If we cannot prove, therefore, that the departed believer passes at once into the presence of his Lord, we in fact prove nothing. If for one moment we are to be separated from him, it little matters where. But thanks be to God we can prove it without the possibility of contradiction.
When Stephen died [41a] “he saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God;” saw, as it were, the arm of Christ reaching forth to draw him up to heaven; so he fell down and prayed “Lord Jesus receive my spirit.”
When St. Paul doubted between life and death, he [41b] “had a desire to depart and be with Christ, which was far better.” Death then was a departure into the immediate presence of his Lord. But above all refer to 2 Cor. v. 6, 7, 8. “Therefore we are always confident, knowing that, whilst we are at home in the body we are absent from the Lord; (for we walk by faith not by sight;) we are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.” The idea of this passage is that there are two homes for believers; two dwellings, one on earth, and one in heaven; one in the body, one in the presence of our Lord. While here we know him, but it is by faith alone. “We walk by faith, not by sight.” When there we shall see him in the full brilliancy of his love and glory. And this change is immediate. The veil is very thin that separates the world of flesh from the world of spirits. Every prayer of faith pierces it. The stream is very narrow that separates earth and heaven, and no sooner do we quit the one than we enter on the other; no sooner is the earthly home dissolved, than Christ himself is seen and the heavenly home opens for his people. So long as “we are at home in the body, we are absent from the Lord;” and we are willing rather to be absent from the body and to be present with the Lord. The departed believer, therefore, is at once found with Christ.
5. But there is another passage in which all these immediate blessings appear summed up in one short, but most expressive, word. “To me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” [42]
We should have no fear in resting the question upon this text alone. It places the truth beyond the reach of all attack. “To die is gain,” therefore to die is not to go to purgatory. “To die is gain,” therefore to die is not to be tortured in fire for the expiation of our sin. Nor must we suppose that this refers to St. Paul alone. His acceptance rested on the same terms as ours. He was a sinner pardoned through the Lamb’s blood, and accepted on the same terms as the weakest believer in our congregation. To die was gain; not because he was an Apostle, but because to live was Christ. And if to us to live is Christ, then to us to die is gain.
Look then at the present happiness of believers, the present joy of the new born child of God. He does not see Christ, it is true, with the eye of sense; but he knows him, he loves him, he delights in him, he speaks to him, his soul is filled with joy at the assurance of his grace. “Whom having not seen we love, in whom though now ye see him not, yet believing ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory.” In every care and trial he can find a sweet repose, for he knows that Christ is near, and he has the precious promise “The beloved of the Lord shall dwell in safety by him; and the Lord shall cover him all the day long.” So when his frame becomes enfeebled and the time of his departure seems at hand, he can lie down peacefully upon the bed of languishing, for he has the precious promise that the Lord shall strengthen him; the sweet assurance “Thou wilt make all his bed in his sickness.” Ay! and when the illness itself draws to a close, when all power to alleviate is gone, when the physician’s skill is helpless, and the wife’s affection fruitless; when the dying man is passing alone through the valley of the shadow of death, he is still supported, still happy, still at peace. For the same Lord is nigh. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil: for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.” Oh! Blessed life! Oh! happy death of the child of God! “Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his!” [44]
But now suppose the valley crossed. The arm has upheld him through the struggle; the beloved of the Lord has been borne safely through. Is the first sight which meets his affrighted eye the lurid glare of the flashing flames of purgatorial fire?—the first sound that startles his ear the groaning of God’s beloved children writhing under the torments of expiating torture? Is that calm repose on Jesus suddenly changed by one terrific plunge into the scorching agony of a purgatorial flame? Would it be gain thus to die? Would such a death be “far better” than the life of faith? It would be better surely to dwell safely as the beloved of the Lord, than to burn miserably in the expiation of unforgiven sin.
We may conclude then that the doctrine of purgatory is in direct opposition to the word of God, but we have a yet farther, and, if possible, graver charge to urge against it, viz.,
III. That it is in direct opposition to the doctrine of atonement as set forth in scripture.
You will remember the extract already quoted from the Catechism of the Council of Trent, in which it was stated that in the fire of purgatory the souls of the pious make expiation for their sin. Pause for a moment to observe these words. There are two things to be noticed in them, (1.) they assert directly that man’s sufferings can make expiation for his sin, and (2.) they imply that the death of our Lord was not a complete expiation for our sin. Let us examine each part separately.