one verse in the twenty-third Psalm, so often quoted in view of death,
appears abrupt, but otherwise appropriate and very beautiful. One of a
flock is expressing his confidence in God, his Shepherd: "When I have
satisfied my hunger from the green pastures, he makes me to lie down in
them; and the still, clear streams are my drink." Then a thought occurs
which appears as though a dying man were speaking, and not a sheep: but
it is still the language of a sheep. Keeping this in mind, let it be
remembered that the shepherds wandered from place to place to find
pasture. In doing so, they were sometimes obliged to pass through dark,
lonely valleys. Wild beasts, and creatures less formidable, but of
hateful sight, and with doleful voices, made it difficult for the flocks
to be led through such passages. There was frequently no other way from
one pasturage to another but through these places of death-shade, or
valleys of the shadow of death,--which was a term to express any dark
and dismal place.
Now, let us imagine a flock reposing in a green pasture, and by the side
of still waters, conversing about their shepherd, their pastures, and
streams. One of them says, "In the midst of all this peace and
contentment, there is a thought which spoils my comfort. We cannot stay
here forever; we are to go, presently, beyond the mountains; they say
that there are valleys, in those regions, full of dangers. My
expectation is, that we shall be torn to pieces. My enjoyment of these
pastures and waters is nearly destroyed by my forebodings about those
valleys."
Another of the flock replies, "Have we not an able, faithful,
experienced shepherd? Have we not seen his ability to defend us in past
dangers? Is he not as much concerned for our defence and safety as
ourselves? While he is my shepherd, I shall not want.--Yea, though I
walk through those valleys of death-shade, I will fear no evil; for he
is with me; his rod and his staff they comfort me."
The shepherd carried with him two instruments--the staff, for his own
support, and to attack a beast or robber; and the crook, or rod. By this
crook, the shepherd guided a sheep in a dangerous pass, placing the
crook under the sheep's neck, to hold him up and assist his steps. When
a sheep was disposed to stray, the shepherd could hold him back with his
crook. When the sheep had fallen into the power of a beast, the crook
assisted in drawing him away. A good sheep loved the crook as much as
the staff,--to be guided, as well as to be defended. Both of the
shepherd's instruments were a great comfort to the sheep, while passing
through a frightful and dangerous valley.
The interpretation usually given to the words, "thy rod and thy
staff"--as though they meant "thy gentle reproofs and thy severe
rebukes"--is erroneous. A sheep would hardly tell his shepherd that his
chastising rod, and the heavy blows of his staff, comforted him. The
meaning is, It is a comfort to me to feel the crook of thy rod helping
me in trouble, and to know that thy staff is my defence against wild
beasts.
* * * * *
Through fear of death, many who are truly the followers of Christ, are,
nevertheless, all their lifetime subject to bondage. On whatever
mountains, into whatever pastures, and by whatever streams, their
Shepherd leads them, they know that there is a valley into which they
must go down, and the imagined darkness and horrors of the place make
them continually afraid.
A fear of death, without doubt, is frequently permitted, as a means of
religious restraint. Some, who have wondered at this trial all their
life long, find that its influence is great in keeping them near to the
Shepherd and Bishop of their souls. If a flock could reason, no doubt
the shepherd would make use of the fears of the sheep, in many
instances, to keep them from going astray. If one of them were inclined
to wander, it would be natural for the shepherd to caution that sheep
against the dark valley, warning him of its terrors, and making him feel
how necessary it would be to have a shepherd there, with his crook and
staff. It may be that apprehensions with regard to death are the most
powerful means, with some, of keeping them from going astray, and of
holding their minds to the contemplation of spiritual things.
It has often been observed that those Christians whose fears of death
were very great for a large part of their life, frequently die with
triumph. The reality is not such as they feared; they found support and
consolation which they did not anticipate.
One of the most trying anticipations with regard to death, in the minds
of many, long before the event arrives, is, separation from those whom
we love. And yet, there is probably nothing in human experience more
remarkable, than the singular resignation, and even cheerfulness, with
which some, who have had every thing to make life desirable, have left
all and followed Christ when he came to lead them through the valley.
