Christ's Very Own - Part 3

As his body was wracked with tin, he endured, because he saw him, he is invisible. Sinners poured their hatred and scorn upon him, evidently intent on lighting the fires of hell in their own souls. They charged the Holy One of God with sin, and yet he was truth incarnate.

How mad does sin make sinners! And what about his disciples? They saw all his wonderful works. Yet they all forsook him and fled. Not one was found to plead his cause and defend his integrity.

Not one could be found. He suffered, he bled, he died alone. There was none righteous, no, not one, but he himself.

Well may the sun in darkness hide, and shut her glories in, when Christ, the mighty maker, died, for man the creature of sin. And what of Judas? Our Christ-sensitive soul was peculiarly afflicted by the one who portrayed him with a kiss. Think of it, the act of love became the act of vile betrayal.

That which outwardly should have been love's token became hell's treachery. Yet Judas was a disciple. He was commissioned by Christ himself to preach the gospel and heal the sick.

What is more, he was a keeper of his master's purse. He had his bread in special circumstances. Not long before the time that he kissed him in the garden, just a few hours before, he sold his lord for thirty pieces of silver.

The paltry price of a slave. Shame on you, vile Judas! Yes, we can say that loudly. But we will be forced to cry, Lord, is it I? For each one of us did the very same thing.

We betrayed the Son of God with our kisses. I can but quote to you, Joseph Hart's great hymn. Come hither ye that fiend would know the exceeding simpleness of sin.

Come, see a scene of matchless woe, and tell me what it all could mean. Behold the darling Son of God, bowed down with horror to the ground, wrung at the heart and sweating blood, his eyes and tears of sorrow drowned. What pangs are these that tear his heart? What burden's this that's on him laid? What means this agony of smart? What means my Savior bows his head? Tis justice with an iron rod, inflicting strokes of wrath divine.

Tis the vindictive hand of God incensed at all your sins and mine. Then let us not ourselves deceive, for quite of sin we likely be. Whatever notions we may have, indeed we are not much like him.

He was wounded for our transgressions. He was bruised for our iniquities. The chastisement of our peace was laid in him, and by his stripes we are healed.

We are all in this congregation tonight guilty of the vilest breaches of God's holy law in which we could engage. Ingratitude is Beelzebub's special sin. It's the sum total of all other sins.

It is the sin of sins. It is the iniquity of iniquities. This sin makes man unworthy of the very name of man.

It was told of the great king of Greece, Philip of Macedon, that one day a shipwrecked sailor came and told him his grief on how he had been picked up at sea as shipwrecked. The generous king brought him into his house and took care of him and gave him all he wanted. But that ungrateful guest undermined the king's integrity and sought to steal the king's own house and part of his kingdom.

So angry was Philip of Macedon that he took that scene and had burned into his forehead the ungrateful guest. Do you remember a man called Cain? He was a reprobate. God had to brand him because of his hatred of God and hatred of his brother.

Even the beasts of the field show gratitude. But man are worse than the beasts. They are ungrateful.

Mr. Spurgeon in one of his great sermons says, Ingratitude is essential, infernal, and hellish. Ingratitude to friends is vile. Ingratitude to parents is worse.

But what shall I say of ingratitude to the Savior? It is the worst of all. And every one of us are indicted of committing the worst sin of all.