Meditations on death and eternity

Front matter

A^ s

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Part I

It is fulfilled ! once — to the cross fast bound, His bitterest hour past — the Saviour cried,

His flesh transpierced with wounds, his head thorn-crowned, Cried he to Him in whom he could confide ;

Nor vainly cried he, for the hour drew nigh

That ended all his mortal agony.

It is fulfilled ! Though yet a short delay,

I also once must cry, and that erelong ; Then shall I go where tears are wiped away,

Where sickness cometh never more, nor wrong : The heart that 's filled with love and trusting faith Knows what it still may hope for, e'en in death.

F we mortals could foresee from our

cradle all the events and sufferings

that await us, many would tremble

more at life than at the closing act

of it which we call death.

Life has often been metaphorically represented as a journey begun without our willing it, and ended without our willing it. On we speed with restless haste. We set out in the dim dawn of morning, emerging from the unknown depths of night, and hurrying towards another night. From beginning to end it is the work of God.

Minutes vanish, hours fly past us : fain would we linger among the first flowers that smile to us in the rosy morn of youth ! But a hidden power urges us on, the flowers fall withered from our hand, the hot midday sun of life is already glowing above our heads. We discover shady spots, whose refreshing shelter invites us to repose ; and gladly would we rest. But no ! we must speed on. We endeavor in vain to hold fast the joys we find by the wayside. They escape. Already the sunset reddens the sky, and behind the lurid glare night is stealthily approaching. Willingly would we pause to enjoy, in longer draughts, the coolness of the lovely evening. But onwards ! onwards ! cries an unknown voice. We cling in vain to the objects we meet, to stay the speed of our progress. It is but a futile effort ; they are carried along with us down the rapid stream. The colors of the sunset fade ; darkness envelops all things ; light is extinguished ; earth vanishes ; our senses rest ; the journey is accomplished. We are surrounded by night ; men have forgotten us.

Such is our lot. We all know it. You do not shudder at the night from which you have emerged into this life, — why should you shudder at the night into which you are to pass? Are these wonderful transformations of existence your own work ? No ; they are the unalterable consequences of the wise laws of a Higher Power.

What, then, is that which we call to die ? To go out like a light, and in a sweet trance to forget ourselves and all the passing phenomena of the day, as we forget the phantoms of a fleeting dream ; to form, as in a dream, new connections with God's world ; to enter into a more exalted sphere, and to make a new step up man's graduated ascent of creation.

We know naught of the world beyond this ; nor can it be revealed or expressed to mortal man, because it exceeds all his previous experiences, and he lacks the senses wherewith to comprehend it. How could you explain to one born blind the feeling of delight awakened in you by the contemplation of a beautiful form, or by the spectacle of early morn in spring among flowers ? If the soul of an animal should ever be clad in human form, and with this should receive the light of reason, would this new human soul, do you think, long to return to its first animal state, when in dull monotony it could only brood over the present as it passed by, and know of naught but what was immediately before it ?

Why, then, do we fear death, which is but the certain transition to a better state ? Why do we, when we think of dissolution, treasure more highly our existence as it is ; although there are but few among us who, if they had the choice, would care to live their life over again, with its many hours of suffering, its follies and its selftorturings, unless they might be allowed to introduce some changes ?

There are two sources from whence spring the fear of death, which more especially deserve our attention.

1. The Deity himself has intimately interwoven with our whole being an instinctive love of life. Hence the general: revolt of our nature against dissolution in all its forms.

Were it not for this strong and almost unconquerable love of life, were it not for this natural shrinking from death, the earth would already now be a depopulated desert. Man has to encounter in this world numberless dangers, which would long ago have destroyed him, had not the love of life given him courage to resist them, and had not this courage, in its turn, given him the power to conquer them. To many a man his selfinflicted sufferings, or even his blind fear of misfortune, soon render life intolerable, and he would sink down before he had attained the goal of his journey, did not his dread of the dark mystery of the grave make him gird himself up, and reconcile him to the labors of the day. Already, dark despair with dim-eyed frenzy approaches the brink of the abyss, and resolves upon passing over into the quiet land of death; but life puts on new smiles, and hope, which ever accompanies it, plucks the dagger from the upraised hand. It is the Divine will that we should live to ripen for a higher destiny; therefore have we been bound to life by the tenderest yet strongest ties.

Without this passionate love of life, the continuation of our existence after death would be indifferent to us, and we should never earnestly set about preparing ourselves for higher perfection. But the passion for life is implanted in us, and with it follows the desire for continued existence even after the change in death. And to the hope of eternity is joined the feeling of the necessity of rendering ourselves worthy of a higher life hereafter.

Thus this inborn love, this instinctive clinging to life, becomes to us a Divine revelation of the continuance of our existence after death. And not only has the Christian received this spirit-stirring revelation through Christ Jesus, but to ail nations of the earth it has been vouchsafed.

