Unless we know the customs of the wandering shepherds with their flocks, one verse in the twenty-third Psalm, so often quoted in view of death, appears abrupt, but otherwise appropriate and very beautiful. One of a flock is expressing his confidence in G.o.d, his Shepherd: "When I have satisfied my hunger from the green pastures, he makes me to lie down in them; and the still, clear streams are my drink." Then a thought occurs which appears as though a dying man were speaking, and not a sheep: but it is still the language of a sheep. Keeping this in mind, let it be remembered that the shepherds wandered from place to place to find pasture. In doing so, they were sometimes obliged to pa.s.s through dark, lonely valleys. Wild beasts, and creatures less formidable, but of hateful sight, and with doleful voices, made it difficult for the flocks to be led through such pa.s.sages. There was frequently no other way from one pasturage to another but through these places of death-shade, or valleys of the shadow of death,--which was a term to express any dark and dismal place.

Now, let us imagine a flock reposing in a green pasture, and by the side of still waters, conversing about their shepherd, their pastures, and streams. One of them says, "In the midst of all this peace and contentment, there is a thought which spoils my comfort. We cannot stay here forever; we are to go, presently, beyond the mountains; they say that there are valleys, in those regions, full of dangers. My expectation is, that we shall be torn to pieces. My enjoyment of these pastures and waters is nearly destroyed by my forebodings about those valleys."

Another of the flock replies, "Have we not an able, faithful, experienced shepherd? Have we not seen his ability to defend us in past dangers? Is he not as much concerned for our defence and safety as ourselves? While he is my shepherd, I shall not want.--Yea, though I walk through those valleys of death-shade, I will fear no evil; for he is with me; his rod and his staff they comfort me."

The shepherd carried with him two instruments--the staff, for his own support, and to attack a beast or robber; and the crook, or rod. By this crook, the shepherd guided a sheep in a dangerous pa.s.s, placing the crook under the sheep's neck, to hold him up and a.s.sist his steps. When a sheep was disposed to stray, the shepherd could hold him back with his crook. When the sheep had fallen into the power of a beast, the crook a.s.sisted in drawing him away. A good sheep loved the crook as much as the staff,--to be guided, as well as to be defended. Both of the shepherd's instruments were a great comfort to the sheep, while pa.s.sing through a frightful and dangerous valley.

The interpretation usually given to the words, "thy rod and thy staff"--as though they meant "thy gentle reproofs and thy severe rebukes"--is erroneous. A sheep would hardly tell his shepherd that his chastising rod, and the heavy blows of his staff, comforted him. The meaning is, It is a comfort to me to feel the crook of thy rod helping me in trouble, and to know that thy staff is my defence against wild beasts.

Through fear of death, many who are truly the followers of Christ, are, nevertheless, all their lifetime subject to bondage. On whatever mountains, into whatever pastures, and by whatever streams, their Shepherd leads them, they know that there is a valley into which they must go down, and the imagined darkness and horrors of the place make them continually afraid.

A fear of death, without doubt, is frequently permitted, as a means of religious restraint. Some, who have wondered at this trial all their life long, find that its influence is great in keeping them near to the Shepherd and Bishop of their souls. If a flock could reason, no doubt the shepherd would make use of the fears of the sheep, in many instances, to keep them from going astray. If one of them were inclined to wander, it would be natural for the shepherd to caution that sheep against the dark valley, warning him of its terrors, and making him feel how necessary it would be to have a shepherd there, with his crook and staff. It may be that apprehensions with regard to death are the most powerful means, with some, of keeping them from going astray, and of holding their minds to the contemplation of spiritual things.

It has often been observed that those Christians whose fears of death were very great for a large part of their life, frequently die with triumph. The reality is not such as they feared; they found support and consolation which they did not antic.i.p.ate.

One of the most trying antic.i.p.ations with regard to death, in the minds of many, long before the event arrives, is, separation from those whom we love. And yet, there is probably nothing in human experience more remarkable, than the singular resignation, and even cheerfulness, with which some, who have had every thing to make life desirable, have left all and followed Christ when he came to lead them through the valley.

The young wife and mother, in her dying hours, becomes the comforter of her husband; she turns and looks at the infant who is held up to receive her farewell, and the mother alone is calm, sheds no tear, gives the farewell kiss with composure. "Thy rod" is supporting her; "thy staff"

is keeping at bay the pa.s.sions and fears of the natural heart. So a widowed mother leaves a large family of young children, with a peace which pa.s.ses all understanding. And the father of a dependent family, which never could, in a greater measure, need a father's presence, looks upon them from his dying bed, and says to them, with the serenity of the patriarch, "Behold, I die; but G.o.d shall be with you." Nothing is more true than this, that dying grace is for a dying hour; that is, we cannot, in health and strength, have the feelings which belong to the hour of parting; but as any and every scene and condition, into which G.o.d brings his children, has its peculiar frames of mind fitted to the necessity of each case, we need not make the useless effort to practise all the resignation, and experience all the comforts, which come only when they are actually needed. We do not often hear the first part of the following pa.s.sage quoted; but in such rocky and th.o.r.n.y paths as we are often made to pa.s.s through, how good it is to read: "Thy shoes shall be iron and bra.s.s; and as thy days, so shall thy strength be." If G.o.d is our Shepherd, he will cause us to pa.s.s, one by one, through the valley which is before us, leaving some most dear to us on the hither side.

