A Sermon
(No. 18)
Delivered on Sabbath Morning, April 8, 1855, by the
REV. C.H. SPURGEON
At Exeter Hall, Strand.
"Come, see the place where the Lord lay."–Matthew 28:6.
Every circumstance connected with the life of Christ is deeply
interesting to the Christian mind. Wherever we behold our Saviour, he
is well worthy of our notice.
"His cross, his manger, and his crown,
Are big with glories yet unknown."
All his weary pilgrimage, from Bethlehem's manger to Calvary's cross,
is, in our eyes, paved with glory. Each spot upon which he trod is, to
our souls, consecrated at once, simply because there the foot of
earth's Saviour and our own Redeemer once was placed. When he comes to
Calvary, the interest thickens; then our best thoughts are centered on
him in the agonies of crucifixion, nor does our deep affection permit
us to leave him, even when, the struggle being over, he yields up the
ghost. His body, when it is taken down from the tree, still is lovely
in our eyes–we fondly linger around the motionless clay. By faith we
discern Joseph of Arimathea, and the timid Nicodemus, assisted by those
holy women, drawing out the nails and taking down the mangled body; we
behold them wrapping him in clean, white linen, hastily girding him
round with belts of spices; then putting him in his tomb, and departing
for the Sabbath rest. We shall, on this occasion, go where Mary went on
the morning of the first day of the week, when waking from her couch
before the dawn, she aroused herself to be early at the sepulchre of
Jesus. We will try, if it be possible, by the help of God's Spirit, to
go as she did–not in body, but in soul–we will stand at that tomb; we
will examine it, and we trust we shall hear some truth-speaking voice
coming from its hollow bosom which will comfort and instruct us, so
that we may say of the grave of Jesus when we go away, "It was none
other than the gate of heaven"–a sacred place, deeply solemn, and
sanctified by the slain body of our precious Saviour.
I. AN INVITATION GIVEN. I shall commence my remarks this morning by
inviting all Christians to come with me to the tomb of Jesus. "Come,
see the place where the Lord lay." We will labor to render the place
attractive, we will gently take your hand to guide you to it; and may
it please our Master to make our hearts burn within us while we talk by
the way.
Away, ye profane–ye souls whose life is laughter, folly, and mirth!
Away, ye sordid and carnal minds who have no taste for the spiritual,
no delight in the celestial. We ask not your company; we speak to God's
beloved, to the heirs of heaven, to the sanctified, the redeemed, the
pure in heart–and we say to them, "Come, see the place where the Lord
lay." Surely ye need no argument to move your feet in the direction of
the holy sepulchre; but still we will use the utmost power to draw your
spirit thither. Come, then, for tis the shrine of greatness, 'tis the
resting-place of the man, the Restorer of our race, the Conqueror of
death and hell. Men will travel hundreds of miles to behold the place
where a poet first breathed the air of earth; they will journey to the
ancient tombs of mighty heroes, or the graves of men renowned by fame;
but whither shall the Christian go to find the grave of one so famous
as was Jesus? Ask me the greatest man who ever lived–I tell you the
man Christ Jesus was "anointed with the oil of gladness above his
fellow." If ye seek a chamber honored as the resting-place of genius,
turn in hither; if ye would worship at the grave of holiness, come ye
here; if ye would see the hallowed spot where the choicest bones that
e'er were fashioned lay for awhile, come with me, Christian, to that
quiet garden, hard by the walls of Jerusalem.
Come with me, moreover, because it is the tomb of your best friend. The
Jews said of Mary, "she goeth unto his grave to weep there." Ye have
lost your friends, some of you, ye have planted flowers upon their
tombs, ye go and sit at eventide upon the green sward, bedewing the
grass with your tears, for there your mother lies, and there your
father or your wife. Oh! in pensive sorrow come with me to this dark
garden of our Saviour's burial; come to the grave of your best
friend–your brother, yea, one who "sticketh closer than a brother."
