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Spurgeon
preached the following message in response to two
disasters that had hit very close to home.
On
Sunday, August 25, 1861, a nightmarish
collision between two trains in the Clayton
Tunnel (a 1.5-mile long tunnel between London
and Brighton) had claimed 23 lives and severely
injured hundreds. Barely more than two weeks
later, on Monday, September 2, another train
wreck in Kentish Town Fields (in North London)
claimed
15 more lives.
A
Sermon
(No. 408)
Delivered on Sunday Morning, September the 8th, 1861
by the
Rev. C. H. SPURGEON,
At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington
"There
were present at that season some that
told him of the Galileans, whose blood Pilate had
mingled with their sacrifices. And Jesus
answering said unto them, suppose ye that these
Galileans were sinners above all the Galileans,
because they suffered such things? I tell you,
Nay: but, except ye repent, ye shall all likewise
perish. Or those eighteen, upon whom the tower
in Siloam fell and slew them, think ye that they
were sinners above all men that dwelt in
Jerusalem! I tell you, Nay: but, except ye repent,
ye shall all likewise perish."—Luke
13:1-5.
THE YEAR 1861
will have a notoriety among its
fellows as the year of calamities. Just at that
season when man goeth forth to reap the fruit of
his labors, when the harvest of the earth is ripe, and the
barns are beginning to burst with the new wheat, Death
too, the mighty reaper, has come forth to out down his
harvest; full sheaves have been gathered into his
garner—the tomb, and terrible have been the wailings
which compose the harvest hymn of death. In reading the
newspapers during the last two weeks, even the most
stolid must have been the subject of very painful feelings.
Not only have
there been catastrophes so alarming that
the blood chills at their remembrance, but column after
column of the paper has been devoted to calamities of a
minor degree of horror, but which, when added together,
are enough to astound the mind with the fearful amount
of sudden death which has of late fallen on the sons of
men. We have had not only one incident for every day in
the week, but two or three; we have not simply been
stunned with the alarming noise of one terrific clash, but
another, and another, and another, have followed upon
each other's heels, like Job's messengers, till we have
needed Job's patience and resignation to hear the
dreadful tale of woes.
Now, men and
brethren, such things as these have
always happened in all ages of the world. Think not that
this is a new thing; do not dream, as some do, that this is
the produce of an overwrought civilization, or of that
modern and most wonderful discovery of steam. If the
steam engine had never been known, and if the railway
had never been constructed, there would have been
sudden deaths and terrible accidents, not withstanding. In
taking up the old records in which our ancestors wrote
down their accidents and calamities, we find that the old
stage coach yielded quite as heavy a booty to death as
does the swiftly-rushing train; there were gates to Hades
then as many as there are now, and roads to death quite
as steep and precipitous, and traveled by quite as vast a
multitude as in our present time. Do you doubt that?
Permit me to
refer you to the chapter before you.
Remember those eighteen upon whom the tower in
Siloam fell. What if no collision crushed them; what if they
were not destroyed by the ungovernable iron horse
dragging them down from an embankment; yet some
badly-built tower, or some wall beaten by the tempest
could fall upon eighteen at a time, and they might perish.
Or worse than
that, a despotic ruler, having the lives of
men at his girdle, like the keys of his palace, might fall
upon worshippers in the temple itself, and mix their blood
with the blood of the bullocks which they were just then
sacrificing to the God of heaven. Do not think, then, that
this is an age in which God is dealing more hardly with us
than of old. Do not think that God's providence has
become more lax than it was, there always were sudden
deaths, and there always will be. There always were
seasons when death's wolves hunted in hungry packs,
and, probably, until the end of this dispensation, the last
enemy will hold his periodic festivals, and glut the worms
with the flesh of men.
Be not,
therefore, cast down with
any sudden fear, neither be ye troubled by these
calamities. Go about your business, and if your
avocations should call you to cross the field of death
itself, do it, and do it bravely. God has not thrown up the
reins of the world, he has not taken off his hand from the
helm of the great ship, still
"He
everywhere hath sway
And all things serve his might;
His every act pure blessing is,
His path unsullied light."
