A Sermon formerly preached at St Andrew's, Swavesey, on Wednesday in Holy Week, 17th April, 1878, by the Revd Henry Isaac Sharpe, Vicar. Preached again at Fen Drayton, Conington, Lolworth and Swavesey on Good Friday, 18th April 2003.
"And one shall say unto him, what are these wounds in thine hands? Then he shall answer, those with which I was wounded in the house of my friends." Zechariah 13.6
I am going to speak today to about the wounds of Jesus. Wounds speak far more forcibly than any words. The wounds of the soldier, as he lies swathed in his blood on the battlefield, tell the tale of his brave deeds far more forcibly and more eloquently than the most splendid speech that can be made in praise of him. And there are no wounds so elegant as the wounds of Jesus. Indeed, it may be said that it what ever truth we may want to know concerning God's law and concerning man's salvation, we shall never grasp it properly, or see it as we ought to see it, until we see it reflected in the light which streams from the wounds of Jesus.
Do we want to understand the truth that "God is Love?" We may find it in the writings of St John. But if we want to have it printed on our hearts, we must go to the Cross, and cast ourselves down there, and look up into those five streaming wounds. It is in the blood of Jesus that we behold the glorious truth, in all its fullness, that "God is love".
Again, we read in the Bible a great deal about sin. Our own consciences tell us something about the exceeding sinfulness of sin. But if we want to know what it really is - if we want to know the crushing, overwhelming weight of sin, again we must wend our way to the Cross of Calvary, and as we lie there gazing upon the wounds of Jesus, we can judge for ourselves what must be the awful nature of that sin, which cost him such infinite pain and torment to deliver us from it. There is no place so suitable for looking at sin, and the punishment of sin and the mercy that is held out to sinners, as under the cross of Jesus -
"Here I'd lie, for ever viewing
Mercy's streams in streams of blood;
Precious drops my soul bedewing,
Plead and claim my peace with God."
Let us now turn to the words of the text, and lay hold of the thought conveyed by them. In the text Jesus is held up before us, not merely as wounded, but as wounded "in the house of his friends." We all know that wounds are unpleasant things to receive at any time; but the wounds of friends are the most grievous wounds of all. These wounds of friends began to be received by our Lord Jesus Christ from the moment that he began his earthly life. We may say that all the way from Bethlehem to Calvary was stained with the blood-drops that fell from the wounds which Jesus was continually receiving. True it is that his outward human body was only torn and wounded in the last few moments of his earthly course; but, from the cradle to the Cross, there was one continual crucifixion, one lifelong suffering from the hatred and cruelty of his friends. He has scarcely come into the world, when Herod seeks his life. As an "infant of days", he has to fly into the land of Egypt. While he is yet a youth in his home in Nazareth, he finds the anticipation of the thorny Cross, for "not even did his brethren believe on him." And when he started on his public ministry, he had no sooner begun it, then he began to realise the strange, but undoubted fact, that even his own - on whom he had a special claim for sympathy and support - "even his own received him not." "He was in the world, and the world was made by him" - he knew the whole world within and without, for it was his own creation - "but the world knew him not."
Again, he formed a little band of followers around himself, and he breathed the words of life into their ears. He was the centre round which it their lives revolved. His voice was all their music, his sympathy all their joy, as they passed along the way of life. Yet even these favoured disciples, what did they do, when he came to the hour of trial? What did they do when they caught the first glimpse of the Roman soldiery, and heard the first tramp of armed men? They turned their backs on the face of the man whom they professed to love and serve - "they forsook him and fled," one and all of them. These were some of the wounds wherewith he was wounded in the house of his friends.
One of his chosen followers finds it in his heart to sell his master for 30 pieces of silver. What a wound is that! Another, closer follower, declares with an oath that he never knew him. What a wound is that! Then the fierce Roman soldiers laid hold upon him - upon him, the meek and lowly Lamb of God - and he was nailed to the bitter Cross by their guilty hands, and he was held up before a dark and astonished world. He was held up before all ages, as One who had deserved and was undergoing the extreme malediction of the law, the just condemnation of a felon, a reprobate, a slave. These were some of the wounds wherewith he was wounded in the house of his friends.
Yes, my brethren, although they wounded him, he called them his "friends". In the greatness of his love and pity, he chose to make all mankind his friends. He had plenty of friends in heaven, before he came down to earth and was made man. He had the love of the Father, and that by itself was satisfying. He wanted nothing more. In the mystery of his own being, in his eternal union with the Father, he had all the love and the fellowship that he could want. And then there were the holy angels of heaven, the bright spirits that clustered round his throne, and in whom he might have found chosen companions, if he had desired. But, O my brethren, the Lord Jesus took not upon him the nature of angels - he would not have them for his chosen friends - he passed by their shining ranks. He came down lower and lower and lower, until at last he found out man, poor, burdened, downtrodden man - he planted his divine foot upon a fallen world. He entered into the circle of human society - in the fullness of his divine love he chose to make mankind his friends.