Suppose that when a shepherd is employed in removing his flock from one mountain to another, through a valley, one of the flock should mourn his separation from companions, or from its young. The shepherd would say, "You cannot all pa.s.s together; leave your companions and the young to me; I will restore them to you on the other side." He might also remonstrate and say, "Am I not, as their shepherd, interested in protecting and removing them? You can add nothing to my strength and wisdom; let me take you safety through the valley, and trust me to do the same for them."

The ancient shepherd was specially careful of the lambs; he carried them in his arms, and sometimes folded them beneath his shepherd's coat. We can imagine the feelings of some of a flock when, leaving them at a short distance, but within sight, the shepherd would take a lamb, carry it down into the valley, and disappear with it for a little while. With all their confidence in their shepherd, some of the flock would manifest uneasiness at the separation, especially if the valley looked dark and dangerous. If it were the only lamb of its mother, it was natural for that mother to be distressed, and to lament. Though the young creature had gone safely to the other side, and was at play in the new pasture, and the mother believed it, this could not always quiet her. The good Shepherd has taken some of our lambs through the valley. They are safe upon the other side. They have joined the flock of Christ. Let us give our lambs to the Shepherd's care, to bear them through the valley, whenever he sees fit that they should be removed. We must all pa.s.s through that valley. If, from special love to our young, he will see them safely on the other side before he calls for us, we will intrust them to Him who claims our confidence by saying to us, I am the Good Shepherd. One of the prophecies concerning Christ reveals that tender love and care, on his part, for children, which characterized him while on earth: "He shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom."

The fear of death is owing, in many cases, to the dread of dissolution.

The previous sickness prepares the soul and the body for their separation, so that, in very many cases, it is the greatest relief to die. We are, perhaps, mistaken if we suppose that those Christians who are in great bodily pain in their last hours, suffer in mind. The effects of death on the frame do not necessarily disturb the tranquillity of the soul. The body may be in spasms while the soul is at peace; and the reverse is true;--as in nightmare, when the mind is distressed while the body sleeps. A Christian has nothing to fear in this respect. To die will not be--as in full health we suppose it is--a violent rending asunder of the soul from the unyielding grasp of the body; but the preparation of the mortal frame for dissolution, by the sickness, however rapid, also fits the mind for the event. Even in cases of death by accidents, this appears to be true.

But many feel that to die is to be transferred suddenly, and with violence, into strange scenes, which must overwhelm and distract the senses. It seems to them that it must be like being whirled instantly into a distant, unknown city, and waking up amidst the confusion and strangeness of that place. We cannot believe that such is the experience of dying Christians. It would rather seem that there is, at first, a perception of spiritual forms, of ministering spirits, whispering peace to the soul, and a.s.suring it of safety, and bidding it fear not. It is said of angels, "Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation?" When can we need their ministry more, than in the pa.s.sage from this world to the world of spirits? Perhaps the disclosure is made of some departed friends; and the fancy of those who thought that they saw beloved ones beckoning them away, may have had its foundation in truth. There is much of probability in that well-known piece, "The dying Christian's address to his soul;"--and no part of it is more probable than this:--

"Hark! they whisper; angels say, Sister spirit, come away."

It is not improbable--it seems accordant with divine goodness--that such methods should be employed to relieve the anxiety of the departing spirit. Sometimes the dying Christian has declared that he heard enrapturing music. It is possible that voices were employed to soothe him to sleep, and to soften the transition, from the full consciousness of life, to the revelations of the heavenly world. Perhaps the effect of disease upon the organs of hearing was such as to produce something like sounds, which, in a joyous state of mind, were pleasurable. During the siege of Jerusalem in 1836, the wife of an American missionary sung while dissolution was actually taking place. The tones of her voice, they said, seemingly more than mortal, were far different from any thing which they had ever heard, even from her. G.o.d is often pleased to use these natural effects of dissolution on the body, to comfort the pa.s.sing spirit of his child. Whether visions or real voices are actually seen or heard, is of no consequence, so long as the soul has a rational and a.s.sured hope. Some means are unquestionably used in every case to make the dying believer feel that he is safe. He is not compelled to wait in uncertainty and fear for a moment. His fears are antic.i.p.ated; he is among other friends, the moment that he grows insensible to those who watch his departing breath. Neither are we to suppose that heaven breaks upon the senses of the spirit with such an overpowering brightness, as to excite confusion and pain. No doubt the revelation is gradual and most pleasant. Perhaps the celestial city appears at first in the distance, having the glory of G.o.d most precious; the approach to it is gradual; voices are heard afar off, and from the convoy of ministering spirits, such information and instructions are received as prepare it for the full vision of heaven. Every thing is calm and serene; the light is attempered to its new and feeble vision. He who makes the sun to rise by slow degrees, and does not pour straight, fierce rays upon the waking eyes even of sinful men, certainly will not torment the soul of his child with any such revelations of unseen things as will give pain. The same care which has redeemed and saved him, will order all these things in covenanted love.

