Mary reveals: "He whom Thou lovest is sick." Lazarus was a good man,
converted, believing, renewed, sanctified, a friend of Christ, and an
heir of glory. And yet Lazarus was sick! Then sickness is no sign that
God is displeased. Sickness is intended to be a blessing to us, and not
a curse. "All things work together for good to them that love God, and
are called according to His purpose." "All things are yours,--life,
death, things present, or things to come: for ye are Christ's; and
Christ is God's." (Rom. viii. 28; 1 Cor. iii. 22.) Blessed, I say again,
are they that have learned this! Happy are they who can say, when they
are ill, "This is my Father's doing. It must be well."
I invite the attention of my readers to the subject of sickness. The
subject is one which we ought frequently to look in the face. We cannot
avoid it. It needs no prophet's eye to see sickness coming to each of us
in turn one day. "In the midst of life we are in death." Let us turn
aside for a few moments, and consider sickness as Christians. The
consideration will not hasten its coming, and by =God's= blessing may
teach us wisdom.
In considering the subject of sickness, three points appear to me to
demand attention. On each I shall say a few words.
I. The _universal prevalence_ of sickness and disease.
II. The _general benefits_ which sickness confers on mankind.
III. The _special duties_ to which sickness calls us.
I. The _universal prevalence of sickness_.
I need not dwell long on this point. To elaborate the proof of it would
only be multiplying truisms, and heaping up common-places which all
allow.
Sickness is everywhere. In Europe, in Asia, in Africa, in America; in
hot countries and in cold, in civilized nations and in savage
tribes,--men, women, and children sicken and die.
Sickness is among all classes. Grace does not lift a believer above the
reach of it. Riches will not buy exemption from it. Rank cannot prevent
its assaults. Kings and their subjects, masters and servants, rich men
and poor, learned and unlearned, teachers and scholars, doctors and
patients, ministers and hearers, all alike go down before this great
foe. "The rich man's wealth is his strong city." (Prov. xviii. 11.) The
Englishman's house is called his castle; but there are no doors and bars
which can keep out disease and death.
Sickness is of every sort and description. From the crown of our head to
the sole of our foot we are liable to disease. Our capacity of suffering
is something fearful to contemplate. Who can count up the ailments by
which our bodily frame may be assailed? Who ever visited a museum of
morbid anatomy without a shudder? "Strange that a harp of thousand
strings should keep in tune so long." It is not, to my mind, so
wonderful that men should die so soon, as it is that they should live so
long.
Sickness is often one of the most humbling and distressing trials that
can come upon man. It can turn the strongest into a little child, and
make him feel "the grasshopper a burden." (Eccles. xii. 5.) It can
unnerve the boldest, and make him tremble at the fall of a pin. We are
"fearfully and wonderfully made." (Psalm cxxxix. 14.) The connection
between body and mind is curiously close. The influence that some
diseases can exercise upon the temper and spirits is immensely great.
There are ailments of brain, and liver, and nerves, which can bring down
a Solomon in mind to a state little better than that of a babe. He that
would know to what depths of humiliation poor man can fall, has only to
attend for a short time on sick-beds.
Sickness is not preventible by anything that man can do. The average
duration of life may doubtless be somewhat lengthened. The skill of
doctors may continually discover new remedies, and effect surprising
cures. The enforcement of wise sanitary regulations may greatly lower
the death-rate in a land. But, afterall,--whether in healthy or
unhealthy localities,--whether in mild climates or in cold,--whether
treated by homeopathy or allopathy,--men will sicken and die. "The days
of our years are three-score years and ten; and if by reason of strength
they be four-score years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for
it is soon cut off, and we fly away." (Psalm xc. 10.) That witness is
indeed true. It was true 3300 years ago.--It is true still.
Now what can we make of this great fact,--the universal prevalence of
sickness? How shall we account for it? What explanation can we give of
it? What answer shall we give to our inquiring children when they ask
us, "Father, why do people get ill and die?" These are grave questions.
A few words upon them will not be out of place.