[Herein consists the great dignity of man. It is not merely that we get our being from the breath of the Most High, but that we find the worth of our souls in the life, and sufferings and death of Jesus, and in the infinite love which filled his Sacred Heart.] He came down, that he might lift us up, to the level of the friends of God. He has revealed himself to us, as one who has chosen to make us his friends. He points to those wounds of his. He holds up his hands. He points to his side. He seems to say "I loved mankind. I could not bear the thought that they should perish. I took upon me the task of bringing them back to God from whom they had wandered. I came into the world where they lived. I pursued them into their haunts of sin. I let my love shine there. I drew them on with the cords of a man and with the bands of love. I ever sought to bring them within the mystic circle of my own friendship. I made them my friends; and men even pointed the finger of scandal at me, and called me "the friend of publicans and sinners", little thinking that they spoke the truth. For I was the friend of publicans and sinners, and I sought to raise them up the standard of my friendship. But they would not be raised. Some doubted, others mocked; some turned from me, others turned against me. And these were some of the wounds with which I was wounded in the house of my friends.
My brethren, have you ever thought that you are the friends of Jesus? He has called you his "friends". He has chosen to call himself your "friend". Well then, remember that all the sins you commit against him, are committed, not against an enemy, but a friend. Perhaps you have not thought of that. You have got it into your heads that God is your natural enemy, and that the Son of God is your enemy too. But don't believe it. It is only one of the devil's lies. The Lord Jesus Christ is the Friend of Sinners. [Yes, he is the friend of the greatest sinner in this church.] And more than that - he has chosen sinners to be his friends. When he was here on earth, it was at the sinners' table that he went and sat down. It was in a society of sinners that he was often found. Why was it so? Because the Shepherd's heart went after the one lost sheep, yearning for it in infinite tenderness. And he stands before you tonight, as the Friend of Sinners still. And he pleads with you. He stands before you with those sacred wounds of Calvary upon him. As he points to his torn limbs and pierced side, he seems to say, "I have chosen you to be my friends. I have drawn you into great nearness to myself, and these are the wounds with which I was wounded in the house of my friends.
I have said the Lord Jesus was wounded, not only on the Cross of Calvary, but through the whole course of his life. He was wounded by the continual contradiction of sinners against himself; he was wounded by being scornfully rejected by that world which he came to redeem. And now I desire to point out you that it was not merely 1800 years ago that Jesus was wounded and rejected. He is wounded still, and he is rejected still. The sins which are committed now wound him as much as those which were committed 1800 years ago. They may wear a different shape. They may have a different complexion. But as you go under the surface, you'll find that the very same root of sin which made the Jews drive the nails into the hands and feet of Jesus, is present in the human heart now, and is bringing forth its bitter fruit every day and every hour. We may not be able to thrust in the nails or to drive in the spear, but we are able - only too able - to pierce and to wound.
How do we wound him? In many ways. Here is one way. We wound him by preferring another to him. Don't you think that Jesus was wounded that day when he heard the Jews crying out "not this man, but Barabbas"? Knowing as he did that Barabbas was a robber. Did you think that it must have been a cruel wound to find that the people preferred a robber and a murderer to himself? The contrast between Jesus and Barabbas is one of which painters have delighted to draw. They draw a picture of the one and a picture of the other, and put them side by side. There is the pure and holy face of Jesus, radiant with innocence and beaming with love. And over against it is the fierce scowling face of the cunning thief, the loathsome murderer, the man who would not shrink from any crime. Look at the two and choose between them: Jesus or Barabbas! It is a choice which has come before you again and again. There have been times when your heart has been awakened, and you have begun to think about Christ. You have asked yourself the question, "Shall I accept Christ for my Saviour?" and then, while you are doubting and hesitating, there rises up before you the image of some darling sin - a horrible thing - a thing which God hates. There it stands in all its ghastly horror. And over against this darling sin, this Barabbas, stands Jesus, with all his heavenly purity, the innocent, Holy Son of God. And you look at the two. Jesus, with one look of sorrow sends the arrow of divine love into your heart, to force you to make the choice of everlasting life. As you look at him, you are drawn towards him. You cannot help it. There is a power in that love which seems to conquer your hardness, and to bring you forward a step or two nearer to God. But the next moment you turn away, to look upon the darling sin. You gaze upon it; and it draws you with a stronger cord, and it bewitches you with a stranger fascination. You let it overcome and conquer you. You cry out "not this man - not Jesus - but Barabbas". Now Barabbas was a robber. And I tell you that the Barabbas you have chosen is a robber. He will rob you of all that you have got. He has already robbed you of your purity and your innocence. He has robbed you of your nobility and your manhood. He has robbed you of all that is worth having in life. And by and bye, he will rob you of life itself. He will lay his robber's hand upon you, and get you into his grip, and drag you down to perdition. Believe me, my brethren, Barabbas is a robber still and every time we take a stand by his side, or let him get the mastery of us, we cast off the Saviour and inflict a cruel wound upon his Sacred Heart. How could we ever bring ourselves to wound him so? It was not always so. When we were children, we often heard the story told of Jesus' love, and it moved us greatly, as we listened to it. How near he was to us then! We might almost hear him saying, "My son, give me thy heart." But after a while those feelings wandered away, and the impressions of childhood passed off. By and bye, Jesus touched us again. There came a voice to us that spake from the grave, and again our knees seemed bent in prayer, and again Jesus seemed very near. But then, the current set in the opposite direction. And the stream drove us away from the Saviour's side, and we left him, and floated away on the strong current of worldly carelessness and fleshly sins; and so we ended by grieving and hurting and wounding our best and dearest Friend. Who, if we had only remained friendly to him, would have stuck closer to us than a brother.
