Ephesians 3:18

May be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height.

Spiritual perception

From Divine love, as the root and ground of the soul’s life, comes all spiritual perception. I say spiritual, as distinct from intellectual, perception. Paul says: You will net be able to comprehend the love of Christ, unless you are first rooted and grounded in it. A spiritual understanding is the opened flower of the Divine love root. Light is love’s first-born child. Before one can enjoy the light of the world, he must be born of the world’s love. And before we can be “light in the Lord,” we must be “in the Lord,” having a root and ground in us derived from Himself. Any such knowledge as the natural understanding is capable of deriving from the words of Scripture is by no means spiritual knowledge. In order to spiritual knowledge, the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ, must as really shine into our hearts, as, in order to behold objects of nature, the light of the sun must shine into our eyes. If “Christ dwell in your hearts by faith,” you will be “rooted and grounded in love,” and as a consequence, you will be able to comprehend spiritual things. Love, then, according to our apostle, is the ground and mother of the perceptive faculty. Without fire there can be no effulgence, or radiance. As is the fire, will be the radiance. The source of mental illumination is the Son of God in the heart. (J. Pulsford.)

Comprehending Christ’s love

I. The dimensions of this love.

1. The breadth is seen in reaching out Divine mercy to sinners who are far off from God (Isaiah 65:1; Isaiah 45:22).

2. The length of this love reaches from eternity to eternity (Jeremiah 31:3; Jeremiah 32:40).

3. The depth of this love is seen in raising sinners from condemnation and hell (Psalms 40:2; 1 Corinthians 6:9).

4. The height of this love consists in making sinners heirs of God, and bringing them finally to glory (2 Timothy 4:6).

II. What the apostle meant, desiring the Ephesians might comprehend it. “May be able to comprehend with all saints.”

1. That they might form correct views of the freeness of God’s love (2 Timothy 1:9).

2. That they might comprehend the perpetuity of it (John 13:1; Psalms 89:33).

3. That they might exhibit the effects of it in its constraining influence and constant peace (Romans 5:1).

III. For what purpose he expresses this desire. “That ye might be filled,” etc.

1. That they might be able rightly to value it (Philippians 3:8).

2. That they might depend upon it (James 1:17).

3. That they might honour it (Galatians 6:14).

4. It is inexpressible love. (T. B. Baker.)

The vastness of the Divine love

These terms were not, perhaps, intended to convey each of them a distinct idea, but generally to represent the vastness of the Divine love; yet we may make use of these various expressions to classify what we have to say on the matter.

1. The “breadth” suggests to us the extent of that love, the vastness of the field for which it is designed and for which it provides. God loves all His creatures--not one is excluded.

2. The “length” may suggest the duration of His love. It is not a thing of today, suddenly conceived, and that may be suddenly laid aside; it is from eternity, and had its birth before the foundations of the earth were laid. Look back, and back, and back, and you shall not see its commencement! Look forward, and forward, and forward, and you shall never see the termination of it, for it is also “to everlasting.” Through the whole of your journey, however long continued it may be, you shall find His love with you.

3. And the “depth.” Oh, how low has God come with that wondrous love of His! How He stooped to our low estate. From what depths has He sought to rescue His wayward, erring children.

4. And the “height.” “He who ascended is the same also who descended; therefore, God hath highly exalted Him.” He is high upon the throne of universal empire; and He says, “Father, I will that they also whom Thou hast given Me, be with Me where I am.” In the same height of glory to which He Himself has gone; to the same height as that throne on which He reigns; to that height of glory He purposes to bring us--a height to which no weapon can reach--a height at which there can be no sin--a height from which every step may be a stepping stone to higher glories. As the lark soars and sings, and soars and sings, so shall we; but not as the lark, which soars aloft, but ever comes back to earth. (Newman Halt, LL. B.)

Comprehension of God’s immeasurable love

Well may St. Paul add, “to comprehend with all saints.” No single mind is equal to this study. One mighty intellect of Newton may sketch the plan of the solar system; one Laplace may demonstrate its permanent equilibrium; one Herschel map out the nebulae of the southern sky; one Dalton unfold the laws of atomic combination; one Darwin assign the clue to the partial unfolding of the mystery of successive lives in nature. But no single soul is capable of comprehending the love of Christ, for the vision and experience of each is limited, and in morals we are members one of another. God has gifts which He bestows on the solitary students of Divine truth, and gifts which He bestows on His solitary petitioners in the closet or under, the fig tree. But, in general, the law of understanding the love of Christ is united study, united work, united conference, united prayer. In our spiritual being we are wonderfully dependent on each other, so that the gifted thinker freezes in solitude while companies of earnest and humble supplicants attain by their communion the vision and the faculty Divine. “Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together, as the manner of some is,” for “where two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst of them.” The whole Church is a spiritual organism which is requisite for the comprehension of love Divine in its fulness. A few rays may fall on the individual eye: still more, when Churches meet to praise and pray even in a splintered and divided Christendom: but when the relics of eighteen hundred years of conflict, and ecclesiastical pride and sectarian contention, are cast aside and forgotten, and the one Church of God becomes visibly one on earth and consciously one in every place, then there will break upon the countless millions of eyes which will gaze upward every morning on the Sun of Righteousness, “with one heart and one soul,” a flood of sunshine, an effulgence of answering glory, which will consecrate the earth, and prove it to be the gate of heaven. (E. White.)

