The Spurgeon Series 1855 & 1856. Charles H. Spurgeon

will use the utmost power to draw your spirit there. Come then, for it is the shrine of greatness, it is the resting place of the man, the Restorer of our race, the Conqueror of death and hell. Men will travel hundreds of miles to behold the place where a poet first breathed the air of earth; they will journey to the ancient tombs of mighty heroes, or the graves of men renowned by fame; but where shall the Christian go to find the grave of one so famous as was Jesus? Ask me the greatest man who ever lived — I tell you the Man Christ Jesus, was “anointed with the oil of gladness above his fellows.” If you seek a chamber honoured as the resting place of genius, turn in here; if you would worship at the grave of holiness, come here; if you would see the hallowed spot where the choicest bones that ever were fashioned lay for awhile, come with me, Christian, to that quiet garden, close by the walls of Jerusalem.

      4. Come with me, moreover, because it is the tomb of your best friend. The Jews said of Mary, “She goes to his grave to weep there.” You have lost your friends, some of you, you have planted flowers upon their tombs, you go and sit at eventide upon the green sod, bedewing the grass with your tears, for there your mother lies, and there your father, or your wife. Oh! in pensive sorrow come with me to this dark garden of our Saviour’s burial; come to the grave of your best friend — your brother, yes, one who “sticks closer than a brother.” Come to the grave of your dearest relative, oh Christian, for Jesus is your husband, “Your Maker is your husband, the Lord of Hosts is his name.” Does not affection draw you? Do not the sweet lips of love woo you? Is not the place sanctified where one so well beloved slept, although only for a moment? Surely you need no eloquence; if it were needed I have none. I have only the power, in simple, but earnest accents, to repeat the words, “Come, see the place where the Lord lay.” On this Easter morning pay a visit to his grave, for it is the grave of your best friend.

      5. Indeed, more, I will further urge you to this pious pilgrimage. Come, for angels bid you. Angels said, “Come, see the place where the Lord lay.” The Syrian version reads, “Come, see the place where our Lord lay.” Yes, angels put themselves with those poor women, and used one common pronoun — our. Jesus is the Lord of angels as well as of men. You feeble women — you have called him Lord, you have washed his feet, you have provided for his wants, you have hung upon his lips to catch his honeyed sentences, you have sat entranced beneath his mighty eloquence; you call him Master and Lord, and you do well; “But,” said the seraph, “he is my Lord too”; bowing his head, he sweetly said, “Come, see the place where our Lord lay.” Do you fear then, Christian, to step into that tomb? Do you dread to enter there, when the angel points with his finger and says, “Come, we will go together, angels and men, and see the royal bedchamber?” You know that angels did go into his tomb, for they sat one at his head and the other at his foot in holy meditation. I picture to myself those bright cherubs sitting there talking to one another. One of them said, “It was there his feet lay”; and the other replied, “And there his hands, and there his head”; and in celestial language did they talk concerning the deep things of God; then they stooped and kissed the rocky floor, made sacred to the angels themselves, not because there they were redeemed, but because there their Master and their Monarch, whose high behests they were obeying, did for awhile become the slave of death, and the captive of destruction. Come, Christian, then, for angels are the porters to unbar the door; come, for a cherub is your messenger to usher you to the death place of death himself. No, do not hesitate to enter; do not let the darkness frighten you; the vault is not damp with the vapours of death, nor does the air contain anything of contagion. Come, for it is a pure and healthy place. Do not fear to enter that tomb. I will admit that catacombs are not the places where we, who are full of joy, would love to go. There is something gloomy and offensive about a vault. There are noxious smells of corruption; often pestilence is born where a dead body has lain; but do not fear it, Christian, for Christ was not left in hell, — in the grave, — neither did his body see corruption. Come, there is no scent, yes, rather a perfume. Step in here, and, if you did ever breathe the gales of Ceylon, or winds from the groves of Araby, you shall find them far excelled by that sweet holy fragrance left by the blessed body of Jesus, that alabaster vase which once held divinity, and was rendered sweet and precious by it. Do not think you shall find anything obnoxious to your senses. Corruption Jesus never saw; no worms ever devoured his flesh; no rottenness ever entered into his bones; he saw no corruption. Three days he slumbered, but not long enough to putrefy; he soon arose, perfect as when he entered, uninjured as when his limbs were composed for their slumber. Come then, Christian, summon up your thoughts, gather all your powers; here is a sweet invitation, let me press it again. Let me lead you by the hand of meditation, my brother; let me take you by the arm of your fancy, and let me again say to you, “Come, see the place where the Lord lay.”

