The Olive Branch and the Cross 5
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But why is it, that this law is so generally neglected?
1. It may be supposed that its obligation is by some scarcely admitted; they may get rid of it, or attempt to do so, under the idea it was a local and temporary enactment, which was not intended to be of universal and permanent obligation. But this will not avail them; for there is nothing at all either in the nature of the precept, or in the circumstances of its delivery, which stamps any restrictive character upon it. The man who in this way can get rid of this law, can get rid of any one. It is law, law for us; and there is no evading it, but by resisting the authority which enacted it. Let them try as they will, the objectors cannot satisfy others; no, nor do they satisfy themselves, that this was a rule for the Jewish synagogue, but not for the Christian church.
2. The general disuse into which the law has fallen is to each individual person a reason and excuse for his neglecting it. Thus general neglect is the cause of individual disobedience, and individual disobedience perpetuates general neglect. There is a sad propensity in us to follow the multitude to do evil, and in the idea that we are following a multitude to find an excuse for following them. It requires the pressure of an overpowering sense of obligation, and some degree of moral courage to be singular in the performance of duty. Unhappily the spiritual condition of the church generally, is such that its individual members should be content to possess a low degree of personal godliness. Great mischief is inflicted by us upon our own souls if instead of comparing ourselves with the word of God we compare ourselves with one another. It is no defense, or excuse, or even palliation for a fault, to say, "My fellow Christians do it, and why may not I?" If the reasoning be valid in one case, it is in another; and if as to a little sin, as to a great one. The church can never be improved, if its general imperfections be thus allowed by their prevalence, to perpetuate themselves. Let every man then whose eye wanders over these pages, say, "I will begin to act upon this rule. The next time I am offended I will go to my brother alone, and in the meekness of wisdom tell him of his fault. It is time somebody should begin, and whoever may or may not follow, I will desire to lead." Let everyone who has been offended, and who in sullenness or in wounded feeling is now brooding in silence over any injury, resolve immediately to throw off this conformity to general custom, and go to the offender. A few examples would soon revive this law, and give it force.
3. The strength of resentful feelings, or it may be only the deep sense of injury received, prevents many a man complying with this law. His mind is ruffled, and its perturbations are so violent as not to allow of the cool exercise of reason, and the influence of religious principle. Surprise, anger, resentment, have got possession of his soul, and keep down the exercise of reflection and the cultivation of meekness. Perhaps there may be some peculiar aggravations in the offence; it may contain a display of ingratitude, and intentional insult, as well as injustice and actual wrong. The aggrieved party says with Jonah, "I do well to be angry," hence he is too much taken up with his own sense of the wrong done, to think of having any fellowship with the wrongdoer. The very idea of seeing him, meeting him, talking to him, is revolting. "Meet him," cries the indignant mind, "I had rather go a hundred miles another way. Meet him! Go to him! I dare not trust myself in his presence; for I could scarcely keep my hands from him, much less my tongue. No, if I meet him, it shall be either before the church, or in a court of law." Be calm, man, be calm! Let the voice of Him who on the lake of Gennesaret said to the stormy winds, "Peace, be still," be heard by you. In, that state of mind you had better not go. You are on fire, and will set him on fire too. But cool the temperature of your soul. You have been injured; grievously injured; that is conceded to you—for if you had not, there would be no need of the exercise of Christian forbearance and forgiveness.
But this does not excuse the indulgence of such stormy passions. Have you not done something worse, not indeed to man, but to God? Is it for you to indulge all this passion and resentment? Follow me to Calvary. Look at that cross. Consider who hangs bleeding there—and for whom. Can you, with that object before you, refuse to calm your passions, and to go to your offending brother?