Come thou to the grave of thy dearest relative, O Christian, for Jesus
is thy husband, "Thy maker is thy husband, the Lord of Hosts is his
name." Doth not affection draw you? Do not the sweet lips of love woo
you? Is not the place sanctified where one so well-beloved slept,
although but for a moment ? Surely ye need no eloquence; if it were
needed I have none. I have but the power, in simple, but earnest
accents, to repeat the words, "Come, see the place where the Lord lay."
On this Easter morning pay a visit to his grave, for it is the grave of
you best friend.
Yea, more, I will further urge you to this pious pilgrimage. Come, for
angels bid you. Angels said, "Come, see the place where the Lord lay."
The Syriac version reads, "Come, see the place where our Lord lay."
Yes, angels put themselves with those poor women, and used one common
pronoun–our. Jesus is the Lord of angels as well as of men. Ye feeble
women–ye have called him Lord, ye have washed his feet, ye have
provided for his wants, ye have hung upon his lips to catch his honeyed
sentences, ye have sat entranced beneath his mighty eloquence; ye call
him Master and Lord, and ye do well; "But," said the seraph, "he is my
Lord too;" bowing his head, he sweetly said, "Come, see the place where
our Lord lay." Dost fear then, Christian, to step into that tomb? Dost
dread to enter there, when the angel pointeth with his finger and
saith, "Come, we will go together, angels and men, and see the royal
bedchamber?" Ye know that angels did go into his tomb, for they sat one
at his head and the other at his foot in holy meditation. I picture to
myself those bright cherubs sitting there talking to one another. One
of them said, "It was there his feet lay;" and the other replied, "and
there his hands, and there his head;" and in celestial language did
they talk concerning the deep things of God; then they stooped and
kissed the rocky floor, made sacred to the angels themselves, not
because there they were redeemed, but because there their Master and
their monarch, whose high behests they were obeying, did for awhile
become the slave of death, and the captive of destruction. Come,
Christian, then, for angels are the porters to unbar the door; come,
for a cherub is thy messenger to usher thee into the death-place of
death himself. Nay, start not from the entrance; let not the darkness
affright thee; the vault is not damp with the vapors of death, nor doth
the air contain aught of contagion. Come, for it is a pure and healthy
place. Fear not to enter that tomb. I will admit that catacombs are not
the places where we, who are full of joy, would love to go. There is
something gloomy and noisome about a vault. there are noxious smells of
corruption; oft-times pestilence is born where a dead body hath lain;
but fear it not, Christian, for Christ was not left in hell–in
Hades–neither did his body see corruption. Come, there is no scent,
yea, rather a perfume. Step in here, and, if thou didst ever breathe
the gales of Ceylon, or winds from the groves of Araby, thou shalt find
them far excelled by that sweet, holy fragrance left by the blessed
body of Jesus; that alabaster vase which once held divinity, and was
rendered sweet and precious thereby. Think not thou shalt find aught
obnoxious to thy senses. Corruption Jesus never saw; no worms ever
devoured his flesh; no rottenness ever entered into his bones; he saw
no corruption. Three days he slumbered, but no long enough to putrefy;
he soon arose, perfect as when he entered, uninjured as when his limbs
were composed for their slumber. Come then, Christian, summon up thy
thoughts, gather all thy powers; here is a sweet invitation, let me
press it again. Let me lead thee by the hand of meditation, my brother;
let me take thee by the arm of thy fancy, and let me again say to thee,
"Come, see the place where the Lord lay."
There is yet one reason more why I would have thee visit this royal
sepulchre–because it is a quiet spot. Oh! I have longed for rest, for
I have heard this world's rumors in my ears so long, that I have begged
for
"A lodge in some vast wilderness,
Some boundless contiguity of shade,"
where I might hide myself forever. I am sick of this tiring and trying
life; my frame is weary, my soul is mad to repose herself awhile. I
would I could lay myself down a little by the edge of some pebbly
brook, with no companion save the fair flowers or the nodding willows.
