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The Forgiven Son

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Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Mar 4, 1913

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 40, No. 9.

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The Forgiven Son

The quaint saying of Jeremy Taylor, that “God fails not to sow blessings in long furrows,” has an illustration in the following narrative:
In the commencement season of 1857, a student of a classical and military school in New England was to have graduated with honors, but by some deviation from the rules of the school his record was impaired. A rebuke from his father angered the young man, and he vowed he would live at home no longer, and, uttering abusive language, left the house.
But the storm of passion was too violent to last long, and soon spent itself. The better nature came back, and, entering the room he had so rudely left, he threw his arms around his father’s neck, and said: “Father, I’ve done a very wicked thing. I’m very sorry I have abused you so. It was not your loving son that did it. I was angry. Can you forgive me? I shall never again do such a thing.”
The quick embrace and a father’s kiss removed the agony of guilt from that broken heart. Never since that hour—both are living to-day—has an unkind word escaped his lips. He nurses his aged parents as tenderly as they used to him.
For several years this event, so full of interest at the time, had no other meaning than an occasional family reminiscence. But as now seen there was a divine intention in it, reaching into future years. In this school incident there was the illustration, and apparently the only one, that would reach the heart of a dying officer, and rescue both body and soul from the wreck of a great battle. So Christ’s love and foresight “shape our ends” and sow our “blessings in long furrows,” as the following will show.
A few years later found this young man in the West, thoroly trained in business and military tactics. He went to the front at the call of his country, as captain of a company of his choice. He was wounded in that fearful battle of Gettysburg, and on the sixteenth day after, his father found him. Gangrene had followed amputation of the right leg just below the knee, and had nearly reached the fatal death mark. He was given up to die. There was no hope remaining. Life was nearly gone. The embrace he gave his father was feeble. His voice was that of one about to give up life. “Dear father, how glad I am to see you once more; you must do the talking now. I’m almost gone.”
Returned from a short walk with the surgeon, the colonel asked his father to sit down by him.
“Have you been talking with the surgeon?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say about me?”
“He says you must die.”
“How long does he think I can live?”
“Not more than four days, and you may go at any moment.”
“Father, you must not let me die now. I am afraid to die. I’m not prepared to die. If I must, do tell me how. I know you can, for I’ve heard you do it for others.”
There was no time or place for tears. There was work to be done, and done at once. There was no hesitation. Instantly the Spirit said to the father, “Tell him of the school incident. That is what he wants; I have held it in reserve for this moment.”
“My son, you feel guilty, do you not?”
“Yes; that makes me afraid to die.”
“You want to be forgiven, don’t you?”
“Yes; can I be?”
“Certainly.”
“Can I know it before I die?”
“Certainly.”
“Do make this so plain that I can get hold of it,” raising his feeble arm and closing the hand as if to grasp it.
“Do you remember the school incident years ago?”
“Yes, very distinctly. I was thinking it all over a few days ago, as I thought of your coming.”
“Do you remember how you came back into the house, and, throwing your arms around your father’s neck, you asked him to forgive you?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say to you?”
“He said, ‘I forgive you with all my heart,’ and kissed me.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Certainly; I never doubted his word.”
“Did that take away your guilt?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“Were you happy at home again?”
“Yes; more than ever before.”
“That is just the thing for you to do now. Tell Jesus you are sorry that you have abused Him, and ask Him to forgive you, just as simply and sincerely as you did me. He says He will forgive, and you must take His word for it, just as you did mine.”
“Why, father, is that the way to become a Christian?”
“I don’t know of any other.”
“That is very simple and plain; I can get hold of that.”
Very much exhausted by this effort, the colonel turned his head upon his pillow to rest. The father, having done his work for the dying son, sank into a chair and gave way to a flow of tears, expecting soon to close his son’s eyes in death. That painful suspense was not to last long. It could not. It did not. A change had taken place. A new life had come to that soul. Its first utterance changed the tears to joy.
“Father, you need not cry any more. I don’t want you should. I want you should sing. It’s all right with me now; I’m happy; Jesus has forgiven me. I’ve told Him how sorry I am that I have abused Him so; and He has forgiven me. I know He has, for He says He will, and I have taken His word for it just as I did yours. I’m not afraid to die now; I don’t think I shall. I feel the stirring of a new life within me, and with it comes the feeling of new life in my blood. I want you to sing that good old hymn we used to sing when a boy at family prayers: “When I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I’ll bid farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes.”
Immediately the life current, which was rapidly ebbing away, began to flow back, the pulse beating at the death rate began to lessen, the eyes to brighten, the countenance to glow with new blood, the voice to be natural, the sadness of that afternoon to give place to cheerfulness and hope. The surgeon, coming in as was his wont every day to watch the rapid progress of the dreaded gangrene, put his fingers upon the pulse, and said with great surprise: “Colonel, your pulse is wonderfully changed; you look better. What has happened?”
“Well,” replied the colonel, “Father has shown me how to be a Christian, and I have done it. I’m better; I’m going to get well. I’ve asked Jesus to let me live to take care of father, mother, and sister, and to serve my country, for which I have given my leg, and well nigh my life.”
On dressing the wound next morning the whole mass of rotten flesh fell to the floor—the gangrene was arrested—its work ended. The surgeons, throwing up their arms, exclaimed: “Great God! this is a miracle. God only could do this!”
Years have come and gone. This young officer, thus rescued from the wreck of war, still lives. In that school incident in 1857 was foreseen the saving of a valuable life—thanks to sovereign grace. That life has been an important factor in the political, religious, and domestic history of his day. Positions of trust have been freely given and honorably held by him. His official career has been marked by efficiency, integrity, a high sense of honor, a quick apprehension, and a ready decision of official questions, fairness, impartiality, general popularity, and official success. The church knows the influence of his membership and support. In his home, blessed with the wife whom God had prepared for him, a large family has been reared to a Christian life, and all of suitable age are gathered into the church. The morning prayer has held the same place as the morning meal. God grant that such a life may be spared for many years to come.
The lesson of this narrative is that, very generally, the way to become a Christian is indistinct and confused. Ministers should make it so plain that men can get hold of it. It is so simple that “wayfaring men, the fools, shall not err therein.”—New York Observer.