Ah! That cross is a low place, a thing that stains all the pride of man. Have you ever known what it is to be brought down to death’s door from conflict? I have known what it is, passing week after week and never closing the eyes, simply because I wanted to do something—and Christ had done it all. Peace came to me in that cross, God saying, “My Son bore all your sin in His own body on that tree.” What a thought! That the anointed Savior, eighteen hundred years ago, suffered everything for me, and that it was only my own horrid self-will, wanting to do something, which kept me from getting peace in Him.

When He cried out, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?” it was not the suffering earth gave Him, not the nails, the spear, but something deeper far: the wrath of God was borne by Him, nailed to that cross. You cannot find the cross itself on earth now, but the record of it is in heaven. God is constantly reminded of it by the presence of the Lamb that was slain, at His right hand.

We shall go into heaven with faces radiant with glory, able to look right up, because of the cross. God forbid we should ever find anything in this world worth thinking of and glorying in, any standard on which our souls can rest, save that cross!