Stephen’s Death

A SERMON DELIVERED ON LORD'S-DAY MORNING, MAY 24, 1874,

BY C. H. SPURGEON,

AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON.

"And they stoned Stephen, calling upon God, and saying, Lord Jesus,
receive my spirit. And he kneeled down, and cried with a loud voice,
Lord, lay not this sin to their charge. And when he had said this, he
fell asleep." Acts 7:59, 60.

IT is of the greatest service to us all to be reminded that our life is
but a vapor which appears for a little while and then vanishes away.
Through forgetfulness of this, worldlings live at ease and Christians
walk carelessly. Unless we watch for the Lord's coming, worldliness
soon eats into our spirit as does a canker. If you have this world's
riches, Believer, remember that this is not your rest–set not too
great a store by its comforts. If, on the other hand, you dwell in
straitness and are burdened with poverty, be not too much depressed,
for these light afflictions are but for a moment and are not worthy to
be compared with the Glory which shall be revealed in us! Look upon the
things that are as though they were not. Remember you are a part of a
great procession which is always moving by–others come and go before
your own eyes–you see them and they disappear. You, yourself, are
moving onward to another and more real world.

"'Tis greatly wise to talk of our last hours," to give a rehearsal of
our departure and to be prepared to stand before the great tribunal of
the judgment. Our duty is to trim our lamps against the time when the
Bridegroom comes. We are called upon to stand always ready, waiting for
the appearing of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, or else for the
summons which shall tell us that the pitcher is broken at the fountain
and the wheel broken at the cistern–that the body must return to the
earth as it was and the spirit unto God who gave it.

This death scene of Stephen's may aid our meditations while, by the
help of the Holy Spirit, we cast our minds forward to the time when we,
also, must fall asleep. This is the only martyrdom which is recorded in
the New Testament in detail–the Holy Spirit foreseeing that there
would be martyrdoms enough before the Church's history would end– and
that we should never lack memorials such as those with which Foxe's
Martyrology and works of the like order supply us. It is equally
remarkable that this is the only death scene in the New Testament which
has been described at length, with the exception of our Lord's. Of
course we are told of the deaths of other saints and facts relating to
them are mentioned. But what they said when they died and how they felt
in passing out of the world are left unrecorded, probably because the
Holy Spirit knew that we should never lack for holy deathbeds and
triumphant departures.

He well knew these would be everyday facts to the people of God.
Perhaps, moreover, the Holy Spirit would have us gather from His
silence that He would not have us attach so much importance to the
manner of men's deaths as to the character of their lives. To live like
Jesus most nearly concerns us–a triumphant death may be the crown, but
a holy life is the head that must wear it. To obey our Lord's commands
during our life is our most pressing business. We may leave the
testimony of death to be given us in the same hour. We shall have dying
Grace in dying moments, but at the present time our chief business is
to obtain the Grace which will enable us to adorn the doctrine of God
our Savior in all things.

However, as we have this one case of Stephen given us at full length,
we should prize it the more highly and study it the more carefully
because it is the only one. Let us do so this morning. There are three
things upon which I shall speak–The general character of Stephen's
death. Secondly, its most notable peculiarity. And thirdly, things
desirable in reference to death suggested to us by Stephen's departure.

Let us look at Stephen's death, and notice ITS GENERAL CHARACTER. It
strikes us at once that it happened in the very midst of his service.
He had been appointed an officer of the Church at Jerusalem, to see
that the alms were distributed properly among the poor, especially
among the Grecian widows. He discharged his duty to the satisfaction of
the whole Church and thereby he did most useful service, for it gave
the Apostles opportunity to give themselves wholly

to their true work, namely, that of preaching and prayer. It is no
small matter to be able to bear a burden for another if he is thereby
set free for more eminent service than we could, ourselves, perform.

