The Doors of the Shadow of Death
(No. 2917)
A SERMON PUBLISHED ON THURSDAY, JANUARY 5, 1905.
DELIVERED BY C. H. SPURGEON,
AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON, ON LORD'S-DAY EVENING,
SEPTEMBER 24, 1876.
"Have you seen the doors of the shadow of death?" Job 38:17.
Last Sabbath our spirits flew forward as far as the Judgment Day. We
stood with wondering awe to gaze upon the Great White Throne and the
fillet of gold about the head of the Reaper who gathered in the harvest
of the earth. We trembled as we saw the other angel take the sharp
sickle and reap the world's vintage and hurl it into the winepress of
Jehovah's wrath where it was trampled underfoot until the blood of men
flowed forth in torrents. [See Sermon #2910, Volume
50–THE HARVEST AND THE VINTAGE] Our excursion at this time will
not take us so far in human history. We shall halt at a nearer stopping
place. We shall not journey even to the Resurrection–only to the doors
of the shadow of death.
The question is, "Have you seen the doors of the shadow at death?" And
the answer implied is–"No." In this chapter, God is questioning Job in
order to show him his inability and his ignorance. To each question
which the Lord puts to the Patriarch, a negative answer is expected.
"Have you entered into the springs of the sea?" "Have you walked in the
search of the depth?" "Have the gates of death been opened to you?"
"Have you perceived the breadth of the earth?" Job had done none of
these things.
Well, then, Job, "Have you seen the doors of the shadow of death?" The
only answer the Patriarch could have given or that we can give is,
"No." We can get as far as the gates of death, but we cannot pry
within. Apart from Revelation, we have no information about the dreary
land beyond that land which lies enshrouded, as far as we are
concerned, in perpetual gloom. We cannot tell when or how we,
ourselves, shall die, so we know little of the dread mystery. The
message will someday come to us that the pitcher is to be broken at the
cistern, but when it shall come, we little dream. It may be much nearer
than we think and, on the other hand it, may be farther off than we
have feared. We are all, in this life, something like the prisoners
confined during the dreadful French Revolution. They were shut in so
that they could not escape–and every morning there came a man with a
little slip of paper who read out the names of that day' s victims–who
were then hurried to the wagon which was in waiting outside to drag off
its weary load to death. So every morning comes the death angel into
the world and he reads out the names of such an one and such an one. We
miss our comrade who has been called and we grow so accustomed to the
routine that, alas, we think too little of having missed him. But we
are waiting, each one of us, till the missive shall come for
ourselves–yet we know no more when we shall die than does the ox in
the pasture, or the sheep in the fold.
Neither do we know what it is to die. We know, in a certain sense, what
the act of death is, but what is the strange feeling with which the
soul finds itself houseless, forsaken of the body which falls about it
like a crumbling tenement? What is it to have the link severed which
keeps the mortal bound to the immortal–the spiritual caged within the
material? What that is, we do not know–neither has any told us. We
have watched others passing. We have stood by the beside of the dying.
We have witnessed the last gasp and still it remains a secret what it
is to die! We only know that these gates of the shadow of death are so
shut upon us that we cannot hold any conversation whatever with the
world beyond, save only as there is an everlasting fellowship in the
Person of Christ between all that are in Him, so that–
"The saints on earth, and all the dead, But one communion makee."
Indeed, we are so shut off from the other world that we never even dare
to pry behind the curtain which God has thrown across the abode of
spirits. There have been necromancers in all ages who have desired to
intrude into these mysterious regions–who have pretended to have done
so. Their craft is to be abhorred as Hell! Woe unto the man that comes
near to them! They are, as far as Christians are concerned, to be
utterly loathed, for, where the Lord has hung up a curtain and shut the
door, it is not for you and me to meddle, lest in eating those
sacrifices of the dead we are found to be having fellowship with devils
and be cast down to share their doom!
