Part 80
Have any of you lost your earthly parents? Then you read with pleasure those words of the Psalmist, _If my father or my mother forsake me_, as they must do at the hour of death, then the Lord will take me up; Ps. xxvii. 10. And you rejoice in that glorious promise, _Be ye separate from idols_, saith the Lord; that is, separate yourselves from the sinful practices of the world, _and I will receive you, and I will be a Father to you, and ye shall be my sons and my daughters, saith the Lord Almighty_; 2 Cor. vi. 17, 18. Has death entered into a family, and taken the head, the husband away? The words of Isaiah grow sweeter than ever; Is. liv. 5. _Thy Maker is thy Husband, the Lord of Hosts is his name, even the God of the whole earth._ Are the widows and the fatherless children in danger of oppression, because they have lost their defender? They run to the lxviii. Ps. and live upon the 5th verse of it; _A Father of the fatherless, and a Judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation_. Is a brother summoned away by the stroke of death? But the Lord Jesus is alive still: He that took flesh and blood upon him, that he might be made like the rest of the children of God, _He is not ashamed to call them brethren_; Heb. ii. 11. This is a _brother_ that was _born for_ the day of _our adversity_; this is the _friend that sticks closer than a brother_, and abides with us when a brother departs, according to the expression of the wise man; Prov. xvii. 17. and xviii. 24. Thus the names, and characters, and relations of God the Father, and of our Lord Jesus Christ, acquire a new sweetness, and appear with greater love and glory in them, at the death of our earthly relatives.
There is many a christian can speak feelingly, and say, “Never did I live so much upon my God, I never knew nor loved my Saviour so well, never conversed so much with his word, never did I find such sweetness in his names, nor his promises, nor such pleasure in secret converse with him, as I have done since the day I lost such a friend, or such a dear relation by the stroke of death: I have learned now to put no trust in creatures; _for their breath goeth forth, and that very day their thoughts of kindness perish_; Ps. cxlvi. 3-8. _Now refuge fails me, no man_ seems to be _concerned for me_, since the death of such a friend; _I say_, therefore, _to my God, thou art my refuge_; Ps. cxlii. 4, 5.”
III. The death of our dearest friends calls us to a noble trial of our love to God, and our submission to his sovereignty. Human nature indeed is afraid of trials; but when the present aids of divine grace give us the victory, then _blessed is the man that endureth temptation; for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him_; James i. 12. And upon this account, he exhorts christians in the second _verse_, to a very sublime and difficult practice, _My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations, knowing this, that the trial of your faith worketh patience_, and if it endures the trial, _it will be found unto praise, and honour, and glory, at the appearing of Jesus Christ_; 1 Pet. i. 7.
When God sends his messenger of death, and takes a dear and beloved creature from our arms, or our bosom, the divine question is like that of our Lord to Peter, _Simon, lovest thou me?_ John xxi. 15-17. Christian, _lovest thou me more than_ thou lovest this creature? Art thou willing to resign this comfort at my call? Hast thou not given thyself to me, and does thy heart refuse to give up thy son, thy brother, or thy dearest friend? Hast thou not called me thy sovereign? I am come now to enquire into thy sincerity. Dost thou resign thy most beloved objects to my disposal? I gave up my Son to death for you; and have you any thing so dear to you as my Son was to me? What says your heart in answer to these solemn questions? Do you love me above all things, or no? Is your will bowed down to my foot? Can you now repeat from your very souls the same language, in which you have often addressed me in your closets, and in my sanctuary, “I am thine, Lord, I am thine; all that I have is thine?” Or do you murmur and quarrel at my providence, when I send my servant death to your house, to try whether these professions of yours were sincere or no?
Happy the christian that comes off with honour in this hour of trial, and who can say heartily, Lord, I resign what thou demandest, and am angry with myself that I should find so much reluctance in my heart, to surrender any thing at the call of God! What a shining evidence of our sincerity is obtained at such a season? What a noble proof of our supreme love to God? And it shall be recorded in heaven for our honour, and produced in the day of the Lord Jesus?