If it is so that I cannot preach myself, yet if I can take away from
one who does preach certain cares which burden him–if I thus enable
him to preach the more and the better–I am virtually preaching myself.
The care which Stephen exercised over the poor tended, also, to prevent
division, and this was a result of no mean order. But, not content with
being a deacon, Stephen began to minister in holy things as a speaker
of the Word, and that with great power, for he was full of faith and of
the Holy Spirit. He stands forth on the pages of Church history, for
the time being, as quite a leading spirit. So much so, indeed, that the
enemies of the Gospel recognized his prominent usefulness and made him
the object of their most fierce opposition, for they generally rage
most against those who are doing most good.

Stephen stood in the front rank of the Lord's host and yet he was taken
away! "A mystery," some say. "A great privilege," say I. My Brothers
and Sisters, who desires to be removed at any other time? Is it not
well to die in harness while yet you are useful? Who wants to linger
till he becomes a burden rather than a help? If we are called to depart
in the middle of service we must submit to it thankfully and may even
wish to have it said of us, he did–

"His body with his charge lay down, And ceased at once to work and
live." He was removed in the very prime of his usefulness, just when
many were being converted by his ministry. A time when, through his
faith, miracles were being worked on all sides. A time when he seemed,
indeed, to be necessary to the Church!

And is not this well? Well, first, that God should teach His people how
much He can do by a man whom He chooses. Well, next, that He should
show them that He is not dependent upon any man, but can do His work
even without the most choice laborer in His vineyard! If our life can
teach one lesson–and when that is taught–if our death can teach
another, it is well to live and well to die! And it is far more
desirable than to tarry long and take one's flight in the dreary winter
of declining influence. Let me be reaped, if I may venture on a choice,
when my ministry shall be like the wheat in Pharaoh's dream–with seven
ears rank and good–and not in a time when the east wind has shriveled
me into barrenness. If God is glorified by our removal, is it not well?
And may He not be more than ordinarily glorified when He lays us aside
in order to show His Church that He can do without His servants, or can
raise up others in their place? Happy is that messenger whose absence
as well as his presence fulfils his Master's will!

But Stephen's death was painful and attended with much that flesh and
blood would dread. He died not surrounded by weeping friends, but by
enemies who gnashed their teeth! No holy hymn made glad his death
chamber–the shouts and outcries of a maddened throng rang in his ears!
No downy pillow for him, but the hard and cruel rocks. Battered and
bruised by a whirlwind of stones he laid down to sleep and woke up in
the bosom of his Lord! Now, Brothers and Sisters, this is all the more
for our comfort, because if he died in perfect peace, no, in joy and
triumph, how much more may we hope to depart in peace? Since we shall
not have these grim attendants upon our departing hours, may we not
hope that we shall be sustained and buoyed up by the Presence of our
Lord and Master, even as Stephen was, and Divine Grace will be made
perfect in our weakness?

Every circumstance tells on our side by way of comfort. If he slept
amidst a storm of stones, how may we hope to fall asleep right
peacefully, in the same faith in Jesus, when the saints are gathered
around our bed to bid us farewell? More particularly, however, I want
to call your attention to the fact that Stephen's departing moments
were calm, peaceful, confident, joyous. He never flinched while he was
addressing that infuriated audience! He told them the plain Truth of
God, with as much quiet deliberation as if he had been gratifying them
with a pleasing discourse. When they grew angry he was not afraid. His
lips did not quiver. He did not retract or soften down a single
expression, but cut them to the heart with even more fidelity! With the
courage of a man of God, his face was set as a flint. Knowing that he
was now preaching his last sermon, he used the sharp two-edged sword of
the Word of God, piercing into their very bones.

He cared little how they frowned. He was not abashed when they gnashed
their teeth. He was as calm as the opened Heaven above him and
continued though they hurried him out of the city. When they had
dragged him outside the gate and stripped off their clothes to carry
out his execution, he did not let fall a single timorous word or
trembling cry. He stood up and committed his soul to God with calmness.
And when the first murderous stones felled him to the earth he rose to
his knees, still not to ask for pity, nor to utter a cowardly cry, but
to plead with his Lord for mercy upon his

assailants! Then, closing his eyes like a child tired out with the
sport of a long summer's day, he drops asleep as on his mother's
lap–"he fell asleep."

