“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 be 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 endeavor 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 Savior 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 hands 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, lame 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 thee, 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 cloth 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 EXPRESSION: 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, end prey, 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 I may not 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 offscourings
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 presence; 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 WITH 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 sepulcher, 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 flood;
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 Olives. 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 he 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 known? 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 Savior.” 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! 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, nave 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.”