What though my body run to dust?
Faith cleaves unto it, counting every grain
With an exact and most particular trust,
Reserving all for flesh again.
George Herbert.
It is good to think of Michael, the archangel, disputing with the devil
about the body of Moses. The dispute was over a grave. The Most High had
himself performed the funeral rites of his servant; for, we read, "The
Lord buried him." We naturally think of the archangel as placed in
charge of the precious dust.
Some great commission, connected with the resurrection of the dead,
appears to be held by the chief spirit of the angelic world. "For the
Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of
the archangel, and the trump of God." The burial of each and every body
which is destined to the resurrection of the just, is, therefore, not
improbably an object of interest with him who, under the God-man, will
have the supervision of the last day. With a view to that harvest of the
earth, he will now see the furrows made, the seed planted, the hill
prepared. He will have a care that every thing lies down, whether by
seeming accident, or by violence, or by design, in just the place from
which the arranging mind of Him who is Lord both of the dead and of the
living, has appointed it to come forth. Every circumstance attending
that event, the great object of hope in heaven and on earth,—our
resurrection,—is of sufficient importance to be the subject of thought
and preparation on the part of Christ, himself the first fruits of them
that slept.
The care of the patriarchs concerning their burial places is like one of
those premonitions in an antecedent stratum of geology, or species of
animals, of a coming manifestation;—a prophesying germ, a yearning,
created by Him who, with all-seeing wisdom, establishes anticipations
in the moral, as well as in the natural, world, concerning things with
regard to which a thousand years are with him as one day.
Not on earth alone, as it seems, is an interest felt in the death and
burial of the righteous.
For when the leader of Israel in the wilderness went up to the hill top
to die, the two great angels, of heaven and hell, met and contended over
his grave.
Denied the privilege of burial in the promised land, Moses may have
appeared to Satan so evidently under the frown of God, as to encourage
his meddlesome efforts to inflict some injury upon him, through dishonor
done to his remains. Perhaps he would convey them back to Egypt, a gift
to the brooding vengeance of the Pharaohs, who would gratify their anger
by preserving that body in the house of their gods;—thus showing their
spiteful satisfaction at the disappointment of the prophet whom Jehovah
would not permit to enter that promised land, in hope of which the
great spoiler had led away the bondmen of Egypt.
Perhaps the devil would gratify the desire of some idolatrous nation,
craving new objects of worship, by leading them to canonize this Hebrew
chief; and thus make of the lawgiver and prophet of Israel a false god.
Perhaps he could even prevail on some of the Israelites themselves, if
not the whole of them, to worship this revered form; or might he but
have the designation and the custody of his grave, he would, perhaps,
fix it where it would be most convenient for the nation to assemble, at
stated times, for some idolatrous rites.
But the great vicegerent of the resurrection was there. To him the body
of a saint is suggestive of the last day; it is a special assignment by
Christ, an official trust, to the archangel. Bodies of saints are,
therefore, most precious to him. Particles of the precious metal are not
more precious to the miner, pearls to the diver, ivory to the
Coast-merchant, and the shell-fish to the maker of Tyrian purple. The
body of each saint is an unfinished history of redemption; a destiny of
indescribable interest and importance belongs to it. Any subaltern angel
may have charge of winds and seas, of day and night, of summer and
winter; but only the archangel is counted meet to have charge, and to
keep watch and ward, over the bodies of saints as they sleep in Jesus.
"He disputed about the body of Moses." It was a dispute characterized on
the part of the archangel more by act than word. Words are hushed in
great encounters. Debate with a pirate, a body-snatcher, would be folly;
no arguments, therefore, were wasted, on the top of Nebo, by Michael,
over the grave of Moses. "The Lord rebuke thee," was his retort; his
heavenly form stopping the way, his baffling right arm hindering the
accursed design, were the invincible logic of that dispute.
O prince of angels, watchman, herald, master of the guard, at the
resurrection of the just,—comptroller, now, of that treasury which
receives and keeps their precious forms,—from whose lips that signal
is to come which millions on millions are to hear, and live,—what
images of glory and terror fill thy mind in the anticipation of that
moment when thy dread commission is to be fulfilled! Is not that
"trumpet" sometimes taken into thy hand? Dost thou not place it to thy
lips, but quickly lay it aside, and patiently and joyfully watch the
swelling number of the graves of saints? Funerals of those who fall
asleep in Jesus, to thee are pleasant scenes; they are spring-work,
planting times, for thy harvest, O chief reaper! While, with bursting
hearts, we turn from the new-made mound, one more glorified body, in
anticipation, is added to thy charge.
Smiling at our sorrow, in joyful thought of the change to be witnessed
in and around that sepulchre when the family circle shall there put on
incorruption, thou canst not pity us except as we pity the brief sorrows
of children. If the devil should approach that spot, to work some
unknown, and, to us, inconceivable, harm to that body,—be it the body
of the humblest saint, one of those little ones who believe in Jesus, or
of those infants whose angels do always behold the face of God,—thou,
mighty cherub, wouldst be there, and, if need be, with a band of angels,
"every one with his sword upon his thigh, because of fear in the night;"
and Nebo and its "dispute" would reappear. Poor, dying, mouldering body!
hast thou the archangel himself for thy keeper? Not only so:
"God, my Redeemer, lives,
And often from the skies
Looks down and watches all my dust,
Till he shall bid it rise."