"Have you seen the gates of the shadow of death?" We are content to
give the answer which Job must have given, that we have not seen them
and do not wish to see them. Between those iron bars we do not wish to
pry. What the Lord reveals we are content to learn from His Word, but
we wish to know nothing more. Now, dear Friends, that being the case,
we shall only in meditation go down to those gates as far as we may
lawfully go–and speak only about what we may actually know, not
dreaming or doting about things beyond our knowledge. There have been
some poets who have sung of descents to Avernus and of the circles of
the Inferno. You need not that I go through Dante's majestic
conceptions, or tell how Milton sings of worlds unknown. Ours is a far
less ambitious business. We have no poetry to make–we have simple
facts to state.
I. First, then, we ask you to come down as near to the gates of death
as we may, in mediation, VIEWING DEATH IN GENERAL for a few minutes.
Look up in vision to these terrible portals and do you not observe, as
you stand before them, that these gates are always open? Never, day and
night, are those gates of death shut, for at all hours there is traffic
through them. Men die at midnight, as they did in Pharaoh's palace. And
men die at noon, as the child did who said, "My head, my head," and
whose father said, "Take him to his mother," and who then fell asleep
in her lap. They die in springtime and the flowers sweetly waking from
the earth adorn the hillock which marks their tomb. And they die in
summer and know nothing of the sweet flowers that bloom and perfume all
the air. They drop like autumn leaves and the winter, howling their
requiem, bears many of them away. There is never a moment, I suppose,
at any time when the fall of feet may not be heard by listening ears
that are hard by the gates of death-shade. The dead have always been
coming since Abel led the way– one perpetual stream, never ceasing day
nor night.
Let us also remember that multitudes have now passed through those iron
gates! You cannot count the hosts who have entered. The calculating
machine might fail and the powers of mind utterly fail before the
mighty total! We speak of them as the great majority and earth with her
more than thousand millions has but a slender congregation of living
persons compared with the congregation of the dead. What multitudes, I
say, have passed through from the first day until now! Sometimes there
has been a rush when death's jackals, the kings and princes of the
world, have driven their prey in troops through them by means of bloody
wars. At other times men in hosts have rushed through those gates
pursued by plague or famine–and always by human decay or disease men
have come up to these gates, always, always, always passing through.
The stream of passengers through the gates of death goes on, on, on.
While you and I are sitting here, they are stepping between the posts.
Perhaps some dear to us are nearing the portals. We ourselves are,
certainly, on the way, and at all times our fellow creatures are being
swallowed within the gaping jaws which never shut!
If you will stop here a minute and look–and have eyes strong enough in
the shade to mark who they are that come–you will see there a man
leaning on his staff. But did you notice that there also went by him
little children that had not yet learned to speak? You see the strong
man come all of a sudden, running away from life. And you see the
invalid who has long waited for his summons–you may count his bones as
he passes down to his grave. Do you see yonder man? There is nothing
special about him. He looks just like any other. He once was a
king–there is still a little royal about him. Do you see that other
man? He was once a beggar. He does not seem, now, a bit more beggarly
than did the monarch! They have, neither of them, brought anything with
them–they come here penniless–all of them, and they pass through with
empty hands. Titles, grandeur, estates, position, fame–all are left
behind. They come a great crowd in a liberty, equality and fraternity
of death–a common brotherhood that will never be realized in life. Do
you see them going? In view of this general leveling, you may set small
store on the distinctions of this world. I have come to declare that
nothing is worth seeking after but that which will survive the tomb!
Through that gate you have seen many go in thought tonight. Will you
please remember that no one has ever returned, with the exception of a
few restored by miracle? They go through that way, but there are no
steps backward.
Gone, gone forever. Once the breath has left the body, I think that the
soul shall not revisit its old haunts or know anything of all that it
done under the sun. But whether that is so or not, it is certain that
they will not come back in the old familiar form. They are gone. They
cannot return. It is idle to weep and wish them among us again–floods
of tears cannot restore them. As for the tree that is cut down, at the
scent of water it will bud, but rivers of precious water from weeping
eyes cannot cause these dead ones to live again.
