THE art of piety, in which Paul excelled, consisted by no means in this, that he never thought of himself, but always of others.
Rather on the contrary Paul is every time and continuously busy with himself, and in almost every epistle you observe something personal of him.
No, but herein glistened the art of holy religion with Paul, that all his activity with his own person always came down again to the question, how in and with his own person he might make great the name of his Lord.
Thus no false mysticism, which loses itself in the effort, to cast himself away; but much more the sense of duty and calling, to make his own person, with all the talents, God had implanted therein, an instrument for God’s glory.
This now is most strongly evident, when the holy apostle thinks of his own last end.
For when it comes to this, the involuntary sensation common to most people is: “Might that end in my case be deferred far, yea, yet very far, as far as possible.”
And when serious sickness overtakes us, or when strength declines so perceptibly, that you scarcely dare to entertain any more hope, the second desire arises in us, that the Lord our God might make our dying as easy and calm as possible.
And when the sickness takes such a turn, that we can still think with sufficient clearness, to be busy with what comes after death, in that condition one utters mostly the third prayer, that after death one’s soul may be safe with his Savior.
If now you hear Paul on the other hand, you must acknowledge yourself, that this man of God had made further advances.
Of that cleaving to life there was no more mention with him. His desire rather was to be unbound and to be with Christ.
Of easy and calm dying he had no thought. He well knew, that he was to die on the scaffold, and therefore he exclaimed: “As a drink-offering I am to be offered.”
And about his salvation he was not in the leastwise troubled, for with full assurance of faith he knew, “That there was laid up for him a crown of righteousness” (II Tim. 4, 8).
No, all he was concerned about was, “Whether Christ would be magnified, also by his death” (Phil. 1, 20).
NOW you yourself grant, that only this is the real; and that in such a noble word the art of piety celebrates a rare triumph.
And when you ask, wherein lay the secret of this art, he himself discovers this to you, when immediately he adds: “For to me to die is gain” (Phil. 1, 21).
As for himself, he would not hesitate one moment. So far as he was concerned, he would rather die to-day than to-morrow. And that he is ready to continue the pilgrim-journey yet farther, is merely because, he does not yet clearly know and perceive, whereby he shall magnify yet more the name of Christ, by continuing his struggle upon earth, or by just dying now.
THUS all his strength consisted in this, that he lived in the full assurance of faith.
No anxiousness and no being tossed about. No cleaving to and no hankering after. No halfway consent and yet again not.
There is never strength in this. This wearies and murders the soul. This is holding faith under, instead of letting it healthfully flourish.
And Ministry of the Word, that degrades itself in feeding and coddling these endless troubles and uncertainties of faith, stands therefore guilty before God; for so all spiritual elasticity in God’s child and in God’s church is broken.
What the Ministry of the Word must do is to steady feeble knees and lift up hands that hang down, and from the root itself of faith let the full, rich, glad assurance of faith spring up as the fragrant flower.
He who does not know and confesses: “I have been apprehended of my God, because chosen: and, when I die, now or ten years hence, the golden harp and palm-branch await me!” has really no count among the satellites and holy picked troops of the Lord.
Satan, who is always on the alert, to move you this way and that as a reed; but Christ’s church must establish you in fixedness.
So Paul, so our fathers understood it, and therefore they were so disciplined in the holy art of religion, which is nothing else than the art of faith.
For me to die is gain.
Not perhaps; possibly; if at least the Lord grants me grace.
No, but positively; as something that stands wall-sure and speaks of itself.
Not only does he not lose by dying, but he gains thereby. His lot and condition shall improve thereby. And that nevertheless he is ready to go on living, is only because it must never be the question, whether he gains, but how there may be greatest gains for Christ’s name.
For me to die is gain. Does this mean to say, that Paul represented dying to himself as so easy a matter, and that he had no knowledge of the bitterness of death?
But we already reminded you, how he saw ahead of him no other dying than on the scaffold, by the violence of human hands; and as regards death, who else than Paul called him: the last enemy?
No, the man who jubilated: “For me to die is gain,” was by no means a sentimental person, who set store by it, that after his death it would be reported to his friends, that Paul had fallen asleep, O, so easily and calmly.
Better than any one this wondrous man of Tarsus knew, that even after dying there still follows the state of deprivation; that, as he expresses it, we shall then be “unclothed”; shall miss our body and world of our life; and that this must last until the time of the consummation of the ages, and Christ returns, and He makes us rise again in our glorified body, only after that in the realm of glory to reign with Him as kings.
Illusions this hero of faith knew none.
Clearly and soberly he realized, what at dying, in dying and after dying would happen with him.
And still he gloried: “For me to die is gain,” because his life on earth was so full of struggle and anxiety; because trouble and vexation every time again overwhelmed his heart; and above all because then he would be delivered from the body of this death, to be eternally with his Jesus.
ALSO for you, when your sick-room becomes your prison and your end draws near, it is thus necessary, that clearly and soberly you picture to yourself, what, when the last moment comes, is to happen with you; what shall happen with you in the dying itself; and where and how you will find yourself, when your soul has been torn asunder from your body.
In that dying there always remains a bitter cup to be drunk, for it is in opposition to our nature. And as a child of God it does not behoove you, to talk this away, to put it away from you, or to cover it over with flowers. With that sacred courage, which can shine out equally in the heart of man and woman, you must look death in the face, but death as one who has been overcome of your Lord and Savior.
And rest, peace for your inner sense in that face of death can only be yours, when you are sure, that also upon this winter there follows a spring; and know for yourself and of yourself, that that death shall no more be for you a wage for your sin, but the entrance upon life eternal.
Still to be spared in life can and may be the prayer of your heart; provided it be not for yourself; for that always implies, that you still count the termination of your life here as loss, and in the continuance of life here still see gain. A token, that you do not know the struggle and the shame for Jesus’ sake, and the “being forever with the Lord” you esteem indeed very highly, but ever yet esteem it inferior to the happiness which you now enjoy.
And now I do not say, that every child of God always therefore stands right in this matter. Nature asserts itself strongly. And sometimes the glory of the stars on high has gone in hiding behind heavy clouds. But in moments of clear limpid faith the soul must be brought to terms, and dying must never menace you as loss, but always glisten before you as gain.
ONLY two things can dying make you pray for. First, for what Paul says: “To abide in the flesh is more needful for you” (Phil. 1, 24); and secondly, for what he assures us: not to know as yet whether he can magnify Jesus’ name more by still continuing in life, or by dying already now.
A high, very high standpoint, to be sure, and yet not too high, but the common and normal standpoint of the child of God.
Yet this also shows in a dreadful way, how deeply God’s people have more and more sunken away from the high standpoint of faith; for in all honesty, in what sick-room, or on what dyingbed do you now hear of such deliberations? More still, how many are the dyingbeds, of which you can say, that the name of the Lord is magnified by them?
Truly no complaint is made of this, arrogantly to look down upon others, for where is the man, who can put this question, without thereby including himself?
This comes of it, that, yielding to the spirit of the age, Death is passed by in silence, and in preaching also the great question of dying has been consigned to the background.
And forsofar this constant reference to death in times past was done mostly in church to make women weep, or also egotistically to be more certain after death of one’s own safety, there was a sobriety in this that deserves praise.
But because ill-advised preaching about dying must be disapproved, good preaching about Death may therefore not be neglected.
Every time again the Ministry of the Word must bring us to the gates of Death; not in one’s own behalf nor for self-glorification, but always again with the prayer on one’s lips, that all God’s people, not only the aged, but also young men and maidens, yea, even our very children, may also in their dying magnify the name of Christ.
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