The paradox of love’s measure

Of what? There can, I think, be no doubt as to the answer. The next clause is evidently the continuation of the idea begun in that of our text, and it runs: “and to know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge.” It is the immeasurable measure, then; the boundless bounds and dimensions of the love of Christ which fires the apostle’s thoughts here. Of course, he had no separate idea in his mind attaching to each of these measures of magnitude, but he gathered them all together simply to express the one thought of the greatness of Christ’s love. Depth and height are the same dimension measured from opposite ends. The one begins at the top and goes down, the other begins at the bottom and goes up, but the surface is the same in either case. So we have the three dimensions of a solid here--breadth, length, and depth. And I suppose that I may venture to use these expressions with a somewhat different purpose from that for which the apostle employs them: and to see in each of them a separate and blessed aspect of the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord.

I. What, then, is the breadth of that love? It is as broad as humanity. As all the stars lie in the firmament, so all creatures rest in the heaven of His love. Mankind has many common characteristics. We all suffer, we all sin, we all hunger, we all aspire; and, blessed be God! we all occupy precisely the same relation to the love, the Divine love, which lies in Jesus Christ. There are no step-children in His great family, and none of them receive a more grudging or a less ample share of His love and goodness than every other. Broad as the race, and curtaining it over as some great tent may enclose on a festal day a whole tribe, the breadth of Christ’s love is the breadth of humanity. And this broad love, broad as humanity, is not shallow because it is broad. Our human affections are too often like the estuary of some great stream which runs deep and mighty as long as it is held within narrow banks, but as soon as it widens becomes slow, and powerless, and shallow. The intensity of human affection varies inversely as its extension. A universal philanthropy is a passionless sentiment. But Christ’s love is deep though it be wide, and suffers no diminution because it is shared amongst a multitude. There are two ways of arguing about the love of Christ, both of them valid, and both of them needing to be employed by us. We have a right to say, “He loves all, therefore He loves me.” And we have a right to say, “He loves me, therefore He loves all.” For surely the love that has stooped to me can never pass by any human soul. What is the breadth of the love of Christ? It is broad as mankind, it is narrow as myself.

II. Then, in the next place, what is the length of the love of Christ? If we are to think of Him only as a man, however exalted and however perfect, you and I have nothing in the world to do with His love. When He was here on earth it may have been sent down the generations in some vague, pale way, as the shadowy ghost of love may rise in the heart of a great statesman or philanthropist for generations yet unborn, which he dimly sees will be affected by his sacrifice and service. But we do not call that love. Such a poor, pale; Shadowy thing has no right to the warm, throbbing name; has no right to demand from us any answering thrill of affection; and unless you think of Jesus Christ as something more and other than the purest and the loftiest benevolence that ever dwelt in human form, I know of no intelligible sense in which the length of His love can be stretched to touch you. And if we content ourselves with that altogether inadequate and lame conception of Him and of His nature, of course there is no present bond between any man upon earth and Him, and it is absurd to talk about His present love as extending in any way to me. But we have to believe, rising to the full height of the Christian conception of the nature and person of Christ, that when He was here on earth the Divine that dwelt in Him so informed and inspired the human as that the love of His man’s heart was able to grasp the whole, and to separate the individuals that should make up the race till the end of time; so as that you and I, looking back over all the centuries, and asking ourselves what is the length of the love of Christ, can say, “It stretches over all the years, and it reached then as it reaches now to touch me, upon whom the ends of the earth have come.” Its length is conterminous with the duration of humanity here or yonder. There is another measure of the length of the love of Christ. “Master! How often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? I say not unto thee until seven times, but until seventy times seven.” So said the Christ, multiplying perfection into itself twice--two sevens and a ten--in order to express the idea of boundlessness. And the law that He laid down for His servant is the law that binds Himself. What is the length of the love of Christ? Here is one measure of it, howsoever long drawn out my sin may be, it stretches beyond this; and the while line of His love runs out into infinity, far beyond the point where the black line of my sin stops. Anything short of eternal patience would have been long ago exhausted by your sins and mine, and our brethren’s. But the pitying Christ, the eternal Lover of all wandering souls, looks down from heaven upon every one of us; goes with us in all our wanderings, bears with us in all our sins, in all our transgressions still is gracious. The length of the love of Christ is the length of eternity, and out-measures all human sin.