There is nothing in all the history of Abraham, the father of the faithful, that gives him a more shining character on earth, or, perhaps, in heaven, than that he gave up his son Isaac, at the command of God, and _took the wood, and the fire, and the knife, in his hand_, and devoted his beloved, his only son to death; though it was in a way so terribly painful and so shocking to nature, that he himself must be the executioner. He had offered the precious sacrifice already in his heart, when the angel of the Lord came down and stopped his hand: Now I know that thou fearest God, and I know that thou lovest him too, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thy only son from me; Gen xxii. 9-12.
Thus the death of the dearest relation turns greatly to our advantage, when it gives us so bright an evidence of our own graces, and assures us that we are hearty lovers of God.
IV. The death of a beloved relative, has often wrought for the good of a saint, when the long and painful sorrow which has attended it, has shewn us how dangerous a thing it was to love a creature too well.
“O! What a wound do I feel at my heart, says a christian, since the death of so near a relation: It pains me all the day: It fills my eyes with tears, and forbids my rest in the night: I am so troubled that I cannot sleep: It unfits me for the present duties of life, and hangs too heavy upon me, in the midst of the duties of religion. Surely, that creature dwelt too near my heart, and was joined in too close a union, since my heart bleeds and smarts so long after the parting stroke. Let me watch my affections for time to come, and set a guard upon my love, that it never, never tie my soul so fast to a creature again. Come down, blessed Saviour, and take faster hold of my heart; let thy own hand heal the wound that death has made, and let thy mercy pardon the guilt of my excessive creature-love: Dwell thou in my soul, my Lord and my God, and fill up all the unhappy and painful vacancy: Keep my affections for ever true to thee, and let my love to thee be supreme and unrivalled; nor let the softer passions of my nature wander and lose themselves amongst creatures again, lest they contract new guilt: lest they provoke thee to repeat the same smarting tragedy, and to renew these scenes of mourning.”
V. The death of our kindred is for our advantage, when it awakens us to review our own conduct toward them, whether we have behaved aright or no, and when it quickens our duty to surviving relatives.
While they are alive, and present with us, our neglect of duty towards them does not so soon strike our consciences; but when the stroke of death divides them from us in this world for ever, we are ready then to bethink ourselves, whether our carriage toward them has been just and kind: And if our enquiry finds out our guilt, our hearts are tender at that season, and we soon yield to the conviction. “Did I pay that duty to a father, which he well deserved, and which God required? Did I treat a mother with that filial affection, and submissive tenderness that became a child? Did I pay that just deference and honour to the counsels and advice of my parents as I should have done? Did I treat my sisters with that decent affection and respect that became me? And did I exercise brotherly love toward all my equal relatives? Or has my conduct been undutiful, unkind, and unbecoming?”
And especially if we have this to charge ourselves with, that we took no care for the welfare of the souls of those that are dead. Such thoughts as these will hang heavy about the heart, and press hard upon the conscience in that day. “Did I not see my child or my brother walk in the ways of sin: and yet did I ever give him a hint of his dreadful danger? Did I fear that he was a stranger to the grace of God, and yet did I not neglect to invite him to receive the gospel? Had I not reason to question whether he was a sincere convert or no? But how little have I done toward his conversion?
“Or if he was ever concerned about the affairs of his soul, and awakened and thoughtful about death and hell, did I direct him in the way of peace? Did I endeavour to lead him to Jesus the Saviour? Or did I let him go on without instruction, and without comfort, till death laid its cold hands upon him, and he plunged into the eternal world at a mournful uncertainty? O my heart! my heart! The anguish of it pains me beyond what I am able to bear. O that I could recal my brother, or my son from the grave! How would I follow him with counsels and intreaties? And neither give him nor myself any rest, till I had good hope, through grace, that he had fled for refuge to lay hold on Christ and his salvation. I would never be at ease, nor would I cease pleading for him at the throne of grace, till I had found some evidences of a new nature in him, and a change of heart from sin to repentance and holiness.
“Or suppose my departed relative was a true christian, what did I do toward the increase of his faith? Did I ever allure him to holy conversation? Did I take occasion now and then to introduce religious discourse? Did I converse with him ever about the matters of our common salvation, that as iron sharpens iron, so we might have quickened each others zeal and love, and helped each other onward in our way to heaven?