I would I could recline in stillness, where the air brings balm to the
tormented brain, where there is no murmur save the hum of the summer
bee, no whisper save that of the zephyrs, and no song except the
caroling of the lark. I wish I could be at ease for a moment. I have
become a man of the world; my brain is racked, my soul is tired. Oh!
wouldst thou be quiet, Christian? Merchant, wouldst thou rest from thy
toils? wouldst thou be calm for once? Then come hither. It is in a
pleasant garden, far from the hum of Jerusalem; the noise and din of
business will not reach thee there; "Come, see the place where the Lord
lay." It is a sweet resting spot, a withdrawing room for thy soul,
where thou mayest brush from thy garments the dust of earth and muse
awhile in peace.
II. ATTENTION REQUESTED. Thus I have pressed the invitation; now we
will enter the tomb. Let us examine it with deep attention, noticing
every circumstance connected with it.
And, first, mark that it is a costly tomb. It is no common grave; it is
not an excavation dug out by the spade for a pauper, in which to hide
the last remains of his miserable and overwearied bones. It is a
princely tomb; it was made of marble, cut in the side of a hill. Stand
here, believer, and ask why Jesus had such a costly sepulchre. He had
no elegant garments; he wore a coat without seam, woven from the top
throughout, without an atom of embroidery. He owned no sumptuous
palace, for he had not where to lay his head. His sandals were not rich
with gold, or studded with brilliants. He was poor. Why, then does he
lie in a noble grave? We answer, for this reason: Christ was unhonored
till he had finished his sufferings; Christ's body suffered contumely,
shame, spitting, buffeting, and reproach, until he had completed his
great work; he was trampled under foot, he was "despised and rejected
of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief;" but the moment he
had finished his undertaking, God said, "No more shall that body be
disgraced; if it is to sleep, let it slumber in an honorable grave; if
it is to rest, let nobles bury it; let Joseph, the councillor, and
Nicodemus, the man of Sanhedrim, be present at the funeral; let the
body be embalmed with precious spices, let it have honor; it has had
enough of contumely, and shame, and reproach, and buffeting; let it now
be treated with respect." Christian, dost thou discern the meaning?
Jesus, after he had finished his work, slept in a costly grave; for now
his Father loved and honored him, since his work was done.
But, though it is a costly grave, it is a borrowed one. I see over the
top of it, "Sacred to the memory of the family of Joseph of Arimathea;"
yet Jesus slept there. Yes, he was buried in another's sepulchre. He
who had no house of his own, and rested in the habitation of other men;
who had no table, but lived upon the hospitality of his disciples; who
borrowed boats in which to preach, and had not anything in the wide
world, was obliged to have a tomb from charity. Oh! should not the poor
take courage? They dread to be buried at the expense of their
neighbors, but if their poverty be unavoidable, wherefore should they
blush, since Jesus Christ himself was interred in another's grave? Ah!
I wish I might have had Joseph's grave to let Jesus be buried in it.
Good Joseph thought he had cut it out for himself, and that he should
lay his bones there. He had it excavated as a family vault, and lo, the
Son of David makes it one of the tombs of the kings. But he did not
lose it by lending it to the Lord; rather, he had it back with precious
interest. He only lent it three days; then Christ resigned it; he had
not injured, but perfumed and sanctified it, and make it far more holy,
so that it would be an honor in future to be buried there. It was a
borrowed tomb; and why? I take it, not to dishonor Christ, but in order
to show that, as his sins were borrowed sins, so his burial was in a
borrowed grave. Christ had no transgressions of his own; he took ours
upon his head; he never committed a wrong, but he took all my sin, and
all yours, if ye are believers; concerning all his people, it is true,
he bore their griefs and carried their sorrows in his own body on the
tree; therefore, as they were others' sins, so he rested in another's
grave; as they were sins imputed, so that grave was only imputedly his.