III. Then again, what is the depth of that love? Depth and height, as I said at the beginning of these remarks, are but two ways of expressing the same dimension; the one we begin at the top and measure down, the other we begin at the bottom and measure up. The top is the Throne; and the downward measure, how is it to be stated? In what terms of distance are we to express it? How far is it from the Throne of the Universe to the manger at Bethlehem, and the Cross at Calvary, and the sepulchre in the garden? That is the depth of the love of Christ. Howsoever far may be the distance from that loftiness of co-equal Divinity in the bosom of the Father, and radiant with glory, to the lowliness of the form of a servant, and the sorrows, limitations, rejections, pains and final death--that is the measure of the depth of Christ’s love. As if some planet were to burst from its track and plunge downwards in amongst the mists and the narrowness of our earthly atmosphere, so we can estimate the depth of the love of Christ by saying “He came from above, He tabernacled with us.” A well known modern scientist has hazarded the speculation that the origin of life on this planet has been the falling upon it of the fragment of a meteor or an aerolite, from some other system, with a speck of organic life upon it, from which all has developed. Whatever may be the case in regard of the physical life, that is absolutely true in the case of spiritual life. It all comes because this heaven-descended Christ has come down the long staircase of Incarnation, and has brought with Him into the clouds and oppressions of our terrestrial atmosphere a germ of life which He has planted in the heart of the race, there to spread forever. That is the measure of the depth of the love of Christ. And there is another way to measure it. My sins are deep, my helpless miseries are deep, but they are shallow as compared with the love that goes down beneath all sin, that is deeper than all sorrow, that is deeper than all necessity, that shrinks from no degradation, that turns away from no squalor, that abhors no wickedness so as to avert its face from it. The purest passion of human benevolence cannot but sometimes be aware of disgust mingling with its pity and its efforts, but Christ’s love comes down, howsoever far in the abyss of degradation any human soul has descended, beneath it are the everlasting arms, and beneath it is Christ’s love. When a coal pit gets blocked up by some explosion no brave rescuing party will venture to descend into the lowest depths of the poisonous darkness until some ventilation has come there. But this loving Christ goes down, down, down into the thickest, most pestilential atmosphere, reeking with sin and corruption, and stretches out a rescuing hand to the most abject and undermost of all the victims. How deep is the love of Christ? The deep mines of sin and of alienation are all undermined and countermined by His love. Sin is an abyss, a mystery, how deep only they know who have fought against it; but--

“O Love! thou bottomless abyss,

My sins are swallowed up in thee.”

“I will cast all their sins into the depths of the sea.” The depths of Christ’s love go down beneath all human necessity, sorrow, suffering, and sin.

IV. And, lastly, what is the height of the love of Christ? We found that the way to measure the depth was to begin at the Throne, and go down to the Cross, and to the foul abysses of evil. The way to measure the height is to begin at the Cross and the foul abysses of evil, and go up to the Throne. That is to say, the topmost thing in the universe, the shining apex and summit, glittering away up there in the radiant unsetting light, is the love of God in Jesus Christ. The other conceptions of that Divine nature spring high above us and tower beyond our thoughts, but the summit of them all, the very topmost as it is the very bottommost, outside of everything, and therefore high above everything, is the love of God which has been revealed to us all, and bought for us sinful men in the passion and manhood of our dear Christ. And that love which thus towers above us, and gleams the summit and the apex of the universe, like the shining cross on the top of same lofty cathedral spire, does not gleam there above us inaccessible, nor lie before us like some pathless precipice, up which nothing that has not wings can ever hope to rise, but the height of the love of Christ is an hospitable height, which can be scaled by us. Nay, rather, that heaven of love which is “higher than our thoughts,” bends down, as by a kind of optical delusion the physical heaven seems to do, towards each of us, only with this blessed difference, that in the natural world the place where heaven touches earth is always the furthest point of distance from us; and in the spiritued to lose his life in following him. For David’s sake the three mighties broke through the host, at imminent peril of their lives, to bring him water from the well of Bethlehem. Some men have a charm about them which enthralls the souls of other men, who are fascinated by them and count it their highest delight to do them honour. How shall I, in a fitting manner, lead you to contemplate the person of our Lord Jesus Christ, seeing that His charms as far exceed all human attractions as the sun outshines the stars! Yet this much I will be bold to say, that tie is so glorious that even the God of heaven may well consent to do ten thousand things for His sake. He is Almighty God, and at the same time all-perfect Man. In the surpassing majesty of His person lies a part of the force of the plea.

