The following sermon from Charles Spurgeon is inspired by Philippians 1:23
where the apostle Paul expresses the fact that believers, once departed
from
this life, go to be with Jesus Christ which is infinitely better that what
we have now. This is taken from a larger topic Paul is weighing, namely
whether it is more im****tant at that time to remain in the body to bring
about fruitful labor that glorifies God or look forward to the next life
for
the believer which will be with Jesus. In regard to this passage Matthew
Henry wrote, in part:
All those to whom to live is Christ to them to die will be gain: it is
great gain, a present gain, everlasting gain. Death is a great loss to a
carnal worldly man; for he loses all his comforts and all his hopes: but
to
a good Christian it is gain, for it is the end of all his weakness and
misery and the perfection of his comforts and accomplishment of his hopes;
it delivers him from all the evils of life, and brings him to the
possession
of the chief good. Or, To me to die is gain; that is, "to the gospel as
well
as to myself, which will receive a further confirmation by the seal of my
blood, as it had before by the labours of my life." So Christ would be
magnified by his death, v. 20. Some read the whole expression thus: To me,
living and dying, Christ is gain; that is, "I desire no more, neither
while
I live nor when I die, but to win Christ and be found in him." It might be
thought, if death were gain to him, he would be weary of life, and
impatient
for death. No, says he,
If I live in the flesh, this is the fruit of my labour (v. 22), that
is,
Christ is. He reckoned his labour well bestowed, if he could be
instrumental
to advance the honour and interest of the kingdom of Christ in the world.
It
is the fruit of my labour - karpos ergou - operae pretium. It is worth
while
for a good Christian and a good minister to live in the world as long as
he
can glorify God and do good to his church. Yet what I shall choose I wot
not; for I am in a strait betwixt two. It was a blessed strait which Paul
was in, not between two evil things, but between two good things. David
was
in a strait by three judgments-sword, famine, and pestilence: Paul was in
a
strait between two blessings-living to Christ, and being with him. Here we
have him reasoning with himself upon the matter.
(from Matthew Henry's Commentary on the Whole Bible: New Modern Edition)
This is an interesting serrmon from Charles Spurgeon and provides insight
on
the message Paul was conveying at the time.
May God bless,
Carl
my website -- http://www.nettally.com/saints/
my blog -- http://www.anniemayhem.com/cgi-bin/wordpress/
---
Paul's Desire To Depart
by C.H. Spurgeon
"Having a desire to depart and to be with Christ, which is far
better."-Philippians 1:23.
We know that death is not the end of our being. By a confident faith we
are
persuaded that better things await us in another state. We are speeding
onwards through our brief life like an arrow shot from a bow, and we feel
that we shall not drop down at the end of our flight into the dreariness
of
annihilation, but we shall find a heavenly target far across the flood of
death. The force which impels us onwards is too mighty to be restrained by
death. We have that within us which is not to be accounted for, if there
be
not a world to come, and especially, as believers, we have hopes, and
desires, and aspirations, which cannot be fulfilled, and which must have
been given us purposely to make us miserable, and to tantalize us, if
there
be not a state in which every one of these shall be satisfied and filled
to
the brim with Joy. We know, too, that the world into which we shall soon
be
ushered is one which shall never pass away. We have learned full well by
experience that all things here are but for a season. They are things
which
shall be shaken, and, therefore, will not remain in the day when God shall
shake both heaven and earth. But equally certain are we that the
inheritance
which awaits us in the world to come is eternal and unfailing, that the
cycles of ages shall never move it; that the onflowing of eternity itself
shall not diminish its duration. We know that the world to which we go is
not to be measured by leagues, nor is the life thereof to be calculated by
centuries. Well does it become every one of us, then, professing the
Christian name, to be questioning ourselves as to the view which we take
of
the world to come. lt may be there are some of you now present who call
yourselves believers, who look into a future state with shuddering and
awe.