      6. There is yet one reason more why I would have you visit this Royal sepulchre — because it is a quiet spot. Oh! I have longed for rest, for I have heard this world’s rumours in my ears so long, that I have begged for

      A lodge in some vast wilderness,

      Some boundless contiguity of shade,

      where I might hide myself for ever. I am sick of this tiring and trying life; my frame is weary, my soul is mad to repose herself awhile. I wish I could lie myself down for a little while by the edge of some pebbly brook, with no companion except the fair flowers or the nodding willows. I wish I could recline in stillness, where the air brings balm to the tormented brain, where there is no murmur except the hum of the summer bee, no whisper except that of the zephyrs, and no song except the carolling of the lark. I wish I could be at ease for a moment. I have become a man of the world; my brain is racked, my soul is tired. Oh! would you be quiet, Christian? Merchant, would you rest from your toils? would you be calm for once! then come here. It is in a pleasant garden, far from the hum of Jerusalem; the noise and din of business will not reach you there; “Come, see the place where the Lord lay.” It is a sweet resting spot, a withdrawing room for your soul, where you may brush your garments from dust of earth and muse awhile in peace.

      7. II. ATTENTION REQUESTED. Thus I have pressed the invitation: now we will enter the tomb. Let us examine it with deep attention, noticing every circumstance connected with it.

      8. And first, note that it is a costly tomb. It is no common grave; it is not an excavation dug out by the spade for a pauper in which to hide the last remains of his miserable and wearied bones. It is a princely tomb; it was made of marble, cut in the side of a hill. Stand here, believer, and ask why Jesus had such a costly sepulchre. He had no elegant garments; he wore a coat without seam, woven from the top throughout, without an atom of embroidery. He owned no sumptuous palace, for he had no place to lay his head. His sandals were not rich with gold, or studded with brilliance. He was poor. Why, then, does he lie in a noble grave? We answer, for this reason: Christ was not honoured until he had finished his sufferings; Christ’s body suffered contumely, shame, spitting, buffeting, and reproach, until he had completed his great work; he was trampled under foot, he was “despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief”; but the moment he had finished his undertaking, God said, “No more shall that body be disgraced; if it is to sleep, let it slumber in an honourable grave; if it is to rest, let nobles bury it; let Joseph, the councillor, and Nicodemus, the man from the Sanhedrin, be present at the funeral; let the body be embalmed with precious spices, let it have honour; it has had enough of contumely, and shame, and reproach, and buffeting; let it now be treated with respect.” Christian, do you discern the meaning; Jesus after he had finished his work, slept in a costly grave, for now his Father loved and honoured him, since his work was done.

      9. But though it is a costly grave, it is a borrowed one. I see over the top of it, “Sacred to the memory of the family of Joseph of Arimathea”; yet Jesus slept there. Yes, he was buried in another’s sepulchre. He who had no house of his own, and rested in the habitation of other men; who had no table, but lived upon the hospitality of his disciples; who borrowed boats in which to preach and had nothing in this wide world, was obliged to have a tomb from charity. Oh! should not the poor take courage? They dread to be buried at the expense of their neighbours; but if their poverty is unavoidable, why should they blush, since Jesus Christ himself was interred in another’s grave? Ah! I wish I might have had Joseph’s