Nor is it strange, since we read, "The body is for the Lord, and the
Lord for the body." "Know ye not that your body is the temple of the
Holy Ghost which is in you?"
To rise from the dead seems to have been something more to Paul than
going to heaven, or than being in heaven. He knew that he was to spend
the interval between death and the resurrection in heaven; but beyond
even this, he had a joy which he felt was essential to the completeness
of the heavenly state.
See the proof of this in the following words: "If by any means I might
attain unto the resurrection of the dead."
Since he was destined, like all of Adam's race, to come forth from his
grave, he needed to make no effort whatever merely to rise from the
dead; that was inevitable, and irrespective of character. Besides, he
represents this object for which he strove as something which required
effort, which cannot be said of merely rising from the grave.
Paul had been permitted to know, by personal observation, what the
rising from the dead implies. Caught up into Paradise, we may suppose
that he had seen the patriarch Enoch, and the prophet Elijah, with their
glorified bodies; the presence of which in heaven, we may imagine, has
ever served to enhance the happiness of that world, by holding forth,
before the eyes of the redeemed, the sign and pledge of their future
experience when they shall receive their bodies. For it is not
presumptuous to suppose that the sight of Enoch and Elijah has been, and
will be, till the last trumpet sounds, a source of joyful expectation to
the inhabitants of heaven, leading them to anticipate the final day with
intense interest, as the time when they will be invested, like those
honored saints, with all the capacities of their completed nature, which
nature, while the body lies buried, is in a dissevered state. If Paul,
when in heaven, saw and felt the power of this expectation in the minds
of glorified saints, no wonder that the resurrection of the body seemed
to him, ever after, to be the crown of Christian expectation and hope.
More than all, he had seen the man Christ Jesus, in his glorified body;
who on earth had said, "I am the resurrection and the life"—himself an
illustration of it, whom alone the grave has yielded up to die no more.
He is, therefore, to saints in heaven, a far more interesting object
than Enoch and Elijah, who never died. "For now is Christ risen from the
dead, and is become the first fruits of them that slept." This sight, of
Christ in heaven, must have had unutterable interest for Paul, from the
assurance that Christ will "change our vile body, that it may be
fashioned like unto his glorious body;" for "we know that when he shall
appear," Paul himself tells us, "we shall be like him; for we shall see
him as he is." This knowledge, obtained in the heavenly world, may have
led the apostle to think of the resurrection as the crown of all his
expectations and hopes.
It is noticeable that the writers of the New Testament, and Jesus
himself, refer chiefly to the resurrection and the last day as sources
of comfort, and also of warning. Now this is made a principal ground of
belief, with many, that there is either no consciousness between death
and the resurrection; or, that none have gone to heaven, nor to hell,
but to intermediate places, seeing that final rewards and punishments
are, in so many instances, wholly predicated of the last day.
But those who believe that the souls of the righteous are, at their
death, made perfect in holiness, and do immediately pass into glory, see
proof, in all this prominence which is given to the last day, and to the
resurrection, that the sacred writers regarded the resurrection and
final judgment as the great consummation, towards which souls, in heaven
and in hell, would be looking forward with intense expectation and
interest; that neither will the joys of heaven nor the pains of hell be
complete, till the account of our whole influence upon the world,
extending to the end of time, is made up, and the body is added to the
soul. When Paul comforts the mourners of Thessalonica, he bids them to
"sorrow not as they that have no hope; for," (and now he does not speak
of heaven, and of souls being already there, as the source of
consolation, but) "if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so
them, also, that sleep in Jesus will God bring with him;" and he
proceeds to speak of the resurrection,—not of the speedy reunion of
friends after death, but of the departed as coming with Christ at the
last day. This, instead of being an argument against the immediate
departure of souls to heaven, arises from the desire to employ the
strongest possible proof that the pious dead are not only safe, but are
greatly honored. "Resurrection" was an abounding subject of thought,
argument, and illustration in those days; the state of the dead between
death and the last day, is comparatively disregarded by the apostles,
while their minds were full of the great question of the age—the
Resurrection. This fullness of thought and constant occupation of mind
about the resurrection, as the cardinal doctrine of Christian hope,
explains the apparent belief of the apostles, in some passages, that the
final day was near. This the apostle Paul expressly denies, in the
second chapter of the Second Epistle to the Thessalonians. But a greater
event, looked at in the same line of vision with an intermediate and
smaller object, will, of course, have the prominent place in our
thoughts. The less will be held subordinate to the greater; perhaps we
shall seem to underrate the less, in our exalted conceptions of that
which rises beyond and above. We shall see, as we proceed, why the
expectation of the last day seemed to occupy the thoughts of apostles as
the paramount object of expectation.