Possibly there may be but few here who have attained to the position of
the
apostle, when he could say, that he had a desire to depart and to be with
Christ. I take it that our view of our own death is one of the readiest
tokens by which we may judge of our own spiritual condition. When men fear
death it is not certain that they are wicked, but it is quite certain that
if they have faith it is in a very weak and sickly condition. When men
desire death we may not rest assured that they are therefore righteous,
for
they may desire it for wrong reasons; but if for right reasons they are
panting to enter into another state, we may gather from this, not only
that
their minds are right with God, but that their faith is sanctified and
that
their love is fervent.
I hope that the service of this morning may have the effect of leading
every
one of us to self-examination. I shall endeavor while preaching to search
myself, and I pray that each one of you may be led to hear for himself,
and
I beseech you to put home each pertinent and personal question to your own
souls, while in a quiet, but I hope in a forcible manner, I shall endeavor
to describe the apostle's feelings in prospect of departure.
Three things I shall observe this morning. First of all, the apostle's
description of death; secondly, his desire for it, and thirdly, the
reasons
which justified such a desire.
I. THE APOSTLE'S DESCRIPTION OF DEATH. We are to understand this of course
as being a description not of the death of the wicked, but of the death of
the righteous. And you will remark the apostle does not call it an arrest.
In the death of the wicked, the sheriff's officer of justice doth lay his
clay-cold hand upon the man's shoulder, and he is his prisoner for ever.
The
sergeant-at-arms in the name of the justice which has been incensed, puts
the fetters about his wrists, and conducts him to the prison-house of
despair and everlasting torment. In the Christian's case, however, there
is
no such thing as an arrest, for there is no one that can arrest him. We
sometimes talk of death arresting the believer in the midst of his career,
but we misuse terms. Who shall arrest a man against whom there is neither
conviction nor accusation? Who is he that condemneth the man for whom
Christ
has died? Nay, further, who shall so much as lay anything to the charge of
God's elect? How then can the Christian be arrested? It is no such thing;
it
is an arrest of the ungodly, but not of the believer.
Nor does Paul speak of the believer's death as being a sudden plunge. This
is a proper description of the death of the ungodly. He stands upon the
brink of a precipice, and beneath him there is a yawning and bottomless
gulf. Through thick darkness he must descend, and into it his unwilling
spirit must take a desperate leap. Not so the believer. His is no leap
downwards: it is a climbing upwards. He has his foot upon the first round
of
the ladder, and joyful is the hour when his Master saith unto him, "Come
up
higher; ascend to another guest-chamber, and here feast upon richer
dainties
than those I have given thee below." Aye! 'tis no leap in the dark. 'Tis
no
plunge into a cold sea; 'tis simply a departure.
Let me describe what I think the apostle means by the figure of a
departure.
Many deaths are preceded by a long season of sickness, and then I think we
might picture them by the departure of a ****p from its moorings. There
lies
the ****p in its haven. there is a friend of yours about to journey away to
some distant clime. You will never see his face again in the flesh. He is
going to emigrate; he will find a home in another and he hopes a happier
land. You stand upon the shore; you have given him the last embrace. The
mother has given to her son the last kiss, the friend has shaken him by
the
hand for the last time, and now the signal is given; the anchor is taken
up;
the rope which held the ****p to the shore is loosed, and lo, the ****p is
moving and she floats outward towards the sea. You look, you still wave
your
hand as you see the ****p departing. Your friend stands on some prominent
spot on the deck, and there he waves his handkerchief to the last. But the
most sharpsighted of friends in such scenes must lose sight of one
another.
The ****p floats on; you just now catch a sight of the sails, but with the
strongest telescope you cannot discover your friend. He is gone: it is his
departure. Weep as you may, you cannot bring him back again. Your
sorrowful
tears may mingle with the flood that has carried him away, but they cannot
entice a single wave to restore him to you. Now even so is the death of
many
a believer. His ****p is quietly moored in its haven. He is calmly lying
upon
his bed. You visit him in his chamber. Without perturbation of spirit be
bids you farewell. His grip is just as hearty as he shakes your hand, as
ever it was in the best hour of his health. His voice is still firm, and
his
eye is still bright. He tells you he is going to another and a better
land.
You say to him, "Shall I sing to you"-
"Begone unbelief, my Saviour is near?"
"Oh! no" says he, "sing me no such a hymn as that; sing me-
"Jerusalem my happy home,
Name ever dear to me,
When shall my labors have an end
In joy, and peace, and thee."
