Angel whispers; or, The echo of spirit voices

Front matter

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'tlliUllliiilii'li

OR, mm uw SHUT i eioie.

Preface

I The object of this little volume is to i^ give comfort to tlie mourner. Tlie autlior :^lias lon£? felt tlie need of some book wMcli '^ treats upon specific cases of affliction, to put into the hands of those whose friends c have been taken from them ; and he has gathered a number of addresses made on funeral occasions, taken away the pulpit style, interspersed them with appeals to the heart and conscience of the reader, and bound them together under the somewhat fanciful title of " Angel "Whispers."

His desire is, that the book may prove a source of comfort to those who have been called, in the providence of God, to weep over blasted hopes, and ruined ex-

PREFACE.

pectations, and lead tliem away to the everlasting source of consolation and hope. If it does succeed in the accomplishment of this, he will feel that his labor has not been in vain.

May the God of the mourner bless to the torn and distracted heart these plain and simple instructions, , and make them efficacious in drying the widow's tears, and imparting joy to the heart of the orphan.

Contents

I. The Victory of Faith, . . .

. , 13

II. Death of a Brother, . • • •

I. The Victory Of Faith

The sting of death is sin, and the strength of ein is the law ; but thanks b« to God which giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ. — Pauu

What is death ? is a question which thousands have asked, but to which no satisfactory answer has yet been given. Though death's dark empire extends through all time and over all lands — though we see his work performed every day we live, there is yet a mystery over the grave which no human being can solve, clouds which none on earth can dispel. The physician can converse intelligibly as to the action of the blood and nerves, the action of the heart and lungs, and explain to you the physical phenomenon of death. The theologian can lead you beyond the grave, show you the connection between this world and the next, and dissipate all fears which have harrowed up the soul j but neither the physician of the body or tbe mind can lift the vail which hangs over the tomb, or drive away entirely the mists which descend and rest upon the passage between this our world and the land of shades. The fear of death arises, to some extent, from a natural instinct which is implanted by God in the bosom of every living thing. The conscious man looks upon the grave with a shudder ; the soulless beast shrinks trom death, as if he were endowed with mind and reason ; and the unconscious member of the vegetable kingdom naturally resists that which will wither its bloom and destroy its verdure. From man, made in the image of his God, down through all that has life or progress, there seems to be a shrinking back from death.

From whence does this arise ? Surely not from the physical distress of dying. It is the universal testimony of all who have a right to speak on this subject, that the pains of dying are generally few. More IS often suifered in a moment in life, than from all the pangs of death. Long years ago, before the science of medicine was understood, some men considered it a mercy to hasten the end of those who were deemed incurable ; and various modes were resorted to, to procure speedy dissolution. Parents stifled their children, and children their parents, with much charity, as they supposed, to end their sufferings. Scarcely a century asfo, in France and England, persons afflicted with hydrophobia were hastened out of the world, that their sufferings might be shortened.

But we have every reason to suppose that no idea could be more erroneous, nor any custom more absurd and cruel. What appear to us to be the contortions of physical anguish, are frequently merely the effects of disease upon the body, the pains of which do not reach the soul. Montaigne mentions an instance of death which came under his own observation. The body of his friend was writhir>g in apparent agony ; cold perspiration ran down the cheek, and the dying man gave all the usual evidences of the most terrible anguish. His friends aroused him, and entreated him to hear their voices. He roused, and exclaimed, " Who is it that torments me thus'? Why was I snatched from my deep and pleasant repose ? Oh ! why do you thus deprive me of needed rest V^

Men know that death, in its physical anguish, does not equal the pains which they suffer in life, and which often arise from the most trivial causes. The exposure of a nerve in a decayed tooth, the breaking of a limb, if we can believe the testimony of the dying, has often more anguish than the last struggle itself. Hence we must look to some other source for an explanation of the universal horror le ANGEL WHISPERS.

of dying. We think the words of Paul, which stand at the head of this article, will explain the secret :

The sting of death is sin.

Whether death would ever have been in our world, had sin not entered first, we scarcelj^ know. We can hardly conceive of any arrangement by which bodies such as we have now could be kept in this world forever. And yet we know not how much they were changed by the fall of our first parents. They might have been imperishable once, but changed and corrupted in consequence of transgression. The body of Christ is now on high ; it waits for the last judgment ; it has been incorruptible eighteen hundred years, and it may remain the same eighteen hundred years to come. It is possi- ^ ble, and perhaps probable, that the body of the first Adam was like that now worn by the second Adam, as the result of his splendid victory over death and the grave. If so, it might have continued here until the present hour, and Adam might have held communion with all his children.