It is perfectly obvious that, at the resurrection, the bodies of the
just will be endued with wonderful susceptibilities and powers. This is
rendered certain by the great mystery of godliness,—God manifest in the
flesh. The greatest honor which could be conferred upon our nature, and
the greatest testimony to its intrinsic dignity, and to its being, in
its unfallen state, in the image of God, is bestowed upon it by the
incarnation of the Word. True, there was a necessity that the Redeemer
should be made like unto us, however inferior human nature might be in
the scale of creation; still, unless there had been such intrinsic
dignity and excellence in our sinless nature, as to make it compatible
for the second Person in the Godhead to be united with it, we cannot
suppose that this union would have been permanent; it would have
fulfilled a temporary purpose, and then have ceased.
Perhaps we slightly err if we think of Christ's assumption of human
nature as, in any respect, an incongruous act of humiliation. For man
was made in the image of God; so that when Christ was made flesh,
without sin, he took upon himself that which, in some sense, was
congruous with his divine nature. His humiliation consisted, in part, in
his doing this; but more especially in his doing this for such a
purpose—for sinners; "in his being born, and that in a low condition,
made under the law, undergoing the miseries of this life, the wrath of
God, and the cursed death of the cross, in being buried and continuing
under the power of death for a time." Had there been no inherent
congruity between our nature and the divine, the human nature of
Christ, having accomplished its purpose of suffering and death, would
have been left in the grave. "But now is Christ risen from the dead;"
the body and the human soul, which were disunited when he hung upon the
cross, now constitute the same man, Christ Jesus. "The only Redeemer of
God's elect is the Lord Jesus Christ, who, being the eternal Son of God,
became man, and so was, and continues to be, God and man, in two
distinct natures and one person, forever." The latter part of this
answer of the Assembly's Shorter Catechism is thus substantiated by the
New Testament: "When he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall
see him as he is." In other words, he will be, when he appears, that
which he now is—will remain the same until his second coming. After
that, he will remain as he was before: "Jesus Christ, the same
yesterday, to-day, and forever." He is represented as holding an eternal
relation to the redeemed in his glorified nature: "The Lamb which is in
the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto
living fountains of waters." We might, indeed, suppose that the man
Christ Jesus would have an eternal recompense for his sufferings and
death in an everlasting union with the Godhead; nor can any one think,
with satisfaction, of a severance between his two natures, and of a
consequent humiliation, or deposition, of that human nature, which, at
the great day, will, for so long a time, have sustained such a
connection with the divine nature. For our present purpose, however,
which is to show the intrinsic dignity of the human nature, it would be
enough that it has been in such connection with the Godhead, and has
passed through such scenes, and sustained such vast responsibilities.
This is sufficient to prove that human nature is intrinsically capable
and great; and, indeed, it reveals to us as nothing else does, the real
dignity of our nature. Some, who have rejected the doctrine of Christ's
two natures, have written much and eloquently with regard to man's
greatness in creation. They, however, missed the very thing which
chiefly proves it; for all who believe in the Deity of Christ have a
proof and illustration of this great theme which trancend all others.
This idea, of future capability and exaltation for human nature, as
proved by the Saviour's incarnation, is brought to view in the second
chapter of the Epistle to the Hebrews. The second Psalm is there quoted
as speaking of man: "Thou hast put all things under his feet." "But
now," the apostle says, "we see not yet all things put under him;" man,
as a race, has not reached his full destiny of glory and honor; but, in
the person of Christ, human nature has taken possession of its future
inheritance. We see not yet all things put under man, as a race; but "we
see Jesus, who was made a little lower than the angels for the suffering
of death, crowned with glory and honor;"—a sign and pledge of our
destiny.
To the mind of Paul, the sight, in heaven, of what he was to become, set
forth by the glorified person of the Son of God, his Saviour and
infinite Friend, no doubt made the resumption of the body, at the last
day, the most desirable experience of which it was possible for him to
conceive. Paradise, with all its social pleasures, gates of pearl,
streets of gold, every thing, in short, external to him, must have
seemed, to the apostle, not worthy to be compared with the glory which
was to be revealed in him. An intelligent man is far more interested in
his own personal endowments, than in the accidental circumstances of his
situation. Every one, who is not degraded in his feelings, would prefer
to be enriched with natural, moral, and intellectual powers, rather than
be the richest of men, or an hereditary monarch, with inferior talents
and worth. To such a man as Paul, the possession of his complete,
glorified nature, at the resurrection, must, for this reason, have
seemed far better than all the pleasures or honors of the heavenly
world. That completed nature would constitute him a being wholly
perfected, invest him with a likeness to the Son of God, bring him into
still nearer union with that adorable Redeemer, who, Paul says, loved
him and gave himself for him, and for whom, he says, he had suffered the
loss of all things. The sight of the man Christ Jesus wearing Paul's
nature in a glorified state, no doubt lived and glowed in his memory
after his return to earth, and made him think of the resurrection as the
event, in his personal history, to which every thing else was
subordinate. He shows the interest which he felt in this event, when,
writing to the Romans, he says, "And not only they,"—that is, "the
creatures," or creation,—"but ourselves, also, which have the first
fruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting
for the adoption, to wit, the redemption, of our body." In his address,
at Jerusalem, before his accusers and the people, he cried out, "Of the
hope and resurrection of the dead I am called in question." It was
uniformly a prominent topic of his thoughts.