He bide you a last farewell. You see him for a little season even after
that, although he is too far gone again to address you. It may be a
partial
insensibility seizes hold of him; he is like a ****p that is just going out
of sight; you look at his lips, and as you bow down your ear, you can
catch
some faint syllables of praise. He is talking to himself of that precious
Jesus who is still his joy and hope. You watch him till the last heaving
breath has left the body, and you retire with the sweet reflection that
his
Spirit on a glassy sea has floated joyously to its post. Thus the
believer's
death is a departure. There is no sinking in the wave; there is no
destruction of the vessel: it is a departure. He has gone; he has sailed
over a calm and quiet sea, and he is gone to a better land.
At other times deaths are more sudden, and are not heralded by protracted
sickness. The man is in health, and he is suddenly snatched away, and the
place which knew him once knows him no more for ever. I am about to use a
figure which will seem to you extremely homely, and certainly could not be
classical. I remember to have been once a spectator in a sorrowful scene.
A
company of villagers, the younger branches of a family, were about to
emigrate to another land. The aged mother who had not for some years left
her cottage and her fireside, came to the railway station from which they
must start on their departure. I stood among the sorrowful group as a
friend
and minister I think I see the many embraces which the fond mother gave to
her son and daughter, and the little ones, her grand-children. I see them
even now folding their arms about her a aged neck, and then bidding
farewell
to all the friends in the village who had come to bid them adieu. And well
I
remember her, who was about to lose the props of her household. A shrill
sound is heard, as if it were the messenger of death, it sends a pang
through all hearts. In great haste at the small village station the
passengers are hurried to their seats They thrust their heads out of the
carriage window. The aged parent stands on the very edge of the platform
that she may take the last look. There is a sound from the engine, and
away
goes the train. I remember well the instant when that poor woman leaning
on
her staff sprang up from the chair with which she had been accommodated,
and
jumping from the platform, rushed alone the railway with all her might,
crying, "My children! My children! My children! They are gone and I shall
never see them again." The figure may not be classical, but nevertheless I
have been reminded of it by many a death. When I have seen the godly
suddenly snatched away-no time to watch them-they are gone, swift as the
wind itself could bear them, as if the hasty waves of the sea had buried
them out of sight. It is our affliction and our trouble, but we must stand
behind and weep, for they are gone beyond recall. Notwithstanding, there
is
something pleasant in the picture. It is but a departure; they are not
destroyed; they are not blown to atoms, they are not taken away to prison.
'Tis but a departure from one place to another. They still live; they
still
are blessed. While we weep they are rejoicing. While we mourn they are
singing psalms of praise. Remember this my brethren in the apparel of
mourning, and, if you hare lost friends of late, this may tend to console
your spirits. Death to a believer is but a departure, yet what a departure
it is! Can you and I think calmly of it? The time must come when I must
depart from wife and children, and from house and home, when I must depart
from everything that is dear to me on earth. The time is coming to thee,
oh
rich Christian, when thou must depart from all the comforts of thine
estate,
from all the luxuries of thine household, from all the enjoyments which
thy
rank confers upon thee. And oh, poor Christian, lover of thy home, the
time
is coming when thou must depart from thy cot, homely though it be, still
dear unto thee; thou must leave the place of thy toil, and the sanctuary
of
thy rest. We must mount as on eagle's wings far from this world. We must
bid
adieu to its green fields as well as its dreary streets. We must say
farewell to its blue skies and to its dusky clouds; farewell to foe and
friend: farewell to all we have, alike to trial and to joy. But blessed be
God it is not the last look of a criminal condemned to die, it is the
farewell of one who departs to another and a happier land.
The apostle's description of death, however, is not finished. He has here
only pictured that which is visible. We now come to notice his description
of the invisible part of death-
"In vain the fancy strives to paint
The moment after death;
The glories which surround the saint
When yielding up his breath.
This much-and this is all we know,
They are supremely blest;
Have done with sin, and care, and woe,
And with their Saviour rest."