It was not his sepulchre; it was the tomb of Joseph.
Let us not weary in this pious investigation, but with fixed attention
observe everything connected with this holy spot. The grave, we
observe, was cut in a rock. Why was this? the rock of Ages was buried
in a rock–a Rock within a rock. But why? Most persons suggest that it
was so ordained, that it might be clear that there was no covert way by
which the disciples or others could enter and steal the body away. Very
possibly it was the reason; but O! my soul, canst thou find a spiritual
reason? Christ's sepulchre was cut in a rock. It was not cut in mould
that might be worn away by the water, or might crumble and fall into
decay. The sepulchre stands, I believe, entire to this day; if it does
not naturally, it does spiritually. The same sepulchre which took the
sins of Paul, shall take my iniquities into his bosom, for if I ever
lose my guilt, it must roll off my shoulders into the sepulchre. It was
cut in a rock, so that if a sinner were saved a thousand years ago, I
too can be delivered, for it is a rocky sepulchre where sin was
buried–it was a rocky sepulchre of marble where my crimes were laid
forever–buried never to have a resurrection.
You will mark, moreover, that tomb was one wherein no other man had
ever lain. Christopher Ness says, when Christ was born, he lay in a
virgin's womb, and when he died, he was placed in a virgin tomb; he
slept where never man had slept before. The reason was that none might
say that another person rose, for there never had been any other body
there, thus a mistake of persons was impossible. Nor could it be said
that some old prophet was interred in the place, and that Christ rose
because he had touched his bones. You remember where Elisha was buried;
and as they were burying a man, behold he touched the prophet's bones
and arose. Christ touched no prophet's bones, for none had ever slept
there; it was a new chamber where the monarch of the earth did take his
rest for three day and three nights.
We have learned a little, then, with attention; but let us stoop down
once more before we leave the grave, and notice something else. We see
the grave, but do you notice the grave-clothes, all wrapped and laid in
their places, the napkin being folded up by itself? Wherefore are the
grave-clothes wrapped up? The Jews said robbers had abstracted the
body; but if so, surely they would have stolen the clothes; they would
never have thought of wrapping them up an laying them down so
carefully; they would be too much in haste to think of it. Why was it
then? To manifest to us that Christ did not come out in a hurried
manner. He slept till the last moment; then he awoke; he came not in
haste. They shall not come out in haste, neither by flight, but at the
appointed moment shall his people come to him. So at the precise hour,
the decreed instant, Jesus Christ leisurely awoke, took off his
cerements, left them all behind him, and came forth in his pure and
naked innocence, perhaps to show us that as clothes were the offspring
of sin–when sin was atoned for by Christ, he left all raiment behind
him–for garments are the badges of guilt: if we had not been guilty we
should never have needed them.
Then the napkin, mark you, was laid by itself. The grave-clothes were
left behind for every departed Christian to wear. The bed of death is
well sheeted with garments of Jesus, but the napkin was laid by itself,
because the Christian, when he dies, does not need that; it is used by
the mourners, and the mourners only. We shall all wear grave-clothes,
but we shall not need the napkin. When our friends die, the napkin is
laid aside for us to use; but do our ascended brethren and sisters use
it? No; the Lord God hath wiped away all tears from their eyes. We
stand and view the corpses of the dear departed, we moisten their faces
with our tears, letting whole showers of grief fall on their heads; but
do they weep? Oh, no. Could they speak to us from the upper spheres
they would say, "Weep not for me, for I am glorified. Sorrow not for
me; I have left a bad world behind me, and have entered into a far
better." They have no napkin–they weep not. Strange it is that those
who endure death weep not; but those who see them die, are weepers.
When the child is born it weeps while others smile, (say the Arabs,)
and when it dies it smiles while others weep. It is so with the
Christian. O blessed thing! The napkin is laid by itself, because
Christians will never want to use it when they die.
III. Emotion excited. We have thus surveyed the grave with deep
attention, and, I hope, with some profit to ourselves. But that is not
all. I love a religion which consists, in a great measure, of emotion.
