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A Godly Man’s Faith by Thomas Watson

January 16, 2010 by ADMIN

As gold is the most precious among the metals, so is faith among the graces.  Faith cuts us off from the wild olive of nature, and grafts us into Christ.  Faith is the vital artery of the soul: “The just shall live by his faith” (Hab. 2:4).  Such as are destitute of faith may breathe, but they lack life.  Faith enlivens the graces; not a grace stirs till faith sets it working.

Faith is to the soul what the animal spirits are to the body, exciting lively activity in it.  Faith excites repentance. When I believe God’s love to me, this makes me weep that I should sin against so good a God.  Faith is the mother of hope; first we believe the promise, then we hope for it.  Faith is the oil which feeds the lamp of hope.  Faith and hope are two turtle-dove graces; take away one, and the other languishes.

If the sinews are cut, the body is lame; if this sinew of faith is cut, hope is lame.  Faith is the ground of patience; he who believes that God is his God, and that all providences work for his good, patiently yields himself to the will of God.   Thus faith is a living principle.

And the life of a saint is nothing but a life of faith. His prayer is the breathing of faith (Jas. 5:15). His obedience is the result of faith (Rom. 16:26).  A godly man by faith lives in Christ, as the beam lives in the sun: “I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me” (Gal. 2:20).  A Christian by the power of faith sees above reason, trades above the moon (2 Cor. 4:18).  By faith his heart is lively quietened; he trusts himself and all his affairs to God (Psa. 112:7).  As in a time of war, men get into a garrison and trust themselves and their treasures there, so “the name of the Lord is a strong tower” (Prov. 18:10), and a believer trusts all that ever he is worth in this garrison.  “I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day” (2 Tim. 1:12).  God trusted Paul with his gospel, and Paul trusted God with his soul.

Faith is a catholicon—a remedy against all troubles.  It is a godly man’s sheet-anchor that he casts out into the sea of God’s mercy, and is kept from sinking in despair.  “If only faith is firm, no ruin harms.”

Use: Let us test ourselves by this characteristic.  Alas, how far from being godly are those who are destitute of faith!  Such are altogether drowned in sense.  Most men are spiritually purblind; they can only see just before them (2 Pet. 1:9).  I have read of a people who are born with one eye.  Such are they who are born with the eye of reason, but lack the eye of faith, who, because they do not see God with bodily eyes, do not believe in a god.  They may as well not believe they have souls, because being spirits they cannot be seen.

Oh, where is he who lives in the heights, who has gone into the upper region and sees “things not seen” (Heb. 11:27)?  “If men lived by faith, would they use sinful means for a livelihood?” (Chrysostom).  If there were faith, would there be so much fraud? If theirs were living faith, would men, like dead fish, swim downstream?  In this age there is scarcely so much faith to be found among men as there is among the devils, “for they believe and tremble”(Jas. 2:19).

It was a grave and serious comment of Mr. Greenham, that he feared not papism, but atheism would be England’s ruin.  But I shall not expatiate, having written at greater length on this head in another discourse.

Faith and love are the two poles on which all religion turns. A true saint is carried in that chariot, “the midst whereof is paved with love” (Song 3:10).  As faith enlivens, so love sweetens every duty.  The sun mellows the fruit, so love mellows the services of religion, and gives them a better relish.  A godly man is sick of love: “Lord, thou knowest that I love thee” (John 21:16).  “Though, dear Savior, I denied thee, yet it was for lack of strength, not for lack of love.”  God is the fountain and quintessence of goodness.  His beauty and sweetness lay constraints of love upon a gracious heart.  God is the saint’s portion (Psa. 119:57).  And what more loved than a portion? “I would hate my own soul,” says Augustine, “if I found it not loving God.”  A godly man loves God and therefore delights to be in his presence; he loves God and therefore takes comfort in nothing without him.

“Saw ye him whom my soul loveth?” (Song 3:3).  The pious soul loves God and therefore thirsts for him.  The more he has of God, the more still he desires.  A sip of the wine of the Spirit whets the appetite for more.  The soul loves God and therefore rejoices to think “of his appearing” (2 Tim. 4:8).  He loves him and therefore longs to be with him.  Christ was in Paul’s heart, and Paul would be in Christ’s bosom (Phil. 1:23).  When the soul is once like God, it would gladly be with God.  A gracious heart cries out, “Oh that I had wings,” that I might fly away, and he with my love, Christ.  The bird desires to be out of the cage, though it is hung with pearl.

A godly man loves God, though he is reduced to straits. A mother and her nine-year-old child were about to die of hunger.  The child looked at its mother and said, “Mother, do you think God will starve us?”  “No, child,” said the mother, “he will not.” The child replied, “But if he does, we must love him, and serve him.”

Use: Let us test our godliness by this touch-stone: Do we love God?  Is he our treasure and center?  Can we, with David, call God our “joy”, yes, our “exceeding joy” (Psa. 43:4)?  Do we delight in drawing near to him, and “come before his presence with singing” (Psa. 100:2)?  Do we love him for his beauty more than his jewels? Do we love him, when he seems not to love us?

If this be the sign of a godly man, how few will be found in the number!  Where is the man whose heart is dilated in love to God?  Many court him, but few love him.  People are for the most part eaten up with self-love; they love their ease, their worldly profit, their lusts, but they do not have a drop of love to God.  If they loved God, would they he so willing to be rid of him? “They say unto God, Depart from us” (Job 21:14).  If they loved God, would they tear his name by their oaths?  Does he who shoots his father in the heart love him?  Though they worship God, they do not love him; they are like the soldiers who bowed the knee to Christ, and mocked him” (Matt. 27:29).  He whose heart is a grave in which the love of God is buried, deserves to have that curse written upon his tombstone, “Let him be Anathema Maranatha” (I Cor. 16:22).  A soul devoid of divine love is a temper that best suits damned spirits.  But I shall waive this, and pass to the next.

Excerpted and edited from The Godly Man’s Picture.

Posted in Thomas Watson | 1 Comment »

Preface to the Issue by Jim Ehrhard

January 16, 2010 by ADMIN

Perhaps no doctrine is of greater importance than justifying faith.  Should we fail to properly understand what faith is and on what it rests, we might mislead many into an eternity apart from Christ.  The Reformers placed great weight on a proper understanding of faith.  They declared that justification by faith alone was the doctrine on which the church stands or falls.  They defined faith carefully so that what the faith which they preached and taught might not be confused with the faith that was normally taught by Rome.

They labored to make certain that “faith” could never be construed as a “work” that one performed or as a “merit” whereby one gained forgiveness of sins.  Conversely, they argued against Roman claims of antinomianism by teaching that true faith was accompanied by good works.  In other words, those who had faith were changed in their lives.

Today there is a need to be especially clear in our teaching about faith.  Most view faith as an act they do.  Wrapped up in such an assumption is the idea that “a profession of faith” is identical with faith.  If they have made a “decision,” that’s all that matters, even if there is no change in their lives.  Biblical faith, however, is different.  It is evidenced by a trusting Christ, a following Christ, and a new love for Christ.  One who has true saving faith is not the same—he is new, he is changed.

It is our hope that the articles in this issue might help you to sharpen your thinking about “faith.”  Read each carefully, repeatedly, and always in light of the Scriptures.  Included are articles by Thomas Watson, a 17th century English puritan;  Jonathan Edwards, Solomon Stoddard and Joseph Bellamy from 18th century America, C. H. Spurgeon from 19th century England, and A.W. Pink from 20th century England.  Although their writing spanned four centuries, their teachings on faith are in accord.  We pray that each will provide insights to increase your understanding of faith that saves.