This is precisely the apostle's description of the state of the believer
after death. They depart; yes, but whither? To be with Christ. Just
observe
how quickly these scenes follow each other. The sail is spread; the soul
is
launched upon the deep. How long will be its voyage? How many wearying
winds
must beat upon the sail ere it shall be reefed in the ****t of peace? How
often shall that soul be tossed upon the waves before it comes to the sea
that knows no storm. Oh tell it, tell it everywhere; yon ****p that has
just
departed is already at its haven. It did but spread its sail and it was
there. Like the old ****p on the lake of Galilee, there was a storm that
tossed it, but Jesus said, "Peace, be still," and immediately it came to
land. Yes, think not that there is a long period between the instant of
death and the eternity of glory. There is not so much as space for the
intervening of a lightning's flash. One gentle sigh, the fetter breaks, we
scarce can say it is gone before the ransomed spirit takes its mansion
near
the throne. We depart, we are with Christ; more quickly than I can say the
words, swifter than speech can express them they become true. They depart,
nod they are with Christ; the selfsame instant they have closed their eyes
on earth they have opened them in heaven. And what is this invisible part
of
death? "To be with Christ." Who can comprehend this but the Christian? It
is
a heaven which the worldling cares not for, if he could have it, be would
not pawn his meanest lust to gain it. To be with Christ is to him a thing
of
nought, as gold and silver are of no more value to little children than
the
pieces of platter with which they will amuse themselves. So heaven and
being
with Christ is of no value to the childish sons of earthly mirth. They
know
not what a mass of glory is crowded into that one sentence. "To be with
Christ." To the believer who understands it, it means, first, vision.
"Thine
eyes shall see him." I have heard of him, and though I have not seen his
face, unceasingly I have adored him. But I shall see him. Yes, we shall
actually gaze upon the exalted Redeemer. Realize the thought. Is there not
a
young heaven within it? Thou shalt see the hand that was nailed for thee;
thou shalt kiss the very lips that said, "I thirst;" thou shalt see the
thorn-crowned head, and bow with all the blood-washed throng, thou, the
chief of sinners, shalt adore him who washed thee in his blood; when thou
shalt have a vision of his glory. Faith is precious but what must sight
be?
To view Jesus as the Lamb of God through the glass of faith makes the soul
rejoice with joy unspeakable; but oh! to see him face to face, to look
into
those dear eyes; to be embraced by those divine arms rapture begins at the
very mention of it! While I speak of him, my soul is like the chariots of
Aminadab, and I desire to depart and to be with him. But what must the
vision be when the veil is taken from his face, and the dimness from our
eyes, and when we shall talk with him even as a man talketh with his
friend.
But it is not only vision, it is communion. We shall walk with him, he
shall
walk with us, he shall speak to us, and we shall speak to him. All that
the
spouse desired in Solomon's Song, we shall have, and ten thousand times
more. Then will the prayer be fulfilled "Let him kiss me with the kisses
of
his lips, for his love is better than wine." Then we shall be able to say
"His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me." Then
will he tell us his love; then will rehearse the ancient story of the
ever-lasting covenant, of his election of us by his own true love, of his
bethrothal of us through his boundless affection, of his purchase of us by
his rich compassion, of his preservation of us by his omnipotence, and of
his bringing us safe at last to glory as the result of his promise and his
blood. And then will we tell to him our love, then into his ear will we
pour
out the song of gratitude, a song such as we have never sung on earth,
unmixed and pure, full of serenity and joy, no groans to mar its melody; a
song rapt and seraphic, like the flaming sonnets which flash from burning
tongues above. Happy, happy, happy day, when vision and communion shall be
ours in fullness!" To be with Christ which is far better."
