience, without any further object or higher aim. This supposition we regard as at utter variance with the counsel of God set forth in His Word. The example of Jesus, as a perfect fulfilment of the law, and as a manifestation of the highest devotion to God, cannot be too prominently brought before our notice; nor should it for a moment be forgotten, that he came, by a life of obedience, to make known to us the path to heaven, and that we are commanded to follow his steps. But while we readily acknowledge the benefits resulting from the perfect pattern which the Saviour has left us, we must ever remember that the great and immediate design for which he suffered was the satisfying of the demands of the broken law, and the establishing of a lasting reconciliation between God and man. That this is the doctrine of Scripture in regard to the death of Christ, is the concurring belief of the vast majority of those who bear the Christian name, however wide the diversity of their opinions on other subjects may be, and with this conclusion every simple-minded reader of the sacred record will readily agree.

When we consider the death of the Redeemer as a work of atonement and satisfaction, a moment's attention to the character and position of the parties concerned, is sufficient to shew at once its difficulty and its importance. The parties to be reconciled are God, the righteous and justly offended Sovereign of the Universe, and man, a sinful and rebellious creature. It may well excite our surprise that such a contest should have been permitted to continue even for a day. On the one hand, there is the Almighty and Infinite Jehovah, who saith, and it is done; on the other hand, are the children of men, whose strength is weakness, and whose wisdom is folly. On the one hand is the Great Creator, who upholdeth all things by the word of His power; on the other is a creature formed by His command, fed by His bounty, and continually upheld by His providential care. And this impotent creature defies the God who made him, and this wretched worm writhes in the infatuation of his rage against the hand by which he is sustained!

The cause of the enmity is as strange as the contest itself. God had showered down blessings on men, but men had despised and scorned them; God had given men all that was needful for life and blessedness; men had been unmindful of their Creator, had broken His holy law, and done despite to that authority on the maintenance of which the wellbeing of the universe depends. Jehovah, holy in all His ways, and hating sin with a perfect hatred, cannot allow transgression to pass unpunished. As the Sovereign Ruler of creation, He must maintain the dignity of the law which He has givers, and the truth and faithfulness of the threatenings which He has pronounced. The Lord of all, therefore, against whom man has rebelled, demands an atonement, that his law may be maintained, and his honour vindicated. Man is utterly unable to give any satisfaction. He is a debtor without hope to pay; and, even if he had been able to satisfy the law's demands, the alienation of his heart is such that he will rather dare the offended wrath of God, than make confession of his sin, or humble himself before his Maker.

Such was the seemingly irreconcilable difference that separated between God and man, when the Great Redeemer undertook our cause. Let us briefly advert to the qualifications required of the Mediator.

The Mediator must be able to execute the office which he has undertaken.—Man's guilt was exceedingly great. He had broken a just and beneficent law; he had manifested the darkest ingratitude to a gracious God; he had sinned times and ways without number; and many aggravations heightened the penalty due for his offences. This guilt demanded a corresponding punishment; but to atone for such a load of iniquity surpassed the power of man, or angel, or any mere creature. The transgressions were innumerable, the guilt was incalculable, and infinite power alone could carry it away. Jesus, therefore, while he became man, that he might be capable of suffering, continued to be God, that he might be able to bear the otherwise insupportable load.

In order to satisfy the law, it was also necessary that the ransom paid by the Mediator should not only be equal in value to the penalty incurred, but should resemble it in its nature. Men had sinned in soul; the sacrifice, therefore, of animals such as those which were formerly used as victims, even if that atonement had been otherwise adequate, could never satisfy the justice which demanded the suffering of a rational soul as the payment requisite for the transgression of souls. Man had also sinned in his bodily members; and, therefore, though an angel had been found willing, and in other respects able, to undertake his cause, a purely spiritual being could never have made expiation for sin committed in the body. But Jesus, having both a rational soul and a material frame, was fitted for his task of endurance, and enabled in all respects to fulfil the law's demands.

It was, at the same time, expedient that he should be able to claim a near relationship to men, in order to give him a title to appear as their substitute before God. By assuming our nature he became partaker of our "flesh and of our bone," and truly a brother. In consequence of the union formed between him and his people, he is the husband of the Church, which he terms his "bride," and the head of that body of which all believers are members. He appears on our behalf as one that is "near of kin;" his claim has been admitted by the Father, and he now stands forth as our advocate, and with prevailing intercession pleads our cause.

It was also necessary that the substitute should be free from any charge which could be brought against himself. The Redeemer, therefore, had no father according to the flesh, that he might be free from inherited guilt. He was upheld by the Divinity within him, and sanctified by the continual indwelling of the Holy Spirit, that, though tempted in all things even as we are he might be without sin, and free from the guilt of actual transgression. We thus find that, in every particular, the Redeemer was admirably fitted for the work which had been given him to do.