Also, we have included an article about three of the characters found in John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress.  Thank you for your prayers and for your support of this ministry.

By His Grace, Jim

Posted in Jim Ehrhard |

Whom Have I in Heaven but Thee? by Edward Griffin

January 12, 2010 by ADMIN

“Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire besides thee.” Psalm 73:25

This Psalm was composed by Asaph, one of the three chief singers whom David had appointed in the house of God.  The good man had experienced a severe trial from the infirmities of his own heart; which trial, together with the manner in which he was relieved, is described in this beautiful Psalm.  He had been “envious at the foolish when” he “saw the prosperity of the wicked” and had indulged in unworthy complaints against divine providence.  “They are not in trouble as other men, neither are they plagued like other men.  Their eyes stand out with fatness; they have more than heart could wish — Verily I have cleansed my heart in vain and washed my hands in innocence; for all the day long have I been plagued and chastened every morning.”  This temper of uneasiness and distrust arose so high, that in a retrospect upon it he acknowledges, “My feet were almost gone, my steps had well nigh slipped — So foolish was I and ignorant; I was as a beast before thee.”

The manner in which he obtained relief from this agitation was by repairing to the sanctuary of God where the light of divine revelation shone.  Here he discovered, as through a window which opened into eternity, the awful end to which the wicked with all their prosperity were hastening.  Here also he learned the final rewards of the righteous and saw the mysterious inequalities of divine providence cleared up.  The glory of God’s faithfulness and truth so opened on his soul and the comparative emptiness of all earthly things, that with more than recovered spirits, he exclaimed, “Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel and afterward receive me to glory.  Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire besides thee.”

My object will be, in the first place, to explain more fully how we are taught to feel by this example of Asaph — how such a temper will operate and what effects it will produce; and, in the second place, to suggest some reasons which urge to such a temper.

I.  I am to explain more fully how we are taught to feel by this example of Asaph,—how such a temper will operate and what effects it will produce.

The Psalmist in these words expressed supreme delight in God as his all sufficient and only portion.  “Whom have I in heaven but thee?” The only heaven I wish above is but to see thy face.  Let others form confused ideas of the upper world, and desire it as a place where something is to be enjoyed, they know not what: but I know what a heaven I desire.  Could I ascend to the highest heavens and find the presence of my God withdrawn, it would be no heaven for me.  The only reason I pant to ascend above the sun and all these ruinable worlds is that I may bask in the sunshine of his smiles and forever behold the source of light without one envious cloud between.  Let me but sit at his feet and gaze upon his lovely face and cry with unutterable wonder and gratitude, “My Lord and my God,” and I ask no more.  Let me but take some humble station in his glorious kingdom where I may sit and read his name, where I may view his infinite happiness and glory and see his beloved kingdom blest, and my soul will be filled.

“And there is none upon earth that I desire besides thee.” How is this?  Was it then a matter of indifference to Asaph whether his friends lived or died — whether he enjoyed the comforts of life or perished with hunger?  This was not literally and precisely his meaning.  But what he intended may, I conclude, be summed up in the following ideas.  First, that there was nothing among all the charms of earth which could prevent him from wishing to depart and be with the Lord.  Secondly, while continuing on earth, he desired nothing besides God in a comparative sense.  His soul was at that moment so filled with the supreme excellence and glory of Jehovah that all earthly things were put out of view.  Thirdly, he desired nothing besides God in that he coveted nothing which he considered distinct from the emanations of God.  Did he desire food and raiment and friends?  He desired them chiefly as divine goodness expressed, as God existing in his outward bounty.

Such a temper of supreme delight in God will operate in unreserved and universal submission to divine providence.  While God is more beloved than all other objects, the withholding or removal of everything besides him will not awaken a spirit of unsubmission and rebellion.  While the Christian has such supreme delight in God, he will not be inordinately leaning on friends or wealth or any worldly object for enjoyment.  No high expectations will be formed except those which centre in the supreme good.  Lightly valuing the things of time and sense, he will scorn the restless pursuits and unsatisfied desires of the covetous; and holding the commands of God in supreme veneration, he will practice deeds of liberal charity.

Sensible that prosperity gives and adversity takes away only those things which are least desirable, neither by prosperity nor adversity will he be greatly moved.  Ever assured that God, the supreme good, is safe, he will dismiss all anxieties respecting future changes and come what will, he will “rejoice evermore.”  Calmly resigning the management of all affairs into hands dearer than his own, he passes his days in unruffled serenity, and knows not the distrusts of jealousy nor the uneasiness of unbelief.  Having a greater regard for the divine will than for any earthly comfort which that will can bestow, he has learned “both how to abound and to suffer need” and, “in whatsoever state” he is, “therewith to be content.”

The result of this supreme love to God will be faith, trust, self-denial, obedience, and an unreserved consecration of all that we are and have to him, to be disposed of according to his pleasure, and to be employed in his service, how and when and where he is pleased to appoint.

II. I am to suggest some reasons which urge to such a temper.

The infinitely wise and benevolent God is worthy to be the object of our supreme delight.  There is more in him to be desired and to be rejoiced in than in all created beings and things. The whole creation has drawn all its glories from him.  And can it be supposed that he has imparted more beauty and excellence than he possesses?  When our eyes rove abroad over the charming scenes of nature, and traverse the wonders which shine in the heavenly orbs, we may well exclaim with the half-inspired Milton, “How wondrous fair! Thyself how wondrous then!”  In God, there is everything which can satisfy and transport the immortal mind.  What is the world to him; its pomp, its splendors, “and its nonsense all?”  What are the treasures of India and all the glories of Greece and Rome, compared with the fruition of that God whose smiles fill heaven and earth with gladness?  Possessed of him, the imprisoned beggar, with all his griefs, is rich and happy; devoid of him, kings and emperors are poor and wretched. Let every earthly comfort depart, yet while we can enjoy the immortal source of blessedness, we are blessed still, we are blest indeed.  While walking out with Isaac to meditate at the evening tide — while beholding that glory which Moses saw on Horeb and on Pisgah — while worshipping him whose faithfulness and truth were seen by Abraham on Moriah, and whose glories appeared to John in Patmos — while overcome with the magnificent majesty which rushed on the view of Habakkuk — while melting away in the sweet ecstasies of David in sight of the mercy and faithfulness of his heavenly Father — while triumphing in him who was announced by the songs of Bethlehem and by the joys of Simeon’s bursting heart — while from our streaming eyes we pour forth gratitude to the Sufferer of Gethsemane and Golgotha, and ascend to heaven with him who ascended from Olivet — O how poor and worthless do all mortal things appear.

The claims of God to our supreme affection are further supported by his exceeding great and unnumbered mercies. He is the God of all our revivals, of all our deliverances, and of all our comforts; the God of our fathers and the God of our children.  Innumerable mercies, distinguishing us from most of our fellow men, mercies affecting to angels — have filled our lives.  He supported us in our infancy, he led us through all the windings of our youth; his watchful eye has continually been upon us in riper years.  Through all our days, he has nourished and brought us up as children.  He has been with us in six yea and in seven troubles and brought relief to our distresses when every other helper failed.  From countless dangers has he delivered us.  He sent his Son from his bosom to bear our sins in his own body on the tree.  From what an abyss of pollution and wretchedness have some of us been raised by his pardoning love.  He has bestowed upon us the invaluable gifts of his word and ordinances.  By his unspeakable grace, we have enjoyed the sight of his word revived — sinners plucked as brands from the burning, and brought to unite their young hosannas with the praises and joys of their fathers.  Where shall we end the enumeration?  More numerous are his mercies than the stars which look out of heaven.  Has the world, have any of our friends, has all creation done for us what our God has done?  Surely if kindness and mercy can engage our hearts, we lie under the most pressing obligations to say from our very souls!  “Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire besides thee.”