Nor is this all, it means fruition of Christ. Here we look and long to
taste
or if we taste it is but a sip, and we long to drink to the full. Here we
are like Israel in the wilderness, who had but one cluster from Eschol,
there we shall be in the vineyard. Here do we have the manna falling
small,
like coriander seed, but there shall we eat the bread of heaven and the
old
corn of the kingdom. We have sometimes on earth, lusts, ungratified
desires,
that lack satisfaction, but there the lust shall be slain and the desire
shall be satiated. There shall be nothing we can want; every power shall
find the sweetest employment in that eternal world of joy. There will be a
full and lasting fruition of Christ, and last of all upon this point there
shall be a sharing with Christ in his glory, and that for ever. "We shall
see him," yes, and let us have the next sentence, and "shall be like him
when we shall see him as he is." Oh Christian, antedate heaven for a few
years. Within a very little time thou shalt be rid of all thy trials and
thy
troubles; thine aching head shall be girt with a crown of glory, thy poor
panting heart shall find its rest and shall be satisfied with fullness as
it
beats upon the breast of Christ. Thy hands that now toil shall know no
harder labor than harp-strings can afford. Thine eyes now suffused with
tears shall weep no longer. Thou shalt gaze in ineffable rapture upon the
splendor of him who sits upon the throne. Nay more, upon his throne shalt
thou sit. He is King of kings, but thou shalt reign with him. He is a
priest
after the order of Melchisedec, but thou shalt be a priest with him. Oh
rejoice! The triumph of his glory thou be shared by thee; his crown, his
joy, his paradise, these shall be thine, and thou shalt be co-heir with
him
who is the heir of all things. Doth not this very description of the
unseen
part of death stir up in the heart of the believer a longing "to depart
and
to be with Christ which is far better."
II. I have thus, as well as I was able, spoken upon the first part. And
now
my friends, let us consider THE APOSTLE'S DESIRE. How differently do men
regard death. We have seen men shriek at the prospect of it. I have seen
the
man driven to madness when the skeleton king has stared him in the face.
Pacing up and down his chamber he has declared with many a curse and
imprecation that he would not and could not die-shrieking so that you
could
scarcely bear his company. He has looked forward to death as the
concentration of all despair and agony, and he has vainly striven, with
all
his might, not to die. When he felt at last that death was stronger than
he,
and that he must get a desperate fall in the struggle, then has he began
to
shriek and to cry in such a strain that scarce demons themselves could
excel
the despair concentrated in each shriek. Others have we seen who have met
death somewhat more calmly. Biting their lips, and setting fast their
teeth,
they have endeavored to keep up appearances, even in the last moment, but
they have endured the inward suffering, betrayed to us most plainly by the
staring eye, and the awful look. Others, too, we have seen, who, callous
through sin, totally deserted by God's Spirit and given up to a seared
conscience have gone to their death with idiot resignation. They have even
played the madman yet more fully, and have tried to brag and bully even in
the jaws of hell. Many Christians, have we met-true believers-who can go
so
far as to say they were willing to die. Please God, whenever the solemn
hour
should come, they were prepared to go up to their chamber and stretch
themselves upon their bed, and say, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant
depart in peace." But the apostle had gone further than they. He said he
had
a desire to depart, and the desire was a strong one. The Greek word has
much
force in it. He panteth, he longeth to be gone. I might paraphrase it by
one
of the verses of an old hymn-
"To Jesus, the crown of my hope,
My soul is in haste to be gone."
He desired not to get away from earth for he loved to serve his Master,
but
he desired to be with Christ, which he declared to be far better. I ask
you
if you were in Paul's condition would not such a desire contain the very
fullness of wisdom. There is a ****p at sea, Fully laden. It has a precious
cargo of gold on board. Happy is the kingdom that shall receive the wealth
which is contained within its hold. Would you not if you were a possessor
of
such a vessel long to be safe in ****t. The empty ****p needs scarcely fear
the water for what hath she to lose. If it casts its ballast into the sea,
what is it the poorer? But when the ****p is full of treasure well may the
captain long to see it safely moored. Now Paul was full of faith and love.
He could say, "I have finished my course, I have kept the faith." And what
wonder therefore that he was longing to be safely anchored at home. So the
soldier, who in the midst of battle has smitten down foe after foe, knows
that a high reward awaits him. He has charged upon the enemy, and driven
them back in many a desperate struggle. He has already been victor. Do you
wonder he wishes the fight now were over, that his laurels may be safe? If
he had played the coward he might long that the campaign should be
protracted, that he might redeem his disgrace. But having so far fought
with
honor he may well desire that the garment rolled in blood, may be rolled
up
for ever. Ay! and so was it with the apostle. He had fought a good fight,
and knew that the crown was laid up for him in heaven, and he anticipated
the triumph which Christ would give him, and what marvel that panting and
longing, he said, "I have a desire to depart and to be with Christ which
is
far better?" Upon this point I am constrained to be brief, because the
next
division involves the whole matter, and upon this, I would be somewhat
longer. And may God grant that what I shall say upon it may be impressive.
