. The Soul of His Sufferings, John
Macduff, The Holy Mount, 1856. The place which is called Calvary,
Luke 23, 33. Christ's death on the cross was
preeminently painful. It appears to have been devised
with savage ingenuity to cause as much suffering as possible.
Hence the vital parts are left untouched, the wounds are inflicted
upon the extremities of the body, iron spikes being driven through
the hands and feet, while the poor sufferer has to hang in
a position which admits of no change or rest, and burning inflammation
works its way gradually to the seat of life. It was doubtless
a death painful in the extreme, so much so that the strongest
term we have for expressing intense agony, the term excruciating,
is derived from it. But the outward sufferings which
the Savior bore on Calvary were nothing when compared with His
inward sufferings. His bodily agonies, as great
as they were, were as light as a feather in comparison with
the agonies of His soul. The sufferings of His soul were
truly the soul of His sufferings. But of those soul sufferings,
what can we say? We may in some measure describe
what was going on without, but who can describe what was passing
within? We may describe the derision
of the Jews, but who can describe the desertion of His heavenly
Father? We may describe the soldier's
spear, but who can describe the arrows of the Almighty? We may
describe the nails piercing His sacred flesh, but who can describe
eternal justice piercing both flesh and spirit? We may describe
the cup of vinegar which He tasted, but who can describe the cup
of wrath which He drank to its lowest dregs? We may describe
the accursed tree on which he hung, but who can describe the
curse of the law which made it so? In such an attempt, language
fails, how poor is thought, and how impotent are the most emphatic
representations. Truly, his soul's sufferings
are unfathomable. Reader, would you have your heart
softened and your love inflamed? Go to Calvary to gaze on the
wondrous spectacle which is there presented. While so doing, let
your language be, Was it for crimes that I have done, he groaned
upon the tree, Amazing pity, grace unknown, and love beyond
degree.