Now, concerning these gates of the grave, we may say further that
though they are thus thronged, there are very few that ever come there
as voluntary passengers. Man dreads to die. It is right that he should,
so long as it does not come to a fear that is bondage. Understand
this–that God has implanted within us all the desire to live for right
ends and purposes. There are a few that pass that way in a hurry or of
their own consent. Ah, dreary souls that take away their lives! To what
has a man come when he dares to contemplate such an insult to his
Maker? He that gave you breath may take it back, but you may not give
it up yourself! To die by your own hand is not to escape from
suffering, but to plunge yourself into it forever, for we know that no
murderer has eternal life abiding in him. Therefore he that murders
himself, if he knows what he is doing, gives sure evidence that eternal
life is not in him! We must all go through those gates, but we must
gallantly bide our time and take arms against the sea of trouble that
now awaits us. Then at last, if we are Christ's–and all of us may be
His and know we are His–when our Captain bids us come to Him, we will
bow our heads and pass through the gates of iron, not fearing for a
moment! Our Lord will come to meet us and our soul will stretch her
wings in haste and fly fearless through the shadowed portals, nor feel
anything of terror as she passes them!
Those thoughts may suffice about death in general.
II. Now, in the second place, let us go down to the doors of that
death-shade and stand some moments VIEWING SAINTLY DEATHS. I wish only
to speak simply about them.
First, I remark that all saintly deaths are not pleasant to look upon.
Some of the grandest men who ever lived have died in a storm. Martin
Luther's deathbed was troubled. I do not wonder that when a man has
done such glorious mischief to Satan's dominions, he should not be
allowed to enter into his rest without one more struggle with his foe!
John Knox, again, had a fierce battle when he came to die. He found it
hard, though he triumphed at the last even as Luther did. And many that
have served their Master well, instead of shouts of joy and singing of
hymns in their departure, have had to lay hold with all their might
upon their Crucified Savior in order to sustain their hope. There is
something right about this, too–it becomes a lesson to us all–"If the
righteous scarcely are saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner
appear?" And if to die is sometimes hard work to a man who is known to
be a true Believer and who has shown to others that he is really saved,
what shall they expect in the hour of death who have no such confidence
in God?
Yet, Beloved, standing at the doors of death tonight, I must confess
that as far as I am concerned, of those I have seen passing through,
who have believed in Christ, most of the saints have passed through
gladly. They have entered the gates with a cheery note, with a song, or
with a Hallelujah. I cannot forget the times in which I have been asked
to sing at dying beds when I could not possibly have done it for very
choking of sympathy with those about me. But the dying man has sung and
the dying woman has joined sweetly in the hymn–and when we seemed to
feel as if it might be too much for the failing strength–we have been
asked by the saint who was ready to depart that we might sing another
verse! While they have been–
"Sweeping through the gates of the new Jerusalem,"
they have wanted us to sing them Home! If I had to tell where I have
seen the most joy on earth, I would certainly not say at the bridal
feasts, for that joy has much that is flimsy about it. In many that
partake in that festival, the sentiments are often unreal. But the joy
of the dying man–the joy of the expiring saint–has something so deep,
so sublime, yet so simple in it that I know not where to equal it,
whether I am permitted to search in the palaces of kings or in the
homes of content! The greatest joy on earth is, after all, the joy of
departing saints. So you may stand at the gates of death-shade, and
hear them sing as they pass through. Some of them you may hear saying
extraordinary things. Haliburton cried, "Have at you, Death! Have at
you, Death!"–as if he fought and conquered the grim foe without a
fear. Others have shouted, "Victory, victory, victory, through the
blood of the Lamb!" in their last moments. There has been sorrow, but
there has been far oftener joy!
Concerning the doors of the shadow of death, let me say that there are
stores of Grace laid up hard by those gates of the grave for saints
when they come there. You must not expect, dear Friends, to have dying
Grace in living moments. You must not expect at this time to have Grace
to die with, when, perhaps, God intends you to live another 50 years!
What would you do with such Grace? Where would you put it? You shall
have it when you come to die. Only trust in Christ, today, and do His
bidding–when the dying time shall come–the dying Grace shall be
afforded you.
In addition to this, I believe that God not only gives His people Grace
to die, but, in their last moments, some of the saints get visions of
another world before they enter the gates of death. I am persuaded that
the glow and the glory that I have seen on some men's faces when they
have been dying, have not been of earth–that the strange light that
lit their features and the wondrous smile of ineffable delight with
which they have fallen asleep–have not been things of time. They could
not have been created by their present circumstances, for their
surroundings have been all to the contrary. The radiance from the world
beyond has been upon them. What strange things, too, they have said!
