Sermons From Saintly Deathbeds No. 783
A sermon
(No. 783)
Delivered on Lord's-day Morning, DECEMBER 1, 1867, by
C.H.SPURGEON,
At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington
"And when Jacob had made an end of commanding his sons, he gathered up
his feet into the bed, and yielded up the ghost, and was gathered unto
his people."- Genesis 49:33.
JACOB did not yield up the ghost until he had delivered the last
sentence of admonition and benediction to his 12 sons. He was immortal
till his work was done. So long as God had another sentence to speak by
him, death could not paralyze his tongue. Yet, after all, the strong
man was bowed down, and he who had journeyed with unwearied foot full
many a mile, was now obliged to gather up his feet into the bed to die.
His life had been eventful in the highest degree, but that dread event
now came upon him which is common to us all.
He had deceived his blind father in his youth, but no craftiness of
Jacob could deceive the grave. He had fled from Esau, his angry
brother, but a swifter and surer foot was now in pursuit from which
there was no escape. He had slept with a stone for his pillow and had
seen Heaven opened, but he was to find that it was only to be entered
by the ordinary gate. He had wrestled with the Angel at the brook
Jabbok, and he had prevailed–but this time he was to wrestle with an
angel against whom there was no prevalence. He had dwelt in Canaan in
tents, in the midst of enemies and the Lord had said, "Touch not My
anointed, and do My prophets no harm," and therefore he had been secure
in the midst of a thousand ills.
But now he must fall by the hand of the last enemy, and feel the great
avenger's sword. It was appointed to the Patriarch to die as meaner men
must do. From the wording of the text it appears very clearly that
Israel did not dispute the irrevocable decree, nor did his soul murmur
against it. He had long before learned that few and evil were his days,
and now that they came to an end he joyfully accepted their conclusion.
He was not like a bull dragged to the slaughter, but he gathered up his
feet by a voluntary act of submission, and then, bowing his head, he
yielded up the ghost. Like a man weary with a long day's toil, he was
glad to rest and therefore most cheerfully he attended to the great
Father's summons, and was peacefully gathered unto his people and his
God.
As this is to be our lot by-and-by, we may contemplate in our
meditations the departure of this mighty man and ask that our death may
be like his, that we, also, may finish our course with joy. May we–
"So live, that when our summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan that moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His place appointed by the just decree,
That you, sustained and soothed, approach your grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
Around him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." It is remarkable, my
Brothers and Sisters, that the Holy Spirit has given us very few
deathbed scenes in the Book of God. We have very few in the Old
Testament, fewer still in the New–and I take it that the reason may be
because the Holy Spirit would have us take more account of how we live
than how we die–for life is the main business.
He who learns to die daily while he lives will find it no difficulty to
breathe out his soul for the last time into the hands of his faithful
Creator. If we fight the battle well, we may rest assured of the
victory. If, enlisted under the banner of Truth, resting in Jesus
Christ, we finish our fight and keep the faith, we need not fear but
that our entering into rest will be a blessed one. Perhaps the Holy
Spirit would also show us that it is not so much to our profit to have
our feelings harrowed by recitals of dying experiences.
Certain preachers, in their sermons, are very fond of extorting tears
from their hearers by dragging before them the funerals of
friends–painting the deathbed scenes of parents, unwrapping the
winding sheets of little infants–and exhibiting the skeletons of
buried relatives. This may be of some use–preachers may have used
these scenes to work through the natural affections to something
deeper. But this is not the way the Holy Spirit has selected. If the
teachers of the Gospel will study the Holy Spirit's model they will
learn that we are to strike at conscience rather than at the natural
affections, and teach men holy principles rather than remind them of
their sorrows.
From the great reticence of the Holy Spirit in this matter, I learn
that He would not have us be abundant to superfluity in such things.
Moreover, it may be suggested that the Holy Spirit has given us few of
these deathbed scenes on paper because, being present with us, He
presents them to us frequently in actual flesh and blood, visible to
our eyes and audible to our ears. We are to look upon the Presence of
the Holy Spirit in the witness of dying men as, in some sense, the
continuance of the Holy Spirit's instructive authorship. He has
finished yonder Book written with paper and ink, but He is writing
fresh stanzas to the glory of God in the deaths of departing saints,
who, one by one, are taken from the evil to come singing the Lord's
praises as they depart.
