restored to Eden.—It was the blood of his brother that chased Cain
has borne the curse; it has absorbed it; it has transmuted it into a blessing,—a blessing which it is pouring freely out on all who will but receive it. Its message is, "Come now and let us reason together, saith the Lord, though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they be red like crimson they shall be as wool."
6. It speaks of life, not of death.—Cain s blood-guiltiness seemed to seal up man's ruin, and shut him up to helpless death. There seemed nothing in reserve but death. Even a brother's heart could meditate death against a brother, and a brother's hand inflict it. But in this better blood all is life,—life everlasting,—life that has come to us through death,—the death of the substitute. It is this blood which says, "I am the resurrection and the life, he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live, and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die."
7. It speaks not to alarm but to soothe the conscience.—Abel's blood must have been echoing in the ears of Cain, all his days. He might go out from the gate of Eden, the presence of the Lord, but he could not get beyond the sound of that voice. It would keep his conscience ever open, ever bleeding, ever tortured. But this better blood speaks peace. It purges the conscience and lays its alarms to rest. It heals, it restores, it gladdens. To be sprinkled with it is what the conscience desires. To hear its voice is what the conscience feels to be necessary for comfort and rest. Its still small voice can in a moment calm the tumults of the most torn and troubled breast.
8. It speaks not of man the fugitive and vagabond, but of man restored to Eden.—It was the blood of his brother that chased Cain from the gate of paradise. It would not allow him to dwell even within sight of it, though outside the sacred fence. But this better blood brings back the sinner to the gate of Paradise again,—nay brings him in, or at least gives him the pledge that he shall one day reenter these blessed gates, and dwell within these blessed bowers. It transforms him from a fugitive and a vagabond, such as he is by nature, into a fellow-citizen with the saints and an heir of the
incorruptible inheritance, the new heavens and the new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness.
Realizing these things, the saint moves on his joyful course. The blood is ALL to him. It is his peace; it is his medicine; it is his daily comforter. And resting in it he rejoices in hope of the glory to be revealed. Contrasting the blood of Abel with that of Christ, and comparing the blood of the sacrifices with that of the Lamb of God, he daily gets new insight into its wondrous excellencies, and is made to feel its full and perfect sufficiency. He needs no more to keep his soul in perfect peace, even when conscious of no common unworthiness and pollution. He needs no more to heal all his wounds, to cleanse away all his defilement, to strengthen him for every toil, and to enable him to conquer in every battle with the enemy.
And in proportion as he learns to enter more fully into the thoughts of God concerning the blood, in that proportion does his peace deepen and his joy overflow.
All its suitableness and manifold riches are not disclosed in a single day. He is ever making new discoveries in this illimitable field: ever digging into new veins in this unfathomable mine. His song on earth is "unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood, to him be glory and dominion for ever." His song in heaven will be the same, only louder and fuller, "thou wast slain and hast redeemed us to God by thy blood out of every kindred and nation and tongue and people, and hast made us unto God kings and priests, and we shall reign on the earth."2
CHAPTER X
THE THOUGHTS OF THE LOST SOUL
CONCERNING IT
IN Judas we have an instance of a lost soul,—a soul just departing to the everlasting prison-house. Of him we read, "then Judas, who had betrayed him, when he saw that he was condemned, repented himself and brought again the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and elders." And his testimony respecting the blood is given in the following confession, falling from his dying lips, "I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood."
But a few hours before, he had betrayed it, he had sold it for thirty pieces of silver. But now remorse has fastened itself upon him; his conscience, which had slept, is now awaking; his guilt, like a poisoned garment, covers him round, and darts in its tortures at every pore.
One object occupies his whole vision, so that he can see no other; it is the blood he had betrayed. High above all the sins of a sinful life, this towers, in awful preeminence. It is his sin of sins; the sin which sets aside every other, as if in comparison with this they did not deserve the name. One scene haunts him, like a spectre from beneath, hanging upon his steps and whispering terror into his soul,—the bargain for the blood,—the innocent blood! He cannot shake it off. It clings closer and gathers darker around him.
He is just about to go "to his own place;" and he leaves behind him his testimony to the innocence of the blood. He tells us with dying lips that it is innocent blood. As he is about to plunge into hell, he turns round to his companions in guilt, and says, "it is innocent blood."