(2) A far greater power lies in near and dear relationship. The mother, whose son had been many years at sea, pined for him with all a mother’s fondness. She was a widow, and her heart had but this one object left. One day there came to the cottage door a ragged sailor. He was limping on a crutch, and seeking alms. He had been asking at several houses for a widow of such-and-such a name. He had now found her out. She was glad to see a sailor, for never since her son had gone to sea had she turned one away from her door, for her son’s sake. The present visitor told her that he had served in the same ship with her beloved boy; that they had been wrecked together and cast upon a barren shore; that her son had died in his arms, and that he had charged him with his dying breath to take his Bible to his mother--she would know by that sign that it was her son--and to charge her to receive his comrade affectionately and kindly for her son’s sake. You may well conceive how the best of the house was set before the stranger. He was but a common sailor; there was nothing in him to recommend him. His weather-beaten cheeks told of service, but it was not service rendered to her; he had no claim on her, and yet there was bed and board, and the widow’s hearth for him. Why? Because she seemed to see in his eyes the picture of her son--and that Book, the sure token of good faith, opened her heart and her house to the stranger. Relationship will frequently do far more than the mere excellence of the person. Our God had but one begotten Son, and that Son the darling of His bosom. Oh, how the Father loved Him.

(3) The force of the words, “For Christ’s sake,” must be found deeper still, namely, in the worthiness of the person and of his acts. Many peerages have been created in this realm which descend from generation to generation, with large estates, the gift of a generous nation, and why? Because this nation has received some signal benefits from one man and has been content to ennoble his heirs forever for his sake. I do not think there was any error committed when Marlborough or Wellington were lifted to the peerage; having saved their country in war, it was right that they should be honoured in peace; and when, for the sake of the parents, perpetual estates were entailed upon their descendants, and honours in perpetuity conferred upon their sons, it was only acting according to the laws of gratitude. Let as bethink ourselves of what Jesus has done, and let us understand how strong must be that plea--“for Jesus’ sake.”

(4) If any stipulation has been made, then the terms, “for His sake,” become more forcible, because they are backed by engagements, promises, covenants.

(5) It tends very much to strengthen the plea “for Christ’s sake,” if it be well known that it is the desire of the person that the boon should be granted, and if, especially, that desire has been and is earnestly expressed. No, beloved, if I anxiously ask for mercy, Christ has asked for mercy for me long ago. There is never a blessing for which a believer pleads, but Christ pleads for it too; for “He ever liveth to make intercession for us.”

2. Pausing a minute, let us enumerate some few other qualifications of this plea by way of comfort to trembling seekers.

(1) This motive, we may observe, is with God a standing motive; it cannot change.

(2) Remember, again, that this is a mighty reason. It is not merely a reason why God should forgive little sins, or else it would be a slur upon Christ, as though He deserved but little.

(3) Then, brethren, it is a most clear and satisfactory, I was about to say, most reasonable reason, a motive which appeals to your own common sense. Can you not already see how God can be gracious to you for Christ’s sake? We have heard of persons who have given money to beggars, to the poor; not because they deserved it, but because they would commemorate some deserving friend. On a certain day in the year our Horticultural Gardens are opened to the public, free. Why, why should they be opened free? What has the public done? Nothing. They receive the boon in commemoration of the good Prince Albert. Is not that a sensible reason? Yes. Every day in the year the gates of heaven are opened to sinners free. Why? For Jesus Christ’s sake. Is it not a most fitting reason? If God would glorify His Son, how could He do better than by saying, “For the sake of My dear Son, set the pearly gates of heaven wide open, and admit His chosen ones.”

(4) This is the only motive which can ever move the heart of God.

II. The believer’s great motive for service.

1. We begin with a few hints as to what service is expected of us.

(1) One of the first things which every Christian should feel bound to do “for Christ’s sake” is to avenge His death. “Avenge His death,” says one, “upon whom?” Upon His murderers. And who were they? Our sins! our sins!

(2) Then, next, the Christian is expected to exalt his Master’s name, and to do much to honour His memory, for Christ’s sake. You remember that queen, who, when her husband died, thought she could never honour him too much, and built a tomb so famous, that though it was only named from him, it remains, to this day, the name of every splendid memorial--the mausoleum. Now let us feel that we cannot erect anything too famous for the honour of Christ--that our life will be well spent in making His name famous. Let us pile up the unhewn stones of goodness, self-denial, kindness, virtue, grace; let us lay these one upon another, and build up a memorial for Jesus Christ, so that whosoever passes us by, may know that we have been with Jesus, and have learned of Him.

