To spiritually and continually contemplate the Redeemer's humiliation supplies a powerful check to sin.
Posted : 12 Dec, 2011 11:00 AM
"But he was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his stripes we are healed" (Isa. 53:5).
Devotional
To spiritually and continually contemplate the Redeemer's humiliation supplies a powerful check to sin. What is every sin committed but opening afresh the wounds, and enacting anew the humiliation, of Jesus? Oh, in our serious moments, how hateful that sin must appear! It is that sin which shut out the sun of God's countenance from the soul of Christ! It is that sin which sank him to such inconceivable depths of humiliation!
We need every view of divine truth calculated to sanctify. At present, the deepest sanctification of the believer is imperfect. Our loftiest soarings towards holiness never reach the goal. And yet to be ever thirsting, panting, wrestling, and aiming after it should be classed among our highest mercies. We too readily forget that the thirsting for holiness is just as much the Holy Spirit's creation as is his work to quench that thirst.
"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness" (Matt. 5:6). In other words, blessed are those who long better to know Christ and more perfectly to resemble Christ. They may never reach that mark, and yet in ever pressing towards it they are truly blessed. They may never attain to that standard, yet in ever aiming for it they are truly blessed.
Here, then, is one powerful means of pursuing holiness�to bring your spiritual eye into close and frequent contact with the humiliation of God's dear Son. Except for our sins, his mind would never have been shaded with clouds. Except for our sins, his heart would never have been wrung with sorrow. Except for our sins, his eye would never have been bedewed with tears. Except for our sins, he would never have suffered and died. Except for our sins, he would never have known the wrath of an offended God.
How full of comfort and consolation this subject is to the bereaved and tried believer! It tells you, weeping mourner, that having poured out all his wrath on the head of your Surety, who quenched it, nothing is reserved for you in the heart of God except the deep fountain of tender mercy and loving-kindness. Then where does your present trial spring from except from the gracious, loving, compassionate heart of your Father?
As humbling as the way God is now leading you may be, do not forget that the great end is to bring you into a fellowship with Christ's humiliation. It is to bring you into a greater experience of your oneness with your tried Head.
But as deep as your present humiliation may be, you can never sink so low but that you will find he sank even lower. He is therefore able to sustain and bear you up. "The LORD preserves the simple; when I was brought low, he saved me" (Ps. 116:6).
O Christian, you can never sink beneath the everlasting arms; they will always be underneath you. You may be sorely tried, painfully bereaved, fearfully tempted, or deeply wounded. Saints and sinners, the church and the world, may each contribute some bitter ingredient to your cup. Nevertheless, the heart of Jesus is a pavilion within whose sacred enclosure you may rest until all these calamities pass. Your greatest extremity can never exceed his power or sympathy, because he has gone before his people and has endured what you shall never endure.
Behold what glory thus springs from the humiliation and sufferings of our adorable Redeemer!
by Octavius Winslow, 1856 (edited for
today's reader by Larry E. Wilson, 2010)
O sacred Head, now wounded,
with grief and shame weighed down;
now scornfully surrounded
with thorns, thine only crown;
O sacred Head, what glory,
what bliss till now was thine!
Yet, though despised and gory,
I joy to call thee mine.
What thou, my Lord, hast suffered
was all for sinners' gain:
mine, mine was the transgression,
but thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior!
'Tis I deserve thy place;
look on me with thy favor,
vouchsafe to me thy grace.
Men mock and taunt and jeer thee,
thou noble countenance,
though mighty worlds shall fear thee
and flee before thy glance.
How art thou pale with anguish,
with sore abuse and scorn!
How doth thy visage languish
that once was bright as morn!
Now from thy cheeks has vanished
their color once so fair;
from thy red lips is banished
the splendor that was there.
Grim death, with cruel rigor,
hath robbed thee of thy life;
thus thou hast lost thy vigor,
thy strength in this sad strife.
My burden in thy passion,
Lord, thou hast borne for me,
for it was my transgression
which brought this woe on thee.
I cast me down before thee,
wrath were my rightful lot;
have mercy, I implore thee;
Redeemer, spurn me not!
What language shall I borrow
to thank thee, dearest Friend,
for this thy dying sorrow,
thy pity without end?
O make me thine for ever;
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
outlive my love to thee.
My Shepherd, now receive me;
my Guardian, own me thine.
great blessings thou didst give me,
O source of gifts divine.
Thy lips have often fed me
with words of truth and love;
thy Spirit oft hath led me
to heavenly joys above.
Here I will stand beside thee,
from thee I will not part;
O Savior, do not chide me!
When breaks thy loving heart,
when soul and body languish
in death's cold, cruel grasp,
then, in thy deepest anguish,
thee in mine arms I'll clasp.
The joy can ne'er be spoken,
above all joys beside,
when in thy body broken
I thus with safety hide.
O Lord of Life, desiring
thy glory now to see,
beside thy cross expiring,
I'd breathe my soul to thee.
Be near when I am dying,
O show thy cross to me;
and for my succor flying,
come, Lord, to set me free:
these eyes, new faith receiving,
from Jesus shall not move;
for he who dies believing,
dies safely, through thy love.
Be thou my consolation,
my shield when I must die;
remind me of thy passion
when my last hour draws nigh.
Mine eyes shall then behold thee,
upon thy cross shall dwell,
my heart by faith enfolds thee.
Who dieth thus dies well.
(Attributed to Bernard of Clairvaux, 1153; translated from Latin to German by Paul Gerhardt, 1656, and from Latin to English James Waddel Alexander, 1830)
