always plaguing and teasing me and all the other little boys. It never
does any good to get cross, for that is just what he likes: but then Tim
likes sledding very much and he has no sled. I’ve a notion to give the
old sled to him. It will show him that I forgive him. It might make him
think, and do him good. Mightn’t it?” “Yes, it might,” said the mother.
So Tim got Charley’s sled. The kind, forgiving spirit of the little boy
he had teased so much touched him greatly. It made him think. It did him
good. After that Tim never teased Charley again, or any of the other
little boys.
“How a Bishop Taught Forgiveness.” There was once a good bishop who lived
at Alexandria in Egypt. One day a nobleman came to see him. He told the
bishop about a person who had done him a great wrong. He got very angry
about it. “I never will forgive him,” said he, “as long as I live.”
Just then the bell tinkled for prayers in the bishop’s private chapel.
He rose to go into the chapel and asked the nobleman to follow him. The
bishop kneeled at the railing of the little chancel. He asked his friend
to repeat the Lord’s prayer after him, sentence by sentence. This was
done till they came to the sentence “Forgive us our trespasses, as we
forgive those who trespass against us.” When the bishop had offered this
prayer he waited for the nobleman to say it after him, but he was silent.
He said it again but there was no answer. Then the bishop was silent and
gave his friend time to think. Presently the nobleman rose to his feet
and said:
“I dare not offer that prayer, while I feel as I now do. It would
be asking God never to forgive me. I must forgive if I expect to be
forgiven.”
Then he left the chapel, sought out the person who had injured him, and
told him that he freely forgave him. After this he went back and finished
his prayer with the good bishop.
The lesson of forgiveness, is one lesson taught us by the crucifixion of
our Saviour.
The second lesson we are here taught is—_the lesson of duty to our
parents_.
When we think of Jesus hanging on the cross and bearing all the dreadful
pains of crucifixion, it seems to us that he must have been so fully
occupied with his own terrible sufferings as to have had no thought or
feeling for any one but himself. But it was not so. He did not forget
his duty to his mother even then. He saw her standing by his cross
weeping. Joseph, her husband, was no doubt dead. She would have no
one now to take care of her. John, the disciple whom Jesus loved, was
standing near his mother. Jesus looked at his mother, and told her to
consider John as her own son. Then he looked at John, and turning his
eye to the weeping Mary, he told John to treat her as his own mother.
And from that time John took the mother of Jesus to his own home and
took care of her, as if she had been his own mother. How thoughtful and
tender this was in Jesus! How much it was like the loving Saviour! And
how touchingly we may learn from this crucifixion scene the lesson of our
duty to our parents, and especially to our mothers! No child can ever
fully repay a faithful, loving mother for all that she has done. Let us
try to follow the example which Jesus set us from the cross about our
duty to our parents.
Let us look at some examples of those who have learned and practised this
lesson.
“The Polish Prince.” Here is a story of a Polish prince who had a very
good father. This young man was in the habit of carrying the picture of
his father in his bosom. And when he was tempted to do anything that was
wrong, he would take out this picture and look at it, saying, “Let me do
nothing that would grieve my good father.”
“Ashamed to Tell Mother.” Some boys were playing one day after school.
Among them was a little fellow whom his companions were trying to tempt
to do something wrong. “I can’t do it,” said he, “because I should be
ashamed to tell mother of it.”
“Well, but you needn’t tell her; and she won’t know anything about it.”
“But I should know all about it myself, and I’d feel mighty mean if I
wouldn’t tell mother!”
The boys laughed at him and said: “The idea of a boy running and telling
his mother every little thing! What a pity you weren’t a girl!”
“You may laugh about it as much as you please,” said the noble little
fellow, “but I’ve made up my mind never, as long as I live, to do
anything I would be ashamed to tell my mother.” That boy was a hero. He
was doing just what Jesus would have done in his place. Many a boy would
have been saved from ruin if he had only acted in this way.