But whether this would have been the case or not, has been concealed from us. It is a thing not essential to our present happiness, and is one of the points which we shall dwell upon, and understand hereafter. But of another fact we are certain. While God has left us in ignorance of what would

Lave become of the body, whether it would have remained here, or been removed in some other way to heaven, we are not left in ignorance of the fact, that death, in its present dreadful forms, was introduced into the world by sin, and that sin gives to it its sting, and its terror, and its dreadful dominion. Were there no sin, there would be no fear of dissolution. If death was the appointed passage from earth to heaven, from terrestrial to celestial life, man would lie down and die as calmly as he retires to sleep ; >he would enter the grave with as much composure as he now enters his own dwelling, shutting the door behind him*

Whatever physical suffering death brings with it, whatever pains and pangs it ministers to its victims, whatever fears of mind and dread of a future state it yields, may all be set down to the account of sin. When you see your friend in anguish — when you witness the contortions of his body, and hear him tell you of the awful foreboding that all will not be well beyond the grave, you may say, '' sin, this is thy work !" When you see the hearse rolling along to the sepulcher, to deposit its burden there — when you see whole families arrayed in mourning, and whole communities stricken with grief, you can say, " sin, thou hast done this !" When you hear from the bloodless lips, and the cold grave, and the vailed mourner, and the flood of tears over buried affection, the solemn sentence, ^' Man goeth to his long home, and his mourners go about the streets,'' you may say, " O sin, this ruin thou hast made !"

How often does the parent blame God for the removal of his child ! how often does the husband murmur at God because his wife is removed ! how often is He, the sinless One, made the cause of the heavy woes which roll over our way ! How often does the dying sinner curse his Maker for those frightful visions of future retribution which throng around him and flit before him ! But why blame God? why complain of the Almighty? Sin has done it ; sin is doing it ; sin will continue to do it. God did, indeed, take your child, your wife, your friend, but sin made it necessary ; and every pang which wrung the heart, and every sorrow which swept through the soul, was the result of sin. Blame that, curse that, hate that.

But we further learn that

The strength of sin is the law.

Where there is no law, sin is not imputed. Had God given no law to man, he had not known sin. Sin is indeed sin, wherever it is committed. A lie is a lie ; theft is theft ; murder is murder, by whoever done. The maniac, the idiot, the child, may lie and steal ; but to their offense there will be no strength. There is no sense of wrong. God nor man will hold these persons responsible. They are not responsible persons. But let the idiot bo gifted with mind, the maniac restored to reason, the child gro\s up to manhood, and the law comes in ; they are now responsible, and cannot do the same sins without fearful guilt. The law is of various kinds. The written law, the law in every man's own conscience, and the universal conviction as to right and wrong. We have the law on paper ; the heathen have the law written, more imperfectly indeed, on the heart. Each one is a law unto himself, his conscience accusing or excusing him. This law gives sin its terrible strength, alters the very character of our transgressions, and places us in a new attitude before God. Sin was in the world before the law came, but man was not charged with it, because his mind was not informed, his judgment was not enlightened, and his conscience was not alive. There was a time when there was in the world no law against polygamy. It was as much wrong then as it is now, but the offense was of no force, because the law had not forbidden it. But when the law came, the arrangement of society v/hich had appeared to be a virtue was seen to be a vice, and none could commit it without great guilt. " The days of this ignorance Gou winked at,'' as a scripture writer expresses it, ^' but now commando th all men everywhere to repent.'' Hence we can see the reason why men dread the dying hour, and put it as far off as possible. They have had a Law, and broken it. They are about to enter into the presence of the Being who made the law, and pass a severe trial. The law is to be applied to them, and they are to stand its test. The sinner knows he cannot do it. He feels his inability to meet its violated and insulted claims. He is the criminal conducted by death down through a passage, long, dark, damp, and dismal, into the court-room of the universe, where, before an assembled world, he is to be tried. The sting of every criminal's sorrow is his crime ; the strength of his crime is the sacredness of the law he has broken. Arrest and imprisonment have no sting, if there be no crime. There was no sting to the confinement of Bunyan in Bedford jail ; there was no sting to the confinement of John on the island of Patmos ; nor was there any sting to Bunyan's death on Snow Hill, or to the decease of John amid the disciples at Ephesus.

