Forgiveness of Injuries 4

IV. I may now well ask the question—How does it come to pass, that a duty so obvious is so much neglected, and so rarely performed in such a manner as to evince any peculiar excellence of character? Here I assume, as I did with regard to the subject of the former essay, that it is neglected; that it is too little practiced, even by professing Christians. Can anyone doubt this? Is anyone so blind to what is passing around him, so ignorant of himself, so unaccustomed to witness the unsettled quarrels between professors, as not to know, and not to be willing to admit, that among all the duties of the Christian life, the performance of Christian forgiveness—is among the rarest branches of evangelical holiness? Who does not know by experience how quick our resentment is, how slow our forgiveness?

The neglect of this duty may be accounted for in part, by our lack of consideration of it. We have never dwelt upon it as we ought. We have been taken up with doctrines, and have not dwelt enough upon duties! We have been intent upon privileges, and have forgotten moral obligations! We have been hungering and thirsting after comfort, but not after righteousness. Or if we have coveted and prayed for holiness, but have not analyzed that word, and enquired how many species and varieties were comprehended in that generic term. We have not set it out by itself, and looked at it, and weighed its meaning, and considered its importance, and pressed upon our consciences its necessity. We have not said to ourselves, "This forgiveness; this momentous forgiveness; this necessary forgiveness; I must practice it. I who have had so much forgiven—ought I not, shall I not—forgive others? Must I not be like God in this respect as well as in other things?"

And why is it that Christians think so little about it, but because it has not been sufficiently insisted upon by ministers from the pulpit. It has long been my conviction that there is a great deficiency in evangelical churches, of the practical enforcement of Christian duties in detail; especially of what may be emphatically called the Christian virtues, the passive graces of the Christian character, the exercise of brotherly kindness and love. It is wonderful, I know, to hear a fine, eloquent and richly theological sermon upon redeeming love and pardoning mercy; to have the imagination and heart regaled with rhetoric; radiant with the glories of the cross; and redolent with the odor of that Name which is above every name! It is gratifying to the thinking mind to have the intellect pleased with fine logical sermons, and the fine abstractions of clear and strong thinking—it will be well enough also to have the subjects of moral obligation discussed in vague generalities and in elegant composition.

But it is not so acceptable to have all the special and difficult duties of the Christian's life, or man's conduct to his fellows, set clearly before the understanding and enforced upon the conscience. Men do not well like to be followed through all the labyrinths of the heart's deceitfulness, beaten out of every refuge of lies, and made to feel the obligation to love where they are inclined to hate; and to forgive where they desire to revenge.

And we ministers pander too much to this taste. The pulpit has not done its duty. We have preached to the intellect, to the imagination, and to the taste—but not enough to the heart and to the conscience. In our endeavor to please, we have not been sufficiently intent upon the greater object, to profit. We have not preached justification too much—but sanctification too little. We have been so intent upon urging men to obtain the forgiveness of their own sins from God—that we have neglected to urge them to forgive the sins of their fellow-creatures against themselves. We have urged faith with a becoming vehemence—but not love. We have descanted upon the evil of licentiousness, and falsehood, and dishonesty, and covetousness—but have said far, far too little about malice and bitterness. We have urged men to zeal and liberality—but not enough to humility, forbearance, and forgiveness. We have led men to view the cross of Christ—but we have not sufficiently urged them to take up their own. We have entreated them to view him as their Righteousness—but not sufficiently as their Example.

How much and how often have we insisted upon the duty of forgiveness—which I am now discussing? Has it borne that place in our discourses which it does in those of our Lord? Have we not led our people to neglect this duty? I for one plead guilty, and feel as if I had not made this sufficiently prominent in my ministry, though I have not only preached, but written upon it.

Is it then any wonder that professing Christians should think so little, when they hear so little, about it. And hence there is another result, the obligation of this duty is not felt. It is surprising to see how lightly it presses upon the consciences of many people. Those who would scruple to commit many other sins, have no scruple on the subject of not forgiving. They have no deep solemn sense of being constrained to practise it, no feeling of being bound to do so, their consciences do not urge them to it. An injury is inflicted, and instead of at once saying, "Here is a call upon our love," they at once in the quickness of resentment, say, "This is a matter to be resented," and they directly form a purpose of retaliation as naturally as if it were the thing most proper to be done.