It is by no means impossible, nor improbable, judging from analogy, that
there may be, in the human soul, faculties which are slumbering, until
a glorified body assists in their development. Persons born blind have
the dormant faculty of seeing; the gift of the eye would bring it into
exercise. So of the other senses, and their related mental faculties.
With a glorified body, then, truly it doth not yet appear what we shall
be; but the thought itself is rapture, that our souls at present may be
as disproportioned to their future expansion, as the acorn is to the oak
of a century's growth, which is infolded now, and dormant, in the seed.
The addition of a body to the glorified spirit will, therefore, be a
help, and not an encumbrance. For we are not to suppose that the soul,
after having been for centuries in a state superior to its present
condition, would retrograde, in returning to the body. A common idea
respecting a body is, that it is necessarily a clog. True, by reason of
sin and its effects, it is now a "vile body;" and Paul speaks of it as
"the body of this death." But, even while we are in this world, a body
is an indispensable help to the soul. The disembodied spirit, probably,
is not capable of sustaining a full, active relation to a world of
matter; a material form is necessary to make its powers serviceable
here. This being so, there is certainly reason, from analogy, to suppose
that the addition of a spiritual body to the glorified soul will not
necessarily work any deterioration to the spirit. At all events, we
cannot suppose that the bliss of heaven will be suffered to diminish, by
remanding the emancipated spirit into connection with any thing which
will subtract from the state to which it will have arrived. There is a
law of progress in the divine government, by which the intelligent
universe will be forever advancing. We are to be changed "from glory to
glory;" not from a greater glory to a less, but into the same image with
Christ.
It is the opinion of some that every created being has a corporeal part,
and that God alone is perfectly a spirit. However this may be, it is
evident that the souls of believers after death, though advanced far
beyond their present earthly condition, and though they are "with
Christ," and though to die is gain, and though they are in the heaven of
heavens with Christ, (which is where the penitent thief went, and where
Paul had his revelation, and where Christ went when he died;—for Paul
uses the words "third heavens," and "Paradise," interchangeably,) are,
nevertheless, incomplete as to their natures, "waiting for the adoption,
to wit, the redemption of our body." Where in the Bible are we led to
suppose that they are detained in an inferior region, or that there are,
at most, only two redeemed human beings now in "heaven," viz., Enoch and
Elijah, or probably not even they? But a corporeal part, we may suppose,
is necessary to the fullest participation in the employments and
enjoyments of the spiritual world. Light requires atmosphere to modify
it for the human eye, which otherwise could not endure its brightness.
So it may be that a corporeal part is necessary to modify many of the
things which are unseen and eternal, that they may be apprehended by the
soul. Let no one say that matter must obstruct or dim the senses of the
soul; that a body must act as a veil to the spirit, and shut out much
knowledge. It is not so here. Matter helps us in the acquisition of
knowledge, as, for example, glass in optical instruments. The telescope,
with its lenses, gives the eye vast compass; the microscope gives it a
power, equally wonderful, of minute vision. True, in these cases it is
matter helping matter—glass assisting the eye; the analogy is not
perfect between this and the aid which the spiritual body may afford the
soul. But, if we remember that there is to be progression in the powers
and faculties of our nature, and that if a body is added to the
glorified spirit, it must be to assist it, to put it forward in its
acquisitions and enjoyments, we cannot resist the belief that the
addition of the new body to the soul will be a vast accession of power
and capability. If the eye and the mind can receive such aid from the
telescope here, who knows that the eye of the glorified body may not be
itself a telescope, increasing in its capability with the progress of
its being.
We may have some view of what the glorified body must necessarily be, in
thinking of it as a fit companion to the glorified spirit. The soul
having been in heaven for ages, and having grown in all spiritual
excellence, the body, to be a help to such a spirit, to be an occasion
of joy, and not of regret, must, of course, be in advance of our present
corporeal nature. What must the body of Isaiah, and of David, be, at the
resurrection, to correspond with the vast powers and attainments of
those glorified spirits? We could not believe, certainly we could not
see, how these bodies of ours could be made capable of such union, were
it not that, in the man Christ Jesus, we see our corporeal nature
capable of such transformation as to make it compatible for his human
mind, and indwelling Deity, to receive it into their ineffable union.
All this being so, we may, in some measure, conceive of the feelings
with which the souls in heaven anticipate the resurrection; and we cease
to wonder why Paul speaks of his resurrection as the great object of his
desire—not merely to be in heaven, but, being in heaven, with Christ,
to be in possession of a completed nature, like Christ's.
