You hear those who are vexed or thwarted, or oppressed, or wearied, exclaim in some moment of impatience or despondency, “I am weary of my life.” You find some so worn out, like Job, by long and accumulated troubles, that they continually sigh, and from the heart, “Oh! that I had given up the ghost!” You hear the thoughtless, the proud, the obstinate, protest “I had rather die.” But let them be taken at their word, let Death show himself to be really close at hand, to be coming to them, and they will recoil with horror from his touch, and piteously cry to be spared. Occasionally one is found who, lacking patience and perseverance to extricate himself lawfully from pressing difficulties, or, mad with vexation because he cannot accomplish some worldly scheme, or because he has been frustrated in some wickedness: or because having done the wickedness, he fears to face the worldly consequences of his deed, not merely says that he wishes to die, and prays for death; but then and there ministers it to himself. Yet even in such cases, while he would escape from life, he does not deliberately seek death. Nay, when he finds he is encountering death, he often desists from his half-done deed, or, if it be too late for that, shrieks frantically for others to rescue him.
There are exceptions to all these rules, when men really wish to die, when they deliberately court and procure death; but they are sufficiently rare to vindicate the truth, that they are not natural.
Certainly the desire and prayer of the first disciples to be removed from this world were not natural. They did not despair in difficulties. They were not unwilling to endure continued trials and sufferings. They were not disgusted with life. All that Christ required of them they burned to do; all that He laid upon them they rejoiced to bear; and while aught was undone or unsuffered, they chose and desired to remain; and even then, it was not exhausted nature asking for rest, it was not weariness or dislike of life’s lot which prompted the prayer, “Even so, come, Lord Jesus:” they gloried in their then vocation, they loved their appointed work; they would not relinquish it, they would not be unclothed, but clothed upon, advanced, and perfected: they loved Christ, and so yearned to see Him; they loved His service, and so coveted a state in which it could be more fully and uninterruptedly rendered; they loved other men, the alien and the outcast, and so longed for the day when all the kingdoms of the world should become the kingdoms of the Lord and of His Christ, when every soul should be subject to and rejoice in His rule! They looked for Christ’s coming, not because they supposed it would release them from His service, and transfer them to an abode of luxurious immunity and rest and glory; but because they thought it was the necessary prelude to full usefulness, to entire submission to His will, to unremitted, glorious service under His perceived eye, and in the perfection of His strength. They thought death was gain, and they desired it, not as the time of sleep, the chamber of inactivity and oblivion, but as the door, the short passage, which led into a world wherein the kingdom of Christ was fully set up, and wherein they should unceasingly experience His rule, and act as its agents. They prayed that God would shortly accomplish the number of His elect, not with the carnal desire that their enemies might be confounded, and that those then without might be kept without: nor yet with selfish impatience for their own promised reward; but that the work of grace might be effectual, where now it seemed to be received in vain; that the darkness which encompassed so many might be dispelled, that all Israel might be saved, and might join them in glorifying God.
This was the feeling which prompted their Advent prayers; this was the feeling which they laboured to arouse in those to whom they spoke, and in us, for whom they wrote. When St. Paul tells us, that to him to live was Christ, and to die was gain, that he desired to depart and be with Christ, though he was content to remain, he shows one of the many respects in which we are to be followers of him. When St. John records, that he replied to Christ’s announcement, “Behold, I come quickly,” “Even so, come, Lord Jesus,” he personates the Church and every acceptable member of it, and shows us the attitude and the feeling which becomes each one of those who wait for the Lord’s appearing; even as St. Peter does in direct appeal: “What manner of persons ought ye to be in all holy conversation and godliness, looking for and hasting unto the coming of the day of God?”
Alas! brethren, how far are we below the appointed standard of acceptable discipleship! How little is Christ’s Second Advent in our minds, even as a mere doctrine, a truth of Scripture! How small is the influence which it is allowed to exercise on our thoughts and affections, and lives! How seldom do we suggest to ourselves the possibility of its nearness! How faintly, if at all, in what mere words—words, which do not spring from feelings, and are not illustrated by actions—do we pray for its speedy arrival!
Even those among us, who are rightly mindful, who study to be prepared at all times, lest speedily and suddenly the Son of Man should come forth to judgment, or should send forth the angel of death to bring them to His bar—even these can scarcely be said to desire the coming, which they think of and prepare for: much less to pray for it, and to do what in them lies to hasten it. Even if we are faithful servants, able to render a right account whenever it shall be called for, we dread rather than hope for the day of our Lord’s return. Even if we have our lamps trimmed and oil with us in our vessels, if instead of slumbering, we are watching, would it not still be to us an unwelcome cry, “Behold the bridegroom cometh, go ye out to meet Him”? What would be the first feeling of the best of us, if at this moment an angel stood revealed, and announced “The day of the Lord is come”? which of us can honestly, heartily say now, “I would not live always. I would not live till to-morrow, if God graciously willed that I might die to-day?”