The work of Mediator must be willingly undertaken.—To permit the innocent to suffer instead of the guilty would be con­trary to all the principles of justice, unless the surety had freely consented to the substitution. If a crime has been committed, it will not satisfy the law to let the criminal escape while an innocent man is compelled to endure the penalty. Such a course would be adding iniquity to iniquity, and would make any government that sanctioned it the object of universal condemnation. If substituted punishment in any case be permitted, that punishment must be voluntarily endured. The obstacles in the way of man's reconciliation were, therefore, formidable in the extreme. In devoting to the service of sin the talents which had been designed for the work of the Lord, he had not only robbed the treasury of God, but had offered the plunder as an homage to the foe; he had not only deserted the banner of the Almighty King, but had warred against Him with weapons stolen from the armoury of heaven. The punishment due to such heinous offences is, on the one hand, so great, and the character of the sinner is, on the other hand, so vile, that we might well exclaim, Who would be able, who would be willing, to suffer for men? Yet this work the Saviour undertook, and of his own free will he offered himself in the room of man. He said, in reference to his death, "I lay down my life. No man taketh it from me; but I lay it down of myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again." With the full knowledge of all that was before him, he assumed our nature, and entered on the office of mediation; and with all the agonies of the cross full in his view, he became surety for the children of men. He came into the world to die. Death was not to him merely the terminating event of his earthly exist­ence, as is the case with ordinary men, but it was the great design and object of his coming, to which all other objects were subordinate. The final scene was at all times present to his view. It was the subject of his meditation, and the theme of his discourse; and even on the mount of transfiguration, when Moses and Elias appeared with him in glory, "they spake of his decease which he should accomplish at Jerusalem."

The Lord of all, as the injured party, must be willing to accept of the offered mediation.—The substitution of the innocent for the guilty requires the consent of the party that has been injured, as well as the consent of the surety. If Jehovah be regarded as the party against whom man's offence has been committed, it is evident that without His concurrence no substitution could be effected. If two men have made an agreement, and one of them violates his promise, no third person is entitled to say to him that has suffered the wrong, You must take me in the room of the offender. Without the Father's consent, therefore, no work of mediation could have availed for man's deliverance. If, again, Jehovah be regarded as the mighty King, whose law has been dishonoured by man's transgression, it is plain that no one is entitled to interfere between Him and his subjects; no one has any right to say the punishment is too severe, or to demand that a surety should be received. It belongs to the Ruler to determine the punishment that is due, and to see that the criminal meets his award. To allow of any intermeddling on the part of another, would introduce inextricable confusion, and speedily destroy the authority of the law. If the mighty Sovereign of the Universe had re­fused the offered mediation, man must, therefore, have for ever continued under the doom denounced against him by the broken law.

But the Lord, the injured and justly offended God, has accepted the offered mediation. He has declared himself "well pleased" with Jesus as the surety for men; and the whole plan of reconciliation has not only received his sanction, but had its origin in his counsel of love.

An adequate satisfaction must be made.—There is no subject in regard to which men have fallen into more frequent or more dangerous errors, than that which refers to the satisfaction requisite for the sins of men.

Some have imagined that a sincere though imperfect obedi­ence is all that God can require. This is not only opposed to the doctrines of Revelation, as set forth more especially in the Epistles of Paul, but it is distinctly condemned by the principles of justice, as they are established among men. Imperfect obedience is not obedience at all,—it is, in fact, transgression; and, though some transgressions are of a darker and some of a lighter dye, it is evident that by the law they are all condemned. It must also be remembered, that no boundary line can be drawn between that imperfect obedience which should, according to this supposition, be treated with indulgence, and the offence which demands condemnation; and it is impossible to believe that a law which is designed by Him, who is infinite in wisdom, for regulating the universe, could ever admit of doubtful interpretation.

Others affirm, that repentance and reformation will of themselves suffice to reconcile us to God. But no one possessed of common intelligence can maintain, that grief for past offences is sufficient to satisfy the law. The malefactor may be truly penitent, but his tears will not justify the judge in ordering his liberation. Grief, even when accompanied with change of conduct, can never atone for past offences.