If this is not so, at any rate it is true that we have abundant
testimonies to the faithfulness of God in the departure of those who,
having lived by faith on earth, are now gone to see with their own eyes
the King in His beauty, and the land which is very far off. During the
past week, as most of you know, God has seen fit to remove from the
midst of His Church, a great man and a prince in Israel, a man greatly
beloved–one of the excellent of the earth–an amiable, zealous,
talented, godly, and valiant man esteemed personally wherever he was
known and honored officially wherever his ministry was enjoyed.
Dr. James Hamilton was one of the most fragrant flowers in the Lord's
garden of sweet flowers to which the Beloved so often comes to gather
lilies. He was not a Boanerges–not after the quality of Knox and
Luther–but a Barnabas, a son of consolation, a man full of faith and
of the Holy Spirit. He had a singular elegance and refinement of style
in which metaphors the most novel and charming abounded, like golden
grains in Africa's sunny fountains! In his utterances he gave forth a
pleasant sound, as of one that plays well upon a goodly instrument. He
was always musical with harmony of poetic illustration, but always
musical with the notes of Christ–always sweet with the perfume of the
atoning blood. He was a cedar in our Lebanon–bur alas, the axe has
laid low his glories.
He was a gem of purest ray serene, but he shines no longer in the
coronet of the Church below. He was a nursing-father to full many of
the Lord's little ones, and now we mourn because they lack his
help–may they find in God's Spirit an abundant supply of
all-sufficient Grace. Well, he is gone from us–and while men are sad,
there is joy beyond the skies! The loss of earth is the gain of Heaven,
and if the Church has somewhat less below, she has more above. I think
I see him at this moment borne upward to his final resting place as a
stone squared and polished, to be built in the wall of the Temple of
the New Jerusalem! Do you hear the shouts of, "Grace, grace unto it"?
There is a fresh jewel this moment in the Redeemer's crown! Heaven is
lustrous with the beauty of another blood-washed robe! Another voice is
added to the everlasting song, another shout to the hallelujahs of
those who feast at the eternal banquet! The Church has lost
nothing–she has only seen one of her valiant captains pass through the
flood to join the triumphal band upon the other side. And as surely as
the Church is one, she loses none of her members–as certain as it is
the same Church triumphant and militant–so certain is it that Christ
loses none of His people, and the Church really none of her strength by
death.
The decease of our friend James Hamilton, in connection with another
circumstance of a different character which has happened to me this
week, led my meditations very much to saintly deathbeds, and I have
therefore fastened upon this occasion to talk with God's people
concerning their passage out of this world unto the Father. " 'Tis
greatly wise," says the poet, "to talk with our last hours." Sacred
prudence bids us be familiar with the winding-sheet and the grave,
which must soon be our most intimate acquaintances. Let us sojourn
awhile upon the borders of the land unknown, to be sobered, at least,
if not sanctified.
First, let us consider the departure of great saints, and of God's
ministers in particular–what do these teach us? Secondly, the various
modes of their departure–what do these teach us, also?
I. First, THE DEPARTURES OF GOD'S SAINTS, AND ESPECIALLY OF HIS
MINISTERS–WHAT ARE THEIR LESSONS? The first that lies upon the surface
is this, "Be you also ready, for in such an hour as you think not the
Son of Man comes." When in the forest there is heard the crash of a
falling oak, it is a sign that the woodsman is
abroad, and every tree in the whole company may tremble lest soon the
sharp edge of the axe should find it out. We are all mortal, and the
death of one should remind us that death lurks hard by us all.
I trust we do not, by often hearing of death, become callous to it. May
we never be like the birds in the steeple which can build their nests
when the bells are ringing and sleep quietly when the merry marriage or
solemn funeral peals are startling the air. May we regard death as the
most solemn of all events and be sobered by its approach. In the old
wars of the Danish kings there is a legend that when Harold was
contending with his brother Harequin, an arrow was seen flying in the
air, quivering as if it scarcely knew its way, and was searching for
its victim. Then all of a sudden it pierced the leader's forehead.