Of course there are many reasons why we should shrink from an immediate advent. We all of us need to cast off some works of darkness: something is wanting in the spiritual armour of the best accoutred. We feel that we have much work to do for God before the night cometh; we have many graces to cultivate and many others to acquire, before we shall be fit for Christ’s coming; and, besides, naturally, the unprovided for, the unprotected, the unguided, that will be left behind, if we go, tempt us to linger, with eyes earthwards; and fashion chains to bind us down. But setting aside all this, supposing it all changed, so that we were fit in all other respects for heaven, and nothing and no one on earth really required us, does not conscience convince us that still we would rather not go yet, that we shall be the better pleased the longer we are allowed to stay, that our real prayer (that which our feelings suggest, though our mouths dare not utter it, nor our minds dwell on it) is “Lord Jesus, come not quickly.”
Why is this? I do not mean why is it in the case of the wilful, the sensual, the worldly—there is no need to ask the question of them; Christ’s coming will be their utter confusion, and the immediate forerunner of their destruction. It is easy to understand why they wish him to delay. But why is it in the case of the truly penitent, the reformed, the faithful, the holy, the comparatively ready for Christ’s kingdom of glory? The foremost reason seems to be that they have never had the courage to meditate calmly and sufficiently on death. The first thought of death alarms them. And this is natural, for death is part of the punishment of sin, and all that reminds of sin should alarm. But it is only the first thought that alarms. If they would give it further consideration, they would see that death is deprived of his sting, that, monster as he appears, to them he is harmless. “There is no condemnation for them that are in Christ Jesus.” Death is not their enemy, but their friend. In fact, he is death no longer. He is an appointed minister to take them out of what might be more properly called death—this mortal life—and introduce them into real life. He does not separate them from Christ, but joins them more truly to Him. It is not a dark, bottomless pit, with sides that cannot be climbed, to which he brings them, but a short valley leading from the plain of this world to the city of glory, which he that enters passes through in a moment, ay, and less than a moment, and is new born for eternity. Bring yourselves, brethren, to believe this, to feel the reality of it, to be sure that the moment your body falls asleep in Jesus your spirit is wafted to Paradise, and begins to rest consciously on Christ, and to company with the spirits of the just departed. Then, though the nearness of death may for the moment awe you—because it is the antechamber which leads directly into the presence of so much holiness and glory—it will have no power to fill you with dismay, no undesirableness to make you shrink from it. No, brethren, you will think much of it, you will patiently hope for it, you will anticipate it and watch for it, and when it draws nigh, you will welcome it with joy, and hasten to be transferred by it from mortal life to immortal!
Another fault is, that Christ is not sufficiently in all our thoughts. Our religion is too much of mere routine; our obedience is mechanical, unintelligent; our holiness is acquired, because of an imposed necessity; our faith is but historical. We do not feel what St. Paul felt when he said, “To me to live is Christ.” By which it is clear he meant much more than that Christ’s service was his one employment, Christ’s rewards his one expectation, Christ’s grace his only strength. He did not simply look back to a crucified Saviour, nor forward to a coming Judge, believing himself to be made a servant, and to have by and by to render an account, to be liable to a judgment of his service; but meanwhile to have no Lord near and over him. No! the Christ that had departed in the flesh was felt to have come back in the spirit. St. Paul saw Him by faith, knew Him, walked side by side with Him, served Him personally, derived constant grace from Him, loved Him, and felt His love. Christ was the Alpha and Omega of his being, the beginning, the motive power of all his thoughts, and words, and deeds, the companion of all his ways, the object of all his aims: Christ the power of God unto salvation, Christ a very present help and comfort, Christ the hope of glory. Life was full of Christ in its experiences, its aims, its delights, and hopes. Gladly, therefore, would he retain it as long as God willed; but knowing that death was gain, that after death Christ would be more palpably with him, that he would be more able to appreciate Christ, that heavenly joys would then be added to the joys he had on earth, he still longed for his departure, he desired ardently to be clothed upon, he loved the thought of Christ’s final appearing, and his whole life acted the prayer which St. John uttered, “Come, Lord Jesus.”
Brethren, you must live as Paul did, you must appreciate life as he did, if you would desire death as he did. You must acquaint yourselves with Christ by study and meditation, by the Spirit’s invoked aid. You must think of a living Lord as well as of a dead Saviour. You must have reference in all your ways, not only to the first advent and to the last, but, also, and I would even say chiefly, to the constant advent. You must have come to perceive that the promise is fulfilled, “Lo, I am with you alway.” You must endure as seeing Him who is invisible. You must carry Christ about with you. You must do all to the glory of Him, felt to be near, to be served and glorified. When you would go anywhither, your first thought must be, “Will Christ accompany me? Except thy presence go with me, O Lord, carry me not up hence.” When you have aught to do or suffer, your realisation of a near and available helper must make you begin with the prayer, “O Lord, raise up thy power and come among us, and with great might succour us.” Gratitude for benefits provided so long ago will never prompt you to render due Christian service, vague expectation of inconceivable joys will never quicken your steps Zionwards. You must know Christ, feel Him, converse with Him, depend on Him, and then, while you enjoy the life here, you will yet yearn for a place and a condition where you can have perfectly and uninterruptedly what now for so many reasons you have but in small part, and, “Thy kingdom come,” “Even so, come, Lord Jesus,” will be your fervent and frequent prayers.