(3) And above all, “for Jesus’ sake” should be a motive to fill us with intense sympathy with Him. He has many sheep, and some of them are wandering; let us go after them, my brethren, for the Shepherd’s sake.

2. A few words, lastly, by way of exhortation on this point. Clear as the sound of a trumpet startling men from slumber, and bewitching as the sound of martial music to the soldier when he marches to the conflict, ought to be the matchless melody of this word. Review, my brethren, the heroic struggles of the Lord’s people, and here we turn to the brightest page of the world’s annals! Think of the suffering of God’s people through the Maccabean war! How marvellous was their courage when Antiochus Epiphanes took the feeblest among the Jews to constrain them to break the law, and found himself weak as water before their dauntless resolve. Aged women and feeble children overcame the tyrant. Their tongues were torn out; they were sawn asunder; they were broiled on the fire; they were pierced with knives; but no kind of torture could subdue the indomitable spirit of God’s chosen people. Think of the Christian heroism of the first centuries; remember Blandina tossed upon the horns of bulls and set in a red-hot iron chair; think of the martyrs given up to the lions in the amphitheatre, amidst the revilings of the Roman mob; dragged to their death at the heels of wild horses, or, like Marcus Arethusa, smeared with honey and stung to death by bees; and yet in which case did the enemy triumph? In none! They were more than conquerors through Him that loved them! And why? Because they did it all “for Christ’s sake,” and Christ’s sake alone. Think of the cruelty which stained the snows of the Switzer’s Alps, and the grass of Piedmont’s Valleys, blood red with the murdered Waldenses and Albigenses, and honour the heroism of those who, in their deaths, counted not their lives dear to them “for Christ’s sake.” Walk this afternoon to your own Smithfield, and stand upon the sacred spot where the martyrs leaped into their chariot of fire, leaving their ashes on the ground, “for Jesus’ sake.” In Edinburgh, stand on the well known stones consecrated with covenanting gore, where the axe and the hangman set free the spirits of men who rejoiced to suffer for Christ’s sake. Remember those fugitives “for Christ’s sake,” meeting in the glens and crags of Scotia’s every hill, “for Christ’s sake.” They were daunted by nothing--they dared everything “for Christ’s sake.” Think, too, of what missionaries have done “for Christ’s sake.” With no weapon but the Bible, they have landed among cannibals, and have subdued them to the power of the gospel; with no hope of gain, except in the reward which the Lord has reserved for every faithful one, they have gone where the most enterprizing trader dared not go, passed through barriers impenetrable to the courage of men who sought after gold, but to be pierced by men who sought after souls. (C. H. Spurgeon.)

Forgiveness made easy

The heathen moralists, when they wished to teach virtue, could not point to the example of their gods, for, according to their mythologists, the gods were a compound of every imaginable, and, I had almost said, unimaginable, vice. Many of the classic deities surpassed the worst of men in their crimes: they were as much greater in iniquity as they were supposed to be superior in power.

I. The first word to think about is, “for Christ’s sake.” We use these words very often; but probably we have never thought of their force, and even at this time we cannot bring forth the whole of their meaning. What does it mean?

1. It means, surely, first, for the sake of the great atonement which Christ has offered.

2. God has forgiven us because of the representative character of Christ. God for Christ’s sake has accepted us in Him, has forgiven us in Him, and looks upon us with love infinite and changeless in Him.

3. Now go a little further. When we read, “for Christ’s sake,” it surely means for the deep love which the Father bears Him.

4. God forgives sin for the sake of glorifying Christ. Christ took the shame that He might magnify His Father, and now His Father delights to magnify Him by blotting out the sin.

II. What it is that has been done for us, for Christ’s sake. “God, for Christ’s sake, hath forgiven you.”

1. Pardon is not a prize to be run for, but a blessing received at the first step of the race.

2. This forgiveness is continuous.

3. It is most free.

4. It is full.

5. Eternal. God will never rake up our past offences, and a second time impute them.

6. Divine. There is such a truth, reality, and emphasis in the pardon of God as you can never find in the pardon of man; for though a man should forgive all you have done against him, yet it is more than you could expect that he should quite forget it; but the Lord says, “Their sins and iniquities will I remember no more forever.” If a man has played you false, although you have forgiven him, you are not likely to trust him again. But see how the Lord deals with His people, e.g., Peter, Paul.