From the grave where it was sown in corruption, it will come forth in
incorruption; sown in dishonor, it will be raised in glory; sown in
weakness, it will be raised in power; sown a natural body, it will be
raised a spiritual body. It was "bare grain" when it fell into the
earth; but the corn, with its stalk, and leaves, and the curious ear,
with its silk, and its wrappings, the multiplication of the "bare grain"
into such a product, are an illustration of the apostle's words,—"Thou
sowest not that body that shall be;" hence, he argues, say not,
incredulously, "How are the dead raised, and with what body do they
come?" God giveth the grain a body as it hath pleased him; he can do
the same with regard to that part of man's nature which is committed for
a while to the earth. Let not the natural difficulties connected with
this subject make us sceptical. There are no more difficulties connected
with a grave than with a grape vine. Those distant twigs, on that dry
vine, begin to bud and blossom; grapes form upon them; it is filled with
clusters. Is there any thing in the resurrection more strange than this?
Twice, inspiration says to a man, "Thou fool!"—once, to a godless, rich
man, and, once, to him who is sceptical about the resurrection of the
body.
When the glorified spirit and the glorified body meet, the moment when
the investiture of the soul with its spiritual form takes place, and the
forcible divorce of the soul and body is terminated by new, strange
nuptials, there must be an experience which now defies all power of
imagination. We may have known, in this world, all the thrilling
experiences of which our natures here are capable; we shall also have
seen and felt what it is to awake in heaven, satisfied with Christ's
likeness; and all the new-born joys of heavenly sensations will have
seemed to leave us nothing to be experienced which can bring a new
rapture to the heart; yet when the body is raised, and the triumphant
spirit comes to put it on afresh, it will be an addition to all the past
joys of the heavenly state. As we look on one another, and see, in each
other's beauty and glory, an image of our own; as we remember how we
visited the graves of loved ones, and what thoughts and feelings we had
there, and then see those graves yielding forms like Christ's; as we see
the Saviour's person mirrored in ours on every side, and behold the
living changed in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, there will be an
exceeding great joy, such, perhaps, as the universe had never before
known. But to each of us the most perfect joy will be his own
consciousness, existence being then a rapture such as we never
experienced. Then the bird is winged, the jewel is set in gold, the
flower blooms, the harp receives all her strings, the heir is crowned.
No wonder that Paul said, looking through and beyond heaven, "If by any
means I might attain unto the resurrection of the dead."
Perhaps we now think of the last day with dread, as a day of
consternation. It is not always that we can think of the heavens on
fire, the earth dissolved, the dead arising, and the judgment
proceeding, without some feeling of dismay. But in heaven, we shall long
have anticipated that day as the day of our complete triumph. The grave
will, till that time, have imprisoned one part of our nature. The curse
of the law will not have passed away entirely, and in every respect,
till all which belongs to us is redeemed from every natural, as well as
moral, consequence of sin. It will be an expectation of unmingled joy to
see this accomplished. The approach of the day will fill us with more
pleasure than the arrival of any other wished-for moment. We shall come
with Christ to judgment. "Them that sleep in Jesus will God bring with
him." We shall have a part in the glory of Christ, and be associated
with him; for, "Do ye not know that the saints shall judge the world?"
"Know ye not that we shall judge angels?" What curious interest there
will be to receive back from the dust of the earth the dishonored,
corrupted, mouldered, wasted, perished body. In the Saviour, even, we
shall not have seen all the wonders of the resurrection from the dead;
for, "He whom God raised saw no corruption;" but we shall be raised from
corruption. To be clothed upon with that house which is from heaven, to
be a completed, perfected human being, will be, up to that time, the
greatest possible manifestation to us of divine wisdom and power.
The new body will bring with it sources of enjoyment which will be a
vast addition to the previous happiness of heaven. There will be perfect
satisfaction in every one with his own body—no consciousness of
defects, of deformity, of weakness. Comparisons of ourselves with others
will not excite dissatisfaction and envy; every one will be perfect of
his kind, and will differ in some things from every other, and will be
an object of love and admiration with all. We are astonished here with
the intellectual, oratorical, vocal powers of others, with their
knowledge, their talent, their skill; but there we shall no doubt be
filled also with astonishment at our own powers and acquisitions, and
thus we shall be more capable of appreciating and enjoying the
endowments of others. God is pleased to raise up one and another, from
time to time, with great powers to charm their fellow-creatures; and
thus he would lure us on to heaven, teaching us how much we can enjoy,
and how much we shall lose if we are not saved. Those who are deprived
of very many intellectual and social pleasures here, which they could
appreciate as well as their more favored friends, will soon have it made
up to them. By the likeness of their glorified nature to the human
nature of Christ, they are to be intimately associated with him forever.