From the truth and faithfulness of our divine Benefactor, we have full assurance that if we get divorced from all our idols and wed ourselves to him alone in holy trust and service, he will make ample provision for our support and comfort — he will abundantly recompense our fidelity and renunciation of the world.  We have no occasion to apply to any other comforter, to any other protector, to any other guide, to any other portion. He will be to us such a portion as will fill and satisfy our souls.  He will be all that we need and all we desire.  We shall be blest beyond all previous conception.  We shall be full; can need no more and can hold no more.

It is one of the lamentable marks of human weakness that men are so habituated to recede from the eternal centre of rest and to wander abroad in quest of enjoyment.  Dependence is withdrawn from God and placed on other objects, which may not be obtained, or if obtained are ever liable to be lost again.  The mind, thus torn from its centre and following deceitful meteors, rambles, it knows not whither,—is ever pained with uncertainty and trembling with dubious fears lest the objects in which centre all its desires should be lost.  In proportion as men thus place their hopes in the creature, they find themselves the prey of restlessness and misery. To forsake the fountain of living waters for broken cisterns is a sure prelude to disappointment and vexation.  Ah when will we be wise?  When will we dismiss all our vain dependencies and make God our only rest and portion?  When will we thus obtain that happiness which we have long sought in vain?  Could we look with indifference on all the shifting scenes beneath the sun, on prosperity and adversity, on loss and gain, and make the sincere appeal, “Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire besides thee,” how happy might we be even in this vale of tears.

Knowing the claims which he had to our supreme affection, God has asserted those claims in his holy word and strictly commanded us to love him with all the heart, and in comparison with him to hate father and mother, wife and children, and even life itself.  And as he is infinitely the greatest and best of beings, this supreme regard to him is his due.  It is perfectly right and fit, and what we owe to him, to make him the object of our supreme delight to rejoice that he holds the throne, to resign ourselves with all our interests to his disposal, to feel that we have enough and abound while possessing him, even though everything else be taken away, and under all our trials and disappointments, to be quiet as a child that is weaned of its mother.  It is infinitely unreasonable to set up any private interest in opposition to the interest of the universe — the interest and wishes of God and his kingdom.  Of what consequence is it for infinite wisdom and love to sit upon the throne if they may not govern the world?  What does it signify for us to proclaim our joy that the world is under divine direction, if we will not submit and consent to be governed?

Such supreme delight in God and his government had Enoch and Noah, and Abraham and Moses, and David and Daniel and Paul.  Not one of them could receive the divine approbation and enter into rest on easier terms.  And on no easier terms can we enjoy the friendship and protection of Asaph’s God in the present life; on no easier terms can we enter the portals of the heavenly city.  But the sure reward of thus choosing him for our portion, will be the unfailing friendship and enjoyment of him in the present life, and when all these perishable worlds shall be blended in one common grave.  Then shall they who have chosen him in preference to all others be everlastingly united to their glorious centre, and shall plunge into that ocean of glory which they have chosen for their all, and lose themselves in him.  Then shall they know how wise their choice who prefer the immortal God to the husks that were made for the flames.  Then with what hearty sincerity and bursting joy will these eternal notes go round, “Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire besides thee.”

Let this assembly pause for a moment, while each one solemnly inquires with himself whether he has chosen the God of Asaph for his only portion and supreme delight, or whether his affections and hopes still linger among the vanities of this lower world.  Do our souls stand ready, at the word of God, to break away from every scene of this enchanted ground, and leaving the world behind, to soar to regions from which all worldly things are forever excluded?  Do we, like Simeon and Paul, pant to ascend to the full possession of the supreme good?  Why do we wish for heaven?  Is it that we may live forever at home with our God, and after a long and tedious separation, be forever united to the center of our souls?  Is it this, or is it some other heaven which is the object of our imagination and desire?  And can we sincerely appeal to the Searcher of hearts, “There is none upon earth that I desire besides thee?”  Have we a solemn conviction that we have chosen him for our supreme good and portion?  Or do we still remain miserably encumbered with the lumber of earthly objects — wretchedly ignorant of the Source of our being  — encompassed with darkness which has known no morning — wickedly and fatally straying from the only source of happiness — vagrants in the region of confusion, night, and misery?  Ah wretched souls, whither do ye wander?  Why prefer the night of chaos to the glories of the uncreated sun?  Why flee from the fountain of happiness and love in pursuit of wretchedness and eternal war?  Where can such bliss be found as you have left behind?  Wherefore do you speed your course from the Author of your being as though all misery lived with him?  Whither would you hurry in the wildness of your distraction?  O return, return.  Seek no longer for happiness in shunning its only source.  O return, return.  Let planets break loose from the attractions of the sun, and wander wildly and without order into the regions of night; but let not immortal souls break away from the attractions of the eternal Sun, to wander in wild and dark vagaries, in wretched confusion and ruinous disorder to all eternity.  O return, while return is possible, to the substance and fountain of light and blessedness.  Let the attractions of divine love draw you nearer and nearer, until you shall fall into the glorious Sun, and lose yourselves to all eternity in this beatific union.  Renounce your alliance with worms and dust, sustain a glorious resurrection from the dead, and learn to say, “Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire besides thee.”

The subject will apply itself to backsliding Christians.  Ah why should they who have seen his glory and known his love, and seen the world eclipsed by his charms, so often forsake the fountain of living waters for broken cisterns?  Why should that which they have known to be the supreme good, be left for things which they know cannot profit?  In better hours you have avouched the Lord Jehovah to be your God and portion: you have vowed eternal fealty and subjection to him.  Your oath is recorded in the rolls of heaven.  Why then violate your promises thus attested, and forsake the source of happiness for comfort which you know is no where else to be found?  Awake from these enchanted slumbers.  Pursue no longer the unnatural course which carries you from your life and from the center of yourselves.  And what can you find abroad to allure you from home?  Precisely what the dove found on leaving the ark — no place on which to rest the sole of her foot.  May you, like her, soon grow weary of the damp and cheerless regions with out, and return on lagging pinions, and with mourning notes plead for an extended arm to take you in.  Consider also from what mercies you have fled, and through what obligations you have broken away: and then, with the melting griefs of the Psalmist, give it in charge to yourselves, “Return unto thy rest, O my soul, for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee.”

In the last place, the subject addresses itself to those who have deliberately and heartily made choice of the supreme good, and who have never, by the mists of earth or hell, lost sight of the good they have chosen.  Hail, happy souls!  All hail, ye unrivaled few!  From my heart I give you joy.  You have found the pearl of great price.  You have found that treasure which worlds might be sold in vain to purchase.  Accept our congratulations — Accept the congratulations of angels.  Let your souls arise and shout for joy; for all the treasures of the universe are yours.

The infinite God, with all that he possesses, is made over to you by a covenant well “ordered in all things and sure.”  Let your pious hearts be comforted under the loss of all terrestrial vanities.  Let them shout for joy under all trials and crosses. For under the loss of all things, you possess all things still.  The immortal God is yours; and in him you have all and need no more.  Be not disheartened at the trials and conflicts in which you may be involved.  Soon will you emerge from them all, and like the sun breaking from a cloud, forever shine forth in the kingdom of your Father.  It is in our heart to bid you God speed, and encourage you to go on and renew your wise and virtuous choice of the God of all benignity and blessedness.