The young wife and mother, in her dying hours, becomes the comforter of
her husband; she turns and looks at the infant who is held up to receive
her farewell, and the mother alone is calm, sheds no tear, gives the
farewell kiss with composure. "Thy rod" is supporting her; "thy staff"
is keeping at bay the passions and fears of the natural heart. So a
widowed mother leaves a large family of young children, with a peace
which passes all understanding. And the father of a dependent family,
which never could, in a greater measure, need a father's presence, looks
upon them from his dying bed, and says to them, with the serenity of the
patriarch, "Behold, I die; but God shall be with you." Nothing is more
true than this, that dying grace is for a dying hour; that is, we
cannot, in health and strength, have the feelings which belong to the
hour of parting; but as any and every scene and condition, into which
God brings his children, has its peculiar frames of mind fitted to the
necessity of each case, we need not make the useless effort to practise
all the resignation, and experience all the comforts, which come only
when they are actually needed. We do not often hear the first part of
the following passage quoted; but in such rocky and thorny paths as we
are often made to pass through, how good it is to read: "Thy shoes shall
be iron and brass; and as thy days, so shall thy strength be." If God is
our Shepherd, he will cause us to pass, one by one, through the valley
which is before us, leaving some most dear to us on the hither side.
Suppose that when a shepherd is employed in removing his flock from one
mountain to another, through a valley, one of the flock should mourn his
separation from companions, or from its young. The shepherd would say,
"You cannot all pass together; leave your companions and the young to
me; I will restore them to you on the other side." He might also
remonstrate and say, "Am I not, as their shepherd, interested in
protecting and removing them? You can add nothing to my strength and
wisdom; let me take you safety through the valley, and trust me to do
the same for them."
The ancient shepherd was specially careful of the lambs; he carried them
in his arms, and sometimes folded them beneath his shepherd's coat. We
can imagine the feelings of some of a flock when, leaving them at a
short distance, but within sight, the shepherd would take a lamb, carry
it down into the valley, and disappear with it for a little while. With
all their confidence in their shepherd, some of the flock would manifest
uneasiness at the separation, especially if the valley looked dark and
dangerous. If it were the only lamb of its mother, it was natural for
that mother to be distressed, and to lament. Though the young creature
had gone safely to the other side, and was at play in the new pasture,
and the mother believed it, this could not always quiet her. The good
Shepherd has taken some of our lambs through the valley. They are safe
upon the other side. They have joined the flock of Christ. Let us give
our lambs to the Shepherd's care, to bear them through the valley,
whenever he sees fit that they should be removed. We must all pass
through that valley. If, from special love to our young, he will see
them safely on the other side before he calls for us, we will intrust
them to Him who claims our confidence by saying to us, I am the Good
Shepherd. One of the prophecies concerning Christ reveals that tender
love and care, on his part, for children, which characterized him while
on earth: "He shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his
bosom."
The fear of death is owing, in many cases, to the dread of dissolution.
The previous sickness prepares the soul and the body for their
separation, so that, in very many cases, it is the greatest relief to
die. We are, perhaps, mistaken if we suppose that those Christians who
are in great bodily pain in their last hours, suffer in mind. The
effects of death on the frame do not necessarily disturb the
tranquillity of the soul. The body may be in spasms while the soul is at
peace; and the reverse is true;--as in nightmare, when the mind is
distressed while the body sleeps. A Christian has nothing to fear in
this respect. To die will not be--as in full health we suppose it is--a
violent rending asunder of the soul from the unyielding grasp of the
body; but the preparation of the mortal frame for dissolution, by the
sickness, however rapid, also fits the mind for the event. Even in
cases of death by accidents, this appears to be true.
