"DYING IS BUT GOING HOME."
THE malady from which Mr. Somers had suffered more or less for many
years had latterly gained ground, defying all the efforts of human
skill to cure or even to relieve any longer. He had expressed a wish
that Myra Sherwood could spend a little time as of old in his family,
to mingle again with them as a beloved daughter, and be a comfort to
those so dear to him, over whose heads hung a calamity of which they
tried not to trust themselves to think.
"Take no thought for the morrow," said He who was "touched with a
feeling of all our infirmities," and who knew the temptation to loving,
anxious hearts; and who, Himself under heavy trial, knew what it was to
wish, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from Me."
And because it was not possible that His bitter cup could pass
from Him, we often venture to hope that, through His mercy, ours
may be allowed to pass us by. Doubtless it is often so; the faith,
the humility, the submission, that can go on and say with Him,
"Nevertheless, not as I will, Father, but as Thou wilt," is tested and
approved, and the cup of sorrow is often exchanged for that of grateful
praise. And why? Because for Jesus the cup was penal, propitiatory,
sacrificial; as it is written,—
"Now once in the end of the world hath He appeared, to put away sin by
the sacrifice of Himself." . . . "So Christ was once offered, to bear
the sins of many."
"He was made sin for us, . . . that we might be made the righteousness
of God in Him."
"And He is the propitiation for our sins."
But it was "the cup of salvation" to every penitent sinner of every
clime and tongue and people, and as such He drank, and left not a drop
behind. And because of this, the cup of sorrow in many a trembling
human hand is but that of sanctified affliction, and often is pitifully
withdrawn when its purpose is accomplished.
"Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He delivered them
out of their distresses."
"He maketh the storm a calm."
Oh, how blessed after all is the tempest of trial that is hushed by the
voice of Jesus!
To Myra's grateful heart, her uncle's wish was the call of duty, and
she lost no time in making such arrangements as seemed suitable to
the position of her sisters during her absence. Then she joined him
in the lovely spot where he had chosen to wait the Master's call, and
where, amidst some of earth's fairest scenes, he might contemplate one
fairer still, even Him who is "chief among ten thousand and altogether
lovely," and say, in prophetic vision, with the Psalmist,—
"I shall be satisfied when I awake with Thy likeness."
For some time things seemed to fall into their old places, and Myra
felt like a child again with those who had supplied to her the place
of parents. She saw and shared the secret anxiety of the devoted wife,
who knew that probably her husband's days were numbered, and though
together they often poured out their full hearts before God in prayer,
no murmur, no gloom, no passion, was suffered to darken the remaining
term of hallowed intercourse with the spirit so cheerily pluming for
the upward flight.
"Myra, my darling," he one day said, as she sat alone with him on the
terrace before his house, where a matchless view of God's beautiful
works in nature supplied a fund of emblems of spiritual truth,—"I
want you to try and be a great comfort to your aunt when I am gone to
sleep. I fear she is sorrowing too much for our short separation, and
I sometimes feel inclined to take up the words of our Lord, when His
course was nearly run, and to say to her and my dear children,—
"'If ye loved Me, ye would rejoice because I said, I go to My Father.'
"Speak to her often of 'the high calling,' the 'inheritance' 'reserved
in heaven,' the 'crown of life' prepared for the children of God. We
have had a very happy and much honoured life on earth together, but
that is nothing to 'the pleasures at God's right hand for evermore,'
which soon we shall enjoy together without fear of another parting."
"I do, I will, dearest uncle," said Myra, gazing with deep and reverent
love on the dear face which already seemed to reflect the light of the
heavenly world. "We will remember that you are but going into another
apartment of our Father's house, closed to us only for a little while."
"That is true, dear girl.
"'Heaven is My throne, and earth is My footstool—'
"And you know 'the throne' and 'the footstool' are both in 'the house.'