4. Pride is another cause of the neglect of this law. We have all more of this hateful disposition than we either know or suspect. Pride is the parent sin; the original sin, both in heaven and on earth; the devil's sin, and that by which our first parents fell. Pride is in many cases the chief cause of our exquisite sensibility to wrong done us—the man easily offended must be a proud man, and it is pride that has made his heart a very tinder-box, in which the least spark of offence finds the means of combustion. This same disposition prevents him from desiring reconciliation, or taking any steps to effect it. "I go to my brother! no indeed, it is his place to come to me. He has insulted me, injured me; and it would be degrading myself to go to him, as if I had need to ask his forgiveness, rather than he mine." Stop, are you a Christian? Do you profess to have received pardon from God? Do you owe and own allegiance to Christ? What, and talk in this manner! Degrade yourself! No, you exalt yourself. You become by this conduct the imitator of God. You rise in moral dignity immeasurably above the offender. What says Solomon? "He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he that rules his spirit than he that takes a city." "Among all my conquests," said the dying emperor Valentinian, "there is but one that comforts me now, I have over come my worst enemy, my own evil heart." And Cato, a heathen, could say, "He is the best and most praiseworthy general who has rule over his own passions." Yet this control of our passions, so as to go to our offending brother and ask explanation of a trespass, is degradation is it? Heathens, as we have seen, might and do teach such inconsistent Christians better principles.
5. "It will be of no use to go to him; I know him; and it will only exasperate him and make matters worse," is an excuse frequently alleged for the neglect of this duty. How do you know this until you have tried. It will be of no use, if it be done in an improper manner—it will do harm. The offender will be exasperated in return, if you go to him in exasperation. The passions are contagious, the bad ones strongly so. It has been of use in many instances, and may in yours. No use! But if it should be of no use to the offender, it may be of use to yourself. If he is not made better by it, you will be. If you cannot subdue him, you will honor Christ. If you are not successful, you will set an example which may be more successful in the case of others, who will be encouraged by you.
6. "It is troublesome; and why should we burden ourselves with such a matter!" Yes, it is—it will require some little sacrifice of time and feeling—it will call for much thoughtfulness and care, in order that we may not make bad worse—and I say again, that unless we will take pains not to blow the coals and fan the flame of discord, we had better not touch the matter. But are not many other duties of religion troublesome? Can we live as Christians without trouble? Can we get to heaven without trouble? And is it not worth all the trouble we shall be required to give to it? Is it not a good thing to bring our erring brother to a right mind? Is it not a good thing to set our own mind at peace?
7. It is frequently brought forward as an excuse for non-compliance with this rule, that it is the duty of the offender to make the first movement towards reconciliation, and instead of our going to him, he ought to come to us; for our Lord says, "If you bring your gift to the altar, and there remember that your brother has anything against you, leave there your gift before the altar, and go your way; first be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift." It is certainly very clear from these words, as well as from the nature of things, that he who commits the trespass should by confession anticipate the expostulation of him against whom it is committed. But suppose he does not—then comes in our duty to be the first to move.
"If others begin to quarrel—you begin the peace," said Seneca. For sometimes the offender deserves pardon, but dares not ask it; he begs it by interpretation and tacit desire; consult therefore with his modesty, his infirmity, and with his shame. He is more bound to do it than you are; yet you can better do it than he can. It is not always safe for him; it is never unsafe for you. It may be an extreme shame to him; it is ever honorable to you. It may be sometimes to his loss; it is always to your gain. By so doing, we imitate God, whom though we have so often, so infinitely offended, yet He thought thoughts of peace, and sent to us ambassadors of peace, and ministers of reconciliation. We cannot want better arguments of peacefulness—it is no shame to you to offer peace to your offending brother, when your God did, who was so greatly provoked by you, and could as greatly have been revenged—and it is no disparagement that you should desire the reconcilement of him for whom Christ became a sacrifice. You are bound, I say, in charity to your brother's soul, whose repentance you can easily invite by your kind offer; and you make his return easy; you take away his objection and temptation; you secure your own right better, and are invested in the greater glory of mankind; you do the work of God, and your own soul; you carry pardon, and ease, and mercy with you; and who would not run and strive to be first in carrying a pardon, and bringing messages of peace and joyfulness.