Can we suppose for a moment that God created sickness and disease at
the beginning? Can we imagine that He who formed our world in such
perfect order was the Former of needless suffering and pain? Can we
think that He who made all things "very good," made Adam's race to
sicken and to die? The idea is, to my mind, revolting. It introduces a
grand imperfection into the midst of God's perfect works. I must find
another solution to satisfy my mind.
The only explanation that satisfies me is that which the Bible gives.
Something has come into the world which has dethroned man from his
original position, and stripped him of his original privileges.
Something has come in, which, like a handful of gravel thrown into the
midst of machinery, has marred the perfect order of God's creation. And
what is that _something_? I answer, in one word, It is sin. "Sin has
entered into the world, and death by sin." (Rom. v. 12.) Sin is the
cause of all the sickness, and disease, and pain, and suffering, which
prevail on the earth. They are all a part of that curse which came into
the world when Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit and fell. There
would have been no sickness, if there had been no fall. There would have
been no disease, if there had been no sin.
I pause for a moment at this point, and yet in pausing I do not depart
from my subject. I pause to remind my readers that there is no ground so
untenable as that which is occupied by the Atheist, the Deist, or the
unbeliever in the Bible. I advise every young reader of this paper, who
is puzzled by the bold and specious arguments of the infidel, to study
well that most important subject,--the _Difficulties of Infidelity_. I
say boldly that it requires far more credulity to be an infidel than to
be a Christian. I say boldly, that there are great broad patent facts in
the condition of mankind, which nothing but the Bible can explain, and
that one of the most striking of these facts is the universal prevalence
of pain, sickness, and disease. In short, one of the mightiest
difficulties in the way of Atheists and Deists, is the body of man.
You have doubtless heard of Atheists. An Atheist is one who professes to
believe that there is no God, no Creator, no First Cause, and that all
things came together in this world by mere chance.--Now shall we listen
to such a doctrine as this? Go, take an Atheist to one of the excellent
surgical schools of our land, and ask him to study the wonderful
structure of the human body. Show him the matchless skill with which
every joint, and vein, and valve, and muscle, and sinew, and nerve, and
bone, and limb, has been formed. Show him the perfect adaptation of
every part of the human frame to the purpose which it serves. Show him
the thousand delicate contrivances for meeting wear and tear, and
supplying daily waste of vigour. And then ask this man who denies the
being of a God, and a great First Cause, if all this wonderful mechanism
is the result of chance? Ask him if it came together at first by luck
and accident? Ask him if he so thinks about the watch he looks at, the
bread he eats, or the coat he wears? Oh, no! Design is an insuperable
difficulty in the Atheist's way. _There is a God._
You have doubtless heard of Deists. A Deist is one who professes to
believe that there is a God, who made the world and all things therein.
But He does not believe the Bible. "A God, but no Bible!--a Creator, but
no Christianity!" This is the Deist's creed.--Now, shall we listen to
this doctrine? Go again, I say, and take a Deist to an hospital, and
show him some of the awful handiwork of disease. Take him to the bed
where lies some tender child, scarce knowing good from evil, with an
incurable cancer. Send him to the ward where there is a loving mother of
a large family in the last stage of some excruciating disease. Show him
some of the racking pains and agonies to which flesh is heir, and ask
him to account for them. Ask this man, who believes there is a great
and wise God who made the world, but cannot believe the Bible,--ask him
how he accounts for these traces of disorder and imperfection in his
God's creation. Ask this man, who sneers at Christian theology and is
too wise to believe the fall of Adam,--ask him upon his theory to
explain the universal prevalence of pain and disease in the world. You
may ask in vain! You will get no satisfactory answer. Sickness and
suffering are insuperable difficulties in the Deist's way. _Man has
sinned, and therefore man suffers._ Adam fell from his first estate, and
therefore Adam's children sicken and die.
The universal prevalence of sickness is one of the indirect evidences
that the Bible is true. The Bible explains it. The Bible answers the
questions about it which will arise in every inquiring mind. No other
systems of religion can do this. They all fail here. They are silent.