Some of them have been hard to comprehend, for the expiring saints have
spoken a language more of Heaven than of earth, as if they knew things
which were unlawful for them to utter and must not speak so as to be
understood. Stray notes from harps of seraphim they have caught and
they have tried to sing them here, below, but have failed. Yet we have
heard enough to let us know that God has partly drawn up the blinds and
permitted them to see through the lattice and behold the King in His
beauty. Angels, too, we doubt not, come to those gates of death. Why
should they not? They came to Jesus in Gethsemane. They are bid to the
care of the Lord's people, lest they dash their foot against a stone. I
have no doubt that they minister to the heirs of salvation, for it is
written that when Lazarus died angels carried him into Abraham's bosom.
The angelic bands wait, I believe, at these gates of death to help the
righteous in their last extremity.
Best of all, I should like you, as you come with me to these doors of
death-shade, to notice that there is a blood-mark right across the
entrance. If you look down, there is the print of a footprint unlike
that of all the rest, for it is the print of a foot that once was
pierced! Ah, I recognize that mark. My Lord has gone that way! I have
not yet been down to the doors of death-shade, but He, my Savior, has
been there. He has passed through them, indeed, and yet He lives!
Therefore the joy of the Believer is that when he passes through,
because Christ lives, he shall also live! And because Christ is risen,
he, too, shall rise! I could not believe the Resurrection if it were
not certain that Christ has risen. But if ever there was a fact in
history that is well attested beyond all conceivable doubt, it is the
fact that He who was put into the grave by the Jews and whose tomb was
sealed, rose again from the dead on the third day! All His people shall
also rise because He has led the way. O gates of death-shade, we dread
you no longer since Christ has passed through your portals!
And see, Brothers and Sisters, for the Believer, all around those gates
of death-shade bright lamps are burning! Do you not see them? They are
lamps of promise. "When you pass through the rivers I will be with you,
and through the rivers they shall not overflow you." "O death, I will
be your plagues." You know how the Lord of the pilgrims has given the
assurance over and over and over again, in all shapes and ways, that He
will not leave nor forsake His people, but that He will help them even
to the end and cause them, when they walk through the Valley of the
Shadow at Death, to fear no evil because He is with them.
The gates of the grave, then, as far as Believers are concerned, are
not places of gloom at all! We ought often to go there. It is greatly
wise to be familiar with our last hours–to antedate them and to die
daily. Make a friend of death! Oh, go to the graves, not to weep, but
that you may not weep when you go there! Often strip yourself and go
through the rehearsal of your death, that when the time shall come it
may be no strange work for you to die since you shall have died daily
for, it may be, 50 years at a stretch!
III. Now, lastly, and very sorrowfully, a few words VIEWING THE DEATH
OF SINNERS. Down to these grim gates the ungodly must go as well as the
people of God. To every one of them is the lot appointed. Let us speak
the truth about them solemnly and tenderly, with tears in our heart,
though sad words are on our lips.
The death of ungodly people is not always terrible. There are many that
die and are lost, of whom David says in the Psalm, "Like sheep they are
laid in the grave." They never cared for the House of God nor regarded
the Sabbath. They knew nothing of prayer, or of faith. Their
consciences have become seared. They played bravado with God and He has
given them up, so when they come to die, they take it coolly enough.
They "shuffle off this mortal coil" almost without a fear, and they
that stand around say, "Oh, he died so sweetly–such a happy death." Ah
me! Ah me! Ah me! Saints often die struggling–and sinners often die in
dreadful peace! I say, "dreadful," for have you never noticed the
stillness–the
awful silence of nature before a storm, when there is not a breath of
air and not a leaf stirs on the trees? The very clouds seem to hang
still in mid Heaven and earth and sky get more quiet and still more
quiet, and our very breath becomes intensely stifling in the dread
stagnation–till with peal on peal the dread artillery of Heaven begins
to shake Heaven and earth! Such is the death of many an ungodly man–a
treacherous calm. Oh, what an awakening for him when in Hell he shall
lift up his eyes, far from every hope of mercy! Pray God you may not
die so. I should not like to die stupefied. I would prefer to be in my
senses. Presumption is a drug which stupefies the soul and because of
it men often die at peace, full many of them. But it were far better
that they had never taken that dire drug, but could really look into
the future, perhaps, even at the last moment, while their feet were
sliding, so they might find Grace enough to start back and lay hold on
Everlasting life that they might not descend into the abyss below!