It has been argued, that because God is merciful He will be satisfied with a service which even sinners confess to be insufficient. We must, however, remember, that God is merciful only to those for whom the sacrifice of Jesus has procured a day of grace. He is the Judge of all; and the wellbeing of the universe depends upon his holding in equal hand the scales of justice. If sin shall on any occasion be passed over without punishment, all those who are disposed to evil will be encouraged to transgress, in the hope of the same impunity. If one offender is pardoned without an atonement, why may not another expect a similar indulgence? If the sinner and the righteous were to be made alike objects of favour, the presumptuous would be encouraged to offend, the peaceable would be subjected to injury, and no adequate motive for welldoing would remain. The same principles of unbending equity which form the only foundation for good government among men, must regulate also the counsels of God. "Justice and judgment are the habitation of his throne." Were it possible to imagine the Universe governed by an unjust God, were it possible to suppose its affairs regulated by one who did not strictly enforce the laws he had given, no one could conceive the confusion and misery that would ensue,—confusion and misery which infinite love, unless combined with infinite justice, could neither alleviate nor remove. Omnipotence in the hand of an unjust ruler would be the most fearful instrument of evil. It would make creation a dungeon, a region of lamentation, violence, and wo.

The satisfaction that was actually offered, affords the best explanation of the nature of the law's demands. The sufferings of the Mediator were so intense, that it needed the power of the indwelling Godhead to sustain them. And though he was himself the Holy One, and stood merely as the surety for the sinner, though he was the only-begotten and well-beloved Son of the Judge, not one jot or tittle of the law was abated in his favour. Human legislators may accept imperfect satisfaction, but when Immanuel undertook our cause, the King of kings would give up nothing of the law's demands. Though He who had joined in making the law was exposed to the stroke of its wrath, the sentence still remained unrepealed and unabated. Death had been denounced, and death required to be borne. Jesus in his agony prayed, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me:" again he repeated, with intense earnestness, his supplication; and yet again, the third time, while the bloody sweat was falling to the ground, he said, "O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from. me;" but that prayer received no answer; that fearful cup of trembling remained, and had to be drained to its utmost dregs ere the transgressor could go free.

We further remark, that it is not enough that a penalty equal in amount to that which was originally incurred shall be paid, and that no positive injury shall be done to the law; but if a law has once been settled, it is highly important that no change should be made upon it, unless a very evident advantage is to ensue. The injurious effects of frequent alterations are so great, that it is often found better to allow an imperfect enactment to remain than hazard the evils of change. It is highly expedient, therefore, if we may not rather say absolutely necessary, in any case of substitution, that the law should not only be satisfied but strengthened; that a punishment more signal than that which is due should be endured; and that a person of higher rank and more exalted character than the offender, should stand in his room. In all these respects Jesus not only satisfied the law, but he strengthened its authority, and confirmed its claims. His suffering exhibited more clearly the terrible extent of the law's demands than the sufferings of men could have done, even though extended throughout eternity; while the dignity of the character and the essential glory of his nature, enhanced the homage which he rendered to its supremacy.

The consent of the offender is also requisite in order to complete the agreement.—Though the honour of the law has been fully vindicated, and its authority maintained, though the offended Lord has accepted the offered mediation, and the Mediator has freely and fully paid the penalty required, and concurs with the gracious Creator, whose law had been broken and whose bounty had been despised, in pressing the offer of peace on man's acceptance, yet no reconciliation can take place, so long as the transgressor refuses his consent. All parties must be agreed. If the debtor be too proud to come under obligations to the proffered surety, or doubt his ability, or fear a snare, whatever aid may be held out for his acceptance, equity requires that there shall be no compulsion, but that he shall be left to form his decision according to the freedom of his will.

It must also be remembered, that without the offender's consent, which of necessity implies a confession of error and an acknowledgment of his own inability to satisfy its demands, the law is not honoured; and suretiship, if permitted in such a case, would bring the legislature into contempt.

This is then the situation in which mankind are now placed. All other obstacles have been removed, and the consent of the sinner alone is wanting to the re-establishment of peace. To afford time for the due consideration of the overtures of reconciliation, a day of grace is given to all, and the offer of salvation is pressed on the acceptance of every child of Adam. At the same time all who truly repent, who confess their transgression, and accept of the Saviour's mediation, are assured of pardon; and He who cannot lie has promised that though their sins may have been innumerable, and of the deepest dye, the contrite in heart shall be openly acknowledged and acquitted in the great judgment-day.

Such is the work of atonement viewed simply as the foundation of man's acceptance with God. But our view of its nature and character is not to be thus confined: we must, at the same time, regard it as an evidence of the Almighty's love to men. The guilt of man is so great that nothing but the blood of Immanuel can atone for it; yet that sacrifice, so inconceivably terrible, has not only been freely offered, but has been offered for sinners utterly vile and undeserving. Well, therefore, may the Apostle say, that "God commendeth his love towards us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us," and well may he speak of the "breadth and length, and depth and height" of "the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge."