Forgiveness
A Sure Pardon. — In the reign of King George the Third, the son of a member of this church lay under sentence of death for forgery. My predecessor, Dr. Rippon, after incredible exertions, obtained a promise that his sentence should be remitted. By a singular occurrence, the present senior deacon — then a young man — learned from the governor of the jail that the reprieve had not been received; and the unhappy prisoner would have been executed the next morning, had not Dr. Rippon gone post-haste to Windsor, obtained an interview with the king in his bedchamber, and received from the monarch’s own hand a copy of that reprieve which had been negligently put aside by a thoughtless speed.
“I charge you, doctor,” said his majesty, to make good speed.” “Trust me, ’ sire, for that,” responded your old pastor, and he returned to London in time, just in time, and only just in time, for the prisoner was being marched with many others on to the scaffold. Ay, that pardon might have been given, and yet the man might have been executed if it had not been effectually carried out. But, blessed be God, our non-condemnation is an effectual thing. It is not a matter of letter, it is a matter of fact. Ah, poor souls, you know that condemnation is a matter of fact.
When you and I suffered in our souls, and were brought under the heavy hand of the law, we felt that its curses were no mock thunders like the wrath of the Vatican, but they were real; we felt that the anger of God was indeed a thing to tremble at; a real substantial fact. Now, just as real as the condemnation which Justice brings, just so real is the justification which mercy bestows.
A Free Pardon. — A prisoner was taken out to die, and as he rode along in the death cart his heart was heavy at the thought of death, and none could cheer him of all the throng. The gallows-tree was in sight, and this blotted out the sun for him. But lo, his prince came riding up in hot haste, bearing a free pardon. Then the man opened his eyes, and, as tho he had risen from the dead, he returned to happy consciousness. The sight of his prince had chased all gloom away. He declared that he had never seen a fairer countenance in all his days; and when he read his pardon he vowed that no poetry should ever be dearer to his heart than those few lines of sovereign grace. Friends, I remember well when I was in that death-cart, and Jesus came to me with pardon. Death and hell were before me; but I rejoiced exceedingly when I saw the nailprints in his hands and feet, and the wound in his side. When he said, “Thy sins, which are many, are all forgiven thee,” I thought I never saw such loveliness before, and never heard such music in all my days. Nay, it was not mere thought, I am sure my judgment was right. Eternity itself shall never disclose anything to me more sweet. My pardoning Lord hath no peer nor rival. Oh, what a Christ is he who appeared to me, a guilty, condemned sinner, on the way to hell! Blessed be his name, he bore on the tree my curse, and shame, and death and I am free.
The Returning Prodigal. — Picture the case of the prodigal son when he went home. Suppose when he reached the house the elder brother had come to meet him. I must take a supposition that the elder brother had sweetened himself, and made himself amiable; and then I hearsay, “Come in, brother, welcome home! “But I see the returning one stand there with the tears in his eyes, and I hear him lament” I want to see my father. I must tell
him that I have sinned and done evil in his sight.” An old servant whispers, “Master John, I am glad to see you back. Be happy, for all the servants are rejoiced to hear the sound of your voice. It is true your father will not see you, but he has ordered the fatted calf to be killed for you, and here is the best robe, and a ring, and shoes for your feet, and we are told to put them upon you.” All this would not content the poor penitent. I think I hear him cry — “I do not despise anything my father gives me, for I am not worthy to be as his hired servant; but what is all this unless I see his face, and know that he forgives me? There is no taste in the feast, no glitter in the ring, no fitness in the shoes, no beauty in the robe unless I can see my father and can be reconciled to him.” Do you not see that in the case of the prodigal son the great matter was to get his head into his father’s bosom, and there to sob out “Father, I hav« sinned1?” The one thing needful was the kiss of free forgiveness, the touch of those dear, warm, loving lips, which said, “My dear child, I love you, and your faults are blotted out.” That was the thing that gave his soul rest and perfect peace; and this is the mystery we come to preach to you — God himself drawing near to you in Christ Jesus, and out of His great beneficence forgiving you all trespasses.
The Forgiveness of God. — Fleming tells us in a book of his that a great culprit had been condemned to be hanged at Ayr. He had been a very great offender, but, while he lay in prison, God granted him repentance, and he was heard to say continually as they took him to the scaffold, “Oh! but he’s a great f orgiver! Oh! but he’s a great f orgiver!” and I have often felt as if I could stand and cry, yea, even dance with delight and say it, “Oh, but he’s a great f orgiver! Oh! but he’s a great f orgiver!”
Christ’s Instant Pardon. — The Emperor of Germany, in the olden times when popes were popes, had offended his Unholiness, and before he could be restored to favor he had to stand for three days (I think it was) outside the castle gate, in the deep snow, in the depth of winter, and do penance. I have seen, myself, in Rome and elsewhere, outside of the older churches, places uncovered and exposed to wind and rain, to the heat of summer and the frost of winter, where backsliders were made to stand, sometimes for years even, before they were restored, if they had committed some offence against ecclesiastical statutes. You will sometimes see in old country churches of England little windows that run slanting and just look towards the communion table through which poor offenders who professed repentance, after some months of standing in the churchyard, or perhaps outside of it, were at last allowed to take a peep at the altar, at the expiration of their weary term of penance. All this is contrary to the spirit of the gospel, for the spirit of the gospel is, “Come now, and let us reason together; tho thy sins be as scarlet, they shall be as wool.” The spirit of my text is “Kiss the Son now;” and that is all. Tho those lips were once blaspheming, let them kiss the Son. Tho those lips have uttered high words and proud words, or perhaps lying and lascivious words, “Kiss the Son.” Bow down at those dear pierced feet, and trust Emmanuel, and own yourself his servant, and you shall be forgiven — forgiven at once, without delay — and this night you shall be accepted in Christ.