Because their eyes are blinded, there are many that die peaceably
enough–and are lost.
Of impenitent men I may say that when they come to die, many of them
are not at peace. A very large number of such people shrink back from
the doors of death because, in the quiet chamber, memory begins to
work. Then the evil deed, the midnight scene, the neglected Sabbath,
the unread Bible, the Throne of Grace forsaken–all claim to speak. And
as the clock goes tick, tick, upon the wall, the mind begins to go over
childhood, youth, manhood, married life and to remember and to bring up
sin. It is not every sinner that is such a fool as to be able to
remember a wasted life without some terror or regret! Fear, too, is
generally busy, for the mind begins to ask whether the thought is
pleasant to the dying person or not–"Where am I going?" And there is a
something in man that does not let him believe that he is a mere
animal. Look at your wife, man–you that believe all living men to be
mere beasts. What is that dear body of your wife whom you have loved
these many years? Well, principally so much water and so much gas. When
that is taken away, there is a small residuum of earthy ash–that is
all. And is that what you have loved–so many pounds of water and gas
and earth?
No, Sir, you have not. You have loved a woman! You have loved a thing
infinitely better than dead earth and water and gas. You know that. You
do not believe that your mother is only mere water and gas and earth,
nor your child, nor yourself! You cannot persuade yourself to accept
such materialism as that! There is a something in this body that is
better than this water, gas and earth–a something that will
consciously exist when these have been dissolved. And there is that
within all of us that makes us believe it whether we will it or not!
Therefore, at the portals of death there comes into the mind the
question, "Where am I going?" And if the heart cannot answer that
question by saying, "I am going where Jesus is–I am going to my
Savior, in whom I have trusted, who has washed me from my sin"–then
fear comes up and the man begins to say, "Oh, how can I go forward? The
Bible tells me I am going to judgment and I am unfit for judgment–that
I am going to resurrection and what must it be for a sinful body like
mine to rise from the dead? I am going to condemnation and already in
my conscience I am condemned! How can I go? How can I stop? Ah, must I
leave you, O earth, and cannot I enter you, O Heaven? Then where must I
fly?" Not many ungodly men can manage to shake off such thoughts as
these in the dread prospect of departure.
Let me say, further, that near these gates of death-shade is a very
difficult place in which to seek the Lord. When a man gets troubled
with memory and fear, and his body it racked with pain, he is very
ill-fitted to listen to the voice of Jesus. I would not discourage a
dying man for a moment from looking to Jesus. If he desires salvation,
if he will but believe in the Christ of God, he shall have eternal life
even at the last! But speaking from what I have seen, the most of men
in the article of death are quite unfit for thought–quite unable to
feel anything beyond the stabs of physical anguish–and quite incapable
of faith. No man knows how far God's mercy goes, but if that mercy is
given to faith, I cannot see how it can be extended to some dying men.
Delirium, a wandering mind, an aching head–oh, these will give you
quite enough to do in dying without having to seek your peace with God!
It is task enough only to die, to take a tearful farewell of those
babes and of the partner of your life. It is enough to die without then
having to begin to cry, "God be merciful to me a sinner." Have you seen
the doors of death-shade? If you have, you will not choose them as a
place to repent in–you will rather choose the present time to seek the
Lord–now while yet your mind is fresh and vigorous and He is waiting
to be gracious!
