him in the wilderness, where he went straight from his immersion. Oh! I have often thought of that scene in the desert, when Christ, weary and way worn, sat down, perhaps upon the gnarled roots of some old tree. Forty days had he fasted, he was hungry, when in the extremity of his weakness there came the evil spirit. Perhaps he had veiled his demon royalty in the form of some aged pilgrim, and taking up a stone, said, “Way worn pilgrim, if you are the Son of God command this stone to be made bread.” I think I see him, with his cunning smile, and his malicious leer, as he held the stone, and said, “If,” — blasphemous if, — “If you are the Son of God, command that this stone shall become a meal for me and you, for both of us are hungry, and it will be an act of mercy; you can do it easily; speak the word, and it shall be like the bread of heaven; we will feed upon it, and you and I will be friends for ever.” But Jesus said — and oh how sweetly did he say it — “Man shall not live by bread alone.” Oh! how wonderfully did Christ fight the tempter! Never was there such a battle as that. It was a duel foot to foot — a single handed combat — when the champion lion of the pit, and the mighty lion of the tribe of Judah, fought together. Splendid sight! Angels stood around to gaze upon the spectacle, just as men of old did sit to see the tournament of noted warriors. There Satan gathered up his strength; here Apollyon concentrated all his satanic power, that in this giant wrestle he might overthrow the seed of the woman. But Jesus was more than a match for him; in the wrestling he gave him a deadly fall, and came off more than a conqueror. Lamb of God! I will remember your desert strivings, when next I combat with Satan. When next I have a conflict with roaring Diabolos, I will look to him who conquered once for all, and broke the dragon’s head with his mighty blows.
7. Further, I beseech you remember him in all his daily temptations and hourly trials, in that life long struggle of his, through which he passed. Oh! what a mighty tragedy was the death of Christ! and his life too? Ushered in with a song, it closed with a shriek. “It is finished.” It began in a manger, and ended on a cross; but oh, the sad interval between! Oh! the black pictures of persecution when his friends abhorred him; when his foes frowned at him as he passed the streets; when he heard the hiss of calumny, and was bitten by the foul tooth of envy; when slander said he had a devil and was mad: that he was a drunken man and a winebibber; and when his righteous soul was vexed with the ways of the wicked. Oh! Son of God, I must remember you; I cannot help remembering you, when I think of those years of toil and trouble which you did live for my sake. But you know my chosen theme — the place where I can always best remember Christ. It is a shady garden full of olives. Oh that spot! I would that I had eloquence, that I might take you there. Oh! if the Spirit would but take us, and set us down near the mountains of Jerusalem, I would say, see there runs the brook of Kidron, which the king himself did pass; and there you see the olive trees. Possibly, at the foot of that olive, lay the three disciples when they slept; and there, ah! there, I see drops of blood. Stand here, my soul, a moment; those drops of blood — do you behold them? See them; they are not the blood of wounds; they are the blood of a man whose body was then unwounded. Oh my soul picture him when he knelt down in agony and sweat, — sweat, because he wrestled with God, — sweat, because he agonized with his Father. “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.” Oh Gethsemane! your shades are deeply solemn to my soul. But ah! those drops of blood! Surely it is the climax of the height of misery; it is the last of the mighty acts of this wondrous sacrifice. Can love go deeper than that? Can it stoop to greater deeds of mercy? Oh! had I eloquence, I would bestow a tongue on every drop of blood that is there — that your hearts might rise in mutiny against your languor and coldness, and speak out with earnest burning remembrance of Jesus. And now, farewell, Gethsemane.
