121 Sermon Illustrations on Death

Much sooner than you can anticipate, you will be the silent guest at your own funeral. No doubt there will be relatives and friends present to mourn for you whom you haven't seen in years. After the preacher delivers a message in your memory, you will be taken to the graveyard, given a final farewell and buried. The retirement that you spent your life working for will be gone forever. Remember the new car that you worried about scratching? Its new owner just wrecked it! The newlyweds bought your house and have redecorated the room that you had at last decorated to your liking. Your personal belongings have been sorted and some discarded. The dog is making a bed out of your favorite old coat. Other clothes of yours that no one could wear or did not want have been boxed and given to Goodwill. Your personal treasures that were valuable only to you-the carefully preserved flower, the lock of hair, the torn picture, the stained postcard-have been burned as trash. You attended a number of funerals in your lifetime, but for some reason you just never expected to be lying in the casket yourself. Sure, someday, but not that particular day. "Maybe tomorrow," you always thought, "but not today." You remember telling the Lord each time you thought your time was close, "Not this time, Lord. Not today. Maybe tomorrow." Sooner or later, everyone runs out of time. Paul states that everyone has an appointment with death and then the judgment (Hebrews 9:27). The only time that you can decide whether or not your death will be a blessing is today while you are alive. Today is the day of salvation (2 Corinthians 6:2). Today is the day to do the Lord's work. "Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all of your might, for in the grave, where you are going, there is neither working, nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom" (Ecclesiastes 9:10). Sooner or later, everyone runs out of time but no one runs out of eternity. Doesn't it make more sense to spend your time preparing for that which will not end, rather than squandering your time trying to hold on to that which will not last? "Careless soul, O heed the warning, For your life will soon be gone; O how sad to face the judgment Unprepared to meet thy God." Will you be prepared on the day that you run out of time?

Little boys sometimes do the strangest things for excitement. To break the monotony of their young lives, two small lads lay down by the railroad tracks to feel the track vibrations of the oncoming train, as well as to hear its thunderous sound. After it had passed and only the shadow of the train had passed over them, they were secure and no harm had been done to them, even in this seemingly precarious position. Just so, when we pass through the "valley of the shadow," we only experience the "shadow."

A minister was once called into the room of a dear saint of God who was suffering much pain. He had often visited her, and in spite of pain, found her greatly rejoicing. This time, however, he was told that she was in trouble and wished to see the minister urgently. Wondering what the trouble could be and how the devil might be tempting her, the minister rushed to her bedside. She said, "I cannot pray any more. As soon as I begin, my prayers are all turned into hallelujahs. I would have esteemed it a privilege if God had permitted me to spend my remaining days in supplications for my friends; but as soon as I open my mouth, it is all glory, glory, glory!" The minister could not but congratulate her on being drafted into the employment of the celestial choir before her time. She lived for two weeks in a gust of praise, and so she died. On the Way Home At the funeral of a minister, a little child was seen skipping light-heartedly through the cemetery at dusk. Someone asked, "Aren't you afraid of this place?" "Oh no," she replied, "I only cross through here to get home." Death for the Christian is only a "crossing-through to get home." It is not ultimate and final death. A Joyful Meeting A young woman who lay dying sought to console her father who was overcome with grief. "Dad," she said, "don't be so broken up. If I had received an offer of marriage from someone who was all you could desire for me, and whose station in life was far superior to mine, but who wanted to take me to live in a remote part of the world, don't you think you could have borne the separation, knowing all the advantages it would bring to me? But I am now being promoted to a situation incomparably beyond anything that could have happened to me in this world. Then why this reluctance to let me go? Our next meeting will be in far more wonderful circumstances, joyful, and everlasting." A Re-created Body While it is literally true that our bodies shall live again, Scripture does not require us to believe that God has to take exactly the same particles of all the physical substances of which our bodies are made and put them together again like a jigsaw puzzle. Let's not be like that woman who blithely stated that she did not believe in the resurrection of the body, because as the result of an accident she had left one leg in England, and she fully expected to die in the United States. If you expect the same atoms to be brought together again, how would you expect this to happen in the case of a man eaten by cannibals? His flesh would have been digested and become part of the bodies of those very ones who dined upon him. In the resurrection, would their bodies be robbed of the necessary particles to reconstitute the man they had devoured? Do you see to what ridiculous extremes we would be led by an insistence that God work in accordance with what we believe must happen? Of course, nothing is impossible with God. I would not find it difficult to believe that God is able to gather every fragment of bone, flesh, muscle, and sinew that made up our earthly bodies, to make up our glorified resurrection bodies. Men might conceive this impossible, but God can do it. The only reason I declare that it is not going to be so is that God's Word reveals that it will be otherwise (1 Corinthians 15:37). He, an omnipotent God who created our bodies in the first place, can recreate them at the resurrection. Is Our Resurrection Impossible? Will our bodies one day be raised from the dead or not? How can we know? Impossible, says one group. Before you make such a flat declaration, look at that unattractive insect upon the blade of grass. In just a few short days you will find that insect floating in the air, a beautiful gossamer creature with wings that rival the rainbow. Look at the dry root in the dark, cold winter. When spring comes, out of that root will blossom forth a profusion of beautiful blossoms. Look at the egg, an inert and earthbound shape. Yet in it lies the eagle that can wing and soar above all other birds, or the tiny hummingbird that remains poised in mid-air before some flower, defying the pull of gravity. The doctrine of the resurrection is not inconsistent with the analogies of nature or the experience of our common history.

