Part 7 (2/2)

”_For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad_.”--II Cor. v: 10.

CHAPTER VII.

Forgiveness and Retribution.

I can imagine some one saying, ”I attend church, and have heard that if we confess our sin, G.o.d will forgive us; now I hear that I must reap the same kind of seed that I have sown. How can I harmonize the doctrine of forgiveness with the doctrine of retribution? 'All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.' And yet you say that I must reap what I have sown.”

Suppose I send my hired man to sow wheat. When it grows up, there are thistles mixed with the wheat. There wasn't a thistle a year ago. I say to my man:

”Do you know anything about the thistles in the field?”

He says: ”Yes, I do; you sent me to sow that wheat, and I was angry and mixed some thistles with the wheat. But you promised me that if I ever did wrong and confessed it, you would forgive me; now I hold you to that promise, and expect you to forgive me.”

”Yes,” I say, ”you are quite right; I forgive you for sowing the thistles; but I will tell you what you must do--you must reap the thistles along with the wheat when harvest time comes.”

Many a Christian man is reaping thistles with his wheat. Twenty years ago you sowed thistles with the wheat and are reaping them now. Perhaps it was an obscene story, the memory of which keeps coming back to distress you, even at the most solemn moments.

Perhaps some hasty word or deed that you have never been able to recall.

I heard John B. Gough say that he would rather cut off his hand than have committed a certain sin. He didn't say what it was, but I have always supposed it was the way he treated his mother. He was a wretched, drunken sot in the gutter when his mother died; the poor woman couldn't stand it, and died of a broken heart. G.o.d had forgiven him, but he never forgave himself. A great many have done things that they will never forgive themselves for to their dying day. ”At this moment,” said one, ”from many a harlot's dishonored grave there arises a mute appeal for righteous retribution. From many a drunkard's miserable home, from heartbroken wife, from starving children, there rings up a terrible appeal into the ears of G.o.d.”

I believe that G.o.d forgives sin fully and freely for Christ's sake; but He allows certain penalties to remain. If a man has wasted years in riotous living, he can never hope to live them over again. If he has violated his conscience, the scars will remain through life. If he has soiled his reputation, the effect of it can never be washed away. If he shatters his body through indulgence and vice, he must suffer until death. As Talmage says, ”The grace of G.o.d gives a new heart, but not a new body.”

”John,” said a father to his son, ”I wish you would get me the hammer.”

”Yes, sir.”

”Now a nail and a piece of pine board.”

”Here they are, sir.”

”Will you drive the nail into the board?”

It was done.

”Please pull it out again.”

”That's easy, sir.”

”Now, John,” and the father's voice dropped to a lower key, ”pull out the nail hole.”

Every wrong act leaves a scar. Even if the board be a living tree the scar remains.

For our worst sins there is plenteous redemption. My sin may become white as snow, and pa.s.s away altogether, in so far as it has power to disturb or sadden my relation to G.o.d. Yet our least sins leave in our lives, in our characters, in our memories, in our consciences, sometimes in our weakness, often in our worldly position, in our reputation, in our success, in our health, in a thousand ways leave their traces and consequences. G.o.d will not put out His little finger to remove these, but lets them stop.

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