Christ, Ill-Treatment of – Charles Spurgeon

“MY head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.” Ah, sorrowful remembrances, for those drops were not the ordinary dew that fall upon the houseless traveler’s unprotected head; his head was wet with scarlet dew, and his locks with crimson drops of a tenfold night of God’s desertion, when he “sweat as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.” My heart, how vile are you, for you shut out the Crucified. Behold the Man thorn crowned and scourged, with traces of the spittle of the soldiery, can you close the door on him? Will you despise the “despised and rejected of men”? Will you grieve the “Man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief”? Do you forget that he suffered all this for you, for you, when you deserve nothing at his hands? After all this, will you give him no recompense, not even the poor return of admission to your loving communings?