Only learn to
trust him, and thou shalt not be afraid of
sudden fear; "thy soul shall dwell at ease,
and thy seed
shall inherit the earth."
The particular
subject of this morning, however, is
this—the use which we ought to make of these fearful
texts which God is writing in capital letters upon the
history of the world.
God hath spoken
once, yea, twice,
let it not be said that man regardeth it not. We have seen
a glimmering of God's power, we have beheld something
of the readiness with which he can destroy our
fellow-creatures. Let us "hear the rod and
him that hath
appointed it," and in hearing it, let us do two things.
First,
let us not be so foolish as to draw the conclusion of
superstitious and ignorant persons—that conclusions
which is hinted at in the text, namely, that those who are
thus destroyed by accident are sinners above all the
sinners that be in the land.
And,
secondly, let us draw the
right and proper inference, let us make practical use of
all these events for our own personal improvement, let us
hear the voice of the Savior saying, "Except
ye repent,
ye shall all likewise perish."
I.
First, then, LET US TAKE HEED THAT WE DO
NOT DRAW THE RASH AND HASTY CONCLUSION
FROM TERRIBLE ACCIDENTS, THAT THOSE WHO
SUFFER BY THEM SUFFER ON ACCOUNT OF THEIR
SINS.
It has been
most absurdly stated that those who travel
on the first day of the week and meet with an accident,
ought to regard that accident as being a judgment from
God upon them on account of their violating the
Christian's day of worship. It has been stated even by
godly ministers, that the late deplorable collision should
be looked upon as an exceedingly wonderful and
remarkable visitation of the wrath of God against those
unhappy persons who happened to be in the Clayton
tunnel.
Now I enter my
solemn protest against such an
inference as that, not in my own name, but in the name of
Him who is the Christian's Master and the Christian's
Teacher. I say of those who were crushed in that tunnel,
think ye that they were sinners above all the sinners "I
tell
you, all: but, except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish."
Or those who
perished but last Monday, think ye that they
were sinners above all the sinners that were in London?
"I tell you, Nay: but, except ye repent, ye
shall all likewise
perish."
Now, mark, I
would not deny but what there have
sometimes been judgments of God upon particular
persons for sin; sometimes, and I think but exceedingly
rarely, such things have occurred. Some of us have
heard in our own experience instances of men who have
blasphemed God and defied Him to destroy them, who
have suddenly fallen dead; and in such cases, the
punishment has so quickly followed the blasphemy that
one could not help perceiving the hand of God in it. The
man had wantonly asked for the judgment of God, his
prayer was heard and the judgment came.
And, beyond a
doubt, there are what may be called natural
judgments. You see a man ragged, poor, houseless; he has been
profligate, he has been a drunkard, he has lost his
character, and it is but the just judgment of God upon him
that he should be starving, and that he should be an
outcast among men. You see in the hospitals loathsome
specimens of men and women foully diseased; God
forbid that we should deny that in such a case—the
punishment being the natural result of the sin—there is a
judgment of God upon licentiousness and ungodly lusts.
And the like
may be said in many instances where there
is so clear a link between the sin and the punishment that
the blindest men may discern that God hath made Misery
the child of Sin. But in cases of accident, such as that to
which I refer, and in cases of sudden and instant death,
again, I say, I enter my earnest protest against the
foolish and ridiculous idea that those who thus perish are
sinners above all the sinners who survive unharmed.
Let me just try
to reason this matter out with Christian
people, for there are some unenlightened Christian
people who will feel horrified by what I have said. Those
who are ready at perversions may even dream that I
would apologize for the breach of the day of worship.
