In Christianity, in the gospel of grace, God offers pardon freely to those who are willing to accept it. He is ready now to receive those who are ready to come to him. It is only necessary to believe this in order to be reconciled. We are, therefore, reconciled by faith.

But we are said to be reconciled by the death and blood of Christ. How is this? We have seen the source of our alienation: it lay not in God, but in ourselves. God had not gone away from us; we went away from him. He had not ceased to love us; but by a terrible reaction from our sinfulness, we had ceased to believe in his love. “God's hand,” says the prophet (Isa. 59:2), “is not shortened, that he cannot save, nor is his ear grown dull, that he cannot hear; but your iniquities have separated you from your God, and your sins have hidden his face from you, that he doth not hear.” By an immutable law of our mind, God's wrath abides on us, and we cannot believe in his love. Here is the source of our alienation. Now, merely to be told that God is merciful does not wholly help the matter. True, [pg 223] we say, He is merciful, but not to us; we have sinned too long and deeply. Something must be done, then, to convince us that God is ready to forgive and receive us freely. The death of Christ is the fact which produces this conviction. The death of Christ, therefore, is not merely an emblem of God's love, but an act of God's love. It draws us to him. It changes our hearts. It melts our doubt, our distrust. It reveals to us our Father's love. The blood of Christ makes those who were afar off nigh. This all experience teaches as a matter of fact. It is the cross of Christ, borne by the simple missionary, preached by the devout Moravian, which, amid the ice of Greenland or beneath the burning sun of the tropic, reconciles the sinner to God.

And if one asks how the death of Christ does this, we will briefly indicate what we believe to be the way in which it operates. We look at Christ, and see the brightness of God's glory and express image of his person. We see a holiness pure and perfect, a character infinitely beautiful and lovely. We see how dear and near such a one must have been to God; and we hear God say, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased;” and we hear him say of God, “My Father has not left me alone; for I do always the things which please him.”

And now we look at the world, and see it “lying in wickedness;” we see men trampling on God's law, polluting his image, cruelly oppressing each other, and boldly defying and mocking at the Almighty. What does he then? For the sake of these miserable, weak, and wretched sinners, who seem scarcely worth the saving, he sends his holy child among them; he sends this pure being to have his heart rent with the sight and knowledge of human sin; he sends him to be cruelly and shamefully killed by a death of agony, in order that we, sinful and miserable, may be reconciled. We say, in the view of all this, “He who spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us, how shall he not with him [pg 224] freely give us all things?” We say, “God commended his love towards us, in that, while we were sinners, Christ died for us.” “Herein is love; not that we loved God, but that he loved us.” Christ, “being lifted up, draws all men unto him.” Thus, in the midst of the gloom of that horrible scene on Calvary, when the power of darkness was at its height,—that crisis of the world, when human sin stood at the flood,—the heavens were opened, and a new ray of divine love poured into the world.