Patience With the Faults of Others
LET me not require perfection in my brother till I am somewhat near it myself. O what a hypocrite I am to be enraged at faults in others that I cherish in myself; to call them sins in others, and in myself peculiarities! I frown upon their frowns as if my face were smiling. I am harsh with their harshness, exaggerate their exaggerations, and insincerely reprimand their falsehoods. I will no longer judge my brother; I will begin to judge myself. Shall I close my eyes to his grievous errors?—Yes, until I can open them upon my own sins. While the beam is in me, I will not play surgeon for their motes. Then, too, what love have I for men when a single fault in them can check its course? How shallow is it when the wind of criticism can make it muddy! How sluggish it must be when even their indifference can turn it from its course! Let me love others as I would have them love me. I am wrong to-day, but to-morrow I repent and forget it, and expect my dear ones to forget it, and to love just the same. So let me love them with a love that seeks excuse for their evil, rather than an increase of condemnation; with a love that is eager to forget, rather than tenacious to remember; with a love that goes more than half-way to meet repentance; that goes all the way, and pleads for it. O I fear that every bitter judgment of my brother’s faults, that all impatient anger at my brother when he sinned, has become stern condemnation of myself in heaven! For I that knew so well how another should live, why did I not live better myself? I that was so strict to mark iniquity in others, why was I so lax with my own grievous sins? Ah, forgive me, thou who didst wear the crown of thorns, and help me to forgive men when they only throw a bramble in my way. Be gracious to me, thou who didst love them as they nailed thee to the cross, and teach me to be patient when men but brush my garments rudely. Amen.—Anon.