77 Sermon Illustrations on Forgiveness

Many of us Christians are like the little girl who started fighting with a friend. Her mother who heard about the quarrel talked with her little girl about it trying to show her she was wrong and her need of asking God's forgiveness. Accordingly, when the little one kneeled down to pray, she humbly asked, "O God, please forgive me for getting angry and quarreling with Charlotte." So far so good. But the wrong disposition was still there, for the child went on, "And make Charlotte come to me and ask my forgiveness. O Lord, give her no rest until she is sorry and comes and tells me so!"

In a large prayer meeting about seven years ago, the pastor was urging everyone present to put away every hindrance to an immediate personal transaction with God, by which the soul might find instant forgiveness. He saw a man leave his pew in a hurried, excited state, and go into the inquiry room. Quietly, an usher called two or three others to follow the man. Shortly, the man, as well as the others returned quietly to their seats. At the close of the service, the pastor inquired into the reasons for the commotion. He was told there had been a quarrel sometime before the service; the man, hearing God's Word, wanted to find peace with God; he realized he could not have it until he was first reconciled to his offending brethren. Consequently, he had sent for them to come into the inquiry room. When the man asked them for forgiveness, they freely forgave and were as glad as he to have fellowship again. The Forgiveness Flower One day when Stan Mooneyham was walking along a trail in East Africa with some friends, he became aware of a delightful odor that filled the air. He looked up in the trees and around at the bushes in an effort to discover where it was coming from. Then his friends told him to look down at the small blue flower growing along the path. Each time they crushed the tiny blossoms under their feet, more of its sweet perfume was released into the air. Then his friends said, "We call it the forgiveness flower." This forgiveness flower does not wait until we ask forgiveness for crushing it. It does not release its fragrance in measured doses or hold us to a reciprocal arrangement. It does not ask for an apology; it merely lives up to its name and forgives-freely, fully, richly. What a touching example of outrageous forgiveness! The Buried Hatchet Garth Brooks has a song which says "We buried the hatchet, but left the handle sticking out." One great obstacle of stumbling is non-forgiveness. The hatchet might seem to be buried, but people continue to grab hold of the handle when they want to use it against another. Jesus said if a brother repents, forgive him-that is, bury the hatchet and its handle. How many times, you might ask? As often as the brother repents, we are to forgive. Don't grab hold of buried hatchet handles, for they become stumbling blocks to forgiveness.

One of President Abraham Lincoln's associates scolded him rather severely for being soft on his enemies. "Why do you insist on trying to make friends of them?" he chided. "You should be trying to destroy them." To which Lincoln replied gently, "Am I not destroying my enemies when I make them my friends?" In speaking of those who were his enemies during the Civil War, Lincoln is reported to have said, "Insane as it may seem, I hold malice toward none of them. I have neither the time nor the energy in this life to hold that kind of resentment." The Berry Spoon "I'll never forgive him. I told him I would never forgive him." The attractive elderly lady spoke softly, but with resolve, to the night nurse. Her expression was troubled as she turned away, focusing her eyes on the drape closing in her nursing home bed. The conversation had traveled from the temporal to the eternal and now a deep hurt had surfaced. She told of how her brother had approached her hospital bed, accusing her of taking more than her share of family heirlooms following their mother's death. He spoke of various items, ending with "the berry spoon." He said, "I want the berry spoon." For the 40 years since the parent's death he had hidden his feelings, and now they erupted. She was both hurt and angered by his accusation and vowed never to forgive him. "It's my spoon. It was given to me," she defended herself. "He's wrong and I won't forgive him." A berry spoon. In the bed lay a woman given two months to live-60 days-and she would face eternity and never see her brother again in this life. Her mind and spirit were in anguish, and her only remaining family tie was broken over a spoon. How many berry spoons are there in our lives? How many things, as insignificant as a spoon, in light of eternity, separate us from full communion with God? How much lack of forgiveness keeps us from fellowship with others? "For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins" (Matthew 6:14-15).