Be emboldened to take a larger and still larger portion of the supreme good.  God has said “Open thy mouth wide and I will fill it.”  Be satisfied with this portion and murmur not though sinners take the rest.  Never indulge vain regrets for the objects you have left behind.  “Delight” yourselves more and more “in the Lord,” and “He will (more and more) give you the desires of your heart.”  And whatever allurements try to draw you away, whatever terrors arise in your course, whatever crosses you may have to encounter, never suffer yourselves to be unsettled from the habit of hourly saying, “Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire besides thee.”  Amen.

Posted in Edward Griffin |

Sermons from Saintly Death-Beds by Charles Spurgeon

January 12, 2010 by ADMIN

“And when Jacob had made an end of commanding his sons, he gathered up his feet into the bed, and yielded up the ghost, and was gathered unto his people.” Genesis 49:33

Jacob did not yield up the ghost until he had delivered the last sentence of admonition and benediction to his twelve sons.  He was immortal till his work was done.  So long as God had another sentence to speak by him, death could not paralyze his tongue.  Yet, after all, the strong man was bowed down, and he who had journeyed with unwearied foot for many a mile, was now obliged to gather up his feet into the bed to die.  His life had been eventful in the highest degree, but that dread event now came upon him which is common to us all.  He had deceived his blind father in his youth, but no craftiness of Jacob could deceive the grave.  He had fled from Esau, his angry brother, but a swifter and surer foot was now in pursuit from which there was no escape.  He had slept with a stone for his pillow and had seen heaven opened, but he was to find that it was only to be entered by the ordinary gate.  He had wrestled with the angel at the brook Jabbok, and he had prevailed: at this time he was to wrestle with an angel against whom there was no prevalence.  He had dwelt in Canaan in tents in the midst of enemies, and the Lord had said, “Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm,” and therefore he had been secure in the midst of a thousand ills; but now he must fall by the hand of the last enemy and feel the great avenger’s sword.  It was appointed to the patriarch to die as meaner men must do.

From the wording of the text, it appears very clearly that Israel did not dispute the irrevocable decree, nor did his soul murmur against it. He had long before learned that few and evil were his days, and now that they came to an end, he joyfully accepted their conclusion.  He was not like a bullock dragged to the slaughter, but he gathered up his feet by a voluntary act of submission, and then, bowing his head, he yielded up the ghost; like a man weary with a long day’s toil, he was glad to rest, and therefore most cheerfully he attended to the great Father’s summons, and was peacefully gathered unto his people and his God.  As this is to be our lot by-and-by, we may contemplate in our meditations the departure of this mighty man and ask that our death may be like his that we also may finish our course with joy.  May we

“So live, that when our summons comes to join

The innumerable caravan that moves

To that mysterious realm, where each shall take

His place appointed by the just decree,

That thou, sustained and soothed, approach thy grave

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch

Around him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.”

It is remarkable, my brethren, that the Holy Spirit has given us very few death-bed scenes in the book of God.  We have very few in the Old Testament; fewer still in the New, and I take it that the reason may be because the Holy Ghost would have us take more account of how we live than how we die, for life is the main business.  He who learns to die daily while he lives will find it no difficulty to breathe out his soul for the last time into the hands of his faithful Creator.  If we fight well the battle, we may rest assured of the victory.  If, enlisted under the banner of truth, resting in Jesus Christ, we finish our fight and keep the faith, we need not fear but that our entering into rest will be a blessed one.  Peradventure, the Holy Spirit would also show us that it is not so much to our profit to have our feelings harrowed by recitals of dying experiences.  Certain preachers in their sermons are very fond of extorting tears from their hearers by dragging before them the funerals of friends painting the death-bed scenes of parents, unwrapping the winding sheets of little infants, and exhibiting the skeletons of buried relatives.  This may be of some avail: preachers may have used these scenes to work through the natural affections to something deeper, but this is not the way the Holy Spirit has selected.  If the teachers of the gospel will study the Holy Spirit’s model, they will learn that we are to strike at conscience rather than at the natural affections, and teach men holy principles rather than remind them of their sorrows.  From the great reticence of the Holy Spirit in this matter, I learn that he would not have us be abundant to superfluity in such things.  Moreover, it may be suggested that the Holy Ghost has given us few of these death-bed scenes on paper because, being present with us, he presents them to us frequently in actual flesh and blood, visible to our eyes and audible to our ears. We are to look upon the presence of the Holy Spirit in the witness of dying men as in some sense the continuance of the Holy Spirit’s instructive authorship.  He has finished yonder book written with paper and ink, but he is writing fresh stanzas to the glory of God in the deaths of departing saints, who one by one are taken from the evil to come singing the Lord’s praises as they depart.  If this be not so, at any rate, it is true that we have abundant testimonies to the faithfulness of God in the departure of those who, having lived by faith on earth, are now gone to see with their own eyes the King in his beauty, and the land which is very far off.

During the past week, as most of you know, God has seen fit to remove from the midst of his church a great man, and a prince in Israel, a man greatly beloved, one of the excellent of the earth, an amiable, zealous, talented, godly, and valiant man, esteemed personally wherever he was known, and honored officially wherever his ministry was enjoyed.  Dr. James Hamilton was one of the most fragrant flowers in the Lord’s garden of sweet flowers to which the Beloved so often comes to gather lilies.  He was not a Boanerges – not after the quality of Knox and Luther, but a Barnabas, a son of consolation, a man full of faith and of the Holy Ghost.  He had a singular elegance and refinement of style, in which metaphors the most novel and charming abounded, like golden grains in Africa’s sunny fountains; in his utterances he gave forth a pleasant sound, as of one that playeth well upon a goodly instrument: he was always musical with harmony of poetic illustration, but always musical with the notes of Christ, always sweet with the perfume of the atoning blood.  He was a cedar in our Lebanon-alas!  The axe has laid low his glories: he was a gem of purest ray serene, but he shines no longer in the coronet of the church below.  He was a nursing-father to full many of the Lord’s little one’s, and now we mourn because they lack his help: may they find in God’s Spirit an abundant supply of all-sufficient grace.  Well, he is gone from us and, while men are sad, there is joy beyond the skies; the loss of earth is the gain of heaven, and if the church has somewhat less below, she has more above.  I think I see him at this moment borne upward to his final resting place as a stone squared and polished to be built in the wall of the Temple of the New Jerusalem: hear ye not the shouts of “Grace, grace unto it?”  There is a fresh jewel this moment in the Redeemer’s crown; heaven is lustrous with the beauty of another blood-washed robe; another voice is added to the everlasting song, another shout to the hallelujahs of those who feast at the eternal banquet.  The church has lost nothing – she has only seen one of her valiant captains pass through the flood to join the triumphal band upon the other side; but as surely as the church is one, she loses none of her members – as certainly as it is the same church triumphant and militant, so certain is it that Christ loseth none of his people, and the church really none of her strength by death.  The decease of our friend James Hamilton, in connection with another circumstance of a different character which has happened to me this week, led my meditations very much to saintly death-beds, and I have therefore fastened upon this occasion to talk with God’s people concerning their passage out of this world unto the Father.  “Tis greatly wise,” says the poet, “to talk with our last hours.”  Sacred prudence bids us be familiar with the winding-sheet and the grave which must soon be our most intimate acquaintances.  Let us sojourn awhile upon the borders of the land unknown to be sobered at least, if not sanctified.

First, let us consider the departure of great saints and of God’s ministers in particular – what do these teach us?  Secondly, the various modes of their departure – what do these teach us also?