Now I do no
such thing. I do not extenuate the sin, I only
testify and declare that accidents are not to be viewed as
punishments for sin, for punishment belongs not to this
world, but to the world to come. To all those who hastily
look on every calamity as a judgment I would speak in the
earnest hope of setting them right. Let me begin, then, by
saying, my dear brethren, do not you see that what you
say is not true? and that is the best of reasons why you
should not say it. Does not your own experience and
observation teach you that one event happeneth both to
the righteous and to the wicked? It is true, the wicked
man sometimes falls dead in the street; but has not the
minister fallen dead in the pulpit? It is true that a
pleasure-boat, in which men were seeking their own
pleasure on the Sunday, has suddenly gone down; but is
it not equally true that a ship which contained none but
godly men, who were bound upon an excursion to preach
the gospel, has gone down too? The visible providence
of God has no respect of persons; and a storm may
gather around the "John Williams" missionary ship, quite
as well as around a vessel filled with riotous sinners.
Why, do you not
perceive that the providence of God has
been, in fact, in its outward dealings, rather harder upon
the good than upon the bad? For; did not Paul say, as he
looked upon the miseries of the righteous in his day, "If
in
this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men
most miserable?" The path of righteousness has often
conducted men to the rack, to the prison, to the gibbet, to
the stake; while the road of sin has often led a man to
empire, to dominion, and to high esteem among his
fellows. It is not true that in this world God does punish
men for sin, and reward them for their good deeds.
For, did
not David say, "I have seen the wicked in
great
power, and spreading himself like a green bay tree?" and
did not this perplex the Psalmist for a little season, until
he went into the sanctuary of God, and then he
understood their end? Although your faith assures you
that the ultimate result of providence will work out only
good to the people of God, yet your life, though it be but a
brief part of the Divine drama of history, must have
taught you that providence does not outwardly
discriminate between the righteous and the wicked—that
the righteous perish suddenly as well as the wicked—that
the plague knows no difference between the sinner and
the saint—and that the sword of war is alike pitiless to the
sons of God and the sons of Belial. When God sendeth
forth the scourge, it slayeth suddenly the innocent as well
as the perverse and froward.
Now, my
brethren, if your idea of an
avenging and Awarding
providence be not true, why
should you talk as if it were?
And why, if it be not correct
as a general rule, should you suppose it to be true
in this one particular instance? Get the idea out of
your head, for the gospel of God never needs you to
believe an untruth.
But, secondly,
there is another reason. The idea that
whenever an accident occurs we are to look upon it as a
judgment from God would make the providence of God
to be, instead of a great deep, a fiery shallow pool. Why,
any child can understand the providence of God, if it be
true that when there is a railway accident it is because
people travel on a Sunday. I take any little child from the
smallest infant-class form in the Sunday-school, and he
will say, "Yes, I see that." But then, if such a thing be
providence, if it be a providence that can be understood,
manifestly it is not the Scriptural idea of providence, for in
the Scripture we are always taught that God's providence
is "a great deep;" and even Ezekiel, who had the wing of
the cherubim and could fly aloft, when he saw the wheels
which were the great picture of the providence of God,
could only say the wheels were so high that they were
terrible, and were full of eyes, so that he cried, "O
wheel!"
If—I repeat
it to make it plain—if always a calamity were
the result of some sin, providence would be as simple as
that twice two made four; it would be one of the first
lessons that a little child might learn. But Scripture
teaches us that providence is a great depth in which the
human intellect may swim and dive, but it can neither find
a bottom nor a shore, and if you and I pretend that we
can find out the reasons of providence, and twist the
dispensations of God over our fingers, we only prove our
folly, but we do not prove that we have begun to
understand the ways of God. Why, look, sirs; suppose
for a moment there were some great performance going
on, and you should step in in the middle of it and see one
actor upon the stage for a moment, and you should say,
"Yes, I understand it," what a simpleton you would be! Do
you not know that the great transactions of providence
began near six thousand years ago? and you have only
stepped into this world for thirty or forty years, and seen
one actor on the stage, and you say you understand it.