Following the Civil War, Robert E. Lee was visiting in Kentucky where one lady showed him the remains of what had been an enormous, old tree. This tree stood directly in front of her house. She bitterly cried to General Lee of how its limbs and trunk had been shattered by Federal artillery fire. Having poured out her anguish she looked to the old soldier for a condemnation of the North. Following a brief silence, Lee responded, "Cut it down, my dear madam, and forget it." It is better to forgive the injustices of the past than to allow them to take root and add bitterness to your future. Memory is a marvelous thing, particularly when it brings us wisdom or joy; however, forgetfulness is equally marvelous for it allows others to succeed where once failure reigned. Forgiveness does not always mean that we trust the individual. In his weakness this does neither him nor you any favors. Forgiveness is the measure of putting yourself on his side, not seeking revenge but success. It is the opening of opportunity's doors, to say "try again, I will not shut you out." This requires setting aside or forgetting the emotions which might halt forgiveness. Clara Barton, Red Cross founder, was asked if she remembered an especially cruel thing done to her years before. When she seemed not to recall it, a friend asked, "Don't you remember?" "No," said Miss Barton, "I distinctly remember forgetting it." God has forgiven us, is it now time that we forgive others so that we can get on to a bright future. Is some cruelty holding you back? Forgive and Live.

Two little boys had quarreled. But the next morning Johnny took his cap and headed for Bobby's house again. Surprised, an older member of the family said teasingly, "What! Going to play with him again? I thought you quarreled only last evening and were never going to have anything more to do with each other. Funny memory you have." Johnny looked a little sheepish, dug his toe into the carpet for a moment, then flashed a satisfied smile as he hurried away. "Oh! Bobby and me's good forgetters!" No Condemnation A man was viciously attacked by another who sought to kill him. The face of the injured man was badly scarred for the rest of his life. He cherished no enmity, however, against the person who made the attack and later sought to have him pardoned. The announcement was made to the prisoner. As he read the pardon he said, "I want something more than pardon, sir; I want friendship." "What kind of friendship do you want?" asked the warden. "I can do without anyone else's friendship except that of the man I injured." The man with the scarred face came to see the prisoner, the tears in his eyes assuring the assailant of both his pardon and friendship.

This incident occurred between John Wesley and Joseph Bradford. Bradford was for some years the traveling companion of Mr. Wesley for whom he would have sacrificed health and even life, but to whom his will would never bend. "Joseph," said Mr. Wesley one day, "take these letters to the post office." Bradford replied, "I will take them after your preaching, sir." Wesley again said, "Take them now, Joseph." Bradford turned to Mr. Wesley and said, "I wish to hear you preach, sir; and there will be sufficient time for the post office after the service." Wesley was not at all pleased and said, "I insist upon your going now, Joseph." Bradford rather angrily replied, "I will not go at present." "You will not!" "No, sir." "Then you and I must part," said Wesley. "Very well, sir," was Mr. Bradford's quick response. The good men slept over it. Both were early risers. At four o'clock the next morning, Wesley said to Bradford, "Joseph, have you considered what I said-that we must part?" "Yes, sir," was the reply. "And must we part?" "Please yourself, sir," Then Wesley said, "Will you ask my pardon, Joseph?" "No, sir," came the quick reply from Bradford. "You will not?" "No, sir," Bradford said again. "Then," answered Wesley, "I will ask yours, Joseph." That is what a Christian should do-be willing to ask forgiveness instead of expecting others to ask forgiveness of him.

Dale Carnegie tells of a visit to Yellowstone Park in earlier days when tourists could watch the rangers feed the grizzly bears. One night the ranger brought garbage to attract the huge creatures, which, it is said, can whip any animal in the West except perhaps the buffalo and the Kodiak bear. But Carnegie noticed that while eating, the bears would growl and send other little animals scurrying, but they would allow one little creature to eat with them-the skunk! Though it was obvious that the grizzlies resented the skunk for its brazen impudence and would have loved to have their revenge, they didn't. And you can guess why. The cost of getting even was just too high!

Many Christians are like the woman who had been bitten by a dog and was advised by her physician to write her last wishes, as she might succumb to hydrophobia. She spent so long with pencil and paper that the doctor finally remarked something about how long the will would be. "Will!" she snorted. "I'm writing a list of the people I'm going to bite!"