Now, if I had power, like a master, I would touch the strings of your
hearts, and fetch a glorious tune of solemn music from them, for this
is a deeply solemn place into which I have conducted you.
First, I would bid you stand and see the place where the Lord lay with
emotions of deep sorrow. Oh cone, my beloved brother, thy Jesus once
lay there. He was a murdered man, my soul, and thou the murderer.
"Ah, you my sins, my cruel sins,
His chief tormentors were,
Each of my crimes became a nail,
And unbelief the spear."
"Alas! and did my Saviour bleed?
And did my Sov'reign die?"
I slew him–this right hand struck the dagger to his heart. My deeds
slew Christ. Alas! I slew my best beloved; I killed him who loved me
with an everlasting love. Ye eyes, why do you refuse to weep when ye
see Jesus' body mangled and torn? Oh! give vent to your sorrow,
Christians, for ye have good reason to do so. I believe in what Hart
says, that there was a time in his experience when he could so
sympathize with Christ, that he felt more grief at the death of Christ
than he did joy. It seemed so sad a thing that Christ should have to
die; and to me it often appears too great a price for Jesus Christ to
purchase worms with his own blood. Methinks I love him so much, that if
I had seen him about to suffer, I should have been as bad as Peter, and
have said, "That be far from thee, Lord;" but then he would have said
to me, "Get thee behind me, Satan", for he does not approve of that
love which would stop him from dying. "The cup which my Father hath
given me, shall I not drink it?" But I think, had I seen him going up
to his cross, I could fain have pressed him back and said "Oh! Jesus,
thou shalt not die; I cannot have it. Wilt thou purchase my life with a
price so dear?" It seems too costly for him who is the Prince of Life
and Glory to let his fair limbs be tortured in agony; that the hands
which carried mercies should be pierced with accursed nails; that the
temples that were always clothed with love should have cruel thorns
driven through them. It appears too much. Oh! weep, Christian, and let
your sorrow rise. Is not the price all but too great, that your beloved
should for you resign himself? Oh! I should think, if a person were
saved from death by another, he would always feel deep grief if his
deliverer lost his life in the attempt. I had a friend, who, standing
by the side of a piece of frozen water, saw a young lad in it, and
sprang upon the ice in order to save him. After clutching the boy, he
held him in his hands and cried out, "Here he is! Here he is! I have
saved him." But, just as they caught hold of the boy, he sank himself,
and his body was not found for some time afterwards, when he was quite
dead. Oh! it is so with Jesus. My soul was drowning. From heaven's high
portals he saw me sinking in the depths of hell; he plunged in:
"He sank beneath his heavy woes,
To raise me to a crown;
There's ne'er a gift his hand bestows,
But cost his heart a groan."
Ah! we may indeed regret our sin, since it slew Jesus.
Now, Christian, change thy note a moment. "Come, see the place where
the Lord lay," with joy and gladness. He does not lie there now. Weep,
when ye see the tomb of Christ, but rejoice because it is empty. Thy
sin slew him, but his divinity raised him up. Thy guilt hath murdered
him, but his righteousness hath restored him. Oh! he hath burst the
bonds of death, he hath ungirt the cerements of the tomb, and hath come
out more than conqueror, crushing death beneath his feet. Rejoice, O
Christian, for he is not there–he is risen.
"Come, see the place where the Lord lay."
One more thought, and then I will speak a little concerning the
doctrines we may learn from this grave. "Come, see the place where the
Lord lay." with solemn awe for you and I will have to lie there too.
"Hark! from the tomb a doleful sound,
Mine ears, attend the cry,
Ye living men, come view the ground
Where ye must shortly lie."
"Princes, this clay must be your bed,
In spite of all your powers.
The tall, the wise, the reverend head,
Must lie as low as ours."
