be fit. He was Lord of all, and subject to none. He, and he only, was entitled to assume such language as this:-Therefore doth my Father love me, because I lay down my life, that I might take it again. No man taketh from me, but I lay it down of myself: I HAVE POWER TO LAY IT DOWN, and I HAVE POWER TO TAKE IT AGAIN.' He here not merely claims to have acted voluntarily, but to have had a right, a legal right, (ovaía) so to do. This is what no creature could ever say. In giving his life a ransom for many, Christ gave what was strictly his own, and entirely at his own disposal. Without this, it does not appear that what he did could have been possessed of value; subjection to one law could not have been yielded without the violation of another, and this was sufficient to deprive it of all moral worth.

V. Christ, in making atonement, was perfectly voluntary; and here we have another ingredient in its value.

Without this, it is clear, all the other ingredients were of no avail. Let his person be ever so dignified; let him be ever so closely related to man; let him be as free as possible from all moral contamination; nay, let him be entirely at his own disposal, it is manifest that, unless he chose actually to dispose of himself in the manner in question, no validity could attach to what he did. Vicarious satisfaction can never be compulsory; voluntariness enters into its very essence. Every well-ordered mind revolts at the idea of one person being compelled to suffer for another. Such an act involves the highest injus

tice; and the supposition of attempting to satisfy the claims of infinite rectitude by what amounts to a direct violation of the principle of equity is too monstrous and shocking ever to be entertained. The sacrifice must not be dragged to the altar. So much is this a dictate of reason, that even the heathen reckoned it an unpropitious omen, if the animal showed any reluctance.

12

In all that he did to make atonement for sin, Jesus manifested no degree of reluctance. At every step we meet with evidence of the most perfect willingness. To the proposal in the eternal covenant he gave his cheerful consent,-'Sacrifice and offering thou didst not desire, burnt-offering and sin-offering hast thou not required. Then said I, Lo, I come: in the volume of the book it is written of me, I delight to do thy will, O my God; yea, thy law is within my heart.' It was the same spirit that dictated the well-known reply to his mother, when yet young, 'How is it that ye sought me? Wist Wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business? 13 At a later period he said, 'I lay down my life: no man (ovdais, no one) taketh it from me, but I lay it down of myself.'" In no instance, did he manifest the slightest symptom of backwardness. The inspired writers speak of him as submitting to every suffering with a fixed determination of purpose which nothing could shake. 'He gave his back to the smiters and his cheeks to them that plucked off the hair-He

12 Psal. xl. 6-8.

13 Luke ii. 49.

14 John x. 17, 18.

gave himself a ransom for all. He gave himself for us-He bowed his head and gave up the ghost.'"

His death was as voluntary as any part of his sufferings. The Roman soldiers, indeed, were employed in crucifying him; and this instrumentality was necessary to prevent his being involved in the guilt of suicide. But we err egregiously if we suppose that, notwithstanding of this, he died otherwise than voluntarily. 'I lay down my life; no one taketh it from me,' is his own unequivocal and emphatic language. He died, neither from disease nor exhaustion. Just before he expired, he had strength enough to cry with a loud voice, 'It is finished.' He could then, or at any other moment, had it so pleased him, have stepped down from the cross, to the confusion of those who assailed him with the bitter taunt, 'If thou be the Christ, come down from the cross and save thyself.' But, then, the scriptures should not have been fulfilled, nor the redemption of man have been effected. Nevertheless, his own decisive words, as well as the fact of his divinity, leave us without a doubt that, had he not cheerfully given it up of his own accord, earth or hell could not have wrung from him his life. Neither could cruel men, nor hellish hosts have borne off his body in triumph to the grave, had he not freely resolved to descend into the tomb. The very time of his death was that of his own choice; for neither could the barbarities of his persecutors precipitate, nor the lingering punishment

15 Is. l. 6; 1 Tim. ii. 6; Eph. v. 25; John xix. 30.

of crucifixion protract it beyond the period in which he determined himself to yield up the ghost; and, accordingly, when the soldiers came to break his legs, they found that he was dead already.

The voluntary nature of the Saviour's death, it may here be remarked by the way, affords a strong argument in proof of the divinity of his person, and also of the spotless innocence of his humanity. Had he been a creature, even a super-angelic creature, brought into being for the purpose of dying for us, his death could not have been said to be voluntary. Much less could this be said if his human nature had been in any sense sinful, for then he must have died of necessity, not of free-will; he must have died, as has been said, 'by the common property of flesh to die because it was accursed in the loins of our first parents,' and then the doctrine of atonement with all its comforting influences, must have been given up.

This willingness of Christ to suffer and to die, was not the result of ignorance. A person may thoughtlessly engage to submit to treatment, of the amount of which he may not, at the moment of engagement, be aware; and, when the reality comes to be known, he may, from the force of honour or some such principle, persevere in his determination to suffer. But such suffering could scarcely be called voluntary. Such, at all events, was not that of Christ. He knew, from the first, the full amount of what he was to endure. It was, with the perfect knowledge of all that should befall him in the Jewish capital,

16

that 'he steadfastly set his face to go to Jerusalem.' It was, knowing every bitter ingredient that was infused into the mingled chalice of woe, that he said, 'The which my cup Father hath given me shall I not drink it.'" It was, with a full understanding of all the terrors with which that cloud of Jehovah's wrath was charged which was soon to burst in awful vengeance on his head, that he magnanimously exclaimed, 'I have a baptism to be baptized with, and how am I straitened till it be accomplished.'" It was no sudden impulse of transient enthusiasm which moved the Son of God to undertake the work of our redemption. It was no momentary movement of generous pity, which the experience of difficulties and dangers might cool or extirpate. No. It was a settled and immovable purpose, which time and obstacles only served to strengthen and confirm. stead of shrinking from dangers, and seeking excuses for desisting from his expressed determination, his fortitude seemed to gather power in proportion as he approached the final scene of complete woe; and, it is remarkable, that the only occasion on which he ever used language that might be said to indicate a degree of intemperate feeling, was when an attempt was made to dissuade him from suffering. On re

In

presenting to his disciples that he must go up to Jerusalem and suffer many things, Peter presumed to expostulate with him, saying, 'Be it far from thee, Lord: this shall not be unto thee;' but he turned

16 Luke ix. 51.

17 John xviii, 11.

18 Luke xii. 50.