My brethren, the Body of the Lord Jesus, as it hung on the cross, bore five bleeding wounds upon it. There are two wounds in his hands and two in his feet and one in his side. Those wounds shall speak to us now.
I look at the hands of Jesus, and I behold these stabbed through with nails. And as I look at them, I ask the question, "What are those wounds in thine hands?" And then I look at my own hands for the answer, and I think how often these hands of mine have wrought out my own self-will, and sinned greatly against God. But the nailed hands of Jesus seem to plead for us to his Father, and his voice seems to say, "This sinner's hands are stained with sin; they are guilty hands in thy sight, O my Father; but these hands of mind never moved except to do thy will, O my God; from Bethlehem to Calvary they never did one single act, but thy smile rested upon it. Then take these innocent hands of mine, and nail them to the Cross, and when thou hast driven home the nail, let the sinner's hands go free."
And so it is, my brethren, that the hands of Jesus are there, on the Cross, and our hands are left at liberty; and what shall we do with them? Jesus himself tells us, "reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands, and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side, and be not faithless, but believing."
I look at the feet of Jesus; and I see the nail tearing the flesh. And again I ask the question, "My Lord, my Lord, why are thy feet thus pierced?" Then I look at these feet of mine, and I remember that we all like sheep have gone astray, our treadings have slipped, our feet have taken us out of the way. And again I hear Jesus pleading, and saying, "The sinner's feet have led him on the way to hell. He has wandered down the broad road, and turned his back on thy counsel, O my Father, and greatly sinned against thy Law . But these feet of mine have run in the way of thy Commandments - they had been swift upon errands of mercy - they have borne this body of mine from place to place, ever eager and willing to do thy will. Then take these innocent feet of mine, and nail them to the Cross, and when thou has driven home the nail, let the guilty sinner's feet tread the path of life, and walk along the straight and narrow way that shall lead him home to his God."
I look once more; and this time I see the riven side of Jesus, and through the gaping wound I seem to look on further still, into his broken heart. And again I ask a question, "What wound is this? And why is thy heart so broken?" And I hear that pleading voice of Jesus say, "O my Father, the sinner's heart has been the home of sin. It has been fouled and polluted by the dark stains of sin. It has been the secret chamber in which all kinds of horrible crimes have been committed. But, O my Father, this heart of mine is pure and stainless. It has beaten in sweet harmony with thy will from the first beat to the last. It has never harboured a single thought, but such as thou hast pleasure in. Then take this pure and innocent heart of mine, and let the heavy load of the world's sin rest upon it. Tread it down in the wine press of the fierceness of thy righteous wrath. Press it, bruise it, break it! And then, when I have reduced to the full that fearful pressure, fill the sinner's heart with heaven's own joy, pour in the power of an endless life into that once-polluted spirit. Let the heart which was the home of Satan become the dwelling place of the good Spirit of God. And from my own broken heart, which the spear has touched, let the water and the blood flow forth, that shall wash away the stain of the sinners guilt, that he may not die but live.
My brethren, these are the wounds with which Christ is wounded in the house of his friends. Our hands wound his hands - our feet to wound his feet - our hearts wound his heart.
Are you going to wound him tonight? I will tell you how you can do it. You can a wound him by indifference, by going home, and thinking no more about him, and by putting out of your minds as quickly as ever you can all that you have heard about his wounds tonight. But if you do so, my best wish for you is that he will not let you alone, but that, just as you lay your head upon the pillow, and ere you close your eyes to sleep, you may have a vision - that you may see your crucified Lord standing by your bedside with his wounds all streaming - and that you may hear him saying, "These are the wounds with which this night in the house of my friend - nay, in my Father's house and in my own house - once more thou hast wounded me."
Amen.
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© J D Yule 2003