Some of the preceding thoughts are well expressed in the following anonymous lines, written on seeing Mr. Greenough's group of the Angel and Child ascending to Heaven:--

"CHILD. Whither now wilt thou proceed?

ANGEL. Come up hither; I will show thee.

Follow me with joyful speed; Leave thy native earth below thee.

CHILD. Stop! mine eyes cannot contain Such a wondrous flood of light.

ANGEL. Come up hither. Thou shall gain, As thou risest, stronger sight.

CHILD. Lost in wonder without end, Joyful, fearful, longing, shrinking, Lead me, O thou heavenly friend; Keep a trembling child from sinking.

O, I cannot bear this glory!

Angel brother! how canst thou?

ANGEL. I will tell thee all my story; I was once as thou art now.

CHILD. When some sorrow did befall me, Or I felt some strange alarms, Then my mother's voice would call me, To the shelter of her arms.

Now what bids my heart rejoice, Clasped in arms I cannot see?

Hark, I hear a soothing voice Sweetly whispering, Come to me.

ANGEL. Yes, it calls thee from on high; Come to G.o.d's most holy mountain; Thou hast drunk the stream of life;-- I will lead thee to the fountain."

Some dread the thought of being out of the body and finding themselves spirits. This is wholly without reason. The soul will not suffer from losing this body of sin and death; it will have as perfect a consciousness, it will know where it is, and what is pa.s.sing before it, as seems to be the case in a vivid dream when the bodily senses are locked in slumber.

As to the natural repugnance which we have to the thoughts of burial and the grave, it is probable that the soul of a redeemed spirit thinks and cares as little concerning these things, so far as painful sensations are concerned, as we do about our garments when we are falling asleep.

The vesture which we formerly wore gives us no solicitude. It is wonderful to hear the sick, long before they die, give directions, or express desires, respecting their burial. So far from thinking of the grave as a melancholy place, no doubt the departed spirit will often think of it in the separate state with pleasure, as the place where it is hereafter to receive a form like Christ's; and the thought of resurrection adds greatly to the joys of heaven.

There is something still which affects the minds of many Christians with fear as they think of dying; and that is, their appearing before G.o.d.

They cannot imagine the possibility of seeing him without distraction; his infinite majesty, and their own sense of unworthiness, make them afraid.

But who is G.o.d? Is he the Christian's enemy? Will he sit like a king on his throne, and see his subject come trembling into his presence? Is this the G.o.d who loved him? Is this the Saviour that died for him? Is this the Holy Spirit who awakened, converted, sanctified, comforted him, and promised to present him faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy? G.o.d will not have done so much to bring him to heaven, and, when he comes there, make his appearance before his throne a matter of fear and uncertainty. He who fell on the neck of the returning prodigal and kissed him, will not keep him at a distance when, with the best robe, and the ring, and the shoes, he comes into his father's house. Our first apprehensions of G.o.d will be happy beyond our present comprehension. What an image have we, in these words, of a man helping a child, by the hand, through a dangerous or dark way: "For I the Lord thy G.o.d will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee." If "I will be with thee," is the reason, which he himself a.s.signs why we should not be afraid, why should we fear to come into his presence?

As to a consciousness of guilt, there is no doubt that he who falls asleep in Jesus, with reliance on his blood and righteousness, will immediately, at death, receive such a consciousness of being purified from all taint of sin, as now is beyond our conception. In the language of Scripture, we shall be presented faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy. For the sake of Christ, in whom we trust, we shall be received and treated as though we had never sinned; we shall say, in the full a.s.surance of pardon, righteousness, and peace with G.o.d, without waiting for the question to be asked in our behalf, "Who is he that condemneth?" "It is Christ that died."