A little imagination may picture us as being in the same position as
the Danish lord–the arrow of death is flying for awhile above us, but
its descent is sure and its wound is fatal. It ill behooves us to laugh
and sport while life hangs on a thread. The sword is out of its
scabbard–let us not trifle! It is furbished and the edge sparkles with
fearful sharpness– let us prepare ourselves to meet it! He who does
not prepare for death is more than an ordinary fool–he is a madman!
When the voice of God is calling to us through the departures of
others, if we do not listen to the warning we may expect Him to follow
the rejected word of counsel with a blow of wrath, for He often strikes
down right terribly those who would not listen to His reproving
messages.
Be ready, ministers! See to it that your Church is in good order, for
the grave shall soon be dug for you! Be ready, parents! See that your
children are brought up in the fear of God, for they must soon be
orphans! Be ready, men of business, you that are busy in the world! See
that your affairs are correct–see that you serve God with all your
heart–for the days of your terrestrial service will soon be ended and
you will be called to give account for the deeds done in the body,
whether they are good or whether they are evil. O may we all prepare
for the tribunal of the great King with a care which shall be rewarded
with the commendation, "Well done, good and faithful servant."
Secondly, the deaths of righteous men should teach us their value.
According to the old saying, we never know the value of things till we
lose them. I am sure it is so with holy men. Let me urge young people
here to prize their aged godly parents, to treat them kindly, to make
their last days happy because they cannot expect to have them long on
earth to receive their tokens of affectionate gratitude. Those who have
Christian parents little know how great is the privilege they enjoy
until they become parents themselves and learn the cares and sorrows of
the mother's office and the father's state.
Are any of you favored with friends who have given you instruction in
the faith, whose goodly words and holy examples have helped you on the
way to Heaven? Thank God much for such good company! Be much with them,
treasure up the pearls which drop from their lips. They must soon be
gone–value them today as you will do when they are departed. Are you
privileged with an earnest, faithful, ministry? Do you hear the Gospel
lovingly and honestly proclaimed? Then bless God every day of your life
for that faithful ministry. All ministry is not such–all people are
not in such a case. Be grateful, then, and show your gratitude by
giving earnest heed to the things that are spoken, lest by any means
you should let them slip and so should miss the great salvation through
lack of earnestness.
I do beseech you, dear Friends, value the Christian ministry! I ask no
honor for men, but I do ask honor for the office which Paul said he
would magnify. And wherever you see that God has sent an ambassador,
and that His ambassador is praying for you, in Christ's stead, to be
reconciled to God, turn not away from his entreaties! Close not your
ears to his persuasions, but honor the man's office–pay homage to the
King who sent him by yielding up your heart in obedience to the Word
which is delivered to you.
Furthermore, I think the departures of great saints and those who have
been eminent teach us to pray earnestly to God to send us more of
such–a lesson which, I am quite certain, needs to be inculcated often.
There is sadly little prayer in the Church for the rising ministry. You
pray for those who are your pastors, and rightly so. "Brethren, pray
for us." You cannot do us a better favor. But there is so little prayer
that God would raise up ministers! Know you not that as surely as the
blood of Christ bought the redemption of His people, as surely as the
resurrection of Christ was for the justification of the saints, so
surely the ascension of Christ was for the distribution of ministry
among the sons of men?
Know you not the passage, "He ascended up on high, He led captivity
captive, and gave gifts unto men and He gave [these were the gifts]
some, Apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some,
pastors and teachers"? Now, you plead the precious blood when you would
obtain pardon. You plead the resurrection and you receive
justification. But
how seldom do you plead the ascension, so as to obtain a faithful
ministry? Parts of Christendom are becoming terribly deficient in
ministry. I have been told, and I have read in the literature of
America, that in many parts of the United States one-third of the
Churches are devoid of pastors. Believers are struggling and striving
after ministers but cannot find them. There must have been, in that
case, a failure in the prayer, "Lord, send forth laborers into the
harvest."
