The Blood-Shedding
February 22, 1857
by
C. H. SPURGEON
(1834-1892)
"Without shedding of blood is no remission."--Hebrews 9: 22.
I will show you three fools. One is yonder soldier, who has been wounded
on the field of battle, grievously wounded, well nigh unto death; the surgeon
is by his side, and the soldier asks him a question. Listen, and judge of his
folly. What question does he ask? Does he raise his eyes with eager anxiety
and inquire if the wound be mortal, if the practitioner's skill can suggest
the means of healing, or if the remedies are within reach and the medicine at
hand? No, nothing of the sort; strange to tell, he asks, "Can you inform me
with what sword I was wounded, and by what Russian I have been thus
grievously mauled? I want," he adds, "to learn every minute particular
respecting the origin of my wound." The man is delirious or his head is
affected. Surely such questions at such a time are proof enough that he is
bereft of his senses.
There is another fool. The storm is raging, the ship is flying impetuous
before the gale, the dark scud moves swiftly over head, the masts are
creaking, the sails are rent to rags, and still the gathering tempest grows
more fierce. Where is the captain? Is he busily engaged on the deck, is he
manfully facing the danger, and skilfully suggesting means to avert it? No
sir, he has retired to his cabin, and there with studious thoughts and crazy
fancies he is speculating on the place where this storm took its rise. "It is
mysterious, this wind; no one ever yet" he says, "has been able to discover
it." And, so reckless of the vessel, the lives of the passengers, and his own
life, he is careful only to solve his curious questions. The man is mad, sir;
take the rudder from his hand; he is clean gone mad! If he should ever run
on shore, shut him up as a hopeless lunatic.
The third fool I shall doubtless find among yourselves. You are sick and
wounded with sin, you are in the storm and hurricane of Almighty
vengeance, and yet the question which you would ask of me, this morning,
would be, "Sir, what is the origin of evil?" You are mad, Sir, spiritually
mad; that is not the question you would ask if you were in a sane and
healthy state of mind; your question would be: "How can I get rid of the
evil?" Not, "How did it come into the world?" but "How am I to escape
from it?" Not, "How is it that hail descends from heaven upon Sodom?" but
"How may I, like Lot, escape out of the city to a Zoar." Not, "How is it that
I am sick?" but "Are there medicines that will heal me? Is there a physician
to be found that can restore my soul to health ?" Ah! you trifle with
subtleties while you neglect certainties. More questions have been asked
concerning the origin of evil than upon anything else. Men have puzzled
their heads, and twisted their brains into knots, in order to understand what
men can never know--how evil came into this world, and how its entrance is
consistent with divine goodness? The broad fact is this, there is evil; and
your question should be, "How can I escape from the wrath to come, which
is engendered of this evil?" In answering that question this verse stands
right in the middle of the way (like the angel with the sword, who once
stopped Balaam on his road to Barak,) "Without shedding of blood is no
remission." Your real want is to know how you can be saved; if you are
aware that your sin must be pardoned or punished, your question will be,
"How can it he pardoned?" and then point blank in the very teeth of your
enquiry, there stands out this fact: "Without shedding of blood there is no
remission." Mark you, this is not merely a Jewish maxim; it is a world-wide
and eternal truth. It pertaineth not to the Hebrews only, but to the Gentiles
likewise. Never in any time, never in any place, never in any person, can
there be remission apart from shedding of blood. This great fact, I say, is
stamped on nature; it is an essential law of God's moral government, it is
one of the fundamental principles which can neither be shaken nor denied.
Never can there be any exception to it; it stands the same in every place
throughout all ages--"Without shedding of blood there is no remission." It
was so with the Jews; they had no remission without the shedding of blood.
Some things under the Jewish law might be cleansed by water or by fire, but
in no case where absolute sin was concerned was there ever purification
without blood--teaching this doctrine, that blood, and blood alone, must be
applied for the remission of sin. Indeed the very heathen seem to have an
inkling of this fact. Do not I see their knives gory with the blood of
victims?
Have I not heard horrid tales of human immolations, of holocausts, of
sacrifices; and what mean these, but that there lies deep in the human breast,
deep as the very existence of man, this truth,--"that without shedding of
blood there is no remission." And I assert once more, that even in the hearts
and consciences of my hearers there is something which will never let them
believe in remission apart from a shedding of blood. This is the grand truth
of Christianity, and it is a truth which I will endeavour now to fix upon your
memory; and may God by his grace bless it to your souls. "Without
shedding of blood is no remission."