I. First, THE DEPARTURES OF GOD’S SAINTS, AND ESPECIALLY OF HIS MINISTERS – WHAT ARE THEIR LESSONS?

The first that lies upon the surface is this: “Be ye also ready for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.” When in the forest there is heard the crash of a falling oak, it is a sign that the woodsman is abroad, and every tree in the whole company may tremble lest soon the sharp edge of the axe should find it out.  We are all mortal, and the death of one should remind us that death lurks hard by us all. I trust we do not, by often hearing of death, become callous to it.  May we never be like the birds in the steeple, which can build their nests when the bells are ringing, and sleep quietly when the merry marriage or solemn funeral peals are startling the air.  May we regard death as the most solemn of all events and be sobered by its approach. In the old wars of the Danish kings, there is a legend that, when, Harold was contending with his brother Harlequin, an arrow was seen flying in the air, quivering as if it scarcely knew its way, and was searching for its victim; then on a sudden it pierced the leader’s forehead.  A little imagination may picture us as being in the same position as the Danish lordling: the arrow of death is flying for awhile above us, but its descent is sure and its wound is fatal.  It ill behooves us to laugh and sport while life hangs on a thread.  The sword is out of its scabbard – let us not trifle; it is furbished, and the edge sparkles with fearful sharpness – let us prepare ourselves to meet it.  He who does not prepare for death is more than an ordinary fool, he is a madman.  When the voice of God is calling to us through the departures of others, if we do not listen to the warning, we may expect him to follow the rejected word of counsel with a blow of wrath; for he often strikes down right terribly those who would not listen to his reproving messages.

Be ready, minister, see to it that thy church be in good order, for the grave shall soon be dug for thee; be ready, parent, see that your children are brought up in the fear of God, for they must soon be orphans; be ready, men of business, you that are busy in the world; see that your affairs are correct; see that you serve God with all your heart; for the days of your terrestrial service will soon be ended and you will be called to give account for the deeds done in the body, whether they be good or whether they be evil.  O may we all prepare for the tribunal of the great King with a care which shall be rewarded with the commendation, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

Secondly, the deaths of righteous men should teach us their value. According to the old saying, we never know the value of things till we lose them.  I am sure it is so with holy men.  Let me urge young people here to prize their aged godly parents, to treat them kindly, to make their last days happy because they cannot expect to have them long on earth to receive their tokens of affectionate gratitude.  Those who have Christian parents little know how great is the privilege they enjoy until they become parents themselves and learn the cares and sorrows of the mother’s office and the father’s state.  Are any of you favored with friends who have given you instruction in the faith, whose goodly words and holy examples have helped you on the way to heaven?  Thank God much for such good company; be much with them, treasure up the pearls which drop from their lips.  They must soon be gone – value them today as you will do when they are departed.  Are you privileged with an earnest, faithful, ministry?  Do you hear the gospel lovingly and honestly proclaimed?  Then bless God every day of your life for that faithful ministry.  All ministry is not such – all people are not in such a case.  Be grateful, then, and show your gratitude by giving earnest heed to the things that are spoken, lest by any means you should let them slip, and so should miss the great salvation through want of earnestness.  I do beseech you, dear friends, value the Christian ministry.  I ask no honor for men, but I do ask honor for the office which Paul said he would magnify; and wherever you see that God has sent an ambassador, and that his ambassador is praying you in Christ’s stead to be reconciled to God – turn not away from his entreaties, close not your ear to his persuasions, but honor the man’s office, pay homage to the King who sent him, by yielding up your heart in obedience to the word which is delivered to you.

Furthermore, I think the departures of great saints and those who have been eminent, teach us to pray earnestly to God to send us more of such – a lesson which, I am quite certain, needs to be inculcated often.  There is sadly little prayer in the church for the rising ministry.  You pray for those who are your pastors, and rightly so.  “Brethren, pray for us,” you cannot do us a better favor.  But there is so little prayer that God would raise up ministers!  Know ye not that, as surely as the blood of Christ bought the redemption of his people, as surely as the resurrection of Christ was for the justification of the saints, so surely the ascension of Christ was for the distribution of ministry among the sons of men?  Know ye not the passage, “He ascended up on high, he led captivity captive, and gave gifts unto men; and he gave [these were the gifts] some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers?”  Now, you plead the precious blood when you would obtain pardon; you plead the resurrection, and you receive justification; but how seldom do you plead the ascension, so as to obtain a faithful ministry?  Parts of Christendom are becoming terribly deficient in ministry.  I have been told, and I have read in the literature of America, that in many parts of the United States, one-third of the churches are devoid of pastors; believers are struggling and striving after ministers, but cannot find them.  There must have been in that case a failure in the prayer, “Lord, send forth laborers into the harvest.”  And I should not at all wonder if such a case should happen to England for I see a dreadful lethargy in the hearts of many of God’s people as to the work of praying for preachers, and assisting in training them.

In olden times, if any men showed the slightest ability in speech, the saints sought such out and tried to instruct them, as Aquila and Priscilla when they found Apollos, a man eloquent and mighty in the Scriptures, they took him and instructed him further; and Paul, when he saw that Timothy was an apt scholar, instructed him further in the faith; while our blessed Lord not only preached the gospel, but founded a college in which he had twelve students (and more than that), who constantly went about with him, learning from his example and ministry how themselves to become teachers of others.

But now, forsooth, there are wiseacres who talk about “man-made ministers,” and despise all attempts to assist our youth to become qualified in the testimony of the truth.  The Lord teach them reason and give them common sense, but let no Christian give one single particle of heeding to their prattling.  Let it be our earnest endeavor, both by prayer and every other means, to seek to obtain from God a succession of earnest, faithful, qualified ministers, for, say what you will, it is upon the ministry that God shall send you that much of the success of the church must depend.  Those sects which pretend to do without a special ministry (for it is usually a transparent pretense), may prosper for a little while: their setting up every disciple to be a teacher suits the natural pride of the human heart, and Christian men, being grossly deceived, yield to it for a little while.  But not one single one of these communities can endure throughout a generation in vigorous existence.  With a spasm of excitement, and a flush of zeal, they grow awhile, fattening upon those whom they can decoy from other churches, and then they dwindle away to nothing, or divide into little knots, each one agreed in hating the other most fervently.  What is everybody’s business is nobody’s business; and since there is no man set to see after souls, no man does see after them; and the whole flock become scattered for want of a shepherd, who, in God’s hand, might have kept them together.  Faithful servants of the living God, as ye prize the church and its ordinances, strive with God that as he takes one by one of his servants away, he would send us others, that the church may never lack her standard-bearers, and the flock of God never be destitute of pastors after God’s own heart.  Pray ye seven times each day that God may keep alive the name and glory of Christ in the land by faithful teachers of the truth.

Yet there is a valuable truth on the other side.  We desire always to look at both sides of a question.  The taking away of eminent saints from among us should teach us to depend more upon God, and less upon human instrumentality.  I was reading, yesterday, the dying prayer of Oliver Cromwell, and one sentence in that man of God’s last breathings pleased me exceedingly.  It was to this effect, I think, I have copied out the words: “Teach those who look too much on thy instruments to depend more upon thyself.”  Brave old Oliver was a man upon whom the whole nation rested; he could say with David, “The earth and all the inhabitants thereof are dissolved: I bear up the pillars of it.”  In a time of terrible anarchy, when men had become fierce with fanatical prophesyings, and wild with political passions, Oliver Cromwell’s iron hand restored peace, and kept a tumultuous land in order; and now, when he would be worst missed, and could very ill be spared, he must depart, and this is his prayer, “Teach them to depend less upon thy instrument, and more upon thyself.”  You may have observed that frequently when a man is in the zenith of his power, and people have said, “That is the man who of all others we could least afford to lose,” that very man has been taken away, that special light has been quenched, that particular pillar has been removed.  The Lord would have all the glory given unto his own name.  He has said it, said it often in voice of thunder, but men will not hear it, “All power belongeth unto God.”  He will honor and bless an instrumentality, for that is his mode of working, but he will not divide the crown with the most honored agency; he will have all the glory redound unto himself.  By frequently breaking up his battle axes and weapons of war, he teaches his church that he can fight with his own bare arm and win the victory to himself without an instrument of warfare.