And I should not at all wonder if such a case should happen to England,
for I see a dreadful lethargy in the hearts of many of God's people as
to the work of praying for preachers and assisting in training them. In
olden times, if any men showed the slightest ability in speech, the
saints sought such out and tried to instruct them, as Aquila and
Priscilla. When they found Apollos, a man eloquent and mighty in the
Scriptures, they took him and instructed him further. And Paul, when he
saw that Timothy was an apt scholar, instructed him further in the
faith. Our blessed Lord not only preached the Gospel, but founded a
college in which He had 12 students (and more than that), who
constantly went about with Him, learning from His example and ministry
how themselves to become teachers of others.
But now, indeed, there are wiseacres who talk about "man-made
ministers" and despise all attempts to assist our youth to become
qualified in the testimony of the Truth of God. May the Lord teach them
reason and give them common sense, but let no Christian give one single
particle of heeding to their prattling. Let it be our earnest endeavor,
both by prayer and every other means, to seek to obtain from God a
succession of earnest, faithful, qualified ministers, for, say what you
will, it is upon the ministry that God shall send you that which much
of the success of the Church must depend.
Those sects which pretend to do without a special ministry (and it is
usually a transparent pretense), may prosper for a little while. Their
setting up every disciple to be a teacher suits the natural pride of
the human heart and Christian men, being grossly deceived, yield to it
for a little while. But I know that not one single one of these
communities can endure throughout a generation in vigorous existence.
With a spasm of excitement and a flush of zeal, they grow awhile–
fattening upon those whom they can decoy from other churches–and then
they dwindle away to nothing, or divide into little knots, each one
agreed in hating the other most fervently. What is everybody's business
is nobody's business, and since there is no man set to see after souls,
no man does see after them. And the whole flock becomes scattered for
lack of a shepherd, who, in God's hand, might have kept them together.
Faithful servants of the living God, as you prize the Church and its
ordinances, strive with God that as He takes one by one of His servants
away He would send us others that the Church may never lack her
standard-bearers, and the flock of God never be destitute of pastors
after God's own heart. Pray seven times each day that God may keep
alive the name and glory of Christ in the land by faithful teachers of
His Truth!
Yet there is a valuable Truth on the other side. We desire always to
look at both sides of a question. The taking away of eminent saints
from among us should teach us to depend more upon God, and less upon
human instrumentality. I was reading, yesterday, the dying prayer of
Oliver Cromwell and one sentence in that man of God's last breaths
pleased me exceedingly. It was to this effect, I think. I have copied
out the words, "Teach those who look too much on Your instruments to
depend more upon Yourself." Brave old Oliver was a man upon whom the
whole nation rested. He could say with David, "The earth and all the
inhabitants thereof are dissolved: I bear up the pillars of it."
In a time of terrible anarchy, when men had become fierce with
fanatical prophesies and wild with political passions, Oliver
Cromwell's iron hand restored peace and kept a tumultuous land in
order. And now, when he would be worst missed and could very ill be
spared, he must depart, and this is his prayer–"Teach them to depend
less upon Your instrument, and more upon Yourself."
You may have observed that frequently, when a man is in the zenith of
his power, and people have said, "That is the man who of all others we
could least afford to lose," that very man has been taken away. That
special light has been quenched. That particular pillar has been
removed. The Lord would have all the glory given unto His own name. He
has said it, said it often in a voice of thunder, but men will not hear
it–"All power belongs unto God." He will honor and bless an
instrumentality, for that is His mode of working, but He will not
divide the crown with the most honored agency. He will have all the
glory redound unto Himself–and by frequently breaking up His battle
axes and weapons of war He teaches His Church that He can fight with
His own bare arms and win the victory Himself without any instrument of
warfare.
Coming back, however, to the old thought–do you not think that the
departure of eminent saints should teach each one of us to work with
more earnestness and perseverance while we are spared? One soldier less
in the battle, my Breth-
ren–then you must fill up the vacancy–you who stand next in the ranks
must close up, shoulder to shoulder, that there be no gap. Here is one
servant the less in the house–the other servants must do more work. It
is but natural for us to argue so, because we wish the Master's work to
be done, and it will not be done without hands. If we do not preach the
Gospel, angels will not preach it! If we do not win souls for God, we
must not expect cherubim and seraphim to engage in this Divine
employment. Somebody must do it, and, since we would have all done that
can be done, you and I must do the more when helpers are removed!