They are confounded. The Bible alone looks the subject in the face. It
boldly proclaims the fact that man is a fallen creature, and with equal
boldness proclaims a vast remedial system to meet his wants. I feel shut
up to the conclusion that the Bible is from God. Christianity is a
revelation from heaven. "Thy word is truth." (John xvii. 17.)
Let us stand fast on the old ground, that the Bible, and the Bible only,
is God's revelation of Himself to man. Be not moved by the many new
assaults which modern scepticism is making on the inspired volume. Heed
not the hard questions which the enemies of the faith are fond of
putting about Bible difficulties, and to which perhaps you often feel
unable to give an answer. Anchor your soul firmly on this safe
principle,--that the whole book is God's truth. Tell the enemies of the
Bible that, in spite of all their arguments, there is no book in the
world which will bear comparison with the Bible,--none that so
thoroughly meets man's wants,--none that explains so much of the state
of mankind. As to the hard things in the Bible, tell them you are
content to wait. You find enough plain truth in the book to satisfy your
conscience and save your soul. The hard things will be cleared up one
day. What you know not now, you will know hereafter.
II. The second point I propose to consider is _the general benefits
which sickness confers on mankind_.
I use that word "benefits" advisedly. I feel it of deep importance to
see this part of our subject clearly. I know well that sickness is one
of the supposed weak points in God's government of the world, on which
sceptical minds love to dwell.--"Can God be a God of love, when He
allows pain? Can God be a God of mercy, when He permits disease? He
might prevent pain and disease; but He does not. How can these things
be?" Such is the reasoning which often comes across the heart of man.
I reply to all such reasoners, that their doubts and questionings are
most unreasonable. They might us well doubt the existence of a Creator,
because the order of the universe is disturbed by earthquakes,
hurricanes, and storms. They might as well doubt the providence of God,
because of the horrible massacres of Delhi and Cawnpore. All this would
be just as reasonable as to doubt the mercy of God, because of the
presence of sickness in the world.
I ask all who find it hard to reconcile the prevalence of disease and
pain with the love of God, to cast their eyes on the world around them,
and to mark what is going on. I ask them to observe the extent to which
men constantly submit to present loss for the sake of future
gain,--present sorrow for the sake of future joy,--present pain for the
sake of future health. The seed is thrown into the ground, and rots: but
we sow in the hope of a future harvest. The boy is sent to school amidst
many tears: but we send him in the hope of his getting future wisdom.
The father of a family undergoes some fearful surgical operation: but
he bears it, in the hope of future health.--I ask men to apply this
great principle to God's government of the world. I ask them to believe
that God allows pain, sickness, and disease, not because He loves to vex
man, but because He desires to benefit man's heart, and mind, and
conscience, and soul, to all eternity.
Once more I repeat, that I speak of the "benefits" of sickness on
purpose and advisedly. I know the suffering and pain which sickness
entails. I admit the misery and wretchedness which it often brings in
its train. But I cannot regard it as an unmixed evil. I see in it a wise
permission of God. I see in it a useful provision to check the ravages
of sin and the devil among men's souls. If man had never sinned I should
have been at a loss to discern the benefit of sickness. But since sin is
in the world, I can see that sickness is a good. It is a blessing quite
as much as a curse. It is a rough schoolmaster, I grant. But it is a
real friend to man's soul.
(_a_) Sickness helps to _remind men of death_. The most live as if they
were never going to die. They follow business, or pleasure, or politics,
or science, as if earth was their eternal home. They plan and scheme for
the future, like the rich fool in the parable, as if they had a long
lease of life, and were not tenants at will. A heavy illness sometimes
goes far to dispel these delusions. It awakens men from their
day-dreams, and reminds them that they have to die as well as to live.
Now this I say emphatically is a mighty good.
(_b_) Sickness helps to _make men think seriously of God_, and their
souls, and the world to come. The most in their days of health can find
no time for such thoughts. They dislike them. They put them away. They
count them troublesome and disagreeable. Now a severe disease has
sometimes a wonderful power of mustering and rallying these thoughts,
and bringing them up before the eyes of a man's soul. Even a wicked king
like Benhadad, when sick, could think of Elisha. (2 Kings viii. 8.)