“Surely I have found myself too guilty, in some of these instances. Forgive my criminal negligence, O my God, and through thy grace, I will apply myself to double diligence, with regard to my relatives that yet survive: I will enquire, as far as it is proper, into the state of their souls: I will seek the most powerful and the kindest methods, to awaken the thoughtless sinners amongst them; and I will study, and pray, and ask God what I shall say to make a deep impression upon their hearts: And though I have no office in the church, yet what I have learned there, I will talk over at home: I will preach Christ crucified, and all his gospel to them, as God shall give me proper opportunity. I will converse more freely with my pious kindred about the things of God, and learn their inward sentiments of religion and experimental godliness. Thus will I bring holy discourse into the parlour and the chamber; and every soul in my house shall be a witness of my endeavours to promote the eternal welfare of those that are near me.”
Now when the death of a near relation attains such an end as this, and raises our repentance and holy zeal at this rate, we cannot doubt but that we receive sensible advantage by it.
VI. The death of our friends, who were truly religious, inclines us to review their instructions and their virtues, and sets them before our eyes, in a fresh and lively manner, to influence our own practice.
We are too ready to forget their advice, while they are living and daily present with us, and we take too little notice of those virtues, in which they were eminent. We beheld their humility toward God and men, their condescension to their inferiors, their love and hearty friendship toward their equals, and their sweetness of temper toward all around them. We beheld it, and perhaps we loved and honoured them for it; but we took but little pains to copy after them. We saw their pity to the poor and the miserable, their charity to persons of different sects and sentiments in religion; their readiness to forgive those that offended them, and their good-will and obliging carriage to all men. There was a beauty and loveliness in this conduct, that rendered them amiable indeed, but how little have we transcribed of their example, either into our hearts or our lives? We observed their constant tenderness of conscience, their devotion toward God, and their zeal for the honour of Christ, and his gospel in the world. O that we had made these graces the matter of our imitation! What can we do now more to honour their memory, than to speak, and live, and act like them?
It may be we have got their pictures drawn by some skilful hand, and their images hang round us in their best likeness, as tender memorials of what we once enjoyed, to give us now and then a melancholy delight, and awaken in us the pleasing sadness of love. These we call our most precious pieces of furniture, and our hearts rate them at an uncommon price. But it would be much richer furniture for our souls, to have the best likeness of our pious predecessors and kindred copied out there. Let us now and then reflect what were their peculiar virtues, and the remarkable graces that adorned them; and if we could imagine the spirit of each of them to look down upon us, through those eyes which the pencil has so well imitated, and to speak through those lips, each of them would say, in the language of the softest and most sacred affection; _Be ye followers of me as dear children_, so far _as I was a follower of Christ_.
And this thought I would more especially impress on those who were most unhappily negligent of the pious counsel of their ancestors, or ran counter to their holy advice and example in their life-time. “I was too regardless, may a young christian say, of the wise and weighty sayings of my father deceased, they return now upon my thoughts, with a fresh and living influence. I have been too ready to neglect what a kind mother taught me; but the instructions that I received from her dying lips, had such an air of solemnity and tenderness in them, that they have made a deep impression upon my heart; and I hope I shall never forget them. The prudent and pious rules that my elder relations have often set before me, recur to my thoughts with double efficacy since their death: I shall hear them speak no more, I shall see their holy examples no more: I will gather up the fragments of their religious counsels, and make them the rule of my conduct: I am w ell assured their souls are happy, and by the grace of God I will tread in their steps, till I arrive at those blessed regions, where I hope to meet them.”
This thought leads me on to the last instance of benefit which we derive from the death of our kindred in the flesh.
VII. The death of dear and near relations calls our thoughts in a more powerful and sensible manner, to converse with the grave and eternity.
When our neighbours, or our common acquaintance die, we attend the funeral, and cast an eye into the grave; we spend a thought or two on the pit of corruption, and the mouldering dust: We awaken a meditation or two on things heavenly and the world to come; and we return quickly, and busily to this world again: But when God sends death into our chambers, and it makes a slaughter there, it awakens us more effectually from a drowsy frame, and it nails our thoughts down to our most important and everlasting concerns. “Part of me is gone to the dust already, it is not long ere the surviving part shall go also. Death has smitten the desire of my eyes, and the partner of my joys, it will strike me ere long, and am I ready?” This thought dwells upon the heart of a true christian at such a season, and while the Spirit of God assists the work, it is not in the power of all the trifles in this earth to banish the holy thought, and carnalize the mind again. As when a man is seized with the dead palsy, or has a limb cut off, and buried in the dust, how sensibly does this awaken in him the thought of death and futurity? “The sentence of death is begun to be executed on me already, and the whole execution will be quickly fulfilled; it is time now to be ready, for death is in good earnest, and has begun his work.”