Coming back, however, to the old thought: do you not think that the departure of eminent saints should teach each one of us to work with more earnestness and perseverance while we are spared? One soldier the less in the battle, my brethren: then you must fill up the vacancy; you who stand next in the ranks must close up, shoulder to shoulder, that there be no gap.  Here is one servant the less in the house: the other servants must do the more work.  It is but natural for us so to argue because we wish the Master’s work to be done, and it will not be done without hands.  If we do not preach the gospel, angels will not preach it.  If we do not win souls for God, we must not expect cherubim and seraphim to engage in this divine employment.  Somebody must do it!  And since we would have all done that can be done, you and I must do the more when helpers are removed.  There is a hand the less: we must stretch out our hands the oftener to execute the sacred work.  Behold, a reaper falls in the corner of the field, and all the harvest must be gathered in before the season is past!  Brethren, sharpen your sickles, gather up your strength, toil more hours in the day, throw more strength into your toil; above all, pray for a greater blessing upon what is done. If there be less bread, then we must have a larger benediction to multiply it, to make it sufficient for the tens of thousands.  If there be fewer laborers, we must ask the Master to give those laborers the more strength that the work may still be done, and nothing be marred for want of effort.

I wish I had the strength this morning, mental and physical combined, to urge this upon you as I have striven to urge it upon myself.  I have sought before the Lord that he would teach me to live an active, earnest, laborious, heavenly life. Very few of us understand what life is.  Baxter at Kidderminster, from morning to night spending and being spent for the Master’s service; Whitfield, all over England and America, toiling and laboring without the thought of rest, instant in season and out of season; these are the men we should emulate.  But, alas! we do a little, and then we fold our hands with ridiculous self-satisfaction.  Now and then we arouse ourselves to something like zeal, and then we fall back into a state of carelessness.  It ought not so to be; but, with diligence and perseverance, we ought to live as having death in view and the near approach of the time when the night cometh wherein no man can work.  I leave these lessons with you: I cannot enforce them; the Holy Spirit can.

II. Come with me to the second part of my discourse.  Much may be learned from the MODES OF DEPARTURE of God’s servants.

All believers fall asleep in Jesus, and in him they are all saved.  The precious blood hath washed them, the hand of Christ keeps them, the earnest of the Spirit is with them, and the everlasting gates are opened to receive them.  But, unto them all, there is not ministered the same abundant entrance into the kingdom neither do all their faces shine with those gleams of glory which rest upon the highly favored.

To some of God’s own children the dying bed is a Bochim, a place of weeping.  It is melancholy when such is the case, and yet it is often so with those who have been negligent servants: they are saved, but so as by fire: they struggle into the port of peace, but their entrance is like that of a weather-beaten vessel which has barely escaped the storm and enters into harbor so terribly leaking as to be ready to founder, without her cargo (for she has thrown that overboard to escape the waves), sails rent to ribands, masts gone by the board, barely able to keep afloat.

Thousands enter into glory as Paul and his companions in peril landed at Melita, some on boards, and some on broken pieces of the ship; all come safe to land, but it is as it were by the skin of their teeth.  In the dying beds of some believers, that text is sadly illustrated, “If the righteous scarcely be saved.”  We have known them lying on the brink of eternity, bemoaning themselves after this fashion: “God has forgiven me, but how can I forgive myself?  I am saved; but, oh! that I had made a profession of religion more plainly and boldly!  Would God that I had not been so dilatory in serving my Master! I have prayed so little, given so little, done so little, I am a most unprofitable servant.  Woe is me, for I have been busy here and there, and have forgotten my life’s work; I have made money, but have won no jewels for Christ; I have taken care of my family, but alas!  I have done next to nothing for the cause of Christ.  I shall have no means of serving the cause of God when I enter heaven; I cannot then succor the poor, feed the hungry, or clothe the naked, or send the gospel to the ignorant.  I might have done much when I was in health and strength, but now I can do little or nothing for I am weak, and languishing upon this bed.  Would to God that my Sabbaths had profited me more and that I had walked more in nearness to God.”  Such dolorous heart-breaking confessions have we heard, varied occasionally by the lament, “Would to God I had brought up my children better for now I am obliged to say with David, ‘My house is not so with God,’ though I know that he hath made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things and sure.”  Many a dying pillow has been wet with the penitential tears of saints who have then fully seen their formerly unobserved shortcomings and failures and laxities in the family, in the business, in the church, and in the world.

Brethren, it is beautiful to see the repentance of a dying saint: travel far as you may, you will not readily behold a more comely spectacle.  I have seen it, and have breathed the prayer, “Lord, give me a humble and contrite spirit like that which I see before me, and help me now to feel the like brokenness of heart.”  Yet at the sight of such instances, it has struck me that though the fruit was scarcely seasonable, it must be acceptable to God for he never rejects repentance anywhere, but yet a brighter state of soul would have glorified him more in dying moments.  We regret to see mourning of soul as the most conspicuous feature in a departing brother; we desire to see joy and confidence clearly manifested at the last.  We are glad to see contrition anywhere because it is evermore a lovely work of the Spirit; but we should have preferred to see it sooner, when regrets would not have been unavailing, when the repentance would have brought forth practical fruit in a change of life.  I say, thank God if there be a deep repentance on the dying bed, but this is not the highest or best thing: to enter into life halt or maimed is not the grandest or most comely mode of departing out of this life into another.  To die in the dark with Jesus is safe, but to have light at the last is better.

We remember reading of a popular minister and the reading of it has struck through out heart, who, when he was dying, said to those about him, “I die in great bitterness of mind for I have been one of the most admired trees in God’s vineyard, and yet when I look back upon my past life, I fear I have brought forth many blossoms and many leaves, but very little fruit unto God’s glory.”  Ah! it will go hard with us, ministers, if we have to sorrow thus in our last hours.  You Sunday-school teachers, and other beloved laborers for Christ, I trust you will not have to cry at the last, “Our harvest is past and our summer is ended, and none of our children are saved.  Oh, that we had talked to our boys and girls more solemnly!  Oh, that we had entreated them with tears to flee from the wrath to come!”  I pray God that such may not be your dying lamentations, but that each one of us may live for God at the rate which eternity will justify.  When an old painter was taking much pains with his painting, pausing over every tint and touch, they asked him why he wrought so carefully.  He answered.  “I paint for eternity.”  So let us take good heed in all that we do for God, not offering to him that which costs us nothing, nor going out to his service at random, without prayer for his blessing and fitness for his work: let us take earnest heed to ourselves that we live for eternity, for so shall we wish to have lived when we come to die.

