<TITLE>18. Par 69-72</TITLE>L-69 Oh, if people could only realize what human life is worth. Let's look what a cross and what a cost it was. In closing, let me say this, and listen quietly. Let's take ourselves to Jerusalem nineteen hundred years ago, and compare it with the garden of Eden.
I'll say it's along in the morning about seven o'clock; I hear a howling mob. I go to the window with this congregation now by faith. I raise up the--the sash and throw the shutters back. What's the matter? I see a little figure dipped over, like this, and pulling a cross up the street, and--and they're whipping Him. And the--the mockery spit of the soldiers is hanging in His face from drunk all night long, stinking. I see a crown of thorns pulled down across His brow, and Blood and tears mixed. I see a robe across His body without a seam in it, great big red dots all over His coat, and the Roman soldiers a whipping Him as He goes up the hill. He drags along. Oh, what a sight! That old cross rubbing the hide off His shoulders as He goes up the street. And them making fun of Him, hollering, "Hail, King of the Jews!"

L-70 But I notice those little red spots; they all begin to get bigger, bigger, bigger. After while, they run into one great big Bloody garment. And as He goes to beating His legs as He moves up the hill, He's growing clo--going close now to the top of the hill. I see a bee, a well known bee among the human race that begin stinging at the garden of Eden. It's called the bee of death. Here he comes; he buzzes around Him three or four times. It's death with his big stinger out.
He said, "You know what? I thought when I tempted Him up there, He overcome the temptation. He's nothing but a man; that couldn't be God. That ain't the One that come down to the garden of Eden. He'd say something about it, with that spit in His face. How could He ever humble Himself like that? How could He ever stand the persecutions? That's just a man. He probably was a prophet; He's got to die like other men. So I'll sting Him to death." So he hums around.

L-71 You know, the devil never did believe He was Divine; he always thought He was just a man. The religious world thought He was an impostor, a Beelzebub, fortune-teller. They called Him that. But He was God!
 Oh, there is a fountain filled with blood,
 Drawn from Immanuel's veins,
 Where sinners plunged beneath the flood,
 Lose all their guilty stain.
 That dying thief rejoiced to see
 That fountain in his day,
 There may I, though vile as he,
 Wash all my sins away.
 Ever since by faith I saw that stream
 Thy flowing wounds supplied,
 Redeeming love has been my theme,
 And shall be till I die.
 Then in a nobler, sweeter song,
 I'll sing Thy power to save,
 When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
 Lies silent in the grave.

L-72 O Lamb of God! There he goes. The devil sent his stinger out; here he comes around, buzzing around Him. He think, "I'll anchor my stinger in Him, and that'll knock Him away; that'll finish Him." And after a while, he was--decided that He wasn't nothing but a man, because He was made fun of. They put a rag around His face to show His discernment. They put a rag around His face and said... hit Him on the head with a stick.
Said, "Tell us now. You're a prophet; tell us who hit You. Tell us who hit You. We'll believe You now; we'll believe You if You'll tell us who hit You." God don't clown for nobody. He was to do the will of the Father.


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