Such is the character intended in the text—Such the perfect man and upright in himself, and in the estimation of those who know him. Thus doth he pass through life, feeling and confessing his deficiencies, lamenting that he can do no more for God's honor, and relying on grace alone in Christ, for acceptance with him. When a person of this description "having served his generation, by the will of God falls asleep," not only relatives and near connexions, but all who know his worth, mourn his exit, and weeping around his corse, bedew his hearse with tears. His name is revered, his memory is blessed, and even envy is silent.
II. We are to consider his peaceful end—The end of that man is peace.
By a person's end, his death, the period of his mortal life is intended. It doth not intend the end of his existence—the modern infidel terms used to express death. So in other scriptures; as when God foretold the destruction of the old world—"The end of all flesh is before me." So Balaam, when looking forward to his exit out of life—"Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his." Had death been the period of his existence, it would have been a matter of indifference whether it found him righteous or wicked. As to hope in death there would have been no difference. But this is not the case. Man hath an immortal part within. At the period of mortal life, he enters on an interminable state.
Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright: For the end of that man is peace. He finds peace at the approach of death—in death, and after death. In order to a due estimation of the value of true religion in Himself, and in its reward, we are here called to observe the good man's end. It demands our careful attention. For the scene is peculiarly instructive. It animates to a discharge of the duties of life and supports under its troubles; especially at the approach of death, when worldly comforts fly away.
The wicked who live in habitual neglect of religion, or the indulgence of vicious desires, are commonly filled with dismay and horror, if reason remains, when they perceive their end draw nigh. The flights which they have cast on the gospel, and on the grace therein offered; their neglects of known duty; their acts of injustice, intemperance, uncleanness, or other immoralities, the remembrance of which were almost obliterated by time, at that awful period rise up before them! Conscience awakes; and when they consider the denunciations of divine wrath against those who do such things, and have pleasure in them, fear harrows up their souls! They anticipate eternal woe, and are filled with agonizing horror! Then do they appear all hurry and confusion! The great work of life to do, and opportunity gone forever! Bewailing past madness they cry undone! Undone! Such often continues their state, till the king of terrors driving them away without hope, shuts up the scene!
But the perfect and upright man, how happily different when death draws near? If possessed of himself, like the still summer's evening, he is calm and serene. He talks of death with as much composure, as one returning from a strange country, to his native land; or as one returning from captivity and slavery, to his father's house, to his family, and to the society of friends, dear as life, and with much more raised expectations!
Some ties of nature—dear connexions, bind him indeed to earth, and would detain him here; but stronger bonds allure and draw him away toward a better world. If concern for dear ones he must leave behind intrudes and tempts him to wish a longer stay, he remembers that though he dies, his God lives—that God hath stiled himself the "Father of the fatherless and judge of the widow;" that he hath said "Leave thy fatherless children with me, I will preserve them alive, and let thy widows trust in me." Supported by such comforting declarations—such kind promises of a faithful God, and the allured belief of his mercy and truth, he resigns them to his care and leaves them with him, not doubting, but he will preserve them, or dispose of them, as shall be most for his own glory, and their good.
As to temporal matters, which often trouble those, who are chiefly concerned about worldly things, they cannot greatly affect one who believes himself heir to an eternal inheritance. For the comfort of those whom he leaves behind, he wishes to have his temporalities settled, and his accompts intelligible; that no disputes may arise, no injustice be done; but as to any concern which he personally takes in them, they appear in his view contemptible. He views them as unworthy his regard, as the beggar, who hath been called to the possession of a crown the rags which he casts off to put on his robes.
As death approacheth, the perfect and upright man, who realizeth his state, looks back with comfort, approving the part he hath acted, after renovation, and forward to the enjoyment of God, with stedfast hope and strong consolation.
We have this happiness of a dying saint, exemplified in St. Paul—"I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand: I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: Henceforth there is laid, up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day."—His rejoicing was "the testimony of his conscience, that in simplicity and godly sincerity, he had had his conversion in the world." In the testimony of his conscience, he read the evidence of his good estate —of his sincerity towards God, and of his interest in Christ, He viewed nothing which he had done as meritorious—as laying God under obligation, Grace in Christ was all his hope. But he considered his love to God, and his zeal in his cause, as evidential that he was born of God, and the subject of divine grace in the Redeemer. Thence he inferred his title to the inheritance, prepared of God for those who love him.