142. The Prayer Of Our Savior From The Cross.
The Prayer Of Our Savior From The Cross.
“Helplessly, heavily— On the cheek that waxeth colder, Whiter ever—and the shoulder—”
The Prayer as recorded.—Luke 23:34. Where the government was laid, death is slowly creeping; but will the great heart still beating there be full of pity for a world, and show no pity for itself? Will it not unearth this cross? Is there no prayer to the Father that his own place be restored to him? Oh, no. Far above the voice of trembling, saddened nature, rises the prayer, Father, forgive them, above the taunts and jeers, above the contempt and scorn, these blessed words are heard.
“No rod, no sceptre, is Holden in his fingers pale—
They close instead upon the nail.” And still the prayer—words of mercy, words of hope to lost and ruined man. Oh, as we ponder over them, maybe they would drive from every heart each feeling of hatred, every thought but that of love to God and all his creatures. If those you love have turned coldly upon you, remember this prayer, “Father, forgive them;” they are the dying accents of a Savior who died to redeem those who hated him.
If for your tears of pity you have a frown of ingratitude, remember the precious words; if you look for sympathy, and meet with the heartless and unfeeling, still remember them; if you would lead the gay and thoughtless to the mercy- seat, and your endeavors are treated with bitterness and scorn, let your prayer be, Father, forgive them. Oh, maybe it is dearer, richer, holier than any on the sacred page; in it is the Christian’s joy, the Christian’s hope, for daily we sin against the pure and holy God; but above our call at the mercy-seat we hear the sweet words of a pleading intercessor, they are the never-dying echo of the prayer of the Savior from the cross, “Father, forgive them,” and every bowed spirit at the “throne of grace” makes new notes of joy from “the unworn string of an eternal worshiping.” “Father, forgive them,” is sounding yet above the song of seraphs, and the music of these words will never die away, till all the ransomed are gathered into their homes of light above. W ithout this prayer man would be eternally lost, no ray of hope would light up the dark, the fathomless abyss before him; but this prayer of a bleeding, dying Savior is his salvation. No sooner is our own knee bent in worship, than in accents of love and tenderness the words of Christ, our great intercessor, are heard in the prayer, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do;” know not, for they cannot conceive the depth of the smallest sin against infinite love and mercy; sin, that sent the Son of God to bleed and die that man’s ruined soul might be lifted to the clear, still air of heaven. Will you, then, be a prayerless being, when Christ is pleading for you? will you not pray for yourself? No matter what your situation among men, despised, and poor, and sick, and miserable, you may be sure that Jesus is pleading for you; your prayer, if sincere, will enter his ear. Give to him the homage of your heart, “render strong praise and benediction from your feeble, mortal lips,” for “incense-smoke out of a little censer may fill heaven.” At the mercy-seat God has given you a place; be there often, be there much, and whisper in the ears of others that Christ is there, and as you kneel together, in music sweeter than the ear hath heard, the echo of these words will linger in your hearts, “Father, forgive them.”