III. A point of practice. “Forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.” Now, observe how the apostle puts it. Does he say “forgiving another”? No, that is not the text, if you look at it. It is “forgiving one another.” One another! Ah, then that means that if you have to forgive today, it is very likely that you will yourself need to be forgiven tomorrow, for it is “forgiving one another.” It is turn and turn about, a mutual operation, a cooperative service. (C. H. Spurgeon.)

A forgiving spirit

God’s pardon of sinners is full and free and irreversible, all sin forgiven--forgiven, not because we deserve it; forgiven, every day of our lives; and, when once forgiven never again to rise up and condemn us. Now, because God has pardoned us, we should cherish a forgiving spirit, and be as ready to pardon others as He has been to remit our trespasses. His example at once enjoins imitation, and furnishes the pattern. And thus the offences of others are to be pardoned by us fully, without retaining a grudge; and freely, without any exorbitant equivalent; and when pardoned, they are not to be raked out of oblivion, and again made the theme of collision and quarrel. According to the imagery of our Lord’s parable, our sins toward God are weighty as talents, nay, weighty and numerous as ten thousand talents; while the offences of our fellows toward ourselves are trivial as pence, nay, as trivial and few as a hundred pence. If the master forgive the servant so far beneath him such an immense amount, will not the forgiven servant be prompted by the generous example to absolve his own fellow servant and equal from his paltry debt? (Matthew 18:23). In fine, as God in Christ forgives sin, so believers in Christ, feeling their union to Him, breathing His Spirit, and doing homage to His law of love, learn to forgive one another. (J. Eadie, D. D.)

The forgiveness of God

The literal meaning of the words of the text in the original is, “as God, in Christ, hath forgiven you.” This is exactly what they say, and this gives us the right idea of the forgiveness of God, of God revealing Himself in Christ. Now, God’s forgiveness in Christ does not stand alone; but must be a part of that whole revelation of God which we have in Christ. Christ came to reveal God’s fatherhood, God’s love, God’s righteousness, God’s forgiveness--all as parts of one great whole, and all for the one high purpose of reconciling men to God, of bringing back to Him in love and faith those who had sinned against Him. In each part of the whole there is the reconciling element, which gives its character to the whole. In each there is something, the knowledge of which should bring us to God in love and trust. And this in forgiveness can only be its freeness and fulness. This character pervades all that Christ teaches us about forgiveness in His spoken words: it pervades all that He exemplified in His own deeds, down to that last hour when He said, with His failing breath, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” What is the object of all forgiveness? It is not to smooth over the sin, and make it of little account. It is not to remove the natural penalty or consequence from the sin, so that you may sin and yet not suffer. It is to gain the sinner; to win him back from evil to good, from the devil to God. It is for this end God forgives--forgives because of His eternal desire to save men from sin, and lead them to holiness. His forgiveness is not a new power or new aspect of character, evoked in Him by His Son’s life or death or sacrifice. It is an eternal element of His Divine nature, revealing itself to us, through Christ, in whom all His will for our salvation was revealed. To anyone capable of amendment of life, in whom the powers of the endless life are not quenched, nothing can appeal so strongly, nothing can exert so quickening an influence, as the consciousness of being freely forgiven for past errors, as the knowledge that these at least are not kept up as a barrier between him and the Father to whom he would fain return. Let us lay hold of this free and full forgiveness, brethren. Let us not be occupied with the mere selfish anxiety to be delivered from the penalty of our sin; but let us rather be filled with the earnest hope to be reconciled to our Father, against whom we have trespassed; and, through the consciousness of His goodwill towards us, to be animated with such gratitude, love, and trust, as shall strengthen us against all temptation, and restrain us from all transgression. (H. R. Story, D. D.)

Forgiving one another

“Kindness” and “forgiveness” may be, and often are, natural virtues. But you at once take them out of the natural, and elevate them into the spiritual--you Christianize them, and the old commandment becomes the new--when you make this both the reason of the exercise and the measure of the degree--“as God in Christ hath forgiven you.” Now take care that you read this verse aright. I have often heard it quoted--I have read it often in books--“as God for Christ’s sake will forgive you.” But that is not the basis from which the apostle’s argument here, and his argument everywhere, springs. “Even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.” So that if you are not a “forgiven” man, the argument drops. How can a machine go, if you take out the mainspring? How can love in the heart of a man move aright, without its motive power? And what motive power can move a man to bear all he has to bear, and to do all he has to do, in such a world as this, but love? And where is love if you are not forgiven?” Nobody really knows God till he is “forgiven”; and how shall a man practise love till he knows God? Is not all love, God? Here, then, we take our beginning. As a mathematician claims a certain first principle, and assumes it is granted, and calls it his axiom, so we make it our axiom, “You are forgiven.” I cannot carry on my reasoning a single step without that. Now, in the character of this “forgiveness”--which is the elementary principle of all religion--there are three points, which I would ask you to look at in detail.