It has not unfrequently occurred that the dying scene has been to the Lord’s departing champions a battle, not perhaps by reason of any slips or shortcomings – far from it.  In some cases, the conflict appeared to arise by very reason of their valor in the Lord’s service.  Who among us would assert that Martin Luther failed to live up to the light and knowledge which he had received?  So far as he knew the truth, I believe he most diligently followed it.  Beyond most men he was true to conscience; he knew comparatively little of the truth, but what he did know he maintained with all his heart and soul and strength.  And yet it is exceedingly painful to read the record of Luther’s last few days.  Darkness was round about him; thick clouds and tempest enveloped his soul.  At the last the sky cleared, but it was very evident that among all the grim battles in which that mighty German fought and conquered, probably the most tremendous conflict of his life was at its close.  Can we not guess the reason?  Was it not because the devil knew him to be his worst enemy then upon the earth, and therefore hating him with the utmost power of infernal hate, and feeling that this was his last opportunity for assaulting him, he gathered up all his diabolical powers and came in against him like a flood, thinking that mayhap he might at the last overcome the stout heart and cow the valiant spirit!  Only by divine assistance did Luther win the victory, but win it he did.  Is this form of departure to be altogether deprecated?  I think not.  It is to be dreaded in some aspects, though not in others for is it not a noble thing for the knight of the cross to die in harness?   A blessed thing for the Christian soldier to proceed at once from the battle field to his eternal rest?

The like was the case with John Knox, the Scottish Luther, whose bold spirit feared the face of no man.  He was beset with a temptation which seemed a strange one to trouble him, namely, a temptation to self-righteousness.  He had always denounced all trust in works, and yet that error assaulted him at last, and he had a long and bitter conflict, though it ended in joyful victory.  It has been quaintly said that, “Sometimes God puts his children to bed in the dark.”  When our heavenly Father sends the rider upon the pale horse to fetch us home from the school of this life’s tribulation, he comes riding down the street making such a clangor with his horse hoofs that we are alarmed until we come to know that he is sent by our Father, and then we are glad.  God permits the Jordan to overflow its banks when some of his best children are passing through for he designs to magnify his grace in the last trial of their faith, and thus to show to men and angels and devils who are looking on, how he can triumph in his servants when flesh and heart are failing.

Beloved, I think these instances are rare compared with others which I am now to mention.  To many saints their departure has been a peaceful entrance into the fair haven of repose.  The very weakest of God’s servants have frequently been happiest in their departing moments.  John Bunyan, who had observed this fact in the description of Mr. Feeble mind’s passage of the river, “Here also I took notice of what was very remarkable; the water of that river was lower at this time than ever I saw it all my life.  So he went over at last not much above wetshod.”  Heaven’s mercy tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, and gives to babes no battle because they have no strength for it: the lambs calmly rest on the bosom of Jesus, and breathe out their lives in the Shepherd’s arms.  What encouragement this ought to be to you who are the tender ones among us!  What cheering tidings for you who are weak in faith!  Like Mr. Ready-to-halt, you shall cry, “Now, I shall have no more need of these crutches, since yonder are chariots and horses for me to ride on.”  There died a few weeks ago one who may be known to some of you by name, Mr. James Upton, late pastor of the church in Cotton Street.  For more than twenty-five years laid aside from the ministry by a most terrible depression of spirit which caused him one long unbroken night of soul.  He could not engage in any form of devotional exercise, so frightfully was he depressed in spirit, doubtless by some form of mental derangement; but during the last few hours of his life, when he was speechless, and could therefore give no verbal testimony, the gloom which had always been manifested in his countenance was removed, and he was evidently at the last enjoying profound peace of mind.  If God does not take away melancholy from the believer till the last, he will at the last.  If he suffers his people to live for years in winter, their summer shall begin at the last hour.  When the death damp is heaviest, then shall the light burn the brightest and, as the body decays and weakens, the soul shall arise in her strength.

Many of the saints have gone farther than this, for their death-beds have been pulpits.  Not to all of them was it so given, for Mr. Whitfield desired to bear a dying testimony for Christ, but did not do so.  Somebody remarked to him, “You have borne so many living testimonies to so many thousands that your Master wants no dying testimony of you.”  If you have read Brainerd’s Journal, what wonderful things he speaks of there, when all his last thoughts were delightfully fixed upon eternity and the world to come!  Thus he wrote in his diary, “Oh! how sweet were the thoughts of death to me at this time!  Oh! how I longed to be with Christ, to be employed in the glorious work of angels, and with an angel’s freedom, vigor, and delight.”  At another time, he wrote, “Tis sweet to me to think of eternity; but oh! what shall I say to the eternity of the wicked!  I cannot mention it or think of it.  The thought is too dreadful!”  His thoughts, however, were all taken up with the joyful eternity belonging to believers into which he entered with holy triumph.

Then there was that dear man of God, Mr. Payson.  His last expressions were weighty sermons.  He says, “I suppose, speaking within bounds, I have suffered twenty times as much as any martyr that was ever burnt at the stake through the painfulness of my disease, and yet frequently, day after day, my joy in God has so abounded as to render my sufferings not only tolerable but welcome.”  When Mr. Matthew Henry was dying, a friend came to him, and he said, “You have been used to take notice of the sayings of dying men: this is mine, ‘A life spent in the service of God and in communion with him is the most pleasant life that any one can live in the world.’”  Well spoken!  Our pulpits often lack force and power; men suppose that we speak but out of form and custom, but they do not suspect dying men of hypocrisy, nor think that they are driving a trade and following a profession.

Hence the witness of dying saints has often become powerful to those who have stood around their couch: careless hearts have been impressed, slumbering consciences have been awakened, and children of God quickened to greater diligence by what they have heard.  Brethren, do you never find dying beds become thrones of judgment?  Have you never seen the hoary saint stayed upon the pillows, prophesying like a seer concerning the things of this world and of the world to come?  Have you never heard him deliver sentences as weighty as the verdict of a judge?  “What,” says he, “what are all these earthly things to me now, now that I am about to leave them?  They are all bubbles and emptinesses.  Solomon in his life could not moralize with such force as holy men do in their deaths and then, as they point the linger to eternity, and tell of worlds to come, and of the need of being prepared for the tremendous day of the great assize, they appear as if, clothed in their white raiment, they were performing a rehearsal of the last dread judgment.  Many who care not for the voice of the ministry, nor even for the witness of God’s written word, have felt the power of the speeches of men standing on the borders of eternity.

And, brethren, to bring this to a close, lest I should weary you, we have known not unfrequent cases (nay, commonly this is the case), when the dying bed has become a Pisgah from the top of which the saint has viewed his inheritance while anon his couch has glowed on a sudden into the chariot of Amminadib, a flaming chariot such as that in which Elias was borne away to dwell with God.  Saints have frequently been in such triumphant conditions of mind, that rapture and ecstasy are the only fit words in which to describe their state. “If this be dying,” said one, “it is worthwhile living for the mere sake of dying.”  Dr. Payson, in his dying hours, wrote to his sister, “Were I to adopt the figurative language of Bunyan, I should date this letter from the land of Beulah, of which I have been for some weeks a happy inhabitant.  The celestial city is full in my view.  Its glories beam upon me, its odors are wafted to me, its sounds strike upon my ears, and its spirit is breathed into my heart.  Nothing separates me from it but the river of death, which now appears but as an insignificant rill that may be crossed at a single step whenever God shall give permission.  The Sun of Righteousness has gradually been drawing nearer and nearer, appearing larger and brighter as he approached; and now he fills the whole hemisphere, pouring forth a flood of glory, in which I seem to float as an insect in the beams of the sun; exulting, yet almost trembling, while I gaze on this excessive brightness, and wondering, with unutterable wonder, that God should deign thus to shine upon a sinful worm.  A single heart and a single tongue seem altogether inadequate to my wants: I want a whole heart for every separate emotion, and a whole tongue to express that emotion.”