It is its innocence that makes it so awful, even to think upon. It is its innocence that strikes into his vitals as with a scorpion's sting. Had there been one stain upon it, his agony might not have been so hopeless, so horrible. There might have been some relief, some hope, some ray of light. But it is innocent blood!—Its innocence!—oh, it is this that torments him before the time. It is this that sends him howling along like some raging demoniac, seeking refuge among the tombs,—seeking refuge in hell, as if hell might be some relief, because removed from the place where the innocent blood had been sold, and was crying to heaven against its seller. Oh! he would do any thing now rather than look upon that innocent blood. He would flee to any place of darkness, where it might be hidden from his eyes!
Then, as if to double all his agony, when he casts down the price of blood at the feet of the murderers, all the reply he meets with is the cutting bitterness of cold remorseless malignity, "what is that to us, see thou to that." Ah! poor wretched soul, thou art lost indeed: and this is all the sympathy with which thy companions greet thee;—a foretaste of the sympathy with which devils below shall salute thee when thou goest down to their abode of woe!
We see then, that it is specially the innocence of the blood that shall be of all others, the cutting, stinging thought of a lost soul. The blood he has slighted and trampled on was not only so precious, but so innocent! It is this that shall make hell so intolerable. The blood he has betrayed was without blemish and without spot; yet he has treated it as if it were polluted and vile! He has treated it as if it were the felon's blood,—the blood of one whose crimes demanded its shedding. Its innocence stares him in the face. Its innocence is gall and wormwood in his cup, the sting of the worm that never dies. Oh! could he but discover one stain on it, it would help to cool his burning tongue; it would help to unloose his adamantine chain, to quench the fire that is consuming his bones. But all in vain. It is innocent blood; and shall be so for ever. Its innocence shall be the consummation of his agony. It might have exalted him to heaven; but now it is sinking him eternally to the lowest hell.
Heedless sinner! such may shortly be thy doom! Thou despisest the blood, or at least thou slightest it. Perhaps thou art one of those who betray it, time after time, at a communion table. How awful thy condition! The wrath of God abideth on thee even now; and thou shalt shortly be in hell, if grace prevent not. There thou shalt be with Judas, hearing his bitter cries, and joining thine to his. Thou hast followed his footsteps here as a betrayer and despiser of the blood, and ere long thou must reap the recompense which he is reaping.
Thou shalt meet him and his fellows; and oh, what a meeting! "Hell from beneath is moved for thee to meet thee at thy coming." They will recognize and salute thee. Ha! art thou too become like unto us; thou are brought down to the grave; thou art fallen from heaven; thou art cast out as an abominable branch, going down to the stones of the pit as a carcase trodden under foot. Art thou too become like one of us;—thou that hast named the name of the Redeemer, thou that hast heard the good news of his life-bringing death; thou that hast kept company with his disciples as if thou wert altogether one of them?" And as thou criest out in thine agony, cursing them as thy tempters, thou receivest no reply but the sneer of heartless mockery, "what is that to us, see thou to that."
Thus shalt thou be eternally shut in. Whether thou wilt or not, thou must have thy companionship with Judas, with the lost, with the devil and his angels. Thou canst not escape. Thou canst not rise. The innocent blood presses thee down,—a heavier mill-stone than that which shall sink Babylon in the mighty waters. And as thou plungest downward in that wild abyss of smoke and fire and vapour, ascending up for ever and ever, this shall be the cry of thy tormented spirit, "I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood."
Must it be so? Art thou resolved to perish, and to crush thy immortal spirit beneath the weight of this innocent blood? Must mercy be slighted, life rejected, and forgiveness flung away as dross? Must Satan be served, the world worshipped, self indulged, and God set clean aside as a Being better far forgotten and disowned? Must hell
be chosen, when the gate of the Kingdom stands wide before thee, and the kindliest welcome proffered that ever friend gave to friend, or parent to child?
Must it be so? Is thy mind made up to brave the worst? Is thy life here to be one of reckless unbelief and folly? Wilt thou have no compassion upon thyself, but go on courting the evil, as if it were the better lot?