And if this be so, as it surely is, why may not Christians in this world before they die, nay, from the first hour of justification by faith in Christ, triumph thus in him? Why should their remaining sinfulness, their poor, frail, erring nature, which they must carry with them to the grave, prevent them from having the same joy in G.o.d through our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom also we have received the atonement? Every true believer in Jesus Christ is warranted in having the same consciousness of pardon and peace with G.o.d, now, as after death; the justifying righteousness of Christ is as powerful now as it will be then. Some tell us, "Live a sinless life, and you may have this perfect peace." That is self-righteousness. It will not be a sinless life which, in the moment after death, will make us to be openly acknowledged and acquitted; it will be the righteousness of Jesus Christ which is by faith; and he who has faith in that righteousness may, living as well as dying, here as well as in heaven, say, 'There is, therefore, _now_ no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the spirit.'

There are several things which may reconcile us to the thought of dying:

All the people of G.o.d since the creation, with two exceptions, have died. Of the two who were excepted, neither of them was his only begotten Son. Those whom G.o.d has loved peculiarly have not been exempted from the stroke of death. Shall we ask exemption from that which, all the good and great have suffered? Let me die the death of the righteous.

If he must find the grave, there will I be buried. We would not go to heaven but in the way which prophets, apostles, martyrs trod. The footsteps of the flock lead through the valley; we will seek no other, no easier, way.

Surely we should be willing to follow our great Forerunner. He tasted death for every man; and he could enter into his triumph only by dying.

We should be more than resigned to follow our blessed Lord into the tomb. Christ conquered death by dying; we shall be more than conquerors in the same way. If we suffer great pain, we cannot suffer more than Christ suffered on our account. Sufferings borne in the spirit of Christ are counted as sufferings borne for Christ. "If we suffer, we shall also reign with him." "If so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together."

Death is a part of the penalty of sin. We should, therefore, submit to it, giving up our bodies to be destroyed, in fulfilment of that sentence which we have so justly incurred--"and unto dust shalt thou return." He who hates sin, and condemns himself for it, and is willing to have fellowship with Christ in his sufferings for it, as it is most graciously represented that we may, will bear the execution of G.o.d's righteous sentence with a willing mind.

Death is the perfecting of our redemption. It is the last act of redeeming grace. When the Saviour, who says, "I have the keys of--death," (i.e., no one can die but at the time and manner prescribed by me,) takes us out of the world, it is to finish the work of our personal salvation. All the circ.u.mstances attending it will be as deliberately appointed, and as carefully watched and directed, as the first great act of grace towards us in our regeneration. He, too, who has provided such pastures and streams for us here, in removing us to living pastures and to living streams, will, of course, see that we go safely through the valley which must be pa.s.sed to reach them. It will not be a new thing to Christ to see us die. He has watched the dying beds of millions of his friends, he has had great experience as a Shepherd in bringing them through the valley.

See that chamber in yonder mansion, where all the comforts, and some of the luxuries, of life, have contributed to prepare for some mysterious event. The garden of Eden failed to possess such joys as are there in antic.i.p.ation, and are soon to be made perfect. Every thing seems waiting, with silent but thrilling interest, for the arrival of an unknown occupant. And there is raiment of needle-work, and of fine twined linen, and gifts of cunning device, from the looms of the old world, and from graceful fingers and loving hearts here, every want being antic.i.p.ated, and some wants imagined, to gratify the love of satisfying them. And now G.o.d breathes the breath of life, and a living soul begins its deathless career, amidst joys and thanksgivings, which swell through the wide circles of kindred and acquaintanceship. The Holy Spirit, in the process of time, renews and sanctifies the soul through the blood of the everlasting covenant; and having, through life, walked with G.o.d, the day arrives when the spirit must return to G.o.d who gave it. You saw how it was received here, at its entrance into the world.

You have seen what the atonement, and regeneration, and sanctification, and providence, and grace, have done for it, and with what acc.u.mulated love the Father of Spirits, and Redeemer, and Sanctifier, must regard it. And now do we suppose that the shroud, and coffin, and the funeral, and the narrow house, and the darkness, and the solitude and corruption, and the whole dreary and terrible train of death and the grave, are symbols of its reception into heaven, the proper pageantry of its arrival and resting place within the veil? Believe it not! If G.o.d prepared in our hearts such a welcome for the infant stranger, that even its helpless feet were thought of and cared for, surely when those feet, wearied in the pilgrimage of the strait and narrow way, arrive at heaven's gate, it must be, it is, amidst rejoicings and ministrations of love to which earth has no parallel. Let kings and queens prepare a royal room for the new-born prince: "In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also."

Could we look into that place, as it stands waiting for its occupant from earth, we should behold sights which would instantly clothe even death with beauty, and make it seem now, as it will seem then, a blessed thing to die.

To miss of dying would no doubt be a calamity. Dying will be an experience to the believer which will be fraught with inestimably good things; that is, the act of dying, and not merely the being dead. It is no doubt as necessary to the nature of the soul, to its psychology, its soul-life, as the changes of the worm, chrysalis, and b.u.t.terfly, are to the insect. And thus, as in all other things, where sin abounded, grace much more abounds, and even death, like a cross, is turned into a ministration of infinite blessing.