Forgiveness of Injuries 5

V. I shall now consider the MEANS and HELPS of which we should avail ourselves for the performance of this duty. "Means," say some, "why speak about means? Bid them do it." Yes, and this would be all that is necessary if it were an easy matter, and one to which the heart was naturally and strongly inclined; but for a duty so hard, and with hearts so resistant, and holiness so imperfect as ours, we need all the means and helps we can command. The control of the irascible passions is, as I have already often said, the most difficult thing in the work of mortification of sin; just because their indulgence is a sin we are not only most prone to indulge, but a sin which we are most ready to excuse, and which we can commit to a great extent without injuring our reputation in the estimation either of the world or of the church. A man knows that if he be overtaken even with only a single fault of drunkenness, or of fornication, his character has received a foul blot, which floods of sincere repentance and all future propriety can scarcely obliterate; but he may cherish the malignant passions, and make his soul the dwelling place of almost fiend-like tempers, and yet not forfeit his standing in society, or be expelled from the communion of the church, or feel himself called upon for penitence and humiliation before God. He can go and worship in the house of God, and take his seat at the table of the Lord, full of malice wrath and all uncharitableness towards a fellow-member; and yet, though he shall eat and drink judgment to himself, continue to be regarded as a reputable man. Ah! how differently does God estimate the criminality of actions to what man does! The penitent fornicator cast out by man, is both holy and honorable compared with the dark malignant who never forgives. We need instruction then as to the performance of this duty, and I will now suggest it.

1. There are some things to be AVOIDED. We must not allow ourselves to be influenced by the incitements and persuasions of others. Forgiveness is not a palatable doctrine with the world, nor is it held in general esteem, and those who cannot practise it themselves, will hinder us from it if they can.

We must not brood over the offence, but endeavor as far as possible to forget it; every look at it, like a glance at a forbidden object, will excite our passions, and exasperate our feelings. Nor must we talk to other people of the injury we have received; for nothing is more likely to inflame our resentment than the recital of our wrongs. The man who is forward to tell of an injury, will ever remain backward to forgive it. The people to whom he relates the affair will generally have some similar tales of their own to tell, and in accompanying them with descriptions of the manner in which they received them, will propose, and with too much success, their own bad example for imitation.

2. There are some things to be CONSIDERED. For lack of consideration, duties are neglected, sins are committed, souls are ruined. We should all be holier and happier if we would but consider. It is a momentous word, CONSIDER.

We must consider that forgiveness must be practiced. We have no option; there is no room for doubt or dispute about it. It is not a matter we may or may not take up. We can no more with propriety refuse to forgive, than we can refuse to be chaste or honest.

We must consider that we must do it. "Forgiveness," we must say, "is not only the duty of all, but it is my duty. I am the man who must practise it." We are very apt to shift obligation from ourselves as individuals, to the multitude. We lose ourselves in the crowd.

We must consider that it can be done—it is not impossible. Many have done it. The most irascible tempers have (by great pains) been controlled, and the most inexorable minds softened into meekness—and what others have done, we can do.

We should consider it to be an immediate duty; a duty in reference to the point in hand. Many who will read this tract are while they read it in a state of hostility against someone who has injured them. They have been insulted or wronged. You who are in this situation, you are the person to whom this duty applies. That very matter which now grieves, vexes, and irritates you, is the subject of the duty. You are to forgive that enemy, to pardon that offence. Now, at once you are to do it. You are to begin immediately. You are to lay down this tract and set yourself directly to the business of forgiveness. You are not to wait for the next offence—by taking proper steps to bring the offender to a right sense of the one already committed, you may prevent a repetition of it. You are not to wait until some future time. You may die without forgiving the offender, or he may die without confessing and lamenting his sin. Procrastination in this, as well as in every other duty, is likely to render its performance more difficult and more precarious.

3. There are some things to be DONE. The next time you go into your closet, (and you should go there for the very purpose), open your Bible, and read very solemnly and seriously the parable of the merciless creditor in Matthew 18. Pray to God before you begin, to give you grace to understand its meaning, and to see whether it applies to your case. When you have read it once, pause and say, "Can I now forgive?" If you can, fall down and give God thanks, and ask for grace to fulfill your purpose. If you cannot, read it over again, and say a second time, "Can I now forgive?" Read it again and again, until it has subdued you.

But if this fails, take with you this tract into your closet. Read it alone; read it through; read it with prayer—and when you have finished it, lay it down and say, "Can I now forgive?"

If your resentment is not yet subdued, then, "Commune with your own heart upon your bed and be still." At the night-time, when you are removed from the hurry of business; when the noise of the world is hushed; when the darkness of your chamber, which enwraps the outer man, contrasts with the light of God's presence in which your soul stands; then bid your passions be silent, and let your conscience speak. There talk with and to yourself about this duty. There when you have perhaps asked God before you ventured to lie down upon your bed to forgive you your offences, ask whether you can indeed forgive those of a brother.