There is a story told of Mr. William Dawson, which I would like to relate. While preaching in London, one night at the close of his sermon, he said that there was not one in all London whom Christ could not save. In the morning a young lady called upon him and said: "Mr. Dawson, in your sermon last night you said that 'there was no man in all London whom Christ could not save.' I find a young man in my district who says he cannot be saved, and who will not listen to me. Won't you go and see him? I am sure you can do more with him than I can." Mr. Dawson readily assented, and went with the young lady to the East End--up one of those narrow streets there, and at the top of a rickety staircase found a garret, in which a man was stretched upon straw. He bent over him and said, "Friend." "Friend!" said the young man, turning upon him, "you must take me for some other person. I have no friends." "Ah," replied the Christian, "you are mistaken. Christ is the sinner's friend." The man thought this too good; "Why," said he, "my whole family have cast me off; every friend I had has left me, and no one cares for me." Mr. Dawson spoke to him kindly, and quoted promise after promise--told him what Christ had suffered to give him eternal life. At first his efforts were fruitless, but finally the light of the gospel began to break in on the young man, and the first sign was his heart went out to those he had injured. And, my friends, this is one of the first indications of the acceptance of Christ with the sinner. He said: "I could die in peace now if my father would but forgive me." "Well," replied the man of God, "I will go and see your father and ask him for his forgiveness." "No, no," was the sad answer of the young man, "you cannot go near him. My father has disinherited me; he has taken my name from the family records; he has forbidden the mention of my name in his house by any of the family or servants in his presence, and you needn't go."

However, Mr. Dawson obtained the address, and went away to the West End of London; ascended the steps of a beautiful villa, and rang the bell. A servant in livery came to the door and conducted him to the drawing-room. There was everything in that house for comfort and luxury that money could purchase. He could not help contrasting the scene of poverty in that garret with the scene of luxuriant elegance everywhere around him. Presently a proud, haughty-looking merchant came in, and as he stepped forward to shake hands with Mr. Dawson that gentleman said: "I believe you have a son named Joseph?" and the merchant threw back his hand and drew himself up. "If you come to speak of him--that reprobate--I want you to go away. I have no son of that name. I disown him. If he has been talking to you he has been only deceiving you." "Well," replied Mr. Dawson, "he is your boy now, but he won't be long." The father stood for a minute looking at the Christian, and then asked: "Is Joseph sick?" "Yes," was the reply, "he is at the point of death. I only came to ask your forgiveness for him, that he may die in peace. I don't ask any favor; when he dies we will bury him."

The father put his hands to his face and great tears rolled down his cheeks, as he said, "Can you take me to him?" In a very short time he was in that narrow street where his son was dying, and as he mounted the filthy stairs it hardly seemed possible that the boy could be in such a place. When he entered the garret he could hardly recognize his son, and when he bent over him the boy opened his eyes and said: "O, father, can you--will you forgive me?" and the father answered: "O Joseph, I would have forgiven you long ago if you had wanted me to." That haughty man laid his boy's head on his bosom and the son told him what Christ had done for him; how He had forgiven his sins, brought peace to his soul; how that Son of God had found him in that poor garret, and had done all for him. The father wanted the servant to take him home. "No, father," said the boy, "I have but a short time to live, and I would rather die here." He lingered a few hours, and passed from that garret in the East End to the everlasting hills.

I want to tell you a scene that occurred some time ago. Our Commissioner went to the Governor of the State and asked him if he wouldn't pardon out five men at the end of six months who stood highest on the list for good behavior. The Governor consented, and the record was to be kept secret; the men were not to know anything about it. The six months rolled away and the prisoners were brought up--1,100 of them--and the President of the commission came up and said: "I hold in my hand pardons for five men." I never witnessed anything like it. Every man held his breath, and you could almost hear the throbbing of every man's heart. "Pardon for five men," and the Commissioner went on to tell the men how they had got these pardons--how the Governor had given them, but the Chaplain said the surprise was so great that he told the Commissioner to read the names first and tell the reason afterward. The first name was called--'Reuben Johnson'--and he held out the pardon, but not a man moved. He looked all around, expecting to see a man spring to his feet at once; but no one moved. The Commissioner turned to the officer of the prison and inquired: "Are all the convicts here?" "Yes," was the reply, "Reuben Johnson, come forward and get your pardon; you are no longer a criminal." Still no one moved.