The clearer view a man has of the law, the keener will be his anguish when he dies. The more intimately he has been made acquainted with what God requires of him, the more he will shrink from an investigation of his course. Hence the man who has been brought up under all the blaze of Gospel light, who has had Christian parents and religious influences, will often feel the most alarm • when he lies upon the bed of death. He feels then that his little sins are of more consequence and of deeper guilt, than the robberies and murders of men who have had no light, and have been surrounded by no Gospel privileges. The law — the law — gives a terrible strength to all his fears, and he enters the cold grave with shivering limbs and a trembling heart. But for that law, written in the Gospel, inscribed on his heart, and repeated every day of his life, he might die in peace ; but now there is a sting to sin, and the strength of that sin is the law which he has broken.

But the Gospel makes a glorious announcement, viz., a victory over sin and death is gained.

" Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ. ^V The victory gained by the Chrisian over death and sin is most decisive. To secure this great end was one great purpose of the Saviour's advent. The sentence of death was pronounced upon man, as a consequence of his transgressions. It came as the result of his free, voluntary disobedience to a divine law ; it came as an enemy, as a terrible agent, to work out the punishment due to sin. *It was called, and understood to be, the king of terrors, and in this terrible aspect appeared to 'all its victims. 2

The object of Christ's coming was to change the relations between death and man, to remove its terrors, and make the future world yield a prospect of happiness and pleasure. This He did first, by pouring light upon the grave and upon the future state. Before He came, all was dark and dismal. The disciples of the old philosophers could learn nothing from their teachers on the subject. Between the wisest men and the future state a thick vail was drawn, and the glories of the one were concealed from the blinded vision of the other. But Christ astonished the world by the announcement of a future life, removed the blank uncertainty which was around death, and arrayed eternity in new forms of beauty and attractiveness.

But there is another view in which Christ achieved a victory over death, and thus enabled us to share His conquest, and become the partakers of His triumph. By His own death He brought death itself into subjection, changed it from a tyrant to a servant, and now lives to give all His people deliverance from its dangers. There is no view in which death may be looked upon by the disciple of Christ as a terror. Faith in Christ, as a vicarious atonement, entitles us to all the benefits of His crucifixion, in which is included a complete and everlasting victory over death and the grave. As the believer approaches the tombj he find« a thousand lights glowing in its once dark abodes ; when he meets with death, he finds that the monster's sting has been removed, and he who was once the king of terrors has become the boatman of the Lord to bear His children across the dark and rapid ri^er, which divides us from our joyful inheritance. Sin was once the sting of death, but sin has been washed out and blotted away. The strength of sin once was the law, but now the law finds in Christ a perfect obedience, and appropriates His merits to all who live in Him. Hence Paul asks, with rapture, " death, where is thy sting ? grave, where is thy victory?'' The one was torn out ; the other was changed to defeat. But for the death of Christ, not one star would shine upon the tomb ; not one hope would cheer the dying ; not one note of victory would fall upon the ear of the lost. But Christ having come, liaving entered into the grave, having tasted deathfor all men, those who believe in Him will conquer though they die, and triumph even when they fall. Corresponding with this is the dying testimony of believers in all ages and climes. The cultivated Europeans, and the ignorant and unlettered Hindoos, have been cheered in the last hours by the same faith. Sinners out of Christ have found the grave as deep and dark, the form of death as terrible, as ever ; believers in Christ have found the grave a resting-place, and death their kindest friend. They have gone down into the tomb, saying, " When Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall we also appear with Him in glory •'' They do not die : they only sleep.

" They cannot die, whose spirits here Were one with Christ, their living head —

They cannot die, Though the time- wasted sepulcher. In which their vestiges are laid.

Crumbling in dust may lie.

" They are not dead, whose ashes fill The melancholy house of clay —

They are not dead ; They live in brighter glory still. Than ever cheered their earthly way. Full beaming round their head/'

But yesterday I read the thrilling description of the death of a young disciple, who, trusting in Christ, went as calmly down into the grave as to her bed at night, and gained, through Jesus, a nobler conquest than ever history recorded for the proudest of earthly warriors. To her, death was a valley, not of tears, but of life, light, and glory, and she walked on without fear. Such a deathscene has more true dignity and grandeur than the demise of kings 'and emperors. 'Twas thus described ;

*^ About her chamber glided gently the loved forms of her parents, and only sister. She silently noted their movements with a mild expression of her dying eye, turning it from side to side. Arrested by her peculiar look, so expressive of affliction and patient suffering, they paused to look upon her, whom they only saw now but dimly through their tears, and so soon should see no more.

