The hill of comfort is the hill of Calvary! The house of consolation is built with the wood of the cross. The temple of heavenly blessing stands on the rock that was split—split by the spear that pierced his side.

No scene in all of sacred history brings joy to the soul like Calvary's tragedy. How strange it is! The darkest hour that ever dawned on this sinful earth touches the heart with more comfort than an angel's song. The mourner's eye turns to the cross sooner than to the star over Bethlehem.

Light springs from the midday-midnight of Golgotha. Every flower blooms sweetly in the shadow of that once-cursed tree. In that place of thirst, grace has dug a fountain that ever flows with water pure as crystal. Each drop can heal the sorrows of mankind.

You who have walked through seasons of battle, tell me the truth. Was it on the Mount of Olives that you found comfort? Was it on Sinai? On Mount Tabor? No! It was Gethsemane, Gabbatha, and Golgotha that brought you peace. The bitter herbs of Gethsemane have taken away the bitterness of your life. The scourge of Gabbatha has scourged away your anxieties. And the groans of Calvary have put all other groans to flight.

This is how Calvary yields us comfort rare and rich. We never could have known the full height and depth of Christ's love if he had not died. We never could have grasped the Father's deep affection if he had not given his Son to die.

Every common mercy sings of love, like a seashell held to the ear whispers of the ocean. But if you want to hear the ocean itself, don't look at everyday blessings. Look at the transactions of the crucifixion.

Do you want to know what love is? Then go to Calvary. Watch the Man of Sorrows die.