III. PAUL'S REASONS FOR LONGING TO DEPART. There have been-it is the part
of
candour to admit it-there have been other men besides Christians who have
longed to die. There is the suicide who, mad, from life's history hangs to
be hurled, even though hell receive him. Tired of all life's troubles he
thinks he sees a way to escape from his toil and from his sorrow through
the
grim gate of death. He stains his hand with his own blood, and red with
his
own gore appears before his Maker. Ah fool, to leap from one evil to a
myriad! Ah madman, to plunge from little streams of woe into an
unfathomable
gulf of agony! There can be no more absurd, revolting, and insensible act,
than for a man to take away his life. Setting aside the horrors of crime
that surround it, how foolish is the attempt to escape by ru****ng into the
very midst of danger! The ostrich who buries het head in the sand, and
when
she cannot see the hunter thinks the hunter cannot see her, is sensible
and
wise compared with such a man, who ru****ng into the very thick of the
battle
hopes in this way to escape from his enemy. How can it be thou foolish
man?
Is the stream too deep for thee already, and instead of seeking to find a
shore by faith in God dost thou seek the center of the stream that thou
mayest get a firmer footing there? Oh foolish generation and unwise, "Put
up
thy sword into thy scabbard and do thyself no harm," for harm thou wilt do
if thou rush into a greater evil to escape the less.
There have been other men, who with a so called philosophic spirit, have
desired to die. Some men are sick altogether of mankind. They have met
with
so many ungrateful and deceitful wretches that they say, "Let me get rid
of
them all.
'Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness,
Where rumor of oppression never more
May reach mine ear.'"
And they have thought to find this lodge in the wilderness of death; and
so
they long for the wings of a dove to flee away from the degenerate race of
men. Not so this apostle. He was no such coward as to fly from evils; he
sought to better them. The apostle loved his race; he was no man-hater. He
could say that he loved them all, and thus he had prayed for them all, and
had carried them in the bowels of Christ continually to the throne of
mercy.
Others, too, have thought by getting out of the world they should get rid
of
their disappointments. They have struggled very hard to get rich, or they
have striven for fame, and they have not succeeded, in their ambitious
designs, and then they have said, "Let me die." Now the apostle was never
disappointed in seeking wealth for he never cared for it. He had no
desires
whatever beyond food ard raiment. He wished for nothing more, and as for
rank that he utterly despised. He did tread beneath his feet as the mire
of
the streets all the honors that man could give him. Nor was the apostle in
any sense a disappointed man. He had sought to spread his Master's fame
and
he had done it. He had a standard to plant and right well had he planted
it.
He had a gospel to preach and he did preach it everywhere with all his
might. He was a singularly happy man, and therefore he had no such
cowardly
reasons for desiring to depart.
Others, too, have said that they wished to depart because of their great
suffering. Now the apostle thought of no such dastard flight. He was ready
for all weathers. He had been beaten with rods; he had been stoned; he had
been ****pwrecked; but he could say, "None of these things move me, neither
count I my life dear unto me." He did not wish to escape from persecution.
He rejoiced therein. He had often sung a hymn in prison, besides that hymn
which he had sung with Silas for his companion. He had often shouted in
the
prospect of the block or the flames. Nor did he wish to die because of old
age, for he was not an aged man when he wrote this epistle. He was just
then, I suppose, in full vigorous health, and though in prison I do think
that an angel might have ransacked the whole world before he could have
found a happier man than the apostle Paul, for a man's happiness
consisteth
not in the wealth which he possesses. In the bare dungeons of Rome, Paul,
the tent maker, had a glory about him which Nero never had in all his
palaces; and there was a happiness there to which Solomon in all his glory
never had attained. So then, the desire of Paul to depart is for these
reasons far superior to the desire of the mere philosopher, or of the
disappointed worldling.