"Consider therefore that death divides with you every moment you quarrel in the morning, and it may be you shall die before night—run quickly and be reconciled, for fear your anger last longer than your life. It was a victory which Euclid got of his angry brother, who being highly displeased, cried out, 'Let me perish if I be not revenged:' but he answered, 'And let me perish if I do not make you kind, and quickly to forget your anger.' That gentle answer did it, and they were friends presently and forever after. It is a shame if we be outdone by heathens; and especially in that grace which is the ornament and jewel of our religion; that is in forgiving our enemies, in appeasing anger, in doing good for evil, in returning prayers for cursings, and gentle usages for crude treatment. This is the glory of Christianity, as Christianity is the glory of the world."
In all these ways may we account for the too general neglect of this admirable provision for the peace of Zion; to which especial attention should be paid by all who love her, and pray for her prosperity—and who, indeed, desire their own tranquility, holiness, and safety.
But as prevention is not only better, but easier, than cure, it may be well to point out one or two things which would render such an interference as is here called for, but rarely necessary.
Let all professing Christians be cautious not to give offence. He who comes into society, whether civil or sacred, should recollect he has duties to discharge towards those with whom he associates, and that he is bound to respect and consult their peace, as well as his own. The man who is walking in a crowd must be more circumspect, more cautious, and more fearful of giving annoyance, than he who has the road or the field all to himself. He must be careful not to trample upon other people's toes, or elbow their sides. He must consider and consult the comfort of those around him. But unhappily this is forgotten by many—they are crude, dogmatic, indiscreet, rash, over-bearing, and tyrannical; never consulting the feelings of others around them, and equally careless as to when they give pleasure, or when they inflict pain. They are like an individual who would scarcely scruple, if it pleased him, to fire a musket loaded with ball in a street. Such is not that "love which is kind."
A Christian should be most anxious to avoid everything which would give pain even to an insect by crushing one of its legs; especially to a brother in Christ by wounding his feelings. The peace of his brethren should ever be more sacred to him than his own. He should be discreet, mild, and courteous, in all his language and his conduct, weighing the import of words before he utters them, and calculating the consequences of actions before he performs them.
Connected with this, as a necessary adjunct, is a willingness, yes a readiness, to acknowledge a wrong, when either by accident or intention he has inflicted one. But one of the most difficult duties which ever our proud hearts have to perform in the whole course of their moral probation, is to say, "I have done wrong, forgive me." Even to say this to God has been found, in some cases, no easy matter; and the poor sinner, at the very bar of Omniscience, instead of ingenuously confessing his transgressions, has looked about for all kinds of excuses and materials for defense. How much more may this be expected to take place when he is arraigned only before the tribunal of a brother. How often have we heard the remark made of some perverse and obstinate individual, "That man, however clearly he is convicted of a fault, can never be brought to say he has done wrong." Many are so blinded by the deceitfulness of sin, that they will not see their offence, however plainly it may be set before them—and others, though they see it, will not confess it. Pride and obstinacy seal their lips in silence, and prevent their saying, "I have sinned."
Let us all beware of this. Let us be open to conviction; and when convinced, let us confess. There is something noble and dignified in a man's ingenuously acknowledging himself to be in fault. It is a contemptible and despicable sight, and ought never to be exhibited by a Christian, to see a man catching up every shred and fragment of truth or falsehood, to construct a covering and a defense; fighting with every bit of missile he can lay hand upon, and running for protection into every hole and corner, instead of yielding at once, and casting himself upon the mercy of a generous and forgiving opponent. I know not which is most entitled to admiration, the man who frankly and ingenuously says, "I have done wrong," or he who promptly and affectionately replies, "I entirely forgive you." Alas that such excellence should be so rarely witnessed, and that it should seem to require the perfect holiness of that world where it will be never needed!