There is one hand less–we must stretch out our hands more often to
execute the sacred work. Behold, a reaper falls in the corner of the
field and all the harvest must be gathered in before the season is
past! Brothers, sharpen your sickles, gather up your strength, toil
more hours in the day, throw more strength into your toil–above all,
pray for a greater blessing upon what is done! If there is less bread,
then we must have a larger benediction to multiply it, to make it
sufficient for the tens of thousands! If there are fewer laborers, we
must ask the Master to give those laborers more strength, that the work
may still be done and nothing be marred for lack of effort.
I wish I had the strength, this morning, mental and physical combined,
to urge this upon you as I have strived to urge it upon myself. I have
sought before the Lord that He would teach me to live an active,
earnest, laborious, heavenly life. Very few of us understand what life
is. Baxter at Kidderminster, from morning to night spending and being
spent for the Master's service! Whitfield, all over England and
America, toiling and laboring without the thought of rest, instant in
season and out of season! These are the men we should emulate. But,
alas, we do a little and then we fold our hands with ridiculous
self-satisfaction. Now and then we arouse ourselves to something like
zeal–and then we fall back into a state of carelessness.
It ought not to be! With diligence and perseverance we ought to live as
having death in view and the near approach of the time when the night
comes where no man can work. I must leave those lessons with you. I
cannot enforce them. Only the Holy Spirit can.
II. Come with me to the second part of my discourse. Much may be
learned from the MODES OF DEPARTURE of God's servants. All Believers
fall asleep in Jesus and in Him they are all saved. The precious blood
has washed them. The hands of Christ keep them. The earnest of the
Spirit is with them and the everlasting gates are opened to receive
them. But unto them all there is not ministered the same abundant
entrance into the kingdom. Neither do all their faces shine with those
gleams of glory which rest upon the highly favored.
To some of God's own children the dying bed is a Bochim, a place of
weeping. It is melancholy when such is the case, and yet it is often so
with those who have been negligent servants. They are saved, but so as
by fire–they struggle into the Port of Peace. Their entrance is like
that of a weather-beaten vessel which has barely escaped the storm. It
enters into harbor leaking so terribly as to be ready to
founder–without her cargo–for she has thrown that overboard to escape
the waves. Her sails are torn to ribbons, her masts gone by the board,
barely able to keep afloat. Thousands enter into Glory as Paul and his
companions in peril landed at Melita–some on boards, and some on
broken pieces of the ship. All come safe to land, but it is as it were
by the skin of their teeth.
In the dying beds of some Believers that text is sadly illustrated, "If
the righteous scarcely are saved." We have known them lying on the
brink of eternity, bemoaning themselves after this fashion–"God has
forgiven me, but how can I forgive myself? I am saved, but, oh, that I
had made a profession of religion more plainly and boldly! Would God
that I had not been so slow in serving my Master! I have prayed so
little, given so little, done so little. I am a most unprofitable
servant. Woe is me, for I have been busy here and there, and have
forgotten my life's work. I have made money, but have won no jewels for
Christ. I have taken care of my family, but alas, I have done next to
nothing for the cause of Christ.
"I shall have no means of serving the cause of God when I enter Heaven.
I cannot then succor the poor, feed the hungry, or clothe the naked or
send the Gospel to the ignorant. I might have done much when I was in
health and strength, but now I can do little or nothing for I am weak
and languishing upon this bed. Would to God that my Sabbaths had
profited me more, and that I had walked more in nearness to God." Such
dolorous heart-breaking confessions have we heard, varied occasionally
by the lament, "Would to God I had brought up my children better, for
now I am obliged to say with David, 'My house is not so with God,'
though I know that He has made with me an Everlasting Covenant, ordered
in all things and sure."
Many a dying pillow has been wet with the penitential tears of saints
who have, then, fully seen their formerly unobserved shortcomings and
failures and laxities in the family, in the business, in the Church and
in the world. Brethren, it is beautiful to see the repentance of a
dying saint–travel far as you may, you will not readily behold a more
comely spectacle. I have seen it, and have breathed the prayer, "Lord,
give me a humble and contrite spirit, like that which I see before me,
and help me now to feel the like brokenness of heart."