1. It was originating. I mean, it was not you went forth to it; but it went forth to you. It was ready before you thought of it. It was ready before you were born. It sought you. At the best, you can do nothing but accept it.

2. It is universal. It cannot, in the nature of things, be partial. I mean, there is no such thing as being “forgiven” for one sin, while, at the same time, you are not “forgiven” for another sin. It is all or none. The blood of Christ never washes one sin out. The robe of Christ never covers one part of a man. Everything is “forgiven.”

3. The “forgiveness” is absolute. There is not a vestige of displeasure. There is no resurrection of “forgiven” sins. They shall never be mentioned any more. They are “cast into the depths of the sea.” O brethren! what an atmosphere of love we ought all to be living in, as many of you as know Christ. What a practical rule and measure we have, by which to draw our line, every day, into thousands of little acts and thoughts. It is simply this--“How did God act to me, when He stood in a corresponding relation to me?” But I ask, Is any one of us living up to that standard? I think not. Therefore let us now look at our measurement. “You see there are three things God tells us to be: kind; tender-hearted; forgiving. I am not sure that I know the exact distinction which is intended between those three words; but, I think it is something like this:--“Kindness,” is an affectionate feeling, always going out into action. The Greek word used has something o! “using” or “serving” in it. A “tender heart,” is a soft, impressible state, which predisposes to think and act kindly. And “forgiveness” is that loving spirit, which, preferring to suffer rather than to pain, sees no fault in another because it is so conscious of its own. It is important to notice that the “tender heart” is placed between “kindness” and “forgiveness”--the keystone of the little sacred arch. Everything depends upon it--a soft, “tender” state of “heart.” Need I remind you, that everything in the world, every day, is tending to brush off the bloom, and leave the substance underneath hardened? But whoever wishes to be a real Christian must, at all times, and in all places, be jealously watchful to keep his heart “tender.” The great business of life, it seems to me, is to keep the heart “tender.” But how is it that we are not all “kind,” “tender,” and “forgiving”? There are many causes; but they resolve themselves into one--pride! pride! (J. Vaughan, M. A.)

Forgiveness, for Christ’s sake

“What great matter,” said a heathen tyrant to a Christian while he was beating him almost to death--“What great matter did Christ ever do for you?” “Even this,” answered the Christian, “that I can forgive you, though you use me so cruelly.”

The necessity of a forgiving spirit

In the Middle Ages, when the lords and knights were always at war with each other, one of them resolved to revenge himself on a neighbour who had offended him. It chanced that, on the very evening when he had made this resolution, he heard that his enemy was to pass near his castle, with only a very few men with him. It was a good opportunity to take his revenge, and he determined not to let it pass. He spoke of his plan in the presence of his chaplain, who tried in vain to persuade him to give it up. The good man said a great deal to the duke about the sin of what he was going to do, but in vain. At length, seeing that all his words had no effect, he said, “My lord, since I cannot persuade yon to give up this plan of yours, you will at least come with me to the chapel, that we may pray together before you go?” The duke consented, and the chaplain and he kneeled together in prayer. Then the mercy-loving Christian said to the revengeful warrior, “Will you repeat after me, sentence by sentence, the prayer which our Lord Jesus Christ Himself taught to His disciples?…I will do it,” replied the duke. He did it accordingly. The chaplain said a sentence, and the duke repeated it, till he came to the petition, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us.” There the duke was silent. “My lord duke, you are silent,” said the chaplain. “Will you be so good as to continue to repeat the words after me, if you dare to do so: ‘Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us’?” “I cannot,” replied the duke. “Well, God cannot forgive you, for He has said so. He Himself has given us this prayer. Therefore you must either give up your revenge or give up saying this prayer; for to ask God to pardon you as you pardon others is to ask Him to take vengeance on you for all your sins. Go now, my lord, and meet your victim. God will meet you at the great day of judgment.” The iron will of the duke was broken. “No,” said he; “I will finish my prayer. My God, my Father, pardon me; forgive me as I desire to forgive him who has offended me; ‘lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from evil.’” “Amen,” said the chaplain. “Amen,” repeated the duke, who now understood the Lord’s Prayer better than he had ever done before, since he had learned to apply it to himself. (Preacher’s Lantern.)