Believe, then, O Christian, that if you abide in Christ, the same will
be the case with you! You shall be undisturbed at the premonitions of
decay. When the physician shakes his head, your heart shall not fail!
When friends look sad, you will not share their sorrow! We wept when we
were born though all around us smiled–so shall we smile when we die
while all around us weep. The dying Christian is often the only calm
and composed person in all the group which fills the chamber from which
he ascends to Heaven. Talking of what he enjoys and expects, he glides
gently into Glory! Why should we expect it to be otherwise? Stephen's
God is our God! Stephen's faith we already possess in its germ and we
may have it in the same degree! The Holy Spirit dwells in us even as He
did in Stephen–and if He puts not forth the same energy–what hinders
Him but our unbelief? Getting more faith we shall enjoy the same
tranquil repose of spirit when our appointed hour shall come. Brethren,
let us not fear death, but descend Jordan's shelving bank without the
slightest dismay!

Some other points about Stephen's departure I beg you to notice–points
relating to the state of his mind. His mind was in a very elevated
condition. Here, let us first notice his intense sympathy with God. All
through that long speech of his you see that his soul is taken up with
his God and the treatment which He had received from Israel. He does
not speak against his countrymen from any ill will, but he seems to
take them into very little consideration. His God absorbs all his
thoughts. He tells how his God had sent Joseph, but his brothers
persecuted him. His God had sent Moses, but they rebelled against him.
His God had now sent Jesus and they had been His betrayers and
murderers. He had pity upon them in his heart, that is clearly seen in
his dying prayer for them, but still, his main feeling is sympathy with
God in the rebellions which He had endured from the ungodly.

Surely this is the mind which possesses the saints in Heaven. I see, as
I read Stephen's speech, that he regarded impenitent sinners from the
standpoint of the saints above, who will be so taken up in sympathy
with God and the righteousness of His government, that the doom of the
finally rebellious will cause them no pain. The triumph of right over
willful wrong, of holiness over the foulest and most wanton sin, of
justice over the ingratitude which made light of redeeming love, will
clear the soul of all emotion but that which rejoices in every act of
the Most High because it is and must be right. I know how easily this
remark may be misrepresented, still it is true, and let it stand.

Notice, too, how Stephen's mind clung only to that which is purely
spiritual. All ritualism was clean gone from him. I dare say at one
time Stephen felt a great reverence for the Temple. The first Jewish
Christians still continued to feel a measure of that awe of the Temple
which, as Jews, they had formerly indulged. But Stephen says, "How is
it the Most High dwells not in temples made with hands? As says the
Prophet, Heaven is My Throne and earth is My footstool: what house will
you build Me? says the Lord; or what is the place of My rest?" It is
noteworthy how the saints, when they are near to die, make very little
of what others make a great deal of.

What is ritual to a dying man?–a man with his eyes opened, looking
into the future and about to meet his God? Sacraments are poor supports
in the dying hour. Priestcraft, what is it? The reed has snapped
beneath the weight of a burdened conscience and the tremendous
realities of death and judgment. The peculiar form of worship which a
man contended for in health–and the little specialties of doctrines
which he made much of before–will seem little in comparison with the
great spiritual essentials, when the soul is approaching the Presence
Chamber of the Eternal! The saint in death is growingly spiritual, for
he is nearing the land of spirits and that City of which John said, "I
saw no temple there." Brethren, it is a grand thing to grow in
spiritual religion till you break the eggshell of form and shake it
off–for the outward fashion of ceremonies and even of simplicities is
too often to men what the eggshell is to the living bird–but when the
soul awakens into the highest forms of life, we chip and break that
shell and leave our former bondage.