Yet at the sight of such instances it has struck me that the fruit,
though precious, was scarcely seasonable. It must be acceptable to God
for He never rejects repentance anywhere, but yet a brighter state of
soul would have glorified Him more in dying moments. We regret to see
mourning of soul as the most conspicuous feature in a departing
Brother. We desire to see joy and confidence clearly manifested at the
last. We are glad to see contrition anywhere because it is evermore a
lovely work of the Spirit, but we should have preferred to see it
sooner–when regrets would not have been unavailing, when the
repentance would have brought forth practical fruit in a change of
life.
I say, thank God if there is a deep repentance on the dying bed, but
this is not the highest or best thing. To enter into life halt or
maimed is not the grandest or most comely mode of departing out of this
life into another. To die in the dark with Jesus is safe, but to have
light at the last is better. We remember reading of a popular minister,
(and the reading of it has struck through our heart), who, when he was
dying, said to those about him, "I die in great bitterness of mind, for
I have been one of the most admired trees in God's vineyard. And yet
when I look back upon my past life I fear I have brought forth many
blossoms and many leaves, but very little fruit unto God's glory."
Ah, it will go hard with us ministers if we have to sorrow thus in our
last hours! You Sunday school teachers, and other beloved laborers for
Christ–I trust you will not have to cry at the last, "Our harvest is
past, and our summer is ended, and none of our children are saved! Oh
that we had talked to our boys and girls more solemnly! Oh that we had
entreated them with tears to flee from the wrath to come!" I pray God
that such may not be your dying lamentations, but that each one of us
may live for God at the rate which eternity will justify.
When Zeuxis, the old painter, was taking much pains with his
painting–pausing over every tint and touch–they asked him why he
worked so carefully. He answered. "I paint for eternity." So let us
take good heed in all that we do for God–not offering to Him that
which costs us nothing, nor going out to His service at random–without
prayer for His blessing and fitness for His work. Let us take earnest
heed to ourselves that we live for eternity–for so shall we wish to
have lived when we come to die.
It has not infrequently occurred that the dying scene has been to the
Lord's departing champions a battle, not perhaps by reason of any slips
or shortcomings–far from it–for in some cases the conflict appeared
to arise by very reason of their valor in the Lord's service. Who among
us would assert that Martin Luther failed to live up to the light and
knowledge which he had received? So far as he knew the Truth of God, I
believe he most diligently followed it. Beyond most men he was true to
conscience. He knew comparatively little of the Truth, but what he did
know he maintained with all his heart, and soul, and strength. And yet
it is exceedingly painful to read the record of Luther's last few days.
Darkness was round about him. Thick clouds and tempest enveloped his
soul. At the last the sky cleared, but it is very evident that among
all the grim battles in which that mighty German fought and conquered,
probably the most tremendous conflict of his life was at its close. Can
we not guess the reason? Was it not because the devil knew him to be
his worst enemy, then, upon the earth and therefore, hating him with
the utmost power of infernal hate, and feeling that this was his last
opportunity for assaulting him, he gathered up all his diabolical
powers and came in against him like a flood, thinking that maybe he
might at the last overcome the stout heart and cow the valiant spirit?
Only by Divine assistance did Luther win the victory, but win it he
did! Is this form of departure to be altogether deprecated? I think
not. It is to be dreaded in some aspects, though not in others, for is
it not a noble thing for the knight of the Cross to die in harness? A
blessed thing for the Christian soldier to proceed at once from the
battlefield to his eternal rest? The like was the case with John Knox,
the Scottish Luther, whose bold spirit feared the face of no man. He
was beset with a temptation which seemed a strange one to trouble him,
namely, a temptation to self-righteousness. He had always denounced all
trust in works and yet that error assaulted him at the last. He had a
long and bitter conflict, though it ended in joyful victory.
It has been quaintly said that, "Sometimes God puts His children to bed
in the dark." When our heavenly Father sends the rider upon the pale
horse to fetch us home from the school of this life's tribulation, he
comes riding down the
street making such a clangor with his horse hoofs that we are
alarmed–until we come to know that he is sent by our Father–and then
we are glad. God permits the Jordan to overflow its banks when some of
His best children are passing through, for He designs to magnify His
Grace in the last trial of their faith, and thus to show to men and
angels, and devils who are looking on, how He can triumph in His
servants when flesh and heart are failing.