Power of forgiveness

Some years ago a missionary was preaching in a chapel to a crowd of idol-loving Hindoos. He had not proceeded far in his sermon when he was interrupted by a strong native, who went behind the desk, intending to knock him down with his stick. Happily the blow aimed at the minister fell on his shoulder, and did him little, if any, injury. The congregation of hearers were, however, very angry with the offender, and they seized him at the very moment he was attempting to escape. “Now, what shall I do with him?” said the missionary to the people. “Give him a good beating,” answered some. “I cannot do that,” said he. “Send him to the judge,” cried others, “and he will receive two years’ hard labour on the road.” “I cannot follow your advice,” said the missionary again, “and I will tell you why. My religion commands me to love my enemies, and to do good to them who injure me.” Then turning to the man, he said, “I forgive you from my heart; but never forget that you owe your escape from punishment to that Jesus whom you persecuted in me.” The effect of this scene upon the Hindoos was most impressive. They wondered at it, and, unable any longer to keep silence, sprang on their feet and shouted, “Victory to Jesus Christ! Victory to Jesus Christi” (J. Pulsford.)

Complete forgiveness

It was said of Archbishop Cranmer, that the way to have him as one’s friend was to do him an unkindness.

Conquered forgiveness

Samuel Harris, of Virginia, shortly after he had begun to preach, was informed by one of his debtors that he did not intend paying him the debt owed “unless he sued him.” Harris left the man’s presence meditating. “What shall I do?” said he, for he badly wanted the money. “Must I leave preaching and attend to a vexatious lawsuit. Perhaps a thousand souls may perish in the meantime.” He turned aside into a wood and sought guidance in prayer. Rising from his knees, he resolved to hold the man no longer a debtor, and at once wrote out a receipt in full, which he sent by a servant. Shortly after the man met him, and demanded what he meant. “I mean,” said Harris, “just what I wrote.” “But you know I never paid you,” replied the debtor. “True,” Harris answered; “and I know you said that you never would unless I sued. But, sir, I sued you at the court of heaven, and Christ has entered bail for you; I have therefore given you a discharge.” “But I insist matters shall not be left so,” said the man. “I am well satisfied,” replied the other; “Jesus will not fail me. I leave you to settle the account with Him at another day. Farewell!” This operated so effectually on the man’s conscience that in a few days he came and paid the debt. (H. T. Williams.)

John Wesley had a misunderstanding with his travelling companion, Joseph Bradford, which resulted in his saying overnight that they must part. In the morning Wesley inquired of him, “Will you ask my pardon?” “No,” said Bradbury. “Then I will ask yours,” said the great preacher. This broke Bradbury down, who melted under the speech and wept like a child. (Life of Wesley.)

A Christian’s forgiveness

After the death of Archbishop Tillotson a bundle of libels was found among his papers, on which he had written--“These are libels; I pray God forgive the authors, as I do.”

Forgiveness and restoration

I call to mind an occasion when the son of a Christian man was guilty of an act of disobedience in the home. Hearing of it, the father quietly but firmly said, “Son, I am pained beyond measure at your conduct.” “How well,” said that father, “I remember his return from school at mid-day, his quiet knock at the study door, his clear tremulous utterance, ‘Father, I am so ashamed of myself by reason of my conduct this morning.’ Refuse to restore him!” said that father. “Unhesitatingly I confess that I never loved my boy more than at that moment, nor did I ever more readily implant the kiss of forgiveness than at that instant. Refuse to restore him: disown him, have him leave the house, take another name, say that he had no place in the family--not my child!” What blasphemy against humanity is this! And shall we dare to attribute such conduct to the Holy Father in heaven, “who spared not His own Son, but freely delivered Him up for us all?” (Henry Varley.)

Power of kindness

I have read that one of Dr. Guthrie’s admirers was an old Scotch judge, who contributed a large sum to build a new church. But when the doctor left the Established Church, with the Free Church party, the judge was so much displeased that he ceased to call on him, and even refused to recognize him in the street. Twice the good doctor lifted his hat on meeting, but the judge gave no sign of recognition. The doctor said cheerily to himself, “One more lifting of the hat, my lord, and then we are quits.” One day a woman called at Dr. Guthrie’s, begging for a seat in his church. The doctor said it was impossible to obtain one; all were engaged, and more than a score of applicants were waiting for a vacancy. She pleaded hard, but he saw no way to help her. At length she mentioned that she was housekeeper for Judge “That changes the case,” said the doctor. “I would like to do him a favour for all his kindness to me in past days. You shall have a seat in my own pew.” The woman left, after a profusion of thanks. The next morning there was a knock at the study door, and the judge entered. He came to thank the doctor for the kindness to his housekeepers after his own shabby behaviour, and to beg pardon for his foolish anger.