64 Sermon Illustrations on Atonement Theology

In the time of Napoleon a man offered to serve in the army as a substitute for another who had been drafted. A battle took place and the substitute was killed. Later on, another draft was made, and they wanted a second time to take the man whose former substitute had been killed. “No,” said he, “you can’t take me; I am dead. I was shot at such a battle.” They would not recognize his claim, and the matter was carried to Napoleon, who cleared the man on the ground that he was exempt from service because the substitute had taken his place.

Dr. Andrew Bonar once said that, although it was a mystery to him how sin should have come into the world, it was still a greater mystery how God in the person of Jesus Christ should have come here to bear the penalty of it Himself.

Out in the Western country, in the autumn, when men go hunting, and there has not been any rain for months, sometimes the prairie grass catches fire, and there comes up a very strong wind, and the flames just roll along twenty feet high, and travel at the rate of thirty or forty miles an hour, consuming man and beast. When the hunters see it coming, what do they do? They know they cannot run as fast as the fire can run. Not the fleetest horse can escape. They just take a match and light the grass around them, and let the flames sweep, and then they get into the burnt district and stand safe. They hear the flames roar as they come along, they see death coming toward them, but they do not fear, they do not tremble, because the fire has swept over the place where they are, and there is no danger. There is nothing for the fire to burn.

There is one mountain that the wrath of God has swept over — that is, Mount Calvary; and the fire spent its fury upon the bosom of the Son of God. Take your stand by the cross, and you will be safe for time and eternity.

All the theological interpretations of atonement look back to the Old Testament Hebrew terms _kaphar_ and _kasah_ “to cover.” We are saved by an atoning sacrifice; that is, by a sacrifice which covers us.

A fire on a gentleman’s estate in England destroyed his mansion. It spread to a plantation near by, and trees and bushes were burned and charred. The gentleman next day heard the chirping of little birds in a blackened thicket close by him. He searched among the charred branches and discovered a nest, on which was lying, with outstretched wings, a dead robin. Under her were three fledglings, safe and sound. The mother bird had covered her young, saving them at the cost of her own life. (Text.)

Seventeen hundred years ago a Christian teacher gave a description of an Egyptian temple, with its porticoes and vestibules and groves and sacred fields adjoining, the walls gleaming with precious stones and artistic paintings, and its shrines veiled with gold-embroidered hangings. “But,” he says, “if you enter the penetralia of the enclosure and ask the officiating priest to unveil the god of this sanctuary, you will find a cat, or a crocodile, or a serpent--a beast--rolling on a purple couch.” And a modern writer asks us to contrast this with the temple of Jehovah at Jerusalem. Here, too, you would find a gorgeous building, a priesthood, altars, and a shrine hidden by a veil. Within the veil stands the Ark of the Covenant, covered by the mercy seat, sprinkled with the blood of atonement, and shadowed by the golden cherubim. Let that covering be lifted, and within that ark, in the very core and center of Israel’s religion, in its most sacred place, you find, what? The two tables of the moral law. There, in a word, you have the contrast of the two religions. The moral law, enforced by the belief in the one true God--that is the religion of Israel--and that religion was interpreted, fulfilled, and consummated by the revelation of the Christ.--THOMAS F. GAILOR, “Student Volunteer Movement,” 1906.

H. M. Stanley, in Africa, had much trouble with his men on account of their inherent propensity to steal, the results of which brought upon the expedition much actual disaster. At last Stanley doomed to death the next man caught stealing. His grief and distress were unbounded when the next thief, detected in a case of peculiar flagrancy, was found to be Uledi, the bravest, truest, noblest of his dusky followers. Uledi had saved a hundred lives, his own among the number. He had performed acts of the most brilliant daring, always successful, always faithful, always kind. Must Uledi die? He called all his men around him in a council. He explained to them the gravity of Uledi’s crime. He reminded them of his stern decree, but said he was not hard enough to enforce it against Uledi. His arm was not strong enough to lift the gun that would kill Uledi, and he would not bid one of them to do what he could not do himself. But some punishment, and a hard one, must be meted out. What should it be? The council must decide. They took a vote. Uledi must be flogged. When the decision was reached, Stanley standing, Uledi crouching at his feet and the solemn circle drawn closely around them, one man whose life Uledi had saved under circumstances of frightful peril, stood forth and said, “Give me half the blows, master.” Then another said in the faintest accents, while tears fell from his eyes, “Will the master give his slave leave to speak?” “Yes,” said Stanley. The Arab came forward and knelt by Uledi’s side. His words came slowly, and now and then a sob broke them. “The master is wise,” he said; “he knows all that has been, for he writes them in a book. I am black, and know not. Nor can I remember what is past. What we saw yesterday is to-day forgotten. But the master forgets nothing. He puts it all in that book. Each day something is written. Let your slave fetch the book, master, and turn its leaves. Maybe you will find some words there about Uledi. Maybe there is something that tells how he saved Zaidi from the white waters of the cataract; how he saved many men--how many, I forget; Bin Ali, Mabruki, Kooi Kusi--others, too; how he is worthier than any three of us; how he always listens when the master speaks, and flies forth at his word. Look, master, at the book. Then, if the blows must be struck, Shumari will take half and I the other half. The master will do what is right. Saywa has spoken.” And Saywa’s speech deserves to live forever. Stanley threw away his whip. “Uledi is free,” he said. “Shumari and Saywa are pardoned.”--_Christian At Work._

Rev. Mr. P., of New-York, when settled in B—, N. Y., was called to see a young lady on the brink of the grave. In the course of the conversation he says, "I inquired, 'Do you not feel that you are a great sinner before God?' Bursting into an agony of tears and raising her attenuated hands, she cried, 'Oh!' yes, that is all that pains me. Oh, I have been such a sinner, and God has been so good to me—Christ so good, and I have sinned so much!"

"Being satisfied that she was sincerely penitent for sin, I spoke of the atonement of Christ—its necessity and nature and terms, and asked her if she could see in that plan to save, that there was room for her. 'No, not for me, I am such a sinner,' she said, and the fresh torrents of tears attested the sincerity of her confession. Then I told her of the 168. 169

FAITH.

posal was universally acceptable; and accordingly, a narrative was heard from a native of each of the four quarters of the globe—of their views and feelings, of their trials and temptations, &c. The result was highly gratifying to all present; and I think Dr. Livingston said, that it was generally admitted by those present, that they had never before witnessed so interesting a scene.