Tush! you do
not; you have only begun to know. Only He
knoweth the end from the beginning, only He understands
what are the great results, and what is the great reason
for which the world was made, and for which He permits
both good and evil to occur. Think not that you know the
ways of God; it is to degrade providence, and to bring
God down to the level of men, when you pretend that you
can understand these calamities and find out the secret
designs of wisdom.
But next, do
you not perceive that such an idea as this
would encourage Phariseeism? These people who were
crushed to death, or scalded, or destroyed under the
wheels of railway carriages, were worse sinners than we
are. Very well, then what good people we must be; what
excellent examples of virtue! We do not such things as
they, and therefore God makes all things smooth for us.
Inasmuch as we here traveled some of us every day in
the week, and yet have never been smashed to pieces,
we may on this supposition rank ourselves with the
favourites of Deity. And then, do not you see, brethren,
our safety would be an argument for our being
Christians?—our having traveled on a railway safely
would be an argument that we were regenerate persons,
yet I have never read in the Scriptures, "We know that we
have passed from death unto life, because we have
traveled from London to Brighton safely twice a day." I
never found a verse which looked like this; and yet if it
were true that the worst of sinners met with accidents, it
would follow as a natural converse to that proposition,
that those who do not meet with accidents must be very
good people, and what Pharisaical notions we thus beget
and foster. But I cannot indulge the folly for a moment. As
I look for a moment upon the poor mangled bodies of
those who have been so suddenly slain, my eyes find
tears, but my heart does not boast, nor my lips
accuse—far from me be the boastful cry, "God,
I thank
thee that I am not as these men are!" Nay, nay, nay, it is
not the spirit of Christ, nor the spirit of Christianity. While
we can thank God that we are preserved, yet we can
say, "It is of thy mercy that we are not consumed," and
we must ascribe it to his grace, and to his grace alone.
But we cannot
suppose that there was any betterness in
us, why we should be kept alive with death so near. It is
only because he hath had mercy, and been very
long-suffering to us-ward, not willing that we should
perish, but that we should come to repentance, that he
has thus preserved us from going down to the grave, and
kept us alive from death.
And then, will
you allow me to remark, that the
supposition against which I am earnestly contending, is a
very cruel and unkind one. For if this were the case, that
all persons who thus meet with their death in an
extraordinary and terrible manner were greater sinners
than the rest, would it not be a crushing blow to bereaved
survivors, and is it not ungenerous on our part to indulge
the idea unless we are compelled by unanswerable
reasons to accept it as an awful truth? Now, I defy you to
whisper it in the widow's ear. Go home to her and say,
"Your husband was a worse sinner than the rest of men,
therefore he died." You have not brutality enough for that.
A little
unconscious infant, which had never sinned,
though, doubtless, an inheritor of Adam's fall, is found
crushed amidst the debris of the accident. Now think for
a moment, what would be the infamous consequence of
the supposition, that those who perished were worse
than others. You would have to make it out that this
unconscious infant was a worse sinner than many in the
dens of infamy whose lives are yet spared. Do you not
perceive that the thing is radically false and I might
perhaps show you the injustice of it best, by reminding
you, that it may one day turn upon your own head. Let it
be your own case that you should meet with sudden
death in such a way are you willing to be adjudged to
damnation on that account? Such an event may happen
in the house of God. Let me recall to my own, and to your
sorrowful recollection, what occurred when once we met
together; I can say with a pure heart, we met for no
object but to serve our God, and the minister had no aim
in going to that place but that of gathering the many to
hear who otherwise would not have listened to his voice
and yet there were funerals as the result of a holy effort
(for holy effort still we avow it to have been, and the
aftersmile of God hath proved it so). There were deaths,
and deaths among God's people, I was about to say, I am
glad it was with God's people rather than with others. A
fearful fright took hold upon the congregation, and they
fled, and do you not see that if accidents are to be
viewed as judgments, then it is a fair inference that we
were sinning in being there—an insinuation which our
consciences repudiate with scorn? However, if that logic
were true, it is as true against us as it is against others,
and inasmuch as you would repel with indignation the
accusation that any were grounded or hurt on account of
sin, in being there to worship God, what you repel for
yourself repel for others, and be no party to the
accusation which is brought against those who have
been destroyed during the last fortnight, that they
perished on account of any great sin.
