27 Sermon Illustrations on Fear Of Death

Alfred Krupp of Prussia, the great cannon king, was literally a manufacturer of death. However, he had such a fear of death that he never forgave anyone who spoke to him of it. Every employee throughout his vast works was strictly forbidden to refer to the subject of death in conversation. He fled from his own home when a relative of his wife suddenly died there, and when Mrs. Krupp remonstrated, he became so enraged that lifelong separation ensued. During his last illness he offered his physician a million dollars if he would prolong his life ten years. But no amount of money could buy an extension of his life. How different it was with Jesus Christ, because He was not only God but man at the same time. When He became man, He came down for a definite time, that by His death and resurrection death might be conquered. The Perplexed Skeptic A young skeptic said to an elderly lady, "I once believed there was a God, but now, since studying philosophy and mathematics, I am convinced that God is but an empty word." "Well," said the lady, "I have not studied such things, but since you have, can you tell me where this egg comes from?" "Why, of course, from a hen," was the reply. "And where does the hen come from?" "Why, from an egg." Then the lady inquired, "Which existed first, the hen or the egg?" "The hen, of course," rejoined the young man. "Oh, then a hen must have existed without having come from an egg?" "Oh, no, I mean that one egg existed without having come from a hen." The young man hesitated: "Well, you see-that is-of course, well, the hen was first!" "Very well," said she, "who made that first hen from which all succeeding eggs and hens have come?" "What do you mean by all this?" he asked. "Simply this: I say that He who created the first hen or egg is He who created the world. You can't explain the existence even of a hen or an egg without God, and yet you wish me to believe that you can explain the existence of the whole world without Him!" Thus the old lady's common sense sent the young man's philosophy packing. Everything finite must have had a beginning. But the important issue is, what is behind every finite beginning? Is it self-begun, or is there an infinite and eternal mind, a personality, behind it, the same personality which is behind every finite beginning? This personality John chooses to call ho Logos, "the Word."

A well-known athelete of Avignon, France, named Meissonnier, literally struggled with the malady; and his last words were, "O Death! If you were a man, what short work I'd make of you!"

"I want to talk to you about heaven," said a dying parent to a member of his family. "We may not be spared to each other long: may we meet around the throne of glory, one family in heaven!" Overpowered at the thought, his beloved daughter exclaimed, "Surely you do not think there is any danger?" Calmly and beautifully he replied, "Danger! my darling. Oh! do not use that word. There can be no danger to the Christian, whatever may happen. All is right; all is well. God is love. All is well, — everlastingly well, — everlastingly well."

— Sterenson

HUMBOLDT.—At the time of his death, the sun was shining brilliantly into the room in which he was lying; and it is stated that his last words, addressed to his niece, were, "How grand these rays! they seem to beckon earth to heaven."

1722-1731. DYING TESTIMONIES, of Isdels. VOLTAIRE, addressing his doctor, said, "I am abandoned by God and man. I will give you half of what I am worth, if you will give me six months' life." The doctor answered, "Sir, you cannot live six weeks." Voltaire replied, "Then I shall go to hell, and you will go with me;" and soon after expired.

"Ah! Mr. Harvey," said a dying man, "the day in which I ought to have worked is over; and now I see a horrible night approaching, bringing with it the blackness of darkness forever."

HOBBS.—“I shall be glad to find a hole to creep out of the world at.” He had previously said, that, were he the master of the world, he would give it all to live one day longer.

1732-1749. DYING TESTIMONIES, of Martyrs.—CRANMER, thrusting his hand into the fire, said, “Thou unworthy hand shalt first burn: I will be revenged of thee for subscribing for fear of death to that damned scroll.”

A chaplain in one of the regiments on the Potomac narrates the case of a sick soldier. Some one had mentioned to him the case of the Vermonter who was sentenced to be shot for sleeping at his post. During the evening following, fever set in violently: the sick man imagined he was the one sentenced. The surgeon being called, the following conversation ensued. "Doctor, I am to be shot in the morning; and I wish you to send for the chaplain. I desire to make all necessary preparations for the end." — "They shall not shoot you: I'll take care of you. Whoever comes to take you from here I shall have them arrested, and put under guard." — "Will you, dear doctor? Thank you, thank you! Well, then, you need not send for the chaplain just yet."

A person who lived in the house of a pious friend, often communicated to him his distressing apprehensions. He was not so much disturbed with doubts respecting his interest in Christ, as terrified with the thoughts of dying, and said he thought he should need three or four persons to hold him, if he apprehended death was at hand. His friend proposed Scriptural antidotes to this unreasonable dread; and encouraged him to expect that, as his day, so should his strength be. After a long illness, the time of his departure approached; and he often expressed a wish that his friend could always be with him. Finding himself dying, he repeatedly sent for his friend to pray with him. He felt uneasy, and said, "Satan whispers that I have beer a deceiver, and shall die a hypocrite." He asked his friend to pray again with him, after which he cried, "The Lord is come! Praise God, praise God!" He then lifted up both his hands, which from weakness, he could scarcely raise before, and several times repeated "Victory, victory, victory, through the blood of the Lamb!" and expired with the unfinished word on his lips.