It is frequently the case that those who are inclined to the exercises of generous forgiveness are prevented by the interference of a third party, who goads on the injured person to revenge. This true child of the devil does all he can to magnify the trespass, and thus inflames the resentment of the sufferer. He endeavors to extinguish the kindling spark of love in the bosom of him who is softening and melting into kindliness, and blows the coals of strife into the flame of unhallowed passion. How often have third parties thus obstructed the progress of reconciliation by artful appeals to pride and passion!

To every officious intruder who would thus prevent the broken bonds of amity from being again united by an act of forgiveness, say, in the indignant language of Christ to Peter, "Get behind me Satan, for you savor not of the things that are of God." Tell him he mistakes you and interprets your heart by his own, if he supposes you cannot forgive. Third parties, by this officious malignant interference, have done more to perpetuate animosity and to prevent the healing of friendship's bleeding wounds, than those who have been engaged in the feud themselves. Instead of performing the work and ensuring the blessing of the peacemaker, they have had an opposite ambition, by endeavoring to prolong the strife, to bring upon themselves the malediction of heaven, and the infamy of being called the children of the devil.

But after all, the chief and radical cause of this deficiency in our Christian duty—is the corruption of our nature. A perfectly holy being would find it as easy to forgive as to act. No cloud of stormy passion would lower on the brow of an incarnate angel, no lightning of unhallowed wrath would flash from his eye, no growl of angry thunder would roll from his lips—against the offender. He would look and speak and act in love and peace.

On the other hand a demon finds a malignant pleasure in revenge. It is the only gratification which can ever arise in his miserable bosom, the only pleasure, if such it can be called, that he ever knows; and a pleasure it is, which, when it is over, turns from honey into wormwood. Brutes appear to take the same ferocious gratification in worrying each other in the way of revenge. Now there is in human corruption so far as it prevails, something similar with this fiend-like, beast-like disposition—a satisfaction in retaliation; hence the dreadful adage, "Revenge is sweet." This is a saying we may imagine caught from the lips of Satan, an echo of his command to his armies when he sent them forth to war against God, who had expelled him from the seats of Paradise. There is a gratification to our corrupt nature in returning evil for evil; there is no disputing it. The revenge of some people is like that of the wounded lion, who turns upon the assailant, drinks his blood and devours his flesh, thus gaining compensation for his injury; while that of others resembles the rage of the rattlesnake which bites and kills but gets nothing by it. To our grief and shame we must all acknowledge we have tasted it. We have had more of this evil gratification than we like to confess, or to dwell upon. This is the operation of the flesh lusting against the spirit, and shows how imperfectly we are yet sanctified, and how much we need to carry on the work of mortification of our corruptions.

I know of no more convincing or affecting proof of the low degrees of vital practical Christianity in the church of God, than this prevalence of irascibility. How clearly it is seen that Christians are far less in subjection to the authority of Christ than they imagine, when they are with such difficulty persuaded to yield to him in this one particular. It is easy to do many things which he requires; to hear sermons, to believe comforting doctrines and promises, to make a profession of religion, to observe the Lord's supper, to attend public meetings, to engage in schemes of public usefulness, even to give our property; but to ask forgiveness, if we have offended, and to forgive from the heart an injury, if we have received it—how few are prepared thus promptly and entirely to yield to Christ, thus to show their love and obedience to Him. Yet this is the test, this is what He demands from His followers. It is a severe test I know, and therefore a true one.

When I stand by, as sometimes I do, and as we all do, and see the strife of two professing Christians, it may be the members of the same church, and observe their unhallowed tempers, with what recklessness the one party has committed a trespass on the other; then with what keen and bitter resentment the injured party has taken up the offence; then with what stubborn obduracy the offender persists in his determination to make no concession and ask no forgiveness, resisting alike the remonstrance of conscience from within, and the expostulations of friends from without; then the wrathful and revengeful temper of the aggrieved party; and then the permanent and bitter alienation of both; when, I say, I stand by, the afflicted spectator of this incurable feud, I ask with grief and surprise, where is the submission to the authority of Christ, which both these parties profess? Ah, here is the test of the degree of obedience to Christ, as our Lord and Master, which prevails in his own house; and verily, I am afraid it is but small.

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