Heedless soul! Stand still for one moment in thy foolishness. Listen! A voice comes wildly up as from the regions beneath. It is the voice of wailing, and its burden is, "I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood." It is the voice of Judas! His wailing is not done. It was the first awful note of it which earth heard ere he plunged beneath. But the prolongation was reserved for other ears than man's, other realms than these of this still sweet and sunny earth. It is the faint far-off echo of that cry, that is now ascending. Man! dost thou not hear it? But a little while, and thou shalt join it, to swell its tone of infinite and eternal sadness, if thou madly mockest all warning, and persistest in thy unbelief.
Do not so. Thou hast gone near enough to the gates of hell; yet go not in. Turn back. It is not yet too late. Even thou mayest be saved. The gate of light stands as widely open as the gate of darkness. The way of life, the narrow way, is as free to thee as is the way of death.
There is still forgiveness. And the glad tidings of it are as glad as ever. No sin of thine has altered that gladness or made the tidings a forbidden joy to thee. We can tell you as truly as ever that "these things are written that thou mightest believe that Jesus is the Christ, and that believing thou mightest have life through his name."
"The blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin." Remember, it is ALL SIN,—even yours. It can wash, it can pardon, it can justify even thee. Take it now, for cleansing and salvation. It will purge thy conscience; it will reconcile thee to God; it will fill thy soul with peace. And are
these blessings so common and so cheap, that thou canst afford to slight or to postpone them?
The great day of reckoning for the blood draws nigh. He whose blood was shed is coming to take vengeance on its shedders. It will be a sore reckoning for millions. And who shall then attempt to scorn the accusation as if it were either idle or untrue? "Blood-guiltiness" shall then be brought in as the verdict against this world,—and in that awful verdict your name shall be found.
CHAPTER XI
THE GOOD NEWS CONCERNING THIS
BLOOD
IT is blood whose shedding has provided a propitiation for sin, and whosoever will consent to take this as his propitiation becomes partaker of the blessings which it contains. It was the High Priest's laying of his hand upon the goat that established the connection between it and the people, so that Israel's sins passed over to the substitute; and so it is our believing that connects us with the Divine Substitute, and brings to us all the benefits of the divine bloodshedding.
It is our unbelief that intercepts the communication; it is faith that establishes it. Faith may seem a slight thing to some; and they may wonder how salvation can flow from believing. Hence they try to magnify it, to adorn it, to add to it, in order that it may appear some great thing, something worthy of having salvation as its reward. In so
doing they are actually transforming faith into a work, and introducing salvation by works under the name of faith. They show that they understand neither the nature nor the office of faith. It saves, simply by handing us over to the Saviour. It saves, not on account of the good works which flow from it; not on account of the love which it kindles; not on account of the repentance which it produces; but solely because it connects us with the Saving One. Its saving efficacy nodes ot lie in its connection with righteousness and holiness, but entirely in its connection with the Righteous and Holy One.
Thus it is that unbelief ruins, because it cuts off all communication with the source of life; and thus faith blesses because it establishes that communication.
See these electric wires that are shooting their mysterious threads throughout our land, communicating between city and city, between man and man, however distant; dead, yet instinct with life; silent, yet vocal with hidden sound; carrying, as with a lightning burst, the tidings of good or evil from shore to shore. Separate their terminating points by one hair's-breadth from the index, or interpose some non-conducting substance;—in a moment intercourse is broken. No tidings come and go. The stoppage is as entire as if you had cut every wire in pieces, and cast these pieces to the winds. But re-fasten the severed points, or link them to the index with some conducting material, and instantaneously the intercourse is renewed. Joy and sorrow flow again along the line. Men's thoughts, men's feelings, men's deeds, rumours of war or assurances of peace, news of victory or defeat, the sound of falling thrones, the shouts of frantic nations,—all hurrying on after each other to convey to ten thousand throbbing hearts the evil or the good which they contain!
That non-conductor is unbelief. It interposes between the soul and all heavenly blessing, all divine intercourse. It may seem a thing too slight to effect so great a result; yet it does so inevitably. It shuts off
the communication with the source of all glad tidings. It isolates the man, and forbids the approach of blessing.
That conductor is faith. In itself it is nothing, but in its connection everything. It restores in a moment the broken communication; and this, not from any virtue in itself, but simply as the conducting link between the soul and the fountain of all blessing above.