" A feeble effort to speak, a quivering, voiceless movement of the lips, drew closely around her the loving hearts of that sorrowing circle. Mother, father, sister, all came closer to her side. A playful smile lit up her countenance. She laid her little pulseless hand within her mother's palm, then closed her eyelids to the light of earth, and sank away. The cold, damp air of death's shadowy valley seemed circling over her. Slowly sinking down, she glided toward that river's shore, which, like a narrow stream, divides the spirit-land from ours. But see ! the quivering lips essay to speak ! ^ Mother !' how each heart throbbed now, and then each pulse stood still. They listen. ' Mother !' the dying girl breathes forth, ' I — see — a light — I'm almost home !' "

And now her home is in the region of light. She walks in white, she dwells with pure spirits, and her resting-place is with infinite holiness*

Another, who was near death — aye, in the very swellings of the tumultuous Jordan — was seen to whisper. Kind friends hovered o'er the dying form, and listened. No murmur, no complaint, they heard, but a sweet and simple lay, breathed out from dying lips 1

" My Saviour, be thou near me

Through life's night ; I cry, and thou wilt hear me:

Be my light.

My dim sight aching, Gently thou'rt making Meet for awaking,

Where all is bright.

" Through time's swelling ocean

Be my guide ; From tempests' wild commotion ««

Hide ! oh, hide !

Life's crystal river Storms ruffle never ; Anchor me ever

On that calm tide."

Does it occur to us that we all must die, and go to our long home? Death will come to us as a kind friend, or as a terrible enemy. If he sees on our brow the mark of the Lord Jesus, his master, he will do our bidding, nor treat us harshly. If he does not behold that mark, he will be, indeed, the king of terrors, to hurry us down into his dark dominions, along avenues which, though often explored, are never lighted by divine grace.

The death-dirge of the German poet, written for himself, in view of his own voyage over a fathomless sea, is now, or will be soon, our dirge and lament :

" By the shore of time now lying, On the inky flood beneath, Patiently, thou Soul undying.

Waits for thee the Ship of Death !

" He who on that vessel starteth. Sailing from the sons of men, To the friends from whom he partethi Never more returns again !

" From her mast no flag is flying, To denote from whence she came ; She is known unto the dying — AzAEL is her captain's name,

** Not a word was ever spoken On that dark, unfathom'd sea; Silence there is so unbroken, She herself seems not to be.

** Silent thus, in darkness lonely, Doth the Soul put forth alone, While the wings of angels only- Waft her to a Land Unknown."

death ! soon for me thou wilt call — soon from the shores of the living my spirit shall be summoned into the world unknown ; but thanks be to God who giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ. 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 ; and not to me only, but to all them also who love His appearing.

II. Thy brother shall rise again. — Jesus

In the beautiful life of Jesus, recorded by four inspired men, are many sweet and tender scenes, in which goodness clothed in flesh is seen ministering at the couch of frailty and depravity, or mourning over the sorrows of bereavement and gloom. To the mothers and daughters of Judea, Christ was indeed an angel of mercy, moving from dwelling to dwelling, and from city to city, with the sole purpose of binding up broken hearts, wiping away flowing tears, and bringing gladness to the afflicted and distressed. While the rich, the honored, and the prosperous refused to receive Him, the poor and desolate welcomed Him to their homes, and carried His image on their hearts.

The case now presented to our minds by the single sentence which stands at the head of this article, is an affecting instance of syinpathy for human Buffering, and power in relieving it.

In the town of Bethany lived two sisters, who so ANGEL WHISPERS.

ministered to the wants of an only brother. Their parents were dead, and they lived in the memory of the past, unblest by the riches and honors of the present. But while denied some of the luxuries and comforts of wealth, they had the joys of simple innocence and Christian love. They had heard the preaching of the Nazarine, had become His disciples, and had often entertained Him at their scanty board. Their house was open for his friends,' and to all the disciples at Jerusalem brother Lazarus was known as one who loved the saints, and who ministered to their wants. But he became sick. The hand of disease was laid upon him, his joys withered, and his cheerfulness fled. The first thought of the sisters was to send for Jesus. A messenger was dispatched to say to the Saviour, " Him whom thou lovest is sick.'' On receiving this intelligence the Lord exhibited no anxiety or alarm. He attended to other matters as usual, and at the end of two days called His disciples to accompany Him on His journey, at the same time informing them that Lazarus was dead. On the reception of this news, one said one thing and one another ; and Thomas, more impulsive than the rest, in his love of his departed friend, said, " Let us also go that we may die with him.''. Their journey commenced. With weeping eyes and sorrowing hearts they entered the town of Bethany^ and met Martha coining out to meet them. As soon as she saw Christ, she said, " Lord, if thou hadst been here my brother had not died,'^ The reply of Jesus was calm and firm, " Thy brother shall rise again.'' Martha did not understand Him, and supposed He referred to the resurrection of the great day.