My first convictions on the subject of religion, says the Rev. R. Cecil, were confirmed by observing, that really religious persons had some solid happiness among them, which I felt the vanities of the world could not give. I shall never forget standing by the bedside of my sick mother. "Are not you afraid to die?" I asked. "No." "No! Why does the uncertainty of another state give you no concern?" "Because God has said, 'Fear not; when thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee.'—'Let me die the death of the righteous.'"

Louis XI of France was so fearful of death, that, as often as it came into his physician's head to threaten him with death, he put money into his hands to pacify him. His physician is said to have got 55,000 crowns from him in five months.

The following melancholy case is well authenticated:

Mr. S—, a well-known infidel, said one day to Mr. N—, who had also imbibed the same evil principles, "There is one thing which mars all the pleasures of my life." "Ah," said Mr. N—, "what is that?" "Why," replied Mr. S—, "I am afraid that the Bible is true! If I could know for certain that death is an eternal sleep, I should be happy—my joy would be complete! But here is the thorn that stings me. This is the sword that pierces my very soul. If the Bible is true, I am lost forever! Every prospect is gone! and I am lost forever!"

Mr. S—was just entering on a voyage—sailed not long after—was shipwrecked, and lost! sinking probably into the mighty deep, under all the horrors of absolute despair. Alas! what a dreadful tormentor is a guilty conscience! and how ineffectual are all the opiates of infidelity and licentiousness to assuage its anguish; and if they are so in the time of health and prosperity, what must it be to bear affliction, and to pass the final, solemn test, without the hopes and consolations of the gospel!

Samuel Forester Bancroft, Esq., accompanied Mr. Isaac Weld, jr., in his travels through North America. As they were sailing on Lake Erie, in a vessel, on board of which was Volney, celebrated, (or rather, notorious,) for his atheistical principles. He was very communicative, allowed no opportunity to escape of ridiculing Christianity, and behaved altogether in a very profane manner. In the course of the voyage, a very heavy storm came on, insomuch that the vessel, which had struck repeatedly with great force, was expected to go down every instant. The masts went overboard; the rudder unshipped; and, consequently, the whole scene exhibited confusion and horror. There were many female passengers and others on board; but no one exhibited such strong marks of fearful despair as Volney—throwing himself on deck; now imploring, then imprecating the captain, and reminding him that he had engaged to carry him safe to his port of destination; vainly threatening, in case any thing should happen. One moment he was quite frantic, and raged like a madman; another, in wild consternation, he looked into some of Voltaire's works, which he generally carried in his bosom; then despair took hold on him, and he uttered the most incoherent expressions, and offered a large sum of money to the captain, to prevail on him to attempt what was utterly impossible, namely, to put him ashore in a small boat.

As the probability of their being lost increased, this great mirror of nature, human or inhuman, began loading the pockets of his coat, waistcoat, breeches, and every thing he could think of, with dollars, to the amount of some hundreds; and this, as he thought, was preparing to swim for his life, should the vessel go to pieces. Mr. Bancroft remonstrated with him on the folly of such acts, saying he would sink like a piece of lead, with so great a weight on him; and at length as he became so very noisy and unsteady as to impede the management of the vessel, Mr. Bancroft pushed him down the hatchway. Volney soon came up again, having lightened himself of the dollars, and, in the agony of his mind, threw himself on deck, exclaiming, with uplifted hands and streaming eyes, "Oh, my God! my God!—what shall I do—what shall I do?"—This so surprised Bancroft, that notwithstanding the moment did not very well accord with flashes of humor, yet he could not refrain from addressing him: "Well, Mr. Volney—what! you have a God now?" To which Volney replied, with the most trembling anxiety, "O yes! O yes!" The vessel, however, got safe, and Mr. Bancroft made every company which he went into, echo with this anecdote of Volney's acknowledgment of God. Volney, for a considerable time, was so hurt at his weakness, as he calls it, that he was ashamed of showing himself in company at Philadelphia. But afterwards he said that those words escaped him in the instant of alarm, but had no meaning.

Infidelity, then, will do only ashore, in fine weather; but it will not stand a gale of wind for a few hours.

Infidels and Atheists! how will you weather an ETERNAL STORM?

The celebrated Gibbon just before his death confessed that when he considered all worldly things, they were all fleeting; when he looked back they had been fleeting; when he looked forward "all was dark and doubtful." Surely no one can wish to be an infidel for the comfort of it.

The Rev. Mr. Perkins of the Baptist Church at Effingham, N.H., left his home a short time ago, on a journey, and, while riding along in perfect health, had a presentiment that he was shortly to die. He stopped at a house by the roadside, asked for permission to enter, saying he had come to die. His friends were summoned; and in two days he was a corpse.