“Honoring His Mother.” “Is there a vacant place in this bank, which I
could fill?” asked a boy with a glowing face, as he stood, with cap in
hand, before the president of the bank.
“There is none,” was the reply. “Were you told that we wanted a boy? Who
recommended you?”
“No one recommended me, sir,” calmly said the boy. “I only thought I
would see.”
There was an honesty and manliness about the lad which pleased the
president and led him to continue the conversation.
“You must have friends who could help you in getting a situation; have
you told them?”
With a saddened feeling, the boy said: “My mother told me it would be
useless to try without friends,” then apologizing for the interruption,
he turned to go away; but the gentleman detained him, saying: “Why don’t
you stay at school a year or two longer, my young friend, and then try to
get a situation?”
“I have no time for school,” was his reply. “I study at home, and keep up
with the other boys as well as I can.”
“Then you have had a place already,” said the officer, “why did you leave
it?”
“I have not left it, sir,” quietly answered the boy.
“But you wish to leave it. What is the matter?”
The boy was confounded for a moment—but presently said—“I want to do more
for mother, sir.”
These brave words of the boy touched the gentleman’s heart. And grasping
the hand of the little fellow he said:—“My boy, what is your name? and
where do you live? You shall have the first vacancy, for a boy, that
occurs in the bank. And in the meantime if you need a friend, come to me.
But now tell me frankly, why do you wish to do more for your mother? Have
you no father?”
The boy’s eyes filled with tears. He had to make an effort before he
could speak. But recovering himself directly he said:
“My father is dead: my brothers and sisters are dead. My mother and I are
left alone to help each other. But she is not strong, and I wish to do
all I can for her. It will please her, sir, that you have been so kind
to me, and I am very much obliged to you.” And then leaving his name and
residence with the gentleman, he made a bow and retired.
It was not long before the president of that bank called to see this
boy and his mother. He cheered their hearts by telling them that he
had a situation for the boy, who found a warm friend in him as long as
he lived. God’s blessing followed that boy, and he rose to occupy an
important position in the bank. And God’s blessing will always follow
those who learn and practise the lesson Jesus taught us on the cross—of
honoring our parents.
The third lesson we may learn from the crucifixion is about—_the power
and willingness of Jesus to save_.
This lesson is taught us by what took place between Jesus and the dying
thief, as they each hung upon the cross. Jesus was crucified between two
thieves. One of them cast reproaches upon Jesus, as he hung by his side.
The other rebuked his fellow thief; and then, turning his eyes towards
Jesus, said—“Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.” Jesus
at once heard and accepted his prayer, and told the thief that he should
be with him in paradise that day. This was one of the most wonderful
things that took place in connection with the crucifixion of our Saviour.
There were many wonders in it. It was wonderful that this dying thief
should have understood so clearly as he did the true character of Jesus.
It was wonderful that he should have had faith to trust the salvation
of his soul to one who was dying what seemed to be a criminal’s death.
It was wonderful that he should have repented truly of his sins, and
have prayed earnestly, as he did, while hanging on the cross. It was
wonderful that Jesus was able and willing to pardon him, to change his
heart, and make him fit for heaven at the last hour of his life. And
it was wonderful that Jesus was so ready to help and save another at
the very time when he was suffering so much himself. The apostle Paul
tells us that “he is able to save unto the _uttermost_, those who come
unto God through him.” Heb. vii: 25. There could not be a more striking
illustration of the power and willingness of Jesus to save sinners than
we have here in the case of the dying thief.
But illustrations of the same kind, though not so striking as this, do
often occur.
“The Cleansing Fountain.” There was once a man who had been a very
great sinner. He had long been in the habit of committing all sorts
of wickedness. But at last he grew weary of his evil ways, and wanted
to become a Christian. But he thought his sins were too great to be
forgiven. A Christian man talked and prayed with him. To encourage him he
repeated the first verse of the hymn, which says:
“There is a fountain filled with blood
Drawn from Immanuel’s veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood
Lose all their guilty stains.”