It is a fact we do not often think of, that we shall all be dead in a
little while. I know that I am made of dust, and not of iron; my bones
are not brass, nor my sinews steel; in a little while my body must
crumble back to its native elements. But do you ever try to picture to
yourself the moment of your dissolution? My friends, there are some of
you who seldom realize how old you are, how near you are to death. One
way of remembering our age, is to see how much remains. Think how old
eighty is, and then see how few years there are before you will get
there. We should remember our frailty. Sometimes I have tried to think
of the time of my departure. I do not know whether I shall die a
violent death or not; but I would to God that I might die suddenly; for
sudden death is sudden glory. I would I might have such a blessed exit
as Dr. Beaumont, and die in my pulpit, laying down my body with my
charge, and ceasing at once to work and live. But it is not mine to
choose. Suppose I lie lingering for weeks, in the midst of pains, and
griefs, and agonies; when that moment comes, that moment which is too
solemn for my lips to speak of, when the spirit leaves the clay–let
the physician put it off for weeks, or years, as we say he does, though
he does not–when that moment comes, O ye lips, be dumb, and profane
not its solemnity. When death comes, how is the strong man bowed down!
How doth the mighty man fall! They may say they will not die, but there
is no hope for them; they must yield, the arrow has gone home. I knew a
man who was a wicked wretch, and I remember seeing him pace the floor
of his bedroom saying "O God, I will not die, I will not die." When I
begged him to lie on his bed, for he was dying, he said he could not
die while he could walk, and he would walk till he did die. Ah! he
expired in the utmost torments, always shrieking, "O God, I will not
die." Oh! that moment, that last moment. See how clammy is the sweat
upon the brow, how dry the tongue, how parched the lips. The man shuts
his eyes and slumbers, then opens them again: and if he be a Christian,
I can fancy that he will say:
"Hark! they whisper: angels say,
Sister spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite–
Steals my senses–shuts my sight–
Drowns my spirit–draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?"
We know not when he is dying. One gentle sigh, and the spirit breaks
away. We can scarcely say, "he is gone," before the ransomed spirit
takes its mansion near the throne. Come to Christ's tomb, then, for the
silent vault must soon be your habitation. Come to Christ's grave, for
ye must slumber there. And even you, ye sinners, for one moment I will
ask you to come also, because ye must die as well as the rest of us.
Your sins cannot keep you from the jaws of death. I say, sinner, I want
thee to look at Christ's sepulchre too, for when thou diest it may have
done thee great good to think of it. You have heard of Queen Elizabeth,
crying out that she would give an empire for a single hour. Or have you
heard the despairing cry of the gentleman on board the "Arctic," when
it was going down, who shouted to the boat, "Come back! I will give you
£30,000 if you will come and take me in." Ah! poor man, it were but
little if he had thirty thousand worlds, if he could thereby prolong
his life: "Skin for skin, yea, all that a man hath, will he give for
his life." Some of you who can laugh this morning, who came to spend a
merry hour in this hall, will be dying, and then ye will pray and crave
for life, and shriek for another Sabbath-day. Oh! how the Sabbaths ye
have wasted will walk like ghosts before you! Oh! how they will shake
their snaky hair in your eyes! How will ye be made to sorrow and weep,
because ye wasted precious hours, which, when they are gone, are gone
too far to be recalled. May God save you from the pangs of remorse.
IV. INSTRUCTION IMPARTED. And now, Christian brethren, "Come, see the
place where the Lord lay," to learn a doctrine or two. What did you see
when you visited "the place where the Lord lay?" "He is not here; for
he is risen." The first thing you perceive, if you stand by his empty
tomb, is his divinity. The dead in Christ shall rise first at the
resurrection: but he who rose first–their leader, rose in a different
fashion. They rise by imparted power. He rose by his own. He could not
slumber in the grave, because he was God. Death had no more dominion
over him. There is no better proof of Christ's divinity that that
startling resurrection of his, when he rose from the grave, by the
glory of the Father. O Christian, thy Jesus is a God; his broad
shoulders that hold thee up are indeed divine; and here thou hast the
best proof of it–because he rose from the grave.