Stephen came right away from those superstitious reverences which still
cast their blight over many Christians and worshipped God, who is a
Spirit, in spirit and in truth! It is most clear that he rose beyond
all fear of men. They grin at him, they howl at him, but what matters
that to him? He will be put to a blasphemer's death outside the city by
the hands of cruel men–but that daunts him not. His face glows with
unspeakable joy! He looks not like a man hurried to his execution, but
as one on the way to a wedding! He looks like an immortal angel rather
than a man condemned to die! Ah, Brothers and Sisters–so will it be
with all the faithful!

Today we fear man, who is but a worm. Today we are so weak as to he
swayed by the estimation of our fellows and we listen to kindly voices
which counsel us to speak with bated breath upon certain points, lest
we grieve this one or that. But the fitter we are for Heaven the more
we scorn all compromise and feel that for Truth, for God, for Christ,
we must speak out even if we die–for who are we that we should be
afraid of a man that shall die and the son of man that is but a worm?
It is a blessed thing if this shall be growingly our condition! At the
same time Stephen was free from all cares. He was a deacon, but he does
not say, "What will those poor people do? How will the widows fare? Who
will care for the orphans?" He does not even say, "What will the
Apostles do, now that I can no longer take the labor from off their
shoulders?" Not a word of it!

He sees Heaven opened and thinks little of the Church below, love it
though he does with all his heart! He trusts the Church Militant with
her Captain–he is called to the Church Triumphant! He hears the
trumpet sound, "Up and away," and lo, he answers to the summons! Happy
men who can thus cast off their cares and enter into rest! Why should
it not be thus with us? Why, like Martha, do we allow our much serving
to encumber us? Our Lord managed His Church well enough before we were
born! He will not be at a loss because He has called us Home and,
therefore, we need not trouble ourselves as though we were
all-important and the Church would pine for lack of us!

At the same time, Stephen had no resentments. That was a sweet prayer
of his, "Lay not this sin to their charge." Just as Daniel before
Belshazzar saw the scale and saw Belshazzar weighed in it and found
wanting, so Stephen saw the balances of justice, and this murder of
his, like a great weight, about to be placed in the scale against the
raging Jews. And he cried, "Lord, cast not this sin into the balance."
He could not say, as the Savior did, "They know not what they do," for
they did know and had been so angered by his speech that they stopped
their ears to hear no more. But he pleads for them as far as truth
would permit him while breathing out his soul. Every child of God ought
to lay aside all resentments at once, or rather he should never have
any! We are to carry in our hearts no remembrance of ills, but to live
everyday freely forgiving, as we are everyday freely forgiven. And as
we get nearer to Heaven there must be growing love to those who hate
us, for so shall we prove that we have been made ready for the skies.

To close up this description of his death, Stephen died like a
conqueror. His name was Stephanos, or crown, and truly that day he not
only received a crown, but he became the crown of the Church as her
first martyr. He was the conqueror, not his enemies! They stoned his
body, but his soul had vanquished them. It was not in their power to
move him. His quiet look defied their fury. He went home to his God to
hear it said, "Servant of God, well done," and in nothing had his foes
despoiled him on the way there! He was more than a conqueror through
Him that loved Him. These are some of the characteristics of Stephen's
departure. I trust that in our measure they may be ours. God grant them
to us and we will give Him all the Glory.

II. I Now call your attention to a very interesting point–THE MOST
NOTABLE PECULIARITY OF

STEPHEN'S DEATH. It was notable for this one point–that it was full of
Jesus–and full of Jesus in four ways. Jesus was seen, invoked, trusted
and imitated. First, the Lord Jesus was seen. The martyr looked up
steadfastly into Heaven and saw the Glory of God–and Jesus standing on
the right hand of God! At first he was probably in the council hall of
the Sanhedrim, but the vision seemed to divide the roof, to roll away
the firmament–and set open the gates of Heaven so that into its
innermost chambers the anointed eye was able to gaze.