* * * * *
But many feel that to die is to be transferred suddenly, and with
violence, into strange scenes, which must overwhelm and distract the
senses. It seems to them that it must be like being whirled instantly
into a distant, unknown city, and waking up amidst the confusion and
strangeness of that place. We cannot believe that such is the experience
of dying Christians. It would rather seem that there is, at first, a
perception of spiritual forms, of ministering spirits, whispering peace
to the soul, and assuring it of safety, and bidding it fear not. It is
said of angels, "Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to
minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation?" When can we need
their ministry more, than in the passage from this world to the world of
spirits? Perhaps the disclosure is made of some departed friends; and
the fancy of those who thought that they saw beloved ones beckoning them
away, may have had its foundation in truth. There is much of
probability in that well-known piece, "The dying Christian's address to
his soul;"--and no part of it is more probable than this:--
"Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister spirit, come away."
It is not improbable--it seems accordant with divine goodness--that such
methods should be employed to relieve the anxiety of the departing
spirit. Sometimes the dying Christian has declared that he heard
enrapturing music. It is possible that voices were employed to soothe
him to sleep, and to soften the transition, from the full consciousness
of life, to the revelations of the heavenly world. Perhaps the effect of
disease upon the organs of hearing was such as to produce something like
sounds, which, in a joyous state of mind, were pleasurable. During the
siege of Jerusalem in 1836, the wife of an American missionary sung
while dissolution was actually taking place. The tones of her voice,
they said, seemingly more than mortal, were far different from any
thing which they had ever heard, even from her. God is often pleased to
use these natural effects of dissolution on the body, to comfort the
passing spirit of his child. Whether visions or real voices are actually
seen or heard, is of no consequence, so long as the soul has a rational
and assured hope. Some means are unquestionably used in every case to
make the dying believer feel that he is safe. He is not compelled to
wait in uncertainty and fear for a moment. His fears are anticipated; he
is among other friends, the moment that he grows insensible to those who
watch his departing breath. Neither are we to suppose that heaven breaks
upon the senses of the spirit with such an overpowering brightness, as
to excite confusion and pain. No doubt the revelation is gradual and
most pleasant. Perhaps the celestial city appears at first in the
distance, having the glory of God most precious; the approach to it is
gradual; voices are heard afar off, and from the convoy of ministering
spirits, such information and instructions are received as prepare it
for the full vision of heaven. Every thing is calm and serene; the light
is attempered to its new and feeble vision. He who makes the sun to rise
by slow degrees, and does not pour straight, fierce rays upon the waking
eyes even of sinful men, certainly will not torment the soul of his
child with any such revelations of unseen things as will give pain. The
same care which has redeemed and saved him, will order all these things
in covenanted love.
Some of the preceding thoughts are well expressed in the following
anonymous lines, written on seeing Mr. Greenough's group of the Angel
and Child ascending to Heaven:--
"CHILD. Whither now wilt thou proceed?
ANGEL. Come up hither; I will show thee.
Follow me with joyful speed;
Leave thy native earth below thee.
CHILD. Stop! mine eyes cannot contain
Such a wondrous flood of light.
ANGEL. Come up hither. Thou shall gain,
As thou risest, stronger sight.
CHILD. Lost in wonder without end,
Joyful, fearful, longing, shrinking,
Lead me, O thou heavenly friend;
Keep a trembling child from sinking.
O, I cannot bear this glory!
Angel brother! how canst thou?
ANGEL. I will tell thee all my story;
I was once as thou art now.
CHILD. When some sorrow did befall me,
Or I felt some strange alarms,
Then my mother's voice would call me,
To the shelter of her arms.
Now what bids my heart rejoice,
Clasped in arms I cannot see?
Hark, I hear a soothing voice
Sweetly whispering, Come to me.
ANGEL. Yes, it calls thee from on high;
Come to God's most holy mountain;
Thou hast drunk the stream of life;--
I will lead thee to the fountain."
Some dread the thought of being out of the body and finding themselves
spirits. This is wholly without reason. The soul will not suffer from
losing this body of sin and death; it will have as perfect a
consciousness, it will know where it is, and what is passing before it,
as seems to be the case in a vivid dream when the bodily senses are
locked in slumber.