Those who are living for Jesus, and those sleeping in Him, are not
so far apart after all. But of all the cheering thoughts and happy
experiences of the soul that reposes its all on Him, nothing, nothing
is to be compared with the peace of assured pardon and acceptance
through His precious blood. Oh Myra, it is becoming unwelcome,
unfashionable, rare, to speak of the true ground of a sinner's
salvation. The perfect work of Christ is ignored by His enemies, and
too often kept out of sight by His friends.
"Oh, beware, and warn others to beware, of this ungrateful neglect of
what is—
"'. . . the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.'
"Why shade it with words that may mean something else? When men speak
of the gospel, glad tidings, good news, let not the angelic message be
mutilated—
"'Unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is
Christ the Lord.'
"And when man has attained the condition, through that Saviour, which
is above angels, and he has a right to sing as they cannot, the dear
and chosen theme, of which tongue can never tire, will be,—
"'Unto Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood,
and hath made us kings and priests unto God and His Father, be glory
and dominion for ever and ever."
"There is a growing danger of that terrible condemnation which the Lord
Jesus foresaw when He said,—
"'Whosoever shall be ashamed of Me and of My words in this adulterous
and sinful generation, of him also shall the Son of Man be ashamed when
He cometh in the glory of His Father with the holy angels.'
"What a wonderful possibility what a triumph for Satan with worms of
the earth!
"'Ashamed of Jesus! can it be,
A mortal man ashamed of Thee?'
"Yes, it is cruelly possible. God save us from such infamous cowardice!
Many a professing Christian would not object to own Jesus before an
ignorant heathen, who shrinks from showing his colours before the
polite worldling or the sneering sceptic."
No visitor to the dwelling would have supposed that death was hovering
over it, and known to be so by its inmates—the departing one so calm,
so satisfied, so rejoicing!—the watching ones so self-controlled, so
Heaven-sustained! And all thus "more than conquerors through Him who
loved them."
What is it to be more than conqueror? Many a conqueror has fallen in
combat and died on the battlefield, and his country has been able only
to weave chaplets for his tomb; but the conqueror through Christ, the
Captain of his salvation, shall not only vanquish but triumph! He shall
be called from the field of strife to the presence of his King, and,
exchanging the sword for the palm, and the cross for the crown, he
shall share the glories of a triumph at which angels must wonder, and
all creation will rejoice. One with Jesus now by faith, one with Jesus
ever in the fulfilment of the covenant of eternal love and grace. Is
not this to be more than conqueror?
Sometimes it pleases the Lord God to spare His children all sad
leave-taking, and to permit the spirit to take flight at a moment
unwatched by mortal eye, and it seems like a translation. So it was
now. The cage-door was open by insidious disease, and one sunny
afternoon, seated in his easy-chair by the window, with the soft breath
of the summer air playing over his placid face, the summons came, the
messengers of the Most High softly bore away the spirit, leaving to
death and the grave only the toil-worn robe in which its earthly work
had been done, its earthly burden borne, to be "sown" in "dishonour"
and "weakness" now, to be "raised" in "glory" and "power," when shall
"be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up
in victory."
The invalid had desired to be left alone while Mrs. Somers walked out a
while with her children and niece, and when they returned it was Myra's
eye that caught the first impression of the change that had come.
Perfect peace, "the rapture of repose," was on every feature, and the
yet warm hand rested on the large open Bible, at the fourth chapter of
the First Epistle to the Thessalonians, as if, though dead, he would
yet speak a last loving reminder to the dear ones left behind,—
"Sorrow not, as others which have no hope; for if we believe that Jesus
died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God
bring with Him . . . Wherefore, comfort one another with these words."
And so they did, blessing God for the tender love that provides so
sweetly for the need of all His children, both living and dying.
What is there in all man's devisings that can thus confidently look
beyond the grave, and see that which makes death bearable and sorrow
sanctifying? There is nothing—nothing. It is His prerogative alone,
who, out of His infinite wisdom and exhaustless love, gave to lost
sinners the perfect and powerful religion of Jesus.
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