It is said he saw the Son of Man. Now this is the only place in
Scripture where Jesus is called the Son of Man by any one but Himself.
He frequently called Himself the Son of Man. That was, indeed, a common
name for Himself, but His disciples did not call Him so. Perhaps the
Glory of the rejected Messiah as Man was the peculiar thought which was
to be conveyed to Stephen's mind, to assure him that as the despised
Lord had, at length, triumphed, so, also, should His persecuted
servant. At all times it is a gladsome sight to see the representative
Man exalted to the Throne of God, but it was peculiarly suitable for
this occasion, for the Lord Himself had warned His enemies, "Hereafter
shall you see the Son of Man sitting on the right hand of power." He
had spoken those words to the very men who now heard Stephen bear
witness that it was even so!

Stephen saw his Lord standing. Now our Lord is generally described as
sitting, but it was as if the sympathizing Lord had risen up to draw
near to His suffering servant, eager both to sustain him and to receive
him when the conflict was over. Jesus rose from the Throne to gaze upon
Himself suffering, again, in the person of one of His beloved members.
The place occupied by the Lord was at the "right hand of God." Stephen
distinctly saw the ineffable brightness of Eternal

Glory which no human eye can see until strengthened by superior
Grace–and amid that Glory he saw the Son of Man in the place of love,
power and honor, worshipped and adored!

Now, when we come to die, dear Friends, we may not, perhaps, expect
with these eyes to see what Stephen saw–but faith has a grand
realizing power. The fact that Jesus is enthroned is always the same
and as long as we are sure that He is at the right hand of God, it
little matters whether we see Him with our natural eyes, for faith is
the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen.
Brothers and Sisters, if your faith shall be strong when you come to
die, as doubtless it will be, you will have a sight and sense of Jesus
in His Manhood at the right hand of God–and this will effectually take
away from you all fear of death–for you will feel, "If the Man, Christ
is there, I, being already represented by Him, shall also be there! I
shall rise from the dead! I shall sit at the right hand of the Father!
His eternal power and Godhead will raise me up to be where He is, for
has He not said–"I will that they, also, whom You have given Me be
with Me where I am"?

I will, however, venture further. I am convinced, from my own
observation, that not to a few, but to many dying saints, something
more is given than the realizations of faith. Much more frequently than
we suppose, supernatural glimpses of the Divine Splendor are vouchsafed
to the saints in the hour of their departure. I have heard persons
comparatively uninstructed, and certainly unimaginative, speak of what
they have seen in their last hour in such a way that I am certain they
never borrowed the expressions from books, but must have seen what they
described. There has been a freshness about their descriptions which
has convinced me they did see what they assured me they beheld. And,
moreover, the joy which has resulted from it–the acquiescence in the
Divine will, the patience with which they have borne suffering–have
gone far to prove that they were not under the influence of an idle
imagination, but were really enabled to look within the veil!

The flesh in its weakness becomes, if I may so say, a rarefied medium!
The mists are blown away, the obscuring veil grows thinner, disease
makes tears in it and through the thin places and the tears the
heavenly Glory shines! Oh, how little will a man fear death, or care
about pain, if he expects to breathe out his soul on a better Pisgah
than Moses ever climbed! Well did we sing just now–I am sure I sang it
with all my heart–

"Oh, if my Lord would come and meet, My soul would stretch her wings in
haste, Fly fearless through Death's iron gate, Nor fear the terror as
she passed." Now this model departure, which is given in Scripture as a
type of Christian deaths, has this for its ensign, that Christ was
visible. And such shall be the character of our departure, if through
faith we are one with Jesus. Therefore, let us not fear.

Next, notice that Jesus was invoked, for that is the meaning of the
text. "They stoned Stephen, calling upon God," or invoking, "and
saying, Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." Dying Christians are not
troubled with questions as to the Deity of Christ. Dear Friends,
Unitarianism may do to live with, but it will not do to die with, at
least not for us. At such a time we need an almighty and Divine Savior!
We need, "God over all, blessed forever" to come to our rescue in the
solemn article. So Stephen called upon Jesus and worshipped Him. He
makes no mention of any other intercessor. O martyr of Christ, why did
you not cry, "Ave Maria! Blessed Virgin, succor me!"? Why did you not
pray to St. Michael and all angels? Ah, no! The abomination of saint
and angel worship had not been invented in his day–and if it had been
he would have scorned it as one of the foul devices of Hell! There is
one Mediator between God and man, the Man Christ Jesus. He invoked
Christ and no one else. Neither do we find him saying a word as to his
good works, alms deeds, sermons and miracles. No, he invoked the Lord
Jesus and leaned wholly on Him!

