Brainerd spent himself much in writing those letters, being exceedingly weak; but it seemed to be much to his satisfaction that he had been enabled to do it, hoping that it was something done for God, and which might be for the advancement of Christ’s kingdom and glory. In writing the last of these letters, he was obliged to use the hand of another.
On Thursday of this week, (Sept. 17,) when he went out of his lodging-room for the last time, he was again visited by his brother Israel, who continued with him till his death. On that evening he was taken with something of a diarrhea, which he looked upon as another sign of his approaching death; whereupon he expressed himself thus: “Oh, the glorious time is now coming! I have longed to serve God perfectly: now God will gratify those desires!” And from time to time, at the several steps and new symptoms of the sensible approach of his dissolution, he was so far from being sunk or depressed in spirits, that he seemed to be animated and made more cheerful, as being glad at the appearance of death’s approach. He often used the epithet glorious, when speaking of the day of his death, calling it that glorious day. And as he saw his dissolution gradually approaching, he talked much about it; and with perfect calmness spoke of a future state. He also settled all his affairs, giving directions very particularly and minutely concerning what he would have done in one respect and another after his decease. And the nearer death approached, the more desirous he seemed to be to depart. He several times spoke of the different kinds of willingness to die; and represented it as an ignoble, mean kind, to be willing to leave the body only to get rid of pain; or to go to heaven only to get honor and advancement there.
Sept. 19.—“Near night, while I attempted to walk a little, my thoughts turned thus: ‘How infinitely sweet to love God, and be all for him!’ Upon which it was suggested to me, ‘You are not an angel, not lively and active.’ To which my whole soul immediately replied, ‘I as sincerely desire to love and glorify God as any angel in heaven.’ Upon which it was suggested again, ‘But you are filthy, not fit for heaven.’ Hereupon instantly appeared the blessed robes of Christ’s righteousness, in which I could not but exult and triumph; and I viewed the infinite excellency of God, and my soul even broke with longings that God should be glorified. I thought of dignity in heaven, but instantly the thought returned, ‘I do not go to heaven to get honor, but to give all possible glory and praise.’ O how I longed that God should be glorified on earth also! O I was made for eternity, if God might be glorified! Bodily pains I cared not for; though I was then in extremity, I never felt easier. I felt willing to glorify God in that state of bodily distress as long as he pleased I should continue in it. The grave appeared really sweet, and I longed to lodge my weary bones in it; but O that God might be glorified! this was the burden of all my cry. O I knew that I should be active as an angel in heaven, and that I should be stripped of my filthy garments! so that there was no objection. But, O to love and praise God more, to please him for ever! this my soul panted after, and even now pants for, while I write. Oh that God might be glorified in the whole earth! ‘Lord let thy kingdom come.’ I longed for a spirit of preaching to descend and rest on ministers, that they might address the consciences of men with closeness and power. I saw that God had the residue of the Spirit, and my soul longed that it should be ‘poured from on high.’ I could not but plead with God for my dear congregation, that he would preserve it, and not suffer his great name to lose its glory in that work; my soul still longing that God might be glorified.”
The extraordinary frame he was in that evening could not be hid. “His mouth spake out of the abundance of his heart,” expressing in a very affecting manner much the same things as are written in his diary. Among very many other extraordinary expressions which he then uttered, were such as these: “My heaven is to please God, and glorify him, and to give all to him, and to be wholly devoted to his glory; that is the heaven I long for; that is my religion, and that is my happiness, and always was, ever since I suppose I had any true religion; and all those that are of that religion shall meet me in heaven. I do not go to heaven to be advanced, but to give honor to God. It is no matter where I shall be stationed in heaven, whether I have a high or low seat there; but to love, and please, and glorify God is all. Had I a thousand souls, if they were worth any thing, I would give them all to God; but I have nothing to give when all is done. It is impossible for any rational creature to be happy without acting all for God; God himself could not make him happy any other way. I long to be in heaven, praising and glorifying God with the holy angels; all my desire is to glorify God. My heart goes out to the burying place; it seems to me a desirable place: but O to glorify God! that is it; that is above all. It is a great comfort to me to think that I have done a little for God in the world; Oh! it is but a very small matter, yet I have done a little, and I lament that I have not done more for him. There is nothing in the world worth living for, but doing good, and finishing God’s work, doing the work that Christ did. I see nothing else in the world that can yield any satisfaction besides living to God, pleasing him, and doing his whole will. My greatest joy and comfort has been to do something for promoting the interest of religion and the souls of particular persons; and now, in my illness, while I am full of pain and distress from day to day, all the comfort I have is in being able to do some little service for God, either by something I say, or by writing, or in some other way.”
