Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 1644
Delivered on Lord’s-Day Morning, February 12, 1882
“Pilate said unto them, I find in Him no fault at all.” John 18:38.
I SHOULD like, if God spares us, to present to you on Sabbath mornings the full story of our Savior’s sufferings. We began last Lord’s Day by going with Him to the hall of Caiaphas and it was a sadly solemn time when we beheld the Prince of Peace a prisoner, heard Him falsely accused and unjustly condemned. And then we saw Him abused till servants and subjects did spit in His face and make a mockery of Him. I hope that you will not be wearied with this subject. If so, it will be the fault of the preacher, for the subject is always full and fresh. Or if the preacher is not to blame, there will be something of censure due to his hearers. If we grow tired of the story of the Cross it will be a sad indication of secret soul-sickness and it will be well to observe the symptom and hasten to the great Physician for healing.
To true saints in a healthy condition there is no place more attractive than the place of our Lord’s passion, where He accomplished the glorious work of our redemption. They love to linger along that Via Dolorosa which leads from Geth-semane to Golgotha—let us linger with them! When I stand and view my Lord, like the bush in Horeb, burning but not consumed, I hear a Voice saying to me, “The place where you stand is holy ground.” Nothing is more holy than the Person of our Divine Master! It is, therefore, well to be with Him. The anguish which He endured when He devoted Himself as a Sacrifice for us is holy, too, and so it is well to be with Him in His sufferings. His sorrows have a most sanctifying influence upon all who consider them with believing love.
I am persuaded that if we lived more in the atmosphere of the Cross, sin would lose its power and every Grace would flourish. When we draw very near to Jesus and have fellowship with Him in His sufferings, we raise a hue and cry against the sin which slew Him and resolve to be revenged upon it by departing from it, ourselves, and by warring against it whenever we see it in others. The Cross is that holy implement with which we make war with sin till it is utterly destroyed. Blessed and holy, then, are the thoughts which are awakened by our great Sacrifice. Nor is it only so, but the medicine which brings us health is, in itself, a joy—
“Sweet the moments, rich in blessing, Which before the Cross I spend, Life, and health, and peace possessing, In the sinner’s dying Friend.”
There is no noise as of them that make merry over their wine, no shout of them that triumph, no song of them that feast—but here is a grave—sweet melody as of hearts that have found rest. At the Cross we find a substantial joy, a far-reaching satisfaction, “the peace of God, which passes all understanding.” Here, you restless ones, is the cure of restlessness! Here shall you say, “O God, my heart is fixed, my heart is fixed. I will sing and give praise.” I shall not, therefore, make any excuse, even if for weeks to come I should lead you to the place of dragons where your Lord was sorely broken and help you to drink of His cup and to be baptized with His Baptism. May the Spirit of God come upon and open our eyes to read the sacred heart of Him whose sorrows are unrivalled—sorrows borne for love of us!
Let us go to the narrative at once with loving and lowly carefulness. Our Lord was condemned by the chief priests for blasphemy because He declared Himself to be the Son of God and told them that they should hereafter see Him coming in the clouds of Heaven to be their Judge. Tearing his garments, the High Priest said, “What need have we of any further witness? You have heard His blasphemy.” When the morning light had come and they had gone through the formality of a set trial by daylight—having really condemned Him in the night—they led Jesus away to Pilate.
According to tradition, He was led with a rope about His neck and His hands bound. And I can fully believe in the tradition when I remember the words of Isaiah—“He was led as a sheep to the slaughter.” It was a strangely sad proces-
sion which moved through Jerusalem a little after six in the morning. Those men of the Sanhedrin, in all their pomp and power surrounding this one poor Victim, whom they were about to deliver to the Gentiles with the one design that He might be put to death! Those wicked men of pride were as the dogs of whom the Psalmist sang when the hind of the morning was his tender theme.
When they came to the house of the Roman governor, they would not, themselves, enter within its doors. It is said to have been one of the many magnificent palaces which Herod the Great built for himself. The architecture was gorgeous, the floors were inlaid with choice marble and all the chambers were richly gilded and furnished with Oriental splendor. Into the great hall these scrupulous hypocrites would not enter because they must, by no means, be defiled by the touch of a Gentile for they had already commenced to keep the Passover. So they waited in the courtyard and Pilate condescended to come out to them and learn the pressing business which brought them there so early in the morning.