HE, from Whom men were turning away--to shun Whose Presence they would have taken the wings of the morning, or have made their bed in hell--presented Himself to them as One, Who was seeking after them, claiming them as His children, sending His own Son to earth, to death, to the grave, to hell, that He might fetch them Home. The Blood, the actual human Blood, which had been poured out, testified of a human life in Christ--of a union with them. But the Love, which came out in His Death, signified a deeper life, the Life of God, It was the Love of a Father, exhibited, as Love only can be exhibited, in sacrifice; it was the Love of a Brother, reflecting that love, consummating the sacrifice in death. It spoke, not to the eye that gazed on idols of wood and stone, not to the slavish fear that crouched before powers of earth and sea and air. It spoke to the man himself, to the being who used those eyes, who was beset with those fears. It roused him to the recollection of the Being, about the bed and about the board, Who could not be beheld in the likeness of anything above or beneath, Whom the heart trembled to hear of, and yet in Whom it was created to trust and to live. It assured him that there was One, in Whom that Being could be well pleased; One, in Whom He could meet His creatures; One, "Who had poured out His life-blood, in obedience to His Will, for their sakes. The Cross, the Blood, said all this, and infinitely more than this, to the spirit that had been losing itself amidst world-gods, and was just beginning to dream of its Father's house. St. Paul knew how poor words were, as a translation of all the secret love-messages and pledges, which the Blood of Christ carried to the wanderer. He resorted to explanations where they were necessary; he always joyfully returned to the language which implied an Act, Sufferings, a Person.--Sermons on Sacrifice, p. 203.