What then made Paul wish to depart? I shall put it thus-the same reasons
prompt the desires of every true believer; but they can have no power
whatever with many here, who have no desire to depart, because for you to
die would be not happiness and bliss, but an eternal weight of misery.
First, the apostle felt a desire to depart because he knew that in
departing
and being with Christ he should be clean rid of sin. Paul hated sin; every
true believer does the same. There have been times with us brethren and
sisters when we could say, "Oh, wretched man that I am, who shall deliver
me
from the body of this death?" Sin has been our plague. Like righteous Lot
in
Sodom, the sins of others have vexed us; but, alas! we have had to bear a
Sodom in our own hearts, which has vexed us still more. As to the trials
and
troubles of this world, they are nothing at all to the believer, compared
with the annoyance of sin. Could he get rid of his unbelief, of his
murmuring disposition, of his hasty temper-could he get rid of the various
temptations of Satan, could he be clean, and pure, and perfect, he would
be
thoroughly satisfied. And this made the apostle long to depart. "Oh,"
saith
he to himself, one baptism in the stream of death and I am perfect-but to
pass the chill and dreary stream and I shall stand without spot or
wrinkle,
or any such thing, before the throne of God." The dog of hell shall follow
us to the very edge of Jordan, but he cannot swim that stream. The arrows
of
temptation will be shot at us as long as we are here, but on the other
side
of Jordan these darts can never wound us more. Rejoice, then, believer, in
the prospect of death, because in dying thou art once for all clean rid of
sin. When I lay down this body I have laid down every infirmity, and every
lust, and every temptation, and when clothed upon with that house which is
from heaven, I have girt about my loins perfection and unsullied purity.
But
oh! ye that believe not in Christ, ye do not desire to die for such a
reason
as this. For you there is no such a prospect. For you to die will be but
to
plunge deeper into sin. You sin now, and when you die your spirit will
descend to hell, where, in the midst of fit companions, whose guilt is
ripened, you shall spend an eternity in oaths, and curses, and
blasphemies.
O sinner! to-day you sow your sins in the furrows, and when you die you
shall reap the harvest. To-day you break the clods, to-day you work in the
husbandry of iniquity, then there shall be a shouting of an awful harvest
home. When pressed down with the sheaves of your sins, divine justice
shall
bring forth the harvest of misery and torment to you. You have reason
enough
to long to live, because for you to die is to reap the reward of your
iniquities.
Again, Paul longed to die for another reason, because he knew that as soon
as he should depart he could meet his brethren in faith who had gone
before.
This desire also prompts you and me. I long to see, though it is but a few
hours since we have lost their society, those two sisters, and the dear
brother who during this week have departed in Christ. Wor****pping among us
but a few days ago, it seems a strange thing to talk of them as being in
heaven. But there they are, far from the reach of mortal, vision. At our
departure we shall see them. It was our happiness to see them not long
before their departure, and to mark it down as one of the notabilia of our
life, that these three, all of them alike died in quiet peace singing
themselves into heaven, never staying their song, so long as memory and
breath held out. We shall see them. But we have others we are longing for.
Some of you may remember the departed wife, scarce cold within her grave.
Many of you look back to dear little ones taken away in their infancy,
carried off to their father's God. Many of you remember aged parents;
those
that taught you in the way of God; the mother from whose lips you learned
the first verse of Scripture, and the father upon whose arms you were
carried for the first time up to the house of God. They are gone; but the
joyous reflection remains that we are going in the same direction, and
that
we shall meet them soon. Some of us can look back through generations and
trace our pedigree through the saints, and we are longing for the time
when
the whole band of us, those who have gone in olden time, and those who
remain may sing together that new song of praise to our common God.
Beloved,
we have high joys in prospect: we shall soon join the general assembly and
church of the first-born, whose names are written in heaven. Our
companions
now are but poor and despised, but we shall soon be brethren with princes.