Beloved, I think these instances are rare compared with others which I
am now to mention. To many saints their departure has been a peaceful
entrance into the fair haven of repose. The very weakest of God's
servants have frequently been happiest in their departing moments. John
Bunyan observed this fact in the description of Mr. Feeble-Mind's
passage of the river, "Here also I took notice of what was very
remarkable. The water of that river was lower at this time than ever I
saw it in all my life. So he went over at last wet not much above his
ankles."
Heaven's mercy tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, and gives to babes
no battle because they have no strength for it–the lambs calmly rest
on the bosom of Jesus and breathe out their lives in the Shepherd's
arms. What encouragement this ought to be to you who are the tender
ones among us! What cheering tidings for you who are weak in faith!
Like Mr. Ready-to-Halt, you shall cry, "Now, I shall have no more need
of these crutches, since yonder are chariots and horses for me to ride
on."
There died a few weeks ago one who may be known to some of you by name,
Mr. James Upton, late pastor of the church in Cotton Street. He was
more than 25 years laid aside from the ministry by a most terrible
depression of spirit which caused him one long unbroken night of soul.
He could not engage in any form of devotional exercise so frightfully
was he depressed in spirit–doubtless by some form of mental
derangement. But during the last few hours of his life, when he was
speechless and could therefore give no verbal testimony, the gloom
which had always been manifested in his countenance was removed and he
was evidently, at the last, enjoying profound peace of mind.
If God does not take away melancholy from the Believer till the last,
He will at the last. If He suffers His people to live for years in
winter, their summer shall begin at the last hour. When the death damp
is heaviest, then shall the light burn the brightest, and, as the body
decays and weakens, the soul shall arise in her strength! Many of the
saints have gone farther than this, for their deathbeds have been
pulpits. Not to all of them was it so given, for Mr. Whitfield desired
to bear a dying testimony for Christ, but did not do so, somebody
remarking to him, "You have borne so many living testimonies to so many
thousands that your Master wants no dying testimony of you."
If you have read Brainerd's Journal, what wonderful things he speaks of
there when all his last thoughts were delightfully fixed upon eternity
and the world to come! Thus he wrote in his diary, "Oh, how sweet were
the thoughts of death to me at this time! Oh, how I longed to be with
Christ, to be employed in the glorious work of angels, and with an
angel's freedom, vigor, and delight." At another time he wrote, " 'Tis
sweet to me to think of eternity, but oh, what shall I say to the
eternity of the wicked? I cannot mention it or think of it! The thought
is too dreadful!" His thoughts, however, were all taken up with the
joyful eternity belonging to Believers into which he entered with holy
triumph.
Then there was that dear man of God, Mr. Payson. His last expressions
were weighty sermons. He says, "I suppose, speaking within bounds, I
have suffered 20 times as much as any martyr that was ever burnt at the
stake through the painfulness of my disease. And yet, frequently, day
after day, my joy in God has so abounded as to render my sufferings not
only tolerable but welcome." When Mr. Matthew Henry was dying, Mr.
Illidge came to him and he said, "You have been used to take notice of
the sayings of dying men. This is mine, 'A life spent in the service of
God and in communion with Him is the most pleasant life that anyone can
live in the world.' "
Well spoken! Our pulpits often lack force and power. Men suppose that
we speak but out of form and custom, but they do not suspect dying men
of hypocrisy, nor think that they are driving a trade and following a
profession. Hence the witness of dying saints has often become powerful
to those who have stood around their couch. Careless hearts have been
impressed. Slumbering consciences have been awakened and children of
God quickened to greater diligence by what they have heard!
Brethren, do you never find dying beds to be thrones of judgment? Have
you never seen the hoary saint stayed upon the pillows prophesying like
a seer concerning the things of this world and of the world to come?
Have you never heard him deliver sentences as weighty as the verdict of
a judge? "What?" says he, "What are all these earthly things to me now,
now that I am about to leave them? They are all bubbles and
emptinesses." Solomon in his life could not moralize with such force as
holy men do in their deaths. And then, as they point the finger to
eternity and tell of worlds to come, and of the need of being prepared
for the tremendous day of the great assize, they appear as if, clothed
in their white raiment, they were performing a rehearsal of the last
dread judgment!