The wildest savage who roams the woods in still undiscovered lands looks with the same joyous hope towards eternity as did the sage of antiquity.

But man errs grossly when he allows this instinctive love to degenerate into an unnatural and tormenting passion for life, which leads him to entertain an unreasonable fear of death, and to place an exaggerated value upon existence here on earth.

In many cases it is only a morbid state of the body which causes us to surround death in imagination with shadowy terrors, — a tendency to melancholy, which, when permitted to gain ground, harasses us with a constant and blind dread of dissolution. Not the real change which takes place in death, but the false images of it which float before the imagination, are calculated to awaken terror ; and these man has himself created for his own torment.

This distressing tendency of mind is frequently nothing more than the result of a too sedentary life, and the consequent thickening of the humors of the body, and the obstruction by these of the delicate play of the nerves. It may sometimes be more readily overcome by exercise, work, and amusement, than by the best-founded consolatory arguments. The condition of a person who is in constant dread of illness, or of death, is very sad, and it would be advisable to consign him to the care of a skilful physician.

We ought never, either to ourselves or to others, to depict death and the grave in more sombre colors than in reality belong to either. Gloomy images of this kind only serve to disturb the imagination, and they exercise a baneful influence over weak minds.

The dying are as little conscious of the transition from life to d^nth as the weary are aware of the transition from the waking to the sleeping state. We have known many persons who on the last bed of sickness have awaited with full consciousness the moment of dissolution, and have even predicted • it. Their imaginations had not been previously excited, they fell asleep smiling and without a fear, as should every Christian who believes in God, and who treasures up in a pious heart a full trust in his infinite goodness. That change which the spectator who stands by the bedside sees in the face of the dying, they see not themselves. Illness may be painful ; its cessation cannot be so.

When we shudder at the sight of the lifeless corpse, which lies before us cold and stiff, pale and breathless, having no sympathy with our feelings, no pity for our tears, as though it had never belonged to us, and never known us, this shudder is caused by self-deception only. If we look narrowly into ourselves at such times, we shall find that we pity the dead for all he has lost. But he knows of no loss. We picture to ourselves how tenderly he loved us, how he would fain have remained with us, how he has been separated from us by an unknown hand, and how vainly we sought to keep him back. But the dead knows naught of this, and even in his last days and hours these sad thoughts and feelings w r ere far less vividly present to him than they are generally to persons in health. He has vanished from the realm of this life, and has left to us his ashes, his earthly raiment, this icy statue, which we loved when it was animated by the soul, but which never belonged to him, and which will now return to the elements out of which it was gradually built up.

Not to death itself belongs terror, but to the fancies we connect with it. Carry your mind away from these to the simple fact, and it will lose most of its gloom in your eyes.

Another unnatural deviation from the instinctive love of life that God has implanted in us, is the passionate clinging to life which many persons evince, and the undue value which they attach to it. Life has no value except in as far as we use it for perfecting our souls, for enriching our minds with nobler qualities, -and for spreading happiness around us. When we can no longer do this, when, as in extreme old age, all hope of again being able to exert ourselves in this way ceases, then this life has lost its highest value, and a new existence becomes desirable.

Exalted souls, ye know of nobler possessions than life ! Ye who have gone to meet the hero's death for the freedom and welfare of your fatherland and thousands of oppressed fellow-citizens ; ye who, to uphold «the truth of Jesus Christ's religion, have courageously chosen the path of the grave ; ye who have preferred death to a life without dignity and without virtue, — ye knew the true value of existence. Ye died courageously in the service of virtue, in the performance of heavenly deeds. Your death is more enviable than the life of thousands ! Ye blessed ones, ye teach those that remain behind what their lives ought to be. (Matt. xvi. 25.)

Life has no worth except through our virtues, through the happiness that we prepare for others. He therefore, who, like the animal, only lives to satisfy his hunger and his thirst, without any effort to prepare his mind for a future nobler existence ; he who lives merely to tickle his palate with daintier viands and more exquisite wines than other men ; he who lives but to clothe his body in finer raiment than other men, to satisfy his vanity and to display his miserable pride, — futilities that must vanish on the brink of the grave, — his existence has no worth, his death deserves no tear.

Frequently, again, the passionate clinging to life is but a consequence of too great a love and anxiety for those we may leave behind us. We tremble at death because it will tear us from the arms of a beloved husband or wife. We shrink back from the grave because, when we shall descend into it, dear children will stand around it, — poor orphans without education? without protection, without support.

