it is raised in glory: it is sown in weakness, and the same, it is raised in power. Note, Jesus was still flesh! All flesh is not the same flesh: all bodies have not the same qualities. So our Saviour’s flesh was flesh that could not suffer, — flesh that had extraordinary powers about it, — flesh however, that could eat, although it was under no necessity to do so. And such may be the body, the glorified body, which shall be given to us when we shall rise at the first resurrection, and shall be made like to our head. But, now, think! If Christ had to undergo in his countenance those matchless transformations, that must have been, first of all, connected with his bloody sweat, then, with his agony, and after that, with the transforming, or, if I may use such a word, the transmutation of his body into a spiritual body, can you not conceive that his likeness would be changed, that the disciples would scarcely know him if there had not been some deeply engraven marks by which they would be able to recognise him? The disciples looked upon the very face, but, even then they doubted. There was a majesty about him which most of them had not seen. Peter, James, and John, had seen him transfigured, when his garments were whiter than any fuller could make them; but the rest of the disciples had only seen him as a man of sorrows; they had not seen him as the glorious Lord, and, therefore, they would be apt to doubt whether he was the same man. But these nail prints, this pierced side, these were marks which they could not dispute, which unbelief itself could not doubt. And they all were convicted and confessed that he was the Lord; and even Thomas, faithless Thomas, was constrained to cry, “My Lord and my God!”
5. II. Let us turn to the second question: WHY SHOULD CHRIST WEAR THESE WOUNDS IN HEAVEN AND WHAT PURPOSE DO THEY SERVE? Let me give you some thoughts upon the matter.
6. I can conceive, first, that the wounds of Christ in heaven will be a theme of eternal wonder to the angels. An old writer represents the angels as saying, “Oh, Lord of glory, what are these wounds in your hand?” They had seen him depart from heaven, and they had gone with him as far as they might go, singing, “Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth.” Some of them had watched him through his pilgrimage, for “he was seen by angels.” But when he returned, I do not doubt that they crowded around him, bowed before him in adoration, and then asked the holy question, “What are these wounds in your hands?” At any rate they were enabled to see for themselves in heaven the man who suffered, and they could see the wounds which were produced in his body by his sufferings; and I can readily imagine that this would cause them to lift their songs higher, would prolong their shouts of triumph, and would cause them to adore him with a rapture of wonderment, such as they had never felt before. And I do not doubt that every time they look upon his hands, and behold the crucified man exalted by his Father’s side, they are enwrapped afresh in wonder, and again they pluck their harps with more joyous fingers at the thought of what he must have suffered who thus bears the scars of his hard fought battles.
7. Again, Christ wears these scars in his body in heaven as his ornaments. The wounds of Christ are his glories, they are his jewels and his precious things. To the eye of the believer Christ is never so glorious, never so surpassingly fair, as when we can say of him, “My beloved is white and ruddy,” white with innocence, and ruddy with his own blood. He never seems so beautiful as when we can see him as the rose and the lily; as the lily, matchless purity, and as the rose, crimsoned with his own gore. We may speak of Christ in his beauty, in various places raising the dead and stilling the tempest, but oh! there never was such a matchless Christ as he who hung upon the cross. There I behold all his beauties, all his attributes developed, all his love drawn out, all his character expressed in letters so legible, that even my poor stammering heart can read those lines and speak them out again, as I see them written in crimson upon the bloody tree. Beloved, these are to Jesus what they are to us; they are his ornaments, his royal jewels, his fair array. He does not care for the splendour and pomp of kings. The thorny crown is his diadem — a diadem such as no monarch ever wore. It is true that he does not bear now the sceptre of reed, but there is a glory in it that there never flashed from a sceptre of gold. It is true he is not now buffeted and spit upon: his face is not now marred more than that of any other man by grief and sorrow, for he is glorified and full of blessedness; but he never seems so lovely as when we see him buffeted by men for our sakes, enduring all manner of grief, bearing our iniquities, and carrying our sorrows. Jesus Christ finds such beauties in his wounds that he will not renounce them, he will wear the court dress in which he wooed our souls, and he will wear the royal purple of his atonement throughout eternity.
8. Nor are these only the ornaments of Christ: they are his trophies — the trophies of his love. Have you never seen a soldier with a gash across his forehead or in his cheek? Why every soldier will tell you the wound in battle is no disfigurement — it is his honour. “If” he said, “I received a wound when I was retreating, a wound in the back, that would be my disgrace, but if I have received a wound in a victory, then it is an honourable thing to be wounded.” Now, Jesus Christ has scars of honour in his flesh, and glory in his eyes. He has other trophies. He has divided the spoil with the strong; he has taken the captive away from his tyrant master; he has redeemed for himself a host that no man can number, who are all the trophies of his victories: but these scars, these are the memorials of the fight, and these are the trophies, too.
9. For do you not know it was from the side of Jesus that Death sucked its death. Jesus hung upon the cross, and Death thought to get the victory. Indeed, but in its victory it destroyed itself. There are three things in Christ that Death never met with before, all of which are fatal to it. There was in Christ innocence. Now, as long as man was innocent, he could not die. Adam lived as long as he was innocent. Now, Christ was about to die; but Death sucked in innocent blood; he sucked in his own poison and he died. Again, blessedness is what takes away the sting of death. Now Christ, even when he was dying, was “God over all, blessed for ever.” All that Death had ever killed before was under the curse; but this man was never by nature under the curse, because for our sakes he was not born into this world a cursed man. He was the seed of woman it is true, but still not of carnal generation. He came under the curse when he took upon himself our sins, but not for his own sins. He was in himself blessed. Death sucked in blessed blood: he had never done that before — all others have been under the curse — and that killed Death. It was innocence combined with blessedness that was the destruction of Death. Yet another thing. Death had never met before with any man who had life in himself: But when Death drank Christ’s blood it drank life. For his blood is the life of the soul, and is the seed of eternal life. Wherever it goes, does it not give life to the dead? And Death, finding that it had drunk into its own veins life in the form of Jesus’ blood gave up the ghost; and Death itself is dead, for Christ has destroyed it, by the sacrifice of himself; he has put it away; he has said, “Oh death, where is your sting? oh grave, where is your victory?” But now, since it was from these very wounds that Death sucked in its own death, and that hell was destroyed; since these were the only weapons of a weaponless Redeemer, he wears and bears them as his trophies in heaven. David laid up Goliath’s sword before the Lord for ever. Jesus lays up his wounds before the Lord, for his wounds were his weapons, and this is why he still wears them.
10. I was thinking while coming here of Jesus Christ in heaven with his wounds, and another thought struck me. Another reason why Jesus wears his wounds is, that when he intercedes he may employ them as powerful advocates. When he rises up to pray for his people, he does not need to speak a word; he lifts his hands before his Father’s face; he makes bare his side, and points to his feet. These are the orators with which he pleads with God — these wounds. Oh, he must prevail. Do you not see that Christ without his wounds, in heaven might be potent enough; but there would not be that glorious simplicity of intercession which now you see. He has nothing to do but to show his hands. The Father always hears him. His blood cries and is heard. His wounds plead and prevail.
11. Let us think again. Jesus Christ appears in heaven as the wounded one, this shows again that he has not laid aside his priesthood. You know how Watts paraphrases the idea. He says,
Looks like a lamb that has been slain,
And wears his priesthood still.
If the wounds had been removed we might have forgotten that there was a sacrifice;