Here I
anticipate the outcries of prudent and zealous
persons who tremble for the ark of God, and would touch
it with Uzzah's hand. "Well," says one, "but we ought not
to talk like this, for it is a very serviceable superstition,
because there are many people who will be kept from
traveling on a Sunday by the accident, and we ought to
tell them, therefore, that those who perished, perished
because they traveled on Sunday." Brethren, I would not
tell a lie to save a soul, and this would be telling lies, for it
is not the fact I would do anything to stop Sunday labor
and sin, but I would not forge a falsehood even to do that.
They might have
perished on a Monday as well as on a
Sunday. God gives no special immunity any day of the
week, and accidents may occur as well at one time as at
another, and it is only a pious fraud when we seek thus to
prey upon the superstition of men to make capital for
Christ. The Roman Catholic priest might consistently use
such an argument, but an honest Christian man, who
believes that the religion of Christ can take care of itself
without his telling falsehoods, scorns to do it. These men
did not perish because they traveled on a Sunday.
Witness the fact that others perished on the Monday
when they were on an errand of mercy. I know not why or
wherefore God sent the accident. God forbid that we
should offer our own reason when God has not given us
his reason, but we are not allowed to make the
superstition of men an instrument for the advancing the
glory of God. You know among Protestants there is a
great deal of popery. I meet with people who uphold infant
baptism on the plea, "Well, it is not doing any hurt, and
there is a great deal of good meaning in it, and it may do
good, and even confirmation may be blessed to some
people, and therefore do not let us speak against it." I
have nothing to do with whether the thing does hurt or
not, all I have to do with is whether it is right, whether it is
scriptural, whether it is true, and if the truth does
mischief, which is a supposition we can by no means
allow, that mischief will not lie at our door. We have
nothing to do but to speak the truth, even though the
heavens should fall, I say again, that any advancement of
the gospel which is owing to the superstition of men is a
false advance, and it will by-and-bye recoil upon the
people who use such an unhallowed weapon. We have a
religion which appeals to man's judgment and common
sense, and when we cannot get on with that, I scorn that
we should proceed by any other means; and, brethren, if
there be any person who should harden his heart and
say, "Well, I am as safe on one day as another," which is
quite true, I must say to him, "The sin of your making
such a use as this of a truth must lie at your own door,
not at mine; but if I could keep you from violating the
Christian's day of rest by putting before you a
superstitious hypothesis, I would not do it, because I feel
that though I might keep you from that one sin a little time,
you would by-and-bye grow too intelligent to be duped by
me, and then you would come to look upon me as a priest
who had played upon your fears instead of appealing to
your judgment." Oh! it is time for us to know that our
Christianity is not a weak, shivering thing, that appeals to
the petty superstitious fears of ignorant and darkened
minds. It is a manly thing, loving the light, and needing no
sanctified frauds for its defense. Yes, critic! turn thy
lantern upon us, and let it glare into our very eyes; we are
not afraid, truth is mighty and it can prevail, and if it
cannot prevail in the daylight, we have no wish that the
sun should set to give it an opportunity. I believe that very
much infidelity has sprung from the very natural desire of
some Christian people to make use of common
mistakes. "Oh," they have said, "this popular error is a
very good one, it keeps people right; let us perpetuate the
mistake, for it evidently does good." And then, when the
mistake has been found out, infidels here said, "Oh, you
see now these Christian people are found out in their
tricks." Let us have no tricks, brethren; let us not talk to
men as though they were little children, and could be
frightened by tales of ghosts and witches. The fact is,
that this is not the time of retribution, and it is worse than
idle for us to teach that it is.