For this reason we often see that young persons, who have no innocent dear ones depending on them, die more composedly than parents, whose eyes are fixed lovingly upon their children. But even in such cases the mind of a Christian ought not to be overwhelmed by the fear of death. It is not thou, O father, nor thou, O mother, who hast hitherto protected thy child : it is God ! God is the father of the orphan ; the same God who watches over the life and the well-being of the humblest worm. If he wills the welfare of thy children, verily no human power shall prevail against them. If God should call thee from them, hasten joyfully to the Heavenly Father ; the time will come when he will call thy children also.

2. The second chief source whence springs the fear of death, is the turning away of men's hearts from the eternal truths of religion.

You are, it is true, baptized in Christ ; you confess him in the Holy Supper; you perform the customary rites of religion ; but do you also walk in the spirit of Christ and of his commandments ? Are you conscious of your God, and at one with him in the depths of a pious heart ? Do you at all times walk in the ways of the Lord ? Do you at all times aim at being just ? Do you do all the good that is in your power ? Have you made peace with your enemies ? Is your conscience troubled by the remembrance of secret sins ?

The religious man stands highest in the human scale on earth. With his eyes fixed on eternity, with his hands stretched forth to do good, he walks in and with God ; calm amid storms and tempests, blessed with the peace that God alone can bestow. But never does the sublimity of religion appear in a more beneficent light than in the hour of death, or even when connected with the mere thought of the tomb. It is then that its most blessed power is revealed.

A sensual, uncultivated man, when he thinks of death, feels the fearful isolation of his spirit, and anticipates the annihilation of all that he possesses. What is his spirit when deprived of that which has hitherto constituted its delights? He has never contemplated a higher destiny ; what is to become of him then when he loses the earthly things, which alone he knows and values ? He is descending into the grave, and behind him he leaves merry feasts, gilded honors, costly garments, the flatteries of parasites, the obsequiousness of dependents, the heaped-up treasures which covetous heirs rush to divide. Poorer than the beggar that used to hang about his door he stands before the portals of eternity: he has lost his all; he knew but owe world, — his earthly home. What is now to become of him?

O religion, O sweet peace of conscience, and thou, O union of my soul with the Most High, do not abandon me ! Alas for him who only stretches forth his arms towards you, when all earthly things are melting away! Alas for him who does not fix his eyes on a higher existence until he feels this sublunary world giving way under his feet !

O Jesus, in thy holy revelation I will live, and in it I will die. Blessed is the power of thy word ; to it the power of death must yield. I live to thee, and I shall not die. There is no death, there is no grave ; it is but change and glorification. God is no God of death ; he is our life. He created life, and my spirit is his work. My spirit is life, while it animates my body, and remains life, when the dust, which for a time clothed it as a garment, and which was to it as an instrument, returns again to dust.

Heavenly and eternal Father, Source of all being, thou from whom I spring, unto whom I shall return, — thine I shall ever be ! Sweet is life, in truth, but death has nevertheless no terrors ; no fear of it shall overwhelm me, shall turn me away from thee and from the path of virtue. I hold as naught the days that I do not adorn with good deeds ; I hold as naught a life which I cannot glorify by virtue.

And me also, me also, O God, thou wilt call unto thyself when my hour comes, when my earthly goal is reached. Blessed shall I then be if I can say unto myself, I have fought a good fight ; as far as my powers allowed, I have completed a life of well-doing; the crown of eternal life awaits me also !

And when in the last hour I have to taste the bitterness of death, to drain the final cup of trial ; when my stiffened hand can no longer bestow a 2 blessing on my loved ones, from whose sorrowful eyes the tears of parting are falling on my pillow, my closed lips can no longer utter words of love, of love true unto death; when the stir of the world and all the sweet sounds of life cease to fall upon my ear, — then, then, O Lord ! I commend my soul to thee. Joyfully I turn away my dimmed eyes from those who are dear to my heart, for I know they are in thy keeping. Thou abidest with them as thou abidest with me, forevermore in the regions of eternal life.

No, I fear not death, Father of life! For death is not eternal sleep ; it is the transition to a new life, a moment of great and glorious transformation, an ascension towards Thee.

Yet we cannot deem unpardonable the tear that is wept over the bier of a beloved object. O Source of all Love, thine eye penetrates our inmost being. Thou seest the bleeding heart of the mother standing by the coffin of her child, which carries with it into the grave her brightest hopes. Thou knowest the heart-rending grief of the father who has, by the death of a beloved son or daughter, been bereft of every happmess in this life. May thy Spirit, the blessed Comforter, penetrate our souls, and inspire with its strength our poor human hearts ! Alas ! we are but mortals. We are overwhelmed by the power of the moment : angels would in such moments praise thee !

Finally, the death of our loved one sweetens our

FEAR OF DEATH.

own death, which leads us towards eternal reunion. The affectionate words of Christ are an earnest to us of a more joyful futurity. We also shall one day be with our loved ones in paradise. Amen, O God and Father! So be it. Amen.

FEAR OF DEATH.