This, of itself, is an assurance and pledge, that their heavenly
happiness will not be measured by their relative inferiority to their
brethren in this world. To a benevolent mind it is a great joy to think
of good people, who are deprived, in this world, of education and
culture, entering upon a career of boundless knowledge, rising to the
highest pitch of mental development, and enjoying it all the more for
their former disadvantages in their probationary state. "And, behold,
there are last which shall be first." Distinctions made here by
knowledge will be transient, like gifts of prophecy, and tongues; for it
is in this sense that it is said, "whether there be knowledge, it shall
vanish away." And when we look upon those dear children of God who have
long suffered under bodily deformity, and "have borne, and have had
patience, and have not fainted," we love to think of their glorified
bodies, and of that rich zest in the possession of them which will be
both the natural consequence, and the gracious reward, of their
patience; nay, we love to think that some special, personal beauty, some
peculiar grace and glory, may be given them by Him who so delights in
compensatory acts in nature, in providence, and in grace.
Was it not the object of the transfiguration, in part, to give the human
soul of Christ such an idea of his future glory in heaven, as to
strengthen him for his agony and death? Yes; for the heavenly visitants
"spake of his decease which he should accomplish at Jerusalem." That
anticipation of his glorified nature was a part of "the joy set before
him." Let Christ on Tabor, and faith, do for us, with regard to present
bodily sorrows and sufferings, that which the transfiguration did for
Jesus in the days of his humiliation. "Who shall change our vile body,
that it may be fashioned like unto his glorious body, according to the
working whereby he is able even to subdue all things unto himself."
Through the long interval of death and the separate state, the
anticipation of the last day and of the resurrection will, no doubt, be
to the wicked a predominant source of terror. While the joyful
anticipations of it, in heaven, will be like the advancing steps of
morning, when there begin to be signs, in the tabernacle for the sun, of
that bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and of that strong man
rejoicing to run a race, and every thing will be astir with the notes of
preparation for that day, for which all other days were made, the
approach of it will be, to the lost, a deepening gloom, its arrival the
settling down of interminable night. Instead of entering into their
bodies with transport, as the righteous do, they will each be like a
prisoner removed from one jail to another with new bars and bolts. If it
be not unreasonable to suppose that the appearance of the body will
conform to the character, and if the bodies of Isaiah, and Paul, and
John must be seraphic, to correspond with their experience and
attainments, what must the bodies of the wicked be! They will have spent
centuries in sinning, and suffering, debased in every part, the image of
God supplanted by the image of him whose service they preferred to that
of a holy God and Saviour. What a moment will that be, when the sinner's
grave is opened by the last trumpet, and a hideous form rises to receive
a frantic spirit! "The harvest is the end of the world, and the reapers
are the angels." "As, therefore, the tares are gathered and burned in
the fire, so shall it be in the end of this world. The Son of man shall
send forth his angels, and they shall gather out of his kingdom all
things that offend, and them which do iniquity, and shall cast them into
a furnace of fire; there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth." "And
many of them that sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to
everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt." There
will be separations at the graves of those who lay side by side in
death; many a tomb will yield up subjects both for heaven and for hell;
the differences in character, between the regenerate and unregenerate,
will there be made conspicuous in the correspondence of the risen body
to the soul, according as the soul shall have arrived at the grave from
a state of joy or of woe. Arrests will be made, there will be forcible
detentions, overpowering strength, disregard of entreaties, remorseless
rendings asunder of families, unclasping of embraces, and an
indiscriminate mixture of all classes among the wicked, indicated by the
command, "Bind ye the tares together, in bundles, to be burned." Nor
will this be worse for holy angels to witness, than it was to see those
sinners turn their backs on the Lord's supper, year after year. They
could treat their Saviour's dying agonies, and his blood, with perfect
neglect and contempt, through their love of the world and sin; now they
eat the fruit of their own way, and are filled with their own devices.
Our treatment of the Saviour will return upon our own heads. What a
change will be made in the ideas which many sentimentalists had of holy
angels, when they see them executing the terrible orders of their King!
and what an illustration it will give of the severity of justice,—the
rigors of its execution being compatible with the pure benevolence of
holy angels, because of God. We are constantly admonished that the
punishment of the wicked will be a great part of the proceedings on that
day. It is called "the day of judgment and perdition of ungodly men."
"Behold, the Lord cometh, with ten thousands of his saints, to execute
judgment."
All this serves to invest the death of a dear Christian friend, in our
thoughts, with inexpressible peace and comfort. He, with his Redeemer,
can say, "My flesh, also, shall rest in hope." If we are confident that
a friend is gone to be with Christ, death is, even now, swallowed up of
life; and now the thought of what the soul is to inherit, both before
and after the resurrection, and its contrast with the experience of the
lost, should make us joyful in tribulation. True, we cannot, by any
artifice or illusion, make death itself cease to be a curse. Full of
beauty and consolation as it may be,—nay, we will call it
triumphant,—yet nothing saddens the mind, for the time, more than the
sight of true beauty. In heaven things beautiful will not make us sad;
nor will the remembrance of a past joy, which so inevitably has that
effect upon us here. We are beholding a sunset. Day is flinging up all
its treasures, as though it were breaking to pieces its pavilion forever
and scattering the fragments; and now, when all seemed past, one more
flood of glory streams over the scene, but only for a moment; then comes
a last touch of pathos, here and there, like a more distant farewell, a
whispered good night. Have tears never come unbidden, do we never feel
sad, at such a time? Is not the whole of life, past, present, and to
come, then tinged with sombre hues? and all because the dying day
expires with such beauty and peace. Not so when a storm suddenly brings
in night upon us. Then we are nerved and braced; we hear no minor key in
the voice of the departing day. It is perfectly natural, therefore, to
weep over our dead, even when every thing in their departure is
consolatory and beautiful. It is interesting to observe that it was even
when he was on his way to raise the dead body of his friend, and thus to
comfort the weeping sisters, that "Jesus wept."