And now,
lastly—and then I leave this point—do you
not perceive that the un-Christian and un-Scriptural
supposition that when men suddenly meet with death it is
the result of sin, robs Christianity of one of its noblest
arguments for the immortality of the soul? Brethren, we
assert daily, with Scripture for our warrant, that God is
just, and inasmuch as he is just, he must punish sin, and
reward the righteous. Manifestly he does not do it in this
world. I think I have plainly shown that in this world, one
event happeneth to both; that the righteous man is poor
as well as the wicked, and that he dies suddenly as well
as the most graceless. Very well, then, the inference is
natural and clear, that there most be a next world in which
these things must be righted. If there be a God, he must
be just; and if he be just, he must punish sin; and since he
does not do it in this world, there therefore must be
another state in which men shall receive the due reward
of their works, and they that have sown to the flesh shall
of the flesh reap corruption, while they that have sown to
the Spirit, shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting. Make
this world the reaping place, and you have taken the sting
out of sin. "Oh," says the sinner, "if the sorrows men
endure here be all the punishment they will have, we will
sin greedily." Say to them, "No; this is not the world of
punishment, but the world of probation; it is not the court
of justice, but the land of mercy; it is not the prison of
terror, but the house of long-suffering;" and you have
opened before their eyes the gates of the future; you
have set the judgment-throne before their eyes; you have
reminded them of "Come, ye blessed,"
and "Depart, ye
cursed;" ye have a more reasonable, not to say a more
Scriptural, ground of appeal to their consciences and to
their hearts.
I have thus
spoken with the view of putting down as
much as I can the idea which is too current among the
ungodly, that we as Christians hold every calamity to be a
judgment. We do not; we do not believe that those
eighteen upon whom the tower in Siloam fell were sinners
above all the sinners that were in Jerusalem.
II.
Now to our second point. WHAT USE, THEN,
OUGHT WE TO MAKE OF THIS VOICE OF GOD AS
HEARD AMIDST THE SHRIEKS AND GROANS OF
DYING MEN?
Two uses;
first, inquiry, and secondly, warning.
The first
inquiry we should put to ourselves is this:
"Why may it not be my case that I may very soon and
suddenly be cut off? Have I a lease of my life? Have I
any special guardianship which ensures me that I shall
not suddenly pass the portals of the tomb? Have I
received a charter of longevity? Have I been covered
with such a coat of armor that I am invulnerable to the
arrows of death? Why am not I to die?" And the next
question it should suggest is this: "Am not I as great a
sinner as those who died? Are there not with me, even
with me, sins against the Lord my God? If in outward sin
others have exceeded me, are not the thoughts of my
heart evil? Does not the same law which curses them
curse me? I have not continued in all the things that are
written in the book of the law to do them. It is as
impossible that I should be saved by my works as that
they should be. Am not I under the law as well as they by
nature, and therefore am not I as well as they under the
curse? That question should arise. Instead of thinking of
their sins which would make me proud, I should think of
my own which will make me humble. Instead of
speculating upon their guilt, which is no business of mine,
I should turn my eyes within and think upon my own
transgression, for which I must personally answer before
the Most High God." Then the next question is, "Have I
repented of my sin? I need not be inquiring whether they
have or not: have I? Since I am liable to the same
calamity, am I prepared to meet it? Have I felt, through
the Holy Spirit's convincing power, the blackness and
depravity of my heart? Have I been led to confess before
God that I deserve his wrath, and that his displeasure, if it
light on me, will be my just due? Do I hate sin? Have I
learned to abhor it? Have I, through the Holy Spirit,
turned away from it as from a deadly poison, and do I
seek now to honor Christ my Master? Am I washed in his
blood? Do I bear his likeness? Do I reflect his character?
Do I seek to live to his praise? For if not, I am in as great
danger as they were, and may quite as suddenly be cut
off, and then where am I? I will not ask where are they?