It has been observed in all cases of genuine and powerful revivals of religion, that one of the indications and characteristics of such a state of things has usually been an extraordinary and very abundant produce on the trees of righteousness of "the fruits of the Spirit, which are love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance." Old feuds have been removed, alienated friends have been reconciled, injuries have been forgiven and forgotten; those who lived at a distance from each other have made advancement, and each, without waiting for the other, has been eager to make the first movement. It seemed as if enmity could not live in such an atmosphere of love. I have witnessed something like this myself—and have known individuals who have said, "We can hold out no longer—we are melted—we must be friends." Now in proportion as the church has relapsed into a lukewarm state, and the power of godliness has sunk and become enfeebled, the old state of things returned, and the roots of bitterness began again to spring up and bear their noxious fruits.
But I will suppose it still difficult for an individual who has in any way offended a brother to go and acknowledge the offence, and yet he still not only goes to the same place of worship, but to the same sacramental table—then to such trespasser I now address the words of Christ already quoted—"If you bring your gift to the altar, and there remember that your brother has anything against you; leave there your gift before the altar, and go your way; first be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift." This it is admitted referred in the first instance to the Jewish sacrifices; but it applies not only with equal but with greater force to the Christian ordinance—for if a brotherly heart were required even of a Jew in order to his coming to the sacrifice of a bullock or a lamb, what ought to be the charity of a Christian in coming to commemorate the sacrifice of the Son of God? And this is confirmed by the language of the apostle, where he says, "Let us keep the feast, not with old leaven, neither with the leaven of malice and wickedness." No man is welcome at Christ's table who brings there a soul too proud to ask forgiveness for an injury he has inflicted, or too implacable to forgive an offence he has received. A religion the chief blessing of which is pardon, and the chief duty of which is love, cannot allow at the foot of its altar one who takes no steps to obtain reconciliation with an alienated brother. Why it is a rare and an unseemly sight for two people in a quarrel to eat bread together at the table of a common friend, how much more so at the table of the Lord! And yet how common is this, to eat of the same loaf, to drink of the same cup, in a state of enmity! To carry the feud and cherish it even there! Yes, and to carry it back again too! To go from the next spot and scene to the cross itself, and yet not reconciled! What is this but to be guilty of the body and blood of the Lord, to eat and drink unworthily, and to eat and drink judgment to themselves!
"What then is to be done? Must I not come to the communion?" No, not in that state; for God will not accept your gift. "Must I then keep away?" No; but go immediately to your brother and acknowledge your fault; or if no offence was intended, go and explain matters to him, and having conciliated him, then come and offer your gift. If the door of God's house were actually shut against everyone who refused to comply with this direction, it would make many feel—yet the door of mercy or divine acceptance is shut, which is of far greater consequence. Cyril, one of the early Fathers, tells us that the ancient Christians were accustomed before the communion to kiss each other, as a symbol of reconciled minds and forgotten injuries—and in confirmation of this practice brings the precept of our Lord just quoted. I say therefore to everyone who is conscious he has offended his brother, and yet is too proud or too obstinate to say, "I have done wrong, forgive me," the next time you present yourself at the feast of love, you ought to hear in imagination the voice of Jesus speaking by the plate and by the cup, speaking by every crumb of bread and every drop of wine, and saying, "Go away, proud man, for what in that state of mind, are you doing here? Go your way, first be reconciled to your brother."
But if we are to be cautious against giving offence, we should be equally backward to receive it. Quarrels often begin for lack of the caution I have just enjoined, and are then continued for lack of the backwardness I am now enforcing. Between the stone that feels nothing, not the hardest blow; and the eye that feels everything, even the slightest touch of an insect's wing, there is a medium—and so there is between the dull stolidity of an utterly insensible mind, and the too keen susceptibilities of an over sensitive one. There is no doubt a very great difference in mental constitution, which makes it much more difficult for one man to practice a Christian virtue than another man. Doubtless there is more religious principle, more of divine grace, in the half-virtues of one man than in the whole ones of another—in the one case all the seeming excellence is mere physical organization, mere constitutional quiescence, which is the result of temperament, rather than of principle; while all that is excellent in the other is the effect of principle and grace. Hence it certainly will cost one man much more trouble labor and effort to be holy, than it will another to appear so. I admit all this, but then I do not admit that the obligation to this labor and effort is superseded by the difficulty of it.