The real Reuben Johnson was looking all the time behind him, and around him to see where Reuben was. The Chaplain saw him standing right in front of the Commissioner, and beckoned to him; but he only turned and looked around him, thinking that the Chaplain might mean some other Reuben. A second time he beckoned to Reuben and called to him, and a second time the man looked around. At last the Chaplain said to him: "You are the Reuben." He had been there for nineteen years, having been placed there for life, and he could not conceive it would be for him. At last it began to dawn upon him, and he took the pardon from the Commissioner's hand, saw his name attached to it, and wept like a child. This is the way that men make out pardons for men; but, thank God, we have not to come to-night and say we have pardons for only five men--for those who have behaved themselves. We have assurance of pardon for every man. "Whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely."

The English, by command of William the Conqueror, always raked up their fires and put out their candles when the curfew-bell was rung; some part of which laudable custom of those times remaineth yet, in the ringing of our eight or nine o'clock bell. Let it then mind us thus much; that the sun go not down upon our wrath; let it not carry news to the antipodes in another world of our revengeful nature, but rather quench all sparks of anger, rake up all beat of passion that may arise within us. Spencer.

It is recorded of a Chinese emperor, that, on being apprised of his enemies having raised an insurrection in one of the distant provinces, he said to his officers, "Come, follow me; and we will quickly destroy them." He marched forward; and the rebels submitted upon his approach. All now thought that he would take the most signal revenge, but were surprised to see the captives treated with mildness and humanity. "How!" cried the first minister: "is this the manner in which you fulfil your promise? Your royal word was given that your enemies should be destroyed; and, behold! you have pardoned them all, and even caressed some of them." — "I promised," replied the emperor with a generous air, "to destroy my enemies. I have fulfilled my word; for, see, they are enemies no longer: I have made friends of them."

When Augustus heard that Lucius Cinna was engaged in a conspiracy against him, he was transported with rage, for he had heaped many favors upon him; and would have ordered his instant execution, but his wife Livia pleaded with him to try the power of clemency. Cinna was called to a private conference, reminded of the favors he had received at the hands of the Caesar, and astonished at a fresh token of favor in a free pardon for his crime. He departed to be a firm friend ever after, was advanced to the consular dignity, and, at his death, nominated Augustus his sole heir in token of his gratitude.

The venerable Dr. Duff once read the Sermon on the Mount to a number of Hindu youths; and when he came to the passage, "I say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them who despitely use you and persecute you," so deep and intense was the impression produced on one of them, that he exclaimed in ecstasy, "Oh! how beautiful, how divine! this is the truth, this is the truth!" And for days and weeks, he could not help repeating, "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you," &c.; constantly exclaiming, "How beautiful! surely this is the truth!" Nor could he rest until he had renounced his false gods and their senseless worship, and accepted the truth as it is in Jesus.

A Christian man found in one of his visits of mercy a young female, about twenty years of age, living in sin, and wretched beyond all description. He soon learned her history. She had left her home some months before, had fallen into sin, and ever since had been sinking lower and lower in guilt. "Oh!" she exclaimed with bitter grief, "that I were at home once more! But my father will not receive me: I am sure that he will not. He cannot love me now; he will never forgive me; I am confident he must always hate and despise me; I have lost his affection forever."—"Have you ever tried him?" inquired this Christian friend. "No: I dare not."—"Does your father know where you are?"—"No: I have never written to him since I left home."—"Then I will write to him at once."—"It is of no use, sir; no use."—"Well, we shall see about that: we can but try." A letter was accordingly written, and well prayed over. By return of post, such an answer came back as made the good man rejoice, and the wanderer weep abundantly. "Immediate" was written large on the outside; and the substance of the epistle was, "Ready to forgive." "This," said the father, "is what I have been earnestly praying for: I have longed to know where my wanderer was, and yearned to hear that she was willing to return. Let her come back at once: I will forgive all, and love her still." Now, observe that the readiness of this father to forgive his child, and to receive her again, was a fact before the letter was written,—a fact all the time she thought so hardly of her father, and judged his heart by her own deservings. Sunday at Home.

A soldier in the garrison town of Woolwich, who was an incorrigible offender, upon whom every sort of punishment had been tried in vain, was again brought up for trial. He had nothing to say except that he was sorry for his conduct. His colonel concluded a few appropriate remarks by saying, "We have resolved to forgive you." The sentence was so new, that the soldier broke down at once. "Forgiven," was entered opposite the charge made against him in the record. He was never after known to be guilty of a fault. Mercy triumphed.