I must not detain you more than another minute or two, but let me
remind you that at the doors of death-shade is the place of testing and
the place of stripping. The man comes there who has professed to be a
Christian. If he is not, how the rags of his self-righteousness are
torn off! Or he says, "I was no professor of religion. I was better
than that! I was an Volume 51 www.spurgeongems.org 5
honest man." Now it turns out, at last, that he was not even true to
his God and his fancied honesty drops off him like a garment! Build
castles in the air if you will, but death is a wonderful dissipater of
all your magic! At the shadowy gates nothing will do for you or for God
but reality. If the religion you have and the hope you have will not
stand the test of self-examination and heart-searching sermons,
certainly it will not stand the test of a dying hour. What a stripping
time it will be! Now, my lord, you must take the last look at your
crown–that will never encircle your brow again. Now look through the
window at your broad estates–you will not be able to call a foot of it
your own! Even the six feet of earth in which you lie will only be
yours as long as the charity of your successors will permit you to
slumber in peace. Good-bye to your money bags! Farewell to the market
and the exchange! You have got your wealth with much labor, but you are
forced to leave it now–every penny of it. None of it can go with you.
Worse still, the gates of death-shade are the places of farewell An
ungodly man has to bid, sometimes, farewell to a Christian wife. Kiss
her cheek, man–you will never see her again. You have a Christian
child, a dear child that has lately joined the church, but you are no
follower of Christ. When you come to die, they will bring her to your
bedside and you will have to say, "Good-bye, Mary. I shall never see
you again, or if I do it, will only be as Dives, who looked up and saw
Lazarus far away in Abraham's bosom, but with an awful gulf between."
Some of you unconverted brothers, how will you like to be separated
from your Christian sisters? Some of you daughters–how will you like
to be divided from your father and your mother who will be in Heaven?
Oh, all of you say, "We would like to meet in Heaven as unbroken
families." Young girl. Young man. What if your name should be left out
when Christ shall summon home His own? Certain it is that death-shade
gates are the place of everlasting farewell. God grant you may never
have to take such farewell of any of your kin who are in Christ, but
may you soar up to Heaven and be raised with them when the trumpet of
the archangel sounds!
Thus I have, as best I could, talked of the end of the earthly life. O
Souls, prepare to meet your God, for you may have to meet Him before
another sun has risen! I beseech you, by the living God, whose servant
I am, postpone not repentance and faith, but now, while mercy' s white
flag is to the front and God waits to be gracious to you, bow before
the Cross of Christ! Trust in Jesus and be saved! The Lord bless you,
for Christ's sake. Amen.
EXPOSITION BY C. H. SPURGEON: PSALM49.
The chief musician here bids us not to fear the ungodly. However high
they may be placed, they are but dying men and when they die their hope
shall perish with them. He gives a very graphic description of the
deathbed and of the perdition of ungodly men.
Verses 1, 2. Hear this, all you people; give ear, all you inhabitants
of the world: both low and high, rich and poor together. Whenever God
has a voice for men, it is meant for all sorts of men. No Scripture is
of private interpretation. No warning is intended only for a few. Hear
this, then, all you people. Whether you are low, you are not too low to
listen to His voice. Or, whether you are high, you are not too high to
be under His supremacy.
3, 4. My mouth shall speak of wisdom; and the meditation of my heart
shall be of understanding. I will incline my ear to a parable: I will
disclose my dark saying upon the harp. Mysteries are to be preached,
but they are to be preached with an earnest endeavor on the preacher's
part to make them plain. If it is a dark saying, yet let it be open
and, if music will help, so let it be. Whatever there is to be taught,
let it be plainly taught to the sons of men.
5. Why should I fear in the days of evil, when the iniquity of my heels
shall compass me about?We may read it, "The iniquity of my supplanters
shall compass me about." There may be some dark days when the wicked
seed, whose delight it is to bite at the heel of the Seed of God, will
gather around us. And we think, perhaps, that they will be too many for
us. But why should we fear them? Who are they? They are great and
mighty, perhaps, but if they are but an iniquity–we need not to be
afraid of them. Our righteous God is our defender.
6, 7. They that trust in their wealth and boast themselves in the
multitude of their riches; none of them can by any means redeem his
brother, nor give to God a ransom for him. They may be rich as Croesus,
but they cannot save a comrade from the grave. They may pay the
physician, but they cannot bribe death. How little is the power of
wealth, after all! The rich man cannot even save his baby that he loves
so well. He certainly cannot save his fellow sinner.
