Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 413
2 Corinthians 5:8.
I once heard two good men holding a dialogue with one another. I should not like to have the task of saying which I thought the better man of the two. I believe them both to be sincere followers of the Savior and both of them, I think have a good hope through grace. One of them said he should be glad to go to Heaven. He wished that his time was come. He did not see anything here worth living for and he should be only too glad if now the summons should reach him that he should cross the river and arrive in the Promised Land. The other brother said he did not feel so. He thought he had many reasons why he would rather just then live than die.
He thanked God that he had lived to see the Church in prosperity and it made his heart glad. He should like, he said, to be a sharer of the Church’s joy for years to come. Besides, he had those he loved on earth and he said perhaps it might be a weakness in him but certainly he could not join in the other brother’s aspirations—at least not to the same extent. I stood by. I do not know that I volunteered then any very strong words by way of notice of what either of them said, yet I took notes of their conversation. Thinking the matter over it suggested to me a few thoughts which I shall endeavor to present to you tonight. May the topic be interesting and may you feel your own interest in it.
Now there was one of the Brethren who would rather not depart but stay. I will take up that side of the question first and show when such a desire is wrong and when it is right. The other Brother, like Paul, said he would rather depart for he thought it far better. I will take up that side of the question afterwards and show when that, too is wrong and when that, too, is right. I think they must both be sifted and to pronounce a judgment upon either prematurely as right or wrong would be to perpetrate an injustice and to commit an error.
Sometimes it is wrong for a Christian man to say, “I do not want to die—I would rather live.” And one of the first cases is when that Christian man has grown worldly. I think it was Dr. Johnson who being taken by one of his friends over to his fine house and along the walks of his beautiful garden, observed to him—“Ah, Sir, these are the things that make it hard to die.” To leave the comforts of life. To go from a nest that is well-feathered and to stretch our wings into the air. To leave the house which our industry has built, the objects familiar to our senses, the projects that absorb our interest and above all, the fam-ily—I say willingly—to leave these is difficult. All these are so many strings tying us down like ropes which fasten the baboon which would flee if once its cords were cut.
But, Brethren, this is wrong in a Christian man. What is there in this present world that he should love, compared with the world to come? Has Christ taught him to find his solace here? Did Christ come from Heaven that we should find a Heaven below? No, rather has He taught us that the enjoyments of this world are not fit meat for the noble spirits which He has recreated. Men must eat angels’ food. They cannot live by bread alone. The world was never meant to fill a believer’s soul. He may find some contentment in it—for “every creature of God is good and is to be received with thanksgiving.”
But to set this world in comparison with the next so as to be unwilling to let it go in order to receive the crown of life— this were folly—this were madness, this were wickedness in the godly man. In such a sense as that the thing is wrong.
And again, when the Christian man wishes to stay here, because he has a secret fear of dying, it is wrong. Brethren, I would not speak harshly to those who, “by fear of death are all their lifetime subject to bondage.” I would speak encouragingly to them. What did Christ come into the world for? He came to deliver those who are subject to this bondage. And did Christ come in vain? No, Brethren. Then let us shake off these chains. They are unworthy of the men who have a part and lot in Christ Jesus the Redeemer.
Afraid to die? Why, you are afraid of a stingless enemy. Afraid of a shadow—no, you are afraid of Heaven’s own portals. You are afraid of your Father’s servant whom He sends to bring you to Himself! Be more afraid of living than of dying, for there are more fears in life than in death. In fact, to the Christian there is no fear in death. “Oh, but,” you say, “the pains and groans of death!” “No,” say I, “they are the pains and groans of life.” There are no pains and groans in death. Death occupies but an in-stant—it is but, as it were, a pin’s prick and all is over. It is life that gives the pains. The sighs, the groans and the strife are not those of death—but those of life struggling against death—when the strong man will not yield himself. So says one of our poets—