Now nothing is more common than for professing Christians to excuse their irritability and susceptibility to offence, on the ground of their sensitiveness. "Oh," they say, "our feelings are so tender, our emotional system is so exquisitely and delicately constructed, that we are not to be tried by ordinary rules; we, like the strings of an aeolian harp, are moved to sighs and mournful notes, even by the slightest breeze passing over us." Apart from the poetry of the comparison, it means, in plain prose, that they are very waspish and easily offended; that they are but a moral sensitive plant, a little squeamish shrub, that not only falls prostrate at a blow, but trembles, shrinks, and shrivels, at the touch of a finger. Let us watch against this sensitiveness, which is offended not only by an action, but by a word; not only by a word, but by a tone; not only by a tone, but by a look.
There are many who feel themselves offended not only by actual injury, but by the lack of what they deem due respect. "There is in such people," says Bishop Jeremy Taylor, "who complain for every small offence, such a stock of anger and peevishness, and such a spirit of fire within them, that every breath and every motion from without can put it into a flame; and the devil will never be wanting to give occasion to such prepared materials." There are cases so plain as not to be mistaken; only one construction can be put upon them; they are, and are intended to be, actual trespasses; and must be treated as such, for the design and motive are patent in the action. But there are many others, which, however appearances may be against them, are not and were never intended to be offences. Sensitive minds are ever apt to be mistaken in such matters; they are, so to speak, ever looking out for trespasses, and on the watch for offenders. They are like game-keepers watching preserves at night, who are ready to suspect every man to be a poacher, and who, gun in hand, are ever ready for action. A little of the 'love which thinks no evil' would lead them to impute a good motive until a bad one is proved. They are never taught by experience, for though they have in many instances found that they had judged wrongfully of a brother, and imputed to him an intention to trespass when it was furthest from his mind, they still go on concluding that all men are combined to do them harm.
In looking over the troubled scenes which in this unquiet world present themselves in nations and in churches, in families and between friends, and observing all the envies and the jealousies, the wars and the feuds, which banish peace from the earth, and make way for confusion and every evil work, it is painful to consider by what a small and easy exercise of Christian charity in the way of caution and concession, forbearance and forgiveness, all this mischief and misery might have been prevented; and yet that measure of love was resentfully denied. And our surprise and our sorrow are increased by recollecting that in the midst of this scene of tumultuous passions and bitter contentions there stands the Bible, the law and the representative of the God of love, which, as a messenger of peace from the world of untroubled repose, has come to reconcile all alienated parties to each other, by first reconciling them to God, and so to harmonize all these discordant elements; and by expelling from them their repellent properties, to give them the cohesion of a moral attraction which shall prepare them to attach themselves to each other, and to consolidate round a common center.
O, how painful it seems that the Bible for so many centuries has been brooding over the moral chaos of our world, and sending its peace-speaking voice over the wild uproar, and that yet the elements are at war! But even this is not half so surprising nor half so affecting as that other spectacle, the result of the strifes and contentions, the envies and the jealousies, the malice and resentments, to be seen even among the members of the redeemed family—that the ministry of the word floating over the churches of saints the very echo of the angel's song, and of the Savior's own words, "Peace be with you," sending out continually the notes of redeeming love, and causing the distant symphonies of the heavenly choir to be heard; that the sacramental table, with its simple yet most impressive array, those emblems of the body and blood of the crucified one, that feast of love; that the communion of saints, based as it is upon the sevenfold unity so sublimely set forth by the inspired apostle; that all the hallowed sensibilities and tender sympathies of the common spiritual nature; that the prospect and the hope of eternal friendships cemented by a divine love, and indulged round the throne of the Lamb—that these, I say, all these, should have no more power to make the men who profess to believe in them all, meek, gentle, and forgiving—no more power to prevent or to heal their contentions—no more power to transform them all into sons of peace! O, my God, when with an astonished and a wounded spirit I contemplate this sad inconsistency, grant me, I beseech you, your grace, to be a stay to my faith, and to save me from infidelity!
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