8. (For the redemption of their soul is precious, and it ceases
forever). There is no redemption but one. And if a soul is unredeemed,
the hope of it ceases forever.
9. That he should still live forever, and not see corruption. For the
bodies of the great are fed upon by worms as readily as the bodies of
the paupers. They may embalm the body, if they will, to cheat the
worms, or put it into a coffin of lead, but little can they do with it.
It is a costly business, after all, and is the exception to the rule.
Even the wisest cannot live forever so as not to see corruption.
10. For he sees that wise men die, likewise the fool and the brutish
person perish and leave their wealth to others. Whatever men may have
gathered, the wisest cannot find an invention which will enable him to
take his treasure with him. He must leave it behind. "Naked came I out
of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return there."
11. Their inward thought is that their houses shall continue forever,
and their dwelling places to all generations. They call their lands
after their own names. Man is so fond of immortality that while he
foolishly rejects the reality of it, he clings to the name of it–and
he builds a house which he ties down by deed to his heirs, and his
heirs' heirs, "forever," as he calls it. And then he calls the land by
his own name that it may never be forgotten that such a worm as he once
crawled over that portion of the earth!
12. Nevertheless man being in honor abides not. He passes away. His
grace, his lordship, his reverence must lie in the grave! How
ridiculous grand titles seem when once it is said, "Earth to earth;
dust to dust; ashes to ashes." "Vain pomp and glory of the earth."
Indeed we may say in the presence of the shroud and the mattock, and
the grave and the worm– "Man being in honor abides not."
12. He is like the beasts that perish. Not like any one beast, but like
any beast that perishes. He does but live and, as far as this world is
concerned, he is gone.
13. This their way is their folly: yet their prosperity approves their
sayings. Selah. When men have lived only for this world and die and
pass away without any future worth the having–without any hope of
Heaven–yet still they report it in the papers that he died "worth" so
much–as if it were wonderful to have so much to leave! And they speak
of the shrewd things he used to say–mostly very greedy things and very
grasping things. And though he was a fool, after all, for aiming at the
"main chance," as he called it–while he missed the real main chance,
namely, the salvation of his soul–yet his posterity inherit his folly
with his blood and they approve his sayings.
14. Like sheep they are laid in the grave. They lead a worldly life and
die a worldly death–quiet, contented with this world–no thought of
the world to come.
14. Death shall feed on them; and the upright shall have dominion over
them in the morning. That everlasting daybreak shall shed a light on
many things. And then the master and the lord who tyrannized over the
poor and needy shall find himself under the foot of those he trod upon!
"The upright shall have dominion over them in the morning."
14, 15. And their beauty shall consume in the grave from their
dwelling. But God will redeem my soul from the power of the grave: for
He shall receive me. Selah. What a happy confidence! Blessed are those
who, by a living faith in a living God, know that their soul shall be
received into its Maker's hands! But woe unto those whose confidence
lies in the treasure they have accumulated and the acres they have
purchased.
16, 17. Be not you afraid when one is made rich when the glory of his
house is increased. For when he dies he shall carry nothing away: his
glory shall not descend after him. They will not know him in the next
world to be the squire, the peer, the prince. Death is a dreadful
leveler. Envy not the great man of this world! "His glory shall not
descend after
him."
18. Though while he lived he blessedhis soul: andmen willpraise you,
when you do well to yourself Not "when you do good," mark, for often
when you do good, men will criticize and censure–and the better the
deed, the more sure is it to provoke the contempt of many. But "men
will praise you when you do well to yourself"" "A shrewd man, that!
That is the kind of man I want to be! See how he prospers! A smart,
pushing fellow! Oh, yes, he is the man for a friend." Whenever there is
an aggravated selfishness that accumulates to itself like a rolling
snow-ball, men are sure to praise. It is the irony of life.
19. He shall go to the generation of his fathers; they shall never see
light. They are sleeping in the grave. So shall he. And beyond the
grave there is nothing but darkness for him whose heart is set on this
world.
8 The Doors of the Shadow of Death Sermon #2917
20. Man that is in honor and understands not, is like the beasts that
perish. Understanding and the fear of the Lord, which is the beginning
of wisdom–not earthly honor–is our only succor in the day of death.