“MY Lords, it is my act, my hand, my heart. I beseech your Lordships to have mercy upon a broken reed!”
He who uttered these self-abasing words was one whose name was known and honored, not only in this country, his native land, but also throughout all Europe. Of immense learning, and vast worldly wisdom, he had risen step by step till he had reached one of the highest positions it was possible for any man, who was not of royal blood, to attain. He was the Lord Chancellor of England. His name was Francis, Baron Verulam, Viscount St. Albans, better known now by his simpler name of Lord Bacon.
At the time of which I write, he was between sixty and seventy years of age, and had reached a point where his glorious progress was stopped. He, a great judge, had been charged with one of the greatest crimes a judge could be guilty of — bribery; that is, taking sums of money from those whose causes were to be tried by him. This was not simply in one or two cases; no less than twenty-three separate and distinct offenses were laid to his charge.
Though Lord Bacon admitted having received sums of money, he declared that he took them simply as “presents,” and that he never perverted justice. To use his own words, spoken at a later date, “he was the justest judge that ever was.”
The day rapidly drew on in which he was to be impeached before the House of Lords. The King (James 1), advised him to plead guilty, and promised to do all in his power to lighten the sentence. In consequence of this Lord Bacon sent a confession.to the Peers, which has been called by a great historian, “an artful and pathetic composition.” In it Lord Bacon admitted having received the money, but excused it in so many ways, that as a confession it was worthless. The Peers were not satisfied with this, and sent to Lord Bacon a copy of every charge against him. To this he replied, confessing his offense, and throwing himself entirely upon the mercy of the Lords. “Upon advised consideration of the charges,” said he, “descending into my own conscience, and calling my memory to account so far as I am able, I do plainly and ingenuously confess that I am guilty of corruption, and do renounce all defense.”
There was every reason to believe this to be a true and real confession. One point remained to be settled. Had Lord Bacon himself signed the document? A number of the Peers went, on behalf of all, to inquire. They found him in great agony of mind and in deep dejection. “My Lords,” he exclaimed, “it is my act, my hand, my heart! I beseech your Lordships to have mercy upon a broken reed.”
This was enough. But it was not the part of their Lordships to exercise mercy. They sat as Judges. The next day sentence was passed, and Bacon was condemned to pay a fine of £40:000; to be imprisoned in the Tower during the King’s pleasure; to be banished from Court, and never more to sit in Parliament. It was a hard sentence, but Bacon afterward said, “It was the justest censure that ever was.”
But the King remembered mercy, and was true to his promise, that upon confession he would lighten the sentence. In two days Bacon was set at liberty; the fine was forgiven; he was next allowed to appear in the King’s presence; and at last was summoned to Parliament, though age, and perhaps shame, kept him away. More than this, a sum of £1,200 a year was allowed him by the Government. Thus all his punishment was removed, and more than mercy was shown.
This interesting incident in the history of a great man calls to mind a moment of still greater interest in the history of every soul that has received forgiveness of sins. I speak of the moment David so touchingly refers to in Psalms 32. “I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord; and Thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin.” It was impossible that mercy could have been shown to Lord Bacon while his crime was unconfessed. But having confessed his guilt, the King could graciously pardon the guilty judge. It may be that this paper will be read by one who really longs for the knowledge of sins forgiven. Let me ask such an one, Have you ever been to God with confession of sins, taking with true humility the only place a sinner ought to take, a suppliant for mercy, “renouncing all defense, plainly confessing that you are guilty?” If you have never done this, do not be surprised at a long-continued state of misery. There is nothing new under the sun, and David himself will tell us of a similar experience. “When I kept silence, my bones waxed old, through my roaring all the day long.” No confession — no relief.
It is of the first importance that when confession of sin is made it should be real. The first “artful” confession of Bacon was rejected as insufficient. Will God receive less than the heart-felt truth? Yet how many thousands tell God, week after week, that they have erred and strayed from His ways like lost sheep, they have followed too much the devices and desires of their own hearts, they have offended against His holy laws, and they beseech Him to have mercy upon them, miserable offenders! But of how many of these is it also true, that though their “lips went,” their “hearts did stay behind.” It is a most solemn thing to say with our lips, “It is true,” to God’s word about ourselves, and in our hearts to deny it: to sue for mercy with our tongues, and think within ourselves that we are not as other men are. Nor is it any confession if we excuse ourselves; it only deserves that name when one can truly say it is “my act, my hand, my heart.” It may not express itself in well-chosen words; nor does God look for these things, but the groan of a contrite heart He will not despise. The beating upon the breast, the cry, “God be merciful to me, a sinner,” caused more joy in the presence of the angels of God than the confident sentences of the Pharisee.
With him who is of a contrite and humble spirit, God, the High and Lofty One who inhabiteth eternity, makes His dwelling. So He declares through His servant Isaiah (ch. 57:15). By Elihu He declared that “if any say, ‘I have sinned, and perverted that which was right, and it profited me not;’ He will deliver his soul from going into the pit, and his life shall see the light.” Job 33:2727He looketh upon men, and if any say, I have sinned, and perverted that which was right, and it profited me not; (Job 33:27). Again, when Isaiah saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and His train filling the temple, his own state as a sinner was so well seen by him in the presence of the glory that he cried, “Woe is me! for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips! “What is the response? A seraph takes a live coal from the altar, and with it touches Isaiah’s mouth, saying, “Lo, this hath touched thy lips, and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin purged.” David, Elihu and Isaiah — all show by word, by example, or by both, that blessing and forgiveness follow upon true confession to God.
Before the coming of Christ, in Old Testament times, God proved Himself a gracious God, The contrite, the weary, the meek, were ever partakers of, His goodness. When Christ came — He who was God manifest in the flesh — even a fuller display of mercy and grace was made. I call your attention to one moment in the life of the Lord Jesus. He was despised. The nation, like fickle children, cared neither for the severity of John, nor for the graciousness of Christ. The wondrous works His love delighted in had not moved the affections of Israel. He was rejected, and therefore pronounced the solemn, solemn woes upon those cities — Chorazin, Bethsaida, Capernaum — where His mighty works had been done. Then — “at that time” — He turned to heaven, and thanked the Father that though these things had been hidden from the wise and prudent, He had revealed them unto babes. And all things were delivered to Him of the Father. In the consciousness of this power, and having known what it was to be weary, He spake to the laboring and the heavy laden, He bade them come to Him, and He would give them rest. For such a class I write: Will you go to Him? and in the presence of such a power, which is not against you, but for you — in the presence of such a love, you will find no difficulty in unburdening a troubled heart. And you will prove the word of God concerning Christ to be true: “a bruised reed will He not break.”
But remember, it is not your confession which merits forgiveness. Through the work of Christ upon the cross, and for His sake, God delights in blessing.
W. J.