A second doctrine here taught well may charm thee, if the Holy Spirit
apply it with power. Behold his empty tomb, O true believer: it is a
sign of thine acquittal, and thy full discharge. If Jesus had not paid
the debt, he ne'er had risen from the grave. He would have lain there
till this moment if he had not cancelled the entire debt, by satisfying
eternal vengeance. O beloved, is not that an overwhelming thought?
"It is finished, it is finished,
Hear the rising Saviour cry."
The heavenly turnkey came, a bright angel stepped from heaven and
rolled away the stone; but he would not have done so if Christ had not
done all: he would have kept him there, he would have said, "Nay, nay,
thou art the sinner now; thou hast the sins of all thine elect upon thy
shoulder, and I will not let thee go free till thou hast paid the
uttermost farthing." In his going free I see my own discharge.
"My Jesu's blood's my full discharge."
As a justified man, I have not a sin now against me in God's book. If I
were to turn over God's eternal book, I should see every debt of mine
receipted and cancelled.
"Here's pardon for transgressions past,
It matter not how black their cast,
And O my soul, with wonder view,
For sins to come, here's pardon too.
Fully discharged by Christ I am,
From Christ's tremendous curse and blame."
One more doctrine we learn, and with that we will conclude–the
doctrine of the resurrection. Jesus rose, and as the Lord our Saviour
rose, so all his followers must rise. Die I must–this body must be a
carnival for worms; it must be eaten by those tiny cannibals;
peradventure it shall be scattered from one portion of the earth to
another; the constituent particles of this my frame will enter into
plants, from plants pass into animals, and thus be carried into far
distant realms; but, at the blast of the archangel's trumpet, every
separate atom of my body shall find its fellow; like the bones lying in
the valley of vision, though separated from one another, the moment God
shall speak, the bone will creep to its bone; then the flesh shall come
upon it; the four winds of heaven shall blow, and the breath shall
return. So let me die, let beasts devour me, let fire turn this body
into gas and vapor, all its particles shall yet again be restored; this
very self-same, actual body shall start up from its grave, glorified
and made like Christ's body, yet still the same body, for God hath said
it. Christ's same body rose; so shall mine. O my soul, dost thou now
dread to die? Thou wilt lose thy partner body a little while, but thou
wilt be married again in heaven; soul and body shall again be united
before the throne of God. The grave–what is it? It is the bath in
which the Christian puts the clothes of his body to have them washed
and cleansed. Death–what is it? It is the waiting-room where we robe
ourselves for immortality; it is the place where the body, like Esther,
bathes itself in spices that it may be fit for the embrace of its Lord.
Death is the gate of life; I will not fear to die, then, but will say,
"Shudder not to pass the stream;
Venture all thy care on him;
Him whose dying love and power
Stilled its tossing, hushed its roar,
Safe in the expanded wave;
Gentle as a summer's eve.
Not one object of his care
Ever suffered shipwreck there."
Come, view the place then, with all hallowed meditation, where the Lord
lay. Spend this afternoon, my beloved brethren, in meditating upon it,
and very often go to Christ's grave, both to weep and to rejoice. Ye
timid ones, do not be afraid to approach, for tis no vain thing to
remember that timidity buried Christ. Faith would not have given him a
funeral at all; faith would have kept him above ground, and would never
have let him be buried; for it would have said, it would be useless to
bury Christ if he were to rise. Fear buried him. Nicodemus, the night
disciple, and Joseph of Arimathea, secretly, for fear of the Jews, went
and buried him. Therefore, ye timid ones, ye may go too. Ready-to-halt,
poor Fearing, and thou, Mrs. Despondency, and Much-afraid, go often
there; let it be your favorite haunt, there build a tabernacle, there
abide. And often say to your heart, when you are in distress and
sorrow, "Come, see the place where the Lord lay."