Let us more and more love the Christian's grave. Angels love it. Two of
them sat in the tomb where the body of Jesus had lain—they loosed the
napkin that was about his head, and "wrapped" it "together in a place by
itself;" and when Jesus had left the place, instead of following him,
they lingered, to comfort the weeping friends on their arrival at the
sepulchre. Can it be Michael, guardian of the dead Moses and his grave,
on "the great stone" which has been rolled "from the door of the
sepulchre"? Is he thinking how he will one day hear the command, "Take
ye away the stone" which covers all who sleep in Jesus? As the cross is
hallowed by the death of the Son of God upon it, the grave is hallowed
for the believer through the Saviour's burial. There are three places
which must possess intense interest for a glorified friend. One is his
home; another is his seat in the house of God; and another is his grave.
Let us cherish it. We do well to visit such a spot. Sometimes
approaching it with sadness and fear, we go away with surprising peace;
looking back for a last view of the stone, and feeling towards the spot
as we do when we are leaving little children in the dark for the night,
unutterable love, we find, has cast out fear. Those graves are treasures
which heaven has made sure, "sealing the stone, and setting a watch." Of
those who still live, we are not certain that, in the providence of God,
they will henceforth be an unmingled source of comfort; but they who are
in those graves are garnered fruits, are finished works, are each like
the rod of Aaron laid up in the ark, which "bloomed blossoms and yielded
almonds." All else which is dear to us on earth may seem changeful, or
changed; the property may have disappeared, the home may have been
broken tip, the plighted faith and love may have been recalled; the
whole condition of life may have been altered: but we visit that burial
spot, and there is permanence; that fast-anchored isle has defied the
surges and roaring currents; the grave seems beautifully constant; it
has not betrayed our confidence; it is not weary of its precious charge;
it has kindly staid behind to permit and encourage our griefs when all
else may have fled. The winter's snows have fallen, the tempests have
beaten, there; and now, this April or May morning, it is as steadfast
and quiet as when the slumber there began.
Great honor is paid to the dead in giving them precedence to the living
at the last day. "The dead in Christ shall rise first," that is, before
the living are changed;—they shall rise, and after that, in a moment,
in a twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet, the living will be
transformed; for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised
incorruptible, and we shall be changed. This is said in order to comfort
those who mourn the death of Christian friends,—intimating such care on
the part of their Redeemer, that the apostle is directed to tell us "by
the word of the Lord, that we which are alive, and remain to the coming
of the Lord, shall not" have precedence of "them that are asleep." It is
declared that the change of the living will be effected "in a moment, in
the twinkling of an eye." This must be a matter of pure revelation; for
it could not have been foretold, from any apparent probabilities,
whether it would happen instantaneously or by degrees. It is suited to
impress the mind with the power and majesty of Christ, inasmuch as this
is to be one of the great acts connected with his second coming, and as
really an exercise of his omnipotence as the raising of the dead. For he
is "Lord both of the dead and of the living."
"And the sea shall give up the dead that are in it." Many a form of a
believer is waiting there for the redemption of the body. Nor has it
escaped the eye of the great archangel. Wrapped in its rude shroud, or
decomposed and scattered, or in whatever way seemingly annihilated,
personal identity still attaches to it, and the all-seeing eye watches
every thing which is essential to that identity, as easily as though the
body were in the grave with kindred dust. That the power of God in the
resurrection may be fully illustrated, and that some may be preeminent
witnesses in their own persons of that mighty power, perhaps it will
appear that they were permitted, for that purpose, to be devoured, or to
dissolve and to waste away in the sea. If they who came out of great
tribulation are arrayed in white robes among the righteous, we may look
for some special sign of glory and joy in those who receive their
bodies, not from the sheltering grave, but from the sea, and from the
very frame of nature, into which their bodily organization will, in one
way and another, have been incorporated. O the unspeakable wonders and
raptures connected with the resurrection, both as it relates to our own
experience, and to the illustrations which the resurrection will afford,
of the divine wisdom and power. No wonder, we say, that Paul esteemed
it the height of Christian privilege, that he, as a redeemed human
being, "might attain unto the resurrection of the dead."
