It was November 19, 1863. Thousands were gathered for the dedication of the battlefield and cemetery of Gettysburg. The date of this dedication had been delayed for several months to allow the greatest orator of the age to complete his speech. Now at last, he would begin: "Standing beneath this serene sky . . . it is with hesitation that I raise my poor voice to break the eloquent silence of God and Nature. . . ." For two solid hours he broke that silence. Then he concluded: "That wheresoever throughout the civilized world the accounts of this great warfare are read, and down to the latest period of recorded time, in the glorious annals of our common country there will be no brighter page than that which relates THE BATTLES OF GETTYSBURG." (Edward Everett, "Gettysburg Oration," 19 November 1863.)

Have you ever heard those words before? I would imagine that most of you don't remember that speech at all. Instead, you probably remember a different speech delivered that day? The speech that would more likely remember started like this: "Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal." It was the "Gettysburg Address" delivered by President Abraham Lincoln. Ten sentences, 278 words. Only a few minutes long. Yet Lincoln's few words echo through time and our nation's consciousness.

It is impossible to calculate all the words preached, spoken, and written about the crucifixion of our Lord. Yet the seven words Jesus spoke from his cross speak louder than them all. Many of us may know our Savior's words by heart. In this season of Lent, we pause to ponder those words under this simple theme: "Seven Times He Spoke."

On this Ash Wednesday, we consider the first word Jesus spoke from his cross. When Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing," he spoke a word of forgiveness.

I.

Dutifully Sarah recited the words assigned to her as homework in confirmation class. "Take his words and actions in the kindest possible way." That, in part, is how Dr. Martin Luther explained God's Eighth Commandment: "You shall not give false testimony against your neighbor." But later that same morning, during recess time, little Johnnie accidentally bumped into Sarah and knocked her down on the playground. She scraped her knee and ran crying to the nearest adult. When the teacher asked Sarah what happened, the girl blurted out through her tears, "Johnnie pushed me down on purpose! He's always so mean to me!"

Together with our families and friends in worship, we pray: "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us." But how hard it is to make those words travel from our minds to our hearts!

Forgive my spouse who just said horrible mean things to me? No way! He doesn't deserve it.

She didn't mean it? Oh, come on, she knew exactly what she was saying. She doesn't deserve my forgiveness. Well, maybe if she comes to me begging on her knees. Maybe. Otherwise, she can just suffer.

Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." How could the Son of God be so forgiving? So kind?

Consider what they were doing! Earlier, Roman soldiers had pounded spikes through Christ's hands and feet and lifted his cross into the air. And even as Jesus spoke this first word, those soldiers were gambling for his clothes. They were even bold enough to do it beneath his cross. At his feet. Could I be so forgiving? Could you?

What were they doing? "People stood watching" (Lk 23:35). Was this Good Friday crucifixion a sideshow for some? Did others take little notice of the grim goings-on that day? Who among the crowds came forward to help? Who spoke in the Savior's defense? Not even the disciples! Could I be so forgiving of those who stood by and did nothing to help me? Could you?

What were they doing? The rulers, religious leaders, stooped as low as to sneer, "He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Christ of God" (v. 35). These were God's own servants-at least they were supposed to be-and now they were mocking God's chosen servant, the Christ. It doesn't get much lower than that. Could I forgive those who mocked me? Who hurt me? Could you? Or would we lash out in anger? Curse our enemies? Vow to get even?

During his public ministry, Jesus taught, "Love your neighbor as yourself." "Love your enemy." "Forgive seventy-seven times." On the cross, the first words from my Savior's mouth were "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." Your Savior and mine practiced what he preached. Perfectly. Selflessly. His word of forgiveness condemns my unforgiving heart, because I know I can't love and forgive the way he wants. All too often-and it hurts to admit this-I don't even want to. I don't even try.

It is my unforgiving spirit for which Jesus hung on his cross.

II.

But Jesus knew that, didn't he? He had to! After all, the Jesus who hung on Golgotha's cross is the Christ, the Son of God. He is holy. He is all-knowing. That means he could see us even before we were ever born! Before we held our first grudge. Before we ever plotted to get even with someone who hurt us. Jesus knew exactly what we are like, how unforgiving we can be. But he spoke this word of forgiveness anyway: "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." You see, Jesus spoke this word for you. He spoke it for me.

But Jesus did so much more than that, didn't he? He lived these words of forgiveness! He had to, if he wanted to send our sins away from the presence of his Holy Father. All the silver and gold in the world couldn't plunge our bitterness and backbiting into the depths of the sea. All our best intentions and halfhearted efforts at forgiving others couldn't earn the Father's forgiveness. Forgiveness could come no other way than through that Lamb of God, who served as your and my perfect substitute under God's holy law.

And so he loved even his enemies. And he forgave them. I wonder. How many hammer blows did it take to pound the nail through his wrist? And then the other? Seven? And then the feet? Another seven? Did they laugh as they did it? Yet Jesus prayed, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." "Take their words and actions in the kindest possible way."

How many times did passers-by stop and stare and then simply walk away without offering so much as a word of comfort? And how many times did the rulers sneer at him that day? How many times did they mock him? Seventy-seven times? And yet Jesus prayed, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." "Take their words and actions in the kindest possible way."

And how many times, in the next week, month, or year will you and I lapse back into our old sinful ways: harboring grudges, growing bitter and resentful, even plotting our revenge? How many times-even in our church will it happen that there is division? Harsh words spoken? Motives questioned? How many times will we refuse to forgive? Will it be seventy times seven? Yet Jesus prayed, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." "Take their words and actions in the kindest possible way." When Jesus spoke those words from his cross, he spoke them for you. He spoke them for me. He spoke them as our perfect substitute.

Because Jesus spoke this word of forgiveness, and because he meant it with all his heart, he stayed on his cross until he had paid in full the price required to purchase God's forgiveness for you and for me. You see, it wasn't enough for our Savior to be perfectly loving and forgiving in our place. He had to do something about our sinful record. Jesus took those horrible sins to his cross. To that awful place, he carried every one of our sins.

His blood. His suffering. His death. That was the price required to back up these words: "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

What more is there to say? Nothing but this: Thank you, dear Jesus, for speaking this word of forgiveness to one as unworthy as I. Your word of forgiveness is one that comforts my grateful heart. Amen.