But the poor man shook his head, and said, “There’s nothing in that for
me. My sins are too great to be washed away.” Then his friend repeated
the second verse:
“The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there may I, though vile as he
Wash all my sins away.”
“That means _me_,” said the penitent sinner. He was encouraged to pray to
Jesus, and he found that he was able and willing to save him.
“Muckle Bess—A Hopeless Case.” This was the name of a woman who lived in
Scotland many years ago. Her history illustrates very well the point now
before us, and shows the power and willingness of Christ to save. She was
the daughter of a good, pious farmer. But she was led into evil company.
She left her father’s house, and became a most wicked and abandoned
woman. She was a terror to every one, even to the wicked people among
whom she had gone to live. At last she left them and spent her time in
wandering among the highlands, living like a wild beast, stealing what
she could get to eat, or to wear, and sleeping in barns or stables, in
sheepfolds, or in the dens and caves of the mountains. She used to roam
over the country begging, or stealing, cursing and swearing, and doing
all sorts of wicked things. Everybody was afraid of her. No one thought
of speaking to her, or even of praying for her; and every one looked upon
her case as hopeless.
At one time, when Muckle Bess had passed middle life, there was a great
religious interest among the churches in that part of the country.
On one Sabbath day they were holding services in the open air. A great
crowd of people had gathered round the minister. To the surprise of every
one, who should appear, at the outside of the crowd, but poor Bess.
Ragged, and wild-looking, she seemed just like the witch of Endor. The
women trembled at the sight of her, and the men thought she had only come
for mischief. But she sat quietly down on the grass and listened to the
preaching. It led her to think of her wicked life, and filled her heart
with anguish. Presently she rose to her feet, stretched out her brawny
arms, and cried in tones of agony that melted the hearts of all who heard
her, “Oh, thou God o’ my fathers; oh, thou God o’ bonnie Scotland, that
has been steeped in blood for thy name’s sake; look on me a wretched
sinner, who has scorned thee, and robbed thee, and defied thee! Hast thou
na’ promised cleansin’ to them whose sins are scarlet and crimson? And
whose sins are o’ deeper dye than mine? God, be merciful to me a sinner!”
And then she sank sobbing to the earth.
The stillness of death was over that congregation. The minister paused
till poor Bess’s sobs were no longer heard. Then he went on with the
sermon. He spoke of the love of Christ in being willing to suffer and die
for us. He told of his power and readiness to pardon and save all who
truly turn to him, and referred to the case of the dying thief to prove
the truth of what he said. This touched the heart of poor Bess, and led
her to feel that there might be hope, even for her. Then she rose to her
feet again, and cried, “Hear me, ye people o’ God! Hear me, ye angels
above! Hear me, ye powers o’ evil, while I vow afore ye all, that I will
e’en tak’ him at his word, and leave it there!”
From that time Muckle Bess became a changed woman. She went back to her
father’s house to live. But she occupied her time in going from house to
house, to tell the story of Jesus and his love. And the rest of her life
she spent in speaking kind words and doing kind acts to all about her.
She was never tired of telling, with tears of heartfelt gratitude, what
Jesus had done for her soul.
How beautifully this story illustrates the power and willingness of Jesus
to save!
The fourth lesson we learn from the crucifixion of Christ is about—_the
depth of his sufferings_.
The sufferings of his body were very great. When the Roman soldiers beat
him on the back with their rods, his flesh was torn, and made to quiver
with pain. Then his brow was torn by the sharp points of the crown of
thorns that were pressed upon his head. His hands and feet were torn by
the rough, cruel nails that were driven through them. And when the cross
was set upright in the earth, and his body was hanging by those nails,
who can tell the agony that must have been wringing every nerve in it?
Think of him as hanging thus for three or four dreadful hours! how long
the moments must have seemed that made up those hours! And if he tried
to change his position in the slightest degree, every movement must have
increased the torture he was feeling a hundred fold.
