“We are come to the blood of sprinkling, that speaketh better things than that of Abel.” — Hebrews 12:24
Reader, have you come to the blood of sprinkling? The question is not whether you have come to a knowledge of doctrine, or an observance of ceremonies, or to a certain form of experience, but have you come to the blood of Jesus? The blood of Jesus is the life of all vital godliness. If you have truly come to Jesus, we know how you came—the Holy Spirit sweetly brought you there. You came to the blood of sprinkling with no merits of your own. Guilty, lost, and helpless, you came to take that blood, and that blood alone, as your everlasting hope. You came to the cross of Christ, with a trembling and an aching heart; and oh! what a precious sound it was to you to hear the voice of the blood of Jesus! The dropping of his blood is as the music of heaven to the penitent sons of earth. We are full of sin, but the Saviour bids us lift our eyes to him, and as we gaze upon his streaming wounds, each drop of blood, as it falls, cries, “It is finished; I have made an end of sin; I have brought in everlasting righteousness.” Oh! sweet language of the precious blood of Jesus! If you have come to that blood once, you will come to it constantly. Your life will be “Looking unto Jesus.” Your whole conduct will be epitomized in this—“To whom coming.” Not to whom I have come, but to whom I am always coming. If thou hast ever come to the blood of sprinkling, thou wilt feel thy need of coming to it every day. He who does not desire to wash in it every day, has never washed in it at all. The believer ever feels it to be his joy and privilege that there is still a fountain opened. Past experiences are doubtful food for Christians; a present coming to Christ alone can give us joy and comfort. This morning let us sprinkle our door-post fresh with blood, and then feast upon the Lamb, assured that the destroying angel must pass us by.
- Spurgeon, C. H. (2006). Morning and evening : Daily readings (Complete and unabridged; New modern edition.). Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers.
As I’ve already said, I don’t think I have answers for all my intellectual questions about suffering and pain. I guess I could write another book on all the stuff I don’t know about suffering. But what I learnt as an 18-year-old, as I was wondering what God understood of my loss, has changed my perspective forever. In the great work of art we call the universe, I cannot always follow the hand of the Artist: some of his work just eludes me. But what the biblical narrative tells me—and, in particular, the account of Christ’s passion—is that while I may not be able to trace the Artist’s hand at all times, I can always trust his motives. The God who is in control of all things, who acts behind the scenes in all things, is also the God who willingly suffers. He is the one I can shout at, cry with and find comfort in. His heart, if not all his ways, is clear to me because on the cross he wore it on his sleeve for all to see. This God is able to sympathise with those who suffer not simply because he is `all-knowing’—an attribute ascribed to any version of divinity—but because he has experienced pain firsthand. . . .Having said this, God’s wounds speak to more than just our wounds, they address something even more fundamental. . . Christ’s death is more than an identification with us. The Bible makes clear it is a substitution for us. 
