Forgetting

“Forgetting those things which are behind.” — Phil. hi. 13.

There are some things which we must never forget. We are bidden to remember the way in which the Lord our God has led us; the wicket-gate where we passed from darkness to light; the cross where our burden rolled away; the night we spent in the House Beautiful. But He who bids us remember these things bids us forget others. We are to forget the things that are behind, and reach forward to those which are before, and so press toward the goal.

Very solemnly, in the midst of one of His discourses, our Lord bade His hearers remember Lot’s wife. And why should they have been so specially exhorted to consider that pillar of salt standing in awful desolation on the plain of the Dead Sea? Why not think rather of Lot escaping in mad haste, or of the angels hastening him, or of the doom that 129 overtook the sinners of Sodom? Ah, there are lessons that deserve pondering to be learned from that monmnent of basalt. “She looked back” — she squandered priceless moments, given for escape, in retrospect. Instead of pressing to the possibihties of a better future, she lingered regretfully over the relics of a disgraceful past. She is forever a type and a warning to those who fail to forget the things that are behind.

Forget past sins. There is a sense in which we do well to remember the past misdoings of our lives — that we may be humbled and warned; that we may not expose ourselves to temptations which have shown themselves too strong for us; that we may be led to a more careful self-watch and more entire dependence upon God. But we ought not to dwell upon our past sins as though they were ever present to the eye of God and incapacitated us for high and holy service.

What would Peter have done on the day of Pentecost if he had persisted in pensively dwelling on the scenes of the denial and had not dared to believe that all was forgiven and forgotten? What would have been the effect on the great apostle if he had allowed the memory of his share in the harrying of the saints to overcast his spirit when summoned to found churches, write epistles, and traverse continents? When once we confess it our sin is immediately and forever put away. God will never mention it again. It need not be a barrier on our service; it should not hinder us from aspiring to and enjoying the most intimate fellowship which is within the reach of mortals. Forget the past sins and failures of your life in the sense of brooding over them with perpetual lamentation.

Forget past successes. This is a very fruitful source of weakness. We are apt to suppose that we have reached the limit of our measure on some august occasion, over which we ponder with much self-congratulation. Thus we did and said and triumphed. Together with this, and following it swiftly, as tears do laughter, the thought flashes across the soul, “But I shall never do as well again; my sun has passed its meridian; my hand is losing its dexterity and cunning; my eye is not so keen, nor my foot as swift.”

This will never do. Such thoughts may hold good in respect of the force of the mind and the muscle of the arm, but not of the spirit, which has the element of immortality in its constitution and does not share the failure of nature. “Thy sun shall no more go down, nor thy moon withdraw herself”; “more and more unto the perfect day”; “bearing fruit in old age” — such are the metaphors of Scripture. Dare to believe that there are greater and better things before than behind, that there are mightier victories, larger spoils, greater accomplishments. It would be a hundred pities if your memory of the past should be a ring-fence and stay your future development. Our future is not to be measured by more or less of natural vigor or intellectual faculty, — these may wax or wane, — but by the expansion of our spiritual character, the increase of faith, hope, and love, which ever abide, the capacity of our spirits to take in more and more of the fullness of God.

Forget past imiocence. An innocent child is an engaging sight — the heart not polluted, the eyes not blurred with passion, the breath pure as a spring morning, the body a meet shrine for holy love. We contrast such with ourselves, who have eaten of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, and sadly say with Hood:

“I am further off from heaven to-day than when I was a boy.”

But we should remember that purity, which knows evil and has triumphed over it, is a greater thing than innocence, just as the ship that has weathered storm and battle is a nobler object than the gay pleasure-boat on the eve of a regatta. To know sin only to hate it, to know it and to shrink from it as the timid gazelle from the beast of prey, to know it in order to warn others against it, is to resemble the Lamb of God, who was holy, harmless, undefiled, and separate from sinners. Do not, then, mourn over the tender grace of the morning; press on toward the noon, which, notwithstanding all its dust and glare, is ripening millions of ears of com. Only be sure that if you have lost your innocence it has been replaced by purity. There are so many who have neither the one nor the other. But purity awaits all who will open their hearts to receive the indwelling grace and power of the Holy Spirit.

Forget past disappoint77ieJits. Some always bear themselves as though ‘they would say, “I am one who has seen affliction; call me not Naomi, but call me Mara, for the Lord hath dealt very bitterly with me.” There is a pensive, dejected look, as though God had forgotten to be gracious and had shut up His mercy forevermore. This does not commend our God to others, and it betrays a wrong state of things in ourselves. God can increase our capacity as the years go by, and our success does not depend on our natural powers or capacities, but on the ever-growing fullness of power and grace of which God is the fountain and character the recipient. If a father chastens a child we do not expect it to wear always after a downcast look. If it did we might fear that it had not forgiven its parent and were resenting the chastening as a personal wrong. The stripes should be accepted and pondered, but the face should be lightened again with the assurance of the father’s forgiveness and perfect trust that all was lovingly meant.

So with ourselves. We may be as yet in young life, but we have seen sorrow; the shadow has passed over our sun, the sirocco has withered the green oasis on which we had thought to settle for the remainder of our days. Be it so. We can never forget the dear one taken from our side. But beside the cross there are springs of joy; let us drink of them. Much is gone, but, thank God, much is left. Let us look not only on our losses, but on our possessions. Let us lift to Him a face wet with tears, perhaps, yet full of love and trust, until He shall illumine it with the light of His countenance.