And if our departed relative were a christian indeed, and gave us comfortable hope in his death, then it leads our thoughts naturally to heaven, and most powerfully touches the springs of our heavenly hopes. It raises our pious wishes to the upper world and we say, as Thomas did at the death of Lazarus, _Let us go, that we may die with him_; John xi. 16. Let us go to our God and our holy kindred, and enjoy their better presence there. Let us not _sorrow for the dead, as those that mourn without hope_; 1 Thess. iv. 13. but look upward to things unseen, and forward to the great rising-day, and rejoice in the promised and future glories that are beyond life and time.
Every dear relative that dies and leaves us, gives us one motive more to be willing to die: Their death furnishes us with one new allurement toward heaven, and breaks off one of the fetters and bonds that tied us down to this earth. Alas! we are tied too fast to these earthly tabernacles, these prisons of flesh and blood. We are attached too much to flesh and blood still, though we find them such painful and such sinful companions. We love to tarry in this world too well, though we meet with so many weaning strokes to divide our hearts from it. O it is good to live more at a loose from earth, that we may be ready for the
## parting hour: Let us not be angry with the sovereign hand of God that
breaks one bond after another; though the strokes be painful, yet they loosen our spirits from this cottage of clay, they teach us to practise a flight heaven-ward in holy meditations and devout breathings; and we learn to say, _How long, O Lord, how long?_
The Recollection.—“Have any of us lately felt such parting strokes as these? Have we lost any of our beloved kindred? God calls upon us now, and enquires, What have you learned of these divine lessons? I would ask myself this day, Have I seen the emptiness and the insufficiency of creatures, and recalled my hope and confidence from every thing beneath and beside God? Have I past through this solemn hour of trial well, and shewn my supreme love to God, and my most entire submission to his sovereignty, by resigning so dear a comfort at his demand? Have I been taught by the inward pain which I felt at parting, and by the smart which still remains, how dangerous a thing it is to love a creature too well? Have I duly considered my past conduct toward my relations deceased, and does it improve itself to my conscience at the review? Or have I found matter for self-condemnation and repentance? Have I treasured up the memory of their virtues in my heart, and set them before me as the copy of my life? Have my thoughts followed the soul of my dear departed friend, and traced it with pleasure to the world of blessed spirits; and does my own soul seem to fix its hope and joy there, and to dwell there above? Are my thoughts become more spiritual and heavenly? Do I live more as a borderer on the other world, since a piece of me is gone thither? And am I ready for the summons, if it should come before to-morrow?”
“Happy christian, who has been taught by the Spirit of grace to improve the death even of the dearest relative to so divine an advantage! The words of my text are then fulfilled experimentally in you: _Death is yours_: Death itself is made a part of your treasures. The parting stroke is painful indeed, but it carries a blessing in it too; for it has promoted your heavenly and eternal interest.” _Amen._
HYMN FOR SERMON XLII. _Death of Kindred improved._
Must friends and kindred drop and die? Must helpers be withdrawn? While sorrow, with a weeping eye, Counts up our comforts gone.
Be thou our comfort, mighty God, Our helper and our friend: Nor leave us, in this dang’rous road, Till all our trials end.
O may our feet pursue the way, Our pious fathers led? While love and holy zeal obey The counsels of the dead.
Let us be wean’d from all below; Let hope our grief dispel; Death will invite our souls to go, Where our best kindred dwell.
SERMON XLIII. _Death a Blessing to the Saints._ 1 COR. iii. 22.—Whether life or death,—all are yours.
We have already seen many divine comforts, and a rich variety of blessings derived from the formidable name of DEATH: One would scarce have thought that a word of so much terror should have ever been capable of yielding so much sweetness; but the gospel of Christ is a spring of wonders: It has consecrated all the terrible things in nature, even death itself, and every thing beside sin, to the benefit of the saint.