First, let me show you the blood-shedding, before I begin to dwell upon the
text. Is there not a special blood-shedding meant? Yes, there was a shedding
of most precious blood, to which I must forthwith refer you. I shall not tell
you now of massacres and murders, nor of rivers of blood of goats and
rams. There was a blood-shedding once, which did all other shedding of
blood by far outvie; it was a man--a God--that shed his blood at that
memorable season. Come and see it. Here is a garden dark and gloomy; the
ground is crisp with the cold frost of midnight; between those gloomy olive
trees I see a man, I hear him groan out his life in prayer; hearken, angels,
hearken men, and wonder; it is the Saviour groaning out his soul! Come and
see him. Behold his brow! O heavens! drops of blood are streaming down
his face, and from his body; every pore is open, and it sweats! but not the
sweat of men that toil for bread; it is the sweat of one that toils for
heaven--he "sweats great drops of blood!" That is the blood-shedding, without
which there is no remission. Follow that man further; they have dragged him
with sacrilegious bands from the place of his prayer and his agony, and they
have taken him to the hall of Pilate; they seat him in a chair and mock him; a
robe of purple is put on his shoulders in mockery; and mark his brow--they
have put about it a crown of thorns, and the crimson drops of gore are rushing
down his cheeks! Ye angels! the drops of blood are running down his
cheeks! But turn aside that purple robe for a moment. His back is bleeding.
Tell me, demons who did this. They lift up the thongs, still dripping clots of
gore; they scourge and tear his flesh, and make a river of blood to run down
his shoulders! That is the shedding of blood without which there is no
remission. Not yet have I done: they hurry him through the streets; they
fling him on the ground; they nail his hands and feet to the transverse wood,
they hoist it in the air, they dash it into its socket, it is fixed, and there
he hangs the Christ of God. Blood from his head, blood from his hands, blood
from his feet! In agony unknown he bleeds away his life; in terrible throes
he exhausts his soul. "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabacthani." And then see! they
pierce his side, and forthwith runneth out blood and water. This is the
shedding of blood, sinners and saints; this is the awful shedding of blood,
the terrible pouring out of blood, without which for you, and for the whole
human race, there is no remission.
I have then, I hope, brought my text fairly out: without this shedding of
blood there is no remission. Now I shall come to dwell upon it more
particularly.
Why is it that this story doth not make men weep? I told it ill, you say. Ay,
so I did; I will take all the blame. But, sirs, if it were told as ill as men
could speak, were our hearts what they should be, we should bleed away our
lives in sorrow. Oh! it was a horrid murder that! It was not an act of
regicide; it was not the deed of a fratricide, or of a parricide; it was--what
shall I say?--I must make a word--a deicide; the killing of a God; the slaying
of him who became incarnate for our sins. Oh! if our hearts were but soft as
iron, we must weep, if they were but tender as the marble of the mountains, we
should shed great drops of grief; but they are harder than the nether
millstone; we forget the griefs of him that died this ignominious death, we
pity not his sorrows, nor do we account the interest we have in him as
though he suffered and accomplished all for us. Nevertheless, here stands
the principle--"Without shedding of blood is no remission."
Now, I take it, there are two things here. First, there is a negative
expressed: "No remission without shedding of blood." And then there is a
positive implied, forsooth, with shedding of blood there is remission.
I. First, I say, here is A NEGATIVE EXPRESSED: there is no remission
without blood--without the blood of Jesus Christ. This is of divine
authority; when I utter this sentence I have divinity to plead. It is not a
thing which you may doubt, or which you may believe; it must be believed and
received, otherwise you have denied the Scriptures and turned aside from
God. Some truths I utter, perhaps, have little better basis than my own
reasoning and inference, which are of little value enough; but this I utter,
not with quotations from God's Word to back up my assertion, but from the
lips of God himself. Here it stands in great letters, "There is no remission."
So divine its authority. Perhaps you will kick at it: but remember, your
rebellion is not against me, but against God, If any of you reject this truth,
I shall not controvert; God forbid I should turn aside from proclaiming his
gospel, to dispute with men. I have God's irrevocable statute to plead now,
here it stands: "Without shedding of blood there is no remission." You may
believe or disbelieve many things the preacher utters; but this you
disbelieve at the peril of your souls. It is God's utterance: will you tell
God to his face you do not believe it? That were impious. The negative is
divine in its authority; bow yourselves to it, and accept its solemn warning.
