The angels surprised?''
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Spurgeon, "The Condescension of Christ"
Oh, how surprised angels were, when they were first
informed that Jesus Christ, the Prince of Light and Majesty,
intended to shroud himself in clay and become a babe, and
live and die!
We do not know how it was first mentioned to the angels,
but when the rumour first began to get afloat among the sacred
hosts, you may imagine what strange wonderment there was.
What! Was it true that he whose crown was all bedecked
with stars, would lay that crown aside?
What! Was it certain that he about whose shoulders was
cast the purple of the universe, would become a man dressed
in a peasants garment?
Could it be true that he who was everlasting and immortal,
would one day be nailed to a cross?
Oh! how their wonderment increased!
They desired to look into it.
And when he descended from on high, they followed him;
for Jesus was "seen of angels," and seen in a special sense,
for they looked upon him in rapturous amazement,
wondering what it all could mean.
"He for our sakes became poor."
Do you see him as on that day of heaven's eclipse he did
ungird his majesty?
Oh, can you conceive the yet increasing wonder of the
heavenly hosts when the deed was actually done, when they
saw the tiara taken off, when they saw him unbind his girdle
of stars, and cast away his sandals of gold?
Can you conceive it, when he said to them-
"I do not disdain the womb of the virgin;
I am going down to earth to become a man."?
And now wonder, you angels,
the Infinite has become an infant!
He, upon whose shoulders the universe does hang,
hangs at his mothers breast!
He who created all things, and bears up the pillars of
creation, has now become so weak that he must be
carried by a woman!
And oh, wonder, you that knew him in his riches,
while you admire his poverty!
Where sleeps the new-born King?
Had he the best room in Caesar's palace?
Has a cradle of gold been prepared for him, and pillows of
down, on which to rest his head?
No- where the ox fed, in the dilapidated stable, in the
manger, there the Saviour lies, swathed in the swaddling bands
of the children of poverty!
See him that made the worlds, handle the hammer and the
nails, assisting his father in the trade of a carpenter!
Mark him who has put the stars on high, and made them
glisten in the night; mark him without one star of glory upon
his brow- a simple child, as other children.
Yet, leave for a while the scenes of his childhood and his
earlier life; see him when he becomes a man- as for his food,
he often-times did hunger; and always was dependent upon
the charity of others for the relief of his needs!
He who scattered the harvest over the broad acres of the
world, had not at times anything to stop the pangs of his
hunger!
He who dug the springs of the ocean, sat upon a well and
said to a Samaritan woman, "Give me a drink!"
He rode in no chariot, but he walked his weary way, foot
sore, over the flints of Galilee!
He had no where to lay his head.
He looked upon the fox as it hurried to its burrow, and the
fowl as it went to its resting-place, and he said, "Foxes have
holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but I, the Son of
man, have not where to lay my head."
He who had once been waited on by angels, becomes the
servant of servants, takes a towel, girds himself, and washes
his disciples' feet!
He who was once honoured with the hallelujahs of ages,
is now spit upon and despised!
Oh, for words to picture the humiliation of Christ!
What leagues of distance between him that once sat upon the
throne, and him that died upon the cross!
Oh, who can tell the mighty chasm between yon heights of
glory, and the cross of deepest woe!
Trace him, Christian. Follow him, follow him, all his journey
through- begin with him in the wilderness of temptation, see
him fasting there, and hungering with the wild beasts around
him; trace him along his weary way, as the
Man of Sorrows, and acquainted with grief. He is the
byword of the drunkard, he is the song of the scorner, and he
is hooted at by the malicious; see him as they point their
finger at him, and call him "drunken man and
wine-bibber!"
Follow him along his 'via dolorosa', until at last you meet him
among the olives of Gethsemane; see him sweating great
drops of blood!
Follow him to the pavement of Gabbatha- see him pouring
out rivers of gore beneath the cruel whips of Roman
soldiers!
With weeping eye follow him to the cross of Calvary, see him
nailed there!
Mark his poverty, so poor that his unpillowed head is girt
with thorns in death!
Oh, Son of Man, I know not which to admire most, your
height of glory, or your depths of misery!
Oh, Man, slain for us, shall we not exalt you? God over all,
blessed for ever, shall we not give you the loudest song?
"He was rich, yet for our sakes he became poor."
If I had a tale to tell you this day, of some king, who, out of
love to some fair maiden, left his kingdom and became a
peasant like herself, you would stand and wonder, and would
listen to the charming tale.
But when I tell of God concealing his dignity to become our
Saviour, our hearts are scarcely touched.
"He was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor."
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