He intermingled with these, and other like expressions, many pathetical counsels to those who were about him, particularly to my children and servants. He applied himself to some of my younger children at this time; calling them to him, and speaking to them one by one; setting before them, in a very plain manner, the nature and essence of true piety, and its great importance and necessity; earnestly warning them not to rest in any thing short of a true and thorough change of heart, and a life devoted to God. He counselled them not to be slack in the great business of religion, nor in the least to delay it; enforcing his counsels with this, that his words were the words of a dying man. Said he, “I shall die here, and here I shall be buried, and here you will see my grave, and I wish you to remember what I have said to you. I am going into eternity; and it is sweet for me to think of eternity; the endlessness of it makes it sweet: but O what shall I say of the eternity of the wicked! I cannot mention it, nor think of it; the thought is too dreadful. When you see my grave, then remember what I said to you while I was alive; then think how the man who lies in that grave counselled and warned you to prepare for death.”
His body seemed to be marvellously strengthened, through the inward vigor and refreshment of his mind; so that, although before he was so weak that he could hardly utter a sentence, yet now he continued his most affecting and profitable discourse to us for more than an hour, with scarce any intermission; and said of it when he had done, “it was the last sermon that ever he should preach.” This extraordinary frame of mind continued the next day, of which he speaks in his diary as follows:
Lord’s day, Sept. 20.—“Was still in a sweet and comfortable frame, and was again melted with desires that God might be glorified, and with longings to love and live to him. Longed for the influences of the divine Spirit to descend on ministers in an especial manner. And O I longed to be with God, to behold his glory, and to bow in his presence.”
It appears by what is noted in his diary, both of this day and the evening preceding, that his mind at this time was much impressed with a sense of the importance of the work of the ministry, and the need of the grace of God, and his special spiritual assistance in this work; it also appeared in what he expressed in conversation, particularly in his discourse to his brother Israel, who was then a member of Yale College at New-Haven, prosecuting his studies for the work of the ministry.[[I]] He now, and from time to time, in this his dying state, recommended to his brother a life of self-denial, of weanedness from the world and devotedness to God, and an earnest endeavor to obtain much of the grace of God’s Spirit, and God’s gracious influences on his heart; representing the great need in which ministers stand of them, and the unspeakable benefit of them, from his own experience. Among many other expressions, he said thus: “When ministers feel these special gracious influences on their hearts, it wonderfully assists them to come at the consciences of men, and as it were to handle them with hands; whereas, without them, whatever reason and oratory we make use of, we do but make use of stumps, instead of hands.”
[I]. This brother was ingenious, serious, studious, and hopefully pious; there appeared in him many qualities giving hope of his being a great blessing in his day. But it pleased God, soon after the death of his brother, to take him away also. He died that winter at New-Haven, January 6, 1748, of a nervous fever, after about a fortnight’s illness.
Sept. 21.—“I began to correct a little volume of my private writings. God, I believe, remarkably helped me in it; my strength was surprisingly lengthened out, my thoughts were quick and lively, and my soul refreshed, hoping it might be a work for God. O how good, how sweet it is to labor for God!