Jesus seized the occasion to impress the minds of those around Him with a great doctrinal truth. From the present "sorrow He carried them on to the general resurrection, and declared himself to be the resurrection and life, and presented himself as the way by which the dead might live, and the living never die. When He had finished His discourse He moved on to the tomb, followed by the two sisters, the disciples, and a large company of the people of Bethany. As He went, " Jesus wept," and when He arrived at the grave He freely mingled His tears with theirs. His human nature, as weak and frail as others, gave way to grief, and with groans and tears bowled himself before the sepulcher. The Jews who were around were affected by His grief. They saw how sincere it was, and said one to another, " Behold how He loved him !'' After having wept awhile. He arose and wiped His tears away, and commanded that the stone sliould be rolled away from the door of the cave in which Lazarus was sleeping. Martha, as yet uninformed as to the Saviour's purpose, remonstrated, and declared that decomposition and decay had already commenced. But Christ still persisted. His countenance, which a moment since was full of sadness and bathed in tears, was now beaming with heavenly confidence. The man had disappeared and the God stood before the tomb. The stone was taken away, and after breathing a short prayer to heaven, the Saviour cried, " Lazarus, come forth. '^ A single moment, and deep and awful stillness hung over that little company, and but for a moment. A rustling was heard within, and out came the grave-bound man, and fell weeping into the arms of his sisters. In this miracle of Christ we find love and power, humanity and divinity, strangely and beautifully blended together. In all the former part of the scene Christ appears as a man, having human weakness and infirmity, and bowing under the weight of human sympathy and sorrow. The death of His friend seems to have made all the impression upon Him that it would have made upon one of us. He wept as freely. He loved as fondly, He sorrowed as deeply as could we on a similar occasion, and all around were mourning as much on His account as on account of Lazarus. The man Jesus pervades the scene ; the man is in the foreground ; the man draws all attention and fixes all observation. But soon he rises. His tears are gone. His sorrow-stricken countenance assumes

DEATH OF A BROTHLR. 33

an expression of jo}^ and hope. New splendors beam around his head. He seems cLinging from weakness to strength, from sorrow -to bliss, from man to God. All around mark the change and bow their heads, and while they thus remain the order is given, and the dead man, obeying the voice of his master, comes out of his tomb. Here is God as plainly seen as was the man but a moment before ; God conquering death, overcoming the grave, and gaining a victory for His friend and follower.

Who has not lost a brother ^ endeared to us by the ties of nature, marriage, or affection ? Who has not been called to bury some beloved form, over whom we have said with Thomas, ^^ Let us also go that we may die with him ?" What heart has not been torn by having the bands of nature broken 1 To that heart comes the joyful intelligence, ^^ Thy brother shall arise again. '^ The grave will not always hold him. Was he Christ's 1 Did he die with faith in Christ 1 Then he will rise ; he will leave his tenement of dust; he will come out to meet his weeping sisters and his mourning friends.

If you ask, '' when will he rise T' I reply, not now. It is better that he should not be recalled to life. No miracle will He put forth to bring him back to earth before his time. It is God's will that his dust should mingle with its kindred dust, be swept, scattered, and dissolved. But on the morning of ^ the resurrection he will rise again This corruptible must put on incorruption ; this mortal must be arrayed in immortality. The resurrection of Christ is the pledge and proof of our resurrection. If the dead rise not, then is not Christ raised ; and if Christ be not raised, your faith is vain. But now Christ has risen from the dead and become the first fruits of them that slept, for since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead, for as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive. In view of such a doctrine, it is not surprising that the apostle should launch out into such vehement declarations of victory over death, and conquest over the grave. He knew that no grave could hold him long, no worms consume him entirely, no shroud forever wind his body. He heard by faith the voice of Christ saying to all believers, " Come forth,'' and in that great and miraculous invitation he was included. The monster death lay stingless at his feet ; by faith he rises a victor over the tomb. The same hope remains to every child of God. The same precious consolation is reserved for every one who has lost a pious friend.