As to the natural repugnance which we have to the thoughts of burial and
the grave, it is probable that the soul of a redeemed spirit thinks and
cares as little concerning these things, so far as painful sensations
are concerned, as we do about our garments when we are falling asleep.
The vesture which we formerly wore gives us no solicitude. It is
wonderful to hear the sick, long before they die, give directions, or
express desires, respecting their burial. So far from thinking of the
grave as a melancholy place, no doubt the departed spirit will often
think of it in the separate state with pleasure, as the place where it
is hereafter to receive a form like Christ's; and the thought of
resurrection adds greatly to the joys of heaven.
* * * * *
There is something still which affects the minds of many Christians with
fear as they think of dying; and that is, their appearing before God.
They cannot imagine the possibility of seeing him without distraction;
his infinite majesty, and their own sense of unworthiness, make them
afraid.
But who is God? Is he the Christian's enemy? Will he sit like a king on
his throne, and see his subject come trembling into his presence? Is
this the God who loved him? Is this the Saviour that died for him? Is
this the Holy Spirit who awakened, converted, sanctified, comforted him,
and promised to present him faultless before the presence of his glory
with exceeding joy? God will not have done so much to bring him to
heaven, and, when he comes there, make his appearance before his throne
a matter of fear and uncertainty. He who fell on the neck of the
returning prodigal and kissed him, will not keep him at a distance when,
with the best robe, and the ring, and the shoes, he comes into his
father's house. Our first apprehensions of God will be happy beyond our
present comprehension. What an image have we, in these words, of a man
helping a child, by the hand, through a dangerous or dark way: "For I
the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not;
I will help thee." If "I will be with thee," is the reason, which he
himself assigns why we should not be afraid, why should we fear to come
into his presence?
As to a consciousness of guilt, there is no doubt that he who falls
asleep in Jesus, with reliance on his blood and righteousness, will
immediately, at death, receive such a consciousness of being purified
from all taint of sin, as now is beyond our conception. In the language
of Scripture, we shall be presented faultless before the presence of his
glory with exceeding joy. For the sake of Christ, in whom we trust, we
shall be received and treated as though we had never sinned; we shall
say, in the full assurance of pardon, righteousness, and peace with God,
without waiting for the question to be asked in our behalf, "Who is he
that condemneth?" "It is Christ that died."
And if this be so, as it surely is, why may not Christians in this world
before they die, nay, from the first hour of justification by faith in
Christ, triumph thus in him? Why should their remaining sinfulness,
their poor, frail, erring nature, which they must carry with them to the
grave, prevent them from having the same joy in God through our Lord
Jesus Christ, by whom also we have received the atonement? Every true
believer in Jesus Christ is warranted in having the same consciousness
of pardon and peace with God, now, as after death; the justifying
righteousness of Christ is as powerful now as it will be then. Some tell
us, "Live a sinless life, and you may have this perfect peace." That is
self-righteousness. It will not be a sinless life which, in the moment
after death, will make us to be openly acknowledged and acquitted; it
will be the righteousness of Jesus Christ which is by faith; and he who
has faith in that righteousness may, living as well as dying, here as
well as in heaven, say, 'There is, therefore, _now_ no condemnation to
them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after
the spirit.'
There are several things which may reconcile us to the thought of dying:
* * * * *
All the people of God since the creation, with two exceptions, have
died. Of the two who were excepted, neither of them was his only
begotten Son. Those whom God has loved peculiarly have not been exempted
from the stroke of death. Shall we ask exemption from that which, all
the good and great have suffered? Let me die the death of the righteous.
If he must find the grave, there will I be buried. We would not go to
heaven but in the way which prophets, apostles, martyrs trod. The
footsteps of the flock lead through the valley; we will seek no other,
no easier, way.
* * * * *
Surely we should be willing to follow our great Forerunner. He tasted
death for every man; and he could enter into his triumph only by dying.