A man who was dying called upon his secretary to write a letter to a friend. "I continue to be in the land of the living," his secretary wrote in her desire to help him. But he corrected her. Instead, he instructed her to write, "I am still found in the land of the dying, but soon I shall be found in the land of the living."

A lady had a little child that was dying. She thought it was resting sweetly in the arms of Jesus. She went into the room and the child asked her: "What are those clouds and mountains that I see so dark?" "Why, Eddy," said his mother, "there are no clouds or mountains, you must be mistaken." "Why, yes, I see great mountains and dark clouds, and I want you to take me in your arms and carry me over the mountains." "Ah," said the mother, "you must pray to Jesus, He will carry you safely," and, my friends, the sainted mother, the praying wife, may come to your bedside and wipe the damp sweat from your brow, but they cannot carry you over the Jordan when the hour comes. This mother said to her little boy, "I am afraid that it is unbelief that is coming upon you, my child, and you must pray that the Lord will be with you in your dying moments." And the two prayed, but the boy turned to her and said: "Don't you hear the angels, mother, over the mountains, and calling for me, and I cannot go?" "My dear boy, pray to Jesus, and He will come; He only can take you." And the boy closed his eyes and prayed, and when he opened them a heavenly smile overspread his face as he said, "Jesus has come to carry me over the mountains."

Dear sinner, Jesus is ready and willing to carry you over the mountains of sin, and over your mountains of unbelief. Give yourself to Him.

A dying soldier expressed his great dissatisfaction with the past of his life, and fearful apprehension of the future. He declared that he would not be so mean as to "drink the Devil's wine all his life, and then offer the settings to Jesus." He could not get over his wasted life, but lay moaning, "If I could get back again, back again! if I could be a boy again, a boy again!" Vain wish. Death hurried him, amid its utterance, into the presence of his Judge.

M. Foscue, the French millionaire miser, in order to make sure of his treasures, dug a cave in his wine-cellar, so large and deep that he could go down with a ladder. At the entrance was a door with a spring lock, which, on shutting, would fasten of itself. After a time, he was missing. Search was made for him, but to no purpose. At last, his house was sold. The purchaser, beginning to rebuild it, discovered a door in this cellar, and, going down, found him lying dead on the ground, with a candlestick near him; and, on searching farther, discovered the vast wealth which he had amassed. He went into the cave; and, the door by some accident shutting after him, he perished for want of food. He had eaten the candle, and gnawed the flesh off both his arms. Thus died this avaricious wretch in the midst of the treasure which he had heaped together.

Goethe's last words, when his sight was failing, and darkness was gathering in upon his frame, were mournfully significant of a deeper darkness that reigned within: "Open the shutters and let in more light!" Poor man, thus crying out for more light, his soul departed. Dowes.

Gen. Fisk tells of a soldier stricken with fever, whose ideal of desirable soldier life was activity "at the front." Visiting him in the hospital, the general asked, "Can't you tell me, in a few words, exactly how you feel about dying?" — "Yes, general," said the expiring soldier: "it seems just as if I was going to the front."