It is an innocent fancy, if it be not worthy of a better name, that the
great attention which has been given of late years to new cemeteries,
now in such contrast to the old graveyards, whose reckless disorder so
perfectly expressed abandonment to sorrow and unresisting surrender to
the last enemy, is a symptomatic token of growing faith in the great,
general heart of the Christianized part of the race, with regard to that
consummation of all things, the resurrection of the dead.
As at sea there is, within certain degrees of latitude and longitude, an
uphill and a downhill, made by the convexity of the globe, we, perhaps,
may have reached the meridian of the great voyage, and may have begun to
feel the inclination which will set us forward more swiftly to the end.
The power of the great consummation will be waxing stronger and
stronger. Men are looking to the cemeteries as places where great
treasures went down, or were abandoned, and they begin to think that
some great restoration awaits them. These costly and beautiful
cemeteries, which men are preparing, are like Hiram's contributions to
the building of the temple; they foretell some great thing; they have a
look not only of expectation, but of design, not merely of faith, but of
hope. With a truly liberal regard to the decoration of those burial
places with costly works of general interest, in the department of art,
we shall do well to make provision, by statute, for the perpetual repair
and preservation of every enclosure, and every grave, the whole body
corporate thus pledging itself, as far as possible, to each incumbent,
that his last resting place shall be the care of the perpetuated
fraternity to the end of time.
And when the prophecies are accomplished, and the stone cut out of the
mountain without hands has filled the earth, and the apostasy which is
to follow the general prevalence of religion, has deluged the world
with blood, and Satan, loosed a little season, is triumphing in his
maddened career, and the graves are full, and the souls under the altar,
with their importunate cry, can no longer wait for the avenging
arm,—then shall be seen the sign of the Son of man coming in the clouds
of heaven, with power and great glory.
As we commit a Christian friend to the earth, and as we visit his
resting place, let us think that now, the anticipation of the rising
from the dead is, to him, the great object of personal expectation and
hope. The time is not far distant, when, in heaven, we, in like manner,
shall be filled with that expectation, as we look down upon the places
where our bodies await the signal of the resurrection.
Let not the image of our friends, as sick and in pain, occupy our
thoughts. "For the former things are passed away." Their language, as
they call back to us, is, "As dying, and behold, we live."
We who have children and friends that sleep in Jesus, and who expect
ourselves to be, with them, and with one another, children of the
resurrection, will soon know each other in the presence of Christ. We
shall have become reunited in the presence of each other to our loved
and lost ones. The great question then will be, How did we fulfil God's
special and benevolent designs in our trials? If we revisit scenes of
deep affliction where death and the grave usurped their dread power over
us for a season, we shall remember our misery as waters that pass away.
In hope of this, we will patiently and joyfully labor and suffer. "The
night is far spent; the day is at hand."
On a pleasant morning in April, three months from the time of her
decease, the mortal part of the dear child whose name gives this book
its title, was removed from its temporary resting place in the city, to
her grave in the family cemetery. As the hands of her father, which
baptized her, laid her to rest in her sweet and peaceful bed, and the
simple stone, with her chosen "lilies of the valley and rose buds"
carved on it, was set up,—the gift of one whose consanguinity was made
by him the delicate ground of claim to do this touching and abiding act
of love,—it seemed as though, in some sense, there had already been
brought to pass the saying which is written, "Death is swallowed up in
victory."
But in the night, a gentle April shower fell; and as the thoughts were
carried by it, spellbound, from the chamber where she was born, to her
newly-made grave,—that night being the first of her sleeping there,—it
seemed very plain that, though Death had been conquered, the Grave still
kept possession of the field.—Christ "will be thy destruction," O
Grave, as he has been "thy plagues," O Death! The early rain seemed to
have made good haste in visiting the fresh mound and the flower seeds
already placed there, conspiring with them to cover the grave speedily
with emblems of the resurrection, as though, with confident boast and
exultation, they would, beforehand, say, "Where is thy victory?" Simple
thoughts and fancies, which we hardly dare utter, have wonderful power,
in great sorrows, to change the whole current of the feelings; for while
that soft shower was heard, falling on the grave, it seemed as if a
heavenly watcher was in care of the place; and so, leaving them
together, it was easy and pleasant to fall asleep.
And now, seeing that there is not one experience in this volume which is
not, or may not be, enjoyed, and surpassed, by every dying saint, and by
surviving friends, and as the narrative is thus saved from all just
thought either of ostentation, or of setting forth a discouraging
standard of experience, may the book find protection from those who,
knowing the innocent weaknesses, and, at the same time, the blessedness,
of those who mourn, will kindly appreciate the motives with which it is
written. For more than a year the narrative has been laid by, from
indefinable reluctance at the thought of publication. But this
affliction, which was, at first, like the bulb of the hyacinth with its
white, pendulous roots in water,—those symbols of hope and pledges of
growth,—has now bloomed and become fragrant with such comforts and
consolations, that we venture to set the plant in our window, perchance
it may meet the eye of one and another as they walk and are sad. Perhaps
it may, here and there, win love and praise for Jesus. "He hath done all
things well."