Even heathen sailors, when death was in sight, were afraid, and "cried
every man to his god." (Jonah i. 5.) Surely anything that helps to make
men think is a good.
(_c_) Sickness helps to _soften men's hearts_, and teach them wisdom.
The natural heart is as hard as a stone. It can see no good in anything
which is not of this life, and no happiness excepting in this world. A
long illness sometimes goes far to correct these ideas. It exposes the
emptiness and hollowness of what the world calls "good" things, and
teaches us to hold them with a loose hand. The man of business finds
that money alone is not everything the heart requires. The woman of the
world finds that costly apparel, and novel-reading, and the reports of
balls and operas, are miserable comforters in a sick room. Surely
anything that obliges us to alter our weights and measures of earthly
things is a real good.
(_d_) Sickness helps to _level and humble us_. We are all naturally
proud and high-minded. Few, even of the poorest, are free from the
infection. Few are to be found who do not look down on somebody else,
and secretly flatter themselves that they are "not as other men." A sick
bed is a mighty tamer of such thoughts as these. It forces on us the
mighty truth that we are all poor worms, that we "dwell in houses of
clay," and are "crushed before the moth" (Job iv. 19), and that kings
and subjects, masters and servants, rich and poor, are all dying
creatures, and will soon stand side by side at the bar of God. In the
sight of the coffin and the grave it is not easy to be proud. Surely
anything that teaches that lesson is good.
(_e_) Finally, sickness helps _to try men's religion_, of what sort it
is. There are not many on earth who have on religion at all. Yet few
have a religion that will bear inspection. Most are content with
traditions received from their fathers, and can render no reason of the
hope that is in them. Now disease is sometimes most useful to a man in
exposing the utter worthlessness of his soul's foundation. It often
shows him that he has nothing solid under his feet, and nothing firm
under his hand. It makes him find out that, although he may have had a
form of religion, he has been all his life worshipping "an unknown God."
Many a creed looks well on the smooth waters of health, which turns out
utterly unsound and useless on the rough waves of the sick bed. The
storms of winter often bring out the defects in a man's dwelling, and
sickness often exposes the gracelessness of a man's soul. Surely
anything that makes us find out the real character of our faith is a
good.
I do not say that sickness confers these benefits on all to whom it
comes. Alas, I can say nothing of the kind! Myriads are yearly laid low
by illness, and restored to health, who evidently learn no lesson from
their sick beds, and return again to the world. Myriads are yearly
passing through sickness to the grave, and yet receiving no more
spiritual impression from it than the beasts that perish. While they
live they have no feeling, and when they die there are "no bands in
their death." (Psalm lxxiii. 4.) These are awful things to say. But they
are true. The degree of deadness to which man's heart and conscience may
attain, is a depth which I cannot pretend to fathom.
But does sickness confer the benefits of which I have been speaking on
only a few? I will allow nothing of the kind. I believe that in very
many cases sickness produces impressions more or less akin to those of
which I have just been speaking. I believe that in many minds sickness
is God's "day of visitation," and that feelings are continually aroused
on a sick bed which, if improved, might, by God's grace, result in
salvation. I believe that in heathen lands sickness often paves the way
for the missionary, and makes the poor idolater lend a willing ear to
the glad tidings of the Gospel. I believe that in our own land sickness
is one of the greatest aids to the minister of the Gospel, and that
sermons and counsels are often brought home in the day of disease which
we have neglected in the day of health. I believe that sickness is one
of God's most important subordinate instruments in the saving of men,
and that though the feelings it calls forth are often temporary, it is
also often a means whereby the Spirit works effectually on the heart. In
short, I believe firmly that the sickness of men's bodies has often led,
in God's wonderful providence, to the salvation of men's souls.
I leave this branch of my subject here. It needs no further remark. If
sickness can do the things of which I have been speaking (and who will
gainsay it?), if sickness in a wicked world can help to make men think
of God and their souls, then sickness confers benefits on mankind.