Ah, Brothers and Sisters, it is well to live and to die resting wholly
upon Jesus! If you lie down tonight and quietly think of your departure
and inquire whether you are ready to die, you will not feel at your
ease till your heart stands at the foot of the Cross, looking up and
viewing the flowing of the Savior's precious blood, believing humbly
that He made your peace with God. There is no right living, or joyful
dying, except in invoking Christ. What did Stephen do next? He trusted
Jesus and confided in Him only, for we find him saying, "Lord Jesus,
receive my spirit." He felt that his spirit was about to leave the body
to fly into the unknown world. Perhaps a shiver came over him of
natural awe at the great mystery, even as it comes over us when we
think of being disrobed of the familiar garment of our body. But he
placed his unclothed spirit in the hands of Jesus and his fear and care
were over.

Look, he has quite done with it, now! He prays no more for himself, but
intercedes for his enemies! And then he closes his eyes and falls
asleep. This is the simple and sublime art of dying. Once more we take
our guilty soul and place it in the dear pierced hands of Him who is
able to keep it. And then we feel assured that all is safe. The day's
work is done, the doors are fastened, the watchman guards the streets.
Come, let us fall asleep. With Jesus seen, invoked and trusted, it is
sweet to die. Notice, once again, that in Stephen we see Jesus
imitated. The death of Stephen is a reproduction of the death of Jesus.
Let us hope that ours will be the same.

It was so, even in little circumstances. Jesus died outside the gate,
so did Stephen. Jesus died praying, so did Stephen. Jesus died saying,
"Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit." Stephen cannot approach
God absolutely, but he approaches Him through the Mediator, and he
says, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." Christ dies pleading for His
murderers, so does Stephen–"Lord, lay not this sin to their charge."
Now, if our death shall be a reproduction of the death of Jesus, why
need we fear? It has, up to now, been sweet to be made like He and it
will still be sweet. Even to suffer with Him has been
delightful–surely it will be joyful to die with Him! We are willing to
sleep in Jesus' bed and lie as He did in the bosom of the earth, to
arise in His likeness at the Resurrection.

Thus you see, dear Brethren, that Stephen's death was radiant with the
glow of his Lord's brightness. Christ was glorified and reflected in
him. None could question whose image and superscription he bore. If our
lives shall be of that order, our deaths, also, shall be of the like
character. Let your life be looking unto Jesus, pleading with Jesus,
trusting in Jesus, copying Jesus–and then your departing moments will
be attended by visions of Jesus and reproductions of His dying
behavior! As you have been with Him in the trials of life, He will be
with you in the closing scenes of death. Happy are they whose deathbed
Jesus makes, and who sleep in Jesus, to be brought with Him when He
returns to take the kingdom!

III. From Stephen's departure we gather something as to THE KIND OF
DEATH WHICH WE MAY WISELY

DESIRE. First, it is very desirable that our death should be of the
same sort of our life. Stephen was full of faith and of the Holy Spirit
in life–and so was he full of the Holy Spirit in death. Stephen was
bold, brave, calm and composed in life– he is the same amid the
falling stones. It is very sad when the reported account of a man's
death does not fit in with his life. I am afraid that many funeral
sermons have done great mischief by their flattery, for persons have
very naturally said, "This is very strange. I never knew that the
departed person was a saint until I heard this account of his end.
Really, when I hear these wonderful things about him–well, I should
not have thought it."

