HOW varied are the emotions which fill the breast of those who read these words. The devout believer treasures them up as among his most sacred belongings; the rationalist ridicules them; the disciple of modern thought expunges them from his creed; and the ultra-refined religionist thinks the expression vulgar and low.
How little have these last grasped their true meaning. Such people can eulogize the patriotic Roman who leaped into the Tiber, sacrificing his life to seek to save his country; can celebrate the heroism of the helmsman who perished at his post rather than sacrifice the crew of the burning ship; can admire the love of the mother who dared the perils of the lofty crag to which the eagle had carried her babe; and extol the devotedness of the servant who voluntarily put his body between his master and the would-be assassin, and received the bullet instead—perishing in his love.
What is it that calls forth admiration for such? It is this, Life given up in death out of love to another!
Tell me, Where can you witness such an expression of it as at Golgotha? Gethsemane’s agonies and Calvary’s sufferings proclaim supreme love and unequaled devotedness, not only because of the dignity of the One who gave up His life, but because of the motives which led Him to do it. History records life laid down for home, country, and kin; but where do we find a life laid down for an implacable enemy, a relentless foe? Only where the precious blood of Christ was shed. “When we were yet sinners Christ died for us.”
What does it mean when it says, “Redeemed by the precious blood of Christ”? Just this: Your life, my life, is a forfeited one.
The Bible tells us that the life of the flesh is in the blood, and the blood is the life thereof. (See Lev. 17)
The blood and the life are thus identical terms. The life of Jesus was free and unforfeited. He, in the deep love of His heart, willingly yielded up His unforfeited life in the guilty sinner’s stead; suffered, the just One, for us the unjust ones.
Irreverent tongues have spoken lightly of “the blood,” but to the simple believer it has a sacred, holy, blessed meaning.
Let the disciples of modern thought say if their theories can supply such solid, real rest and peace as that precious blood they affect to despise? Are they not missing the meaning of the greatest act, the most stupendous work, the world has ever witnessed, whilst affecting a spurious refinement which pretends to be shocked at the word “blood”?
It is a patent fact, from the first page to the last of the sacred record, that man has a forfeited life, and must needs have a spotless victim to bear the judgment attached to the life he has forfeited.
The only pure, spotless life ever found on this earth was that of the Man Christ Jesus, who gave Himself a ransom, and bore sin’s judgment. Countless myriads will fill the eternal scene with the song of redemption by blood; poor perishing sinners gladly rest their eternal security in it. Will not you? How solid and real a resting place it is you will see if you will travel with me in thought to three dying scenes.
The first is that of an earnest, devoted servant of Christ, who had long and faithfully served his Master in London as a preacher of the gospel, a visitor of the sick, and a helper of the needy. On Sunday he was preaching the gospel, on Wednesday he is on the borderland of eternity—life ebbing rapidly.
A visitor entered his chamber and anxiously inquired his title to heaven, his password into that home of light and joy. Slowly, between the gasps for breath, he replied, “Two—things—the—mercy—of God—and—the—blood—of—Christ!”
We will leave London and travel to New York, and enter another death-chamber. A young woman is dying. She has no life of service for Christ to look back to, but one dark, black record of iniquity. Her life’s history may be briefly summed up in a few words— “She was a woman of the city, a sinner.”
The poor dying harlot had heard of the blessed Son of God becoming a man and giving up His life for her, and she asked the attendant to open a Bible, place her finger on the seventh verse of the first chapter of John’s first epistle, and as she laid her finger on the words, “The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin,” she said, “I can go into eternity resting on that!”
We will leave New York and travel to the hot, burning plains of India. Beneath the rays of a tropical sun a poor heathen is dying. A servant of Christ is bending over him, and anxiously inquires, “What are you resting on for eternity?” Summoning his last bit of energy, he lifted up his hand, and replied, “This!” then fell back lifeless.
With difficulty the tightly-clasped fingers were unloosed, and a bit of paper fell out. On it were the words, “The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin.”
Ponder these scenes. The first was a man who had good works, but well knew that no good works could atone for a forfeited life. The second was one society shuns; the third one whom it pities. But the sin of the harlot and the ignorance of the heathen did not shut them off from the salvation of God, because they both trusted in that precious blood which makes an atonement for the soul.
May God enable you of His grace to rest upon the “blood” for yourself; but if you refuse, remember it is written, “Without shedding of blood is no remission.”
H. N.