We have no right to murmur at sickness, and repine at its presence in
the world. We ought rather to thank God for it. It is God's witness. It
is the soul's adviser. It is an awakener to the conscience. It is a
purifier to the heart. Surely I have a right to tell you that sickness
is a blessing and not a curse,--a help and not an injury,--a gain and
not a loss,--a friend and not a foe to mankind. So long as we have a
world wherein there is sin, it is a mercy that it is a world wherein
there is sickness.
III. The third and last point which I propose to consider, is _the
special duties which the prevalence of sickness entails on each one of
ourselves_.
I should be sorry to leave the subject of sickness without saying
something on this point. I hold it to be of cardinal importance not to
be content with generalities in delivering God's message to souls. I am
anxious to impress on each one into whose hands this paper may fall, his
own personal responsibility in connection with the subject. I would fain
have no one lay down this paper unable to answer the questions,--"What
practical lesson have I learned? What, in a world of disease and death,
what ought I to do?"
(_a_) One paramount duty which the prevalence of sickness entails on
man, is that of _living habitually prepared to meet God_. Sickness is a
remembrancer of death. Death is the door through which we must all pass
to judgment. Judgment is the time when we must at last see God face to
face. Surely the first lesson which the inhabitant of a sick and dying
world should learn should be to prepare to meet his God.
When are you prepared to meet God? Never till your iniquities are
forgiven, and your sin covered! Never till your heart is renewed, and
your will taught to delight in the will of God! You have many sins. If
you go to church your own mouth is taught to confess this every Sunday.
The blood of Jesus Christ can alone cleanse those sins away. The
righteousness of Christ can alone make you acceptable in the sight of
God. Faith, simple childlike faith, can alone give you an interest in
Christ and His benefits. Would you know whether you are prepared to meet
God? Then where is your faith?--Your heart is naturally unmeet for God's
company. You have no real pleasure in doing His will. The Holy Ghost
must transform you after the image of Christ. Old things must pass away.
All things must become new. Would you know whether you are prepared to
meet God? Then, where is your grace? Where are the evidences of your
conversion and sanctification?
I believe that this, and nothing less than this, is preparedness to meet
God. Pardon of sin and meetness for God's presence,--justification by
faith and sanctification of the heart,--the blood of Christ sprinkled on
us, and the Spirit of Christ dwelling in us,--these are the grand
essentials of the Christian religion. These are no mere words and names
to furnish bones of contention for wrangling theologians. These are
sober, solid, substantial realities. To live in the actual possession
of these things, in a world full of sickness and death, is the first
duty which I press home upon your soul.
(_b_) Another paramount duty which the prevalence of sickness entails on
you, is that of _living habitually ready to bear it patiently_. Sickness
is no doubt a trying thing to flesh and blood. To feel our nerves
unstrung, and our natural force abated,--to be obliged to sit still and
be cut off from all our usual avocations,--to see our plans broken off
and our purposes disappointed,--to endure long hours, and days, and
nights of weariness and pain,--all this is a severe strain on poor
sinful human nature. What wonder if peevishness and impatience are
brought out by disease! Surely in such a dying world as this we should
study patience.
How shall we learn to bear sickness patiently, when sickness comes to
our turn? We must lay up stores of grace in the time of health. We must
seek for the sanctifying influence of the Holy Ghost over our unruly
tempers and dispositions. We must make a real business of our prayers,
and regularly ask for strength to endure God's will as well as to do it.
Such strength is to be had for the asking: "If ye shall ask anything in
my name, I will do it for you." (John xiv. 14.)
I cannot think it needless to dwell on this point. I believe the passive
graces of Christianity receive far less notice than they deserve.
Meekness, gentleness, long-suffering, faith, patience, are all mentioned
in the Word of God as fruits of the Spirit. They are passive graces
which specially glorify God. They often make men think, who despise the
active side of the Christian character. Never do these graces shine so
brightly as they do in the sick room. They enable many a sick person to
preach a silent sermon, which those around him never forget. Would you
adorn the doctrine you profess? Would you make your Christianity
beautiful in the eyes of others? Then take the hint I give you this
day. Lay up a store of patience against the time of illness. Then,
though your sickness be not to death, it shall be for the "glory of
God." (John xi. 4.)