The blood of the cross is that which has "made peace;" and to share this peace God freely calls us. This blood of the cross is that by which we are justified;2 and to this justification we are invited. This blood of the cross is that by which we are brought nigh to God; and to this blessed nearness we are invited. This blood of the cross is that by which we have redemption, even the forgiveness of sins according to the riches of his grace; and this redemption, this forgiveness, is freely set before us. It is by this blood that we have liberty of entrance into the holiest;2 and God's voice to each sinner is "enter in." It is by this blood that we are cleansed and washed; and this fountain is free, free as any of earth's flowing streams, free as the mighty ocean itself, in which all may wash and be clean.
These are good news concerning the blood,—news which should make every sinner feel that it is just what he stands in need of. Nothing less than this; yet nothing more.
And these good news of the blood are no less good news of Him whose blood is shed. For it is by this blood-shedding that he is the Saviour. Without this, he could not have been a Redeemer; but, with it, He is altogether such a Redeemer as suits the sinner's case. In Him there is salvation,—salvation without a price,—salvation for the most totally and thoroughly lost that this fallen earth contains. Go and receive it.
Do you ask, how am I to find salvation, and how am I to go to that God, on the blood of whose Son I have trampled so long? I answer, Go to him in your proper and present character,—that of sinner. Go
with no lie upon your lips, professing to be what you are not, or to feel what you do not. Tell him honestly what you are, and what you feel, and what you do not feel. "Take with you words;" but let them be honest words, not the words of hypocrisy and deceit. Tell him that your sin is piercing you; or tell him that you have no sense of sin, no repentance, no relish for divine things, no right knowledge of your own worthlessness and guilt. Present yourself before him just as you are, and not as you wish to be, or think you ought to be, or suppose he desires you to be. Recount your necessities; make mention of the multitude of his mercies; point to the work of the blessed Son; remind him how entirely righteous it would be for him to receive and bless you. Appear before him, taking for granted just that you are what you are, a sinner; and that Christ is what he is, a Saviour; deal honestly with God, and be assured that it is most thoroughly impossible that you can miss your errand. "Seek the Lord while he may be found;" and you will see that he is found of you. "Call upon him while he is near;" and you will find how near he is.
But tarry not, for the day is fast closing, and the thick gloom of evening is at hand. The last "woes" are preparing, and the gates of the kingdom shall ere long be shut. The acceptable year of the Lord is running out, and the coming of the Lord draweth nigh. Trifle not with your brief remaining span or inch of hasty time.
This earth shall soon shake beneath the footsteps of its coming Judge. Its hills and rocks must soon echo with the sound of the final trumpet. And therefore it concerns men, without delay, to be securing the shelter ere the storm be up. When once the wrath of the Lamb is kindled, who shall escape save those who are sprinkled with his blood? It is an eternal doom that is preparing for the ungodly, and the time that remaineth is short, in which the sinner may escape. He has no moments to fling away, for that which he flings away may be his last.
Fool! when wilt thou be wise? Thou art wise for time, and not for eternity. Dost thou not see these thunder-clouds? Dost thou not hear
the wild tumult of earth, the cry of nations, the shock of falling empires, the crumbling sound throughout the earth that speaks of universal dissolution and ruin? What are these things? The work of chance? A passing earthquake? The burst of frenzy for an hour? No. They are signs of gathering wrath. It is God coming down to smite the guilty earth,—that earth upon whose surface your feet are treading.
Are you ready for his arrival? Are all matters of variance between you and him adjusted? And has your reconciliation been sealed by the blood of the Lamb?
If not, how shall you meet his eye? How shall you abide his awful scrutiny? That scrutiny will comprise much. Nay, it will omit nothing; its minuteness and exactness will overwhelm you. But the most solemn part of it will be that touching the blood of the Son of God, and the good news respecting it which have been so long proclaimed to you. These good news have found no entrance, and the messenger who brought them has been denied all access day by day. Instead of prizing this blood and making use of it for your cleansing, you have slighted it; and in slighting it, you have slighted Him whose blood it is,—Him through whose death there is life for you. And shall not the Lord visit you for such deliberate rejection of his grace; shall not his soul be avenged for such neglect of his "great salvation"?
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The Blood of the Cross by Horatius Bonar, Copyright © 2021
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