But some men will say that God's way of saving men, by shedding of blood,
is a cruel way, an unjust way, an unkind way; and all kinds of things they
will say of it. Sirs, I have nothing to do with your opinion of the matter; it
is so. If you have any faults to find with your Maker, fight your battles out
with him at last. But take heed before you throw the gauntlet down; it will
go ill with a worm when he fighteth with his Maker, and it will go ill with
you when you contend with him. The doctrine of atonement when rightly
understood and faithfully received, is delightful, for it exhibits boundless
love, immeasurable goodness, and infinite truth; but to unbelievers it will
always be a hated doctrine. So it must be sirs; you hate your own mercies;
you despise your own salvation. I tarry not to dispute with you; I affirm it
in God's name: "Without shedding of blood there is no remission."
And note how decisive this is in its character: "Without shedding of blood
there is no remission." "But, sir, can't I get my sins forgiven by my
repentance? if I weep, and plead, and pray, will not God forgive me for the
sake of my tears?" "No remission," says the text, "without shedding of
blood." "But, sir, if I never sin again, and if I serve God more zealously
than other men, will he not forgive me for the sake of my obedience?" "No
remission," says the text, "without shedding of blood." "But, sir, may I not
trust that God is merciful, and will forgive me without the shedding of
blood?" "No," says the text, "without shedding of blood there is no
remission;" none whatever. It cuts off every other hope. Bring your hopes
here, and if they are not based in blood. and stamped with blood, they are as
useless as castles in the air, and dreams of the night. "There is no
remission," says the text, in positive and plain words; and yet men will be
trying to get remission in fifty other ways, until their special pleading
becomes as irksome to us as it is useless for them. Sirs, do what you like,
say what you please, but you are as far off remission when you have done
your best, as you were when you began, except you put confidence in the
shedding of our Saviour's blood, and in the blood-shedding alone, for
without it there is no remission.
And note again how universal it is in its character. "What! may not I get
remission without blood-shedding?" says the king; and he comes with the
crown on his head; "May not I in all my robes, with this rich ransom, get
pardon without the blood-shedding?" "None," is the reply; "none."
Forthwith comes the wise man, with a number of letters after his name--
"Can I not get remission by these grand titles of my learning?" "None;
none." Then comes the benevolent man--"I have dispersed my money to the
poor, and given my bounty to feed them; shall not I get remission?" "None;"
says the text, "Without shedding of blood there is no remission." How this
puts everyone on a level! My lord, you are no bigger than your coachman;
Sir, squire, you are no better off than John that ploughs the ground;
minister, your office does not serve you with any exemption--your poorest
hearer stands on the very same footing. "Without shedding of blood there is
no remission." No hope for the best, any more than for the worst, without
this shedding of blood. Oh! I love the gospel, for this reason among others,
because it is such a levelling gospel. Some persons do not like a levelling
gospel; nor would I, in some senses of the word. Let men have their rank,
and their titles, and their riches, if they will; but I do like, and I am sure
all good men like, to see rich and poor meet together and feel that they are
on a level; the gospel makes them so. It says "Put up your money-bags, they
will not procure you remission; roll up your diploma, that will not get you
remission; forget your farm and your park, they will not get you remission;
just cover up that escutcheon, that coat of arms will not get you remission.
Come, you ragged beggars, filthy off-scourings of the world, penniless;
come hither; here is remission as much for you, ill-bred and ill-mannered
though ye be, as for the noble, the honorable, the titled, and the wealthy.
All stand on a level here; the text is universal: "Without shedding of blood
there is no remission."
Mark too, how perpetual my text is. Paul said, "there is no remission;" I
must repeat this testimony too. When thousands of years have rolled away,
some minister may stand on this spot and say the same. This will never alter
at all; it will always be so, in the next world as well as this: no remission
without shedding of blood. "Oh! yes there is," says one, "the priest takes the
shilling, and he gets the soul out of purgatory." That is a mere pretence; it
never was in. But without shedding of blood there is no real remission.
There may be tales and fancies, but there is no true remission without the
blood of propitiation. Never, though you strained yourselves in prayer;
never, though you wept yourselves away in tears; never, though you
groaned and cried till your heart-strings break; never in this world, nor in
that which is to come, can the forgiveness of sins be procured on any other
ground than redemption by the blood of Christ, and never can the
conscience be cleansed but by faith in that sacrifice. The fact is, beloved,
there is no use for you to satisfy your hearts with anything less than what
satisfied God the Father. Without the shedding of blood nothing would
appease his justice; and without the application of that same blood nothing
can purge your consciences.
