The Perfection of His Atonement
“When He had by Himself purged our sins, sat down on the right hand of the Majesty on high”
“The LORD said unto my Lord (the Father saying to Him), Sit thou at my right hand, until I make thine enemies thy footstool.”
His sitting fully indicates and proves the perfection of His atonement, the efficacy of His sacrifice, and the fullness of His salvation.
But see! The stoned Stephen, calling upon God!
Oh, blessed be His holy name, every murderous stone, in the decree of our God, was a messenger of mercy to help him out of this cold world of sin and misery.
“But he being full of the Holy Ghost, looked up steadfastly into heaven, and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right hand of God.”
Standing ready to receive His poor, persecuted, and despised one to His home and to His heart. O troubled and tried ones, “tossed with tempest and not comforted,” thou whom Satan delights to worry “with a malicious glee,” (Isaiah 54:11) he may taunt and insinuate that thy hope is the hope of the hypocrite, that thy faith is no better than his own, that thy love, faint as it is, is all a delusion; but, mark, He who from the mountain-top sees thy distress will hasten to thy relief, and give thee to know, in the experience of thy heart, that “The day and the night are both alike to Him.” (Psalm 139:12)
He will cause His light to shine upon thee, and His secret to rest upon thy tabernacle, giving thee to rejoice in the blessed fact that the days shall shortly be accomplished when, “Thy sun shall no more go down; neither shall thy moon withdraw itself: for the Lord shall be thine everlasting Light, and the days of Thy mourning shall be ended.” (Isaiah 60:20)
O glorious Prince!
O gracious Priest!
O precious Provider!
O powerful Protector!
“He stands and feeds in the strength of the Lord, in the majesty of the name of the Lord His God.”
He receives His poor trembling ones to His breast, and ministers to the necessities of all those whom His love has saved.
This is the Christ I love!
This is the Christ whose arms I fly to, and whose loving bosom nestles my ofttimes weary soul. Ay, “He shall stand!”
By Thomas Bradbury