No, it will not do to have no character for piety but that which is
hurriedly run up in a few days of sickness and death. It is ill to die
with a jerk, getting, as it were, upon another line of rails all on a
sudden. It is better to glide from one degree of Divine Grace to
another–and so to Glory. We ought to die daily–die every morning
before we go down to breakfast–that is to say, we should rehearse it
all so that when we come to die it will be no new thing to us. Death
may be the fringe or border of life, but it should be made out of the
same piece. A life of clay is not to be joined to a death of gold. We
cannot hope to dine with the world and sup with God. We ought to dwell
in the house of the Lord every day.

Again, it is most desirable that death should be the perfecting of our
whole career, the putting of the cornerstone upon the edifice, so that
when nothing else is needed to complete the man's labors, he falls
asleep. Dear Brothers and Sisters, is it so with you? Suppose you were
to die this morning in the pew would your life be a complete life, or
would it be like a broken column snapped off in the center? Why, there
are some, who even in their business lives, have left many necessary
things undone. For instance, they have not made their wills, yet, and
will cause much sorrow to wife and children through their neglect. Some
Christian people do not keep their worldly affairs in proper order, but
are lax, disorderly and slovenly, so that if they were to die, there
would be many things of which they would feel loathe to die.

Mr. Whitfield used to say when he went to bed at night, "I have not
left even a pair of gloves out of their place: if I die tonight, all my
affairs, for time and eternity, are in order." That is the best way to
live–so that, let death come when it may, at midnight, cockcrowing, or
midday–it will be a desirable finis to a book of which we have written
the last line. We will have finished our course and served our
generation–our falling asleep is the fit conclusion of the matter. May
our death not be one of a kind which needs flurry and hot haste to make
the man ready. There are people in the world who, if they were going
off by train and knew of it a month beforehand, would be all in a fever
an hour before they started! Though they know the time the train
leaves, they cannot arrive a few minutes before by any means, but rush
in just as the bell rings and leap into a carriage just at the time the
train leaves.

Some die in that fashion, as if they had so much to do and were in such
a hurry–and besides, had so little Grace that they could be only saved
so as by fire. When worldly Christians die, there is a deal to be done
to pack up and get ready for departing. But a true Christian stands
with his loins girded. He knows he has to travel. He does not know
exactly when, but he stands with his staff in his hand! He knows the
Bridegroom is soon coming and he, therefore, keeps his lamp well
trimmed. That is the way to live and the way to die! May the Holy
Spirit put us in such a condition that the Angel of Death may not
summon us unawares, or catch us by surprise! Then will going home be
nothing out of the common way, but a simple matter.

Bengel, the famous commentator, did not wish to die in a spiritual
parade, with a sensational scene, but to pass away like a person called
out to the street door from the midst of business. His prayer was
granted. He was revising the proof sheets of his works almost to the
moment when he felt the death stroke. Is not this well? Equally
desirable was the end of the Venerable Bede, who died as he completed
his translation of the Gospel of John. "Write quickly," he said, "for
it is time for me to return to Him who made me." "Dear master," said
the pupil, "one sentence is still lacking." "Write quickly," said the
venerable man. The young man soon added, "It is finished," and Bede
replied, "You have well said, all is now finished," and he fell asleep.

So would I desire to depart! So might every Christian desire! We would
make no stir from our daily holiness. We would change our place but not
our service–having waited on our Lord at this end of the room–we are
called up higher and we go! It must be a dreadful thing for a
professing Christian to die full of regrets for work neglected and
opportunities wasted. It is sad to have to say, "I must leave my Sunday
school class before I have earnestly warned those dear children to flee
from the wrath to come." It would be wretched for me to go home, today,
and say, "I have preached my last sermon, but it was not earnest, nor
calculated either to glorify God or benefit my fellow men." Can the end
of a wasted life be other than unhappy? Will it not be sorrowful to be
called away with work undone and purposes

unfulfilled?