Many a man has an ill-favored countenance, is lean and baggard, pale and sallow, and mean in his attire, and yet, under an ungainly exterior, conceals great talents and virtues. Such is the case with death. Ah, me! how much that is good and sweet and blessed is concealed beneath its sour aspect and transitory bitterness! It is not I who die when I die, but my sin and misery. As often as I think of death, I figure to myself that I see a messenger coming from a distant land, bringing me good news of my Saviour, the Bridegroom of my soul, and of the inheritance which he has purchased with his blood, and reserves for me in heaven. What care I although the messenger have an ugly face, be armed with a long dart, wear a tattered coat, and knock rudely at my door? I attend less to his appearance than to his business. Gotthold.

A preacher, having been sent for to visit a Western cabin, found a father and his dying daughter surrounded by evidences of luxury and taste. He asked the daughter if she knew her condition. "I know that my Redeemer liveth," said she in a voice whose melody was like the sweetest Italian tones. A half-hour passed, and she spoke in the same deep, rich, melodious voice: "Father, I am cold: lie down beside me." And the old man lay down by his dying child; and she twined her emaciated arms around his neck, and murmured in a dreamy voice, "Dear father, dear father!"—"My child," said the old man, "doth the flood seem deep to thee?"—"Nay, father, for my soul is strong." —"Seest thou the thither shore?"—"I see it, father; and its banks are green with immortal verdure."—"Hearest thou the voices of its inhabitants."—"I hear them, father, as the voices of angels falling from afar in the still and solemn night-time; and they call me. Her voice too, father: oh! I heard it then."—"Doth she speak to thee?"—"She speaketh in tones most heavenly."—"Doth she smile?"— "An angel smile; but a cold, calm smile. But I am cold, cold, cold! Father, there's a mist in the room. You'll be lonely, lonely. Is this death, father?"—"It is death, Mary."— "Thank God!" So she passed away.

I congratulate you and myself, that life is passing fast away. What a superlatively grand and consoling idea is that of death! Without this radiant idea, this delightful morning-star, indicating that the luminary of eternity is going to rise, life would, to my view, darken into midnight melancholy. Oh, the expectation of living here and living does always, would be indeed a prospect of overwhelming despair! But thanks be to that fatal decree that dooms us to die! thanks to that gospel which opens the vision of an endless life! and thanks, above all, to that Saviour friend who has promised to conduct all the faithful through the sacred trance of death, into scenes of paradise and everlasting delight!

Guerricus, hearing these words read in the church, "And all the days that Adam lived were nine hundred and thirty years, and he died; all the days of Seth were nine hundred and twelve years, and he died; and all the days of Enos were nine hundred and five years, and he died; and all the days of Methuselah were nine hundred and sixty and nine years, and he died."—was so impressed, that he began immediately to prepare for death.

"Mamma, my poor little head hurts so!" exclaims a little girl of four summers, as she rests her head upon # DEATH.

her mother's bosom. Her mother gently smooths her curling locks. "No use, now, mamma, no use; for I forgot all about my head, and you would too, mamma, if you had been with me just now." The mother said softly, "Where was my sweet little Mary?" — "O mamma! it was so beautiful! and the angels were dressed so pretty!—the brightest dresses you ever saw, mamma. When they all saw me, they ran to their harps, and played the sweetest music you ever heard. Every thing was so beautiful and bright, I whispered to one of them not to stop playing until I brought my mamma to hear it." The mother knew that the messenger of death was there. The child raised its soft eyes to its mother's, and, smiling, whispered, "Mamma, will you sit here and listen to the music for a little while, will I go and see what the lovely angel wants with me?" Her blue eyes closed tranquilly, and she whispered "good-night," and fell asleep.

Without love, nothing can make death comfortable. By comfortable, I do not mean stupid or senseless. I would not say he died comfortably who died of an apoplexy, or by the shot of a cannon, any more than he, who, having his conscience scared, died as unconcerned as the beasts that perish. Neither do I believe that you would envy any one the comfort of dying raving mad. But by a comfortable death, I mean a calm passage out of life, full of even, rational peace and joy. And such a death, all the acting, and all the suffering, in the world, cannot give without love. J. Wesley.