But this was not all: this was not half the suffering that Jesus endured.
If he had been feeling peaceful and comfortable in his mind while all
this was going on, he would not have cared much for these bodily pains.
But he had no such feeling. His mind or soul was enduring sufferings much
worse than those which the scourges, and the crown of thorns, and the
crucifixion, caused to his body. He said to his disciples as he entered
Gethsemane—“My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death.” This was
the sorrow he felt from thinking that his Father in heaven was angry with
him, and was looking at him as if he were a sinner. He had taken our sins
upon himself, and God was treating him as if he had really been a sinner.
He was bearing the wrath of God that we had deserved for our sins. The
apostle Paul tells us that—“He was made a curse for us.” Gal. iii: 13.
We cannot understand what Jesus had to feel when this curse came down
upon him. But it was this which wrung from him that bitter cry when the
darkness came around him, as he hung upon the cross,—“My God! My God! why
hast thou forsaken me?”
This made the sufferings that Jesus bore for us greater than we can tell,
and greater than we can understand.
This part of our subject we must leave without attempting any
illustration. There never was any sorrow or suffering like that which
he bore for us. I know of nothing that could be used as an illustration
here. This thought of the sufferings of Christ is like one of those
places in the ocean which is so deep that we cannot get a line long
enough to reach the bottom.
_And then the last lesson for us to learn from the crucifixion of Christ
is about—THE WONDERS OF HIS LOVE._
The apostle Paul tells us that the love of Christ—“_passeth knowledge_.”
Ephes. iii: 19. He says the riches of this love are “_unsearchable_.”
The love of Christ is like a mountain, so high that we cannot climb to
the top of it. It is like a valley, so deep that we cannot get down to
the bottom of it. It is like a plain, so broad that we cannot get to the
beginning of it, on the one hand, or to the end of it on the other. And
when we are looking at Jesus as he hangs upon the cross, we are in the
best position we ever can occupy for trying to understand the wonders of
his love. It was the love of Jesus which made him willing to come down
from heaven and “humble himself unto death, even the death of the cross.”
It was the love of Jesus which made him willing to be nailed to the
cross, and to hang there in agony and blood, till as the Te Deum says,
he had “overcome the sharpness of death, and had opened the kingdom of
heaven to all believers.” And as we stand before the cross of Christ, and
think of the depth of his sufferings, and the wonders of his love, we may
well ask in the language of the hymn:
“O Lamb of God! was ever _pain_,
Was ever _love_ like Thine?”
And it is this wonderful love of Jesus, in dying for us, which gives to
the story of the cross the strange power it has over the hearts of men.
[Illustration: Jesus Commendeth His Mother to John
And one of the malefactors which were hanged railed on him, saying, If
thou be Christ, save thyself and us. But the other answering rebuked him,
saying, Dost not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation?
And we indeed justly; for we receive the due reward of our deeds: but
this man hath done nothing amiss. And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember
me when thou comest into thy kingdom. And Jesus said unto him, Verily
I say unto thee, To-day shalt thou be with me in paradise.—Now there
stood by the cross of Jesus his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary
the _wife_ of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus therefore saw his
mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his
mother, Woman, behold thy son! Then saith he to the disciple, Behold
thy mother! And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own
_home_.—_St. Luke xxiii: 39-43; St. John xix: 25-27._
_NOTE BY THE ARTIST_
_Oft-repeated words are apt, for this very reason, to lose the force of
their significance; and the Cross of Calvary has furnished so frequent a
theme for Christian literature and Christian art, that it is by an effort
only, which we do well to exert, that the anguish of that lingering
death can even dimly be appreciated. The harrowing details have often
been recounted, and it is sufficient here to state in brief, that it
comprised, in one awful agony, well-nigh every pang which the human body
can be called upon to suffer; withholding for long the boon of death
itself, and even the pitiful mercy of isolation. For that “lifting up,”
by which artists have striven to indicate the loneliness of Jesus, is not
in accordance with the facts of the case. No timber in Palestine is of
sufficient size to furnish crosses such as are generally represented, and
we are forced instead to picture the patient sufferer during those many
fatal hours, as raised but slightly above the level of the ground, and
literally face to face with his tormentors._
69]
“The Influence of the Love of Christ.” We are so accustomed to hear of
the blessed Saviour, and his amazing love, that it often gets to be a
familiar story to us, and so it does not have its proper influence on
our hearts. But it is different with the missionaries of the gospel. When
they tell the heathen about Jesus, and his love, it is new to them, and
sometimes it has a strange effect upon them. Here is an instance of this:
The Rev. Mr. Nott, an English missionary in the South Sea Islands, was
reading the third chapter of the gospel of St. John to a number of the
natives. Presently he came to that wonderful statement in the 16th
verse, “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that
whosoever believeth on him should not perish but have everlasting life.”