It has been sometimes said these excitements are produced by delirium or caused by drugs, yet there are multitudes of clear cases in which men have had no delirium, and have been altogether untouched by drugs, as in the case of Halyburton, who said, “I know that a great deal from a dying man will go for canting and raving; but I bless God: he has kept the judgment I had, that I have been able to reflect with composure on his dealings with me.  I am sober and composed, if ever I was so.  You may believe a man venturing on eternity.  I have weighed eternity this last night – I have looked on death as stripped of all things pleasant to nature; and under the view of all these, I have found that in the way of God that gave satisfaction, a rational satisfaction, that makes me rejoice.”  Halyburton, indeed, broke forth into such ecstatic expressions, that I fear to quote them, lest I should spoil them; among his words were these, “If ever I was distinct in my judgment and memory in my life, it is since he laid his hands upon me.  My bones are riving through my skin, and yet all my bones are praising him.  O death, where is thy sting?  O grave, where is thy victory?  I am now a witness for Christ, and for the reality of religion. I have peace in the midst of pain; and oh! how much of that I have had for a time past!  My peace has been like a river – not a discomposed thought.  Strange that this body is going away to corruption, and yet my intellectuals are so lively that I cannot say there is the least alteration, the least decay of judgment or memory; such vigorous actings of my spirit towards God and things that are not seen.”  When drawing near his end, one remarked to him, “Blessed are they that die in the Lord.”  He replied, “When I fall so low that I cannot speak, I’ll show you a sign of triumph if I am able.”  And when he could no longer speak, he lifted up his hands, clapped them as in token of victory, and in a little while departed to the land where the weary are at rest.

Oh, it is grand to die thus, to get heaven here below in foretastes; to partake of dainty dishes brought from off the tables of immortals, to stay our souls while lingering here!  This shall be your portion, and this shall be my portion, if we be faithful unto death, continuing diligent in service.  I have already told you: if we believe in Christ, we shall die safely.  But we may not necessarily die in this triumph: this blessing is given to those who are faithful, earnest and diligent, a special reward which God reserveth to some men who, like Daniel, are greatly beloved, or who, like John, are indulged with special visions of the New Jerusalem before entering upon the scene!  Brethren, as I close my sermon I can but utter the present yearning of my ardent spirit —

Oh, if my Lord would come and meet,

My soul should stretch her wings in haste,

Fly fearless through death’s iron gate,

Nor feel the terrors as she passed.

Posted in C. H. Spurgeon |

Directions at the Grief at the Death of a Friend by Richard Baxter

January 12, 2010 by ADMIN

Direction I. Be neither unnaturally senseless at the death of friends, nor excessively dejected or afflicted.

To make light of the death of relations and friends, be they good or bad, is a sign of a very vicious nature that is so much selfish as not much to regard the lives of others.  He that regards not the lives of his friends is little to be trusted in his lesser concernments.  I speak not this of those persons whose temper allows them not to weep: for there may be as deep a regard and sorrow in some that have no tears, as in others that abound with them.  But I speak of a mischievous, selfish nature that is little affected with any one’s concernments but its own.

Yet your grief for the death of friends must be very different both in degree and kind.

  1. For ungodly friends, you must grieve for their own sakes, because if they died such, they are lost for ever.
  2. For your godly friends, you must mourn for the sake of yourselves and others, because God has removed such as were blessings to those about them.
  3. For choice magistrates, and ministers, and other instruments of public good, your sorrow must be greater, because of the common loss and the judgment thereby inflicted on the world.
  4. For old, tried Christians that have overcome the world and lived so long till age and weakness make them almost unserviceable to the church, and who groan to be unburdened and to be with Christ, your sorrow should be least and your joy and thanks for their happiness should be greatest.  But especially abhor that nature that secretly is glad of the death of parents (or little sorrowful) because that their estates are fallen to you, or you are enriched or set at liberty by their death.  God seldom leaves this sin unrevenged by some heavy judgments even in this life.

Direction II.  To overcome your inordinate grief for the death of your relations, consider these things following.

  1. Excess of sorrow is your sin: and sinning is an ill use to be made of your affliction.
  2. It tends to a great deal more: it unfits you for many duties which you are bound to as to rejoice in God and to be thankful for mercies and cheerful in his love and praise and service.  Is it a small sin to unfit yourselves for the greatest duties?  If you are so troubled at God’s disposal of his own, what does your will but rise up against the will of God; as if you grudged at the exercise of his dominion and government, that is, that he is God!  Who is wisest and best and fittest to dispose of all men’s lives?  Is it God or you?  Would you not have God to be the Lord of all, and to dispose of heaven and earth and of the lives and crowns of the greatest princes?  If you would not, you would not have him to be God.  If you would, is it not unreasonable that you or your friends only should be excepted from his disposal?
  3. If your friends are in heaven, how unsuitable is it for you to be overmuch mourning for them when they are rapt into the highest joys with Christ?  Love for them should teach you to rejoice with them that rejoice, and not to mourn as those that have no hope.
  4. You know not what mercy God showed to your friends in taking them away from the evil to come.  You know not what suffering the land or church is falling into, or at least might have fallen upon themselves, nor what sins they might have been tempted to.  But you are sure that heaven is better than earth and that it is far better for them to be with Christ.
  5. You always knew that your friends must die; to grieve that they were mortal is but to grieve that they were but men.
  6. If their mortality or death be grievous to you, you should rejoice that they are arrived at the state of immortality where they must live indeed and die no more.
  7. Remember how quickly you must be with them again.  The expectation of living on yourselves is the cause of your excessive grief for the death of friends.  If you expected yourselves to die tomorrow, or within a few weeks, you would less grieve that your friends are gone before you.
  8. Remember that the world is not for one generation only; others must have our places when we are gone.  God will be served by successive generations and not only by one.
  9. If you are Christians indeed, it is the highest of all your desires and hopes to be in heaven; and will you so grieve that your friends are gone thither, where you most desire and hope to be?

Objection. All this is reasonable, if my friend were gone to heaven: but he died impenitently, and how should I be comforted for a soul that I have cause to think is damned?

Answer. Their misery must be your grief, but not such a grief as shall deprive you of your greater joys, or disable you for your greater duties.

  1. God is fitter than you to judge of the measures of his mercy and his judgments and you must neither pretend to be more merciful than he nor to object to his justice.
  2. All the works of God are good and all that is good is amiable though the misery of the creature be bad to it, yet the works of justice declare the wisdom and holiness of God; and the more perfect we are, the more they will be amiable to us. For,
  3. God himself, and Christ, who is the merciful Savior of the world, approve of the damnation of the finally ungodly.
  4. The saints and angels in heaven do know more of the misery of the souls in hell than we do; and yet it abates not their joys.  The more perfect any is, the more he is like-minded unto God.
  5. How glad and thankful should you be to think that God has delivered yourselves from those eternal flames!  The misery of others should excite your thankfulness.
  6. Should not the joys of all the saints and angels be your joy, as well as the sufferings of the wicked be your sorrows?  Above all, the thoughts of the blessedness and glory of God himself should overtop all the concernments of the creature with you.  If you will mourn more for the thieves and murderers that are hanged than you will rejoice in the justice, prosperity, and honor of the king and the welfare of all his faithful subjects, you behave not yourselves as faithful subjects.
  7. Shortly you hope to come to heaven: mourn now for the damned, as you shall do then; or at least, let not the difference be too great, when that and not this, is your perfect state.

Posted in Richard Baxter |

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