The Persians had a certain day in the year called "Väiorum intertum," wherein they used to kill all serpents and venomous creatures: such a day as that will be the day of death to a man in Christ. This day, the old serpent dies in a believer, that hath so often stung him in his temptations; this day, the sins of the godly, those venomous creatures, shall all be destroyed. They shall never be proud more; they shall never grieve the Spirit of God more; the death of the body shall quite destroy the body of death; so that sin, which is the midwife that brought death into the world, shall be the grave to bury sin.

— Spencer

What disarrays like death? It defaces the fascination of the beautiful. It breaks the lamp of the wise. It withers the strength of the mighty. It snatches the store of the rich. Kings are stripped of trapping, trophy, treasure: "Their glory shall not descend after them."

— Dr. R. W. Hamilton

Two little birds had a nest in the bushes in the back part of the garden. Julia found the nest. It had four speckled eggs in it. One day, after she had been away some time, she ran into the garden to take a peep at the speckled eggs. Instead of the beautiful eggs, there were only broken, empty shells. "Oh!" she said, picking out the pieces, "the beautiful eggs are all spoiled and broken!"—"No, Julia," said her brother; "they are not spoiled: the best part of them has taken wings, and flown away." So it is in death: the body left behind is only an empty shell; while its soul, the better part, has taken wings, and flown away.

Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes. The ashes of an oak in a chimney are no epitaph of that, to tell me how high or how large that was: it tells me not what flocks it sheltered whilst it stood, nor what men it hurt when it fell. The dust of great men's graves is speechless too: it says nothing; it distinguishes nothing. As soon the dust of a wretch whom thou wouldst not, as of a prince whom thou couldst not, look upon, will trouble thine eyes if the wind blow it thither; and when a whirlwind hath blown the dust of the churchyard into the church, and the man sweeps out the dust of the church into the churchyard, who will undertake to sift those dusts again, and to pronounce, "This is the patrician, this is the noble flower, and this the yeoman, this the plebeian bran"? Dr. Donne.

As he that is to pass over some broad and deep river must not look downward to the current of the stream, but must set his foot sure, and keep his eye on the bank, on the farther shore; so he that draws near death must look over the waves of death, and fix his eye of faith on eternal life. Cawdray.

If a man live in a dark, miserable prison, with this condition, that he should not come forth till the walls of the tower were fallen down, undoubtedly he would be right glad to see the walls begin to fall. Even so our soul is kept within the body upon earth, as in captivity and bonds. Now, as soon as the body is at the point to fall, we ought not to be sorry; for by this approacheth our deliverance, when we, out of the prison of misery, shall be brought before the most amiable countenance of God, into the joyful freedom of heaven. Cutedray.

Let dissolution come when it will, it can do the Christian no harm: for it will be but a passage out of a prison into a palace; out of a sea of troubles into a haven of rest; out of a crowd of enemies to an innumerable company of true, loving, and faithful friends; out of shame, reproach, and contempt, into exceeding great and eternal glory. Bunyan.

Lying is death: dying is life. We are not what we appear to be. On this side of the grave, we are exiles; on that, citizens: on this side, orphans; on that, children: on this side, captives; on that, freemen: on this side, disguised, unknown; on that, disclosed and proclaimed as the sons of God. Beecher.

It is true that no earthly friend can accompany us through the swellings of Jordan. There is no human arm on which we can stay as we walk through the dark valley. But though we may then be alone in one sense, yet we need not in another: the Saviour has promised to accompany us. He says, "When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee." Surely, then, we may sing with David, "Though I walk through the valley and shadow of death, yet will I fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me." See that child who has to go through a dark plantation at the dead hour of night. Does he fear? No. Why? Simply because his father's hand is locked in his. The presence of his father dismisses his fears. So, when we are in the hands of our heavenly Father, we need not fear. He who holds up worlds can surely protect us, and he has pledged himself to do so if we fully trust ourselves to him. Whitson.

How hard it is to die!" remarked a friend to an expiring believer. "Oh, no, no!" he replied; "easy dying, glorious dying!" Looking up to the clock, he said, "I have experienced more happiness in dying two hours this day, than in my whole life. It is worth a whole life to have such an end as this. Oh! I never thought that such a poor worm as I could come to such a glorious death." Bishop Thomson.