When he heard this, one of the natives said, “What words were those you
read? Let me hear those words again.” The missionary read the verse
again, slowly and deliberately. On hearing them again, the native rose
and said, “Is that so? Can it be true that God loved the world, when the
world did not love him?” “It _is_ true,” said the missionary. “And this
is the message we bring you. If you believe in Jesus, and his love, it
will save your soul, and make you happy forever.” This wonderful love of
Jesus won that heathen’s heart, and he became a Christian.
This illustrates what the apostle Paul means when he says, “the love of
Christ constraineth us.” To constrain, means to draw. The power which
the gospel has to draw men’s hearts to God is in the love of Christ.
“The Power of Love.” A teacher was giving a lesson to a class of
children, on metals and minerals. They were told that gold could be
melted, and that all metals could be melted. Then the teacher asked: “Can
stones be melted?”
“Yes,” said a little boy; “stones are melted in volcanoes.”
“That is true; and now, can you tell me what can melt a heart as hard as
stone?”
After thinking for a few minutes, the little boy said: “I think it is God
only who can melt a hard heart.”
“You are right, my child; and now can you tell me how does God melt hard
hearts?”
“It is by his love.”
“You are right again, my child; it is the love of God that melts stony
hearts. And it is by giving his Son to die for us that God shows his
love.”
Here is a very striking story to show the power of the love of Christ in
melting a hard heart. We may call it:
“Hope for the Lost.” Charles Anderson was the son of a sailor. His
father was drowned at sea. Charles was left an orphan, in a seaport
town in England. Having no one to take care of him, he got in with bad
boys, and grew up an idle, careless, swearing, drunken young man. In a
drunken spree one night, he and his companions broke into a house and
robbed it. He was taken to prison, tried, and sentenced to seven years’
transportation to New South Wales. After his arrival there, thinking that
he was unjustly punished, he became sulky, obstinate, and rebellious.
He cared for no rules. He minded no orders, but did just as he pleased.
For his bad conduct he was flogged again and again. But punishment did
him no good. He grew worse and worse. He became so thoroughly bad and
unmanageable that at last he was sentenced to receive three hundred
lashes on his back, and to be chained for two years to a barren rock that
stood by itself in the middle of the harbor of Sydney. The wretched man
was fastened by his waist to this rock, with a chain twenty-six feet long.
He had irons on his legs and had hardly a rag to cover him. His only
bed was a hollow place scooped out in the rock. He had no other shelter
than a wooden lid, with holes bored in it. This was locked over him at
night and removed in the morning. If he had been a wild beast, instead
of a man, he could hardly have been treated worse. His food was pushed
to him once a day, in a box, with a long pole. Sometimes people going
by in boats, would throw him pieces of bread or biscuit. But no one was
allowed to go near him or speak to him. Thus he spent two long years, a
prisoner on that lonely rock. Of course, he grew no better, but worse,
under such treatment. When his time was out, and he was released from the
rock, he behaved so badly that very soon he was taken up again, and sent
a prisoner to Norfolk Island, to work in chains for the rest of his life.