C.H. Spurgeon sermon - "Individual Sin Laid on Jesus"

Christ in the Old Testament - pg. 606 & 607

"Jesus was accepted as the natural substitute and representative of all who trust Him, and all the sin of these was laid on Him, so that they were freed from guilt. Jesus was regarded as if all these sins were His sins, was punished as if these were His sins, was put to shame, forsaken of God, and delivered to death as if He Had been a sinner; and thus through divine grace those who actually committed the sins are permitted to go free. They have satisfied justice through the sufferings of their substitute." ........"we have each chosen our own way of sin, but those sins are not ours now, they are laid on our great Substitute if we are trusting in Him; He has paid to the utmost farthing all the debt of those sins, has borne the fullness of divine wrath, and there is no wrath against us. Just as the bullock was laid on the altar to be burnt, God's wrath came like a consuming fire and burnt the bullock, and there was no fire left; so when the wrath of God fell on Christ, it consumed Him, and there was no fire left, no wrath left, it spent itself. God has no anger against a soul that believes in Jesus, neither has that soul any sin, for its sin has been laid on Christ, and it cannot be in two places at once: Christ has carried it, and the sin has ceased to be - and the believing soul though in itself as black as hell, is now as bright as Christ Himself when He was transfigured, for Christ has finished transgression, made an end of sin, and brought in everlasting righteousness."

Godisnowhere...The Horse and His Boy - C.S. Lewis

Finally he whispers, “Who are you?” And he hears, “One who has waited long for you to speak.” Shasta is terrorized and says, “Oh, I am the most unlucky person in all the whole world.” And the Voice says, “Tell me your sorrows.” And Shasta does. He unloads all of his sorrows, his litany of woes. “I do not call you unfortunate,” said the Large Voice. “Don’t you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?” said Shasta. “There was only one lion,” said the Voice. . . . “I was the lion.” And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued. “I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you.” “Then it was you who wounded Aravis?” “It was I.” “But what for?” “Child,” said the Voice, “I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own.” “Who are you?” asked Shasta. “Myself,” said the Voice, very deep and low so that the earth shook: and again “Myself,” loud and clear and gay: and then the third time “Myself,” whispered so softly you could hardly hear it, and yet it seemed to come from all round you as if the leaves rustled with
it.
Shasta was no longer afraid that the Voice belonged to something that would eat him, nor that it was the voice of a ghost. But a new and different sort of trembling came over him.