In the middle ages, when the great lords and knights were always at war with each other, one of them resolved to revenge himself upon a neighbor 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 few men with him. It was a good opportunity to take his revenge, and he determined not to let it pass. He spoke of this 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 you to give up this plan of yours, will you at least consent to come with me to the chapel, that we may pray together before you go?" The duke consented; and the chaplain and he knelt 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 say 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 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 other 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. Bib. Treasury.

There is an ugly kind of forgiveness in this world,—a kind of hedgehog forgiveness, shot out like guills. Men take one who has offended, and set him down before the blowpipe of their indignation, and scorch him, and burn his fault into him; and, when they have kneaded him sufficiently with their fiery fists, then—they forgive him. Beecher.

Forgetting. A man strikes me with a sword, and inflicts a wound. Suppose, instead of binding up the wound, I am showing it to everybody; and, after it has been bound up, I am taking off the bandage constantly, and examining the depth of the wound, and making it fester: is there a person in the world who would not call me a fool? However, such a fool is he, who, by dwelling upon little injuries or insults, causes them to agitate and influence his mind. How much better were it to put a bandage on the wound, and never look to it again! Simeon.

If a bee stings you, will you go to the hivo and destroy it? Would not a thousand come upon you? If you receive a trifling injury, do not go about the streets proclaiming it, and be anxious to avenge it. Let it drop. It is wisdom to say little respecting the injuries you may have received.

MEEKNESS, Test of As we do not keep tinder in every box in the house, so we do not keep the sense of anger in every faculty. When one comes against the door of some faculties with an injury, we look over the railing, and say, "I'll forgive you for that; for you did not get in." But by and by, when the faculty where we are sensitive is entered, then we grind our teeth, and say, "I could have forgiven him for any thing but that!" We must not arrogate to ourselves a spirit of forgiveness until we have been touched to the quick where we are sensitive, and borne it meekly: and meekness is not mere white-facedness, a mere contemplative virtue; it is maintaining peace and patience in the midst of pelting provocations. Beecher.

OFFENCES, Treatment of Socrates, when he was abused in a comedy, laughed at it, when Polyargus, not able to bear such an indignity, went and hanged himself. Augustus slighted the satires and bitter invectives which the Pasquins of that time invented against him; and, when the senate would have further informed him of them, he would not hear them. Thus, the maulier any man is, the milder and readier he is to pass by an offence, as not knowing of it, or not troubled at it. Spencer

There was once a man who had an only son, to whom he bequeathed every thing. When his son grew up, he was unkind to his father, refused to support him, and turned him out of his house. The old man said to his grandson, "Go and fetch the covering from my bed, that I may go and sit by the wayside and beg." The child burst into tears, ran for the covering, took it to his father, and said to him, "Pray, father, cut it in two: the half of it will be large enough for grandfather; and perhaps you will want the other half when I grow a man and turn you out of doors." The words of the child struck him so forcibly, that he ran to his father, asked his forgiveness, and took care of him until his death.

Right. A young girl in South Africa was seized in a wood by a savage enemy of her father's, who cut off both her hands, and then sent her, bleeding, home. Many years passed: the poor girl recovered from her wounds. One day, there came to her father's door a poor man who asked for alms. The girl knew him at once as the cruel man that had cut off her hands. She went into the hut, ordered a servant to take him bread and milk, as much as he could eat; and sat down and watched him. When he had done, she dropped the covering that had hid her handless wrists from view, and, holding them up before him, uttered a sentence meaning, "I have had my revenge!" — the very sentence he had uttered when he so cruelly maimed her. The man was overwhelmed. The secret was, the girl had become a Christian.

TREACHERY, Wickedness of Of all the vices to which human nature is subject, treachery is the most infamous and detestable; being compounded of fraud, cowardice, and revenge. The greatest wrongs will not justify it, as it destroys those principles of mutual confidence and security by which only society can subsist. The Romans, a brave and generous people, disdained to practise it towards their declared enemies. Christianity teaches us to forgive injuries; but to resent them under the disguise of friendship and benevolence argues a degeneracy at which common humanity and justice must blush. L. M. Stretch.