We should be more than resigned to follow our blessed Lord into the
tomb. Christ conquered death by dying; we shall be more than conquerors
in the same way. If we suffer great pain, we cannot suffer more than
Christ suffered on our account. Sufferings borne in the spirit of Christ
are counted as sufferings borne for Christ. "If we suffer, we shall also
reign with him." "If so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also
glorified together."
* * * * *
Death is a part of the penalty of sin. We should, therefore, submit to
it, giving up our bodies to be destroyed, in fulfilment of that sentence
which we have so justly incurred--"and unto dust shalt thou return." He
who hates sin, and condemns himself for it, and is willing to have
fellowship with Christ in his sufferings for it, as it is most
graciously represented that we may, will bear the execution of God's
righteous sentence with a willing mind.
* * * * *
Death is the perfecting of our redemption. It is the last act of
redeeming grace. When the Saviour, who says, "I have the keys
of--death," (i.e., no one can die but at the time and manner prescribed
by me,) takes us out of the world, it is to finish the work of our
personal salvation. All the circumstances attending it will be as
deliberately appointed, and as carefully watched and directed, as the
first great act of grace towards us in our regeneration. He, too, who
has provided such pastures and streams for us here, in removing us to
living pastures and to living streams, will, of course, see that we go
safely through the valley which must be passed to reach them. It will
not be a new thing to Christ to see us die. He has watched the dying
beds of millions of his friends, he has had great experience as a
Shepherd in bringing them through the valley.
* * * * *
See that chamber in yonder mansion, where all the comforts, and some of
the luxuries, of life, have contributed to prepare for some mysterious
event. The garden of Eden failed to possess such joys as are there in
anticipation, and are soon to be made perfect. Every thing seems
waiting, with silent but thrilling interest, for the arrival of an
unknown occupant. And there is raiment of needle-work, and of fine
twined linen, and gifts of cunning device, from the looms of the old
world, and from graceful fingers and loving hearts here, every want
being anticipated, and some wants imagined, to gratify the love of
satisfying them. And now God breathes the breath of life, and a living
soul begins its deathless career, amidst joys and thanksgivings, which
swell through the wide circles of kindred and acquaintanceship. The Holy
Spirit, in the process of time, renews and sanctifies the soul through
the blood of the everlasting covenant; and having, through life, walked
with God, the day arrives when the spirit must return to God who gave
it. You saw how it was received here, at its entrance into the world.
You have seen what the atonement, and regeneration, and sanctification,
and providence, and grace, have done for it, and with what accumulated
love the Father of Spirits, and Redeemer, and Sanctifier, must regard
it. And now do we suppose that the shroud, and coffin, and the funeral,
and the narrow house, and the darkness, and the solitude and corruption,
and the whole dreary and terrible train of death and the grave, are
symbols of its reception into heaven, the proper pageantry of its
arrival and resting place within the veil? Believe it not! If God
prepared in our hearts such a welcome for the infant stranger, that even
its helpless feet were thought of and cared for, surely when those feet,
wearied in the pilgrimage of the strait and narrow way, arrive at
heaven's gate, it must be, it is, amidst rejoicings and ministrations of
love to which earth has no parallel. Let kings and queens prepare a
royal room for the new-born prince: "In my Father's house are many
mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a
place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come
again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be
also."
Could we look into that place, as it stands waiting for its occupant
from earth, we should behold sights which would instantly clothe even
death with beauty, and make it seem now, as it will seem then, a blessed
thing to die.
* * * * *
To miss of dying would no doubt be a calamity. Dying will be an
experience to the believer which will be fraught with inestimably good
things; that is, the act of dying, and not merely the being dead. It is
no doubt as necessary to the nature of the soul, to its psychology, its
soul-life, as the changes of the worm, chrysalis, and butterfly, are to
the insect. And thus, as in all other things, where sin abounded, grace
much more abounds, and even death, like a cross, is turned into a
ministration of infinite blessing.