But St. Paul goes on to show that this desire was secondary to that of exchanging faith for sight, imperfection for perfection. He would not on any account remain earthy: he longed for the fullest and most glorious presence of God, and if it needs must be that the desired change and attainment could only be brought about by dissolution, oh, then he was ready, he was willing rather to be absent from the body. He returned from the shrinking; he rallied from the fear; he was confident, well content, and desirous to die.
And herein he is the pattern of a true Christian. He is not so in love with death that he can see nothing in it to shrink from or fear, nothing to disturb him. He does not so hate this life as to hurry to be quit of it. With all its trials, and disappointments, and hindrances, and miseries, there is much in it which is dear to him, in which he finds delight, from which he is loth to part. God, too, is felt here, and seen by faith, and bestows appreciable blessings; here God’s work is to be done, here God’s glory to be promoted. Therefore “to live is Christ.” But still there are greater and better things beyond. There is a place where trouble never comes, where happiness is perfect, whose company, and possessions, and pleasures, are such, that nought on earth is worth having or thinking of in comparison of them. There is a state in which God’s work may be done as angels do it, without hindrance from within or without; in which glory to God is easily, and fully, and delightfully rendered. There is a presence of God which is visible and palpable, where His voice is clearly heard, where He is beheld face to face, where the everlasting arms are substantially felt as they embrace and uphold, where His love is perfectly realised and enjoyed, and perfectly reciprocated.
What can be valued, or can interest in comparison of all this? What can content that is short of this? What can deter from the seeking of this? what valley seem dark and uninviting at the end of which this glory shines? what way be dreary and lonely, along which God’s rod and staff are offered as supporters and comforters? This being the end and the aim, if to attain it death must be passed through, then welcome death! We are confident, full of cheer at the prospect, eager to set out—“To die is gain.”
But the best feature of the Christian, as exhibited in St. Paul, remains for us to gaze on. After all, it is not the holiest ambition to aspire to heaven; it is not the highest vocation to enrich and perfect self. God has made us capable of heavenly bliss. He offers it to us. He would have us seek it; He blesses and will reward the seeking. But still He did not make and redeem us, He does not sanctify us only or chiefly for this. The Christian’s vocation is the service of God. The end of his being is the glory of God. And so our chief thoughts, and aspirations, and endeavours, are not to be deliverance from troubles, perfection in joy, getting out of the present into the future, exchanging earth for heaven; but, being and doing what God approves, wherever, in whatever circumstances, God appoints. “Wherefore we labour, that whether present or absent we may be accepted of Him;” that whether it pleases God to come to us while we are in the body, or to call us to Him out of the body, He may find us prepared for what in either case awaits us; “for we must all appear before the judgment-seat of Christ, that every one may receive according to the things done in the body.”
The Christian may shrink from the first thought of death, and wish not to be unclothed. He ought to aspire to heaven, and that he may reach it, be well content, willing rather, to be absent from the body. But above all he must labour in whatever state he is, therein so to be serving God, as to have His present acceptance and always to be prepared for His coming judgment.
We want to feel this and to act upon it. To put self with even its most innocent instincts and best interests and noblest aspirations somewhat aside, that God may be more nearly all in all; to be less filled with groaning and coveting on our own account and more occupied in serving and glorifying Christ. It is well not to love this world, to have realised its vanity and misery, to have broken the links that would bind us to it, to refuse to find our perfect joy in aught that belongs to it. It is well to yearn for deliverance from all that vexes and hinders and hurts; to desire ardently—even to pray earnestly and continually for—presence with the Lord, and all that that presence implies, in Paradise, in Heaven. But when by God’s grace we have come to this state, we are not perfect, we have not begun to be perfect. No! we have only qualified ourselves in mind and heart for the commencement of that which is demanded of us in life, the single, contented, glad, immediate, and constant service of God in the state and circumstances in which He has placed us.
Brethren, we are all dwelling in tabernacles, tents that have no firm foundation; which are to be taken down and soon. The general judgment may tarry, Christ may not come in His glorious majesty, and meet us while in the body: but if not then death will surely come, and out of the body we must go to meet Christ. How soon shall that be? How soon shall we meet Him? Do you ever give these things a serious thought? Do you ever consider that the apparently capricious last enemy is wont to take the young and strong as often as the old and feeble, and, as he chooses, sometimes to sound the warning note from afar off, sometimes to come silently, suddenly as a thief in the night? Do you feel—I single out each man, each woman, each child that hears me, and in God’s name I ask that individual—Do you feel that you may be Death’s next victim, that ere the day is over you may be gone to your account, or at least the seeds of mortal disease may be beginning to grow in you? Oh, do not resist this appeal by persuading yourselves that the thing is improbable. Let it be enough that you know (and you do know) that it is possible, and, if possible, that you ought to entertain the possibility.
Well now, let me farther ask, Are you prepared, are you preparing to die? Are you going to leave the vast concerns of an eternal state to the consideration of a moment, a moment too which may be denied you, if not by the instant cutting of life’s thread, by mortal fears and lingerings, and recoilings, by the engrossing pains of the body, by the locking up of the senses in stupor or delirium? Are you putting off concern; heedless of thought and preparation for meeting God? Are you calculating upon being able to think and feel aright when you will, to ask and obtain pardon for all that is wrong, to be excused for all deficiencies in a moment, to do the work of life on a sick-bed, to satisfy God with the dregs of the cup of life, to become a passive recipient of the necessary holiness which God bids all acquire actively? Do you suppose it will suffice to think of these things when the doctor tells you you cannot recover; to send for the clergyman to teach and move you when the faculty of heeding is well nigh gone, to pray for you, if you are unable to pray for yourself, to sigh over your body, if, alas! the soul has fled? Or are you now more or less possessed with religious thought and feeling, sitting loose to this world, weaning yourselves more and more from it, nerving yourselves for the last hour, sighing over and confessing your sins, trusting to Christ’s mercy, aspiring to heaven, praying for acceptance? Whether you are indifferent to or merely postponing concern, for self’s best interests, or whether you are already absorbed by self’s best interests, let me remind you—without presuming to set any bounds to God’s mercy, without disputing that God has sometimes received those who first turned to Him on a death-bed, without caring to satisfy those who want to know how little religion will save a man—let me remind you, I say, and do not be weary of the repetition, that to be truly acceptable to God, it is not enough that you entertain some religious thoughts, and go through some religious forms at the last, or even that you are filled with religious thoughts and feelings all your life long, you must be serving God now, in the day of your ability, at the call of every opportunity, in whatever state and circumstances you are placed, doing it as so much work set you to do and presently to be scrutinised and accounted for, rendering it as the faithful, grateful homage of a pardoned and sanctified and loving sinner. Let this be your rule, a rule to be observed not only in theory but in practice also; not only in the rendering of obedience, but in the treating of all that you have, and the accepting of all that happens to you, as from the Lord—“Whether we live, we live unto the Lord, or whether we die, we die unto the Lord.”
SERMON XVIII.
RELIGIOUS ZEAL.
II. Kings, x., 16.
Come with me, and see my zeal for the Lord.