Moses who was king in Jeshuron, and David who ruled over Israel, shall not
be ashamed to call us brethren, for the Highest himself shall acknowledge
us, and he that on the throne doth sit shall lead us unto living fountains
of waters, and in his gracious fellow****p shall wipe away all tears from
off
our faces. I think that the company of apostles, and prophets, and holy
martyrs and confessors, who have gone before, will be a very sweet part of
the bliss of the redeemed. And all this may make us pant to depart. But, O
ye ungodly ones! ye who have never been converted, and who fear not God,
this hope is not for you. You must go to your own place. And whither must
you go? To your drunken companions damned before you? Must you go down to
the pit with harlots and with the profane? Whither away, whither away,
thou
careless man, thou lover of sin? Whither art thou going when thou diest?
Thine answer might well be this doleful ditty: "I am going to be the guest
of devils; I am going to feast with fiends; I am going to abide with
murderers, and whoremongers, and adulterers, and with such as God hath
condemned. These must be my companions for ever." Methinks I see the wheat
of God standing in the valley every year, about to be gathered into the
garner of heaven in its own place, and yonder I see the tares, and what is
the message for them? "Gather up the tares and bind them in bundles to
burn
them." And who knows in what bundle you may be? You may be bound up in the
same bundle with murderers and suicides. Yes, the men that you despise may
be your companions in the bundle of the wicked. The drunkard and the
swearer, whom some of you pretendedly good people look down upon with
scorn,
may be your bundle companions, your bed-fellows for ever when you make
your
bed in hell and abide in everlasting torment.
But last of all, Paul's grand reason for desiring to depart was to be with
Christ. Again I say, simple though the words be-to be with Christ, have
all
heaven condensed in them. Like the sounding of the silver trumpet of
jubilee
rings this precious sentence, "to be with Christ." Like the harps of the
glorified-like the singing of the redeemed, like the hallelujahs of
paradise, does this ring upon mine ears, "To be with Christ." Lift up your
voices, ye seraphim! Tune your hearts anew, ye seraphs! Shout for joy ye
blood-washed, but your loudest strains cannot excel the thundering glory
of
this magnificent but brief sentence, "to be with Christ, which is far
better." This, my beloved-this shall well repay the tiresome pilgrimage of
life. This reward shall be sufficient for all our contests with
temptation,
for all the shame we have endured in following Christ, in the midst of a
wicked generation. This, this shall be all the heaven that our largest
desires shall crave. This immensity of bliss shall stretch across
eternity.
But O unbeliever, what hast thou to do with such a hope as this? Thou
canst
not desire to depart and to be with Christ, for what is Christ to thee?
To-day thou despisest him. The man of sorrow thou esteemed not. Jesus of
Nazareth thou dost not regard. He is preached to thee every Sabbath day,
but
thou despisest him. With many tears have I presented him to thee, but thou
hast shut thine heart against him; he has knocked at thy door and there he
stands ****vering even now, but thou wilt not admit him. Beware ye that
despise Jesus, for in another world ye shall see him after another
fa****on.
Ye too shall be with him, but it shall be but for an instant. Summoned
before his bar, dragged reluctantly to his dread tribunal, ye shall see
him
whom you despise; ye shall see him and not another. But oh, with what
astonishment will ye behold him, and what amazement shall seize upon you!
Ye
shall see him, but no longer as the humble man! his eyes shall be as
flames
of fire. Out of his mouth shall go a two-edged sword. About him shall be
wrapped "the rainbow wreath, and robes of storm," and he shall speak in
louder tones than the noise of many waters, and in great thunderings shall
he address thee, "Depart ye cursed into everlasting fire in hell, prepared
for the devil and his angels." Oh "Kiss the Son, lest he be angry and ye
perish from the way when his wrath is kindled but a little." Oh, go to
your
houses; may God the Spirit draw you to your chambers, and may you there be
led to fall upon your knees, confess your guilt, and humbly seek for
pardon,
through that precious blood which flows freely this day, and which will
freely give pardon to you if with all your heart you seek it. May God's
Spirit lead you so to seek that you may find, and may you and I, and all
of
us, in the day of our departure, see the land before us-the happy shore of
heaven. May we know that as our vessel sails from earth it shall only take
a
hasty voyage "to be with Christ which is far better." God the Spirit visit
you now, God the Son bless you, God the Father remember you, through
Jesus.
Amen.
|
