April 10, Morning

C. H. Spurgeon · Modern retelling

"The place which is called Calvary." — Luke 23:33 · KJV

The hill of comfort is the hill of Calvary; the house of consolation is built with the wood of the cross; the temple of heavenly blessing is founded on the riven rock — riven by the spear that pierced His side. No scene in sacred history ever gladdens the soul like Calvary's tragedy. Is it not strange that the darkest hour that ever dawned on sinful earth should touch the heart with a softer power, for comfort, than an angel's mirth — that the mourner's eye should turn to the cross sooner than to where the stars of Bethlehem burn? Light springs from the midday-midnight of Golgotha, and every herb of the field blooms sweetly beneath the shadow of the once accursed tree. In that place of thirst, grace has dug a fountain that ever gushes with waters pure as crystal, each drop able to relieve the woes of mankind. You who have had your seasons of conflict will confess that it was not at Olivet that you found comfort, not on the hill of Sinai, nor on Tabor; but Gethsemane, Gabbatha, and Golgotha have been a means of comfort to you. The bitter herbs of Gethsemane have often taken away the bitterness of your life; the scourge of Gabbatha has often scourged away your cares; and the groans of Calvary yield us comfort rare and rich. We would never have known Christ's love in all its heights and depths if He had not died; nor could we guess the Father's deep affection if He had not given His Son to die. The common mercies we enjoy all sing of love, just as the seashell, held to the ear, whispers of the deep sea from which it came; but if we would hear the ocean itself, we must not look at everyday blessings, but at the transactions of the crucifixion. He who would know love, let him retire to Calvary and see the Man of sorrows die.