8. But I will take you somewhere else, where you shall still behold the “Man of Sorrows.” I will lead you to Pilate’s hall, and let you see him endure the mockeries of cruel soldiers: the smitings of mailed gloves, the blows of clenched fists; the shame, the spitting, the plucking of the hair: the cruel buffetings. Oh! can you not picture the King of Martyrs, stripped of his garments — exposed to the gaze of fiend-like men? Do you not see the crown upon his temples, each thorn acting as a lancet to pierce his head? Do you not see his lacerated shoulders, and the white bones starting out from the bleeding flesh? Oh, Son of Man! I see you scourged and flagellated with rods and whips, how can I henceforth cease to remember you? My memory would be more treacherous than Pilate, if it ever cried, Ecce Homo, — “Behold the man.”
9. Now, finish the scene of woe by a view of Calvary. Think of the pierced hands and the bleeding side; think of the scorching sun, and then the entire darkness; remember the broiling fever and the dread thirst; think of the death shriek, “It is finished!” and of the groans which were its prelude. This is the object of memory. Let us never forget Christ. I beseech you, for the love of Jesus, let him have the chief place in your memories. Let not the pearl of great price be dropped from your careless hand into the dark ocean of oblivion.
10. I cannot, however, help saying one thing before I leave this point: and that is, there are some of you who can very well carry away what I have said, because you have read it often, and heard it before; but still you cannot spiritually remember anything about Christ, because you never had him revealed to you, and what we have never known, we cannot remember. Thanks be to God, I speak not of you all, for in this place there is a goodly remnant according to the election of grace, and to them I turn. Perhaps I could tell you of some old barn, hedgerow, or cottage; or if you have lived in London, about some garret, or some dark lane or street, where you first met with Christ; or some chapel into which you strayed, and you might say, “Thank God, I can remember the seat where he first met with me, and spoke the whispers of love to my soul, and told me he had purchased me.”
Do note the place, the spot of ground,
Where Jesus did you meet?
Yes, and I would love to build a temple on the spot, and to raise some monument there, where Jehovah Jesus first spoke to my soul, and revealed himself to me. But he has revealed himself to you more than once — has he not? And you can remember scores of places where the Lord has appeared of old to you, saying, “Behold I have loved you with an everlasting love.” If you cannot all remember such things, there are some of you that can; and I am sure they will understand me when I say, come and do this in remembrance of Christ — in remembrance of all his loving visitations, of his sweet wooing words, of his winning smiles upon you, of all he has said and communicated to your souls. Remember all these things tonight, if it is possible for memory to gather up the mighty aggregate of grace. “Bless the Lord. Oh my soul, and forget not all his benefits.”
11. II. Having spoken upon the blessed object of our memory, we say, secondly, a little upon THE BENEFITS TO BE DERIVED FROM A LOVING REMEMBRANCE OF CHRIST.
12. Love never says, “Cui bono?” Love never asks what benefit it will derive from love. Love from its very nature is a disinterested thing. It loves for the creature’s sake, and for nothing else. The Christian needs no argument to make him love Christ; just as a mother needs no argument to make her love her child. She does it because it is her nature to do so. The newborn creature must love Christ; it cannot help it. Oh! who can resist the matchless charms of Jesus Christ? — the fairest of ten thousand fairs, the loveliest of ten thousand loves. Who can refuse to adore the prince of perfection, the mirror of beauty, the majestic Son of God? But yet it may be useful to us to observe the advantages of remembering Christ, for they are neither few nor small.
13. And first, remembrance of Jesus will tend to give you hope when you are under the burden of your sins. Notice a few characters here tonight. There comes in a poor creature. Look at him! He has neglected himself this last month; he looks as if he had hardly eaten his daily bread. What is the matter with you? “Oh!” he says, “I have been under a sense of guilt; I have been again and again lamenting, because I fear I can never be forgiven; once I thought I was good, but I have been reading the Bible, and I find that my heart is ‘deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked’; I have tried to reform, but the more I try, the deeper I sink in the mire, there is certainly no hope for me. I feel that I deserve no mercy; it seems to me that God must destroy me, for he has declared, ‘The soul that sins it shall die’; and die I must, be damned I must, for I know I have broken God’s law.” How will