And then, again, instead of prying into the future destiny
of these unhappy men and women, how much better to
inquire into our own destiny and our own state!
"What am
I? my soul, awake,
And an impartial survey take."
Am I prepared
to die? If now the gates of hell should be
opened, shall I enter there? If now beneath me the wide
jaws of death should gape, am I prepared with
confidence to walk through the midst of them, fearing no
evil, because God is with me? This is the proper use to
make of these accidents; this is the wisest way to apply
the judgments of God to our own selves and to our own
condition. O sirs, God has spoken to every man in
London during these last two weeks; he has spoken to
me, he has spoken to you, men, women, and children.
God's voice has rung out of the dark tunnel,—has
spoken from the sunset and from the glaring bonfire
round which lay the corpses of men and women, and he
has said to you, "Be ye also ready, for in
such an hour as
ye think not, the Son of Man cometh." It is so spoken to
you that I hope it may set you inquiring, "Am I prepared?
am I ready? am I willing now to face my Judge, and hear
the sentence pronounced upon my soul?"
When we have
used it thus for inquiry, let me remind
you that we ought to use it also for warning. "Ye
shall all
likewise perish." "No," says one, "not
likewise. We shall
not all be crushed, many of us will die in our beds. We
shall not all be burned, many of us will tranquilly close our
eyes." Ay, but the text says, "Ye shall
all likewise perish."
And let me
remind you that some of you may perish in the
same identical manner. You have no reason to believe
that you may not also suddenly be cut off while walking
the streets. You may fall dead while eating your
meals—how many have perished with the staff of life in
their hands! Ye shall be in your bed, and your bed shall
suddenly be made your tomb. You shall be strong, hale,
hearty, and in health, and either by an accident or by the
stoppage of the circulation of your blood, you shall be
suddenly hurried before your God. Oh! may sudden
death to you be sudden glory!
But it may
happen with some of us that in the same
sudden manner as others have died, so shall we. But
lately in America, a brother, while preaching the Word,
laid down his body and his charge at once. You
remember the death of Dr. Beaumont, who, while
proclaiming the gospel of Christ, closed his eyes to
earth. And I remember the death of a minister in this
country, who had but just given out the verse—
"Father, I
long, I faint to see
The place of thine abode;
I'd leave thine earthly courts and flee
Up to thy house, my God,"
when it pleased
God to grant him the desire of his heart,
and he appeared before the King in his beauty, then, may
not such a sudden death as that happen to you and to
me?
But it is quite
certain that, let death come when it may,
there are some few respects in which it will come to us in
just the same manner as it has to those who have so
lately been hurried away. First, it will come quite as
surely. They could not, travel as fast as they would,
escape from the pursuer. They could not journey where
they may, from home or to home, escape the shaft when
the time had come. And so shall we perish. Just as
surely, as certainly as death has set his seal upon the
corpses which are not covered with the sod, so certainly
shall he set his seal on us (unless the Lord should come
before), for "it is appointed unto all men once to die, and
after death the judgment." There is no discharge in this
way; there is no escape for any individual by any
bye-path, there is no bridge over this river; there is no
ferry-boat by which we may cross this Jordan dry shod.
Into thy chill depths, O river, each one of us must
descend, in thy cold stream, our blood must be frozen;
and beneath thy foaming billows our head must sink! We,
too, must surely die. "Trite," you say, "and
commonplace"
and death is commonplace, but it only happens once to
us. God grant that that once dying may perpetually be in
our minds, till we die daily, and find it not hard work to die
at the last.
Well, then, as
death comes both to them and to us
surely, so will it come both to them and to us most
potently and irresistibly. When death surprised them,
then what help had they? A child's card house was not
more easily crushed than these ponderous carriages.