II. But as there is no remission without blood-shedding, IT IS IMPLIED
THAT THERE IS REMISSION WITHOUT IT. Mark it well, this remission
is a present fact. The blood having been already shed, the remission is
already obtained. I took you to the garden of Gethsemane and the mount of
Calvary to see the bloodshedding. I might now conduct you to another
garden and another mount to shew you the grand proof of the remission.
Another garden, did I say? Yes, it is a garden, fraught with many pleasing
and even triumphant reminiscences. Aside from the haunts of this busy
world, in it was a new sepulchre, hewn out of a rock where Joseph of
Arimathea thought his own poor body should presently be laid. But there
they laid Jesus after his crucifixion.
He had stood surety for his people, and the law had demanded his blood;
death had held him with strong grasp; and that tomb was, as it were, the
dungeon of his captivity, when, as the good shepherd, he laid down his life
for the sheep. Why, then, do I see in that garden, an open, untenanted grave?
I will tell you. The debts are paid, the sins are cancelled--, the remission
is obtained. How, think you? That great Shepherd of the sheep hath been
brought again from the dead by the blood of the everlasting covenant, and in
him also we have obtained redemption through his blood. There, beloved, is
proof the first.
Do you ask further evidence? I will take you to Mount Olivet. You shall
behold Jesus there with his hands raised like the High Priest of old to bless
his people, and while he is blessing them, he ascends, the clouds receiving
him out of their sight. But why, you ask, oh why hath he thus ascended, and
whither is he gone ? Behold he entereth, not into the holy place made with
hands, but be entereth into heaven itself with his own blood, there to appear
in the presence of God for us. Now, therefore, we have boldness to draw
near by the blood of Christ. The remission is obtained, here is proof the
second. Oh believer, what springs of comfort are there here for thee.
And now let me commend this remission by the shedding of blood to those
who have not yet believed. Mr. Innis, a great Scotch minister, once visited
an infidel who was dying. When he came to him the first time, he said, "Mr.
Innis, I am relying on the mercy of God; God is merciful, and he will never
damn a man for ever." When he got worse and was nearer death, Mr. Innis
went to him again, and he said, " Oh! Mr. Innis, my hope is gone; for I have
been thinking if God be merciful, God is just too; and what if, instead of
being merciful to me, he should be just to me? What would then become of
me? I must give up my hope in the mere mercy of God; tell me how to be
saved!" Mr. Innis told him that Christ had died in the stead of all
believers--that God could be just, and yet the justifier through the death of
Christ. " Ah!" said he, " Mr. Innis, there is something solid in that; I can
rest on that; I cannot rest on anything else;" and it is a remarkable fact
that none of us ever met with a man who thought he had his sins forgiven
unless it was through the blood of Christ. Meet a Mussulman; he never had his
sins forgiven; he does not say so. Meet an Infidel; he never knows that his
sins are forgiven. Meet a Legalist; he says, "I hope they will be forgiven;"
but he does not pretend they are. No one ever gets even a fancied hope apart
from this, that Christ, and Christ alone, must save by the shedding of his
blood.
Let me tell a story to show how Christ saves souls. Mr. Whitfield had a
brother who had been like him, an earnest Christian, but he had
backslidden; he went far from the ways of godliness; and one afternoon,
after he had been recovered from his backsliding, he was sitting in a room in
a chapel house. He had heard his brother preaching the day before, and his
poor conscience had been cut to the very quick. Said Whitfield's brother,
when he was at tea, "I am a lost man," and he groaned and cried, and could
neither eat nor drink. Said Lady Huntingdon, who sat opposite, "What did
you say, Mr. Whitfield?" "Madam," said he, "I said, I am a lost man." "I'm
glad of it," said she; "I'm glad of it." "Your ladyship, how can you say so?
It is cruel to say you are glad that I am a lost man." " I repeat it, sir,"
said she; "I am heartily glad of it." He looked at her, more and more
astonished at her barbarity. "I am glad of it," said she, "because it is
written, 'The Son of Man came to seek and to save that which was lost.' " With
the tears rolling down his cheeks, he said, "What a precious Scripture; and
how is it that it comes with such force to me ? Oh! madam," said he, "madam, I
bless God for that; then he will save me; I trust my soul in his hands; he has
forgiven me." He went outside the house, felt ill, fell upon the ground, and
expired. I may have a lost man here this morning. As I cannot say much, I will
leave you, good people; you do not want anything.
Have I got a lost man here? Lost man! Lost woman! Where are you? Do you
feel yourself to be lost? I am so glad of it; for there is remission by the
blood-shedding. O sinner, are there tears in your eyes? Look through them.