O my Brothers and Sisters, do not live so as to make it hard to die! It
must also be a sad thing to be taken away unwillingly, plucked like an
unripe fruit from the tree. The unripe apple holds fast to its place
and so do many hold hard to their riches and cleave so fondly to
worldly things that it needs a sharp pull to separate them from the
world. The ripe fruit adheres but lightly–and when a gentle hand comes
to take it, it yields itself freely, as if willing to be gathered–
like an apple of gold into a basket of silver. God make you unworldly
and forbid that you should cleave so resolutely to things below as to
make death a violence and departure a terror! Brethren, we would not
wish to die so that it should be a matter of question, especially to
ourselves, to which place we are going–and yet you will die in that
way if you live in that way.

If you have no assurance of salvation, do you expect it to come to you
on your dying bed? Why, my dear Friend, when the pain increases and the
brain becomes weary, you are very likely to suffer depression and,
therefore, you need strong faith to begin with for your own comfort!
Would you like friends to go out of your death chamber saying, "We hope
he is saved, but we stand in doubt concerning him"? Your life should
prevent that! Holy Mr. Whitfield, when someone observed, "I should like
to hear your dying testimony," said, "No, I shall, in all probability
bear no dying testimony." "Why not?" said the other. "Because I am
bearing testimony everyday while I live and there will be the less need
of it when I die." That seraphic saint preached up to the last
afternoon and then went upstairs to bed, and died. There was no need
for anyone to ask, "What did he say when he was dying?" Ah, no! They
knew what he said when he was living–and that was a great deal better!
Let your testimony in life be such that, whether you speak or not in
your last moments, there shall be no question about whose you were nor
whom you served.

In conclusion, one would desire to die so that even our death should be
useful. I feel persuaded that Stephen's death had a great deal to do
with Saul's conversion. Have you ever observed the evident influence of
Stephen upon Paul? Augustine says, "If Stephen had never prayed, Saul
had never preached." I do not say that the death of Stephen converted
Saul–far from it–that change was worked by a Divine interposition
when Saul was on the road to Damascus. But what he saw in Stephen's
martyrdom had made the soil ready to receive the good seed. Saul, in
later life, seems to me to be always taking his text from Stephen's
sermon.

Read that sermon through at home and see if it is not so. Stephen spoke
about the Covenant of Circumcision and that was a very favorite topic
with Paul. When Paul stood at Athens on Mars' Hill and addressed the
Areopagites he said

to them, "God that made Heaven and earth dwells not in temples made
with hands"–almost the identical words which Stephen had quoted–and
surely the remembrance of Stephen before the Sanhedrim must have rushed
over the Apostle's mind at the time. There is yet another passage–and
indeed I might carry on the parallel a very long way–where Stephen
used the expression, "They received the Law by the disposition of
angels," an idea peculiar to Paul. Paul is the child of Stephen.
Stephen dying is the seed out of which Paul springs up. What a
privilege so to die that a phoenix may rise out of our ashes!

If we have been useful, ourselves, up to the measure of a moderate
ability, we may, as we die, call forth greater workers than ourselves.
Our expiring spark may kindle the Divine light in some flaming beacon
which, far across the seas, shall scatter the beams of Gospel light!
And why not? God grant that we may, both in life and in death, serve
Him well. I would that even in our ashes might live our former
lives–that being dead we yet may speak! It was a happy thought of an
earnest Divine who asked that when he was dead he might be placed in
his coffin where all his congregation might come and see him–and that
on his bosom should be placed a paper bearing this exhortation,
"Remember the words which I have spoken to you, being yet present with
you." Yes, we will go on telling of Jesus and winning souls in life and
death, if God so helps us! Beloved Believers, love the souls of men and
pray God to save them!

As for you who are not saved yourselves, I implore you think of what
your condition will be when you come to die. Or, if a seared conscience
should cause you to die in peace, think what you will do at the
Judgment, when that conscience will become tender. What will you do
when the lips of the dear Redeemer shall say, "Depart, you cursed, into
everlasting

fire in Hell"?–

"You Sinners, seek His Grace,

Whose wrath you cannot bear! Look to the dying Savior's face, And find
salvation there."

PORTION OF SCRIPTURE READ BEFORE SERMON–Acts 5:9-15; 7. HYMNS FROM
"OUR OWN HYMN BOOK"–855, 829, 853.
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