Many who care not for the voice of the ministry, nor even for the
witness of God's written Word, have felt the power of the speeches of
men standing on the borders of eternity. And, Brethren, to bring this
to a close, lest I should weary you, we have known not infrequent cases
(no, commonly this is the case), when the dying bed has become a
Pisgah, from the top of which the saint has viewed his inheritance
while his couch has glowed all of a sudden into the chariot of
Amminadab–a flaming chariot such as that in which Elijah was borne
away to dwell with God! Saints have frequently been in such triumphant
conditions of mind that rapture and ecstasy are the only fit words in
which to describe their state. "If this is dying," said one, "it is
worthwhile living for the mere sake of dying!"
Dr. Payson, in his dying hours, wrote to his sister, "Were I to adopt
the figurative language of Bunyan, I should date this letter from the
land of Beulah of which I have been for some weeks a happy inhabitant.
The Celestial City is full in my view. Its glories beam upon me, its
odors are wafted to me, its sounds strike upon my ears and its spirit
is breathed into my heart. Nothing separates me from it but the river
of Death which now appears but as an insignificant stream that may be
crossed at a single step, whenever God shall give permission.
"The Sun of Righteousness has gradually been drawing nearer and nearer,
appearing larger and brighter as He approached. And now He fills the
whole hemisphere, pouring forth a flood of glory in which I seem to
float as an insect in the beams of the sun, exulting, yet almost
trembling, while I gaze on this excessive brightness, and wondering,
with unutterable wonder, that God should deign thus to shine upon a
sinful worm. A single heart and a single tongue seem altogether
inadequate to my needs–I want a whole heart for every separate
emotion, and a whole tongue to express that emotion."
It has been sometimes said these excitements are produced by delirium
or caused by drugs, yet there are multitudes of clear cases in which
men have had no delirium and have been altogether untouched by drugs.
Take the case of Halyburton, who said, "I know that a great deal from a
dying man will go for canting and raving. But I bless God, He has kept
the judgment I had, that I have been able to reflect with composure on
His dealings with me. I am sober and composed, if ever I was so. You
may believe a man venturing on eternity. I have weighed eternity this
last night–I have looked on death as stripped of all things pleasant
to nature–and under the view of all these, I have found that in the
way of God they gave satisfaction–a rational satisfaction that makes
me rejoice."
Halyburton, indeed, broke forth into such ecstatic expressions that I
fear to quote them, lest I should spoil them! Among his words were
these, "If ever I was distinct in my judgment and memory in my life, it
is since He laid His hands upon me. My bones are sticking through my
skin, and yet all my bones are praising Him. O Death, where is your
sting? O Grave, where is your victory? I am now a witness for Christ,
and for the reality of religion. I have peace in the midst of pain! And
oh, how much of that I have had for a time past! My peace has been like
a river–not a discomposed thought. Strange that this body is going
away to corruption, and yet my intellectuals are so lively that I
cannot say there is the least alteration, the least decay of judgment
or memory. Such are the vigorous acts of my spirit towards God and
things that are not seen."
When drawing near his end, one remarked to him, "Blessed are they that
die in the Lord." He replied, "When I fall so low that I cannot speak,
I'll show you a sign of triumph if I am able." And when he could no
longer speak, he lifted up his hands, clapped them as in token of
victory, and in a little while departed to the land where the weary are
at rest. Oh, it is grand to die like this! To get Heaven here below in
foretastes! To partake of dainty dishes brought from off the tables of
immortals! To stay our souls while lingering here! This shall be your
portion, and this shall be my portion, if we are faithful unto death,
continuing diligent in service.
I have already told you if we believe in Christ, we shall die safely,
but we may not necessarily die in this triumph–this blessing is given
to those who are faithful, earnest and diligent–a special reward which
God reserves to some men who, like Daniel, are greatly beloved, or who,
like John, are indulged with special visions of the New Jerusalem
before entering upon the scene!
Brethren, as I close my sermon I can but utter the present yearning of
my ardent spirit–
"Oh, if my Lord would come and meet. My soul should stretch her wings
in haste, Fly fearless through death's iron gate, Nor feel the terrors
as she passed."
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The Rose and the Lily
A sermon