Do you see that man in the garden? That man sweats drops of blood for you.
Do you see that man on the cross? That man was nailed there for you. Oh! if
I could be nailed on a cross this morning for you all, I know what you
would do: you would fall down and kiss my feet, and weep that I should
have to die for you. But sinner, lost sinner, Jesus died for you--for you; and
if he died for you., you cannot be lost. Christ died in vain for no one. Are
you, then, a sinner? Are you convinced of sin because you believe not in
Christ? I have authority to preach to you. Believe in his name and you
cannot be lost. Do you say you are no sinner? Then I do not know that
Christ died for you. Do you say that you have no sins to repent of? Then I
have no Christ to preach to you. He did not come to save the righteous; he
came to save the wicked. Are you wicked? Do you feel it? Are you lost? Do
you know it? Are you sinful? Will you confess it? Sinner! if Jesus were here
this morning, he would put out his bleeding hands, and say, " Sinner, I died
for you, will you believe me ?" He is not here in person; he has sent his
servant to tell you. Won't you believe him? "Oh!" but you say, "I am such a
sinner;" "Ah!" says he, "that is just why I died for you, because you are a
sinner." "But," you say, "I do not deserve it." "Ah !" says he, "that is just
why I did it." Say you, "I have hated him." "But," says he, "I have always
loved you." "But, Lord, I have spat on thy minister, and scorned thy word."
"It is all forgiven," says he, "all washed away by the blood which did run
from my side. Only believe me; that is all I ask. And that I will give you. I
will help you to believe." "Ah!" says one, "but I do not want a Saviour." Sir,
I have nothing to say to you except this--"The wrath to come! the wrath to
come!" But there is one who says, "Sir, you do not mean what you say! Do
you mean to preach to the most wicked men or women in the place?" I mean
what I say. There she is! She is a harlot, she has led many into sin, and
many into hell, There she is; her own friends have turned her out of doors;
her father called her a good-for-nothing hussey, and said she should never
come to the house again. Woman I dost thou repent? Dost thou feel thyself
to be guilty? Christ died to save thee, and thou shalt be saved. There he is.
I can see him. He was drunk; he has been drunk very often. Not many nights
ago I heard his voice in the street, as he went home at a late hour on
Saturday night, disturbing everybody; and he beat his wife, too. He has
broken the Sabbath; and as to swearing, if oaths be like soot, his throat must
want sweeping bad enough, for he has cursed God often. Do you feel
yourself to be guilty, my hearer? Do you hate your sins, and are you willing
to forsake them? Then I bless God for you. Christ died for you. Believe! I
had a letter a few days ago, from a young man who heard that during this
week I was going to a certain town. Said he, "Sir, when you come, do
preach a sermon that will fit me; for do you know, sir, I have heard it said
that we must all think ourselves to be the wickedest people in the world, or
else we cannot be saved. I try to think so, but I cannot, because I have not
been the wickedest. I want to think so, but I cannot. I want to be saved, but
I do not know how to repent enough." Now, if I have the pleasure of seeing
him, I shall tell him, God does not require a man to think himself the
wickedest in the world, because that would sometimes be to think a
falsehood; there are some men who are not so wicked as others are. What
God requires is this, that a man should say, "I know more of myself than I
do of other people; I know little about them, and from what I see of myself,
not of my actions, but of my heart, I do think there can be few worse than I
am. They may be more guilty openly, but then I have had more light, more
privileges, more opportunities, more warnings, and therefore I am still
guiltier." I do not want you to bring your brother with you, and say, "I am
more wicked than he is;" I want you to come yourself, and say, "Father, I
have sinned;" you have nothing to do with your brother William, whether he
has sinned more or less; your cry should be, "Father, I have sinned;" you
have nothing to do with your cousin Jane, whether or not she has rebelled
more than you. Your business is to cry, "Lord, have mercy upon me, a
sinner!" That is all. Do you feel yourselves lost? Again, I say,--
"Come, and welcome, sinner, come!"
To conclude. There is not a sinner in this place who knows himself to be
lost and ruined, who may not have all his sins forgiven, and "rejoice in the
hope of the glory of God." You may, though black as hell, be white as
heaven this very instant. I know 'tis only by a desperate struggle that faith
takes hold of the promise, but the very moment a sinner believes, that
conflict is past. It is his first victory, and a blessed one. Let this verse
be the language of your heart; adopt it, and make it your own:
"A guilty weak, and helpless worm.
In Christ's kind arms I fall;
He is my strength and righteousness,
My Jesus and my all."
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