What could they
do to help one another? They are sitting
talking side by side. The scream is heard, and ere a
second cry can be uttered, they are crushed and
mangled. The husband may seek to extricate his wife, but
heavy timbers have covered her body, he can only find at
last her poor head, and she is dead, and he takes his
sorrowful seat by her side, and puts his hand upon her
brow, until it is stone cold, and though he has seen one
and another plucked with broken bones from the midst of
the ruined mass, he has to leave her body there. Alas!
his children are motherless, and himself robbed of the
partner of his bosom. They could not resist; they might do
what they would, but as soon as the moment came, on
they went, and death or broken bones was the result. So
with you and me, bribe the physician with the largest fee,
but he could not put fresh blood into your veins; pay him
in masses of gold, but he could not make the pulse give
another throb. Death, irresistible conqueror of men, there
is none that can stand against thee, thy word is law, thy
will is destiny! So shall it come to us as it did to them; it
shall come with power, and none of us can resist.
When it came to
them, it came instantly, and would
not brook delay. So will it come to us. We may have
longer notice than they, but when the hour has struck
there shall be no postponing it. Gather up thy feet in thy
bed, O Patriarch, for thou must die and not live! Give the
last kiss to thy wife, thou veteran soldier of the cross. Put
thy hands upon thy children's head, and give them the
dying benediction, for all thy prayers cannot lengthen out
thy life, and all thy tears cannot add a drop to the dry
wellspring of thy being. Thou must go, the Master
sendeth for thee, and he brooks no delay. Nay, though
thy whole family should be ready to sacrifice their lives to
buy thee but an hour of respite, it must not be. Though a
nation should be a holocaust, a willing sacrifice, to give
its sovereign another week in addition to his reign, yet it
must not be. Though the whole flock should willingly
consent to tread the dark vaults of the tomb, to let their
pastor's life be spared but for another year, it must not
be. Death will have no delay; the time is up, the clock has
struck, the sand has run out, and as certainly as they
died when their time was come, in the field by sudden
accident, so certainly must we.
And then,
again, let us remember that death will come
to us as it did to them, with terrors. Not with the crash of
broken timbers, perhaps, not with the darkness of the
tunnel, not with the smoke and with the steam, not with
the shrieks of women and the groans of dying men, but
yet with terrors. For meet death where we may, if we be
not in Christ, and if the shepherd's rod and staff do not
comfort us, to die must be an awful and tremendous
thing. Yes, in thy body, O sinner, with downy pillows
beneath thy head, and a wife's tender arm to bear thee
up, and a tender hand to wipe thy clammy sweat, thou will
find it awful work to face the monster and feel his sting,
and enter into his dread dominion. It is awful work at any
time, and at every time, under the best and most
propitious circumstances, for a man to die unprepared.
And now I would
send you away with this one thought
abiding on your memories; we are dying creatures, not
living creatures, and we shall soon be gone. Perhaps, as
here I stand, and rudely talk of these mysterious things,
soon shall this hand be stretched, and dumb the mouth
that lisps the faltering strain, power supreme, O
everlasting King, come when thou mayest, oh! mayest
thou ne'er intrude upon an ill-spent hour; but find me
wrapped in meditation high, hymning my great Creator;
doing works of mercy to the poor and needy ones, or
bearing in my arms the poor and weary of the flock, or
solacing the disconsolate, or blowing the blast of the
gospel trumpet in the ears of deaf and perishing souls!
Then come when
thou wilt, if thou art with me in life, I shall
not fear to meet thee in death. But oh, let my soul be
ready with her wedding-garment, with her lamp trimmed
and her light burning, ready to see her Master and enter
into the joy of her Lord! Souls, ye know the way of
salvation, ye have heard it often, hear it yet again! "He
that believeth on the Lord Jesus has everlasting life."
"He
that believeth and is baptized shall be saved; he that
believeth not shall be damned." "Believe
thou with thy
heart, and with thy mouth make confession." May the
Holy Ghost give the grace to do both, and this done, thou
mayest say,
"Come,
death, and some celestial band,
To bear my soul away!"
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