Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Joy in death

Christian submission extends to all the dark and trying dispensations of the present state. It includes even the stroke of death. It says with the last expiring breath, "May Your will be done." The triumph is the greater, because the approach of the destroyer is distinctly contemplated, and the consequences of death, both to the prepared and unprepared, are vividly before the mind. The faith of the Christian invests the hour of dissolution with a solemnity, which respects not merely all that is to be left behind, and all that is repulsive in the cold aspect of death, but what is to be experienced when the soul is disengaged from the body, and goes to God’s tribunal. The retributions of eternity are fully in view. The dying saint as fully believes in a hell, to which the wicked will be driven, as he believes in a heaven, to which the righteous will be welcomed. He has no more doubt that ’he who believes not will be damned,’ than he has, that ’he who believes will be saved.’ His views on this great doctrine of eternal retributions are clear and distinct; and he approaches the crisis under their full influence. He has also the conviction stronger now than ever before—that no native traits of amiableness, nor self-originated virtues, can afford him the least hope of acceptance before God. He sees, in the retrospect, that these supposed virtues are deficient in motive, and they vanish before the accumulated sins which have attended him at every step of his mortal journey. What then gives him peace in death; or how can he expect to triumph in that fearful hour? "The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ," 1 Corinthians 15:57.

What gives poignancy to death’s arrow, is sin; and what makes this sin so potent to destroy, is the violated law; but in the case of the believer, the blood of Jesus Christ cleanses him from all sin, 1 John 1:7; and this same Savior "is the end of the law for righteousness to everyone who believes," Romans 10:4. Leaning, then, wholly on the "arm of his Beloved," the Christian may come to this fearful point without terror, or even apprehension. "Who shall separate him from the love of God?" Shall "death?" "Who is he who condemns? It is Christ who died, yes rather, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also makes intercession for us," Romans 8:34-39. Here we have the strong foundation on which the dying saint rests. It is not in "works of righteousness which he has done;" but solely in the "righteousness of Christ, imputed to him, and received by faith alone." This is the rock on which he rests, as the dark flood rises around him. When the body is a wreck, and is falling away under the successive strokes of death’s billows, to this rock of salvation does the soul cling, until the command is given that moors it safe on Canaan’s happy shores.

Many do not contemplate death at all, until they are forced into the narrow pass; and then all is wild amazement, or downright insensibility. The hopes of recovery occupy the mind, until, by the action of the disease, it is so far incapacitated for reflection, as to entertain no distinct notions of death, or of its consequences. In such cases, a willingness to die may be mistaken for Christian resignation; and the stupidity which precedes death, is misnamed submission. But piety does more than make the soul willing to go: it often begets an intense longing "to depart and be with Christ, which is far better." Everything that relates to the closing scene, is well adapted to give the impression of its power to sustain, and to comfort the soul. The triumph of piety in the last hour, is more evident in the positive desire to go, than in the mere willingness to die. When a mere worldling is brought to the bed of death, there may be a constitutional hardihood, which sustains the mind in some degree of equanimity; or there may be in the disorder, such intense bodily sufferings, as to extort the wish that God would put an end to them even by death. But is there any triumph here? or is there, in this case, any desire to depart, founded on the bright visions of faith? No, alas! all is forced submission; and the wish to die is grounded simply on the insupportable suffering which is laid upon the body.

How different are the Christian’s emotions in death! There is something of positive good beyond the grave, which engages his thoughts, and awakens the desire to be gone. It is a view of the New Jerusalem—the soul’s happy home—that kindles in the dying eye that almost supernatural light, and infuses into the spirit such a sublime composure, as it adjusts itself for its glorious flight. Who but the Christian has ever been found longing to depart? Others may submit to this necessity; but he rejoices in the hour of liberation. Others may be willing to die, because they have nothing to live for; or because they prefer death, regardless of its awful consequences, to anguish so insupportable; but the Christian’s views are of a sublimer cast. He has the air of a conqueror. He often meets the last enemy with alacrity; and says, with lips almost cold in death, Thanks be unto God, who gives me the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ! 1 Corinthians 15:57.

Whatever disadvantages piety may be supposed to have in health, or in seasons of worldly prosperity, her claims must be admitted when the health is broken, and that world of vanities is receding from the dying eye. But if her blessings are set at nothing in health, and when their adoption in view of rival claims would prove the soul’s decided preference and its well-founded hope—if then they are despised, and worldly pleasure is pursued—there is little probability she will hear the dying sinner’s cry, and place under his sinking soul her eternal arms. If you would die the death of the righteous, live you the life of the righteous. You cannot travel in a different road, and reach the same glorious end. But some may say, that while this triumphant death is occasionally witnessed, there are many exceptions, and that Christians do not always pass the dark valley with such exulting songs. It is true, that God does not give his chosen ones a uniform or an equal joy in death. Indeed, sometimes they are hurried away without a moment’s warning. There are instances in which, from the influence of disease, or some constitutional timidity, there will seem to gather around the soul dark shadows to obscure its vision. Nor can we anticipate the precise emotions of the pious soul, at the hour of decease, until they are experienced. The life is the great criterion. But seldom, however, do we see a Christian die, without some sweet intimations of his future felicity. If faith is not triumphant, it is sufficiently strong to give peace. If there are no enrapturing foretastes of heaven, there is a good hope through grace of its fruition. When Bunyan’s pilgrims are passing the river of death, and have reached the midway current, Christian is represented as sinking, and Hopeful as bearing him triumphantly along; but soon they both reach the opposite shore, and are welcomed by the celestial messengers. The great allegorist intended by this, no doubt, to represent the inequality of joy and triumph which Christians experience in the hour of death; but the end with all is the same—eternal glory. The dark waters may intimidate, but cannot overwhelm the soul. There may be some misgivings; but never can faith be disappointed, nor Christian hope sink in despair. All will be well at last. The bright shores of heaven will be reached in safety; and the soul, conducted by "shining ones," shall enter the gates of the New Jerusalem, and forget all its sorrows in the enjoyment of its everlasting rest!