But in addition to all this there must be much deep, solemn meditation upon God's love in forgiving you. Professing Christian, can it be possible that you need all this expostulation to induce you to forgive others, you who have had so much forgiven? Meditate, meditate intently, upon your multiplied transgressions, your sins before conversion, and your sins after conversion; all, all, blotted out, not one, even the most aggravated, excepted. Think of the means by which this pardon of yours has been obtained. Go, go, to Calvary—behold Jehovah giving up the Son of his love to all the agony, degradation, and horrors of crucifixion—hear the piercing cry of the holy and patient sufferer. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me;" and ask why was this scene of blood and torture; and you shall hear a reply in the language of Scripture, "In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace." Can you gaze upon that scene of love's wondrous triumphs, can you leave that spot where you hope your own pardon is thus sealed, and not feel even happy at the opportunity given you of expressing your gratitude, by forgiving your brother? You often sit and sing at the sacramental table,

"Sweet the moments, rich in blessing,
Which before the cross I spend;
Life, and health, and peace possessing
From the sinner's dying friend—
Here I'll sit forever viewing
Mercy's streams, in streams of blood,
Precious drops my soul bedewing
Plead and claim my peace with God."

Yes, and they plead no less urgently, and claim no less justly, your peace with your offending brother. If that cross does not crucify your enmity, and bring you to love—you have never seen its glory, never felt its power. O, is it possible you can bring an unrelenting heart from that scene, which made the rocks to shiver, and the veil of the temple to rend? What, see there what it cost God to forgive you; see there all the blessings of eternal salvation flowing in upon you through the wounds opened in the body of his Son, and yet find it hard to forgive! You cannot, you must not, you dare not, you shall not—come away from that scene of forgiving mercy, an unforgiving spirit.

Nor is it only the dying, but the living Saviour that you must contemplate—that perseverance of His in His career of miraculous healing, notwithstanding the opposition, the insult, and the base ingratitude of the people; those tears and groans devoted to the city which had already treated Him with such indignity, and was about to complete the tragedy of His death; that look bestowed on the cowardly apostle who had denied Him thrice, a look which while it administered rebuke, conveyed the assurance of pardon; that prayer for His murderers, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do;" that command to His apostles, "Go preach repentance and remission of sins, beginning at Jerusalem;" that first outpouring of the Spirit on the very men who had hurried Him to the cross; that conversion of one of the bitterest foes He ever had into the chief of His apostles. O, Christians, think of all this—study that wondrous character—contemplate that illustrious pattern—dwell upon that beautiful model, until the frosty incrustations of your cold, hard heart have all melted, like icicles before the sun; and your tears of love and gratitude to Jesus become tears of love and forgiveness towards your brother.

But this is not all, there must be much earnest supplication for the aid of the Spirit of all grace. This kind goes not forth, but by fasting and prayer. We need the help of the Holy Spirit, the Sanctifier, even for the least and easiest of all the duties of the Christian life. How much more for this, one of the hardest. A naturally unforgiving temper must be carried often to the throne of grace with profound humiliation and fervent supplication. Nothing short of Divine grace can subdue it. Such a disposition yields not to reason, but only to God. We must take hold of His strength, or there is no hope. The demon of revenge can be cast out only by that voice which expelled the legion from the man who dwelt among the tombs. Thus we are to watch as well as pray, to use our reason as well as call on Divine aid; but only that voice which lulled the tempest, and smoothed the billows on the sea of Tiberius, can calm the stormy passions of an angry and troubled spirit. And He will do it, in answer to the prayer of faith.

It is also necessary that there should be an endeavor to raise the tone of our personal religion in general. For vigorous and athletic exercises of the body, and for the performance of laborious duties, there needs not only an extraordinary stimulus at the time and for the occasion, but a robust and healthful constitution. This applies with equal force to the soul; the duty laid down in this treatise is a very difficult one; a duty which in this disordered world is often called for. And there is little hope of its being well done, if the soul, as to its religion, be sickly and feeble, and needs to be stimulated to its performance by the strong excitement produced for the occasion by the elixirs and cordials of a sermon from the pulpit, or the ardent advice of a friend. What we need for the regular and consistent discharge of this, and all difficult duties, is a healthful and robust religion, a well instructed mind, an eminently sanctified heart, a tender conscience, a fervent love. If we are not living much under the constraining love of Christ, we cannot perform this duty. A worldly, lukewarm state of soul, a heart not in some measure filled with the Spirit, a conscience dull and obtuse, are not equal to this high exercise and attainment in the divine life—it is only when we are strong in the Lord, and in the power of His might, that we can reach this elevation.

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