7 Sermon Illustrations on Peace in Death

John Wesley's death-scene was one of the most peaceful and triumphant in the annals of the Church. Prayer, praise, and thankfulness were ever on his lips. Many golden sentences worthy to be had in everlasting remembrance were uttered during his last hours. He sees only the shadow of his friends around his bed: "Who are these?" — "We are come to rejoice with you: you are going to receive your crown." — "It is the Lord's doing," he calmly replies, "and marvellous in our eyes. I will write!" he exclaims, and the materials are placed within his reach: but the "right hand has forgot her cunning;" and "the pen of the once ready writer" refuses to move. "Let me write for you, sir," says an attendant. "What would you say?" — "Nothing but that God is with us." — "Now we have done all. Let us all go." And now, with all his remaining strength, he cries out, "The best of all is, God is with us!" And again, lifting his fleshless arm in token of victory, and raising his failing voice to a pitch of holy triumph, he repeats the heart-reviving words, "The best of all is, God is with us!" A few minutes before ten o'clock on the morning of the 2d of March, 1791, he slowly and feebly whispered, "Farewell, farewell!" and literally, "without a lingering groan," he calmly "fell on sleep, having served his generation by the will of God." H. Moore.

The Rev. John Wesley, after a long life of great labor and usefulness, being sixty-five years in the ministry, concluded his own right have been expected, in peace and holy joy. Having been laid on the bed, from whence he rose no more, he called to those who were with him, to "pray and praise." Soon after he again called upon them to "pray and praise!" and taking each by the hand, and affectionately saluting them, bade them farewell. Attempting afterwards to say something which they could not understand, he paused a little, and then, with all the remaining strength he had, said, "The best of all is, God is with us." And again, lifting his hand, he repeated the same words in a holy triumph, "The best of all is, God is with us."

Dr. Stonehouse, who attended Mr. Hervey during his last illness, seeing the great difficulty and pain with which he spoke, and finding by his pulse that the pangs of death were then coming on, desired that he would spare himself. "No," said he, "doctor, no: you tell me I have but a few minutes to live: Oh! let me spend them in adoring our great Redeemer. Though my flesh and my heart fail me, yet God is the strength of my heart and my portion for ever." He then expatiated, in the most striking manner, on these words of Paul, "All things are yours, life and death; things present, and things to come; all are yours; and ye are Christ's, and Christ is God's." "Here," said he, "is the treasure of a Christian, and a noble treasure it is. Death is reckoned in this inventory: how thankful am I for it, as it is the passage through which I get to the Lord and Giver of eternal life! and as it frees me from all the misery you see me now endure, and which I am willing to endure as long as God thinks fit; for I know he will by and by, in his good time, dismiss me from the body. These light afflictions are but for a moment, and then comes an eternal weight of glory. Oh, welcome, welcome death! thou mayest well be reckoned among the treasures of the Christian! To live is Christ, but to die is gain."

Mrs. Legare, an excellent woman, resided at Charleston, S. C. When she had nearly closed her eyes in death, her physician came and found the family in tears. "Well, doctor," said Mr. Legare, "what do you think of the scene in the next room?" "Indeed, sir," said he, "I know not what to think of it; it is all a mystery to me. I have seen numbers of men in all the vigor of health, and thirsting for martial honor, rush into a field of battle, and in that confused scene put on the appearance of fortitude, not one of whom could face the gradual approaches of death, or a sick bed, without visible horror; but here is a poor emaciated woman, whose whole nervous system is unstrung by long disease, welcoming the grim messenger with the utmost serenity, composure, and joy, though approaching in all the horrors of the most gradual progress imaginable;" (for she was three days in the agonies of death.) "Indeed it is a mystery, and I know not 'you' to account for it." "Do you not, sir?" asked Mr. Legare; "go, then, to Cal. vary. You see us dissolved in tears but I do not believe there is a tear in the room extorted by grief; no, sir, they are tears of joy." The doctor went down stairs, and met a gentleman at the door, who inquired after Mrs. L., to whom he replied, "Just gone, sir." "Well," said he, "Mr. Legare is a philosopher, and I hope he will bear the stroke like one." "Philosophy!" replied the doctor, "I have thought as much of philosophy as any man, but the scene within beats philosophy hollow."